Everyone says that the third year of law school is supposed to be a breeze: a lot of people have jobs (thankfully I do--but I'm now working part time at The Firm over the semester), you're winding down on the resume building activities (I should have remembered to do that before deciding to accept the position of managing editor of my journal), you can take the fluffy law classes since most of the bar classes would have been taken 2L year (oops..I did that the other way around. No wonder I enjoyed last year so much..). Anyway, point being, I generally have just enough time/inclination in the morning when I'm getting ready to leave the house to grab a pair of yoga pants and tennis shoes and run out of the house. I wear a shirt too, equally as whatever. To make my appearance even MORE attractive, while I was reading an article in my Self mag that J gets me a subscription to every year (and I put it to really good use: browsing through the exercises I think 'huh, those look like they would work' just before putting it down to continue reading Con Law) I came across this article on how you know if you need a new hairstyle: answer 5 questions. If you answer 3 or more "Yes", then it's time for a new haristyle. I answered all 5 of them Yes. My favorite being:
"Do you throw your hair into a bun or ponytail every morning before leaving the house even if you're not going to the grocery store/yoga class/gym?".
Ummmm.
Anyway, as sad as it might make some folks (mom), I put very little effort into how I look on a day to day law school existence basis (but I know she loves me any way I look!). I'm ok with that. I am sure the man of my dreams will like me equally as well in yoga pants as all dolled up. I hope.
So a couple of Saturdays ago when A's wedding rolled around, H and I decided it might be fun to make ourselves pretty (and by "make" I mean pay someone to do it for us). Pedicure for the first time since August (I know! Blasphemous!): check! Haircut/blowout for the first time since....April (?): check! Pretty new dresses and shoes and accessories: check! We figured it would be a long long time until either of us got to attend another wedding at the National Cathedral, so we could justify the splurge (not that we generally need that much justification).
H looked AMAZING in a floor length gown with her hair completely straight (anyone who knows her knows just how curly her hair is. I looked, I thought, fairly passable (we're all our own greatest critics). As we were standing on the side of the road trying to hail a cab at 3:15pm dressed like this, I assumed that we probably stuck out a little bit. And then my phone rang. It was my friend Ian who had passed us and just wanted to say that he thought "we looked absolutely stunning". Aww. Ian can always be counted on for a remarkably kind word for his ladies.
The wedding came and went, it was fantastic. Today, sitting at work, hair in a bun, wearing no make up (only the best for The Firm! At least I'm not in yoga pants...) one of my favorite associates was walking by. AO is a 7th year associate, he's remarkably put together, fills rooms with his presence. He's an Immigration attorney so I've gotten to know him well this fall sitting across from most the Immigration folks in my cube. He stopped when he got to my desk and did the following:
"Ms. DLS--where do you live"
"Umm. 17th and T. Why?"
"Well, a couple of Saturdays ago I was right on 17th and U walking to a hair cut and I could have sworn I saw you--but I don't know if it was you since you didn't say anything to me"
"Well, AO, did you say anything to ME?"
" No honey, I didn't. And let me tell you why" (AO is slightly...flamboyant. Which I love). " You were standing there, and I know it's you now for sure looking at your eyes right now, but you were standing there trying to hail a cab, dressed to the nines with those EYES. I don't know what you did to them, but you should do that more often!" (Note: it's called makeup).
" Aww, thanks AO--I was headed to a wedding"
"Well, you looked incredible! So striking so striking" (this part was said as he zipped away from my desk).
The exchange was hilarious (to me) but one of those super fun, unexpected, exchanges that kinda made me smile. While I may look like sh*t 97% of time, it's nice to know I can still pull it off when it counts, or at least some people think so. ;)
Friday, November 30, 2007
Thursday, November 29, 2007
**Clarification**
My post about Scalia, and how great it was to have him come to speak to us is not the following:
"Now that DLS has been graced with a S.C. Justice's presence in a class means that DLS agrees with everything Scalia says, thinks and does from the bench or from the podium in the front of the classroom".
No no, dear readers. It is simply a recitation and recognition from a lowly law student that it's admittedly kinda cool to have one of The Nine chatting with us.
I retain my liberal, sometimes irrational, always present views on many things and while the 75 minute visit was fantastic, it did not send me running across the aisle into the arms of the conservative viewpoints.
Carry on...
"Now that DLS has been graced with a S.C. Justice's presence in a class means that DLS agrees with everything Scalia says, thinks and does from the bench or from the podium in the front of the classroom".
No no, dear readers. It is simply a recitation and recognition from a lowly law student that it's admittedly kinda cool to have one of The Nine chatting with us.
I retain my liberal, sometimes irrational, always present views on many things and while the 75 minute visit was fantastic, it did not send me running across the aisle into the arms of the conservative viewpoints.
Carry on...
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
I've done it...
Thanks to GT's post and my DC friends browbeating me into it...I've joined facebook...
AND I'M ADDICTED. No one can hide from me!
AND I'M ADDICTED. No one can hide from me!
The Greatest 75 Minutes of Law School
One of the great things about the law school that I attend is that it's less than a mile from the Supreme Court. A lot of the Justices visit the law school regularly--last year as I was waiting for a friend outside of the international law building the doors opened and out walked Kennedy, Souter and Ginsberg--and when you see the black sedans and SUVs parked in the spaces around the buildings it's often because one of them is on campus for one reason or another.
But it's a rare opportunity when a Justice visits a class to chat. A question and answer period where no question is off limits, and the Justice can opt to not respond, but the floor is shared between the students and him for over an hour. I had that opportunity this afternoon.
When I began law school, coming from my liberal Peace Corps and Vermont background, I did not like Scalia. It was an irrational dislike, as I had never actually read an opinion by him, but it was what he stood for--anti-homosexual, pro-life etc. My first semester as I was sitting in Constitutional Law 1 which focused on the federal system, I found myself highly confused for the better part of the first few months. In many cases I would finish reading an opinion (or a dissent, as the case may be) and be completely persuaded that the opinion was rational and correct. And then I would look at the author and BAM! Justice Scalia. Granted, there were plenty that I read of his and thought good god, I can never agree with that. By the end of the semester my confusion turned to a feeling of scholarly-ness, realizing that this was what law school forced people to do--think rationally about the LAW outside of the confines of our own moral and personal ideas in the context of the Constitution.
This semester it's Constitutional Law II--the version of Con Law where we DO get to the personal rights and liberties, the 1st and 14th Amendments mostly, the idea of "liberty" in the bill of rights and how that word has evolved (if you're of the mindset that it should evolve since the framers wrote the Constitution). We've talked about discrimination, free speech, pornography, due process, abortion and much more. We've traced the case law as it's changed through the years, or as it's been created. In this version of Con Law, Justice Scalia and I do not see eye to eye nearly as often as we did 2 years ago.
We've known about his visit since the beginning of the semester. My professor was a clerk for Justice Marshall in the '70s and has remained close to the Court, and her friendships with the current Justices has evolved as a result. While she and Justice Scalia also do not agree on most Con Law issues, they are good friends, and he graciously accepts her invitation to come and talk to her students each year, without being paid. Today was the day he came to our class.
My professor has spoken about the personalities of the Justices--how their demeanor in opinions and during oral arguments does not resemble their personalities off the bench. She says, for example, the Justice Thomas is one of the warmest, kindest men she's ever met and that his laughter fills rooms in social settings. Justice Thomas is the one Justice I have never ever agreed with or found any bit of rationale that I could relate to in opinions. 8 Justices are from earth, Thomas hails from Mars. I was excited to see how J. Scalia interacted with us, his demeanor, his reasoning.
He is not a tall man. And he has a large head. I had seen him wandering around the grounds over the past couple of years, but seeing him up close standing in front of us was a little different. His background is immense and impressive. He's worked in nearly every facet of law--moving from a firm to teaching to government (where he argued before the Court), back to teaching (both at my school and Chicago), on to different courts until finally being tapped in '82 by Reagan for the Supreme Court. He began with a short discussion, not of the living v. the dead Constitution as we had all assumed he would begin with, but by talking about the core importance, the backbone of the Constitution being the structure, not the bill of rights. The bill of rights, he said, is something that every country in the world has. It's the first thing leaders think up. He used the former USSR--their bill of rights was immense. It included detail that Americans would salivate over. But it did nothing. It's not what is important. And then he took questions.
Scalia has a personality. He's hysterical, quite frankly. In 75 minutes he broke into 3 different languages, banged his fists on his chest, told stories, had the entire room in stitches on more than one occasion. But he also candidly discussed his jurisprudence--his reasons for believing that the Constitution is not alive and growing, that it is dead and why he believes in an Originalist interpretation of the Constitution. He spoke about his acceptance of stare decisis in most cases, and his unwillingness to accept it in others. He was very difficult to disagree with because he is so rational.
He believes in orginalism because he does not understand how anyone can come up with any other criteria by which to decide cases and read the constitution. Allowing for a "living Constitution" allows for decision making that is not grounded in the words that the framers wrote, but in individual interpretation of words. He does not believe that Roe was decided correctly--the main reason is because he does not think that it is an issue to be taken up by 9 lawyers creating an umbrella law for the country in this area--he is uncomfortable with the notion that his three years of Harvard Law has somehow prepared him or any of the other 8 men and woman sitting on the Court to decide what an 'undue burden on the woman's right to choose' is every time a new dimension of abortion cases is presented. We have state legislatures for a reason. We have Congress for a reason. Those are the places where these battles need to be fought. Not in 30 minute oral arguments that will create or destroy state laws.
He was asked how his often harsh critiques of other Justice's opinion have affected his relationships with those people on and off the bench. He paused with this question. He said "first of all, I never personally attack anyone. I don't agree with some of the people on the Court. And they don't agree with me. Do I think their reasoning is often flawed, silly and wrong? Yes. Do I say that, sometimes in the form of calling it ridiculous or unbelievable (among other things)? Yes. But...my best friend of the Court is Ruth Ginsberg. Our families have been spending New Years eve together for the past 25 years. We do not agree with each other for the majority of opinions. I think that answers the question". He went on to say that writing a dissent is purely "for you guys--I mean hell, law students need something to talk about in class, right?". He also talked about why is such a vocal member of the Court in oral arguments--questions from the bench make a good lawyer great.
He talked about much more--why "substantive due process" is one of the most "completely irrational and totally insane" ideas he has ever heard (and made a great case for it, as well! As he said--close your eyes and THINK about the term substantive process. It makes no sense. It's would be the equivalent of saying procedural substance which is equally as stupid (his words, not mine)). He refused to answer questions on the D.C. gun laws (saying Ha HA! you cannot fool me, I know you're just trying to get me to have to force myself to recuse when this case is accepted!) or wire tapping for the same reasons. He talked about the 8th Amendment and the term "cruel and unusual". He spoke about whatever we wanted him to address and it was fantastic.
It was the best 75 minutes of my 3 years in law school. Of the 7 or so people who actually read this blog, I imagine the vast majority of you are not Scalia fans. But sitting in a room with a man who will most likely go down as one of the greatest legal minds, certainly of our time if not ever, was thrilling. I don't agree with him on a lot of issues, but I have an immense amount of respect and awe for him. An opportunity like the one I had this afternoon makes everything else in law school a little more...worth struggling through.
But it's a rare opportunity when a Justice visits a class to chat. A question and answer period where no question is off limits, and the Justice can opt to not respond, but the floor is shared between the students and him for over an hour. I had that opportunity this afternoon.
When I began law school, coming from my liberal Peace Corps and Vermont background, I did not like Scalia. It was an irrational dislike, as I had never actually read an opinion by him, but it was what he stood for--anti-homosexual, pro-life etc. My first semester as I was sitting in Constitutional Law 1 which focused on the federal system, I found myself highly confused for the better part of the first few months. In many cases I would finish reading an opinion (or a dissent, as the case may be) and be completely persuaded that the opinion was rational and correct. And then I would look at the author and BAM! Justice Scalia. Granted, there were plenty that I read of his and thought good god, I can never agree with that. By the end of the semester my confusion turned to a feeling of scholarly-ness, realizing that this was what law school forced people to do--think rationally about the LAW outside of the confines of our own moral and personal ideas in the context of the Constitution.
This semester it's Constitutional Law II--the version of Con Law where we DO get to the personal rights and liberties, the 1st and 14th Amendments mostly, the idea of "liberty" in the bill of rights and how that word has evolved (if you're of the mindset that it should evolve since the framers wrote the Constitution). We've talked about discrimination, free speech, pornography, due process, abortion and much more. We've traced the case law as it's changed through the years, or as it's been created. In this version of Con Law, Justice Scalia and I do not see eye to eye nearly as often as we did 2 years ago.
We've known about his visit since the beginning of the semester. My professor was a clerk for Justice Marshall in the '70s and has remained close to the Court, and her friendships with the current Justices has evolved as a result. While she and Justice Scalia also do not agree on most Con Law issues, they are good friends, and he graciously accepts her invitation to come and talk to her students each year, without being paid. Today was the day he came to our class.
My professor has spoken about the personalities of the Justices--how their demeanor in opinions and during oral arguments does not resemble their personalities off the bench. She says, for example, the Justice Thomas is one of the warmest, kindest men she's ever met and that his laughter fills rooms in social settings. Justice Thomas is the one Justice I have never ever agreed with or found any bit of rationale that I could relate to in opinions. 8 Justices are from earth, Thomas hails from Mars. I was excited to see how J. Scalia interacted with us, his demeanor, his reasoning.
He is not a tall man. And he has a large head. I had seen him wandering around the grounds over the past couple of years, but seeing him up close standing in front of us was a little different. His background is immense and impressive. He's worked in nearly every facet of law--moving from a firm to teaching to government (where he argued before the Court), back to teaching (both at my school and Chicago), on to different courts until finally being tapped in '82 by Reagan for the Supreme Court. He began with a short discussion, not of the living v. the dead Constitution as we had all assumed he would begin with, but by talking about the core importance, the backbone of the Constitution being the structure, not the bill of rights. The bill of rights, he said, is something that every country in the world has. It's the first thing leaders think up. He used the former USSR--their bill of rights was immense. It included detail that Americans would salivate over. But it did nothing. It's not what is important. And then he took questions.
Scalia has a personality. He's hysterical, quite frankly. In 75 minutes he broke into 3 different languages, banged his fists on his chest, told stories, had the entire room in stitches on more than one occasion. But he also candidly discussed his jurisprudence--his reasons for believing that the Constitution is not alive and growing, that it is dead and why he believes in an Originalist interpretation of the Constitution. He spoke about his acceptance of stare decisis in most cases, and his unwillingness to accept it in others. He was very difficult to disagree with because he is so rational.
He believes in orginalism because he does not understand how anyone can come up with any other criteria by which to decide cases and read the constitution. Allowing for a "living Constitution" allows for decision making that is not grounded in the words that the framers wrote, but in individual interpretation of words. He does not believe that Roe was decided correctly--the main reason is because he does not think that it is an issue to be taken up by 9 lawyers creating an umbrella law for the country in this area--he is uncomfortable with the notion that his three years of Harvard Law has somehow prepared him or any of the other 8 men and woman sitting on the Court to decide what an 'undue burden on the woman's right to choose' is every time a new dimension of abortion cases is presented. We have state legislatures for a reason. We have Congress for a reason. Those are the places where these battles need to be fought. Not in 30 minute oral arguments that will create or destroy state laws.
He was asked how his often harsh critiques of other Justice's opinion have affected his relationships with those people on and off the bench. He paused with this question. He said "first of all, I never personally attack anyone. I don't agree with some of the people on the Court. And they don't agree with me. Do I think their reasoning is often flawed, silly and wrong? Yes. Do I say that, sometimes in the form of calling it ridiculous or unbelievable (among other things)? Yes. But...my best friend of the Court is Ruth Ginsberg. Our families have been spending New Years eve together for the past 25 years. We do not agree with each other for the majority of opinions. I think that answers the question". He went on to say that writing a dissent is purely "for you guys--I mean hell, law students need something to talk about in class, right?". He also talked about why is such a vocal member of the Court in oral arguments--questions from the bench make a good lawyer great.
He talked about much more--why "substantive due process" is one of the most "completely irrational and totally insane" ideas he has ever heard (and made a great case for it, as well! As he said--close your eyes and THINK about the term substantive process. It makes no sense. It's would be the equivalent of saying procedural substance which is equally as stupid (his words, not mine)). He refused to answer questions on the D.C. gun laws (saying Ha HA! you cannot fool me, I know you're just trying to get me to have to force myself to recuse when this case is accepted!) or wire tapping for the same reasons. He talked about the 8th Amendment and the term "cruel and unusual". He spoke about whatever we wanted him to address and it was fantastic.
It was the best 75 minutes of my 3 years in law school. Of the 7 or so people who actually read this blog, I imagine the vast majority of you are not Scalia fans. But sitting in a room with a man who will most likely go down as one of the greatest legal minds, certainly of our time if not ever, was thrilling. I don't agree with him on a lot of issues, but I have an immense amount of respect and awe for him. An opportunity like the one I had this afternoon makes everything else in law school a little more...worth struggling through.
Monday, November 26, 2007
**Correction**
It has come to my attention that I claimed that this would be my 7th exam period while in law school. While it certainly feels like that at times, I've proven once again why there is no math in law school. 3 years, 2 semesters each. I am, it turns out, beginning preparation for exam period #5. Not 7.
Anyone wanna hire me to be their accountant when I graduate?
Anyone wanna hire me to be their accountant when I graduate?
Sunday, November 25, 2007
It's Starting...
I love the holidays, particularly after spending so many of them away from home in the past 5 years. I spent Thanksgiving in North Carolina with my sister and her husband, the first guests in their new house and town. H and I drove down together--leaving late on Tuesday night to miss traffic. It worked. We made it to Richmond in less than 2 hours and to J's house in less than 4.5.
We had a lovely 4 days in the south--it was fantastic to be able to hang out with the newlyweds and Lola the Dog--we cooked and drank wine, enjoyed the gorgeous Thanksgiving weather, and had a girls day out on Friday. Coming back to DC felt good since it's always good to be home, but I realized in less than 18 hours since arriving home what the next month brings.
In one month, I will be finished with my 7th semester of law school. I will have one left. In one month, I will have my first issue of the Journal for which I am managing editor at the printer on the way to distribution. I will be preparing to represent my first client on their last effort to gain asylum in the United States. I will be home in Vermont, sitting with my entire family in front of the fire, celebrating Christmas.
This is that time of the semester where the last few months start to feel like they are crushing in around you, when the folks at Starbucks learn my name and favorite drink and often give me my third soy Americano with an extra shot free in the evening, when going to the gym for an hour is the absolute highlight of the day because you can mindlessly watch tv and clear your brain and not feel badly about it, when I do my 20 hours on, 4 hours off schedule that I like to call bootcamp, and when I dream about Securities Regulations, Con Law II and Corporations at night and going home for Christmas during the day.
But let me tell ya, going through it all makes the holidays so much sweeter, so bring in on!
**Did I mention it also kind of makes you insane? Yeah, 7 exam periods later I might be permanently scarred.
We had a lovely 4 days in the south--it was fantastic to be able to hang out with the newlyweds and Lola the Dog--we cooked and drank wine, enjoyed the gorgeous Thanksgiving weather, and had a girls day out on Friday. Coming back to DC felt good since it's always good to be home, but I realized in less than 18 hours since arriving home what the next month brings.
In one month, I will be finished with my 7th semester of law school. I will have one left. In one month, I will have my first issue of the Journal for which I am managing editor at the printer on the way to distribution. I will be preparing to represent my first client on their last effort to gain asylum in the United States. I will be home in Vermont, sitting with my entire family in front of the fire, celebrating Christmas.
This is that time of the semester where the last few months start to feel like they are crushing in around you, when the folks at Starbucks learn my name and favorite drink and often give me my third soy Americano with an extra shot free in the evening, when going to the gym for an hour is the absolute highlight of the day because you can mindlessly watch tv and clear your brain and not feel badly about it, when I do my 20 hours on, 4 hours off schedule that I like to call bootcamp, and when I dream about Securities Regulations, Con Law II and Corporations at night and going home for Christmas during the day.
But let me tell ya, going through it all makes the holidays so much sweeter, so bring in on!
**Did I mention it also kind of makes you insane? Yeah, 7 exam periods later I might be permanently scarred.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
On Celebrations
It' amazing to watch as my friends from years and years ago grow up--it's a reminder of how far we've all come, and the joys in life that should be celebrated as the family we've become.
A and I met our first day of our first year of college. We were both recruited to row at UVA--she as a lightweight in her 5'10 slender body and me as a shorter than average power house that could just wail not only on the oar, but also on the ergs. Every morning at 5am A would come and pick me up in her green Jeep and we would drive out to the boathouse to be on the water by 5:30am. For a long time she was seat seven, I was seat 6. We spent countless hours moving across the water in a boat of 8, cross training in the afternoon, crying over blisters on our hands and exhaustion. I stayed with her at her parent's house in northern Virginia before most vacations from school when I would fly from DC to Vermont. We were sisters not only on the team, but away from our homes and sisters who were related to us by blood.
And then life intervened in ways not worthy of discussion on this amazing day. But we moved farther apart for a number of reasons--A transferred to GW, life encompassed both of us in our individual environments. I left for Africa, A started law school and I rarely spoke to her for a few years. I moved back to DC to find that by gal H had reunited with A--they lived only a couple of blocks from one another and their friendship was fast and lasting. I got updates from H on how A was doing, and saw her occasionally--A finishing law school and I having started did not leave a lot of time for catching up.
This past year I had the great fortune to catch up with A and to start rebuilding a friendship that never ended in a bad way, but fizzled for a number of years. Seeing the woman and friend that she has become--a pillar of strength, someone who is truly inspiring and has shown me that no matter how many times we get knocked down there is never a time when it's too hard to pull yourself back up--has made me feel truly lucky to have had the second chance to have her as a friend.
Today, A is getting married to a lovely and wonderful and perfect man for her. I could not be more overwhelmed with joy for the two of them, for her especially. There is no one on earth, I don't think, who has a larger heart of pure gold, who is selfless and kind, and who has done more for herself than any person could imagine.
I saw this poem on another site and it made me think of A and her fiance and their relationship. And I think it's perfect for them
Congratulations, A.
"Oh, the comfort,
The inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person,
having neither to to weight thoughts or measure words,
but pouring them all out.
just as they are,
chaff and grain together,
certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them,
keep what is worth keeping
and with the breath of kindness blow the rest away."
--G. Eliot
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Stumbling Upon Family You Never Knew You Had
This past weekend I went on a quest to find wedding attire for the marriage of a great friend taking place this weekend at the National Cathedral. DC shopping is abysmal, so I went to the only metro accessible place that had somewhat of an option in clothing: Pentagon f*^#ing City. On a Saturday. At 2pm. Imagine a Whole Foods the size of a mall on a Sunday afternoon. It still makes me kind of wince.
Earlier in the weekend, on Friday afternoon, a freight train carrying tons and tons of coal plunged into the Anacostia River--no one was hurt, but as the Yellow Line metro train made its way across the impossibly narrow subway bridge over the Potomac the next day carrying moi, I burrowed down into my coat and turned my ipod up, trying not to look out the window for fear of catching a glimpse of the fallen train. One of my favorite songs, "The Coast" by Paul Simon (but only the live version--not the studio one) was gliding through my ipod and I suddenly felt an intense wave of nostalgia for Mali--for one moment of my 27 months there.
We had been in country for about 2 weeks. All 56 of us in training, being carted through the streets of Bamako, to and from our training center, Tubaniso. The first few weeks were overwhelming and exhausting. It was hot, we were dirty, everything was new and hard. We were forced best friends but all still strangers event to each other. One afternoon, our massive white peace corps bus was taking us back to Tubaniso. It was close to dusk, we had been out all day for one reason or another. The training center was about 15km outside of the city--a trip that would take anyone in the U.S. 10 minutes to make, but from the Peace Corps bureau in the heart of Bamako generally took an hour or more for us. Crammed in, 5 to a row, we all kind of quietly rode thinking about anything other than where we were. Until the bus started sputtering and came to a halt on the side of the road--too far from either the bureau or the training center to walk back to one or on to the other.
Ah, Malian transportation. I don't know if there is anything less reliable on earth. We all piled out--grumpy. Our driver assured us it "would only be a minute, that it was a small small problem". It was early enough in our time in country that I think we actually believed him. As we looked around we realized that we had stopped next to a large courtyard where there was some sort of party going on. Upon seeing a group of 50 young, predominately white non-Malian people, the folks throwing the party coaxed us into the courtyard to join them in the festivities. Music was playing, everyone was dancing. We were shy--the kind of shy like small children at a party who don't want to let go of their mother's dress and shrink away from attention that is given to them. But one by one we all started to wander out, or get pulled out, into the circle of dancing, until we realized that every one of us was now in the middle. The sun set, the bus continued to be fixed, and we continued to dance.
I found myself opening my eyes at the stop for the Pentagon with a smile on my face and an ache of nostalgia in my heart. Eventually, our bus was fixed and we boarded it, somewhat changed--it was that first moment where you begin to absorb the country and the people who ended up absorbing us for the remainder of the time we all had left. The Coast ended as we pulled up to the Pentagon City stop and I quickly hit replay and joined the throngs of people in the corridors, my good mood quickly melting in the crowdedness of retail.
I walked into Nordstrom thinking it would be the best place to start the quest for the dresses for this weekend. I wandered through the racks, grabbing things left and right, arming myself with as many options as possible under the reasoning that if I had 20 things for the dressing room, there was a greater probability that something would work on the first try than if I had been choosier and grabbed only..5. A petite black woman with an accent came up to me and gathered the pile in my hands so she could go set up a dressing room for me while I continued to browse. When I finally made my way into my dressing room, this same young woman continuously checked in--was everything fitting? Did I need a tailor? Did I like the colors? Do I need shoes to try on with those dresses?
"Miss Emily", she kept saying, "you just let me know what you need". I whittled the original pile down to three dresses and a few other things, and went back out to make round number two of the racks, to make sure I did not miss anything. "Miss Emily!" "Ma'am, please, just call me Emily" "Emily--I will put this on hold for you, you just take your time" she said. So I went in and out of the rooms, with this woman always ready to stow away the keepers and dispose of those garments I did not want. After about 2 hours of this (yes, it seems egregious, but it takes a while to shop!) I found her in the racks and we went over to the pile that had become my "hold" pile. She and I went through as I decided on the true keepers (3 dresses, 2 pairs of pants and 3 shirts). One of the dresses I was buying to consider for the wedding and would return if one of the others was chosen instead, was missing a small piece of thread that held the sash in place. Knowing that Nordstrom had on-site tailors I asked my sales lady if I could purchase the clothes, but leave them at the counter while the garment was fixed and come back in an hour. She said of course, she would make sure it was less than an hour--I assured her that based on the sheer number of people in the mall I would most likely not be able to walk from one end and and back in LESS than an hour. She laughed while she wrote her name down on a card for me.
"Emily", she said, "My name is Binta. When you come back if you don't see me, just ask for me".
Binta. Huh. That's a familiar name.
"Binta--where are you from?"
"Guinea, West Africa", she replied. I looked down at the card she gave me: "Binta Diallo" was her full name.
In West Africa, and I assume other regions of the continent, you can tell what ethnic group someone is from based on their last name. Diallo is a Fulani name, I lived in a predominantly Fulani region of Mali, even though my village was Dogon. For the first three months in Mali, while in training, I had a Fulani last name--Cisse.
"Eh, Binta--are you Fulani?" I could hear myself get back into the West African speech patterns. She looked up at me like she had just won the lottery. "I lived in Mali, for 2.5 years", I explained. Immediately, she broke into French. "Emily, Emily, enchante, enchante", she kept saying. She gave me the West African combination between hand slap and hand shake and laughed and laughed. We chatted and little bit, and I told her I would be back in an hour.
I felt lighter--I felt good. I wandered through the mall quizzing myself on all the Fulani phrases I still remembered, almost three years TO THE DAY since I had arrived home. When I went back to the store, I saw Binta standing by a rack chatting with another sales lady.
"Giddo am--jam hiiri" I said. (My friend, I hope the afternoon has come peacefully--is the general translation and customary greeting for that time of day). As she turned around I thought she was going to burst into tears. We went through the extensive Fulani greetings and she continued to chatter away in the language. I finally had to say 'Binta, mido hali fulfulde seda seda tan" (Binta, I only speak a little Fulfulde).
"Emily, you are my family. You are my family". She said it over and over again. "W'ahhalai, allah, you are my family". She grabbed other women and pointed to me, in all my red haired and blue eyed glory, and declared, "This is my family, don't you understand--she's one of my people".
We chatted for a little while longer. It was getting late. I gathered my purchases and asked her if this was the department she always worked in. She said that it was and I assured her I would be back to see her soon. "Emily", she said, "you don't know what this means to me". I assured her I did--I thought back to that afternoon in Mali--surrounded by strangers, dancing as the sun set, feeling like a part of a group of people for the first time since arriving. Or arriving home to my village, my family, after being away and being greeted in the same manner that any family would greet each other.
I miss the family I had in Mali, and I look forward to going back next August. But until then, I'm thrilled to know that I have family in some of the most unlikely places, and it's so easy to feel like I'm right back at home at the most unlikely times.
Earlier in the weekend, on Friday afternoon, a freight train carrying tons and tons of coal plunged into the Anacostia River--no one was hurt, but as the Yellow Line metro train made its way across the impossibly narrow subway bridge over the Potomac the next day carrying moi, I burrowed down into my coat and turned my ipod up, trying not to look out the window for fear of catching a glimpse of the fallen train. One of my favorite songs, "The Coast" by Paul Simon (but only the live version--not the studio one) was gliding through my ipod and I suddenly felt an intense wave of nostalgia for Mali--for one moment of my 27 months there.
We had been in country for about 2 weeks. All 56 of us in training, being carted through the streets of Bamako, to and from our training center, Tubaniso. The first few weeks were overwhelming and exhausting. It was hot, we were dirty, everything was new and hard. We were forced best friends but all still strangers event to each other. One afternoon, our massive white peace corps bus was taking us back to Tubaniso. It was close to dusk, we had been out all day for one reason or another. The training center was about 15km outside of the city--a trip that would take anyone in the U.S. 10 minutes to make, but from the Peace Corps bureau in the heart of Bamako generally took an hour or more for us. Crammed in, 5 to a row, we all kind of quietly rode thinking about anything other than where we were. Until the bus started sputtering and came to a halt on the side of the road--too far from either the bureau or the training center to walk back to one or on to the other.
Ah, Malian transportation. I don't know if there is anything less reliable on earth. We all piled out--grumpy. Our driver assured us it "would only be a minute, that it was a small small problem". It was early enough in our time in country that I think we actually believed him. As we looked around we realized that we had stopped next to a large courtyard where there was some sort of party going on. Upon seeing a group of 50 young, predominately white non-Malian people, the folks throwing the party coaxed us into the courtyard to join them in the festivities. Music was playing, everyone was dancing. We were shy--the kind of shy like small children at a party who don't want to let go of their mother's dress and shrink away from attention that is given to them. But one by one we all started to wander out, or get pulled out, into the circle of dancing, until we realized that every one of us was now in the middle. The sun set, the bus continued to be fixed, and we continued to dance.
I found myself opening my eyes at the stop for the Pentagon with a smile on my face and an ache of nostalgia in my heart. Eventually, our bus was fixed and we boarded it, somewhat changed--it was that first moment where you begin to absorb the country and the people who ended up absorbing us for the remainder of the time we all had left. The Coast ended as we pulled up to the Pentagon City stop and I quickly hit replay and joined the throngs of people in the corridors, my good mood quickly melting in the crowdedness of retail.
I walked into Nordstrom thinking it would be the best place to start the quest for the dresses for this weekend. I wandered through the racks, grabbing things left and right, arming myself with as many options as possible under the reasoning that if I had 20 things for the dressing room, there was a greater probability that something would work on the first try than if I had been choosier and grabbed only..5. A petite black woman with an accent came up to me and gathered the pile in my hands so she could go set up a dressing room for me while I continued to browse. When I finally made my way into my dressing room, this same young woman continuously checked in--was everything fitting? Did I need a tailor? Did I like the colors? Do I need shoes to try on with those dresses?
"Miss Emily", she kept saying, "you just let me know what you need". I whittled the original pile down to three dresses and a few other things, and went back out to make round number two of the racks, to make sure I did not miss anything. "Miss Emily!" "Ma'am, please, just call me Emily" "Emily--I will put this on hold for you, you just take your time" she said. So I went in and out of the rooms, with this woman always ready to stow away the keepers and dispose of those garments I did not want. After about 2 hours of this (yes, it seems egregious, but it takes a while to shop!) I found her in the racks and we went over to the pile that had become my "hold" pile. She and I went through as I decided on the true keepers (3 dresses, 2 pairs of pants and 3 shirts). One of the dresses I was buying to consider for the wedding and would return if one of the others was chosen instead, was missing a small piece of thread that held the sash in place. Knowing that Nordstrom had on-site tailors I asked my sales lady if I could purchase the clothes, but leave them at the counter while the garment was fixed and come back in an hour. She said of course, she would make sure it was less than an hour--I assured her that based on the sheer number of people in the mall I would most likely not be able to walk from one end and and back in LESS than an hour. She laughed while she wrote her name down on a card for me.
"Emily", she said, "My name is Binta. When you come back if you don't see me, just ask for me".
Binta. Huh. That's a familiar name.
"Binta--where are you from?"
"Guinea, West Africa", she replied. I looked down at the card she gave me: "Binta Diallo" was her full name.
In West Africa, and I assume other regions of the continent, you can tell what ethnic group someone is from based on their last name. Diallo is a Fulani name, I lived in a predominantly Fulani region of Mali, even though my village was Dogon. For the first three months in Mali, while in training, I had a Fulani last name--Cisse.
"Eh, Binta--are you Fulani?" I could hear myself get back into the West African speech patterns. She looked up at me like she had just won the lottery. "I lived in Mali, for 2.5 years", I explained. Immediately, she broke into French. "Emily, Emily, enchante, enchante", she kept saying. She gave me the West African combination between hand slap and hand shake and laughed and laughed. We chatted and little bit, and I told her I would be back in an hour.
I felt lighter--I felt good. I wandered through the mall quizzing myself on all the Fulani phrases I still remembered, almost three years TO THE DAY since I had arrived home. When I went back to the store, I saw Binta standing by a rack chatting with another sales lady.
"Giddo am--jam hiiri" I said. (My friend, I hope the afternoon has come peacefully--is the general translation and customary greeting for that time of day). As she turned around I thought she was going to burst into tears. We went through the extensive Fulani greetings and she continued to chatter away in the language. I finally had to say 'Binta, mido hali fulfulde seda seda tan" (Binta, I only speak a little Fulfulde).
"Emily, you are my family. You are my family". She said it over and over again. "W'ahhalai, allah, you are my family". She grabbed other women and pointed to me, in all my red haired and blue eyed glory, and declared, "This is my family, don't you understand--she's one of my people".
We chatted for a little while longer. It was getting late. I gathered my purchases and asked her if this was the department she always worked in. She said that it was and I assured her I would be back to see her soon. "Emily", she said, "you don't know what this means to me". I assured her I did--I thought back to that afternoon in Mali--surrounded by strangers, dancing as the sun set, feeling like a part of a group of people for the first time since arriving. Or arriving home to my village, my family, after being away and being greeted in the same manner that any family would greet each other.
I miss the family I had in Mali, and I look forward to going back next August. But until then, I'm thrilled to know that I have family in some of the most unlikely places, and it's so easy to feel like I'm right back at home at the most unlikely times.
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