Oops.

So much for blogging more frequently…. haha. I do, however, think I know what my problem is. You see, I love writing. I could happily (and do now! Thanks to the advice of a friend of putting time aside [and I ask myself, why didn't I think of having mandatory writing time myself? - We won't worry about that...] to write) do it all day every day. So why is it that I have such a gosh darn (aw, I’m not vulgar!) getting myself to update my blog. Well, here’s why:

You see, as much as I love writing, I don’t consider myself a very interesting topic. I don’t really want to broadcast my life drama to the world, which leaves me with talking about what is going well that I deem sharable. After a while, that gets pretty boring to write about. Also, I don’t think anyone really wants to read the semi-bragging random stuff I would post. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t want to read it either.

As for my fictional work, I know I’ve published a few of my poems on here and I think a random essay on Timbuktu (don’t ask) but as a whole, I’m very secretive about my work. So there isn’t really a chance to put that here either. So that leaves political &/or philosophical discussion (side tangent, we just finished up Plato’s The Republic for my philosophy class. So in the spirit of things, how do YOU define justice?) which I have to be inspired to write about.

So, in a nutshell, this is me saying, sorry universe for not blogging more often. Maybe some day I’ll change, but I wouldn’t bank on it. However, if you’d like to read my writing you should buy my books – once they’re written and published of course.

Two more Days…

Well, it’s finals week. Here I am writing on wordpress instead of reading for history. Sounds like a fail-safe plan right? I just wanted to jot a couple lines about how excited I am for life right now. Maybe it’s the high that comes from one too many energy drinks, a lack of food, and nonexistent sleep  – but I haven’t been quite this giddy in a while. It’s a nice change. I have two more days until I get to go home, see my friends, spend as much time writing and playing piano as I want, I’ll finally get to record the song I wrote (yippeeeeeee), and maybe even sleep. (Doubtful on the last one).

I’m really proud of myself right now. I told myself I wasn’t going to spend the whole semester moping and with a few exceptions I didn’t. I pushed myself to excel and it appears that the work has paid off (I’ll let you know for sure once I get finals grades back). I fell off the cliff in regards to the triathlon team but I’ll just have to push myself harder next semester to practice on my own. [I plan on stepping my workouts back up over Christmas break (goal is to be able to run 10miles without stopping, and make it to the swim center at least 3x a week. Really though, the biking is what I need to work on. I need to suck it up and stop avoiding it... haha)] but I kept myself doing enough to be happy with how I look and feel. I took on new responsibilities in my fraternity and although I still wasn’t as active as I would have liked to be, I felt very honored to receive a certificate of appreciation for my work at our banquet.  I’ve made lots of new friends within my dorm and even a few outside. I tried out a new sport, volleyball and even played in one of the intramural games (I stink, but it was fun!) I’m not backing down either; next semester I’m currently enrolled to take 19 hours and I still fully intend on finding some sports club to join (I will find my niche… this will be trial III), I still intend on becoming more active in APO, and having more of a social life. I will compete in a triathlon this spring and (with a little convincing) Once that is complete, my next goal will be next December’s White Rock Marathon (hopefully I can convince one of my parents to do this with me haha. I think I’ll need the companionship)

I’m excited about all this but right now I’m really, really, really just excited to be home. There’s someone I’ve been waiting to see. =]

The Rose

It’s easy to get wrapped up in a rose when all you see are the blossoms; but when it gets cold and the rose wilts and dies, you’ll be left with nothing but the thorns in your side. So hold it at bay: place it in a vase or some inconsequential piece of china. That way, you can appreciate its beauty without the pain.

Untitled

 

There’s something in your eyes tonight-

A certain lightness to your touch;

Words unspoken speak the loudest.

Our time is but a fleeting moment;

Come tomorrow gone forever -

Yet, it stills as we divulge our hearts.

The universe; peace and love;

What was and what is to come.

Imminent words remain unspoken,

as bridled hearts confess their dreams.

The cold -not time- tears us away:

Away from our field beneath the stars;

Still, inevasible words remain unspoken.

For a time tomorrow is forgotten

As we bask in a newfound warmth.

Our time is fleeting. Yet, we pretend otherwise.

There is something special about tonight.

Yet, in due time, Reality calls me away.

There’s something different in your eyes tonight-

A special lingering to your touch.

Words unspoken speak the loudest,

As reality beckons me from your warmth.

Imminent words remain unspoken:

Goodnight; not goodbye.

Beauty

If beauty is as beauty does;

If beauty is as beauty was-

Then, beauty is the beast.

                                  

Disguiser of the empty vase;

It hides the void beneath the face,

As lust consumes its feast.

 

The weak of mind it does beguile

Charming, enthralling-all awhile

It plagues the heart and mind.

 

It wreaks its havoc on the heart

When senses fail to do their part

For beauty is not kind.

 

The purest beauty often finds

 love of her face but not her mind;

cruel Venus brings her tears.

 

A tempest in her best of forms;

On luscious lips her words do form

And fall flat to deaf ears.

 

For beauty’s but a masquerade,

Masking truth in vain charades,

As it enchants the blind.

 

Better a rose disguised by thorns

Than to have beauty clearly worn-

For beauty is a beast..

Sunset

Sunset

The burning flames warm the dawning night sky

As the gold and the yellow fade to black.

The field’s quiet mumble grows softer then dies

As the sun retreats and the stars come back.

 

The purple clouds bulge as darkness crawls in

And the lavender burns into the sky.

The grass flails wildly in the dusk’s wind

As it ushers in night and the light dies.

 

The blood in the sky slowly fades away

And an eerie quiet and black creep in

As I watch the sky from the grass where I lay

And stare to the heavens where life begins.

Torture

Last week, my dorm held a debate on torture. Although it is not currently an issue receiving media attention, torture is still a controversial issue. While almost all would agree that torture within itself is immoral and undesirable (it deprives the individual of liberty (right to trial) and sometimes life), some believe that it is justified in certain situations.

The effects of torture in regards to results are debatable. Other, non-violent methods of interrogation have often proved helpful. Studies have also demonstrated how some individuals may be led to say anything if they believed it would stop the torture.

Obviously, torture permanently impacts the tortured individual. The question was also raised of torture’s effects on the torturer. I believe that being involved on either side would create a lasting, detrimental impact on the individual. I need to find more evidence to support this theory.

The way the debate ultimately steered was as follows: torture is immoral and should be avoided; if alternate methods exist they should be used. But what happens when nothing else works? Is there a point when it becomes acceptable or at a minimum justifiable, and where does one draw that line?

I haven’t decided where I believe that line ought to be, I still have a lot more research to do. However, I am very interested in other’s opinions on the topic. So if you’re not too busy, please take a minute to answer the poll and explain your stance on torture. Thanks & Gig em!

 

*Addition: to make this a little more interesting, let’s raise the stakes. [For the sake of debate, let's ignore the unlikelihood of the following hypothetical situations]

1. You’ve captured a high-ranking member of an organization that has hidden time-bombs throughout the city. If you can get them to reveal other members &/or the location(s) of the bomb(s), you could save thousands of lives. All other efforts to get information from them have failed. The bombs are to detonate tomorrow. Is torturing this individual justified to save the lives of many?

2. Same situation, but now, this member is your brother. Is torturing your own brother justified to save the lives of many?

3. Same situation, but in addition to this member being your brother, you are the one responsible for torturing him; if you responded yes to the previous two questions, would you be able to do it?

————————————————————————————–

Random things:

-I wanted to avoid the terrorist example, hence the very out there bombing situation. I also thought the idea of the random group would make it seem slightly more plausible that one’s relative would be involved. I realize that any sane person’s reaction would be: my family would never do that! But the fact of the matter is, everyone is someone’s daughter/son/brother/sister. It’s easier to justify inflicting pain on someone you have no relation to, so I wanted to force everyone to contemplate how they would feel putting their own family through such devices.

-Feel free to post your own hypothetical situations, or to add additional questions, evidence (for your argument), etc.

Architecture in Timbuktu

 

Bored and unable to sleep, I found myself perusing through my writing folder on my computer. (The joy’s of a college student). I found a folder containing papers I wrote last fall during my first semester in college. Within this folder, was a ten page paper on architecture in Timbuktu. This was a group project, my partner, Matt, took over the power point, and I volunteered myself up to write the paper. As I skimmed through the paper, I was reminded that I’m sometimes lacking when it comes to research papers but also how bummed I was that no one other than my professor would ever read it. Then I remembered that I, a late night blogger, had a blog to post it on. So humor me, and enjoy.

Understanding a city’s history, the very essence of its existence, is integral to understanding its architecture. Timbuktu, which is located in northern Mali, was founded by a group of Tuareg herdsmen at the beginning of the eleventh century.[1] There are multiple theories behind its name: One theory suggests that Tuareg traders would leave their goods with an old woman named Buktu so the Tuareg herders would refer to returning to Tin Buktu “the place of Buktu.”[2]  Another theory suggests that Buktu is not a person’s name, but rather it means “woman with a large navel” in the language of the Songhai, an ethnic group located near Timbuktu.[3] Trade played a vital role in turning Timbuktu from a temporary camp ground into a metropolis of sorts. Timbuktu’s advantageous location near the Niger River enabled it to become a trading cross roads. Timbuktu’s entry into trading can be attributed to gold, slaves, salt, and manufactured goods from the Mediterranean.[4] It trades with Ghana, the Sahara, the Middle East, and Europe.[5] Timbuktu reached its peak in the early 1500s, under the rule of King Askia Mohammed, who ruled for thirty-five years and during his reign united West Africa in the Songhai Empire.[6] During this time Timbuktu was also an intellectual center. It established one of the first universities which students attended from near and far to learn law, literature, and the sciences.[7] “At a time when Europe was emerging from the Middle Ages, African historians [in Timbuktu] were chronicling the rise and fall of Saharan and Sudanese kings. Astronomers charted the movement of the stars, physicians provided instructions on nutrition and the therapeutic properties of desert plants, and ethicists debated such issues as polygamy and the smoking of tobacco.[8] Some scholars even argue that these works may even provide a needed link between the West and Islamic world. In 1591, the city was invaded by the Moroccan armies.[9] Scholars who encouraged resistance were killed; the rest were carried off to Marrakesh, in Morocco.[10] This ended Timbuktu’s status as an educational center. Later, when ocean trade networks were established, it declined as a commercial center as well.

            Understanding Timbuktu’s religious background is also essential to understanding its architecture. When Timbuktu was established, nature was a critical component of construction. Aside from being readily available, mud was used for construction because it represented nature or “earth” and therefore mother earth, and was spiritual in nature.[11] The earth was viewed as viable force, structures and buildings built from the earth were considered sacred.[12] The introduction of Islam did not affect the significance of mud buildings.[13] In fact, Islam used mud to symbolize creation. An example of mud architecture is the tomb of Askia Muhamad which was once a part of an ancient Gao mosque.[14] The use of this architecture again at the mosque of Hamdallahi near Mopti suggests this technique was used and perfected over centuries.[15]

            There are many general characteristics of architecture in Timbuktu. As previously mentioned, the use of mud or banco as a construction material was common. However, this technique was abandoned because of cost and environmental impact. Mosques, tombs, and shrines in Timbuktu are mostly made of banco and/or mud. Banco is a mixture of rice straw and clay. [16]This is problematic in the wet season. Constant renovation was and still is needed to keep these important architectural intact. The application of a fresh layer of plaster is typically the method of protecting these buildings. Originally, banco was enriched for use via baobab flour, rice powder, and gum Arabic.[17] Today, banco, clay, and clay stone are used to rebuild mosques.[18] Some cylindrical clay stone is also replaced by rectangular European bricks.[19] Intricately carved wooden screens are a common aspect of Timbuktu’s architecture because they allow ventilation into buildings but protect those inside from view.[20]

            In regards to city planning, Timbuktu had no plan. It consists of narrow alley-ways and “secretive” doorways. [21] In present day Timbuktu, there are ruined buildings and vacant lots which are evidence of the city’s lack of funding.[22]

            Guilds are common and play a vital role in Timbuktu’s socio-economic development. Masonry played a monumental role during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. It has one of the most prominent guilds and is led by two important families: The Hamane Hou who live in the Sankoré quarter and the Koba Hou who live in Djingareyber.[23] In Timbuktu, the history of masonry can be traced by analyzing the construction of different mosques. “The secret guilds, master craftsmen in this type of architecture, are often cited among the mysteries of Timbuktu.”[24] The first President of the National Assembly of the Republic of Mali was quoted saying: “The mystery of Timbuktu is found in ponds populated by supernatural genies, in alleys haunted on winter nights by tutelary spirits. It is also found in its amulets and talismans, in the effective practices of its healers, in the secret guilds of its blacksmiths and masons.”[25] Masons were considered to have magical powers and legends depict that a true mason would transform into a lizard should a wall he was constructing fall down. Today, the Hamane Hou & Koba-Hou families consult each other for community repairs and maintain respectful relations. Unlike in the fifteenth and sixteenth century where masonry was a profession passed from father to son, anyone could become a mason in Timbuktu. However, Timbuktu’s society still reserves professional honors and privileges for these ancient families.[26]

            Cadi El Aqib, a religious, bourgeois nobleman, was an important architect in Timbuktu. He was the main financer and builder of the mosques of Timbuktu. His knowledge of architecture was extensive. Following his pilgrimage to Mecca in 1581/1582, he gave the present Sankoré mosque the dimensions of the Kaaba.[27] In 1568, he had the mosque of Mohamed Naddi, also known as the Sidi Yahia mosque, restored.[28] Aqib also used his power as cadi, to organize fund-raising for the mosques.

            In present day Timbuktu, there are approximately fifteen mosques. However, there are three key mosques: The Djingareyber Mosque, The Sidi Yahia Mosque, and the Sankoré Mosque. “These mosques are typical of Sudanese architecture, characterized by massive pillars, an interior courtyard and a pyramid-shaped minaret.”[29] These mosques also made up the first university centers in Timbuktu, although each had unique specificities related to their location and function.[30]

            The first of the mosques, the Djingareyber Mosque, was started in 1325. It was financed primarily by Kankous Moussa, the emperor of Mali. Moussa payed Abu Ishaq Essaheli Attouwaijine, an Andalusian architect, forty thousand gold mithquals for its construction.[31] Attouwaijine is said to be credited with inventing the mud brick building technique.[32] The mosque is located in the west side of Timbuktu and is bordered by houses on the north and east sides, a cemetery and school on the west side, and a fort to the south.  The mosque covers approximately five thousand square meters, making it the largest of the three key mosques. Despite its size, it was too small to accommodate the crowd that gathered to celebrate the end of Ramadan.[33] A field next to the mosque was used for the service. The mosque is made of banco with the exception of a small section of the north facade which was built with limestone.[34] The mosque’s east facade has a minaret, indicating the direction of the Kaaba, which is approximately ten meters tall.[35] The Djingareyber mosque’s roof consists of branches and palm-tree joists and is covered with palm matting. [36] Openings in the roof allow light and air in the mosque. The interior of the mosque consists of eight large rows which are separated by doors.[37] Timber columns form narrow pathways through the mosque.[38] Despite the openings in the roof there is little natural light.[39] There is little decoration. However, the wall surrounding mihrab is painted white and yellow and has pictures inscribes into the wall. Although the mosque has been renovated, there is no electricity.[40][41] The Djingareyber Mosque has two large courtyards. One is used for prayer in the summer; the other is used for storing construction materials such as limestone and palm-tree trunks.[42]

            The second of the three mosques, the Sankoré Mosque (also spelled Sankora), is located on the north-east side of the city on a sand dune. It was built in the 1100s although the most recent construction occurred during the nineteenth century. Mohammed Abu Bakr al-Wangari, an Islamic scholar from the town of Djenné, established the University of Sankoré in the sixteenth century.[43] The Sankoré mosque “doubled as a university specializing in law and theology in the sixteenth century when Timbuktu’s collection of manuscripts attracted 25,000 students”, many of which are preserved in the Ahmed Baba.[44] These manuscripts provide valuable insight into the social, economic, and political situations of Timbuktu’s golden age. The Sankoré mosque is made entirely of banco and is significantly smaller than the Djingareyber Mosque. It measures only fifty by twenty-five meters.[45]  The exterior of the mosque is also penetrated with wooden beams that serve as scaffolding during renovations. The interior of the Sankoré mosque is similar to that of the Djingareyber. “The interior consists of three colonnades defining the rows for prayers in the winter, and a courtyard for summer prayers.”[46] Unlike the Djingareyber, however, it has been equipped with both electricity and running water. In addition to renovation problems due to building materials, sand encroachment has aided the deterioration of the mosque.[47] The mosque has a fifteen-meter-high minaret which was the tallest structure in Timbuktu at the time it was built.[48] Today, however, the tallest structure is a water tower.[49]

            In order to fund the annual reparations of these buildings seasonal collective rebuilding works are organized.[50]These repairs are funded primarily by the middle class and are encouraged by both religious and administrative authorities in Timbuktu.[51]  The earliest mosque repairs date back to the fourteenth century. “It was common for worshippers who came to pray at the Djingareyber Mosque to contribute 500 mithquals from one Ramadan to the next.”[52] During the sixteenth century large donations for maintenance of the mosques were made by “religious and bourgeois noblemen”.[53] Today, “private sources for financing mosques are scaled down because of the reduced power of the Ulema and middle classes.”[54] Present day Timbuktu is still largely made of mud; the mosques, tombs, and shrines are mud. Unfortunately, many of these ancient buildings may be lost; for Timbuktu’s shrinking population makes collecting enough money for reparations difficult.[55]

            The last of the three mosques, the Sidi Yahia Mosque, is located in the old city center, in the Badjindé quarter.[56] Here, “the eponymous patron saint is buried.”[57] The mosque was built originally out of banco during the fifteenth century. As previously mentioned, the Sidi Yahia mosque was restored in 1568 by Cadi El Aqib. However, in 1922 it was reconstructed again but this time almost completely of limestone.[58] As a result, little rebuilding and maintenance is necessary. The Sidi Yahia Mosque has three courtyards: two for summer and winter prayers and a third courtyard in the south which was been transformed into a cemetery.[59]

            “The rebuilding of mosques is done collectively and unites the entire population” of Timbuktu.[60] There are two types of collective work: that done by the masons and that of the rest of the population. In Timbuktu, the construction or reconstruction of a mosque, the house of God, “is seen as a self-sacrifice, an act of gratitude and submission to the All Powerful.”[61]This view has kept many to continue to aid in the restoration despite the deteriorating population and other economic problems in Timbuktu.

            Water was and remains essential to existence in Timbuktu. Despite the heat and low precipitation levels, Timbuktu is surprisingly not short of water. “Its municipal wells maintain their steady flow from aquifers deep below the surface: fossil waters left over from more verdant times, still being recharged by the Niger.”[62] However, the steady water supply has not stopped the dunes from edging closer and closer to the city.

            Much of African architecture is anthropomorphic in nature. That is, “in their various parts and rooms, housing and village settlements represent the image of the mythological ancestors held sacred in formal association with the model of the human body in their organization of architectural space.”[63] This relates to the renaissance principle created by Michelangelo that one must understand the anatomy of the human body in order to understand architecture.[64] An example of this anthropomorphic architecture exists in Timbuktu in the form of urban housing. Here, the house is said to represent the primordial blacksmith and his wife.[65] Here, blacksmiths were once considered to have magical capabilities and “were charged with maintaining the shrines, the consecrated objects to which super- natural powers are attributed, and the structures in which they are housed.”[66]

            Although Timbuktu may appear to be a meek, mud-city in the middle of nowhere, it is a city with a power history and unique architecture. Its architecture unites the city through restoration. While Timbuktu is no longer the cultural, trading, or social center it once was, it is still the site of a unique form of architecture that mirrors the city’s past both in its uniqueness, earthliness, and its struggle to remain.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bibliography

De Villiers, Marq & Sheila Hirtle. “Space, Time, and Timbuktu.” Natural History 116.6 (July 2007): 22-26. Academic Search Complete. EBSCO. Evans Library, College Station, TX. 1 Oct. 2008

<http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=a9h&AN=25408303&site=ehost-live.>

 

Guadio Attilio, Le Mali [Mali]. Paris. Karthala 1998

 

 

Hammer, Joshua “THE TREASURES OF TIMBUKTU.” Smithsonian 37.9 (Dec. 2006): 46-57 Academic Search Complete. EBSCO. Evans Library, College Station, TX. 1 Oct. 2008

<http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=a9h&AN=23168772&site=ehost-live>.

 

Prussin, Labelle. “Non-Western Sacred Sites: African Models”. The Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians, Vol. 58, No. 3, Architectural History 1999/2000 (Sep., 1999): 424-433 JSTOR. Evans Library, College Station, TX. 1 Oct. 2008

<http://www.jstor.org/stable/info/3335517>.

 

Prussin, Labelle. “Sudanese Architecture & the Manding”. African Arts, Vol. 3, No. 4 (summer, 1970) 12-67 JSTOR. Evans Library, College Station, TX. 1. Dec, 2008

 

 

Sidi, Ali Ould. “Monuments and Traditional Know-how: the Example of Mosques in Timbuktu.” Museum International 58.1/2 (May 2006): 49-58. Academic Search Complete. EBSCO. Evans Library, College Station, TX. 1. Oct. 2008

<http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=a9h&AN=20857238&site=ehost-live>.

 

Waters, Irene. “The Road to Timbuktu.” Contemporary Review 288.1683 (winter 2006): 496-502. Academic Search Complete. EBSCO. Evans Library, College Station, TX. 1 Oct. 2008

<http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=a9h&AN=23913070&site=ehost-live>.

 

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[1] De Villiers, Marq, and Sheila Hirtle. Space, Time, and Timbuktu. (Natural History 116.6) 22-26

[2] De Villiers, Marq & Sheila Hirtle. Space, Time, and Timbuktu 22-26

[3] De Villiers, Marq & Sheila Hirtle. Space, Time, and Timbuktu 22-26

[4] De Villiers, Marq & Sheila Hirtle. Space, Time, and Timbuktu 22-26

[5] Hammer, Joshua. The Treasures of Timbuktu. (Smithsonian vol. 37) 46-57

[6] Hammer, Joshua. The Treasures of Timbuktu. 46-57

[7] Hammer, Joshua.  The Treasures of Timbuktu. 46-57

[8] Hammer, Joshua. The Treasures of Timbuktu. 46-57

[9] Hammer, Joshua. The Treasures of Timbuktu. 46-57

[10] Hammer, Joshua.  The Treasures of Timbuktu.  46-57

[11] Prussin, Labelle. Non-Western Sacred Sites: African Models. (The Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians. Vol. 58) 425

[12] Prussin, Labelle. Non-Western Sacred Sites: African Models. 425

[13] Prussin, Labelle. Non-Western Sacred Sites: African Models 425

[14] Prussin, Labelle. Sudanese Architecture and the Manding. (African Arts. Vol. 3) 18

[15] Prussin, Labelle. Sudanese Architecture and the Manding. 18

[16] Sidi, Ali Ould. . Monuments & Traditional Know-how: the Example of Mosques in Timbuktu. Notes

[17] Sidi, Ali Ould. Monuments & Traditional Know-how: the Example of Mosques in Timbuktu  54

[18] Sidi, Ali Ould. Monuments & Traditional Know-how: the Example of Mosques in Timbuktu  54

[19] Sidi, Ali Ould. Monuments & Traditional Know-how: the Example of Mosques in Timbuktu  54

[20] De Villiers, Marq & Sheila Hirtle  Space, Time, and Timbuktu 22-26

[21] De Villiers, Marq & Sheila Hirtle Space, Time, and Timbuktu 22-26

[22] De Villiers, Marq & Sheila Hirtle. Space, Time, and Timbuktu 22-26

[23] Sidi, Ali Ould Monuments & Traditional Know-how: the Example of Mosques in  51

[24] Sidi, Ali Ould.  Monuments & Traditional Know-how: the Example of Mosques in 52

[25] Guadio, Attilio. Le Mali. (Paris. Karthala 1998) 206-7

[26] Sidi, Ali Ould. Monuments & Traditional Know-how: the Example of Mosques in  52

[27] Sidi, Ali Ould Monuments & Traditional Know-how: the Example of Mosques in  55

[28] Sidi, Ali Ould Monuments & Traditional Know-how: the Example of Mosques in 55

[29] Sidi, Ali Ould Monuments & Traditional Know-how: the Example of Mosques in  50

[30] Sidi, Ali Ould  Monuments & Traditional Know-how: the Example of Mosques in  50

[31] Sidi, Ali Ould Monuments & Traditional Know-how: the Example of Mosques in  50

[32] Waters, Irene. The Road to Timbuktu. (Contemporary Review 288) 501

[33] Waters, Irene. The Road to Timbuktu. 501

[34] Sidi, Ali Ould Monuments & Traditional Know-how: the Example of Mosques in  50

[35] Sidi, Ali Ould Monuments & Traditional Know-how: the Example of Mosques in  50

[36] Sidi, Ali Ould Monuments & Traditional Know-how: the Example of Mosques in  50

[37] Sidi, Ali Ould Monuments & Traditional Know-how: the Example of Mosques in  50

[38] Waters, Irene The Road to Timbuktu. 501

[39] Waters, Irene The Road to Timbuktu. 501

[40] Sidi, Ali Ould Monuments & Traditional Know-how: the Example of Mosques in  50

[41] Waters, Irene The Road to Timbuktu. 501

[42] Sidi, Ali Ould Monuments & Traditional Know-how: the Example of Mosques in  50

[43] Hammer, Joshua. The Treasure of Timbuktu

[44] Waters, Irene The Road to Timbuktu. 501

[45] Sidi, Ali Ould Monuments & Traditional Know-how: the Example of Mosques in  50

[46] Sidi, Ali Ould. Monuments & Traditional Know-how: the Example of Mosques in  50

[47] Sidi, Ali Ould. Monuments & Traditional Know-how: the Example of Mosques in  50

[48] De Villiers, Marq & Sheila Hirtle. Space, Time, and Timbuktu 22-26

[49] De Villiers, Marq & Sheila Hirtle. Space, Time, and Timbuktu 22-26

[50] Sidi, Ali Ould. . Monuments & Traditional Know-how: the Example of Mosques in  49

[51] Sidi, Ali Ould. . Monuments & Traditional Know-how: the Example of Mosques in  49

[52] Sidi, Ali Ould. . Monuments & Traditional Know-how: the Example of Mosques in  54

[53] Sidi, Ali Ould. . Monuments & Traditional Know-how: the Example of Mosques in  55

[54] Sidi, Ali Ould. . Monuments & Traditional Know-how: the Example of Mosques in  55

[55] De Villiers, Marq & Sheila Hirtle. Space, Time, and Timbuktu 22-26

[56] Sidi, Ali Ould. . Monuments & Traditional Know-how: the Example of Mosques in  50

[57] Sidi, Ali Ould. . Monuments & Traditional Know-how: the Example of Mosques in  49

[58] Sidi, Ali Ould. . Monuments & Traditional Know-how: the Example of Mosques in  49

[59] Sidi, Ali Ould. . Monuments & Traditional Know-how: the Example of Mosques in  49

[60] Sidi, Ali Ould. . Monuments & Traditional Know-how: the Example of Mosques in  55

[61] Sidi, Ali Ould. . Monuments & Traditional Know-how: the Example of Mosques in  

[62] De Villiers, Marq & Sheila Hirtle. Space, Time, and Timbuktu 22-26

[63] Prussin, Labelle. Non-Western Sacred sites: African Models. 428

[64] Prussin, Labelle. Non-Western Sacred sites: African Models. 428

[65] Prussin, Labelle. Non-Western Sacred sites: African Models. 429

[66] Prussin, Labelle. Non-Western Sacred sites: African Models. 429

Introspection V2.0 The Uncensored Version

Unfortunately, I feel as if my blog is starting to focus a lot more on myself than anything philosophical. Hopefully, once I machete myself through this trend, I’ll be able to share something I’m proud of.

For now, however, I’d like to write about myself.

If my life was a book, this chapter’s theme would be self discovery; man-versus-self conflict; the motif? I’ll get back to you when I know. To my roommate’s great amusement, the cover would be black and red. The title: The Over-Examination of the Young, Female Mind. Men and boyfriends would smirk as they spotted their wives and girlfriends crinkling their noses and brows as they flipped through its pages. It could be found in the Psychology or Self-Help section, probably between books with titles not dissimilar to: “In Case the Crashing Sounds weren’t Quite Enough to Realize Your life has Derailed”, “The Light at the End of the Tunnel Doesn’t Have to be the Oncoming Train”, and “The Real Life Story of the Little Engine that Could”. Standing in the section, one would find oneself wondering why I didn’t conform and pick a locomotive-themed title or “What the hell is with all the bloody train euphemisms?” And maybe, just maybe, one would pick it up and read it.

The First Chapter of my book would be entitled “The Oncoming Train”. I might be slow in the uptake occasionally, but I always catch on. The first time I had an encounter with Depression was in the 4th grade. Growing up in a competitive, hard-shelled, family, although it was never verbalized, I had internalized the message that to cry was to be weak. (To this day, I can count on one hand the number of people outside of my family who have seen me cry.) In fourth grade, my dog died. Because I couldn’t outwardly express my distress, I bottled it in and grew into me like a thorn in my side. I had watched the cancer eat away at my dog, watched it suck out Buddy’s life like a malignant leech. The vet had said it was common for dogs his age to get sick. I watched as he slowly withered away, the rest of the world progressing as if his life didn’t matter. Then the day came. My mom was waiting for us outside of the house “He’s gone.” she said. Deciding to relieve him of his pain, she had the vet come to our house and put him down. We were at school when it happened, and they had already taken him to our land to be buried. I never got to say goodbye. I had no say, I was powerless, and still the world turned. At lunch the next day I told my friend: “My dog died.” “I’m sorry” “yeah” I fought against tears. The train rattled the table, but not a drop was spilled. The world kept turning.

The following year my Grandpa was diagnosed with cancer. Unlike with my dog, he was thousands of miles away, so I didn’t watch as it consumed him. We flew up to Pennsylvania for my Uncle’s wedding, but also to say goodbye to him; He wasn’t going to make it. Going through the motions: the dresses, the ceremony, the reception, the cake, felt wrong. The following day, my Grandfather went under. Knowing he wouldn’t wake up, they opted to pull the plug. I stood in the hospital, looking through a glass window into the room where what was left of my Grandfather, a pale, emaciated figure of a man with medical tubes and wires connecting to every opening of his body, lay. I was told to say goodbye, I went in and holding his hand, lighter than my own, said my goodbyes. They were short. I don’t remember if I cried, but I do know that if I did it was silent. I wouldn’t dare weep. My uncle to be, at the time my Aunt’s boyfriend, Doc, was instructed to take my cousins and I away. He took us to putt-putt. The ride over was silent. We got there, and inside there was an indoor playground. My cousins immediately fell into their game. I found a lone corner and sat there, staring into space. The world kept turning. I got yelled at for not wearing socks in the playground. I couldn’t bring myself to understand why the world didn’t stand still for a dying Grandfather or how these strangers could go about their day as if nothing was wrong. I couldn’t understand why we were at putt-putt or how my cousins could still play their games. Sitting in the corner, alone in putt-putt I realized for the first time that I was alone and mortal. One day, I would die, and most of the world wasn’t going to care. The first flickers of the train’s light appeared at the end of the tunnel.

That same year, my parent’s first contemplated moving to Montana. My dad was doing a lot of business up there, and he thought it would give my siblings and I some great new opportunities. The idea of this was terrifying. As a kid, I was introverted and shy to the point that I was terrified of meeting new people. I had very few friends and the idea of leaving them and being forced into a new place, literally kept me up at night. My mental distress soon took a physical toll on my body. At the age of 11 I discovered that pain helped distract me from my problems. I started pulling out my hair and eyelashes.

When my mom took me to the hairdresser, and she discovered my overwhelmingly large bald spot, she lied and told her that I had attempted to shave my head. She bought it. I was going to tell the hairdresser the truth about what had happened, but my mom had cut in. This made me feel shame for what I had done, and I felt as if I couldn’t share my problems with anyone. When I went to the Doctor for my yearly check-up, I repeated my mom’s story. My mom didn’t correct me, and what should have been an obvious warning sign to my deteriorating mental condition went unnoticed.

Books were my sole outlet. My reading taste began to change. I used to fill my shelves with adventure stories. Here, my selection took a darker turn. I bought ghost stories and murder mysteries. The supernatural was my escape.

When I started middle school, I wanted to take all advanced classes like my friends. My mother, however, decided that this would be too stressful, so I should only take two hard classes. She filled out my schedule for me, and as a result I had almost no classes with my friends. As a result, I felt left out a lot.

The remainder of the chapter would depict the approaching of and my near collision with the train. I scraped by, jumped off the tracks just in time, letting the train whiz by me, clipping my nose, as I backed against the wall of the tunnel.

The Second Chapter of the book would be entitled: The Echo. As the train distanced itself from me, I could still hear it echoing down the long, dark passage way. I could still feel it shake the ground beneath me. Even when it was no longer tangible, I could still envision it in my head.

Standing where I do now, I can see the lasting effects that my early life had on me. As previously mentioned, I’m still terrified of crying in front of people. After my experience at the hairdressers, I came to associate having problems with shame and weakness and as a result have built up a thick wall which very few have been able to penetrate. I often hide behind my work and sense of humor. Because my parents didn’t think I could handle the work in middle school, I developed a large drive to prove myself in every field. My perfectionism has only increased through the years. I strive to excel on all levels: academic, musical, artistic, social, athletic, etc. I fear incompetency. If I feel like I lack in any particular area, I strive to increase my capabilities. I hate losing. Having proved to myself I can do most of what I set out to do, I have developed a high sense of self-reliance. I count on myself to accomplish what I want accomplished, and myself alone. Similarly, if I fail, it’s my fault and mine alone.

This doesn’t necessarily translate into not ever being disappointed in others. However, in addition to making me unusually resilient and hard-working, my turbulent childhood and early teenage years, enabled me to develop empathy and understanding for others. I realize that I’m the advice guru amongst my friends for a reason. When they bring their problems to me, I try to prevent them from reliving my mistakes. When I can’t prevent their missteps or when the dramatic situation isn’t their fault, I try to console them in ways I was never helped so that they don’t have to carry their burdens like I do. At times I feel like Atlas, carrying the weight of their world’s and my past on my shoulders; a burden that I can’t set aside. Yet I remain upbeat and optimistic, I’d much rather carry the weight than hand it off to anyone else.

The Next Chapter would be entitled “Another Train?” I’m much happier and confident than when I was a kid, but my brush with the dark side of life has left me cynical: black paint splashes on an otherwise vibrant canvas. I’m always watching out for the next oncoming train.

As a kid, I couldn’t have told you what it meant to be Agnostic, as an adult, I have a difficult time believing in anything that isn’t tangible. It took me years of thought to decide that I truly believe in a higher power. I’m still not sure about the rest. My religious ambiguity is accompanied by a sense of shame, for shunning away everything I was taught to believe as a kid. Yet, I also realize a large part of my desire to recapture those beliefs relates to my fear of being wrong and eternally condemned. I enjoy conversations with those who have rediscovered “the light” and who have walked through shadows, and they give me hope of recapturing that sureness. When I talk to someone who has always blindly followed, however, I find myself wondering if they would have had the fortitude to do so in my shoes.

I fear commitment. My internal, hopeless-romantic made it through the darkest part of the tunnel, but was defeated by my parent’s failed relationship. I believe in powerful emotions and in love and have experienced both, but fear attachment. Marriage is the epitome of this fear. I believe in love, but I also believe that marriage most often vanquishes it and that at best, two people may still love each other but will completely take each other for granted. At worst, people end up like my parents: consumed by their disdain for each other yet unable to seek out something better. Initial attraction and perfection yields drawn out anguish. Yet I’m afraid of being alone. I feel hypocritical, and as with my religion, or lack thereof, I feel ashamed for my beliefs.

Most recently, I’ve realized that I’m incapable of just relaxing. After describing my high-stress life style to my psychology professor, she challenged me to spend just thirty minutes relaxing, to not do anything. I laughed and thought it would be easy. I didn’t even make it to the fifteen minute mark. At semester, I once again strived to achieve everything: high grades, lots of hours, lots of activities, sports, new friends, a social life, keeping in touch with friends. Everything. The result, as I’ve mentioned in previous blogs, is that I have achieved a lot. The downside, is in my few precious moments of relaxation, I’m incapable of turning my worries, fears, and upcoming assignments off for long enough to truly enjoy myself. Years upon years and hours upon hours of introspection, which reached an all new high this semester, have enabled me to discover what has made me the way I am. I realize that some things can’t be changed. This newest discovery, however, has shown me that some change may be necessary for my well-being.

My first goal, is to break my wall down. I don’t want my fear of showing weakness, or of closeness, to keep me from making close friends, or from being honest with those that are important to me. I know it’ll be hard and right now I feel as  if I’m trying to break an iceberg with a toothpick, but at least the first indention is being made.

A Life Evaluation [or something...]

 So, I meant to publish this a couple weeks ago (oops), didn’t complete it; don’t really remember where I was going with it so I’m publishing it as is. Maybe rereading and adding in some updates. Not sure.

It’s 11:30 on a Thursday night, and here I find myself on wordpress.com. Now, there are multiple things I could or even ought to be doing. In College Station, Thursday night is dancing night and I was invited to go. I declined. I could be upstairs watching Mary Poppins with some friends, I declined. I really should be continuing my psychology reading (2 chapters down… 1 more to go!) and here I am on wordpress. Similarly, I should be reviewing Japanese, and here I am. I could even be sleeping (except that never happens).

So, why am I here, you ask? Tonight is one of those weird nights where I just wanted to sit back and think about my life for a little bit. And here is what I’ve got:

I’m a sophmore  honors student with a Creative Writing major with a potential minor in psychology. I know for a fact that I want at least a minor in psychology. I might want a major. I know beyond a doubt I want to be a writer; writing is my passion – but I also know I’m really good with people. That is the paradox of my existence; I’m probably one of the most socially awkward people on the face of the planet and yet I somehow manage to be the love/relationship/family/friend-feud/problem solving advice giving Ms. Fix it that everyone and their mothers (seriously) seeks out. I also know I’m incredibly interested in how the human mind functions. While I wouldn’t really use the psychology part of my major post-graduation except for character development, I still feel like I would enjoy it. I’m having a hard time seeing the bad parts of this plan. I’m projected to graduate early, and I’m very on-track for my English Creative Writing major (whoop). Double majoring would simply mean that I’d probably graduate at the regular time (2012!). It would be really challenging to graduate with honors in BOTH majors, but I think I’d be satisfied with only english honors. Actually, that’s a lie. I’d drive myself nuts trying to get both, but I love the fact that I’m a perfectionist. In a nutshell, I’m very happy with how my life is going academically. Goal wise: I need to start contemplating Grad. school and take the GRE.

Athletically, I’m a little behind where I want to be but am by no means dissatisfied. I swam this summer and am an in a conditioning swimming class that meets 2x a week. I also joined the club triathlon team here and am starting to get my butt whipped back into shape. This monday, I ran 4miles in under 50 minutes. I realize that that’s basically averaging 12minutes a mile, and not actually that impressive, but I was proud. I realize my biking has a long way to go, but I can’t wait to get there. I’m hoping to compete in my first ever triathlon this semester. My goal for my first would just be to finish, and I’d most likely do a sprint one (swim ~500m, bike 13, run 6). My goal would then be to do more sprints in the spring, and then at least one full one. (That spring) Obviously, I want to work on my non-distance, non-free swimming as well. Even if I don’t get to compete regularly anymore, I still want to improve for personal reasons. I contemplated taking a martial arts class at the REC this semester, but realized I probably wouldn’t have enough time (sad day). I hope I’ll be able to next semester, because I’ve always wanted to try (I took a few months early on in H.S but I had to quit to club swim – not that that worked out…; I loved it while I was in it though) I have a bunch of new goals but I’m satisfied with myself at the present. I’m also excited because as of yesterday, my very first roomsqueeze and I shall be work out buddies. I have a bunch of fun ideas in store for that. (I know you’re reading this; get excited!!!) Goal for the semester: finish a sprint triathlon.

UPDATE: sometime between when I originally started this and now I stopped making the tri-practices. I’ve been working out on my own but I’m a bit of  a failure on this front.

Socially, I’m extremely proud of myself. I made a goal to become more involved in my fraternity, Alpha Phi Omega. I have done just that. I’m heading up the fundraising committee and will be helping out with regionals, which we’ll be hosting this year. I’m really excited to finally get involved. I also joined Sigma Alpha Lambda and our first meeting is coming up this Thursday. I’m also having a blast getting to know everyone in my dorm. This is probably the most social I’ve ever been. (Some would say that’s sad, but whatever). So all is good on that front.

Update: Well, the group I was going to be working with never responded for regionals, but the fundraising committee was fun. In happy news, I have not one, not two, but THREE awesome littles. B.S family F.T.W

Other things:

>Family came in this weekend, that was fun. Mostly. They’re incapable of tolerating each other so there were lots of fights. That was aggravating. Briefly contemplated taking classes in C.S over winter break so I wouldn’t have to move back in (I love peace…) but decided that would be dumb. C.S is dead when school isn’t in session, and I miss my friends from back home. Most likely will take classes at home over winter break so I get out though.