Alive Magazine October/November '08 by Jen Dotson

magazine

october/november â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;08

A WORD FROM THE EDITOR

it’s just a word

was fifteen years old, attending summer camp in Georgia with my best friend Alison, when my concept of beauty changed forever. As I bit into a piece of candy, something cracked in my mouth and I almost swallowed my tooth. Now, this wasn’t a permanent tooth – it was a fake tooth that had been attached to my retainer for two years, ever since the dentist pulled out my baby tooth. I was born without the teeth on either side of my front teeth, and since seventh grade had gotten by with fake teeth on a retainer. There I was, staring at my tooth in my hand, thousands of miles away from home. And my dentist.

Most of my friends at home knew that I was missing those two teeth, and we had joked for years that I had a built-in fangs for a Vampire costume at Halloween. But nobody at camp knew about my teeth, and I choked at the thought of having to explain it to an entirely new group of people.

But most of all, I felt awkward. I had a gaping hole in my mouth, and I hated the way everyone looked at me differently than they had the day before. It didn’t really matter whether or not I felt pretty, because I was at camp and half the time I couldn’t see my skin through the dirt anyway. But I felt different, and somehow in my head, that translated into “You’re not beautiful.”

I got my retainer fixed when I got home from camp, and I had a great story to tell my friends. But as the situation with my missing teeth became more complicated in high school and college, the old feelings resurfaced. I was without my teeth for an entire month at the end of my first year of college, and I hardly opened my mouth for the first few days of it. Eventually, I tired of the cover-up and acted like nothing was wrong… but still, I didn’t feel like myself. When I look back at pictures from those weeks, I can see that my eyes and smile radiate beauty and happiness, but at the time, I wanted nothing more than to have my teeth back and look like everyone else. THERE I WAS, STARING AT MY TOOTH IN MY HAND, THOUSANDS OF MILES AWAY FROM HOME. AND MY DENTIST. My concept of beauty changed not only because I knew what it was like to look different, but because my situation was so cosmetic. The surgeries I have had to correct my missing teeth (12 in all) have never been to fix a lifethreatening injury or illness. But they have been painful, and have required a significant commitment of time and energy on the part of my friends and family over the past four years. The doctors had to perform three separate rounds of bone grafts and implant placements because the first two rounds failed. I remember crying in the office of the oral surgeon after they told me the first round had failed, because I couldn’t imagine going through the entire process again. And then, again. In order to attain “normal-looking teeth,” I had to psych myself up for surgery after surgery. I never went on a spring break trip during college, or went skiing over Christmas, because I was always at home, on the couch, recovering from surgery. At times, I thought my spirit could take no more, and I begged my parents to let me get dentures instead of the more permanent implants. They

said no, and I know they were right. I just hated going through the pain for something that, to so many people, seemed like simply a cosmetic fix, but that, to me, was so essential to my long-term health. Over time, my spirit changed as much as my face did. I know that the necessity of perseverance molded me into a strong woman, ready to face challenges with hope and a positive outlook. I remember the despair and anger I felt during this experience, and now I can choose to be more constructive with my emotions. My mom used to joke that my bad attitude toward the surgeries was part of why the bone grafts and implants were failing… and now I think she may have been partially right. I had to learn that there are things I can’t change, and that oftentimes the only thing I can control is my attitude. At the same time, I learned that my attitude is as important for people’s perception of beauty as my appearance. And that is the value I choose to live by now, even as I undergo the final surgery (crossing my fingers!) and am fitted with my new set of teeth. That’s the kind of beauty I want to see in the world. And I’m not the only one – in this issue, as we explore the concept of beauty, you’ll read the story of a man who redefined the word “beauty” in “beauty pageant,” and the real-life reactions to the question, “when do you feel most beautiful?” You will laugh along with the adventurous stories of young women just like you, finding beauty in unexpected places or moving beyond the idea of beauty altogether. In the end, it’s just a word. And I’m just me, fake teeth and all.

Lauren Melcher, Managing Editor

table of content

H G Y R C M A T G

2 It’s Just a Word by Lauren Melcher | graphics by Megan Foss

But I felt different, and somehow in my head, that translated into “You’re not beautiful.”

8 My Unexpected Love Story story and photo provided by Christina Chao | artwork by Megan Foss

All my attention and energy was to be channeled to one child, one child named John Lu, who has Down syndrome.

11 Picturing Everyday Beauty: A project to add insight to the viewfinder by Alive readers I wish I had known myself better when I was younger, I wish I had known what I could do back then...

18 Practice by Colin Mcdonald | illustration by Megan Foss

I try to be aware of how far / I can see to the end of / the page; my reason for doing work / in coffee shops...

19 Finding the Balance: A young woman’s voice in politics by Maggie Gordon | photography by Megan Wall Opting to watch campaign coverage instead of the latest installment of “Gossip Girl” can sometimes feel like choosing broccoli over ice cream. But there is a way...

24 Midnight Mischief by Keri Maxon

We met at midnight, for both dramatic and practical purposes. We were dressed completely in black so we would not be noticed, for it was extremely important...

26 The Business of Appearance story and photo provided by Ashley Devecht

But I think those tough situations gave me a stronger sense of who I am and instill a passion in me for changing the way women are seen in advertising and the media.

28 Snacking for Your Study Style by Carina Finn | photography by Kimberly Halverson

It’s 1 a.m., and you’ve been working on the same paper since classes ended this afternoon. There are still 10 pages left, plus you have a test in the morning that you haven’t studied for...

30 That Moment photography by Megan Wall & Kimberly Halverson Although the artists have never met, both series showcase similar themes – one set in Romania, and one set in the American Midwest, reminding us that, across the miles...

Christina Chao, contributor, is a New Jersey high school senior who aspires to become a successful magazine editor someday. She hopes to attend college in New York City and revolutionize the magazine industry with her creativity and passion. Ever since she was a little girl, she has always wanted to inspire others to believe in themselves and never lose sight of dreams. Carolyn Courtade, contributor, is a senior at Hope College studying psychology and Spanish. She enjoys globe-trotting, hanging with middle-school youth and baking goodies twice a week. Between classes Carolyn can be found making lattes or enjoying them at a local coffee shop – both fueling her self-admitted addictions to dark roast and great conversation. Ashley DeVecht, contributor, is an America’s Next Top Model addict. She is a senior at Hope College, and aspires to become the editor-in-chief of a national magazine. Ashley just wrapped up an internship with the American Society of Magazine Editors where she worked as an editorial intern for Guideposts magazine in New York City. Carina Finn, junior contributing writer, loves acting, singing and dancing… so she spends most of her time in the theatre building at her college. She travels a lot, loves shopping for absolutely anything and driving her Mustang too fast on canyon roads.

Vicki Fourie, contributor, lives in Bloemfontein, South Africa. She aspires to write full-time and also wants to become a well-known photographer and actress. She loves playing tennis and swimming, watching old musicals, listening to Sara Groves’ music, copying Audrey Hepburn’s style, and cuddling her kitten, Ally.

Maggie Gordon, junior contributing writer, is a senior at Syracuse University, majoring in women’s studies and newspaper journalism. She regrets to inform you that she does not like long walks on the beach but she enjoys adverbs, adjectives and compound modifiers.

Emily Hennig, contributor, is a recent graduate of St. Olaf College, where she majored in religion and history. An avid traveler, the highlight of her collegiate experience was voyaging around the world as part of St. Olaf’s Global Semester. When she’s not traveling, Emily can be found at concerts and movie theaters around the Twin Cities. Kimberly Halverson, contributor, is an artist who delights in belly laughs and photographs. A junior at the University of Minnesota Duluth, she is always down for a mean game of dress-up. She also likes German phrases, figure skating and Noodles & Co.

cover and back cover design by jen dotson

contributors

Nyam Adodoadji, contributor, lives in the San Francisco Bay Area and enjoys learning about different cultures as well as reading, writing, singing and dancing. She also loves to see God use the arts to heal people and communities, and her dream is to open an art center with this purpose. Check out her blog at www.nyamado.blogspot.com.

table of content

36 Finding Peace by Emily Byers-Ferrian | pastels by Jordan Kammer

Sometimes I can’t help but think the world would be a much safer, more peaceful place if there were only women... But that is a myth.

AFRICA

series illustrations by Karissa Wagner

This series highlights the stories of four women and their unique encounters with Africa. Their experiences and reflections represent important voices in the ongoing postcolonial dialogue about the identity of Africa and what it means to be African.

E I B D M W L

40 My Wild and Wonderful Life story and photo provided by Vicki Fourie | artwork by Amber Regan

I know this truth: Hollywood’s version of life in South Africa is a stark contrast to what it really is like for me...

43 Imagine Beauty by Ali Thompson

That message was also widely repeated throughout Traavik’s advertising campaigns with the Miss Landmine motto: “Everybody has the right to be beautiful.”

45 The God of More Than Enough story and photos provided by Carolyn Courtade

We each had one piece of luggage, empty bank accounts, barely sufficient travel plans and tickets that didn’t take us as far as our goal: Liberia.

48 My Hyphenated Lifestyle story and photo provided by Nyam Adodoadji

Even as I enjoyed being with my cousins again, that summer, more than ever before, I wrestled with what it meant to be “hyphenated” as a Ghanaian-American.

50 A Dangerous Appetite by Jaclyn Rainey | illustrations by Megan Foss

It pays to be timely with things like this. It’s not a pleasant business, planning a murder with a three course meal, but somebody’s got to do it.

52 The Value Pendulum by Anna Flaemig | graphics by Megan Foss

I guess “conservative” is generally a word with negative connotations for me. Yet I’m realizing the word has a wider, more positive meaning as well.

53 Day of the Loved by Abigail Nosce | photography by Emily Hennig

There before me was an entire field of brightly colored decorations, as if a grand party was about to begin. As I drew near, however, I realized that this was not a party after all.

Colin McDonald, contributor, graduated from Drake University in 2007 with a bachelor’s degree in magazine journalism and is currently pursuing his master’s in poetry at Hamline University in St. Paul, Minn. He is the recipient of a Hearst Journalism award for feature writing and a Drake Choir award for best female laugh. Abigail Nosce, contributor, has a personal mission to live life with an attitude of love and acceptance. She loves to write about abstract ideas, challenge the mind’s eye and evoke contemplation. When she’s not writing, she’s in the kitchen experimenting with new recipes – to her family’s delight or dismay, depending on the day. Amber Regan, junior contributing artist, leads finger aerobics class for people four times her age and loves inventing recipes for foods that ought to exist (her latest: caramel apple chocolate pudding brownies). In her spare time, you’ll find her holding books hostage from the library, raiding thrift shops, or going for a skip with friends. Ali Thompson, junior contributing writer, is a senior communications major with minors in English writing and psychology at Hope College. She enjoys traveling and black and white photography. She’s also a fan of Scrabble matches, crossword puzzles and raspberry iced tea. She can usually be found dancing to her music when she thinks no one’s watching. Megan Wall, contributor, recently graduated from UC Davis where she not only earned a degree but also learned how truly difficult it is to catch a duck. She loves to read while drinking coffee and, for old time’s sake, kicking a soccer ball around. She just moved to Boston to start her first real job… and search parks for ducks.

ALIVE MAGAZINE, OCTOBER/NOVEMBER 2008 Executive Director Jennifer Dotson Managing Editor Lauren Melcher Artistic Director Danica Myers Founder and Board Chair Heather Scheiwe Board of Directors Jim Scheibel Vernae Hasbargen Judy Jandro Martha Franke Heather Mattson

Poetry Editor Kelin Loe Assistant Editors Emily Byers-Ferrian Anna Flaemig Natalie Neal Jaclyn Rainey Brittany Smith Ali Thompson Nicolle Westlund Graphic Designers Megan Foss Karissa Wagner Abby Zimmer

Advertising Amanda CasaDeCalvo Community Outreach Lisa Teicher Finance Director Wendy Sturlaugson Alive Arts Media 1720 Madison St. NE Suite 300 Minneapolis, MN 55413 www.alivemagazine.org All rights reserved.

contributors

Keri Maxon, contributor, just taught her kitten how to fetch. Now she spends her energies learning how to play the banjo, climbing trees and kayaking at midnight when the stars are out. In a former life, Keri was probably a dragon slayer or explorer, but this time around, she plans on writing children’s books and owning a summer camp.

story by christina chao artwork by megan foss “He threw up today, and I didn’t help him at all. I want to quit,” I cried to my mother. “It’s only for the next months; just help the kid out,” my mother said to me after the first day of working with him. This was not my first time doing a community service project, although it was the first time I was doing one for a reason other than my academic transcript (and still, it was only partly by choice). This project was different. All my attention and energy was to be channeled to one child, one child named John Lu, who has Down syndrome. with I vividly remember the first day of working in on pers tic usias John. I was not the most enth dboun with , then the world, kind of a grouch. But lit that smile a with ing energy, John ran toward me Velcro up the whole room. While he played with the s ation hesit my straps on his favorite white sneakers, by ced repla be to about working with him disappeared – only ! heels high ing feelings of terror when I realized I was wear , until suddenly his face turned pale and I spent the next two hours running after John ited on the floor. I distinctly remember green. His face was near my foot when he vom t to escape or evaporate. I could not bear wrinkling my nose and praying for an outle r formed a puddle by my pumps. I remembe the stench of the creamy, frothy vomit that I nd seco The sick. because John was feeling annoyed and disgusted, asking to leave w. pillo my ling came home, I burst into tears, crad it was out of self-pity or shame, or an overI wasn’t really sure why I was crying. Maybe everything at once. I felt bad for John whelming morning of frantic activities, or just lf and didn’t know why. So far, being a when he got sick, but I also felt bad for myse volunteer was nothing like I had expected.

use I was impatient with my younger sister, My mom encouraged me to continue beca thought volunteering with John would help who has attention deficit disorder. My mom r. With her words of encouragement and me become more understanding as a big siste gth, I decided to go back the next Sunday my multiple prayers to God asking for stren and work with John again. SO FAR, BEING A VOLUNTEER WAS NOTHING LIKE I HAD EXPECTED.

JOHN WAS STILL IN LOVE WITH GOD, EVEN THOUGH GOD HAD GIVEN JOHN DOWN SYNDROME.

a different person by the second month. The next month passed quickly, and I felt like that set the stage for a strong relationThere was something about our personalities pendent, and our connection transcendship. We are both amiable, energetic and inde ed the age and disability difference. the other kids in the nursery. He always I noticed that John was more outgoing than by himself, and he listened intently to the tried to get his own chairs and art supplies worship time, John was always in the Bible stories and teachers. When the kids had hand motions. Often, John was better front and prepared to sing along and do the d “normal.” behaved than the children who were considere ay, John could still surprise me. One Even though we played together every Sund cts (one of our favorite lessons), I made day, when we were practicing colors and obje tried saying the name, he called it a a banana out of yellow Play-Doh. When John been larger. “yahlow banabuba.” My smile could not have for the job of working with John. Not only At first, I didn’t think I was the right person have anything in common. I was wrong. was I selfish, but I also thought we would not r. He did not care what other people John was like me, except he was even bette way. He praised God and worshipped with thought and just did his own thing his own doing in public. The pivotal point of working exuberance, something I have a hard time “I love you, Jesus” while he did the hand with John was the first time I heard him say nt because John was still in love with God, motion for it. My heart melted at that insta rome. even though God had given John Down synd me with compassion and love because I learned to view others who are different from rational. During church worship, a group they are the ones who are strong and inspi ys sit in a pew together. I try my best to of kids diagnosed with Down syndrome alwa I now understand them in a way most of sit with them and interact with them because eheartedly, and they don’t care about my friends do not. Those kids praise God whol and innocent and can teach selfish society or its standards. They are pure-hearted people like me how to love. My last day with John was heartbreaking. I had a chance to meet with his parents and to tell them how lucky they are to have John as a son. I hugged John one last time before our departure, and I told him he was the best little boy in the world. I remember crying s when I got home, then kneeling on my knee t. hear of ge chan my for and thanking God ish John will be one of those people I will cher ity mun com the took I ing, forever. After pray service papers and put them through the paper shredder, because I didn’t help John for hours for my college transcript. I helped John because I grew to love him.

www.girlsforachange.org Do you have the tools you need to change your world?

Girls For a Change National Tour September 23 - October 16, 2008 Change Your World Trainings: * San Francisco Bay Area * Phoenix * Baltimore * Richmond * Philadelphia Metro Area * New York City

Girl Action Zones at SEPHORA Stores: * San Francisco * San Jose * Los Angeles * Phoenix * Albuquerque * Dallas

* Memphis * Richmond * Baltimore * Philadelphia * New York City

A PROJECT TO ADD INSIGHT TO THE VIEWFINDER.

Mark Ghali, 22 Des Moines, Iowa Student, Communications and Leadership, Bethel University Who inspires you? My father. Everything he says makes sense and sounds wonderful... and I hate him for it! Coolest place to travel? Egypt. Or Israel. What do you do to keep yourself sane on a hectic day? Blow everything off. I just don’t do anything. Or I would split wood.

Chris Aldrich, 21 Claremont, New Hampshire Student, Physical Education, minor in business

Sarah Kolvenbach, 24 Tuebingen, Germany What you wish you knew before that you know now? I wish I had known myself better when I was younger, I wish I had known what I could do back then and had doubted myself less and had just said yes to more things, had done more things that I was afraid of, because in the end it’s only those fears that hold you back from becoming the person you want to be.

What is your biggest pet peeve? When people scratch the ice on the inside of freezers. And the noise of crunchy snow. What’s your biggest secret? I’m extremely ticklish.

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WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?

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WHAT MAKES YOU LAUGH?

Marc Cabrera, 23 Des Moines, Iowa Trade Sales Rep for Pella Windows What is your absolute favorite past time? Snorkeling in the Dominican Republic. What you love most about yourself? That I can get along with anyone. And my calf muscles.

Annie Nelson, 19 Attidale, Western Australia Student, Primary Education What makes you laugh? Every time someone hurts themselves, I laugh. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s terrible. I try so hard not to laugh, but I canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t. If you could change the world, what would you do? Public toilets. They need paper towels. Paper towels are so much better than hand dryers.

Albrecht Franz, 25 Konstanz, Germany Student, History Coffee? Tea? Favorite drink? I am a creature of HabitTea in the morning, coffee after lunch and milk in the evening. Favorite way to spend a free afternoon? Because I am absolutely unable to relax, a perfect free afternoon is ... filled with some kind of mental or physical activity: rock climbing, swimming, reading, collecting some ideas for the actual project, cooking with friends - more or less this sequence.

Jaclyn Hallstrom, 22 Los Angeles, CA Film Producer What is your biggest secret? I was named after one of the Charlieâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Angels, Jaclyn Smith. What do you do in your spare time? Sometimes I have so many ideas of what to do, I get overwhelmed and do nothing. What changes do you wish to see in the world? More humility, less pride. More love, less hate. More trust, less fear or paranoia. How do you celebrate womanhood? By trying to be a role model to girls. The film industry does not have a lot of women in top roles and I want to encourage women that they are capable to make it to the top, despite gender.

Anna Zaros, 22 Huntersville, NC St. Joseph Worker What is your biggest secret? I really want a goat as a pet. And a baby duck. It started because I really like goat cheese, and I just thought that if I had a goat, I would love my goat and I would love my cheese and everything in the world would be happy.

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Marc Christian Williams, 23 Port-Au-Prince, Haiti Screenwriter

WHAT MAKES YOU COME ALIVE?

What makes you come alive? The light in people’s eyes. Seeing acts of selfless love when people don’t know they are being watched. Instrumental scores from films. What changes do you wish to see in the world? Forgiveness. Imagine, if in one instant, the entire world forgave every wrong and every debt. We would not even recognize this world. Everyone and everything given a new start, in the blink of an eye.

Erica Robinet, 20 Nashville, TN Music Business Student What is your biggest pet peeve? Wet socks. Coolest place to travel to? New Orleans. What do you love most about yourself? I’m confident in knowing what’s right for me.

Jessica Morrison, 22 (soon do be 23 eek) Australia Office Admin/Office Cleaner What is the best piece of advice you’ve ever been given? If I wake up each day with purpose and direction, I can go to bed every day feeling fulfilled and satisfied. When do you feel most beautiful? After I blow-dry my hair. Rare occasion as I can never really be bothered. But its all bouncy and pretty when I do. That makes me feel beautiful. If you could be anything or anyone in the world . . . what? Id want to be a ladybug. They get to lay on flowers all day. Other animals don’t like to eat them because they taste disgusting (Not that I have tried, only read).

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WHAT IS THE BEST PIECE OF ADVICE YOU’VE EVER BEEN GIVEN?

Susan Rae Iaizzo, 49 Norway Hairdresser What makes you laugh? Anything that makes my heart smile is a good thing! A good laugh is better than a strong cup of coffee sometimes.

Carlos Merino Maestre, 30 Malaga, Spain Illustrator/Graphic Designer What you wish you knew before that you do know now? Don’t ever complain for being who you are. Why is art important to you? Art is a vehicle of expression and communication. As some have said, the biggest aspiration of art is to heal...

Marcus Teo, 24 Perth, Western Australia Student, Corporate finance University of Western Australia What is the best piece of advice you’ve ever been given? Don’t compare the worth of what you’re doing in your life to what others are doing. What do you do to stay sane on a hectic day? I just unravel into a heap of insanity. I don’t do anything to help the situation, I bust through and worry about picking up the pieces at a later date.

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WHEN DO YOU FEEL MOST BEAUTIFUL?

Caroline Putzke, 25 Tuebingen, Germany Student, Media Science What is the best piece of advice you’ve ever been given? You will be more disappointed about the things you haven’t done than about the things you have done.

Erika Erlandson, 21 Lakewood, CO Student, Package and Engineering with an emphasis in Graphic Design at University of Wisconsin-Stout What do you like most about yourself? That I take chances, but responsibly. Thinking things through so I know what could be the outcome of a situation but still take that chance. Also I am open minded. When do you feel most beautiful? Naked!!!! Its natural and beautiful.

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C Finding the Balance: A Young Woman’s Voice in Politics article by maggie gordon photography by megan wall

The first Tuesday after the first Monday in November is Election Day, the culmination of years of campaigning and an event that will decide the direction of the nation’s politics for the next four years. It’s also “90210” night on The CW. Lounging on the couch, munching a bowl of popcorn while tuning in to see if Annie and Ethan will finally get together can seem like a great way to relax after a long day of school or work. And once the sweatpants, big socks and messy pony tail are in place, leaving the confines of a private living room can seem like the worst idea since Tori Spelling’s removal from the cast list. Choosing whether to push a button on the remote or pull a lever in the voting booth can be a tough decision, especially if voters don’t feel comfortable enough with the issues. And as young voters, finding that comfort zone with politics can be a daunting task. In a society that features Lindsay Lohan on the evening news and Barack Obama on the cover of Rolling Stone, learning about candidates’ issue platforms can be challenging. Opting to watch campaign coverage instead of the latest installment of “Gossip Girl” can sometimes feel like choosing broccoli over ice cream. But there is a way, and young women are proving so.

Alexandra Acker of the Young Democrats of America says women are more likely to abstain from voting all together if they don’t feel well enough versed in the election. “Women are very thoughtful,” she says. “They like to gather their information and do their research, whereas men tend to shoot from the hip a bit more.” “I think you can be intelligent, politically engaged and absolutely obsessed with ‘The Hills,’” says Robert Thompson, the founding director of the Bleier Center for Television and Popular Culture at Syracuse University. There are a lot of women voraciously consuming the gossip-oriented magazines found in supermarket aisles, Thompson says. “But I don’t think it’s at the expense of women being politically engaged.” There are about 21.8 million American women between the ages of 18 and 29 who are eligible to vote this November, according to Rock the Vote. With 69 percent of that age group saying they are likely to vote in the presidential election, and almost half saying they are very likely to do so, according to the Young Democrats of America, it is “very likely” that about 10 million young women will vote in the presidential election.

Ten million voters is a significant number in any election, their favorite magazines and other entertainment news but especially this one, considering the narrow margin of outlets. Incidentally, sometimes they are also getting a victory in the most recent Presidential elections. In 2004, dose of politics in their reading, however light this dose about 126 million voters participated in the Presidential might be. election, according to the U.S. Census Bureau. Ten million young women, then, would make up about 8 percent of The young women on the covers of check-out aisle magthe national voting block; and with the candidates con- azines are also getting involved in the political process. sistently polling at neck-and-neck numbers, 8 percent The Web site Polichicks Online (http://www.polichicks. net) features celebrity-inspired could heavily influence the 2008 YOUNG WOMEN TODAY CAN GET INVOLVED political stories every day. election. From pictures of “The Hills’” MORE EASILY THAN THEIR MOTHERS, Today, Rock the Vote lists jobs AUNTS AND OLDER SISTERS EVER HAD THE Heidi Montag being chummy and the economy as the top with John McCain’s daughOPPORTUNITY TO DO. ter Meghan, to blurbs about issues for women. Health care, education and college costs, and the Iraq war follow Scarlett Johansson’s self-identification as a Democrat and Lauren Conrad’s enthusiasm toward the Republican Party, respectively. the site mixes the broccoli and ice cream, creating a more “The economy is a huge youth issue,” says Thompson. balanced meal for readers. “Kids are emerging from college very in debt, going into jobs with low salaries, less security and probably moving “Most political sites have a masculine presentation and target men,” says Megan Cosby, who launched Polichicks around a lot.” in July 2007. “So I decided to start a political Web site According to the Web site for the non-partisan, nonprof- that gives smart, brief and entertaining political updates it organization Campus Progress, “the average student that women want to read. today graduates with debt twice that of graduates a decade ago and enters a job market where the average From fashion magazines to the television screen to Web job pays them less than it would have in 2000.” sites like Polichicks and political blogging sites – which originally made a splash with Howard Dean in the 2004 As wages get lower, recent graduates catch a glimpse presidential election, American youth have the issues and of the charmed life by flipping through the pages of

candidates at their fingertips more than any other generation. AIM has even come out with a new AIMBot – those automated friends that show up on your buddy list – called “voteredorblue.” The Bot will update you on the latest campaign news as you chat with other friends. While the broccoli and ice cream formula of “infotainment” can be a great way for young readers to splash a taste of politics into their daily menu, sites like Polichicks and gadgets like AIMBots don’t offer extensive political news. They are a dietary supplement at best, not a wholesome, hearty meal. “Online tools are revolutionizing politics,” says Acker of the Young Democrats. Other tools like text messages reminding receivers to participate in a primary or watch a debate help too, she says. Young women get information about the upcoming election from a variety of sources, ranging from the silly to the serious, including seeing John McCain on “Saturday Night Live’s Weekend Update,” watching the debates on YouTube or tuning into MSNBC for traditional political coverage. “[Celebrity gossip] is what people think they want, and that’s what we give them,” says Acker. “And I don’t think we need to pander like that. If we treat young women seriously, they’ll treat politics seriously.”

Some young women will actively seek out information, while others benefit from passive means like AIMBots and text messages. Genevieve Tabios, an eighteen-year-old from New Jersey, lists “Cash Cab” and “Scrubs” as two of her favorite television programs, but rounds out her list with a mix of CNN and Fox News. “I think more than ever, young people have been involved in the election, allowing stereotypes to break down,” Tabios says. The issues at the top of her priority list are currently the environment – including gas prices and possible off-shore drilling – and human rights issues such as the genocide in Darfur. Young women today can get involved more easily than their mothers, aunts and older sisters ever had the opportunity to do. With organizations such as the Young Republican National Federation, the Young Democrats of America and the League of Women Voters, plus easy accessibility through the Internet, getting politically informed and connected takes nothing more than a surge of passion and a click of the mouse. For the 69 percent of young women “likely” to vote in this election, it will take an additional tug of a lever – one simple action that could transform this nation’s future. All it takes is the willingness to use other forms of new technology – TiVo or DVR – to save 90210 for later.

No nTra d

l a n ti io

HERE ARE SOME TRADITIONAL AND NONTRADITIONAL WAYS TO GET YOUR POLITICAL INFORMATION THIS ELECTION SEASON. DON’T EXPECT TO GET EVERYTHING FROM ONE SOURCE, THOUGH. A TRUE, BALANCED POLITICAL DIET COMES FROM READING, VIEWING AND INTERACTING WITH A VARIETY OF MEDIA OUTLETS.

MySpace.com The campaigns for Obama/Biden and McCain/Palin each have their own pages, where you can get to know a little more about the candidates and become a public supporter.

Weekend Update The Saturday Night Live news broadcast makes it worth staying in on the weekend.

Text messaging

Barack Obama used this method to announce his vice presidential candidate in August. He also reminds voters to tune into debates, and head to the polls via text.

Polichicks.net Check out this Web site to see your favorite stars making a splash in the political realm.

TRADIT Young Republican National Federation Sign up to learn more and get involved with America’s young Republicans at www.yrnf.com.

Rock the Vote

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Find out about concerts and voter registration drives sponsored by the youthaimed organization. They also have great information about events and volunteer opportunities on their Web site, www.rockthevote.com.

The presidential election won’t be the only race to affect your life this season. Be sure to stay informed about city and state races by reading your area paper each day.

Newsweek

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Politico.com

It’s one of America’s most trusted news magazines. As a weekly publication, it is timely and offers in depth reports about current events.

Never underestimate how much you can learn from half an hour with Katie Couric (or even her male counterparts on the other networks).

This Web site is all politics all the time, and it does a great job of showcasing stories from both sides of the political spectrum.

Facebook.com Both campaigns have fan pages here, where you can stay up to date with their latest moves and announce your position as a supporter of your favorite candidate (which is then listed on your personal profile page).

The Colbert Report & The Daily Show Stay tuned to www.indecision2008.com to hear all of the election hilarity.

The Y Factor League of First Time Voters

TIONAL

CNN’s program targeted at youth voters examines issues of relevance to the millennial generation. Check it out on CNN, or at www.cnn.com

Young Democrats of America Sign up to learn more and get involved with America’s young Democrats at www.yda.org.

Polihood.com “A neighborhood for political action,” this site gives young people a taste of both parties with local and national coverage. You can even become a member of the neighborhood and create your own political groups, after you have a look at who’s up for re-election in your state’s senator race.

Fox News’ special featured young voters and the issues they deem important. Read more about it on www. foxnews.com.

AIMBots

These friends will appear automatically on your Buddy List to keep you up to date. IM “voteredorblue” for political snippets.

The New York Times The paper’s political blog “The Caucus,” (thecaucus.blogs.nytimes.com/) offers great insights. But remember, it is opinion, not news.

The Drudge Report Don’t expect pretty pictures and artistic layouts. Do expect to be inundated with information at www.drudgereport.com

Meet The Press

League of Women Voters

It’s not just for Sunday mornings any more. The show’s Web site (www.msnbc.msn.com/id/3032608/) is now home to podcasts, too.

With chapters all over the country, this organization is here to provide you with information and help you feel empowered. Call your local chapter or visit www.lwv.org.

M story by keri maxon

Walking towards the doors of the seminary building on our campus that night, I was more than a little excited. I watched as Jake propped his foot on the door handle and launched himself up to where he could get a grip on the roof’s edge. From there, he pulled himself on to the top in a single move. My strong leader only took seconds to recover before he leaned over the ledge and held his hand out for me. Now it was my turn. I quickly learned that this was going to be harder than it looked. After my third sweaty attempt, I made it from the door handle to a windowsill, finally heaving myself onto the roof. I was tired and shaky, but thrilled: The games had just begun.

wasn’t exactly legal… or safe” before shushing me up or bombarding me with consequences that “could have” happened. You see, these people are either favorite professors of mine, adults I work with at my church or parents I baby-sit for (usually faculty at the small Christian college I attend). It is difficult for them to hear that I find other things to do that are more dangerous than planning Sunday school lessons, studying or reading my Bible. I was enjoying these things, and still do, but when I discovered that a select few of my fellow students spent their nights climbing the outside of buildings around my school’s campus, I was definitely up for the challenge.

I get a couple of different reactions when I tell people this story. If they are friends, they usually shake their heads incredulously and say “Only you, Keri.” But these other acquaintances of mine think I have turned to the dark side, and will only let me get so far as saying “Well, it

My chance came when I learned that my friend Jake was a member of this elite group. Not just anybody can go and scale one of these buildings without knowing the right people. You need someone to show you the ropes: where on the building you should start the climb, what times the

campus safety officers make their rounds and which buildings you should avoid altogether. Jake believed I earned the opportunity to get this valuable information, after I beat him in a tree-climbing contest one fall afternoon. “I’m impressed,” he said, from his perch on a branch a few feet below me, “Have you ever climbed buildings?” Always excited for new adventures, I was eager to try. Even from our treetop, the school’s library loomed above us, looked down on us, practically begged us to come up and play. Jake and I met up to climb the very next evening. We met at midnight, for both dramatic and practical purposes. We were dressed completely in black so we would not be noticed, for it was extremely important that we were not caught. People have been fined by our school, faced suspension or even had legal action taken against them. Legend has it that one group of former students were spotted by campus safety when they were on a roof, but refused to get down. So then police were called, and they surrounded the building and brought ladders to climb up and get the students! Building climbing is not a sport for the weak and meek. We knew the dangers that being caught entailed, but that just added to the adventure. Sneaking around was not too challenging on our quiet campus that night – the hardest part for me was learning how to rely on someone else. As a pretty avid tree climber, the thinning branches near the tops of trees require one to go it alone. But climbing buildings that night, I learned to accept a boost from Jake, or trust that if I jumped up his hand would be there. This proved to be a vital lesson as we moved on to bigger and better buildings. Our good Christian souls wandered over to a church that is right along the edge of campus. I did say a little prayer as we snuck over to the building, wondering how we could make it to the top without divine intervention. It looked impossible to me, with the smooth walls and

roof stretching up for what seemed like miles in the dark. This turned out to be one of the most fun structures we climbed. We had to shimmy up a drainpipe, almost do the splits in mid-air to find the only foothold on the wall, and then jump up and grab a little ladder that took us all the way to the roof. The pipe was cold metal, and dangerously wet with dew that evening. I slipped once and fell to the ground, but luckily it was only a seven-foot fall into a bush. Still, it made me wary of the dangers this climbing escapade could lead to. I forgot all about my fall though when I finally got to the roof and was leaning against the steeple. Jake and I looked at the stars as we rested for our final climb, and talked about how amazing it was to defy rules (of both our school, and gravity) and sit on top of the world for a night. Our last challenge was the one I was looking forward to most – to sit on the top peak of our school’s library. It is one of the tallest buildings on campus, and, as I soon found out, one of the hardest to scale. We had to start by climbing up a series of huge windows. They were taller than I could reach, so I would have to balance precariously on one sill before jumping up to cling to the next one above me. I was exhausted after that stretch, lying flat on one section of roof and stretching out my fingers that had begun to cramp up. The roof slanted from here on up, so it was only a matter of scrambling up the slippery shingles before we were at the very top. The very top, of our four-story library mountain! Jake and I were perched on the peak like gargoyles, surveying the land. We could see all over campus, some of the city, tops of trees and even people walking on the street below us. The view was definitely worth the risk. We were in high spirits as we slid down the roof, bypassing the dreaded windowsill climb for a long drop to the ground. We were chattering excitedly about our accomplishment as we walked back to my house until we spotted two campus safety officers coming towards us on the sidewalk. Jake whipped his black hat off his head so he didn’t look so much like a guilty black ninja. With my hands still shaking from the effort of climbing, I quickly unzipped my dark sweatshirt so my white (the color of innocence) shirt showed underneath. We smiled timidly at them and said hello as they passed, but grinned wildly behind their backs, silently praising one another for our lucky escape.

story and photo provided by ashley devecht Our lips were millimeters away. Jeff’s hands wrapped around my waist, and I ran my fingers through his hair. I could feel his hot breath as it wisped across my lips. But I didn’t feel sexy or loved. I felt awkward. I had never actually done this with a guy before. I had never straddled a guy and stared “deep into his eyes.” Sure my boyfriend and I had kissed, but there certainly weren’t sexual undertones like the kind this moment implied. Just wrap up the shot, Ashley, I told myself, you’re only acting. I tried to imagine myself in a heated moment as the photographer instructed me to draw closer to Jeff, to arch my back or place my hands on his face. I’m sure my face blushed as Jeff told irritating jokes laced with sexual innuendos. It was hard to concentrate when my thoughts were constantly focused on the consequences of doing a photo shoot like this one. Sure, I was fully clothed. I even told Jeff, the Abercrombie model I was partnered with, that I was dating someone, hoping he wouldn’t hit on me. But it was hard to imagine how my friends or grandparents would react to this photo on display in a store window.

I’ve been a model since 8th grade when I won a local contest and was featured in a Meijer clothing ad. Who would have guessed that I would be signed by the top modeling agency in Chicago and work with companies like Kohl’s, Carson’s, and Claire’s? Growing up, I was what most would consider an “ugly duckling.” I was tall and gangly. My hair was often disheveled, and my clothes were hand-me-downs from the neighbor girls. I had an awful pair of buck teeth. It wasn’t until high school that the boys began to catch up to my outrageous height and that I finally learned the meaning of good hygiene. But still, I was by no means model material. I was not sexy. In fact, I still hadn’t been asked on my first date when I entered my senior year. I was proportionate, but not thin according to model standards. Most unconventional of all: I am a Christian. I thought long and hard when I was first signed by a Chicago modeling agency. Was modeling – basically selling my outer appearance – against my moral upbringing? My parents seemed to approve; they encouraged me to try out for model searches and interviews with local talent agencies. Times were tough, and my parents knew modeling could be a great way to raise money for college. There were restrictions, however. “If you ever get a big head about this, you’re done,” my mom would routinely tell me. “I don’t care how much money you’re making, I’ll pull you out in a second,” snapping her fingers for emphasis. Despite my parents’ strict rules and watchful eyes, family and friends often lectured me about the dangers of modeling. “Now, Ashley,” my grandmother would say, trying to intimidate me by bulging her eyes. “I don’t want to see you in the Victoria’s Secret ad.” Clearly her vision was going bad. I was barely a size B cup – not exactly Victoria’s Secret material. But she had a point: Modesty was important. I already had that covered; my personal commitment was to not do anything that I’d be ashamed

I WAS PROPORTIONATE, BUT NOT THIN ACCORDING TO MODEL STANDARDS.

THE WAY I SEE IT, WE’RE ALL MODELS.

to show my children some day. Besides, I knew my parents would not let me wear any less clothing than I might wear to the beach. Even strangers thought it was their business to make sure I was being careful. When I interviewed at a local restaurant for a hostess position, the manager asked about my employment history. I told him I was also working as a model to earn money for college. “You have to be careful in an industry like that, you know,” he warned me. “My nephew once ended up half naked in a catalog.” On some levels he was right. There were times when photographers wanted to put me in revealing outfits or suggestive poses. I make it clear to my booker that those kinds of photos are inappropriate for my portfolio. But I think those tough situations give me a stronger sense of who I am and instilled a passion in me for changing the way women are seen in advertising and the media. Can I, as only one girl, really change the entire modeling industry? Maybe not. But I do think that I can change people’s lives, and those people can change companies, and companies can change an industry. I often get comments from photographers like, “Your smile is so inviting.” Or sometimes they say, “Your eyes just sparkle.” And occasionally, make-up artists will compliment my positive attitude. Whenever they ask, I am thrilled to tell them how my faith gives purpose to my life and a reason for being a part of the modeling industry. The way I see it, we’re all models. Each of us is an example of God’s captivating beauty, and we are all called to model God’s love to those around us. During my seven years working in the modeling industry, I’ve learned a lot. I’ve learned that models don’t get to keep the clothes, that an entire team needs hours to make models look that good, and that models are generally pretty normal. But most importantly I’ve learned that no dream is too far fetched, and everyone has the ability to impact her corner of the world – even if it is one person at a time.

snacking for your study style

article by carina finn photography by kimberly halverson

It’s 1 a.m., and you’ve been working on the same paper since classes ended this afternoon. There are still 10 pages left to write, plus you have a test in the morning that you haven’t studied for. The only way to cope, it seems, is to head to the nearest conve-

nience store and stock up on snacks to keep you going until the sun comes up. Red Bull and Oreos could leave you feeling worse than before, so check out these ideas to satisfy your appetite and keep you focused while not sacrificing your flair for flavor.

For the multi-tasker: Instead of cracking open a canned energy drink, try vitamin water. Most carbonated drinks have a dehydrating effect that leaves you jittery after they wear off, but vitamin water has, well… vitamins and water – essential to both staying awake and feeling ready for class the next day. Plus, they come in 15 purpose-specific flavors such as “Power” (dragon fruit), “Energy” (tropical citrus) and “Revive” (fruit punch). Herbal tea is a great alternative to coffee. Tazo’s “Wild Sweet Orange” and “Passion” teas are naturally sweet and known for their invigorating qualities. Green tea speeds up the metabolism and increases stamina, and tastes great alone or sweetened with honey.

For the night owl: When it’s 3 a.m. and 10 pages of a paper left to go, a Snickers bar might seem like the most comforting thing on the planet. Fight the temptation! You can satisfy a chocolate craving and avoid a major sugar crash. Hershey makes 100-calorie wafer bar remixes of Reese’s and York Peppermint Patties, as well as trail mix packs in milk chocolate flavors. If chocolate isn’t your thing, fruit snacks are a great alternative – many varieties actually contain real fruit. That being said, actual fruit is also a great late-night option. Apple slices with peanut butter make a great combination with an added protein boost, and many grocery stores sell pre-cut apples with singleserving cups of peanut butter in the produce section. Pomegranate seeds make great munchies, and bananas are loaded with protein and potassium. For the organic nibbler: Raw, unsalted nuts are high in protein and are some of nature’s best brain foods. Getting a little extra protein is one of the best ways to boost endurance, so it’s a good idea to keep a small tin of nuts near your desk. While everyone else is filling up on greasy potato chips, break out some soy crisps and rice cakes. They provide the same crunchy satisfaction as chips and come in lots of varieties, from old favorites like barbeque or sour cream and onion to gourmet flavors like olive oil and feta.

For the group studier: Baked tortilla chips and chunky salsa are healthy, full of flavor and made for sharing. Fresh veggies with light dip are also a great option, and the crunch factor can help keep you awake. Frozen mini spring rolls and pizza bagels, which can be cooked quickly and easily in a microwave, are also good if you exercise portion control. Make the whole box and share it with a few friends – you’ll be sure to get just the right amount!

Z THAT MOMENT

MEGAN WALL &

A setting, a scene, a smile. When we found these extraordinary photographs by Kimberly Halverson and Megan Wall, we were struck by their emotion-stirring depictions of real people in real places. Although the artists have never met, both series showcase similar themes â&#x20AC;&#x201C; one set in Romania, and one set in the American Midwest, reminding us that, across the miles, the interaction of humans and the structures they build are always more complex than what we may find at first glance.

KIMBERLY HALVERSON

Two summers ago I went to Romania for a mission trip to work in an orphanage. In this photo series, I tried to capture a contrast of simplicity and complexity that I noticed in the places I visited. Some buildings and piatas [public squares] have very beautiful and detailed architecture, while other buildings are plain and ordinary. However, even more compelling to me are the people, and how their presence, when combined with the contrasting structures, weave a fascinating story.

MEGAN

I love color. I love movement. I love beauty, and its presence in the capturing of a transitory moment. When I look at a photograph, its success lies in whether or not it stirs up my emotions. Thus, with every shot, I aspire to make you feel.

KIMBERLY

N article by emily byers-ferrian pastels by jordan kammer

He pulled her. He pushed her down. She told him to stop, but he pinned her wrists to the bed... “Turn it off!... Turn it off, I don’t like it. Just turn it off!” “Emily, it’s a movie.” “I don’t care, just turn it off. I’m done.” My boyfriend and I had decided on the film “Yo soy la Juani.” We had stopped at the corner convenience store on the way home and picked up two Cokes and a bag of microwave popcorn. We had gotten 15 minutes into the movie, and I was done.

KIND OF JUVENILE, I KNOW. I WAS BASICALLY PROPOSING, “LET’S MAKE A GIRLS’ CLUBHOUSE, AND PAINT A SIGN ON THE DOOR: NO BOYS ALLOWED.”

I can’t watch that kind of stuff. It makes me feel sick. A kind of angry sick that starts in my stomach, spreads deep into my chest... I can try to tell myself it’s just a movie. Right. It’s just a movie. It’s not real. But is that true? The evening news: A woman was killed by her boyfriend in their apartment. After he killed her, he shot himself. Neighbors had heard some shouting. “They had always seemed like a happy couple,” says an elderly neighbor. She stands in the apartment building hallway, robe wrapped around her pajamas. “No one ever would have thought.” Cameraman zooms in on a blood-smudged wall. “Change the channel. Please, just change the channel.” Sometimes I really hate men. “I think women should all move to an island where men aren’t allowed. Men can only come back once they have learned how to treat women well.” “Ok,” my boyfriend responds, “you let me know when I can come over.”

But that is a myth.

Kind of juvenile, I know. I was basically proposing, “let’s make a girls’ clubhouse, and paint a sign on the door: No boys allowed.” But sometimes I can’t help but think the world would be a much safer, more peaceful place if there were only women.

A couple weeks ago, I sat down to talk with María de la Cruz. Since last January, she’s been working at Casa de Esperanza, a nonprofit organization located in St. Paul, Minnesota, which works with the Latino community to bring an end to domestic violence.

MANY DOMESTIC VIOLENCE ORGANIZATIONS JUST FOCUS ON THE WOMEN AND THE CHILDREN, BUT CASA SEEKS TO ENGAGE MEN AS WELL – THE WHOLE COMMUNITY.

“I have a family history of this,” she admits to me. “A lot of us here at Casa de Esperanza have experience with violence. It’s what drives us all to be here.” María’s sister is a survivor of domestic violence. “It took my sister a really long time to learn that she is lovable and of worth again,” María shares with me. It’s those emotional scars that take the longest to heal.

I was expecting to hear accounts of battered women arriving at Casa de Esperanza’s Refugio seeking shelter and safety from the men in their lives. María told me the story of one woman who had come all the way from Texas to seek help and support at Casa de Esperanza in Minnesota. This woman had had to gather up her children and leave the violent situation at home. Today, she works for Casa de Esperanza. “Casa just did so much for me,” she repeats often. This was the kind of story I was prepared to hear. However, later in our conversation, María pauses and points to a film poster leaning against the wall which reads: “My Girlfriend Did It.” “Domestic violence is thought to be a heterosexual phenomenon,” María tells me. “There’s that gender conflict which we assume only happens in heterosexual relationships.” Nevertheless those same struggles for power and dominance which fuel domestic violence occur in both heterosexual and same sex relationships. “This is for you,” María says as she passes me a DVD copy of the movie. Casa de Esperanza first produced the film back in 1995 and then re-launched it in 2008 to address the issue of domestic violence within the Lesbian community. “Through talking with women we found that there was and still is a strong need for this film,” María explains. It’s a face of domestic violence that many people don’t even know about. Casa de Esperanza is one of the few domestic violence organizations that recognizes and provides services for women in same sex relationships experiencing violence. Why had I never heard about this before? María explains that it’s difficult for Lesbians to admit that they experience violence within their community, especially because a fundamental part of their identities as

Lesbians is the fact that they escape those gender issues that continue to encumber heterosexual relationships. I took the film home, and I watched it that same night. My woman-only island would not necessarily be the safe paradise I had envisioned. “I think a lot of us come out and want to believe that we have left this problem of relationship violence behind,” admits Beth Zemsky, one of the women interviewed in the film. “[We want to believe] that relationship violence is about men, that we are now in the lesbian utopia, and that we are now in this all-women environment and we can feel safe... men are the bad guys and women are the good guys.” Zemsky explains that recognizing lesbian battering shatters that idea of utopia... Tell me about it. The film describes the case of Debra Reynolds who died on June 1, 1994 in Port Arthur, Texas. An eyewitness recalls, “I [was] thinking this was a man beatin’ on a woman, and I said to my friend look at that man beatin’ on a woman in that car...” Witnesses on the street could hear Debra and her partner arguing in their truck. Then the passenger door opened and Debra “came flying out of the moving truck and landed on the road.” As I watched, that familiar angry sick feeling began to pierce my stomach and swell into my chest. I considered turning the video off for now. Maybe I’ll come back to it later. However, this time I chose not to turn away; I continued watching.

When the film drew to a close, I realized something. I understood that it was not the men that I hated. I don’t hate men. Rather, it is the violence I hate. I remember María had mentioned to me before I left that day that the only way there will be an end to domestic violence is if whole communities work together. “Many domestic violence organizations just focus on the women and the children,” María told me – (hmm, harks back to my girls’ clubhouse), “but Casa seeks to engage men as well – the whole community.” If there is going to be an end to domestic violence, we have to address perpetrators as well as victims, and we have to be aware of the violence that can occur in all communities. Casa de Esperanza is not going to end domestic violence on its own. “I think that’s a pretty profound way of looking at the work we do,” María admits. “I think a lot of organizations hope to make a dent in it or do a lot to end it, but for us, we really believe in the strength of the community to end violence.” There is no “Herland” that we can run away to – it doesn’t exist, it could never exist, and in any case, we don’t need it. We’re all here together, and as organizations like Casa de Esperanza are proving by example, we have the opportunity to come together as a community and work for an end to domestic violence.

story and photo provided by vicki fourie illustration by amber regan Think of Hollywood’s “I Dreamed of Africa” and “Blood Diamond” with Leonardo DiCaprio – minus the violence, killing and destroying. What you get are mosquito nets, long palm trees, wearing khaki clothes and having a wonderful tan. No wonder we think of Africa (or more specifically, South Africa) differently than what it really is. The first time I set foot on American soil was in 2006, when I was 17 years old. As I became acquainted with Americans, I was overwhelmed with the following questions every time I revealed my nationality: “Do you ride bareback on elephants when you go to school?” “Why aren’t you black? I thought all the people in Africa are black?”

“Do you know Nelson Mandela? Have you ever met him?” The more I talked to Americans in New York, Washington D.C. and Virginia, the more I realized something: people have many misconceptions of my country. I don’t blame them. I don’t blame myself either. Truth be told, I never HOLLYWOOD’S VERSION OF LIFE IN SOUTH AFRICA IS A STARK CONTRAST TO WHAT IT REALLY IS LIKE FOR ME. realized South Africa was part of Africa until I looked at the map during geography study one day. I must’ve been about 11 years old. However, I know this truth: Hollywood’s version of life in South Africa is a stark contrast to what it really is like for me, a young woman, who has lived her whole life in Africa.

A Rainbow Nation Africa is wonderfully mixed when it comes to different races and cultures. In South Africa alone, there are 11 official languages. English is the most commonly used language – in terms of movies, magazines, advertisements, games, etc. But it is only the fifth most spoken language in the home. Most people speak Zulu, Xhosa or, in my case, Afrikaans, which is a Dutch dialect. This brings me to why we are fondly called “The Rainbow Nation.” There is such a wide variety of different races living together. There are the Indians, the Chinese, the Colored (a mixture of black and white genes), the Afrikaners and the British people, to name a few. Then there are the Zulus and the Xhosas, who are truly Africans by origin. Recent statistics have shown that in Johannesburg, one of the country’s major cities, more than two-thirds of the city’s inhabitants are not South Africans. Although there have been differences and strife amongst the cultures from time to time, there have also been

wonderful, worthy lessons learned from each other. For instance, the black people have a strong sense of community and share everything they have. When they get a sack of potatoes, they will invite the whole neighborhood to come and eat over at their house. On the other hand, the white people will not invite the neighborhood. Instead they will only eat a few potatoes a day so that there will be enough food for their immediate family for the whole week. That is something the black people have learned from the white people: like sharing, preparing A KOEKSISTER ALMOST TASTES LIKE A BOW TIE AND LOOKS LIKE ONE TOO. IMAGINE ONE PAIR OF LITTLE LEGS THAT’S AS LONG AS YOUR FINGERS. and planning ahead is also a good thing. In this way we have been learning from each other’s beliefs and cultures. We have been growing and stretching our characters and point of view in every area and aspect of our lives.

From Koeksisters To Biltong There is a strong spirit of entrepreneurship amongst the South Africans. We are unique and think outside the box. We are creative and imaginative. We think wild!

THIS SITUATION IS PRETTY MUCH A GIVE-AND-KEEP-ON-GIVING SITUATION, NOT A GIVE-AND-GET SITUATION.

This thoroughly explains why we invented and established crazy foods like koeksisters, biltong, and droë wors. My mouth waters just writing about it.

There has been a lot of debate in the past about whether the high crime rate is the government’s fault. All I know is that almost 50 percent of South Africa’s people struggle to find permanent jobs due to overpopulation. This usually leads to desperate measures, which lead to desperate acts, thus resulting in crime.

A koeksister almost tastes like a bow tie and looks like one too. Imagine one pair of little legs that’s as long as your fingers. Those little legs are twisted and folded together and then dipped in honey and sugar. A koeksister is messy to eat, since the honey and sugar that it is dipped in drips on your fingers and hands. I always have to go and wash my hands afterwards. After you’ve finished eating it, it’s stuck in your teeth because it is very sticky. Biltong and droë wors are cut-up pieces of meat that are dried out and then dipped in spicy flavors like vinegar and barbeque sauce. When the meat is dried out and hard, it is ready to eat. Biltong is a favorite amongst the locals because it is a healthy alternative to sweets. All Things Wild Here is something South Africa lacks: clear, safe roads. We’ve got so many potholes and pedestrians that it’s a jungle just trying to get to work! The South Africans have been complaining about the roads for quite some time. Some guys are so fed up that they buy their own cement and fill up the potholes themselves. It’s very funny seeing them doing someone else’s job. At about 7 p.m. at night, most people are at home already. With the crime rates that have skyrocketed the last few years, it is risky to go out alone in the evening; it is much safer to go in groups. In America, everything seemed much safer. The first time I went to Wal-Mart, I walked through the parking lot, and my friend commented, “Wow, Vicki. Look at this car: its windows are open!” I looked in her direction, and sure enough, they were open. That’s something you’ll never find in South Africa. All women clutch their purses tightly against their bodies, and mostly everyone double-checks their doors at night to see if they are locked.

Refugees from poorer neighbouring countries (Mozambique, Zimbabwe, Malawi, etc.) come to South Africa daily. That is why there is such an overpopulation and lack of jobs. South Africa has been trying to help her neighbouring countries so that South Africa itself won’t suffer. For instance, we’ve been giving them free electricity, but this results in us having too little electricity and having many power outages. This situation is pretty much a give-andkeep-on-giving situation, not a give-and-get situation. All Things Wonderful On a lighter note: you might have heard of our wonderful game ranches and safari rides. We’ve got plenty of that, for we’ve been blessed with an abundant variety of animals and game. It’s quite common for families with big ranches to have lions or cheetahs for pets. My uncle Botha loves wild animals so much that he has a collection of 40 lions (some tame, some not so tame), a few cheetahs and about three wild cats on his farm, Bagamoja (which means ‘Shelter of the Lions’) located in Bloemfontein, in the Free State. He has also added two tigers and one white lion to his collection of pride. I love living here in South Africa! I have a life full of opportunities and challenges. I’m a young woman in South Africa with wild and wonderful dreams.

I story by ali thompson illustration by karissa wagner

When someone says the words “beauty pageant,” I think of super-skinny women wearing flashy swimsuits, 5-inch heels and a painful-to-hold smile. For a group of 18 young women from Angola, however, a pageant was their chance to campaign for natural beauty, the kind that comes from within. The women who participated in the first-ever Miss Landmine pageant this past April aren’t your average pageant performers, though. They have all been maimed by landmines left over from the country’s civil war, which lasted from 1975 to 2002. Most of them were injured as young children going about daily chores and fetching water from other towns. As a result of their disfigured bodies, the Angolan government refused to acknowledge them as citizens, let alone provide them with sufficient monetary and medical aide. Yet when no one else would consider women with ill-fitting artificial limbs attractive, one man chose to admire their beauty and dignity. Morten Traavik, a Norwegian theater performer and director, visited Angola in 2003 and quickly discovered the vast tragedy of landmine victims across the country. NO ONE WOULD CONSIDER WOMEN WITH ILL-FITTING ARTIFICIAL LIMBS ATTRACTIVE... However, he looked past the amputated limbs and saw that these young women carried themselves well and in high spirits. In tune with the Angolan love of pageants, Traavik found the perfect way to showcase these victims – no, survivors – and their strength. As the Miss Landmine 2008 director, Traavik aimed to move past the sexed-up, superficial commercialism that so often defines beauty in Western cultures. He created the Miss Landmine pageant as an opportunity to create ambassadors for empowering disabled African women and to promote awareness of landmine survivors that was well overdue.

Because an event honoring those with physical defects doesn’t qualify as a “beauty” contest to society at large, Traavik had great difficulty finding support for it. Many well respected organizations refused to contribute to the project, and one labeled it a “freak show.” Others turned their backs on Traavik, reasoning that the pageant would portray suffering as a commodity. IT’S REFRESHING TO KNOW SOMEWHERE SOMEONE THINKS DIFFERENTLY. Angola’s de-mining commission, however, believed in Traavik’s vision. The commission’s Victim Assistance Coordinator Madalena Neto said that the pageant was a way to show that there is beauty in all people. That message was also widely repeated throughout Traavik’s advertising campaigns with the Miss Landmine motto: “Everybody has the right to be beautiful.” It’s a line that can’t be repeated enough. With today’s media force-feeding young women with an ideal weight and bust size, it’s refreshing to know that somewhere someone thinks differently. Traavik isn’t the first to address the need for redefining beauty, however. The Dove Campaign for Real Beauty portrays everyday women in all shapes and sizes, spreading an image of what beauty really looks like. And though they are few and far between, other ads encouraging a healthier outlook on what constitutes beauty and feeling comfortable in a person’s own skin are making debuts in mainstream women’s media outlets. Here is something that’s key to remember: The concepts of beauty in the media right now are not the same that existed 50 years ago... and you can bet that even those concepts were different from the ideas of beauty which influenced women 100 years ago. What constitutes beauty is subjective; it changes. People like those who worked on the Dove campaign and others like Traavik are working to change it. Rather than recruiting super-skinny models for their ad, Dove chose to celebrate women of all shapes and sizes. And rather than spending hours behind a mirror to make the Angolan women look beautiful, Traavik found existing beauty within them. A new concept of beauty for women is not just coming... it’s already here.

B story and photos provided by carolyn courtade I don’t think I ever really believed in miracles. All that I was a skeptic. It wasn’t that I questioned God’s power talk of healing the lame, feeding the 5,000 and turning to do any one of those things; rather, in my modern, water into wine always sounded appealing, but come on. logical worldview, these basic, physical expressions of Let’s be honest – there had to be an explanation. Maybe God’s goodness and grace just seemed improbable. That the 5,000 all had small appetites is, until I really had nothing and (and the count excluded teenage needed God to be my everything. I REALLY HAD NOTHING AND NEEDED boys), and perhaps someone GOD TO BE MY EVERYTHING. Seven strong, our team was comjust “mislabeled” the wine skins. Leprosy can get better with time, right? And the raising posed of three South Africans, one Indian, one Canadian, an English gal and me – an American. As our leaders from of the dead was clearly just a coma. Youth With A Mission (YWAM) prayed before our departure from South Africa, I wondered if we weren’t all just a bit too reckless and brave for our own good. We each had one piece of luggage, empty bank accounts, barely sufficient travel plans and tickets that didn’t take us as far as our goal: Liberia. Instead, our travel plans would deposit us in the neighboring French-speaking country, the Ivory Coast. We tried to play by rational trip-planning guidelines, but communication by phone to Liberia was unpredictable and flights into a war-torn country are not cheap (more than my round trip fare to South Africa!). So, amid logistical chaos, we departed with the faith that God would protect us on buses where planes refused to go. We waved goodbye to South Africa, goodbye to warm food, soft beds, a comfortable culture, familiar worship and a predictable life with these words from Proverbs, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight.” The events of the next week carrying us to Liberia are still outside the realm of my understanding, so I guess I just have to consider them miracles. The first leg of our trip took us from Cape Town, South Africa to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia for a simple layover. We landed around 9 p.m. and had to endure 12

hours in the airport awaiting our next flight to the Ivory Coast. Enthused about “roughing it” on outreach, we proceeded to roll out our mats on the cold concrete of the airport floor and settle in for our first night as “missionaries.” I enjoyed about 15 minutes of shuteye only to be awoken by the butt of a machine gun and two men in uniform speaking a language I definitely did not understand. Thanks to the universal language of charades, we were informed that we could not stay in the airport overnight and needed to follow these men. We THANKS TO THE UNIVERSAL LANGUAGE OF CHARADES, WE WERE INFORMED THAT WE COULD NOT STAY IN THE AIRPORT OVERNIGHT. were escorted through a maze of security and left in a lobby while our two gun-toting guards pled our case with airport officials. Knowing that we did not have visas or any documentation to support our case to stay overnight in Ethiopia, our team leader, Tracy, simply encouraged us to pray. Then, a man approached us with a puzzled look on his face and his wallet open in front of him. Although he had never seen us or spoken to us before, he pulled out a one-hundred dollar bill, gave it to Tracy and said, with noted confusion, that God had just told him to give us $100. He didn’t know what it was for or why but said that we would know soon – and he left. Shortly after, the guards returned with smiles on their faces and guns set aside. They reported that apparently we had rooms at a local hotel checked out in our names and that they would be happy to escort us there tonight, feed us dinner and breakfast, and bring us back in time for our flights in the morning (never even asking about visitor visas). We nodded our heads, our only means of indicating our relief and gratitude. By the way, this wasn’t just any old hotel – we got to stay in a five-star Ethiopian hotel, and we each had our own room. The next morning we boarded a flight to the Ivory Coast, and while onboard, Tracy got to chatting with a West African man, Mr. Tumba. He asked about our

travels and how we planned to get to Liberia, but he didn’t respond too enthusiastically to our idea of taking a bus across the northern regions of two countries amidst civil war. Apparently we had about a fifty-fifty chance of being hijacked or robbed, and nobody in our group knew enough French to negotiate with captors. A bit discouraged, Tracy admitted that we simply did not have money to fly there and would just have to go in faith that God would provide. From my seat I couldn’t hear what the man said next because a squeal of joy from Tracy drowned all else out. It was something to the effect of, “How

had an entire house that he loaned us for free for two months; another man offered us the use of his vehicle if we ever needed it. My personal favorite was the lone guitar that was left behind by a mission trip years ago that the home owner had held on to but couldn’t play. A tear welled in my eyes because I had prayed and prayed for a guitar to bring along from South Africa and was disappointed when one didn’t appear. But God had it waiting in Liberia so that I wouldn’t have to carry it. I thought that I would be spending these two months serving and bringing hope to those in Liberia, but God changed me and strengthened my hope more than I could have imagined. Yes, we worked in orphanages, spoke in churches, worked on a floating hospital, aided in an eye clinic, taught AIDS education, prayed and praised with folks every chance we got, and all of this was amazing and life changing. But the biggest testimony was not what we did there, but what God did to get us there.

about this – I have a personal plane, and I will fly you for free. This way you’ll all be safe.” With the phone number of our new friend Mr. Tumba in hand, we exited the plane only to be greeted by the warm smiles of a pastor and his family in the Ivory Coast. We had only made contact with the family once; we just prayed they would take us in. Having recently moved, Father Daniel (who thankfully spoke English!) admitted that they had just two rooms we could stay in – one with six bunk beds and one with a single. It was exactly what we needed for a team of six girls and one boy. We were so blessed and encouraged by our time with Father Daniel’s family in the Ivory Coast, and they even kept us for an extra four days as we awaited the flights with Mr. Tumba. Father Daniel only had one request for our staying almost a week longer: perhaps we had some extra money lying around for food? Say, maybe $100? Tracy pulled out the one-hundred dollar bill that the stranger in Ethiopia gave us, and I couldn’t help but marvel at the coincidence. The next two months were peppered with God’s little blessings, from a meal showing up when we were just out of food to beautiful places to stay when we were unsure of shelter. In Liberia, a man

For the first time in my life I actually left room for God to do a miracle. So often our Western worldview demands that we schedule all aspects, plot out all details and create firm backup plans for every step of life, but God doesn’t call us to live that way. We have medicine, insurance, refunds and itineraries, and God definitely still tags along, but we miss out on a blessing that God has for our faith. Maybe it’s not that God doesn’t do miracles today, but that in our lives we work so hard for security that we tend to just not make space. To the relief of my leaders (and my parents!), I returned two months later to the YWAM base in South Africa, happy and healthy, with enough revelation of God as the ultimate provider to last me a lifetime. As I approached the base again, I was taken back to our send off prayer time and those plaguing feelings that everyone considered us crazy. But this time, I had no doubt that I follow a God who makes the improbable possible and makes the unimaginable a reality. Our Christian story is richly woven with God’s miracles – from ancient stories of healings and provision to even my mere stories of funding, transportation and housing. But the most amazing miracle is God’s willingness to take the heart of a skeptic like me and stretch it to approach this world with faith like a child that he is more than enough.

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tyle s e f i L d e t a n e h p y H

story and photo provided by nyam adodoadij

It is famously stated that blood is thicker than water. So with an ocean of differences between my extended family and I, and a real ocean as well, I set out to discover if family really could transcend the great distances between us.

moment I first saw him. Just as I was coming down the stairs of the dorm I was staying in, he was coming up them.

We paused with a question mark in the air.

“Ahuma?” I asked. He responded affirmatively and we exchanged greetings. I felt shy, yet fascinated by this new acquaintance I was related to. That summer, I quickly grew to adore my cousin Ahuma and his brothers Tei and Katey. Like a five-year-old girl enchanted by her older cousins, I wanted to go everywhere they went. Wanting to cultivate these new relationships with them, I returned to Ghana the following summer.

While our parents (four brothers and one sister) grew up together on the southern coast of Ghana, my cousins and I have lived separate existences. We grew up eating different foods and holding contrasting assumptions about the world, global strangers that happen to have the same blood running through our veins.

Even as I enjoyed being with my cousins again, that summer, more than ever before, I wrestled with what it meant to be “hyphenated” as a Ghanaian-American. My accent, my mannerisms and my food tastes clearly marked me as American, yet my family staunchly insisted that I was Ghanaian. But I felt utterly foreign when I shrugged my shoulders and smiled politely at locals, indicating that I didn’t understand them. When we hung out with my cousins’ friends, they would weave in and out of English and multiple languages as I grasped hold of the bits and pieces of the conversation I could understand. Even when I would insist on taking a tro-tro, the local vans used as part of the unregulated transportation system, my uncle would insist that one of my cousins accompany me.

The first time I met my cousin Ahuma was in the summer of 2005. I was in Ghana for a mission trip and Ahuma and I had arranged to meet at the University of Ghana, the local campus where I was staying. I remember the

I had traveled to Ghana to connect with this part of my cultural background and experience what it meant to have an extended family, yet my “hyphen” seemed to continually get in the way. For instance, every Sunday afternoon

Four years ago, if I was walking down the street and passed one of my cousins from Ghana, I wouldn’t know the difference between one of them and any other stranger. Occasionally my dad would mention their names when sharing news from his family, but the names never translated into photos of family reunions or memories of Christmas dinner at our grandparent’s house.

After spending a year separated by the Atlantic Ocean, enduring static phone lines and international calling cards with limited time, every moment with them felt precious. That summer I discovered the simple joy of just seeing someone you love every day.

I CROSSED THE CHASM CREATED BY OUR DIFFERENCES BY KNOCKING ON MY COUSINS’ BEDROOM DOOR.

my Auntie Vick would prepare fufu, a local dish made of ground yam pounded into a dough-like substance and placed in a bowl of stew. M y cousins would take turns pounding the yam in the backyard, the rhythmic thumping resounding throughout the open-air house. I don’t remember how Auntie Vick found out, but fufu was not my favorite dish. Kindly, she would boil rice for me to eat with the stew while the rest of my family ate the fufu. Moments like these when we were all gathered around the same table, but eating different dishes made me feel like an intangible force stronger than our physical proximity separated us.

I WRESTLED WITH WHAT IT MEANT TO BE “HYPHENATED” AS A GHANAIANAMERICAN.

Despite these moments of cultural distance, every evening I crossed the chasm created by our differences by knocking on my cousins’ bedroom door. Small and sparsely furnished, the room consisted of two twin mattresses with thin sheets pushed together, a bureau, a small TV and a stereo with speakers. I would collapse onto the bed, the TV blaring and full of static in the background while Tei, Ahuma and Katey sent text messages or talked to their girlfriends on the phone. My cousin Tei and I would whisper and laugh like two kids resisting the restraints of an official bedtime hour. As the fan gently whirred above, Mariah Carey, Luther Vandross and Whitney Houston crooned soft love songs in the background. We would all fall asleep to the lullabies of the gentle music, piled onto the beds like little kids after a long, exhausting day of play during the summer.

In those moments it didn’t matter where we had our citizenship or how we pronounced certain words or what our favorite foods were; in that room we simply were. No ocean, no static on the phone and no distance.

s u o r e g n a d a

itbyejaclyn rainey appetstory graphiics by megan foss

It was a dreary Monday, 7:20 p.m. The proceedings were supposed to begin at 7, but you could always trust dames to be late. I saw that tonight was going to be no walk in the park when a broad called me to say I gave her crap directions. She had legs that wouldn’t quit and a mouth that really never stopped either. She wasn’t the first to call me that night and she wouldn’t be the last. I got that all too familiar feeling in the pit of my stomach. Trouble was brewing. Tonight I was “Run-Around” Sue and I had a murder to commit.

I waited until the footsteps clamored up my front steps and met them before they could reach the doorbell. I wanted tonight to be quiet; no need to wake the neighbors if all went as planned. I grinned at the six broads who had so willingly answered my invitations to this, for lack of a better word, “party.” I ushered IT’S NOT A the dames into the living room PLEASANT BUSINESS, where dinner was laid out by PLANNING A MURDER 7:30 p.m. It pays to be timely WITH A THREE COURSE with things like this. It’s not a MEAL, BUT SOMEBODY’S pleasant business, planning GOT TO DO IT. a murder with a three course meal, but somebody’s got to do it. And somebody’s got to take care of those who think it’s just a game. I glanced around the room, my hand gripping my Colt .45 in case the blond in the corner decided to get shifty. They were all here on the pretense of helping me solve a mystery, but no one knew they were about to take a role in it. They exchanged pleasantries and eyed each other, surprisingly at ease for having a murder mastermind in the room.

The first round of clues came out with the first course, and I watched them all start questioning each other about motives. If you ask me, dames don’t need a motive; they just have one by nature. There was a hectic part when a leggy brunette skipped evidence she was supposed to reveal, but IF YOU ASK things smoothed out when the ME, DAMES DON’T others caught on and demandNEED A MOTIVE, THEY ed to know. I breathed easy JUST HAVE ONE BY again, saw that the gig was NATURE. right on schedule, and helped myself to more punch.

By now it was 9 p.m. This was a tough job, gritty, but games like this gave me the edge I needed. I tipped my fedora to hide the guilty look in my eyes and watched as the final clues came out with dessert. As the six dames helped themselves to more angel food cake I wondered if they knew one would be playing a harp tonight.

And so, business is business. At 9:30 p.m, they all suddenly sprang to their feet and accused one another. A tense moment, fingers pointed at other pointing fingers, and these dames all shouted about why they were innocent. The moment had come, and they stared open-mouthed at the cassette to see who was the guilty one. I reached for my Colt .45 because he was the only partner who never let me down. As realization dawned on each of their faces, I THIS decided these dames had gotten too wise. The second round of clues was dispensed WAS A TOUGH After all no one likes their dames wise. I with the main course, and I watched the six JOB, GRITTY, BUT drew my hand from my coat pocket and broads start to get wise. I paused a moment GAMES LIKE THIS GAVE pointed it at the one I needed to take when a guest was forced to sing and dance ME THE EDGE I out, hoping that she was slower then to attempt to clear her name, and had to hide NEEDED. she looked. She turned to me with the behind the pantry door to hide my roguish look of someone who knew how this game grin. They accused each other as I patiently was played and... egged them on, closer to the truth, wondering who would be smart enough to notice the clues all pointed to me. A cassette tape of evidence helped further the story line and clues, but I wasn’t worried. After all, no alibi spoke as loudly as my .45.

Next month the theme is a 1930’s English manor and I hope my future guests all have an appetite for crime and a taste for mystery. Who knew murder could be such a picnic?

W the value pendulum E by anna flaemig

veryone arose from their seats and turned around to look at her. She looked amazing in her white, floor-length wedding dress. Her blond hair was covered by a veil, which reached down to her hips. Her blue eyes were focused on one man who stood in front of the altar – waiting only for her. They had met each other at their first dance class six years ago and today they wanted to exchange their wedding vows in front of God and guests. They already had their marriage license, but this day was their “real” wedding day. During the sermon, a wedding guest behind me mumbled, “Forty years ago, we opted out of the church. Our youth are more conservative than we ever were.” I was dumbstruck… It was the first time I had ever heard an older person call young people “conservative.” I think he used “conservative” to explain a phenomenal resurgence of traditional values. Isn’t it normally the other way around? I thought to myself. Since I’ve been living in the States, I’ve realized that there are different meanings of “conservative.” The American people think of the term in reference to politics when it’s mentioned, but in Germany, it has a broader meaning. If you label a person as “conservative,” you may imply that she voted for a more right-wing party. Yet you don’t think of that first. Generally, “conservative” means that you want to preserve old values. For me, conservative people are the law students at my university who wear babyblue polo shirts with turned-up collars and always carry their briefcases with them. They would never vote for any party other than the Christian Democratic Union, a center-right governing party in Germany. “Traditional values” also brings to mind social manners, many of which are different today than they were when my parents were my age. It is still not appropriate to put your elbows on the table or to wear a cap inside a building… On the other side, we shake hands today instead of dropping a curtsy. Men don’t tip their hats for greeting, since young men don’t wear them anymore. In Germany these things have become more important again, and there are many workshops for business people about how to survive a working dinner with proper table manners.

To me, conservative is like a grandma who cannot understand why people have tattoos all over their bodies and pierced eyebrows, lips and belly buttons. But times are changing and the differences between generations lead to new labels of what conservative means. I guess “conservative” is generally a word with negative connotations for me. Yet I’m realizing the word has a wider, more positive meaning as well. Our young and modern generation looks back to preserve some “old” values, like getting married in church and having a family – values that the generation before us rejected. For our parents, especially those in Germany, it wasn’t very common to marry in church. They had experienced the Sixtyeighters, a German student movement that took place during the late 1960s, and were impressed by their protest against authoritarianism and hypocrisy. That movement shifted our government to the left for a generation.

Today we are benefiting from the protests and struggles of our progressive parents’ generation: More rights and liberties for women, a less authoritarian child education program and a more liberal society in Germany with fewer prohibitions. I believe we aren’t as revolutionary as the generation of our parents. But that doesn’t mean we don’t know what we want in life; on the contrary, our expectations for the future are high. My friend expresses it this way: “We are a generation of women that is going for everything – a perfect man, an interesting job and a family.” Maybe the change of values is like a pendulum. Between swinging right with our grandparents, and then left with our parents, it is now balancing itself out with our generation – a generation that mixes the best of the traditional with the progressive. And I think that it’s swinging in the same direction on both sides of the Atlantic Ocean. There are fewer differences between the German and the American youth than I originally thought. In Germany many people think that they are more liberal than American people. But from where I’m standing, the values of American and German youth are far more similar than they are different – and it’s our values that carry the day as much as our actions.

The Day of the Loved story by abigail nosce photography by emily hennig

t was a crisp November morning. I was enjoying a leisurely drive through town, taking in the cool, sunny weather and the autumn scenery, when something fascinating caught my eye. There before me was an entire field of brightly colored decorations, as if a grand party was about to begin. There was a wonderful assortment of flowers, shiny balloons, streamers, garlands, festive signs and pinwheels. The place was so inviting, I just couldn’t resist having a closer look.

At first, I was a bit dumbfounded. I thought, Lord, why would anyone celebrate the death of their loved ones? I mean, I believe and rejoice in the concept of going to heaven after death, but this type of celebration just seems so morbid to me. It was obvious that I didn’t understand the true meaning behind the observance, but I was intrigued by the loving effort that was put into creating this festive atmosphere, so I decided to walk the cemetery grounds to investigate and reflect.

As I drew near, however, I realized that this was not a party after all. It was a cemetery. Suddenly it occurred to me what day it was: November 1, All Saint’s Day and the Day of the Dead.

Scanning the grounds, I located the most colorful area in sight, the Court of the Innocents, where the children were buried. My heart sank as I stepped through the arbor and into the courtyard, which was

beautifully decorated for the season – the grave sites adorned with candy and children’s toys. I looked all around at the children who had lost their lives, and I thought about how sad it must be for the parents and family to lose such a precious, innocent gift. I began to weep for their loss as I was reminded of my own children and how every day with them is a blessing from God. I noticed some pictures on the headstones, and I looked down at the one near me. I saw a picture of a smiling baby girl and read the name “Abigail.” Immediately, I had a sense that I was where I should be that morning. It was as if she was calling my own name, inviting me to discover the answers to the questions that were reeling in my mind: Why have I been moved to experience such a place as this, and what can I possibly take away from it? My sorrow soon turned into joyful expectation, as I decided to embark on the quest. Continuing past the Court of the Innocents, I walked along the memorial walls in the main part of the cemetery and began to read what was written about the loved ones who had passed on. I read things such as “Loving husband of… and devoted father of… You will remain in our hearts forever,” and “What we have once enjoyed we can never lose. All that we love deeply becomes a part of us.”

I HAD A SENSE THAT I WAS WHERE I SHOULD BE THAT MORNING.

I began to reminisce, fondly recalling my own loved ones who made a positive impact in my life before passing on. My grandfather, who was the most influential role model of my childhood years, soon became the focus of my reflection. I allowed my mind to wander back to the times we spent together when he was alive – singing, laughing, storytelling, exploring the world around us. He had a way of igniting that fire for life, making me believe that I was someone extraordinary, someone who can make a difference in the world. The special song that I had dedicated to him long ago began to sing in my heart, “Lean on me / when you’re not strong / I’ll be your friend / I’ll help you carry on…” He was one of the only people in my life that I had ever completely trusted. For that moment in time, I felt as if we were connected again. Walking further into the cemetery, I passed countless headstones dressed with exquisite floral arrangements and homemade cards. It was obvious that family members went to great measures in decorating the graves, and it occurred to me that this is not a place to mourn but rather to celebrate and remember. Surrounding me was evidence of love and adoration. These souls are so loved. Their relationships with their loved ones are still cherished. They made such an impression that, even after passing, they are remembered, honored and still included in the lives that they touched. I felt privileged to be walking amongst them. I looked over and saw a man kneeling at a headstone. Next to him was a bag, and in it were a hand broom and a cloth of some sort. I watched him

carefully brush away the debris and lovingly polish the stone, as if it were a priceless treasure that he wanted to preserve. He placed a simple bouquet of fresh flowers in the vase and lowered his head in reverence.

ALL AROUND WAS EVIDENCE OF LIFE CONTINUING ON THROUGH LOVE.

Although I watched from a distance, I could sense the love he felt for that soul radiating from his demeanor. When he was done, he peacefully walked away. How beautiful this place was starting to become to me. I walked a bit longer, feeling the love that emanated from the adornments on the headstones. In the Court of the Veterans, something I read on a bench memorial caught me. It said, “Life is changed, not taken away.” Immediately I was struck by a feeling of affirmation that my quest had come to a conclusion. All around was evidence of life continuing on through love. Even after the tangible changes to intangible, the connection – the love – remains the same. The more I explored, the more apparent it became to me that I was being shown the meaning behind Jesus Christ’s mission: Love is what makes life eternal. What had started as a walk amongst the departed that day, ended up turning into an enlightening lesson about life – a lesson and an experience that I will never forget.

taff&intern

Jen Dotson, executive director, is fairly certain that life is best viewed through a lens of imagination. As such, she lives in a world where playgrounds are meant for adults and cartwheels are a commonplace occurrence on city streets. She takes her greatest inspiration from her 91-year old grandmother who taught her that the most effective way to get a new perspective on life is to climb a tree.

Lauren Melcher, managing editor, can’t leave a bookstore empty-handed and is happiest when she is buying tickets to new places. She loves cooking and baking from scratch, especially while watching “The West Wing” and “Gilmore Girls.” Lauren can’t wait for the day she can say she has been to all seven continents (three left to go!).

Danica Myers, graphic designer, loves traveling and becoming a cultural collage of a person. She couldn’t live without nature, music that has soul and being surrounded by genuine people. Her favorite books are children’s stories that are deeply philosophic and poetic. She has a great propensity for inventing words and making simple things in life into elaborate metaphors.

Laura Lewis, graphic designer, is an artist in Minneapolis and a graduate of the Minneapolis College of Art and Design. She can be found reading, dancing at inappropriate times, and pondering the universe. Her favorite interests are philosophy, theology, sewing and petting cute dogs. Cats are OK too.

Jordan Kammer, artist-in-residence, recently moved back to Minneapolis and is a graduate of St. Olaf College. She is fond of wearing hats, esoteric old movies, swing dancing, and would like to camp at least once in every national park in the U.S. She intends to pursue her Master’s degree in education and continue to sell her soft pastel landscapes.

Kelin Loe, poetry editor, just graduated from St. Olaf College. She moved from the contented cornfields of Northfield, Minnesota to the lakes and questionable urban planning of Minneapolis. Every day she writes, reads and studies for the GRE! In addition to reading poetry for Alive, she interns and takes classes at the Loft Literary Center. She hopes to start an MFA program in poetry come next autumn.

Abby Zimmer, executive assistant and designer, is a St. Joseph Worker living in community with six other women in Minneapolis. She enjoys taking the time to walk to local coffee shops, to read into all hours of the night and to dance in the rain. Abby looks forward to experiencing more of the city life around her.

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Alive Arts Media, Inc. is a non-profit organization that exists to empower young women in their creative, educational, and professional pursuits. We accomplish this by offering a high-level internship program, through the publication of Alive Magazine - an online publication featuring young writers and artists, and Picturing Everyday Beauty :: a project to add insight to the viewfinder.

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Alive Arts Media responds directly to the following areas of societal need:

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- Need for media reform, specifically the lack of positive media available in the young women's market. Alive Magazine presents a constructive solution that presents intelligent, realistic models for young women.

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Alive Arts Media operates under the belief that everyone has a story to tell. As such, every level of AAM's business model and programming creates opportunities for individuals to tell that story. Utilizing a framework of mentorship and community, we facilitate dialogue between individuals at different stages of professional development that aids emerging writers and artists in their adolescent and early adult years. As an organization, we are run primarily by high level internships that function as short-term staff positions (editorial, graphic design, and public relations). By keeping the entire production of Alive Magazine in the hands of women 25 and under, we eliminate their competion with professionally established individuals, offering them greater responsibility than would otherwise be available at such a young age.

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“DON’T ASK WHAT THE WORLD NEEDS. ASK WHAT MAKES YOU COME ALIVE AND GO DO THAT... BECAUSE WHAT THE WORLD NEEDS IS PEOPLE WHO HAVE COME ALIVE.” -howard thurman

- Leadership & Professional development/advancement of young women. Women still make 76 cents to every dollar made by men and, although women earn a higher GPA on average than men, their post-college professional goals decline as college progresses. Alive Arts Media constructively fosters professional acceptance for women in the working world, and equips adolescent women with tools to succeed.

Today's teenage women are tired of being talked down to, talked about, targeted only as consumers, and being left out of the conversations that shape our culture. This generation of women are digitally-savvy, well-read, deep thinking, articulate individuals who are burgeoning with leadership ability. Given affirmation of their talents, feedback to cultivate growth, the education and tools to succeed, and a firm understanding of others' experiences to ground them in the reality that their dreams are attainable, these women will become the business and community leaders who will shape the culture for tomorrow's children. It is a story that speaks of hope.

- Personal development for young women, including body image, self esteem, and confidence. - Advancement of underserved women and youth in the local community with education and professional opportunities for college acceptance and postgraduate employment

staff&intern

Emily Byers-Ferrian, editorial intern, has spent the last three years between Spanish capital city Madrid and the country’s southern coastal city Málaga. In Madrid she pursued her English major at Saint Louis University-Madrid and wrote for the magazine The Broadsheet. She loved the journey of learning to speak Spanish fluently and has fun with the complexities and play of language.

Amanda CasaDeCalvo, public relations intern, is a senior at the University of St.Thomas in St.Paul, Minn., majoring in Advertising with a minor in Business Communications. She is obsessed with her cat Sabrina to whom she is now allergic, and her mom’s homemade chow mein. Amanda’s pet peeves are sharing milk with others and the word giggle.

Anna Flaemig, editorial intern, is from Tuebingen, Germany. She studies Media Science, and one day she wants to be a newspaper editor. Her aim is to learn new English words every day. Anna is passionate about writing, reading historical novels, hiking and discovering Minneapolis. She is excited by the large dimensions of the States and hopes that she won’t get lost in big groceries anymore.

Megan Foss, graphic design intern, recently moved to the Twin Cities after graduating from the University of Minnesota Duluth. She loves animals, cupcakes with pink frosting, monster truck races and the previews at the movies. She dreams of one day owning a black Chevy El Camino and traveling around the world meeting lots of fascinating people.

Jaclyn Rainey, editorial intern, is a junior at Bethel University in Minnesota, majoring in Journalism and English Literature and minoring in Latin. She loves riding horses, surfing, reading Jane Austen books and seeing musicals. She enjoys British humor, making her own greeting cards and singing in the car where no one else has to hear it!

Lisa Teicher, public relations intern, is attending SCSU and has a passion for the arts and an obsession with Irish dancing and music. She has the ability to change any rock song into her own opera version. Lisa also finds pleasure in the simple things in life such as jumping in rain puddles, taking afternoon drives, and smelling fresh laundry.

Karissa Wagner, graphic design intern, is attending The Art Institutes International MN and is looking forward to graduating this year. She spends most of her time in a swimsuit, whether it is lifeguarding, swimming, or lying on the beach. Her other interests include traveling, rollerblading, reading, and painting.

Nicolle Westlund, editorial intern, is in love with everything Australian, including shrimp on the barbie, dingoes and saying “g’day mate!” She also makes excellent fruit smoothies and homemade popcorn. Nicolle studies journalism at Bethel University in St. Paul, Minn. and is waiting for the day when all the seasons of “So You Think You Can Dance” come out on DVD.

read. share your story. join the movement.

www.ALIVEMAGAZINE.org

We want to hear your voice in the next issue of Alive Magazine! Submit your creative essay, painting, poem, drawing, travelogue, photography, or article by October 15th to be considered for the February/March 2009 issue of AM. Read our guidelines and submit your work anytime at www.alivemagazine.org/submissions.php. Submissions received after October 15th will be considered for future issues or published on our Web site.

For now, you can download issues of Alive Magazine and read new content weekly on our Web site for free. To purchase print copies of the magazine, look for the “Order this issue” option on our Web site.

When we went all-online in 2007, we didn’t want to be just another blog or magazine on the Web. We wanted to offer our readers timely content, but also reserve the chance to incorporate artwork and stories in a similar way as we did with our print magazine. So, we have the best of both worlds: new articles twice a week on our homepage, plus a fully-designed, downloadable PDF of the magazine every other month and available for purchase in print.

Writers and artists who contribute regularly to Alive Magazine advance to higher levels through our Contributor Recognition Program, based on the number of published works and adherence to deadlines. For more information, see the CRP information sheet on the Submissions page.

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We were founded on an audacious vision: that a new generation of women--given the opportunity, access, and vehicle to do so--could change the world. This vision found its wings through the establishment of Alive Arts Media, Inc., whose message is simple: her voice in the media, her place in the world. The bi-monthly production cycle of Alive Magazine is fueled by our internship program, where college-aged women design layouts, work with writers, and publicize Alive Magazine and Alive Arts Media events. To apply for an internship with Alive Magazine at our headquarters in Minneapolis, Minn., visit www.alivemagazine.org and click on “Internships.” We cannot produce Alive Magazine without our amazing supporters and donors. We want to specifically thank this powerful community that has demonstrated their concern for the next generation of young women. In the past year, our loyal donors have given gifts ranging from $5 to $15,000, providing a tangible opportunity for these young women to create the changes they wish to see in the world. Please consider joining them today at www.alivemagazine.org/donate.php.

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WE ARE ALL MEANT TO SHINE, AS CHILDREN DO.

WE UNCONSCIOUSLY GIVE OTHER PEOPLE

Alive Arts Media, Inc. 1720 Madison St. Ne, Ste. 300 Minneapolis, MN 55413 Change Service Requested