I know this blog seems to have become an obituary of sorts. Soon I will write something more upbeat.
In the meantime, rest in peace and wisdom, Nawal El Saadawi.
She reminded us ” ‘Women cannot be liberated in a class society or a male-dominated patriarchal society. This is why we have to get rid, fight against class oppression, gender oppression, and religious oppression,’ El Saadawi told CNN in an interview in 2011. ‘We cannot speak about revolution without women,’ she said.”
Poet Eavan Boland has died.
That the Science of Cartography Is Limited,
by EAVAN BOLAND
When you and I were first in love we drove
to the borders of Connacht
and entered a wood there.
Look down you said: this was once a famine road.
I looked down at ivy and the scutch grass
rough-cast stone had
disappeared into as you told me
in the second winter of their ordeal, in
1847, when the crop had failed twice,
Relief Committees gave
the starving Irish such roads to build.
Where they died, there the road ended
and ends still when I take down
the map of this island, it is never so
I can say here is
the masterful, the apt rendering of
the spherical as flat, nor
an ingenious design which persuades a curve
into a plane,
but to tell myself again that
the line which says woodland and cries hunger
and gives out among sweet pine and cypress,
and finds no horizon
will not be there.
While I work on two large projects, one of which has an end in sight, enjoy a lovely image from Iceland.
I’ll be working on food sovereignty and literature in post Celtic Tiger Ireland for the next year with the other five fellows studying borders and boundaries.
Today Toni Morrison died. Just when the shootings over the weekend had us feeling the times could not get darker, they did. Chloe Wofford was a clear, passionate, beautiful voice in a murky, cynical, unlovely context. This loss floors me in part because her novels are so important to my journey, but also because we need her best voice now as the worst voices keep getting repeated. Rest well; you will be so very missed.
It’s been quite some time since I wrote here, and I am working out something about the so-called service industry, how we define work, and gigification – or something.
But in my scholarly life, I have been tucked inside my head working on three projects. The one most likely to see publication first is a genre I had not attempted before, the survey essay. Mine addresses political ecology of food and hunger, composed for a collection on Irish literature and the environment. I learned so much in writing it; despite my years of what I thought was eclectic reading in the field, there is so much Irish literature – about food! – that was new to me. This chapter was a perfect excuse to look more broadly and read many new texts.
The other two projects are longer term, one integrating some results from the Fulbright interview data, which I did eventually pay someone to finish transcribing – transcription is difficult ya’ll! – and then coded. That was a labor of love in many ways, love for Kenya, love for thinking about rhetorics of health care in new ways, and love for the Fulbright program. Anyway, when it reaches publication form, you’ll hear about it here, and likely anywhere else someone will listen.
I’ve been neglecting this blog since my return from Kenya, and I should remedy that. While I don’t have anything substantial to add, I will place links to a few things I’ve been working on. One is a recent TCQ article where I start to address results from the data gathered in Nairobi. See here
http://www.tandfonline.com/eprint/KqgekgZr6deJH3kbN5Np/full
The next is a link to a book, where my chapter on “Counterparts” can be found. see here https://www.palgrave.com/de/book/9783319393353
There are a few other odds and ends I’ve been working on, but the main focus right now is a larger project. When I get to a good point, I’ll put something here.
Despite my reluctance to leave Kenya, commencement was worth the loss.
As we approach a fortnight left before our return to the United States, I have begun to contemplate what I will miss. Since arriving in Kenya, my nascent birding tendencies have burgeoned into real interest. While my knowledge has increased a bit, and I now know a passerine from a potato, there is still no way I would call myself a legitimate birder. Yet, I have enjoyed watching birds, on walks with Nature Kenya, on Kenyatta University campus, and in gardens all over Nairobi. Despite my relative ignorance, I also enjoy digging into my field guide to identify them. Thus the abundance of birds and bird watching opportunities will be one aspect of this place I will sorely miss. Yet, I have plans to join the local Audubon upon my return, and learn about the birds of my new home.
No longer hearing and almost understanding people around me speaking Kiswahili will be both a relief and a true loss. Some of the Kenyans with whom I interact readily try to coach me, and greet me in their native tongue. Yet, their proficiency with English means they kindly switch when I (quickly) hit my limit. It might have been smart to attend a course in addition to using our book and practicing on colleagues. If I could start again, I think language class would be part of my Fulbright plan.
I will miss my conversations with health care professionals. They have honored me with forthright and astute insights about cancer and cancer care in this country. Further, they have offered their own stories about patients and sometimes their own friends, who suffer from this disease. Because my data collecting behavior -assertive and tenacious- has been completely unlike my normal introverted demeanor, this project has stretched me personally and intellectually. I have even called strangers on the telephone! Trying to make sense of the data and writing about it will push me even further from my comfort zone.
Kenyan humor has been a constant source of succor even when it’s directed at my own behavior. When you first meet them, many Kenyan people can appear almost stern, certainly dignified. Yet they maintain a near steady stream of jokes and ridiculous observations, and will share them once they assess your ability to appreciate. When a matatu driver executes a crazy maneuver -as they often do -our driver Matthew exclaims that you cannot respect his decision, but you must respect what is in his head, playing with the nuance of “respect.” In other words, you keep your distance because this matatu driver is mad. When I asked my students about the local mores of staring, they explained that if you complain to a Kenyan about staring, they will tell you they have no curtains on their eyes.
But I am looking forward to driving my own car again, provided I remember how to drive. And to spicy Mexican food. Yet, there is so much we are leaving behind.
marainspace 