How Humbling Fund-Raising Can Be

Nervous. Pessimistic. Frustrated. Worried. Scared. These are all words that describe what I was feeling just one month ago.

Blown Away. Humbled.  Surprised.  These are all words that describe how I feel today.

Why the drastic change, you ask?  Well, it’s because within the past month (and actually, in less than a month), we overcame (and that is a drastic understatement of how we actually did it) what I perceived would be the hardest part of this entire project: Fund-Raising.

Although all the others aspects of the project are certainly no easy tasks in themselves (assembling a support team, micro-managing them, building a budget, designing a bridge, constructing it, networking with partner organizations, and procuring materials), Fundraising what I’ve been most nervous about.  Money makes or break a project, and it really doesn’t matter how much effort I put into something if we don’t have money to implement my ideas.  It was a lack of faith in my network, and certainly not a lack of faith in others.  It was more so a worry about how far my network actually expanded.  Did I know enough people who would be willing to donate?  Would the current state of the economy allow people to be a little liberal with their donation?  Maybe most importantly, would people have enough faith in me to think I could really pull this off?

Well, apparently they do.

It’s funny, I feel like a huge hypocrite.  One of the hardest adjustments I’ve had to make in Mozambique is accepting how acceptable it is to straight up ask for money. Getting “pedir-ed” for money (“Hey you, white person; give me ten mets.” says every drunk man I pass, every single time I pass them) was something I struggled with during my first six months in-country, and even though I’ve developed a means of managing it now, it’s something I still loath. I’ve vented about it in my blog, complained to my fellow volunteers, whined to my family, and empathized with the authors of PC-related internet meme’s (INSERT MEME HERE). And now, here I am, shamelessly “pedir-ing” my friends and family in a similar fashion.  Ha, I guess I’ve assimilated to culture here a little better than I thought.

The River is Starting to Fill Up!

Alan, Armindo, and I took a short field trip to the River today after hearing reports that it was starting to fill up and that they are already using boats to cross.  It had been raining for about a week straight prior to my return to Montepuez, so I was expecting to see big things.  Unfortunately, since getting back from a trip I took to Ilha de Moçambique, the rains had taken a break providing ample time for the runoff to, well, run off.  Still, we were surprised to see just how much change had taken place in such a short period of time.  The former crossing where logs had been laid out was completely submerged, and we even managed to see one of the boats.  I couldn’t believe my eyes.  This “boat” was not much more than a continuous piece of bark.  Whoa.  Check out some of our pictures below!

Looking Up the River.  There's another picture I took once of a bunch of farmers in front of the river.  This is that same shot today without the farmers.

The former crossing where logs had been laid.

A boat made of bark!?

These adventurous souls crossed by foot, but the water came up to their waists when they left that little island.

Our tentative construction site.

New Year's on Ilha de Mocambique

Eight months ago I took a trip to Ibo Island and wrote a blog post about how enchanting it was, like taking a time machine back to colonial rule and seeing what this country looked like; But, then during that time-traveling escapade, it was also like the war started and ended leaving the island decimated and crumbling in the most beautiful, way.

Well, I did it again.  This time in a different location:  the famous Ilha de Mozambique, which used to be the capital and the primary hub in the region for exporting slaves. Now it’s just a semi-sleepy fishing village full of both restored and crumbling colonial buildings, a whole lot of history, and some really nice beaches.  It’s a lot like Ibo Island’s steroid-taking big brother, with a lot more people, a lot more tourists, and a lot higher prices. Still gorgeous though, and still absolutely unspoiled.

Check out the pictures below:

A 3 mile long, single-lane bridge connects Ilha to the main land.  Ever so often there is a turn off so that car's can get past each other rather than having to turn around.  Even with it, it's a huge pain in the ass. The bridge is cool though! We caught a Boleia with some guy and made the journey across while riding in his truck bed.

Somewhere in the middle of the bridge.

This is a view from the cabana you eat at.  The place we stayed was called Sheninha's and had just opened.  It was run by Sheninha, the youngest looking grandma I'd ever seen.  Her little grand-kids were running around the property playing in the sand with some other kids.  But seriously, this woman didn't look like she was much past 40.

This is what we ate after that picture was taken. Shrimp steamed in something delicious.  I don't know what it was, but it was amazing.

Local demons.

The Central Hospital on Ilha de Mocambique. Once quite a looker.  Now...still impressive, just not as well-kepted.

Ilha.

Ilha ruins.

Stopped to get some beans from this woman on the street.  That sand right next to her also serves as a waterless dish washing station.

Enjoying that street food.

Ilha's public beach where everyone flocks to on weekends to hang out.

After looking at that beach in the picture above, we grabbed some food from this woman's tray.  Fried fish on the right, crabs on the left.  Both delectable and cheap.

This drunk guy made me take a picture of him. Luckily, the scenery was pretty good too.

For Becca.  Always appreciating the sketchy alley.

The Fort on the Northern tip of the island dominates.  This was the primary export hub for slaves from the main land.  They were taken here, locked away, and then sold.  After the sale, they were sorted into new jail cells according to the location they were being shipped.  Of the names we saw written on some of the cells, I thought Goa, India was the most interesting.  That's when I learned that the Portuguese had been in India as well.

We started to walk around the perimeter of the fort trying to find the entrance and came across some cool views on the way.  On the other side of this wall we ran into some guy who said he was a guide, but that we needed to go back and enter on the other side. Never made it all the way around.

Inside the fort, looking down over top the white-washed walls.  Down in the center you can see the back of the church.  In front of it is a rebuilt stage showing where the auctions and punishment happened. All those windows on the perimeter walls are either huge cells for holding slaves or equally miserable quarters where the soldiers lived.

Canons!

Leaning out past the canon, there was this gorgeous inlet right below with a mangrove tree growing in it.

Dinner one night on the Island. 

On the other side of the idea, usually surrounded by water due to the high tide, is another fort.  Though not as big and certainly not as aesthetic, it was pretty cool none the less.  It was low tide, so we decided to hike out there and check it out.  This is the type of site that will probably be a pay-to-enter museum at some point, but right now, just like the most of the rest of Mozambique, it's just ruins waiting to be explored!

Getting closer.

Wildlife along the way.  Lots of pesky urchins.

Jerks, that's what these are.

Pretty, that's what these are.

The latter up to the fort is a litlte worn down, so we had to do osme rock climbing around the back to get up instead.

On top of the fort looking behind it at the cistern.  Locals come cross the temporary land bridge during low tide to wash their closes using the cisterns water.

Some local kids just hanging out on top of the fort.  More Island off in the distance, further out to sea.

Just like in Ibo, we hired a Dow to take us about into the ocean to visit a deserted island.  This is Adren, enjoying a hard wooden bench for just about 3 hours.

Deserted...

Except for this other couple...Still though, the island was incredible. We walked all around it, exploring its various corners in hopes of finding some treasure.  Sadly, no treasure, but it was still a good time.

They fired the gun inside the house.

Manage your expectations, they said.  Expect the unexpected.  That’s what Peace Corps is all about.

Ok, I said…piece of cake.  I’ll just roll with the punches, it won’t be so hard.

So you go on doing your thing, taking a couple hits, but you always end up getting back up.  Bruises heal, right?

But then a group of 3 to 5 jerks armed with guns and machetes beat up your unarmed guards, rip off your security grates, and break into your house in the middle of the night to hold you, your wife, and your three young children hostage while ripping your home apart in search of valuables.  Your Laptop, your iPad, your LCD TV, electronic picture frames, and all your emergency cash is taken. To make sure you know your place, they fire a gun inside your house, in front of you as you lay on the ground with your wife, your kids locked in their room less than 20 feet away. How about that bruise; Does that one heal?

I don’t know the answer to that one.  My hope is that yes, it does.  What I do know is that the road to recovery from something as traumatic as what my missionary friends experienced a few nights ago is a long one.

I can’t release the thought: Why do bad things happen to good people?  The answer, I’m sure, is complicated.  But it doesn’t matter. Apparently that’s life.  The only thing that matters now is perseverance.

When something like this happens – when the worlds shows its ugly-side – it’s hard for me to understand how the victim can stay motivated.  Oftentimes they don’t.  Intense feelings of vulnerability cause them to retreat into a closed-off space, void of interactions and away from the public world in which they once lived. It’s completely understandable.  We are not a people who have the inherent ability to process trauma, put it behind us so easily, and return to normalcy like nothing ever happened.  No, instead the bad things seem to stick with us.  It’s what we tend to remember the best, and oftentimes it overshadows all the good that we’ve experienced.

I’ve talked to many a PCV who’ve had security incidents, and for some, even though they come out of it scarred, their experience is often reinvigorating.  Most need a recovery period, just like anyone else.  They have their bad moments.  But what I’ve also seen is that their trauma lights a fire inside of them, and they use that motivation to fuel their service.  To show not only themselves, but the offender that they are not one to succumb to adversity.  They will not fall.  From what I’ve seen, resiliency seems to be a characteristic common to not only PCV’s, but to most within the ex-patriot community as well.  And it’s one that I’m sure all the members of my compassionate and dedicated missionary family possess as well.

Consegui!

There’s this song here that’s pretty popular right now.  It’s called “Proximo Ano,” and it plays on repeat here at various Baraca’s (little shacks with huge, loud, yet still crappy sound systems where you can buy beer, cigarettes, candy, and some other little things) around town.  I can’t understand most of what the singer is saying, but the Chorus is pretty addicting.  After repeating the phrase “Proximo ano” three times and then saying something else, the singer pauses and then yells, “Consegui!”  It translates to something like “I did it!” And it’s hard not feel like a winner when you’re singing it. 

Usually I just sing just for the sake of singing along.  But today was different.  Today I had a reason for singing that chorus with more enthusiasm than ever before.  We did it.  We conseguired!  The city Administrador, the former African Revolutionary War Commander who thinks that I’m a CIA spy gave me his blessing to continue.

Yes, we finally got the signature we needed. Not the most legible thing I’ve seen, but approval none the less.  The Administrator signed the top of a letter that the City’s Infrastructure Department had written in support of the project (this was an added bonus I didn’t know about that was also submitted to him in support of our project along with all our other documents).  He also signed every page of the packet we gave him as well. There was no reason for that, it was simply an information packet about the Peace Corps as a whole, including our mission and objectives in country.  Pointless stuff, but that’s Mozambican Bureaucracy for you.

So with that victory, we managed to jump serious hurdle number one.  It took a little longer than expected, but…well…I guess that was a bad metaphor, because this isn’t really a race. We conseguir-ed.  Onto the next obstacle. Bring it on. 

Well…that didn’t go the way I thought it would.

You ever been in one of those situations where you enter the scene and immediately you know that something’s gonna go wrong.  It’s like stepping on a landmine in the bush, and hearing the click of the detonator right before your leg is blown off. Just enough time for a bunch of neurons to fire in your brain, and for you to realize what’s happening and what kinda shit is about to hit the proverbial fan.  It’s that moment you say “Oh S…”, but before you can even finish the explosion of smoke and fire swallows you whole and your own foot kicks you in the face.

Yep, that happened today…when I almost took down the entire project.  Allow me to give an overly-dramatic reinterpretation of what happened today during a meeting I had with the District Administrator of Montepuez about the Bridge.  I’m gonna go ahead post the e-mail I wrote to our Country Director, as well as a few other Peace Corps Chefe’s running the show in Maputo.
Prep yourselves.  This is a long one. 

“
Hi Everyone,

I’m writing you this e-mail in regards to a meeting I had today with the Administrador do Distrito de Montepuez in Cabo Delgado.  You may have already heard, but I will summarize the events of the meeting below (as well as why I had the meeting in the first place) so that everyone is clear, just in case.

Background: 
Over the past few months, I’ve started working on an exciting secondary project.  I’ve partnered with three small communities just outside of Montepuez with the goal of building a pedestrian bridge over the Rio Montepuez. Together we will plan, design, and build a 35 meter Bridge with the purpose of not only providing a safe means for crossing a dangerous, crocodile-filled river all year long, but to also stimulate the local economies.  Strong enough for people, animals, bicycles, and even motorcycles, a bridge in the proposed location would allow farmers to use the fertile land on the opposite side to continue their subsistence farming, and start profiting from cash crops like cotton as well.  Additionally, it would also provide those living on the far side of the river with convenient access to a hospital and specialized medical posts, secondary schools, a diverse market and the main transportation hub.

In addition to the three communities, I’ve managed to put together a small team of 4 additional people who are helping with various tasks.  These counterparts include: 1.) Alan - an American Missionary fluent in the local language (Macua), active in the beneficiary communities, and serving as a liaison between the team and the communities; 2.) Armindo – my former language tutor, turned project assistant, who is well connected in the city, knows how and where to get materials, and is very knowledgeable about all things Mozambique; 3.) Anna – My wonderful sitemate who has recently come aboard to assist with state-side fundraising, material procurement research duties here in Moz, and general support; and, 4.) Undukkus – the most recent addition to our team and a first year student and leader at the local Universidade Pedogogico who is assisting with local fund-raising activities, has an expansive network both here in Montepuez and in Pemba, and is serving as our liaison with the local government.

In trying to realize this project, I’ve had to interact with the local government quite a bit.  Armindo and Alan have been particularly useful in this regards often pointing me in the right direction and even accompanying me to some of the meetings.  Up until today, every single government employee that we’ve talked to about the project (Chefe’s included), have been extremely helpful, and often both excited and interested in the project too.  In developing the project, we came up with a plan of attack of who we would approach in terms of seeking approval for the project and when we would talk to them.  We all agreed that the first people we needed to talk to (after the villages of course) were those at the Escritorio dos Servicos Urbanos do Distrito.  They are in charge of infrastructure projects, and it seemed to us that this type of project fell right into that label.  We met with the Director and a Technico, described the project to him, and then discussed his thoughts and our next move.  He told us that the next step would be to write a letter to the Administrador describing the project and seeking approval.  In this letter, he told us that it would be necessary to include a cost estimate, and in the meantime while it was being prepared, he said that he would contact the administrator, tell him about the project and to expect a letter from us.

Producing an estimate for the bridge is not an easy task due to the complex nature of the project.  In order to produce an estimate, we needed to do a site survey and take measurements.  Once we had that information, I would be able to produce a basic design and material estimate. I have a background in Civil Engineering, so I was excited to take up this opportunity to do some real field work. 

In trying to figure out how we could do this survey, I began to search the city for some of the tools I needed. I went back to the Escritorio dos Servicos Urbanos do Distrito to see if they had any equipment I could borrow, and was then told to visit the Escritorio dos Servicos Urbanos do Municipio.  While there, I spoke with the director and discovered that the city Technicos had a Total Station, an advanced surveying machine that would allow for us to make the precise measurements that we needed.  I was told that borrowing it would not be a problem so long as I got approval from the President of Montepuez. So, I went back home, wrote a Pedido, and returned the next day to ask the President of the city if I could borrow their Machine.  As it turned out, rather than just dropping off the letter, I was invited into the President’s Office and had the opportunity to speak with him directly about my request.  The President was extremely enthusiastic about the project and approved my request immediately, wishing me good luck with my project and saying that he hoped we would succeed so that we could continue doing more projects just like this one.  I returned to Servicos Urbanos a few days later to pick up the machine, and then went to complete my survey. Using the collected data, I was able to produce a basic design and put together a rough budget for the project, the same budget I submitted with my PCPP Grant Application.  That brings us to the present day. 


Present Day:
This morning, Undukkus and I went to the city with the intention of scheduling a meeting to sit down with the District Administrator so that we could deliver the letter and tell him about our project. As it turned out, his secretary told us that was available to talk right at that moment, and so, if we wanted to, we could talk with him today.  Thinking this was a good chance to introduce ourselves and give him some basic information about the project, we decided to take the meeting. This turned out to be a big mistake.

Even before we started the meeting, both Undukkus and I could tell that the Administrator was already in a bad mood.  We started off the meeting with formal greetings, before Pedro went into some of the details of our project.  Undukkus barely had a chance to say anything of substance before the Administrator began an angry tirade about how this was his district, how this wasn’t the mission of Peace Corps, and how he hadn’t received any of the proper documentation (from the Pedagogical University, from the American Embassy, from Corpo da Paz, from anyone…). He refused to let us explain, was not interested in seeing any of the pictures we brought along, and was not willing to continue the meeting without any of his required documentation.  It was obvious that he wanted us to leave when he closed his notebook and stood up.  We both did the same, and as he walked us to the door of his office, I tried to respectfully despedir (to say goodbye).  I thanked him for his time, apologized for the inconvenience, and then assured him that we would arrange all of the documents that he requested. I then stuck out my hand to shake and close the meeting.  He looked at my hand, and after a few very awkward seconds passed, he grabbed it and literally forced me out of the room in a very aggressive manner.  He then slammed the door behind me and kept Pedro in the room.  After two or three minutes, Pedro emerged just as confused and taken aback as I was.  He later told me what happened once I had left.  The Administrador, still angry, turned to him and asked “Who are you?  Who do you think you are coming here? Do you have any idea what you are doing?”  Pedro tried to respond in a calm manner, but the Administrator cut him off again, explain: “We have problems here in this country and you are trying to do this?  Get out of here.” He then kicked Pedro out as well.  We were both shocked.


The Aftermath:
Reflecting back on the events of today, I’ve tried to understand what happened and why he reacted the way he did.  I’ve come to a few conclusions.  First and foremost, I realize that he should have been the first person we contacted in regards to this project, and not doing so was a big mistake.  We probably should have written him to ask for permission before doing any work at all.  I regret not doing that.  Secondly, I believe that he is concerned about me being an American and, judging by what he said to Pedro behind closed doors, he may believe that I have ulterior political motives.  He has every right to think that.  He fought with FRELIMO during the Civil War, and as Marcelino mentioned to me on the phone today, he was actually a high ranking official in the Military prior to moving into office.  He is probably aware of who the US backed during the Mozambican Civil War, and as a result, may not be very trusting of Americans.  Additionally, as strange as it may sound, he may also believe that I am spying for the American Government (this wouldn’t be the first time that American’s living in Montepuez have been accused of spying by a district administer, it happened to the Missionaries upon their arrival here ten years ago).

As far as I am concerned, I’ve put it behind me.  I have no intention of abandoning this project, and if anything, it has only motivated me even more to succeed.  Both Pedro and I feel that have something to prove, and would like nothing more than to show the Administrator that we are capable.  Personally, I look forward to the challenge of changing his opinion of me and my country.
“

So yeah, that happened.  And even though it’s a pretty significant happening, I believe it’s something we will be able to overcome.  We’ve got a plan of action that our head honchos in the capital have approved and we’ll now follow it to resolve this issue.  Essentially, we’re gonna give this guy exactly what he wants.  The Country Director is writing a letter that will be signed and stamped that includes information about Peace Corps, my role as a volunteer (Professor, Representative of the US, Pursuer of Secondary Projects, etc.), and that he approves and supports my undertaking of the bridge-building project. Pedro, meanwhile, is working on getting the same exact type of letter from his university.

Now I may not be able to secure a comfortable space on the Administrators “Good Side,” but that’s not really my goal right now.  I’ll give him what he wants, and if he approves, then we’ll show him a bridge. Has the CIA spy ever done that?

Mozambican Prom

My cousin used to work at this restaurant in Bethesda a few years ago.  I think it was called Newton’s Table, after Sir Isaac himself.  All the dishes were so creative, it was like each plate was an ingenious concoction straight from the mind and workbench of Mr. Sir Isaac Newton himself.  Ok, it probably wasn’t named after Isaac, but more likely it was the name of the chef or his mother or something.  But I digress.  Anyway, we went because my sisters are foodies, and the restaurant was new.  Obviously, this was more than enough reason to drop $30 a plate on overpriced seafood, isn’t it?  Well, that and my sisters have this overly aggressive need to know everything there is to know about every single restaurant and chef in existence. Shit again with the digression.  Anyways, we went, and aside from the impeccable service from my man Perry, the only thing I really remember from the experience was the overdose of blue my eye’s digested over the course of the visit. Never before have I indulged in such a monochromatic environment.  It was like we had walked in on a fresh crime scene where the blue man group had just drowned an entire village of smurfs with blue paint while playing that late 90’s classic “Blue” in the background.  The walls, the chairs, the table clothes and napkins, the rim on the glasses and the trim on the plates, Christ even the silverware was Blue (in reality, the silverware was probable silver, but still, the reflection was blue dude, blue a-ba-de-a-ba-di.

So, last night, my Newton’s Table experience was one-up’ed by Mozambican Prom. Yeah, they have that here too, and last night, I went. 

But it’s not your normal prom.  You know how in America they are all about trying to limit the amount of alcohol consumed at the dance with the optimistic goal that everyone in attendance will show up and subsequently remain completely sober?  So imagine that in Mozambique, but the complete opposite.  Particularly when it comes to the teachers.  For lack of better terms, or not, it was a complete shit show.

A day or so earlier, one of my colleagues, a fellow professor, stopped by my house to drop off an invitation.  Inside a fresh envelope was a photocopied letter with my name written on the top.  Dear Professor William, it said (side note: they never use my last name, because not only can no one pronounce it, but they can’t spell it either…), you’ve been invited to the “Baiale das Finalistas,” an end of the year dance at a local hotel honoring a selection of students (read: the ones who wanted to pay to attend) who passed the first and second cycles (tenth and twelfth grade, respectively). 

Like most everything in this country, I’m pretty unclear on the exact details of how it works and what it all means, but from what I experienced, basically it’s a dance in which students celebrate the aforementioned achievement by preparing a whole bunch of food, feasting on it, getting the attending teachers (and later on, everyone else in the room) completely and utterly shit-house wasted on chefe beers, and then dancing until the sun comes up. 

The students coordinated the entire thing, including their attire, the music, and a few dance performances they did.  Purple was selected as this year’s chiquey-as-shit color.  It’s not really my thing, but hot damn do the Mozambican youth know how to wear it.  Since the students in attendance were mostly the ones that came from a little money, they didn’t seem to have much of a problem preparing their costumes.   The girls all used the same shiny purple fabric to make extravagant ball gowns, each unique and customized for the person modeling it to the crowd.  The men, in similar fashion, used the fabric to make a variety of vests, ties, suspenders, socks,  and any other wacky accessory you could imagine that would go with some suit pants and a white button down (that it, except for the kid who had the brightest shirt in the room). One of my favorite kids decided to channel Prince and made a costume shirt and pair of shiny purple shoes.  I think fabulous is a good word to use here.

So I arrive around 830pm, and all the teachers were immediately sat in a row behind some tables.  Beer was dropped in front of use, and bottle after bottle continued to be delivered by students throughout the night. I was pretty confused by the whole thing at first, and the drinks didn’t help.  “How come there were only 25 students?” I wondered.  Where was everyone else? That’s when I found out that the entire event was paid for by the students in attendance and each person participating had to drop something like six or seven hundred mets just to attend.  So yeah, it was a pretty selective crowd.  Among the combined 700 or so tenth and twelfth graders, only a handful of “finalistas” (what we in Americaland call graduates) attended.  Luckily a number of my 12th graders were there, so at least I got to celebrate with a few of them.

The All-Stars, my Colleagues.

Taking out seats.

We sat around for a while before the events began.  First, my school director stood up and read a speech he prepared. Sappy stuff about the future and how he’s proud and how everyone is great.  It was actually a pretty nice thing of him to have done.  After that, he began calling students individually to the front to pin a banner on them.  To my surprise, I got called up to pin the purple finalist banner on some 12th graders purple dress.  Awkward.  I had no clue who this girl was, nor did I know where to pin this girl.  Hopefully I didn’t stab her, but if I did, hopefully there wasn’t too much pain.  She didn’t scream or anything, so I think I did ok.  Then again, you never really know with Mozambicans.

One of the Head Teachers hammin' it up while talking about the event.  Those purple people are our Finalistas.

One of my colleagues trying not to stab a student.

Following the banner ceremony, the food came out.  The students had spent all day preparing a feast of cultural dishes: grilled chicken, matapa, feijoada, cabbage salad, endangered fish, and of course, French fries (I know, I know, this cultural dish was commandeered…).  We ate, drank, conversed, and then cut a gigantic congratulatory cake and devoured it.  That’s when the dancing begun. It started with some presentations. First a couple’s dance, then a hip-hop group came out and broke it down for two songs. The dance floor was cleared after that and the DJ came out. He spent what felt like the next 15 hours playing the same 6 songs over and over again while the students got funky and the teachers got drunk.  Then the students got drunk too. I was done by about 130am (not done like wasted done, done as in I wanted to go home cause it was 130 in the morning and I was tired done).  Lucky for me though, the party wasn’t even close to being finished by then.  So, instead of drinking more, I decided to take a bunch of pictures and dance.  I made a fool of myself for a while trying to show them how it’s done, but only ended up feeling old.  Finally, 430am came and it was time to leave.  FINALLY.

We didn’t need our head lights as we drove home because the sun was just starting to show its shinny face.  I finally climbed into bed around 5am.

Here are some more pictures!

Dance presentations!

First Course

Second course, which I refilled and ate again as a third course too.

Cake!

My Director (in the white) and Pedagogical Director (in the stripes) cutting the cake!

In this photo, you'll see my School Director giving alcohol to minors.

Purple.  There is just so much purple. Except for that one guy.  He's wearing a jacket a former concierge donated to charity.