Search Results For -Tongue

1
“The Mad Man and Me at the Commercial School in Addis Ababa”
2
Art for Art’s Sake: El Paso Sculptor, Satirist and Political Advocate Ho Baron (Nigeria & Ethiopia)
3
Review — ELISABETH SAMSON FORBIDDEN BRIDE by C.V. Hamilton (Suriname)
4
When the Right Hand Washes the Left (Nigeria)
5
Asylum Seeker Finds Emmett Coyne
6
A Writer Writes: Letter from Pamplin by Mark Jacobs (Paraguay)
7
Peace Corps Lions of Ethiopia
8
Sara Thompson (Burkina Faso 2010–2012) — Peace Corps Whistleblower
9
“Peace Corps R.I.P.” by Lawrence F. Lihosit (Honduras)
10
A Writer Writes: “The Even Keel of a Well Told Lie” by Mark Jacobs (Paraguay)
11
Talking with poet Bill Preston (Thailand)
12
“Learning to Make Lasagna in Kyrgyzstan” by Jia Tolentino (Kyrgyzstan)
13
In The Times: “Paul Theroux’s Mexican Journey” (Malawi)
14
A Writer Writes — “The Roads Are Closing” by Patricia McArdle (Paraguay)
15
A Writer Writes — “The Right Way to Grow Tomatoes”

“The Mad Man and Me at the Commercial School in Addis Ababa”

  by John Coyne (Ethiopia 1962-64) • We 275 PCVs, the first to be assigned to Ethiopia, arrived in-country in early September of 1962. Addis Ababa, the capital, was at an altitude of 7,726 feet. It has one of the finest climates to be found in the world. It was once a ramshackle city, which years before the travel writer John Gunther described as looking as if someone had tossed scraps of metal onto the slopes of Entoto mountain. I was assigned to live and teach in Addis, and lived my first year in a large stone house on Churchill Road, a main artery of the city that led uphill to the center of the city — the Piazza, with four other PCVs. That house, like most in Addis, had a tin roof and it was pleasant to wake early on school days during the rainy season and hear the heavy, . . .

Read More

Art for Art’s Sake: El Paso Sculptor, Satirist and Political Advocate Ho Baron (Nigeria & Ethiopia)

  by Mary K. Cantrell November 9, 2021 Photos by Cody Bjornson • “I’m not a Buddhist. I’m not anything. I’m an artist. I’m a fool,” Ho Baron (Nigeria 1966-67, Ethiopia 1968) muses on his identity early one morning while wandering the brick paths of his self-made sculpture garden outside of his home in El Paso’s Manhattan Heights Historic District. Baron wears a T-shirt, cargo shorts, white tube socks, and a mischievous expression. Baron, 79, is surrounded by totemic, surreal creatures of his own making. His “gods for future religions,” a tongue-in-cheek concept, are humanoid figures cast in bronze and stone. With deep grooves and maze-like textures, they appear simultaneously ancient and futuristic. The artist decided to capitalize on his ability to reach an audience, given his house’s location right off of the busy Piedras Street, and set up a public sculpture garden with twelve primary pieces, which he jokingly refers . . .

Read More

Review — ELISABETH SAMSON FORBIDDEN BRIDE by C.V. Hamilton (Suriname)

  Elisabeth Samson, Forbidden Bride C.V. Hamilton (Suriname 1999-01) ‎Swift House Press June 2020 401 pages $17.95 (paperback), $3.99 (Kindle) Reviewed by Stephen Foehr (Ethiopia 1965-67) • Elisabeth Samson was a real person, a Free Negress. But members of her family remained in slavery, while others were bought out of enslavement, which is how Samson was born free in the 18th century Dutch colony of Suriname. The situation was ripe for drama and moral dilemma, especially with the addition of a Black/White love affair. And there is this twist: Elisabeth Samson was a rich plantation owner with hundreds of slaves, importer of luxury European goods, a Dutch colonial wannabe, whose greatest anguish was not being allowed to marry the love of her life, a white man, and that they had not conceived a child. C.V. Hamilton’s novel Elisabeth Samson, Forbidden Bride is based on Samson’s journals discovered by the author and . . .

Read More

When the Right Hand Washes the Left (Nigeria)

   David G. Schickele first presented his retrospective view of Volunteer service in a speech given at Swarthmore College in 1963 that was printed in the Swarthmore College Bulletin. At the time, there was great interest on college campuses about the Peace Corps and early RPCVs were frequently asked to write or speak on their college campuses about their experiences. A 1958 graduate of Swarthmore, Schickele worked as a freelance professional violinist before joining the Peace Corps in 1961. After his tour, he would, with Roger Landrum make a documentary film on the Peace Corps in Nigeria called “Give Me A Riddle” that was intended for Peace Corps recruitment, but was never really used by the agency. The film was perhaps too honest a representation of Peace Corps Volunteers life overseas and the agency couldn’t handle it. However, the Peace Corps did pick up Schickele’s essay from the Swarthmore College Bulletin and reprinted . . .

Read More

Asylum Seeker Finds Emmett Coyne

  Recently my cousin (who never was a PCV) wrote his story of working with Asylum Seekers to sponsor a Palestinian emigrant. His story is insightful and touching and might suggest to some of us RPCVs how we might become sponsors ourselves. JC  • MONTHS AGO I came across a program, Asylum Seekers, which seeks to place such persons with sponsors. I began the interview process to become a sponsor. The sponsor incurs financial assistance, especially for the first six months, as asylum seekers are not allowed to work for pay. Finally, I began to receive notices about potential persons who ran the gamut from Russians to Africans to South Americans, etc. Subsequently, I narrowed down my interest to some French-speaking men from West African countries. Several never materialized for various reasons. Suddenly, on Wed. night, April 21, I received a call, inquiring if I would be willing to sponsor . . .

Read More

A Writer Writes: Letter from Pamplin by Mark Jacobs (Paraguay)

  It’s a fact of Peace Corps life that a volunteer must learn to get by in a world not his own, not her own. It’s never a perfect adjustment, not a completely comfortable fit. Often you make mistakes, some of which can be serious. Others are hilarious. (Once, at the dinner table with our training family in Asunción, as we were learning Spanish, my wife, Anne, commented that she had been taking notes in her diarrhea, which completely cracked people up and may still rank near the top in their hall of conversational fame.) In our case, our Peace Corps experience of feeling our way, doing our best to understand what was going on, turned out to be good practice for the foreign service, which we joined a few years after returning from Paraguay. Our Peace Corps country was nothing like Bolivia, or Honduras, or Spain, despite the common . . .

Read More

Peace Corps Lions of Ethiopia

by Ted Vestal (Ethiopia Staff 1964-66) • The pilot, Captain Paul Wuhrman, was glad to be back over Europe. On the horizon he could see some of the snowcapped mountains of his native Switzerland, neutral, alpine orderly. It had been a long haul flight in Globe Airlines twin-engine turboprop Dart Herald. Before starting with an early morning departure in “the Big Rains” of Addis Ababa in the highlands of Ethiopia, Wuhrman had looked in at the neatly stacked cargo in the fuselage and assumed all was in order. He took his place in the cockpit and started up the Dart 527 engines. The engines roared and the winds buffeted, and he took off from the runway of Haile Selassie I International Airport, popularly known as “Bole” sitting at an altitude of 7,500 feet. Wuhrman flew over the rocky north of the country following the path of the Blue Nile, a route . . .

Read More

Sara Thompson (Burkina Faso 2010–2012) — Peace Corps Whistleblower

Thanks for the ‘heads up’ from Nancy Tongue (Chile 1980-82)   by Jane Turner November 9, 2020 Sara Thompson was born in Jacksonville, Florida, but she moved with her parents to Omaha, Nebraska, when she was nine months old. She also lived around Memphis, Tennessee, for an extended period but considered herself a Midwesterner and a “nomad,” traveling and living in many different places. Her mother was a computer programmer, and her father was an insurance claims examiner. Both parents were “super smart, and good role models.” They were Catholic and had principles and values that Thompson was exposed to and impacted by. Her father was a fan of Sir Thomas More (venerated as Saint Thomas More), and he loved More’s sense of integrity. Growing up with her parents, Thompson said there was always a strong “sense of right and wrong.” “My parents are really to blame for my adventures, for . . .

Read More

“Peace Corps R.I.P.” by Lawrence F. Lihosit (Honduras)

  Between 1961 and 2018, about 230,000 American men and women representing all fifty states served in 140 countries around the world. We all learned a new language before unloading a duffle bag or a trunk, rolled up our sleeves and asked a local in his own native tongue, “How can I help?” Some of us dug latrines and wells. Others fished, built fish farms, planted crops, taught in schools. My group helped to build roads and schools. You might have comforted the sick in hospitals and clinics or helped to set up cooperatives and even businesses. Some of my buddies helped manage forests, museums and new national parks. Others advised about how to set up a touristic hot-spot. We did whatever we were asked for next to nothing which is why we were called volunteers. We trudged home after struggling to learn an alien tongue, adjusting to strange customs, . . .

Read More

A Writer Writes: “The Even Keel of a Well Told Lie” by Mark Jacobs (Paraguay)

  by Mark Jacobs (Paraguay 1978–80) The Oddville Press Summer 2020   NOBODY HITCHHIKED ANY MORE, not through this America so full of dread and bad history. That did not necessarily mean the thing could not be done. Thumb out. If a person were leaving Broadhope County in south Virginia headed toward a destination he was as yet unable to visualize, it could not hurt to try for a lift. Not on the highway, where police prowled, just a plain old country road. Thumb out. He put the odds at slim to none that somebody would stop and pick him up, this close to a dense wood of loblolly pines, under a gray sky in late October, a quarter mile from a broken-armed scarecrow in a field of corn- stalk stubble. Guilt by association. Slimmer still, those odds, that it would be a woman who stopped, but she did. He did . . .

Read More

Talking with poet Bill Preston (Thailand)

  The poems in Strange Beauty of the World invite readers to reflect on the ways the past impinges on the present, how events long ago continue to inform who we are now; to consider acts taken and not taken, and the way actions have unintended consequences; to bear witness to cruelty and injustice; to summon the creative imagination to resist the mundane, challenge the rehearsed response. In particular, they pay homage to beauty, and its weird, wonderful diversity and expression. As with many aspects of his life, Bill Preston never started out to be a poet. Nor does he really think of himself as one: Strange Beauty of the World is his sole collection of poems, and he currently has no plan to write another. Not that planning has ever been his particular strong point. In fact, Bill never planned on joining the Peace Corps, choosing to serve in VISTA first, . . .

Read More

“Learning to Make Lasagna in Kyrgyzstan” by Jia Tolentino (Kyrgyzstan)

Thanks for the ‘heads up’ from Bea Hogan (Uzbekistan 1992-94)  • Learning to Make Lasagna in Kyrgyzstan In the Peace Corps, cooking gave me a sense of purpose. Or did it just distract me from the purpose that had brought me halfway across the world? by Jia Tolentino (Kyrgyzstan 2010)   I have never been less enamored of “seasonal and local” than I was the winter of 2010. I was living in a small village in the western mountains of Kyrgyzstan, teaching English in the Peace Corps. I had moved to the Central Asian state the previous March, and my arrival had coincided with the beginning of a period of instability there: a coup, a rash of nationalist violence, two militarized evacuations for my earnest cohort. (I had also, due to reasons admittedly within my control, almost gotten kicked out of the program on multiple occasions.) I had lost some . . .

Read More

In The Times: “Paul Theroux’s Mexican Journey” (Malawi)

  In his 70s, the writer embarks on one of the great adventures of a traveling life, a solo road trip from Reynosa to Chiapas and back. • Paul Theroux’s Mexican Journey By Paul Theroux (Malawi 1963–65) Photographs by Cesar Rodriguez New York Times Sept. 23, 2019   In the casual opinion of most Americans, I am an old man, and therefore of little account, past my best, fading in a pathetic diminuendo while flashing his AARP card, a gringo in his degringolade. Naturally, I am insulted by this, but out of pride I don’t let my indignation show. My work is my reply, my travel is my defiance. Sometimes, a single person, met casually on a journey, can be a powerful inspiration. I happened to be in Nogales, Mexico, to talk to migrants — and on that visit I saw a middle-aged woman praying before her meal in a shelter. She was Zapotec, . . .

Read More

A Writer Writes — “The Roads Are Closing” by Patricia McArdle (Paraguay)

A Writer Writes   THE ROADS ARE CLOSING By Patricia McArdle (Paraguay 1972-74) Winner of the Foreign Service Journal Summer Fiction Contest in 2009 • How did I let her burrow so far into me that twenty years later she still lingers just beyond the daylight, curling around my mind like tendrils of sweet cigar smoke, distracting me with the soft clink of ice cubes in her sweating glass of gin and tonic. The thing is, I never should have spoken to her the first time.  She was not my type, not part of my plan. Oh yes, my plan.  Finish my masters in International Relations, pass the Foreign Service exam, hustle my way to the top — marry the right girl, which I did, but it didn’t last. I married even better the second time — the daughter of a former ambassador, but that didn’t last either. I even . . .

Read More

A Writer Writes — “The Right Way to Grow Tomatoes”

A WRITER WRITES   The Right Way to Grow Tomatoes By Karen DeWitt (Ethiopia 1966-68)   I’d forgotten that I had even taken the Peace Corps recruitment test when that long-distance call came on a cold January day in 1965. Then, standing in a battered wooden telephone booth in my dormitory at Miami University of Ohio, I heard someone say, “Congratulations. You’ve been accepted.” Suddenly graduate school, job, the ordinary future that stretched before me and my classmates disappeared, replaced by adventure, excitement, and the unknown – literally the unknown, for I hadn’t even asked what country I would be stationed in. Didn’t know, didn’t care. Suddenly, I was to be part of an adventure for my generation. I was to become a Kennedy kid, one of those thousands of young people whom he had asked to dedicate one or two years of their lives to work in Africa, Latin . . .

Read More

Copyright © 2022. Peace Corps Worldwide.