Finding a Balance and Lessons from Abroad

                                                         by Sean Stefancin

    No matter what stage of life you are in, there is a constant struggle to find a balance.  For a long time, I worked hard to find the balance.  During the summers, I try to balance working with meeting up with friends and finding some time to relax and spending time with my family.  At Notre Dame, I try to balance classwork with training and engaging in the whole “college experience”.  Here in Dublin, I tried to balance travel plans throughout Europe with my focus of training with the Track team.  I have learned a few lessons about balance while being abroad.
    One lesson has been learning to go with the flow a bit more.  Part of that has to being in the Irish culture.  Plans are not always made, and even the ones that are are not strictly adhered to.  And that is actually OK.  Flexibility and adaptability are great characteristics to have, but they do take some time to develop.  That is where my study abroad program comes in.  After a few frustrating experiences, I have learned to be a lot more flexible in day-to-day activities.  I would still prefer to have a plan and have things go according to my plan, but I have found ways to adjust when that is not the case

That leads me to my realization about finding balance in life.  I need to stop trying to find the balance because it does not exist.  There is a balance, but it can change over time.  Over time can be a few years or a semester or even a few weeks.  On top of that, I cannot get things to perfectly balance.  I am going to spend more time on some activities than others, despite my best attempts to balance my time and responsibilities.  This is where the two lesson merge together.

Early in the program, I focused more on running and getting in the best possible shape.  It gave me an excuse to stay in or hang back as I made the tougher-than-expected transition to life in Dublin.  Early on, my balance was dominated by my training.  As the semester progressed, I fell in to a pattern and enjoy myself a bit more.  I found ways to take advantage of the opportunities that I had while being abroad.  The balance was shifting a little.  Then I came to a crossroad.

I could have spent my Spring break in Portugal, training with the UCD Athletics Club (track team) and getting into ridiculous shape.  Or, I could travel with my girlfriend and some good friends through Italy.  I opted for the latter.  Looking back, going to Portugal and training would have put me in a position to run the times I was hoping to here in Dublin.  I would have succeeded in the goals I set out coming in to the study abroad program.

But I would have missed out on the trip of a lifetime.  From that point on, I made sure to take advantage of traveling.  My focus shifted slightly away from running.  I climbed Croagh Patrick, had a romantic weekend in Paris with my girlfriend, and even made it to Munich for a day.  I was seeing places I never imagined I would be able to.  My training took a hit, and that was evident in my track meet last week.  I ran a respectable time, but it not was I was hoping or thought I was capable of.   I was very disappointed, but looking back on the previous month or so led me to my final lesson.

I had been told by many people to take advantage of the opportunities I had while I was here, but I was not sure how to treat that since I was so focused on running when I first arrived in Dublin.  I felt like I had let myself down at the track meet with my time.  As I looked back as to why I was not in the kind of shape I was hoping to, I realized that I actually had made the most of those few months.  I had been to 4 countries I had never been to before, seeing breathtaking sights and historical monuments and everything in between.  I will go back to training when I get back home to Cleveland and South Bend, but I do not know when I will have the opportunity to be in Europe and see the places I saw (especially as cheaply as we were able to pull it off).              Sometimes you have to make sacrifices to take full advantage of the opportunities you are given.  The sacrifices may be harder to make at certain times, but looking back on great experiences like traveling around Europe for the first time makes it much easier.  You may even find that you actually had a great time and went on some trips of a lifetime.  

That can only happen if you are a little flexible, learn adjust your balance, prioritize your goals, and realize the amazing opportunities that are staring you in the face.  That’s it.  Oh, if only it were that easy.  Having family and friends there to remind you of that and be supportive goes a long way in getting to that point.  When you do finally have that light bulb go off, you are going to have a fantastic experience.  Just have patience and realize that it does not happen overnight.

Be flexible, don’t be afraid to adjust the balance you have, and learn to take advantage of opportunities that may not come along again.  No pressure.  Just a lot of fun.  That’s the way I learned to look at it.

Four Years Later: Returning to Ireland

by Michael O'Connor

It took me four years to find a reason to return to Ireland.  In truth, perhaps it wasn’t a reason I needed, for everyone who knows me is aware of how much I loved my time in Ireland, the people I met there, and the experience I had exploring my academic, social, and cultural interests of the island and its people.  So I suppose what I really needed was the justification to take the time and money to commit to such a trip.  Luckily, my youngest sister studied at NUI-Galway this past academic year, providing the perfect legitimate catalyst to make the trip across the pond.

My sister and I at Croagh Patrick

My trip was particularly powerful for three reasons.  First, to be able to experience Ireland through my sister’s eye and perspective.  Second, to be able to reconnect with old friends and to see how people have grown and changed during my four years away.  Third, to re-walk transformative moments in my own life, and to realize how that journey four years ago shaped me and helped lead me to where I currently am.

When returning to Ireland, it’s tempting to slip into complete nostalgia, to desire to experience everything that was.  What proved to be more life-giving, though at time challenging, was to allow myself to be led by my sister.  I had been to Galway a few times when I studied abroad and had a couple of favorite local places.  However, this was my sister’s city.  She had her pubs, her restaurants, her sites, all places that had special meaning for her, and I needed to allow myself to be open to that.  In doing so, I learned so much about my sister, and so much about Galway.  It was a bonding experience at a very authentic level, and I continuously thought about how lucky I was to share in this with my sister.

After seeing my sister’s Galway, it was time to travel around and visit folks.  First, I went up to Donegal to visit Sine Friel, one of the two Irish teachers in my Alliance for Catholic Education (ACE) cohort, now teaching back in Ireland.  It was my first time in Donegal, and the beautiful scenery (Sine’s father would argue that it had more to offer than anywhere else in Ireland), the time spent with Sine and her family in conversation, and the ability to learn more about a new place and its people reminded me of one of my favorite components of studying abroad (meeting and building relationships with new people + viewing new scenery in this majestic world).  From there, I headed to Dublin.  And so much had changed, yet so much stayed the same!  Words can’t express what it was like to visit with Kevin and Lisa, while also being able to meet the new folks of the O’Connell House.  Perhaps one of the happiest moments was spending time with Lisa, her husband Paul, and their newborn son, Luke, who surely must be one of the most pleasant babies in the world.  It truly was a joy to see these new additions to Lisa’s family and to see the happiness that they brought her and the whole O’Connell House community.  Finally, I was able to connect with former ND and UCD professors – Declan Kiberd and P.J. Mathews – as well as Ciaran Deane, who I worked with at Field Day during my summer internship.  We discussed everything from our current academic interests to where our work was taking us to our family lives, and I remembered in those moments how fortunate I was to develop a holistic relationship with these men, for it seems increasingly rare to enter into such dynamics in professional/academic arenas.

 

        Me with Lisa, and baby Luke   

                                           

                                                

Kevin and me

My time in Ireland was marked by some re-visiting.  The very fact that I arrived almost to the day of my initial arrival four years ago in mid-January evoked emotion (though I flew Continental this time and not my beloved Aer Lingus).  I hiked Croagh Patrick again with my sister, this time with shoes on and without a subsequent hospital visit.  This hike, however, was marked with ice and snow, presenting a whole new set of challenges and a completely different, yet equally beautiful, viewing of the reek and surrounding area as we climbed and reached the summit.  I spent a morning cliffwalking at Howth, one of my favorite ways to reflect on my time in Ireland when I was studying abroad.  I walked past my old flat on Hatch Place where I lived with a tremendous group of folks during my summer internship.  And I spent time in St. Stephen’s Green and Merrion Square, my two favorite Dublin parks, remembering great conversations and moments with friends.  I even got to visit the concrete jungle that is UCD (though completely dismayed by the termination of the 10 bus route - now replaced by the no. 39a).

Aside from these visits to physical locations, I recounted several significant growth moments for me in Ireland.  It was here that I developed a greater appreciation for the integration of academics into other facets of my life – culturally, socially, and spiritually – as works like “Translations” by Brian Friel took on new meaning as I better understood, yet craved to understand better, concepts like identity, community, and language and the effects they have on individuals.  No longer were these concepts that stood in an academic vacuum, but I realized these were questions and issues central to my being and ones that I must incorporate into future study, experiences, and even work.  It was here that I learned more about the Alliance for Catholic Education through Fr. Sean McGraw, CSC, Luke Klopp, and Kevin Whelan, a program which I would enter after my senior year and teach for two years in Birmingham, AL, providing me with another transformative experience with a new population.  And perhaps most importantly, it was here that I experienced the transcendent goodness of people.  While there is so much evil and injustice in this world, and much of it not sufficiently exposed and confronted, it is inspiring to encounter the kindness and generosity of others across this planet. 

I can’t help but think of Kevin Whelan when I speak of this.  The man gives his all, and not just his knowledge, to every cohort that comes to Dublin.  He allows us to become one with his family, his academic interests, his personal interests (especially Wexford hurling!), and his time through conversation, advice, and simple listening.  He and the others I encountered in Dublin taught me the value of open, authentic love and care, and that these values can build bridges, form communities, and empower individuals to do incredible things.  I look at myself now, where I have been led on this incredible journey since, one that I am so thankful for, and I am incredibly grateful for what seven months in Ireland added to my life.  And now I look forward, curious to see where these foundational experiences and lessons will take me next, and also excited to see where the study abroad experience will take other ND Dubliners – past, present, and future.  

A dummies guide to speaking with an Irish accent

C'mere, you'll be talking like Bono in no time, grand altogether
By BERNIE MALONE , IrishCentral.com Staff Writer

Published Tuesday, April 12, 2011


All right, so this instant Irish accent in a mouth spray might not work but
we've put together some helpful tips for a passable Irish accent
Photo by Google Images

Read more: A guide to how to understand Irish speak or slang

Read more: The worst Irish accents in Hollywood movies

Okay so you're not going to sound like an true blue Dub (Dubliner) by the
end of this article you might just get closer than Tom Cruise in "Far and
Away" or God forbid Sean Connery in the "Untouchables"

This brilliant guide to top tips for an Irish accent will have you sounding
more like "The Commitments" than "Darby O'Gill" and that has to be a good
thing. 

1. Learn the Irish vocabulary

This is by far and away the most important thing to learn when pulling off a
good Irish impression. Vocab is paramount and I don't mean begorrah and
diddly-eye. Irish people have a whole different dictionary.

One of the most obvious is the Irish people's use of the word ³grand². The
question "How are you?" is generally answered with "Grand, thanks" which
doesn't mean $1,000 or a big piano it does in fact me "fine".

Here's some other examples -

Em - This is generally used by the Irish instead of "um" or "uh" while
pausing to think. This is definitely one of the most commonly used noises.
Remember this one.

Cheers - Although this is a drinking toast it is also a aloha-like
multi-purpose word which can mean hello, goodbye and thank you.

Lad - this means any male and when pluralized means any group of females or
males.

C'mere - literally this means "come here" but it also means "listen" and
just a friendly "hey". It can be used to get someone's attention or just
start a sentence.

Right - This is another multi-purpose word. Used like 'C'mere'. For example
"Right, yours was a pint?", "Right, I'm off home".

Bollocks - this literally means testicles but has become a word with which
to express anger. For example if you missed your train you might exclaim
"Bollocks". It can also mean rubbish. For example "That lad is talking utter
bollocks".

Bastard - Although this literally means a child born out of wedlock it can
also be used to express anger and as an exclamation. For example "where's my
bastard coat?"

Eejit - Idiot, but harsher.

Knacker - This can be used to describe an undesirable person or being
exhausted. For example "Jaysus look at that knacker" or "I'm bleeding
knackered, I need a kip".

Food 101

Chips = French fries
Crisps = chips 
Biscuits = cookies

2. The Irish sound

It's impossible to say what an Irish person sounds like as there are 32
different accents and dialects to boot in this small  country. Although
there's only 4.5 million people in the Emerald Isle the variety of accents
is baffling. The most obvious difference is that between Northern Irish
people (think Gerry Adams) and southern (think Bono).

Soft vowels

The Irish generally make fun of how the Americans elongate their vowels in
the same manner that Americans usually make fun of Texans.

Here some phrases to show you the difference.

Americans say "How are you?" Irish say "Ha-ware-ya?" / "Hawareya?"

The response to this question is not "good" or "fine", by the way, it is
"grand" or "grand altogether".

Hard consonants

Enunciate, this is the most important thing. Americans have a habit of
slurring constants, while Irish though they run words together tend to
enunciate their consonants. For example Americans tend to say coulda,
woulda, wanna instead of pronouncing the whole phrase.

Lyricize your inflection

This is probably the most difficult thing to learn - the rhythm and tone of
the accent. This has a lot to do with having an ear for it. Varying pitch
accounts for the different feel of the Irish accent and its commonly
described as lyrical. This means that a sentence sounds more musical or
sing-songy than American English.

Drilling

The best way to learn is to practice. Although you could hire your very own
dialogue coach a better solution might be to watch some Irish movies and try
to focus on their accents and mimicking them. Some great movies to watch are
"The Butcher Boy", "Circle of Friends" and "The Commitments"

Try to copy some of these lines. Record yourself saying them and you should
be able to find the faults in your own accent.

Warning you will be lousy at first but keep trying it can be quite fun.

3. The Irish spelling

If you're really going for the all Irish experience you'd better change your
spellings too. Although mostly spellings in American English and the English
from across the pond are the same there are some differences.

Add the U

For some very odd reason the Irish and English use extra u's. Just some
examples being armour, behavior, colour, favour, honour, humour, parlour and
savour.

Change the Z

Another difference is that the English and Irish use "s" more often that
"z". For example crystallized, industrialized, memorise realized, recognised
and specialized.

Reflection

Teach Bhride is a ND Folk Choir initiative in Ireland. Members are drawn from the Folk Choir at ND and are engaged in supporting liturgical music and sacramental preparation in Wexford, and are doing superb work. Read team leader Carolyn Pirtle's reflections after her two years stint...

A few weeks ago, Elaine wrote to me and asked if I would be willing to share this month’s post- Communion reflection. To be honest, I nearly declined her generous offer, because I’m much more comfortable behind a keyboard instrument than I am up here. I’m not going to share my thoughts on today’s Scripture passages; the music we’ve sung together during this Mass has already conveyed those thoughts more eloquently than I ever could. Instead, Elaine suggested that I might offer a few thoughts on my experience of living in Ireland and working in parish ministry for nearly the past two years, and since the season of Lent is itself a journey, I thought it appropriate to reflect on my journey of these past two-ish years, and on the journey that preceded it. 

I think I’d have to start out by confessing that the thought most frequently running through my mind over the past 18 months has been, “How on earth did I wind up here?” Many of you know that I grew up in Kansas, and as cliché as it may sound, I know exactly how Dorothy felt when she opened the door of her ruined farmhouse and looked out at the land of Oz in all of its Technicolor glory for the first time. I’m sure she was thinking exactly what I’ve thought so many times since I moved to Ireland: How on earth did I wind up here? 

When people from back home ask me what I’ve been doing since I left Kansas, I usually just say that

I’ve been “Meandering, with direction.” I’ve been a musician my entire life, but I never had a clear sense of what it meant for my life. I’ve been a Catholic my entire life, and I’ve always loved my faith, but I never had a clear sense of what that meant for my life either. The only thing I knew with any real clarity was the fact that I really liked college, and that I was good at playing the academia game. So, every time I neared another graduation, I would ask the inevitable “Well, what do I do now?”, and somehow, the next step always presented itself, usually in the form of graduate school—another piece in the puzzle of my life that I was assembling without the box to tell me what the picture was even supposed to look like. I learned a lot of interesting things, studied and worked with a lot of great people, and kept meandering toward the vague notion that I would eventually have to be done with school and do something with my life. It wasn’t until I had wound my way to Notre Dame that the picture in the puzzle finally started to take shape, and it wasn’t until I visited Ireland for the first time in 2008 that it snapped into clear focus. 

Which leads me to my second confession: in all of my Meandering with Direction, living abroad never once entered the picture. But suddenly there I was, traveling Scotland and Ireland, looking ahead to another year back at Notre Dame where my job would be to develop national outreach programming to further the mission and ethos of the Notre Dame Folk Choir at parishes around the United States—a delightfully vague job description that left a lot of room to wander and explore, until a fateful conversation in Scotland with Steve Warner, the director of the Folk Choir. In thinking about my work for the coming year, and in seeing the joy the presence of the Folk Choir brought to the parishes it visited throughout Scotland, I had begun wondering… so one random afternoon I said to Steve something incredibly eloquent like, “So, you know how I’m supposed to create national programming for outreach next year?” “Yeah.” “Well…what’s to prevent us from creating some sort of…international program for people who want to serve the Church in Ireland?” I hadn’t even been to Ireland yet! But from the moment I asked that tiny “what if,” I found myself at the center of a twister that eventually carried me across the Atlantic Ocean and landed me in a beautiful house, in a beautiful parish, in beautiful Wexford, Ireland. 

A third confession: it’s one thing to assemble theories about how best to serve the Irish Catholic Church while sitting at a café on the Notre Dame campus. It is quite another thing altogether to try to put those theories into practice on the ground in a new country, a new town, a new parish, and most especially, a new culture. When Chris, Martha, and I arrived in Wexford in August 2009, we had a few vague ideas of what we wanted to try in our parish, but the two of them learned very quickly what I had been learning ever since I left home: we weren’t in Kansas anymore. And we weren’t at Notre Dame anymore, either. We were in a place where people often meandered through their day, conversing with one another over copious amounts of tea, frequently using foreign phrases like, “Ah, sure we’ll sort it out.” Soon after our formal commissioning in the parish, people would stop us in the town and tell us how glad they were to have us there, how great a job we were doing. 

We felt like we hadn’t even done anything yet! 

Our parish supervisors had insisted at the beginning of the year that our greatest ministry was going to be simply a ministry of presence, and of witness, that simply by being ourselves, we were going to draw people in and encourage them to think more about their relationship with God. I think all three of us dismissed this initially, thinking that we were going to establish all of these great new programs and have them up and running within just a few short weeks, a month or two, tops. We learned quickly that it was much more important to discern where our parishioners were personally and spiritually, and that we were really being called to walk with them on their journey of faith. A chance encounter with a man from Clonard really brought this home for us: it was very late on a November Friday night (or maybe it was very early on a November Saturday morning). Chris, Martha, and I were walking home from an establishment downtown we’d been known to frequent for trad music, craic, and yes, the occasional Guinness, when a man walking his dog on the opposite side of the street called to us: “Hiya! Are yous the Americans?” He had clearly been spending some time at a pub that evening as well, so we had no idea what to expect as he crossed the street to talk to us, but we were shocked when he said, “Ye know, I see yous in de parish on a Sunday, and yous are brilliant. I mean, I don’t go to church every week, and we may not sing at de Mass, but we see yous dere every single Sunday, and just de way ye carry yerselves, ye make us all want to be better. So keep up de good work!”

 

Not one of us had ever seen that man before, and I’m not sure I’ve seen him since; I’ve certainly never talked with him again. But I’ve thought about that encounter many times, and it just reminds me that all of the liturgy planning and all of the choir rehearsals and all of the retreats and all of the primary school programs are well and good, but in this place, and especially in this ministry in this place, it’s about the relationships a person builds with other people. It’s about the journey. It’s about meandering with direction and embracing the chance encounters along the way, because those chance encounters can completely change the course of your direction. 

As I look back on the journey that brought me to this amazing country, I realize that what appeared at the time to be scattered steps in my Meandering with Direction were actually stepping stones on a path carefully chosen for me by God, lined with people and experiences, and every single one of those stepping stones, every single person, and every single experience played some part in the creation of Teach Bhríde. I may never know how on earth I wound up here, but I do know that I will be grateful every single day for the rest of my life that this experience, and the people I have met because of it, were all part of God’s plan for me. 

As my time in Ireland draws to a close, I know I’ll spend a great deal of time throughout the rest of my life looking back at the work that has been done, first with Chris and Martha, and this year with Jessica, Clarisa, and Patrick. I’ll remember the events that we planned, the workshops we hosted, and the small liturgical and musical changes we helped bring about in the parish working alongside our pastoral team. But as the years pass, I know the memories of the work itself will fade, and what will remain are the relationships that have blessed and defined my experience in Ireland since the moment I stepped off the airplane. I will miss this country tremendously, and I know that I have another long journey ahead in re-adjusting to the sometimes-frenetic pace of life on the other side of the pond, but I will carry the things I have learned with me wherever I meander from now on. I’ll fill my suitcase heart with the names and faces of the people who have taught me so much more than I could ever have hoped to teach them. So to the unforgettable cast of characters who taught me how to slow down, how to listen, how to sing, how to tell stories, how to take holidays, how to drink tea, how to drink everything else, how to be flexible, how to adapt, how to take risks, how to grieve, how to celebrate, and how to pray well with others: go raibh maith agat, from the bottom of my heart.

Notre Dame anthropologist takes Irish oral tradition online

Deb Rotman is in a race against time.

Rotman, director of undergraduate studies for Notre Dame’s Department of Anthropology, is keenly aware that the generation of Irish immigrants who can still share memories of the Irish Civil War and their experiences in early 20th century America will soon be lost forever.

“Those generations have some really great stories that we’re trying to capture, but we can only do so much,” she says.

Unable to personally interview every surviving immigrant, Rotman and a group of her students are working with Kevin Abbott in the University’s Academic Technologies office to construct an online database to help collect and preserve as many of these valuable tales as possible before it’s too late.

The database’s Web interface, intended to be user-friendly for casual visitors and professional researchers alike, will take advantage of the latest technology to offer an experience that is wholly contemporary yet distinctively Irish. “This is a storytelling people,” Rotman says, and the database will play to that strength and allow users to upload personal histories in whatever format they prefer.

Senior Rhiannon Duke (Alum of our ND Dublin Programme, pictured) is one of the students helping Rotman develop the online project, which will incorporate audio, text, photographs, and possibly video.

“It will be a place for those of Irish descent to share their stories and information with others and develop a dialogue of sorts,” she says. “A space to share these kinds of stories is incredibly important, and I’m excited that I’ve been able to be a part of it thus far. I can’t wait to see how it grows and develops in the future.”

In addition to soliciting oral histories online, Rotman and her students are making their own contributions to the database by conducting field research on Lake Michigan’s Beaver Island. There, a group of 19th century Irish—most from the island of Árainn Mhór off the coast of Donegal—recreated something of the communal, agrarian lifestyle they had left behind.

“Most of what the general public knows about Irish-American history comes from the stories of urban immigrant populations in places like New York, Boston, Chicago and Philadelphia,” Duke says.

In these cities, she says, the Irish lived among other large immigrant groups and families who had been in America for generations. “Beaver Island offers a unique chapter of the Irish-American story since the Irish were in the majority there for about 40 years,” Duke says. “It will be fascinating to see to what extent this community was able to transfer their social and cultural environment from Árainn Mhór to Beaver Island and how that environment changed through time.”

Much of the fieldwork involves meeting with descendants of the original Irish settlers there. “My favorite part of the experience was interviewing residents about their family history on the island as well as their personal experiences of island life and identity,” Duke says. “I had read a good amount about Beaver Island before arriving, but I learned so much more from speaking with residents than I could have in a book.”

While on Beaver Island, Rotman’s students also get their hands dirty in archaeological digs of old homesteads. They have uncovered rich material not just within the one-time walls of family homes, but outside them as well. “Think about it,” Rotman says, “in the 1860s you didn’t have waste management coming to your curb side.” Remnants of the refuse that collected behind homes now offers compelling clues about the way life was actually lived in 19th century immigrant America, she says.

By combining this traditional fieldwork with innovative technology, Rotman and her students hope to provide a broader perspective on the Irish diaspora in America.

“The archaeological record and the historic documents work together telling different parts of the same story,” she says, “and oral history is the third leg of that stool.”

Learn More >

• Department of Anthropology
• Deb Rotman faculty page
• Historical Archaeology of Irish in America

Originally published by Kevin Clarke at http://al.nd.edu/news/19077-the-irish-oral-tradition-goes-online/http://al.nd.edual.nd.edu on March 28, 2011.

Rugby for Dummies - Leinster v Leicester

Rugby Match: Leinster Versus Leicester [England], Aviva Stadium, Saturday, 6.00pm

Game at 6.00pm: meet at O’Connell House at 5.00 sharp.

Dress code: Dress as warmly as possible: It could be cold! Layer up! Gloves! Coats! More layers! If you have a hat, scarf or cap, wear it..

The Leinster colour is dark BLUE

Background. The current Leinster rugby team, based in Dublin, is considered to be  one of the best and most exciting we have ever had. It won the Heineken Cup two years ago – which is the premier rugby competition for clubs in Europe. Brian O’Driscoll, wearing Number 13, the Irish and Leinster captain, is widely regarded as the greatest ever Irish rugby player, and would always be picked on a world 15. Other stars include the workhorse No. 8 Jamie Heaslip,  the rapidly maturing No. 10 Johnny Sexton from Rathmines, the No. 12 Gordon Darcy, a Wexfordman and current UCD student, and the free running full Back - No. 15 Luke FitzGerald. The No. 10, Jonathan Sexton is a celebrated kicker - the No. 10 or Outhalf position is like being ‘a quarterback with a boot’. Another young Leinster player Cian [pronounced Keen] Healy is a recent grad. of my sons’ school, Belvedere. Sean O’Brien at No. 7 is another rising star – a destructive runner with ball in hand and a neighbour of Eimear Clowry’s. Ask her about him- she knows all there is to know!

The current Leicester team are universally regarded as the best team in England. They are a seasoned, teak tough, physically oppressive team, who have won the Heineken Cup twice, and who will ‘front – up’ to Leinster[ ie try to physically and psychologically take them on].

There is huge interest in the game, it is a sell out for weeks and we are lucky to get tickets for it [well done Joe!].

Rugby for Dummies By BILL RAYBURN [An American!!!][OK -I added a lot more detail too!!! [KW]

Most Americans know at least one very specific fact about rugby: We don't want to play it. But for the moment, move past the visceral fear of a cranial collision with another human, and you will gain an understanding of this ancient sport. Rugby provides a suitable outlet for the controlled release of any frustration or aggression within the structured framework of sport.

And legalized mayhem it is. There are no pads or helmets worn in rugby, and the collisions are often brutal collisions, of a high speed nature. Size is an advantage, but not as much as one might think. A quicker, smaller player can be invaluable. Injuries are accepted as part of the game. One is expected to play on even if hurt if at all possible. Clearly rugby is a sport for the lion, not the faint-hearted.

The terminology and jargon is revealing: scrum, ruck, maul, hooker. It sounds rough and it is, although there is much more to it, and modern rugby is a highly sophisticated tactical game. Here are the basics:

The game involves 15 players per side. The 15 positions include 8 forwards [numbered 1-8], a scrumhalf [9], an out half [10] halfbacks, 2 centres [12-13], 2 wings- [11 & 14], and 1 fullback [15].

The field, called a "pitch," is much wider and longer than an American football pitch.

The object of the game is to score as many points as possible by carrying, passing or kicking a leather oval ball, about twice the size of a football, toward the scoring zone at the far end of the pitch called the in-goal area, akin to an end zone in football. Grounding the ball (literally touching it to the turf with downward pressure of the hands or hand in the in-goal area) results in a try (score), worth 5 points. Tries are the big momentum switchers in a game.

A conversion attempt follows, a kick off the ground from 25 yards out but exactly parallel to where the try was scored - that puts a lot more pressure on the kicker than in American football, as many tries are scored out wide to the touchline. If the ball is kicked through the uprights, 2 more points are awarded. The ball is then kicked back to the other team from the half way line and play resumes.

Points may also be scored from a drop kick during play - no easy feat with 30 guys swarming around - or a penalty kick, which is awarded after breaches of rules are spied by the single referee. Yes, believe it or not, there is only one referee on the field to monitor the actions of 30 players. If the drop or penalty kick is successful, it is worth 3 points.

Here are some basic rugby rules that might raise more questions than answers:

There are no "downs," as in football, nor is a "first down" required to maintain possession. In fact, possession can be exchanged often and quickly and turn-overs are frequent. There are few long, sustained "drives" toward the in-goal area. Progress up and down the field is achieved grudgingly, usually in short chunks.

The ball may not be passed forward from the hands, though it may be kicked forward. Players cannot be tackled unless they possess the ball. Once in possession of the coveted leather oval, one is fair game, dead meat, or an endangered species. Rugby supporters like nothing better than a big hit on an opposing player.

Once the player is tackled to the ground, he is expected to release the ball. A common penalty is for ‘not releasing’ - ‘holding on to the ball after the tackle’ - usually for fear that the opposition will win it. The tackler must also release the man he tackled and roll away.

Players need to support their teammate very quickly once he is tackled and drive the opposing players back off the ball. This contest, called a ruck, is where the dark arts of the game are most fiercely practiced. Players wear cups to protect their vital assets and eye-gouging and ear biting are not unknown - hence the leather scrum-caps that some wear. The ferocity of the ruck is almost primal, and the primary means of retaining and winning possession. “Turn-over Ball’- where you win possession in a ruck after the opposition carried the ball into in - is highly prized, and often supplies the most dangerous attacking opportunities. Leinster are usually deadly they get quick ball. You are not allowed to play the ball with your hands once you are on the ground, but you can if you are still on your feet. Players are not allowed to enter the ruck from the side - only from behind the last foot of the players in it- the so-called ‘gate’..

A maul is the same as a ruck, except that all the players grappling for the ball are still on the feet. A ‘Rolling Maul’ is one where the team with the ball are advancing rapidly - Leicester are expert exponents of this tactic. The opposition is not allowed to deliberately pull down a rolling maul.

Play stops only when there is an infringement, or the ball is kicked out of bounds, or when a try is scored.

When the ball goes out over the sideline, a line-out results, where the opposing players line up perpendicular to the sideline and jump for the ball as it is thrown back in play (similar to a jump ball in basketball). The players are allowed to hoist a teammate high into the air to better reach the ball. The throw in to the lineout is by a player from the team who didn’t kick it out. The throw-in is meant to be straight but a clever thrower will always advantage his own team. Teams would expect to gain possession on their own throw. Usually a really tall player knocks the ball back with his hand to the small light agile scrumhalf, who then initiates the attacking plays.

Penalties, which range from tackling too high [no clothes lining] to being offsides (a player further downfield than the ball) can result in either a free kick for the other team or a scrum.

What, exactly, is a "scrum"? Each team's 8 forwards [the big burly bruisers on the team] link arms over their shoulders on opposite curves of a circle, like a huge round centipede at cannibalistic war with itself.

After the forwards are locked together, the No 9 - (scrumhalf) - carefully rolls the ball into the center of the scrum: again it is meant  to be straight but it is 99% crooked so the team with the Put In to the scrum should always win it. Once in the scrum, the ball cannot be touched by hand. Each team has a "hooker"[I Know, I Know] in the front of the scrum, a player positioned forward of his teammates, who tries to hook his foot around the ball and drag it behind him, where his teammates then caterpillar it with their feet until it squirts out the back of the scrum. Then the scrumhalf picks it up and initiates play. The scrumhalf is always the smallest, quickest and usually craftiest player. He is a major playmaker as he has to decide whether to run, kick or pass. At times too, a team may elect to gain ground by pushing the opposition backwards in the scrum.

The game consists of two 40-minute halves, with a brief half-time break. There are no time-outs, save for an injury. Tactical substitutions are allowed, usually occurring after about 60 minutes when you need fresh impetus and fresh legs.

a glimpse of another reality

April 3, 2011

Dear friends and family,

I hope this finds you all well.  I haven’t documented my experiences in quite some time, but there is something in what I am experiencing in my first time in Africa that may be worth sharing.

I’ve now spent nearly 3 weeks in the newest country in the world.  As I arrived at the airport in Juba there was a big sign that read, “Welcome Southern Sudan, the 189^th Country in the World.”  I didn’t know if they meant to welcome me or if they actually wanted me to offer some sort of salutation to the country. 

I’ll try to describe a bit of the reality so you can try to picture life here.  Southern Sudan is the size of Spain and France put together.  It has 25km (15 miles) of paved roads in the entire country.  The rest are made of dirt—the color of blood, or dried blood when it rains—and are so rough that 2 hours in the car makes you feel like you got kicked by a horse.  People walk all day long in incredible heat to get from place to place.  Most women never seem to stop working.  Many men never seem to start. 

A new country looks like anything else that is new—it is full of people who know they should be doing something but don’t quite know what to do.  Public offices are piled to the ceilings—literally in the case of the country registration office—with folders and documents.  Police sit in chairs next to intersections watching the world go by, waiting for people to break rules that only they themselves know.  After years of struggling for independence, united against a common enemy, the country now teeters on tearing itself apart, divided along tribal lines while vying for power and land begins 

On a daily basis, I am helping local government and NGO’s set up a conflict early warning and early response system to help prevent the escalation of violence across three counties in one of the 10 states.  I live with 3 colleagues: a woman from Zimbabwe and two men from Kenya and Uganda, respectively.  I meet inspiring individuals deeply committed to transforming their environment and I have bizarre meetings with officials—whom you have to address as “your excellency”—who sit behind huge desks in offices that look like a Hawaiian luau gone awry with recycled plastic and tissue paper everywhere. 

Like most people in the villages, I live in a mud house with a straw roof.  I squat to shit in a hole in the ground.  I watch men as they walk around with bows and arrows, poisoned with snake venom, that they use to kill wild game or people from other tribes for what-seems-like any excuse they can muster: e.g. when others allow their cows to pass through their pastures, whether there are crops or not.  It is a land ravaged by conflict, poverty, and inter-tribal hatred.   In a very real sense (and being very aware of how it may sound) things haven’t changed much since the Bronze Age, except that I see cars every once in a while and I am typing on a computer in the middle of all of it.  In a word, it is wild.

There are nuggets of gold throughout, however.  People smile, wave, and constantly say, “How are you? I am fine” without giving space for me to actually respond to the question.  I see things on a daily basis that make me laugh: e.g. yesterday a pregnant woman walking down the street with a shirt on that read, “I can abstain. How about you?” or a guy pushing a homemade wheelbarrow wearing a Santa Claus hat, even when it was sweltering outside. Before they meet their Maker, I see the chickens and goats that end up on my plate.  Mangos weigh down the trees until branches break.  The government is very open to collaborate with peace-related NGO’s—a nice change from other places I’ve been.  The African sky is gigantic, the clouds some of the most expressive I have ever seen, and the stars are intense.  Finally, meetings, car trips, and everything else begin with prayer.  (It is ironic that in the West and lands of abundance it is at times challenging to find someone who believes in God.  Here, it is impossible to find someone who doesn’t…I guess that when is nothing else to hold onto, the Christ’s robe is what remains.)

Being here is challenging on many levels.  In 11 years of traveling the world, I have never seen an environment that is so menacing.  Everything is hard here.  The dry season brings extreme heat and dust.  The wet season brings a bit cooler weather, but also pandemic malaria and other diseases.  Pretty much everything here can kill you: the water, the food, the mosquitoes, the heat, the bats in the bedroom at night, the scorpions and spiders that are the size of a fist.  It can hit 42 degrees (107) during the day and doesn’t feel much better at night.  Before bed, I take a shower with a shirt and boxers on and then lie completely soaked to enjoy the phenomenon of evaporation for a couple hours before I wake up drenched in my own sweat.  I actually feel dehydrated in the mornings and exhausted—like I spent 8 hours hiking a mountain, not sleeping. 

In addition, I have never seen death so close.  The Civil war (1983-2005) left 2,000,000 in its wake—or 253 people killed per day for 22 years straight.  The ones who survived are not in the best of shape.  Since I have been here, I have seen multiple funeral processions and have met many people whose sister, brother, or aunt had recently passed away.  I went with my colleague to the burial preparations of his grandmother.  Women sat around the body—which was wrapped up and covered by a mosquito net—wailing, singing, playing simple music on simple homemade drums.  The men took turns digging the grave in dirt so hard it made much of those foundations I excavated in Tijuana look like warm butter.  During the ceremony, I leaned over to ask my colleague how old she was.  He looked at me with grieving eyes and said, “130.”

Bewildered, I asked my other colleague, “Is that possible?”  He said, “Of course; 3 of my grandparents were over 105.  Before mass-produced food, they ate pure things from the earth, killed their own animals, and lived with relatively little stress.”  I thought about my friend from Uganda whose father is currently 108 and the head of 5 generations (i.e. his grandchildren have grandchildren) spanning literally thousands of human beings.  I realized that people here could very well live to 130 and the world would never know since, unfortunately, the world seems to care little for who lives or dies or how old they are in places like Southern Sudan.  It truly is a glimpse of another reality.

To finish, I’ll share one recent inspiring encounter.  It continues to hold true in my experiences that in the most barren lands, one finds the biggest trees.  Last week, while training 12 people in a very remote training center, I spent time with the founder: a simple, unassuming Ethiopian man by the name of Dr. Legassi.  He has lived in political exile for the last 40 years for working against repressive regimes in his home country and now trains local farmers how to grow crops in a sustainable way while coexisting with cattle keepers (one of the biggest conflicts here).  He asked me where I was from.  When I said Montana, he said, “Oh, I’ve never been there.”  As I looked around where we were, I thought, “big surprise.”  Then he said, “but, I’ve been to 42 states.”  I think my jaw dropped a bit.  Then he continued, “and, I’ve been to every country in Europe except Albania…I think 114 countries in all.”  He told me that while doing his Phd in Sweden, he shined shoes at the Sheraton Hotel to make money.  In 1984, the prince of Saudi Arabia visited, rented 3 floors for his entourage, and asked for a shine one day.  When Dr. Legassi finished, the prince wrote him a check.  They bid farewell.  Then, Dr. Legassi looked at the check to discover that the prince paid him $28,000usd.  He used it to buy an apartment, travel the world, and in the end, to settle down with his wife in one of the most troubled countries in the world to assemble a community of gentle people, committed to building something beautiful together.  He’s nearly 70 years old and walks up to 50 miles deep into the bush to find farmers to train who can then go out and demonstrate another way of being.  He is one of the most humble and joyful people I have ever met.  I hope his witness can be a source of inspiration for you as it has for me.

To end, all in all, it is good to be here.  I have found that as I get older, the tentacles of comfort and security reach out in stronger ways and represent the two greatest challenges to my own inner growth and fulfillment.  Southern Sudan is a shocking experience, driving me quite far from either of these things.  It is teaching me a great deal, though nothing more important than the fact that suffering brings either liberation when surrendered to or more suffering when attempts are made to avoid it.   It is fitting that I should again feel the sense of awe I felt so many years ago in El Salvador, especially as I begin to transition away from the war-torn trenches of the world to focus on some other dreams with Fernanda (who’s in the West Bank with Medicines Sans Fronteirs [Doctors without Borders] doing some amazing work as a trauma psychologist treating Palestinians affected by the conflict).  We are happy. 

All is well.  In Sudan, as in elsewhere else, life is; death is; in between we celebrate.  A good friend of mine recently said, “Life is about doing what we can, not about being overwhelmed by what we cant.” 

I wish you all strength in doing what you can.  Thank you for your presence in my life.

In peace,

Robert Rivers

Mundri, Western Equitoria

Postscript

by Seamus Heaney

And some time make the time to drive out west
Into County Clare, along the Flaggy Shore,
In September or October, when the wind
And the light are working off each other
So that the ocean on one side is wild
With foam and glitter, and inland among stones
The surface of a slate-grey lake is lit
By the earthed lightening of flock of swans,
Their feathers roughed and ruffling, white on white,
Their fully-grown headstrong-looking heads
Tucked or cresting or busy underwater.
Useless to think you'll park or capture it
More thoroughly.  You are neither here nor there,
A hurry through which known and strange things pass
As big soft buffetings come at the car sideways
And catch the heart off guard and blow it open