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Unpacking Folk Medicine.Medical anthropology is the study of human health and disease, health care systems, and bio-cultural adaptation. To put it simply, a medical anthropologist researches the aspects that define the health of today’s populations. He or she will often compare the defining factors with the health of past populations, looking at changes between cultural and ethic groups and determining what’s going wrong with a society’s health system and how it might move forward. The field is a highly interdisciplinary one, linking anthropology to sociology, economics, and geography, as well as to medicine, nursing, and public health. The research medical anthropologists do is incredibly applicable and necessary as it attempts to explain why certain diseases affect a population or why cultural standards may impact medical practices in a particular region. This kind of research is needed in all types of places, from universities to nonprofits to government organizations. Most importantly the research helps contribute to bettering medical services for groups of people in underprivileged societies. In order to get this kind of research, a profession commonly spends several months living among the people they are studying and figuring out how they live and what they believe. This is where linguistics and anthropology really link together. Medical anthropologists will do interviews with the people around them and learn about the state of health or medicine in that community They might spend time with an African tribe that has been isolated from the outside world and develop ways to better educate the tribe on medical safety and procedures.
It is not just learning, but a helping hand to a group of people who may need changes to the health care they are providing when it comes to taking precautions against certain infections. It's a field that seeks to not only better our own understanding of history in regards to our well-being and medical practices, but also aims to change the future, as well. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Fishing is a hobby to some and to others, a sport. However, there are those whose life revolves around the sea and the hunt for the most marvelous catch. Commercial fishing can be very lucrative if you happen to capture a large Bluefin tuna, the most expensive of which sold for $1.8 million dollars! There’s a huge market for exotic or rare sea dwelling creatures and where there’s demand, there’s money to be made. With the right catch, a person could be set for life. But, for many a fisherman, the honor and fame bestowed upon one for capturing one of the most rare beasts of the sea is more a matter of pride than the purse. Perhaps you’re wondering, “How can I get in on this?” Whether for fame or fortune, the answer is the same: The Leviathan. The myth of the Leviathan is as old as known history. Several cultures bare record to its immense size and fierce behavior. Its description in biblical scriptures is that of a colossal monster with scales so tightly knit together that an arrow or sword couldn’t avail to pierce its hide. Its teeth are so numerous and sharp and its limbs and form, so long and elegant.
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An Abandoned Relic, a Lost Cemetery, and a HeroineBy Kontra QuailBellMagazine.com An Introduction “While we’re here, you should see Mr. Smedley.” I have just met Andrew Phinney for the first time, and we are strolling down a dirt road behind John Marshall High School on the North Side of Richmond, Virginia. A few yards away, a police officer walks a German shepherd into the bomb squad office, oddly situated just over the school’s property line. Andrew stops at a chain link fence and gestures to a statue lying face down in the dirt on the other side. “Here’s Mr. Smedley. This was done by the same guy that did Bojangles.” The statue isn’t just lying on the ground, but is more accurately in the dirt, its face totally buried. And yet, there’s something about the character’s posture, its lean, that definitely reminds me of the famous Bojangles statue a few miles away in Jackson Ward. This is not the reason we’ve met here today. We have more interesting things to discuss. But he seems to be making a point: The small area of land that surrounds us is teeming with the unknown, having somehow become Richmond’s forgetting ground. Andrew’s story – the one we’re actually here to discuss – begins with a plaque. He won’t tell me where he got it, and I get the sense that it might be best if he didn’t. All he can say is that it was abandoned as trash amidst a virtual treasure trove of neat stuff. “[T]here were pianos, wheelchairs, boxes of 1940s photographs…all sorts of cool Richmond history. I ended up with the plaque.” While the word “plaque” tends to conjure up the image of something small and wooden, the tablet in question is a large, white stone relic that reads: In memory of Miss Robbie Yeager, whose life was surrendered in faithful performance of duty as nurse in the city hospital. Died January 3, 1903 After he first acquired it, Andrew briefly searched the internet for the name, but found nothing. It sat in his front yard for a year before he decided to try again. This time, century-old archives of the Richmond Times-Dispatch began to unveil a fascinating story. Discovering Robbie Yeager In the summer of 1902, a 21-year-old woman named Robbie Yeager moved into Richmond from Culpeper County. Her mother had already died, and it was perhaps this experience that prompted her to start the nurse’s training program that assigned her to “City Hospital” right across from Shockoe Cemetery in Gilpin. Late that year, there were several outbreaks of smallpox in the area, one of which infected a man named Mr. Cox, who was visiting from North Carolina. While smallpox wouldn’t be officially eradicated for many decades, the medical community had long since understood that it was a highly contagious illness with no real treatment. You either died or you didn’t. Despite this danger, Robbie volunteered to tend to Mr. Cox in his time of illness. No record exists of whether Mr. Cox survived. What we do know is that Robbie Yeager contracted smallpox as she nursed him. The disease wracked her body with “several weeks of the most intense agony," during which time she was strictly quarantined. Even her family could not see her or stand beside her bed as she lay dying. During the final days, doctors kept her alive with oxygen, but this could not save her. The moment she was pronounced dead, two weeks after she took ill, the Board of Health took charge of the body and buried it. Her funeral resembled her final days: lonely and quiet. As Andrew read through the available stories of this young woman, it was clear that her bravery in the face of such a lethal disease had struck a nerve with her patients and with the city of Richmond. She was the beautiful, young, compassionate heroine of the medical community. Headlines declared her a “Martyr of Her Duty”, and it was reported that “[a]t the news of her death yesterday afternoon old men broke down and wept, and last night there was a general air of mourning throughout the building. Each inmate felt that he or she had lost a near and dear friend.” Such a symbol did she become, that when City Council voted whether to appropriate $100 (no small sum in 1903) to commemorate her, one councilmember demanded that it be increased to $250. The proposal passed unanimously. The commemoration of Robbie Yeager, Andrew learned, was twofold: “Her grave has been surrounded by an iron railing and marked by a granite headstone. A tablet has been prepared and it will be fixed upon the walls of the hospital.” He had the tablet, but where was the grave? The Missing Cemetery The clues Andrew had to go on seemed promising enough. The articles had said that she’d been buried at the “city farm," and that there was an iron railing surrounding a granite headstone. The “city farm” had been located just beside John Marshall High School, and was used to grow food for both the jail and the hospital. But there wasn’t a grave in sight. No headstone, no iron railing. Imagine Andrew’s surprise when he found a survey of the farm from the year 1875 that showed not just a grave, but a cemetery beside the farm. It was small, probably belonging to the farmer’s family, but also seemed to be where the bodies of smallpox victims were being interred. Sometime between 1910 and 1940 it disappears from history completely, never resurfacing in any known databases. With a little help from the city’s GIS (geographic information services) office, Andrew was able to see the 1875 survey overlaid with a satellite image of the current-day area. It was clear that what used to be the final resting place of Robbie Yeager was now a half-acre storage lot owned by the city, strewn with junk and surrounded by barbed wire fencing. At some point, the cemetery had been plowed over - cleared and stripped of fencing, headstones and any other markers that Richmond’s dead lay beneath the soil. Andrew says that one official from Parks and Recreation has been out to the site with him to hear his story and take possession of Robbie’s plaque, but he’s not sure what else will come of it. My own inquiries about the matter seem lost in a bureaucratic chain of communication that holds little promise for answers about future plans for the site. For now, Robbie Yeager, the young woman whose dedication once captured the heart of Richmond, lies with an unknown number of others beneath a junk lot, the forgotten ground behind John Marshall High. As the news reported at the time: “Such a reward did fate hold in store for this Virginia girl, who was as much a heroine, a martyr to duty, as any woman who ever died for her religion or her sweetheart.” Curious about Richmond's other cemeteries? Check out RVADeadBuried.com. 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The Pros and Cons of Teaching English AbroadBy Brianna Duff QuailBellMagazine.com If you follow Quail Bell at all, I’m sure you’ve seen Brandon Jeune’s monthly installments for his series titled “Pooping in China” that follows his experiences teaching English to children in China. His stories from across the ocean are funny and chock full of the culture he’s thrown himself into, but his is only one version of what it’s like to teach abroad. It’s a complicated thing to consider, full of back-and-forths, something I’ve seen in many of my own friends as they start to consider teaching abroad after college. If you're considering teaching abroad yourself, you want to know what it's really like. Is it worth it? Or is it just an outlandish excuse for adventure? I took a minute to compile some of the pros and cons of crossing the ocean and choosing to teaching English to help you in deciding your case! Pros: It’s feasible: It’s very easy to get a job teaching English abroad. The only real requirements are that you must speak English fluently and that you have been college educated (although even that isn’t necessary for some places). Sometimes you aren’t even required to know any of the local language, those is it probably recommended that you have at least a basic handle on it, if not for the sake of just saying hello to the people you meet. Travel: If you’ve always wanted to see the world and live in a foreign country and you didn’t get the change in college – or, if you fell in love with a place while studying abroad – this allows you the chance to live in and experience an entirely new culture. You’ll get a year of being abroad and traveling, all with the benefit of a regular paycheck. New Language: Whether you go in knowing only a little of the native language or are fluent in it, teaching abroad will only help better your proficiency in the language as it is spoken in day-to-day life. It will also help with the amazing friendships you are sure to make with your students and colleagues alike. Feel-Good Factor: Teaching in an incredibly worthwhile profession no matter where you do it. And if you teach abroad, often times you are working in communities that are like not your typical affluent U.S. school system. You’re giving something to these kids that they may never have gotten anywhere else, and that is an amazing thing. Brandon Jeune with his students from "Pooping in China."
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When in Morocco...Morocco's temples alone will make your jaw drop. Browsing web pictures of Morocco, I’m amazed at how different it looks compared to the States. It made me wonder what else is different there. So I went on a search and comprised a list of 5 Moroccan cultural tidbits. Here's what I found: 1. Moroccan Etiquette If I were sent on an expedition to Morocco tomorrow, I would be frantic. I wouldn’t know how to behave so as not to offend those around me. I found that when dressing in Morocco, it is polite to wear clothes that don’t bare too much skin. So I should leave my Daisy Dukes and crop tops in the States. Another thing I found? Don’t take any photos--even selfies--unless you’ve asked permission. Be especially careful to avoid photographing government and military property. I’m better off taking memory shots of the exterior buildings and museums that allow it. ALSO, I’m right-handed, so naturally I do most things with my right hand, which works in my favor in Morocco because they reserve the left hand for bathroom activities and cleaning. Last but not least, to show my manners for someone who invited me to their house, it’s deemed polite that I bring a gift. Noted. 2. Akika In America we have celebrate our birthday every year, making an especially big deal about the 16th, 18th, and 21st birthdays with a clichéd party and tons of gifts. Well, in Morocco, the seventh day of a child’s life is super-important. It's celebrated with a ceremony known as “Akika." After the first seven days of a child’s life, relatives and neighbors attend the ceremony and chant from the Holy Quran. It is customary to sacrifice an animal for the child to remove harmful spirits. After the ceremony, there’s dancing and singing and then an announcement of the child’s name. Wow, this just puts American baby showers to shame. 3. Argan Oil I once got a tip to use Moroccan argan oil on my hair to make it shine, and boy did it ever. However, I had no idea that the oil is also used for health benefits. It can be used as a dietary supplement and a way of lowering cholesterol. I’m all for natural medications so I will be spreading the word. Moroccans also use the oil for dipping bread. I can’t believe it’s not butter! 4. Henna Henna to me has always just been cool nonpermanent designs, like tattoos that won't make your mom mad. I was oblivious to its use in Moroccan customs. Many of the symbols created with henna carry the intent to ward off the evils of black magic, eyes and mind. Henna also plays a big role at weddings; the bride adorns herself in it as a tool of seduction and to complement her dress. Henna is so important for weddings, that a whole evening is devoted to it, focusing on decorating the hands and feet of the bride. 5. Hammam As an American, the only time I’ve shared water with someone is in a swimming pool or hot tub. In Morocco they have hammams, which are public steam baths. Originally they were the only way of bathing in Morocco. Now they’re used as sort of a nostalgic thing and a common place for women to meet and chat with their friends. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
I Worked on a Southern PlantationBy Christine Stoddard QuailBellMagazine.com “Adjust your mobcap.” “Milk the cows.” “Harvest tobacco.” Up until very recently, I worked at one of Virginia's best-known plantation for a month. It was a part-time job I left when a full-time job offer came along. But during that short period, I raked up a lot of story fodder. When I went to work, I not only had to be on time—I had to go back in time. And I didn't even own a time machine. It was all about using my noggin and projecting the aura of bygone days. The morning began by waking up at 7:30 a.m., wolfing down breakfast, and hopping into the car. Then I hit Route 5, passing the thick of verdant cornfields and farmhouses fit for storybook illustrations. Civil War battlefield signs and other gray historical markers common in the Old Dominion lined the old highway. As I drew closer to the plantation, tall tree began to bow and lace their fingers high above my car, forming a shady canopy that only allowed the stubbornest of sun beams to dapple the pavement.
Finally I would spot the wooden sign before my plantation and turn right onto a long gravel driveway. At this point, I turned down the radio to listen to the chorus of birds perched in the paulownias. Once Led Zeppelin's “Stairway to Heaven” was on and it made for the perfect soundtrack. A much-needed summer breeze rustled the foliage on either side of me. In the distance, I saw the soy plants swaying back and forth under an azure sky. But this calm would not last for long. “So, how many bricks make up the manor house?” “Aren't you hot? What are you wearing under that dress? Petticoats?” “Where's the bathroom again?” My job was to run the gift shop, schedule tours, and shadow seasoned tour guides so I could one day soon give tours myself. All the while, I had to answer a range of questions about Colonial America (and sometimes about my underwear). Customers came from across the United States, as far away as Seattle, as well as from across the world. In a single day, I met folks from Germany, Denmark, Ontario, and every corner of the country. The gift shop lived in the plantation's old guest house, where the manor family would have visitors and travelers stay. Colonial Americans enjoyed guests far more often than modern Americans because transportation then was so much slower. Any hour of the day, I can get from my house in Richmond to Williamsburg in an hour. By comparison, that same trip would've taken Colonial Americans literally days by carriage or river boat. Once your friends or cousins arrived at your house, chances are they planned to stay awhile. Back then, there were slaves whose main job was to wait on guests hand and foot. The guest house, once solid brick, had been covered over with stucco the color of Virginia clay during its 1920s renovation. Otherwise, the house resembles its Colonial self, with shutters and hardwood floors like a good example of Georgian architecture. That was where I spent most of my working day, dressed in typical Tidewater cotton. Though there were never slow days, there were occasionally slow periods and during those lulls, I was fortunate enough to be surrounded by history books and unusual trinkets like finger vases. The job taught me a lot about American history (e.g., did you know the first Thanksgiving actually took place in Virginia?) and customer service (never assume someone qualifies for or even wants a senior discount), while reinforcing my love for storytelling and the human condition. No matter the era, people were and are people. Even if they wore powdered wigs and only bathed once a year. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Meet the Native Americans of the Everglades Florida has a long and compelling history, even before it was admitted into the Union. One of the chief parts of its history belongs to the Miccosukee Indians. In fact, the name Miccosukee means “the chief’s voice.” We just missed it, but July 26th was the anniversary of the Miccosukee’s international recognition as a sovereign nation by the Republic of Cuba in 1959. In honor of this, let’s take a look at the history of the Miccosukee Tribe of Indians of Florida. Are you ready? I'm ready. GO.
The Miccosukee are primarily from Upper Creek stock, originating from Southern Georgia and Northern Florida. Andrew Jackson’s Indian Removal Act of 1830 forced the majority of Miccosukee west of the Mississippi, but about 100 Mikasuki-speaking Creek fled into the Florida Everglades, which is called “Kahayatle” in Mikasuki. They joined forces with the Seminoles and other tribes to withstand European occupation in the Indian Wars of the 1800s. The Miccosukee adapted to their new environment, living in small groups in temporary “hammock-style” camps. Their houses were called “chickees” and were made of wood, plaster, thatched roofs, and perhaps raised on stilts. The clothes they wore changed to fit the environment as well. The men wore breech-cloths and elaborate tattoos. The women wore wrap around skirts made of palmetto fiber. Neither wore shirts, which is understandable because South Florida is so hot! At times I wish I could try it. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
One of the fabulous and fantastic things about working at Quail Bell Magazine is that we truly never know what will fly into our inbox. One day we'll receive a flurry of epic poems and another day we'll get bizarre photos and short stories galore. Every once in a while, a fashion designer will contact us with pictures of recent creations. That's exactly what Christine Bebeau did recently. Check out these two jackets she made! And, yeah, she runs an Etsy. -CS
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6 Unusual and Unique Tales from AfricaBy Brianna Duff QuailBellMagazine.com Stories from Africa were traditionally passed down by word of mouth. You would hear them sitting around a village fire after a long day of work with your friends and family around you. There was never “and they lived happily ever after”–most stories didn’t even end happily. The stories just taught a lesson, and usually, the person who needed teaching learned their lesson the hard way. Most of the African folktales we know today come from four collections of stories collected in the late eighteen hundreds. I have picked out six of my favorite folktales and shared them below: 1. Cloud-Eating – South African – This short little tale explains why hyenas have shorter hind legs than front ones. Spoiler: it’s all because the silly creature climbed to heaven, ate a cloud, and then trusted a jackal to catch it as it fell back down.
2. How a Hunter Obtained Money from His Friends the Leopard, Goat, Bush Cat, and Cock, and How He Got Out of Repaying Them – Nigeria – In this story, a hunter basically tricks all of his friends (man and beast alike) into giving him money and then killing each other so he gets to keep it all. Then the hunter skins one of his dead animal friends and sells the skin to become even richer. The moral of this story is never to lend money to anyone because if they can’t pay you back, they will kill you. Or poison you. (Fair advice, I’d say.) 3. The Disobedient Daughter Who Married a Skull – Nigeria – Once upon a time, a beautiful maiden married Prince Charming because they met and instantly fell in love with the other’s attractiveness. The only problem is that Prince Charming is actually just a human skull who takes his bride into a land where people want to eat her. The moral? Women should never be headstrong because then they will end up married to skulls. 4. The Curse of the Chameleon – Traditional Zulu – This story is about the wonderful and good chameleon who, while working for God, is invited to dinner by his cousin, the snake. In a bout of family obligation and general kindness, the chameleon goes to the snake’s for dinner, get swindled out of his important God-given package, and must slink away hidden for the rest of his life in shame. Also, the story explains that snakes (and faulted chameleons) are why humans get old and wrinkly. 5. Why the Moon and the Stars Receive Their Light from the Sun – West Africa – Think "Jack and the Beanstalk" with this story, except instead of a giant there is a dragon and instead of getting home to his mother rich and safe, this hero goes up to the gods, who think he’s so awesome they turn him into the sun, his father into the moon, and his friends into stars. 6. The Magician and the Sultan’s Son – Zanzibar (natives of the East Coast of Africa) – This is vaguely reminiscent of "Hansel and Gretel." A boy gets willfully abandoned by his father, finds himself in a beautiful home of a cannibal, and must trick this man into his own cooking pot in order to escape. But this story has a talking horse instead of gingerbread, which makes all the difference. It’s less about not being a chocoholic and more about being cool enough to marry the Sultan’s daughter. Still interested in African folktales? Check out this cool NPR story about Nelson Mandela's favorite folktales, a new audiobook of them read by American celebrities, and a preview of Scarlett Johansson reading one called "The Snake Chief"! The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Back in the Day with BooksBy Ian Winship QuailBellMagazine.com We all have favorite books from our childhood. The 'we' I am referring to here is you, our esteemed readers, us, the happy folks at Quail Bell, and anyone else that had stacks of books with their names scribbled in them with Crayola markers when they were young. Childhood books make us who are today. Before we were being raised by MTV and "The Simpsons," we had books. I want to talk about some of my favorite ones, what I remember about them, the lessons I learned, and why you should get them for your kids (one day). I know I will. Everybody knows about Goodnight Moon by Margaret Wise Brown. That is one of the first books I recall my mother reading to me. Those thick cardboard pages. Saying goodnight to literally everything in the room and even some stuff out of it. Classic. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Charleston's Premiere PlantationBy Caelon Reed QuailBellMagazine.com So you're planning a get-away and don’t know where to go? Why not somewhere that’s not only beautiful and romantic but informative as well? Drayton Hall in Charleston, South Carolina is just the place you need to be for a good balance between fun and educational. Located on the Ashley River, Drayton Hall is the only 18th century plantation of Georgian Palladian architecture still intact.
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Where Current Wedding Traditions Originated By Julie Lain QuailBellMagazine.com Modern weddings have their own traditions that many still follow—garter tosses and best man speeches, for example. But have you ever wondered what it was like to get married in medieval times? Well, look no further. When we think of popular wedding customs, it’s hard to imagine that, at one time, brides carried herbs in their bouquets instead of flowers. But, hey, it was centuries ago and their beliefs were much different then. Here are other ways in which people during the middle ages celebrated their Big Day: 1. Wearing a blue dress. “Here comes the bride, all dressed in...blue?” You bet. Apparently in medieval times, blue was considered the color of purity. Nevertheless, it was the tradition for brides to don that color for their big day, or at least have a blue ribbon on them, which is where the phrase “something blue” comes from.
2. Garlic bouquets. Yes, you read that right. Brides in medieval times used bouquets with garlic and herbs to ward off evil spirits, instead of using flowers like brides typically use today. 3. The Honeymoon--literally. There’s a reason this ritual was given its name. The bride and groom were given a cup of honey wine from friends and family for 30 days after the wedding—a complete moon cycle. 4. The wedding cakes. The traditional wedding cake was started in medieval times when guests brought smaller, individual cakes and stacked them on top of each other. When they were all assembled, the newly-wedded couple would try to kiss over the stack without knocking it over. Aww! 5. Ambush the bride. At the end of a wedding ceremony, the guests would rush toward the frightened bride to tear off a piece of her dress for good luck, leaving her battered and crying by the time they were done. Aggressive enough? Thankfully, the tradition soon turned into the garter toss practice we’re so familiar with today. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
A Re-exploration of My Hometown's Music SceneBy Fay Funk QuailBellMagazine.com Moving to Portland, Oregon was like entering a whole new world for me. Except it shouldn’t have been new- I lived in Portland for the first 18 years of my life. When I moved to New York City for college in 2008 I had no intention of returning home. I was going to build a lucrative and exciting life there. Of course things don’t always work out the way we plan, and in 2012 I found myself back in Portland again with no job, no money, and no contact with any of my old friends. It was as if I had never lived there at all. I was angry; I was bored. I had a bachelor’s degree from a top university and I couldn’t even get work at Safeway. I spent the summer months job hunting and doing solitary 8 AM workouts, trying not to think about the day when I would need to start paying back my student loans, a day looming nearer and nearer. Nothing felt real.
And that’s when I realized: I need to get out more. I need to see what my city has to offer. Portland is renowned for its music scene, and in the past, before I left for college I was a part of it. So I made a promise to myself: I would go out to a show at least once a week. I would actively take part in the world around me, not sit idly by. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Capital of the Confederacy's Cemeteries |
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