Things found in Kunming:

Underwear shops, dumplings, spicy food, Prada, KFC, double decker buses, crazy traffic, street sweepers, high heel shoes, consulates, and a LOT of people in a hurry.

However, in our hour of need, we found that there was a distinct absence of journals. 

Anna Mack and Mara Karell set off at approximately 10:00 AM in pursuit of a journal for Anna's ISP. Equipped with a homemade phrasebook and a good sense of humor, we delved into the the bustling streets of the City of Eternal Spring.  

We ambled aimlessly for about five minutes when we discovered a group of adolescents huddled beneath a tent.

"Fellow youth!" we thought "Surely our similarity in age will transcend the language barrier."

To no avail.

After about ten minutes of desperate hand gestures, frequent references to our phrasebook and confused facial expressions (on our part) and bewildered smiles, suppressed laughter and equal confusion (on their part), we were directed further down the street.

On the next corner, we encountered what we thought was a fellow Westerner, disguised in Tai Qi clothing (black silk long sleeved shirt and pants). To our dismay, he spoke only broken English, through which he articulated that he was not from this area and that we should get on a bus to accomplish our goal.

However, we struggled most communicating with an ice cream vendor. When the vendor stared blankly at us (after our repeated attempts of "ni hao" and "zai na'r") a kindly patron, a man in a suit on a bike, attempted to bridge the language barrier by writing in Anna's homemade phrase book. Noticing our lack of comprehension of Chinese characters, he tried pinyin.

"Xie Xie," we said and tried to move on our way.

But he was persistant.

"Zhong wen ni zi ma" (we think) he repeated.

Although we are not completely sure, we got the feeling that he was asking us if we spoke chinese. After attempting to educate us (in louder and louder volumes), we concluded that A) we do not speak Chinese and B) he does not speak English.

We thanked each other and moved on our way. (Little did we know, we would run into him again about half an hour later, journal in hand, victorious.)

One police man, two street vendors and one parking lot guard later, we found our way to a tiny, hole-in-the-wall, print shop on a narrow sidestreet, where Anna ultimately purchased a quasi-address-book-journal for 11 quai (roughly $1.75).

Lessons learned:

1) It is easier to buy underwear than to purchase writing instruments in Kunming if you're staying at the Camelia Guesthouse.

2) Ice cream vendors sell ice cream. That's it.

3) Adolescents are equally awkward everywhere.

4) Parking lot guards are surprisingly well-informed.

5) The best currency in any language is the smile.

"There are two roads to affluence--desire little, or produce much." (Dragons quote book)

Djieneba, my homestay sister, is one of the most down to earth women I know. She walks tall and self-assured,with the strong posture of all Senegalese women despite a limp. She is impassioned, but always rational; incredibly hardworking, but always the first to laugh.

Djieneba, besides being an incredible woman, is an incredible teacher. She wanted to be a nurse but didnt pass the exams. Around the same time, a director of a language school knew she spoke Pular and asked her to teach it temporarily to the many Koreans who come to Senegal. He recognized her talent in the classroom and offered her a full time job, telling her she was a natural. She shrugged her shoulders when she told me this, accepting her fate to be a teacher because it was something she was good at and offered stable work. I've seen Djienebas talent first hand; she introduces me daily to another aspect of Senegalese life. Today, Djieneba taught be about prosperity.

She showed me her hand and said, pointing to different finers, "We say that the world is our hand. Some are rich like the middle finger, some are poor like the pinkie finger, and others are inbetween like the ring and index finger." Just like that, she summed up the socioeconomic background of every human on Earth.

I envy her acceptance of her life. At a time when I'm trying to discover my place in the world-a world in which economic status is just one of many extremes-Djieneba knows where she is, where she belongs, and where she wants to be. She told me pityingly of people in Sengal who chase after "big cars." She also confessed to being angry with her mother who does not approve of her boyfriends lower economic status. She explained that her boyfriends lack of money doesnt bother her-she wants for them to work just hard enough to have a comfortable home to support a happy life.

Teachers have drilled into us since kindergarten, using fables and stories, that wealth is meaured in happiness, not gold. At the same time, though, they have supported the American Dream and the puritan work ethic that is inherent in our nation--no one has ever told me "work just hard enough to have an ok house and an ok car and youll have a good life."

Coming from a developed, and therefore affluent nation, teachers could only try to show me, but never truly teach me that wealth does not equal happiness without sounding hypocritical. Djieneba actually taugh me that settling for the ring finger when it comes to socioeconomic status can equal happiness. Djieneba might be a natural at teaching Pular to Koreans, but today she taught this American about the relativity of prosperity.

Yubeng Awakening

In the early hours of the morning,

The yak's bells summon me from

My soft cocoon of sleepiness.

Drawn outside, I sit upon

A deserted stump.

Chickens strut proudly upon their pecking grounds,

Mules trod tirelessly upon time-worn paths,

Two Tibetans speak in a language that sounds like peace.

They are all awake, and have been for generations.

There is a certain vitality in the morning air,

It shocks my soul from its slumber.

Dark clouds shroud the looming mountains,

I shiver.

But the sun rises, as it does every morning:

Dark clouds ablaze,

The sky pours its brilliance uon all

Creatures of this holy place.

Yubeng is awake and there is a dawn in me.

My host sisters are braiding my hair. Or rather, they´re trying - my hair isn´t being very cooperative. The same blonde curls that had so thoroughly captured their attention when I arrived now refuse to be made into the smooth plaits worn by nearly all the women. But my sisters don´t give up easily. "¿Un poco agua?" Marleni asks. At eight, she is five years older than her sister Edi. A little water, she thinks, should help tame my curls. "Si," I reply. She returns a minute later with a cup of water, dips her fingers into the cup, and then goes about smoothing the hair along my scalp. With a comb, she deflty divides my hair in two, creating a perfectly straight part down the center of my head. She and Edi are content to comb and smooth my hair, and for a while they seem to have forgotten my presence. It´s quite peaceful sitting here, having my hair braided, listening to their banter that I don´t understand. After a bit, Edi takes my hand so that I can feel the braid she´s finished. It´s fairly loose, yes, but I´m more than impressed by the braid this three-year-old has just completed. Marleni is not. "Fea," she says simply. "Ugly." She moves to take Edi´s place behind me and undoes the braid. Hurt, Edi crawls into my lap for comfort. She holds up a tiny mirror in which we can see our two faces reflect together. Marleni decides that a single braid is better than the traditional two and with the comb, she begins to gather my hair at the nape of my neck. I can feel her tiny fingers working along my head, weaving the pieces together. After a few minutes though, she sighs, and I feel my hair fall loose. "No es posible," she states. It simply isn´t going to happen. I feel somewhat responsible for her disappointment, and in broken Spanish, I tell her that she can try again tomorrow if she´d like. As for now, a ponytail will just have to do.