Ethos Magazine Spring 2009

Spring 2009 Volume 1 Issue 1

Female Circumcision The Code of Thieves Visit to Vietnam Culture Shock

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KD MA G AZINE WINTER 2007

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SCARRING

TIBET destroying culture for tourism

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Fall 2007 Vol. 2 Issue #1

Spring 2007 Vol. 1 Issue #2

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A soldier’s experience in

THE IRAQ WAR

MEN’S ENVY Behold the beard!

INKS, GUNS & TATS

A personal narrative bled with ink

ANIME & MANGA CIVIL WAR SURVIVOR UO DIVERSITY EUGENE MUSIC

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PARISIAN TOUR

AFRICAN DRUMMING

MA G AZINE Fall 2008 Volume 3 Issue 1

RODEO KINGS JAPAN FOUND RECYCLING VINYL SEEKING SIKHS

MA G AZINE Fall 2008 Volume 3 Issue 2

ART OF GLASS

WICCA

UNDERWATER HOCKEY

Ethos Magazine!

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DIVING IN HONDURAS

KD Magazine is now...

Spring 2008 Volume 2 Issue 3

ART OF WUSHU

EXPLORING GHANA DARFUR CONFLICT COUNTRY FAIR BRAZILIAN MUSIC

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RIVER SURFING

DESERT WORKERS GLOBAL ADOPTION NINKASI BREWERY MENTAL ILLNESS

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features 14 MUSICAL REDISCOVERY

Doug Scheuerell details his worldwide musical journey and the magic of tabla playing.

Story by NEETHU RAMCHANDAR Photos by LINDSAY MINAR

18 RITE OF PASSAGE?

Molly McHugh explores the controversy of female circumcision in Africa.

Story by MOLLY MCHUGH

22 JUST TRYING TO SURVIVE

Three international students from areas in turmoil relate their experiences in the United States.

Story by ABIGAIL DISKIN Photos by COURTNEY HENDRICKS

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departments 6 EDITOR’S NOTE

A letter from the editor.

8 PASSPORT Leah Olson reports on coffee, bikes and the Mekong Delta in Vietnam.

10 DIALOGUE

Activist Matt Rose tells about his passion for social work, and why students should care

12 FORUM

32 MOVING PICTURES

Video producer Daniel Cegla strives for positive transformations with his films.

34 SPICES AND SPIRITS See why miniature gardens are convenient and increasingly popular.

36 PEOPLE IN MOTION

Iliana Bozhanova encourages cultural exchange at the Vesolo Dance Festival.

Molly Fisher gives homeless dogs and cats another chance to live in Mexico.

38 SOUNDWAVES Discover the history and inner-workings of the EMU bells.

26 JOURNEYS ABROAD

40 COLORS AND SHAPES

six students in their travels overseas.

Culture shock hits

A look at Russian mafia tattoos and how they document the deeds of criminals.

42 THE LAST Alex Tomchak Scott solves the mystery of why his coworkers call him “Torero.”

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EDITOR’S NOTE

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PHOTO BY MELANIE KEPPLER

hat makes a magazine? The determination of writers and ad reps; the perceptiveness of editors and photographers; the creativity of designers and PR staff. Without the dedication of everyone on staff, no magazine could exist. That says a lot about who we are.

But what is Ethos? We’ve been around since 2006 as a multicultural, student-run magazine. You may have heard of KD Magazine, though maybe not Korean Ducks, the magazine’s original name. I admit that when I joined KD last summer as a writer, I had no idea what its history was or what the odd acronym meant. It’s obvious to me now, but the name still confused everyone else—even those on staff. That’s why we’ve become Ethos, a word meaning “the fundamental characteristic of a spirit or culture.” We hope you like it, too.

Newness abounds with our debut as Ethos. We’ve got a new website (the old one went unpaid), a new department (Journeys Abroad), a new email address (feel free to send us a note), and a new editor in chief (me). We even have video online—a first for our publication.

It was a long winter, but I’m glad we’ve come this far: it’s our first print issue since October 2008. Working on Ethos is a learning opportunity for everyone, not excluding myself.

I’m proud of what we’ve accomplished.

The future of Ethos looks promising.

Roger Bong Editor in Chief

come discover your style.

Looking for More?

There’s only so much we can fit in a magazine, so check out ethos.uoregon.edu for exclusive stories, video, and more. And send us an e-mail, too.

BUY CLOTHES.

SELL CLOTHES.

Exclusive online stories: “Freedom. Entrapment. Innocence. Fear.”

By Darcy Wallace “Eugene Bike Adventure”

By Jordan Eddy “Flame-worked Flowers”

By Ryan Beltram Photos by Mindy Cooper “Culture Shock” (see page 26) Full stories by all writers 6

ETHOS MAGAZINE SPRING 2009

CLACKAMAS, OR VANCOUVER, WA

EDITOR IN CHIEF Roger Bong MANAGING EDITOR Molly McHugh ASSIGNMENT EDITOR Lisa Anderson COPY EDITORS Elisha Hartwig, Bronwynn Manaois, Simone Nash-Pronold, Phillip Neiman, Suji Paek, Sachie Yorck ASSOCIATE EDITORS Lindsee Gregory, Melissa Hoffman, Allyson Marrs, Heather Morgan, Christina O’Connor, Leah Olson, Rebecca Peterson, Jason Reed, Alex Tomchak Scott WRITERS Inka Bajandas, Ryan Beltram, Leighton Cosseboom, Rachel Coussens, Abigail Diskin, Kasandra Easley, Jordan Eddy, Amy Erickson, Lindsee Gregory, Kourtney Hannaway, Sheena Lahren, Michelle Leis, Rebecca Leisher, Molly McHugh, Gabriella Narvaez, Seiga Ohtani, Leah Olson, Jay Peters, Grace Pettygrove, Neethu Ramchandar, Jessica Runyan-Gless, Alex Tomchak Scott, Darcy Wallace ART DIRECTOR Stuart Mayberry

DIRECTOR/PUBLISHER Kelcey Friend PUBLIC RELATIONS DIRECTOR Ben Benson PUBLIC RELATIONS Kathryn Beck, Mengwei Deng, Page Fitzsimmons, Laura Johnson, Tiffany Le, Jayna Omaye, Rachel Slaughter, Brittney Wolf ADVERTISING MANAGERS Jessica Stuhr, Ashley Tschudin ADVERTISING REPRESENTATIVES Brandon Galloway, Shawna Haynes, Tim Johnson, Rachel Mitchell, Sarah Walters WEB MANAGEMENT Vera Westbrook VIDEOGRAPHY Luke Harris, Adam Spencer Thank You: ASUO Senate, Peter Barna, JR Gaddis, Bree Rice and K/P Corporation, Ryan Stasel, Louis Vidmar, Kelly Walker

DESIGNERS Jayme Goldstein, Mary Hall, Whitney Highfield, Karlee Patton, Max Radi, Adrienne Robles, Danielle Schisler, Steven Vail ILLUSTRATORS Katherine Degenhartd, Valerie Riffe PHOTO EDITOR Rick Olson PHOTOGRAPHERS Rebecca Ames, Alysha Beck, Christine Bourke, Leticia Castro-Shockley, Mindy Cooper, Lauren Easby, Maren Fawkes, Luke Harris, Courtney Hendricks, Janelle Ho, Emily Hutto, Tara Khoshbin, Aaron Marineau, Lindsay Minar, Jason Reed, Stephanie Reyes

CONTACT ethosmag@gmail.com WEBSITE http://ethos.uoregon.edu

Ethos Magazine is a multicultural, independent publication based at the University of Oregon in Eugene, Oregon. All content is legal property of Ethos Magazine, except when noted. Permission is required to copy, reprint or use any content in Ethos Magazine. All views and opinions expressed are strictly those of the respective author or interviewee.

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Small Bikes, Big Rush

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PASSPORT

VIETNA

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11 MAR 2009

The vehicle of choice for Vietnamese makes traveling through cities fast—and fun.

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int-sized motorbikes flow through the streets of Vietnam’s cities amidst a non-stop urban pulse. The gush of traffic crashes and writhes through Vietnamese streets like a turbulent river after the winter snow melt.

Riding motorbikes in Vietnam, which involves dodging rickshaws, cars, pedestrians, and dogs, is a rush even for the most seasoned adrenaline junky.

The motorbike, known locally as the “moto,” is the vehicle of choice for Vietnamese. A compact, sleek design allows for stealthy maneuvering in overflowing cities.

At first sight, the thousands of motorbike riders seem reckless, but Vietnamese moto drivers are seasoned pros who rarely crash.

In big cities like Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City, motos prove to be more economical

and quicker than bulky cars. Some novice entrepreneurs use their vehicles as taxis, zipping customers to their destinations.

Some families pack their motorbikes like 16-year-olds pack their first cars.

It’s not uncommon to see a sizable family stacked on the moto’s seat. The father drives, the mother sits behind him, and two children clutch one another behind her, while a baby naps placidly in the moto’s front basket. —Leah Olson

At first sight, the thousands of motorbike riders seem reckless, but Vietnamese moto drivers are seasoned pros who rarely crash.

Mekong Delta A

s a thick fog rises over the brown, meandering web of waterways, locals crouch on the back of their boats, faces shrouded in the shadow of their conical rice hats.

In the Mekong Delta, it is as if highways materialized into a network of muddy canals, streetlights changed into billowy palm fronds, and the urban ruckus morphed into warbling birds.

The lush Delta spans through 13 provinces at the southern tip of Vietnam. It is home to about 16 million people, roughly 20 percent of Vietnam’s population.

The Mekong River begins on the Tibetan Plateau and flows through Southeast Asia, splitting in Vietnam before spilling into the South China Sea. The Mekong Delta lies only a short distance south of Ho Chi Minh City, which contains a 24/7 cacophony of urban bustle, while the Delta lulls visitors with an infinitely slower pace of life.

Rice cultivation thrives on the Delta’s moist land; almost half of the country’s rice grows here. Because of the tropical environment’s ideal growing conditions, the fruit farming business on the Delta yields coconuts, mangos, longan, and dragonfruit.

Fishing the vast waterways is also lucrative. According to the Mekong River Commission, up to 1,700 species of fish live in the Mekong River, around 120 of which are commercially traded.

The people of the Delta have adapted their lives to the water. Everything floats— houses, markets, even gas stations. The Delta is famous for its floating markets, especially those in the Cai Be and Can Tho provinces.

Atop the murky Mekong waters, hundreds of local merchants meet every morning to sell brilliantly-colored fruits, vegetables, and fish from their boats—a unique spectacle that draws foreign tourists and photographers daily. —Leah Olson

Photos by Emily Hutto

Delectably Digested Coffee O

nly a handful of cafés around the world dare sell a cup of this special brew, which many say has a fullbodied, rich flavor. Others say it tastes like old dishwater.

The process begins with a breed of Vietnamese palm civet, commonly called a weasel, that lives on coffee plantations

and feeds on berries. Digestive enzymes strip each berry of its flesh, leaving the hard bean. Many swear this leads to the coffee’s unique flavor. The weasel then throws the beans up.

Once the beans are harvested, they are thoroughly washed, roasted, and ground. A pound of weasel coffee beans sells for up to

$600 a pound, and a cup at a café can cost between $50 and $65.

Vietnamese weasel coffee can be found on a select few online vendors, but most websites are often sold out of the product.

Some local vendors sell beans that instead have passed through squirrels or bats. —Leah Olson ETHOS.UOREGON.EDU

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DIALOGUE

Advocate for Social Justice “There is a lot of untapped potential on this campus...you just have to dive right in.”

STORY GRACE PETTYGROVE

PHOTO AARON MARINEAU

Matt Rose plans to graduate this June with a a double major in political science and ethnic studies, and with a minor in communication studies.

“Are we where we need to be? No. The biggest indication of that is where we allocate development dollars. They’re building a new basketball arena when clearly we need more academic units, or, you know, housing.”

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As one of the University of Oregon’s most industrious student activists, Rose has a unique perspective on over four years of campus and state politics. He is an advocate for diversity on a campus where the issue is often neglected, if only for lack of vocal representatives.

Within three years of moving to Eugene from Sammamish, Washington, Rose became the finance coordinator for the Associated Students of the University of Oregon.

He also became an executive producer for DuckU, a student-produced television program, joined the Sigma Alpha Epsilon fraternity, and gave summer presentations to incoming freshman about sexual assault and dating violence through the Sexual Wellness Advocacy Team.

Now in his fifth year at the university,

Rose expects to graduate this June with a double major in political science and ethnic studies, with a minor in communication studies.

He has continued involvement in an overwhelming variety of extracurricular activities, including the Black Student Union, the Forensics Team (speech and debate), and the Oregon Students of Color Coalition, “a coalition of students from across the state who lobby on behalf of students of color on issues of access accessibility, recruitment and retention for higher education.”

Though Rose occasionally has time to hang out and talk politics with friends or catch a late-night indie film at the Bijou, he also holds down a job at EMU event services and has recently finished an internship with Dr. Robin Holmes, the Vice President of Student Affairs.

What issues are close to your heart right now?

I’ve been really following what Obama has been doing and engaging in this discussion… A lot of people think, “Look, we have a black president, so racism is over,” or “We have overcome,” and I’m like, “No we haven’t overcome. We’ve just made another step forward on the long road.” So I’m reminding people of all the other issues.

I’m super excited that the global gag rule got repealed today. On the local, state level, we’re coming into a new legislative session and I’m really looking at the issue of tuition equity, which would allow students whose parents are undocumented to pay in-state tuition. It’s been an important issue to me for the last three years, since I became a board member for the Oregon Students of Color Coalition.

On a campus level, making sure the new academic plan has information and resources allocated for diversity, and teaching people that diversity goes beyond just the construction of race and ethnicity.

There is diversity of thought, opinions, sexual orientation, and sexuality… It’s so much more encompassing than people realize.

Have you been involved with lesbian, gay, bi-sexual, and transgender (LGBT) activism as well?

I have had a lot of conversations with good friends on campus about the cross section of race and sexual orientation and sexuality, especially in the black community. A couple of organizations I’m looking to work for are people like the National Black Justice Coalition, which works specifically on mapping LGBT issues into the black community and some of the barriers that happen there, as well as the Black Aids Project, which looks at homosexuality in the black community and how the stigmatization of AIDs in the black community has led to exponential numbers of black homosexuals with HIV. What changes have you witnessed since you first came to U of O? Certain levels of the administration are more open to talking with students then they have been in the past. We might not have a voice at the table, but at least we get to come. We’ve seen, in the last legislative cycle, a historic reinvestment in higher education—the highest we’ve seen in the last ten years. We’ve seen the departmentalization of Ethnic Studies and the student campaigns around that.

When I first came here we had the famous Martin Summers Rallies, to keep professor Summers on our campus.

There were more demands that came out of that. The university listened to the student body and gave into student pressure.

They’re gonna get mad at me for saying they

gave in—but whatever, they caved.

We’ve seen the inception of the Queer Studies minor. We’ve seen the creation of the diversity plan. Even though they aren’t really allocating resources for diversity, at least they’re talking about it.

A lot of the legwork has already been done by past generations. Since I’ve come to campus we’ve been able to capitalize on that and raise the level of accountability surrounding issues of race, ethnicity, and diversity on campus.

What would you like to see change?

I would love to see the diversity plan have more teeth, so to speak, and have more resources allocated to it, and for the concept of diversity to be expanded beyond the colloquial thoughts of race and ethnicity.

Diversity is so much more than that. There is a student union for differently-abled students. There are a couple buildings on this campus that are completely inaccessible to differently-abled students, and I would like to see the university take proactive steps to change that.

I would love to see the legacy of student activism that U of O is known for. We are a model for student activism and student government, and that needs to continue into the future.

Could you tell me more about the diversity plan?

Every academic program on campus has a different plan on how they are going to increase the level of diversity in ideas, thoughts, and individuals throughout their unit, whether it be through recruitment and retention, course offerings, or different programming.

Housing, for example, has the “Count Me In” program. It’s basically a model for how the university should become more diverse in the way we educate students, and retain a variety and critical mass of students.

Currently there are not enough resources allocated to the plan. So even though they are saying “new programming is good,” if there aren’t enough allocated resources, it is hard to make sure that these programs get institutionalized.

A lot of the plan is really vague. What does diversity mean? How do we create benchmarks for diversity? There are no repercussions for not meeting the current benchmarks.

We have this cool thing, but it’s like, are [university officials] just paying lip service, or is this tangible change?

I’d say that we are on the steps to tangible change.

But are we where we need to be? No. The biggest indication of that is where we allocate development dollars. They’re building a new basketball arena when clearly we need more academic units, or, you know, housing.

When people donate money sometimes they donate to really specific things—like a new basketball arena—that they can get their name on.

But it’s all about how they market. If you always say, “Look at our athletics,” people will give money to athletics. When we say, “Look at what our students are doing; look at the cool things you are enabling them to do,” it attracts a different market.

We got 17 million dollars for the sciences from [Lorry] Lokey last year.

It’s the largest academic donation we’ve ever gotten. The Holden Leadership Center was able to get funding for leadership programming because of the work that students do. You can get those donations, but you have to approach donors a different way.

What is the most challenging aspect of activism on this campus?

Rallying the base. A lot of students on this campus are, I wouldn’t say apathetic, but uninformed on some of the issues. It’s hard for them to see how things directly affect them. We’ll tell students, “You need to come to the capital with us, and they’ll say, “Well, I’m just missing time from school.” They don’t see the direct translation of the work that gets done on their behalf or the work that they can be a part of.

You have to rally the base to get anyone out there besides the usual suspects. But when it does happen, it is truly a special moment—like when we had the big voter registration campaign, or when we have students come to rallies for higher education.

Say you’re giving advice to a student who has never been involved in anything. What is the first step they should take to get more involved?

The first step is: Find what you are passionate about; it’s all about what resonates with you, and what is important to you. And then find who on campus is also looking at that. I promise you that in a campus of 20,000 individuals, there is someone out there who is doing similar work, if not the same. Be proactive: seek out the resources you need to go farther.

There is a lot of untapped potential on this campus, and you just have to dive right in. But I would also say: know your own limitations. It doesn’t help for you to go all in and then get burnt out.

What do you want to do when you graduate?

I’d like to go into some sort of social justice work. I’m also looking at taking a job with the state department as a foreign services officer.

But ideally I would like to get into social justice—high-profile lobbying and maybe even political consulting.

ETHOS.UOREGON.EDU

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Forum

“Mother Teresa of Mexico” A friend to all animals, Molly Fisher gives hope to homeless dogs and cats

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e drape ourselves across plastic chairs in the small yard outside Molly Fisher’s pink stucco home in Bucerías, Mexico. Sipping on Pacificos, we wash down the margherita pizza that arrived strapped to the back of a motorcycle. Fisher teaches us new words.

“Estoy llena,” she says as she sets down her piece of vinegar-drenched pizza and rubs her belly. Dogs wander under and between our legs, and their happily panting faces find comforting spots in our hands.

The big, dark chocolate-colored one she calls Santos hops over to Fisher and sets his head in her lap. “When I found this one, his leg had been like that for a week,” she says.

Our eyes gravitate to the bandaged stump where Santos’ hind leg should be.

The little blonde dog I’ve fallen in love with nips at my ankles—she’s finally regained energy after Fisher took her in a week and a half ago. I reach down to pet her side, and my fingers meet a coarse, patchy coat of fur that undulates over her rib cage.

My friend giggles and scrunches her nose as the terrier mix named El climbs up her chest and attacks her face with kisses.

“What’s the story behind this one?” she asks. “I found her while I was running,” Fisher explains. “She had no hair.”

The three of us are finally relaxing after

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ETHOS MAGAZINE SPRING 2009

helping put on a free spay and neuter clinic for local dogs and cats, aimed at reducing animal overpopulation in Mexico.

We spent four 12- to 16-hour days vaccinating animals, preparing them for surgery, assisting the veterinarians performing the operations, monitoring the animals’ vital signs in recovery, and discussing proper animal care with the owners. The clinic was a fresh, liberating experience for my friend and me, but it was just another few days at work for Fisher.

Ten years ago, Fisher didn’t imagine building her entire life in Mexico surrounded by rescued animals and directing an organization that has now spayed or neutered more than 6,000 dogs and cats. When she moved to Isla Mujeres—a small, idyllic island off the coast of the Yucután Peninsula—Fisher was only planning to stay for about a year. She’d left her life as a high school science teacher in Colorado not to escape, but to improve.

“I loved my job, loved the school, loved my kids,” she says, but she couldn’t communicate with them. At a school that lists 63 percent of its students as Hispanic, she decided she needed to learn Spanish to be the teacher she aspired to be.

Mexico quickly became more than just a tool for Fisher to learn a new language.

She fell in love with the country her first day there and began to build a life in Isla Mujeres. She even adopted a dog—a little black lab mix she named Jordi. She was “super playful, obedient, sweet—just happy to have a home,” Fisher says.

One night Fisher came home from a daytrip and realized Jordi was missing. She searched for weeks. She asked everyone she knew if they’d seen her and posted flyers offering a reward. Eventually someone informed her that there had been a “dog sweep” the week Jordi went missing. “Dog sweeps” were Isla Mujeres’ version of animal population control, during which the local government had a team round up all the loose dogs in town and then electrocute them.

Top: Photo by akk_rus, flickr.com/akras; Bottom and opposite page: Photos courtesy Molly Fisher

BELOW: Molly Fisher cofounded Amigos de los Animales as an avenue for those in Isla Mujeres who were outraged with local policies to give their four-legged friends a voice.

Pet overpopulation is an obvious problem in Mexico. Mangy dogs scrounge through garbage or lounge in the heat, scratching and nipping at themselves. They loiter outside restaurant kitchens or pester customers at their tables on the beach.

Fisher tells me of other ways some Mexicans try to combat pet overpopulation: some shoot them dead, some drown them, and some set out lethal poison for them to eat.

Jordi’s death ignited a fervor in Fisher, and she decided something had to change.

“I thought, I can waste all this energy being angry, or I can use it to do something positive,” she says. She researched ways to humanely reduce pet overpopulation in Isla Mujeres and realized spay and neuter clinics were the best option for the area.

She cofounded Amigos de los Animales, or Friends of the Animals, as an avenue for those in Isla Mujeres who were outraged with local policies to give their four-legged friends a voice.

Fisher contacted Susan Monger, a veterinarian who coordinated Rural Area Veterinary Services programs in Latin America for the Humane Society of the United States (HSUS). Monger happened to be planning a trip to Belize in January 2001 so she stopped by Isla Mujeres on her way.

In November Fisher was checking in dogs and cats at her first spay and neuter clinic.

She hadn’t known how the locals would respond, but the demand turned out to be huge. The clinic was able to help around 120 dogs and cats and had to turn away 50 more that were signed up.

Fisher believes spay and neuter programs get to the root of the animal overpopulation problem. According to HSUS, over six years one fertile dog and her fertile offspring can produce 67,000 dogs. The number that two cats can produce in seven years is 420,000.

After the programs had been implemented on Isla Mujeres, Fisher could easily see the difference. The animals appeared healthier, there were fewer homeless puppies running around, and less road kill.

Amigos de los Animales quickly gained momentum, offering islanders lowcost veterinary services, more free spay and neuter clinics, and education about responsible and humane animal care. Fisher married a man she met on the island, and the couple moved to Puerto Vallarta in 2002. The community had adoption programs for dogs and cats, but no one had tried to put together substantial spay and neuter clinics in the area.

After about a year Fisher got in contact with April Johnson, who was involved with animal programs nearby. Fisher told her she wanted to start aggressive spay and neuter programs in the area to reduce animal overpopulation. “She kind of thought I was crazy,” she says, pausing to laugh. “Most people do at first.”

But Fisher wasn’t crazy—she was determined. Johnson connected her with the Fundación Hagenbach, a non-profit organization that sends veterinarians to rural areas in Mexico to perform spay and neuter surgeries for the free clinics. In November 2003 Fisher met the Hagenbach veterinarians who would work for her first clinic in the Puerto Vallarta area. “They assured me they had everything,” Fisher says, “then I pick them up and they just have this backpack.”

otherwise have access to the services.

Last year PEACE was able to spay or neuter more than 2,500 animals.

When I first heard of Fisher two years ago, her name was followed by an epithet: “the Mother Teresa of Mexico.” Both through her organization and on a personal level she has changed the lives of countless people and animals. I see just one of those changed lives when I look at my own dog— the little blonde girl whom I fell in love with while relaxing in Mexico with Fisher

Jordi’s death ignited a fervor in Fisher, and she decided something had to change.

When she found out the foundation sent the veterinarians to the clinic expecting them to use the same syringe for all the animals, she put herself in charge of supplies.

Fisher’s first clinic with the Fundación Hagenbach spayed or neutered 101 animals.

They put on three more clinics in the next year-and-a-half, and by the end of March 2005 they had spayed or neutered 478 animals. The clinics also provided vaccinations, deworming, and flea and tick treatments for the animals.

At the same time that Fisher was organizing programs for the local animals, she was teaching at the American School of Puerto Vallarta under an educational system she remembers as “daunting.” The students only attended school four-and-a-half hours per day, and no extracurricular programs existed. She wanted to start an after school program in addition to her spay and neuter efforts and realized she could best help her community with multiple programs that worked together.

“I believe that there are many factors involved in the well being of a community, and if one of them is off, the entire community can be off,” she says.

So in 2005 she founded PEACE, Inc. (Protection, Education, Animals, Culture, and Enviroment) as a non-profit umbrella organization for several different programs.

Through the programs, Fisher and everyone else involved have been able to combat animal overpopulation, provide education, encourage community building, and help local women become self-sufficient.

By the end of 2006 the total number of sterilized dogs and cats under PEACE’s animal program, Ayuda a los Animales (Help the Animals), had jumped to 1,503 and has continued to increase steadily since then. In 2007 the clinics spayed or neutered 2,041 animals after implementing mobile clinics that have provided services throughout the states of Jalisco and Nayarit.

Armed with a truck and trailer full of supplies, the mobile clinics reach rural communities where residents wouldn’t

and her menagerie of rescued animals. I look into my dog’s eager, playful eyes that stare up at me as she anticipates my next move in our game of fetch, and I see a happiness she would never know if not for Molly Fisher.

—Rebecca Leisher

Why Spay/Neuter?

Dogs: • Average number of litters a year: 2 • Average number of puppies: 8 One dog and her offspring can produce 67,000 dogs in six years.

Cats: • Average number of litters a year: 3 • Average number of kittens: 5 One cat and her offspring can produce 420,000 cats in seven years Data from the Humane Society of the United States

About PEACE Mexico: “PEACE works hand-in-hand with communities to develop and implement appropriate community programs to enhance the quality of life for all. English classes, after-school programs, recycling initiatives, and a free mobile spay/neuter clinic are among the various projects.”

Visit peacemexico.org to learn more

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On the Path of

Musical Rediscovery Doug Scheuerell devotes his life to the tabla STORY Neethu Ramchandar

PHOTOS Lindsay Minar

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limbing the stairs, the student’s pace quickens. Rhythm pulses through the body in anticipation of the session to come. Outside his office, the student pauses. Quietly, as though any movement may interrupt the creative energy, the door is nudged open. Even with the slightest crack of the door, the beats of the tabla spill into the hallway.

Inside the small classroom sits Doug Scheuerell. There he is perched upon a stack of blankets and mats just high enough to keep his back straight and legs comfortable during hours of music. Across from Scheurell, his students slip off their shoes in accordance to Indian tradition, and take their place on their own brightly-colored Indian rug.

Scheuerell inquires sincerely about his students’ week as they unpack the tabla waiting for them. Students at the University of Oregon are privileged to use a school set of drums during their classes and practice. After the tablas are set in their stands, two sturdy rings for each half, class begins.

The tabla is a North Indian drum consisting of two parts: a larger drum that provides deep rhythmic sounds and a smaller right hand drum that produces tight cycles of beats.

Unlike Western percussion, each section of the drum, accessed with different positions of the hand, produces different sounds, which tabla players learn to produce by hitting the drums in various positions, speeds and strengths. Scheuerell describes learning the tabla as entering a whole new world of music.

“Even those well-versed in Western classical music come into my classes at ground zero,” Scheuerell explains. “It’s a journey for them to be exposed to Hindustani [North Indian] music. I have to explain to them the systems of notes and cycles. It’s a difficult process,” he says. “Many of my students take lessons for near three years. However, even one term of tabla starts a student on an eye opening journey.”

For Scheuerell, music has always come naturally. As a vocal artist he was often described as “gifted.”

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Visit ethos.uoregon.edu to hear Scheurell play tabla.

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ABOVE: The tabla consists of a larger drum that provides deep rhythmic sounds and a smaller right hand drum that produces tight cycles of beats. Scheuerell describes learning the tabla as entering a whole new world of music. PREVIOUS: Scheuerell traveled throughout most of Europe and Asia, including India. “It was during this year of traveling that I really got in tune with the different kinds of music,” he says. “Indian music seemed to be so closely linked to spirituality that I was inspired.”

“M

y first grade teacher once told my principal to come listen to me sing,” Scheuerell recalls. “I was taken to the eight[h] grade chorus to be used as a model of how they should sing. That was quite an honor, although it was quite scary singing in front of all those much older kids.”

His fourth grade music teacher had him lead the other students in simple songs. “We would listen to the radio and then mimic what was sung,” Scheuerell says. “I was always really good at that.”

At the age of nine, Scheuerell sang “Beautiful Dreamer” at a nurse’s conference as his first paid gig. From fourth to sixth grade Scheuerell was the lead soloist and occasional director of the boy’s chorus.

After high school, Scheuerell made his way to the University of Wisconsin. As only the second person in his family to go to college, he found college to be a shocking experience. He was not used to the amount of work and dedication required of a student. Previously, he had devoted so much time and energy to music that school had been a lesser priority.

At first, Scheuerell was afraid of declaring a major in music. Since he had only taken private singing lessons, he did not feel learned enough to pursue a full major in music.

“I had to practice piano for hours a day in order to catch up with my peers,” Scheuerell says. “However, once I started my music major, everything fit into place. Before that, I was just sort of drifting.”

In addition to his time-consuming music classes, Scheuerell threw himself into the various music groups that the University of Wisconsin had to offer.

“At some point, I sang in every men’s group that we had,” Scheuerell says. “These included the top vocal group called Tudor Singers. That one was special because out of 200 people there to audition, I was chosen to be one of 22.”

Scheuerell’s musical ventures led him to partake in an opera, various musicals and the Men’s Glee Club.

While at the University of Wisconsin, Scheuerell’s opera professor helped finish Haydn’s “Land of the Moon.” Scheuerell and his peers then traveled to Chicago to perform the finished version. “I played the part of a fool. It was a lot of fun.”

As the end of his time as a college student came near, Scheuerell was offered a position as a director. However, he turned it down to be a musician. About six months later, Scheuerell joined the band Shane Todd and the Shane Gang, and traveled throughout the state to

perform. In addition, he composed freelance music for PBS and wrote music for the film Wisconsin We Care.

After three-and-a-half years of pursuing anything and everything musical, Scheuerell felt he had begun to lose himself.

“I had always liked the idea of music being spiritually connected,” Scheuerell says. “However, when I was moving so fast, my musical identity was fading. That was my sign to move on to a new adventure.”

In 1974, at the age of 26, Scheuerell hitchhiked his way to California from Wisconsin and fell in love with the musical culture bursting out of San Francisco. A few months later, he packed up his amps and guitars and moved to the West Coast.

However, after a short while, he decided to pick up again. This time he packed only the essentials, leaving behind his instruments and deciding to see the world.

This global journey took Scheuerell through most of Europe and Asia, including India.

“It was during this year of traveling that I really got in tune with the different kinds of music,” Scheuerell says. “And from it all, Indian music seemed to be so closely linked to spirituality that I was inspired.”

Returning to San Francisco a year later, Scheuerell found himself disoriented. He had been so far from Western culture that fitting back into the mold was difficult. “Home,” he recalls, “no longer felt like home.”

Eventually, Scheuerell left San Francisco. The intention was to test himself; setting out to create music in an environment less bustling than California. This journey led him to New Mexico where he lived in a bare room, meditating and practicing his guitar.

“It had to cook in my mind, heart and soul before I could devote to the tabla and the practice it would take,” Scheuerell says. “It came to me in a meditative state. I couldn’t ignore the signs. It was like a hammer hitting my head. I knew it at that moment, I had to become a tabla player.”

Soon thereafter, a newly-inspired Scheuerell sold his car, bought a van, into which he packed all that he owned, and began his search for a teacher.

“I had read about the Ali Akbar College of Music, but I wasn’t ready to commit so much to the tabla,” Scheuerell says. “It took me three trips to California before I registered. Meanwhile, I found a few teachers who really helped me along my journey.”

He traveled to Eugene where Gregory Stout, his first tabla teacher, offered him eight lessons. “That was nice, and I really respected him,” Scheuerell says. “But I really wanted more. So I went to California where I knew there would be a more abundance of teachers.”

Scheuerell found Swami Nada Brahmananda, a spiritual teacher, to teach him tabla. However, after three lessons Scheuerell realized that this style was lacking the classical training he desired. “I was really close to my teacher,” Scheuerell says with teary eyes. “It was only after I received his blessings that I went on to look for another teacher.”

In 1981, Scheuerell enrolled in the famous Ali Akbar College of Music. Although he had already been admitted, the school offered many levels of class, and enrolling in each level required a separate audition.

When Scheuerell first arrived at the school, he was asked to play for the Maestro Ali Akbar Khan. The piece that he chose to play impressed the instructors and so he was allowed to skip a series of beginning classes to go straight to the more advanced classes.

“I guess he like what I played,” Scheuerell recalls. “I think I really just surprised him when I told him that I had learned the piece from a record called Playing Tabla in 42 Lessons.”

Upon admission, Scheuerell began taking classes with Khan, who is internationally known for his work on Sarode, and later on with Pandit Swapan Chaudhuri, a famous percussionist and tabla teacher.

At the music school, Scheuerell focused on tabla, but spent so much time in classes that he picked up skills on many areas of Hindustani music.

“I spent the majority of my time doing simple tasks to earn my keep,” Scheuerell explains. “I feel so very fortunate that I was allowed to

“It had to cook in my mind, heart and soul before I could devote to the tabla and the practice it would take.”

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spend so much time at the school. I learned the most sitting in the back of classes simply following along.”

These tasks included everything from taking care of the instruments to sweeping the parking lot. Scheuerell did everything he could to be allowed his six to eight hours of practice a day. This routine went on for years before practice shrank to just two hours daily.

“It was never what my teachers said to me that made me good,” he says, “but rather I was affected by the looks and pleased gestures that molded by own ability to make music. By dedicating myself to music, I created special bonds with my teachers. I loved them and they really loved me as well.”

As Scheuerell grew more attracted to the tabla, he began lessons with Chaudhuri. During classes, Chaudhuri passed on the teachings of tabla from Hindustani schools of music dating far into India’s history.

Thinking back to his very first accompanying performance, Scheuerell allowed the tears to flow.

“My first accompanying experience was with Don Willis,” Scheuerell says. “He was an amazing musician and I didn’t feel ready at all.

However, he gave me confidence and the concert was nothing but magical. There was a satisfaction that I felt afterwards that reaches beyond anything material.

This feeling is one that I have after every and any concert, no matter the size.”

“My mind was getting crowded with music,” he explains, “Not just the music, but all the commotion and business that my life was holding. I needed to get back in touch with the music and myself.”

Eugene served as a sort of escape for him. He would camp in the woods for months at a time. “I was able to meditate and be a part of the environment,” he says, “but at the same time I could practice my tabla alone for hours a day. I didn’t realize it then, but I was living the life. It was as if I was singing to my own tune, letting the world pass me by. I was as free as a butterfly, and I got to be with my music.”

Scheuerell eventually made his way to Eugene in a permanent move, and in 1994 began teaching at the University of Oregon, where he started with only two students.

“I was assigned a closet with no door somewhere in the GTF department,” Scheuerell recalls of his first office. “Eventually I got my own door and a few more students.”

Now Scheuerell has an office and a classroom in the music building, although, this term, he continues to have only two students.

After beginning teaching at the University of Oregon, Scheuerell continued to be a musician. In January 2008 he released his CD, titled Communion. The album contains Hindustani music as well as many others, including jazz. The pieces are solo features as well as collaborations with musicians such as Paul McCandless, Glenn Moore, Glen Velez, Colin Farish, Ben Kunin, and Jeff Defty.

In addition to releasing his CD, Scheurell has given many concerts.

“I have played solo tabla in concerts many times over the years from small venues to large, most at the U of O School of Music,” Scheuerell says. “The largest venue was opening for Grateful Dead’s guitarist Bob Weir at the Eugene Hilton, which was stuffed with over 1,200 people.”

While this picturesque music career includes traveling around the world and living in perfect harmony with one’s self and the music he loves, it’s a livelihood that has had its ups and downs as well.

While at the University of Oregon, Scheurell struggled with cancer.

It was a physical and musical mountain to climb that set his recording schedule back. However, now that he is doing better, Scheurell says the important thing is to move on and be thankful for his current health.

Throughout his music career, Scheurell always knew that he wanted to be a music teacher. Specifically he felt as though sharing music with college students would be rewarding. If he could simply expose them to a piece of Indian music, his job would be successfully putting his music gifts to use. And so, despite the wavering numbers of students he has had over the years, Scheuerell continues to share his music with students.

“Many of my students have graduated or are on tour so this term I have very few students,” Scheuerell says. “However, I hope to get more students next term. I’m here to teach students, no matter their level, who are passionate about learning tabla.”

Scheuerell’s classes are open to all, and allow students to explore Hindustani music along with the tabla.

“Some say it takes 20 years to become a good tabla player,” Scheuerell says. “I’ve been playing for much longer and I still have much to learn. And as long as my body will let me, I’ll keep playing.

There’s something about the tabla that can be matched by nothing else in this world.”

“Some say it takes 20 years to become a good tabla player. I’ve been playing for much longer and I still have much to learn.”

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Rite of Passage OR PUNISHMENT

Female genital circumcision has the potential of being a different kind of genocide STORY MOLLY MCHUGH

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PHOTOS AS NOTED

ery few things induce my gag reflex more violently than the notion of someone slicing off the hood of my clitoris with a razor blade. While at a lecture about the practice of female genital circumcision (FGC) in Africa, my stomach flipped after the first slide. It was a hand drawing of infibulation—the most brutal of FGC practices, where the labia minora (the inner lips of the vulva) are removed and the labia majora (the outer lips) are sewn together, sealing the vagina.

This was followed by a slide of one of the instruments used: an old razor blade. My head started to reel. I groped my way to the door, trying to ignore the steady waves of nausea rolling through my body. I was half-listening to the speaker’s words about how in extreme cases women are sewn shut, only to be ripped open again on their wedding nights, like rusty zippers broken open until they split. And how sometimes reeds were inserted and how “the hole” eventually became the size of a toothpick, and how, and how… That’s when I found myself lying on the cold tile outside of the room.

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An image commonly associated with female genital circumcision. Photo by Molly McHugh.

W

hile my reaction was the more physical than others’, the women in my class seemed to conclude the same: female genital circumcision is horrible, wrong, and must be stopped.

However, those most affected by FGC, generally African women, are not horrified by it. Rather, they accept it and even perform it.

Courtney Smith, a graduate student at the University of Oregon who studied FGC in Africa, explains its cultural significance. “Women perform circumcisions. It’s an occupation handed down generations.” She goes on to offer comparisons to American ideals of maturity. “I had a friend who told me how when she got her period for the first time, her mom took her out for pancakes.”

Though hugely different in physical implications, the sentiment of transitioning into adulthood is the same. “[When boys and girls are circumcised] they go out into the bush, do their own thing, and then they are men and women. They come back for a celebration.” However, Western “coming of age” celebrations rarely have such dangerous physical consequences.

There are three classifications of FGC: clitoridectomy, excision, and infibulation. A clitoridectomy is the removal of the clitoris and occasionally the clitoral hood. Excision also removes the clitoris as well as the labia minora. In some cases, only the labia minora are removed, leaving the clitoris intact. Infibulation—the least common method of female circumcision—is the removal of the labia minora and binding of the labia majora. The clitoris can be removed or left, depending on the village’s customs.

In severe cases, women suffer horrible diseases and crippling pain their entire lives. This may occur from menstruation, urinating after the procedure, sexual intercourse, or from

infections caused by the poor operating conditions, which include no anesthesia and unsanitary surgical techniques. Often, surgical tools are no more than glass and razors, string to sew shut, and even mud and dirt to cake over the wound so that it “heals.” And while FGC has strong ties as a celebratory and positive tradition for the culture, the implications behind the “control” of a woman’s sexuality still linger. In many African cultures, the clitoris is viewed as what turns women into prowling, sexual creatures, unable to control their lust.

And while it might bother us that this is occurring in the world, the effects and reaches of FGC can be seen here in Oregon.

Often, surgical tools are no more than glass and razors, string to sew shut, and even mud and dirt to cake over the wound so that it “heals.”

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Lydia Olulono, a Nigerian refuguee residing in Portland, Oregon, is trying to save her two young daughters from the celebratory rite she went through. In an interview with TIME, Olulono expresses the confusing feelings between Eastern and Western approaches to FGC. At five, she underwent a clitoridectomy. And although not bitter, she is desperate to keep her daughters from undergoing the procedure. “When I had a baby here, I called home, and my senior sister was asking if they’d circumcised her,” Olulono told TIME. “I said no, they don’t do it in America here. It sounded so funny to her. She couldn’t believe that. She said that if we come home, they are going to do it for her no matter what.”

Olulono explains she originally intended for her daughters to undergo circumcision when they were of age, as African

opposite: The first generation of women in Kembata, Durame Woreda, Ethiopia, who do not have to undergo female genital circumcision. Their mothers realized the consequences of FGC during their own lifetimes, and are not willing to let their daughters be cut because they have. Genet and her friends say that if the boys complain about them not being circumcised, they will say, “We don’t need to marry you.” Photo by Netsanet Assaye © 2005. Courtesy of Photoshare.org. ABOVE: Common tools used to perform FGC. Photo by Rick Olson.

immigrants and refugees in the United States quietly practice in their communities. While this might sound horrifying, Carol Horowitz, a Seattle counselor who works with African women dealing with FGC, says, “If your only message is that this is barbaric, women who have been circumcised will be less likely to seek the medical care they need. They’re not doing it to their children to hurt them. They’re doing it because they love them.

Until they got here, they never realized it could be any other way.”

FGC is performed by women on their daughters and approved by community members because parts of the female anatomy are viewed as unnecessary and disgusting. Smith offers, “African women feel that the clitoris is like a penis. Some cultures even believe in a myth that says if you didn’t cut off your clitoris or at least the hood, it would grow down to your knees. They believe it’s dirty and masculine.”

This conflict between tradition and dangerous surgery has recently become the topic of popular debate. Just last year, the reality show America’s Next Top Model featured a young woman named Fatima Siad who had undergone circumcision as a young girl in Somalia. In her many interviews since the show, Siad has spoken about the ordeal. However, to the shock and awe of women everywhere, she has hardly said a negative word about the experience. While she admits to have undergone some emotional turmoil because of her circumcision at age seven, in an editorial for the online magazine Orato, Siad writes, “I’m not here to judge or criticize our culture and say these people are so bad for practicing female circumcision. I think culture is very important… culture is sacred. I’m nobody to tell people that they shouldn’t do this or that—I’m trying to find a way to just talk about it.”

She goes on to suggest that there be a way for girls to better understand the procedure and for stricter health guidelines to be in place. She does however, call for it to end. While hardly a

defense of FGC, Siad seems far from persecuting it. FGC is barely acceptable based on its classification as a rite of passage.

We go above and beyond the realm of political correctness to be accepting of other cultures. It’s difficult to determine female circumcision as unethical if the women subjected to it aren’t complaining. And while African women generally feel this is a rite of passage, its significance does not outweigh its consequences.

“Menstruation, urination, and of course, sex, can become extremely difficult for women who have had circumcisions,” says Smith.

Additionally, because women willingly (or at least seemingly so) undergo and perform FGC, it’s difficult to point a finger. The myth that men force this on women and use it as a punishment is simply incorrect. Smith says, “Most men I spoke with didn’t even know what a clitoris is, or had sex with a woman who had one.

They know that that is a ‘woman’s thing’ and have little to no knowledge of it.”

But ignorance is not bliss. Even though men are blindly unaware and women aren’t loudly objecting, female circumcision cannot be passed off as a celebration of maturity. Female refugees like Olulono are still unable to escape its grasp even here. Siad struggles with the circumcision that she, in recent years, has begun to process and regret.

Female circumcision, or mutilation as it has recently been called, has the potential to be a different kind of genocide—one that leaves our world with a generation of regretful, bitter, scared, and confused women.

Labeling it with a pretty idea like “rite of passage” diminishes the severity of its impact. It’s time to create a celebration of maturity devoid of scarring and mutilation, razors and glass, binding and mud: a girl should be allowed to become a woman with her genitalia intact.

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do again but am glad I did. You hav about working extra just to buy to dad makes $20 a month. Whatever I send to my family. I don’ t think p classes worry about work, but I do was growing up I didn’ t have nothi were no opportunities for me. My just trying to survive. As more and soldiers died, I’ d look at the names I didn’ t see anyone I knew. They m irrigation equipment and poured co the water basin and left. Zimbabwe did not know how to use the land g so nothing was produced and the e crashed. I don’ t blame people, but have no idea where Georgia is or d any idea about the recent conflict. even know that Georgia exists. It’ s to be remote and to know that peo

ve to think oothpaste. My r I can afford, people in my o. When I ing. There family was d more s, hoping melted oncrete into eans who got it. And economy most people don’ t have . They didn’ t ’ s really hard ople are

STORY ABIGAIL DISKIN PHOTOS COURTNEY HENDRICKS

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ome is politically unstable and thousands of miles away. The violence of war has made many people suffer and has devastated their communities; it has permanently altered history. Family and friends could be in harm’s way. Things are changing at a rapid pace, shifting those strands of familiarity that encompass the feeling of home.

But studying in the United States is an opportunity toward a better path, a chance to change the future. For Farai Marazi, Vasil Verulashvili, and Uri Fintzy, this is the reality of every day.

These three international students came to the United States to study, and while they were away, conflict and war erupted, causing a wake of instability in their home countries.

Each student’s country has a unique history and set of challenges impacting them in different ways. Nevertheless, the hardships these students face parallel each other as they navigate their paths abroad; being acutely aware that home is in danger.

“I pressure myself to do well in school. I just have to do this, or else it is not going to go well for everyone,” Marazi says.

Marazi came to the U.S. in 2004 from Harare, Zimbabwe, to escape the dire economic situation at home and to attend Reed College in Portland, Oregon. Marazi sent money home to his family at least once a month, funding his brother’s education and enabling his family to buy the basic things they needed to survive. He worked 20 hours a week, the maximum allowed for international students, until he graduated in the spring of 2008.

“You have to think about working extra just to buy toothpaste. My dad makes $20 a month. Whatever I can afford, I send to my family. I don’t think people in my classes worry about work, but I do,” Marazi says.

Uri Fintzy, born in Israel, always wanted to live in the United States. Every summer he would visit his father, who married an American from Portland.

Four weeks after Fintzy graduated from high school, he was handed his first rifle. Wearing a khaki uniform and a blue beret, Fintzy marched into three years of mandatory service, despite feeling like it was going to hold him back. In retrospect, Fintzy says the army helped to build his character.

He says he got to know himself better and learned how he reacts to stress and pressure. But it was never easy. At times, he says, it was depressing.

“It was one of those things that I would never do again but am glad I did,” Fintzy says.

After serving in the Israeli Defense Forces for three years, Fintzy decided to move to Portland, joining his father and stepmother. Soon thereafter, Fintzy applied for a U.S. Visa.

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fter a successful interview, he is glad to be eligible for U.S. citizenship at the end of this year. After a term at Portland State University in the summer of 2007, he transferred to the University of Oregon where he currently attends. Fintzy plans to graduate this spring, with a degree in Broadcast Journalism.

What Fintzy did not plan was the recent spike of instability and violence in Israel. The first conflict he experienced from afar, while living in the U.S., erupted in the summer of 2006 when Israel went to war with Lebanon. Fintzy, already establishing his new life in Portland, was racked with worry and “glued to the news.”

“As more and more soldiers died, I’d look at the names, hoping I didn’t see anyone I knew,” says Fintzy.

Then, in 2008, fighting between Israel and Hamas broke out in Gaza. Fintzy’s in-laws, who live in Ashkelon (near Gaza), were now in missile range. Fintzy’s army unit was drafted to fight and he

After years of struggle, Zimbabwe won its independence in 1980 and the Zimbabwe African National Union, headed by Robert Mugabe, came to power. The British, who had promised to turn over the land upon Zimbabwe’s independence, didn’t, until the Zimbabweans forcefully reclaimed the land in the late 1990s.

The British abandoned their farms but left the land infertile to unskilled Zimbabweans.

“They melted irrigation equipment and poured concrete into the water basin and left…Zimbabweans who did not know how to use the land got it. And so nothing was produced and the economy crashed,” Marazi says.

“The government printed money to pay off the veterans and this fueled inflation...Now 90 percent is unemployed and there is political unrest.”

Marazi says that Mugabe won the recent election in 2008 by

“ I doubt many people in my class are worried about Zimbabwean inflation,”Marazi says. says he was once again plagued with worry.

“It’s really hard to be remote and to know that people are constantly suffering. I am living my carefree life here in Oregon and my friends back home aren’t. It’s not my fault and I shouldn’t be upset about it, but it is hard,” Fintzy says.

Verulashvili dreamt about the same “carefree life” when he watched Hollywood movies as a child. Verulashvili was born in Georgia when it was still a part of the USSR, at a time when the economy was so bad, the crime rate so high, and the education system so inadequate, he says it was “uninhabitable.”

“When I was growing up I didn’t have nothing. There were no opportunities for me…My family was just trying to survive,” says Verulashvili, who didn’t attend school until the third grade.

Verulashvili followed close behind his older sister who came to the U.S. when she was 15. Two years ago, Verulashvili moved to Spokane, Washington, to study abroad and to see for himself what life in America was really like.

There, with the help of his host family, he learned to speak English and decided to stay in the U.S. longer than expected. After a year in Spokane, he transferred to Lane Community College in Eugene, where he is studying hospitality management and plans to graduate in the summer of 2009.

“This is big for me, a big opportunity,” says Verulashvili with a grin.

However, the recent five-day conflict involving Georgia, South Ossetia, and Russia, which began in August 2008 when a clash between the semi-autonomous region of South Ossetia and Georgia resulted in violence, almost convinced Verulashvili to change his plans once again.

“My first reaction was, ‘I’m getting a ticket and flying home to join the army,’” says Verulashvili, who talked to friends on the phone who were being deployed as reserve forces.

“I was in tears. I said, ‘You’re there and what if something happens to you? I would never forgive myself for not being there.’

They pleaded with me not to come.” So Verulashvili stayed, reminding himself of the opportunity provided by his stay in the U.S. Some conflicts erupt suddenly, while others are deeply rooted and complex. Marazi outlines the following as a tumultuous history responsible for Zimbabwe’s current instability. From roughly 1888 to 1980, Zimbabwe, nicknamed the “breadbasket of South Africa” for its fertile farmland, was colonized by Britain. The British had control of all the farmland and exported most of the profits and resources from the land directly to Europe.

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killing, harassing, and intimidating citizens who voted for the opposition party­­—unjustly allowing him to continue his 28-year dictatorship. The end result: conditions in Zimbabwe are worse than ever and Marazi is miles away.

“Compared to when I was growing up, it is different. We never worried about what we were going to eat. They do now.

Sometimes there’s just not going to be any food for two or three days,” Marazi says. “I wonder if they think, ‘I have to get money from other people because I cannot support myself’…like it’s not really satisfying to get money that way.”

Marazi explains solemnly that his “people are dying.” Those who are lucky enough to have a job in Zimbabwe only make $20 a month, but a gallon of gas costs $15 and bread costs $1.50. “They are starving. If you catch cholera, you are going to die because there are no doctors. We are in line to die, so that’s what it has come to,” Marazi says.

Like Zimbabwe, Israel has a long history of conflict. The dispute between Israelis and the Palestinians over the ownership of territory in Israel has been long-standing, eventually leading to an escalation like that of the recent war in Gaza.

Although Fintzy is so concerned about what is happening there that he hourly checks the news for updates, he says he did not seek comfort from others around him.

Fintzy says he does not feel compelled to discuss his country’s affairs with his peers, because he knew he “wouldn’t get what [he] wanted.”

“They wouldn’t understand,” says Fintzy, who prefers to maintain a neutral stance on the conflict, like any “professional journalist would.”

Fintzy isn’t the only one who feels like he can’t talk with other students about the situation back home.

“I don’t blame people, but most people have no idea where Georgia is or don’t have any idea about the recent conflict…They didn’t even know that Georgia exists,” Verulashvili says.

Marazi also notices a gap between him and his peers, magnifying the difficulties of being a foreigner.

“Compared to my classmates, I find myself thinking about other things,” Marazi says. “You cannot talk to anyone about those problems because they don’t care or might not know about it. I doubt many people in my class are worried about Zimbabwean inflation.”

Marazi is here to improve his life and the lives of his family members in Zimbabwe. It is a mission, he says, many of his peers might not relate to. After observing his college roommate, who,

Marazi explains, came from a wealthy family and had his tuition covered, Marazi realized he had a different set of priorities.

Marazi says even though his roommate was provided with the opportunity to attend college for free, he spent most of his time partying or just “chilling and not caring about school.”

“That’s when you start thinking about why you are here, things like responsibility,” Marazi says.

Although the weight of Marazi’s words hung in the air, he quickly wrote off any chance for sympathy by shrugging his shoulders. “So these are just my problems. Everyone has problems.”

Verulashvili, like Fintzy and Marazi, is also here on a mission: to learn and to prosper. He hopes to return to Georgia to open up his own bed-and-breakfast along the shores of the Black Sea. But first, he says, he wants to spend a year in Las Vegas, Nevada, to gain experience working in the hotel business.

Verulashvili believes that although the recent conflict in his country may have set it back, a bright future is around the corner.

The root of the problem stems from South Ossetia and Abkhazia, two separatist regions located within Georgia’s borders that are backed by Russian forces.

Friction between Georgia and Russia reached a breaking point since Georgia does not want to give up these territories.

Nevertheless, Georgian law has no TOP: Marazi explains that his “people are dying.” Those with a job in Zimbabwe only make $20 a month. BOTTOM: Fintzy plans power in these areas. to permanently live in the U.S. after he is granted citizenship. NOTE: Verulashvili was unavailable for a photograph.

“Georgia is open to Western during turbulent times, all three international students see their ways and an alliance with the experiences in the U.S. as an opportunity not to be taken for U.S., and Russia doesn’t want this. It is using two occupied granted. territories to control us. It would be nonsense to fight against the “If you have a good head on your shoulders, you can go far biggest country in the world,” Verulashvili says. in this country. All the knowledge I’ve learned here, how people If Georgians were to enter these areas, “they [Russian troops]

“ I don’ t regret any day that I’ ve stayed here,”Verulashvili says. would shoot you. They could shoot anyone and we can’t do anything about it,” Verulashvili says. Fortunately, his family lives in the capital, T’bilisi, and is safe there.

The five-day conflict that began on August 7, 2008, ended when France called for a ceasefire. Verulashvili says about 200 people died as a result of the short war. This number, however, has been disputed, as Russia and Georgia have claimed different death tolls. Additionally, he explains, Russian forces burned acres and acres of old growth forest belonging to a national park, a devastating environmental loss.

Despite the discomfort that comes from being far from home

cherish their freedoms, it will be very useful to go back and share it with my country…I don’t regret any day that I’ve stayed here,” Verulashvili says.

It’s simple, really, Marazi explains. There are two choices to be made, and one is clearly favorable; “That’s the decision: you can go [to Zimbabwe] and get paid 20 bucks and essentially not be able to buy food, or stay and have a good job.”

Fintzy, who plans to permanently live in the U.S. after he is granted citizenship, says, “I am comfortable with visiting and having internet-based relationships with my friends and family.”

“This is what I want. This is where I need to be.”

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JOURNEYS ABROAD

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ETHOS MAGAZINE SPRING 2009

Culture Shock:

Six students relate their experiences abroad

Ghana SheenA Lahren (SL) Italy Amy Erickson (AE) & Leighton Cosseboom (LC) New Zealand Lindsee Gregory (LG) Spain Michelle Leis (ML) USA Seiga Ohtani (SO)

Photo by Sheena Lahren

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PEOPLE In addition to the friends I made around the city, I felt immediately welcomed by the people in my neighborhood. Ghanaians have a strong sense of community and a desire to protect those in the community, even foreigners. Ameena, the woman who I bought fruit from every morning, taught me important Twi phrases and always made sure she gave me the most delicious pineapple. Neighbors we did not know often waved to us and called out, “Hey Obroni!” eager to meet us and to talk. SL Most of the shopkeepers would try their best to communicate in English and with gestures, and were patient with our limited grasp of Italian.

Shopkeepers would also use phrases and words that were familiar but informal with non-Italian speakers (an example of this is “ciao”), but would often speak more formally with Italian patrons. AE

ABOVE: Photo By Seiga Ohtani. BELOW: Photo by Sheena Lahren

Our convoy hit the streets to peruse the street vendors, who savagely attempted to sell us imitation Gucci shoes, Louis Vuitton purses, and various handmade trinkets. I was shocked that there were this many people of endless ethnicities all in the same gritty city trying to make a living on the streets. There were people from Africa, China, Romania, Russia, the Czech Republic, and everywhere in between; I was dumbfounded. LC No matter where I was in New Zealand—Auckland, the biggest Polynesian city in the world; Rotorua, a tourist town heavy in geothermal activity; or Christchurch, a European village in the South Island—I always saw someone with a face covered in moko tattoos. Moko is perhaps the most visible of all remaining links to Maori cultural identity.

Moko is not distinct to any one type of person; I saw men and women with tattoos lining their mouths, old men with short gray hair, young men with long dreadlocks, women who wore muumuus the likes of which my grandmother would wear. LG My host mother, Leti, and I had come to the Philharmonic Theater to watch a stand-up comedian. Leti laughed hysterically throughout the show. When a joke truly hit Leti’s funny bone, she’d throw one hand out towards the stage and use the other to clench my unsuspecting elbow.

I tended to find myself in this position fairly often with Spanish women. It seemed they always wanted to make their point by grabbing my arm. I felt like the women enjoyed this small display of power—if they couldn’t force my ears open, at least they knew I wasn’t going to run away. As they’d speak, their free hand would jump around in front of their bodies like a tiny person anxiously trying to communicate without a mouth. ML In the afternoon on Thanksgiving, we popped open the champagne bottle and cheered. Then, we ate a turkey with cranberry. While I relaxed, I suddenly recalled something: spending time with family and having a traditional meal. It reminded me of oshogatsu, which means New Year’s Day in Japanese. Oshogatu is also spent with family eating traditional Japanese food. Though the holidays were the least familiar thing about the United States to me, I was comforted to understand that people spend time with their families at least once a year in any culture. SO

FOOD Our professor told us not to buy food from outside bus windows and eating at chops shops, unsanitary roadside food stands normally run by a woman wearing a cloth that wrapped her baby around her back, with a dead dog lying nearby. But I preferred eating this way. The food was tasty, despite appearances, and cheap—a dollar for a full plate of fried rice and plantain chips. The resulting diarrhea was not that different from one Fourth of July when I consumed too many chilidogs. While having diarrhea in the market was an embarrassing experience, it was painless in comparison to my colleague’s thirteen-day constipation. SL Before traveling to Italy, I had never given balsamic vinegar much thought; our trip to Modena changed that. We went on a tour of a family-owned balsamic vinegar farm. A kind Italian family that spoke little English walked us through the process with the help of a translator and many hand gestures. The longer the vinegar is aged, the sweeter it tastes.

Vinegar aged 25 years or more is sometimes used as a gelato topping (we tried it this way, it was quite good). This family had a family tradition that when a member of the family

“I often found myself in the position of staring my dinner in the eye.” is born, a barrel of balsamic is sealed in their name. Each year on the person’s birthday, a little of the balsamic is used at dinner. The older a person is, the better the balsamic will be. AE I went to a restaurant called Il Leone Rossa, which translates to the Red Lion. My companion, Chris, and I ordered far too much food. We knew in Italy every meal was at least three courses, but the Italians pride themselves on how full they can stuff tourists (especially American boys). LC New Zealand is a country rich in locally and ethically grown beef, chicken and lamb, from which New Zealanders get their unflattering nickname, “sheep-shaggers.” Since everyone speaks English and the food, despite my vegetarianism, turned out to be what I’m used to at home, arriving in New Zealand was not quite the culture shock that going to Kenya or China might be. LG

The Spaniards have a different sense of what looks appetizing. They like to serve most of their seafood with the head still attached, which means I often found myself in the position of staring my dinner in the eye. I found this unappealing, but it didn’t seem to phase any of the locals. Quite the opposite was true. The Spaniards I observed seemed to enjoy the process of beheading and de-shelling at the table. Messy hands weren’t impolite, they were expected from all the squirting and crushing. ML I found that Japanese foods are sometimes misunderstood in the United States. I haven’t seen real sushi in a supermarket, just imitations. Proper sushi is only vinegared rice topped with raw fish or rolled in seaweed with various ingredients. California Rolls are certainly a kind of sushi, but they taste very different for Japanese. I’d have to say that they are not true sushi. SO

NIGHTLIFE Mainly we searched for the full “Ghana experience” at clubs teeming with locals, prostitutes, and expatriates. These clubs lurked in small corners of the city and always featured childish paintings of ladies with enormous breasts advertising the location of the women’s restroom. Prostitutes, usually young girls from the slums, sat on the laps of old, lonely white men with greedy eyes and creepy grins. Young local guys attempted to dance with foreign girls while the local girls watched themselves dance in the many mirrors. American tourists, like us, awkwardly danced, neglecting the rhythm of the music, and the girls dancing in mirrors quickly came to teach us how to dance, sexily swaying their hips. The blaring Western hip-hop and Photo by Michelle Leis

occasional techno songs and the incessantly flashing strobe lights, begging to cause a seizure, kept clubs open far past our 2 a.m. departure. SL The drinking age is 18. Naturally, most of the Americans aged 18-20 felt that it was very important to get drunk every night, since it was something they couldn’t do legally at home. Bars would often do theme nights to attract American patrons, like “American Independence Day” (it was on the fifth of July). I did not go to the bars and clubs much for several reasons, particularly the cost. It was often twenty euros just to get into the clubs, and I did not see the point in spending that much every night. Florence did have a lot of fun free things to do at night. There were always people dancing or giving concerts in various plazas, defiantly not common in the United States. AE One night, feeling a nice buzz, we found an Irish pub. Of course there were no Irish people in it. We ordered a couple of pitchers and sat outside to watch a man walking on stilts. Slowly but surely the street began to fill with people and it seemed almost as if Sorrento had transformed into a street festival.

The road where we were was closed as barhoppers and more street performers came out of the woodwork. One man was painted silver and stood completely still next to some statues, occasionally bowing to people passing to startle them. Unlike most college parties, no one was in a particular rush nor was anyone initiating confrontation with anyone else. Everyone out on the town was enjoying their evening in their own way. We joked and laughed as we entered a nightclub and danced uninhibitedly. It was a great night. LC

Kiwi nightlife is almost identical to American nightlife; the bars close at the same time, the drinks have similar titles and tastes, but the only difference is how the night ends, and in my limited kiwi experience, a night out always ends in a giant sleepover. My first night out in Auckland ended in a studio apartment that not even one person should be able to fit into. We fit twelve. The end of this night was anticipated by everyone except me; they came with pillows and sleeping bags, whereas I came with my camera, my passport and $20 in cash. I hadn’t had a sleepover like this since I was 14 (granted, those ones didn’t involve alcohol), yet every time I hung out with the kiwis, this is exactly how my night ended. When I go out with my best friends at home, we say goodnight at 2 a.m. and go our separate ways; in New Zealand, friends form families, and they don’t leave their families behind at a bar. LG

Photo by Michelle Leis

In general, wine was the drink of choice at the dinner table and on a night out at the restaurants and bars. As a light weight and self-declared connoisseur of drinks fruity and tasty, I can personally attest that ordering a glass of wine is the most economical and delicious choice you’ll make in a night. One glass and you’ll be smiling for hours. ML By the way, where do you go on Friday night in the United States? House parties? Bars?

It took long time that I get used to going to such places because nightlife in the U.S. and Japan are a bit different. In Japan, we rarely go to someone’s house after work. It is izakaya where office workers or students who want to drink go on Friday nights. Izakaya is a kind of bar or pub in Japan, but it is different from bar in the U.S. in that people generally take off their shoes at the entrance and they sit around one table. Of course, there are a lot of bars in Tokyo, but we can calm our mind and feel free in izakaya the best. SO

LANGUAGE While it is easy to live in Ghana without knowing a native Ghanaian language, like Twi, it is not always easy to understand what Ghanaians are saying. Around lunchtime my co-workers at the advertising firm would come to my desk and say, “Make we chop.”

I was confused because this phrase was neither English nor Twi. I soon learned that they were speaking to me in pidgin English, a mix between English and Akan languages, the category of Ghanaian languages that includes Twi, and they meant, “Let’s go eat.” I was not very good at speaking Pidgin, and most likely sounded silly when I tried with my North Dakota accent, but it was not hard to pick up on what my coworkers were saying and to snap back with a witty remark when they teased me for listening to “hilly-billy” music and for accidentally saying male genitals in Twi when I meant to say coins. SL When I returned to the United States, I experienced a sort of “reverse culture shock.”

It was strange to hear people speaking English (after all, Italian is so much prettier) and stranger still to hear people comment on the Italian phrases that slipped into my own conversation. It was reflex for me to say “grazie” instead of “thank you” and “prego” instead of “you’re welcome.” It was even more difficult to keep from slipping Italian phrases into conversation when I took Spanish right after, since the languages are so similar. AE If we had thought speaking Italian was challenging in Naples, in Sicily we might as well have been aliens. The extreme Southern dialect was almost its own language. Even I, who was relatively confident in my Italian skills, was rendered impotent. Nevertheless, we pressed on, deciding pointing at things and reading expressions would have to suffice for communication. LC Kiwis add “as” after almost every adjective and always fail to define exactly what it is they are comparing. “Sweet as, bro,” is the national phrase, one that manifests itself on T-shirts, sweatshirts, bags, and coffee mugs in every souvenir shop throughout the country. When I first heard this phrase, I asked the kiwis, “Sweet as what?” They looked at me as if I had asked for one of their livers, and then laughed.

Kiwi-speak gets even more complicated when one adds Maori, the other official language of New Zealand, to the mix. Spoken by the indigenous people, Maori has seeped into every day communication, so much so that I didn’t meet a single person who didn’t understand at least a few words of it. Often my new friends would answer the phone with “kia ora,” a Maori greeting. LG

At the Philharmonic Theater, less than 30 seconds after the comedian began, I became exceedingly aware that I was American and Spanish was not my native language. The man’s tongue moved like a speeding bullet, and my ears strained to hear the flow of noise separate into distinct, comprehensible words. It had never occurred to me how much humor relies on cultural nuances, a people’s history, language-specific proverbs and play on words. For the average person, a profound understanding of language and culture is simply acquired through the natural process of growing up and living in a certain place. ML

It was reflex for me to say “grazie” instead of “thank you” and “prego” instead of “you’re welcome.”

Japanese students begin to learn English during the first year of middle school. In high school, we take three years of English education, and we might have English classes even in college, too. So, if we take higher education, we have learned English for more than six years in Japan. But, can we all speak English well? Sadly, no. Few people can speak English in our country, partly because we don’t need to use foreign languages until we go abroad. Unlike the United States, Japan is a near-homogeneous, single race country, so we rarely meet Americans or people from other countries in every day of life. SO

GENERAL Worse than any culture shock I felt in Ghana—worse than green meat, explosive diarrhea, language blunders, crazy taxi rides and tipping tro-tros, vans made before the 80s with young boys hanging out the windows shouting the name of the destination while trying to hold in place the door that dangles delicately by a few ropes—was the anticulture shock I felt upon returning to the United States. Pristine neighborhoods with trash hidden from sight and smell in garbage cans, drivers observing the speed limit and adhering to road rules, neighbors strolling by without a wave or simple greeting—where was the adventure? Where was the unknown?

Where was the unusual? Everything seemed too normal. Everything seemed to make sense. Mr. Yuori, my boss at the advertising firm I interned for in Ghana, once said to me, “Ghana is the land of beautiful nonsense.” SL

Photo by Seiga Ohtani

I consider studying abroad one of the most important experiences in my life so far.

Not only did I learn a lot about history, art, traveling, languages, and the everyday life of a different culture, but I learned how to empathize with the people in our country that do not speak English. I can relate, because while a lady might not know the proper words to explain something, I was once there. AE I was relishing in all of the little cultural differences between Italy and America. I noted to myself that nobody here seemed to care what time it was. Nobody worried about what they had to do the next day. Everyone appreciated the beauty of the world and was capable of living in that particular moment.

I was thankful for the opportunity to escape the pressures and chaos of life in the United States sudden sense of well-being washed over me. LC The cohesion of Maori and Europeans is what makes New Zealand. It isn’t just Maoris who worry about preserving this rich native culture, but all New Zealanders: white, dark, old, young, tattooed and non-tattooed. In America, we learn about the indigenous populations that preceded European settlers, but we don’t incorporate their histories into our lives like New Zealand does with Maoris.

Beginning a phone call with “kia ora” is a testament to the weight the native culture holds over New Zealand. LG

Read their full stories at ethos.uoregon.edu

One of my favorite Spanish sayings—estar como un flan—literally meaning to be like a flan, which is a custard-like dessert often compared to crème brulee. As you can imagine, the use of such a saying to a freshly jet-lagged foreigner may cause total confusion.

“Did she ask if I wanted flan for dinner?”

Actually, no. In such a case, your host mother is trying to say you look very nervous.

Apparently flan sweats before it’s eaten. I suppose I would too, if a wide-eyed giant lurked above me holding a great silver battering rod named spoon. ML

“I realized one can use cell phone even on a bus here.

Why? I still don’t know.”

People glare at you if you talk with on your cell phone in a bus or a train in Japan. Train intercoms always announce, “Please switch off your mobile phone when you are near the priority seats. In other areas, please set it to silent mode and refrain from talking on the phone.” After I came to the United States, I always stopped talking on my cell phone when I got on a bus. But others did not. One day, when I went to school by bus, I glared at a girl talking on her cell phone. But, no one else seemed to care. Soon I realized one can use cell phone even on a bus here. Why? I still don’t know. SO

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Moving Pictures

Change, Frame by Frame Daniel Cegla uses video production to make positive transformations

D

giving the young director local and national “Technology allows for positive changes, aniel Cegla hates horror films. He’s recognition. Cegla’s video was then not just an opportunity to cash in,” Cegla hated them since childhood, and displayed on the official website and was says. He often directs and produces videos can’t think of a single horror film featured in the national premiere of all for his church at no cost, and also has he’s seen all the way through. So when he award-winning videos in the United States. directed videos for small Portland non-profit was assigned the “Horror” genre for The 48 However, fame and celebrity status are organizations free of charge.

Hour Film Festival in Portland, Oregon, he not on Cegla’s agenda. Since he was 19, Because Cegla believes that technology questioned whether he really wanted to Cegla has had his own ideas about what should be used to inspire change, he refuses immerse himself in two days of blood, guts, advancing technology and a flourishing to film, edit, or produce any video that has and murder. media mean in today’s world. vulgar or explicit content. On occasion, After almost dropping out of the Cegla has been asked to competition, he decided produce music videos to stick it out at the last for local rappers, as he minute and see what he is open to the idea of could achieve. shooting all genres of “I’m glad I did it,” Cegla music. says, “but I will never do it However, he is sure to again.” The event required explain his policy against entrants to produce a sevenvulgarity. minute film in a weekend’s “Everything has to be time. modest,” Cegla says, “I won’t Cegla’s team created a shoot any sexually suggestive silent film produced entirely themes.” Cegla also refrains in slow motion, set to eerie from the use of explicit lyrics operatic music. His team and drug references. wrote, shot, and edited the Cegla was once asked to movie in less than two days. produce a video that had “It was tiring and exhausting, female dancers; he told the yet invigorating at the same band that he would happily time,” says Cegla, 24. “I felt shoot the video without alive.” them. The band disagreed, Racing to complete the saying that the dancers added film on time, Cegla burnt the to its sex appeal. Cegla final DVD in the car while politely told them that he driving to the finish station. could not work with them.

Relieved to have barely made That, however, was a rare the deadline, Cegla and his occasion. Typically, clients are team took an entire week willing to respect his policy off to recuperate from their because they know Cegla hectic weekend. promises original videos.

“I don’t know how we “It has always been my physically managed to get it goal to have a custom-crafted done, but it made me value production,” Cegla says. “Most our team,” Cegla says. people simply put it into a When the team returned template, cut it up, add some to downtown Portland for music and call it good. Video the movie premiere, they production should never be were confident that they had an assembly line.” made a truly scary film. As Cegla’s ideas on video they watched their movie production stand out amid play alongside 150 other films an era where big time music at The Hollywood Theater, companies, such as Universal Cegla felt proud that people Music Group, which owns 19 were “genuinely freaked U.S. record labels, crank out out.” As a result, Cegla’s film thousands of music videos placed top five. each year.

The real honor, though, Cegla started Brickwork came when Cegla received ABOVE and OPPOSITE TOP: “It has always been my goal to have a custom-crafted production,” Production to offer variation the award for Best Editing, Cegla says. He believes that technology should be used to inspire change.

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PHOTOS BY JASON REED

“Most people simply put it into a template, cut it up, add some music and call it good.”

“Technology allows for positive changes, not just an opportunity to cash in,” Cegla says. in the quality of music videos. In Polish, “cegla” translates into “bricklayer;” and like a bricklayer, Cegla intends to lay new groundwork for each video he makes.

Many underground artists in the Portland area seek out Cegla, who loves producing videos for young local artists.

He believes that giving these musicians an opportunity to succeed will “bring hope to generation of youth in need of hope.” At the same time, it encourages them to use their skills and abilities to improve the music industry.

Recently, Cegla directed videos for artists who play Irish folk, techno, and even orchestral music. And although it is tedious work—one that requires more than a 100 hours per project—Cegla loves helping out aspiring musicians who in turn love the videos he envisions.

“Working with Danny is an overall outstanding experience,” says Jared Evers, who has worked with Cegla on numerous award-winning videos. “He is always the first guy I go to when filming a music video, because he has a heart for reaching people.”

No matter what kind of video he directs, whether it is a music video, a sports highlight reel, or a video for nonprofit organization, Cegla is not one for sensationalism. Instead, he stresses the importance of representing his clients and subjects in their true nature. Because he is

“He is always the first guy I go to when filming a music video,” says Jared Evers, a Portland-based musician now living in California. The musician recently collaborated with Cegla to create a video for his original song, “The Door.” The 4-minute music video was shot in Beaverton, Oregon.

Watch it online: dscfiles.com/thedoor.mov

compelled to “use the power that is in video and music to speak positively in other people’s lives,” he does not want to lead his viewers astray.

According to Cegla, media is an art form that should be used to inspire, comfort, and bring hope to those that need it. But in a world where the Internet has become the main source of information, Cegla realizes that his vision for truth will take time.

“Good songs and videos validate and allow you to relate. It is like when someone says exactly what you are thinking, you feel understood and comforted, and there is power in that.

Just like there is power in media. It is a great responsibility, and I want to use it to speak truth.” —Gabriella Narvaez

SCREENSHOT IMAGES COPYRIGHT DANIEL CEGLA 2008

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SPICES AND SPIRITS

A Little Bit of Earth “H

ere. Smell this,” says Emilee Turcott, a University of Oregon senior, as she leans over the top of her countertop garden and plucks something from a plant close to the front.

The crisp aroma of what she explains is an

italian basil plant fills the small and petite kitchen. “Smells good, doesn’t it?”

Miniature gardens were once simply dry zen gardens; however, they have changed shape and color over time to include blooming bulbs, green leafy vines and herbs;

Deciding which type of miniature garden to cultivate can be a difficult decision; however, both the living and dry miniature gardens have many incentives to offer their caretakers.

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much like Turcott’s garden. In locations throughout the world, miniature gardens are solving the reoccurring problem gardeners encounter while trying to create a green space of their own—not having enough room.

Miniature gardens originated during the 14th century BCE in medieval Japan, where extra space for gardening was and continues to be hard to come by. In essence, a miniature garden is an allocated space, usually near a windowsill or counter, where one can grow either small plants in pots of earth or maintain a petite rock garden. The variation between the different types of gardens offers incentives for green thumbs of every level.

Lydia Bolton, a University of Oregon sophomore, visited a traditional large dry zen garden during a fith grade trip to Japan with her school. “Seeing a karesansui is a fascinating experience,” she says, “it’s very peaceful and meditative.”

“There are no distractions from the outside world that exist in a dry zen garden—it’s just you connecting with the pristine nature around you,” she explains.

The gardens are usually in a courtyard within a building or temple and are very precisely maintained; plants and shrubs pruned yet still lush, trees that are carefully placed within the display, smooth stones that are gentle to the touch, and perfectly raked lines in the gravel comprise the stunning garden.

Larger karesansui gardens like the one Bolton so vividly remembers can easily be renovated into smaller forms of any size and used for décor. These gardens are perfect for students or people with little time commitment who want a beautiful garden that can easily adapt to their schedules and amount of space they have available.

As beautiful and natural as a karesansui may be, some prefer the sight and aroma of a lush, green garden in their home. For those with heady green thumbs, the conventional approach to a miniature garden may come with exceptional ease.

Yet for those that have difficulty with the specifics of gardening—planting the seeds, watering the soil, and allocating the correct amount of sunlight exposure, there is an interesting alternative that yields the same results.

The Aerogarden, which runs anywhere from $80-$180 online, is a simple gardening system that takes the difficulty out of gardening. The Aerogarden comes with a control panel that monitors and warns

PHOTOS BY ALYSHA BECK

For those without the luxury of time and space, miniature gardens thrive

Turcott grows small rations of herbs including purple basil, italian basil, chives, and mint, which she uses daily to add flavor to her cooking.

the gardener when to add more water or nutrient tablets. It is ideal for students to maintain in small apartments or dorms, as it is less than two feet wide and two feet long, it makes it easy for anyone to cultivate their own living garden.

After attempting to garden outside, Turcott moved her green space indoors in the form of an Aerogarden. She keeps her lightly buzzing aromatic box on her kitchen on the corner of her countertop. Turcott energetically demonstrates the adjustability of the UV light, which imitates sunlight so the owner is free to keep his or her garden anywhere.

“The Aerogarden is quiet enough to where someone could have it in their bedroom, but for me the lights are too bright. You can set the lights so that they are off during the time you sleep, but I love it in the kitchen because when my roommates and I get up in the middle of the night to go to the kitchen, it works as a great night light,” she says.

The garden, besides being a decorative fixture and a conversation starter, is extremely functional. She grows small

rations of herbs including purple basil, italian basil, chives, and mint, which she uses daily to add flavor to her cooking.

For Turcott, the Aerogarden is the perfect solution to her limited space by allowing her to pursue the adventure of growing her own garden.

outdoor garden in places such as homes, offices and college campuses. It is also a possibility to maintain an indoor miniature garden in locations far north, like Alaska, where outdoor gardening is not even plausible, or in places like Oregon, where it difficult to garden outside in during the rainy winter months.

Regardless of location, space, time, or level of gardening expertise, anyone can keep a miniature garden.

Deciding which type of miniature garden to cultivate can be a difficult decision, however; both the living and dry miniature gardens have many incentives to offer their caretakers.

As Bolton explains, dry zen gardens are peaceful and serene and offer an escape from the stresses of everyday life.

For those that wish to cultivate their own piece of earth, a living garden offers incentives for everyone and anyone. Turcott grins and easily describes her garden in four words: “fresh, easy, natural, and clean.” What more could a gardener ask for?

—Kasandra Easley

“There are no distractions in a dry zen garden—it’s just you connecting with the pristine nature around you.”

It may seem that a device with a suspended root system, a UV light, and a control panel would leave a significant carbon footprint; however, Turcott notices she has limited trips to the grocery store to buy herbs unless she needs an excess amount for something such as her homemade pesto. Turcott finds the time commitment to maintain her garden minimal.

“I prune and check things when I’m in the kitchen already,” she says.

The miniature garden is a perfect alternative for those who don’t have access to the things required to grow a thriving

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PEOPLE IN MOTION

Community in Folk Dance A Bulgarian woman invites everyone to share their cultures

As part of the Vesolo Festival Dance Showcase, Martita Santiago Maderas-Wood and her dancers Kathie Knowles, Carol Silverman, Shakaia, Indi Stern-Hayworth, and Millie Illin perform a traditional Spanish Flamenco dance. Flamenco embodies a complex musical and cultural tradition filled with rapid audible footwork.

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annual gathering alters its cultural focus and in past years has entertained Romanian, Polish, Hungarian, and several other diverse folk styles.

Frances Nex and her husband Chris included the festival in their Northwest travel plans. Frances has taken part in folk dancing for years and did not want to miss a chance to be taught by Bozhanova.

“Once I stopped thinking. I started doing it,” Nex says. “It’s just like riding a bike. You sort of get it.”

In the last dance of the session, dancers separate into seven groups, composed of six or seven dancers.

As the music begins, each group—linked together by the straps of each others’ belts—move counter-clockwise around the ballroom.

On the balls of her feet, Bozhanova takes center circle. In black exercise pants and her frizzy hair done-up with stray bobby pins, she wears a smile and pink flushed cheeks.

Her white cotton T-shirt is embroidered

“It’s nice that whatever you love in your life, you find people to share it.”

Tired dancers drop from the circle into wooden and vinyl chairs that skirt the ballroom. Onlookers chat with nearby dancers and watch as Bozhanova instructs within the slightly smaller formation.

Bozhanova pauses in front of a woman in blue jeans straggling behind the other dancers. She joins hands with the woman and the man beside her, going through the movements together at a slower pace.

with a pattern of red and brown flowers.

A brown leather belt, worn not around her waist but as an accessory to her top, completes her outfit.

A native Bulgarian, Bozhanova holds bachelor’s and master’s degrees in Bulgarian Folk Dances and Choreography.

Bozhanova first knew she wanted to teach Bulgarian dance when her performing dance ensemble was asked to teach

PHOTOS BY LAUREN EASBY

A

room draped in Romanian, Croatian, Turkish, Japanese, and Bulgarian flags comes to life as dancers pound their feet into the glossy-wood flooring, creating a bass for the violin and accordion music filling the room. Florescent lights mix with sunlight, as 60 dancers of all shapes and sizes link hands, circulating a cool draft throughout the room.

Not what you would expect on a Saturday afternoon at the Veterans Memorial Building in downtown Eugene.

“Ay yi yi,” instructor Iliana Bozhanova, 47, shouts as her feet pound into the floor.

Watchful eyes focus on her every move.

Folk dance enthusiasts travel from as far as Great Britain to attend Bozhanova’s Bulgarian folk dance workshop.

The Vesolo Community Folk Dancers hosted Bozhanova’s workshops at their 31st annual Vesolo Dance Festival. The event consisted of three seminars, performances of non-Bulgarian folk styles, and a cultural discussion with Bozhanova. She comes as no stranger to the Northwest folk dance community as she taught classes at the 2005 Vesolo Dance Festival four years ago. The

Bulgarian dances to attendants of a Holland dance festival.

“I was amazed how the foreigners perceived our culture and they learned with lots of love. It made me start thinking about how it’s nice that whatever you love in your life, you find people to share it,” Bozhanova says.

Dancers surround Bozhanova, attentively studying her movements and listening to her personal experiences dancing in Bulgarian villages. The formation sports Chuck Taylors, moccasins, jazz shoes, New Balance sneakers, and Birkenstocks. Bozhanova calls a number to the music booth and rhythm meets the air as a deep red skirt, jeans, scarves, and sweaters come to life swooshing back and forth.

The floor pulsates as the circular formation creates audible stomps, shuffling, and pounding. Audible squeaks accompany the music.

The dance sequence is made up of four steps forward, back and side-to-side.

Bulgarian folk dance utilizes a unique compound meter dance count that is uncommon to customary dance counts such as those in ballet or tap. It is an asymmetrical meter that does not follow exact proportions.

The counts are not broken up by numbers, but by movements described as “quick” and “slow.”

The dances vary between men and women. A woman’s feet will scarcely leave the floor, while a man will hoist his knees high into the air.

Although the ballroom is filled with slightly more women than men, the crowd dances identically regardless of gender.

After the showcase, community members are encouraged to join in and dance to the music of Chubritza International Folk Band.

Bozhanova explains the This is an opportunity for students of the morning workshops to show off their newly learned dances. cultural context of the dances before she instructs her with lifted knees and in a jerky motion. a workshop, she made sure to learn some choreography. She excitedly reflects on Bozhanova uses the medium of Bulgarian words in Japanese as a way of showing her dances that take place at Easter, Christmas, folk dance to teach other cultures about her students she respected their culture. weddings, and at the celebration of the country’s heritage. Bozhanova represents She believes there is more to dancing saints, which varies than just learning from village to village. the dance; it is the Bulgarian dances experience of doing it differ by region or that matters. village. For example, “It’s naturally in our Pravo Horo is a blood to be a dancer. It’s common line dance where dancers link Bulgaria when she teaches dance. She much easier,” Bozhanova says. together by tucking their hands into the introduces Bulgarian dance and culture to “And my goal is just to show the people belt of those on their sides. Dancers step left people for their first time, and she loves it. and share with people how important it is over right in a counter-clockwise rotation.

As much as Bozhanova takes an interest just to hold the hands of the people next to In the Trakija region of Bulgaria, Provo in sharing her culture, she puts equal efforts you, not to make the perfect steps.”

Horo is danced in a graceful and smooth into understanding other culture’s traditions. —Rachel Coussens style, while in the Šop Region it is danced When Bozhanova went to Japan to do

“I was amazed how the foreigners perceived our culture and they learned with lots of love.”

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Soundwaves

The Real Fake Bells Discover what makes the Erb Memorial Union ring

ABOVE: This organ, located in the Beall Concert Hall at the University of Oregon, is many times larger than the EMU’s electronic version. The Jürgen Ahrend organ is nationally renowned, while the EMU’s is relatively unknown.

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PHOTOS BY Tara Khoshbin

D

ing-dong, ding, ding, ding-dong, ding, ding...

Every quarter hour the sound of bells rings through the air, creating a disembodied voice, an eerie echo that puzzles many. Where do these bells come from?

This is the “Westminster Quarters,” an 18th-century melody said to be a variation of four notes from Handel’s Messiah. The original composer is not definitely known, though no one contends the tune can be heard throughout the world.

From Big Ben at the Palace of Westminster—where the melody was first played—from schoolyards in Japan and Taiwan, from the First United Methodist church in downtown Eugene, and from the heart of the University of Oregon campus, bells chime the tune for all to hear.

And at noon every day, the Oregon Fight Song gleefully plays over the surge of students moving to and from class.

At the UO, a small, inauspicious plaque on a brick beam in the Erb Memorial Union, close to the stairwell that leads to the ballroom, is the only visible indicator of the bells’ existence on campus.

The original carillion bells, the plaque states, were first purchased in 1954 by university alumni. In 1995, the bells were replaced.

As a part of the EMU, these bells are the source of the internationally-embraced tune that ring throughout campus every quarter hour. They have become an unmistakable part of day-to-day university life.

Carillon bells are similar to organs in that they are made up of a large series of different sizes and types of bells. Each carillon is unique with a different number of bells. There are usually at least 23 individual bells creating a large range of sounds when all played together.

Each key on a carillon keyboard pulls down levers that activate clappers in the bells to play them, says professor and organist Barbara Baird, of the School of Music and Dance at the University of Oregon. These clappers make playing the carillon physically challenging, says Jeff Davis, carillonist for the University of California at Berkeley. They can range in weight from a couple pounds to hundreds of pounds and the keyboard is directly linked to them. “[Carillons] were a way of calling people to worship,” Baird says. Carillons once told Europeans when it was time to go to church or say a prayer, she says. Back then,

they didn’t have watches.

Certain prayer times such as noon or 6 p.m. were marked by a series of bells announcing the hour and then the playing of a hymn. “The day was organized by the church,” Baird says.

Indeed, the lyrics that accompany the Westminster Quarters are religiously empowering: “Lord through this hour / Be Thou our guide / So,

by Thy power / No foot shall slide.” The words may vary slightly, but they always maintain the same message.

“The carillon has the largest dynamic range of any instrument,” says Davis. “No other instrument has that kind of range.” Like an organ, the bells are played with ABOVE: Tucked away in a closet on the third floor of the EMU is the machine which controls the “bells” that ring across campus every day. a keyboard, but it is much larger, with baton-like keys that are played with an entire hand partly There are no bells on the roof of the above the EMU Board Room, says Mike curled into a fist, instead of just a finger.

EMU, just four powerful speakers facing Kraiman, who upkeeps of the carillon A number of universities throughout the each of the cardinal directions. bells. Kraiman is the technical support U.S. have real carillons and have carillonists The “church bells” are actually a beigeadministrator for the university’s scheduling on staff to play them, including Davis. His colored machine stashed in a closet on the and event services. responsibilities include holding eight recitals third floor of the EMU. Half the size of Maintenance of the electronic carillon a week playing Berkeley’s 61-bell carillon a washing machine, but about the same is minimal, with the university spending and overseeing the carillon department, height as one, the machine has a small, about $50 a year on it, Kraiman says. Mostly, which teaches Berkeley students how to calculator-like screen—the only “keyboard” he just resets the time for daylight savings play the carillon. immediately visible on the “instrument.” and programs it for special events like Carillons were first used in churches, but The machine came with a pre-recorded commencement. He has only had to repair now universities and cities own the majority version of “Pomp and Circumstance,” it once since its installation. of the world’s carillons. This is because most but it was too short, so Baird recorded The electronic carillon clock tends to churches don’t have the resources for the a 10-minute version using a detachable gain about 15-20 seconds a month and has high cost of building and to be adjusted from time to time. maintaining them, Davis says.

Kraiman doesn’t recommend They are the most common relying entirely on the chimes in Europe, where they for the time since the electronic originated. An instrument carillon clock isn’t always accurate. more than five centuries old, Some students find the bells they were first developed in to be a helpful indicator of the Holland, Belgium, and northern France. keyboard. This is the version that is time. While sophomore Ethan Bloom finds During medieval times and through the played by the carillon during graduation them a little strange, the bells came in early 19th-century, carillons were used to ceremonies. handy when he didn’t have a cell phone warn people of emergencies such as fires, This particular electronic carillon for three weeks. “I use it when I’m late,” he storms, and wars. They were the “original machine, a very specialized piece of says. The 15-minute intervals at which the emergency broadcast system,” Baird says. equipment, has been in the EMU since bells chime help the sometimes phone-less “Bells started off as signaling devices,” 1995. An older version of the same machine, Bloom know the time.

Davis says. A town would have a bell as a bought in 1954, had internal metal rods that While to the casual listener the signal to lock the city gates against intruders, chimed when struck by an electronically electronic carillon sounds just like real bells, he adds. operated plunger. The old machine fell silent Baird can distinguish between the carillon The University of Oregon considered for five years from 1990-1995, until the bells in the EMU and the real thing. It’s a a similar use for the EMU carillon bells funds needed for a replacement was raised. matter of the difference between recorded by including them in the university’s Ever since, the sounds of bells have rung music and live music, Baird says. emergency alert system, but decided against across campus.

“It lacks the acoustic reverb that bells it because the cost for upgrades to make it The electronic carillon produces have,” she says. “It’s like having real ice possible was too great, says Krista Dillon, digitally-sampled sounds stored on a hard cream versus fake ice cream. If you hear the university emergency planner and drive, which play through the speakers on them side-by-side you feel the difference.”

—Inka Bajandas response coordinator. the highest part of the building’s roof, just

“The carillon has the largest dynamic range of any instrument. No other instrument has that kind of range.”

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COLORS & SHAPES

The Code of Thieves Russian mafia tattoos portray the felonious deeds of a criminal’s life

T

he first mafia tattoo he ever saw: a cross inked on a man’s chest.

He didn’t understand what it meant or why it was important. Throughout his childhood and adolescence, however, he would come to understand the meanings of these symbols that are central to Russian mafia culture.

The dark underground of the Russian mafia is marked by the tattooing of sins upon the bodies of its members. At first glance, the symbolic tattoos look like elaborate religious symbols conveying individual religious convictions. As an outsider this would make sense because the Russian mafia is largely a religious group of people. But for those who know, the tattoos educate others, inside and outside of prison, about the bearer’s criminal accomplishments and rank in a seedy, underground network.

Nikolai Krasnagorov was 14 years old when he saw the tattoo of the cross. Today he’s a 21-year-old businessman in Portland, Oregon. Krasnagorov was born in Kiev, Ukraine, part of the former USSR. He grew up in a traditional Russian household, eating customary food, speaking Russian, and attending the Russian Orthodox Church.

But his lifestyle varies dramatically from the lifestyle of those he is surrounded by.

His uncles and close friends have chosen to become part of an infamous criminal organization, known as the Russian mafia.

“Getting tattoos will make [you] even more respected because each [tattoo] represents a different occurrence in a person’s life.” As Krasnagorov talks about the practice of tattooing in the Russian mafia his serious demeanor intensifies.

“Respect is everything. That’s how others will view you and show their loyalty, dedication, honor, and fear.”

Krasnagorov grew up learning the meanings of the different tattoos. Members of his family, friends, and friends’ older brothers all bore the markings of the Russian mafia. He knew the images carried different meanings, but he had to learn what each one represented by asking those closest to him. For the native Ukrainian, tattoos were part of Russian culture growing up. “It all portrayed the idea of the hard-life.”

There are certain designs that are extremely common within the mafia; they

are commonly inked upon a criminal’s chest or back and are immediately recognizable by mafia members and the U.S. government, which worked to decode them during the migration of the mafia into U.S. churches, cathedrals, and monasteries. The number of spires or towers indicates how many years a person has spent inside prison walls or how many times he has been incarcerated.

A single cat or tiger, often hard to distinguish between the two, represents a thief who works alone. A group of cats or tigers represents someone who works within a gang of thieves. These cats are often found inside the pointed stars as well.

Cobwebs and skulls often symbolize murders committed.

Barbed wire across the bicep is a

is common, and sometimes may result in death.

The process is long, and excruciatingly painful, but without the tattoos the prisoner bears no accomplishments.

The markings define the criminal and prove that he has led a life of crime in the Vory V. Zakone, otherwise known as the Thieves in Law. This group also includes murderers. Krasnagorov says most members receive their tattoos in prison while doing longer sentences. The tattoos vary inside and outside of prison. Outside of prison color is available, but inside, where most members receive their tattoos, the ink is limited to a blue-green color. “They sing about the gold church tops I mentioned, but there will be no sign of color for a real long time because they are locked up,” he says.

Some believe that tattooing in the Russian mafia is a fading practice, but Krasnagorov strongly disagrees.

“Absolutely not. No one is going to walk around naked and show you their body, especially if they are trying to stay lowkey. You only see [the mafia tattoos] if you know the individual.” He believes it has become part of the Russian culture. Because the older generation of the mafia has lived longer, spent more time in prison, and has a greater list of past accomplishments they have more tattoos. “They have a longer history of involvement.” The level of importance cannot be determined by generations because the difference in age is crucial.

The Vory’s reach stretches from local ownership of bars and restaurants to multibillion dollar money laundering scams.

“The mafia is active and existing today. The mafia is in the politics and the people of higher official positions,” Krasnagorov says.

“However, [it] will always remain in the other levels of society.”

Krasnagorov recognizes that outsiders have romanticized mafias around the world.

He also knows that its not what it seems to be. His hard gaze softens for a minute as he speaks, “The whole idea is cool, being a bad-ass in prison.” But he continues, saying that most of them are alcoholics. “We have a word for those bald men who sit in prison all tatted up, in English you would pronounce it czechs. These are mean-looking motherfuckers.” ­—Jessica Runyan-Gless

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representation of the barbed wire that runs along the outside of the prison, and represents the bearer’s confinement. This tattoo is almost always received while a member is imprisoned.

Barbed wire across the forehead: lifesentence with no possibility of parole.

With such a high value placed on the rank-bearing tattoos, fraud is inevitable. If a member receives a tattoo that he did not earn, it may be punishable by death.

Krasnagorov believes the old-looking cathedrals are the most common tattoos.

“In Russian they are pronounced ‘ZolotiyeKupola,’ which means the gold tops of churches. [Members] are sensitive about the churches because that’s where they seek repentance” he says. Stars and crosses are very common, he adds. Stars appearing on the chest area near the heart, or on the knees and elbows, represent total commitment for life.

Vyacheslav Ivankov, who at one point was believed to be the head of the Russian mafia in the U.S., sported eight-pointed stars on his shoulders. Receiving a tattoo of a cross is a way for the bearer to seek penitence for his sins. Krasnagorov has encountered tattoos of cathedrals, stars, crosses, and a portrait of man’s mother.

Tattoos are applied inside prison using needles, guitar strings, or electric razors, and, inked with soot and urine. Because of the nature of the application, infection

Illustration by Roger Bong

The tattoos educate others about the bearer’s criminal accomplishments and rank in a seedy, underground network.

Old cathedrals are some of the more common tattoos. “In Russian they are pronounced ‘Zolotiye-Kupola,’ which means the gold tops of churches,” Krasnagorov says. “[Members] are sensitive about the churches because that’s where they seek repentance” he says. Color isn’t available in prison.

Editor’s note: This illustration is based on a tattoo seen in Alix Lambert’s The Mark of Cain, available at microcinemadvd.com.

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THE LAST

“Torero” STORY ALEX TOMCHAK SCOTT ILLUSTRATION STUART MAYBERRY

I

’ve begun to suspect myself of fighting bulls during much of my spare time. I imagine a Fight Club-type scenario in which, when I believe I am sleeping, I am actually prancing around a sold-out arena pursued by a lowing Minotaur. That would explain why my Mexican coworkers at Espresso Roma call me “Torero,” which in their native Spanish means “Bullfighter.”

Of course, like all the theories I’ve come up with, there are some holes in the nocturnal alternate personality hypothesis.

Why, for instance, is my closet devoid of boleros and hats with dingle balls, accepted necessities of the bullfighting trade? But if that’s not the reason, why do the teenage baristas, Ezekiel and Miguelito, call me “Torero”?

I know what you’re thinking.

“Why don’t you just ask them?” I’ve tried that. I am still trying to decode the answer: “No sé, güey,” served up

by Ezekiel alongside a broad unhelpful smirk.

Ezekiel only speaks as much English as he has taught himself during the couple of years he has been in the United States (e.g., “two rusty chai teas for here”). I, meanwhile, had to look up “no” in an English-to-Spanish dictionary. Language, then, may be a problem.

Hence, I was forced to theorize.

My first theory was simple: The name must be a sinister double entendre; they must not like me.

I deployed the old “something in my eye” excuse to disguise my whimpers until my shift ended and I ran home to bury my face in my pillow. Hours later, when I had finally mopped up the mucus and tears, I looked up torero on the Urban Dictionary website. The only entry read as follows: “Mascot of the University of San Diego.”

So I had a new theory: My coworkers thought I was a student at the University of San Diego. If anything, that was more offensive. I know nothing about USD, but anyone who works three nonconsecutive weekday shifts in Eugene while going to school in San Diego is basically the Charles Manson of carbon emissions.

And I see myself as very environmentally conscious.

So during my next shift I dropped some subtle hints that I was not a USD student.

For instance, “Where’s the bathroom, you ask? Well, if you mean the bathroom at the

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University of San Diego, I regret to inform you that I haven’t the foggiest idea, as I am by no means a current student of that college. You should consider using a closer bathroom, as that would likely reduce your carbon footprint.” I like to think it did the trick.

Pleased to have put that question to rest, I grabbed a bucket of innocuous-looking coffee grounds and began to scoop them into the coffee filters. A couple of minutes

into the task, jet engine noises I was purring to punctuate the journey of each spoonful into its designated filter were interrupted by a profane expectoration from behind me.

With a shout of “Ay, cabrón!” Juan Manuel shoved me out of the way and plunged his nose into one of the filled filters, then poured its contents back into the bucket from whence they came and repeated the process with the six already set out in front of him, all the while lashing me with unspeakable Latin profanities as I stood aside, white knuckles woven across

clenched teeth.

I later learned that Juan could smell the difference between drip coffee grounds that were supposed to go in the filters and espresso, which is what I had filling them with. As I imagined stampedes of severely over-caffeinated customers charging and butting down the shop’s walls just to expend a dangerous surfeit of energy, I spun a new theory: Perhaps my incompetence so enraged my coworkers that they, like bulls, wanted to gore me to death.

I resolved then that I needed to learn two things: How to do my job correctly; and Spanish. The former, I figured, would follow the latter. And to do that, I would force immersion on myself by communicating only in Spanish while I was at work. But I didn’t speak Spanish, so I spent a lot of time being silent, developing more theories. Was I called Torero because I’m a Taurus, so I am the bull, and the name points up my self-destructive nature? Maybe I had too much beef in my diet. Other theories involved Robert E. Lee, African swallows, and unspeakable acts performed by the Pillsbury Doughboy.

Silence also gave me time to observe my coworkers and see how the coffee business really worked By the time I got frustrated and gave up on learning Spanish, Ezekiel and I were arm wrestling and playing catch with dishrags during dull moments. Miguelito was asking me for help in writing salacious text messages. I could clean all the bathrooms in the restaurant in ten minutes and sort of work the cash register, as long as nobody asked for a pastry.

“Torero” has become my name, whatever the reason for it. I’ve never wondered if there was some nefarious purpose when my parents gave me the name on my birth certificate, so I don’t see the point of wondering about this name. (Although now that you mention it, what kind of middle name is Roberto, mom?)

Three months into the job, my dishrag got some flakes of croissant stuck to it when I was bussing tables. I unfolded the rag and began vigorously shaking it to get them off, as I’d done since I began working at Roma.

Just like a bullfighter does. I peered over my shoulder at Ezekiel and Miguelito watching me from behind the counter. They were chuckling. I grinned.