A great article from an inspiring woman. It also shows through using an online learning/exchange platform, a very large intranet (Glow), children can benefit from exchanging and networking with other schools as well as within their own, learning at their pace. A positive step forward, but she also highlights the negatives that are most common all around the UK, schools and teachers finding it difficult embracing ICT cross-curricular, only strengthening the cause to increase training for teachers & schools. One thing Wroxham can agree with what she says is “…education needs to be turned right on its head – it’s time for bottom-up rather than top-down”. Worth a read!
http://www.agent4change.net/index.php?…

Sunday morning’s service at the International Evangelical Church became so much more than worship songs and a sermon after our discovery of a young boy who had stumbled in off the streets in order to praise God.  Having noticed this boy with the shy smile, alone and dirty in the row ahead of me, I asked his name.  Through more questioning, we learned that ”Joe” was 12, that he had lost both parents to HIV, and that he was now on his own, but it was “no problem, God is good.”   We invited him to sit with us, our hearts becoming more attached by the minute as we saw his eagerness to learn, filling in the note outline from the sermon, and his loving spirit as he wrote a note to Amanda, “You mommy me, ok?” Following the service, we had the kind elderly gentleman who had given us a ride to church that morning translate for us as we asked a few questions about “Joe’s” family and how he was living now.  We learned that Joe works at a garage, earning 30 Birr a week, and has to pay 100 Birr per month for rent, and if he does not have the money, he is beaten by the landlord.  Because the majority of his income goes to rent, he must go to restaurants to beg for leftovers so he can eat.  After learning his story, I was convinced that a higher power beyond coincidence led this street orphan to sit by three girls who work for an adoption agency in a church that has over 500 seats.  Joe hesitantly allowed us to treat him to lunch at Kaldi’s where he enjoyed a hamburger and fries, patiently answering our questions as best he could with his limited English.  As he savored a cup of ice cream, we put in a phone call to our friend and teacher at Layla, “Jack”.  After hearing our situation, he advised us to take ”Joe” and show him Layla’s location so that he might return Monday and meet with AAI’s social workers in order to see what help they might offer.  We did just that, then sent ”Joe” home with a few groceries for supper in hand, and the prayer that he would indeed return tomorrow.  Though we all felt a twinge of suspicion that we might be getting played for naïve foreigners, we figured the worst outcome would be that we had fed a hungry kid lunch, and would never see him again.  Deep within my heart, however, I felt a deep assurance that his need was genuine, and his motives pure as we watched him wave goodbye from atop the hill.

Rather than the usual elation that Fridays bring, my heart felt the weight of the impending goodbye with the boy who had made every morning at Layla a blessing with his radiant smile and welcoming arms.  I was fortunate to have had the opportunity to spend part of the morning talking with “Rachel”, “William’s” new mom, learning a little more of his background and sharing countless examples depicting the heart of gold of this young boy whom we both adored.  I was amazed to learn the name “William” means “one who makes things better,” and I couldn’t imagine a more fitting name for the young man who had first accepted me at Layla, had been the first to open his world to me, and had made every moment better with his outpouring of selfless love.  Knowing that “William” had been scheduled to depart for America in August, I was ashamedly and selfishly grateful that he had stayed at Layla long enough for me to have had the chance to know him.  Much of the afternoon passed in the cramped and chaotic store room working together with the other volunteers trying to create some sense of organization.  I also took the opportunity in the rare lull of activity to write my farewell letter to “William” in which I attempted to convey how special he was to me.  Afterwards, I spent a portion of the afternoon with “Mary”, “William’s” younger and equally loveable sister, at the salon across the street where she had her hair specially shampooed, conditioned, and braided.  I was awed watching as the hairdresser’s fingers appeared independent from her hands braiding at top speed; I was also convinced African women have scalps of steel with “Mary” hardly flinching as the woman pulled and yanked mercilessly.  Back at Layla, the farewell party commenced, and though the children beat upon their drums singing songs of celebration, the echoes filling my ears were those of the sounds of my heart breaking.  Once all the children had received their portion of cake, cookies, candy, and soda, I was swept up in the tidal wave of children demanding postas (cards and envelopes).  As I helped one young girl write a letter to her awaiting family in Ohio, my sense of loss grew increasingly as “William’s” last few moments at Layla counted down.  Finally, it was time for me to present “William” with his farewell letter and gifts of a Teddy Afro t-shirt, and CD of pictures.  I attempted to hold back the tears as we embraced, but couldn’t fight the building pressure any longer when “Rachel” gave me a hug and said, “This one’s worth crying for.”  Once the faucet was turned on, there was no stopping the waterworks; the other children were all unsure of what to do as they had yet to see my cry in my time at Layla.  Even in the midst of my heartache, I was touched as many of the kids offered consoling hugs and encouragements of “Izosh” (Be strong).  Finally, after several final pictures together, multiple rib-crushing embraces, and promises to stay in contact, tears flowed afresh as “William” disappeared from view out Layla’s blue metal gate, on his way to what I knew would be a better life.  The image of my mom standing teary-eyed at the gate as I passed through security to begin my grand adventure came flooding back.  I suddenly understood the sacrifice she had made – silently accepting her own loss, allowing me to benefit from new experiences.  These children at Layla have become like my own, I serve not only as their teacher, their playmate, their friend, and their confidant, but also as their interim parent, and I know that my own departure will indeed leave my heart irreparably shattered.

Having failed to prepare thoroughly, America class morphed into a hodgepodge of examples about how to be safe in America covering everything from crosswalks, to what to do if you get lost, to helmet laws.  Shortly after our drawn out and disorganized lesson, we were told without explanation we needed to leave the compound.  We made our way to Kaldi’s where we spent the better part of the morning waiting to return to Layla.  We learned that there had been a surprise visit from MOWA (Ministry of Women’s Affairs) and that our presence could have raised problems in terms of investigation of having proper paperwork, etc.  Admittedly, I was not opposed to some free time away from screaming children.  Finally, we got the call that it was safe to return and that MOWA had given a great review of AAI.  Given that it was after noon and we had a lunch field trip scheduled for Group 3, we had Patrick, who had previously returned to Layla, round up the children and meet us at Family Restaurant.  With such a varied and eclectic menu, combined with the children’s limited English, ordering was quite a challenge.  Once the meals arrived, it was apparent that we had not done well as most of the kids picked disinterestedly at their food.  While I worried that the kids left with empty stomachs, I was more overcome by irritation at their rude behavior.  After returning to Layla with not so much as a single thank you, we awaited our meeting with the older kids.  We learned that they had midterm exams approaching in two weeks, and asked how we would be able to best help them prepare.  We asked to see how they had been doing thus far and discovered that all of the children had been receiving excellent marks on their quizzes and assignments, then established a plan to arrange tutor sessions with a teacher every day for the following week in order to prepare them to ace their tests.  We also questioned them on their experience at A-Hope and were pleased to know we had succeeded in our goal of showing them that the system they have at Layla grants them a lot more free time than those children at A-Hope.  Another day at Layla having come to a close, I found myself thinking that although these children have faced an unimaginable challenge in being orphaned, in comparison to other orphanages, and in comparison to those living with their parents in destitution, these kids are incredibly privileged living at Layla, and in many ways have become ungrateful for what they receive.  The previous perception I held of kids with bloated stomachs running about in threadbare clothes in Ethiopia’s orphanages has definitely been shattered.

This morning’s arrival at Layla was met with a challenge to beat teacher “Frank” one on one at soccer. I accepted, much to the delight of several onlookers, though the hopes of me winning quickly faded as I fell behind 2-0. Youth played to my advantage as the game progressed, however, and fresh legs enabled me to outmaneuver and outrun “Frank”, fighting my way back to a close victory, 3-2. I felt a bit like I’d won the World Cup as the kids cheered raucously and gave me enthusiastic high-fives. The remainder of the day was much less exciting with the pinnacle of the volunteer’s accomplishment being cleaning out and organizing the video library, and beginning the frightful, never-ending task of bringing some semblance of order to the store room. We met a wall of obstinacy when we prepared to take the Liza school children to Big A-Hope for tutorial time. I had to flush out two of the boys from their hiding places and use my wiles and charm in order to persuade them to get their school books and get in the van. Once at A-Hope, another battle to get them out of the van and into the main room ensued. Finally, we had them seated at the tables with their books open, and over the next hour their anger subsided and they even took the opportunity to meet some new friends. Once tutorial time was finished, a soccer showdown between the Layla and A-Hope boys commenced, though I was selected to be the goalie – a choice that proved to be misguided as the A-Hope boys scored again and again. Though our boys rallied back admirably, I think A-Hope came out on top by the game’s end. As we saw them off in Ivy’s van, and made preparations to make the trek home, I promised to work on my keeper skills in order to help contribute to a revenge victory for the next match.

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doors are being opened…

The iSchool, using an ipod touch within, and outside of the classroom to learn! Great Ideas on this website!!!
https://www.ischoolinitiative.com/Educational_Technology.html

An article from the Guardian about portals in school
http://education.guardian.co.uk/screencheck/story/0,,1745964,00.html

In light of mentioning “Henry” in my other posts, I wanted to give everyone an inside look at this incredible young man!

Meet “Henry Smith”, a 16-year-old boy with a smile emanating the warmth of the Ethiopian sun, a soothing, gentle voice, rarely rising above a whisper, and a heart full of love despite having known a life of challenge. “Henry’s” story has never been fully disclosed, but it is one undoubtedly marked by adversity. Having experienced a physical trauma of some nature, “Henry” has sever hearing loss, and cannot hear out of his left ear at all, as well as an artificial left leg causing him to walk with a limp. Sadly, his physical limitations cause “Henry” to withdraw from the group of boys his age as he cannot participate alongside in the rowdy games of soccer. Despite his severely limited hearing, “Henry” does well in grade 5A at Liza school, a private school he and six others attend outside of Layla. At Liza his favorite subjects are science, math, and social studies. “Henry” aspires to be a doctor and an artist someday. Originally from Gulele Ketema, “Henry” has lived at Layla for almost a year. He anxiously awaits the opportunity to go to America where he can continue improving his English. Other favorites of “Henry’s” include the color blue, basketball, cake, and injera. “Henry” is accompanied at Layla by his two sisters, “Holly” and “Franny”. While this incredibly special boy awaits the right family to love and care for him, and provide the opportunities for him to excel and fulfill his dreams, he would benefit greatly from a hearing aid in order to greatly expand the avenues for learning and daily communication. In the short time I have known “Henry”, I have observed a young man full of patience, courage, compassion, a spirit of perseverance, and a huge capacity for love.

Classes felt more successful than average today as 2B were both cooperative and enthusiastic about the scavenger hunt Molly arranged.  We also served as Health class substitutes where we taught groups 4 and 5 about the food guide pyramid and nutrition labels, information they seemed to be at least mildly curious about learning.  What’s more, all groups got an “X” for chore time!  A glimmer of hope even crept in when we had our meeting with the older kids in Grade 5 as they were more open about communicating with us, laughing and joking as we took short video clips of them, explaining how the videos would show how great they all were to families in America.  Afterwards, I sat with “Henry”, watching as the other older boys played their usual soccer game, writing back and forth on a notebook having realized this was a much easier way for us to communicate.  I explained to him how I was writing a story specifically about him in order to tell everyone how special and wonderful he is, and through a series of questions, I uncovered his favorite foods and subjects, how long he’d lived at Layla, where he was originally from, and the fact that he had two younger brothers.  I was uncertain what to do with this information as the Ethiopian government insists that all siblings under the age of 18 be adopted together, and I knew that placing a group of 5, especially with an older boy with “Henry’s” physical handicaps, would be nearly impossible.  After answering “Henry’s” question of how long until I returned home, he wrote, “We go together?” at which point I felt my heart shattering within.  I explained how legally, I was not allowed to adopt any children, but that all of the other volunteers and I were working very hard to make sure he would get a family.  Leaving Layla feeling helpless and heartbroken, Jessica and I hopped aboard a minibus and made our way to the souvenir shops at Churchill.  While I was tempted to explore every store for the authentic Ethiopian treasures they may hold, I was on a mission to find a Teddy Afro t-shirt for “William’s” going-away gift, something to serve as a reminder of our big outing together.  After walking away from overpriced shirts in several shops, I gave myself an internal round of applause as I was able to bargain my way to the exact shirt I wanted.  Nevertheless, having already had my heart wrenched by “Henry’s” request to go back to America with me, my spirits did not improve knowing each day that passes brings me one day closer to what will be a tearful and difficult goodbye.

Having had only one day to recover from the craze that had been Halloween, Monday morning came all too quickly as is the nature of Mondays, especially as we entered the disastrous mess that was our office.  After over an hour sweeping up piles of feathers and glitter, sorting through piles of yarn and face paint, and returning everything to its proper place, we had all traces of the Halloween holiday tucked neatly away.  Today was a special day, however, being that we were finally able to meet both “William’s” mom, and “Seth’s” parents.  Both boys were all smiles as they introduced us to their new families.  “William” had originally been set to leave Layla in August, but they discovered he was not going to be able to go home with his parents and sister because he had tested positive for TB bacterium.  Now, nine weeks later, his mother, “Rachel” and sister “Mary” had returned to take him home to Massachusetts.  Selfishly, I was glad he had not gone home the first time as I would not have had the chance to meet this incredibly soft-hearted and loving young boy who had been the first at Layla to let me in his world.  For the day’s activity class, we had Group 1B build forts using the sheets from the haunted house, and the cafeteria chairs.  Some of the kids proved to be better engineers, able to fashion a fort under which they enjoyed a play picnic with plastic food and cutlery, while others were content to merely wrap themselves in the sheets and roll around in the grass.  Activities class completed, we headed to Kaldi’s, the Ethiopian equivalent of Starbucks, in order to meet with the man from whom we had rented our car to go to Lalibela.  We resented his insistence on meeting with us as a waste of time as we had made the immovable resolution not to pay any more money.  Lunch came and went and still he had not come so we called the man who had been our liaison with this businessman, who explained that he had left a message on our other phone stating the man was too busy to make our appointment.  We then proceeded to explain we didn’t have time to deal with this issue any longer and because the man had not met us at the agreed upon time, there would be no talk of further payment.  We all felt relief as this raincloud that had been hanging overhead for nearly two weeks was finally dissipating.  We returned to Layla to have our usual Monday meeting during which I pitched the idea for my personal project to Ivy.  In my brief time here, I noticed that new kids are unceremoniously thrown into life at Layla, often times unbeknownst to us until they appear, shell-shocked and wide-eyed, in a class, and I had felt a strong urge to create some sort of orientation for these new children.  Furthermore, I had observed that the older children do very well when given special responsibility as it gives them a sense of value and importance.  As the volunteers had talked about these observations, the idea to create a mentor program in which an older kid becomes responsible for taking a new child that arrives under his/her wing, showing them the ropes of their new home, had arose.  I explained this all to Ivy, pointing out the added benefit that making the older children responsible for orienting new kids rather than volunteers would enable this program to be ongoing after this group of volunteers had left.  I was pleased by how well-received our idea was, and felt that if I could initiate this program, I had created something I would be proud to sign my name to upon leaving Layla.  The day ended with chores and our meeting with the kids going outside of Layla for school.  I was despondent to see the kids were still not receptive to these meetings, and I was left in awe of the incredibly stubborn nature of teenage kids.

After a month of preparations, the moment of truth was at hand as Halloween had finally come.  We arrived at Layla around noon for the ninth inning to complete the haunted house, and help the older kids design costumes.  While we were skeptical that our scanty supplies would come together in order to make the best haunted house Layla had ever seen, our biggest challenge proved to be keeping the kids from stealing peeks inside as we tried to hang sheets, hand-crafted spiders made of pipe cleaners dangling from dental floss, black and orange construction paper chains, umpteen strands of yarn, a stuffed body with a pumpkin head, and a bat fashioned from a mesh laundry basket.  Having used all of our decorations produced by the kids and volunteers, we despaired at the less than haunted effect we had been able to create.  Thankfully, help arrived as “Richard”, our friend from the embassy, provided a great sound system to play spooky music, as well as a vast amount of candy for trick-or-treating, and we received all of the amazing supplies and decorations “Sarah” had collected and sent with a parent.  Our haunted house went from drab to fab with the new arrivals of fake cobwebs and skeleton wall decals, and a barrage of eerie sounds emanating from the loud speakers.  In between trying to round up more supplies, I found myself being sidetracked by the older boys asking for help with their costumes.  They had gotten into the spirit of the holiday by all creating costumes as characters from Lord of the Rings, “Blake” and “Sam” as elves, “Aaron” and “Adam” as orks, “Shane” as Aragon, and “Nathan” adding his own flair as an African dwarf rapper.  They had had the girls braid yarn into their hair, had fashioned swords and bow and arrows out of various materials, and were now asking for my help to obtain face paint and create elf ears.  After a failed attempt at fashioning ears out of tin foil, we tried our hand at using brown felt which proved successful.  Around five we finally finished the haunted house, and left for a quick trip home to don our own costumes and eat dinner.  What felt like a brief moment to catch our breath, and we were back at Layla as darkness began to fall on the compound.  We adopted a divide and conquer approach as some went to make the last-minute arrangements for the haunted house and others set up shop to do face-painting for the older kids and pass out the fairy and bug costumes to the younger girls and boys.  Somehow in the midst of 110 excited, screaming kids scurrying about, we managed to get them all in some form of costume and back into the dining hall to await their turn to trick-or-treat.  We divided the candy for three rooms, as well as one room with toothbrushes and floss, and waited for each group to come to collect their long-awaited reward.  Once every group, as well as the housemothers and guards, had come around, we hurried back to the haunted house in order to assume our positions to scare the kids as they made their way through the room.  Hiding beneath the tables behind the draping sheets, I was to reach out and grab passing ankles.  It was hard not to laugh as the younger kids stepped foot into the room, heard the scary music, and ran right back out the door.  The few brave souls who made it to the end were justly rewarded with a handful of candy corn.  As the age groups got older, it got harder to invoke fear, but they enjoyed it nonetheless.  After over an hour, everyone who wanted to venture inside had taken their turn and it was time for clean up.  The afternoon’s hard work came down far easier and quicker than it had gone up, though it took a good deal of scrubbing to get the jello and wet spaghetti noodles off the floor.  We all sighed a huge breath of relief that Halloween was now over, and took satisfaction in knowing that it had indeed been the best Layla had ever seen.

Friday had thankfully come again, as we endured yet even more Halloween preparations.   Not exaggerating in the least, preparing for this holiday has been all-consuming of our time and energy for the entire month of October.  Rather than an air of excitement however, a mysterious, foul mood pervaded in the Group 5 classroom as we came to help them carve pumpkins for America class.  It took a great deal of coaxing, but eventually they all participated, with the exception of the spunkiest girl, “Marsha”, in the traditional gutting and carving, though they were puzzled why Americans would waste a food source in this way.  We learned that Ethiopians use pumpkin in different wats, or sauces eaten atop injera.  The remainder of the afternoon was mercifully uneventful giving the volunteers the opportunity to put together costumes of our own.  After raiding the craft room for supplies, we called upon one another’s creativity in order to use the resources at hand.  I opted for simplicity as I decided upon dressing up as a ninja, requiring only black clothing, a mask which I fashioned out of a square of felt and yarn, and a pair of numb-chucks I created after discovering a bucket of wooden sticks in the office.  Knowing the long day tomorrow was sure to be, Ivy suggested we leave early for the afternoon in order to go home, finish getting our own costumes ready, and relax before tomorrow’s festivities.  No one argued with her suggestion as we packed up to returned to the volunteer house.  Though trees covered in red, orange, and gold leaves were noticeably absent, it definitely felt like fall as the smells of freshly-roasted pumpkin seeds, and sweet caramel corn wafted from the kitchen.  Our quiet evening was interrupted by the arrival our new volunteer, Andrea.  Originally from New York, she is spending only a month here in Ethiopia before she goes on to work with Ugandan women to create fashion accessories from recycled clothes.  I thankfully crawled into bed feeling the effects of an impending sugar comatose from too much caramel corn, exhausted yet satisfied that another week had come to a close.

Given my love for sports and physical activity, I was asked to fill in as the exercise teacher for the day.  My excitement for the task quickly faded as I began the day with Group 2A who are by far the most poorly-behaved.  I experienced one failure after another as my plan to play kickball failed when I arrived to find our one ball had mysteriously disappeared, and my attempt to teach them capture the flag ended in the boys running aimlessly about, and the girls refusing to move.  Dodgeball proved moderately successful for the first ten minutes, then they all lost interest.  It seemed class would never end as frustration mounted with all nine kids refusing to listen and culminated in me forcing the kids to run laps until they agreed to give respect to the teacher, and to participate.  More than frustration with the kids however, I felt frustrated with myself that I hadn’t learned enough Amharic to communicate more effectively, that I couldn’t control nine kids for only 45 minutes, and that I had let my frustrations show so transparently.  It dawned on me that trying to play the role of teacher is extremely challenging for the volunteers as we try to be their friends, role models, and confidants at every other point in the day, therefore when we try to take on an authoritative role, the kids do not see us in that light.  Thankfully, the next three sports classes went much more seamlessly, and I felt my frustrations begin to evaporate.  Classes ended in helping Group 3 to carve their Halloween pumpkins, and for those not keen on touching the mushy insides, they earned the reward of pumpkin guts in the face.  Being Thursday, it meant we also had the responsibility of taking kids to visit their siblings at A-Hope.  I joined “Aaron” at Little A-Hope where I was happy to find the kids were much healthier and more energetic than they had been on my previous visit.  In fact, it seemed they would never tire of utilizing me as a human jungle-gym, but I couldn’t help but be infected by their joy and laughter.

An early morning trip to the gym started the day off right, and it felt so good to be back!  The day filled quickly with classes and other various duties, one project being to sort through four large burlap sacks of clothes that had not been claimed by the kids after being laundered.  It was clear why many of the clothes had been abandoned; sweatshirts with zippers broken and pockets torn off, pants with the seams blown out, shirts having started out white now various shades of brown.  While we were able to salvage a small portion of the clothes to be returned to the store room for future use, the overwhelming majority of the clothes were set aside to donate to the church who then sees that the clothes go to people in need on the streets.  Working to find the bottom of my sack, an old adage came to mind, “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”  Many of the items I considered worthy only for the garbage would in fact serve to meet someone’s desperate need.  The remainder of the day proceeded much as usual with various activities and video classes, chores, and finally our meeting with the kids going out to Liza school.  Still resentful of sacrificed playtime, the kids were not pleased as we gathered in a classroom to talk about their day.  Our attempts to be supportive were met with cold silence and stony glares.  Once we released them from their imprisonment however, they returned to their normal, happy selves, still with that touch of feisty attitude that somehow makes them more endearing.  On my journey home, I was stopped by Tesfye as he introduced me to his friends “Hattie” and her 15-year-old son “Brandon”.  After a shy introduction, Tesfye continued walking with me explaining how “Hattie’s” husband had been a police officer who had passed away due to illness, and now “Hattie” worked tirelessly, barely scraping by in order to send “Brandon” to school.  I explained to Tesfye I couldn’t make any guarantees, but that I would see if there were any ways to offer them help.  Remembering AAI’s sponsorship program, I made a mental note to learn how the pogram worked, and hoped perhaps I would be able to get “Brandon” enrolled.

After the exhaustion and frustration from our trip gone awry, it felt great to be back at home, to be greeted by Tesfye as we made the trek to Layla, and to realize our presence at the compound had been sorely missed.  We were also pleasantly surprised by the kids’ unusually good behavior, something I’d like to contribute to our triumphant return.  We were concerned to learn, however, that while we were away, two of the older boys, “Blake” and “Matthew”, had come to Ivy’s office, highly distressed, even to the point of tears, about life at Liza school.  In the wake of their outburst, the volunteer staff deemed it a necessity to start meeting with the older kids going out to school on a daily basis in order to offer them a resource to vent about any problems, share their successes, ask for help on homework, etc.  Though they were not as receptive to the meeting as we had hoped, primarily because it cut down on their play time, we hoped that as they adjusted to the new routine, they would become more open with us.  I felt a slight opening in the avenue of communication as “Eddie” shared a little with me about his background.  I was shocked to learn he had been in the orphanage system for over seven years, and I found myself wondering how he had turned out such a wonderful young man having been raised in institutions, and why on earth he had not been claimed by a family.  I also felt a sense of panic to find him a family realizing he has only one more year before he will age out of the system.   I extracted a promise from both him and “Matthew” that they would come to me should they ever need anything, or have a problem.  Once their anger about having lost precious free time subsided, the usual soccer game commenced, and I was granted permission to play, a privilege rarely extended to girls.  While I was definitely not the MVP on the field, I proved myself quite capable of keeping up with the boys.  Upon returning home, I was overcome by the desire to develop a project that incorporated meeting the needs of the kids at Layla, and my personal interests – a program that would be ongoing after I had left, and something I could be proud to sign my name to.   All in all, it had been a great day with the only raincloud darkening the sunny skies being my discovery of strange bumps, similar to boils, on my back.  I hoped that whatever had suddenly appeared would disappear in the same fashion as I was highly skeptical of the predicted effectiveness of the doctor’s recommended course of treatment – Neosporin, three times a day.

The story of our trip north will be forthcoming! Sorry these posts are all a bit outdated – life gets pretty hectic, but I’m getting caught up slowly but surely! I pray all of you, my faithful readers, are well and know that I’m forever grateful for your support!

Anticipation and expectation of a great day filled me as I made my way to Layla this morning. With a field trip planned to Desta Mender and our Lalibela excursion only a day away, I had a lot to look forward to. We had about an hour to prepare for the fieldtrip raiding the stockroom for water, cookies, and kolo, and then we were underway. As our overfull van petered along, our progress was somewhat impeded as I gave hesitant directions to our driver whose understanding of English was rather limited. Through broken instructions and exuberant gesturing, we made all the right turns and made it safely to the beautiful haven of Desta Mender. It was great to see “Sasha” again as she told us to make ourselves at home on the compound, tour at will, and that her manager had said to waive the fee for our group. The kids quickly devoured the kolo and cookies as they were eager to explore, longing to run at will. Wide-eyed and curious, we showed them the pond, apple orchard, vegetable garden, basketball court, the houses and classrooms for the women, and the poultry and dairy farms where they hesitantly pet the cows. After the official tour, we let the beasts off their leashes and let them run wild through the lush tall grass spattered with wildflowers. As usual, they argued over who should have the basketball and soccer ball we had brought, while others were content for me to swing them around in circles until they fell laughing and dizzy into the soft, green grass. Our two hours passed all too quickly, then sadly it was time to herd the children back into the van in order to return to Layla for lunch. The remainder of the day was filled with the typical activities and video classes, and battle to make the children complete their chores, but I sensed a curious spirit of emptiness as I realized I wouldn’t see the little munchkins for almost a week. After a barrage of hugs, we finally made it out the door and on home to pack and make the final preparations for tomorrow’s big journey up north.

a Primal Root review

So, here’s the deal. You receive a box from an elegant older gentleman with a half eaten face who decides to play Deal or No Deal. Ready to hear the conundrum? Okay, you have a little gadget with a seductive, bright red, candy like button on the top of it. Press that button and you receive One Million Dollars in cold hard cash but some poor schmuck you’ve never laid eyes on will die because of your short sighted greedy stupidity. If you don’t press it…well, yeah, nothing happens. You get 24 hours to chew on that before the game show buzzer from hell is picked up and taken away forever.

Stimpy facing this same predicament back in the day.

This is the situation Norma (Ms. Diaz) and Arthur Lewis (James “Cyclops” Marsden) find themselves in back in 1976. Norma is a mild mannered disfigured school teacher whose gnarled foot she displays to her curious class in an early fetishistic scene. Her hubby Arthur works for NASA designing lenses for the Viking 1 which sends images back to Earth from the surface of Mars which brings the question of life on other planets into the equation.

"Think we'll be able to afford something to wash the blood off our hands?"

Even before the button is even pressed ( I am not spoiling anything. This happens in the first 15-20 minutes) the Lewis families’  world is filled the the proverbial Richard Kelly strange shit and once pressed the strange shit gets magnified. People keep getting nose bleeds, there are suburban zombies, water portals (a recurring Kelly favorite) kidnappings, loss of senses, unexplained murder, huge leaps of logic, and the NSA. The late night gang who listens to George Noory on Coast to Coast AM will eat this stuff up with a knife and fork!

And as any rational human being would have guessed there are some dire consequences for this decision. The decision to end one human being’s life for simple monetary gain sets off a chain reaction leading to far more difficult decisions.

The Box is filled with interesting ideas that don’t seem to congeal into a solid, finished piece. Like Kelly’s debut film, Donnie Darko, the film has all the logic of a fever dream. This is the kind of stuff I love, honestly. When a film isn’t afraid to not make sense or explain itself or to hand itself over in a neat little package. The Box is not that kinda movie. It’s not easy.

Cameron Diaz lost without a map in The Box

It’s beautifully shot, expertly composed, unabashedly bizarre, and even well acted. Well, with the exception of Cameron Diaz, who is the canker soar on the gum line of this movie. Really, the film kept me interested as it hurled one idea after the another at me but every time Cameron Diaz showed her dopey face I was pulled right out of the film. Her acting is high school drama class caliber and is embarrassing to watch. She tries, you can see her straining to be credible, but her emotions just come off as completely false. Even in her most dramatic scenes you just can’t believe her. She needs to stick to Ashton Kutcher comedies.

James Marsden is in The Box

Luckily, she has a damn fine supporting cast backing her up in the form of the dishearteningly underrated James “Cyclops” Marsden who gives a believable and well composed performance as the better half of the married couple. But the man who steals the show is the ever brilliant Frank Langella as the horribly scarred mystery man, Arlington Steward. This could easily have been a one note performance if handled by any other actor but Langella gives this character ominous overtones while also, somehow, being empathetic. There is a humanity behind all the formality and matter-of -factness.

"Hello, I am Frank Langella. I am here to make your movie good."

Sure, The Box is weird, crazy and off kilter. It’s moody, mellow dramatic and prone to flights of fancy.  But at the end of the day it’s a brain teasing mystery. Ad if there’s one thing I love it’s a mystery. I am proud that Richard Kelly stays true to what he wants his work to be and refuses to make his films easily digestible. The Box could easily be seen as a metaphor for mankind’s relationship to God or as a fable of man’s inhumanity towards man, or even simply a film about alien invasion. They are all good theories but there are no clear answers here.

The Box is a strange, pretty package filled with some sci-fi paradox’s. It is not a good film but it certainly an interesting one. At the end of the day it plays like David Lynch Lite.

Stay Trashy,

-The Primal Root

Gillian Jacobs plays Dana the babysitter in The Box. Hot and a sense of humor!

Moving sites and subsites within SharePoint 2007

There is a really cool way that you can move a sharepoint site up or down in your hierarchy.

Let’s say you created a sharepoint site your root level (ie http://intranet/website) and six months later you decide it really should be contained under your IT subsite (http://intranet/it/website). You can use the program STSADM to move a site from one location to another.

Steps to move a WSS subsite.

1. Create the new target URL (I created a blank site @ http://intranet/it/website)
2. Fire up the command line
3. CD \”Program Files\Common Files\Microsoft Shared\web server extensions\12\BIN”
4. Export the old URL using the following Command:

stsadm -o export -url http://intranet/website -filename c:\test\backup.cmp

5. Import the file back into Sharepoint using the the following command:

stsadm -o import -url http://intranet/it/website -filename c:\test\backup.cmp

That’s it! You have moved your website. You need to check user permissions especially if you are moving to a new subsite!

OTHER COOL STUFF: There is an option to -includeusersecurity while you do the export. You can also choose whether or not to pull all the revisionhistory over with the doc libs or not…

For a full view of options for Export / Import, run the following commands to see all your options:

stsadm -o export

stsadm -o import

Brand New is a blog where Armin Vit and Bryony Gomez-Palacio write their opinions on new branding solutions, mostly logo redesigns. You might learn a lot from there, not by taking everything they say as absolute design rules (they’re just opinions however professional they are), but by discovering what kinds of little things are obsessively taken into account in design and branding.

— Cem

I tend to think in terms of “wins” and “fails”.  It seems as though I have been racking up the tallies in the “fail” category as of late, but today I fell asleep with the thought, “Today was a win”.  I had memorized all of the kids’ names in Group 1B ; granted it’s a class of 9, but I am celebrating the little victories these days.  Beyond learning the names however, I am beginning to identify personality traits in these kids, who their closest friends are, the subjects they do well in, whether or not I should believe them when they say they’ve finished their chores.  One boy, “Timothy,” is deaf and rather difficult as he gets angry easily and reacts by hitting.  He is quite intelligent, however, and I celebrated another little victory as he responded immediately when I showed him how to keep his hands in one place on the keyboard rather then finger-pecking at the keys.  Later in the afternoon my supervisor Ivy took me to downtown Addis so I could use an ATM (they are few and far between here).  I still have not fully adjusted to the mad style of driving in Africa, but I tried to focus my attentions on the view out the window rather than the way our van missed other speeding vehicles by inches.  The view out my window was bittersweet – Addis is an amazing city with industry and development booming, but the innumerable beggars, and the homeless laying crippled by polio and covered in rags on the sidewalks, are stark reminders of the underlying poverty.  Africa is undoubtedly a land of contrasts.