Parts Unknown, or How a Great Mind Taught Us to Be Better
"Maybe that's enlightenment enough: to know that there is no final resting place of the mind, no moment of smug clarity. Perhaps wisdom ... is realizing how small I am, and unwise, and how far I have yet to go" (A. Bourdain).
I just fell in love instantly with the show, the concept, and each episode. The way Bourdain would narrate each place he visited would awake something that I longed ever since I moved from France to the US: traveling. It is not just the food and the connections he created when filming all parts of the world that resonated with me, it is the way he is taking us on a private tour and taught us not just the gastronomical facets of a culture, but its history, complexity, as well as the challenges it faced and what each region tries to do to overcome them.
Bourdain became a historian, a chef, and curator, a tourist, and an environmentalist, but more than anything else a story teller. He was able to find the most remote places and exposed their beauty, their secrets, and their tortured histories.
This empathic way of approaching a different culture just opened my eyes to see beyond a place and to try to understand its context, its narrative and peculiarities. The episode on Mexico takes us not only through all the food stalls and typical tacos joints, it showed the dependence America has with its workers working the fields as well as the tension arising from the wall being built and expanded. It is with food though that Bourdain discussed all of these sensitive topics, rallying and unifying opponents and critics around a meal. He was raw and unapologetic and was able to engage in a constructive discussion while sharing wine and food.
To walk in someone else's shoes to see how one lives was his advice and soon a motto I embraced. Traveling is one of the best ways to learn and I can't express how invaluable he was to the community. He made us dream of places and took us on adventures that connected us to all parts of the world. To say that his show opened my eyes and deepened my understanding of different cultures is an understatement. His impact was truly immeasurable.
Anthony Bourdain
<em>Parts Unknown: Mexico</em>
Sorya Or, 42, High school Social Studies teacher
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Human Grace
In 2009, when I was a freshman in college, I went to France and Germany at the end of a year-long seminar exploring the emergence of European nationalism after 1848. As I majored in History and Art History & Archaeology, this class was right up my alley, so to speak. And not to mention, we traveled to Paris and Berlin! <br /><br />Naturally, we spent one day exploring the Louvre museum. I was ecstatic to see some of the world's most revered works of the art. I now had the opportunity to see with my own eyes the very pieces that I had spent hours studying and analyzing. One of the first pieces I sought out was a work by Sandro Botticelli--I believe it was <em>Venus and the Three Graces</em>. I stood there mesmerized and soon realized I was crying. <br /><br />Something clicked for me that day. Perhaps it was the fact that this fresco had survived centuries and, despite its cracks, continued to inspire awe and contemplation. These figures still conveyed such beauty and grace. For me, it was the realization that these works, whose reproductions in textbooks seemed so two-dimensional, were tangible items created by human hands and genius. I carry that understanding and respect with me today, especially as I handle artifacts in museums and archives or read original primary source documents.
Sandro Botticelli
<em>Venus and the Three Graces Presenting Gifts to a Young Woman</em>
2009
Lindsey Waldenberg, 31, Public History Ph.D. Student
human-grace
My Service in the Navy Sparked a Lifelong Interest in Other Cultures
Teacher Lou Nachman discusses how his experiences overseas in the Navy changed him from an indifferent student to embrace life as a teacher and enthusiastic traveler.<br /><br />For Nachman, works of literature such as <em>Big Fish</em> or <em>To Kill a Mockingbird</em> forge an appreciation of human connections in the midst of apparent differences. In doing so, he says, they urge us to reflect on our own place in the world: how do we think, and how do we <em>want</em> to think?
Novels such as <em>Big Fish</em> and <em>To Kill a Mockingbird</em>
Lou Nachman, Charlotte Mecklenburg School District, NC
navy-other-cultures
Don’t Understand Me Too Quickly
<p>Fresh out of graduate school, Jon Parrish Peede embraced the chance to travel, arriving in Eastern Europe during the dissolution of Czechoslovakia. A last-minute decision to see the opera <em>Don Giovanni</em> in Vienna—and a startling conversation with a local ticket-taker—opened his eyes to the double-edged legacy of American military intervention. During that same trip, a somber pilgrimage to the former German Nazi Auschwitz extermination camp and museum in Poland offered yet another perspective on World War II.</p>
<p>Peede’s encounters with the humanities complicated his understanding of the world around him. For him, they impart a lesson articulated by the French writer Andre Gide: “Don’t understand me too quickly.” The history contained in music or memorials, Peede reflects, is a “web” with living, breathing implications. In these cases, the importance of the moments lies not as much in what happened then as much as what they add up to in retrospection.</p>
Jon Parrish Peede, Chairman of the National Endowment for the Humanities
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Scottish Highlands
I've always loved to travel, and one of my favorite parts is getting to have a connection to the place that in our classrooms we refer to in the abstract. It makes the history more tangible, real, and often provides perspective that we don't get from secondary sources. While travelling in Scotland last summer, I did one of those seemingly cheesy bus tours that carts you around to different scenic and historic locations.
The legacy of English rule and colonization is still very present and visceral to the Scottish people. Hearing the stories being told about the breaking of the clans, the violence towards rebels, and seeing some of those monuments lent a viewpoint that I hadn't really been privy to. This was a topic that I had learned mostly from an English perspective, minus a movie or TV show here and there. Watching "Braveheart" is one thing, but hearing a descendant of a Scottish rebel speak of the events as though he were there is another. Standing in Glencoe valley and hearing of the skirmishes that occurred adds another layer of understanding. To this day, the experience makes me reconsider the phrase "History is written by the victor." What other perspectives are we missing by staying in one place?
A summer trip to Edinburgh, Scotland
July, 2018
Sarah Murphy, Teacher in Virginia
scottish-highlands
Beauty in the Bull
This past summer, I traveled to Seville, Spain, with my family. One of the oldest traditions in Seville and many other parts of Spain is bull fighting. While we were visiting, there happened to be one occurring at the Real Maestranza de Caballeria de Sevilla, a local stadium. At first, I was hesitant to go. No one else on our tour group wanted to attend because in the United States, we typically view bull fighting as an act of animal cruelty and do not understand the cultural aspect behind it.
However, once I arrived at the stadium, I saw how the Spanish valued bull fighting. All ages and types of people gathered at the ancient stadium dressed in fancy clothing. My family and I, the only non-locals there, were shocked by the number of people who attended and were slightly underdressed for the occasion. The matadors, dressed in glittering costumes, were like local heroes. During the fight, music was surprisingly incorporated into the three rounds. After the bull dies, the meat was used to feed the poor and less fortunate so it did not go to waste.
Bull fighting is a Spanish tradition and aspect of culture that I could not understand the beauty of before I attended. In the future, I want to experience more traditions in different countries so I can see how the local people interact with them instead of basing my idea of the tradition on preconceived notions.
July 2019
Claire Batchelor, 18, Student
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A Memorable Experience in Seville, Spain
This summer I had the opportunity to visit the beautiful country of Spain with my granddaughter, grandson, daughter and son. On past vacations, observing the cultures of other countries has been an amazing learning experience. And so it was, when we attended a Bullfight in Seville (the Andalusian capital)! I admit I had mixed emotions about witnessing the killing of bulls, but when the opportunity presented itself, I knew I had to see first hand what this “sport” means to the people of Spain.
We arrived early at the Real Maestranza de Caballeria de Sevilla, which has a 12,000 seat capacity, and we were immediately transformed into another “world!" The atmosphere was exuberant with people, including families, awaiting the arrival of the toreros (the bullfighters). One could grab a “pre-bullfight beer” at one of many nearby bars and become immersed in the crowds about 20 minutes before the bullfight. Many were autograph-seekers, journalists, and local fans, discussing the evening’s event while awaiting the arrival of the toreros.
Upon entering the bull ring, we found our seats which were numbered on a concrete bench. I immediately was in awe of the spectacle of the local fans and their excitement of what’s to come. Okay, here comes the pageantry… A trumpet sounded and the event began. There was music and cheering as the matadors, with their exquisite attire, along with riders on decorated horses paraded around the arena. At first, the formality of the bullfight was lost on us, but we quickly were consumed with this amazing and colorful display of an important part of Seville’s culture.
My family and I learned some specifics about the formality of the evening. Over the course of the three-hour spectacle, three toreros perform in the rink with each responsible for killing two bulls. The bullfight is further divided into three separate stages, each lasting about twenty minutes. The first, the picador, happens when the toreros use their pink capes to check out the robustness of the bulls. The second part, called the banderillas, is a sad time for those who are empathic to this action. Three pairs of zagged sticks are placed in the bull’s hide close to its shoulder. Again, the expressive dance continues between the torero and the bull and, if it is praiseworthy, the music will begin to play. For the safely of the matador, his assistants are placed in strategic exits around the ring, ready to jump in and dissuade the bull if necessary.
The final portion, called the faena, is a combination of the bullfighter’s expertise, including quick passes with his cape, and the bull’s agility. There is a rule this final portion cannot go over ten minutes, less the trumpet sounds as a reminder.
There is more fanfare as the audience makes a judgment on the evening’s bullfights. As a reward to a torero who has performed well, the fans wave white handkerchiefs. This gesture means requesting the president to offer the torero one of the bull’s ear, and if the faena has been a really great success, two bull’s ears will be offered to him.
Bullfighting is looked upon as controversial in many parts of the world but to the people of Seville and other parts of Spain, this culture dates back to the Roman times. On July 11, 2019, I learned to understand the pageantry, emotions, and all-encompassing love the people of Sevilla have for bullfighting. This tradition is a part of the Sevillano culture that brings the Spanish people together to celebrate.
July 11, 2019
Ellie Perrier, 81, Mount Holyoke College, '07, Retired Administrative Assistant
memorable-experience-in-seville-spain
Keeping the Otavalenos Culture
My Humanities Moment started when I moved with my family from Utah to Ecuador in July 2019. My family is originally from Venezuela but moved to the United States many years ago. I am currently living in Ecuador because my dad is the mission president for the Church of Jesus Christ in the Quito North area. This has required us to travel to multiple cities; one of those cities is Otavalo. I thought it was going to be like any other modern, updated country, but when I arrived in Otavalo I realized that everyone was dressed in their traditional clothing. I became very interested in their attire, since all the other cities I visited in Ecuador people wore the common clothing we see in the United States. Therefore, I began to ask around for details about their clothing and if there were symbolisms behind each piece.
The females in Otavalo, starting from a young age, wear a white blouse which is embroidered with flowers. Having the shirt embroidered by hand represents the dedication and wealth of the woman wearing it. The skirt and Alpargatas vary in color depending on the tribe the person was born into. Most Otavaleno females use a black skirt with black Alpargatas. Then comes the shawls and scarves, that depending on the material and thickness, represent the wealth in the family. They use these shawls as a cover-up to protect them from the sun. The most interesting part for me was the jewelry. Of course if you have gold that shows how rich the person is, but that is not it; Otavaleno women wear 10 or more gold necklaces so that people can see she is royal or rich.
The males wear white shirts and pants with a blue poncho, and on special occasions they wear hats as well. Again the Alpargatas depend on the tribe, but the males usually use white Alpargatas. The interesting thing that all males do is grow their hair from a young age, maintain it in a braid and never cut it. Even the government understands the importance of them doing this, so that when Otavalenos enter the army they are not required to cut their hair. The length of the hair, when they are older, represents the wisdom in the man. They say “ the longer the grey hair is the wiser they are.” I thought it was fascinating that their hair represents wisdom for them and how they continue to believe in that.
I began to ask the Otavalenos why they continued to wear the clothing that their ancestors wore. One sir said “ It is a respect for those in our past and we continue to honor them by maintaining the culture.” That response shocked me because even though my family and I kept some culture, we didn’t honor the whole culture of our ancestors. I realized how important it was for the Otavalenos to maintain their whole culture and to teach their children at a young age the life of their ancestors. I admired how whether rain or shine, young or old, male or female, rich or poor ;they continued to embrace their culture proudly.
This moment made me realize that there are smaller towns and cities that still keep their culture alive and do not modernize like the bigger cities do. This has influenced me to increase my knowledge and be more interested about new and different cultures. Since that moment I learned about the Otavalenos and their culture I became more interested in my own Venezuelan culture. I plan to pass this knowledge down to my future family so they can see how a culture can be so important to some people. I am grateful for this moment because it has opened my mind in seeing the power a culture can have in a life and how important it can be.
Visiting a little city in Ecuador
July 2019
Esther Chacon, 18 year old student
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Reflections on the Banks of the Tiber
Like so many significant events throughout the history of the Western world, my humanities moment begins on the banks of the River Tiber in Rome. I had just crossed the Ponte Sisto bridge and was standing at the crosswalk to Piazza Trilussa in the Trastevere neighborhood. The sky was crystal clear and had the color of deep blue topaz, and the sun was bearing down in an unforgivable blaze. Only three minutes prior I had been hellbent on making it back to my AirBnB as quickly as possible; I desperately needed an hour or two of rest and relaxation in air conditioning.
But the Tiber pulled me back.
I asked my spouse Brandon if he minded my turning back to get a photo. Ever the Type-B match to my persistently Type-A personality, he said it was no problem, even though I know he was just as ready to be back our apartment as I was.
I approached the bridge’s short wall and gazed out. The river was moving at an even pace, but its motion looked lazy in comparison to the times that I had visited Rome in the spring—when the snow from the Alps melted into the tributaries and flooded rivers like the Tiber with a rush of new life and renewed possibility.
I recalled a Horace poem that I read during a summer Latin language-learning intensive I attended three years prior. It was not a particularly inclusive environment. The institute taught Latin via the nineteenth-century-style grammar-syntax model, demanding its students to learn the language, not as a vibrant cultural milieu brimming with life and storytelling, but as if it were a mathematical equation to be decoded and solved. In this program, there was no room for nuance.
As a burgeoning literary scholar, I struggled with this model because my entire academic career had been built on the notion that meaning and context are fluid. So, when I encountered one of Horace’s Carmina describing the Tiber as yellow, I was baffled by the adjective/noun agreement. Bordering frustration, I asked an instructor of the institute, and he casually (and not a little derisively) explained that if I had ever been to Rome, I would know that the river looked yellow.
Having not had the resources to travel abroad in well over a decade, I felt ashamed, small, and provincial. It was July 2016 at this time, and the preceding August I lost my mother to a long-term illness that none of us knew she had. Her passing was quick, but the grief stuck around. This instructor’s condescension cut deeper than my ineptitude at translating Latin poetry. It felt like an indictment of my life, the choices I made, and the opportunities that had not been afforded to me.
The only amelioration was my summer study group that year, the group of underdogs that kept me tethered to the Earth and from going completely mad.
(I should note, we were the underdogs not because we were somehow lesser than intellectually, but because we were all pursuing advanced degrees in higher education. We all were also, it should be known, the only students in the entire program who fit into some category of “minority” student; we were either female, or BIPOC, or LGBTQ+, or first-gen, or a combination of all the above. But we persisted, and all of us managed to hobble over the finish line after three months of intensive study.)
When I saw for myself the yellow tinge of the Tiber last summer, this pedagogical memory came flooding back to me.
But instead of feeling sad or sorrowful, I felt empowered—vindicated, even—because I was in Rome for a professional reason. I was invited to present a paper at the European Shakespeare Research Association, an experience that would eventually lead to my first peer-reviewed publication the following spring. The inclusivity I felt in that moment resonated greatly with me.
Unlike my experience three years prior, my voice was valued and sought after. I mattered.
My education and language-acquisition struggles being what they were, it gave me perspective. Yes, I can see for myself now that the river looks yellow. It is a beautiful sight, to be sure, but the yellow river is not all that different from the brackish waters I grew up with in Mississippi.
I can guarantee, however, that I will convey this piece of trivia in a more accessible way to my students, those like myself, who a few years prior was someone with little cultural capital but the rapacious desire to research, to learn, and with a little help of my friends, to lift myself out of a life that felt inescapable.
Tiber River in Rome, IT
July 2019
Alexander Lowe McAdams, literary scholar and dedicated pedagogue
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Photographing Rome
When I was 5 years old, my family and I gathered around the Christmas tree bright and early on Christmas morning. I was more than excited when I unwrapped a small handheld camera that was pink and orange, and about half the size of a dollar bill. The screen on the camera was less than half an inch wide and tall, and the camera could only hold about 3 photos at a time. Still, I was ecstatic. I would walk around the house and take pictures of my family, and then delete them right away so I could take a couple more. This planted the roots for my love of photography. On a trip to Italy, that love blossomed.
Around the time I was ten years old, my family and I decided to stop doing presents for Christmas and take vacations instead. This became one of my favorite traditions very quickly. In 2018, we took our first trip to Europe. We spent a majority of the time in Italy, specifically the Rome region. We decided to stay around there because the art and architecture was inspiring. Before the trip, I decided to purchase my first DSLR camera. I practiced using it for the weeks leading up to the trip, but the trip felt like some kind of final exam. It felt like a test that I had been studying for for weeks, and this was my chance to prove my knowledge.
I fell in love with Italy after one day of being there. The pasta and gelato was definitely a factor, but there was something about the energy and the culture that really just changed me as a person. It was my first big exposure to a country outside of North America. Every day we were there was a learning experience, but I didn’t want to let the time just slip through my fingers. I knew at this moment that this was my test. Yes, it was a test I assigned to myself. But I knew that I had to find a way to capture the feeling I was experiencing over there.
Less than a week into our trip, we decided to take a tour called “Rome in a Day”. We started at a small coffee shop in the shadows of the Colosseum. We walked around and through all of the big architectural landmarks. We would spend about an hour at each location, then leave to check out a new city, museum, or town square that was historically famous. There was something humbling, grounding, and almost magical about being right next to the Colosseum. I had seen it in photos, but the photos were nothing like what I experienced.
So I pulled out my camera, adjusted the settings, and began trying to recreate the scene exactly as I was experiencing it. I did this at every structure or town that we went to. I wanted to focus on getting everything from my perspective, because it was a powerful experience to me. Being in a country where they don’t speak English, and my Italian was far from understandable, it was comforting to see everyone taking photos from different places. While everyone’s photos would turn out different, it felt unifying to know that we were all connecting through the click of our cameras. We all had one thing in common, and that was that we never wanted to forget that moment.
Throughout the rest of the trip I continued to take many many photos. At the end of each day, I would go back to our house and spend hours looking at them and editing them. The photos I took in Rome are still some of my favorites to this day, and I could say the same about that vacation. Rome was magical. Photographing it was even more magical.
Rome, Italy
December 2018
Hayley Susov, HS Senior
photographing-rome
Le Magic School Bus
No, it wasn’t the real Magic School Bus from the books and TV. But one of my most poignant humanities moments did happen on a bus. And I did learn a lot from it. And, yes, the bus was French.
I grew up in Arizona in a monolingual family. I studied French in my last years of high school because I needed it to graduate. I loved it. I loved it more than I loved any other subject ever before. So much so that I majored in French and History in college. I aced my French classes. Then I started taking Spanish and Italian. Languages came really easy to me. Growing up with a brother who had known he was going to be a pilot from the age of five, I thought that maybe I had finally found ‘my thing’.
In 2010, I took a job opportunity to move to Lyon, France as an English Teaching Assistant through a bilateral program between French and American embassies. I arrived and had the normal struggles adjusting to a new city and to how quickly people spoke French. I left the U.S. with my straight A grades and the language in my mind as a bunch of binary code of 0s and 1s that could be pulled out of my mind to fit any situation.
Except for the bus.
About two thirds of the way into my one year contract was when I had my humanities moment that still serves as a reference today. As is required in a French memory, I was on my way to meet my friends at a cafe and was running late. I was speed walking through the main square in the center of town growing more and more anxious about being late, proof that I was still not as French as I had liked to think. As I was rushing, getting my heart rate up, and tensing up all of my muscles to try to walk even faster, I noticed an idle bus facing the general direction I needed to go. As I walked up to the door, the driver opened it and I came gusting into the bus out of breath.
In the process of making eye contact with the driver, I asked in French, ‘Does this bus go to [name of cafe’s street]?’
The bus driver sat up straight and looked at me for an extended moment before saying very seriously ‘Mademoiselle, we say hello to each other first. We don’t just ask. So, let’s begin again. Bonjour Monsieur.' His attempt to instruct me on how to be polite can be very easily considered rude, but that didn’t faze me because I had already felt the weighty guilt of making cultural missteps.
The bus didn’t go where I needed to go, so I got off and the driver drove on. I was very late to meet my friends. However, I stood on the street corner for a minute or two thinking about what happened. I thought about how I took my knowledge of the French language and framed it in my American habits of often being quick and in a rush. I began to realize the real world of language and cultural competence is just as important, if not more important, to learning a language. There are different styles of formality, salutation, turn-taking, interactions with strangers, etc. It wasn’t just the 0s and 1s that my French degree gave me. There were also 3s, 8s, 5s, and maybe even a few exclamation points mixed into the code. It was a rich world of human interaction that was accessed by travel. This has led me to language and its social implications. This has led me to sociolinguistics and researching language and belonging. So, this magic school bus did actually end up taking me somewhere I needed to go and it got me there just in time.
Travel
2010
Ashley Coogan, 34, PhD Student in Linguistics & Applied Linguistics, Arizona State University
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Scotland the Brave and The Flower of Scotland: A Wee Moment with Huge Impact
We tend to remember "firsts" in our lives. Hopefully we recognize the importance and value of experiences as we live through them. My first travel overseas was as an undergraduate on a semester study abroad to Stirling University in Scotland. It was absolute magic! All the experiences associated with travel - language, food, smells, conversation, relationships, sounds - were amplified because it was my first experience like this. I recall the side trips to Orkney, Portree, London, Bath, and Edinburgh equally to the moments on campus as a student studying history and education in another nation. In Scotland I discovered soccer, Caravaggio, William Wallace, scotch, hiking, history, music, other people and, most importantly, my self. Traveling overseas as a student is an experience that is hard to replicate in another part of your life. I tried, by working in another country for six years, but the student experience provides a unique moment in time that can't fully be recreated later. I encourage students in college to make this experience of their college career. Some fear they will be missing something by leaving. You won't.
And I remember that semester as if it happened yesterday and is happening now.
Stirling, Scotland
1994
Craig Perrier, 48, Social Studies Curriculum Specialist and Adjunct
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Enjoy Your Life
Hong Kong is a prosperous and fast-paced city. Last month, i went to Peng Chau, which is an outlying island, to get away from the stress of the city. There are some residential districts on the island, but it is different from other outlying islands such as Lamma Island and Cheung Chau. Most tourists would choose to go to Lamma Island or Cheung Chau because there are more spots for tourists to visit. However, I think Peng Chau is a spot off the beaten path. Most people don't see the beauty of it. When I arrived at Peng Chau, it was already around 5 o'clock. There were some elderly people sitting in chairs and chatting with their friends or enjoying the scenery. This scene was really incredible because most of the citizens in Hong Kong are busy working and studying. I wandered around observing what people were doing. I discovered that they was enjoying their life and weren't doing things in a hurry. An hour later, I sat down to watch the spectacular sunset. The beauty of the sunset is indescribable. The trip to Peng Chau let me get a close-up of myself. Most of the time, I just stay at home and watch YouTube or concentrate on studying. I seldom slow down and enjoy my life, but after visiting Peng Chau, I've found that I spend more time with my thoughts.
Peng Chau, Hong Kong
2021
Anna Chan, 18, Student
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Global Education Beyond the Classroom: Engaging the World through Scholarship
For many years, I have challenged myself to advocate for global education and international studies across the world. I have read many books, travelled on my own, and engaged with other people about culture, traditions, and politics. I have formed relationships that connect people across a host of competing ideologies, religion, and beliefs that sometimes conflicted with my own thoughts. However, these contradictions challenged and inspired me to keep pursuing research and unlock such contradictions by participating in a host of scholarship competitions around the world. I have competed with thousands of scholars and researchers to earn opportunities for scholarships and funded programs. I am on a global quest to visit 10 countries and gain a variety of my own Humanities Moments. I have been face-to-face with a WWII Japanese soldier who believed his mission was his destiny, visited North Korea clandestinely to understand how the South felt about the war, learned about the travails of a Filipino family because of the influence of the Spanish conquest on their culture, seen the desperate experiences of the Bantu folks in Soweto in post-Apartheid who still struggle to find their identity and culture, and seen the eyes of our students when they sit among others in an International Competition during the World Animation Championship for Children in Greece. Each of these events triggered my Humanities Moments and will always continue to inspire and challenge me to also keep mentoring our students to do the same.
Travel through the Fulbright Program, the South Korea Foundation, the Rotary Foundation, the European Union, the Toyota of North America Foundation, and the Institute of International Education
1986-2021
Dr. Conrad Ulpindo
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