Making it personal: a meeting with David Miliband

Making it personal: a meeting with David Miliband

I sat nervously in the middle of the 20th row at the 92Y, listening to a hero speak in his new role: David Miliband, former British politician and the brand new President and CEO of IRC. The International Rescue Committee responds to the world’s worst humanitarian crises and helps people to survive and rebuild their lives. At work in over 40 countries and 22 U.S. cities to restore safety, dignity and hope, the IRC leads the way from harm to home. David spoke eloquently about the crisis in Syria, but also kept things appropriately dark, as this humanitarian crisis must be solved, and solved soon. However, my goal to talk with David was totally selfish. I jumped up as soon as the panel completed and made my way...Read More

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Share out: Empowering a Billion Women by 2020

Share out: Empowering a Billion Women by 2020

L'économie mondiale repose sur les femmes, et une nouvelle paire des yeux. Ingrid Vanderverdt ( @ontheroadwithiv ) s'emploie à fournir des outils, la technologie et les ressources pour les femmes de se considérer comme des leaders et entrepreneurs qui réussissent. 1 - Business: L'objectif est de créer un levier global. Ingrid est en partenariat avec Dell: le numéro un mondial dans leur engagement pour les femmes entrepreneurs. http://www.dell.com/learn/us/en/04/women-powering-business 2 - Politique: L'objectif est de travailler sur les questions politiques mondiales. Ici, Ingrid fait partie du Conseil des Entrepreneurs mondial. ...Read More

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Laissez les femmes dirigent!

Laissez les femmes dirigent!

Tout en écoutant les personnalités les plus influentes sur la scène de développement mondial: sur les médias, la santé mondiale, l'innovation et le bien social, je suis plus motivé et plus ému par les récits de l'émancipation des femmes. D'abord avec Magatte ( @magattew ) et Teddy ( @tmsruge ) qui parlent de l'esprit d'entreprise et le New Africa Rising, à Neema ( @MamanShujaa ) qui se tient fier sur ses béquilles, à Kajol ( @iamkajol ) derrière le podium ce matin avec des larmes dans ses yeux, parlant de ses frustrations avec l'assainissement. Je suis heureuse de rencontrer Sandra Brogdan, innovateur...Read More

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Samedi en Afrique

I layed in bed a full hour, listening to the men outside my window breaking rocks, the music of my host brothers blasting through the walls, Brian's crying and under it all, the hum of the city. I was wide awake at 7, but was not quite ready to face the day. I am not sure what finally got me out of bed, but I counted my bugbites, swept the halfdead cockroach back into the trash can and went to brush my teeth. It was still cool enough, and my host brothers, Gitas and William were washing the floor, dancing to the radio. William was trying to get Brian to dance as well, but as Brian only began walking last Sunday, the task was a little difficult. Mama Josephine and my host sister Adel, Brian's mother, soon came back to the house with bread and Adel showed me how to fry up an omlette and we ate in the courtyard/driveway, Mama Josephine yelling intermitantly, Brian drooling everywhere and the dog barking. After William began a huge dishwashing session, and Gitas and I went to the market. It was hot and I struggled to think of things to say. The Mendong market was crowded and sweaty and smelly and we weaved in and out of plantains, manioc, chickens, tomatoes, children and all manner of chaos. I am slowly accustoming myself to the cry of "la blanche la blanche" and the constant attention being a white woman brings. We filled Gitas' bag and it was so heavey that we were obliged to take a moto home. 2 actually. Sitting behind a strange man, hanging grimly onto the back of the motorcycle as we hurtled home was slightly terrifying. When we arrived Mama Jo set me to work shelling garlic and then pounding some rooty vegitable in a huge morter and pestle. I am in constant awe at this place, and would not believe I am actually here were it not for the pain in my back and legs from pounding white goo and gripping the rough bowl between my ancles. Mama Jo and I sat on the porch, the green Ndole sauce we made between us and ate with our hands. The intestines in the sauce tested my gag reflex, but I want so much to play my part in this tumultuous family I hardly cared. I am trying to slow down, to really see things, really experience them. The fact that its 33o C helps.

L'Alimentation

There quite a few differences between Americans and the French, but the one I have been enjoying the most this past week has been their approach to food. In the States, we tend to view ourselves as machines, or animals that must be supplied with fuel and energy in order to operate. We try to eat balanced meals, with the right amount of every food group, each decision made based on function, and less on form.
Today, I learned what food it. I was invited to join my host family for a holiday luncheon at our house, where their children joined us. I was looking forward to it, but was slightly nervous as I inevitably am at all formal gatherings as I tend to miss many social cues and am deplorable on decorum. But this meal was an experience. We began with a beautiful crisp champagne, toasting one anothers health and to the holidays that are fast approaching. My impending move to Cameroon became the topic of conversation over an apparatif of delicate froie gras, neatly sliced and served on little brucetta toasts, lightly salted and with fresh ground pepper, grilled razor clams seeped in olive oil and garlic eaten right out of the shell complimented by green olives, flavored with more garlic. We moved to the table, where the deacedence, that never became oppulence, continued. We opened a heavy, dry Bordeaux, and passed around a plate of caviar. I have never tasted caviar before, and was not even sure how to serve myself, so I snuck peaks at my neighbors behind my wine glass to see what they were doing. Steaming little blinis slathered with a rich crème fraiche topped with a dollup of caviar was heaven. The blini created a solid and clean base that supported the soft, salty, breathtaking mix of the slightly chewy caviar and the smoothe crème. It was the most amazing thing I have ever tasted. We cleared our plates, continued to enjoy our wine, and I could feel my cheeks warming as the 5 frenchmen battered each other with stories about mutal friends, family members, jobs and vacations. The converstation wandered from the inheretence of the three children to what kind coffin the parents would want, then quickly moved on to reitrement before the meal could become macabre. Nicolas, our chef for the afternoon swept back into the room bearing plates crowned with the masterpiece for the night; a cheesy risotto sandwitched between two slices of clam and topped with shaved truffles. Each bite was more amazing than the previous and we were all silent for about 10 seconds as everyone savored it. Any one part of that dish could not have stood on its own, but together...it was music. The cold fishy taste balanced the richness of the risotto and the truffles...well, they were truffles. We were practically singing as we finished the wine, but it was far from over. We waved off salad in lieu of homemade "orangcello," a thick citris liquor that made you think of woodburning stoves and lemonade on a hot summer's day in the same moment. We finished off in a flourish with macademia nutt ice cream with the last of the truffles on top.

Together in Paris.....

In retrospect, my expectation that I could sustain weekly posts was a little unrealistic, in light of my track record of maintaining all other forms communication.....oh well.
Last weekend our group went to Paris. Needless to say it was incredible. How could it not be as every single time you turn around there is some incredible piece of architecture, not to mention all of the impeccably dressed Parisians, the gaping tourists, the whizzing cars, the mounted policemen...the list goes on and on. I felt most of the time that I was in the States, English apparently being the language on the street. I began the trip in style, oversleeping and waking to my host mother knocking on my door 10 minutes before I was supposed to meet the group at the train station. I have no memory of dressing, finishing packing, or getting out of the house but the next thing I knew, I was running crying down the street, my pants falling down, my backpack bouncing, and the homeless people getting a great show of my haphazard panicked passage. However, due to some act of god, or all my years of sports, or perhaps just plain adrenaline not only was I on time, but I was not even the last there! Of course I did not have a lunch, and I also forgot my contacts. An auspicious start.
The five hour train ride was spent playing complicated games of cards, listening to wild dance music and general shenanigans as usually ensue when 17 students are trapped in a confined space for hours on end. We arrived without further incident, though of course I could not see a goddamn thing. Our hotel was wonderful, and we were all staying in apartments that included kitchens and a great view of the street. Our first group activity was possibly the most wonderfully touristy thing I have done in a long while; a sunset cruise along the Seine. To those of you who are not acquainted with the intricacies of french geography (as many of my peers here apparently are not) Toulouse is in the south, while Paris is in the north. I, of course, was aware of this, and therefore showed up to our 6pm (that's 18h) decked out in hat, scarf, boots, legwarmers, sweater, the works. I was promptly mocked, but bien sûr I had the last laugh as I was one of the few who were able to withstand the wind on the cruise, and was able to enjoy the view from outside. O la la Paris, comme vous êtes belle!

I did not manage so well for the rest of the trip, almost loosing my wallet, walking for an hour home by myself, loosing my metrocard while riding a bike, getting yelled at by a policman, going to closed museams, getting my feet run over by strollers, and almost missing all of the rendezvous. But none of it mattered! I had the time of my life, I spent time with my mom, my friends, I saw an incredible performance of Carmen, flamenco style (the most sensual beautiful performance I have ever seen and then I went out with the dancers the next night, as they were staying in our hotel) I walked through gardens, I went to a flea market, I saw Cezanne and Matisse and they made me cry, and I went to a techno parade.

This was not a tourist trip for me. I have already done the whole "oh my god we have to see la Tour Eiffel, le Louvre, l'Arc de Triomphe, Versailles...." the list goes on and on. All of these places are incredible, but I cannot a) bring myself to wait in line for hours or b) share deeply emotional, personal experiences at these places with a huge crowd of gawking people, yelling and flashing their cameras. Are they even looking at the beauty? Or is it just another pelt to add to their culture belt, "well, when I was in Paris..." I am often frustrated by our blatant lack of appreciation for the now. We americans are hailed throughout the world as forward thinkers, always gazing into the future. But what happens to today? Why diminish the now? Years from now, when you are looking at that perfectly framed portrait of your family under the Eiffle Tower that you made your french waiter take, will you remember what it smelled like? The awe you felt at its majesty, or the joy of being with the people you love?

I choose the memory.

Jet Lag, Fireworks and La Ville Rose

My friend told me that Toulouse is one of the ugliest cities in France. Not from where I am sitting. The winding streets dating from the Roman conquest, the red brick buildings that hem in on all sides and the river curving through the city are as picturesque as they are confusing. As I lock the four different locks for the two doors leading to my house every morning (usually on time, but once an hour late due to my inability at calendar navigation) I walk out to the Canal Midi, passing shop keepers arranging fresh bread in their boulangeries, jumping out of the way of cyclists ringing their bells, past the homeless women who sits on my bridge with her blond hair in in one huge dreadlock, feeding her dog, I have to work to keep a silly grin off my face. Its been a week, that has felt like a month, and every experience is still surreal.

This weekend was Festa Europa, an arts extravaganza full of crazy events all over the city. This is primetime to be a tourist/student in Toulouse as the city is a candidate for the cultural capital of Europe and so all was pomp and craziness to try and impress the judges that were here.

Saturday afternoon was rainy, and I decided it would be a great idea to where some orange espadrille sandals.....long story short between the rain, stepping in gum, and shoddy manufacturing, my shoe fell completely apart ten minutes from my house. I sat on the side of the street in the rain, my purse between my legs, my knees in my face and my umbrella dripping down my back and half tucked under my chin tying my stupid shoe to my foot with the ribbons. I began laughing as I walked along, sloshing water everywhere and drawing an amazing amount of strange looks as I limped to the city center. The man who helped my buy some new shoes (fortunately on sale) laughed when he saw my shoes, and asked if I even wanted to keep them. As they had by this time, fallen completely into pieces, and were soaking wet, I declined. The sun came out and although I got some of the biggest blisters of my life that afternoon, it was worth it. Many of our group from Dickinson walked down to the river, bought dinner and wine and sat on the riverside and watched the sun set over the water.

Little did we know our amazing planning as most of the city of Toulouse swarmed around us in the next two hours. We watched fireworks over the water, squeezed together in one huge pulsing mass of people.