Going, Going, Ghana…Straight to the Heart.

One of my favorite things about Africa is its undeniable Heart.  The heart of the people, the culture, the land, the food all beat together in a spiritual unison that is difficult to describe.  Several years ago I had the pleasure of travelling to Rwanda with my dear friend Carl Wilkens.  Carl is a true Hero—the only American that stayed in Rwanda during the 1994 Genocide—a choice that saved hundreds of Rwandan orphan’s lives.  Thankfully, Carl and I have traveled back to Rwanda with students multiple times since and he has remained a significant member of the Anne Frank Project family.  This initial trip was my introduction to Africa and I had many questions—in his wisdom Carl answered my curiosities, “I can list thousands of adjectives about what you are about to experience, but simply put, be prepared to have your heart filled and broken every day.”  That was true then, has proven true on each return trip to Rwanda and certainly proved true again when we visited Ghana.

Heart Filled…

We had the opportunity to spend 2 days/1 night in the village of Torgorme, a short drive from the port city of Accra, situated along the lower Volta river.  As we pulled into the village we were, in typical African form, greeted by throngs of smiling (beaming!) children.  Children are the true heart of Africa.  Each child was waving, posing, jumping, dancing, aching for us to get out and be with them.  As soon as we stepped foot on the red-earthed ground our hands were immediately grabbed by the small, calloused, busy hands of our new  friends—they were clamoring to be the ones to host us…so proud, so happy, so excited.  They walked (carried?) us over to meet the paramount chief and elders of the village, we paid our respects, sat down in pre-assigned seats and watched the magic.  We were being primed for a traditional naming ceremony—each of us was to receive our African name—this ceremony included dancing, drumming, singing and culminated in each of us being officially named in front of the whole village and receiving a bracelet and handmade bowl.  Pottery and weaving are two of the specialties of Torgorme. The honor of being named amidst the pride of the whole village and the giggling of the children filled our Hearts…

Village children crowding for the best view

Eye that melt the heart:)

Torgorme Village Paramount Chief and Elders

Village Teacher--when she moved, so did the children.

My African name:  Yao Elorm (Heart Connected to God)

Maria's African name:  Afi Dzifa (One Whose Heart is Pacified)

Nate's African name:  Yao Kporla (Leader)
They announced "Next Obama!"

Lots of post ceremony dancing!

After the ceremony we were introduced to our village family who would show us to our home for the night.  By American standards the village was a picture of intense poverty and despair.  By African (and world) standards, this was simply another poor rural village where too many people lived in too few homes, supported by too few schools with too few utilities (sparse electricity and no plumbing), but….and I mean BUT, this felt like one of the HAPPIEST places I have been.  The children were healthy, the smiles genuine and the sense of Community and Family…abundant.  Could this village use funding?  Absolutely.  Could they use more schools, teachers, services…Absolutley.  Were they lacking love?  Absolutely not!  The sense of love, togetherness and community was something I’d like to wrap up and deliver to our American “villages.”  We have much to learn from the world’s poor.  We have much to emulate in their immediate sense of “us” and invisible sense of “me.”  Those days spent touring, playing and experiencing Torgorme were amongst the most special of our trip.  Our hearts were overflowing…

Our host and village leader Daniel (and Israel squeezing in) 

Faces, smiles, stories

Nate was EXTREMELY popular

Kids are kids...

Heart Broken…

UNESCO has designated sites all over the globe as official World Heritage sites—those places, structures, monuments and environments having “outstanding universal value,”  (criteria:  http://whc.unesco.org/en/criteria/).  Of the 981 chosen sites worldwide, we have been privileged to see several on our travels.  The most significant UNESCO site for me were the Slave Castles of Ghana.  As I write these words the stark, cold emptiness of that experience chills my heart.  These magnificent structures were originally built along the ocean as trade ports by Europeans (Elmina Castle, Portuguese, 1482; Cape Coast Castle, Swede, 1653), but were transformed into slave holding dungeons to support the Atlantic slave trade.  Ghanaians were taken from their villages, herded like cattle to these holding cells, confined, abused, raped and then loaded through the “doors of no return” onto the slave ships for the treacherous journey to the Americas to be sold as slaves.  Most slaves did not survive the Atlantic crossing (they were ‘stored’ on the ship horrifically) and were discarded into the ocean as they perished.  (silence)  The shame, emptiness and heart breaking I experienced as I walked through these dungeons reminded me of the exact feelings I have when walking through other Genocide sites.  The smells, chills, horror…the same screams coming out of the same walls.  It’s all the same.  Genocide is genocide.  We, the United States don’t like to use the “G” word when it comes to our history, but the truth is the truth.  Our role in the African Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade is a crime against humanity.  We are not the only guilty party; we were part of a world agreement that deemed it necessary and appropriate to dispose of human life and dignity in the name of commerce.  I felt my personal and national heart break…

No windows, no air, no light

Children playing futbol outside the slave castle...the dichotomy.

Heart Re-Filled…

Searching for healing (yes, there’s a theme here) I turned to theater.  Several months prior to our SAS voyage I connected with West African drummer Fred Tay.  We immediately hit it off as we shared similar reasons for performance:  To tell the giant stories of our societies, cultures and people—to tap into that “higher power” that is beyond literal explanation, to joyfully explain the unexplainable.  Fred and his drumming/dancing ensemble, African Arts, were the perfect lab experience for my Acting I students.  By this time of the semester their acting work tends to be dominated by the realistic approach to performance—this is the thrust of most western acting classes.  What I love about immersing them into the drumming and dancing of West Africa is that it is so different than what they are currently understanding as “acting.”  It really is all the same—the tools of the contemporary actor (psychology, body, voice, mind) are now complimented and informed by the symbolism of drumming and dancing.  The universal, raw, organic and immediate acting lessons my students learned that day are irreplaceable.  So much so, that I now intend on inserting African drumming and dancing in all of my acting classes.  In the end, amidst the gorgeous backdrop of the Ghanaian ocean, my students physically injected humanity into their acting work…into their lives.  What started as fun drumming evolved into a spiritual experience of community, personal discovery and emotional reflection…what more could an acting professor ask for?  Our hearts were beating with the drums until they were filled again…

Acting I Drum Circle 

Dance to the skies (stop looking at your feet!)

The Acting I crew with African Arts crew

Fred Tay--Friend for Life

Nice classroom, huh?

South Africa: Ubuntu, Reconciliation and Rwanda

Ubuntu:  I am because you are.

This cryptic piece of South African (Xhosa) wisdom was Nelson Mandela’s credo--an ultimate expression of our shared humanity, or as Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. called it, “Our inescapable web of mutuality.”  Upon his release from nearly 3 decades of imprisonment, Nelson Mandela is said to have looked into his captor’s eyes and, rather than spew hatred or vengeance, stated simply, “Ubuntu.”  This was a moment beyond forgiveness; it was a moment of acceptance.  Mandela wasn’t in jail alone—his captors, the just and unjust, the free and oppressed were all with him in that small cell…WE were with him.  This profound South African idea became Mandela’s political and spiritual platform.  While all South Africans know the idea, is it transferable to the political leadership of their amazing, fragile and unique country? I believe it was easier to accept this idea when Mandiba (Mandela’s ancestral clan name) was alive.  His spirit permeates Cape Town at every turn.  We had the opportunity to take the emotional journey to the infamous Robben Island where Mandela was imprisoned for the majority of his exile.

The Mandela museum on the Cape Town waterfront where we boarded the boat to Robben Island

Cape Town (Table Mt.) from the boat to Robben Island

Robben Island became the symbol of oppression during Apartheid

Nelson Mandela's Cell

Nelson Mandela's "home" for so long...

These hallways were filled with the voices of the brutal prison guards of Robben Island.

Prison courtyard for brief outdoor trips.

Our guide and former fellow inmate of Nelson Mandela's.
An HONOR to connect him with Nate.

Pile of rocks started by Nelson Mandela and added to by former prisoners of Robben Island Prison

Nelson Mandela's view of Cape Town from Robben Island.

Since South Africa’s beloved Tata’s (Father) death, the question looms over this country like a mystical cloud:  Was Ubuntu connected to the man or the country?   Evidence for both sides were apparent throughout our visit.  The joy and welcoming smiles of the people we came in contact with suggest Ubuntu is more of a reflex than en edict.  The shocking and obvious economic disparity when you drive past elite mansions and depraved townships in a span of 5 minutes suggests Ubuntu may just be an idea, not a reality.  This contradiction is complicated and troubling.  It is also disrespectful to assume we have the answers as we watch from the outside.  One of the clearest lessons I have learned on this sabbatical is:  We, the United Sates, do not have all of the answers.  Our success as a country has fooled us into believing we need to offer our answers to each different community we encounter—as though the world is our “audience” watching our “show.”  I love America and I love being American, but I believe we can gain more by asking questions when we encounter ”different” rather than assume we have the answers.  In the countries I have visited in Asia and Africa there exists a profound respect for the wisdom of age.  The stories of grandparents and great grandparents are revered.  Africa is an “old” continent filled with ancient stories, ancient countries, and ancient histories—perhaps the “young” USA can listen, learn and benefit from the “old” grandparent of Africa?   

One such lesson came to me from an 85 year old black cab driver in Cape Town who had lived most of his life under the oppressive regime of Apartheid:  “You Americans need to be easier on our white South Africans.  It’s easy to blame them for Apartheid.  You have this thing called Civil Rights in the US, right?  Has everything working out perfectly with that?  Are black Americans treated the same as white Americans?  Give us time, give us time.”  I left the cab wiser that day.  This was not the first cab (bus, car, tuk-tuk, boat, taxi) driver who taught me valuable inside lessons—in fact, I highly suggest engaging drivers in dialogue during international travels—that’s where the people’s truth lives.  Patiently observe, ask questions, don’t assume and smile a lot—these are crucial commonalities I have experienced to be successful.  As you might imagine, these are important truths to bring back to the ship.  Ubuntu is also our theme for this SAS voyage.  As many of you know, this is the central building block in the foundation of the Anne Frank Project.  Seeing it, hearing it, feeling it in action, in all of its complexities is rewarding and a privledge. 

As usual, I turned to the theater to assist me in unpacking this giant box called post-Apartheid South Africa.   As usual, I found it.  At each new port SAS organizes welcome events with local universities.  The University of Cape Town thankfully hosted our welcome at a local theatre where a new play was being performed:  Missing by John Kani.  John Kani is an international theatre legend who’s work with South African playwright Athol Fugard is celebrated in every world theater text read today.  Not only were we to see the premier of John Kani’s latest play, but John Kani himself was starring in it!  A treat that fell from the heavens!  I’ve always said that if you’re curious about history, have a time machine and limited time, go to the Theater—you will learn everything you need to know about that particular society in 2 hours?  John Kani prepared us for South Africa beautifully:  A new play about a family navigating their post-apartheid lives, an inspired performance by a legend of world theater and an intimate post-show discussion for my students...an inspired discussion where Mr. Kani shared more about his philosophies of life than his performance in the play;  a discussion where my students actively understood the wisdom of age and storytelling.  A discussion filled with tools for practicing Ubuntu.

John Kani

MISSING

John Kani on  his play MISSING

April 1994 was an explosive month in Africa.  In South Africa the dark curtain of Apartheid was raised.  In Rwanda the dark curtain of Genocide smothered the country.  It is hard to imagine such complete opposite events happening simultaneously.  Experiencing the reconciliation process in both countries was an honor and a struggle.  Twenty years later each country has its own story, its own process, its own journey filled with success and failure.  It is a remarkably humbling experience to feel both processes in person.  The tension between the spoken and unspoken is palpable in both countries.  The sense of faith in god as the ultimate decision maker calms the most fiery of opposition.  The division and distance between the people and the government is both hotly disputed and peacefully accepted.  Beyond all philosophical disagreements there is a stubbornly collective agreement that all hope begins with Education and that the future is truly in the hands of each country’s children—what will their story be?  That will be South Africa…That will be Rwanda. 

I reflect back on cab driver wisdom: 

Take a moment and review the previous paragraphs but replace “South Africa” and “Rwanda” with the “United States of America.”  I have been doing this for the past few moths and encourage my students to do the same—not to diminish our patriotism but to heighten our awareness that Democracy is a work in progress for every community, country and society wrestling with the idea of freedom.  No one country has mastered Democracy.  A universal recipe for Democracy does not exist.  This reflection process encourages me to erase “them” from my vocabulary and always insist that is “we” and “us” who are struggling to find what Democracy means.  To consider U.S. democracy without South African or Rwandan democracy is, well, undemocratic.  Patiently observe, ask questions, don’t assume and smile a lot.

Previous to the voyage I had scheduled 3-days of meetings in Kigali, Rwanda with education stakeholders to present the use of Drama-Based Education in their national curriculum.  These meetings were organized with new friends I met from the Global Engagement Institute, an organization with a long history of importing innovative education and training models to post conflict countries—they have an office in Rwanda.  So, while Maria and Nate climbed mountains in Cape Town, I flew to Kigali to proposed the AFP Model for story-building to representatives from the U.S. Embassy, Rwanda National Research and Documentation Center on Genocide, Rwanda National Commission for the Fight Against Genocide, National University of Rwanda, Inema Arts Center and the Wellspring Foundation for Education (and others).  I am pleased to report the work of AFP and our Drama-Based Education model was received with open arms, open hearts and open minds.  There is an immediate desire to begin training Rwandan teachers and supplying them with the tools and vocabulary to implement drama-based education in their classrooms.  We are presently creating the nuts and bolts for this programming—needless to say we are thrilled with this new step for AFP and look forward to complimenting Rwanda’s national curriculum—perhaps we will begin to give back to a country that has given us so much…Anne Frank smiles upon AFP again. 

*Please like AFP, join AFP, download AFP and keep tabs on AFP as this new stage of our work develops!

Yes, we went on a safari too:

Cape Town

South Africa's Soweto Gospel Choir will complete this post.  
They sang this tribute to Mandela in a Pretoria market 2 days after his death...

Ubuntu.

#EverythingINDIAEverything

A feast for the senses!  If ever there was a country that represents itself through every sight, sound, taste and smell it is India...magical, overflowing, varied India.  Like its foundational belief system of Hinduism, India is complicated, numerous, imaginative and hard to define simply...or as I heard several students say as they prepared for their World Religion Hinduism exam, "There's too much!"  This abundance is evident on the streets, in the food, within the people and through the diverse landscapes. It's helpful (essential?) that mediation is practiced so regularly in India....we often felt the need to stop, breathe and return to the moment.  The ship docked in the port city of Kochi where we took several Tuk-Tuk rides...buckle up:

This sums up a typical moment on the streets of Kochi:

I had the pleasure of taking my students to a field lab focusing on India's ancient theater tradition of Kathakali. To a western eye this form of performance is startling to say the least.  This is one of the oldest forms of theater in the world:  based on themes from Hindu mythology (Ramayana, Mahabharata) the actors take on various roles expressed through an elaborate language of gesture, movement and facial-expression.  The movements are from an ancient "alphabet" of symbols developed specifically and only for Kathakali.  The movements are rigorous and actors are trained for multiple years before they are able to perform on stage.  The complexity and uniqueness of the performance structure are only surpassed by an elaborate (understatement) make-up and costume code. Characters are categorized according to their nature:  Royalty, divine, noble characters wear green make-up;  Characters of high birth with an evil streak wear green make-up with red marks on the cheek; Extremely evil and angry characters wear all red; Women (played by men) and ascetics wear yellow.  The action is accompanied by an orchestra playing traditional Indian instruments and a typical Kathakali performance begins in the evening and continues through early morning...until Good conquers Evil.  Contemporary Kathakali performance has been adapted to fit snapshots within a few hours.  I can think of no theater in the world that represents its country of origin more accurately than Kathakali.  My students had a blast.  Words do nothing in comparison to video:

We escaped the hustle and bustle of the city for something completely different:  a 3-day camping trip through the cartoonishy-beautiful tea fields of Munnar...

Namaste.

Finding Peace in Burma

Burma was an absolute honor to visit.  After so many years of oppression, control and confinement the country is entering a new world of freedom.  Like a baby bird pecking its way out of its shell, its wet wings coiled awkwardly, it squints as it sees the sun for the first time.  Burma, in many ways, is beyond description with words.  Even as I write this, my heart shakes with excitement and wonder recalling our time there.  I have written a short essay, a poem, a song…all erased…simply not enough.  Here is a list of words that will, hopefully, provide a look-inside this powerful experience:

Open, pleasant, bewildering, juxtaposed, filthy, spotless, poor, rich, spiritual, heartful, loving, admirable, iconic, hilarious, miserable, smiling, screaming, exotic, crying, unfathomable, unimaginable, religious, spiritual, magical, extreme, playful, loyal, communal, SPECIAL, present, accepting, trusting, devoted, committed, contradictory, amazing, shocked, adorable, beautiful, refreshing, bleeding, needing, wanting, hoping, hoping, hoping, historic, ancient, important, honorable, spiritual, defiant, gentle, friendly, smooth, hot, dusty, embracing, connected, lazy, restful, excited, juvenile, forgiving, spiritual, stirring, emotional, bright, happy, vibrating, shaky, sturdy, elated, tearful, dewy, fragrant, clever, astute, shameful, obedient, resilient, private, personal…Spiritual.

The story of Burma and her people have been hanging by a string for over one thousand years…literally.  Traditional Burmese Marionette Puppetry has deep, important roots in Burma.  The intricate process of bringing the puppets to “life” is centuries old and handed down through generations.  Theses “voices” of Burma are in the DNA of the families who continue this traditional form of theater with every cell of their bodies.  There are 4-year university puppet degree programs in Burma, but it is the fast track to a process that prides itself on one track—history.  The puppets can say what the people of Burma could not…for so long.  The puppets are the “media” of Burma sharing more than just evenings of entertainment (traditional shows lasted from sun down to sunrise); they also share the news, politics, ideas and thoughts that make up the people of this amazing country.  I was fortunate to bring my students to one of the true puppet masters of Burma.  I found immediate and great inner peace witnessing the “birthing” of a new puppet, a new life, a new country.  Here is the story as covered by the amazing communications team aboard the ship:

http://www.semesteratsea.org/2014/04/02/field-lab-pulling-strings-in-myanmar/

As we walked through the streets of Yangon (where the ship docked) we found amazing people, food, shops and….above all…Pagodas!  These are the numerous ornate temples the country is populated with…one amazing golden structure after another.  Buddhism is more than a religion in Burma, it is a universally accepted way of life.  There are countries we have visited who practice Buddhism—Burma lives Buddhism.  Here are pictures of Shwedegon Pagoda--the largest in Burma, and one of the largest in the world. 

We took a short plane ride to what seemed like the center of the spiritual universe:  Bagan.  At first glance this looks like a movie set for a mystical, fictional, magical film that takes place on another planet.  It is indeed one of the most miraculous places I have ever seen…a true wonder of the world.  Bagan is a huge expanse of land populating over 2,000 (originally 4,000) temples.  Over one thousand years old, these temples were built one after another in praise of Buddha.  To say this is a “holy” place would be a vast understatement….it is a stirring testament to the unlimited spirit and devotion of this country.  It was a MAGICAL experience.  Even when we were there it seemed unbelievable…could it be real?  Where we really seeing what we were seeing?  Our faces hurt from so much awe-inspired smiles.  Here are photos from land and air (we splurged for the hot air balloon and now can’t imagine not doing it—it really was the only way to see the entirety of Bagan).  Every moment brought increased peace…tears….peace.

And, because we hadn’t experienced enough peace yetJ we visited two monasteries where we were treated to a Darma talk by an elderly monk on the benefits of meditation and provided alms for young monks during their lunch break.  For a country that is so “new” to knowing, they seem to KNOW a great deal.  Grow slowly and wisely Burma…we love you.

Singapore

Playing in Viet Nam

Viet Nam was an amazing experience.  We were captured, smitten, challenged and hugged in ways we did not imagine.  It is alarming how the spirit of one country in Southeast Asia can differ so completely from the next.  And, simultaneously, how our foundational connection as human beings, our shared humanity always radiates through each exchange, each experience, each smile.  This is a country that has been beaten, battered and abused for decades.  This is a country where rebirth and rebound define each moment.  The transition from an agriculturally based population to an urban-based population is a contrast that is being wrestled with before your eyes.  To travel from the unbelievably crazy traffic of Ho Chi Minh City to the lush tropical jungles of the Mekong Delta is a healthy stretch of the heart.  The traffic of Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon) makes NYC look relaxed.  An endless ocean of motorbikes and cars that willingly and happily will part as you move through it—recommendation:  Don’t hesitate, just go!  The flow of the traffic will bend, curve and wrap around you without stopping so the subconscious agreement is that everyone keeps moving forward.  Safe?  Absolutely not.  Exciting?  Yes!  Traffic signs and lights are merely suggestions—you must be aware at all times.  The Mekong Delta is the center of the agricultural life and commerce in historical Viet Nam.  Each picture is like a snapshot from every Viet Nam war movie you have seen.  An intricate system of waterways bordered by quaint, poor, happy working villages of people.  I marveled at the high functioning of the system along waters that were sites of some of the bloodiest moments of the Viet Nam War.  A war that is referred to as “The American War” in Viet Nam…makes sense, more on that later.

As I searched for a central image or metaphor for this post I kept returning to Playing.  We experienced a wide variety of sensory in Viet Nam all united for me by the positive forces at play together.  Viet Nam is a socially Communist and economically Capitalist country; densely urban and beautifully lush; desperately wounded from the past, intensely proud about the future.  The extremes are intense yet those we connected with move forward happily…with an unexpected and utterly pleasant sense of play.

                                                             Playing with Water

Water Puppetry is a form of theater indigenous to Viet Nam—you will find it nowhere lese in the world.  Originated in the rice paddies, the farmers entertained themselves in waist deep water by constructing puppets that told stories of their lives.  The stories primarily illustrate the rural life of the farmer, their families and villages.   The characters are fishermen, boats, fish, farmers and musicians.  The other and more important origin of this rare form of theater was to entertain the gods and spirits so that they would not create mischief for the farmers and their families—there are deep religious roots in mysticism and superstition.  To appease the gods there are other characters:  dragons, snakes, mystical birds and royal subjects.  All of the stories have a foundation of wry humor, self-deprecation and silliness.  The action is supported by an orchestra that not only plays traditional Vietnamese instruments, but also provide the dialogue and singing of the frozen-faced puppets as they splash about.   The magic of water puppetry is that the audience never sees the puppeteers and the characters appear out of the water like they all live down there just waiting for their cue.  Puppeteers are trained for years and sworn to secrecy as to how it all works—they even have there own code language they use during shows that only they can understand. 

Contemporary performances have moved from the rice fields to special theaters where the stage is a pool of water (see photo below).  The performance we saw was enchanting!  14 short scenes celebrating rural life and embracing the spirit of what it means to be Vietnamese.  The manipulation of the puppets was intricate and complicated—it is easy to see why these are puppet masters who have spent decades training.  The movement and splashing about is complimented by exciting theatricality:  smoke rising from the water, a real rainstorm and a firework-breathing dragon.  The stories are told in Vietnamese but the storytelling is so universal it is easy to understand what is going on.  Our shared (wet) humanity.

We spent 2 days in the Mekong Delta—what a treat.  Witnessing life in the delta was a true slice of Vietnamese village life.  The “streets” are the intricate system of waterways.  The “cars” are boats.  The floating market was something to behold and exactly what it sounds like; each boat a different department…clothes, food, hardware…all there.  The village homes line the busy, super thin roads on shore all hidden within dense jungle.  One of the greatest privileges of my life was a 3-hour bike ride through the multiple villages connected by an occasional ferry.  Smiles, invitations, tea breaks..I envied the clever simplicity and complete community we saw before us.

                                                                  Playing with Fire

The American/Viet Nam War has left deep wounds in this beautiful country.  I visited the War Remnants Museum—not an experience I will soon forget.  The museum is four floors of displays and photographs illustrating the horrifying impacts of the war:  international anti-American protests, letters and artifacts condemning America’s aggressions, bloodied Vietnamese bodies, crying children, horrific health impacts of Agent Orange…(ouch).  I felt like disappearing into a corner after the first floor.  There was a flag with a tree half destroyed by Agent Orange…it looked like the AFP tree…(double ouch—see photo below).

A Vietnamese guide from a tour the previous day was adamant about me knowing her side:  “About 30% of what you will see at that museum is true—the rest is made up by my government.  Don’t feel bad about being American—both sides have a lot to be sorry about.”  Regardless of the percentage of truth in the museum, the idea of “What in the world is going on here?!” crossed my mind as it has in the multiple memorials and museums I have witnessed.  It simply doesn't seem possible that this type of organized mass destruction, mass murder, mass atrocity can happen again and again.  It never gets easier. 

I suppose one always has to remind oneself that the storyteller, the source of these memorials all over the world is important.  Whose side of the story are you hearing?  Each side has every right to tell their story the way they’d like.  This includes the need for governments to tell things their way.  I have also had the privilege of seeing Viet Nam memorials in America.  I now have the opportunity to weigh both stories.  I suppose the truth lies somewhere in between the two.

I am fortunate there was a Buddhist temple down the street from the museum.  I spent some necessary quite time there.  Buddha kept smiling.

Just Playing

We are making sure to include multiple service visits on our trip.  Important for Nate, important for us.  We spent one morning at a school for deaf and developmentally challenged children.  Kids are kids and they immediately reminded us of our shared humanity.  It felt so comforting and familiar to get on the floor with them and play.  Paper, pens and Popsicle sticks were the bridges between languages and hearing.  Ahhhh, homeJ