So, there are currently 3 Canada World Youth groups in Ghana right now,
Ghana 1- Women's /exchange. Moncton/Otuam
Ghana 2- Mixed exchange. St. John's/Saltpond (?)
Ghana 3- Mixed exchange. Fredericton/Northern Region (i dont actually know the town)
Ghana 1 is my exchange, lucky, lucky (fuckmylife) me, I'm in an all women's program. Ihavent had a lot of contact with the other two exchanges, especially the Fredericton group, but throught the grapevine, I've heard that each of the groups has problems of their own. none of which i'm really going to talk about, because I'm not sure how reliable the grapevine is, and it would all be speculation. I just wanted to tell anyone from those groups what ours is like, and then you can decide how much your lives suck in compareison. Because as awesome as this experience is (omgitsfuckingamazing), its not without its challenges.
first off, we're all girls. 18 girls. 18 females, all living with eachother, forced to do activities together, building a micro-community together. It can be great, there's so much freedom and a level of comfort that you can only attain in a gender specific group. We have become so close to eachother that we can talk about anything, from sex and penis size, to heartbreak and grief, to diharrea and vomit. In fact, as a group (at least with the canadians) we've got a long running "Thats what she said" joke,and we giggle whenever someone says the words "big" 'hard' or 'juicy'..... you should see us compareing coconuts. lol...anyway, yea so we're tight. but you can imagine the drama and bullshit that comes from 18 super hormonal, estrogen rich, sex deprived, incredibly intelligent ladies. fake friends, talking behind your back, tired of seeing your face, god she's such a spaz, at least i'm not a whore, i hate how much she flirts, that dress is really short, she gave me dirty looks, i dont know why shes mad at me, does she have hickies?, shes such a mooch, can i borrow 1cedi? you owe me 5, she really gets on my nerves, fuck my life. fuck my godforsaken life. Thats our group, that's a large part of our experience with CWY. I'm not gonna lie, it fucking sucks sometimes... you know,when you reach the end of your rope and you just want to slap a bitch? At least one of us gets that feeling each day. but it's all good...it's all cool... cuz somehow, through all the backstabbing, trash talking, gossip fuled days,at the end of the day, we are one big family. Each one of those 17 girls is my sister, and i've come to love her dearly. I go through days wishing i didnt have to see her face, but thinking about it, under what other circumstances would i have had the chance to meet this amazing young woman? and here, not only have we met, but we've cried, laughed, and lived together. We've seen eachother naked and not cared, we've talked about our deepest secerets, our seceret wishes and desires, we sit at the edge of the atlantic ocean, in a completely different world, we trust 100% the girls, even though its hard sometimes. This sisterhood is something that could never be created outside of a CWY context. As much as i whine and complain about this group, i seceretly love all of the girls from the bottom of my heart. I want to go home, to see my friends and family more than anything... but that only means seperating from these wonderful women, possibly never to see some of them again. Makes me want to cry just writing this.
Linda, Zarpa, Zankhna, Ania, Elisa, Laura, Jaz, Steph, Sheba, Grace, Anette, Vicky, Deborah, Bernice, Vivian, Patricia, Nomotey... <3 love love love. And Junie and Lydia too, awesome supervisors (even though we dont always see eye to eye).
xoxoxox
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Obruni, what is your name?
Obruni how are you? Obruni where are you going? Go and come ok....
Every single day, since we arrived in Otuam, people ask me those questions whenever i go out. Mostly little children, who dont know any other english... the same kids everyday go "Obruni what is your name?"... "My name is Janice"... "Chalice?".."No, Jaanice"..."Janet?"... "JAANICCEE".... "Jani?!"..... o_O "Yes, Jani"
I'm starting to get used to it, i feel like a tape recorder, with a script that i have to read and repeat day in and day out. I can walk down the paths "Hello"... "I'm fine"... "afternoon"... "My name is Janice"..."How are you?"..."buh byee" its so predictable that i dont even need to hear the question, one of those statements will most certainly answer anything people ask me. It's funny tho, whenever people ask "How are you?" the answer that we all expect is "I'm fine"... its a combination of not really caring how someone is and here, in otuam, not having a mutually intelligible language to communicate fully. Somebody asks how i am, I'm not going to say "I'm not fine. I'm hot, sweaty, tired, hungry because the stew sucks and i have a million mosquito bites that came out of nowhere. I need a shower, a cup of coffee and a day where the goddamn roosters dont wake me up at 4am, so I'm not fine ok. I'm not fine".... but no, "I'm fine. Just fine thank you. How are you?"..."fine!"
But, in all... I do like it here. Dont think that i hate it or that im complaining... its just that those questions get really old, really fast. and yet, everyday, every. sinlge. day. i have to smile and wave, smile and say im fine, my name is Janice, buh bye... to every person i see on the street.
but i'm learning fante, so the conversations should become more interesting as time goes on.
Every single day, since we arrived in Otuam, people ask me those questions whenever i go out. Mostly little children, who dont know any other english... the same kids everyday go "Obruni what is your name?"... "My name is Janice"... "Chalice?".."No, Jaanice"..."Janet?"... "JAANICCEE".... "Jani?!"..... o_O "Yes, Jani"
I'm starting to get used to it, i feel like a tape recorder, with a script that i have to read and repeat day in and day out. I can walk down the paths "Hello"... "I'm fine"... "afternoon"... "My name is Janice"..."How are you?"..."buh byee" its so predictable that i dont even need to hear the question, one of those statements will most certainly answer anything people ask me. It's funny tho, whenever people ask "How are you?" the answer that we all expect is "I'm fine"... its a combination of not really caring how someone is and here, in otuam, not having a mutually intelligible language to communicate fully. Somebody asks how i am, I'm not going to say "I'm not fine. I'm hot, sweaty, tired, hungry because the stew sucks and i have a million mosquito bites that came out of nowhere. I need a shower, a cup of coffee and a day where the goddamn roosters dont wake me up at 4am, so I'm not fine ok. I'm not fine".... but no, "I'm fine. Just fine thank you. How are you?"..."fine!"
But, in all... I do like it here. Dont think that i hate it or that im complaining... its just that those questions get really old, really fast. and yet, everyday, every. sinlge. day. i have to smile and wave, smile and say im fine, my name is Janice, buh bye... to every person i see on the street.
but i'm learning fante, so the conversations should become more interesting as time goes on.
Monday, December 27, 2010
coconuts are basically my life
I'm so sorry I havent written in a long, long time... it was hard to get on the internet the first few weeks we were here, then i bought a usb modem, which then sat there for another few weeks before i actualy used it (its sooooooo slooooooooow!!!)...
anyway, i'm back and i have soo much to say.. about ghana, about otuam, about my group and myself.... we live in a small village (of 5000 people).. it was really hard for me to imagine what kind of life i would live here... i knew we'd have no running water, i wasnt sure if we would have electricity, which we do. I new most people wouldnt speak english, i think i expected it to be a lot like inuit villages in terms of social structure and community... which it is, and i think that's one of the reasons its so easy for me to make myself part of the community.
the house i'm living at is actually quite nice, its spacious, my host mother, or auntie is the best of the best of the best, she's a single mother living in a house by herself that her late brother owned, and her other brother owns one of the better schools in the village. I live with another counterpart pair, which is great. The Cdn girl is from winnipeg and she's pretty awesome. we sit in my room and eat werthers originals and talk about canadian food, and snow and winter and other stuff we miss. and the two ghanaian girls are so nice to me, they help me so much.
I'll take you through a usual day here, then maybe you'll kind of get the picture.
alarm rings at 5:22am, snooze till about 7, if i got up around 6 i would go out and help my auntie sweep the compound outside, but usually i sleep in till 7, then i get up, sweep the bedroom if my cp hasnt already done it. check the water tank, collect water if need be. We live really close to the well, which is nice. i go to the pump with my buckets, small children fill them for me, everyone speaks fante and all i can understand is "Obruni" so i know they're talking about me... then someone helps me get it on my head and i walk back, leaving a trail of "Obruni how are you" and "Obruni what is your name".... fetching water is no small task. i continue till our big blue tank is filled. then i have breakfast, usualy i pretend to eat whatever porrige we have thatday, i dont like porrige at all, and thats pretty much all we have in the mornings. There's one i call peanutbutter soup because its the colour and smell and taste of peanut butter, its not bad, its justthe texture i cant stand... then there's cream of banku soup, which is nasty. I hate it, banku is a heavy, dough-like lump people eat with stew here, one of many kinds. it looks like heavy, unrisen bread dough and smells sour. the only way i can eat it is if the stew is really good. the porrige version is made from the same dough, and it just smells like vomit to me. I cant eat it. then we have regular oatmeal, which is canada i would never eat, but here its welcome... after breakfast, i take my anti-malarial pill (which unfortunately dosent protect against dengue fever, elephantitis or any othe rmosquito bourne diseases o_O) then either go to my work placement, which is teaching french and english in one of the smaller schools here (were on christmas holiday right now sowe just have the days off) or call up a friend and go to the beach.
The beach is amazing. Paradise on the edge of the atlantic ocean. there's a small reort in town, called awaa waa etuu, and they have a small restaurant that sells alcohol (most importantly), some food (fries, springrolls, rice etc) we go there when we havent eaten at home (because let's be honest, the food at home is not always bareable) and ice cream!! they also have coconuts. Oh my god the coconuts! I eat coconuts every, single day here. They are soooo sosososososo soooo amazing. i eat at least 2 a day, sometimes up to 5. and the pineapples are soooo juicy, its not mango season tey, but late next month it will be.. my mouth waters just thinking about the fruit here.
um. I'm going to continue this another day. My laundry needs to get done and there's no machine here to do it for me...
xxo
anyway, i'm back and i have soo much to say.. about ghana, about otuam, about my group and myself.... we live in a small village (of 5000 people).. it was really hard for me to imagine what kind of life i would live here... i knew we'd have no running water, i wasnt sure if we would have electricity, which we do. I new most people wouldnt speak english, i think i expected it to be a lot like inuit villages in terms of social structure and community... which it is, and i think that's one of the reasons its so easy for me to make myself part of the community.
the house i'm living at is actually quite nice, its spacious, my host mother, or auntie is the best of the best of the best, she's a single mother living in a house by herself that her late brother owned, and her other brother owns one of the better schools in the village. I live with another counterpart pair, which is great. The Cdn girl is from winnipeg and she's pretty awesome. we sit in my room and eat werthers originals and talk about canadian food, and snow and winter and other stuff we miss. and the two ghanaian girls are so nice to me, they help me so much.
I'll take you through a usual day here, then maybe you'll kind of get the picture.
alarm rings at 5:22am, snooze till about 7, if i got up around 6 i would go out and help my auntie sweep the compound outside, but usually i sleep in till 7, then i get up, sweep the bedroom if my cp hasnt already done it. check the water tank, collect water if need be. We live really close to the well, which is nice. i go to the pump with my buckets, small children fill them for me, everyone speaks fante and all i can understand is "Obruni" so i know they're talking about me... then someone helps me get it on my head and i walk back, leaving a trail of "Obruni how are you" and "Obruni what is your name".... fetching water is no small task. i continue till our big blue tank is filled. then i have breakfast, usualy i pretend to eat whatever porrige we have thatday, i dont like porrige at all, and thats pretty much all we have in the mornings. There's one i call peanutbutter soup because its the colour and smell and taste of peanut butter, its not bad, its justthe texture i cant stand... then there's cream of banku soup, which is nasty. I hate it, banku is a heavy, dough-like lump people eat with stew here, one of many kinds. it looks like heavy, unrisen bread dough and smells sour. the only way i can eat it is if the stew is really good. the porrige version is made from the same dough, and it just smells like vomit to me. I cant eat it. then we have regular oatmeal, which is canada i would never eat, but here its welcome... after breakfast, i take my anti-malarial pill (which unfortunately dosent protect against dengue fever, elephantitis or any othe rmosquito bourne diseases o_O) then either go to my work placement, which is teaching french and english in one of the smaller schools here (were on christmas holiday right now sowe just have the days off) or call up a friend and go to the beach.
The beach is amazing. Paradise on the edge of the atlantic ocean. there's a small reort in town, called awaa waa etuu, and they have a small restaurant that sells alcohol (most importantly), some food (fries, springrolls, rice etc) we go there when we havent eaten at home (because let's be honest, the food at home is not always bareable) and ice cream!! they also have coconuts. Oh my god the coconuts! I eat coconuts every, single day here. They are soooo sosososososo soooo amazing. i eat at least 2 a day, sometimes up to 5. and the pineapples are soooo juicy, its not mango season tey, but late next month it will be.. my mouth waters just thinking about the fruit here.
um. I'm going to continue this another day. My laundry needs to get done and there's no machine here to do it for me...
xxo
Monday, November 29, 2010
Obruni in Accra... So hot.
My first full day in Ghana. I'm sick with a cold and jet lagged beyond belief. it's 32 degrees in the shade and my air conditioned hostel keeps my room at 18. Which would be nice, except for that fact that I'm sick as a dog, and it really dosent help. We're spending our first few days in the capital, Accra before bussing to our lovely little soon to be village on the coast, Otuam. I've just heard that my host family is a sister and brother who live together. The sister dosent speak english and so far, my Twi consists if "Medase-thank you" and "Obruni-white person" (because to Ghanaian standards, I'm white. It's like the inuttitut word Qallunaaq, it's pretty much equivalent... you dont have to be white to be qallunaaq, you just need to not be Inuk.)
Anyway, My amazing counterpart took me to the market with her sister this afternoon after a short orientation. I'm so incredibly lucky to have been paired with this person, so far I'm pretty sure were the best CPs.
The market was intennnssse!! holy! It was sensory overload to the MAX. Imagine, jet lagged after a 2 day journey with no sleep, having a horrific cold, not knowing what time or day it is and walking through an African market in the middle of the afternoon. My CP (Linda) was holding my hand (literally and figuratively)the whole way as I stumbled around confused and overwhelmed, glaring at women with babies on their back and plates of Mangoes or Bananas on their heads, weaving through human traffic like Only the global south could generate, CD vendors blasting reggae tunes in languages I've never heard, aggressive cloth salesmen hissing to get my attention, children running around weaving through the maze that was Makola Market, the smell of smoked fish, live crabs and GIANT snails just hanging out in big metal bowls, waiting for someone to come along and bargin for them, "Obruni BUY!" , "Obruni 1 Cedi!" and "Beautiful Obruni, I'll be your boyfriend" from all directions... did I mention it was 32 degrees out? and the fact that there literally no rules on the road, We were almost hit by a Taxi as we made our way out of the market, and the countless motorcycles and trotros honking to get through... Linda and her sister took me to a coconut vendor and bought me a fresh coconut, that a tiny woman in a bright blue shirt devastated with a GIANT machete, I drank the water and it was the most amazing thing I've ever consumed. Sweet, fresh, cool coconut! straight from the pod (or whatever they're called)... then she bought me mangoes... oh wow. completely orgasmic.. she would only let me have two because she said we dont know how my body will react to it :(. I could have eaten 10. They were about the size of an apple and so yellow and soft.. I'll never eat a mango in north america again. ever.
it was a crazy fucking day. I'm going to go take a shower, nurse my horrible cold and pretend that it's not actually 29 degrees outside.
better get used to it though... cause this is Africa.
Anyway, My amazing counterpart took me to the market with her sister this afternoon after a short orientation. I'm so incredibly lucky to have been paired with this person, so far I'm pretty sure were the best CPs.
The market was intennnssse!! holy! It was sensory overload to the MAX. Imagine, jet lagged after a 2 day journey with no sleep, having a horrific cold, not knowing what time or day it is and walking through an African market in the middle of the afternoon. My CP (Linda) was holding my hand (literally and figuratively)the whole way as I stumbled around confused and overwhelmed, glaring at women with babies on their back and plates of Mangoes or Bananas on their heads, weaving through human traffic like Only the global south could generate, CD vendors blasting reggae tunes in languages I've never heard, aggressive cloth salesmen hissing to get my attention, children running around weaving through the maze that was Makola Market, the smell of smoked fish, live crabs and GIANT snails just hanging out in big metal bowls, waiting for someone to come along and bargin for them, "Obruni BUY!" , "Obruni 1 Cedi!" and "Beautiful Obruni, I'll be your boyfriend" from all directions... did I mention it was 32 degrees out? and the fact that there literally no rules on the road, We were almost hit by a Taxi as we made our way out of the market, and the countless motorcycles and trotros honking to get through... Linda and her sister took me to a coconut vendor and bought me a fresh coconut, that a tiny woman in a bright blue shirt devastated with a GIANT machete, I drank the water and it was the most amazing thing I've ever consumed. Sweet, fresh, cool coconut! straight from the pod (or whatever they're called)... then she bought me mangoes... oh wow. completely orgasmic.. she would only let me have two because she said we dont know how my body will react to it :(. I could have eaten 10. They were about the size of an apple and so yellow and soft.. I'll never eat a mango in north america again. ever.
it was a crazy fucking day. I'm going to go take a shower, nurse my horrible cold and pretend that it's not actually 29 degrees outside.
better get used to it though... cause this is Africa.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Canada World Youth...Phase one.
So my Moncton phase of the program is over, not sure whether it's finally or suddenly over, but for sure.. it's definitely over over over. It's done. Fini. No more lovely Maritime Moncton...
I have to be honest, I was really not looking forward to going to Moncton... the prospect of Ghana was so much more exciting. So much more exotic and Mysterious... Moncton was just... well... Moncton. Another small Canadian city with a church, arena and Tim Horton's on every block. But now that I've had the opportunity to spend a significant chunk of time there, I'm completely in love. It's such a beautiful, vibrant community, full of wonderful, kind, creative and open people... I met some of the coolest, most interesting characters there. Cafe Clementine with their amazing cafe au lait, Graffiti with their to die for desserts and the Laundromat. Oh the Laundromat - pretty much my second home. And Youth Quest Central, THE best place to work. Ever. Period. All of the amazing youth that go there... I'm seriously going to miss each of them. It was so great to be able to make connections with such kind and vibrant individuals.. and the staff, I miss them already! They made it such an awesome place to work, the dynamic there was almost perfect, I couldnt imagine how Quest could be run with any different combination of people. They rock my socks (both pairs of unmatching ones, because i wear two pairs of socks. Just thought you'd all be interested to know). And my host family! I'm actually heartbroken to be leaving, I admit that we went through some serious rough patches, but what can you expect when you (a pair of strangers) is all of a sudden thrown into a new household, I can understand the frustrations they must have gone through, living with two young women for three months.. I really appreciate the kindness and openness they showed me. I honestly dont think i could have been matched with a better family for my own needs. I appreciate them so much.
but now, that's all behind me, it's done, gone, bye baby bye... now it's time for new adventures, new challenges, new reasons to cry and new reasons to laugh. My whole world will be turned upside down... even through the Moncton phase, this experience has forced me to feel every emotion intensely, to touch the depths of my own personal limits. My patience has been tested, my lines have been crossed and my god, I'm still here. I'm still breathing, still blinking.... it hasnt been the end of me yet - even though at some points it genuinely seems like it would be... some moments, i wanted nothing more than to dig a deep, dark hole and just disappear.. then other moments where I wish the joy could last forever.
I have made friends that I will cherish for life, I;ve met characters that i seriously clash with and I've become friends with people I otherwise would never have thought to connect with under any other circumstances.
Anyway, I'm exhausted and still need to re-pack and weigh my bags.
good night world, goodbye Canada and Hello Ghana.
I have to be honest, I was really not looking forward to going to Moncton... the prospect of Ghana was so much more exciting. So much more exotic and Mysterious... Moncton was just... well... Moncton. Another small Canadian city with a church, arena and Tim Horton's on every block. But now that I've had the opportunity to spend a significant chunk of time there, I'm completely in love. It's such a beautiful, vibrant community, full of wonderful, kind, creative and open people... I met some of the coolest, most interesting characters there. Cafe Clementine with their amazing cafe au lait, Graffiti with their to die for desserts and the Laundromat. Oh the Laundromat - pretty much my second home. And Youth Quest Central, THE best place to work. Ever. Period. All of the amazing youth that go there... I'm seriously going to miss each of them. It was so great to be able to make connections with such kind and vibrant individuals.. and the staff, I miss them already! They made it such an awesome place to work, the dynamic there was almost perfect, I couldnt imagine how Quest could be run with any different combination of people. They rock my socks (both pairs of unmatching ones, because i wear two pairs of socks. Just thought you'd all be interested to know). And my host family! I'm actually heartbroken to be leaving, I admit that we went through some serious rough patches, but what can you expect when you (a pair of strangers) is all of a sudden thrown into a new household, I can understand the frustrations they must have gone through, living with two young women for three months.. I really appreciate the kindness and openness they showed me. I honestly dont think i could have been matched with a better family for my own needs. I appreciate them so much.
but now, that's all behind me, it's done, gone, bye baby bye... now it's time for new adventures, new challenges, new reasons to cry and new reasons to laugh. My whole world will be turned upside down... even through the Moncton phase, this experience has forced me to feel every emotion intensely, to touch the depths of my own personal limits. My patience has been tested, my lines have been crossed and my god, I'm still here. I'm still breathing, still blinking.... it hasnt been the end of me yet - even though at some points it genuinely seems like it would be... some moments, i wanted nothing more than to dig a deep, dark hole and just disappear.. then other moments where I wish the joy could last forever.
I have made friends that I will cherish for life, I;ve met characters that i seriously clash with and I've become friends with people I otherwise would never have thought to connect with under any other circumstances.
Anyway, I'm exhausted and still need to re-pack and weigh my bags.
good night world, goodbye Canada and Hello Ghana.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
I am...
I've done a hell of a lot of self reflection lately. I've grown so much. I've learned so much.
I just have to put it all out there, because im not always the best at communicating my thoughts and feeling verbally.
I'm 21 now. Twenty One. For two decades and 382 days, the world has known Jeannie Janice Christina Grey-Scott. I've been the heartbeat for some and a headache for others. I've done much succeeding, and much fucking up. 21 years is enough time to make some questionable decisions, but also enough time to learn from and grow out of those questionable decisions. I was born with birthmarks on my fingers and toes. I'll die with tattoos on my hands and holes in my skin.
I was born to a mother from a polar paradise, to a father who was never there, but i was given a dad in place of that. A woman who handmade my winter clothes, she rubbed my back and braided my hair. A man who made me panicakes and read me books. He taught me how to read a clock, how to ride a bike. I have brothers who threw oranges at me, who painted race cars for me to put up on my walls, They defend me and protect me. I am lucky.
I had a grandmother who was born a nomad. She had more skill in her little finger than any one of us could wish to gain in a lifetime. and a grandmother who was a nurse and a midwife -a fiery feminist firecracker.
I had a grandfather with an intimate relationship with earth, he knew the seasons, the ocean and the skies. He knew what he could get in return as long as he continued to give. and another one who was a poet, a writer, a self proclaimed peace monger. He knew the power of the Word, and without my realizing it, gave me the gift of knowing how to use it. a little pretentious of me to think so, right? whatever... this is a 'me me me' post anyway...
The Inuit are my people, first and foremost. I love my culture. I love my family. I love my language. I love my food. I love kuniks. I love katajjaq. I love the sound of snow crunching under my feet. I love dark winters and never ending summer days. Its the most beautiful thing in the world. I hope that in my lifetime, I can have done the honor of sustaining that way of life.
I was born in a blizzard. 21 years ago, the canadian sub-arctic still snowed in October. Now, in November, it rains. I wonder what my grandfather would think of that? if he would know how get around in such drastically different world... if his knowledge would still be relevant. I fight climate change because i would hate to think his experiences were all in vain. I fight climate change because my mother was raised in a cold climate, yet her grandchildren will never really know that. I fight climate change because i cant accept the fact that it dosent snow on my birthday anymore.
I once spent hours everyday primping and preening. I spent hours beautifying myself so that i could be like Kelly Rowland, like Tyra Banks, like that girl in the music video. You know the one? in her skin tight skirts and bikini top, inch long, jet black eyelashes. I wanted to be beautiful. I bought that. I ate it allll up... a woman must be sexy, she must be docile, she must be skinny, she must paint her face to be desirable. No. Not anymore. Now i march for women's rights. Now i understand the image i was buying was destructive to my spirit as a human being. As a woman. I am a woman. I have hair on my legs, I have brains in my head. I have a VOICE. I have generations of women before me who FOUGHT for ME to have a right to that voice. They fought to give me the right to equality, to give me opportunities to live up to my full potential. I will not let those women down. Their struggle will not be in vain. I will not choose make up over democracy. I will not choose to objectify myself while women all over the country and planet do not have the right to say no. I am lucky. And my heart and my spirit give me no other choice but to fight for other women to have those same rights. I refuse to be part of the problem while others give their lives for the solutions.
I am young. I have the energy to keep this fight alive. I have the ability in every cell in my female body to sustain the momentum of this movement and every movement towards social justice for that matter. Of course I'm not alone. My peers are equal to me on every human level, but like i was (and to some extent, still am), many are too preoccupied with that pimple on their nose. The next blockbuster hit. The Habs. Not too many young people willing risk anything to protect the future, or people on the other side if the world. But that's not true either. Young people are the driving force behind so many social justice movements across the globe. We get the short end of the stick, and that, unfortunately is not gonna fly. I fight, along with my fellow youth FOR youth. We are the future, but most importantly, WE ARE NOW. We are now, so be afraid. Be prepared for major social shifts, be prepared for fundamental changes in this whole entire system that we all collectively occupy.
Imagine how difficult it is as a woman in this world? Now add that up with being an indigenous person in a post colonial world? add still the of being coloured... now add sprinkle in the aspect of being young.
Yea, so i basically got the shit end of every stick the world could trow at me. But I take that as a privilege.
I am a woman. I am an Inuk woman. I am a black woman. I am a young woman. I'm Jeannie Janice Christina Grey-Scott and I am a force to be reckoned with. By the time I'm through, this world will work in my favor, and to the favor of all those like me.
remember this, always: "Love is the movement."
I just have to put it all out there, because im not always the best at communicating my thoughts and feeling verbally.
I'm 21 now. Twenty One. For two decades and 382 days, the world has known Jeannie Janice Christina Grey-Scott. I've been the heartbeat for some and a headache for others. I've done much succeeding, and much fucking up. 21 years is enough time to make some questionable decisions, but also enough time to learn from and grow out of those questionable decisions. I was born with birthmarks on my fingers and toes. I'll die with tattoos on my hands and holes in my skin.
I was born to a mother from a polar paradise, to a father who was never there, but i was given a dad in place of that. A woman who handmade my winter clothes, she rubbed my back and braided my hair. A man who made me panicakes and read me books. He taught me how to read a clock, how to ride a bike. I have brothers who threw oranges at me, who painted race cars for me to put up on my walls, They defend me and protect me. I am lucky.
I had a grandmother who was born a nomad. She had more skill in her little finger than any one of us could wish to gain in a lifetime. and a grandmother who was a nurse and a midwife -a fiery feminist firecracker.
I had a grandfather with an intimate relationship with earth, he knew the seasons, the ocean and the skies. He knew what he could get in return as long as he continued to give. and another one who was a poet, a writer, a self proclaimed peace monger. He knew the power of the Word, and without my realizing it, gave me the gift of knowing how to use it. a little pretentious of me to think so, right? whatever... this is a 'me me me' post anyway...
The Inuit are my people, first and foremost. I love my culture. I love my family. I love my language. I love my food. I love kuniks. I love katajjaq. I love the sound of snow crunching under my feet. I love dark winters and never ending summer days. Its the most beautiful thing in the world. I hope that in my lifetime, I can have done the honor of sustaining that way of life.
I was born in a blizzard. 21 years ago, the canadian sub-arctic still snowed in October. Now, in November, it rains. I wonder what my grandfather would think of that? if he would know how get around in such drastically different world... if his knowledge would still be relevant. I fight climate change because i would hate to think his experiences were all in vain. I fight climate change because my mother was raised in a cold climate, yet her grandchildren will never really know that. I fight climate change because i cant accept the fact that it dosent snow on my birthday anymore.
I once spent hours everyday primping and preening. I spent hours beautifying myself so that i could be like Kelly Rowland, like Tyra Banks, like that girl in the music video. You know the one? in her skin tight skirts and bikini top, inch long, jet black eyelashes. I wanted to be beautiful. I bought that. I ate it allll up... a woman must be sexy, she must be docile, she must be skinny, she must paint her face to be desirable. No. Not anymore. Now i march for women's rights. Now i understand the image i was buying was destructive to my spirit as a human being. As a woman. I am a woman. I have hair on my legs, I have brains in my head. I have a VOICE. I have generations of women before me who FOUGHT for ME to have a right to that voice. They fought to give me the right to equality, to give me opportunities to live up to my full potential. I will not let those women down. Their struggle will not be in vain. I will not choose make up over democracy. I will not choose to objectify myself while women all over the country and planet do not have the right to say no. I am lucky. And my heart and my spirit give me no other choice but to fight for other women to have those same rights. I refuse to be part of the problem while others give their lives for the solutions.
I am young. I have the energy to keep this fight alive. I have the ability in every cell in my female body to sustain the momentum of this movement and every movement towards social justice for that matter. Of course I'm not alone. My peers are equal to me on every human level, but like i was (and to some extent, still am), many are too preoccupied with that pimple on their nose. The next blockbuster hit. The Habs. Not too many young people willing risk anything to protect the future, or people on the other side if the world. But that's not true either. Young people are the driving force behind so many social justice movements across the globe. We get the short end of the stick, and that, unfortunately is not gonna fly. I fight, along with my fellow youth FOR youth. We are the future, but most importantly, WE ARE NOW. We are now, so be afraid. Be prepared for major social shifts, be prepared for fundamental changes in this whole entire system that we all collectively occupy.
Imagine how difficult it is as a woman in this world? Now add that up with being an indigenous person in a post colonial world? add still the of being coloured... now add sprinkle in the aspect of being young.
Yea, so i basically got the shit end of every stick the world could trow at me. But I take that as a privilege.
I am a woman. I am an Inuk woman. I am a black woman. I am a young woman. I'm Jeannie Janice Christina Grey-Scott and I am a force to be reckoned with. By the time I'm through, this world will work in my favor, and to the favor of all those like me.
remember this, always: "Love is the movement."
Saturday, November 6, 2010
modern vs traditional
So, a couple people have been writing about this lately and I’ve been thinking about it myself… What does it actually mean to be traditional Inuit?
In Canada, it’s been a good couple decades since Inuit lived any kind of life that one could call traditional. Inuit people were, after all nomadic, they were hunters-gatherers, the relied on dogs for transport and fed their families with seal meat and caribou… now we live in communities. Now, we go to the store. We buy shoes from San Francisco online with our credit cards and we pay off loans for Suzuki Sidekicks. BUT we DO speak our language, amid the intense colonial efforts of our Canadian government, we managed to maintain our ability to speak Inuttitut. We still go hunting, albeit with guns and ski-doo’s instead of sleds and harpoons… but a major part of our diet still consists of foods that sustained our great grandparents. Ok, So my great grandma never had Soy sauce with her frozen char, but the ugly beauty of globalisation has allowed me that pleasure. As a young Inuk, I gotta say, I deeply love traditional food. I will eat anything frozen, I’ll eat it dried, I’ll eat it raw or fermented. I love it. It’s a deep and significant part of who I am. But just because I eat those things, does that make me a traditional Inuk? What if I sprinkle garlic salt on my dried caribou? Is that sacrilege? Is that contemporary? I don’t know, anyway.. this is getting too technical.
The point is, how DO we find a balance between traditional and modern? Without losing too much of our heritage… I was saying to a friend, I think the generation I am in (I’m in my early 20’s) is that bridge generation. I think anyone between 20-30 right now is there. We were educated, not in residential schools, but in our communities. We were not taken from our parents to waste away developmental years in institutions teaching us shame and abuse. We have parents who were born on the land and grandparents who lived mostly nomadic lives. But we are now living in the information age… we have access to the internet, to urban centers, access to higher education. We have the world at our fingertips and it feels like we’re diving into the deep end of this whole new universe. I feel like my senses are overloaded, too much stimulation. I have my iPod in my ears cranked up some Kid Cudi, my Suede Aldo knee-high boots and my hundred dollar Chinese laundry purse, uploading pictures of this weekend’s bender on facebook waiting for my plane to take me halfway across the world and to me, I’M SO DAMN COOL… I cant Imagine, not even in my wildest dreams how it must have felt to walk from Kuujjuaq to Kangirsuk, I cant imagine how it felt to go hungry because the caribou changed the migration paths… it’s not cool to think about being hungry or walking hundreds of miles. It’s not cool to smell like seal skins when you can buy Gucci eau de toilette… most of us don’t realize how much we’re actually leaving behind. The experiences and stories of our ancestors are disappearing as easily as deleting pictures off a digital camera. We’re taking SO much for granted. We’re the generation to blame if Inuit traditional knowledge (whether we practice it or not) is lost.
But I walk around and say “I’m Inuk”… I walk around with my seal skin bag and my fox fur coat… “Yea, I’m Inuk”. Have I ever gone hunting? No. Do I know my language in and out? No. Do I know how to relate to my great aunt and does she know how to relate to me? Hell, no. But yea… I’m Inuk.
In Canada, it’s been a good couple decades since Inuit lived any kind of life that one could call traditional. Inuit people were, after all nomadic, they were hunters-gatherers, the relied on dogs for transport and fed their families with seal meat and caribou… now we live in communities. Now, we go to the store. We buy shoes from San Francisco online with our credit cards and we pay off loans for Suzuki Sidekicks. BUT we DO speak our language, amid the intense colonial efforts of our Canadian government, we managed to maintain our ability to speak Inuttitut. We still go hunting, albeit with guns and ski-doo’s instead of sleds and harpoons… but a major part of our diet still consists of foods that sustained our great grandparents. Ok, So my great grandma never had Soy sauce with her frozen char, but the ugly beauty of globalisation has allowed me that pleasure. As a young Inuk, I gotta say, I deeply love traditional food. I will eat anything frozen, I’ll eat it dried, I’ll eat it raw or fermented. I love it. It’s a deep and significant part of who I am. But just because I eat those things, does that make me a traditional Inuk? What if I sprinkle garlic salt on my dried caribou? Is that sacrilege? Is that contemporary? I don’t know, anyway.. this is getting too technical.
The point is, how DO we find a balance between traditional and modern? Without losing too much of our heritage… I was saying to a friend, I think the generation I am in (I’m in my early 20’s) is that bridge generation. I think anyone between 20-30 right now is there. We were educated, not in residential schools, but in our communities. We were not taken from our parents to waste away developmental years in institutions teaching us shame and abuse. We have parents who were born on the land and grandparents who lived mostly nomadic lives. But we are now living in the information age… we have access to the internet, to urban centers, access to higher education. We have the world at our fingertips and it feels like we’re diving into the deep end of this whole new universe. I feel like my senses are overloaded, too much stimulation. I have my iPod in my ears cranked up some Kid Cudi, my Suede Aldo knee-high boots and my hundred dollar Chinese laundry purse, uploading pictures of this weekend’s bender on facebook waiting for my plane to take me halfway across the world and to me, I’M SO DAMN COOL… I cant Imagine, not even in my wildest dreams how it must have felt to walk from Kuujjuaq to Kangirsuk, I cant imagine how it felt to go hungry because the caribou changed the migration paths… it’s not cool to think about being hungry or walking hundreds of miles. It’s not cool to smell like seal skins when you can buy Gucci eau de toilette… most of us don’t realize how much we’re actually leaving behind. The experiences and stories of our ancestors are disappearing as easily as deleting pictures off a digital camera. We’re taking SO much for granted. We’re the generation to blame if Inuit traditional knowledge (whether we practice it or not) is lost.
But I walk around and say “I’m Inuk”… I walk around with my seal skin bag and my fox fur coat… “Yea, I’m Inuk”. Have I ever gone hunting? No. Do I know my language in and out? No. Do I know how to relate to my great aunt and does she know how to relate to me? Hell, no. But yea… I’m Inuk.
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