The Sound of Noislessness

All is quiet except for a grunt or groan breaking the silence and startling me back into the world of hearing.  I rely on my ears to understand what is taking place around me, but without words my other senses begin to kick in.  I watch, intrigued by the emotion.  The “speaker” is telling a story.  I don’t need to hear his voice because through the flowing movement of his hands and the expressions on his face.  I see a story unfolding.

The people around me watch, intent on the outcome.  His body moves into the story and hands go up waving in the deaf sign for clapping as the audience responds with joy.  We’ve all encountered the deaf, whether a small child in a shop pulling on your pant-leg, a young person at Carre Four bagging groceries, or an elderly person begging on the corner communicating only with deep guttural sounds. 

Understanding those who cannot hear is an emerging culture in Bogota.  Misguided beliefs that deaf people cannot contribute to a society are being challenged as awareness grows across all socio-economic lines. 

Colombian law, grounded in an all-encompassing Constitution guarantees the right of all persons, especially minors, to have access to education even if that means hiring specialized staff to teach sign language. In Bogota there are two schools dedicated to teaching sign language to the deaf.  One school, Instituto Nuestra Senora de la Sabiduria para Sordos (Institute of Our Lady of Wisdom for the Deaf) located on the Calle 20 Sur No. 10A-51 has been at the center of a heated public debate ever since the Education Secretary of Bogota which had been subsidizing the specialized facility with 4- percent of its operating costs decided to cancel the contract, worth some $480 million pesos, last month.  Three hundred and fifty children had to be relocated to district schools and an institution which had been running for 88 years is now on the verge of closure.

The protests over the Education Secretary pulling its support of the school contrasts the efforts of the national government in developing special job incentives and programs for the deaf.  The presidency has established a strict program which requires applicants to

attend training, similar to a technical college, and which would make them eligible for jobs.  The training course prepares those with hearing impairments to work in factories, in construction, as bakers and develop a work ethic important in being a valued employee. 

Each country has its own version of sign language.  Mexican sign is different than Colombian.  Culture is very important to each country’s development of the language.  In 1996 Colombian Sign Language (Lengua de Senas Colombiana or LSC) was recognized as an official language.  LSC's origin is American Sign Language (ASL), but Colombian Sign Language has evolved, changing many signs to be more culturally relevant.  For example, the Colombian sign for “chocolate” is rubbing the hands together as if frothing hot chocolate with a molinillo.  It is not the same sign as in the US, but it makes sense here.  Signs in Colombia tend to create a picture that demonstrates a word or concept similar to the game of charades.   The ASL sign for “mom” is made by placing the thumb against your chin with the hand open.  In Colombia the sign looks like you are holding a baby.  Although LSC is a national language, there are dialects between cities such as Cartagena and Medellin. 

Amanda Bloom works with the deaf in Bogota.  Out of 2 million deaf in Colombia, only 50,000 use LSC.  Because the culture is in the developing stages she says, “The most difficult thing working with the deaf here is that they are exposed to so much change that they are confused.”  They rely on people coming up to them to educate them on products, appropriate prices, religion and other pieces of knowledge that hearing people understand because of the vast amounts of information we have to process and make decisions.  There is a trust that is often broken as people try to take advantage of them or play on their emotions.  It takes a lot of time to develop a relationship and trust within the deaf community.  Working with a group of deaf people will include a variety of levels and needs to be met.  One person may be educated and employed where another person only speaks “home sign language”.

Daisy, 23, is one such person having attended school, but with no one trained to teach the deaf, she was simply given a notebook to copy things off the blackboard with no comprehension of how symbols combined to form words and ideas.  She never learned to read or write.  Daisy's family created a combination of gestures to communicate in, their own home sign language.  Amanda began her work with Daisy on the simplest thing--her name.  From there she taught Daisy the alphabet just as you would teach a child.  Amanda used pictures and drawings to teach abstract concepts such as emotions and ideas - forgiveness and love.  “There is some benefit to this because there is less confusion in identifying personal emotions,” says Amanda, “but in the older generation there is a lot of bottled-up anger because they grew up with no way of communicating.”

Change takes time, the process is slow.  The deaf have come a long way in the Colombian acceptance of their disability although the further you travel from a large city the less opportunity there is to move out of generational stigmas.   People like Daisy have a changed life because of a few people who cared enough to work against common public perception and offer her the opportunity of communication.

Feb. 2013

Many Years of Silence

            My son and I are alone, waiting for church to commence.  The room starts filling.  People squeeze into every seat, yet our row remains empty. Five minutes pass, then ten.  I begin to feel self-conscious.  Still, no one sits next to us. 

            Do we look funny?  Do we smell strange?  No, we simply don't speak the same language. 

            Memories of my grandma with her thick Finnish accent cram into my mind.  I wonder if she experienced the same emotions trying to communicate as an immigrant to America that I feel transplanted in Colombia.  Something as simple as sitting in church, a place where one should find comfort, can become an alienating experience, locking one into silence.

            Learning another language has been a difficult and emotional task.  A Scandinavian proverb says:  “Eyes that do not cry, do not see.”  Mine have become puddles with no vision.

            Just this week I have run into a fresh wrinkle in my language progress. Verbs. Words that tell us what we are doing with objects. The computer shows me that I have one green apple, but what am I going to do with that fruit?  Do I want to have the apple? Buy the apple? Eat the apple? Throw it at the screen?  From the pictures on Rosetta Stone, I can usually infer what action will take place, but often enough I randomly choose what photo goes with the corresponding sentence.

            Knowing what I am doing seems rather important, so I find myself in a state of crisis. I stare at the monitor and cry, then think of how silly I am and force myself to continue. Then I cry some more. I begin wondering how you say words such as "failure" or "incompetent" in Spanish. I panic.

            I have tasted the bitterness of tears.  As my eyes clear, I contemplate what my ancestors encouraged me to see through this experience.  An immigrant thread weaves through our societies.  People move from their countries for reasons such as war, education, health care, improved economics, religious freedom, and to join family.  Some even go for adventure.

            Seeing my grandparents build a loving relationship while communicating in each of their second languages inspires me.    As humans, we want to cling to the familiar.  When all has been left behind, any tangible remembrance of one's past is comforting.  My grandparents settled in a neighborhood with several Scandinavian families.  They attended a church, which held services in Swedish.  My grandma subscribed to a newspaper written in Finnish from Michigan's upper peninsula.  As often as possible, they would travel over an hour to attend a Finnish church service. 

            Karina Rodriguez, a Spanish teacher for the American Embassy in Bogota, says, “The success of learning a language is what motivates you to do it.”

            My mother, Ethel Steffey, recalls a story about her sister that caused my grandparents to speak only English in the home.  “They knew Ruth would be starting school and needed to speak English.”  One day when she was talking, some ladies heard her and thought the mix of languages was really cute.  “They laughed at her – not to make fun of her, though.  Ruth realized they were laughing at her and she stopped talking.  The story is that when she started talking again, she spoke only English.”

            I found that learning a foreign language is a very emotional thing.  Karina tells me: “We have to be prepared for all the emotional challenge that it will bring, which is not necessarily a bad thing or a sign that we are weak or less professional, or not very intelligent, it is just a sign that we are human, so we should always express how we are feeling, get frustrated, cry and then get over it and keep trying!”

            Continual effort does not come quickly or easily.  Ivan Franson, my uncle, comments: “I believe both grandma and grandpa learned what English they knew and expressed by long interaction with English-speaking people.  It was a lifetime experience for them.”

            Resident, Berthica Cardenas, is also finding that learning English does not happen overnight.  Having escaped oppression in Cuba she joined family in America.  Upon meeting her I thought she was quiet.  After years of hanging out, I found she was spunky, and that only a language barrier was silencing her.  Because she had no background in English, moved at a later point in life and lost her professional objectives, her language learning proceeded slowly.  Although Spanish is often spoken among family and friends, she doesn't stay away from English.  “We don't avoid opening  up our social environment.  We love to meet American families and exchange with them.”  Says this Cuban émigré.

            Some things change throughout history.  Television, internet, finding information and entertainment in our native tongue is easier than ever.  Modern communication allows us to stay in touch with those back home.  Feelings of isolation diminish.  The immediacy of technology lessens the need to learn the language and immerse in local culture. 

             Taking a close look at where I came from and my experience trying to live with a foreign language, I realize the truth of what Mark Twain wrote in his Innocents Abroad:  “Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts.  Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime.”

12/12

Beyond Leticia

The City Paper

Kristen Faber heads to a remote corner of the Amazon where Peru and Brazil converge along the banks of the Yavari.

Looking out the plane window, awe overtook me as I gazed down at the beginning of the Amazon Basin in Colombia.  I saw thick, lush rainforest in every direction.  My eye followed a river snaking through the bush.  Small waterways spread out like a spiderweb prohibiting any easy land transportation.  There were no villages or roads.

We land in Leticia, Colombia’s frontier town on the Amazon River and 800 kms from the nearest highway, the only access here is plane or boat.  Sweltering heat hits me as I walk into this one room airport. The clunking sound of the luggage conveyor bounced around the room, growing louder as the gears stuck from time to time. Grabbing my small suitcase I searched for my ride. I stepped out of the airport and spotted a young boy perched on a brick wall, flapping a paper with my name on it. He wasn’t paying particular attention to the crowd of people climbing into air-conditioned vans headed for hotels with pools. His father did spot me however, and he deftly flagged a taxi for our 20 minute ride to the river. 

         We cross Leticia as motorcycles zip every which way, cutting in and out of traffic. At first glimpse the Amazon seems fetid and languid. Vultures circle overhead, scouting for refuse while others picked at scraps. The smell of hot, sticky mud mixed with grilling food attacks my sense of place and sense. Colorful umbrellas shelter women selling their snacks. People lounge under s few trees, avoiding the heat while a barefoot man walks past with a mountain of plantains on his shoulder. 

         The city slopes into the thick muddy river bank of a seemingly distant Amazon. I walk the wooden plank over the low tide to a floating dock. As passengers leap from dugout to dugout, we quickly board our long boat and I find a seat beneath the woven palm roof to protect me from the scorching sun.  The motor bubbles to life as we pull away from Leticia. Floating houses line the river, some sun-bleached, other brightly-painted. 

We head down river flanked by two countries, Colombia and Peru. After a routine check at a Navy control post, we can appreciate the Victoria Amazonica Lilly floating with its white flower in nearby ponds. A monkey appears and hops on my shoulder for the free ride. We arrive at our floating lodge for the night. Charming hammocks line the balcony. My fellow travelers kick back in the open air, grab a seat on the upper deck and we all prepare to watch the last moments of the  sun set on the Amazon.

         Day Two. The river teems with families, young and old, men and women, checking their nets. They work their way down the webbing, gently lifting it out of the water, gathering it in their hands, carefully untangling a fish then letting the net drop back into the water. They continue to work, meticulously moving down the net heedful not to rip any holes. Life revolves around survival. Resting in the boat for the next six hours, my journey takes me towards Brazil.  The boat turns off the Amazon River near Benjamin Constant into the Yavari, a river which flows some 1,200 kms from the Peruvian highlands into the Amazon Basin, and still very much unchartered.

The Yavari is lighter in color than the Amazon and a meandering waterway coveted by a vast canopy of rainforest. From Benjamin Constant south a new world unfurls before me. I watch as grey river dolphins leap out of the water, my eyes peeled for the Pink Amazon Dolphin, an endangered species which navigates and hunts in the estuaries of the Yavari.

As we make our way downriver I am engulfed by the life around me.  Parrots dart between trees, dolphins splash in shallow waters and fish leap into our boat. In the stillness there is life. 

Small towns perched on hillocks are far apart and only accessible by water. We pull into Atalaya, Brazil, to stretch our legs and wander the local market. Flanked by the Yavari’s yellow sand banks we are guided by an eagle soaring overhead until pulling into an estuary near our Eco lodge. We are five hours from Benjamin Constant and the Amazon crossroads with the Yavari.

Eco-Lodges such as Palmari and Heliconia, both nestled along the Yavari, are quickly immerse you in the Amazonian mindset.  After paddling a dugout to a nearby lagoon and baiting hooks, we catch some piranha.

Recreation along the Yavari not just river games and jungle walks. The lodges are educationally-focused, desigbned to educate the visitor on Amazonian life, local traditions of nearby communities and the abundant and often threatened wildlife.

         The water level of the Amazon changes constantly. In rainy season the level can rise 15 meters covering vast forest, turning fields into flood plains. During the dry season, the Yavari retreats, exposing kilometers of white sand, turning swampy lagoons into watering holes for sloths, tapirs and wild deer. Visiting at the beginning of the dry season, the water has dropped so far some 4 meters causing a variation in leaf color and leaving a mark on tree trunks.  The ground soaks in the water creating thick muddy banks.  As we left the base of giant Ceiba tree all I can see is abundant greenness. 

         After two hours trekking through mud and swinging a machete to open the path, I step into the riverine village of Santa Rita, Peru. The village is neat with a manicured central field, some wooden huts overlooking the river and open kitchens and suspended pots and pans. There is an aura of peace.  A local offers me a creamy white yucca juice and invites me into her home to see a large fish the village had caught earlier that day. Taking up most of the kitchen floor the pirarucu is known for its size and soft meat. The fish generally swims on the surface of the water making it is easy to spear from canoes.

When the sun begins to cast its golden hue over the canopy of trees, we head back to our lodge and can hear the cooks preparing a typical Brazilian dinner of yucca farinha, beans and plantain. Another day is ending on the Yavari, but the night has yet to go into overdrive. As the first stars sparkle above the tree line I can spot the Southern Cross. I know that I cannot stay here but I am glad to have seen and touched the wonders of this fragile corner which must be protected by the countries which share the Amazon, beyond Leticia

11/01/2012

Wairoa a Great Experience Say Family

The Wairoa Star

Community

Wairoa a great experience say family

7/30/2009

Wairoa has been a wonderful little town to spend the last 14 months of our lives.

A year ago our family came from Michigan to experience another culture. My husband Chad, a GP physician, was looking to gain more experience in rural medicine and coming from a large city, a small town appealed to our family.

Chad had a good experience working at the Health Care Centre. He enjoyed using his medical skills beyond the office and appreciated the opportunity to join the local search and rescue team as well as help with the Lake to Lighthouse Challenge.

I have enjoyed learning new quilting tips from the women in the quilting club and even entered a quilt in the Wairoa A and P show. The women from the spinning group were happy to let me join in and even brought a spinning wheel over to the house so we could have a go at spinning wool!

Ballroom dancing class each week has fulfilled a childhood dream.

A kaumatua group welcomed me onto their marae each month for their meetings, sharing the Maori culture and teaching me a lot.

Our older children Damon and Maddie attended the college. Wearing uniforms each day has been a change from what they are used to.

A school trip to Lake Taupo last year gave them the opportunity to ski at Mt. Ruapehu, see a military base and learn about the volcanic zone in New Zealand.

Our youngest, Elena, has attended Tiaho and has enjoyed the opportunity to be on the newspaper team, join in kapa haka and attend a Young Leaders conference in Rotorua.

The kids enjoyed trying many of the clubs Wairoa has to offer. Squash rowing, sailing and water skiing were all sports they had the opportunity to experience for the first time.

Being in a country where farming is predominate, we tried our hand at gardening and raised two little lambs. The lambs were a unique experience for us and we tried everything from bathing them in the bathtub to feeding them with a bottle!

As a family we enjoy the outdoors and have had fun exploring all of New Zealand. We are very impressed with all there is available around Wairoa.

We spent many days at Mahia playing with Moko, looking for pipi, exploring the reef and playing in the water.

We also enjoyed the beautiful hiking trails at Lake Waikaremoana.

But our time here has't been without its challenges. There has been an adjustment to the culture, as well as being long-term temporary residents.

Heating a home with a fire has required learning the art of starting and keeping a fire going. With shops being closed in the evenings, we have learned to be prepared or go without.

It took a while, be we have become comfortable driving on the left side of the windy roads!

As we look back, we see that what we have experienced here is intricately intertwined with the people we have met.

In sharing our experiences we would like to take this opportunity to thank the many people who have made our year exceptional.

We are better people because you have shared your lives with us and for that we thank you.

- Kristen Faber

See What You Can Do

The Wairoa Star

Community

See What You Can Do

11/2008

New Zealand is a beautiful country of rolling hills and mountains, fields and forests, rivers and waterfalls, lakes and oceans.

It is an invaluable gem in a world that is losing its precious wilderness to meet the needs of a growing population.

Some may wonder why we should be concerned with the environment. Past generations acted on a lack of knowledge thus disturbing the world we now live in.

As we look to the future we need to decide what type of world we wish to leave those generations after us.

It is easy to look to others to take responsibility for us. The government can't fix all the problems in society so it is up to the individual to claim responsibility and make changes.

In the past few years I have taken a closer look at how I live my daily life and how my actions are in turn affecting the world around me.

In moving to New Zealand I have taken an even greater step in that direction.

The first step in change is to realize the need for change.

There is so much about our daily lives that we do't think about.

What will happen to this article after I am done using it?

What is left in the air after a drive to town?

How is heating my house affecting the air that I breathe?

A trip to the local dump was an experience that left me thinking where does my daily rubbish go?

How many years until this dump is full and then where does the rubbish go?

Is there a way I can reduce the amount that I am contributing to this each week?

New Zealand is miles ahead of America in the average person's care of the environment.

Here I have reduced my wast to one small bag a week with my recycling container overflowing.

I have found that most packaging contains the recycling symbol yet there is still room for improvement.

New Zealanders currently recycle 70 percent of their aluminum, 50 percent of their paper, 45 percent of their glass, 30 percent of their steel and only 18 percent of their plastics.

We have made it a practice to compost our vegetation scraps, I knew of only one other family that composted back in America.

Residents of Wairoa have shown me many ways to compost including worm farms and compost bins.

The council now even has a compost system available that also helps to produce a liquid fertilizer for your garden.

Conscious living can also be fun and rewarding. I was recently at a party here in town and the host had 100 percent compostable plates and wooden eating utensils.

Everyone had fun standing in line tasting their plates!

The kids at school are often doing projects as well with the concept of reusing something old to create something new.

I even know someone here who makes their own petrol for their car by recycling vegetable oil.

On a business scale I have discovered that businesses displaying the black square with the white fern have achieved the Qualmark.

This is New Zealand's official mark of quality for tourism.

Businesses are assessed on their environmental performance in areas of energy efficiency, conservation initiatives, waste management, community activities and water conservation.

I have seen these principles in practice as we have traveled with garbage separation and composting in hotels, light switches that are activated with room entrance keys, energy efficient light bulbs and recycling containers at camping grounds.

To care about the future of the earth one does not need to carry a picket sign in a demonstration march or wear a t-shirt proclaiming 'Save the Whales'.

Each person has the power to make a difference.

I urge you to stop, think, consider and evaluate.

It is the small choices each of us makes on a daily basis.

Through all of us making those conscious decisions we will leave a gift to the future generations.

- Kristen Faber