Passport Magazine Fall 2008

PASSPORT Duke University’s International Magazine

5 O’CLOCK SOMEWHERE:

ALCOHOL ANYONE? BARACK STAR

THINK GLOBAL, EAT LOCAL

MONUMENTAL CHANGES

BEIJING AFTER THE OLYMPICS

TURKISH DELIGHTS KANGA CULTURE: A PEEK AT TANZANIA

Volume 8 Fall 2008

EDITOR’S NOTE I traveled abroad for the first time at age eight. In return for missing school, my second grade teacher demanded I keep a journal. I spent two weeks skiing the Alps, touring ruins of the Roman Empire, and discovering art in Amsterdam. What does my journal reveal? An angry customer service agent in Boston’s airport and playing Polly Pocket in the hotel. Duke and our society tend to romanticize travel as a chance to help foreign nations to their feet and leave a mark on the world. Indeed, international experiences can be just that. Still, there is much to gain from a trip even if it does not change other people’s lives. Sometimes, the best trips just offer a chance to take part in the local culture. As a small child, I found a way to connect with young Italian girls without a common language through my Polly Pocket dolls. Twelve years later, I savored the exhilaration of dancing with Senagalese villagers to beats pounded on a metal bowl. Changing the world is a laudable service, but sometimes it is just as important to sit back and find that, wherever we are, we can belong. In this issue, look at the many ways to fit into global society. Balance the beauty of tradition with the demands of modern life in “Something Old, Something New.” Contemplate America’s place in the world in “Barack Obama: International Man of Intrigue.” Puzzle over the roots of cultural beliefs in “The Born Identity.” Take a walk in the shoes of our many writers, and perhaps you can discover where you stand. Enjoy!

artwork by Rosie Kilgore

Melanie Wright

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Melanie Wright PRODUCER Nicholas Chan MANAGING EDITOR Michelle Fang Linda Qu SENIOR EDITORS Julie Sogani Sandy Sun GRAPHICS EDITOR Rosie Kilgore Nayantara Atal Hilary Huskey GRAPHICS Sarah Kim Natalie Macaruso Kristin Oakley Sunmin Park EDITOR Jei Min Yoo Tanya Braun Michelle Choi Soo Chung Michelle Fang Kimberley Goffe WRITERS Daniel Luis Kamakura Bengisu Kuscu Christina Lee Kyu Min Lee Kara Li Maddie Pongor Melissa Wiesner Ruijia “Regina” Zhou WEB DESIGN Derrik Chan Xiameng Sun

photo by Felix Sebera

Passport Magazine is a Franchised Publication under the Undergraduate Publications Board. The views expressed in this publication are the authors’ own and do not reflect the opinions of the magazine.

FALL 2008

CONTENTS

2 The Real Rwanda by Maddie Pongor

Something Old, Something New by Bengisu Kuscu

Cheers! World Edition by Kara Li

Barack Obama: International Man of Intrigue

by Christina Lee Neo-Aerophobia by Soo Chung

Crossing the Line: Immigration

and Controversy in Central Europe by Tanya Braun Not All Who Wander Are Lost:

Stories from Rural China by Ruijia “Regina” Zhou

Recycling Reinvented by Kyu Min Lee

The Born Identity by Daniel Luis Kamakura

Colombia’s Coming Back!

by Melissa Wiesner ticket: $500. hotel: $250.

The New Face of Beijing: The Architectural

U.S. visa: priceless by Kimberley Goffe

Transformation of Beijing, Post-Olympics by Michelle Choi Wazungu! Wazungu!

by Michelle Fang

photo by David Miller: davidmiller@sympatico.ca cover photo by Stephen Shephard

Ethnic Eats in Durham

iLens

Fall 2008

photo by Maddie Pongor

The Real Rwanda

ast summer, my friend Jessica and I worked as interns in Rwanda with ZOE Ministry, an organization that provides assistance to orphans through its Giving Hope program. Most of these orphans lost their parents during the Rwandan genocide of 1994 or to HIV/AIDS. For a month, we traveled in urban districts teeming with tourists as well as rural areas located hours from any gas station. We interviewed about seventy-five orphans using a twenty-one page survey intended to document their progress in terms of education, health, hygiene, HIV/AIDS awareness, community involvement, and employment since they joined the Giving Hope program. I kept an online blog throughout the internship. Though my experiences cannot be distilled down to a few entries, the following excerpts depict many aspects of Rwandan life and culture.

July 1

Rwandan Genocide Memorial Visiting the Genocide Memorial was tougher than I expected. Overlooking the capital city of Kigali, the memorial was constructed on the side of a small hill to demonstrate what victims saw as they fled the city during the massacres. The memorial laid out the timeline of the genocide, beginning when the Belgians passed out identity cards to distinguish those with over ten cows as Tutsis and the rest as Hutus—though sometimes the distinction was based solely on physical features. The government declared

by Maddie Pongor

that the Tutsis’ wealth caused the Hutus’ economic dissatisfaction, resulting in both an organized military-based massacre of all Tutsis and spontaneous attacks by Hutus. These events sent the country into extreme political unrest, economic turmoil, and social instability. I tried to skip reading the section discussing the ways in which people were killed, but I accidently glimpsed one that made my stomach turn: throwing people down wells and then pouring rocks in after them until the screams subsided. The part that resounded with me most was the section dedicated to the children. There, a couple dozen enlarged photographs of individual kids were displayed, with short captions below given by their family members. The descriptions included information like: “favorite food: mother’s milk, favorite game: jump-rope, best friend: big sister” to give the reader a glimpse into the life of an adorable child … and then ended with: “cause of death: hacked down by a machete in his mother’s arms.” The fact that millions of ordinary people can be driven to kill their neighbors and friends is unfathomable to me. The only way I could remotely comprehend this tragedy was to think of it as a life-or-death situation: “My family is starving, but my neighbor has money and food. The government says he’s an evil-doer and a traitor. So, do I kill him, take his money and food, and save my family while doing a public service…or sit idle and let my children starve to death?” A famous quote by the Roman playwright Lucius Annaeus Seneca summarizes this line of thinking: “A hungry people listens not to reason, nor cares for justice, nor is

bent by any prayers.” I truly believe this was a central cause of the Rwandan genocide.

July 3

Chaos in the Marketplace After work yesterday, we went with our housekeepers, Chantal and Olivier, to the local market. Unsurprisingly, we drew a lot of stares as the only two white people among thousands of Rwandan buyers and sellers in a market that stretched over an entire hilltop. I took out my camera, and suddenly an aggressive woman jumped in front of my shot. She stormed up to me and started yelling in my face, getting heated when she realized I didn’t understand Kinyarwandan, the official language of Rwanda. The racket drew a lot of attention and within seconds a crowd surrounded me. Apparently the woman wanted me either to give her money for taking the picture or to delete it. Well, that was an easy decision. I turned my camera around and showed the woman as I deleted the picture. To my dismay, this made her even more furious. I finally just forced my way out of the quicklygrowing crowd. Anyone who hadn’t noticed us prior to the camera incident was now definitely aware of our presence and proceeded to stare us down more noticeably than before. The attention made it difficult for Chantal and Olivier to make a purchase without the sellers raising the prices, since we were a pair of muzungos (white people) whom they suspected were loaded with cash. Eventually we made our way back to the house, dodging women balancing full bags of flour on their heads and men driving motorbikes. From a distance, we saw two men on a motorbike speeding toward us, weaving through the throngs of people. We stepped to the side, but a man just fifteen feet in front of us was not so lucky. In response to the bike’s horn, he stepped to his right, but the motorbike swerved right too. We saw the accident happen as if it were in slow motion. He went flying up over the bike and the two riders fell off. Before the anxious Rwandans engulfed them, I caught a glimpse of the damage: the pedestrian had clearly broken his leg and his head was bleeding, the driver was trying to hoist himself off the ground while vomiting a pool of blood into the dirt, and who knew what had happened to the other man trapped under the bike. Needless to say, we sprinted home in shock from what we had just witnessed.

July 9

Home Visitation As part of our project we sought to fully understand the Giving Hope orphans’ standard of living, so we visited a home headed by a fifteen-year-old boy with three younger

photo by Maddie Pongor

siblings and an older sister who was mentally ill and hospitalized. In addition to caring for his younger siblings, he needed to bring food to his sister because the hospital wouldn’t supply it. The chief coordinator of the Giving Hope program, Epiphanie, was translating his words to us when she suddenly broke down in tears. As she regained composure, she explained that these children’s parents were on the run; they had been ostracized from their community after being convicted of genocide crimes. Thus, the community had rejected the children and refused to provide any means of support. The most striking part of the visit was that all these children were smiling. As far as we could tell, they seemed like happy, playful children. The head of the household was a little more serious, but on the whole he did not seem disturbed, ashamed, or hopeless. Then again, if these kinds of living conditions were all that these children had known, maybe it’s understandable. Coming from the United States where we live in a world of comfort and convenience, we couldn’t help but compare our two situations—a curse and a blessing on this trip.

July 13

On the Bus

We woke up as the sun was rising, gobbled down some breakfast, and hit the road … well, if you can call it a “road.” In the twoand-a-half-hour drive to the site where we conducted our interviews, there was not a smooth stretch of dirt road longer than ten feet. In comparison, Duke Transit is smooth as ice (for anyone who’s ridden a C-1, you know this is a bold statement). There was nothing much to do but look out the window, which proved to be more interesting than any book or movie. Stories moved all around us: groups of women balancing loads of goods on their heads trekked to the market; little children fasci-

nated by our white skin chased our van and hollered “Muzungos!”; a boy led his blind grandfather down the treacherous road; churches sped by, concealing the murders that took place within fourteen years ago … Every second, another lifetime of hope and suffering passed us by. All these people moved in front of a breathtaking backdrop of terraced mountains, traced by red dirt paths that spiraled up to the top. This stunning vista reminded me of Tuscany and the English countryside. But looking closer, I didn’t see castles-turned-bed-and-breakfasts or picnickers leisurely enjoying the soft sunshine. Instead, small mud huts dotted the fields and skimpy fences made of twigs barely contained starved farm animals. Atop these huts rested thin tin roofs that leaked during the rainy season and let in malaria-infested mosquitoes. Exhausted, sweating men and women hiked to and from their homes and fields carrying the weight of their week’s work on their heads, their children on their backs, and the world on their shoulders.

July 13

Random Observations There are many aspects of Rwandan culture that surprise me—mainly little things that I didn’t notice right away or interpreted as just individual occurrences before I realized they were recurring trends… For example, nobody cares about flies here. People let flies land on their clothes, arms, hair, and even their faces, and they don’t brush them away. In the States, people get annoyed if there’s a fly in a ten-foot vicinity and make a deliberate effort to squash it promptly. Since most people here wear imported second-hand clothes, we see people in the middle of the countryside wearing “Charlotte Symphony Orchestra” t-shirts or sweatshirts from Harvard University. It is strange that these names are familiar to us, but probably mean nothing to those wearing them. All the children in primary and secondary school need to have school uniforms, and this is the biggest obstacle for families who want to send their children to school but can’t afford uniforms and school supplies. Who knows how many more children could receive an education if uniforms were not mandatory. I thought that few people would walk around outside at night since there are no streetlights and flashlights are rare commodities. In fact, the streets are bustling after sunset. I was stunned to see huge groups of people, and even children alone, walking down the street as if it were broad daylight. Our headlights glanced off them as we drove by, and they quickly disappeared into the pitch-black night. I didn’t understand

how they found their footing while carrying heavy loads on their heads in sheer darkness. Picking your nose is completely acceptable, no matter who or where you are. I’m dead serious. I love the Rwandan culture, but there are some habits I hope I don’t pick up!

July 26

Last Days in Rwanda Epiphanie took us for our last house visit today. This time we went to a compound where sixty-one orphans were living together in a building with sixteen beds. Because there wasn’t enough space, they had to sleep in shifts. Even though their living conditions were rough, they did not look malnourished, were very well-spoken (a lot of them spoke English and/or French fluently), and overall seemed optimistic. We guessed their positive attitude came from living in close contact with people around their age, allowing them to easily relate to and support each other. We asked them some questions about their past and present situations, and also about their plans for the future. They expressed how grateful they were for the assistance Giving Hope had provided them. Several had graduated high school and were enrolling in colleges with hopes of going on to graduate school. Others believed they now had the abilities needed to raise a family, whereas this prospect once seemed too daunting. Despite the challenges and adversities they had overcome and will still face, they were confident that they could not only rebuild their lives but even flourish. All of them agreed that they were ready to serve their people and their country however they were needed, and couldn’t wait for the opportunity to prove their determination. Unlike many of the Rwandan children I met, I have not seen my family slaughtered before my eyes or fled my home fearing for my life. I have not lived in a neighborhood wondering to whom I could turn, and who was about to turn on me. I cannot imagine enduring such ordeals and still finding the strength to approach each day with hope and faith in humanity, but the Rwandan people have shown me that it is possible. What then, can stop the rest of us from achieving the unthinkable? photo by Maddie Pongor

Fall 2008

Something Old, Something New by Bengisu Kuscu

photo by Bengisu Kuscu

Right then my cousins finally reappear, and this time Mahinur, the bride, is clad in a long, red silk dress with golden embroidery, called a kaftan. I find myself awkwardly incorporated into the henna ritual, and I decide I need to make my grandma explain a truly traditional Aegean coast wedding to me. Maybe then I can make some sense of what all these rituals are supposed to rep-

resent. “And before the bride moves into her husband’s house, she sings a song to the whole village …” “No, no, no, you’re going to confuse her,” my grandma interrupts my aunt impatiently. “The bride is not going to be singing like that to the whole village! Esma started that just to show off her voice—that’s not a real tradition. I’ll explain everything to you all in order. A wedding used to last a whole week, and every day had its own set of rituals. But now people can’t do that anymore; they have jobs to go to in town, and it’s a lot of money. They just take the celebrations from the last three days and try to condense it into two nights …” She shakes her head photo by Bengisu Kuscu with longing for the days of her youth; her voice softens, as I get cousin had said. “I didn’t have to worry lost in a dream of the past with her. about a thing with the house; he took care “The Friday before the actual wedding of everything. He even went shopping for you would give out helva, a sweet made groceries!” He did stay in the house until with sesame oil, to all your relatives and my cousin moved in, which gave him an opfriends and send out invitations to the ones portunity to fix any last minute problems who live far away. Well, nowadays they give and get used to his new home. Meanwhile, a little pack of Turkish Delight too …” the bride was constantly surrounded by fe“I have some here from another wed- male relatives and friends who were willing ding.” My aunt hands me a little plastic bag to share their advice and experiences. It’s with four pink and mushy cubes of sugar in considered perfectly normal for her to be it. I start chewing on one as my grandma ex- nervous about getting married. The groom plains how on Sunday each item in the girl’s was traditionally cast aside as the vicious, dowry would be carried separately to her scary man filled with sexual desires, but in new house, so that the whole village could reality he was probably as inexperienced see and appreciate her talent in embroi- and anxious as the bride herself. His stay dery. Bed sheets, pillowcases, spreads for at the new house alone for a week gave him coffee tables; everything that a flower can the chance to get used to his role as a husbe attached to is put on display. Since the band and father-to-be. girl supplies the furniture, the groom’s fam“Then on Monday, the girl’s family would ily builds the house and gives the girl gold bracelets and rings. The groom is supposed to stay in the house alone and guard it until the girl moves in. I remember my cousin telling me that the groom’s family paid the rent of their house for a year while her family bought the kitchen appliances and some furniture. This was the modern substitution for the traditional arrangement of expenses. “He was such a dear,” my

photo by Bengisu Kuscu

y grandmother shakes her head in disapproval as the villagers start chattering among themselves and my parents desperately try to reach my cousin Mahinur and her sisters through their cell phones. “None of them is answering.” My mom rolls her eyes and lights up a smoke. “They were just going to bring the henna, how long could it take?” “Well, Mahinur has to change too,” my aunt comments. “They’re doing it all wrong,” my grandma mutters to herself, not listening to their conversation. “The henna night is only for the family! You break the candy on the wedding day, not on the henna night! All wrong, all wrong!” As she sighs, irritated, I turn around to check if my cousins are anywhere to be seen. Where are the groom and his family? I feel incompetent, lost in a sea of unknown relatives and misapplied traditions, wondering if I can take another night of this confusing wedding ceremony. There is no way I’m having a village wedding, I think to myself—the ones in Hollywood movies look so much cooler. I can’t even dance to Turkish folk music, especially not when all of these people have formed a human wall around the village marketplace, trying to get the closest view of the couple and their partying relatives. They are almost like vultures watching the celebration; except they are looking for gossip instead of food. My aunt is confident the wedding will be talked about for over a month!

bake and serve baklava, and they are also supposed to give a tray to the gendarmerie.” “The gendarmerie? Why though?” “They are in charge of the security of the village and their permission is needed for the use of the marketplace. Normally they wouldn’t deny the family such a thing, but it’s a friendly gesture and a thank you for their work,” my aunt adds. “Did Mahinur send them any?” I remember all the delicious diamond-shaped pastries I’d eaten before the wedding without questioning their purpose. “She better have,” my grandma shakes her head bitterly. Remembering the real wedding, she continues on with her story. “The sweet food brings the village together, and the boy and his relatives are responsible for chopping wood for all the cooking fires for the whole village. It’s never just one family who pays for the expenses; they need to share it equally. After everyone finishes the baklava, the bride and her friends dance and have fun at her home. On Tuesday, you sign the official papers at the registry and keep serving food in the house. Nowadays they sign

photo by Bengisu Kuscu

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Fall 2008

the papers on the wedding night before the dancing starts.” Okay, I remember that. The couple sat on a table covered with white cloth as the government official in a red cloak asked them if they accepted each other as husband and wife. They said “I do” into a microphone so the whole village could hear it, and they signed in a big book to make it official. Afterward they had their first dance as a married couple, and after the first song everyone else followed them to the floor. “Then follows the pine chipping and the henna night.” “Pine chipping?” interrupts my aunt. “Didn’t they chop wood the day before?” “That’s different; they don’t do this anymore. You wouldn’t remember.” My grandma shakes her head. “The boy’s family chips the pine and brings it to the girl’s house. They plant the tree in front of the house and

decorate it, and everyone dances around it candy. It’s believed that it will make kids until midnight. That’s when the boy’s family learn more quickly. Its sweet taste is supleaves and the henna ritual starts. It’s exclu- posed to give sweetness to the marriage sive to females, and the bride dresses either when it’s first broken and distributed, then in a pretty nightgown or in a red kaftan like after the wedding you use it to give a sweet your cousin’s. She sits on a pillow or a low tongue to little kids.” chair, and her palms, nails, feet, and hair “So it’s a chain of sweetness,” I say and my are smeared with the henna. The mother is grandma nods, smiling. supposed to start crying for her and every“After you break the candy, it’s time for one sings sad songs for the girl.” the jewelry ritual. Nowadays they do it on “But why cry? Aren’t they happy the girl is the wedding night just like everything else.” getting married?” She pauses and gazes out of the window for “Yes, but they are crying because they’re a minute before she starts speaking again. afraid she won’t find the peace and happi- “The girl’s family needs money for clothing ness she had and furniture, as well in her parents’ photo by Bengisu Kuscu as for the entertainhome. And even ment expenses of the if she stays in wedding itself, so the the same village, groom’s family and she is still movthe rest of the village ing away from support them with her mother. jewelry and gold. The You mark the amount of gold given girl with henna by the groom’s famto symbolize ily depends on their that she is a wealth, and the other new bride who villagers contribute is about to start according to their rea new period in lation to the couple. her life.” Aunts and uncles are “Does it have any other special mean- expected to contribute the most; for more ing?” distant relatives it’s more of an exchange “That’s all we had back in the day when where you keep track of who gave how there was no make-up!” She smiles and much gold in previous weddings.” I smile shows me her fingernails that she still and remember the sets of coin-shaped gold paints with henna at weddings. “But they pins in Turkish jewelry stores. My mom got don’t put it in the hair or on the feet any- a piece of gold for my cousin more, it’s only the palms. It’s a good hair and in addition, dye though—gives a beautiful red glow.” I gave her I smile to myself as I remember my mom an emmentioning some new shampoo with henna b ro i in it. Girls don’t dye their hair with henna dered now because it’s not fashionable, but they do buy shampoo with henna in it to make it stronger. The irony. “Next they break the candy on Wednesday, not on the henna night,” my grandma interrupts my thoughts pointedly. “The boy’s family brings the wedding gifts to the girl’s house, as well as a goat or sheep to be cooked. Once the girl’s side is done with the cooking, the groom and his female relatives take the girl from her house to the marketplace. Here there are two chairs set for them and they sit down with their heads covered by a red veil. The special wedding candy is placed on a tray covered with red cloth and decorated with fresh flowers, and this candy is broken to pieces over their heads. It is distributed to everyone in the marketplace, and the girl is supposed to save some for after her wedding.” “For what?” “See, if a child seems to have trouble learning to talk coherently, his or her parents ask for some of that wedding

and his family are waiting.” Just as a Christian father would walk his daughter to the church altar, I think to myself. As the girl steps away from her father to join her husband, she leaves behind her girlhood and joins her new family. “The groom’s mother takes a sip of sherbet and shares her glass with the bride; the sharing of this sweet drink is a symbol for the sweet relationship they hope to share together as a family,” my grandma continues. “The following Sunday, the groom’s family visits the girl’s parents, and this is the first time that the bride cooks in her new status as a wife. This dinner also symbolizes the start of a new relationship between the two families.” “Okay, it all makes more sense now, Grandma, and sounds so much more fun.” “Well it was only confusing because it was so condensed.” My grandma smiles, looking satisfied. “I’m just glad at least one of my grandchildren will have a truly traditional wedding like back in the day. Oh, how I miss those days!” “Wait … what? You mean, me? I mean it sounds cool but I don’t kn–” But it’s too late now. She has already made up her mind. As times have changed, the traditions have changed too: it’s not practical to have a week-long wedding anymore, although food is still served before the wedding day. The last day of the ceremony is almost forgotten and the weddings have taken a twoday form. The main event of the first night is the henna ritual, and the second day tries to condense the dancing, jewelry ritual, and sometimes even the wedding candy ceremony into a few hours. It’s almost like a summary of all the customs that originally took place. As human conditions change, rituals are bound to evolve. Hopefully by the time I get married, I won’t be expected to feed hundreds of villagers. I want all the delicious food for myself.

photo by Bengisu Kuscu

gold bracelet. When I visited her at her house, she showed me that she was wearing it regularly; it’s considered rude in Turkey not to wear such presents in the presence of their giver. “Once the jewelry ritual is done, we dance the traditional dance of our region, and the night ends with everyone dancing. The boy’s side is sent back to their home with their presents. Finally the last day, Thursday, is when the girl moves in with her husband and starts her new life. She is dressed in a white dress with a veil …” “Wait, was it always white? Or is it some Western influence?” She looks confused at my question. “It was always white. It symbolizes purity. And the bride’s father ties a red belt around her waist to symbolize virginity.” I make a slight grimace that my grandma doesn’t notice. “If she doesn’t have a father, then it would be an older brother or an uncle. They walk arm in arm to her new home, and they’re supposed to cross a bridge on the way. The flowing water under it symbolizes the past flowing away, and the bridge is a symbol for crossing to her new life. The groom waits for the bride at the door, and when she arrives he throws some coins and candy to the crowd in front of the house. The candy is again the sweetness they hope to have in their marriage, and the coins symbolize their hope for wealth. The bride also takes some coins and some rice in her palms and throws them away. A relative raises and lowers the wedding veil three times before taking it off, and the bride gives it to a friend who is hoping to get married soon.” I look at her in surprise—I had never heard of that tradition. It’s so similar to Western weddings where the bride throws her bouquet. Maybe weddings are not so different from each other after all. “May your head side be a fountain; May your foot side be a lake; May what you hold turn to gold; May you have sons and daughters!” sings my grandma in a quiet voice. “That’s what the relatives would chant to wish the bride good luck. When these rituals are over, the father walks his daughter to the door of her new house, where the groom

h e e r s! World Edition

by Kara Li

photo by Baris Bakir

BRAZIL Cachaça, commonly known as pinga, is one of the most popular distilled alcoholic beverages in Brazil. With an alcohol content of around forty percent, cachaça has a lightly sweet taste that many people confuse with rum. Although traditionally consumed straight in small glasses, nowadays cachaça is virtually used exclusively for tropical cocktails, both in Brazil and abroad. Every year, more than a billion liters are produced and consumed in Brazil, with only one percent of total production being exported to other countries.3 While most exported cachaça is industrially produced, the connoisseur’s choice is still handcrafted, artisanal cachaça. First produced between 1530 and 1550, cachaça is made from boiling and distilling sugarcane juices.4 It was historically consumed by slaves, peasants, and other members of the lower class, since wealthier Brazilians considered cachaça a low-class beverage and preferred European liquors instead. In later years, as the global popularity of cachaça grew, Portugal made attempts to ban its manufacture and consumption in order to protect the market for Portuguese-made grappa. The plans were ineffective, however, due to the overwhelming depho mand for this to b y Sa South American mer Farh a beverage.

GREECE Ouzo is an anise-flavored liquor popular in Greece. Dating back to ancient times, it was a successor to tsipouro, a drink distilled throughout the Byzantine Empire and Ottoman times. The distillation of modern ouzo began mostly after Greece gained independence in the nineteenth century, with the island of Lesbos claiming to be the creator of this widely consumed drink.5 As absinthe lost popularity in the early twentieth century, ouzo quickly gained acclaim as a substitute. Ouzo is made by distilling pure ethyl alcohol in copper stills along with flavorings such as anise, cinnamon, and cloves, which creates a solution called ouzo yeast. The mixture is then mixed with sugar and diluted with water. Many families and restaurants have their own unique recipes, so nearly all varieties of ouzo taste differently. In modern Greece, friends gather to spend the early evening hours in café-like establishments called ouzeries. Ouzeries, which are found throughout Greece, serve homemade ouzo and offer a menu of mezedes appetizers such as salad, calamari, clams, and fried zucchini to accompany the drink. Traditionally, ouzo is mixed with water to dilute the strong licorice taste and lengthen the social drinking experience. Today, ouzo is commonly mixed with cola or raspberry syrup and lemonade. In 2006, ouzo was declared an official product of Greece, which prohibits the use of the name for products made outside of Greece.6 Popular imported brands of ouzo can be purchased

in the United States. In addition, ouzeries can be found in various cities in the United States.

TANZANIA Made from finger millet and bananas, mbege is a gluten-free fermented beer popular throughout eastern Africa. A beverage traditionally brewed by the Chagga ethnic group in Tanzania, mbege is made from boiling ripe bananas in water. Malted millet flour is then mixed in, creating a porridgelike substance. Hours before consumption, quinine bark is thrown to the blend, adding to the flavor and beginning the fermentation process. With the aroma of bananas and grains, the tart, wood-like flavor of mbege is very different from any beer found in the United States. Because mbege is unfiltered, the nutrients from the bananas are preserved, making it a healthier drink. Mbege plays an important role in the business, ritual, and recreational life among the Chagga people. Mbege is commonly used as payment in court cases, required during somber events such as funerals, and served at social gatherings and weddings.7 Consequently, mbege constitutes a large part of many families’ incomes. While mbege is mostly a local brew prized for its cultural significance among the Chagga, it has also started to gain international popularity—Sprecher, an American beer company, recently launched a mbege-style beer, albeit with questionable authenticity.

photo by Sprecher Brewery

Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin, a French lawyer-turned-gastronome, said in his famous work, Physiologie du goût, “Tell me what you eat and I will tell you who you are.”1 Similarly, we can learn a lot about people from what they drink. For instance, what does the alcoholic beverage of choice at Duke, Busch Light, say about our students? As one beer reviewer asserts, Busch Light—one of the highest selling beers in the United States—is a “dream come true” for the poor, struggling college student who is simply chasing after the effects of alcohol and couldn’t care less about its taste.2 On a wider scale, alcoholic beverages around the world reveal much about the history and culture of various groups of people.

Cachaça also plays a large role in Brazilian culture. Caipirinha, made from cachaça, sugar, and lime, is Brazil’s national cocktail. Quentão and Leite de Onca are both cachaça-based beverages that are traditionally served during Festas Juninas, a popular Portuguese-influenced celebration commemorating various saints. Cachaçarias (bars specializing in cachaça) have spread across Brazil, and entire museums such as the Museum of Cachaça of Pernambuco are devoted to the drink. For those looking for a taste, cachaça is relatively easy to find in the United States—Pitú and 51 are two dominant brands in the American market, although their industrial quality makes them less desirable than artisan-made cachaça. In recent years, the Brazilian government has begun promoting the export of cachaça, hoping the liquor will attain the popularity that Mexican tequila has enjoyed around the world.

JAPAN Nihonshu is better known in the United States as Japanese rice wine or “sake”, which simply means alcohol. The first nihonshu was made from a mixture of chewed rice, millet, chestnuts, and acorns, which was combined with cooked grain and fermented. Later, malt rice was added to the list of ingredients; traditionally, the malt rice is made with koji-kin, a mold that converted starch into sugar, and shubo, a yeast mash that would then convert the sugar into ethanol. The taste of nihonshu varies greatly according to its brewing process and quality, ranging from sweet and airy to dry and earthy. Fragrance also plays an important role in its taste. Depending on the season, the drinker’s preference, and the quality of the drink, nihonshu can be served at varying temperatures in shallow cups known as choko. Special ceremonial cups called saka zuki are used during more formal events. Aside from general consumption, nihonshu

Fall 2008

photo photo by by Melanie Melanie Wright Wright

is an essential component of traditional Shinto weddings, tea ceremonies, festivals, and purification rituals. As the production process was refined, nihonshu became increasingly popular. Eventually, brewing organizations were established in Kyoto, the former imperial capital of Japan. Nihonshu, along with all other types of sake, has been historically taxed by the federal government of Japan. During the end of the nineteenth century, taxes from sake consisted of nearly fifty percent of the government’s total tax income, although that figure has decreased to only two percent today.8 This was partly because the popularity of nihonshu greatly dropped after World War II, during which the quality of the beverage suffered greatly from the restrictions placed on rice. In addition, beer and other alcoholic beverages including shonchu, another alcoholic beverage native to Japan, gained great popularity and even surpassed nihonshu consumption during the 1960s.9 Today, nihonshu has gained international popularity and fame, and its quality has recovered since World War II despite the fact that domestic sales have continued to suffer. Those searching for nihonshu won’t need to look far. Various brands of nihonshu can be found at liquor stores and Japanese restaurants throughout the United States, though its quality may vary. Cachaça, ouzo, mbege, and nihonshu are merely a few examples of how native alcoholic beverages are intrinsically linked to the cultures from which they originated. Not only do these liquors reveal the tastes and preferences of their original consumers, but they also encompass the history and traditions of the people. So next time you reach for a can of Busch Light, consider trying a different beverage. You may learn something new. 1 Brillat-Savarin, Jean-Anthelme. La Physiologie du goût. 1825. 2 Carey, Bryan. “Bartender: May I Have a Glass of Yellow Water?.” Epinions. 14 Dec. 2006. 27 Oct. 2008 <http://www.epinions. com/review/Busch/fddk-review-433F-D4C004E-38EAA269prod2>. 3 Carter, Kelly E.. “Cachaça: It’s the essence of Brazil in a bottle.” USA Today 16 Feb. 2007 27 Oct. 2008 <http://www.usatoday. com/travel/destinations/2007-02-15-brazil-cachaca_x.htm>. 4 Morgan, Brian. “Brazilian Cachaça.” 06 Apr. 2004. American University. 27 Oct. 2008 <http://www.american.edu/TED/ cachaca.htm>. 5 “Ouzo: Greece’s Most Popular Drink.” Matt Barrett’s Travel Guides. 27 Oct. 2008 <http://www.greecefoods.com/ouzo/>. 6 deTraci, Regula. “Ouzo: It’s All Greek to Me - and to EU.” About.com. 25 Oct. 2006. 27 Oct. 2008 <http://gogreece.about. com/b/2006/10/25/ouzo-its-all-greek-to-me-and-to-eu.htm>. 7 Smagalski, Carolyn. “Sprecher Mbege - Exotic East African Beer.” Bella Online. 27 Oct. 2008 <http://www.bellaonline.com/ articles/art52705.asp>. 8 Casal, U.A. 1939. “Some notes on the Sakazuki and the Role od Drinking Sake in Japan. Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan. p. 73 9 Firestone, Matthew. “Big in Japan: The history of sake.” Gadling. 20 Nov 2007. 27 Oct. 2008 <http://www.gadling. com/2007/11/20/big-in-japan-the-history-of-sake/>.

by Christina Lee

“Indeed, Barack Obama’s more popular than the Pope in Europe right now,” Nicolas and Bart, my newfound Belgian friends, said laughingly. Over the summer, I had the opportunity of hearing these two Belgians’ candid opinions on the November election. While their statement was an exaggeration, they did manage to capture the general sentiment of the European population. As the Belgians had told me, Europe had been paying unusually close attention to the United States Democratic primaries, and especially to Obama (although Hillary Clinton did enjoy some popularity as well). Even in Europe’s history of liberal tendencies, the popularity of Barack Obama is still unprecedented. Consequently, my Belgian friends challenged me to keep tabs on the worldwide fascination with Obama throughout the remainder of the election. True to their words, Barack Obama, with his unconventional profile and catchphrase of change, has enraptured audiences around the world, igniting an international phenomenon. Apart from the small population of expatriate Americans living abroad, most people around the world cannot vote in November. The first question, then, is why non-citizens would even care so much about this particular election. The answer arises from the presence of a unique international atmosphere and an exceptional presidential candidate. Throughout the tenure of the Bush administration, the international community has become increasingly less amicable to-

Bara Interna wards the United States. Furthermore, as deeply set tensions with Iran and North Korea add to the highly unpopular war in Iraq, the world is looking for a new era of foreign policy. When non-U.S. citizens are asked in interviews about their view of Barack Obama, the most common reply is that they support his message of increased international diplomacy.1 The extent of worldwide support is quite stunning and reflects the international community’s desire to improve relations with the U.S. While visiting France, Obama received a warm welcome from French president, Nicolas Sarkozy, in contrast to Sarkozy’s unsteady relationship with the Bush administration. The French president said that Obama winning in November would “validate” his plan to reconcile with the U.S.2 More impressively, the presidential candidate addressed over 200,000 people in Berlin, Germany, earning a thunderous applause of approval.3 German newspapers cited Obama as “The New Kennedy,” and some even compared him to Lincoln.4 Also connected with Obama’s foreign policy of diplomacy is a message of unity and hope, which appeals to and connects with an audience beyond American borders. Obama’s popularity spans more than just Europe; the Illinois senator has a dedicated following in many countries of the world, from Kenya to Brazil and even Indonesia.5 Many Obama supporters emphasize their candidate’s intercultural appeal, especially because of his Kenyan heritage. In an ABC interview, a Kenyan man cited Obama’s connections with Kenya as one photo by Michelle Fang of his reasons for supporting him.6 In the same video, two women from India responded that they like Obama’s ability to transcend racial and cultural divides to bring new

ack Obama: ational Man of Intrigue ideas and approaches to politics.7 Furthermore, Barack Obama spent a good part of his childhood in Indonesia and has a halfsister who is half-Indonesian. Although not the only reason, Obama’s background has influenced his support there, and he received seventy-five percent of the expatriate Democratic primary votes.8 Though Obama rarely mentions his race or his time in Indonesia, he does cite his cultural heritage in addressing the need for all people to go beyond racial barriers.9 While fervent Obama supporters would like to attribute Obama’s international appeal to his intriguing personality, this phenomenon has also been augmented by the expansion of internet campaigning and online media. Obama has not only been a media darling, but his campaign also

photo by Ocean Des Etoiles

greatly utilizes the internet and new ways of communication. His campaign has received a record number of small-time online donations and also periodically sends text messages to registered users, particularly during the announcement of his vice-presidential running mate, Joe Biden. Moreover, the online videos “Obama Girl” and Will.i.am’s “Yes We Can” have had over one million hits and have reached a worldwide audience. Facebook groups created by students in support of Barack Obama also

contain far more supporters than groups for any other candidate, former or present. Additionally, online blogs and global coalition groups hope to garner support for Obama by providing videos in different languages and even by composing international songs about his candidacy. Such online campaigning offers Obama exposure unlike that in any television ad or mass phone bank: worldwide recognition without any political, geographical, or racial barriers. Such widespread support for Barack Obama is a testament to his appeal to the public—especially the younger generation. Often stereotyped as apathetic to political culture, this generation has proven clichés wrong by becoming far more involved with this election than any others in the past. Even celebrities are participating in Obama’s campaign, acting in videos like the Gossip Girl stars’ “Vote for Obama” commercial or “hitting the trail,” as Kal Penn and Oprah have. Furthermore, ever since Obama was named “the next Kennedy,” the Illinois senator’s image has skyrocketed. Obama merchandise can be found at popular stores like Urban Outfitters, and young people in particular are seen sporting such goods. Obama items in Japan are especially popular due to the candidate’s coincidental namesake with the Japanese island of Obama.10 The people of this town follow Obama’s journey religiously, decked in Obama shirts, waving, and dancing with huge banners.11 Without a doubt, Barack Obama has transformed into a political superstar and become an international and cultural phenomenon. While some areas around the world still do have reservations about Obama’s experience and policies, the general response from the international community has been very positive so far. The extent of the interest and participation

from people around the globe serves as a testament to Obama’s charisma, leadership appeal, and promise of a better tomorrow. Despite the international hype he has garnered, it is up to the American people to decide if Obama truly is the answer for the United States. Is it possible that such international response is a sign that Obama will improve America’s standing in an increasingly global atmosphere? Or should Americans solely focus on Obama’s plans for the U.S.? Regardless of the results, the ability of Barack Obama to appeal to such vast audiences through novel means will certainly become a precedent for future campaigns and elections. 1 Stevens, Colins. “Obama’s International Moment.” UNAUSA, 2008. 2 Smith, Ben. “Sarkozy: Obama’s My Pal.” The Huffington Post, 24 July 2008. 3 Kulish, Nicholas. “Germany’s Got a Crush on Obama.” The New York Times, 6 Jan. 2008. 4 Ibid. 5 “Obama International Appeal” video. <http://video.aol.com/ video-detail/obamas-international-appeal/2172462062>. 6 Ibid. 7 Ibid. 8 Ahmed, Saeed. “Obama the choice of Democrats in Indonesia.” CNN, 5 Feb. 2008. 9 Ibid. 10 Maeda, Toshi. “Japan’s Obama towns dances for U.S. namesake.” Reuters. 5 March 2008. 11 Ibid.

Fall 2008

a i b o h

p o r e -A

o e N

The Mighty Wall

“Arghhhh...” The end is so close, and yet so far. People are sprawled all around the room, wornout expressions on their faces and puffy dark circles under their eyes, flexing their stiffening legs and hardening back muscles. Those not strong enough to survive the silent battle slowly start to slump on the floor. Children whimper and cry, “Mommy, are we ever going to make it?” “Yes, we are. Be patient, okay?” Exhausted mothers offer pieces of dry food to soothe their children. “Next!” Now it is my turn—time for my sentence after a four-hour wait. Taking a deep breath and walking towards the thick black line painted on the floor, I silently wish luck to my suffering comrades left behind in the immigration queue.

Bags, please. Oh… and your credit card After the monstrously long visa approval process is over, I scurry to the domestic airlines counter to check in for my connecting flight. “Would you like to check both bags?” Of course I would like to check both bags, I think, heaving my enormous suitcases onto the scale. I do it every time I fly on your airlines. “$15 for the first bag, $25 for the second one, and an additional $40 for this one being overweight.” “What?” The professional “it is our new policy” does not really tone down my shock. However, having virtually no choice (I couldn’t possibly haul my bags around

the airport or on board), I hand over my credit card. “I’ll carry the other one on the aircraft,” I mumble, rolling my pink Barbie bag off the scale as my larger black one is sucked through the blinds.

Over three ounces? In the trash Dragging my suitcase, I proceed to the security checkpoint and stand in line. Stretching my aching back, I take a sip of water. “You need to throw that away.” “Huh?” “You can’t carry that on board.” A tall man wearing a government uniform points to my Dasani and tilts his head towards the trash can already teeming with half-filled water bottles and shampoo containers. Bye, Dasani. Sorry, I can’t carry you in a three-ounce bottle.

You’re at the border = you have no rights Now what?, I frantically ask myself as I am locked up in a small, see-through cubicle, stripped of my belongings, jacket, shoes, and boarding pass. “Hello, am I in trouble? … Hello?” Passengers who have passed security eye me—a jacketless, shoeless little Asian girl— with suspicion, pity, and probably relief that they passed without getting flagged down. “Get out,” a TSA agent finally barks after fifteen minutes or so of confusion and embarrassment. Thank God he’s not arresting me. Spotting my horribly upturned suitcase, I instinctively reach for my underwear that had spilled onto the floor, only to be stopped by a terse “don’t touch anything.” I gulp, rooted in front of the cold metal table. The guard wipes every single one of my belongings with a piece of paper and occasionally places one in a nearby scanner—probably a DNA matcher

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people on their “no-fly” lists. “We can’t answer; check with your airline” was the response to my attempt to make sense of the situation. After going through a final pat-down, I am finally cleared. Confused and upset, I march to the airlines counter by the gate and demand an explanation. “Oh, you must have been really surprised,” the flight attendant chirps with her eyebrows raised. “We select passengers at random, but a good way to avoid these processes is to become a member of the airline club. This way we are sure of your profile and that lessens the chance of flagging you for secondary screening. Plus, you can build your flying credit!” What a big difference. Membership versus no membership translates to passing security versus further examination. I wonder what the credentials are ...

Pay, pay, pay “At least I have a story—a good one—to tell my grandmother,” I tell myself as I trudge on board. I fall asleep for a moment or two, only to open my eyes and find my arms clutching my shivering torso. As my desperate search for a blanket ends without success, I buzz a flight attendant to request one. “We offer an eco-friendly comforter kit with a pillow and blanket for only $7, with a $5 coupon for your local wholesale store.” “Uh, no thanks. Can I just get the normal blanket? It’s freezing in here.” “We’re sorry, but we no longer provide free blankets. But we do have an ecofriendly comforter kit with a pillow and blanket for only $7, with a $5 coupon for your local wholesale store.” “… I’ll take it.” As dehydration on the plane gets more severe, I reach inside my shoulder bag only to I realize I had thrown away my water bottle at security. Sighing, I buzz the flight attendant again. “Do you charge for water as well?” “I’m afraid we do. These are new policies, I’m sorry if you weren’t aware of them.” “… I’ll take it,” I say through clenched teeth. Another set of new policies.

Home! “Why hello! It is so nice to see my granddaughter!” Grandmother exclaims, hugging me in her soft knitted sweater. I literally fall into her arms, inducing a startled “Oh my!” from the old lady. “Are you all right? You look like you walked here!” “Next morning,” I murmur, “I’ll tell you the best travel story ever.” Fiction? I wish. Unfortunately, these are all true stories that have happened to people around us at Duke. Ever since September 11, airport and airline security have undergone tremendous transformations around the world. Probably one of the most inconvenient changes is the ban on carry-on liquid items over three ounces. It was implemented two years ago when eight suspects at British airports were charged with plotting a plane bombing using liquid explosives disguised as soft drinks. Now, an estimated 11,000 pounds worth of liquid contrabands from gourmet wine and high-end cosmetics to drinking water are thrown away weekly, according to British airport figures.1 On September 8, 2008, however, the original case turned out to be a false alarm—only three of the eight suspects were actually convicted. The policy also seems to have loopholes here and there; the “potentially explosive” liquids are collected in open-air trashcans, and few people seem to see the difference between a twelve-ounce bottle and four three-ounce bottles of the same liquid. Complaints regarding the heightened security range from minor grievances to serious violations of civil rights. What was originally a general baggage X-ray has transformed into a time-consuming probing of the individual’s belongings. With no significant increase in numbers of security booths or expanded space in most airports, however, the physical discomfort and loss of time are entirely the passengers’ burden. The legitimacy of surprise searches of lawful travelers’ private belongings at border control has also been the target of intense criticism, especially from Muslim, South Asian, and Middle Eastern passengers. In February 2008, two civil liberty groups—the Electronic Frontier Foundation (EFF) and the Asian Law Caucus (ALC)—filed a joint lawsuit against the U.S. Department of Homeland Security. Furthermore, the random, notorious “SSSS” code on tickets, an indicator for

MSNBC news.3 One thing led to another— now everything that seems “optional” comes with a price—aisle or window seats, extra legroom, selective meals, headsets for video and audio services, and even the sodas and non-tap water. Charges for beverages are considered especially unfair, for customers are virtually given no choice since their liquid items are confiscated before boarding, and beverage costs at the gates are no different from those in the cabin. Customers lean towards more transparent pricing of airfares; Southwest Airlines boast slogans such as “Freedom from fees” on their website as more and more travelers are finding their “no hidden fees” policy and airfare insurance policy against rising fuel prices attractive. True—these “additional” costs used to be included in the flight ticket. This means two things: some people exploit services more than what they paid for, while others leave some of their package deals untouched. Therefore, advocates of airlines’ new “independent” charges are welcoming the more “fair” pricing of flying service— pay only for what you want. And true, it would be irresponsible and unrealistic to argue for lowering the actual security level in borders and airports; whereas we do feel offended and our privacy seems violated at times, these procedures actually ensure safe traveling. But then again, will those free movies, coke and peanuts, and soft pillows continue to be a part of the traveling delight once customers have to photo by Bosconet open their wallets constantly? Will millions of international and domestic travels remain pleasant baby and his nurse were lawful U.S. citizens memories? It’s sad now those smiling who had all their paperwork in order. More flight-attendants on airline posters look and more anger and satire-ridden online more like cashiers, and airport security threads are asking the critical question— personnel more like watchdogs. There is so since when did national security become much more to flying than paying for each service and crossing the border. Maybe it another word for suspended civil rights? As if competing with airports, airlines are is time that airports and airlines start to increasingly turning “customer-repellent” notice that. as well. As oil prices have skyrocketed, passengers flout liquid ban.” 10 Aug. 2007. BBC News. the cheapest fares for both domestic and 124“Air Oct. 2008 <http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/england/ international flight have increased by as tyne/6940078.stm>. Gary. “As international airfares soar, Americans much as forty-eight percent compared to 2stayStoller, in USA.” 2 Oct. 2008. USA Today. 24 Oct. 2008 <http:// 2 2007. This is not the critical occurrence that www.usatoday.com/money/industries/travel/2008-10-02is putting a frown on customers’ faces, even international-fares_n.htm>. 3 Live Vote. MSNBC. 24 Oct. 2008 <http://www.msnbc.msn. though fuel takes up a solid forty percent of com/id/26012643/> the total airfare. What bothers passengers is a series of additional charges that didn’t exist before. Starting in 2008, many U.S. airlines started to charge for a second bag and then even the first one. Baggage fees ranked number one, receiving forty-seven percent of the votes, in the survey “What airline fee do you find most annoying?” on a thorough secondary screening before proceeding to the gate on domestic flights, are also frustrating travelers, who often get little to no explanation of what they are going through. However, these might just be considered as minor offenses once we get to more serious, even fatal issues. On February 12, 2008, a Samoan-American baby with chronic heart disease died at the immigration border in Honolulu after the TSA refused to release him. It was the mother who had visa problems, while the

Fall 2008

Wer reitet so spät durch Crossing the Line: istImmigration der and Vater mit seinem Controversy in Central Europe ben liebes in dem Arm,E ihn warm.Mein Sohn, w dein Gesicht?Siehst, V nicht?Den Erlenkönig m Mein oghul, es ist ein Ne I komm, geh mit mir! G ich mit dir; Manch bunte B Meine anne hat man photo by cosmonautirussi

by Tanya Braun

magine walking down the streets of Vienna, Austria, one of the great culture capitals of the world. Follow the Ringstraße past the ornate palaces and gardens, or enter the MuseumsQuartier to find exhibits full of Klimt and Monet. Savor this classic European city, rooted in Renaissance and Gothic architecture, staunchly Roman Catholic, and a follower of a traditional Western European way of life. Now imagine walking down those same streets again, statues of Bach and Schubert on one side, horse-drawn buggies with lederhosen-clad drivers on the other, a group of black-veiled women clustered on the corner … Wait … What? No, it’s not a mistake; this sight is one many Austrians and Germans encounter on a day-to-day basis, and it is one that has them clamoring for stricter immigration laws. Throughout Austria and Germany, locals feel threatened by a rapidly budding Eastern European population, which brings with it an increase in mosques, growing numbers of non-German speakers

in local schools, and a large minority of visibly different people. Most of these immigrants move to countries like Austria and Germany not to take over someone else’s nation, but for much the same reason Latin American immigrants travel to the United States: to search for greater opportunities than they have at home. In such traditionbased countries as Austria and Germany, however, which do not have the established “melting pot” culture of the United States, the problem has become more striking as people fear they are losing their culture to the influx of foreigners. As a result, immigrants in these countries face a multitude of challenges. On a social level, regardless of the fact that many immigrants identify more with the culture of their adopted country than with the home of their parents, second or third generation migrants often encounter discrimination based on their nationality and are forced to decide with which culture their allegiances lie. Language and religion have become

sticky subjects as well, as local schools enroll increasing numbers of students who do not speak German. Since a large number of these immigrants are also Muslim, there has been additional controversy over the building of mosques, especially in rural regions.1 This problem also extends much farther than a mere culture clash, as the immigration problems of the West exacerbate the social and political issues of many immigrants’ native countries in the East.

Over the years, it has become impossible not to notice the growing population of women in headscarves walking the streets of Austria and Germany or the decreasing number of German conversations heard on subways and street cars. In fact, older generations often complain about how they feel they are losing their cities and countries to foreigners. The influx of immigrants even has many native Viennese avoiding the city during events such as the traditional New Year’s Eve walk because they don’t want to be around so many non-Austrians. To the

h Nacht und rüzgar?Es m Kind;Er hat den KnaEr faßt ihn sicher, er hält was birgst du so bang Vater, du den Erlkönig mit Kron und Schweif? ebelstreif.Du belki Kind, Gar schöne Spiele spiel’ Blumen sind an dem plaj, west, in Salzburg, some locals fear that the problems of eastern Austria and Germany will soon become significant in the western regions as well. In smaller Alpine towns, the debate over the building of mosques has become consistently heated as citizens resent the loss of their traditional image. In both countries, schools have become more and more non-German, pressing local parents to send their children to costly private schools instead. Local governments are, furthermore, pressing for legislation which would ban the building of mosques and minarets in towns and cities. Germany also faces a growing wave of fear as many eastern Muslim youths living there become sympathetic to radical Islamic causes, increasing violent fundamentalism within German immigrant populations.2

Unfortunately for many migrants, those who say that over-immigration is a pressing problem have statistics on their side. In 2007, Austria accepted almost 100,000 immigrants, adding to the over 400,000 already living in Vienna and the roughly sixteen percent of the overall population that comes from a foreign background (as opposed to ten percent in 2002).3 According to a French study, over fifteen percent of students in Austrian schools in the 2002-2003 academic term were non-natives. Germany is home to more than 9.5 million non-citizens, with the most represented groups being Turks, Italians, Yugoslavians, Greeks, and Poles.4 It also houses the third-largest Muslim population in Europe (exceeded only by France and the Netherlands).5 In 2007, Muslim religious groups revealed plans for 184 new mosques to be added to the over 1,200 buildings already being used for Muslim religious worship in Germany.6

However, while statistics may point to a rising foreign influence, what about the immigrants themselves? Why are so many foreign nationals leaving their homelands for new lives in the West? Much of their motivation lies in the desire for a better life, and Austria is a natural choice for many because of its historical status as the border between Eastern and Western Europe. Vienna itself is seen as a crossroads: a common stopping point for those migrating from the East. Austria’s less-strict immigration policies, which have always focused on asylum and temporary protection, are a major draw, and both Austria and Germany have recently been required to adopt the open borders of the EU.7 In addition, Austria’s status as a neutral nation makes it an appealing destination for many migrants. Immigrants also find ready employment in fields in which native Austrians are unwilling to work, such as in-house caretaking and maid-service, where they can be paid under the table and avoid state taxes. Of course, those who manage to become citizens of their adoptive

nations can reap the labor and social benefits of being members of the EU, especially the ability to travel freely and legally among EU member nations.8

As foreign nationals become more established within Austria and Germany, there arises the growing problem of identity among first and second generation immigrants. While many of these children and young adults identify more with the Germanic culture of their new homes, they still have to face the prejudice of those who only see their foreign appearance or hear their different tongues. In 2003, the University of Vienna’s psychology department performed a study on immigrants in Austrian schools. In addition to finding that only fifty-seven percent of students in the seventh and eighth grade classes studied were native Austrians, they observed that foreign students, particularly those originating from Turkey, faced significant social problems such as bullying and a lack of friends and peer interaction.9 As vast numbers of immigrants continue to migrate to central Europe, these trends will likely increase over the next several years. It is important, however, to realize that the culture clash extends far beyond the level of schools and villages. Much of the bias against the integration of Eastern European nations into the EU stems from the problems Westerners encounter in their own countries. A prime example is that of Turkey, whose petitions for EU membership have been received with antagonism from those who resent the increasing Eastern and Muslim influence within their home countries. This opposition only adds to the many additional hurdles Turkey faces in terms of minority rights, trade, and political instability, all of which stand in the way of its acceptance into the EU. It does not help that membership would give Turkish citizens the ability to travel freely among other EU nations, resulting in an increase in migration towards the West, and, as a result, more hostility from Western nations.10 Regardless of which side may be right, it is impossible to deny the existence of a growing immigration problem within Austria and Germany. To foreign migrants, the problem arrives in the form of discrimination, repression, and political difficulties in their native countries; for locals, it signifies a threat to traditional culture, religion, and way of life. Either way, the question of migrants and their place in society is significant. While the United States may face similar issues in that it has become home to a rap-

idly budding foreign population, Americans should consider themselves lucky to have avoided the extreme division that Austria and Germany now experience. Over time, the United States needs to keep an eye on such situations—it might just find a solution to its own dilemmas.

1 “Austria to limit building of mosques.” Cranmer. 2007. 22 Sept. 2008 <http://archbishop-cranmer.blogspot. com/2007/08/austria-to-limit-building-of-mosques. html>. 2 “Study Shows Integration Problems Among Germany’s Muslims.” Deutsche Welle. 2008. 22 Sept. 2008 <http://www.dw-world.de/dw/article/0,2144,3014552,00.html>. 3 “International Migration to and from Austria by Citizenship 1961 bis 2007.” Statistics Austria. 2008. 22 Sept. 2008 <http://www.statistik.at/web_en/statistics/ population/migration/028953.html>. 4 Haug, Sonja. “Migration Trends from Central and Eastern Europe to Germany.” Princeton University. 22 Sept. 2008 < http://iussp2005.princeton.edu/download.aspx?submissionId=50337>. 5 Leiken, Robert S. “Europe’s Angry Muslims.” Foreign Affairs. 2002-2008. 22 Sept. 2008 <http://www.foreignaffairs.org/20050701faessay84409/robert-s-leiken/ europe-s-angry-muslims.html>. 6 “Islamic Group Plans to Double Number of Mosques in Germany.” Deutsche Welle. 2008. 22 Sept. 22 <http://www.dw-world.de/dw/article/0,2144,2821191,00.html>. 7 Jandl, Michael, and Albert Kraler. “Austria” A Country of Immigration?” Migration Information Source. 2003. 4 Oct. 2008 < http://www.migrationinformation.org/ Profiles/display.cfm?ID=105. 8 Münz, Rainer. “East-West Migration after European Union Enlargement.” Austrian Press and Information Ser vice. 2007. 22 Sept. 2008 <http://www.austrianinformation.org/may-june-2004/2007/2/15/917479. html>. 9 Strohlmeier, Dagmar. “Immigrant Children in Austria: Aggressive Behavior and Friendship Patterns in Multicultural School Classes.” Journal of Applied School Psychology. 19.2 (2003). 22 Sept. 2008 <http://www. haworthpress.com/store/ArticleAbstract.asp?sid=QJA6 S43SKJXD8PD8XK6XP7XH5VR3CV60&ID=39569>. 10 Kirisci, Kemal. “Turkey: A Transformation from Emigration to Immigration.” Migration Information Source. 2003. 22 Sept. 2008 <http://www.migrationinformation.org/Feature/display.cfm?ID=176>.

nch gülden Gewand photo by Motg

Fall 2008

Not All Who Wander Are Lost Stories from Rural China

by Ruijia “Regina” Zhou

uan Guo, a typical tenth grade girl living in an isolated little town in China, has recently rediscovered her dream of becoming an anchorwoman, a career path she had given up a long time ago. Nan, Xuan’s classmate and good friend, is happy that she is catching up with her peers in classes by going to the instructor’s newly launched “office hours.” I met Xuan and Nan this summer, when I volunteered at a local high school in Houbu, China. They, along with the rest of the kids I taught, each had a unique, fascinating story, and I found that by sharing their experiences, I began to appreciate my own life in a new light. Houbu, a small town in China’s Shanxi Province, is home to one of the major coal mines in China. Most of the people living there work in the local coal mining industry. Although energy can be sold at a decent price, the majority of the profit goes to a government-owned corporation instead of the workers. Thus, most coal miners are still struggling to provide for their basic needs. I spent three weeks teaching tenth grade classes at the only high school in Houbu.

photo by Regina Zhou

The principal wanted me to talk about my experiences in the United States; the kids were eager to learn about the world outside of their little town, but they rarely had the opportunity to do so. In Houbu, students who do not score well enough on the National College Entrance Exam usually end up becoming coal miners like their parents. In addition, one-third of the 600 kids I taught had never been to places farther than their neighboring town due to inconvenient public transportation—there is only one bus route leaving Houbu—which makes this place even more isolated. It is in this desolate environment that Xuan and Nan are growing up. Now, the government is striving to improve education standards, which is why I chose to volunteer in Houbu over several other towns. I believed that what I was doing could contribute to improving its current education system. The Anchor Dream The first time I met Xuan was after my first class. The other students were too shy to talk to me, but Xuan came to my desk and introduced herself. She was very talkative

and outgoing. I invited her to lunch and we soon became good friends. Xuan likes reading and watching TV, especially the news and political talk-shows. She started to entertain the idea of becoming an anchorwoman when she was in sixth grade. “News anchors are the closest to what’s going on in the world,” she says. “Whenever something happens, news agencies are always among the very first group of people to learn about the situation.” However, Xuan told me sadly that she had given up her dream because she didn’t believe she could ever make it. Xuan said that the best college to train anchors is the Communication University of China in Beijing, which, due to the nature of the profession, requires an even higher level of English than other colleges. Given Xuan’s current performance on her English exams, she would not even be able to get into college. Houbu has experienced tremendous difficulties in recruiting good teachers, and therefore cannot provide a satisfactory education for its youth. The situation is even worse in foreign language training, which plays an important role in the College Entrance Examination in China. This

16 barrier makes going to college extremely difficult for the kids in Houbu. Each year, only three to five percent of the graduating class does well enough on the exam to get into college. Given this fact, a large number of kids simply stop trying because they believe there is no hope for them, even though they desperately want to attend college. Xuan was one of those kids. “How am I going to get into a school with such a high requirement of English when I can’t even pass my tenth grade English exam?” She had completely lost confidence in her English. Both the vicious cycle of bad grades and not working hard and the fact that these kids could just give up their dreams so easily shocked me. I told Xuan that I could help her with her English class, since I had studied English as a foreign language myself. I started our one-on-one help sessions later that afternoon by asking her about the difficulties she was experiencing in her studies. Soon, I discovered Xuan’s main problem was that she didn’t integrate speaking and listening with reading and writing. All she did for learning the language was read textbooks and memorize vocabulary. It was obviously difficult for her to memorize a word when she didn’t even know how to pronounce it. In order to solve this problem, Xuan and I set up a daily plan for studying English, which included listening to English tapes for at least twenty

minutes or watching an English movie every day. I insisted that she follow the plan and report her progress to me periodically. Moreover, I asked Xuan to review what she learned, do extra practice problems every day, and speak only in English during our one-on-one sessions. It was very hard in the beginning, since she had not spoken much English before. However, Xuan was very smart and made great progress. I understood it would be difficult for her to stick to the plan without giving up. When I returned to Beijing, I mailed her some brochures from the Communication University of China as an incentive. Xuan told me in a recent letter that her English grade had improved significantly on the last exam, and she was going to try her best to achieve her aspiration. photo by Regina Zhou

Office Hours While chatting with my students, I was surprised to find that kids in Houbu seldom talk to their teachers. Nan was the first one to mention this simple fact to me. She told me that she was having problems in her math class; she couldn’t understand her teacher’s lectures. When I asked why she didn’t seek help from her teacher, she told me, slightly puzzled, that students there don’t usually talk to the instructors. This was in part because they were afraid that their teachers would find out that they didn’t understand the material, and in part because it was hard to find their instructors after class. The students suffered a lot from either not being able to ask or not being used to asking questions. As the problem built, they eventually found that they no longer understood what was going on in class. Nan was extremely worried that she was going to fail the next test. I cannot imagine this happening at Duke, where every professor holds office hours each week. Therefore, I decided to introduce this idea to the high school. I asked the principal to have all the teachers hold office hours every week for students to come chat and ask questions. He was very

interested in the concept and told me that he hadn’t been aware of the problem’s existence. I pushed forward this plan by starting to hold office hours myself and inviting other teachers to come. I advertised the idea in class and assured the students that asking questions was not something shameful. In contrast, it showed the teacher that they were thinking about the material, and it was better to get their questions answered during office hours than not to understand a subject on the final exam. My first office hour was, surprisingly, a complete success. I had only expected a few students to come, since the kids were not used to talking to their teachers. However, more than 500 students showed up to chat with me, and we had to move to an auditorium to fit everybody in. Of course, instead of talking on a one-on-one basis, I ended up switching my office hours into a question and answer session. Its popularity further proved the need for student opportunities to interact with teachers. The principal soon sent out a letter to all the teachers in the school and requested that they hold office hours every week. Nan still stays in touch with me, and she told me that she was working hard with her math teacher to catch up on the material she did not understand. The most rewarding part of volunteering for me was to see my influence on other people—that what I did helped to make other people’s lives better. It is very comforting to know that Xuan, Nan, and all the other students I taught are building confidence and making progress. More importantly, they helped me look at my own life from a different perspective. There are many things in my life that I took for granted. I just assumed that everyone in the world had, for example, the opportunity to obtain a good education or to pursue any career they wanted. But the reality is that there are people who don’t even dare think of having these things. I am more grateful now after comparing what I have to what my students have. It is my sincere hope that they can all achieve their dreams at some point in their lives and impact their community in a meaningful way.

photo by Regina Zhou

Fall 2008

Recycling Reinvented

link, clank, thump. I sat upright in my seat. My eyes narrowed, searching for the source of the clatter. I was waiting at John F. Kennedy airport for my flight back to Duke after a summer in South Korea when my ears were suddenly piqued. My brain signaled that these were familiar, yet recently unheard sounds. I abruptly turned my head towards the source. Then, it finally clicked. What had once been lost in the ignored symphony of background noise now rejected its previous mediocrity and composed a completely distinct cacophony of its own. What did I hear? The clatter originated from the casual and blasé motions of busy travelers nonchalantly throwing empty Dasani bottles and Diet Coke cans into nearby trash bins. Three months earlier, I would not have considered these habits to be out of the ordinary. Now, however, after spending my summer months in South Korea where recycling is required by law, I was appalled by these very thoughtless actions. I realized that Americans were not always conscious about recycling and wondered how I had not noticed it photo by Colin Purrington

sooner. Not only had I become a recycling maniac during my stay in South Korea, but I also gained a whole new perspective on sustainable practices. These environmentally friendly habits are sometimes present in the least likely of places. When I was in Seoul, I could only handle so much Korean food at one time. After two straight weeks

by Kyu

Min Le

of Korean cuisine, I inevitably became nostalgic for classic American junk food: the greasy yet irresistible products of Chick-fil-A and Cookout. Luckily, I was saved by the numerous imported fastfood restaurants in the city. Whenever I felt such cravings during the summer, I simply headed to a nearby fast-food restaurant to satisfy my voracious desire for a big, juicy hamburger paired with fries plus a Coke to aid this bold adventure. Although the food tasted just as I had imagined, I was reminded that I was still in Korea by a shocking practice customary in these fast-food eateries. The first time I went to throw away my trash after a delicious chicken sandwich combo at McDonald’s, I was confounded by several differentially-shaped bins. The garbage station had four categories for wastes: liquids, paper cups, leftover food, and other trash. Four categories for waste? I was astonished. I soon discovered that the practice of sorting waste is entrenched in the Korean culture and expands well beyond fastfood restaurants. Such trash-sorting stations exist at every fast-food restaurant, coffee shop, and apartment complex. Almost all households in Korea separate their trash into glass bottles, plastics, aluminum, newspaper, cardboard, food waste, and remaining waste. It seems like a long and daunting list, but these separate recycling bins really do exist. Although I had initially thought of recycling as a hassle, it soon became routine. Most Koreans strongly believe that recycling should be a regular practice and that there is no reason not to conserve and reduce waste. Even those who have lived abroad in the United States cannot understand how it is such an insignificant aspect of most Americans’ lives. Moreover, it confounds them that the general American public seems to lack a conservation mentality. In addition to recycling, another significant difference between the two countries is the price tag on plastic bags at Korean grocery stores. Whereas plastic bags are free in the United States,

shoppers in Korea are charged the rough equivalent of five cents per bag. This has induced the common practice of using large, personal shopping bags instead of the plastic alternative. Additionally, plastic cups are rarely, if ever, seen in even the most casual of restauphoto by Yueh-Hua

rants in Korea. Instead, paper or metal cups are used. For metal cups in particular, restaurants clean and provide them to customers in UV-lit containers to keep them fresh. These sustainable practices have simply become customary in Korea. The idea of sustainability seems to be ingrained in Korean citizens. Recycling is not a duty to fulfill but rather a habit for many Koreans. After living there for a few months, it became embedded in me as well, and I wanted to bring back to Duke the mentality that I gained during my stay. Once the school year started, a few friends and I organized Crowell Eco Week to raise awareness about sustainable practices. With no surprise, we found that a little incentive in the form of a few gifts reduced the total amount of trash in the quad for that week. All it takes to support sustainable practices is implementing a system of incentives, be it through the law or five-cent charges on plastic bags. Though it would take great effort, I believe that with time, recycling could become a widespread habit of the American public. If my experience in Korea is any indication, I think it would be an attempt well worth making.

by Daniel Luís Kamakura

The Born Identity

f you could not tell by my last name, my family did not land on Plymouth Rock. We are not the “pilgrim’s pride,” and while we love America, it most certainly is not the “land where my fathers died.” Instead, that dubious distinction lies not in the land of my birth (America), nor even in the land of my parents (Brasil*). In fact, my family’s roots cannot be traced back to any one country, and I have the somewhat morbid honor of claiming ancestors born, raised, and buried in four of the seven continents on Earth.

While certainly an accomplishment rarely matched by American families, my heritage makes for some confusing answers to relatively common questions. Simple phrases like, “Where are you from?” or “What is your ethnicity?” most often lead to a complicated response and even more questions. Most of the time, the people who ask are good-natured and have innocuous intentions; however, every once in a while, I am forced into a corner by one question: “Which of the following best describes your ethnicity (select one)?” It goes without saying that my life and ethnic history cannot be summed up by a multiple-choice question, but I certainly cannot blame the surveys for being overly simplistic; although Americans are as diverse as the country itself, straight-forward, one-word answers to this question are more the norm than the exception. But if America can be described as “the melting pot of the world,” then the land of my parents is the World’s Largest Fondue. Brasil’s ethnographic history is … complicated, to say the least. Originally colonized by the Portuguese (themselves technically immigrants), Brasil has since seen many mass migrations. Many immigrants left their home coun-

tries due to wars, famines, or natural disasters. Most left voluntarily in pursuit of prosperity—others, however, neither volunteered nor became prosperous for their troubles. My family history results from a combination of these circumstances: my maternal ancestors, the Francischinis, were Italian immigrants brought in by the Brasilian government to work Brasilian coffee and sugar plantations after the abolition of slavery. Like most Italians, the Francischinis worked for miniscule wages and in appalling conditions barely better than those of the slaves they were replacing. Yet despite all this, the Francischinis and other Italians stayed, and their language, culture, and customs became as much a part of the mainstream culture as Brasil became a part of them. My paternal ancestors immigrated under similar pretexts. The first to arrive in Brasil was Zen-Iti Kamakura, my great-grandfather on my grandfather’s side. Zen-Iti came to Brasil from Japan in 1908, after the twin blows of the Meiji Revolution and the end of feudalism in Japan left millions of “emancipated” serfs impoverished, unemployed, and seemingly without any place in Japanese society. While in Brasil, Zen-Iti and his countrymen worked for pay and in conditions little better than those of the Francischinis. Despite these challenges and initial self-segregation (largely the result of culture shock and fears of exploitation), Zen-Iti and his fellows eventually integrated fully into Brasilian society. Today, Brasil not only enjoys rich Japanese traditions as part of its culture, but it also boasts the largest population of Japanese outside of the islands. It is because of their history that both halves of my family mirror Brasilian society’s opinions about race, culture, and ancestry, namely: “Who cares?” Brasil has the dubious honor of being the last country in the Americas to outlaw slavery, tolerating the disgraceful practice for more than twenty-three years after the American Civil War. Even so, Brasil is not a country that has been overly concerned with race politics; there were no Jim Crow laws that crept up after Brasilian emancipation, and there was no period of “separate but equal.” There were no “grandfather” clauses in laws or “literacy tests” designed to prevent ex-slaves from voting; in fact, for most of the Republic’s history all Brasilians were required by

law to vote. This is not to say that Brasil is a paragon of peace and harmony; it has more than its share of problems, among them poverty, corruption, and ruthless, bloodthirsty gangs that are often as well-armed as the Army (from whom they sometimes steal or buy their weapons). But racially, at least, Brasilians are pretty egalitarian—most are indifferent at best and uninterested at worst. Hate crimes of any kind (religious or racial) are extremely rare, and racial supremacist groups are few and far between. No one could tell you who the first black president was because no one really knows or took the time to find out. Besides, after centuries of integration and intermarriage, there are few Brasilians not descended from slaves, and thus the American concepts of “black,” “white,” and even “race” itself do not really fit.

It is because of this mindset that I am grateful to my Italian, Japanese, Portuguese, and Brasilian ancestors, who came together and made me as racially mixed and complicated as I really am. My racial identity (or perhaps lack thereof) gives me an interesting perspective on American politics, race, and cultural relations. When listening to Americans talk about Barack Obama as America’s first black presidential candidate, I can not help feeling the urge to smile and think, “Wow … this actually matters to these people!” And when I hear people argue over whether Barack Hussein Obama is really a Muslim and an Arab or a Christian and a “good family man,” I give in to the urge and laugh hysterically. I want to grab the nearest TV pundit and cry out: “I do not care if it is true or not, I do not even care if you think that those things are mutually exclusive or the same; but can somebody tell me why I should care? For that matter, why does anyone?” Ironically, it is because of my mixed ancestry that the question of ethnicity has become all but meaningless to me. I am not “American.” I am not “Japanese.” I am not “Italian,” “Brasilian,” or even “Italian-American-BrasilianJapanese.” I am a Person, ancestrally Human, and born and raised as a proud Citizen of the World. Although my unique background may give me an unfair advantage seeing it, that is all that anyone ever is or should be. * In Brasil, there is a saying: “Quem me conheçe não esqueçe—meu Brasil e com ‘S.’” Translated, that means, “Those who know me do not forget—my ‘Brasil’ is spelled with an ‘S.’”

Fall 2008

passportmag@gmail.com www.duke.edu/web/passport

Vol. 8

Passport Magazine Passport - Fall 2008

Monday, November 24, 2008

Free

Colombia’s Coming Back!

by Melissa Wiesner

ome to Colombia. No, really, come. Cartels, cocaine, and kidnappings holding you back? Don’t let a frozen image of Colombia stop you from visiting this vibrant and changing country. In the last ten years, Colombia has un-

ongoing tension between the FARC and into the operation, which involved having the government, resulting in a civil war for government officials and troops pass as the past four decades. In December 1993, guerrillas for months before the operation. however, police shot Medellín cartel lead- Ms. Betancourt, their highest profile caper Pablo Escobar, robbing the FARC of its tive, had been running for president when most influential leader. In his prime, Pablo she was taken six and a half years ago. ReEscobar was a ruth- garding the recovery, she stated, “This is a less and unstoppable miracle. There is no historical precedent for opponent of the law, such a perfect operation.”5 There is widespread pride among Colomassociated with the deaths of four thou- bians regarding just how flawless the stratsand people.2 He egy truly was, because it employed intelliprofited from the gence over weaponry. The day of the rescue, drug trade, rising July 2, 2008, marks a reversal of Colombia’s from modest roots bloody past, as the rescue managed to avoid to being the seventh any bloodshed. This is the future Colombia richest man in the wants. world.3 Once he was taken down, the fuThe country’s evolution is illustrated by ture of his followers the city of Medellín, a microcosm of the became less secure. progress engulfing the rest of Colombia. photo by Melissa Wiesner Since then, random Former mayor Sergio Fajardo, who has reacts of violence asso- ceived acclaim for his role in the country’s This famous bronze sculpture by Fernando Botero can be found at the Parque Botero in downtown Medellín. Botero donates most of his work, which ranges from ciated with the FARC transformation, summarized the change by humorous to political, to the Colombian people. have subsided as the saying: ‘’Medellín went from fear to hope.’’6 cartels have divided Historically the murder capital of the world, dergone shocking transformations that up into multiple, smaller, competing traf- Columbia’s second largest city is now usmerit a closer look. Once you realize that ficking organizations. Today guerrillas are ing its entrepreneurial spirit for the better. the risks are exaggerated, you will agree abandoning ship by the hundreds, cocoa It is doing the unexpected by using social with what many Colombians are saying: farmers are transferring their energies to- revitalization projects, such as bringing li“The only risk is that you’ll want to stay.” wards hotel management and other tour- braries to historically neglected areas of the When most Americans think of Colom- ist services, and drug producers are being city, to combat crime. At one point the city bia, their minds travel to a dangerous place forced to run their labs deeper in the jungle. recorded 381 murders per 100,000 people. with high kidnapping rates, a massive and Kidnapping, previously the key tactic used Today, however, that rate has plummeted to apparently never-ending guerilla war, a by the FARC to blackmail affluent Colom- twenty-six murders per 100,000 people— huge drug problem, and widespread pov- bians (especially government officials), has lower than that of Washington, D.C.7 erty and machismo. But Colombia is not all since been curbed. Once a doom and gloom. A recent BusinessWeek daily occurrence, these kidarticle calls Americans out on their tunnel nappings have gone down vision: “Today it’s the world’s third hap- from a staggering 3,572 in the piest country, but ‘cocaine’ and ‘cartel’ are year 2000 to 521 in 2007.4 traditionally more easily associated with A key factor in Colombia’s Colombia than ‘carefree’ and ‘contented.’”1 progress is undoubtedly its Indeed, with United States backing, the Co- current president. Since his lombian government has defied the odds inauguration in 2002, Alvaro and cracked down on crime and violence, Uribe has made the dismanpumping resources into educational and tling of the FARC his top prisocial programs. Colombia has undergone ority. Just this summer, he a massive economic transformation as well, accomplished one of his most photo by Melissa Wiesner thanks to increased foreign investment and ambitious plans thus far: the booming tourism in the last decade. Colombian military rescued A Colombian folk dance and genre of music, cumbia was born from the As for the drug industry, many problems fourteen high profile hos- Caribbean Region of Colombia. Now it is popular all over Latin America. can be traced back to the Revolutionary tages, including three AmeriArmed Forces of Colombia (FARC), a Marx- cans, from the FARC rebel group. Political Furthering its commitment to change, ist guerilla group responsible for much analysts worldwide praised Uribe for the Medellín hosted five Duke students this of the illicit drug industry. This has led to extensive planning and creativity that went summer through the DukeEngage program

led by Professor Tamera Marko from the that you can’t find here [in the States]. Latin American and Caribbean Studies De- Parque Explora, the International Poetry partment. Even with the help of the Duke Festival, Feria de las Flores, salsa dancing administration, she had to overcome plenty at the Tibiri, Parque de los Deseos (with all of red tape and pull some strings to send photo by Melissa Wiesner these students to the city, which was a top no-go zone according to the U.S. State Department. Yet, the risk more than paid off as these students came to appreciate Colombia beyond its negative reputation. The five Duke students—Gavin Best, Rachel McGowen, George Zachary Perret, Garrett Raczek, Jessica Shuen—worked at the new series of public libraries that the government had constructed in Medellín. A recent addition Bandeja paisa, a typical dish from northwestern to the city, these facilities were part of a Colombia, contains a wide range of local foods such as plantains, beans, rice, cicharron (fried pig), program to improve the quality of life for chorizo (sausage), avocado, arepa (corn tortilla), Medellín’s citizens. The venture has been and fried egg. recognized internationally as one of the most innovative social projects ever initiat- the astronomy stuff), and Museo de Botero ed by any government. Membership to the were all incredible [events]. Working in the libraries is free and the resources are plen- Parques Bibliotecas, we got to see statetiful. As the Colombia DukeEngage website of-the-art library parks that were there to explains: “This is not your average library. serve more impoverished communities. The five Parques Bibliotecas are state-of- They have really become a place for the the-art spaces with internet rooms, reading children to hang out and learn. A general lounges, theatres, and outdoor open plazas feeling I got from the Paisas was that they with 360-degree views of the Andes moun- are proud of their culture and work to intains encircling the city down below.”8 They tegrate their past with new developments. were purposefully built in some of the poor- They are constantly trying to improve the est and most crime-ridden areas of the city, city (for example, the building of five more in which desperate youth are consistently Parques Bibliotecas) but still maintain their driven to join rebel drug groups. Modern history.” metro lines now work their way up to these While Jessica’s experience may not reflect slums, so that people of all socio-economic the full scope of modern-day Colombia, it backgrounds can enjoy a safe ride to the is a testimony to the major changes taknew libraries. ing place in the country. Through this and These rides were a daily routine for Ju- other social projects, the national and local nior Jessica Shuen, whose heart is still in governments are supplanting the divided Columbia: culture wrought by years of drug trade and “It is one of the most vibrant cities I’ve been instead fostering a community that brings to, with warm people and a rich culture. Al- together its citizens in a positive, nurturing though when many people think of Colom- environment. bia, they immediately think drugs, violence, and poverty, Medellín definitely does not On the one hand, Colombia is still a major fit into that stereotype … The people are in- cocaine producer, and with the drug trade credibly welcomes a mascoming and sive amount loving, which of violence is incredible and instabilto see espeity. Still, the cially with governments’ all the previactions, localous years of ized ventures violence; evsuch as the one eryone greets in which Dukeone another Engage particwith a kiss ipated, and the and strangdisintegration ers help one of the FARC in photo by Melissa Wiesner another out. the past decade The Feria de Las Flores, the yearly flower festival in Medellín, is one of The food— the largest horticultural events in the world. It began in the 1950s to enhave brought arepas, em- courage trade for the large number of flower growers around Medellín. the country a panadas, long way. Now sancocho, frijoles—[is] all delicious. There that tourists can travel there with less risk, are so many activities throughout the city they can appreciate the many other beauti-

ful aspects of the Colombian culture. Visitors may witness cumbia, the national folk dance and music style originally developed by the slave population. They can explore the fifty-one nationally protected parks that make up ten percent of the country.9 All this and much more await those who visit the modern Colombia. As the country continues its upward journey, America needs to pay closer attention. The less stable Colombians find themselves, the easier it is for them to turn to terrorism

photo by Melissa Wiesner A father and his son show their love at the yearly Flower Fair. The father’s hat is called a sombrero vueltiao, which refers to the way its sides curve up.

and the drug trade, which not only keeps us from traveling to this beautiful nation but also allows these problems to infiltrate across U.S. borders. In fact, the demand for drugs in America is what fires this inferno in Colombia, as the U.S. is the number one consumer of Colombian cocaine.10 Colombia is doing its part by fighting corruption at its highest levels, providing education to its lowest, and making the country safe for tourists. We need to do our part to educate potential drug users here in America and stop drug traffickers more effectively. Together, we can ensure that “Cocaine Country” remains the Colombia of the past. 1 World Values Survey. World Values Survey Association. 2005. <http://www.worldvaluessurvey.com>. 2 Ceaser, Mike. “At Home on Pablo Escobar’s Ranch.” BBC News. 2 July 2008. 3 “The World’s Billionaires” Forbes. 23 July 1990. 146:2, pp.121-85. 4“Kidnapping is Booming Business.” IKV Pax Christi. Utrecht: IKV Pax Christi, 2008. 5 “Colombian hostage Bentacourt freed.” BBC News. 3 July 2008. 6 Bridges, Tyler. “Colombian city, once violent, now very livable.” Miami Herald. 9 June 2008. 7 Ibid. 8 “Parques Bibliotecas in Medellín, Colombia: Social Equality Through Education.” DukeEngage. 24 January 2008. < http://dukeparquebibliotecascolombia.blogspot.com>. 9 Ahmed, Kulsum. “Environmental Priorities and Poverty Reduction: A Country Environmental Analysis for Colombia.” Washington: World Bank Publications, 2007. 10 “Field Listing—Illicit Drugs.” World Factbook. Central Intelligence Agency. 23 October 2008. <www.cia.gov>.

Fall 2008

ticket: $500 hotel: $250 U.S. visa: priceless by Kimberley Goffe

“No cell phones allowed inside, sir.” “Excuse me miss, yu staple yu pictures to di form yet? Yu don’t want to get inside and have dem scatter-scatter all ova di place, when dey askin yu di questions.” “Juice an Wata! Juice an Wata, anybody?” Eight a.m. and the sun was already beating down on Kingston, Jamaica. Everyone around me was either complaining about the heat or trying to sell something to the people complaining about the heat. There were people selling refreshments from cardboard boxes, someone stapling forms together for fifty Jamaican dollars, and a man taking passport-sized photos, which he printed instantly from his “office”—a printer resting on a plastic chair on the sidewalk. There were even women with “International Cell Phone Service” badges, a service that involved holding cell phones in Ziploc bags for safekeeping while people dealt with international business inside the embassy. The line was long and we were all tired. Some people had come from the other side of the island, others from just down the road. Some had been waiting since five a.m. and some would wait until five p.m. before they got inside. We were people from all over Jamaica, people with different backgrounds and different jobs, but we all had one common goal: to get a United States visa. Until recently, I thought everyone knew what a visa was. Visas have dictated where and how I have traveled throughout my life, so I assumed they must have been a part of everyone’s life. I have discovered, however, that some people are blissfully unaware of the visa’s existence. A visa is a travel document issued by country A that gives a citizen of country B permission to seek entry for a certain period of time and with certain stated purposes. Visas and passports are

two separate things, with passports issued by the country a person is from and visas issued by the country to which a person wants to travel. Basically, visas run international travel and for many, they are just as important as a passport. Most of the people I’ve met who are unaware of a visa’s function have been American, Canadian, or British citizens. My guess as to why? It is probably because citizens of these countries generally have the fewest visa requirements in the world. Countries are willing to let them enter without background checks, proof that they will leave when they should, letters

for people who want to remain permanently in the U.S.; and nonimmigrant—for people who want to stay temporarily in the U.S. for tourism, business, or education. In 2007 alone, the U.S. embassy issued 6,444,285 non-immigrant visas.1 That is like giving the entire population of Massachusetts visas to travel to one particular country. This number is understandable considering the educational, medical, and job opportunities available in the U.S., not to mention the high number of immigrants in the country with family members who want to visit them. The only problem is, with such a high demand, the process of applying for a visa inevitably becomes more difficult. To make matters worse, the U.S. government has increased the difficulty since September 11. According to the Department of State: “We made some changes in our laws governing visitor entry and exit. We now require additional application forms and security clearances. Visa applications take longer to 2 process.”

of invitation, or fees. Their passports have a greater value. On the other hand, “visa” was probably the third word every Jamaican citizen spoke, right after “Mama” and “Dada.” This is not to say that American, Canadian, and British citizens don’t need visas; they just don’t need them as often as citizens of other countries. Lucky them. The process of getting a visa can be incredibly tedious and stressful, especially when the visas from that country are in high demand. U.S. visas are among the most desired in the world. There are two categories of U.S. visas: immigrant—

For visa applicants, this is not good news. Let’s say you want to get a non-immigrant U.S. visa. The specifics vary depending on your country of origin, but the basic steps are the same. First, you need to have all of your documents, including a valid passport, a passport-sized photo, and a minimum of three visa application forms filled out. If you are a student, you also need an additional application form, all recent transcripts, proof of funds such as bank statements or scholarship letters, proof of English-proficiency, and proof of a desire to return to your home country after your education. Whew. We’re just getting started. Next, you have to pay the fees. $131 USD is the standard non-immigrant visa processing fee, with an additional fee of $100 USD for students. These fees are non-refundable, regardless of whether or not you successfully get a visa. Then, you have to get one of the ever-elusive embassy appointments, which

photo by sinosplice

can mean travel expenses if you live outside of the capital or another major city. In Jamaica, appointments are booked online. The Jamaican U.S. Embassy website claims that, “If at first there are no appointments available, check the website again later, as appointments frequently become available over the course of the week.”3 This, sadly, is a blatant untruth. As soon as appointments for the month become available, they are all booked out. There have been countless stories in Jamaican newspapers of people booking multiple appointments at once and selling them illegally at exorbitant prices. After miraculously securing an appointment and all the necessary documents, you have to head to the embassy for an interview. You wait … and you wait … and you wait some more, until finally it’s your turn. If your interview is successful, you wait (again!) and your visa, stamped into your passport, will either be mailed or be available for pick-up … eventually. Not everyone has such a hard time. Oliver Wilson, a freshman at Duke from New Zealand, says, “I just filled out a form and rang up the embassy. Then, I went there and three days later, I had my visa.” Sometimes, however, things go wrong, like they did for me this summer. There were no available regular appointments, so I had to request an emergency one, only to be given an appointment after the date I was set to travel. Once I got inside the embassy, the official told me that I couldn’t wear glasses in my photo, so I had to retake it. Then, I had to ask for a two-day rush delivery. The last straw was that when I went to pick up my passport with the visa stamp, I had to wait in line because Beres Hammond, a popular reggae singer, was getting his visa and all the embassy officials were getting autographs and taking pictures with him. Other people have similar or worse stories. Gabrielle, a friend of mine from Jamaica, describes having to wait for an appointment: “There are never any open appointments; it’s always full. I had to ask

for an emergency appointment, and they told me to wait and ask again two or three weeks before I was scheduled to leave. It means you have to make travel plans late, which makes airfare even higher.” Daniel Benzecry, a freshman from Manaus, Brazil, also encountered challenges. After flying to Brasilia (the capital), spending the entire morning in line, and having his interview, he found out one document was missing, so he had to pay a fee online. “I went back to the hotel and paid it in five minutes online. Then, I went back to the embassy and my interviewer was very mad I had returned so quickly. He wanted to go on his lunch break. Instead of letting me pick my visa up the next day, as usual, I had to pay to have it mailed to Manaus.” My friend Isabella, from Panama, says that her visa process was easy, “but for others, no. My brother had to go to the embassy three different times and waited four hours in line before his interview.” Another friend, Bekey from South Korea, calls the visa process “demeaning.” “[The interviewers] are really rude. They ask all these questions, like how much does your Dad earn? And they don’t ask in a nice way. You can’t do anything; you have to be all smiley and respectful. It’s one of the worst experiences ever.” Bekey doesn’t understand this treatment because “[she’s] going in as a consumer, to put money into the economy.” The visa officials treat her as if they don’t want to let her into the country. One thing I noticed in Jamaica was the absolute lack of privacy during the interviews. Everything took place in a large room with a hundred people present at one time. The interviews occurred in front of little glass windows, with no separation from the rest of the people. Interviewers asked personal questions relating to marital status, income level, and other private issues on a speaker, for the whole room to hear. I felt uncomfortable and I’m sure other people did, too.

photo by Jeff Werner

Even after going through the entire process, a visa is not guaranteed. An officer at the embassy may say, “It’s very disappointing, but your child does not qualify for a U.S. visa at this time. I’m very sorry. Thank you

for your time and have a good day.” For someone who waited months for an appointment, paid a fee, filled out paperwork, and travelled to an embassy, these are the worst words to hear. As difficult as my visa experience was, I’m very grateful that I was successful. Many people, unfortunately, are not. In 2007, 2,098,742 people were denied U.S. non-immigrant visas, with more than 1.5 million being rejected for the vague reason that they “failed to establish entitlement to non-immigrant status.”4 I’m sure some of these people had serious issues that prevented them from receiving visas, but I wonder how many “failed to establish” this entitlement due to lack of information, one missing document, one photo with glasses, or one small wrong answer on an interview question. On the U.S. government’s visa website, the slogan is “Secure borders. Open doors.”5 While I believe in the U.S. government’s commitment to allowing citizens from other countries to visit, study, or work in their country, the question always lingers in the back of my mind: how open are their doors? Could they open more easily for the millions who want to enter them? I can’t know for now, so all I can do is keep my U.S. visa safe, while dreading the day it expires and I have to start all over again. 1 “Summary of Visas Issued by Issuing Office.” U.S. Department of State Visa Office. 28 Sept. 2008 <http://www.travel.state. gov/pdf/fy07annualreporttableiv.pdf>. 2 “U.S. Visa Policy.” U.S. Visa Policy. U.S. Department of State. 28 Sept. 2008 <http://www.unitedstatesvisas.gov/visapolicy/>. 3 “Nonimmigrant Visas.” Embassy of the United States: Kingston, Jamaica. Embassy of the United States: Kingston, Jamaica. 30 Sept. 2008. <http://kingston.usembassy.gov/nonimmigrant_visas.html>. 4 “Immigrant and Nonimmigrant Visa Ineligibilities.” U.S. Department of State Visa Office. 28 Sept. 2008 <http://www. travel.state.gov/pdf/fy07annualreporttablexx.pdf>. 5 “U.S. Visa Policy.” U.S. Visa Policy. U.S. Department of State. 28 Sept. 2008 <http://www.unitedstatesvisas.gov/visapolicy/>.

Fall 2008

The New Face of Beijing The Architectural Transformation of Beijing, Post-Olympics established Western nations. by Michelle Choi

A generation ago, Beijing residents navigated their way through the hutongs (narrow alleyways) of the city. Today’s youth, however, walk in the shadow of grand skyscrapers and stunning new buildings. Due to the incredible pressure of showcasing itself to the world for the first time, hosting the Olympic Games has drastically changed the landscape of Beijing, China’s political, social, and economic center. Through a series of high-profile architectural projects in preparation for the Summer Olympics, China successfully transformed its capital, marking a crucial turning point in its modern history. “Beijing has built so many new buildings, stadiums, and facilities for the Olympics,” says Regina Zhou, a sophomore Duke student and Beijing resident who witnessed first-hand the incredible rise of numerous architectural marvels in her home city. The vibrant changes can be felt even before one enters the city; simply flying into the gargantuan new Terminal 3 at Capital International Airport, with its futuristic glass walls and decorations reminiscent of traditional Chinese artworks, is sure to amaze. The Bird’s Nest (the National Stadium), the Water Cube (National Aquatics Center), the Olympic Village, the new CCTV (China Central Television) building, and the National Theater have similarly caught the attention of international architecture critics and casual visitors alike. These landmarks in Beijing are not only reshaping the skyline of the Chinese capital, but also re-creating the national identity.1 They are meant to flaunt China’s new middle-class wealth and showcase a restoration of public order after decades of internal turmoil perpetuated by the Great Leap Forward and the Cultural Revolution. These grand architectural projects are meant to say—rather loudly—that China is ready to welcome the world and be a player among

The rise of all these magnificent buildings has been met with mixed feelings by residents, however. “Many Beijing residents felt proud of these new buildings, despite the fact that they were built by foreign architects,” says Ying-Ying Lu, a junior at Duke who spent her summer working in Beijing. At the same time, there are some who look back nostalgically at the Beijing in which they grew up. “I talked to many taxi drivers who have basically told me the same thing: the standard of living has definitely increased post-Olympics, but the physical landscape of the city is so different that Beijing has lost what makes it unique as a city.” To some locals, the old hutongs were iconic representations of the capital, and the unfamiliar buildings of a Beijing in the midst of Westernization and modernization are slowly chipping away the image of their home city. Architecture critics have compared the reinvented Beijing to America’s New York City.2 All the iconic buildings of NYC— Grand Central Station, the New York Public Library, the Empire State Building, and Rockefeller Center—were built within a span of just a few decades at the beginning of the twentieth century. With its new stateof-the-art metropolis, America was then effectively announcing to the world the dawn of an American Century, punctuated by economic booms and a leading role in world affairs. In the eyes of immigrants flooding in from all over the world, New York’s monuments stood for America’s promise as a land of opportunity. A further parallel to Beijing’s dramatic transformation can be drawn from China’s neighbors South Korea and Japan. In both the 1964 Tokyo and 1988 Seoul Olympics, each respective country succeeded in using the Olympics as its coming-out party to the global community. Hosting the Olympics was a way to establish national legitimacy and display economic progress. Architectural designs from these Olympics, such as the Seoul Olympic Park

or the Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium, still function as prominent public spaces and stand as significant monuments within each city. The 2008 Summer Olympics, under the high scrutiny of the foreign press, also revealed many social problems, such as widespread human rights violations, political corruption, repression of information, and the rising need for democracy to accommodate China’s rapidly-changing capitalistic society. If these urgent issues remain ignored, the newfound image of the city may be deemed hollow and Beijing will fail, in the long run, to win approval as a legitimate global metropolis. “Someone told me Beijing is like a woman putting on make-up,” says Lu, “but a woman who forgot about her neck. Beijing is a city of contrast.” Within walking distance from all the tourist sites are slums where the migrant workers who actually built the Olympic structures reside. “Because you are so mesmerized by these cutting-edge, high-rise buildings, you don’t realize the sweat of all the migrant workers who toiled day after day despite harsh working conditions and low pay.” For Beijing to win over the growing number of social critics and human rights activists, it will have to transform not only its outer face, but also its internal character by confronting the city’s ugly underbelly. Despite the controversies, the 2008 Beijing Olympics and the many awe-inspiring architectural projects it created represent a turning point for China. The country’s economy has grown exponentially over the last thirty years, and the explosion of brilliantly original buildings in its capital city highlights its astonishing rise to a global superpower. Hosting the Olympics has literally changed the face of China’s capital, creating a glamorous metropolis fit for a new global leader.

1 Ouroussoff, Nicolai. “In Changing Face of Beijing, a Look at the New China.” New York Times. 13 July 2008. 2 “From Mao to Wow!” Vanity Fair Aug. 2008. 3 “Architectural Monuments in a Reshaped Beijing.” The New York Times: Interactive Multimedia. 12 July 2008.

photo by Shizhao Designed by French architect Paul Andreu, Beijing’s National Theater is called “a cultural island.” This titanium and glass building has been likened to a floating pearl and an egg. The public entrance is a tunnel under a shallow moat that surrounds the building.

photo by Acidbomber Designed by Norman Foster, the new Terminal 3 has beautiful, swooping frames in the shape of a dragon. It adds more than ten million square feet to Beijing’s Capital International Airport—equivalent to the area of Lower Manhattan—allowing the airport to receive even more flights and visitors. Skylights dot the roof of the entire terminal, which pick up sunlight and illuminate the interior.

photo by Iamdavidtheking Designed by the Dutch architect Rem Koolhaas, the steely CCTV building is the headquarters for China’s state television network. At 768 feet, it is more than twice the height of the Statue of Liberty.

Background: The National Stadium. Because of the crisscross pattern of its steel beams, the National Stadium has been compared to a bird nest. The outer roof of the stadium is translucent plastic, allowing light through. Foreground: The National Aquatics Center. This imaginative architectural feat, creatively highlighted by a bubble-shaped surface, has been nicknamed the Water Cube. A cavity in the wall and roof allows sunlightheated air to enter, creating natural heat for the building and the pool.

photo by Angus

Fall 2008

Karibu mgeni wetu.*

“Welcome our visitors.”

The moment I heard about a DukeEngage program in Tanzania, I knew it was the one for me. My parents, on the other hand, undoubtedly envisioning their daughter catching Ebola or being devoured by lions on the African plains, put their feet down firmly and told me not to think about it. Of course, I did what any other college student would do in this situation—I applied anyway. After hearing my squeals of delight upon getting in (and my oh-soconvincing argument that it was akin to winning a thousand dollar scholarship), they reluctantly agreed to let me go. As my departure from the States neared, I started feeling nervous, realizing I knew absolutely nothing about this foreign place in which I was about to live for two months. I had never even been below the equator, much less in eastern Africa. Everything I knew about Tanzania came straight from the pages of National Geographic and the screens of Hollywood. In short, I was completely and undeniably ill-prepared.

Hapa umefika.

“This is the place you are looking for.” We flew in at night, so our view was shrouded in darkness during the entire drive to the apartment complex where we would be staying. It wasn’t until

my The view from dow apartment win

the next morning, when I was startled from my sleep by the crowing of a very assertive rooster, that I finally got my first true glimpse of Arusha, Tanzania. Pulling the curtain aside eagerly, I couldn’t help but gape at the banana trees and endless plots of land in front of me. Women socialized while washing clothing, and small children chased each other around. Hello, Arusha. Despite the rural, provincial lifestyle my first glance out the window seemed to indicate, the actual town of Arusha was bustling with cars and pedestrians weaving their way along roads lined with stores. As one teacher informed me, Arusha is one of the most expensive towns in Tanzania, due mainly to the flow of tourists that stay there en route to a safari or a climb up Mt. Kilimanjaro. For this reason, the locals were relatively accustomed to tourists walking around. It was not uncommon for strangers in the street to approach us and start a conversation out of pure friendliness: people often shouted “Jambo?” to us and gauged our kiSwahili abilities by our response. This extraversion threw me off my first few days there. In my confusion, I wondered what people’s intentions were whenever they approached me, only to discover that they were simply curious about who I was. In Africa, it is pretty easy to distinguish the wazungu (white people or foreigners) from the locals. Everything from your skin color to attire to mannerisms provides a reason to stare. And since staring is not considered rude the way it is in the States, I often felt like a perpetual spotlight was following me around whenever I entered town. Children would excitedly whisper “mzungu!” (foreigner) or “mchina!” (Chinese person) as I passed by them, while men would make loud whistling sounds or even follow me. The constant attention was initially both unnerving and vexing; I felt like I was being judged instantly as “a rich American.” I soon found myself longing to return to America, where I could sink back in to the melting pot and return to the safety and freedom of anonymity. As my stay continued, however, I slowly came to realize that this attention was not necessarily a bad thing. Locals were often excited to give us information or help us out, amused at our wide-eyed

A few of

my stude

nts

wonder as tourists. I found taxi drivers who were happy to open up to us and share stories, and even random vendors in the street would offer their views on anything from AIDS to Barack Obama, if only given the chance.

Elimu ni bahari.

“Education is an ocean (that is, it has no end).” I was in Arusha as part of the DukeEngage Literacy Through Photography (LTP) program. Along with seven other Duke students, I worked at various government schools to help integrate photography into the classroom as a creative learning tool. While I had doubts initially about the importance of our project, I soon discovered that the Tanzanian school system, based upon the British model, heavily emphasizes rote memorization and discipline. As a result, while many of my students could discuss advanced material, they rarely understood what they were saying. For instance, in one standard five (the equivalent of fifth grade) class we used photography to help the teacher review the respiratory system for an upcoming exam. The students quickly floored us with their impressive use of vocabulary upon our questioning, causing us to think that our project would be far too easy for them. Urging them to produce photographs representing the respiratory system, however, we realized they had no idea what the strange vocabulary words they were using meant—not even on the most basic level. While working in the classrooms, we often met unexpected roadblocks since creativity is emphasized much less there than in the States. On one of our first days at school, we asked our students to draw out a plan for a photograph representing the respiratory system. Many of the students drew (or even

traced) the diagram in the book. As a result, we often had to nag at them, challenging them to think for themselves. When excited, the students would often get rowdy and boisterous. Though we were apprehensive at first, we soon discovered that sometimes shouting was the only way to get their attention. After our first lesson, for instance, we thought the students must have hated us since we made them do extra writings and share their supplies with each other. They sat quietly in their wooden desks, staring at us, and I was sure they saw us as strict, no-nonsense, foreign teachers. To my surprise, when we told them class was dismissed, the volume suddenly swelled to a roar as they ran to the front and surrounded us—touching our hair, grabbing our hands, asking for our e-mail addresses, and clamoring for photographs. I soon realized that although there was a very distinct line between teacher and friend in Tanzania, we, as the “wazungu walimu” (foreign teachers), seemed to be exceptions to that rule. My observations were confirmed when, on one of our last days in Arusha, I got a phone call urging us to return to one of the classrooms. Puzzled, we rushed over. The chalkboard was decorated with intricate flower drawings and “we love you”s, and the teacher’s desk held homemade corn muffins and a humble bouquet. The class leader then shyly presented us with shiny, wrapped packages, which we opened to unveil beautiful kangas (a type of African cloth). As the others chanted and stomped,

she wrapped one around each of us. The class erupted in cheers as we stood there, swathed in our kangas and surrounded by smiles.

Hidaya ulionipa mlezi sitolisahau.

“I will never forget the precious gift that you have given to me, that is, your care for me.” One of the most intimidating experiences for me while in Tanzania was my twoweek homestay. The arrangements were made by my LTP coordinators, so I didn’t get to meet my homestay mama prior to moving in. Walking into the house for the first time, I couldn’t help taking in all the details hungrily—the concrete hallway, the two boys sitting on the floor eating, the lacy drape shielding the parlor. My host mama had wide eyes, a jolly smile, and a lovable demeanor. There were four children in her house: Zunny, Farha, Tifu, and Ally. I soon discovered that of the kids staying there, only Zunny was her actual child; the rest were children of my mama’s brothers, staying with her in order to get an education in Arusha. As Mama Zunny (as I was told to call her) knelt over a stove to cook one night, she told me about how her husband had passed away years ago, leaving her to raise not only their children, but also those of her siblings—a feat many single parents would find both intimidating and impressive.

Every morning, Mama Zunny would drive me to school through a maze of roads that were either dusty and bumpy or paved and congested. As we jostled along in her car, she would often stop in the middle of the road to call out to a friend or neighbor, ignoring traffic around her. Other times, she would sing along to various hip-hop songs, leaving me to wonder amusedly if she had any idea what the words meant. Once, 50 Cent’s sexual “Candy Shop” came on, and she jabbed her finger excitedly at the CD player, informing me it was her favorite song. I couldn’t help grinning back at her animated face. In the evenings, we would all gather around the table around nine, the time at which most Tanzanians eat dinner. This was something my fellow Duke students would woefully moan about during our lunch breaks, since most of us were used to

Urban and rural mix in town Fall 2008

eating much earlier. A friend who was hit particularly hard by the late dinner hours wondered flabbergastedly how Tanzanians were able to eat breakfast at seven in the morning, lunch at noon, and dinner at nine with no snacking in between. To satisfy our hunger between meals, we soon discovered the joys of street food—cobs of corn roasted over coals, salted peanuts served in newspaper cones, juicy peeled oranges, and sliced mangos served with chili powder. Nevertheless, I would always find myself hungry again by dinnertime. Our meals were usually simple; often we had beef and banana stew, cassava, or chicken in a tomato stew, served with a flat, sweet chapatti or with coconut rice. Our local friend Pele, who was collaborating with us for LTP, was a good friend of Mama Zunny’s and joined us every night to eat. He would regale the family with stories and Mama Zunny would laugh uproariously, clapping her hand on the table. Pele loved to tease me, and he never let me forget my first dinner there, when I mistakenly reached for the public spoon before realizing everyone else was eating with their hands.

Bora maisha; mengine ni majaliwa.

“Life is the best gift; the rest is extra.”

Our last week in Tanzania was a whirlwind of activities and emotions. All our projects and works at various schools culminated in a huge, final LTP exhibition, where students and teachers from all over the region poured in to see the art, posters, stories, and photographs made during our stay. Another DukeEngage group in Arusha even stopped

by to support us. Students surrounded us, asking for our e-mail addresses, taking photos with us (rather appropriately for LTP), and giving us their warmest wishes and goodbye hugs. We shared laughs and pretended it was simply any other day after school, rather than acknowledging that it was our last together. After the crowd slowly dwindled and we finished cleaning up, I walked around town with a cluster of students, reluctantly saying goodbye to them as they disappeared one by one. In the evening, we held a private LTP banquet at a local club with our friends, teachers, and host families. One of the homestay mamas catered, bringing steaming bowls of our favorite dishes. We chatted and reminisced, practiced our kiSwahili, and took photos. After dinner, we joined other locals at the club in a big circle. Spinning around and watching my friends’ smiles blur, I felt a bittersweet rush of both joy at being surrounded by loved ones and sadness at having to part after making such deep connections with them. The next morning, we took one last walk around town. There was a strange silence upon us and I felt almost as though I was witnessing everything for the first time. The streets, the buildings, and the eateries that we had walked by daily now suddenly stood out to me as I tried desperately to record every detail in my mind. We bought oranges, peanuts, and corn from our favorite street vendors, stocked up on souvenirs like there was no tomorrow, and finally climbed the fire tower we had passed each day on our walks to town. The breathtaking 360-degree view from the top made us realize how attached we

had grown to the many familiar landmarks nearby, and the climb down seemed to lend symbolic closure to our trip. Finally, Pele and Justin arrived, ready to take us on one final ride to the airport.

Ingawa tumeachana yaliobaki ni mazoea.

“Even though we have separated, our past shared experiences live on.” Sitting in my apartment on Central Campus two months later, my vivid memories have started to fade, slowly being replaced by still images frozen in time. The friendships I made, nevertheless, have lived on. From time to time I receive e-mails and letters from some of my students, reinforcing my faith in our friendships. These letters—filled with love and stories—have shown me how profound an effect we left on our students. Sometimes when I let my mind wander, I’ll find myself hit unexpectedly by a memory so strong that I see myself walking in the streets of Arusha once more. I taste the ripe, juicy explosion of orange in my mouth, hear the children shout “wazungu! wazungu!” excitedly, and feel the dust from the streets rise up and blanket my face as cars pass by. It is at these moments that I realize that while certain details or moments may fade with time, the beauty and power Tanzania holds over me will not.

*All of the headers above are kiSwahili sayings, or misemo. A valuable part of Tanzanian culture, misemo are found on the kangas (traditional East African cloths) that women often wrap around their waists or use to carry their children on their backs. The translations of the misemo used in this article came from Rev. Joseph G. Healey’s 254 Misemo Kwenye Khanga za Afrika Mashariki (Sayings on East African Cloth).

all photos by Michelle Fang

Ethnic Eats in Durham

Twisted Noodles Ethnicity: Thai Price: $-$$

Chosen by Bon Appetit1 as one of the top five Asian-style noodle bars in the United States, Twisted Noodles offers authentic Thai dishes in a casual atmosphere. Though the décor is a bit mundane— classic bamboo screens between booths, plastic chairs, and a bar in the back—you can’t find fault with the food. You can choose from a large selection of noodle soups served in sizable bowls at affordable prices. There are also classic Thai dishes such as Chili and Basil, Panang Curry, and Pad See Eww. To complement your meal, the restaurant serves Thai iced tea and offers unusual desserts such as Mango Sticky Rice and Dragon Ball—fried vanilla ice cream.

The Palace International Ethnicity: East African Price: $$

Whimsical, naturalistic artwork contrasted against textured green walls and a bright orange ceiling gives this tiny restaurant a classy feel with a funky twist. Crumpled paper menus and two hurried waiters remind the customer that this is a family-run business with less of the prompt service of established chains. Still, this Kenyanowned restaurant offers refreshing alternative cuisine for a relaxed, sit-down dinner. Samosas are a must for an appetizer, and the Nairobian beef offers an exotic taste. Generally the meals combine simple elements such as beans, rice, meat, and greens with Indian-influenced spicing for a stunning effect. Vegetarians, worry not—the array of choices offers delicious treats for any dietary persuasion.

Guglhupf Bakery Ethnicity: German Price: $

The peculiar name of Guglhupf Bakery and Pâtisserie has not deterred anyone from frequenting this jewel of an eatery, and it’s not hard to see (or taste) why. “Guglhupf” actually refers to the German gugelhupf, a specialty bundt-style cake. Coffee and chocolate variations sit next to rows of decadent tarts and pastries at Guglhupf’s bakery counter, along with its famous freshly baked artisan breads. Open for breakfast and lunch, the menu offers an eclectic mix of sandwiches (try the turkey, brie, and apple chutney panini), salads, and small plates such as zwiebelkuchen, an authentic onion tart. Utter contentment can be found whilst sitting on the tree-framed outdoor patio, sipping a cold schorle (German for apple juice).

Kurama

Ethnicity: Japanese Price: $$-$$$ If clientele indicates the character of a restaurant, the Japanese chefs and customers at Kurama attest to its authenticity. The small yet cozy sushi section seats about sixteen and centers around the sushi counter, where savory cuts of salmon, yellowtail, and other seafood are displayed. Just sitting there will earn you a complementary appetizer from the chef. Start with their classic miso soup and let the hot broth cleanse your palate before diving into their eleven-piece chef’s selection for a mouthwatering sample of Japan’s favorite nigirisushi, fish on a ball of rice. If you feel a little more adventurous, just tell the chefs your budget, and leave the menu up to them!

Taquìera La Vaquita

Ethnicity: Mexican Price: $

The bright orange taco stand with its take-out counter and plastic cow on the roof might not seem attractive, but its food is definitely worth exploring. Its menu offers authentic plates that restaurants catering to Americans often lack, such as zincronizadas (which are similar to quesadillas) and tongue. Complete your meal with fresh juices or horchada, which is made from sweet rice milk. If you’re really hungry, go for a hefty burrito, made exceptional by the salsas. Also try huarache, literally “a sandal,” a thick tortilla piled high with meat, lettuce, and cheese. While you wait, you can read numerous articles lauding La Vaquita or, better yet, enjoy a chat with Fidel Rodriguez, the pleasant and generous owner of this hidden treasure.

Tosca Ristorante Italiano Ethnicity: Italian Price: $$-$$$

Tucked in a neat courtyard two blocks down the road from Shooters II is this upbeat Italian restaurant. With the hip, jazzy décor and romantic patio seating, it feels like a slice of Italy placed in the middle of Durham. The heavily Mediterranean-influenced menu offers a scrumptious selection of fresh seafood and earthy, herbal dishes. For larger parties, start with their antipasto per due, a sample of in-season grilled vegetables and meats; for seafood lovers the subtle yet fragrant risotto con gamberi e capisanti (shrimp and scallop risotto in a lemon herb sugo) will be the highlight of your week; and for the meat lovers the rustic osso buco di maiale will do wonders. It really is Italian food at its best: there’s something for everyone! Prices suggest average entrée prices $ - under 10 dollars $$ - 10-20 dollars $$$ - 20+ dollars 1 “Best of the Year, Here’s Where to Eat Now.” Bon Appetit. Jan. 2008.

Fall 2008

WINNERS

iLens

1st place: Kevin Hwang Saigon Vietnam

2nd place: Pai Klinsawat Joy of Chess

Saigon Vietnam by Kevin Hwang

3rd place: Mickey Kosloff India in Color

“

The image is indicative of what has happened to Vietnam as globalization has swept in a stream of foreign cultures, products, and ideas while Vietnamese traditionalism has stood steadfast in the minds of the people as the world rushes by.

”

4th place: Mingyang Liu Evening Mass

5th place: Mickey Kosloff Cusco Kids

India in Color by Mickey Kosloff

6th place: Pai Klinsawat Jump

“

”

This is one of my favorite pictures because I think it explicitly conveys the cultural richness of India, and the dazzling and multicolored experience that the visitor to India encounters.

6 items, 100.0

iLens 30

Joy of Chess byPai Klinsawat

“

Parin, the child in the picture, is a very shy and quiet boy. He always walks alone, eats alone, or climbs trees alone. When he has a chance to play chess with older boys, however, his talent shines. He seems to forget [the] sadness he has been carrying.

”

“

I took the photograph hoping to capture the design of the architecture but was surprised by the image of the woman that I caught instead. Her body language as well as the blur of her outline is almost representative of the community’s outlook on health awareness and the poverty cycles in many parts of Leogane and Haiti.

”

Evening Mass by Mingyang Liu

International Lens, or iLens, is a photography competition organized by the International Association. The photos can be taken within the United States or anywhere else around the globe, but the competition requires that the work be thematically related to the appreciation of global or local culture.

GB available

Fall 2008

Weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re missing your piece of the puzzle. Submit to Passport! www.duke.edu/web/passport passportmag@gmail.com