tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43397386229838475542024-03-13T11:21:16.075-04:00Brocks Thoughts Kyle Gaiserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12420194782869773585noreply@blogger.comBlogger58125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339738622983847554.post-31073511138795420782023-01-31T21:30:00.012-05:002023-02-01T22:19:40.386-05:00January or Bust: The Hidden Values Within Our Goal-Oriented Mindsets<p style="text-align: left;">For
many of us, January offers a fresh start. It’s a month to plan, set
personal goals, improve our habits, or take up that new 10-step program.
One of my colleague’s goals is to “optimize sleep” this year, while
another is taking on a 52-book challenge. Whether you’re the type of
person who delves head long into setting goals, or prefers to avoid it,
the “rationally ordered methods for making human activity more
efficient” (a concept dubbed “<a href="https://www.thenewatlantis.com/publications/confronting-the-technological-society" target="_blank">Technique</a>”), is so pervasive in our culture that it affects each of us personally, often in ways that we don’t realize. </p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuFlotsJAJW_6mT9L5lhrEpv3GNGHScqP6q_vcdi3ctAwHeoObZDojym9QQwhP3Vp-F4wlnp_7wUwBEGLtEEaQ9SUglPeXjqktRxZml952MkDexYRVfcuvGM89V9GQkLJC2OGvVtENILkepx-cakb9zH1idqrqPFXnrHOeYACVQ_6Yc7s_fgSjcxbhIQ/s730/Screen-Shot-2017-02-06-at-4.53.05-PM.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="730" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuFlotsJAJW_6mT9L5lhrEpv3GNGHScqP6q_vcdi3ctAwHeoObZDojym9QQwhP3Vp-F4wlnp_7wUwBEGLtEEaQ9SUglPeXjqktRxZml952MkDexYRVfcuvGM89V9GQkLJC2OGvVtENILkepx-cakb9zH1idqrqPFXnrHOeYACVQ_6Yc7s_fgSjcxbhIQ/w320-h176/Screen-Shot-2017-02-06-at-4.53.05-PM.png" width="320" /></a>Jacques
Ellul was a 20th century French philosopher and theologian who wrote
extensively on “technique.” Ellul pointed out that while technique’s
rigor, applied to science and engineering, made possible the rapid
advancement of technology, it has also permeated and shaped our society:
our culture, education, how we make friends, how we think about
ourselves, and how we measure our success or even our life’s meaning.
Consider our daily checklists and routines, productivity apps, social
media, 5-steps programs, life-hacking, algorithms that search for the
perfect partner, the corporate latter, or annual goal setting - these
technical methods offer efficient, linear, and easier shortcuts to
living. </div><p style="text-align: left;">Take
a moment to think about the analogies we use to describe ourselves. How
often do you think, “I need to unplug”, “recharge”, or “reboot.” It’s
“nose to the grindstone” again. “I wish I could slow down”, “get into a
routine”, and “increase my bandwidth?” We are using technological
metaphors to describe ourselves. Yet, in this thoughtful <a href="https://omny.fm/shows/ellul-s-cafe/elluls-cafe-live" target="_blank">podcast</a>
I came across, two professors point out that Jesus described people using natural metaphors, such as sheep, flowers, seeds, branches, and sparrows, with two notable exceptions that were meant to reprove the religious elite of their technique-encumbered practices [1]. What's more, Jesus and
his father were professional carpenters who quite literally would have
used the grindstone to sharpen their tools on a regular basis. The
Greek word used to describe Jesus’ profession is “tekton”, a <i>craftsman</i>,
which is related to our word for technologist [2]. He was a maker,
surely employing various techniques to shape the world around him to
create technology. Jesus employed technique, but it is not how he described himself.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I humbly admit that I tend to view myself as a
machine. I am the recipient of inputs that are external to me, and
which I often wish I had more control over: be it my diet, calendar,
exercise, a clean house, or the vast resources and information available
to me. Then there is me, the (hopefully) well-oiled machine, whose job
is to make something meaningful - to achieve the goals set before me.
The more efficient I am at managing the inputs, the more productive my
output. Like dominoes, it's a matter of arranging all the pieces and
setting them into motion. <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWeO1WKXBW_GpPdplJYvC0ByILSS0X9MumUF0McqIvk7Et_lc6_Zgq18gizl8dicROp3QYOAtEIJWp2e1Vk5zVF06yLhCzmYmGn_HRGssUCK1Q-zGtqpwsKFjbsXXIfMC-yYPMlWWiYOdnyB7szPDWHox3RRADlncr9DPcTzZgytPlu7IwCb8StlVDvw/s636/Machine_me.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="223" data-original-width="636" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWeO1WKXBW_GpPdplJYvC0ByILSS0X9MumUF0McqIvk7Et_lc6_Zgq18gizl8dicROp3QYOAtEIJWp2e1Vk5zVF06yLhCzmYmGn_HRGssUCK1Q-zGtqpwsKFjbsXXIfMC-yYPMlWWiYOdnyB7szPDWHox3RRADlncr9DPcTzZgytPlu7IwCb8StlVDvw/w496-h174/Machine_me.jpeg" width="496" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This
realization challenged me. What am I saying about myself when I use
tech-centered metaphors? How do I embrace a more human, more natural,
and, for the Christians in the crowd, a more biblical approach to
setting measurable goals? How do we employ technique, rather than be
consumed by it? When I read Psalm 1, the analogy of a tree planted by
streams of water resonates more deeply, more holistically with me than
that of a machine.<br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><blockquote>“Blessed
is the one whose delight is in the law of the Lord… That person is like
a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season,
whose leaf does not whither – whatever they do prospers." </blockquote></i></div><p style="text-align: left;"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVE0pVhrvkRhR4Ce2dKoRJhHQtZGmYPgrMBRXhy6uK1SK48dva_5hH-x61M69sNCte26vHu0l6Mp1cXVF5ylDtLlKBsXBEnXp0KYcf2DVkDI3h3yWlzdC7yy1C8jUAWHu2oqvBmvzA9avHCBLpDfxzy46h2j76XJDNSbEmlpSnNhi-bfVJuSh9lVzidQ/s798/Tree_me.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="325" data-original-width="798" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVE0pVhrvkRhR4Ce2dKoRJhHQtZGmYPgrMBRXhy6uK1SK48dva_5hH-x61M69sNCte26vHu0l6Mp1cXVF5ylDtLlKBsXBEnXp0KYcf2DVkDI3h3yWlzdC7yy1C8jUAWHu2oqvBmvzA9avHCBLpDfxzy46h2j76XJDNSbEmlpSnNhi-bfVJuSh9lVzidQ/w602-h244/Tree_me.jpeg" width="602" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">A sketch of Psalm 1 from my journal (no judging, I'm an engineer)</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">The
metaphor of a tree has several values that are distinct from that of a
machine. Here are a few that I can spot, but I encourage you to think of
others.</p><h3 style="text-align: left;">Independent vs. Interdependent </h3><p style="text-align: left;">A machine is <b>independent</b>,
so long as its inputs are adequately controlled within what engineers
refer to as "the control volume." People and resources become cogs in
the system. I am the focal point and success depends on me. But a tree
is <b>interdependent</b> and is only as healthy as its environment. When
we are overwhelmed or unproductive, the machine in us pushes harder,
relying on our own strength, and "rests" only to recalibrate ourselves
or fix others. "If only [insert change], then I would [insert outcome]."
When what we really need is to be deeply rooted in our relationships,
present to our surroundings, and connected to God. This rooted-ness
re-orients our priorities and inspires our creative and mundane work.</p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">The
next time you think “I don’t have enough bandwidth," recognize that
this metaphor suggests you are a machine that should increase its
bandwidth, or exercise more control over its inputs. Instead, if we say,
“I need to root myself deeper in good soil,” immediately we are
challenged to consider the health of our ecosystem and our connection to
it. </div><br /><h3 style="text-align: left;">Goals vs Fruit</h3><div style="text-align: left;"><p style="text-align: left;">The
machine follows a linear process that churns out predictable results,
or in this case, goals. On the other hand, fruit is the byproduct of a
dynamic growth-oriented process. As such, we don’t know the exact
quality, quantity, shape, or size of the fruit. Nevertheless, we can
(and should!) envision, with hopeful anticipation, what the fruit of our
lives may look and taste like. We can even ask ourselves what steps
should we take to nourish that fruit and measure that progress. The
subtle shift is from being goal-centric to growth-centric, from
achieving to becoming, and from prescribing to nourishing.</p></div><div style="text-align: left;"><h3 style="text-align: left;"><b>Routines</b> vs <b>Rhythms</b></h3></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">The machine, along with everything that interacts with it, follows <b>routines</b>, and deviations from its prescription cause chaos. But a productive tree gracefully accepts the <b>rhythms</b>
of life, be it rain, sun, or perhaps a bit of pruning. It is agile,
robust, open to interruption, and thankful in the midst of change.
Rhythm allows room for grace and growth, in a way that rote routine
cannot.<div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Take
for example, my two toddlers, who on several occasions have interrupted
my focused work time by spilling their milk on the living room rug in
the midst of a heated argument over a toy. My concentration is broken,
our household rules have been crossed, and I feel my blood begin to
boil. In that moment, I am tempted to enforce the rules with a heavy
hand, reinforcing our family's prescribed routines and rules, akin to a
programmer debugging an algorithm. </div><div style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">But
what I’ve found, after many unsuccessful attempts, is that the
application of the law, and more generally, technique-based discipline,
is a temporary and incomplete remedy. Rather, the example I set is far
more important than the fix I employ. The outcome of parenting my
children, and indeed my life’s work, is not determined so much by the
techniques I employ, but by the source (the "vine" as Jesus says about
himself in Matthew 15:5), that I am drawing from.<br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p style="text-align: left;">By
responding to my children with affection and grace, I lay the
groundwork for heart and character transformation [3]. This is real fruit
that is much sweeter than any behavior modification, which even a
machine can be programmed to mimic. On my better days, I recognize the
rhythm of the moment, and participate in my calling to be a parent for
5-minutes before calmly resuming work. I gently and firmly restore order
(often through a practical technique like the “1, 2, 3 Method”), but
more importantly, I help restore a right understanding and right
relationship between God, myself, and my children.</p><h3 style="text-align: left;">Product vs Process<br /></h3></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">The tree is a vessel, a<b> steward of things already valuable</b>.
Phloem and xylem are critical to distributing valuable nutrients and
water to and from the soil, and chlorophyll for converting sunlight into
a usable form of energy. Even the tree's detritus is valuable to its
surroundings. Like a tree, our work is a process of transforming value
from one form to another, whereas technique emphasizes our output,
especially anything new and revolutionary, over the input or the
process. How does this relate to goals? I don’t think our goals
necessarily need to be revolutionary in order to be valuable, and the
means can be just as important as the end. In this broader context,
there is great value in even our most ordinary everyday work.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p>Here’s to a fruitful 2023! <br /> <span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p>Footnotes:</p><ol style="text-align: left;"><li>Pettitt,
J. (Host). (2022, June 4). Ellul’s Cafe LIVE. [Audio podcast episode].
In Ellul’s Cafe. <a href="https://omny.fm/shows/ellul-s-cafe/elluls-cafe-live">https://omny.fm/shows/ellul-s-cafe/elluls-cafe-live</a>. Jesus used technical metaphors about people twice, and with a negative connotation, when comparing the Pharisees (the religious elites) to white-washed tombs and to cups that were clean on the outside but dirty on the inside. These analogies repudiated their religious practices, which were steeped in technique for the sake of technique, and were antithetical to the life Jesus demonstrated. </li><li>Dyer,
John. (2011). From the Garden to the City. Kregel Publications. John
Dyer's book offers a great introduction to technology and society from a
biblical stance.</li><li>Tripp, Paul. (2016). <a class="Ui2TZ WCMfob oRJe3d" data-ti="overview" data-ved="2ahUKEwi3w_nW5fT8AhWnOkQIHTHxAxwQnZMFegQIXhAC" role="link" tabindex="0"><span aria-level="1" class="yKMVIe" role="heading">Parenting: 14 Gospel Principles That Can Radically Change Your Family. Crossway. This book provides very helpful insight about applying grace vs. law in our parenting.<br /></span></a></li></ol></div>Kyle Gaiserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12420194782869773585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339738622983847554.post-4143290808983741232017-12-30T19:07:00.000-05:002017-12-31T22:41:22.802-05:00Fake Advertising<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="p1">
While visiting my old stomping grounds in rural upstate New York this Christmas, I had the chance to catch up with some old friends who, despite their opportunities to leave, chose to remain in our hometown. The area is struggling economically and suffering from the opioid endemic. The nearest town of about 30,000 doesn’t offer all the glamour and diversity that larger, up and coming cities afford. Yet, my friends are deeply rooted in the community, and committed to making a difference. They are teaching in schools where the senior class is 40 students or less, converting their barn into a local CrossFit so people can work out in the cold wintry months, preaching sermons on loving those outside their comfort zone, providing rehab classes for drug addicts, building friendships with the small contingent of Muslims at the local Islamic society, and renovating old industrial buildings into coffee shops.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
On the flip side, I came across <a href="http://www.bbc.com/capital/story/20171019-the-couple-paid-200k-a-year-to-travel" target="_blank">this article</a> in the airport as I was departing NY. The article describes a couple paid $200k per year to “travel” (“advertise”, really). As they confess, it’s not as glamorous as it sounds. Chasing the next expense-free trip ad contract, they’ve lost the ability to travel authentically - as a means of curiosity, education, and service - while maintaining the mirage that the nomadic life is the norm, the new American dream. This is treacherous, as it turns people into anxious consumers. After all, what are they really advertising: a vacation destination or a way of life that can only be lived vicariously through Instagram?</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
Almost all of us have experienced that the more we attach ourselves to social media, the more prone we become to comparing ourselves to others.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Social media, when used to promulgate a virtual lifestyle, is a breeding ground for FOMO.</div>
<div class="p1">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
Admittedly, I sometimes will seek out the next travel opportunity partly due to a fear of missing out. But when I think back to my friends in NY, I am challenged to step back and think about the roots I am growing in the community around me. One could say that a town, or even a life, is only as glamorous as the community and commitments that knit and bind it together. Ultimately, what the world needs, what we need, is to resist the sway of social media and FOMO, and be true to our own calling.</div>
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Kyle Gaiserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12420194782869773585noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339738622983847554.post-48017751587466090402017-08-01T10:48:00.001-04:002017-08-28T23:58:35.758-04:00AGOA or NOGOA<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">In an effort to foster local textile manufacturing, Rwanda, Uganda, and Tanzania have committed to phasing out the importation of Second-Hand Clothes (SHC) from the United States by 2019, despite the United States’ looming threat to reconsider the East African Community (EAC) members’ eligibility for duty-free access to the American market under the African Growth and Opportunity Act (<a href="https://agoa.info/"><span class="s2">AGOA</span></a>). The move has sparked widespread <a href="https://thisisafrica.me/rwanda-will-proceed-ban-used-clothes-despite-threats-united-states/"><span class="s2">debate</span></a>, as the ban would directly affect governments, businesses, and the poor, in East Africa and the US alike. As an American who is deeply passionate about understanding and tackling the roots of global poverty, this issue challenges me to wrestle with all sorts of practical and ideological questions... </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s3"><i><br />
</i></span><span class="s1"><i>Is America’s aid policy hampering African development? </i></span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s3"><i><br />
</i></span><span class="s1"><i>Is it fair for the EAC to be removed from AGOA?</i></span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s3"><i><br />
</i></span><span class="s1"><i>What is AGOA anyhow, and is it any good? </i></span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s3"><i><br />
</i></span><span class="s1"><i>And of course, is it morally dubious to sell used clothes to Africans?</i></span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s3" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s3" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Where do we take our stance? </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s3" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s3" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>The Ethics of Selling Second-Hand-Clothes</b></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s3" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s3">What may surprise many, including myself, is that our donated clothes are sold for profit to the EAC, and around the world, for that matter.</span><span class="s4"> </span><span class="s3">While seemingly incredulous at first, freely donating clothes would undercut local textiles even more. An illuminating study by <a href="http://www.cuts-geneva.org/pdf/PACT2-STUDY-The_Impact_of_Second_Hand_Clothes_and_Shoes_in_East_Africa.pdf"><span class="s2">CUTS International</span></a> reports, “the cotton produced in Africa (EAC) is spun and woven in Asia, converted into apparels and shipped to the USA and EU to be worn for 2-3 years and shipped back to Africa (EAC) as used clothing, to clothe up to 70% of the African population.” The demand for local fabric in the EAC is low precisely because the “fabric market is choked by SHC, which has led to the closure of several [at least six] textile mills” in Kenya and Uganda. </span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s3" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s3" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">As development leaders will point out (i.e. <a href="http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=89848686"><span class="s2">Paul Polak</span></a>), donations and government subsidies undercut local manufacturing and prevent the economic forces of supply and demand from shaping new markets.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s3" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s3" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Furthermore, American’s typically perceive used clothes as worn, tattered, and out of date, especially the ones donated to Africa. But that isn’t always the case. At the marketplaces where I lived in Rwanda, the used clothes were of surprisingly good quality and I would shop there. I even brought the clothes back to the States and wore them without anyone noticing (or at least saying anything)! There is significantly more overlap between the used and new clothes markets in East Africa than in America.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s3" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s3" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>AGOA and United States Aid</b></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s3" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s3" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">AGOA is a piece of US legislation first signed into law by President Clinton in 2000. At it’s core, the AGOA initiative is designed to increase Africa’s access to the US market by providing duty-free entry to the US, with a <a href="https://agoa.info/about-agoa/apparel-rules-of-origin.html"><span class="s2">provision</span></a> specifically encouraging “textiles and apparel” exports from developing countries in Africa to the US. In light of this, shouldn’t a ban, or the tariffs recently imposed by the EAC, be promoted under AGOA? Increasing prices on second-hand clothes would foster African textile mills, build local economies, and encourage EAC exports of textiles and apparel to the US, a primary objective of AGOA. However, in response to Rwanda's recent tariff hike on SHC from $0.20/kg to $2.50/kg, the US is reconsidering Rwanda's eligibility for AGOA membership.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s3" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s3">There is a not-so-subtle conflict of interest written into the eligibility criteria for countries participating under AGOA. The <a href="https://agoa.info/about-agoa/country-eligibility.html"><span class="s2">criteria</span></a> state that beneficiaries must “<i>promote the development of private enterprise” </i>within their country and work toward <i>“the elimination of barriers to United States trade and investment</i>”. The exportation of SHC</span><span class="s4"> </span><span class="s3">from the US is aligned with America’s trade interests but at odds with the development of private textile enterprises in the EAC. It is by the latter criterion that President Trump may choose to disqualify Rwanda, Uganda, and Tanzania from AGOA. </span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s3" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s3" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Unfortunately, this isn’t the first time the US has enacted aid programs encumbered by self-interest. Bill Clinton’s trade policy forced Haiti to drop its tariffs on US rice exports, resulting in the obliteration of Haitian rice farming, with a plus up for Arkansas’ rice farmers (Clinton apologized in 2010). Moreover, during the Cold War, as development economist Dambisa Moyo writes, aid was the tool of a political contest, given not by “how deserving a country might be… but rather the willingness of a desperately impoverished country to ally itself with one camp or another” (<i>Dead Aid</i>, p 14).</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s3" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br />
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<div class="p2">
<span class="s3" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">So which is it? Aid or trade? When the rubber meets the road, one criterion will take precedence over the other. The answer depends on the motives and priorities behind AGOA. Interestingly, the AGOA website never describes the program as “aid,” but rather as bilateral trade. However, its apparel provision is unequivocally focused on the growth of “lesser developed” countries, and the <a href="https://agoa.info/about-agoa/country-eligibility.html"><span class="s2">Seychelles</span></a> was “graduated out of AGOA… due to the country gaining developed country status." AGOA seems to be trade, with a humanitarian "aid" mission. </span></div>
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<div class="p2">
<span class="s3" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">That said, the data highlights the United States’ obvious preference for African minerals and oil over textiles. The <a href="https://agoa.info/profiles.html"><span class="s2">plots</span></a> below depict the recent imports/exports from Nigeria and the DR Congo (major sources of oil and minerals), as well as the <a href="https://agoa.info/news/article/15128-us-warns-east-african-countries-to-comply-with-agoa.html"><span class="s2">EAC</span></a>. Remember, AGOA aims to increase Africa’s market access, or in other words, increase exports from Africa to the US. But the EAC consistently has a negative trade balance. Despite AGOA providing a provision specifically for African apparel, the US, in practice, prefers to foster oil and mineral exports from Africa. Personally, I think the EAC should be encouraged to produce a product worth exporting under AGOA. Furthermore, I am excited to see how the new “Made in Rwanda” initiative will encourage Rwandan creativity, design, and entrepreneurship, in markets beyond just textiles. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj97x61nR5d44zAXxci3ZfQwKxHsTuZ6Hm6fPI6rwA7DmGD7A2Guiwaba7Zs6IgLl_VB9GZvo6i5bQ7msgj5syXDGRhNimZN2qRZ55aWf7C_ir7XOsWEoANpHLuJdw8iS3HX4VjQw95yOrk/s1600/AGOA.info-eac_tyu.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj97x61nR5d44zAXxci3ZfQwKxHsTuZ6Hm6fPI6rwA7DmGD7A2Guiwaba7Zs6IgLl_VB9GZvo6i5bQ7msgj5syXDGRhNimZN2qRZ55aWf7C_ir7XOsWEoANpHLuJdw8iS3HX4VjQw95yOrk/s640/AGOA.info-eac_tyu.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div>
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<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">On a philosophical note, I wrestle with whether it is beneficial to foster African exports, in light of globalization and industrialism? Take Nigeria for instance. As a result of AGOA, Nigeria’s economy is becoming more dependent on America’s demand, and the global supply, for oil. Similarly, the success of Rwandan coffee growers (currently an export under AGOA) hinges on our cravings for caffeine and the whims of the market. If (and that is an <i>if</i>) AGOA exists to satiate our culture of Hummers and Starbucks, at the expense of African jobs and creativity, at what point does our trade policy, and even our aid policy, become a form of economic colonialism? Furthermore, does a country’s participation in the global economic arena require its industrialization? When it came to the revival of villages in the face of industrialization, Gandhi <a href="http://www.mkgandhi.org/momgandhi/chap49.htm"><span class="s2">wrote</span></a>,</span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>The revival of the village is possible only when it is no more exploited. Industrialization on a mass scale will necessarily lead to passive or active exploitation of the villagers as the problems of competition and marketing come in. Therefore we have to concentrate on the village being self-contained, manufacturing mainly for use.</i> </span></span></blockquote>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">
As Gandhi was extremely skeptical of industrialization (to put it lightly), due to its potential for worker exploitation, social stratification, and unsustainable urbanization, so must we be cognizant of policies that promote unsustainable socio-economic systems in Africa. </span></span><br />
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Alternatives to banning Second-Hand-Clothes</span></b></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Of course, a ban on used clothes could backfire on the EAC by removing the poor’s access to affordable clothes and putting local resellers at risk of closing. Last year, Zimbabwe <a href="https://thisisafrica.me/17179-2/"><span class="s2">reversed its ban</span></a> on use clothes for the sake of the effected poor. Furthermore, there is <a href="https://agoa.info/news/article/15137-eac-officials-oppose-us-bid-to-review-agoa-trade-deal-over-used-clothing-ban.html"><span class="s2">no guarantee</span></a> that the ban will help East African garment makers as Asian producers will provide stiff competition.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br />
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<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s2"><a href="https://agoa.info/news/article/15142-agoa-at-risk-in-east-african-war-over-used-clothes.html">This</a></span><span class="s1"> article explains a few alternatives, including a ban on certain types of clothes, such as undergarments or high-quality used clothes, and a phased approach that would ease tensions with the US and allowing local industry to develop over time. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br />
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<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">For example, the US could negotiate with the EAC a price and/or tax increase on US clothes exports that is mutually beneficial. US businesses selling SHC could increase their prices and the the US government could place an export tax on SHC exports to the EAC, commensurate to the EAC’s import tax. The effect would be the same on EAC consumers and textile industries (an increase in the price of used clothes), but the extra revenue would be shared among the governments and US businesses.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">In summary, I believe the US should retain Rwanda, Uganda, and Tanzania's membership under AGOA and work with East Africa to negotiate a phased or partial ban on SHC. Furthermore, the US should be more consistent in its application of AGOA, by encouraging African manufacturing and exports over US imports, and not preferring oil over textiles.</span></span></div>
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Kyle Gaiserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12420194782869773585noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339738622983847554.post-81458633774704419762017-01-02T17:26:00.000-05:002017-08-28T23:57:19.063-04:00Of Dogs and Men<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background: white;">Today, Patti and I took a stroll around San Francisco's Union
Square, without much of an agenda except to meet people and practice street
photography. We ended up meeting Jay, and his dog, Pepper, on the side of a
busy corner where we chatted over some Starbucks about his journey from
Southern California to SF. A few blocks later we ran into Ari and his dog,
Chico. Ari was a legit fellow - he was friendly, knew his scripture, and had a
great smile. We talked for half an hour about how to clean shrimp and the value
of generously </span><span style="background-color: white;">celebrating the lives of those we love before they pass away.</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "georgia";"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "georgia";"> </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim3XFBLbrK7aNdIDhHxcdNfJm4bzNbSBA7OM6fC-ofqm9Wcrxxm6HqXiFe3UL4_apdoZp-e5GWmAqURiNpX3MBUO7Myume1pfNBbPTGVuwVzFALHvENxR6toz4vuKmVdjmF_3kP33IJs_O/s1600/fullsizeoutput_1e04.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim3XFBLbrK7aNdIDhHxcdNfJm4bzNbSBA7OM6fC-ofqm9Wcrxxm6HqXiFe3UL4_apdoZp-e5GWmAqURiNpX3MBUO7Myume1pfNBbPTGVuwVzFALHvENxR6toz4vuKmVdjmF_3kP33IJs_O/s640/fullsizeoutput_1e04.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ari and his dog, Chico</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzb1I8_M5NoD5tcWPeGN3LxL-zzOvhIi2ct8aqhJqdHRWWEBb3BRnyC0k3sg6HoX8lAVN53jX2oSHlvUj97Pl5g0smOIhKThAYg_FTpNSVNTMT8hUJZyQxD5xDsA_LF5E7ds6sHW02ybKD/s1600/fullsizeoutput_1e12.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzb1I8_M5NoD5tcWPeGN3LxL-zzOvhIi2ct8aqhJqdHRWWEBb3BRnyC0k3sg6HoX8lAVN53jX2oSHlvUj97Pl5g0smOIhKThAYg_FTpNSVNTMT8hUJZyQxD5xDsA_LF5E7ds6sHW02ybKD/s640/fullsizeoutput_1e12.jpeg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jay and his dog, Pepper</td></tr>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "georgia";"><br /><span style="font-size: large;">We prayed
together before parting ways and Ari was very encouraged and spoke of God's
favor resting on some people but not others because they've "been in a bad
way", referring in part to himself. But now, he said, he hoped that would
change. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "georgia"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">The
beauty of carving out time in our lives to be spontaneous, or just having the
mindfulness to set our own agendas aside for even a moment, is that it shifts
the focus away from ourselves. And if we can step outside of ourselves and the
walls that we have created (the comfortable house in the hills, shopping malls,
holiday getaways, badge-only access to work), then we begin to connect with the
needs, the beauty, and the unique stories of others.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "georgia"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "georgia";">It's not
unlike hiking, where I often have to remind myself to look up from the roots on
the trail in front of me in order to experience the people and places that
surround me. </span><span style="font-family: "times"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">As for these gents and their dogs, we didn't have a
plan, we didn't hand out a meal, we didn't solve anyone's problems, but I
think that's ok. Their stories are worth hearing, and that alone is reason
enough to pause. </span><span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1VsCVI0jfbqv20jo9jzybzOeP1OtYiJLUsx5WLQTMVl1ID1sj8iu-YwNx-Cz4TIhqJWlbT5LWNjCXuIQQPVn33n1bMorK3h84_Q2nfK1Y9FQoYVbm9zTYJ9Hwyawd1JgjQwjEd7TnJMCX/s1600/fullsizeoutput_1e09.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1VsCVI0jfbqv20jo9jzybzOeP1OtYiJLUsx5WLQTMVl1ID1sj8iu-YwNx-Cz4TIhqJWlbT5LWNjCXuIQQPVn33n1bMorK3h84_Q2nfK1Y9FQoYVbm9zTYJ9Hwyawd1JgjQwjEd7TnJMCX/s640/fullsizeoutput_1e09.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">And
because Macy's was supporting dogs up for adoption through the SPCA, they had
this pup on display in their window. Adopt a dog! :) </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMU0R7afklkKPpg15D0P-DGEcv5AQ1y3vLbNGj3EYYp66WWqiMFg1kbD9SoQps8QcQUUG8Kmgnl1ALWxny8f2Qa5JjJDlZHwY00N3rqrNfmkJaEae7dEUCXF_eLYPxYQxnND-xM1WI-S0Y/s1600/fullsizeoutput_1e2e.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMU0R7afklkKPpg15D0P-DGEcv5AQ1y3vLbNGj3EYYp66WWqiMFg1kbD9SoQps8QcQUUG8Kmgnl1ALWxny8f2Qa5JjJDlZHwY00N3rqrNfmkJaEae7dEUCXF_eLYPxYQxnND-xM1WI-S0Y/s640/fullsizeoutput_1e2e.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Note: Out of respect, the individuals' names were changed and permission was asked to post photos online.</span></div>
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Kyle Gaiserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12420194782869773585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339738622983847554.post-24205243843279283872016-10-09T20:00:00.000-04:002016-10-12T00:37:34.398-04:00Happy Two-Month Anniversary!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Patti and I celebrating our two-month anniversary hours after my surgery.</td></tr>
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Three days after returning home from our seven-week globetrotting honeymoon the right side of my neck is swollen like a softball, and I find myself, for the first time, lying in a hospital bed. An elusive infection in my lymph nodes has caused severe inflammation extending from my right ear down to my windpipe and from my cheek over to my shoulder. I'm barraged by daily blood tests, CT scans and ultrasounds, antibiotics that irritate my veins, IVs swapped every other day, and pain medication that makes me loopy and fatigued. Uncertain of the specific diagnosis, the conscious me sits on the sidelines of my own battlefield, watching patiently for the size of my neck to shrink or grow, tipping the scales in favor of my body or an unseen enemy. But one thing is certain: when reciting our vows, Patti and I never thought the "sickness" part of "in sickness and in health" would be played out so early in our marriage.</div>
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Sure, the circumstances seem pretty gloomy for a newlywed couple, but in some ways the hospital has been more restful than our honeymoon, <span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt;">gallivanting</span> throughout Southeast Asia in search of beaches, diving, and cultural excursions. Compared to some of the AirBnBs we stayed at, the hospital is definitely cleaner, my sheets are changed daily, and there is hot water and a working thermostat, not to mention breakfast, lunch, <i>and</i> dinner are included! To our surprise, the service is actually on par with the resort we stayed at in the Maldives; the staff addresses me by name and knows I would prefer the honey-glazed chicken over the Asian cod. Dare I say, with my window view, I might even be getting a hospital tan.</div>
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Yet our "extended honeymoon" has a much more profound meaning to me in the sense that it has defined and shaped the beginnings of our marriage in a way that no resort or beach ever could. Despite the sleepless nights and my growing inability to perform daily tasks, like changing my gown or eating solid food, Patti has patiently been at my side, never complaining and never worrying. She's grown a sense for what I need, a glass of water or a blanket for my feet, before I even know I need it, and she cheerfully takes the initiative to help. Sometimes, she even sneaks into my hospital bed so we can play games and watch Netflix together, never mind the nurse saying something about a hospital policy and the bed's weight limit. Other times we just sit in silence, tapping away on our cell phones, contently side by side. She walks with me the same 4th floor figure-eight loop hallway to which I am restricted, over and over, until I reach my daily step goal. Suffice to say, I have grown to deeply appreciate and cherish my wife, just as she has grown to love and care for me, as a result of our unintentional honeymoon extension.</div>
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It is Friday afternoon, the day of our two-month anniversary, and my fifth day in the hospital. There are still no signs that the swelling is subsiding. The ENT surgeon walks into my room after viewing my CT scan from a half hour ago. The scan reveals a large abscess filled with liquefied tissue forming in my neck, which is preventing the antibiotics from reaching the bacteria. He wants to perform surgery immediately to drain the abscess. Waiting could risk the infection spreading to my heart or brain. Surgery poses its own risks of course. The carotid artery, windpipe, vocal chords, and a bundle of nerves are all near the abscess. This is our hardest moment, when uncertainties and realities begin to merge. And while the choice is clear, the repercussions are not. Tissues in hand, we go ahead with the surgery that evening. Before I'm put under, Patti and I read Psalm 138 together, finding comfort in the last verses:</div>
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<em>"Your love, Lord, endures forever - do not abandon the works of your hands." </em> </blockquote>
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<em></em><em>- Psalm 138:8</em></blockquote>
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A praise, a reassurance, and an imperative, all rolled up in one.</div>
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I woke up, slowly. Groggily, I recall Patti leaning over the gurney with a big grin. The surgery went well, the doctors were able to drain more than anticipated, and within hours my pain had nearly vanished. Now, as I finish writing this a week later, I am told I could be discharged within a day or two. The swelling has diminished but it will still take another couple of weeks of rest and antibiotics until the infection is completely cleared up. But alas, an end to our honeymoon is in sight.</div>
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This may sound strange to some, but I recall during my first week in the hospital, while resting with my eyes closed, a vision of a large wooden door, made from strong thick timbers, and built into a stone archway. I step back and look above the door to discover our names, "Kyle and Patti Gaiser" engraved in the mossy stone. The archway is built into an even thicker layer of rock, which is built into the side of a mountain. The image confers an overwhelming sense of encouragement and peace, affirming that through these events God is laying the groundwork for our marriage - a solid foundation, built on a rock that cannot be easily toppled.</div>
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Kyle Gaiserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12420194782869773585noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339738622983847554.post-37435888022948401292015-04-24T19:31:00.002-04:002017-01-08T15:41:59.906-05:00Touring the Stagecoach 400<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Everybody goes armed here. If a man has no shirt to his back he will have his knife in his belt.”</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> - Phocion Way, San Antonio to San Diego Mail Line Passenger, 1858 [http://www.parks.ca.gov/?page_id=25066]</span></i></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Stagecoach 400 bikepacking route. The blue is the first 225 miles, the route for which I signed up to ride.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Times have certainly changed in the 157 years since Phocian Way passaged what is now known as the Great Southern Overland Stage Route, America’s first transcontinental mail service that stretched from San Francisco down to San Diego and across to San Antonio, New Orleans and ultimately the Atlantic Coast. In a four-day journey from April 11th to 14th, I toured a segment of this route, by mountain bike, with my friend Kyle Karlson - a 225-mile long journey from Idyllwild, CA to San Diego known as the Stagecoach 400 (the route continues back to Idyllwild for a nearly 400 mile loop). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In Phocion’s time, a journey across the western frontier was riddled with danger. Each passenger that was to embark on a stagecoach through the Southern California desert was advised to,</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“provide himself with a Sharp’s rifle, (not carbine,) with accoutrements and one hundred cartridges, a navy sized Colts revolver and two pounds of balls, a belt and holster, knife and sheath; a pair of thick boots and woolen pants; half a dozen pairs thick cotton socks; three under shirts, there brown linen do; three woolen over shirts, a wide awake hat, a cheap sack coat, a soldiers overcoat, one pair of blankets in summer and two in winter; a piece of India rubber cloth for blankets; a pair of gauntlets… and three or four towels. Such money as he takes should be in silver or small gold.” </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> - San Diego Herald, November 21, 1857 [http://www.parks.ca.gov/?page_id=25066]</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Hostile Indians and gold-hungry bandits were the least of our concern, and thankfully we did not need to pack thick boots and multiple towels for the ride. In fact, our personal sleeping gear - tent, quilt and mattress - weighed in at under six pounds. But I imagine that the desert, in its arid, dusty, and charming way, and the steep rocky canyons that we summited, have remained, for the most part, unchanged, unscathed by manifest destiny. Water, food, vigilant planning, and a foolhardy sense of adventure were all of the essence to us as it was to Phocion Way. And so it was that we began our ride: 21st century mountain bikers riding into a 19th century cowboy-western.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We began our trek around 7:30am in the quaint mountain town of Idyllwild at a brisk elevation of 5400 ft. It was a short uphill on road before we hit a long winding stretch of downhill on a dirt road with great views of the surrounding hills and desert valley below where we were headed. The dirt road gave way to single track and a fun rocky downhill on the Jim Truck Trail before meeting up with the road to Anza. Anza, located in the flat of the valley, was much hotter and we stopped at Sunshine Market for a water refill and Gatorade. We were going strong and making good time since everything up to this point had been down, but mentally we were prepared for what we had been told was one of the most tiring sections of the route.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Approaching Coyote Canyon, Anza-Borrego Desert</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coyote Canyon, Anza-Borrego Desert</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We descended into Coyote Canyon, a dry sandy and exposed wash speckled with rocks, boulders, and a host of prickly plants (Ocotillos, chollas, creosote bushes, and prickly pear cactus) that makes up the northern section of the Anza Borrego Desert. The lizards and little critters scampering along on the sand were our only companions for this 22 mile trek. We deflated our tires down to 20-22 psi, which helped us float on the packed or unbroken sandy patches. Even then some sections were too loose for pedaling, forcing us to dismount and hike. And then, when I was least expecting it…</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Literally, a stream in the desert! A natural spring surrounded by lush green plants, palm trees and willows, which our trail went straight through. Suddenly we had been transported to a jungle and I was biking through mud and water up to our wheel hubs. My socks and shoes were soaked and it felt great. This lasted for about a mile before we were back to the sandy grind.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">By mile 56 we were back in civilization scarfing down burritos and slurping horchata in Borrego Springs while knocking loose the sand in our shoes. Twenty more miles of road with a tailwind in our favor sped us to the Leapin’ Lizard RV Park in Ocotillo Wells (elevation 150 ft), where we lodged in the comfort of our own rented RV unit, affectionately named, “Lucy.” Our host, Deborah, was as hospitable as a mother to her children, providing us with two jugs of cold distilled water and a sheet on which to place our bikes inside the RV. We settled in and then hobbled over to the “Iron Door,” a local bar highly recommended by, well, the locals of the area. It was a simple, dim-lit place with a pool table, a couple plain tables, a bar that served up microwaved hotdogs, bud and bud light, and thousands of dollars of decade-old one-dollar bills taped to the walls and ceilings, each with signatures and handwritten notes, both affectionate and vulgar, of Ocotillo’s passers-byes. Half a drink through our visit I was falling asleep and my knees were aching and stiff, so we retired to Lucy.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our RV Rental unit, Lucy.</td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Day 2: Ocotillo Wells to Agua Caliente - 38 miles, +2421 ft / -1338 ft, 8 hrs</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Our breakfast consisted of a freeze-dried blueberry granola (better than it sounds, actually), a cinnamon bun and hostess cupcakes. We soaked our shirts in water since the rising sun was already warm and left the Lucy RV at 8am. Today was another hot day in the desert as we passed through Fish Creek Wash. The name is deceiving; the “creek” dried up ages ago, but it used to drain water from the surrounding mountains to the Salton sea. Now it’s a barren sandy canyon that splits the mountains into two ranges, the Vallecito Mountains to the west and the Fish Creek Mountains to the east. Nevertheless, the canyon was beautiful.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Entrance to Fish Creek Wash</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Biking the wash was strenuous but not as difficult as we’d anticipated. In fact, for the first few miles we were going the same speed as a caravan of off road trucks trailing behind us. After we passed the Fish Creek Campsite we were mostly on our own. We passed the Wind Caves and the Elephant Knees rock formations and met up with the road that took us to Agua Caliente where we relaxed in the hot springs and pitched our tents for the night.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Campsite at Agua Caliente</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sign reads "Airport ->" Yes, really.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Agua Caliente’s sole resupply store was run by a man named Mark. Mark was a very chill guy who’s been living in the desert for the past nine years. He took us to the back of the store where he lives and showed us his homemade hot tub, homemade laser and plans for making his own greenhouse for growing veggies.</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Day 3: Agua Caliente to Oakzanita - 44 miles, +6153 ft / -3475 ft, 12 hrs</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Oriflamme. It sounds like something out of Lord of the Rings and it sure felt like we were climbing up Mordor. The trail up Oriflamme Canyon is exposed and rugged and the grade actually peaks at 21.6%. We were already tired from the past two days of sand.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oriflamme Canyon - the picture doesn't do it justice</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It was hours of hike-a-bike. In the map below you can see the blue line is the old stagecoach route that was used to deliver mail to San Diego. Agua Caliente is close to Vallecito. We road the same route to El Puerto and Box Canyon but where the route takes a sharp right around Granite Mountain, we took a sharp left to Oriflamme (not labelled) and ended in the Cuyamaca mountain range (shown southwest of Box Canyon). In fact, back in the 1800s, for expedient mail delivery (i.e. 38 days from San Antonio to San Diego) stagecoaches would take the Oriflamme route - it was a shorter but much more difficult route to San Diego.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Southern Emigrant Trail: section of the stagecoach route connecting San Antonio and San Diego [http://www.parks.ca.gov/?page_id=25066]</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Plenty of water, snacks, and bluegrass music helped me get through Oriflamme. On the other side of the ridge we were welcomed by green grass and wildflowers - apparently wind and rain don’t prefer to venture past Oriflamme either. The climate and landscape changed dramatically from here on out. The temperature was more moderate and the trails were harder packed dirt with plenty of shade once we entered the Cleveland National Forrest. Along the ridge we could see miles and miles of rolling green hills.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crossing the Pacific Crest Trail after reaching the top of Oriflamme</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A view of the Cleveland National Forrest</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We made it to Oakzanita about half an hour after nightfall. It was chilly and the dew was gathering on our packs rapidly so we hustled to pick out a campsite and hit the hot showers and the hot tub - yes, there was actually a hot tub. We were living in luxury. </span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Day 4: Oakzanita to San Diego - 67 miles, +2724 ft / -6425 ft, 11 hrs</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Having used up nearly all my food the previous day, Kyle and I were craving a hearty breakfast. We headed for Descanzo where I ate a breakfast burrito, hash browns, scrambled eggs, chips & salsa, and horchata at Veronica’s Kitchen. Ten miles later and we were in Alpine, back to commercial and residential life. I distinctly remember passing a man weedwacking his landscaped lawn. He was taming nature. The desert had tamed us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We ate again at Alpine Brewery and completely stuffed ourselves. Once I was able to mount the bike again we continued. The rest of the journey was a cycle of paved road, dirt road, single track, repeat, until we reach San Diego where we awkwardly passed hoards of joggers through a large downtown park. It was nightfall by the time we reached Coronado Island - mile 225 - I had arrived!</span></div>
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Kyle Gaiserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12420194782869773585noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339738622983847554.post-17804427089607820122011-08-27T21:18:00.009-04:002016-10-12T14:01:26.294-04:00Gaiser or Geyser? Yes!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="s1">We're writing you from Jackson Hole, Wyoming! It's been a few days and we have quite a bit to share with you, starting with Wednesday's long trip through South Dakota and Wyoming.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Wednesday morning we woke up alive but looking as if we'd acquired the chicken pox. The night before we'd pulled into our campground in Kennebec, SD and were welcomed by mosquitoes and deer flies. Not to mention one of my tent poles was broken. Needless to say setting up the tent was a feet, but we survived!</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Wednesday was packed! First, the Badlands, then Mt. Rushmore, then Devils Tower, and finally historic Sheridan. Oh, but not to leave out Wall Drug - a random tourist trap store along the highway that started sensational billboard advertisements 300 miles before the exit. That night we stayed at a comfy KOA Kabin and met our neighboring campers, Bruce and Dee Laporte from Watertown, NY! They were wonderful company and invited us to join them for elk sausage with grilled peppers and homemade cucumber salad. A first for both us and hopefully not the last.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Thursday! Kyle's Dodge Stratus made it up and over the Bighorn mountain range, which was a relief! Then onward to Yellowstone, where we spent the day watching old faithful, and many other bubbling beauties named after Kyle's family. The other impressive sites were the Great Geyser, Cascade canyon falls, and tons of bison that didn't seem to care about breaking traffic laws. The night was bone chilling cold and we heard coyotes in the night, but thankfully no bears.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Friday we journeyed to the Grand Tetons, a breathtaking experience that surpassed both of our expectations. We took pictures of old Mormon settlements and then went separate ways to spend the evening writing, praying and listening to music on Jenny Lake with the sun setting beyond the</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Tetons. We happened upon a nice couple that was retracing the route Louis and Clark took on their journey west - a 10,000 mile, 3 month journey by boat that began in Pittsburgh and will end in Oregon. Friday evening we checked out downtown Jackson square where we discovered two fantastic micro-brews: <a href="http://www.bigskybrew.com/Our_Beers/Moose_Drool"><span class="s2">Moose Drool</span></a> and <a href="http://www.snakeriverbrewing.com/"><span class="s2">Snake River</span></a>.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">And that brings us to today! The highlight today was by far an 8.6 mile hike called Cascade Canyon. It was by far one of the best trails that we've ever hiked, with stunning views of the Teton divide, a meandering river, a bull moose, wildflowers, boulders, and wooded forests.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Tomorrow morning is our last day in the Tetons. In the afternoon we head to Salt Lake City where we get to stay in a real bed in a real hotel room!!! Until then, watch out for those bison and practice drawing your bear spray from your holster.</span></div>
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Kyle Gaiserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12420194782869773585noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339738622983847554.post-85017768208650498342011-08-19T22:50:00.003-04:002016-10-12T14:02:51.312-04:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It was the dry season and everything was covered in dust - the seat I was sitting in, the bus window I was looking out of, the air outside. And there, on the dirt covered ground of a Malawian bus station stood a mother with her two children. All their belongings were wrapped in a single bed sheet. What voyage lay ahead of them, what dangers, what uncertainties? What circumstances drove this family to pack up and move?<br />
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Sometimes journeys are planned and expected, sometimes they are simply necessary, and sometimes they are forced upon us. As I pack for California, for grad school, I think of this unknown family making their way to a new destination. My souvenirs from Rwanda take up just as much space as all their belongings.</div>
Kyle Gaiserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12420194782869773585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339738622983847554.post-7334244571237661982011-08-08T14:41:00.002-04:002016-10-11T19:01:06.321-04:00Photo Albums and Movie about Rwanda<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Hi everyone!
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I've posted links to my Rwanda photo albums as well as a video that I made to say "Thank You" to all those who financially supported my school and church in Rwanda.
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The video here: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_IUZG3mODLw">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_IUZG3mODLw</a><br />
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The first half of the video is about my school and the second half is about my church, and all that your support provided for both of them. <span style="font-style: italic;">
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<br />Thank you!!</span>
</div>
Kyle Gaiserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12420194782869773585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339738622983847554.post-8347217254683509592011-05-15T13:16:00.018-04:002011-05-15T14:35:03.353-04:00Sell Everything<span style="font-style: italic;">Jesus looked at him and loved him. </span><span class="woj" style="font-style: italic;">“One thing you lack,”</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> he said. </span><span class="woj" style="font-style: italic;">“Go, sell everything you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.”<br />- Mark 10:21<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></span><span class="woj"><br />Difficult words.<br /><br />This morning's sermon was based on this passage, and it reminded me of an old bucket list I had started in high school and happened upon the other day when cleaning my room. On that list, scribbled with my messy high school penmanship, was written, "live poor." Depending on whose standards you use, you could say I accomplished this when I was living in Rwanda: lacking clean water, electricity, food variety, and common accessories or luxuries. In fact, many people naturally compliment and even admire my work or any other volunteer's work based upon this reason alone. "It must have been difficult."<br /><br />Today the two most provoking words in this verse, <span style="font-style: italic;">sell everything</span>, took on a different spin for me. I did not sell everything. I sacrificed time, energy, even money for the poor, but the whole time that I was "living poor" I had another home awaiting my return, a room with a bed, a closet full of clothes, belongings gathering dust, a budget for travel and another for resettling back in America. In my attempts to live like the locals and understand life from their perspective, I soon realized that I would only be able to view from a distance. Even if they were my neighbors, even if I lived life with them day in and day out, I could never fully grasp what it was like not to have the money to pay for a bus fare or watch your kids go hungry, the fear of not having anything to fall back on, the emptiness of losing your family to war and genocide, the lack of opportunity to go to school or use your degree after you've earned it.<br /><br />I wonder if this is why Jesus says to <span style="font-style: italic;">sell everything</span>: not just because a rich man cannot serve two masters, but because he knows that as long as we have another option to fall back on, we aren't fully trusting him. </span><span class="woj">And as long as we aren't fully trusting him, we will never be able to fully understand and experience life.</span> <span class="woj">Perhaps this is Jesus' definition of "faith." Faith is not so much about belief, but more to do with trusting Him because we choose to abandon all other options in pursuit of Christ. Just as I could sell everything in order to truly understand what it means to "live poor", Christ calls us to abandon all other options to living our life and follow him in order to truly understand what it means to "live rich." </span>Kyle Gaiserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12420194782869773585noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339738622983847554.post-16301218548319767532011-05-10T18:28:00.008-04:002011-05-10T19:53:25.538-04:00LintAs I recall, one of my first surprises when returning stateside was lint. Yep, those little fuzzy balls that get stuck in your belly button or the stringy remnant of socks that stick between your toes, lint was one of the first wake up calls that I was indeed back in America, the land of washing machines and tumble dryers.<br /><br />As I have come to realize, my experience with lint is a fitting analogy for what people usually define as "reverse culture shock." It's the little things that you don't expect, and it isn't about the American culture itself as it is about the effects of our culture on our lifestyle. So, coming back to America isn't so much about culture shock to me as it is about lifestyle readjustment.<br /><br />For example, hot showers, driving a car, using a washing machine, the attitudes of people, the way Americans think and interact with each other - these are aspects of our culture to which I adjusted rather quickly and soon accepted as normal because it is what I've grown up with. However, while taking a shower every morning feels completely normal, I am surprised and even appalled by how much perfectly clean water I use - and waste. As a conservative estimate, the amount of water I used to shower this morning (assuming 6 liters per minute for a very low flow showerhead) was about the equivalent of five day's worth of water for bathing, drinking, washing dishes, and cooking in Rwanda. Factor in the water pouring from our faucets, flushing our toilets, and flowing in our dish washers and washing machines and you'll have an idea of how big of an adjustment this is to me.<br /><br />Another readjustment is how having a car at my disposal increases how sedentary I am. The most I need to walk anymore is from the house to the car and from the car to the store. Before, I was used to walking everywhere, even kilometers, to run an errand. It seems so crystal clear to me why Americans are overweight, why we are prone to more diseases, why we make exercise a sport. I'm recalling Back to the Future III right now, where Doc , in 1885, is laughed at for saying that people in the future "run for fun." At first I enjoyed the freedom of having a car again, but now I'm starting to feel the urge to walk or bike places. I just can't stand taking a car everywhere.<br /><br />As the honeymoon phase of being back in America settles, I'm starting to see these differences and wrestle with the changes in lifestyle. I'll try to post more "lint" ideas as they come, and I would like to hear what you think of the differences and how we should respond to these differences, if at all.Kyle Gaiserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12420194782869773585noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339738622983847554.post-10618452057513804282011-03-21T16:04:00.012-04:002016-10-11T19:12:16.381-04:00Closer to the KingdomBefore I left for Rwanda, almost 15 months ago, I remember talking with a close friend, John Varga, about cultures and Christianity. He offered a thoughtful question to think about when traveling: "How is this culture closer to the kingdom of God?" I've dwelled a lot on this question, I took it with me to Rwanda, and throughout the year I wrote down a list of how Rwandans are closer to the vision that God has for a transformed Christian life, society, and church. On the other hand, I also jotted down how I think they could improve, usually on the days that I came home frustrated or tired of being "culturally sensitive." Of course, it goes without saying that these are also generalizations that don't apply to everyone in Rwanda, but they make for good starting points...<div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">***Closer to the Kingdom***</div><div style="text-align: left;"><ol><li><b>Resourcefulness</b>. Everything is fixed or reused for something else. Hardly anything is thrown away. Rwandans recycle rubber tires to resole shoes. Plastic bags are banned. I could probably fit all of my 14 months worth of trash in 4 garbage bags, and that's from my more "western" lifestyle.</li><li><b>Friendship</b>. Focus on friendship and the healthy/good obligations that come with it. Friendships are not about convenience like they often are in America.</li><li><b>Focus</b> on the present, not the past or future. They live more "in the moment," so they're more flexible and don't get stressed out easily.</li><li><b>Community oriented</b> "Umudugudu" (translates to "Village"). Not only is it fun to say, but it's extremely effective. Each umudugudu is made of about 50 families. It's the smallest unit of societal/governmental structure. They meet every month or so, usually under a tree, and talk about the issues and needs in their community and help each other out. Every few years they vote for new leaders by going to a field and standing behind their candidate of choice. This ties in nicely to Wendell Berry's idea of "community" as opposed to the widening separation of "public" and "private" life in America (see his essay titled, "Sex, Economy, Freedom, and Community").</li><li><b>Responsibility</b>. Students say that they have a responsibility to help disabled classmates. That is, they feel an obligation to step up and help, where without their help the disabled person would not be able to attend school. The responsibility was NOT the school's. The only thing the school does is to ensure that a student is available to help: like retrieving water for a girl who's missing a foot and on crutches. There's good and bad to this system, but I admire the hard work and community responsibility rather compared to a complicated school/budget/taxes/bureaucratic program.</li><li><b>Reconciliation</b> oriented: Gacaca courts (village courts where they dealt with genocide crimes that occurred locally and with the intention to restore peace and cooperation). Openness to state wrongdoings or disagreements with others in meetings.</li><li><b>Generous</b>: It wasn't uncommon for a cyclist to offer me a free 6km bike ride home on the back of his bike, and truckers always refused money when I hitchhiked. As I made friends with one particular shop owner, he would always be so glad to see me that he would give me free candy or bottled water. </li><li><b>Energy</b>. Rwanda's focusing on sustainable and renewable energy (geothermal, methane and hydroelectric projects).</li><li><b>Healthier</b>, more natural diet without a lot of (bad) fat, sugar, and salt. As long as they stay clear of the sugar cane, African's teeth are usually spectacular. Same can be said for their eyes. Maybe cuz they don't have TV or light in the nights; the need for glasses is smaller.</li></ol><div style="text-align: center;">***Possible Improvements***</div><div style="text-align: center;"><ol><li style="text-align: left;"><b>Organization and communication.</b> Do I need to elaborate? Poor organization leads to poor efficiency and lots of delays (lots). Poor communication leads to mistakes and wasted time, energy, and money.</li><li style="text-align: left;"><b>Stereotypes</b>. Their stereotypes of Americans/whites. The word "Umuzungu" translates as "white man" and "rich man." They believe America and Americans hold the key to their success and America is an easy life, with money growing on trees.</li><li style="text-align: left;"><b>Saving money.</b> When people were surprised that I could travel so much yet I owned the cheapest cell phone I told them it's because I would rather save my money and use it for traveling. Many people are used to just getting by, so when they get a surplus of cash, it's easy for them to just spend it on the cell phone with a camera, music player and internet. Of course, the added status symbol is an extra incentive. </li><li style="text-align: left;"><b>Status Lifestyles.</b> Alcohol and food is also a status symbol. Stereotypically, poor men drink water while rich men drink alcohol and are fat. To be rich and important tends to imply a riskier lifestyle.</li><li style="text-align: left;"><b>Waste disposal:</b> no garbage, littering, especially as more packaged products are being introduced. Human waste is all underground, not good for water table and not used for things like biomass to electricity. Also, many Rwandans don't compost their leftovers. We had a compost pile, but we never used it for fertilizer. </li><li style="text-align: left;"><b>Amusement</b> and Water Parks. Hello? Anyone heard of splash lagoon or a lazy river? Yeah, I could've used some of that for hot boring days.</li><li style="text-align: left;"><b>Think</b>! Critical and independent thinking is not always encouraged. Rote memorization and obedience to hierarchy is the norm. Historically, this limits productivity and business entrepreneurship and increases the chance of poor governance and blind acceptance (groundwork for the genocide).</li><li style="text-align: left;"><b>Globalization</b>. According to the book "Ishmael," Rwanda is a Leaver society becoming more and more like the Takers. The director of Environment and Water repeatedly told me over a drink that, "this world is ours!!" Every bit of land is farmed, threatening population, diversity of crops, and deforestation. As the number of tea and coffee farmers increases, they are transitioning from subsistent local crops to a fluctuating global market economy, which also lowers the value of their crops and increases foreign dependence.</li><li style="text-align: left;"><b>Libraries</b>. Few (or no?) public libraries outside of Kigali. Why not open the school libraries to communities?</li></ol><div style="text-align: left;">I don't think the lists are complete and I don't claim that they're completely accurate or even biblical, but that's why I'm posting them here - to wrestle with these ideas and to hear your opinions too! Now that I'm back in America I am reminding myself that the experience is only half over...</div></div></div>Kyle Gaiserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12420194782869773585noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339738622983847554.post-56473629624822371642011-03-02T12:57:00.003-05:002016-10-11T19:01:36.369-04:00Sliding Glass DoorsI am in the Mumbai airport, listening to Chopin music over the loudspeakers and envying the people boarding the Kenyan airways flight to Nairobi. Fourteen months ago I was leaving all that was familiar for something new and completely different. And now, here I am doing the same thing. I'm not going "back"- that is, not much will be the same and most everything will be familiar in the most unfamiliar way. I will miss Rwanda. I will miss Africa. I will miss India. I will miss the freedom of roaming the planet and visiting the homes of amazing people in amazingly diverse cultures. <div><br /></div><div>It's strange really, how, when sitting on a cold sterilized steel airport bench, the emotion and essence of places and personalities so quickly fades to deteriorating memories. How is it possible that I am sitting here typing on my iPod, the people around me reading their Kindles and watching movies on laptops, when an hour ago I was sitting on the floor of a slum eating curry, rice and cake in celebration of an Indian boy's first birthday? How can a wave goodbye and sliding glass door turn the world inside out so quickly and so easily?</div>Kyle Gaiserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12420194782869773585noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339738622983847554.post-88039714667178811552011-02-04T09:17:00.003-05:002016-10-11T19:02:11.130-04:00The Top 10If you're going to live in Rwanda...<br /><br />10. Always check if there is toilet paper before going to the bathroom.<br /><br />9. Don't mention pizza. Don't even think about it.<br /><br />8. Don't let your candle burn too low or else it will fall through the coke bottle, leaving no base for the next candle.<br /><br />7. Be prepared to wait 10 minutes to open a single web page (sometimes 20).<br /><br />6. While it's impossible to be friendly with every Joe Schmo who approaches you wanting to know every detailof your life, keep in mind that the guy you snub walking down the road or sitting next to you on the bus might be someone really important, or might become your best friend.<br /><br />5. "Malaria pills? Oh, I forgot about those months ago..."<br /><br />4. You will become addicted to the same food over and over and over. Mainly, chapati and tea every morning and the infamous melange: rice, beans, cooked bananas, and chips covered with vegetable or meat sauce. Oh, how much I will miss it!<br /><br />3. Go hiking! On a clear day from the highest point in the southeast you can see Tanzania, Burundi, and the volcanoes on the other side of the country.<br /><br />2. Chew Rice cautiously to avoid the rocks.<br /><br />1. Every morning is like going white water rafting! A little imagination goes a long way in making cold bucket showers enjoyable.Kyle Gaiserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12420194782869773585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339738622983847554.post-14726104028691246042011-01-17T08:35:00.003-05:002011-01-17T08:43:15.358-05:00Rainy Day12 January<br /><br />Rainy Day<br /><br />It's 6am and raining cows and chickens,<br />Sending everyone at the market scattering like the dickens.<br />My morning run will surely face delay,<br />And laundry will have to wait for another day.<br />No cell phones and no transport when it's not sunny,<br />And teaching is moot amidst a tin roof cacophony.<br />It's raining outside and not much else to be said,<br />So I think I'll just crawl back into bed.Kyle Gaiserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12420194782869773585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339738622983847554.post-12458229026556242292010-12-27T03:09:00.003-05:002010-12-27T03:20:36.071-05:00The Day an Alien Came to Town26-December<br />Culture Shock - a phrase generally used to describe a person's adjustment to a new group of people and their customs. But, have you ever stopped to consider the culture shock experienced by the group of people who are welcoming the individual?<br /><br />To anyone who's been abroad for an extended period of time, you know that people make a big deal about the phrase "culture shock." Entire books are written on the subject, organizations train their recruits about the new culture in advance to dispell any stereotypes and make the transition smoother. They inform them about the phases of the shock and how to cope with it. But think about a typical African boy who sees, for the first time, a white man walk into a local restaurant. I can only wonder what goes through his mind. He doesn't have any training about culture shock, no education about Amerians except for their stereotypes, and surely not even a heads up about the newcomer. Nah, the man just pops up one day and expects you not to be shocked at all.<br /><br />No wonder they call a foreigner an "alien." It's a fitting analogy. imagine a Martian lands in your neighborhood. I'm not kidding, a real live Martian just moved into the house a few doors away from you. No way! You've heard rumors of them before, but you didn't know if they even existed. It could have all been a myth. Is he really green? He can't be; that's such a strange color of skin. What does he eat? what does he wear? If he has a flying saucer, and surely he does, then he can take me back to Mars for a visit. And if he can come all the way from Mars to my little neighborhood by himself, then he must have a lot to offer me.<br /><br />This is why crowds gather 'round to stare at me. It's why some kids are overjoyed to greet me and others run away crying. I've learned to accept it: I am an alien.Kyle Gaiserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12420194782869773585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339738622983847554.post-15922642180776251442010-12-27T02:41:00.003-05:002016-10-11T19:02:33.515-04:00Needs17-December<br />Four weeks, 99 hours on a bus, three days on a cargo boat, and seven currencies later, I am home, in Rwanda. My travels have been exhilarating and refreshing, but right now it is good to be back where life is familiar. The people, the food, the culture, the language; it is all familiar.<br /><br />Being away for a month and coming back to Rwanda has given me a chance to step back and reconsider my work this past year and think about the work that is most needed in Rwanda.<br /><br />At the beginning of the year, when I first realized that I was going to have a surplus of donation money to spend in my community, I began asking myself how I could possibly use these funds. It seems strange, doesn't it? What does a shopping spree look like in a third world country? On one hand it seems obvious, but on the other it isn't. You would think there should be too many choices, yet when I tried to put pen to paper, I drew a blank. Why? Because I didn't know what the community really needed - I had only been there for a month or two! Maybe that sounds silly. After all, a straightforward cookie cutter solution should fit the bill: shoes, clothes, toiletries, and cans of tuna fish and beans to pass out, right? But poverty is a completely different beast in Rwanda than it is in downtown Cleveland, let alone in Uganda or Zambia. Poverty, entangled in economics, politics, cultural views, technology, climate, and geography, has many faces, countless causes, and elusive answers. So, to ask what a community needs is a challenging question.<br /><br />Fortunately, through some wonderful counsel from a few leaders within our village, I am confident that we met a great deal of needs. This includes school supplies, school fees, textbooks, calculators, and sports equipment for my church as well as clothes, food, doors, mattresses, and Bibles for individuals in my congregation. Another generous gift from the states was specifically used to provide 200 mosquito nets for my school and a shipment of used textbooks is on the way from my university's TBP chapter. I have been overwhelmed by the generosity that people have displayed in helping my community. A great deal of admiration and gratefulness go out to you folks.<br /><br />But now, after living here for a year, I want to return to that question: what does my community need? In particular, I want to consider non-monetary needs. As I look around I see countless opportunities to make practical and long-term differences in my community. Science labs need to be organized and teachers need to be trained how to perform and teach experiments. Electricians need to rewire my school so that every bulb and appliance does not run on when the electricity is switched on, and then teach the staff and students about power saving and the environment while they're at it. Agriculturalists need to teach Rwandan farmers how to compost and how to rotate a variety of crops using permaculture, which will not only improve soil and food quality and quantity, but will also contribute to an improved diet. Speaking of which, nutritionists could hold local seminars informing parents about healthy food/crop choices and diet-related health issues. Engineers can teach and help to install gravity fed water systems, local purification techniques and local energy, heating or electricity schemes. Librarians can organize our school's library and teach us how to increase student's access to books and perhaps open the library to the comjunity since no public library exists. Businessmen can teach graduates and young entrepreneurs how to develop business strategies and make the connection between their education and the job market, bringing in jobs and money to their local encomy. The opportunities are exciting and endless. It is not impossible by any means; the people in Rwanda are eager to learn and are ready for change. They just need the guidance and encouragement in the right directions.<br /><br />In summary, if you have any skill or knowledge, as well as the creativity and guts, then pick yourself up, pack a duffel bag, hop on a plane, and fly to a small village somewhere in the world. You're guaranteed to find your niche.Kyle Gaiserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12420194782869773585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339738622983847554.post-9348288898833910692010-11-01T10:59:00.005-04:002016-10-11T19:02:11.133-04:00A Little AdventureToday I decided to go exploring around the area. From my home I can see across a large valley to the next hill where there is a large mound of rocks... in fact, this is the highest point in my district. So, I packed some water and my map of Rwanda and starting hiking. I arrived in the village of Musaza about two hours later, scrambled up the rocks and was astonished by the view. On one side was Rwanda. Facing the side there was Tanzania on my left and Burundi on my right, with the mighty Akagera River dividing the borders. I had no idea I was so close to Burundi! You could see miles upon miles upon miles from this point! I took some pictures, but they really don't do any justice, so I'll just post the map here to illustrate what I'm talking about!<br /><br />To help you get orient<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrXR3WZ8GVbsbp8aVCTR_ukjxvv4a5hxx2A69CWg6FwL4yOwIrSKl_8zF5AubXd_8P45BMQkZC-H0ZOUwFhwUAK6wHVhvmh2O3F6A51XWqQOVg3Wp1Uo7ngcbYk76UtyWZ0SFsusWZWq9p/s1600/IMG_2811_2.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 287px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrXR3WZ8GVbsbp8aVCTR_ukjxvv4a5hxx2A69CWg6FwL4yOwIrSKl_8zF5AubXd_8P45BMQkZC-H0ZOUwFhwUAK6wHVhvmh2O3F6A51XWqQOVg3Wp1Uo7ngcbYk76UtyWZ0SFsusWZWq9p/s320/IMG_2811_2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534603243272449170" border="0" /></a>ed, the yellow lines demarcate the borders. Rwanda is on top, Tanzania bottom right, and Burundi bottom left. My home town, Nyakarambi, is just next door to the village of Kirehe, which is printed the side of the main road toward Tanzania. I hiked from Nyakarambi to the small triangle labeled 1834 (meters) and then to the town "Musaza" just to the left on the map. Beneath me in the deep valley was the Akagera River and in the distance I could see Lake Rweru, more than half of which lies in Burundi. To the north, I could pick out the tallest points, like Rukira, near Kibungo, which is about 35 km away. (Ctrl + CLICK on the picture for a larger view in another window).<br /><br />The town of Musaza itself was mystical; a surreal feeling of being on top of the world, at the corner of three borders. It made me realize how small Rwanda is and how easy it is to travel around these parts of East Africa. If I just had a tent, I could easily be at the Burundian border in a day, Lake Rweru the next evening, and so on. Food is never a problem... Rwanda is a country of 10 million people and the size of Maryland (Burundi not too different). Wherever you go you will find people and tea shops and places to stock up on food and water. Hmm. It's just incredible! Now that school is finished, I hope to be able to do a lot more exploring!Kyle Gaiserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12420194782869773585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339738622983847554.post-57825053515262523872010-10-28T10:12:00.002-04:002010-10-28T10:39:27.329-04:00Surprise!25- October<br /><br />My village has this new thing - it's called the Internet. I was eating dinner with a friend a couple nights ago when he told me that the Rwanda Develpment Board had installed a new computer lab just down the road. I was in disbelief. Internet? in Nyakarambi? My life was about to change.<br /><br />The weekend only intensified my excitement as I waited in suspense for Monday morning. Could there really be internet here? Was it coming and not yet finished? Would the lab be open and working? Usually news travels fast in our village and I would have expected the whole town to be buzzing about this. In my impatience I had asked a few people on Sunday if they knew about the new connection. Some gave the same reply I did: "Internet? In Nyakarambi? Oh no, not yet," but others verified it. I gave the whole thing a fifty fifty chance.<br /><br />Monday rolled around and I roled out of bed, did some laundry and took some breakfast until the clock rolled around to 9am. I headed down the road toward the new white building that was rumored to house fifty computers with a fast connection the outside world. The gate was open. Okay, that's a good start. How about the door? Yep; wide open as if magnifying the eagerness of new visitors like me. I walked into the room on my left to find my pastor hunched over a computer punching a keyboard finger by finger and a sea of sleek new computers behind me. He looked up, hugged me, and through his grin said, "I think Nyakarambi is now having the internet!"<br /><br />I sat at my computer and opened internet explorer. As I waited for the browser to load, I looked around me. A little dissatisfaction set in. The other computers were all occupied by teenage boys, browsing any entertainment sites they could find, loading YouTube videos (hogging precious bandwidth), and looking at new electronic gadgets they could only hope to buy. Gmail's homepage was open and I clicked sign-in. The screen went black; the electricity was out. I let out a sigh. It could be three minutes or three hours. I waited thirty minutes, then gave up hope and went home.<br /><br />As I write this (having just returned home) my bubbling excitement for the internet was quelched by dissapointment. Sure, the power will come back on eventually and I will probably be posting this blog via the new computer lab. These things are to be expected in Rwanda. But strangely, I am more discontented with my first impression of the internet's use here. What will the internet be primarily used for in Nyakarambi, and by whom? How much time and money (what little they have) will teenagers throw at a box that provides them with music videos, merchandise, and promiscious entertainment? We aim for development and pour foreign aid into Rwanda and hope for what outcomes? I don't mean to sound cynical or condemning, but I do mean to be skeptical or at least cautious and aware of how technology affects the world. And while materialism and entertainment of all sorts is as common as day in America, it is a strikingly new technological and social revolution in Rwanda. And while countries like America have had decades, even centuries to adjust, a small town like Nyakarambi is receiving a concentrated dose of this revolution that is in stark contrast with the hoe-digging, hand picking, cattle herding life they have always known; and this, bear in mind, only sixteen years after a genocide. What curious and unimaginable dynamics are shaping this country. Nyakarambi, welcome to the rest of the world.Kyle Gaiserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12420194782869773585noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339738622983847554.post-52487382644535245902010-10-22T13:44:00.002-04:002016-10-11T19:10:51.859-04:00Rain, Rockets, Rwanda...The following is an email update I sent out recently, but before I paste it here, I just want to say Thank You to all who have replied with your words of encouragement. they are a blessing to me. A special thanks to those who've been following this blog... rest assured there are many (too many) 'Brock thoughts' rolling around in my head, and when the busyness of exams and job searches and grad school applications fades, I'll be sure to put those thoughts firmly on paper (or online I suppose). As Rwandans say, "Ihangane" (patience), or as they also say, "Buhoro buhoro," (slowly by slowly).... <br /><br />9-October-2010<br /><br />Dear Friends and Family,<br /><br />After a solid three months without a single rain cloud, the dry season has come to a close in Rwanda and the fresh rain is restoring the green to the land of a thousand hills as well as the skip in people's step. The dawn of October also heralds the last month of school. With one month to go, my students and I are buckling down to finish the curriculum and prepare for exams. In mathematics we are finishing<br />trigonometry, and in physics groups are giving their presentations on eight different renewable and non-renewable energy sources.<br /><br />I am incredibly proud of my students. First, I thought that their physics presentations might be a disaster, but far from it. After<br />doing their own research, each group taught the class about how a certain energy source works (like hydro power or fossil fuel<br />stations), outlined the advantages and disadvantages, and discussed the practicality of the technology in Rwanda. To top it off, a few<br />teachers and I took over thirty students on a field trip to see a hydroelectric power station in the Northern Province of Rwanda! They<br />asked very intelligent questions and it was a joy for me to take the teaching experience from the blackboard to their country's very own<br />hills.<br /><br />The other highlight of this term was last week's official opening of the Rusumo High School Science Club. The first experiment was a rocket<br />that I had built with a few students. Curiosity, excitement, and skepticism permeated the hundred of students encircled around us. They<br />counted down: "...5, 4, 3, 2, 1..." Nothing. We scrambled to troubleshoot a loose connection while our onlookers chuckled and<br />opinion tipped toward skepticism. Unexpectedly, the rocket lept to life, piercing a good thousand feet of deep blue sky. Five days later<br />we found it hanging in a banana plantation, still in tact, and still airworthy for future flights.<br /><br />Needless to say, the past few weeks have been a special time of bonding with my students. I am looking forward to the next few weeks<br />too. In addition to teaching, I will be purchasing sports equipment for my school, as well as Bibles, doors, and other basic needs for<br />orphans and widows at the church I attend. These funds have been graciously provided by the Vacation Bible School programs at Bethany<br />and Zion Covenant Churches (Cleveland and Jamestown). Thank you!!<br /><br />For one week in early September I returned state side to celebrate my sister Kristen's wedding. The wedding was beautiful in every way:<br />weather, ceremony, company, food (no rice and beans), and all. Making the transition back and forth was surprisingly smooth. Life in<br />Nyakarambi has become pretty normal by now. Nyakarambi itself is still<br />making that transition from village to town. A new bank is being built now; it will even have tiled floors and air conditioning!<br />Unfortunately, these conveniences have yet to reach my home, which leaves lesson planning to candlelight.<br /><br />Please continue to pray for my friendships in Nyakarambi. They mean a lot to me, but as the school year approaches and end, it is difficult<br />to balance quality time with accomplishing my projects and goals. Pray that in this period of business I would still find time to relax and<br />enjoy the culture and natural beauty surrounding me.<br /><br />Many thanks to all of you who are reading these updates, sending emails or mail, or praying. It means a lot to me. Keep in touch.<br /><br />Peace and blessings,<br />Kyle<br /><br />P.S. As I write this on my ipod, I am sitting in a bus playing classic<br />American hits: Michael Jackson's "Billy Jean," Michael Bolton's "How<br />Am I Supposed To Live Without You?" and of course, Celine Dion's "My<br />Heart Will Go On." It's the small things that make you feel at home,<br />eh?Kyle Gaiserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12420194782869773585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339738622983847554.post-14264119338595406692010-09-06T20:31:00.000-04:002016-10-11T19:10:51.841-04:00The First Rain29 August <br /><br />Last night I was sitting in my favorite chill-out shop drinking tea and chowing on some capati when the TV flashed to a meteorologist reporting the weather in Rwanda. I let out a chuckle of disbelief; i would never expect to see a meteorology report in Rwanda, one because I'm in rural Africa, and two, there isn't much to report on during the dry season. I can't remember seeing a drop of rain for three months straight. Of course, the weather map showed sunshine and partly cloudy for the entire country. "At least they try," I thought to myself, and returned to my tea.<br /><br />This morning I woke up and stepped outside and the first thing I noticed was a different smell. It smelled like spring but before spring arrives - that foreshadow of a scent that hails the changing of seasons. I didn't think much of it; the weather was sunny and hot. Until I got to church. While everyone was singing and dancing I thought I heard a different sound that didn't match the clapping and hollering of the congregation... like rain hitting a tin rough. I looked outside and sure enough, it was raining!!!!! Hmmm. Something about rain, especially the first rain in months. There's only more to come! Kyle Gaiserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12420194782869773585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339738622983847554.post-80958589159875872152010-08-25T09:41:00.000-04:002016-10-11T19:10:51.862-04:00Parade of One18 August <br /><br />"Pastor Pascal," is how he introduced himself. We were sitting on a small wooden bench hunched over a table sized for an eight year old. Light green walls lit the otherwise drab cement hole-in-the-wall restaurant. We drank umutobe, a pungent banana juice that would make even the most stoic face scour. That was back in February. Many conversations and just a few cups of banana later, Pastor Pascal and I share a special friendship. <br /><br />Pascal works as a shoe repairman at our local market. Originally from the DR Congo, he recently moved his family (wife, two daughters, and a three year old boy) to our random village of Nyakarambi, in hopes of finding a job as a pastor; but until that materializes, you'll find him sitting on a cement slab every Tuesday and Friday polishing, stitching and gluing soles back onto the bottom of shoes, and making sandals out of old rubber tires (very durable I must say). Each job he does, each pair of sandals he sells, is a profit of fifty cents to a dollar, and this only two days a week, and this for a family of five.<br /><br />This evening I visited his home for dinner. As usual, a visit to his house included several detours to visit his neighbors and chat over fanta. Walking from house to house kids swarmed around me, kicking up dust from the parched dirt road. They ran ahead of me, trailed behind me, came close to touch my arm. They sang, shouted "abamaraika," ("angels"), danced in their beige and blue school uniforms and toted their toy cars made of plastic bottle bodies and bottle caps for wheels along side me as we paraded ahead.<br /><br />His house was simple, typical. Cement walls, crumbling on one side, and sticks supporting corregated metal sheets above. A wooden table and two benches furnished the room where we sat. Kids peared through the square hole window, their heads bobbing up and down, appearing and suddenly disappearing like the hammerhead arcade game. Gabby, his youngest son, sat on the floor. His pot belly stuck out, exposing an inflated belly button atleast five inches long. Pascal's wife served our dinner: cooked banana, rice, beans, and sardines mixed together in one enormous heap on an 18" diameter plate. The sun was setting as we finished (still half the food left on the plate). We walked to the road; this time neighbors silenced the crowd of kids they were so loud. Pascal hailed a passing policeman who let me hitch a ride on the back of his motorcycle, sitting comfortably against the rifle slung across his back. <br /><br />"If God lent us many forgivenesses, we will have many benedictions." Pascal repeats this phrase every greeting, salutation, and just about every ten minutes in between ("benedictions" in kinyarwanda is the same as "blessings"). I don't know if Pascal needs many forgivenesses, many jobs, or just a bit of good luck, but I do know that for a family and a community so generous, so caring, so eager to learn and work hard, many bendictions is the least they deserve. Kyle Gaiserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12420194782869773585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339738622983847554.post-62485963934938170312010-07-05T11:13:00.000-04:002010-07-05T11:24:30.583-04:00General UpdateWarm greetings from Rwanda! I am always amazed at how time flies, especially when there is no change from winter to summer in Rwanda; it is hard to tell exactly which month it is sometimes! It seems a daunting task to write this update since there is so much to write about. I wish I could relate all the conversations, all the lessons learned, all the pictures worth more than a thousand words to all of you in one email. All I can say is that Rwanda is a country of change and a country of adventure; you never quite what to expect on any given day. I wish each of you were able to come join me for a week and experience it for yourself. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">School</span><br />We are well into the second trimester of school and I am truly enjoying my students; although it is not always easy, we find ways of keeping each other entertained. For example, I've established the "powa sign" in my classes ("powa" is swahili for "cool"). When I finish teaching a concept, I ask them to give me the "powa sign," that is, a thumbs up for "yeah, I totally get it," a thumbs sideways for "eh, somehow," and a thumbs down for, "I have absolutely no idea what is going on, Teacher Kyle." They always laugh and perk up at the "powa sign."<br /><br />A couple weeks ago one of my closer Rwandan friends, Ben, came to visit me at school to look at our broken array of solar panels (Ben is an electrical engineer in the capital, Kigali). We did a few calculations and if all goes well, we hope to fix the solar panels! It is a good practical learning experience for me, and it's something I hope to share with the students so they can see a practical application of their education. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Community</span><br />From my school, 2km down a dusty dirt road, take a right down the hill another 4km of paved road, and you reach my home in Nyakarambi, a village that is rapidly becoming a small town. It is incredible to watch a village change before my eyes. A new gas station is just about finished, and power lines are being strung from pole to pole, soon carrying electricity, and with it a whole new set of changes. I did a double take the other day as I was walking down the one stretch of road that is Nyakarambi, and saw a garbage can on the side of the road. To my amazement, the street was actually lined with garbage cans, evenly spaced every hundred meters. This is the first waste disposal system I've seen in the Rwandan countryside!<br /><br />I have plugged myself into a local church. The pastor is a very humble and caring man. He regularly visits me to see how I am doing and to give me a short message that he has prepared in English since the Sunday services are in Kinyarwanda. The singing and dancing at church is lively and colorful. There are a few songs that I know the tune to and can play on guitar (even if I don't fully understand the Kinyarwanda). A few weeks ago I played guitar for the church. I'm also helping a local branch of Compassion International on Saturday afternoons. They have two broken guitars and no one to play them. If we can fix them, I'm hoping to give the staff some lessons and teach the kids a few songs!<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Culture</span><br />While the change in Nyakarambi is exciting, the most significant part of life to me has been coming to understand the people and culture of Rwanda. There are some things that just do not make sense to a Western mind; Rwandan life can be full of contradictions, some humorous, some just flat out frustrating. But I am at a point where I feel settled. When someone tells me a program will start at 10am, I can guess the actual start time within half an hour (4:30pm). Where before I would spin my wheels to get work done, I now know that Rwandans really can do a job well; they are very capable, but they need motivation, and that requires lots of encouragement and persistence. <br /><br />On a deeper level, my frustrations have been replaced with a deep respect for the people of Rwanda. It is sinking in that sixteen years ago this country was in pieces. There was no unity, no peace, no government, no hope or belief that they would even survive the genocide. Communities, families, education, business: everything had to start from scratch. And to see what Rwandans are doing now is incredible. Some of my students have written letters that they would like me to share with you all at home (I will send them to my churches in Cleveland and Jamestown next term). Reading their letters and hearing even just a little about the effect of the war on their families puts into perspective what they have gone through and how remarkable it is that they are learning about electrodynamics (even if they don't understand it) and dreaming about being doctors (even if they have no funds to attend university). <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Prayer Requests</span><br />As you can imagine, Rwanda has a difficult and complicated history, which is sometimes an obstacle to moving forward. While Rwanda is rapidly changing and growing, there are still underlying political and ethnic tensions. Sixteen years is a short time to find a complete remedy to a struggle that has lasted over a century. Elections are also coming up in early August. Pray for peace in Rwanda and for reconcilliation. Those are two words my students always use, but it's one thing to say them and another to believe them and put them into practice in order to replace hatred with love. The NY Times has recently published several articles on Rwanda. A good one to read is this: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/05/17/world/africa/17rwanda.html <br /><br />Also, please pray for my interactions with people in my community. I want to be more intentional about strengthening the friendships I've made and inviting them to share a meal or a coke.Kyle Gaiserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12420194782869773585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339738622983847554.post-86644074836401431402010-05-29T06:43:00.003-04:002016-10-11T19:05:24.593-04:00Marabou StorkI just put up two new posts, but I just had to add this one as well. Thanks to Jo C who found this info on one of the more peculiar sitings on our trip to Tanzania, I introduce you to the Marabou Stork.<br /><br /> Marabou Stork<br /><br />To the casual observer the massive Marabou Stork with its balding, scabby head and pendulous pink air sac may appear to be one of the ugliest creatures in the world. If this same observer were to notice the Marabou's fondness for carrion and its habit of squirting excrement onto its own legs he or she would probably consider the original opinion to be justified. It takes a real bird lover to see past all of this stork's bizarre adornments to recognize the scruffy charm underneath.<br /><br />For more, And I picture that I couldn't upload, see http://nationalzoo.si.edu/Animals/Birds/Facts/FactSheets/fact-maraboustork.cfmKyle Gaiserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12420194782869773585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339738622983847554.post-34490457337905737282010-05-29T06:37:00.000-04:002010-05-29T06:40:30.070-04:00BelongingMay 26<br /><br />Before I came to Africa I remember struggling with finding my place, as many new graduate do, in that strange period between the comforts of college and the security of settling - the vastness of an unknown life ahead of me. I had a strong hold on who I was, but a slippery grasp of who i was to the rest of the world.<br /><br />Now, in Rwanda, finding my place looks very different from when I was in America. In some sense it's easier. A clearly defined role as a volunteer, as an American, as a voluntary outsider (by color and culture at least), the new friendships in my community, and the comradeship of other volunteers in the same position all help define my place in Rwanda, making it feel at home. But in a different way, a more subtle way, home is difficult to establish. With all the new surroundings, it's not hard to detach or distance myself from this new home, to be distracted from my work here, or to sort of turn the autopilot on: going through the motions of teaching, building friendships, and working around cultural barriers.<br /><br />A friend from home recently sent me a prayer (as she does every month - thanks!!) on this subject. Here's part of it: <br /> <span style="font-style:italic;">"Do not let it sit in. Teach him to embrace it, knowing and constantly thanking you for the world you placed him in and the knowledge you have given him to pass to others. Bring back a childlike faith in him to relearn everything in the new surroundings... Let him find your presence in every piece of the surroundings. How can one yearn for anything more than your presence?" <br /></span><br />A couple days before I left Cleveland for Jamestown to begin packing for Rwanda, I heard a worship song that said, "I finally found where I belong, in Your presence." I'm finding it's true, in any situation. I can travel the world, alone or with life long friends, and I know where I belong. I always have a place. <br /><br />Warm sun on my back, cool breeze on my face. Smell of freshly cut grass. Hum of birds' wings around me... a world of open doors... Kyle Gaiserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12420194782869773585noreply@blogger.com0