Found: Ancient British Pregnancy Magazine Serving Villager for 15 Years

Declared war on the night time insects that cruise through the giant openings into Jakes little mud brick house in the village. So far have taken out at least five wasps, a giant millipede thing, the biggest cricket like creature I've ever seen, a scorpion, a bunch of beatles and some beefy roaches. Guess with the rainy season hitting top speed, all the bugs are shagging like mad. But getting used to it. At the dinner table last week smashed a roach with my glass and continued eating with an appetite. Its getting normal. Shooting is going well. Have a few priceless moments on tape already. Talking with a newly wed man about sex (background for the HIV angle) he told me masturbation is, "a good system" and a couple days later brought over a magazine from 1983 written for pregnant woman. Yes, he's been using it to his own ends since he was 15. Men are all the same!

Dust and dirt only real issues since it might kill the camera. Otherwise, steady as she goes. Back to the village tomorrow morning.

End of Week One, Shooting the Bush League

Been in Zolokere for one week. Shot much more than expected. Origional plan was to take some time to survey things, but its all happening fast. Following the local soccer team and trying to tell the story of HIV through the players lives. From afar didn't have a concrete approach, being here seems like a no brianer, though its still tough going. Rainy season is ratcheting up daily. The afternoon sky is a showcase of dramatic cloud formations.

Yesterday evening, driving across valley floor, dusk light, a figure came out of the bushes and laid on the dirt road in front of us. Thought it was a teenage boy pranking us. A second figure came out and dragged the first off the path, as we roll by I could see it was a woman. The second figure called out. It was a sick woman trying to kill herself she explained. The whole thing went down in a strangely everyday way. My admiration for the natural surroundings feel frivolous.

Today in the medium size town called Mzuzu, two hours out of village. Charging batteries, then back in tomorrow or tonight.

From Munich Int. Student Film Fest, Last Day ::

Major improvements. Thursday was a train toward the Alps to see Ludwig's famous castle. Kitsch as can be, but being there, with dramatic mountain tops above and long green valleys below, and feeling the mass of the stone work, was impressive. Next day found the little river here in Munich where they surf a standing wave. Hypnotic. They tie an apparatus to the base of the bridge with climbing ropes, jammed by water pressure, it forms a little two/three foot standing wave. Its mostly one at a time, guys and a couple of girls. They were polite and so was the surfing.

The films went from bad to mind blowing. Monday they started with all these slow pace, Eastern European block house stories. Like dentistry to watch. By Thursday they'd screened a couple films that could hang with the pros. 35mm shoots, full crews, name actors, art direction and pretty solid writing and good editing; impressive. All the same, it was much better on the days without any films. Talking to people from all over, without the interference of competition, was nice.

Out of here tomorrow for Malawi. Been waiting for this. Spent a lot of time this week talking with people and thinking about the approach to this next film. Foolish to try and control a doc at this stage, so been trying to get some general ideas on paper before melee hits. Many many challenges. The web of complex problems that fall down with the pull of one little thread. Talking about HIV means talking about gender inequality, polygamy, sex, political corruption and poverty at the least. Heady stuff, and all that in a society so traditional that knee caps are considered too sexy for public. Also concered about hitting the audience too hard with heavy stuff. Hope to find some ideas to give Joe Blow access.

Got some motivation from a film I saw here this week. A doc short about an AIDS orphan in Zambia, poorly shot, poorly cut, from another American who was obviously slumming. It was pretty offensive, straight exploitation of a kid in a terrible situation. A great example of what not to do. The judges lost all their credibility with me and a lot of others by awarding it a 5000 euro prize. I have to wonder if any of that money will get back to Zambia. They should have given the kid the money. Clowns.

Really looking forward to Malawi.

Landing

The plane just hit the ground in Lilongue, Malawi. Havent been this happy or excited in a long time. The land looks incredible, hundreds of farm plots with red dirt furrows and everywhere else is deep green. The last time I arrived in the dry season, it was red hot dusty. The rain clouds look like heavy river stones.

The filmmaking part of me now goes into the cloud bank. Perspective and clarity will be hard to come by for a while, for now its all guts and big hopes. Even after so much flying, feel like a million bucks.

From Munich International Student Film Fest

Long story short, the festival is rough. Tons of bad work that lacks emphasis, narrative density and other very depressing things. In the midst of this, looking at my film on a bad projector with bad sound a few lessons finally settled in. Anybody back at CalArts, take this to heart! Make a SHORT film, ten minutes or less. Turns out the world doesn't care about your vision if it isn't disciplined. If its loose, its going to get walked on. I'm taking some heavy shots and I thought I'd done OK. I was wrong. The films that are getting love here are short and too the point. All the spacious, moody films look like junkers next to those.

Germany than Malawi

I fly out to Munich tomorrow for the Munich International Student Film Fest. I'm excited about it. It's a weeklong and there'll be filmmakers from all over the world to meet. I got an email a couple weeks ago with the itinerary and there'll be a tour of one of the big beer breweries. I love film and all that, but I'm really excited about the brewery. After the festival, I go to Malawi. Whenever I'm getting ready for these big trips, something crazy always happens right before I leave. Today the neighbor tried to bag my UPS delivery of videotape for the Malawi shoot. I got it back five or six hours later with the box shredded, the invoice gone and my address ripped off the box. He'd opened up one of the tape boxes inside too. Loco. Then I went out to pick up a rain jacket, cause it's Malawi's wet season right now, and on the way back, a hundred yards from home I felt my transmission depressurize and I could hear oil spraying out the bottom of the car. Its actually good luck in a weird way, I got everything done that I had to before it blew, then coasted it in right in front of the house.

So thanks for checking out the new site, I'm really happy with it. I'll update whenever possible from Munich and Malawi. All the posts following this one are transferred over from the Greyhorse Blog, check the dates above the posts so you don't get lost.

Cy

Been back in California for a while now. Just finished at CalArts, which feels great. My grad thesis film the Orphans opened at the MoMA last month. I have no words to describe the shock I'm in, I never ever thought anything like that would happen. To see my work contextualized with all these other amazing filmmakers was surreal. It was especially amazing to have my work sit next to Naomi Uman's. So now I know I have to shoot another film. And I have to do it quick. I want to go back to Malawi as soon as I can...

Hypnotized

Cresent moon casts shadows. The weeds next to the dirt road cast stretched images of themselves on the dust. Long road, the Milky Way bends down bright till the mountains. Down the road drums are beating. The trees between us and the moon roll by like giant black paper cutouts. We step around the deepest shadows, Jake tells me that puff adders like the warmth of the road at night. We're going to the traditional healer. Dancing cures sickness. Our shadows paint long black forms in front of us as we turn away from the low moon. The rhythms are close and intimidating. Wood sticks clack fast between deep beats from hand drums. Human voices sing together, slow, like group moans.

Off the road. Near a large tree, several people huddle around a fire, nearby is the throbbing hut. The doorway is low and open, light flickers out from inside. Two men greet us and we follow inside.

There's a lantern hanging from a low rafter. Thirty or forty people form a pressing circle and in the center a woman jumps with the beats. Its dusty low light, and salty smell. Two men with large hand drums pound the core of the beat. Women all over the room have wood sticks and blocks, they tap beats that float in between and around the drums. There's a break after some minutes and the dancers change. They exchange a belt full of chimes, the second dancer moves harder.

Some of the dancers must certainly have HIV. I watch, I'm struck, today I must have greeted several people who will die.

The beats come back up, and I'm hypnotized. I've never seen this scene before. In no oil painting or anywhere else. Only Conrad's paragraphs have come close.

Last Night

http://www.flickr.com/photos/cykuck/427669867/ Woke up in total blackness with a muggy body and cold feet beneath the open window. Cool air gliding. There’s a total silence outside, then after a moment a rooster crows. No sound of mosquitoes around my ears. Slept again after a half hour, laid there remembering different things. My brother and I playing in the back yard when we were kids. A long time ago, but something here brings me closer to it. Two kids, one tall one short, looking out at the dusty horizon in the valley wondering if the stuff on TV about a war was true.

This morning we had oatmeal then walked down toward the river. Jake has a garden project to help the soccer team earn money so they can buy shoes and a good ball. Some of them play barefoot. The team will use the money from the crops to fund the equipment. Some of the players walked on the path in front of us on the way back. A guy gestures from beneath a tall white tree toward an upper branch. We come under the same tree and Jake points out the bee hovering near the trunk. It’s the guard, waiting for an intruder, buzzing loudly.

Near the house a woman greets us. She asked me how my morning was, but skips some of the normal formalities. Jake tells me later, he’s sure she’s HIV positive. She’s sick all the time, she has children.

Day Three Zolokere

Wood window is ajar, and pressing into the mosquito net a foot about my knee. Roosters are crowing and the sun is already strong. The malaria pills don’t let my skin make melanin – my arm is still pink from two days ago. Gama is in the kitchen making tortillas. He works for/with Jake, helps with the chores and the farming. How are you Gama? “Sure Cy, sure.” He says sure a lot. He’s smart, and continually moves me with his kindness.

There are big spiders in the tree behind the house. The neighbor knocked one of the nests off a branch this morning. It was empty, no giant spider inside. I dread spiders, but I would have liked to have seen one just the same.

Day Two In Zolokere

Lot’s of introductions today. Met the sub-chief, some of the neighbors, the retired policeman, went way down the trail to the market, saw the drinking circles, butcher – slaughtered a goat that hung from a tree branch, used an ax to cut pieces off. Long walk back – dinner of pancakes, then talk by the kitchen. Here’s what I learned from the talk. Woman aren’t exactly property, but not far from it. Men select women for marriage. If they can afford it, they may buy her. Men are excited by the sight of a woman’s knees. She has to keep them covered in public.

About deadly animals. We spent the day walking on narrow trails walled by tall grass. Malawi has puff adders, spitting cobras, black mambas, and green mambas. There are some pretty big spiders, scorpions, crocodiles, killer bees, and hippos (which kill the most people).

We were all sitting around a candle talking tonight when Jake jumped up and yelled “fast one!” A big hunting spider was running across the ground. He smashing it after a couple tries. I looked for the carcass this morning, but the chickens had already eaten it.

First day in Zolokere

Third day in Malawi, first day in the bush. Jake’s letters and website come nowhere near fleshing this place out, not for lack of trying, it’s just a hell of a lot. Got off the plane, straight out to the road to start the long journey north hitchhiking. A couple picked us up in an SUV. Next leg was a couple in a car, then a minibus, then a truck with a minibed. We’re let out at small towns; the car goes no farther in our direction. I counted 24 people inside the minivan, 6 of us squeeze into the bed of the little Toyota meshing our legs, hugging our knees under the pressure of the wind. At each stop people loiter along the side of the road. Smiles and waves. Men hold hands with each other. The buildings remind me of Baja. The business names hand painted on planks and stucco walls are ingenious. Telephone communications and International Business Center, it’s a tiny grass hut with an old landline telephone on a reed table, a wire is strung to the rooftop of the neighboring building. The land is shaped like Arizona with softened angles, the fauna is African. Proud trees command the hillsides. The ride continues well into the night.

In the back of the truck. The driver is pressing hard up what must be a mountain. I’m looking backwards, but I can feel we’re climbing through the darkness. We yell against the wind to communicate, now and then I can feel the temperature drop as we get higher. After the long trip on the planes, and the day on transport, the muscles in my back feel like hot red iron straps. The sun set in a plunge, and for the first time I see the Southern Stars. It looks like a diamond wave is crashing through night. The Milky Way is so bright you can make out all its densities, like knots in wood, the bulk of the Milky Way seems to be down here, in the South. Shadow woods fly by the side of the road, I look up and see the biggest falling star I’ve ever seen. It wiggles from one horizon to the other on the lip of the diamond wave. I yell and everyone in the truck looks up then we all look at each other with our mouths open.

We spent the night in a Peace Corps house in Mzuzu after dinner in a local café. Mosquito nets hang over all the beds. I washed my face and fell asleep in the middle of Jake’s story.

Next morning. The guy sleeping in the back of the house has malaria. He’s sitting on the coach wrapped in blankets when we leave for the market. There’s a coffin shop on the corner. The market is full of healthy foods, but for many people they’re too expensive to buy. People are friendly here. There are tables covered in small silver fish that shimmer in the sun. As we walk around picking up supplies, Jake fills me in on the background stuff. One fifth of the population is HIV positive, its one of the 10 poorest countries on Earth. Polygamy, women have few rights. This is a vibrant, tragic country. I took a picture of the girl who works at the coffin shop. Her smile turns it into a pleasant place.

Next morning, transport day. Still one more leg to go to get to Jake’s village. An egg seller gives us eggs and chats with us while we wait at the bus station. Two hours north then we cut through the hills. The land is green, flat valley floors with blue smoke tendrils rising around stony green hills. Broad flat topped trees – its autumn here and I’m surprised to see that some of the trees have turned orange. The van stops at Rhumphi, the district capital. Shops line the small main street, dozens and dozens of people line the road. Jake picks up packages of dried soy pieces, then we go stand under a tree to wait for the truck. All morning Jake has been warning me. Thirty-five, forty people packed onto the bed of a five-ton truck. Three hours on rutted dirt roads through the hills. After that a four mile walk to the village. Just next to the tree is the hut of a traditional healer. A dead lizard hangs on a stick in the front. Bottles of viscous liquids are on display. The truck pulls up empty except for fifteen or twenty gas cans strapped down in the back. Jake claims the seats in the cab and tells me we’ve been really lucky. We wait another hour and a half for the truck to fill.

The truck stops at the foot of small walking trials to let people off. The driver stops to chat with people along the road. People jump off the back and disappear into the brush. The kids smile if you wave to them and wave back. I’m amazed, the people are so friendly. A little girl in a yellow dress is standing at one of the last stops before we get out. She’s watches me intently and whispers ‘foreigner’ to the little boy next to her who repeats her.

The sun is setting as we walk from the trading post where the truck stopped. The road to the village is a capillary through a sea of green. It’s two tire tracks with a foot of grass in the middle. Close to the village there are tobacco plants growing in plots near the road, this is the bush.

May 8th, Kenya

Woke up around 4am somewhere over Africa in a hot sleep, jaw slack and cotton mouthed. Swollen feet say, long flight. In the airport in Kenya, muggy air and a tornado morning sky outside. It strikes me that the days in Lithuania are much longer than here at the equator. sun has just come up. Smells are all new. Three guys sleeping in a little glass cubbyhole behind the glass box customs check. Like scifi meets exotic. Dehydrated and burnt out, but could care less. This place feels amazing.

10 hours in London, Heathrow Airport

Back at Cal Arts. Spending most of my day editing, but I thought if I'm ever gonna put this stuff up about Africa, I ought to do it now. I'll try and get one up ever couple of days till its done. May 7th, Heathrow Airport

Two girls roll plastic pink and green suitcases with eager eyes and open wrists – the only thing of interest for hours now. I’ve tried to calculate the daily profits from a coffee stand by counting orders received for the last fifteen minutes. They’re making a fortune. The currency change from Litas to British Pounds is mind blowing.

I tried to burn some time hanging around the magazine stand. A magazine about the chic of plastic surgery raised my eyebrows for the first time today, but in the end tired feet put me back on my laurels.

Pink and green. The girls just disappeared into the smoker’s area, open wrists and taunt spines. The surveillance camera was turning the wrong way to see them leave.

Toro! Toro!

(Saturday Night) I just got into a bizarre chase/street fight with two drunk Lithuanian men about 30 minutes ago. Damn, these guys are such dumb monkeys. I guess it's a wonder it didn't happen years ago in the village. Though I have to admit, lately I've been feeling especially fed up with the idiocy. Last night some guys were yelling at me because I was walking with two Lithuanian girls, and earlier tonight some guy made fun of me by the river. Basically, and this is gonna sound harsh, but after three years I can say the 'average' guy here is a drunk coward. If they're alone they're quiet, if they outnumber you two to one they're brazen xenophobes. If you're a hardworking sober guy in Lithuania I hope you'll excuse this cause God knows I love this place, if you're a drunken loud mouth with cracked knuckles, then go to hell.

So here's what happened. It's Saturday. I'm working all day inside to get my place cleaned up cause I leave in a week. The sun is going down really late now, so around 9 I decided to go out and walk along the river to watch the sunset. It's a great walk. I walked all the way down to the Cathedral then looped back up toward Gedimino (the main street in the capital) and just as I came around the corner I see: A small guy, maybe Spanish or Italian dressed in a nice sweater and collared shirt with glasses backing into the middle of the road. Two guys in jean jackets are making threatening gestures toward him then the smaller of the two throws a sucker punch at the back of the nice guys head. The nice guy kind of stepped out of it by accident and didn't even realize the guy had thrown the punch. A big Lithuanian guy walking in front of me stopped with his girlfriend and I stopped behind them. He was really big and just kind of peeled the two bad guys back toward the sidewalk where I was. They started to go for the big guy and that's when I did something really uncharacteristic. I said f it, and jumped in. I never do that by the way. So for a second it turns into a push pull deal with all four of us, the girl friend is pissed and she's yelling, the nice guy is bailing. Then the big guy kind of brushes these two off in my direction and moves out with his girl. The two focused on me. At that point it wasn't good, but I really didn't think it was gonna get worse. They were telling me off in Russian, and I started mocking them. (Andrew and Jake this is your fault). So I was pushing them into a cafe table, they pushed me back, so I started to retreat since I can see no one else volunteering to get involved. I don't provoke the empathy like a well-dressed Southern European does. So the smaller guy runs up to kick me as hard as he can. By now I'm already back peddling and wondering what the hell I got myself into. There are people all over the place milling around all dressed up for a summer Saturday night and I'm yelling in English at these two to f off. His kick missed and he came down hard on the granite pavers flat on his back. The crowd cheered. The big guy seemed really offended by this and everything went up several notches. Not too sure what happened after that but I know I was back peddling full speed for a while. They were waiting for me to turn my back, so I just kept going up the street like that. What followed was even weirder.

The back peddle turned into a jog with looks over the shoulder. The guys are right behind me and with a pretty steady rhythm they're trying to throw punches or kick me. Thank god American kids play football cause I was thrown jukes down like OJ. Honest to god, like huge full speed sweeps across the street, from one sidewalk to the other then I'd slow down and wait for the next assault. In the middle of it I passed the Nice guy who looked seriously bewildered. I also passed the big guy whose girlfriend now seemed firmly in control of him. I was on a solo dance through the street dodging these guys. I thought they would get tired faster than me so I really started to just run down the street, fast. I got to a security car parked in front of the post office and I'm thinking 'cool, its over'. Two security guards are sitting inside, so I run up and yell 'call the police!' (which is a funny thing to yell at security guards) My antagonists barely even paused. They security guards didn't crack a window. (which supports my impulse to ask for professional help) So I put the car between them and me and I'm yelling at the guy in the passenger seat to call the cops. The bad guys come wheeling around the front end so I have to bail the whole thing and just keep running. Way the hell up street I see two huge guys walking. I'm getting really tired, and the demons behind me are keeping up, much to my surprise. All the exercise seemed to be clearing their heads. So I yell at these two giants to help me out and I'm trying to get them involved even if they don't want to by putting them between myself and the knuckle scrapers who're coming up fast. The evildoers caught up quick and I don't even remember what happened next exactly. The tall one got behind me somewhere and the smaller one ran in front of me to block me in. He was saying something and starting to square up with me to throw a punch. It's so odd. I've never punched anyone in the face in my life, not once. My hand just went on autopilot. All the fear and adrenaline took my head over. I hit him with my right hand as hard as I could and it landed perfectly square in middle of his knotty monkey grill. It was like hitting a home run, you don't even feel the ball cause it's so square off the bat. I heard one of the giants standing a few feet away exclaim and somewhere way back on the street I heard someone yell 'Geras!' which means 'Good one!' He just disappeared toward the ground, and I blazed the hell out of there. I have no idea what happened after that cause I never looked back. My lungs were on fire so I ducked into a courtyard and ended up under this weird little stoop with three homeless people for a second. They knew I was up to no good, and I actually asked them between wheezing breaths 'is there a way out of here!?' Damn, that was crazy. Thank god I didn't get the $^%& kicked out of me! I jumped the wall out of the courtyard and hustled home. Somewhere between there and home the absurdity hit me.

So here are a couple things I learned. First of all, all that crap I thought I could remember in a situation like this like 'jab with my left, then throw the right' or ‘punch'm in the throat' or 'box his ears' or basically anything I've ever seen in any movie - not one dreamy synapse awoke those ideas. The only thing I could think was 'I can't believe this. Two guys are chasing me down the street in daylight with people everywhere. What the hell am I doing?'

I would like to say one thank you. Some guy sitting at an outdoor cafe gave me a heads up that saved my ass. Half way through the chase I slowed down cause I just couldn't believe they really wanted to go through with it. I was watching the smaller guy cause he was the most aggressive and the tall guy came looping around from the back. The guy yelled from the cafe table and I ducked some kind of wild kick or punch. Thanks.

Thank God that we play football when we're kids and they don't. If those guys knew how to tackle it would have been all over for me. And thank God they didn't pull a knife. Don't even want to think about that.

I hope that guy isn't hurt bad, but I think he is. He fell like a soggy feather and unfolded on the concrete with the crackslap of a boney steak on a hard kitchen floor. Bastards.

Bush Meat

First the film stuff. I left for Africa with seven hours of tape which is way less than what I wanted. When I got there, I told Jake I’d wait a week or so then start shooting after I had an idea what to focus on. There was also an issue with camera batteries since we spent two weeks at a time in his village. It’s a full days’ journey on busted trucks and minivans to a power outlet. Initially I was shooting daily life kind of things: the soccer team, kids playing, women mashing corn. Then around the second week two guys showed up at the house with M16’s. That morning Jake had sent a report to the Game Reserve to let them know there were rumors of an elephant outside the reserve near a village. These guys showed up with guns on bicycles to let Jake know everything was fine. The leader seemed put together, but his buddy sat there sweaty and nervous rolling a joint with a machine gun in his lap. After that everything was focused on poaching. Place is nuts.

We went to interview the game scouts at the reserve about ten days later. When we got there Kennedy (second from the left) asked if they’d look better in their uniforms with their guns. So they got geared up and we walked a few yards into the reserve and did an interview with them. Malawians are the nicest people in the world. I would challenge anyone to beat them. You can ask these guys anything; things that feel rude or prying and they’ll just laugh then answer. I’ve never seen anything like it. I asked these guys if the NRC (Natural Resource Committee) were corrupt and they cracked up. I thought it was gonna be kind of a hard hitting question.

When I was getting down to my last tape I figured I better use it right. There’s a guy in Jakes village that’s pretty much in the middle of it all. His name is Koza and he’s sketchy. Jake refuses to communicate with him at all. He’s from Zambia and he came to Malawi a long time ago after he shot a man. He’s really charismatic and somehow worked his way into the local politics and landed himself damn near the top. He’s the chief’s right hand, and a top of the line poacher. According to Jake he’s got blast burns all over his forearms from firing home made rifles. He wore long sleeves when I talked to him. I went over to his house and asked him a stack of point-blank questions. The guy is smart. I caught him a little with the stuff about the guy he killed, he told me it was manslaughter and he served a year and a half for it. Other than that, the guy was slick. As good as any western politician, maybe better. Walking home, I couldn’t help but admire journalists who consistently do good interviews. It’s so hard. Regardless, I went home feeling charmed by the guy. Dangerous personality.

It’ll be a while, but I have some pretty good stuff to edit. I should be able to cut a solid half hour from the footage. The big surprise for me was that most of the poaching in that area isn’t for ivory or exotic animal parts. It’s for meat. People don’t have much protein in the diets at all. Someone goes in and shoots a buffalo, then carries out what he can. Others hear about it, then they go in and get a share. What ever you can carry out on your back, you can eat, and that’s it. There’s a network. The game scouts get spotted away from the reserve, word gets to the poachers that its clear, and that’s kinda it. The thing with Koza though is much bigger because he’s a leader. He’s tightly connected to the chief and the patron of all the local anti-poaching organizations. Just hope I didn’t make Jake’s life more difficult than it already is by provoking him.

Flight Through the Night

One of my best friends from the States just left the other day. A reminder of the good stuff back home. We packed it in, he got the full taste then went to Spain. Fulbright is ending, been a damn nice ride. Tomorrow I get up early and fly to Africa. Who would have ever thought. Jake was my neighbor to the North during Peace Corps here. He’s got balls, in the Peace Corps again, now way out there in Malawi near the Zambian border. No running water, no electricity, I guess the food shop is a long way away. I got a yellow fever and a typhoid shot. Money is tight cause the guys behind the Skapiskis cemetery project are lagging on reimbursements for my expenses. Should squeak through, but shouldn’t have to, hint hint people.

I noticed that I’ve been getting restless. The next transition is showing on the horizon and will pull up soon enough. In the past I got white knuckled about now, so I’m try’n not to sweat it so hard. Stress dreams started kicking up dust last week. Claustrophobic flights through the night.

Had my last interview for a while. Last week I met a woman named Aldona in Kupiskis. She filled in some important gaps. There are stories I’ve known about for a long time, but didn’t have on camera, in particular, the old myths about the Jews. They were kind of like ghost stories, Lithuanian adults would tell the kids a Jew would get them if they went out at night, or that Jews needed blood from a Catholic baby to make bread for Passover. I asked her about it, and with a little reluctance she told them. She also knew a kids song in Hebrew and could write her name in Yiddish.

Couple days before that I interviewed a couple, both of them had been deported to Siberia in the fifties. They met there and he found her years later back here in Lithuania where they married. She was heavily involved in the independence movement in the late 80s and was shot at as a consequence. She told me an amazing story about Siberia. Her tonsils were infected so she had to ride a ferry down the river 500km for the surgery. She got there, had the surgery, then that night started walking back to the camp. She said that if she hadn’t left immediately she could have been reported as missing. So this teenage girl walked for almost two weeks alone on the dirt roads through E.Siberia with unhealed tonsils and almost nothing to eat.

I fly from here to London to Amsterdam to Nairobi then finally, Malawi. This is sure to be the trip of a lifetime. I went up to Birzai and got some gifts from Jake’s old friends there, and other wise will only be carrying a few articles of clothing and my camera. The culture shock is gonna be severe, not to mention my lily winter complexion. I will be THE whitest man in Africa at least for a day or two. After that I’ll be the reddest,

Dim Red and Stars

The high notes are on which side of the piano? Last week was a spinal tap of shrill notes from the left side of the mouth, from the mouths of the old. This place keeps dishing its guts. Sixty years after the fact they're raw red and still hot to the touch.

Kristina's Grandma sat in a huge overstuffed brown chair in an enormous living room in one of the biggest houses in Kupiskis. Dim light. Kristine's Mom sits across the room far enough away I forget her. Tom and his girlfriend are college students. They sit deep in the sofa holding hands like they're watching a horror movie. They're helping me with the language. The house is a white silicate brick castle that sits out by the road into town. There are concrete telephone polls and hay drying racks then the road, the forest and the horizon.

Karas Laikas. - War Times. That's all you have to say, and it goes on for an hour.

The kids were curious. They went out to the hill to see what was going on. The Jews were being brought in groups from the little red brick prison in the center. About five Lithuanian men did the shooting, and a few Nazis supervised. The Nazis took lots of photographs, mostly of the 'jewshooters'. It was later understood that these were 'proof' that the Lithuanians were the ones who did the killing.

When the shooting was done a layer of lime was poured on the bodies. She emphasized this about the lime - it ran red. Then they killed the next group and they were stacked on top of the last, more lime, more red.

The big question for the children was "why don't they run?" The Lithuanian ringleaders collected the property. Gold rings and fur coats. The empty houses in the center stayed empty for a long time. The children didn't go there. A year before that, the Soviets occupied Lithuania. There were rumors about a few communist Jewish doctors torturing a Lithuanian in Panevezys. On the night of the first deportations to Siberia six or seven Jews were at the train station helping the authorities organize the deportees. People wondered why Jews had learned Russian so fast.

I asked her what the adults said about it. "It was explained to us that the Jews were being killed as punishment for the crucifixion and because they didn't believe in Christ." I give her a lot of credit for saying it straight. The note went right through my fingers and the walls, the dogs in the yard could hear it. The 'jewshooters' fell back with the German line when the Russians retook Lithuania. One of the ringleaders in Kupiskis was arrested in Chicago about three years ago. He lived a comfortable life in America.

WASHINGTON (CNN) "Bernes worked in an office near the overcrowded jail where victims were held without adequate food and beaten before being shot to death," according to a statement issued by the Office of Special Investigations. .. The Justice Department Monday initiated court proceedings in Chicago, Illinois, to revoke the citizenship of Peter John Bernes of Lockport, Illinois. Authorities in the department's Nazi-hunting Office of Special Investigations filed a complaint accusing Bernes -- then known as Petras Bernotavicius -- of serving as a deputy to Werner Loew, the Nazi-appointed leader of Kupiskis, Lithuania

Pokaras Laikas- After War Times. That's all you have to say and it goes on for about an hour.

According to Kristine's Grandma, the partisans around Kupiskis were young and ruthless. They were jealous of the other kids their age that had some normalcy and could go to school. They shot a boy their age because he was having fun at a party while they sat in the woods. There was a rumor that a girl in the class had family members who were party members. She appeared one day at school with a star branded into her forehead. It was attributed to the partisans, but could have just as easily been KGB. It was a KGB tactic to dress as partisans and commit crimes in an effort to sway public opinion. The girl had surgery years later, but always covered the star with her hair. The boys in class used to pull her hair back and ridicule her.

Stribai (destroyers) were the leading edge in a campaign to twist the soul out of a society. They were the locals who did the dirty work for the Soviet authorities. Everyone knew who they were. They came in the day when it was safe for them. They came to inspect the basements, to take food, to figure out who to deport. They could kill without discretion. They were rewarded with property and power. In later years they became more powerful. They lived comfortable lives. Normal people lived in the middle. Farmers had partisans coming for food at night. The farmer would be sworn to secrecy and asked to give all he could. The Stribai came in the day. If there was no food then partisans must have been there, the farmer would be required to give the names of partisans or get shot or deported, and so it went for several years.

The body of people who watched the holocaust through a crack in the curtain eventually learned to stop looking. KGB was everywhere. Guilt required only the suggestion of truth. She talked at length about the fear her generation carries. The fear of the outside, fear of change, the inability to relate to young people and the democratic shift. She was an honest woman.

I was up there all last week and I followed up on the list from the Litvaks in Israel. Turns out that the only properties than can be reclaimed are those that were public. So the synagogue, a community center and a grocery store are being reclaimed. The synagogue is a library now. The grocery store is a small building with private apartments. Turns out that the vice mayor bought a home in the building just six months ago. There doesn't seem to be any open public backlash, but there's always a lot of word-of-mouth.

The cemetery project is in the details now. Tom's father is a builder and he did a bunch of estimates last week. The main problem at the moment is the headstones. The sun thaws the soil on the south side so they're all leaning back in that direction. Nobody knows what's under them or how they're constructed so we have to dig one up. That means we need a Rabbi for any religious protocols. No big deal except that there's a battle going on in the Jewish community between the two Rabbis in Vilnius. Nobody in the states wants to get involved, or get them involved in the project. I met with the Mayor in Kupiskis and he's all for the project. I also met with the teachers at the school in Skapiskis, they're interested in whatever comes out of it. Part of the project is an educational initiative.

The tickets for Africa are all set. Jake called me two weeks ago and we talked for about 45 seconds on Tony Paul's dime. This should be damn interesting. I went up to Birzai where Jake was assigned in Peace Corps (50 km north of Kupiskis) and met with his old school director and some of his old friends. I want to get some gifts from them to take down, so next week I'll pass through again.

The woodwork opened up again. I heard about a man whose leg was run over by a Russian tank on Jan 13th. Looks like he's willing to talk to me, hopefully next week.

The grey and white blindfold of winter has completely vanished. Spring is here, people are smiling, ice cream cones bob down the street, the gym is packed and all my energy has returned.

Equinox

http://www.flickr.com/photos/cykuck/7112702/ If you've ever doubted resurrection, spend a winter in Lithuania. Snow on the ground now for five months. When it's not snowing its gray. When its not gray its too cold to stay outside. My first year here I was sure I was dying by this time in March. I'd never seen my face so pale. I got so thin. During spring break that year I watched Gintaras and Lili's kids cause they had to be out of town for the week. So with no work and nothing to really occupy my time I hung out with the boys in a region of Kupiskis everyone calls Kamchatka. The Kamchatka of Kupiskis is a Soviet style region made up of gray blockhouses and a great big smoke stack. Not such a bad place really, but with five months of winter already under my belt, I was under serious strain. What had looked like a planned community in workers paradise that Fall, by late March looked like a leaden demon ship lost from the inferno on its way through a frozen southern ocean to sink somewhere silent and painful. My face was plastered to the kitchen porthole, by the second day the boys were taking care of me. I fell asleep on the couch in the afternoon and when I woke up Gintaras' younger son was looking at me from a couple feet away. 'Your eyes are red like a rabbits' he said. They stayed like that for another month. I couldn't stop looking out the window. I kept thinking that it should have already ended, but it was still gray and cold. On Easter I was with Gintaras and family on their farmhouse about 10km out of town. No sounds. Just us and the babble of a little tiny T.V. This was even worse than the demon ship. It was a demon dinghy lost from the ship, white knuckles and icy waves. It started to snow and I started to pace. Gintaras asked me repeatedly if I wanted something to eat or drink. A bare light bulb hung from the ceiling over the table spitting spindly anemic glare all around the room. Musty damp wood, small windows bleeding weak light and yeah I'm being dramatic about it, but I'd never witnesses my own decay before. It snowed two feet, and I went out of my tree. The next day was Easter and the boys and I ran around outside making big snowballs. We kung fu kicked, karate chopped and body slammed each of them to bits. In my heart I was cursing that frozen white fluff from hell that had been smothering me for half the year with great might. The bashing of the snowballs was very very violent and highly visual. I'm sorry that Pagan blows were delivered on that Christian day, but lost souls will do what they must. Then it snowed the rest of the day.

All of that internal drama happened before I learned about spring. I'd been in San Diego for seven years before I came over here. Spring in San Diego means you change wetsuits. You go from the one with long legs, to the one with short legs.

There is a single tree in the middle of a big field on the way to Kamchatka. It was along my familiar path to visit Gintaras. On a dreary day in April I passed under that thing and noticed that the branches were well covered with unbloomed buds and I almost wept. Seriously, it was the most beautiful thing I'd seen in months. It was really over. The great cosmic machine wasn't broken after all, and after just a few weeks this whole country exploded in tender tones of green. Then cabin fever yielded and was immediately replaced with Spring fever. All the meters spiked. High energy and libido are not the traditional allies of young single male teachers. The rest of the school year I spent tied to the mast, and thankfully remained there till summer.

These days are completely different. I'm a little sad to see winter go cause I know this means I have to return to the States soon. The novel days will give way to normalcy, and at first I'll resent that, then it'll lull me in. I'll wake up sometime next year very happy to be home, but it'll take a while. In the meantime, I have a lot to do.

This week I'm going up to Kupiskis and Skapiskis and hopefully I'll get a bunch done. The newspapers just released 'the list' from Israel made by the Litvaks there who want their property returned. There are three places in Kupiskis on it, they look like the addresses of private homes, so I wanna go see who's there. I doubt they'll talk to me about it but I'll try anyway. I'm also trying to Interview Kristina's Grandmother who witnessed the murder of the Jews in Kupiskis as a little girl. Then there is Sandra who has all the writing and recordings her Grandfather made during fifteen years in Siberia. And lastly, everything in Skapiskis remains to be done. I have to find the mayor(s) and talk to them about the cemetery project and I also want to get some shots of the cemetery before the snow is completely gone. Beauty the car, has been rolled off the front sidewalk and towed to the shop. They're putting a new starter in it, so I should have wheels to roll around Spring in.