Pictures--A few sunny days

Quasi illegal camping on the north coast. Using a Norman castle as a toilet is definitely one of the high points of my life. The only real toilet was up that cliff.

Walking up the street to my house.
New graffiti on the gate outside my door.

10 things

I know I haven't written in forever and ever, but I have a good reason....a reason I can't share, but a good reason. So, to get back into the whole blogging thing, I am going to be really lazy and write a top ten list. I know it's cliched, but I have some annoyances to get off me chest.

The Top Ten Things about Northern Irish People that Drive Me CRAZY (in no particular order)

1. They think that the phrase "I was just messin'" is magical. You could call someone the stupidest, laziest, *&%# you have ever met, but if you follow it with "Oh, I was just messin'", then the person on the receiving end is not allowed to be at all upset. If you do get angry then you are overly sensitive and take things too seriously. I call for the entire Troubles to be declared just messing about, so anyone who doesn't move on and get over it will be treated with contempt.

2. Unintelligible. No, explanation needed if you have ever been to Northern Ireland. They must all have overly large tongues, or walk around with marbles in their mouths.

3. I have mentioned this before, but it bears repeating--pick a side!!! We can't all walk on the same side of the side walk.

4. Bad taste. You name it: food, fashion, music. JLS, leggings that want to be jeans, leggings that are worn like jeans, mountains and mountains of potatoes in every form imaginable.

5. They "love" America, but slag me to no end when I use American terms for things or say words with my American accent.

6. Thinking that seeing two people in Belfast who aren't white white white in one day means there are "Too many damn foreigners in this country."

7. Being called a girl for your entire life.

8. Having the nerve to call pickled onions pickles. Please, can you make some effort not to make gross food?

9. Bombs, bricks, and fire. Find a safer past time.

10. Being some of the most charming, laid back, and giving people on the planet. They get under your skin and before long you find yourself defending even their most ridiculous behavior. Bastards.

I haven't posted anything in awhile, because really there isn't anything new to post and I haven't felt inspired by anything. The nightly riots stopped a few weeks ago, after a young person was arrested (see my previous post). The only interesting event in my neighborhood was a bomb scare awhile ago that closed down the main street for an afternoon and resulted in an increase in helicopters circling for a few days. The afternoon it happened, a helicopter circled for over 5 hours. I find the fact that one of the local young people described the sound as soothing to be really depressing.

The only other somewhat interesting thing were the fires on Black Mountain. For about a week and a half around the time of the bomb scare, different parts of the mountain were set on fire by young people every day. I wish I had taken a picture, because at night time the fires made the mountain look like a volcano. The fires and the riots, I've been told are very early this year and usually don't take place until the summer, in the case of the fires, and until after Easter for the riots. The riots have also been a lot more frequent this year than in the past couple of years. I have been told that these factors indicate that it will be a "hot" summer. Unfortunately, this is not the kind of heat that I will most probably enjoy.

None of this is terribly interesting though in the big scheme. The bomb scare didn't even make it into the local news. What is more interesting to me right now (and probably more harmful to my health) is the mold/mildew growing around my windows. Its very resilient and causing all sorts of problems for my allergies. Now that the weather is warmer (slightly) other organisms that cause itchy eyes and throat are growing too, and even with two prescriptions I am still walking around with tissues. Its not too bad, but I guess it is bad enough for Sister M to think that "this place is just not suiting" me, and that I am sick "all the time". I haven't been sick once. When I asked her point blank when was the last time I was sick, she responded "not that long ago." Thinking about it I might have had a cold in the beginning of January. Yes, she agreed, not that long ago. This coming from the woman who coughs all the time.

The next big event will be a parade that goes through the wall right outside my house. This has caused problems in the past, but hopefully it will like the first clip and not the second. Both show the wall that I have to pass through every day, and you can see the top of my house at :42 in the second video. In the first you can see my house at :48.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nG4XF-ulNZ0
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zEQ8315n0Z0&feature=related

The media takes an interest

As some of you might know from talking to me on the phone, there has been a lot of action lately on the two barren sites straddling the Springfield Road. This has been going on for 3 weeks without much being done by the police or the knowledge of anyone from out side the area. Well apparently the other night some of the young people went too far. We can now add petrol bombs to the various other things that the young people are throwing. I will have to go and take some pictures of the damage, but for now here are two takes on what happened 2 nights ago.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/northern_ireland/8544588.stm
http://www.irishtimes.com/newspaper/breaking/2010/0302/breaking11.html

Botantic Gardens and Queen's University

Once again, Lena took these pictures. She is always taking sneaky profile pictures of me.

The honeymoon is OVER

I admit it, I was completely blinded by my lust for everything N. Irish when I first arrived in Belfast. I mean the grass really is greener here! Then I realized that the reason for that is the ungodly amount of precipitation. Not only is the grass greener, but so are the roofs. I could probably count on two hands the amount of days in my 5 months here that there hasn't been any form of rain, fog, snow, sleet, or forms of precipitation that I haven't even encountered before. Hollywood must have had Belfast in mind when it created the iconic movie rain. I have gotten so soaked walking in the rain for 10 minutes that I looked like I just got out of the shower. Actually a typical rain here probably has more pressure than my shower.

I know I am living here during one of the coldest winters in a long time, but even when I first arrived on a mild October day, it wasn't the cold outside that bothered me, it was the temperature of my house. These people keep heat on a timer, portioning and rationing human comfort in an attempt to save money. Americans don't realize how spoiled we are when it comes to temperature control. When we are cold we just turn the heat up a little nudge. Or if you are in my family, you turn it up with thick gloves so that you leave no finger prints and then blame it on Adam. "Yeah dad, I put some wood on the fire, I don't know why anyone would turn the heat up?!?! But, I did see Adam lingering in the hall earlier". Something like that. Here, I don't even know how the heater works. Even when the sisters are out of town, I have no control of the heat. Which is probably a good thing for their heating bill.

Other than the weather, I guess I am just weary of the little differences. I am constantly wrong footed in even the most simple of interactions. A few weeks ago I was sitting around with the youth team before club. There had been a meeting earlier in the day and as usual the extra food was left for the youth team to either eat or throw away. I wasn't feeling well that day so when Andrea offered me some food I declined, besides I said "I have some pizza in my purse". My coworkers all paused and looked as if waiting for the punchline of a hilarious joke. Unfortunately that joke is me. "How did you manage that?" One of them asked. Blinking and looking from one expectant face to the next I finally realized my mistake, women's wallets here are called purses and a purse is a bag. Sometimes I think that it would be easier if I actually did speak a different language than the N. Irish. Then at least I would have a good excuse when I said stupid things like "Darn, now my pants are all wet!" in front of children. My coworkers wouldn't look at me like I was crass, but instead pity me for being the ignorant nonnative norn irish speaker that I am.

The Angry Mob

I have been putting off writing on this topic since last November--since the first riot that I was involved in as a youthworker. I have started multiple post about this topic, but have never been able to finish one because it is difficult to describe fear. I could write about how I can hear the blood pounding in my ears, or how I have been literally unable to react to the situation around me. I could write about the intense shivers that come after the adrenaline rush and the desire to cry. None of this would express how I felt though, because fear is really hard to pin down. All I know is that the worst part of fear is feeling defeated before you have even started. That is how I felt tonight.

Tonight's youthwork began pleasantly enough. I was on detached tonight with D (part of our new schedule) and we had a very interesting engaging visitor--a man from a consulting firm who is doing work with our Good Relations department (and by department I mean one person). We went on our normal route and spoke to and saw a fair number of young people. We even got to talk to a group for a long time about the walls, sectarianism, catholics, marching, etc. Basically a good evenings work. Soon after we had dropped our visitor back off at his car, D got a call from one of the youthworkers in club saying that a fight was on at one of the wastelands (large tracts of empty space). D and I investigated the area, but could find no sign of a fight so we started heading back. As we approached the pedestrian gate a few of the Catholic young people came out of youth club, one with a metal pipe in his hand. Just after saying our hellos, we heard shouts from across the street from behind the peace wall. On the other side were a group of protestant boys shouting and jeering at the three catholics.

Now this is where time begins to go all wonky. I have no idea if this lasted 5 minutes or 15, but I do know that a lot can happen at the interface in a short amount of time. Before we could stop them, the three catholics rushed the gate, leaving us no option but to push between them as bottles and bricks came flying over the wall. To describe what happened next would be pointless. Dealing with an incident at the interface is standing in the cold till you can't feel your toes, shouting at young people to stop--stop throwing things, stop pushing me, stop shouting things at the other side, and most importantly just stop and go home. This time was slightly different than other times though in that all the uncovered faces were unfamiliar, though I think I know who the one covered face was, and these guys were aggressive.

It makes all the difference in the world when you know the names of the young people you are dealing with, for both us as youthworkers and for the kids. Its hard to imagine one of the young people who come to club coming at me with a brick and yelling at me to get out of the way as happened tonight. During an incident last Friday, young people pushed me to try to get to the other side, but yelling "Hey, Ron you need to back off!" works fairly well when you have a history with that young person and when you have their parent's number handy. Tonight though yelling didn't deter them and they just kept pushing and pushing. The only advantage I had was height while they had numbers.

Unfortunately this story does not have a happy ending. Well, it does for me, I am home safe--a little shaken, but fine. For the young people, nothing was resolved. It wasn't our diligence that ended the riot, neither logic nor compassion. The only thing that can make a group of young people scatter quickly is paramilitaries pulling up on either side of the wall. Fear was the force that stopped the riot tonight. Fear is an emotion that the young people know well.

Corrymeela

From my day trip along the north coast. It was cold, but a very beautiful drive.

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.