Irish Accents and Something to Believe In

We arrived in Belfast on Wednesday morning, after an overnight flight from Chicago (via London). There are a total of 8 people on the Young Adult Volunteer (YAV) team to Belfast, and we were all exhausted. Between jet-lag and not sleeping much on the plane, we mostly staggered around all day. It's been wet and cold since our arrival -- the locals are saying it's unusually bad weather. Our co-ordinator, Doug, helped us get moved into our apartments. Two YAVs live in each apartment. My roommate and I live on the 8th story of a high-rise building in a suburb of Belfast. The apartment is small, but sufficient for what we need. It's across the street from the church where I'll be working -- one of the other YAVs joked about running a Zip-line from my bedroom window to my office, so I can just roll out of bed in the morning and land at work. The past couple of days, we've been going around to everyone's placement sites and meeting their supervisors. Each person we meet has a different accent, some stronger than others. All of the YAVs, myself included, find some of the supervisors difficult to understand. It makes me listen harder to what they're saying, and pay closer attention. I can't very easily zone out for a moment and then get back into the conversation. I know that as the year goes on, we'll find the accents easier to understand. But I hope that we never lose the sense of close listening we're establishing in the first few days. The supervisor at my roommate's site pointed out a phenomenon that he has to deal with working at a youth drop-in center. Identity is a big issue. "Everyone wants to belong," he said. "If you don't have something to live for, you've got to have something to die for." More on the Troubles later, but for now, I think that statement strikes near the heart of the issue.