Katherine, Ally, and I are sitting together on a bus in comfortable silence as we watch the city melt away into a forest. The farther away from the city we get, and the thicker the trees get the closer we are to our bus stop. We are definitely, as our organizer says, in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the forest. We get off at our stop and start our trek through the tall trees on a dirt path that leads to our placement. It's clean around this path, the air is fresh, although filled with a pollen that has given us all some sort of allergies. Katherine experiencing the worst of it. Birds chirp loudly here, no longer having to compete with the noises of the city. It's very green, with a few papers lying around here and there, a few pieces of fence, and a tires (which we would later roll back to camp to give the children something to play with).
After a few minutes of walking, nonchalantly swiping away the bugs, an old event hall signals our arrival. This building is a large rectangular hall, graffiti on three sides, old cracking wood lining the windows. It's an interesting contrast to the neighborhood being built right across the street. Across a cobblestone street a modern neighborhood is being built. The houses are all brand new, pricy, clean, sleek, and of course, due to their location, isolated from the city in what seem to be a “quaint countryside community.” Or at least, that seems to be what they meant the selling point for this community to be. We cut through this neighborhood to get to the housing complex: an old army barrack used in WWII but built way before. The first time we came, we were watched carefully by the residents as we entered. We were new, they didn't trust us, they were curious: we felt the tension. Now they look on only with curiosity, as after a particularly intense questioning session we had proved harmless. The residential situation in particularly dreary. Since they are living in a historic building they need permission to do anything, meaning that no one can put anything on the walls or decorate their spaces. It also means that the old carpets, which smells like urine and must, cannot be replaced. It's feels slightly prison like, a sentiment some of the residents share as well. It's been quite so far since we've started going. It was the end of Ramadan, meaning that not many activities were going on as energy levels were low. Still, some of the children who were participating ran around the barrak. “They get bored easily.” We are informed later. One of the children, three years old, took a bike from one of the kids in the neighborhood. It was sitting outside the house unlocked, and the child was looking for something new to play with. This, of course, causes issue with the neighbors. There is a weird tension between these two sides that is visible. There is a separation, they don't intermingle much that I have seen so far. They go to school together, and town festivals together, but never intermingle in if groups. Those living in the new neighborhood are not too happy about these people being here. There are fears they have associated with migrants, prejudices. In order to combat this they try to take part in the community when they can, and in those situations the townsfolk approach with caution, more open to the children than to the adults, starring as the group walks by. In a mostly homogenous community, this group stands out.
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An eye-opening tripI believe this trip truly gave me an opportunity to see how the stories that are told in political areans have (or don't have) an affect on ouublic perception and actions... this was something I was eager to expand on going forward Archives
August 2017
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