Fact or Fiction

The last war that Argentina was involved in was a rather monstrous mistake, more famously known as The Falklands War. If, like me, you knew the name but not the exact location, don't be ashamed. Just go to your closest map and you will find them, tiny as they are, off to the southeast of Argentina. Most Brits don't even know where they are located, although every single Argentine does. Although they are not the Falklands in Argentina, but Las Malvinas, and given the complete lack of similarities in how each country represents its respective description of the islands, it is more than appropriate that it have two distinct names.
In the early 1980's, the military rule of Argentina decided, in order to bolster national pride, to invade Las Malvinas, a property of much contention for almost a hundred years. Why, you might ask? Well, as the story goes, Argentina about two hundred years ago was the first to claim Las Malvinas as their land. Supposedly, after laying claim to the little island group they proceeded to forget all about them until England came along and established colonies there during its great imperial rule. As far as I know, Argentina raised not much a fuss when this happened, and The Falklands, as England named them, were under British reign for about one hundred and fifty years. Bear with me, some of my times and dates could be off, but you get the point.
Anyway, the islands continued along swimmingly under British rule, speaking English, driving on the left side of the road, using the incredibly strong pound as their currency, so on and so forth. The only hitch, if you can consider it that, is that geographically it would make more sense for the islands to be part of Latin American, specifically Argentinean rule. And in comes the military government of 1982 to repossess Las Malvinas which has been considered always rightfully theirs anyway.
It was a spectacularly bold move for unstable Argentina of 1982 to go against the Goliath of England. Spectacularly bold and, I hate to be so biased but logic holds more weight than sentiment sometimes, outlandishly stupid. The invasion by Argentina lasted only a couple of months, and the islanders were less than impressed by the cultural changes Argentina sought to affect, like changing the language to Spanish and which side of the road they drove on. Two months later, Margaret Thatcher forever boosted her reputation by pouring British strength into the defense and soon the Argentinean troups had no recourse but to surrender.
As evidence of the weakness of the relations between government and people in Argentina, until the very day of Argentinean surrender, the newspapers and government had been telling their people that Argentina was winning the war, when actual facts were everything to the contrary.

In spite of their loss, and this is the best part, my favourite anecdote to pass around about the effects of the Falklands War on the Argentinean psyche is that all world maps printed for Argentinean schools show the Falklands as territory of Argentina, even though every single map printed every single other place in the world lists them as territory of the United Kingdom. And though every couple of years the islands are able to choose whether to stay under British power or go under Argentinean power, (and really, why would you want to abandon the safety of the British economy) they resolutely continue to choose England as the parent they want to live with, and Argentina continues to believe that the Falklands are rightfully theirs.

It reminds me of another example of the at times illogical hubris I have witnessed with Argentineans. Upon losing a friendly soccer game between English volunteers and Argentinean high schoolers, an Argentinean boy came up to one of the volunteers and said, "We lost, but we are still the best players."

You've got to admire that type of undaunted confidence, even if you make fun of it a little.

My itinerary
I think I will just post online my itinerary for the next five and a half months so that everyone who reads the blog will be able to know where I am whenever they want. Here is the list of places and dates.

July 15th through August 17th
Tonga
According to Wikipedia, Tonga is an island nation that lies about a third of the way between New Zealand and Hawaii, south of Samoa and east of Fiji. Tonga is a constitutional monarchy, and recently I learned that the King decided to rid the alphabet of the letter 'b' because he did not like it. If you did not know already, 'taboo' is the only Tongan word used in the English language, however due to the recent alphabet shifting, I do not know whether it still qualifies since it would now be spelled 'tapoo'. I will be living in the capital of Nuku'alofa on the main island of Tongatapu, doing teaching work with primary school children, hopefully organizing more projects with stories and art. I am bringing with me Curious George and Where the Wild Things Are, so I hope my kids enjoy them.

August 22nd through October 14th
Southeast Asia
I wish I could be as noteworthy in my discussion of my tour through Southeast Asia, but sadly, I only know the basics. I am taking a tour with a company called Intrepid Travel for about 45 days. I begin my journey in Bangkok, with about 10 other people. I travel through Cambodia and Laos, and then fly back to Bangkok, where I then take a trip down the east coast of Thailand, into Malaysia and Singapore, across to Jakarta along Indonesia where I finish in Bali. It should be completely different from anything I have seen before, and I am so excited to go and do it.

October 15th through the end of November
Australia
I believe I am going to be joining a conservation organization that organizes groups of volunteers over a six week period to travel around to the six different states of the country to do conservation work with the environment. It is not confirmed yet, but I plan on confirming soon!

End of November through December 20th
New Zealand
For my final leg of the trip I will be in New Zealand, zooming through the north and south island on my own, taking in the sights and pretending I am Eowyn from The Lord of the Rings. I know New Zealand will be a place I will visit again, so I think I am going to do a taster menu of the country, small portions of lots of places. That is my plan for now, anyhow.

Well, that is my plan as of now. I will keep updating as I go.

Odwa

Sometimes it is better to write about experiences a few months after they happen, because then your brain has been able to sift through all of the input and that which remains is what truly affected you.
I spent only five weeks in South Africa, in a gorgeous seaside town called Knysna on the Garden Route, teaching English and Arts and Crafts in a school called Thembelisha. The 'h' is silent. My kids ranged in age from seven to ten years, and I assisted seven sections each week. As it so often happens, I became particularly attached to one class, Section 4A, and though Fridays were Arts and Crafts days for three sections, it was for 4A that I worked as hard as I did preparing each lesson and activity. I enjoyed the arts classes with all my kids, that is true, but 4A just had a special place in my heart, primarily because of one boy in the class, a boy named Odwa.
Odwa was a quiet and exceptionally well behaved child in a class full of strong, amusing, and sometimes rowdy personalities. He stuck out not only because of his self effacing and disciplined manner but also because of a genuine sweetness that emanated from his steady brown eyes. To me, I could tell from my very first interaction with him that he was different, that he had just a little bit more goodness than the average child.
I have two stories about Odwa that make his memory to me such a strong one. The first takes place on my first Friday at Thembelisha School. The teacher for 4A was out sick that day, and the school did not have any available substitute teachers, so I was told I would have to manage the class alone. Volunteers are not supposed to ever be left alone in a classroom as we are not certified teachers, but at Thembelisha it was more the norm than the exception for volunteers to have entire classes under them. That Friday 4A was to have English, and most of the kids there had some English, not enough to converse, but enough that they could understand very simple directions. Their primary language was Xhosa, and many times during my volunteer stint, I had moments of frustration when I wished I had the smallest grasp of it, but alas, as many of the words consist entirely of clicking tongue sounds, I was always to have only English to communicate.
Having forty five minutes with which to pass the class and looking for an activity to entertain them and teach them, I decided on a ten minute class discussion on favorite foods and then requested that each student write three to five sentences on what their favourite food was and why they chose it. In the discussion before the writing time, when I was asking kids to raise their hand and tell me their favourite food, their answers never deviated from the mundane. On the chalk board I had written a list composed of 'chicken', 'milk', 'rice', 'eggs', 'spinach' and 'bread'. I was shocked and asked if any of the kids liked 'ice cream' or 'chocolate cake', and while many said yes, they still preferred their original choices. That was a moment of culture shock and realization for me.
I told the children to write their "essays" and to bring them up to me for a gold star sticker when they had completed the assignment. At the mention of a sticker they immediately got to work.
There were 42 children in 4A. One by one they came up to my desk, handing me college ruled paper on which was written never more than three sentences in English, very short and to the point. An example of 41 of the students essays would be "I like chicken. It is my favourite food. My mom makes good chicken" or perhaps "Milk is good. It tastes good. Milk is my favourite food." The point is, the essays got the job done, followed instructions, and revealed to me how little English learning the children actually had. But one boy, one out of forty two, came up to me with his paper, and asked me before he handed it over whether it was okay that he had written five sentences instead of three. I said yes in a exclamatory tone full of surprise and pleasure that at least one had gone above and beyond, and when I read his essay I was still not prepared for how above and beyond he had gone. On his paper, the boy had written a five sentence essay as if he was a chicken standing on the street corner, sad because everyone seemed to prefer steak to chicken. He was sad and wished more people liked chicken. But then steak came walking down the street and saw the chicken and went over to say hi. The chicken said he was sad because people like steak more. The steak said no they didn't, they like them both just as much! That was Odwa writing. I fell in love instantly.
The next week, during a game of hangman with 4A, I was moderating and whoever won the game was the next person to think up a word and be up at the chalkboard. One by one each child won a game and would come up to me and tell me the word they had chosen, simple words like 'food', 'move', 'life', or 'tree', and I would confirm that they knew how to spell it and play would begin. Towards the end of the class, Odwa won a game and came up to the chalkboard to begin the next round. I asked him what word he would like to use. He leaned in close to my ear and whispered, "Cinderella". I smiled in spite of myself, trying not to laugh. I said to him, "Do you know who Cinderella is?" a little curious as to how that fairy tale had reached so far a place since I knew the rest of 4A would probably not know who Cinderella was. He told me "she is a princess who married a prince". Close enough. I asked him how to spell it, and he said"S-I-N-D-R-L-A". I told him I would help him and we went to the board. Sure enough, none of the kids were able to guess it, even when the name was said out loud. But Odwa did not seem upset or embarrassed. He just went his quiet, sweet natured way back to his seat.
I never saw him misbehave in class, never talk too much or not begin his work as soon as he was instructed to do so. He was not the brightest child, or at least, his marks did not reflect him to be, but he touched me with his purity and simplicity.
The sad part is I don't know and won't ever know what will become of him, what type of person he will grow to be. I can only hope he will be happy. This is my story of Odwa.