At least its just the police blowing things up

What is it with this city and blowing things up or setting things on fire? Between the destruction caused by paramilitary bombs during The Troubles, throwing fireworks at each other around Halloween, the illegal bonfires that are tolerated or ignored (although how you can ignore a twenty foot burning pile of tires and wood is beyond me) during marching season, you would think they had their fill. But no, now the police have gotten into the action.

I was falling asleep on Friday night after a surprisingly wonderful youth club, but otherwise crazy week, when a huge explosion woke me up. Its amazing how quickly you become accustomed to a new environment. If I had woken to sounds of explosions in Cincinnati, I would have been up and running around in a panic. In Belfast, I turn over and try to decide after the third explosion in a half hour how close a firework would have to be to my house to make the windows rattle.

I found out on Sunday that some bank robbers left their vans near my house and so the police called the army in to blow them up...you know standard procedure. I guess it has to do with the popularity of car bombs? Its called a "controlled explosion", but I don't really understand--an explosion is an explosion right? If it was a 400 pound car bomb, like the one that only partially detonated last week, wouldn't that be like still a really big explosion...like a "controlled" huge explosion? I know its just that I don't understand and there really is a reason. Someone please enlighten.
Here is a link to an article about it http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/northern_ireland/8409519.stm

My neighborhood

I took this a few weeks ago on my way to my bus stop. Woodvale park is on the left and on the right is a typical street in my area. Most of the houses are abandoned.

Why youthworkers have to be young and unmarried

Ok, ok, stop with the emails. I get it. I haven't written a blog in awhile, but I do think about it a lot. The reason I have neglected writing--I work, sleep, and eat. And when I am not working, sleeping, or eating, I am thinking about one or all activities. Today I worked 10.5 hours--2 of those hours were spent on detached youthwork in the bitter cold night. When I get home the last thing I want to do is sit in front of a computer and write. Mostly I want to curl up under my electric blanket, eat mince pies (why don't we have these in the States, they are amazing), and drink something warm. I don't usually work such long days, but the Minister of Education is coming on Monday for a youth leadership awards ceremony and I have been put in charge of decorations. I spent the last 3 weeks saving children's artwork from the bin (which reminds me that one time in my first weeks here while cleaning up in the playroom, I told a child to just throw the train set in the bin, I meant the plastic box that its kept in, he of course thought I was telling him to throw it away, that was an awkward moment) and coaxing 3-9 year olds to draw pictures of their ideal community so that I have enough artwork to put up on the walls in the play hall where the ceremony will be held. My boss is under the impression that we save all the children's artwork and so she told me just to ask one of the other youthworkers to get everything out of storage. Little does she know that storage must be code for dumpster. I think my mom put all of my artwork into storage too.
I have been absolutely frantic trying to get enough stuff together, because this is my first big responsibility and I really want to do a good job.

But anyway, like I said 11 hours isn't typical. I have been asked what is a normal day, but the truth is there really isn't a normal day; my schedule changes all the time. Usually though on Mondays all I have is afterschools. So I go in at 1:45 and stay till 5:30 (half five is how they would say it here, never five thirty). I am one of four afterschools staff--2 come in every day, Lena comes in Tuesdays and Thursdays, and I go in Mondays Wednesdays and Fridays. We usually have around 15 kids age range 3-10. It is sometimes absolute madness, but its getting better. Also on Mondays I have been doing youthwork training from 6-8 pm, but that will only go for another week.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays I come in at 1 and work till 9:30. I do several different things. I do some general office things for youthwork, such as going through all the registration forms and updating numbers and adding new young people to our contact list. I also am going to start working on a nonviolence flow chart to help our head youthworker teach nonviolence. After I am done with that she wants me to work on all these action plans and other things that will help us better understand what our goals are for youth work and if we are achieving our goals. On Tuesdays starting at 5:30 we have junior youthclub and then catholic youthclub. On Thursdays (now that my child protection class is over) we do detached youthwork in the evenings. This involves walking in a huge loop, with lots of detours in between, around the Shankill and Springfield. The purpose is to try to engage with new youth and to interact with them in their space. For instance tonight we met a bunch of the catholic boys who come to club at one of their favorite spots burning a large plastic crate. We had a nice chat and warmed up a bit while they slagged us and turned all of our names into dirty phrases. This is considered a good interaction and just good craic if you ask me.
On Wednesdays I have afterschools and then detached. And then on Fridays I have afterschools and protestant youthclub. This is all subject to change though depending on many different factors. I also attend community meetings for groups with long names like The Greater Shankill Community Safety Council or something like that.
Add to all of this the fact that I had a persistent cold for most of November and killer hangovers every weekend (if I didn't drink it would be culturally insensitive, well that's my excuse anyways)--I haven't had much energy to write. Now if you will excuse me I think Sister Myra is going to bed so I can finally watch what I want on the tv and then go to bed to start the crazy cycle of sleep, eat, work all over again.

Take me to your leader

You know that episode of Star Trek: Next Generation (and by "you" I of course am only speaking to the super cool people out there who watch this television gem, i.e. my dad and my siblings) where Captain Picard goes to walk through one of the doors on the Enterprise and because of some glitch it doesn't work immediately, ruining his seamless and smooth move from one room to the next. Well I can tell you it is just as disconcerting as Picard makes it look. Computer? Computer? Hello....computer?

Imagine a set of doors without handles or metal plates with the word "push" above them, at the exit of a pharmacy. What would you do if they did not respond to you tapping your foot on the rubber mat in front of them? Stare dumbly at them for 30 seconds? Explain to the expectant queue behind you "Oh, well in America doors open on their own."? Excuse me, I have recently landed in your strange country, will you please take a deep breath, hold my hand, and slowly and patiently remind me--you're not in Ohio anymore. You know what expression I never want to see on a fellow human's face again--the pained smile that clearly means "Oh my God, I'm talking to a complete idiot, back away slowly."

My pride demands that I blame it on N. Ireland though, and not me. Perhaps expecting all doors to open on their own is my problem, but expecting some logic to pedestrian traffic is neither unfair nor am I the only foreigner who wants to run through a crowded Belfast sidewalk yelling "Pick a flippin side!!!!!!!!!!". In Sydney, like Belfast, cars drive on the left and thus (crazy crazy) pedestrians walk on the....LEFT! Now, I know that picking sides has led to some 800 years or so of conflict in Belfast, but I think it would be ok and noncontroversial to sit down and figure this issue out. They say you can't have it both ways, but in Belfast you can, and let me tell you nobody wins.

Names

Just a quick note: If a guy is named William, Bill, Billy, he is a protestant (after William of Orange--the protestant King of England that they go absolutely crazy for, and where all the orange orders get their name from). If someone has a name that is either impossible to pronounce or seems to have too many letters in it, they are Catholic. Examples: Áine (Annya), Clíodhna (Kleeuhnuh, very popular. You can imagine how long it took me to connect the sound of the name to the written form), Aoife(Eefa), and so on.

I am alive, but barely

Another old email...give me a break, its Friday. Also for those who have read the original emails, I have now changed all the names of the children and young people to protect them since this now goes beyond family and friends. I have replaced names according to catholic or protestant names, which is the easiest way to know what side someone is from. If the name isn't obvious, then you go by school, and then street.

Thought I should probably write and let you all know that I am alive. I can't believe I have only been here a week and a half. Seriously, the things that I have seen and done in just a week are incredible. I feel completely lost and tired most of the time, but I love it. Not every minute--there is one child that I think was sent to test my patience (if I could spell her name I would tell you, its one of the really Celtic names that I have never heard of). There is too much to put in one email so I will just give you some highlights. First, I am learning a new language. Don't ever say pants to a young person unless you want to be laughed at, a craic is a good time, a gag is a funny time, and a braic is a sweet bread you eat at tea that is also made with tea. The word wee can never be used too much (as in "I have a wee kitty and I have made her 5 wee hats") and yous is singular (even if yous are well educated). If you want to know someone's name you ask "What do you call her?"...and don't respond with uh...? because N. Irish people are always surprised that other people don't ask for a name in the same way (well sometimes I call him dad and sometimes I call him a jerk, why do you ask?). Never ever ever use Irish as an adjective in mixed company unless you are clearly talking about the Republic of Ireland, seriously just don't go there. 95% of the young people think the US is "class" even though only 15% have been there, the other 5% think its crap and have never been there. Driving for an hour to get somewhere is far, driving for 6 hours gets you to the other end of the country, so when you ask a kid how long they think it would take me to drive to LA from Cincinnati the typical answer ranges from 30min to a couple of hours, they literally don't believe me when I tell them it would take days.
On to more serious stuff. I work with little kids three days a week from 2-5:30 and that is the most stressful part of my week. Its a day care/ afterschools and most of the kids are catholic though we do have a protestant brother and sister and are apparently going to get another. They are all local kids, so they are the ones growing up in the worst of it and sometimes it is absolutely heart wrenching working with them. There is this one little boy, Sean, who I am really coming to love even though he can be absolutely terrible. I think he has always been labeled and dismissed as a "problem child" but he really just needs positive attention for positive behavior. He throws the occasional temper tantrum (and by occasional I mean once an hour on his best days) but he bounces back quickly and is a bright interesting child. The most emotional experience I have had so far involving sectarianism was with Sean. On a nice day last week (ie a day that only threatened rain but did not actually produce any substantial precipitation) we took the kids to the nearest park, which happens to be on the protestant side. Before we left we made all the catholic kids put on their coats to cover their school uniforms. Some of the kids didn't want to and all didn't understand why they had to but the two protestant kids didn't. None of the workers wanted to explain, but eventually we convinced them all to put their jackets on. About 15 minutes after we got to the park another worker Annya (that's how its pronounced but the spelling is crazy Celtic) started to yell at Sean because he was running around without his coat on. At the same moment I see a young (presumably) protestant boy walking towards us so I ran over and helped Sean into his jacket. He of course fought me and started crying. He told me he was hot and asked why he had to wear his jacket when the other two didn't. Ah, I can't describe the pain I felt looking into his eyes. How do you explain 800 years of quarrels to a 7 year old? How do you tell a child that should be innocent that there are people in the world who would run us out of the park just for wearing the wrong colors? It was terrible.
On a brighter note I think I was on the news. I participated in a human peace wall on Saturday. A few hundred people from both sides got together and we created a line across the wall connecting the Falls to the Shankill. We held hands and blocked traffic for 15 minutes. It was really beautiful. And then they let off balloons in the colors of the two sides: orange green and white for the catholic, and red white and blue for the protestants (the Rep. of Ireland's flag and the Union Jack).
There is so much more to tell but I am falling asleep at the keyboard. I worked 12 hours today. So I apologize for any grammatical or spelling errors or just plain wonky writing.

First Impressions

Most of you have probably already read this thanks to my wonderful mom and the power of forwarding, but I thought I would post my old emails so that I can keep all of my Belfast notes in the same place.

I have been in Belfast for little over a day now and am wondering what I did to deserve this living situation with Sisters Myra and Bridget. Must have been something awfully good. Though I might not say that if I ever have a man to bring home—Myra has already told me that they will all be dying to catch me, but they will have to go through her first. Great. Probably worse than meeting my father would to be to take a guy back to meet my two nuns. I am already coming to understand how different the two are. I met Myra first and was worried that if both sisters were like her, I would gain 50 lbs and never feel like an adult. Luckily Bridget views things differently. Myra seems to believe A) I am “a growing girl” B) I have the appetite of a 18 year old boy, and C) Half a 6 inch quiche, fries, some salad, and a piece of apple pie with cream is not a lot of food, hardly anything in fact. This is how a typical Myra and me conversation around food goes: Myra “Would you like a piece of toast” me “No thanks” Myra “Do you not like toast Becky” Me “I like toast, I’m just very full” Myra “Oh bless you child, you have hardly eaten anything....Do you like cheese Becky?” Me “Yes I love cheese” Myra “Would you like a cheese sandwich?”

Or like the other night before church, luckily I had been able to make my own dinner which I thought was perfect, balanced and filling. After church Myra, knowing that I had already eaten, starts offering to make me things. “Do you want some eggs?” “No, I think I will just have some tea and a piece of tart (pie)” “oh but that is not enough, do you want the other half of this quiche?” “No I am not really hungry” “Well you must have a banana” I finally agree to eat the friggin banana. “There’s a good girl, you must get 5 fruits a day” Oh jaysus (see I am learning to speak Irish), have I been demoted to little girl?

I think Myra at least will continue to show her love by trying to force feed me every three hours and to channel all stereotypical maternal instincts into the care/protection of, and doting on me. I came out of the bathroom last night on my way to bed, but was unfortunately caught by Myra who wanted me to go greet Sister Bridget who had just gotten home. As soon as Myra sees me in my pjs (which in my defence look nothing like pjs really, just comfy clothes) she exclaims “Oh look at the wee girl in her jammies. All you need is a teddy” ...Wtf, seriously? My own mother never treated me like that, for heaven’s sake grandma never treated me like that. I was a little too shocked to hear what she said next properly, but I believe she was offering me the use of a blue teddy bear she has upstairs. I did not dignify that with a response.

Well there is one blessing living with the two sisters, I will never go hungry.

Human Peace Wall

Pictures from the Human Peace wall. This is after we stopped holding hands. I stepped out for a second so not the best pics.

This makes me somewhat uncomfortable

First post....yay?!?! ?!
Well, I guess I will start by saying that I am not sure how I feel about putting myself and my life and my inability to succinctly articulate my thoughts (or to spell succinctly without doing a google search using the closest phonetic equivalent) out there for anyone to read. But I will try.
First off, I love it here despite the weather, the bother of living on the peace line, and the stress of working in this community. I could really see myself doing this kind of work for the rest of my life. I hope I find a locale with better weather though. I don't think I could live in Belfast for the rest of my life, but maybe I will feel differently once I experience spring and summer. Also, if I owned or rented my own place I could control how long the heat is on during the day....which would be all day and not just for a few hours in the morning and evening. As I write I have a blanket on my lap, and I usually where a long sweater over my other clothes. I understand why everyone drinks tea or coffee constantly here--its warm! Another thing that is really really bothersome is the fact that it is 4:30 and its already getting dark. Yeah, not ok.