A Snapshot of Kosovo on 12 hours of Sleep... in 4 days

I am broken. The struggle bus has a flat tire. I am officially going to my bed and praying the sheets are not going to make me break out in a rash. 

But all this aside. I am more excited and inspired than I have been since.... well maybe ever. 

Why? My experience in Kosovo. 

I will go into this later, but I wanted to leave my community with a glimpse of the people, the nation, the spirit, and the nature of this self proclaimed "Newborn" country. 

Flying back on a delayed jet, with no working camera, and little sleep, with a pilot who was probably a fighter jet pilot at some point by the barrel turns we made, I was seated next to a Turkish/ Albanian looking guy. He did not have the typical "Former Republic of Yugoslavia" look about him. He grabbed a Turkish newspaper and politely sat a seat away from me. He offered me chewing gum after our meal and that broke the ice (this is a trick I always use!) Turns out his father was Turkish but his mother was Albanian. He was living in Prishtina with his family. His wife is Bulgarian and their son's name is Edward. He owns two toystores. One in Prishtina and one in Istanbul. He traded in Istanbul and Hong Kong. His dream is to open a Toys "Rooys" or Toys 'R Us in Kosovo. He worked for 10 years without much money but the past 3 years have made it up. He is fluent in Albanian and Turkish, with decent English. He may have a Turkish passport, but he loves Kosovo as his own country and loves American for what it has done there and what it represents: multicultural, multifaith, strong democracy, entrepreneurial values. 

After four days of meeting with the ministers of this country (most under 30, as 70% of the pop is under 30), young business people from all over Europe with JADE Junior Enterprise Network, and witnessing Kosovo, this story is a great picture of what Kosovo is becoming and is: multicultural, multifaith, a recent democracy, with stronger entrepreneurial instincts than what most American have. Plus they love American--Bill Clinton street intersects with Mother Teresa Street in the center of town. 

Welcome to the best kept secret in political science, business, and the developing, post-conflict world. That no one knows about. 

Now we do.

Adventure into Kurd Land: An Account in Photos

I had one of the most amazing weekends of my life. 

Yes, ladies and gents. I ventured into what I will call "Kurd land" --South East Anatolia. Yes, this is the same ethnic group in Northern Iraq that is fighting (sometimes very violently) for autonomy. I took my trusted co-worker Edgar, and two yalie friends, Lynda and Pawel on this journey. 

My itinerary is as follows: 

Friday: Fly to Urfa. Spend time there. Midnight drive North to Nemrut Dagi for Sunrise. 

Saturday: Nemrut at Sunrise, travel south to Urfa. Travel to Mardin via Diyarbakir (known as the "capital" of the Kurds) 

Sunday: Mardin then Hasankeyf. Spend the night with "Doga" or "Nature" NGO

Monday: Hasankeyf, Batman, and Diyarbakir before flying back to Istanbul 

Because the experience is more personal and definitely in my journal, I will show some select pictures to you to explain some salient points. 

URFA: Pictured above you see part of Urfa, one of the most religious cities in Turkey. My friends, I spent most of my day veiled. The call to prayer here is mystifying and powerful, as it should be for the birthplace of the prophet Abraham. Pictured here is the cave where he was born. Urfa had a unique effect on me: It was a farmer's town but also a salvage town of flea markets. Everyone had a moustache. It smelled like my bubby's house. In some odd way, I felt like I was revisiting my childhood and reinvestigating where I came from, on so many levels. 

NEMRUT DAGI: Built in 62 BC, these statues of Greek, Persian, and Armenian Gods watch the sunrise everyday. I wanted to as well. So after calling up a travel company, we soon found ourselves driving through Kurdish countryside for 5 hours on back roads at midnight. Our driver, Yousef, was just about the craziest and most popular guy in the industry (which is tiny...not many international tourists come here). He had limericks and rhymes and nicknames for each of us. I was "Princess Diana Danielle Topatin." Apparently we were going to Mexico with him... Anyways. Nemrut Dagi to me was the most... well. I am lost for words. There are somethings that cannot and should not be described. I refused to take pictures of the sunrise itself (a sort of primordial soup that looked like the earth and sky were one, with a scar of red bleeding through the center), but found more interest in the awe of man. What is truly amazing is our reverence for nature. The fact that I climbed a mountain at 3 AM in FREEZING cold weather to see this is one thing. The sunrise itself is inexplicable. However, the fact that someone wanted to build a tomb or a monument up there in respect for nature--now that is inspiring. 

Yousef also took us on more excursions to see Greek, Roman, Persian, Seljuk, and Ottoman ruins. Here I'm just climbing on a rock. Yes, that is a steep drop..... The little bugger, for 60+ years old was spry. Being that we were in bible land, he also took us to swim in the Euphrates. I discovered a love for apricots with him. 

We got to Mardin, eventually (the bussing there... checkpoints because of Kurd/Turkish tension, kinda scary). It is a beautiful city on a hill. Perfect defense strategy because you could see so far into the distance, it looked like the earth and the sky were one. However, I can't say the same about the place we stayed. the walls were falling into the mountain side and the shower did not work. That said, I had a goodnight sleep there. We had an excellent dinner at a restaurant actually owned by a woman--the first I have seen outside of Istanbul. Normally men do the cooking. These pictures don't do the city justice. Look it up online. It is such an amazing city....

Next to Hasankeyf. My friends at TOG hooked me up with an NGO there called "Doga" or "Nature." They are trying to save Hasankeyf from the flooding the dam building will cause. Luckily, it stopped this past Wednesday! Hasankeyf it basically a city of caves along water. One of the most beautiful and untouched sites I have ever seen. The city only has one motel, but we stayed in the "Nature house" instead. Hence the inflatable couch you see--where I slept instead of the bed: I like couches more. It was a concrete building with plastic table clothes on the roof, but it was so quaint. Hasankeyf is only like 2,000 people and many have parents who used to live in the cave. The city dates back before Christ and has an amazing castle on a cliff--where I am standing, overlooking an old bridge. The river is the Tigris. So YES, I swam in BOTH the Tigris and Euphrates river. We joked that if we were carried away by the current, call Baghdad and warn them we will be there soon... Hasankeyf taught me about temperance, about living a life of happiness, simplicity, good fruit, and doing things when they need to be done. Live a good healthy life for your body--and don't be afraid to have a cigarette at 2 AM to get the mosquitos away..... 

The next day we had breakfast in a cave and set out for Batman to go to Diyarbakir. We eventually get to Diyarbakir and tour the old Ulu Camii in the 43 degree celsius heat, or 109 degrees F. IT WAS HOT. We are eventually won over by an English/Spanish/turkish/Kurdish speaker outside of the mosque. I knew he was selling carpets. He took us in for chai a street over. Soon I was haggling for carpets. The one guy, Hasan, pictured above worked for ABC and NBC as a Kurdish translator. He showed me business cards of the men he worked with and how he does an international rug trade. Kurdish rugs are quite a different game. Apparently business has soured with recent conflict, but he loves the adventure it provides. We became great friends and I basically stole the rug I liked from him: a medium size on for my dorm room, half carpet, half kilim, made by nomad around 50 years ago. This place had OLD rugs... Not a SINGLE tourist in site. Who goes to the capital of the Kurds for vacation? Not even the Turks....  We also went to an Assyrian Church (not Orthodox under Batholomew) of like 30 people. The church was built in the 1100s and the people still worship there speak Aramaic... AMAZING. 

So all in all this was an adventure. THERE IS SO MUCH MORE TO TELL YOU I HAVE ONLY SCRATCHED THE 1%. I will stop though and you just have to ask me questions..... So many coincidences, so many experiences. So many thoughts. I loved this area. I feel in culture shock now.

BTW: MY RASH IS FROM MY DETERGENT! Yay for figuring that one out.... 

Refugees and "Ruffians": The Many Faces of Youth Work

Get ready for a plethora of blog posts. I'm catching up after a busy work week and one of the most amazing weekends of my life.

So last Monday I went to the UNHCR refugee house here in Turkey. The refugees there were supposedly under 18, all men/boys, from Afghanistan, Guinea, and Sudan. They were found on the streets of Turkey and sent here. Turkey does not recognize anyone with "refugee" status outside of the EU (funny right?) so they are illegals, without status really, living in a house in Turkey that is loosely gated. 

I went in, left my passport at the gate and proceeded to meet with the "mistress?" of the household. She told us about how the boys do not go to school, but rely on the kindness of strangers to give them classes in English, Turkish, and computers. They all try to get their paperwork done to try to go to countries that will accept them as refugees (like New Zealand and Australia)--this is a long and tough process though. 

So I go in the Computer Salon. All of the Sudanese and some Afghans are there. Its mostly separated along racial lines, except for the few "diplomats" who learned English/Turkish or the other group's language and acts as a sort of voice for each group. Some boys picked up Turkish in only one year... So bright, so intelligent... Most of the boys who come anyways have to be bright-- how else could they escape their countries and get to Turkey? 

But going back to race lines: The Sudanese seemed better dressed in athletic wear and took the computer room. The Afghans were in lounge wear and had the kitchen--they tended to be younger. The guys from Guinea were the oldest and biggest and owned the TV room. They spoke French. 

All of them had cell phones--where they got them from or who they were calling, I know not. This is something I am going back to research. Most also had facebooks and used skype. They were very computer literate and all were soccer enthusiasts--- duh. Many had casts because of serious soccer games. Ouch. 

We played some rather juvenile games with the guys, which I thought might be patronizing at first. But in the end, they were fun and brought all the races together for some fun. I liked it too. Someone asked if I felt uncomfortable being in a room with grown men (basically) who were refugees---if I felt threatened. In response: I feel more threatened on the streets of Istanbul by Turkish men than these men. I was treated with such respect. 

I was so fascinated by the dynamics of the group, the stories these boys have to tell, and how the system works. I will be returning to work with the guys some more and basically, chill out with them. Often times, Youth Work means just inspiring someone.... 

NEXT: On Thursday I ended up taking a group of young Turkish Teenagers from TOG to the Istanbul Modern Art Museum.  Now, I consider myself generally pretty good with Art History--I am in fact. Yet, there is always something refreshing about taking people who aren't "art snobs" to the art museum. There is something fresher and more honest in how they view the art. To me, going to a museum for Youth Work is an experience of somehow banging two facets of my life together: Art snobbery and frankness. 

For instance, I can judge what influences of either French, American, German or British art movements might have affected the art there. However, I know nothing of the Turkish tradition. The boys would point at pictures and ask me not about the style or period, but rather where the picture was painted. Some of them, they recognized as parts of Istanbul. Other things, like the Turkish Peasant Revolutionaries (The Kuva-i Milliye) or Grease wrestling was important. The representation and history, the Turkish identity was so important to them--which I hadn't thought of. They also touched the oil paintings, making me CRINGE, so composure was different too. 

On one painting of a nude woman, a boy took out his dictionary and said, "Contradiction." I asked why. He basically said that Turkish woman normally cover up and here she is nude! The same boy pointed out one of the artists and told me about his dislike for him as a writer apparently. 

One boy really stayed close with me and a translator, curious about sharing what he thought of some of the more modern art. He relied on my interpretations, until I told him to share his first. The way he looked at things, searching for "representation," not necessarily some other things like color harmony, style, technique, blahblahblah--you gain a new respect for the artwork and the way it speaks to each individual. Each youngster spent a lot of time with each painting, more than I had expected in some ways. Normally people just breeze through... these youngsters spent a lot of time contemplating each painting--we couldn't even get through the whole gallery on the first floor in 2 hours! 

So while my experience with youth work varies with different types of people and different places, I learned the value of listening, chilling, and the importance of just hoping you can inspire someone the way they inspire you... 

Sisters and Shish--Ankara Means Family

Ankara is not a beautiful place. Anyone from Istanbul will be the first to tell you that. In fact, some call it down right hot, ugly, stately, stuck up, and an inorganic city that sprang out of no where to become capital for Ataturk (hey, each empire had a different capital, Seljuks--Konya, Ottomans--Bursa/Istanbul, Atatruk--Ankara). 

That said, there was definitely something beautiful in going to Ankara for me this weekend. I.E. my sister Gabrielle. I learned a few things about what it meant to live in a family again--and how my life (i.e. me) has changed so much in the past year. 

Friday morning, I got into Ankara. Thankfully, Murat picked me up at the bus terminal. We had a serious breakfast overlooking the Bosphorus of cars on a new highway. Many old or little houses were springing up in between the ugly new apartment buildings--illegal, but then they become legal when they vote for a politician. Welcome to Ankara. 

If you thought party politics were insane in the US, look at Turkey. Military coups have erupted after party conflict (most recently in the early 80s) and even today, people go to Universities or clubs based on party lines. According to Taner--Gabbi's Turkish/Australian host father--these party lines infiltrate the schools. All coming from this all holy structure called the Turkish Grand National Assembly.

I visited the Assembly on Friday with Murat, a Political Advisor friend to one of the MPs. The building looked like something out of 1984--very stately and Ataturk was everywhere, watching. It felt much like a consuming building and the lawn care was wild and lacking (grass up to my ankles...) but that aside, I found the main assembly chamber fascinating. There was so much bustling about--and that is an understatement when it comes to Gossip. Each MP's advisor gave me the low down about lazy tea guys (yes, there are "cay" or tea kitchens--at least two on every floor) or who is dating who. I felt like I was in "The Office," Turkish edition.  I could go on and on about the state of Turkish politics, but somehow, just turn on your favorite political show--add some crazy architecture--and then add Turkish and tea et voila. 

Later, Gabbi and I met up at her Turkish American Cultural Center. Gabbi, my younger 16 year old sister (or 17 according to Turkish people- you count the first year here. So i'm... 20!!!!!!), is studying with the State Department's National Strategic Language Initiative---the thing I did in Cairo last year. She is living with a fabulous host family of 3 sisters, a mum, and a dad--plus a grandmother who went to visit family in Australia. Her host father grew up mostly in Australia, in many ways avoiding the political conflicts that plagued the country during the times he was growing up in Ankara. It was absolutely warming to hear him speak with an Aussie accent. Though the daughters (17, 14, and 7 or so) spoke mainly Turkish, when they did speak in English, it had a fabulous Aussie Accent. They also took milk in their tea--a first for any Turk I have seen here.

But aside from going around and doing some shopping for pants, shoes, and books, I got a taste of family life again. Aside from my faux pax of not taking my shoes off at the threshold of the door or not knowing how to properly kiss the great-grandmother's hand when she came over (or not know where to dispose of my feminine .... ahem), I think I got along alright with typical Turkish culture. That aside, it was the family dynamic itself that threw me off. I guess after living with a bunch of "young" people without older adults or children, I had gotten rusty with what a mixed generation household felt like. It felt warming, comforting, loving. Yet also, slower, more orderly and much more routined. I had forgotten that when I was a kid in a household, I too had duties assigned by my parents. Now, I clean or have "duties" when the duties demand (looking at some dishes right now... meh.) Her host family (and my "adopted family") had a lovely home with a small bird and the Obama Chia Pet Gabbi brought. It was clean and pristine to the max. Everything was orderly. It was a household for people who knew what was important and necessary in life. 

We are great Americans. Gabbi and I went to Ataturk's memorial on the 4th of July. I must say, seeing something like that makes me proud to be the Turk that I am not. The architecture was novel, epic, and "other" on so many planes. It had neither time nor historical reference, yet it was a monument to all of the achievements that lay buried beneath the dirt in Ankara from centuries past. We also went to dinner with Murat in an old citadel, which offered an amazing view--making jokes about food, the view, and life in general. 

People often ask me if I get lonely when I'm traveling abroad or living alone. The answer is a resounding YES. I do. Its only natural. No matter how close of friends I make, they will never know me quite as long as my sister has. Gabbi was such a refresher to me. She put my life into perspective again in a single weekend. No one but family, and particularly a sister can do that for you. I enjoyed and needed the warmth of a family, the hug from my sister, and even the concern from my "adopted" parents for a weekend. I felt incredibly at home and could not have thanked them enough for their hospitality. The sometimes smothering inclusivity of family is something that I miss at times.  Granted, as much as I liked revisiting this lifestyle, I was not terribly upset at going back to my flat. I liked seeing that my sister and I were adaptable and could continue our relationship cross countries, continents, and ages. It made me confident to know that I don't have to be lonely. 

Granted, I am happy to have close friends abroad, like Murat, who is so incredibly kind and hospitable--and an AMAZING chef I need to learn from. We had an excellent BBQ on sunday with Shish, Kofte, chicken, potato salad, beer, and raki. I was, as usual, the youngest in a near 30 crowd, but never fear. I laughed with the best of them and had an excellent time seeing another kind of Turkish house--those of retired diplomats. Their house honestly could have been a museum of global culture. Granted, some of the peanuts where probably many years old... Thanks for the warning Murat. 

So now that I am back home, thanks to some friends making sure I got on the bus, I truly miss that family feeling of homely hospitality. The hospitality Murat and Gabbi's host family showed was amazing and the love and familiarity of my sister (who though the same, is always showing new developments and knowledge--keeping life exciting!) made me recharged. After going so hard for literally... well... since JANUARY with work, planning, study, networking, and programming, this weekend really put my life into perspective and really got me to appreciate family on a level I never really have before. Its a quiet appreciation (though I vocalize it here), and sometimes makes me a little melancholy. Something tightens for something past or future. 

I'm going on and on, but I also realized that some things you cannot post on a blog. I started journaling more again (ergo fewer blog posts), realizing the importance of placing my more sincere, spontaneous, poetic, or secretive feelings on paper. 

Enough of this. Good night. I'll talk to you tomorrow about my refugee visit yesterday and my future plans for Diyarbakir and Kosovo in the upcoming weekends.

It's a Nice Night for a....bus ride: Thoughts on Slowing Down

People have asked me how I manage to cram all of what I'm doing into the time I have been here. Trust me, everyday is an adventure and as per usual, I don't sleep like I should (but more than school! I get at least 6-7 hours here!!) 

This week, I've slowed things down a bit to enjoy a "normal life" in Istanbul. What constitutes normal (at least for me)? Several things: 

1) I got to see the doctor. As if I lived here. (See previous post) 

2) I enjoy 5 hour dinners with Texan Turks on top of a roof of a building. You see, the Turks know how to slow it down and appreciate a good time. For instance, the next day, when we were both still hungover (or rather maybe still a little...), everyone asked, "What did YOU do last night?" To which we both replied, "We had dinner." And it was true. We had plate upon plate of mezze, delicious fish, hot pockets that are from heaven, and fruit. The fixed menu was unlimited food and drink. Hmmm... I never laughed more in Turkey than about our future gypsy tears business.

3) I grocery shop. Always an adventure. 

4) I.... cook. Yes. I cook. Or attempt it. I buy the ingredients and pray that I cook things that won't make me sick. This week, I tried making the mezze with yogurt, lemon, oil, and watercress. I forgot the garlic. I tried making a chicken, grillable cheese, zucchini, and onion dish with a peppered yogurt sauce and pasta. Not bad, but seriously needed some other flavoring. 

5) I exercise. At least a half an hour each day. Count my commute, and then you have an hour. 

6) I work. I write e-mails, and I make plenty of phone calls. 

7) I make plans for trips to visit family members. 

So this week was my first slow-ish week. Thank god. After dinner dates and surprises every day of every other week, I was happy to slow things down a bit. Until they get crazy again with some projects for work next week, my travels to the South East, and my Kosovo adventure coming up. 

Upon looking back at my time, I realized that I never had a routine really. Ever. Finally, I get one week to know what it is like. Its nice, but I'm happy next week and this week are going to be crazy once again. :) 

Tonight I'm going on a bus ride to Ankara to visit my sister. Lovely right? It may end up into a "danielle does Konya" trip on Sunday to see the birthplace of Mevlana Rumi. Who knows at this point though. I just want to take some advil PM and go to sleep on the bus. 

American Hospitals The Way They Should Be... In Istanbul

After weeks of this rash and another "women's health issue," I decided to visit a hospital in Istanbul to get things checked out. Granted, I had heard horror stories of people dying in Emergency rooms as they wait, so I was very skeptical of the quality of health care that I would get. I opted for a private hospital, praying that they would speak enough English for me to explain my problems. A few phone calls later and I had an appointment at the American Hastane (Hospital) in Nisantase in Istanbul. (And yes, Koc has a hand in this too...)

My taxi was dwarfed by some of the Bentleys and black Mercedes in the entrance. Going in, there was a beautiful marble reception area. I felt like I was in a chic 5 star hotel, not a hospital. There were sleek chairs and one of those cow sculptures decorated like a doctor. My fears of hospitals (not just in Turkey) were eased. 

9:30 appointment in Dermatology, second floor.  I felt like I was checking in to a flight--the receptionists all wore ties and vests, not medical gear. They were just for the administrative and payment side of things. I sat down, seeing the well dressed demographic around me--this hospital was not for the average Turk, clearly. 

At 9:25, the doctor was ready to see me. Like clockwork. No waiting. The Dermatologist was thorough. He checked out my rash, he offered to do a biopsy. He took photos. He encouraged a follow up in two weeks after he prescribed me something. He sat down at his desk with me and talked to me about all of the possibilities. After, we went to "check out" and I paid, 175 TL or $114 dollars for the visit--which my insurance will reimburse me for back in the states. To be honest, I never had such straightforward, efficient care. 

Next, 10:30 in the Women's health center. I walk down the hall, passing a grand piano, more beautiful marble floors, and more lounges. The women's health center is bustling with kids, doctors, and women. I am early, but the doctor offers to see me early, so I pull my nose out of my Ayn Rand book and go into his office. He is wearing a Lacoste polo and pants. His office is just a nice consulting room. He takes me in, asks me how I am. We chat about my history, my mom's history, anything like that. He is surprised to find out that no one ever explained some of the genetic testing and treatments to prevent breast cancer--I did not know about them. My gynecologist never talked to me about these things and never did breast exams on me even! He took me to an examination room, where a nurse helped me dress and undress. He came in (no lab coat) did what he needed to. We went back to his office and he prescribed some testing that I needed done. It was less than a half an hour, but in such a short time, I had learned so much and never had such a good experience with a women's health doctor in my life. 

I wish he was my gynecologist... 

Now, I know this is a private hospital, but for specialists I spent less than $210 for TWO visits. I am amazed at the thorough treatment. Each doctor gave me his cell phone number to call him if anything should come up. They really were helpful and I could not believe I was in Istanbul to be honest. I know the US offers some of the best health care in the world... but after having some really bitchy gynecologists and nurses in my day, sometimes this "hotel hospital" world really is a dream come true. Sadly, I know most Turks cannot afford this health care, but at least in my situation--I wish there was a place like this in the states for the comparatively lower prices...

After, I treated myself to a crepe (seeing as how, though I was not traumatized by a hospital experience, I was still nervous). I walked around the neighborhood and came back to sink into my bed. Its far too hot and work is a continent away.... 

Rights and Raki: Thoughts on Youth Work and Youth

Until you are working intimately in programming sponsored by the EU, you cannot grasp the money that flows into the efforts to fashion multicultural, European, "different but equal" youth. The mission: create a unified, culturally rich Europe. The implementation: Trainings, conferences, social work. The process: Hmmmm

Working both on the funding/policy side and the project/implementation side in an NGO can inform you about both dynamic ends of the EU's project in multicultural Europe--by latching onto youth. However, when it comes to some of these projects, its really hit or miss. 

PEMBE EV ADVENTURE

Instead of going to the office and working on a report on European Youth Policy, Friday I went to the "Pembe Ev" or Youth House of TOG (my NGO) in order to start fashioning an international cultural summer camp for 16-23 or so year olds. (Yes, big age difference I know). Though I got lost after a metro, a funikuler, a ferry, and a bus, I eventually found myself on the Asian side at the Pink House or Pembe Ev. Once there, I was confronted by youth workers from around Europe and Turkish Youth, just hanging on an ungodly hot day. 

Planning these camps is no easy task. The goals are usually for a sense of participation (does this equate to Turkish or European participation and citizenship? Thinking about this...) and cultural exposure. Planning the games, workshops, events, and classes is harder than you would think. Keeping the attention of a 19 year old is hard. I speak from experience. There has to be some sort of net worth to the whole experience. Sometimes that means just chilling out and talking. (To be honest, I don't know the efficacy of the games and after reading papers about them and critical studies. I'm still learning.) 

Keeping goals in sight is important, but the whole process involves improvisation and keen observation... I knew this would have to be done differently...

TRANSPORT TO THE BLACK SIDE

After an afternoon there, I knew that my lovely AEGEE friends (plus Ivy EME alum Dimitrije!) were in Kilyos on the Black Sea for a conference. They invited me along that week so I decided to delay my visit to the Aegean Sea coast to go the opposite direction. I missed the Ferry, so I, with an unworking cellphone (for some reason it realized it was illegal...? i.e. Not turkish) I took a Dolmus (or minibus) to Sariyer then another to Kilyos. Problem. I was supposed to take another bus, which I later found out. To avoid further detail and to save this for a good dinner party story (much like my lost in the Sahara story), I will just say I eventually got where I needed to be. 

I entered on International Night of the participants (Armenians, Slovaks, Belgians, Turks, Serbian, American--me--and a few Dutch/German people). This means that everyone brings their own food and alcohol from their country to share. End Story. 

OPPRESSION IN THEATER OF THE OPPRESSED

Considering I was acting as an "Observer," I didn't feel much of a need to participate fully in the "Peace Leaders of the Future" conference... ahem. When I went to one of the workshops on "Theater of the Oppressed" (A. Boal's theory of using theater to examine the oppressor/oppressed dilemma), I grew even a little less engaged. When a trainer is trying to use "Theater of the Oppressed" on a group of students who don't live in such an obvious war zone of "oppressors" and "oppressed" trying to separate the "oppressors" from the "oppressed" and acting their roles is even more frustrating. Its not that simple. Please. Don't water down the issue. Okay for the 16 year olds, it was fine, but 24 year old students with Master's Degrees in European Studies? Hmmmm. 

I said, screw this "oppressor/oppressed" obviousness. I wanted to consider something maybe more close to home: That feeling of "self-oppression" about not being able to do enough in a world of problems (there are only so many UNICEF checks I can send), and therefore falling into apathy. When it came time to present, we were refused (we had a good skit too) because we didn't want to use the "oppressor/oppressed" thing. Call it invisible theater. I felt oppressed.

Afterwards, I kinda called the lady out on it and noted a good number of things.

1) The conference was originally for the Armenian/Turkish conflict, but due to scheduling and leaders dropping out prematurely, it became this: i.e. shit happens.

2) Don't have an age range between 15-24. Its patronizing. Why the EU groups youth like this is worrying. 

3) Value the fact that these kids are just together. 

4) Remember this is about non-formal learning. Not top-down. 

5) Sometimes some good old fashioned recreation is the best way to do Youth Work. I.e. netWORKing. 

RAKI, SAND, SUN: HOW YOUTH WORK IS ABOUT FUN

You know me. I am horrible at recreation. I bring my laptop to bars in Brussels to do work. I don't watch any TV. I am addicted to my gmail. My idea of fun is reading the BBC online. Let's face it. I am bad at sitting still and I'm bad at just "having fun." Something about this youth work business though that I've noticed is that there is nothing like a beach, some music, and a meal can do for inspiring conversation. I had much better conversations over my Starbucks at the end of the conference than I did during workshops. The intimacy that you gain at conferences is the impetus for continued dialogue. Simply put, my weekend simply solidified my bond with these amazing European students (TTYN!) and BAM! there is soft diplomacy for you. 

Though I didn't learn about who was the oppressor and who was the oppressed (though I deconstructed Boal's theory while I was bored during the workshop), I learned how to have a little fun. I also learned that it is okay to be 19 sometimes.  (Sometimes doing Youth Work on the policy end in an NGO for people my own age seems a little bizarre--I feel patronizing...) 

After saying goodbye to my AEGEE lovers as they flew back to Brussels, I went to have the biggest dinner ever with Murat, the Political Advisor and his friend and his wife at their apartment. OH!! BEST HOMECOOKED FOOD EVER. I learned more about fish, red grape raki, Mezze, and the art of cooking in one evening than I ever have. You just wait mom.... 

After 3 hours prep and 3 hours eating, I had the itis and I was so stuffed. Monday night now. I still am. 

Nothing does more for cultural understanding than food. :) Okay, maybe not.... but I like to think so. 

UPDATE ON HEALTH FOR MY WHITFIELD FAMILY: 

I realized that you all love to know how I am doing health wise. Normally I don't put this in my blogs for all of the world to see, but I'll let you know that I am FINALLY seeing a dermatologist tomorrow for my rash. That will be a whole different post... DANIELLE DOES TURKISH HEALTH CARE.