Engraved, SheLoves

Writing at SheLoves, about reclamation, engraving, and citizenship: Engraved

According to USAID, in 2011, Ali Addeh refugee camp in Djibouti supported approximately 17,000 refugees, most of them Somalis and most of them women and children. Traditionally, refugees born in Djibouti have not received identity cards. This means they are not Somali or Djiboutian. They are people without a nation, infants with no homeland.

No official birth certificate, no papers, means children can’t go further than the fifth year in school. They don’t have access to national health care. They are limited in their ability to defend their basic human rights, and struggle to participate in the cultural and social life of Djibouti, says an article in The Djibouti Post, Djibouti’s English newspaper.

April 2013 changed the future for more than one hundred of these children and launched an era of hope for other, unborn, second-generation refugees. With celebration and fanfare, and in partnership with the UNHCR, Djibouti has started to give these children, born between countries, Djiboutian birth certificates.

I picture the names of the kids: Aisha, Ahmed, Muna, Muhammed, now stamped on a piece of paper. I imagine their parents’ grief at the realization that in order to obtain this paper, they had to abandon their beloved Somalia. I imagine those same parents’ joy that now their child belongs someplace.

This name, on this paper, earns a child the right to immunizations, education, and a record of birth and eventual death. It earns them the increased chance to avoid child marriage, human trafficking, child labor, injustice in the court system, unwilling conscription into the military.

This is the reclaiming of identity, of nationality. This is the name of an infant on a piece of paper in a miniature nation in the Horn of Africa.

Do you know where my name is? Read the rest here, Engraved.

Posted on June 19, 2013 by Rachel Pieh Jones in africa, christianity, development, Djibouti Life, Expat Thoughts, Faith, Jesus, somalia, Writing Leave a comment

Painting Pictures: An Open Letter To My Third Culture Kid Identity

Today’s Painting Pictures post is brought to you by the lovely Mary Bassey. Mary is a Twitter and blog friend with great hair and a fabulous sense of humor. Here she shares with you, and her TCK identity, about the process of discovering there is a name for all those experiences, for all that depth and joy and pain and confusion, about finding out who she is. And about settling down into it. I love the freshness of her journey and her vulnerability in sharing the process.

An Open Letter to my Third Culture Kid Identity

Dear Third Culture Kid (TCK) Identity,

It’s almost like you have been stalking me for the past 20 years of my life. And I just realized that you existed 7 months ago. Way to go on concealing your identity for two decades! That’s actually very impressive…and makes me feel a bit confused. And frustrated. And weird, especially since you’ve been stalking me. Yet I have chosen to embrace you anyway. This is actually a bit concerning considering that my parents taught me not to talk to strangers. And here I am, doing the exact opposite of that. I blame you for my rebellion.

I blame you for a lot of things, actually.

You’ve made me do really strange things, TCK Identity, even when I didn’t know who you were. For instance, that blasted “From” section on Facebook never seemed to stay the same. For a few months, it would be Ilorin, Nigeria because that’s where I was born. Then, it would be Calabar, Nigeria because my Nigerian culture suggests that my hometown is my Father’s hometown. Other times, it’d be Canada. Or Kentucky. Or California. And then it would be blank out of frustration because you made the task of saying where I was from more difficult than it needed to be. And as if that internal conflict wasn’t enough, Facebook would mock me, asking me in that blank from section, “Where did you grow up?” So, I entered all of those aforementioned places BECAUSE I GREW UP IN ALL OF THEM, DANGIT! Facebook would not let me enter where I grew up. I repeat: Facebook would not let me enter where I grew up.

So there you have it, folks; Facebook discriminates against TCKs (please don’t take that statement seriously). But because I do not have the time or energy to lead a revolution and express my grievances against such a sad part of my Facebook experience, I answered Facebook’s, “Where are you from” question with “Elephant Island, Antarctica.” Again, I blame you, TCK identity.

I also blame you for my reaction when people tell me to “say something in African”. This is me on the inside:

Source: diy.despair.com

You’re the reason why I feel slightly un-American because of my Nigerian and Canadian identities. You’re also the reason I feel like an outsider every time I visit Nigeria because of my Western identities.

Nigerian flag (right)

Open air market we drove by during our 5-hour trip road trip to my late Mom’s village.

Cousins and siblings!

Me trying not to look like a foreigner and/or heathen by covering my head in church with my Aunt’s sparkly hat.

You’re the reason for my sudden interest in Australia and Australian culture. You’re the reason I fantasize about living and schooling there after my undergraduate education. I’m possibly the only non-Aussie in Southern California who has been keeping up with The Voice Australia (don’t tell me who goes on to the final round; I’m trying to catch up).

You’re the reason why I vent to my first culture kid friends about how much easier they have it since they don’t have to deal with cultures that are so opposite from each other. All they could do was feel sorry for me.

You’re the reason why their feeling sorry for me was not cutting it for me. I desired to be understood, not pitied.

Then I met you.

I signed up for that “Anthropology for Everyday Life” having no idea it was a clever nickname for “Cultural Anthropology.” I had no idea that the last day of class would leave me in tears because I finally understood the inner struggle I was having with my cultures.

Dr. Ayers, my professor, said I was a third culture kid.

It was at that moment I knew that there was a name for you.

Sure enough, I Googled that term and videos of other TCKs came up. I’m surprised I didn’t suffer whiplash at that moment because I found myself nodding to the experiences I had been saying all of my life. Except this time, those experiences weren’t being spoken by me. They were being spoken by other TCKs.

About a week after that instance, I ran into Rachel’s blog, Djibouti Jones, my first encounter with a blog mentioning TCKs. As I explored more, I discovered that there are more people who are expats and TCKs. And more. And even more.

Whoa, TCK identity. We are going way too fast. We need to take it slow. The amount of TCKs and expats I have met through social media is too overwhelming for me.

Have we been taking it slow, though? Well, the desire to meet more TCKs and expats always increases and I go with it so I guess not. Look at you being rebellious!

I didn’t know I was a TCK until I met you in that class. And to be honest, I hate you. But I also love you. And I couldn’t imagine my life making more sense without you.

Thank you for showing me I’m not the only one going through this identity crisis. Thank you for the support group of TCKs and expats I have encountered thus far and the ones I will encounter in the future. Thank you for giving me the courage to speak out what I have kept silent for many years and for making me feel okay for being different. You’re not too shabby, mate. Not too shabby.

Yours truly,

Mary

What would you write to your third culture kid identity? Do you remember your reaction when you first heard the term?

Mary Bassey is a Nigerian-born third culture kid living in America. She is currently a fourth year Pre-med university student studying Biochemistry with hopes of participating in global healthcare.

Follow more of Mary: Blog: www.verilymerrilymary.com, Facebook: www.facebook.com/verilymerrilymary, Twitter: www.twitter.com/marybassey, Tumblr: www.thrumaryseyes.tumblr.com

Posted on June 18, 2013 by Rachel Pieh Jones in Expat Thoughts, Third Culture Kids 5 Comments

A Word from Expat Dads to Expat Dads on Father’s Day

Today I’m writing at A Life Overseas about Father’s Day.

Last week my husband changed the oil on our car. Then he helped our seven-year old daughter sew a dress because I am worthless with anything remotely craft related. Then the two of them went outside and shot water bottles with a BB gun. This is one seriously rockin’ dad.

Over the years I have met other seriously rockin’ dads and for Father’s Day, I wanted to write about being a father overseas. Alas…I’m not one. So I enlisted the words and wisdom of wise, fun, creative, deep, spiritual dads, men I admire for even more than their dad-ing. These are men committed to serving God and their local communities but I am convinced that one of the greatest gifts they are giving the world is their children, because of how they have lived and loved and parented.

They have over 50 years cumulative experience in Africa, the Middle East, and Asia. In honor and celebration of these dads and with the aim of encouraging and inspiring other dads, here are fourteen things expatriate dads do well, in their own words (condensed and combined by me).

Head on over to Fourteen Things Expat Dads Want to Tell Expat Dads on A Life Overseas to read their wise words.

Posted on June 17, 2013 by Rachel Pieh Jones in africa, Expat Thoughts, Faith, Third Culture Kids 3 Comments

Tomboys, Princesses, or Warriors? a repost

Cindy Moy of The Socratic Project reposted one of my pieces last week and has graciously requested to do it again, this time with my post No More Tomboys.

To be considered strong, a girl shouldn’t be called a funny kind of boy. She should be called a girl. Some of the strongest people I know are tiny, young, and female.

This week I visited the homes of our Girls Run 2 athletes. Some of the girls herd sheep and goats in the morning, in the full blasting sun and wind that cracked my lips and seared my skin. Then they go to school. Then they run. Fast. These are not boys. These are warrior princesses.

Like last week, for those of you who already read that post, here are some other oldies and goodies that get lost in that blog pile-up.

Curly Girl, Straight Girl

Eye Ice

5 Things To Do Instead of Writing Your Book

10 Tips for Hot Running

Posted on June 14, 2013 by Rachel Pieh Jones in africa Leave a comment

Making a Movie

A few photos from my week of movie-making. Or rather, my week of observing movie-making.

Pleasepleaseplease don’t miss Brian Vernor’s stunning shots of the girls. They’ll give just the tiniest foretaste of how this movie will celebrate our Girls Run 2 club and the country of Djibouti. In the photos and brief video clips he showed us before leaving, it is clear that this will be a film in which the girls shine. I am proud of them, excited for them, and quite a bit exhausted.

Here’s his blog: brian vernor bloggage with a photo some of the girls outside the stadium in Ali Sabieh and running through the hills in the early morning. Also check out the instagram photo roll on the side of the blog for a few more shots. And this one on his website: brianvernor. It is three of the girls at Lac Assal and it takes my breath away.

I am more comfortable thinking in words than in pictures but this week taught me a lot about seeing a story in an image so these are a few story images of the process.