I'm writing this post from Ho Chi Minh City (aka Saigon), Vietnam, where I have decided to spend a weekend. And more importantly, where we IDS students first began our adventures as we read Graham Greene and asked ourselves "do we really get to read novels in this cirriculum?". Being here, and being almost exactly one year into GW's program, it's hard not to think about the beginning of last year when we all met. Speaking as one of the few people who hadn't really traveled much before school, it's kind of hard to conceive all the stuff that has happened between then and now. It also makes me wonder if our new class of IDS students will end up having to read the same things we did. Methinks not.
Now, in the spirit of the upcoming academic year, I will leave my fellow IDSers with a multiple choice question.
Which type of American is it better to be?
A) Quiet (Graham Greene)
B) Angry (Toby Keith)
C) Ugly (William J. Lederer and Eugene Burdick)
D) Well-Meaning-And-Culturally-Sensitive-But-Also-Equipped-With-The-Technical-Skills-To-Enact-Meaningful-Change-In-A-Way-That-Incorporates-Participatory-Economic-Development.
If you answered D, you're...wrong. Nobody can save the world with that many hyphens.
I'll see you all soon, but not soon enough.
-Jarrett
Friday, August 8, 2008
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Not in Rwanda this week!
This past week I was in Malawi visiting our very own Michael Bardgett and having a little therapy-by-fun. Do I feel guilty that I've been in Rwanda for only two months and have deemed myself in need of a vacation while people living in much worse conditions and in much worse pain have no escape? Yes, yes I do. But that's not what this update is about. Nope,this update is about fun and under no circumstances am I to write about the g-word, the r-word, or the p-word. Ugh, I have quite the bloody little alphabet soup going on there. But that's Rwanda. And this update is about Malawi: "the warm heart of Africa." Or at least that's what the sign at the airport said. It may just be propaganda, but isn't this whole trip about escaping from reality?
The trip started out with take-your-friend-to-work day, when I had the privilege of visiting a USAID funded project that promotes safe schools through community education and teacher training. We got to hear some students tell their own stories about escaping from forced child marriage, stopping sexual harassment, and resolving conflict amongst themselves. After we finished the first school visit, our host announced, "Well, thanks for coming. We just need to stop by the chief's house to take a picture of his pet monkey Bob and then we'll be off." Gosh, I love Africa.
Then the real vacation began! No more reality for me! I think it was sometime between pancakes in the US Ambassador's gorgeous mountain cabin and sunbathing in a kayak in the middle of a crystal clear lake that I began to wonder if this could actually be my life. In fact just being with a friend was pretty fantastic after a summer of relative isolation. I think I need more people in my life who reply "Atta girl!" when I announce that I'm going to the kitchen to eat another cookie. And for those of you who are keeping track at home, I had my second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh shower of the summer on this trip and all of them were incredible! Actually, it kind of felt like I was drowning at first, but I readjusted quickly.
You know, the only thing that I couldn't really get into on this vacation was how eager people were to serve me. Malawian men did our dishes, washed our car, built us a fire in the fireplace, made us breakfast on the beach, and did just about everything else for us. By the end of my time there, I wanted to wear a sign around my neck that read, "You may be confused because I am traveling with a big wig US
government official (read: intern), but please be advised that I am 23 years old, that I am not even slightly a big deal, and that you don't have to do anything for me." I don't think even that would have dissuaded them though and I suppose I can't really complain that much about someone else doing my dishes. Of course, the other thing I couldn't really get into was flushing toilets--I'm just not used to it! Seriously, I forgot to flush about every other time I went to the bathroom. Sorry if that's too much information for you. Ever since I started peeing in holes in the dirt, my gross-o-meter has gone a little wacky.
Unfortunately my escape from reality had to come to a close, so I said goodbye to Michael at the airport and found a seat to wait with the six other people who had a random reason to travel from Lilongwe to Lusaka. I passed the time by journaling about my awesome vacation and half watching a flickering TV turned to the 700 Club. Pat Robertson was interviewing a couple from Oklahoma who have recently made a fortune buying foreclosed houses, fixing them up, and then reselling them. He concluded the interview by looking into the camera and saying, "Folks, that's what happens when you TRULY believe in God!" Next to me an old Malawian man who sells wood carvings to tourists was leaning against the wall. I started to wonder what he must think of that statement as he squinted up at the screen through his milked over eyes. But you know, I am technically still on vacation and trying to avoid serious thoughts, so I'm going to channel an old Calvin and Hobbes comic strip when Calvin yells, "Careful! We don't want to learn anything from this!" So that's the end of this paragraph. Draw your own conclusions.
In fact, this trip was so good that even the part I thought would be a drag—my overnight layover in Ethiopia—turned out to be fun. After checking into my hostel in Addis Ababa, I asked the owner if there was a restaurant nearby where I could get some good Ethiopian food. She looked horrified and asked, "Are you eating alone?" I shrugged my shoulders, "Well, yeah…" She shook her head and told me that in Ethiopian culture people do not eat alone and asked me to wait a second. She piled her kids into the car and drove me to their favorite restaurant where I shared a giant plate of food with her family, listened to a local singer, and drank super strong Ethiopian coffee. Have I mentioned that I love Africa?
Now, having just moto-ed back into my life in Rwanda, I can't help but feel like I'm coming home. It's bizarre to realize with only a week left that I like it here. I like the people, I like my work, I like the culture... I could make this home. Of course, I can't do that yet, GW is already sending me tuition bills for next semester. What I can do is invest everything I have left for the next week and try to get on the plane with no regrets. This perspective of gratefulness that I have for my last few days is the gift that Malawi has left me with, so I'm going to try not to waste it.
The trip started out with take-your-friend-to-work day, when I had the privilege of visiting a USAID funded project that promotes safe schools through community education and teacher training. We got to hear some students tell their own stories about escaping from forced child marriage, stopping sexual harassment, and resolving conflict amongst themselves. After we finished the first school visit, our host announced, "Well, thanks for coming. We just need to stop by the chief's house to take a picture of his pet monkey Bob and then we'll be off." Gosh, I love Africa.
Then the real vacation began! No more reality for me! I think it was sometime between pancakes in the US Ambassador's gorgeous mountain cabin and sunbathing in a kayak in the middle of a crystal clear lake that I began to wonder if this could actually be my life. In fact just being with a friend was pretty fantastic after a summer of relative isolation. I think I need more people in my life who reply "Atta girl!" when I announce that I'm going to the kitchen to eat another cookie. And for those of you who are keeping track at home, I had my second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh shower of the summer on this trip and all of them were incredible! Actually, it kind of felt like I was drowning at first, but I readjusted quickly.
You know, the only thing that I couldn't really get into on this vacation was how eager people were to serve me. Malawian men did our dishes, washed our car, built us a fire in the fireplace, made us breakfast on the beach, and did just about everything else for us. By the end of my time there, I wanted to wear a sign around my neck that read, "You may be confused because I am traveling with a big wig US
government official (read: intern), but please be advised that I am 23 years old, that I am not even slightly a big deal, and that you don't have to do anything for me." I don't think even that would have dissuaded them though and I suppose I can't really complain that much about someone else doing my dishes. Of course, the other thing I couldn't really get into was flushing toilets--I'm just not used to it! Seriously, I forgot to flush about every other time I went to the bathroom. Sorry if that's too much information for you. Ever since I started peeing in holes in the dirt, my gross-o-meter has gone a little wacky.
Unfortunately my escape from reality had to come to a close, so I said goodbye to Michael at the airport and found a seat to wait with the six other people who had a random reason to travel from Lilongwe to Lusaka. I passed the time by journaling about my awesome vacation and half watching a flickering TV turned to the 700 Club. Pat Robertson was interviewing a couple from Oklahoma who have recently made a fortune buying foreclosed houses, fixing them up, and then reselling them. He concluded the interview by looking into the camera and saying, "Folks, that's what happens when you TRULY believe in God!" Next to me an old Malawian man who sells wood carvings to tourists was leaning against the wall. I started to wonder what he must think of that statement as he squinted up at the screen through his milked over eyes. But you know, I am technically still on vacation and trying to avoid serious thoughts, so I'm going to channel an old Calvin and Hobbes comic strip when Calvin yells, "Careful! We don't want to learn anything from this!" So that's the end of this paragraph. Draw your own conclusions.
In fact, this trip was so good that even the part I thought would be a drag—my overnight layover in Ethiopia—turned out to be fun. After checking into my hostel in Addis Ababa, I asked the owner if there was a restaurant nearby where I could get some good Ethiopian food. She looked horrified and asked, "Are you eating alone?" I shrugged my shoulders, "Well, yeah…" She shook her head and told me that in Ethiopian culture people do not eat alone and asked me to wait a second. She piled her kids into the car and drove me to their favorite restaurant where I shared a giant plate of food with her family, listened to a local singer, and drank super strong Ethiopian coffee. Have I mentioned that I love Africa?
Now, having just moto-ed back into my life in Rwanda, I can't help but feel like I'm coming home. It's bizarre to realize with only a week left that I like it here. I like the people, I like my work, I like the culture... I could make this home. Of course, I can't do that yet, GW is already sending me tuition bills for next semester. What I can do is invest everything I have left for the next week and try to get on the plane with no regrets. This perspective of gratefulness that I have for my last few days is the gift that Malawi has left me with, so I'm going to try not to waste it.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Chris Blattman's Blog: Cheap advice, twice
I really enjoy his blog...if I haven't said before. The reason I linked this post of his is there are a list of blogs I had never heard of that focused on global poverty. (I didn't know the WB blogged!) He also gave a shout out to the Institution, so I have to give him props.
The summer is coming along well, may get a job soon at Brookings with one of the Development centers. Last night's HH went well, though I found out this morning that at least one of the new students couldn't find us. (Do we have a phone list?) I am also considering going out of the country for winter break to get some on the ground experience. I am in the very preliminary stages, but would love some advice.
Chris Blattman's Blog: Cheap advice, twice
Unfortunately, there aren't too many world poverty research blogs, but the ones that are out there are pretty good: CGD, Dani Rodrik, and the World Bank blogs (1, 2 and 3) come to mind. There are other poverty-related blogs (many of which I link to frequently) but none that commonly highlight new research.
The summer is coming along well, may get a job soon at Brookings with one of the Development centers. Last night's HH went well, though I found out this morning that at least one of the new students couldn't find us. (Do we have a phone list?) I am also considering going out of the country for winter break to get some on the ground experience. I am in the very preliminary stages, but would love some advice.
Chris Blattman's Blog: Cheap advice, twice
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Time for a change of TP Scenery
Call me spoiled for even having a toilet, but I for one am looking forward to the simple pleasure of tossing used toilet paper into the bowl instead of having to touch said-used-toilet-paper for greater than my prefered 0.5 seconds, in order to ball it up and throw it into the trash can. God Bless America.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Gratuitous Plug
This past week I had the good fortune of visiting ten primary schools over the course of three days. It was a much needed break from the office, especially for this teacher-turned-development worker. It reminded me that there is life beyond the cubicle if I can just get somebody to pay me to go out and play with kids in Africa. Any takers???
In our classes and in various discussions in DC and in Africa there is a lot of skepticism if not downright cynicism about the work that the US government (through USAID) is doing in poor countries. People always ask the question, Have we really accomplished anything? The skeptics (realists?) always point out that Africa is actually poorer than it was in the 1960’s, measured by the size of the economy. But I’m convinced that that’s a poor way of looking at this thing we call “development”. Just because an economy does good or bad does not mean that I am developing or not. Real “development” takes place on an incremental level in households. When economies grow, that usually only aggrandizes the wealthy. But when education improves or money goes towards health, it benefits everyone. My grandfather was big on education. He used to say that it’s one of the few things they can’t take away from you. And, barring frontal lobotomies, that’s mostly true.
I think that’s why the trips out to these schools were so good for me. We’re spending a lot of (but not nearly enough!) money on primary school education. It’s a long-term commitment that won’t yield returns for maybe 20 years. But there is real progress taking place in primary schools in Malawi. The projects that I visited in rural parts of Malawi have all been going for about 3 or 4 years now and every school I visited was so proud of their progress in that short amount of time. One of the biggest improvements came in the methods teachers use. From my own experience I know how easy and inefficient it is to try to stand up and lecture to students. That’s what we see in college, so that’s what we know. Well, when you’re staring at a classroom of 100 first-graders, that’s not really going to be very effective. So USAID has been training teachers to break the classes up into small groups and encourage more hands-on learning. The results were stunning. After visiting several schools that were not using this technique, it was amazing to see how much progress was being made in the teacher-trained schools. The kids were speaking nearly perfect English by 7th grade and were dictating to me the parts of the ear and fractional math. And with the kids learning more, the parents were taking a renewed interest in their kids’ schools and donating more money for building construction and maintenance and teacher salaries.
Probably the most interesting part of my entire trip to Africa also happened during my tours around Malawi’s schools. There’s a secret society in Chewa culture here in Malawi called the Gula Wamkulu. Induction into the group is so secretive that even your wives and mothers are not supposed to know that you’re in it. When they go out in public they wear ostentatious and brightly colored costumes. The group kind of carries on the traditions and morals of Chewa society. It’s kind of the traditional glue from one generation to the next. Kind of like Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve in America.
I encountered this group because up until a couple of years ago they were actually encouraging kids to stop going to school because they saw no benefit for the kids. They actually chased kids away from school in their scary costumes while wielding clubs. So when USAID went into these rural areas and started improving schools, one part of the program was to show the community the improvements and how they’re helping kids learn. Soon the Gula Wamkulu was on board with the new program and turned about face in their policies. Now there are actually pictures of them chasing kids TOWARDS school. You should see the scared looks on the kids’ faces as they’re being chased by men dressed up as roosters and sheep. In those areas school enrollment almost doubled, along with the attendance rate. Now that’s a truancy officer. On my visit the Gula Wamkulu were hosting a fundraiser for local schools in which they performed their native dances for the villages and received donations. I was the only westerner amongst a crowd of about 500 watching this dance. I can’t hope to describe what I saw, but I did take several videos which I can show you when I’m back.
Ah, but here’s the rub. The US Congress has limited how much money we can spend on education in Malawi. Most of the money from the US government has to go to health because Congressmen like to say they’re giving money for health. So as a result we’ve only been able to implement these projects in 4 of the 26 districts in Malawi. So we’re only barely making a dent in a huge problem in Malawi. So feel free to write your Congressman to get some more money for programs like this in Malawi.
So that’s just a recent perspective I’ve had here in Africa’s warm heart. In the midst of all that I thought that I had contracted malaria, but it turns out I just picked up some other random virus in one of the dozen or so villages I visited among the hundreds of hands I shook in my time out there. Blood and urine tests came back negative, so God only knows what it was. Unfortunately it took 3 painful pricks into my veins to draw enough blood from me. (Note to self: don’t give blood in the middle of Africa)
I’m now under three weeks left in Malawi before I head off again for some more overland travel across Africa, and, I’m sure, more fun African travel stories. Before then my friend Stephanie comes to my little country this weekend to experience the joy of Lake Malawi. I would say time is flying by for me, but in reality it seems like it’s moving at a normal pace. Not too fast; not too slow. Just like Malawi.
Before I sign out, here are some more fun tidbits I picked up about Malawi during my travels. While visiting schools I was surrounded by Malawians all day with no Westerners anywhere to be found, so I got to learn some more about the culture:
-Driving down the ol’ M1 in the Northern Region of Malawi we passed by an official-looking road sign that read “CAMEL” just off the road. My driver informed me that the owner of that house brought the first camel to Malawi just a few years ago so they put a sign up in front of his house. Apparently he uses it to sow his fields and ride into town.
-If the Gula Wamkulu was the most incredible thing I saw in Africa so far, this is number 1b. There’s a boy named William who read a book in a library (donated by USAID) about wind power. William was 14 at the time and had dropped out of school because his very rural parents could not afford the school fees. As William read about windmills he got the crazy idea in his head that he could build one and provide free electricity for his very rural house. So he did just that, in spite of the crazy looks he got from his family and friends. And to everyone’s amazement, it worked! Having never left his rural village and with no knowledge of electricity other than what he read in that book and another one on Chemistry he built a real working wind-powered electrical source. He even invented his own type of outlets and switches. And all of it was made with junk that he found laying around local villages. William’s house today has a tv, dvd, and ipods, all donated by a wealthy American and powered by this amazing boy. He’s now building a second windmill that will power a water pump and allow his family to irrigate an entire field. William is 19 now and has been given a scholarship to a prestigious school for future leaders of Africa in Johannesburg.,
-With so many animals living basically on the roads here in Malawi, I’ve been wondering what happens if you hit one of them. This week I found out the answer – you must negotiate with the owner a fair price for the animal. I got an estimate from some of my guides. If you hit a chicken you pay about $10. If you hit a dog (the local guard service) you pay about $15. And if you hit a goat you pay $25. You can also negotiate whether or not you get to take the animal with you for food.
-One of the local delicacies in Malawi is field mice, which they serve either boiled or fried, and sell on sticks along the sides of the road. Not every Malawian eats them, but the ones that do eat them eat the whole thing, starting with the head and working their way down. The tail is supposed to be the tastiest part of the mouse. It is said a good wife is one that serves a field mouse with the tail attached and a bad wife will cut it off.
In our classes and in various discussions in DC and in Africa there is a lot of skepticism if not downright cynicism about the work that the US government (through USAID) is doing in poor countries. People always ask the question, Have we really accomplished anything? The skeptics (realists?) always point out that Africa is actually poorer than it was in the 1960’s, measured by the size of the economy. But I’m convinced that that’s a poor way of looking at this thing we call “development”. Just because an economy does good or bad does not mean that I am developing or not. Real “development” takes place on an incremental level in households. When economies grow, that usually only aggrandizes the wealthy. But when education improves or money goes towards health, it benefits everyone. My grandfather was big on education. He used to say that it’s one of the few things they can’t take away from you. And, barring frontal lobotomies, that’s mostly true.
I think that’s why the trips out to these schools were so good for me. We’re spending a lot of (but not nearly enough!) money on primary school education. It’s a long-term commitment that won’t yield returns for maybe 20 years. But there is real progress taking place in primary schools in Malawi. The projects that I visited in rural parts of Malawi have all been going for about 3 or 4 years now and every school I visited was so proud of their progress in that short amount of time. One of the biggest improvements came in the methods teachers use. From my own experience I know how easy and inefficient it is to try to stand up and lecture to students. That’s what we see in college, so that’s what we know. Well, when you’re staring at a classroom of 100 first-graders, that’s not really going to be very effective. So USAID has been training teachers to break the classes up into small groups and encourage more hands-on learning. The results were stunning. After visiting several schools that were not using this technique, it was amazing to see how much progress was being made in the teacher-trained schools. The kids were speaking nearly perfect English by 7th grade and were dictating to me the parts of the ear and fractional math. And with the kids learning more, the parents were taking a renewed interest in their kids’ schools and donating more money for building construction and maintenance and teacher salaries.
Probably the most interesting part of my entire trip to Africa also happened during my tours around Malawi’s schools. There’s a secret society in Chewa culture here in Malawi called the Gula Wamkulu. Induction into the group is so secretive that even your wives and mothers are not supposed to know that you’re in it. When they go out in public they wear ostentatious and brightly colored costumes. The group kind of carries on the traditions and morals of Chewa society. It’s kind of the traditional glue from one generation to the next. Kind of like Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve in America.
I encountered this group because up until a couple of years ago they were actually encouraging kids to stop going to school because they saw no benefit for the kids. They actually chased kids away from school in their scary costumes while wielding clubs. So when USAID went into these rural areas and started improving schools, one part of the program was to show the community the improvements and how they’re helping kids learn. Soon the Gula Wamkulu was on board with the new program and turned about face in their policies. Now there are actually pictures of them chasing kids TOWARDS school. You should see the scared looks on the kids’ faces as they’re being chased by men dressed up as roosters and sheep. In those areas school enrollment almost doubled, along with the attendance rate. Now that’s a truancy officer. On my visit the Gula Wamkulu were hosting a fundraiser for local schools in which they performed their native dances for the villages and received donations. I was the only westerner amongst a crowd of about 500 watching this dance. I can’t hope to describe what I saw, but I did take several videos which I can show you when I’m back.
Ah, but here’s the rub. The US Congress has limited how much money we can spend on education in Malawi. Most of the money from the US government has to go to health because Congressmen like to say they’re giving money for health. So as a result we’ve only been able to implement these projects in 4 of the 26 districts in Malawi. So we’re only barely making a dent in a huge problem in Malawi. So feel free to write your Congressman to get some more money for programs like this in Malawi.
So that’s just a recent perspective I’ve had here in Africa’s warm heart. In the midst of all that I thought that I had contracted malaria, but it turns out I just picked up some other random virus in one of the dozen or so villages I visited among the hundreds of hands I shook in my time out there. Blood and urine tests came back negative, so God only knows what it was. Unfortunately it took 3 painful pricks into my veins to draw enough blood from me. (Note to self: don’t give blood in the middle of Africa)
I’m now under three weeks left in Malawi before I head off again for some more overland travel across Africa, and, I’m sure, more fun African travel stories. Before then my friend Stephanie comes to my little country this weekend to experience the joy of Lake Malawi. I would say time is flying by for me, but in reality it seems like it’s moving at a normal pace. Not too fast; not too slow. Just like Malawi.
Before I sign out, here are some more fun tidbits I picked up about Malawi during my travels. While visiting schools I was surrounded by Malawians all day with no Westerners anywhere to be found, so I got to learn some more about the culture:
-Driving down the ol’ M1 in the Northern Region of Malawi we passed by an official-looking road sign that read “CAMEL” just off the road. My driver informed me that the owner of that house brought the first camel to Malawi just a few years ago so they put a sign up in front of his house. Apparently he uses it to sow his fields and ride into town.
-If the Gula Wamkulu was the most incredible thing I saw in Africa so far, this is number 1b. There’s a boy named William who read a book in a library (donated by USAID) about wind power. William was 14 at the time and had dropped out of school because his very rural parents could not afford the school fees. As William read about windmills he got the crazy idea in his head that he could build one and provide free electricity for his very rural house. So he did just that, in spite of the crazy looks he got from his family and friends. And to everyone’s amazement, it worked! Having never left his rural village and with no knowledge of electricity other than what he read in that book and another one on Chemistry he built a real working wind-powered electrical source. He even invented his own type of outlets and switches. And all of it was made with junk that he found laying around local villages. William’s house today has a tv, dvd, and ipods, all donated by a wealthy American and powered by this amazing boy. He’s now building a second windmill that will power a water pump and allow his family to irrigate an entire field. William is 19 now and has been given a scholarship to a prestigious school for future leaders of Africa in Johannesburg.,
-With so many animals living basically on the roads here in Malawi, I’ve been wondering what happens if you hit one of them. This week I found out the answer – you must negotiate with the owner a fair price for the animal. I got an estimate from some of my guides. If you hit a chicken you pay about $10. If you hit a dog (the local guard service) you pay about $15. And if you hit a goat you pay $25. You can also negotiate whether or not you get to take the animal with you for food.
-One of the local delicacies in Malawi is field mice, which they serve either boiled or fried, and sell on sticks along the sides of the road. Not every Malawian eats them, but the ones that do eat them eat the whole thing, starting with the head and working their way down. The tail is supposed to be the tastiest part of the mouse. It is said a good wife is one that serves a field mouse with the tail attached and a bad wife will cut it off.
Happy Birthday Madiba!
If you are in Africa this summer (and even if you aren't) you probably heard that last Friday, July 18 was Nelson Mandela's 90th birthday. This was a BIG DEAL in South Africa.
The weeks leading up to the birthday bash, which he celebrated at his home in the Eastern Cape Province with about 500 of his best friends and family members, saw TV announcements, radio ads, and newspapers continuously wishing him happy birthday. Songs were written and performed for him. New coins were minted. A comic book of his life is forthcoming. A new book was published called Hunger for Freedom: The Story of Food in the Life of Nelson Mandela about the role food played in different stages of his life, including his imprisonment on Robben Island. On July 17th there was a city-wide party in Pretoria to celebrate. (not that I attended. USAID mission staff tends not to mix with the locals, ho-hum) People in general just seemed excited.
On Friday all of the major newspapers covered the birthday story on the front page and many had special pull-out sections about Mandela's life with wishes from politicians and celebrities from around the world. This is a man that all South Africans genuinely seem to love and be proud of. They really can't get enough of him and affectionately call him Madiba. It was a really interesting time to be in South Africa and I'm glad I was here for it. There are few political figures in the world today, in office or retired, who are as iconic and capturing as Mandela.
The weeks leading up to the birthday bash, which he celebrated at his home in the Eastern Cape Province with about 500 of his best friends and family members, saw TV announcements, radio ads, and newspapers continuously wishing him happy birthday. Songs were written and performed for him. New coins were minted. A comic book of his life is forthcoming. A new book was published called Hunger for Freedom: The Story of Food in the Life of Nelson Mandela about the role food played in different stages of his life, including his imprisonment on Robben Island. On July 17th there was a city-wide party in Pretoria to celebrate. (not that I attended. USAID mission staff tends not to mix with the locals, ho-hum) People in general just seemed excited.
On Friday all of the major newspapers covered the birthday story on the front page and many had special pull-out sections about Mandela's life with wishes from politicians and celebrities from around the world. This is a man that all South Africans genuinely seem to love and be proud of. They really can't get enough of him and affectionately call him Madiba. It was a really interesting time to be in South Africa and I'm glad I was here for it. There are few political figures in the world today, in office or retired, who are as iconic and capturing as Mandela.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Yup, still in Rwanda
This week I have been realizing how incredibly good I have it here. I may not be living American style, but compared to the women I work with, I am living in luxury! I don’t have running water, but I have electricity; my floors are poured concrete instead of dirt or mud-brick, and I eat a small variety of foods instead of just manioc bread. Plus, living with Rwandans, instead of with expats as I did on my other trips to Africa, has been one of the deepest blessings of my time here. Serge and Francine, the young couple I live with, have offered me an unfiltered peek into Rwandan life and, best of all, friendship.
Maybe the second biggest blessing is riding moto-taxis! I’ve never really been all that attracted to the idea of motorcycles and I had never ridden one before getting here, but I have been converted! They are so fun! And not just a little bit sketchy. The average moto ride on a dirt road provides me with 3-5 near death experiences, giving me the opportunity to make peace with my Maker… repeatedly. The drivers carry an extra helmet for their passenger, but since the helmets need to fit big African men, they usually come down over my eyes and don’t seem all that likely to protect me in the event of an accident. Jen accuses me of only liking motos because I get to spoon with the moto driver, but hey, a girl has needs. And this girl’s most important need is to hold on tight so she doesn’t die on the side of the road in rural Rwanda!
In fact, Rwanda is full of small joys once you know how to look for them. Did I mention that last week Rwanda’s one television station was playing Kenny Loggins music videos? Yup, it’s bizarre what nuggets of Western culture find their way over here. In fact, I’ve been working myself to educate Rwandan children in American culture. So far, the kids in Remera-Rukoma have learned “what’s up dog?” and “oh nothing.” Unfortunately they haven’t yet figured out that it’s a question and a response, so more often than getting an American greeting, I hear, “Nuffin! Whasupdog! Muzungu! Nuffin!”
The 4th of July weekend was especially fun. We celebrated American Independence Day and the Rwandan Journée de la Libération (the end of the genocide)with Serge and Francine at Lake Kivu on the border between Rwanda and the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Beer and dancing on the beach always make the world seem rosier. We also got to take a day trip over to Goma in the DRC to see the recent lava flows, stock up on cheap stuff you can buy with American money, play the UN truck version of punch-buggy, and get a bad ass stamp in our passports. Plus, there’s nothing like going to Goma to make wherever you live look pretty good.
So no deep thoughts in this update, I just wanted to give you a taste of the ridiculous oddities and small pleasures that make me happy here. Actually, that has been one of the hardest lessons I’ve been learning: how to be happy when my daily work revolves around murder, rape, and extreme poverty. Sometimes the pain of the people around me gets to be too much and I’m tempted to just crawl inside myself and stop feeling for awhile. After all, as long as I do my work, does it matter what I feel? As it turns out, it does, if only to me. Still, it is important to remember that this world has enough horrible things in it that anyone who is paying attention can be well-informed and miserable. The real trick is to keep my eyes and heart open to the world AND treasure the very real beauty and laughter that exist even here.
Maybe the second biggest blessing is riding moto-taxis! I’ve never really been all that attracted to the idea of motorcycles and I had never ridden one before getting here, but I have been converted! They are so fun! And not just a little bit sketchy. The average moto ride on a dirt road provides me with 3-5 near death experiences, giving me the opportunity to make peace with my Maker… repeatedly. The drivers carry an extra helmet for their passenger, but since the helmets need to fit big African men, they usually come down over my eyes and don’t seem all that likely to protect me in the event of an accident. Jen accuses me of only liking motos because I get to spoon with the moto driver, but hey, a girl has needs. And this girl’s most important need is to hold on tight so she doesn’t die on the side of the road in rural Rwanda!
In fact, Rwanda is full of small joys once you know how to look for them. Did I mention that last week Rwanda’s one television station was playing Kenny Loggins music videos? Yup, it’s bizarre what nuggets of Western culture find their way over here. In fact, I’ve been working myself to educate Rwandan children in American culture. So far, the kids in Remera-Rukoma have learned “what’s up dog?” and “oh nothing.” Unfortunately they haven’t yet figured out that it’s a question and a response, so more often than getting an American greeting, I hear, “Nuffin! Whasupdog! Muzungu! Nuffin!”
The 4th of July weekend was especially fun. We celebrated American Independence Day and the Rwandan Journée de la Libération (the end of the genocide)with Serge and Francine at Lake Kivu on the border between Rwanda and the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Beer and dancing on the beach always make the world seem rosier. We also got to take a day trip over to Goma in the DRC to see the recent lava flows, stock up on cheap stuff you can buy with American money, play the UN truck version of punch-buggy, and get a bad ass stamp in our passports. Plus, there’s nothing like going to Goma to make wherever you live look pretty good.
So no deep thoughts in this update, I just wanted to give you a taste of the ridiculous oddities and small pleasures that make me happy here. Actually, that has been one of the hardest lessons I’ve been learning: how to be happy when my daily work revolves around murder, rape, and extreme poverty. Sometimes the pain of the people around me gets to be too much and I’m tempted to just crawl inside myself and stop feeling for awhile. After all, as long as I do my work, does it matter what I feel? As it turns out, it does, if only to me. Still, it is important to remember that this world has enough horrible things in it that anyone who is paying attention can be well-informed and miserable. The real trick is to keep my eyes and heart open to the world AND treasure the very real beauty and laughter that exist even here.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Mid-Summer Day Update
Happy hot days of summer!!!
I wanted to draw your attention to a couple more blogs that might be of interest. The first is from my undergraduate friend, Lisa. She was in the theatre program with me and is now spending much of her time at the Malaika Orphanage in Tanzania. The blog's recent posts focus on the new playground built for the kids. Those who are interested in how to use social media in non-profits should read Beth's Blog. I follow her on Twitter and she has some brilliant ideas for both the development and NPO world. The last blog is one I just started reading a couple days ago that focuses on economic development, political change, and conflict in the developing world by an Assistant Professor of Political Science and Economics at Yale, Chris Blattman.
1st years, 2nd years, and recent alumni: keep an eye out for information about a DC happy hour in the near future. I hope to see those who are in town soon.
I wanted to draw your attention to a couple more blogs that might be of interest. The first is from my undergraduate friend, Lisa. She was in the theatre program with me and is now spending much of her time at the Malaika Orphanage in Tanzania. The blog's recent posts focus on the new playground built for the kids. Those who are interested in how to use social media in non-profits should read Beth's Blog. I follow her on Twitter and she has some brilliant ideas for both the development and NPO world. The last blog is one I just started reading a couple days ago that focuses on economic development, political change, and conflict in the developing world by an Assistant Professor of Political Science and Economics at Yale, Chris Blattman.
1st years, 2nd years, and recent alumni: keep an eye out for information about a DC happy hour in the near future. I hope to see those who are in town soon.
Monday, July 14, 2008
The few, the proud, the muzungus
As I mentioned in my last blog post, I set off this past weekend with my new friends Emily, Andrew, (the veggie-twins) and Amy (the “I wasn’t born in Texas but I got here as fast as I could” Texan) to test my mettle on a mountain. It was one of those moments when the potential for adventure overcame sound reason and good logic in my mind. There were a lot of things that could have gone wrong with this trip, but, obviously since I’m writing this, I ultimately survived…or did I? (DUH duh duh)
The destination of our journey was a giant granite rock in the south of Malawi called Mt. Mulanje. Although the rock climbs high above the clouds at 3100 meters, it is hard to call it a mountain. In technical terms it is actually a massif, which is French for “giant whale”. Just kidding. I don’t know what it means, but it’s basically a huge rock formation that stretches for miles (200 miles squared to be exact), with a series of plateaus and one sharp peak. The lure of climbing such a giant rock is obvious. What’s less obvious is why anyone would want to race up the mountain. But every year in July an event takes place called The Porter’s Race. Porters are those locals who carry all of your gear on their heads and walk with you up the mountain. They demonstrate incredible feats of strength, not the least of which because they are usually climbing with flip flops or no shoes at all (see below).
So I and a couple of other muzungus thought it would be a great idea to attempt to race alongside these abnormally gifted men and women. As I mentioned, there were several things that could go wrong on this trip. For instance:
-I haven’t run more than 6 miles since my marathon over two years ago. The Porter’s Race is 15 miles up and down a mountain.
-The entire race, in fact the entire country is at high altitude, which isn’t great on the lungs.
-Even in my runs through Lilongwe I haven’t climbed a hill more than 100 feet high.
-And perhaps most dangerous of all, Mt. Mulanje is believed by many Malawians to be inhabited by evil spirits. In fact, the highest point of the mountain, Sapitwa, literally means “Don’t go there” in the native Chichewa. There are stories everywhere you go in Malawi about people disappearing on the mountain. Three years ago a Dutch girl tried to climb Sapitwa on her own and disappeared without a trace. Professional search and rescuers from the Netherlands showed up to try to find her. They brought dogs up the mountain to sniff her out. Traditional healers were sent up along with local church leaders. But nary was a trace found. In mountain climbing circles, this is very rare except on the highest of peaks.
One rumor of the mountain is that it is still inhabited by an ancient civilization called the Abatwa, a small, light-skinned race that supposedly settled this region before the Bantu migration brought the current inhabitants. Their legend, however, has grown such that, according to Wikipedia, it is believed that:
“The Abatwa are tiny humans said to be able to hide beneath a blade of grass and to be able to ride ants. They are said to live a nomadic lifestyle and are continually on the hunt for game.
Legend states that if one happens to come across an Abatwa, one will typically be asked a question like, "From where did you first see me?" One must reply by saying one saw them from a mountain, or some far away area. They are said to be extremely sensitive about their size, and if one answers by saying that one only saw them right then for the first time, the Abatwa will try to kill them with poison arrows. Stepping on an Abatwa by accident is also said to be a death sentence.
Due to their shy nature, they will only tolerate being seen by the very young (said to be anyone under the age of 4), by magicians, and by pregnant women. If a pregnant woman in her seventh month of pregnancy sees a male Abatwa, it is said that she will give birth to a boy.”
So, needless to say, there were lots of things to watch out for during this 15 mile trek across Malawi’s highest point.
Before we left for the trip I was walking out of the USAID building down a flight of stairs in my hiking shoes when I completely lost my footing and slid down an entire flight of stairs, only saving myself with a quick grasp of the railing. Not a good sign when you’re about to race up and down a mountain. Then, as we were approaching the mountain in the dark, completely unaware of our surroundings, the dirt road we were traveling on suddenly disappeared about 5 feet in front of the car. It turns out that they were building a bridge that had not been completed yet, but had failed to put up a safety sign. TIA. There were at least 5 more uncompleted bridges we had to try to avoid on the way up to the forest lodge where we were camping for the night.
So on to race day:
5am – Up early to register for the supposed 6:30am start time. The only people there are 3 porters wearing t-shirts and either flip flops or no shoes at all. We hear that the race probably won’t start until 7:00.
7am – We show up back at the starting line and a large crowd has gathered. We are surrounded by around 100 other runners, most Malawians with about 7 other muzungus. I am floored by the footwear, as well as the women in wraps that are gearing up for the race. When we walked up everyone was frozen stiff by the brisk morning air. Suddenly, they get the PA system to work and they start blaring some rhythmic African music. Instantly the entire crowd (with the exception of the 10 muzungus) begin to move in unison. This is all the warm-up they will need for the race.
7:20 – Race time is fast approaching. All of us muzungus are filling up our water bottles and packing some high-protein, high-carb snacks for the long run. The Malawians are all buying pieces of bubble gum which is all they can afford and all they will eat during the race.
7:30 – The race starts! 100 of us begin our ascent up the mountain. The lead pack of Malawians are on a dead sprint from the start, probably at around 4:00 mile pace over the only flat terrain of the morning. Within ½ mile we reach the climbing portion of the race.
7:45 – I’ve been climbing for 15 minutes and I’m immediately regretting this decision. My pulse is beating at max heart rate (180 beat/minute maybe?). The steep climb is the same inclination as a flight of stairs. How old do you have to be to have a heart attack?
8:00 – still climbing…I’m working my way up with 4 barefoot Malawian teenage girls who are hardly breathing.
8:15 – The barefoot Malawian girls have long surpassed me when we come to the first water station. It consists of two buckets and four cups. One bucket offers water and the other offers orange soda. All the competitors share the 4 cups. This would be the pattern through all of the water stations. Sanitation is the least of my worries at this point as I feel that battery acid is now pulsing through my legs.
8:30 – still climbing…
8:40 – Finally reach the top of the plateau and another water station. I have just scaled 3 rocky miles in just over an hour and I’ve got 12 more miles to go. Little did I know the plateau would continue to be a gradual climb, peaking at over 2200 meters. That’s a mile and a half straight up.
9:30 – The temperature has dropped and I feel mist on my face. I then realize that I am now running through a cloud. Then it dawns on me that I just ran up to a cloud. My legs hurt.
10:00 – Moisture has enveloped me and I feel the beginnings of a blister on my foot.
10:30 – The terrain is beautiful, like something out of a movie. I feel like William Wallace in Braveheart as he runs through the Scottish highlands. Or maybe more like some hunky prince in Lord of the Rings. Except that I’m running over a path of rocks and the cloud I’m running through cuts my vision to about 30 feet in front of me. I made a wrong turn at one point and soon realized that the path (marked by chalk arrows) is about 100 feet below me. As I try to walk down the bushy hill I slip on the wet rocks a couple of times. This would continue for the rest of the “race”. I haven’t seen another person for the last 45 minutes. Where am I?
10:40 – I reach the last water station before the descent. Finally a Malawian runner has joined me and we start the descent together. Each step it feels as though a hammer is driving itself into my thighs and my feet have nothing to land on but hard rock.
11:00 – The Malawian finally passes me as I have to slow down on the steep, slippery down hills to prevent a major catastrophe. I should have sprained my ankle about 20 times on the way down and torn my ACL at least 5 times. I guess today the spirits are on my side.
11:30 – How much longer? I’ve been running for four hours now. At this moment I am the embodiment of the facial expressions my runners used to give me at the end of long workouts I forced on them as a coach. In fact I start to wonder if somehow they have all conspired to mete out their revenge on me today.
11:45 – I pass by women and children balancing huge bundles of lumber on their heads while I’m struggling just to stay upright. These aren’t runners, this is their normal life. I estimate the biggest bundles at 200 pounds and the smallest at 100. The people carrying them all weigh less than 100 pounds.
12:00 – After four and a half hours I finally finish the race. I do a nose-dive across the finish line just for show. The winner today finished in just over 2 hours. I am cut, scratched, bruised, sore, dehydrated, and famished from the run. At the same time I am riding a runner’s high like no other. Occasionally the clouds broke just long enough to allow me to see the incredible beauty of the massif. I can’t describe to you the feeling of being on top of that rock looking down at the clouds and the tiny buildings way off in the distance.
Like I said, this was probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever done…and I enjoyed every minute of it…well, almost every minute of it.
The destination of our journey was a giant granite rock in the south of Malawi called Mt. Mulanje. Although the rock climbs high above the clouds at 3100 meters, it is hard to call it a mountain. In technical terms it is actually a massif, which is French for “giant whale”. Just kidding. I don’t know what it means, but it’s basically a huge rock formation that stretches for miles (200 miles squared to be exact), with a series of plateaus and one sharp peak. The lure of climbing such a giant rock is obvious. What’s less obvious is why anyone would want to race up the mountain. But every year in July an event takes place called The Porter’s Race. Porters are those locals who carry all of your gear on their heads and walk with you up the mountain. They demonstrate incredible feats of strength, not the least of which because they are usually climbing with flip flops or no shoes at all (see below).
So I and a couple of other muzungus thought it would be a great idea to attempt to race alongside these abnormally gifted men and women. As I mentioned, there were several things that could go wrong on this trip. For instance:
-I haven’t run more than 6 miles since my marathon over two years ago. The Porter’s Race is 15 miles up and down a mountain.
-The entire race, in fact the entire country is at high altitude, which isn’t great on the lungs.
-Even in my runs through Lilongwe I haven’t climbed a hill more than 100 feet high.
-And perhaps most dangerous of all, Mt. Mulanje is believed by many Malawians to be inhabited by evil spirits. In fact, the highest point of the mountain, Sapitwa, literally means “Don’t go there” in the native Chichewa. There are stories everywhere you go in Malawi about people disappearing on the mountain. Three years ago a Dutch girl tried to climb Sapitwa on her own and disappeared without a trace. Professional search and rescuers from the Netherlands showed up to try to find her. They brought dogs up the mountain to sniff her out. Traditional healers were sent up along with local church leaders. But nary was a trace found. In mountain climbing circles, this is very rare except on the highest of peaks.
One rumor of the mountain is that it is still inhabited by an ancient civilization called the Abatwa, a small, light-skinned race that supposedly settled this region before the Bantu migration brought the current inhabitants. Their legend, however, has grown such that, according to Wikipedia, it is believed that:
“The Abatwa are tiny humans said to be able to hide beneath a blade of grass and to be able to ride ants. They are said to live a nomadic lifestyle and are continually on the hunt for game.
Legend states that if one happens to come across an Abatwa, one will typically be asked a question like, "From where did you first see me?" One must reply by saying one saw them from a mountain, or some far away area. They are said to be extremely sensitive about their size, and if one answers by saying that one only saw them right then for the first time, the Abatwa will try to kill them with poison arrows. Stepping on an Abatwa by accident is also said to be a death sentence.
Due to their shy nature, they will only tolerate being seen by the very young (said to be anyone under the age of 4), by magicians, and by pregnant women. If a pregnant woman in her seventh month of pregnancy sees a male Abatwa, it is said that she will give birth to a boy.”
So, needless to say, there were lots of things to watch out for during this 15 mile trek across Malawi’s highest point.
Before we left for the trip I was walking out of the USAID building down a flight of stairs in my hiking shoes when I completely lost my footing and slid down an entire flight of stairs, only saving myself with a quick grasp of the railing. Not a good sign when you’re about to race up and down a mountain. Then, as we were approaching the mountain in the dark, completely unaware of our surroundings, the dirt road we were traveling on suddenly disappeared about 5 feet in front of the car. It turns out that they were building a bridge that had not been completed yet, but had failed to put up a safety sign. TIA. There were at least 5 more uncompleted bridges we had to try to avoid on the way up to the forest lodge where we were camping for the night.
So on to race day:
5am – Up early to register for the supposed 6:30am start time. The only people there are 3 porters wearing t-shirts and either flip flops or no shoes at all. We hear that the race probably won’t start until 7:00.
7am – We show up back at the starting line and a large crowd has gathered. We are surrounded by around 100 other runners, most Malawians with about 7 other muzungus. I am floored by the footwear, as well as the women in wraps that are gearing up for the race. When we walked up everyone was frozen stiff by the brisk morning air. Suddenly, they get the PA system to work and they start blaring some rhythmic African music. Instantly the entire crowd (with the exception of the 10 muzungus) begin to move in unison. This is all the warm-up they will need for the race.
7:20 – Race time is fast approaching. All of us muzungus are filling up our water bottles and packing some high-protein, high-carb snacks for the long run. The Malawians are all buying pieces of bubble gum which is all they can afford and all they will eat during the race.
7:30 – The race starts! 100 of us begin our ascent up the mountain. The lead pack of Malawians are on a dead sprint from the start, probably at around 4:00 mile pace over the only flat terrain of the morning. Within ½ mile we reach the climbing portion of the race.
7:45 – I’ve been climbing for 15 minutes and I’m immediately regretting this decision. My pulse is beating at max heart rate (180 beat/minute maybe?). The steep climb is the same inclination as a flight of stairs. How old do you have to be to have a heart attack?
8:00 – still climbing…I’m working my way up with 4 barefoot Malawian teenage girls who are hardly breathing.
8:15 – The barefoot Malawian girls have long surpassed me when we come to the first water station. It consists of two buckets and four cups. One bucket offers water and the other offers orange soda. All the competitors share the 4 cups. This would be the pattern through all of the water stations. Sanitation is the least of my worries at this point as I feel that battery acid is now pulsing through my legs.
8:30 – still climbing…
8:40 – Finally reach the top of the plateau and another water station. I have just scaled 3 rocky miles in just over an hour and I’ve got 12 more miles to go. Little did I know the plateau would continue to be a gradual climb, peaking at over 2200 meters. That’s a mile and a half straight up.
9:30 – The temperature has dropped and I feel mist on my face. I then realize that I am now running through a cloud. Then it dawns on me that I just ran up to a cloud. My legs hurt.
10:00 – Moisture has enveloped me and I feel the beginnings of a blister on my foot.
10:30 – The terrain is beautiful, like something out of a movie. I feel like William Wallace in Braveheart as he runs through the Scottish highlands. Or maybe more like some hunky prince in Lord of the Rings. Except that I’m running over a path of rocks and the cloud I’m running through cuts my vision to about 30 feet in front of me. I made a wrong turn at one point and soon realized that the path (marked by chalk arrows) is about 100 feet below me. As I try to walk down the bushy hill I slip on the wet rocks a couple of times. This would continue for the rest of the “race”. I haven’t seen another person for the last 45 minutes. Where am I?
10:40 – I reach the last water station before the descent. Finally a Malawian runner has joined me and we start the descent together. Each step it feels as though a hammer is driving itself into my thighs and my feet have nothing to land on but hard rock.
11:00 – The Malawian finally passes me as I have to slow down on the steep, slippery down hills to prevent a major catastrophe. I should have sprained my ankle about 20 times on the way down and torn my ACL at least 5 times. I guess today the spirits are on my side.
11:30 – How much longer? I’ve been running for four hours now. At this moment I am the embodiment of the facial expressions my runners used to give me at the end of long workouts I forced on them as a coach. In fact I start to wonder if somehow they have all conspired to mete out their revenge on me today.
11:45 – I pass by women and children balancing huge bundles of lumber on their heads while I’m struggling just to stay upright. These aren’t runners, this is their normal life. I estimate the biggest bundles at 200 pounds and the smallest at 100. The people carrying them all weigh less than 100 pounds.
12:00 – After four and a half hours I finally finish the race. I do a nose-dive across the finish line just for show. The winner today finished in just over 2 hours. I am cut, scratched, bruised, sore, dehydrated, and famished from the run. At the same time I am riding a runner’s high like no other. Occasionally the clouds broke just long enough to allow me to see the incredible beauty of the massif. I can’t describe to you the feeling of being on top of that rock looking down at the clouds and the tiny buildings way off in the distance.
Like I said, this was probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever done…and I enjoyed every minute of it…well, almost every minute of it.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Finally something develop-minty (Yum!)
It was good to read everybodies' (body's? bodys?) 4th of July/summer break experiences. I love how you are sharing with us how your summer "doing development" challenges your conceptions (preconceptions? concepts?). I know convoluted sentence; I'm still trying to figure out how I'm functioning on 3.5 hours (6.5? .5?) of sleep.
Development news on my end: While looking through my RSS feed reader (use one!) I found a website devoted to jobs in development. http://www.devj.net/ I've never heard of it, but maybe one of you out there can speak to its utility or lack thereof.
In the developed world: I just got back from watching my brother get hitched. One of the happiest days of my life. Going to end this before I do a faceplant on my keybo-trsghb
Update: Found a blog from WASH in Africa. Severe water shortage in Lesotho.
Development news on my end: While looking through my RSS feed reader (use one!) I found a website devoted to jobs in development. http://www.devj.net/ I've never heard of it, but maybe one of you out there can speak to its utility or lack thereof.
In the developed world: I just got back from watching my brother get hitched. One of the happiest days of my life. Going to end this before I do a faceplant on my keybo-trsghb
Update: Found a blog from WASH in Africa. Severe water shortage in Lesotho.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Tripppin' on a flux capacitor
(once again, all pictures can be found back on my own blog)
This past weekend I saddled up my pony and moseyed down yonder to Mozambique for some fun in the sun. The picture to the left is the main reason I decided to fork over the greenbacks for the trip. Too much time in the office makes Michael go crazy.
I flew to Johannesburg, South Africa where I met up with my friend Jessica, the Robin to my Batman on this trip as she prefers to be called. The plan was to rent a car and travel overland to Maputo, the capitol of Mozambique to meet up with our friend Christina. It gave me an opportunity to try driving on the other side of the road, while steering from the other side of the car. After dodging a few pedestrians in the parking lot and looking the wrong way a few times to turn, we finally headed out on the road to Maputo. Well, to be exact, we camped in Pretoria for the night and then strolled down the road.
I eventually became comfortable with the driving, but I never quite became acclimated to the scenery. In fact, it was the first time that I really experienced some bit of culture shock since arriving in Africa. My guide book informed me that the small district in South Africa which houses both Pretoria and Johannesburg accounts for 10% of the wealth of the entire continent of Africa. It basically looks like any part of the US with well-kept towns and four-lane highways filled with millions of modern cars and hardly any signs of poverty. This is in stark contrast to the one-lane country roads of Malawi filled with mule-driven carts and ratted old buses plugging across a landscape dotted with tiny villages of mud huts.
Towards the end of the trip I realized why going to Malawi hadn’t bothered me as much as leaving it did. I think in my mind I had prepared myself for Africa to be as poor as I could imagine. I was prepared for people to be living out in the bush with no permanent housing and completely cut off from the world. I knew this wasn’t the case, but, maybe as a defense mechanism, it’s how I prepared myself. So every time I saw something modern like a road with no potholes or power lines, or a fine Indian or Italian restaurant I became more and more impressed by Malawi’s development. But when I arrived in South Africa it was like jumping ahead five decades. In fact, that’s a pretty good comparison for Malawi. It reminds me of what the US might have been like back in the 40’s and 50’s when the US was still a mostly rural society, at peace, and just starting to stumble upon some economic progress. It was probably what Doc Brown and Marty felt like when they hopped out of the Delorian.
Maybe that’s why people in the circumstances I find in Malawi seem so content. They really don’t know what they’re missing. They’re happy to see a new hotel being built, or, more locally, to see a road that can bring commerce to their little villages. They’re happy to have a bike when most people are still forced to walk. I hate to say ignorance is bliss, because I don’t like the word ignorance there. But I feel like if they were exposed to such development things would be a lot worse. This is why there’s so much conflict in places where there’s such severe inequality.
The trail to Maputo carried us into the small kingdom of Swaziland. Swaziland is its own country, completely surrounded by South Africa and Mozambique, and one of the last true kingdoms in the world. It was a fascinating little country, very clean and seemed to be as developed as South Africa. It actually may have been one of the favorite places I have ever been. The landscape was beautiful and it was filled with modern amenities. It was almost impossible to remember that Swaziland has the highest rate of HIV/AIDS in the world – almost 40% of the population is infected…two out of every 5 people. In the early nineties the rate was only 3%. Jessica and I stopped at an incredibly beautiful little restaurant overlooking a garden, followed by fields of sugar stalks all set in front of distant mountains. Apparently it’s a pretty popular spot since there was a plaque that informed me that “Jimmy Carter, President of the United States of America, Stood Here”. The curious part about the plaque is that it was in the urinal. And if you think I didn’t take a picture with that, then you’re crazy.
On we traveled, and by the time we reached Maputo it was already dark. Maputo is a large, dirty city that apparently has quite a crime problem. In fact, our car had not been parked outside Christina’s apartment for 30 minutes before we had a hubcap stolen. True story. We paid a teenager to watch the car for the rest of the night and luckily we didn’t lose anything else. We dined at a restaurant in Christina’s neighborhood where I tried a cut of meat I haven’t had a chance to try before (If you’re a vegetarian or Bambi-lover skip to the next paragraph). The special of the night was Gazelle served as a kebob. And it was delicious!!! It was easily one of the best cuts of meat I have ever tasted. If you’re ever at a restaurant in Maputo and gazelle’s on the menu I definitely recommend it.
The next morning we landed at a beach two hours north of Maputo and basically became vegetables for the next 24 hours eating whatever was available on the menus (which was about half the items actually listed on the menu) and drinking cold beverages. While lounging around I learned that I could communicate with the Portuguese speakers of Mozambique fairly well with my Spanish. More proof that I could probably learn Italian or Portuguese in about a week. I also spent the whole weekend waiting in vain for the chocolate cake at the restaurant where we spent most of our time. It was mentioned in the guide book as one of the best desserts around. Those of you who know me know how much this excited me. Unfortunately they didn’t have it when we first got there. But they said it would be there in the morning. So we checked back in the morning after another beautiful sunrise (see picture). No cake. Check back in the afternoon. But, alas, we were gone by then and I did not get my Mozambican chocolate cake. (But those of you who know me, also could bet that when I made it back to Malawi I made a chocolate cake that is delicious.)
This reminds me of a book I’m reading. The author talks about time in Africa and how different it is from time in the West. For instance, if you see a bus and ask an African “When is this bus leaving?” you’ll likely get a strange look. That’s because, to them, the ‘bus’ does not exist yet. It only exists (and leaves) when there are people on it. Without people, there is no bus, and when there are people the ‘bus’ exists and it leaves. It’s just a different way of interpreting time. So, unfortunately for me, the ‘chocolate cake’ did not exist this weekend, and by the time it came into being I was already gone.
Unfortunately the beach could not be home for long enough and Jessica and I were forced to return to our normal lives. On the way back to South Africa we took a more direct route that bypassed Swaziland. Unfortunately it was also the more traveled stretch of road because everyone is trying to get into South Africa, which meant that the line leaving Mozambique and the next one for entering South Africa each stretched about 75 meters which probably would have taken a total of four hours to get through. Luckily a guy came up to us before we could even get out of our car and said that he could cut in line for us to get our passports stamped for a small fee. Once we figured out what he was talking about we readily agreed and got through each border post in about 10 minutes. It turns out that the guys we talked to bribes the guard at the door and the agent inside to get our passports stamped early. I don’t know why they didn’t put that in my Lonely Planet guide book. Best piece of advice I could give somebody crossing the border from Mozambique to South Africa.
After some more driving through the extensive bush of South Africa (and a few extra turns along the way J) we made it back for the night and I was back on a flight to the 1950’s the next morning. The crazy part is that on the way back I realized how much I had missed Malawi while I was gone. It doesn’t have all the luxuries and amenities of South Africa and Maputo, but it’s becoming my own little corner of Africa. The trip was a nice break and a chance to catch up with friends, but in the end it made me glad that I chose Malawi for my first experience in Africa. Or maybe it chose me. Hard to say.
This past weekend I saddled up my pony and moseyed down yonder to Mozambique for some fun in the sun. The picture to the left is the main reason I decided to fork over the greenbacks for the trip. Too much time in the office makes Michael go crazy.
I flew to Johannesburg, South Africa where I met up with my friend Jessica, the Robin to my Batman on this trip as she prefers to be called. The plan was to rent a car and travel overland to Maputo, the capitol of Mozambique to meet up with our friend Christina. It gave me an opportunity to try driving on the other side of the road, while steering from the other side of the car. After dodging a few pedestrians in the parking lot and looking the wrong way a few times to turn, we finally headed out on the road to Maputo. Well, to be exact, we camped in Pretoria for the night and then strolled down the road.
I eventually became comfortable with the driving, but I never quite became acclimated to the scenery. In fact, it was the first time that I really experienced some bit of culture shock since arriving in Africa. My guide book informed me that the small district in South Africa which houses both Pretoria and Johannesburg accounts for 10% of the wealth of the entire continent of Africa. It basically looks like any part of the US with well-kept towns and four-lane highways filled with millions of modern cars and hardly any signs of poverty. This is in stark contrast to the one-lane country roads of Malawi filled with mule-driven carts and ratted old buses plugging across a landscape dotted with tiny villages of mud huts.
Towards the end of the trip I realized why going to Malawi hadn’t bothered me as much as leaving it did. I think in my mind I had prepared myself for Africa to be as poor as I could imagine. I was prepared for people to be living out in the bush with no permanent housing and completely cut off from the world. I knew this wasn’t the case, but, maybe as a defense mechanism, it’s how I prepared myself. So every time I saw something modern like a road with no potholes or power lines, or a fine Indian or Italian restaurant I became more and more impressed by Malawi’s development. But when I arrived in South Africa it was like jumping ahead five decades. In fact, that’s a pretty good comparison for Malawi. It reminds me of what the US might have been like back in the 40’s and 50’s when the US was still a mostly rural society, at peace, and just starting to stumble upon some economic progress. It was probably what Doc Brown and Marty felt like when they hopped out of the Delorian.
Maybe that’s why people in the circumstances I find in Malawi seem so content. They really don’t know what they’re missing. They’re happy to see a new hotel being built, or, more locally, to see a road that can bring commerce to their little villages. They’re happy to have a bike when most people are still forced to walk. I hate to say ignorance is bliss, because I don’t like the word ignorance there. But I feel like if they were exposed to such development things would be a lot worse. This is why there’s so much conflict in places where there’s such severe inequality.
The trail to Maputo carried us into the small kingdom of Swaziland. Swaziland is its own country, completely surrounded by South Africa and Mozambique, and one of the last true kingdoms in the world. It was a fascinating little country, very clean and seemed to be as developed as South Africa. It actually may have been one of the favorite places I have ever been. The landscape was beautiful and it was filled with modern amenities. It was almost impossible to remember that Swaziland has the highest rate of HIV/AIDS in the world – almost 40% of the population is infected…two out of every 5 people. In the early nineties the rate was only 3%. Jessica and I stopped at an incredibly beautiful little restaurant overlooking a garden, followed by fields of sugar stalks all set in front of distant mountains. Apparently it’s a pretty popular spot since there was a plaque that informed me that “Jimmy Carter, President of the United States of America, Stood Here”. The curious part about the plaque is that it was in the urinal. And if you think I didn’t take a picture with that, then you’re crazy.
On we traveled, and by the time we reached Maputo it was already dark. Maputo is a large, dirty city that apparently has quite a crime problem. In fact, our car had not been parked outside Christina’s apartment for 30 minutes before we had a hubcap stolen. True story. We paid a teenager to watch the car for the rest of the night and luckily we didn’t lose anything else. We dined at a restaurant in Christina’s neighborhood where I tried a cut of meat I haven’t had a chance to try before (If you’re a vegetarian or Bambi-lover skip to the next paragraph). The special of the night was Gazelle served as a kebob. And it was delicious!!! It was easily one of the best cuts of meat I have ever tasted. If you’re ever at a restaurant in Maputo and gazelle’s on the menu I definitely recommend it.
The next morning we landed at a beach two hours north of Maputo and basically became vegetables for the next 24 hours eating whatever was available on the menus (which was about half the items actually listed on the menu) and drinking cold beverages. While lounging around I learned that I could communicate with the Portuguese speakers of Mozambique fairly well with my Spanish. More proof that I could probably learn Italian or Portuguese in about a week. I also spent the whole weekend waiting in vain for the chocolate cake at the restaurant where we spent most of our time. It was mentioned in the guide book as one of the best desserts around. Those of you who know me know how much this excited me. Unfortunately they didn’t have it when we first got there. But they said it would be there in the morning. So we checked back in the morning after another beautiful sunrise (see picture). No cake. Check back in the afternoon. But, alas, we were gone by then and I did not get my Mozambican chocolate cake. (But those of you who know me, also could bet that when I made it back to Malawi I made a chocolate cake that is delicious.)
This reminds me of a book I’m reading. The author talks about time in Africa and how different it is from time in the West. For instance, if you see a bus and ask an African “When is this bus leaving?” you’ll likely get a strange look. That’s because, to them, the ‘bus’ does not exist yet. It only exists (and leaves) when there are people on it. Without people, there is no bus, and when there are people the ‘bus’ exists and it leaves. It’s just a different way of interpreting time. So, unfortunately for me, the ‘chocolate cake’ did not exist this weekend, and by the time it came into being I was already gone.
Unfortunately the beach could not be home for long enough and Jessica and I were forced to return to our normal lives. On the way back to South Africa we took a more direct route that bypassed Swaziland. Unfortunately it was also the more traveled stretch of road because everyone is trying to get into South Africa, which meant that the line leaving Mozambique and the next one for entering South Africa each stretched about 75 meters which probably would have taken a total of four hours to get through. Luckily a guy came up to us before we could even get out of our car and said that he could cut in line for us to get our passports stamped for a small fee. Once we figured out what he was talking about we readily agreed and got through each border post in about 10 minutes. It turns out that the guys we talked to bribes the guard at the door and the agent inside to get our passports stamped early. I don’t know why they didn’t put that in my Lonely Planet guide book. Best piece of advice I could give somebody crossing the border from Mozambique to South Africa.
After some more driving through the extensive bush of South Africa (and a few extra turns along the way J) we made it back for the night and I was back on a flight to the 1950’s the next morning. The crazy part is that on the way back I realized how much I had missed Malawi while I was gone. It doesn’t have all the luxuries and amenities of South Africa and Maputo, but it’s becoming my own little corner of Africa. The trip was a nice break and a chance to catch up with friends, but in the end it made me glad that I chose Malawi for my first experience in Africa. Or maybe it chose me. Hard to say.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Still in Rwanda...
I thought you might be interested to know that I am the first white person who has ever lived. Everywhere I go, kids chase me, yelling “mzungu!” (white person) and getting as close as they dare before screaming in fear and running away. Even adults aren’t above stopping dead in their tracks and staring at me, or unapologetically touching my skin as they sit next to me on the bus. One day, one of my co-workers Julienne was walking with Jen and me and because she wasn’t used to all the attention, got a bit frustrated. When a group of kids started screaming “mzungu!” she stopped and yelled right back at them, “They’re not mzungus! They are human beings just like you and me!” Nice. Now that’s a phrase I wish I knew in Kinyarwanda.
Yesterday, I was sitting on the front stoop of SEVOTA’s office in Ghinga, just hanging out and watching people pass by when a large group of prisoners in matching pink jumpsuits came walking along picking up trash on the side of the road. This certainly isn’t an uncommon sight in Rwanda, whose prisons have been packed since the genocide. In fact, a year after the genocide in the town where I live, the prison held four prisoners per square yard! In order to deal with the overflow of the accused, the government instituted a traditional legal system called gacaca, where essentially anyone who participated in rape, beatings, or killing, but not in planning for the genocide, could admit their crimes to the community, ask forgiveness, and then perform community service, like this road cleaning, for a few months while living at home. It’s not exactly justice, but what would justice be in a small country with hundreds of thousands of killers and hundreds of thousands of victims?
Anyway, I was feeling a little unnerved as the prisoner-workers all stopped to gawk at the mzungu, when my friend André came up to talk to me. I was just grateful to have something else to do besides stare back at all these admitted killers and we had a good conversation. He told me about his time at university, I explained the rental market in DC, and he tried to convince me to marry his youngest son. Normal.
He left to go finish his yard work and my boss Mama Muhire came out to sit with me. She spotted André across the street and said nonchalantly, “You know, he just finished his community service last month.” My stomach dropped at the reminder that not every killer is wearing a pink jumpsuit. “What did André do to require community service?” She waved her hand dismissively, “He participated in the genocide. I don’t remember exactly.” She then stood and in her loud Mama Muhire voice yelled across the street for André to come over and greet her. He smiled and ran over. Then in the daily miracle that is Rwanda, this man who committed acts of genocide embraced this woman whose husband was killed in the genocide.
I realized then that I see people here in neat little categories: widow, rapist, orphan, killer, mzungu… Well, as Julienne would say, they are human beings just like you and me. And God knows all of our pasts could use some explaining. I’m just not sure how to see people outside the context of their personal histories. I don’t know how yet, but I want to learn to look at people and ask, “Who does this person want to be NOW?”
P.S. The weirdest place I've seen the USAID logo was in an overpriced expat grocery store on cans of vegetables they were selling. Food donations for sale to Americans?
Yesterday, I was sitting on the front stoop of SEVOTA’s office in Ghinga, just hanging out and watching people pass by when a large group of prisoners in matching pink jumpsuits came walking along picking up trash on the side of the road. This certainly isn’t an uncommon sight in Rwanda, whose prisons have been packed since the genocide. In fact, a year after the genocide in the town where I live, the prison held four prisoners per square yard! In order to deal with the overflow of the accused, the government instituted a traditional legal system called gacaca, where essentially anyone who participated in rape, beatings, or killing, but not in planning for the genocide, could admit their crimes to the community, ask forgiveness, and then perform community service, like this road cleaning, for a few months while living at home. It’s not exactly justice, but what would justice be in a small country with hundreds of thousands of killers and hundreds of thousands of victims?
Anyway, I was feeling a little unnerved as the prisoner-workers all stopped to gawk at the mzungu, when my friend André came up to talk to me. I was just grateful to have something else to do besides stare back at all these admitted killers and we had a good conversation. He told me about his time at university, I explained the rental market in DC, and he tried to convince me to marry his youngest son. Normal.
He left to go finish his yard work and my boss Mama Muhire came out to sit with me. She spotted André across the street and said nonchalantly, “You know, he just finished his community service last month.” My stomach dropped at the reminder that not every killer is wearing a pink jumpsuit. “What did André do to require community service?” She waved her hand dismissively, “He participated in the genocide. I don’t remember exactly.” She then stood and in her loud Mama Muhire voice yelled across the street for André to come over and greet her. He smiled and ran over. Then in the daily miracle that is Rwanda, this man who committed acts of genocide embraced this woman whose husband was killed in the genocide.
I realized then that I see people here in neat little categories: widow, rapist, orphan, killer, mzungu… Well, as Julienne would say, they are human beings just like you and me. And God knows all of our pasts could use some explaining. I’m just not sure how to see people outside the context of their personal histories. I don’t know how yet, but I want to learn to look at people and ask, “Who does this person want to be NOW?”
P.S. The weirdest place I've seen the USAID logo was in an overpriced expat grocery store on cans of vegetables they were selling. Food donations for sale to Americans?
Saturday, July 5, 2008
"We are the Silenced"
As I've been reminded by friends in Africa, doing development work in a middle-income country like El Salvador is officially, is a lot different than in a really destitute country like 80% of Africa. In a context like the one I'm observing and partially experiencing, the message that's shrieking into my ears is about power.
Amartya Sen in a lot of ways revolutionized the way people like us think about poverty. He put it in terms of voicelessness instead of a lack of material wealth. Of course, a lack of material wealth is a critical part of what poverty is, but the principal cause is a lack of power. I think these distinctions are actually best viewed in industrialized countries, but personally, I see them particularly strongly here... maybe it's just the change of scenery, or maybe it's the deeper poverty contrasted with the daily and highly visible exhibitions of wealth. (I live in a huge house with a family I had a connection to through work, and a block and half away is a neighborhood where everyone has a tin roof and it also houses a clique of MS-13). And so I'm becoming more and more interested in power relations locally and nationally between the people who have it, and the people who don't.
My basic conclusion is this, and I'd be curious to see if anyone else out there has been experiencing or thinking about similar things: I just don't think you can consider something "sustainable development" if it doesn't work to empower people without any, and therefore ultimately change the system of power relations that led to the situation of poverty and oppression in the first place. So in other words, the things that I'm doing with my internship that doesn't have anything to do with advocacy or trying to change the system, then I'm not doing development. There are many good things that we all could do, but it will take more than a series of good things to create or facilitate that kind of change.
I had a conversation with a remarkable Salvadoran woman today. I was telling her about my recent revelations on the topic I've been trying to explain here, and she said something to me that I thought was profound. It took many cliches that have seemed perfectly helpful and reasonable to me, and made them utterly ridiculous and exposed how my thinking still doesn't reflect the kind of thinking that works for justice: the "voiceless" are not the voiceless, "We are the Silenced;" live simply so that others may simply live? No, I want to decide to live simply too; You want more equity for the poor? You want more justice? I want EQUITY, and I want JUSTICE!
How small my thoughts on development have been. We can work for development, offer some nice charity "From the American People" that these poor saps didn't deserve but we decided to give in our benevolence... or we can work for justice/human rights (whichever you prefer ;) ). I hope you're inspired to really change something today... and tomorrow.
Amartya Sen in a lot of ways revolutionized the way people like us think about poverty. He put it in terms of voicelessness instead of a lack of material wealth. Of course, a lack of material wealth is a critical part of what poverty is, but the principal cause is a lack of power. I think these distinctions are actually best viewed in industrialized countries, but personally, I see them particularly strongly here... maybe it's just the change of scenery, or maybe it's the deeper poverty contrasted with the daily and highly visible exhibitions of wealth. (I live in a huge house with a family I had a connection to through work, and a block and half away is a neighborhood where everyone has a tin roof and it also houses a clique of MS-13). And so I'm becoming more and more interested in power relations locally and nationally between the people who have it, and the people who don't.
My basic conclusion is this, and I'd be curious to see if anyone else out there has been experiencing or thinking about similar things: I just don't think you can consider something "sustainable development" if it doesn't work to empower people without any, and therefore ultimately change the system of power relations that led to the situation of poverty and oppression in the first place. So in other words, the things that I'm doing with my internship that doesn't have anything to do with advocacy or trying to change the system, then I'm not doing development. There are many good things that we all could do, but it will take more than a series of good things to create or facilitate that kind of change.
I had a conversation with a remarkable Salvadoran woman today. I was telling her about my recent revelations on the topic I've been trying to explain here, and she said something to me that I thought was profound. It took many cliches that have seemed perfectly helpful and reasonable to me, and made them utterly ridiculous and exposed how my thinking still doesn't reflect the kind of thinking that works for justice: the "voiceless" are not the voiceless, "We are the Silenced;" live simply so that others may simply live? No, I want to decide to live simply too; You want more equity for the poor? You want more justice? I want EQUITY, and I want JUSTICE!
How small my thoughts on development have been. We can work for development, offer some nice charity "From the American People" that these poor saps didn't deserve but we decided to give in our benevolence... or we can work for justice/human rights (whichever you prefer ;) ). I hope you're inspired to really change something today... and tomorrow.
Friday, July 4, 2008
WWIDSD?
Ok, so I met this girl who is traveling, and she has a dilemma. She is supposed to be doing work for this development NGO in Central America, but so far she hasn't had a great experience with them, and they are supposed to pay for her expenses but seem to be unwilling to put out much in the way of resources while at the same time expecting a fair amount from her. She doesn't really want to keep working for them because she could be spending her time doing things that are far more enjoyable (or at least where her efforts might be appreciated or she might be taken seriously), but on the other hand she feels bad because she told them she would be working for them before she arrived and found out what the real situation is.
On the one hand, she can stick to her commitment, tough it out and get some good resume building material, or she can tell the NGO that she won't be working for them anymore.
What would IDSers do?
On the one hand, she can stick to her commitment, tough it out and get some good resume building material, or she can tell the NGO that she won't be working for them anymore.
What would IDSers do?
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Apollo says...
HAPPY JULY 4TH EVERYONE!!!
To my fellow international interns: I hope you appreciate the fact that you're spending today the way our ancestors did, by taking a long and arduous journey across an ocean and working for peanuts.
It's been a quiet week in Lake Wobegone...
(If you don’t get that reference, you’re probably under 40)
Have I told you how quiet Lilongwe is? It’s one of the aspects of this summer that I wasn’t quite prepared for. I think I’ve mentioned that Lilongwe is set up in two sections. I heard a story that it’s like that because the Apartheid government of South Africa some decades ago paid for and designed the city. As a result, the wealthy and foreign residents of the city are housed in one section, while the native African and poorer people live in another section. In the rich foreigner section we all live in big houses with increasingly bigger fences, based on status I presume. I.e. the US Ambassador has a bigger fence than some ordinary citizen. My wall stands proudly at 9 feet tall.
The crummy part of this set up is that you really need a car to leave my section of town where there are no bars, restaurants, or even grocery stores - just miles and miles of walled-in houses. So the evenings here, which start at about 5:45pm, can get pretty long and boring. Combine that with my job kind of slowing down this week and I’ve been struggling to find things to post here.
Luckily things will be picking up in the next few weeks. Tomorrow I go to South Africa for some fun in the sun with some friends from my graduate program. We’re going to rent a car and drive over to Mozambique to relax on a beach, order drinks with little umbrellas in them, and get in touch with our inner-Jimmy Buffett. I’m going to really watch out for those pot-pots so I don’t blow out a flip flop. Then, I’m organizing some trips for work that will include visiting schools that are doing innovate things to keep kids involved, free of HIV/AIDS, and safe from violence. I’m also going to visit some summer camps for Malawians that should be loads of fun.
In the meantime, about all I could muster for this spot is an update on the political turmoil taking place in Malawi and some strange things I’ve noticed around Malawi…
Seeing all of the problems going on in Zimbabwe makes me really glad that Malawi has never had any kind of nation-wide violence like that. They had a somewhat benign dictator, Hastings Banda, who finally submitted to multi-party elections in 1994. Of course he lost, and willingly gave up power. The new president became Bakili Muluzi (muh LOO zee) who represented the Southern Region of Malawi, which is the most populous. He didn’t really distinguish himself as a very bad or very good president. After serving two terms, he tried to have the constitutional limit of 2-terms for a sitting president amended so that he could continue in power, but failed. So instead, he hand-picked a member of his party to run for him and basically be a puppet. That guy is the current president, Bingu wa Mutharika (moo THAW ree cuh). Unfortunately Bingu (as he’s affectionately and derisively called here) decided he didn’t want to be a puppet and went about being his own man. He even went so far as to create a new party, of which he is the head. Obviously this made Muluzi pretty mad and he has been scheming to get back into power ever since. He decided to make Bingu’s life a living hell until they could run against each other when Bingu’s term runs out in 2009. This is kind of like if Bill Clinton tried to get back into the White House after George Bush’s term ended…wait, never mind. That would never happen in the States.
In the meantime, like I said, Muluzi is doing everything he can to ruin Bingu’s presidency. The battle has really been heated over the fact that Bingu switched parties and convinced other members of parliament to do the same. Well, apparently this is unconstitutional and anyone who switches parties is supposed to be kicked out of office, which is what Muluzi is screaming. At the same time Bingu is trying to run the government and pass a budget and stuff. Bingu finally had to shut down parliament because he was so afraid that all of his party members would get kicked out and he would get impeached and also because nothing was getting done because of the political deadlock. (Aren’t you glad our Congress isn’t like this?!...wait, never mind.) And so now we sit, and these two heavyweights sling mud at each other and try to make each other’s lives miserable. And all the while serious problems are going on in Malawi and nobody is able to fix them. This will probably continue until the elections take place in May 2009. Everyday the parliament meets, Bingu’s people try to start the budget process, while Muluzi’s party screams about the constitution. Wild and crazy stuff.
Ok, I really needed to get that off my chest. I feel better now, and I’ll keep you posted “as the world turns” in Malawi. It’s really some great theater, so I’ll post some of the juicier news pieces such as when a member of parliament yelled called a Muslim member “al Quaeda”.
Other news and notes:
-It’s getting colder and colder here in Malawi. This morning I could actually see my breath, and I started using the heater in my room. Definitely didn’t think this would happen in the heart of Africa. Stupid southern hemisphere.
-I was talking to a coworker of mine about music in Malawi because I’ve been dying to find a guitar here I can borrow. Over the course of the conversation I found out that, inexplicably, Malawians are in love with Country & Western. But not just any C&W. Only the old stuff. We’re talking Hank Williams, Sr., Kenny Rogers, and the person they love the most – Jim Reeves! This has been verified by every Malawian I have spoken to since hearing the news. They all give me an embarrassed little smile and then tell me it’s true. Too much fun. So, of course, now I have this grand idea of bringing my guitar back here one day and kicking off my career as a traveling C&W singer in the heart of Africa. Wait, this makes too much sense. I better just move on…
-There’s a belief among Malawians here that if you are a man and you eat raw cassava plants freshly picked out of the ground, that you will inherit strength and virility. They even have a modern song about it with the chorus “Fire, Fire, Cassava. All the women get worried when they see men with cassava because there’ll be no sleep tonight.”
-And I finally hit up a very Malawian church. It was a neat experience, culturally speaking. The room had about 100 people in it, and about 60 were kids. I thought it was so cool that they just let the kids run all over the church while they played songs. One interesting thing about Malawians is that kids never seem to be a nuisance to adults. They don’t notice crying babies and pay very little attention to little kids running around. This transfers to church where kids are just running around having such a good time. I loved watching it. They all played a game of “who can stare at the lone white guy the longest”. There was one little baby crawling on the ground and I never did figure out who his mother was. He kept getting picked up by a different woman every five minutes or so. They also had a time to meet the new visitors – which was me. Their tradition is that every member of the church comes over to shake the visitor’s hand. So I sat there while 60 kids all practically jumped on me trying to shake my hand. It was a little embarrassing at first, but after awhile I enjoyed kidding around with the kids. Good times.
Happy July 4th Ya'll!!! Have some hamburgers, applie pie, and sweet tea for me!!!
Have I told you how quiet Lilongwe is? It’s one of the aspects of this summer that I wasn’t quite prepared for. I think I’ve mentioned that Lilongwe is set up in two sections. I heard a story that it’s like that because the Apartheid government of South Africa some decades ago paid for and designed the city. As a result, the wealthy and foreign residents of the city are housed in one section, while the native African and poorer people live in another section. In the rich foreigner section we all live in big houses with increasingly bigger fences, based on status I presume. I.e. the US Ambassador has a bigger fence than some ordinary citizen. My wall stands proudly at 9 feet tall.
The crummy part of this set up is that you really need a car to leave my section of town where there are no bars, restaurants, or even grocery stores - just miles and miles of walled-in houses. So the evenings here, which start at about 5:45pm, can get pretty long and boring. Combine that with my job kind of slowing down this week and I’ve been struggling to find things to post here.
Luckily things will be picking up in the next few weeks. Tomorrow I go to South Africa for some fun in the sun with some friends from my graduate program. We’re going to rent a car and drive over to Mozambique to relax on a beach, order drinks with little umbrellas in them, and get in touch with our inner-Jimmy Buffett. I’m going to really watch out for those pot-pots so I don’t blow out a flip flop. Then, I’m organizing some trips for work that will include visiting schools that are doing innovate things to keep kids involved, free of HIV/AIDS, and safe from violence. I’m also going to visit some summer camps for Malawians that should be loads of fun.
In the meantime, about all I could muster for this spot is an update on the political turmoil taking place in Malawi and some strange things I’ve noticed around Malawi…
Seeing all of the problems going on in Zimbabwe makes me really glad that Malawi has never had any kind of nation-wide violence like that. They had a somewhat benign dictator, Hastings Banda, who finally submitted to multi-party elections in 1994. Of course he lost, and willingly gave up power. The new president became Bakili Muluzi (muh LOO zee) who represented the Southern Region of Malawi, which is the most populous. He didn’t really distinguish himself as a very bad or very good president. After serving two terms, he tried to have the constitutional limit of 2-terms for a sitting president amended so that he could continue in power, but failed. So instead, he hand-picked a member of his party to run for him and basically be a puppet. That guy is the current president, Bingu wa Mutharika (moo THAW ree cuh). Unfortunately Bingu (as he’s affectionately and derisively called here) decided he didn’t want to be a puppet and went about being his own man. He even went so far as to create a new party, of which he is the head. Obviously this made Muluzi pretty mad and he has been scheming to get back into power ever since. He decided to make Bingu’s life a living hell until they could run against each other when Bingu’s term runs out in 2009. This is kind of like if Bill Clinton tried to get back into the White House after George Bush’s term ended…wait, never mind. That would never happen in the States.
In the meantime, like I said, Muluzi is doing everything he can to ruin Bingu’s presidency. The battle has really been heated over the fact that Bingu switched parties and convinced other members of parliament to do the same. Well, apparently this is unconstitutional and anyone who switches parties is supposed to be kicked out of office, which is what Muluzi is screaming. At the same time Bingu is trying to run the government and pass a budget and stuff. Bingu finally had to shut down parliament because he was so afraid that all of his party members would get kicked out and he would get impeached and also because nothing was getting done because of the political deadlock. (Aren’t you glad our Congress isn’t like this?!...wait, never mind.) And so now we sit, and these two heavyweights sling mud at each other and try to make each other’s lives miserable. And all the while serious problems are going on in Malawi and nobody is able to fix them. This will probably continue until the elections take place in May 2009. Everyday the parliament meets, Bingu’s people try to start the budget process, while Muluzi’s party screams about the constitution. Wild and crazy stuff.
Ok, I really needed to get that off my chest. I feel better now, and I’ll keep you posted “as the world turns” in Malawi. It’s really some great theater, so I’ll post some of the juicier news pieces such as when a member of parliament yelled called a Muslim member “al Quaeda”.
Other news and notes:
-It’s getting colder and colder here in Malawi. This morning I could actually see my breath, and I started using the heater in my room. Definitely didn’t think this would happen in the heart of Africa. Stupid southern hemisphere.
-I was talking to a coworker of mine about music in Malawi because I’ve been dying to find a guitar here I can borrow. Over the course of the conversation I found out that, inexplicably, Malawians are in love with Country & Western. But not just any C&W. Only the old stuff. We’re talking Hank Williams, Sr., Kenny Rogers, and the person they love the most – Jim Reeves! This has been verified by every Malawian I have spoken to since hearing the news. They all give me an embarrassed little smile and then tell me it’s true. Too much fun. So, of course, now I have this grand idea of bringing my guitar back here one day and kicking off my career as a traveling C&W singer in the heart of Africa. Wait, this makes too much sense. I better just move on…
-There’s a belief among Malawians here that if you are a man and you eat raw cassava plants freshly picked out of the ground, that you will inherit strength and virility. They even have a modern song about it with the chorus “Fire, Fire, Cassava. All the women get worried when they see men with cassava because there’ll be no sleep tonight.”
-And I finally hit up a very Malawian church. It was a neat experience, culturally speaking. The room had about 100 people in it, and about 60 were kids. I thought it was so cool that they just let the kids run all over the church while they played songs. One interesting thing about Malawians is that kids never seem to be a nuisance to adults. They don’t notice crying babies and pay very little attention to little kids running around. This transfers to church where kids are just running around having such a good time. I loved watching it. They all played a game of “who can stare at the lone white guy the longest”. There was one little baby crawling on the ground and I never did figure out who his mother was. He kept getting picked up by a different woman every five minutes or so. They also had a time to meet the new visitors – which was me. Their tradition is that every member of the church comes over to shake the visitor’s hand. So I sat there while 60 kids all practically jumped on me trying to shake my hand. It was a little embarrassing at first, but after awhile I enjoyed kidding around with the kids. Good times.
Happy July 4th Ya'll!!! Have some hamburgers, applie pie, and sweet tea for me!!!
Monday, June 30, 2008
Development? What's that!
It is odd not doing anything development-y this summer, other than the occasional OID newsletter. (One should be out today! Srsly!) That's why it was good to meet up with my capstone group over the weekend. Planning the rest of our summer reminded me that I'm in deep water without those orange floaties on my arm.
On a marginally developmental note, I went up to NYC to see a play that was written by my freshman neighbor and produced from the guy down the hall from us. While catching up with other theater friends I found out that a mutual (theater) friend of ours is in Tanzania working in the summer at an orphanage. I need to get in touch with her to see what she does there. If you are NYC in the next week you should see it. It's a solid piece that has lots of promise and laughter. Still the River Runs
To those who are summer expats: How are you spending the 4th of July? Are other expats making a big deal of doing it authentically or do you end up with an amalgam of local, U.S., and other anglophone cultures? My first Thanksgiving meal abroad was turkey at an Irish pub in Tokyo.
On a marginally developmental note, I went up to NYC to see a play that was written by my freshman neighbor and produced from the guy down the hall from us. While catching up with other theater friends I found out that a mutual (theater) friend of ours is in Tanzania working in the summer at an orphanage. I need to get in touch with her to see what she does there. If you are NYC in the next week you should see it. It's a solid piece that has lots of promise and laughter. Still the River Runs
To those who are summer expats: How are you spending the 4th of July? Are other expats making a big deal of doing it authentically or do you end up with an amalgam of local, U.S., and other anglophone cultures? My first Thanksgiving meal abroad was turkey at an Irish pub in Tokyo.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
down to bidness
Hi everyone,
I found out yesterday when I was attending an anti-corruption community meeting in Polokwane that I received my work clearance (woohoo!). So, 27 days after I arrived to start my USAID internship, I can actually start. Working for the Democracy and Governance office, I'm going to be updating and creating site sheets on the projects they sponsor, including one on trafficking in persons and another on the women's justice and empowerment initiative.
RTI, a USAID partner, ran the anti-corruption meeting I attended. It included members of the Polokwane municipality. Many of them were very outspoken about what can be done to fight corruption and fraud in the city. These are two big problems in local South African governance. Apparently most local government officials are considered crooks. The municipality has set up a hotline that anyone can call anonymously to report fraud in government. However, there seem to be two main concerns from the audience. 1) most did not believe their identity would truly be kept confidential, despite assurances to the contrary and 2) some said the hotline would be used to lodge petty or unfounded complaints against people the caller didn't like. Several people seemed to already have certain incidents in mind when they spoke, like officials using government cars for personal use.
In the end it was good just to get out of Pretoria and see more of South Africa. I second those complaints about feeling cooped up where I am. More later.
Jessica W.
I found out yesterday when I was attending an anti-corruption community meeting in Polokwane that I received my work clearance (woohoo!). So, 27 days after I arrived to start my USAID internship, I can actually start. Working for the Democracy and Governance office, I'm going to be updating and creating site sheets on the projects they sponsor, including one on trafficking in persons and another on the women's justice and empowerment initiative.
RTI, a USAID partner, ran the anti-corruption meeting I attended. It included members of the Polokwane municipality. Many of them were very outspoken about what can be done to fight corruption and fraud in the city. These are two big problems in local South African governance. Apparently most local government officials are considered crooks. The municipality has set up a hotline that anyone can call anonymously to report fraud in government. However, there seem to be two main concerns from the audience. 1) most did not believe their identity would truly be kept confidential, despite assurances to the contrary and 2) some said the hotline would be used to lodge petty or unfounded complaints against people the caller didn't like. Several people seemed to already have certain incidents in mind when they spoke, like officials using government cars for personal use.
In the end it was good just to get out of Pretoria and see more of South Africa. I second those complaints about feeling cooped up where I am. More later.
Jessica W.
Monday, June 23, 2008
A Tale of Two Kinshasas
Finally yesterday I felt for the first time this summer like I'm really living in Africa. The past two weeks I've felt like I'm living in some weird alternate America where I'm rich enough to live in a huge and very nice house in the nicest part of town, and important enough to be driven around in armored vehicles and invited to fancy cocktail receptions and dinner parties.
There really are two distinct worlds here - the expat/embassy world, where the water that comes out of our kitchen tap is potable and we don't even notice power outages because our house has its own generator, we play tennis and swim and eat western foods and shop in grocery stores and eat in nice restaurants and drive nice cars. And this Kinshasa rarely interacts with the other Kinshasa, the one without running water or electricity or a functioning government. We see bits of this other Kinshasa from the car windows but the embassy is extremely protective and insists that we not walk around the city on our own. This is by far the largest income gap I've ever seen, and though there are certainly things about Kinshasa that remind me of Senegal or other developing countries I've seen, this is the first time I've lived in a war-torn, actual failed state.
Yesterday we felt a little stir-crazy from being cooped up in our compound all the time, so we (all the interns) found a car and driver and took a little road trip out to what used to be Mobutu's vacation/country home. It was built by the Chinese as a gift to Mobutu and looked like a smaller version of the Summer Palace in Beijing, with the covered walkways and elaborate Chinese paintings on the walls and ceilings. The palace was surrounded by thousands of acres of what used to be a thriving cattle ranch and pineapple plantation, but in the last decade or so of civil war and state collapse the palace, grounds and plantation had been abandoned, and the whole place was overgrown with weeds and in ruins that made it look a thousand years old instead of the forty or so that it actually was. I think a couple of families were squatting in the palace, and there were ducks wandering around through the empty rooms. Civil war is really devastating to an economy.
So hopefully we'll take more weekend trips that get us out of our little American bubble, and I think I'll be sent on at least one, maybe two site visits to USAID projects in other parts of the country, which should be pretty eye-opening.
A few random facts that I think are interesting:
Kinshasa is the biggest French-speaking city in the world, and by some estimates, as big as the next two (Paris and Montreal) combined
Photography is illegal. So I'm sorry I can't send pictures - I haven't taken a single picture and might not be able to the entire summer.
Everyone uses US Dollars - the largest Congolese franc note is worth less than $1, so people use USD for just about everything
Prices for everything are ridiculously high - it's really shocking, but I guess that's what happens when neither the agriculture nor the manufacturing sectors really function and absolutely everything has to be imported.
I've created a Google Map of Kinshasa that I add to every time I discover something new around town. If you're interested in seeing what the city and the roof of my house look like, here's the link: (look at the satellite view).
http://maps.google.com/maps/ms?ie=UTF&msa=0&msid=105585629350532448728.00044f79f58c997c7578d
One other exciting thing is that the embassy is officially part of the United States, so we have a US post office. This means you can send me letters or packages just like you would to someone in the US, with normal US postage, for the same price as a domestic letter or package. Likewise, I can mail letters and postcards from here with a normal stamp, so send me your address if you want a postcard! My address:
Cynthia Berning
Unit 2220, Box 188
DPO AE
09828-0188
There really are two distinct worlds here - the expat/embassy world, where the water that comes out of our kitchen tap is potable and we don't even notice power outages because our house has its own generator, we play tennis and swim and eat western foods and shop in grocery stores and eat in nice restaurants and drive nice cars. And this Kinshasa rarely interacts with the other Kinshasa, the one without running water or electricity or a functioning government. We see bits of this other Kinshasa from the car windows but the embassy is extremely protective and insists that we not walk around the city on our own. This is by far the largest income gap I've ever seen, and though there are certainly things about Kinshasa that remind me of Senegal or other developing countries I've seen, this is the first time I've lived in a war-torn, actual failed state.
Yesterday we felt a little stir-crazy from being cooped up in our compound all the time, so we (all the interns) found a car and driver and took a little road trip out to what used to be Mobutu's vacation/country home. It was built by the Chinese as a gift to Mobutu and looked like a smaller version of the Summer Palace in Beijing, with the covered walkways and elaborate Chinese paintings on the walls and ceilings. The palace was surrounded by thousands of acres of what used to be a thriving cattle ranch and pineapple plantation, but in the last decade or so of civil war and state collapse the palace, grounds and plantation had been abandoned, and the whole place was overgrown with weeds and in ruins that made it look a thousand years old instead of the forty or so that it actually was. I think a couple of families were squatting in the palace, and there were ducks wandering around through the empty rooms. Civil war is really devastating to an economy.
So hopefully we'll take more weekend trips that get us out of our little American bubble, and I think I'll be sent on at least one, maybe two site visits to USAID projects in other parts of the country, which should be pretty eye-opening.
A few random facts that I think are interesting:
Kinshasa is the biggest French-speaking city in the world, and by some estimates, as big as the next two (Paris and Montreal) combined
Photography is illegal. So I'm sorry I can't send pictures - I haven't taken a single picture and might not be able to the entire summer.
Everyone uses US Dollars - the largest Congolese franc note is worth less than $1, so people use USD for just about everything
Prices for everything are ridiculously high - it's really shocking, but I guess that's what happens when neither the agriculture nor the manufacturing sectors really function and absolutely everything has to be imported.
I've created a Google Map of Kinshasa that I add to every time I discover something new around town. If you're interested in seeing what the city and the roof of my house look like, here's the link: (look at the satellite view).
http://maps.google.com/maps/ms?ie=UTF&msa=0&msid=105585629350532448728.00044f79f58c997c7578d
One other exciting thing is that the embassy is officially part of the United States, so we have a US post office. This means you can send me letters or packages just like you would to someone in the US, with normal US postage, for the same price as a domestic letter or package. Likewise, I can mail letters and postcards from here with a normal stamp, so send me your address if you want a postcard! My address:
Cynthia Berning
Unit 2220, Box 188
DPO AE
09828-0188
TIA = This is Africa!!
Since I'm the resident expert of USAID, I can authoritatively tell you that the wierdest place I have seen a USAID logo is the tattoo on the undisclosed location on my body which reads "From the American People". Giga giga.
(Caution: This blog post got a little long, but I had a lot to fit in. So feel free to take breaks while reading through it [I've provided resting points in the form of paragraphs, and there are pictures to keep you entertained]. Also be sure to drink plenty of water and take a walk at least once every two hours. And yes, the lake pictures are here to make you extremely jelous.)
(Also I didn't feel like uploading the pics to both spots, so if you want to see them go check out my original blog.)
Thanks to the movie Blood Diamonds (which stars Leonardo Dicaprio as a swashbuckling ex-mercenary – yeah, right) the phrase TIA, “This Is Africa” has become a popular way to explain why crazy things happen in Africa. As if only crazy things happen in Africa. I think it fits in with the dominant view that people have of Africa where the four horsemen of the apocalypse (war, famine, pestilence, and death) dominate the only headlines that escape the black hole of information that envelops the continent. It’s a trite and hackneyed statement that could be used to capture so much more…as I found out this weekend.
To me this weekend felt like a 30-minute sitcom sort of situation where so much emotion is packed into such a short time that it hardly resembles reality. You know how a major problem is introduced and 21 minutes later it gets resolved. Yeah, that’s kind of how the weekend was.
My week ended on a down note emotionally. A couple of things came to a head on Friday. The first is that I finally made it out to a market to buy some gifts for back home. One of the really difficult things about Africa is that a white person can’t go anywhere without having a thousand hands held out palm up asking for money. It makes it really hard to be a tourist, but at the same time, isn’t that what I came to see? In the moment, though, I struggle with how to deal with it and usually just mutter a “Sorry” and try not to make eye contact. As if making eye contact obligates me to stop or maybe just makes the encounter more personal. Sometimes I take advantage of the attention and stop to discuss their lives to get a first-hand account. I’ve had the best conversations through such encounters, but they always end up the same way. Just as I think I’ve made a friend in Africa, they ask me to come check out their booth or buy some of the necklaces. It feels like to them I will always be a dollar sign.
So obviously this gets magnified when a muzungu (white person) voluntarily enters a market, which I did on Friday. This time, however, with the intent to buy. Of course in these market situations they always start with an exorbitant price and hope that the muzungu doesn’t try to barter down. In these situations my competitive instinct always comes out. I ended up bartering down to some extremely low prices for some pretty nice carvings which they had done themselves, probably in the last day or two. Afterwards I ended up feeling terrible and overcome with guilt. This is the only money that these guys were going to make that day probably and I talked them out of something like $1.50. Did I really need that $1.50 more than they did? Of course not. So now even when I do give them money I felt bad. I wondered if this is how Africa would always be for me. That there would always be a barrier between me and the potential beneficiary of my perceived wealth. The outgoing American Ambassador of Malawi said as much to me. He told me that everywhere he goes people ask the US for money through him. He hardly had any Malawian friends because it was so hard for him to break through. TIA=This is Africa
The second thing weighing on me had to do with one of my security guards named Frank. One night after work I came through the gate and asked him how he was. This is usually a formality in Malawi where whenever you see someone you ask them how they are and it’s usually just a string of platitudes from there. But this time Frank said that he wasn’t doing okay. I asked him why and he showed me an insect bit on the back of his neck. Through broken English he said it was giving him a bad headache and making his whole body sore. He didn’t have any money for a doctor and he definitely couldn’t afford to miss a shift. So he was forced to come to work for his 12 hour over-night shift feeling terrible. The guards don’t even bring food for the shifts because they can’t afford it. I looked through my medicine travel kit and all I could find was some ibuprofen to give him. I gave it to him with some water and a banana and wished him well as I went to bed. The next evening I saw him again and again he wasn’t feeling great. The bite mark had gotten bigger. I gave him 2 more ibuprofen. A couple of hours later he knocked on my door and said that the medicine had helped him so much that he wondered if he could have more. My heart broke that this proud Malawian would be in such pain that he would break the rules of his job to come beg for some more medicine. I gave him enough to last through the night, but knew it wouldn’t solve the problem. This was the same week in which my other security guard told me that his 10 month old daughter had contracted malaria but had recovered, and even the computer technician at work had come down with malaria. And these are the people who actually have jobs and live in a relatively developed city. It all just became so heavy for me thinking about the 11 million people in this country who live in much worse situations. TIA=This is Africa
With all of that on my mind I headed out to visit Lake Malawi for the first time. Lake Malawi is third largest lake in Africa and is formed between the thousands of hills created by the escarpments of the Great Rift Valley. It’s supposed to be most endearing parts of “The Warm Heart of Africa”. It ended up being one of those instances in life where reality surpassed the hype. I took public transport to get there which allowed for some new forms of travel for this Texan wandering across the open plains of southern Africa. I left Lilongwe in a mini-bus with 17 other people and a sign on the back that said “No Fear”. Not a comforting sign when your crammed in like a sardine to the back seat. They call mini-buses “matolas” here in Malawi. Matola is Chichewa for “Close your eyes around corners!” Just kidding. It means mini-bus. The matola ride took 40 minutes to start as we waited for people to pile in. After two hours of driving we ended up in Salima which is about 20 km from the beach. From there I hopped on the back of a kid’s bike – a Malawian taxi. So add to my previous list of things on Malawian’s bikes a 182 pound Texan with a 40 pound rucksack in tow. It took him awhile to get going which drew laughs from the on-lookers. Then I loaded into the bed of the smallest Toyota pickup truck I had ever seen. There were 16 of us crammed in there along with two large baskets of tomatoes. Hold on to something!! This was a 40 minute drive to the beach. TIA=This is Africa!!
And finally, the beach. Boy, was it a sight for sore eyes. What an incredible view to behold in the middle of this dry continent. I camped out for the night and saw one of the most beautiful sunsets I have ever seen (pictured to the right). The powder blues and magentas of the sky overlooked the silvery water which seemed like an ocean of mercury. As I sat there in the cool night air I felt a thousand miles away from the crowded cities I had spent too much time in while in Africa. This ended up being the first time that I felt at home since I got here. Finally there were no people asking me for handouts. Out of sight, but definitely not out of mind. Even in this moment I couldn’t shake the emotional rollercoaster of the end of the week. But at the very least I felt like this great continent was reaching its giant arms around me and embracing me like a native son. As I looked out over the water I remembered Jodie Foster’s line at the end of the movie Contact where she’s supposedly overlooking all of the mysteries of the universe and she says “They should have sent a poet”. I felt like the most beautiful part of Africa was revealing itself to me in that moment. Suddenly all of the travel and fatigue was worth it. I was finally home. TIA=This is Africa.
One of the things I noticed while lying out on the lake enjoying some good books is how empty the skies are in Africa. I never really noticed it back home, but our skies are so cluttered with aircrafts. Maybe it’s because I only look up when I see planes flying. Maybe it’s because I lived right next to an airport and air bases in DC for the last year. But it feels rare to look up in the sky in the States and not see aircrafts, no matter how far out we are. Take a second to look up at the sky today and tell me what you think. But in Africa there is nothing above us. It’s a completely virgin sky…so natural. TIA=This is Africa.
At the same time, while I looked out over the pristine waters of Lake Malawi with fisherman busy at their vocation I was reading a book about some of the greatest tragedies that have befallen Africa in the last twenty years. In Central Africa there has been one genocide after another, and each time they dump the bodies in the rivers. As a result these waters are almost permanently stained, at least in the minds of those who witnessed the atrocities. It’s made it hard to look at waters in Africa and not think about the evil side of the continent. 300,000 killed in Burundi. 1 million murdered in Rwanda. 4 million dead in Congo. Each time the rivers ran red. This is the Africa that too often people choose to think about. And all the while Malawi has gone centuries without any major conflicts. This water has remained clean. TIA=This is Africa.
Even after such a beautiful experience, Africa was not finished revealing itself to me this weekend. Still a little heavy hearted after catching one of the most beautiful sunrises I have ever seen (pictured to the left) I decided to head out on the arduous journey back to Lilongwe. As I was packing up my tent and leaving the campsite I ran into one of the venders who had come up to talk to me at the restaurant I ate at the night before. It was another conversation where I felt like we really got to know each other. We even realized that we shared the same name and had a good laugh over it. We called each other brothers – African Mike and American Mike. But at the end of it he invited me back to his shop to look at his key chains on which he could carve anybody’s name. I told him maybe in the morning on my way out just to get out of the situation. So on the way out that morning I had to walk back by his shop. I thought about trying to hitch a ride just to avoid another time when I had to disappoint him. But I kept walking and sure enough he was there waiting for me. African Mike greeted American Mike wearing a Houston Astros shirt he had found somewhere. I was in my Spurs shirt so we were in full Texas regalia. He told me to have a safe journey and then pulled out a key chain holder on which he had carved my name on one side and a rhinoceros on the other. I thanked him for it and asked him how much he wanted for it since I felt obliged to buy it now. He looked disappointed and said he didn’t want any money. I thought he was trying to get a pity donation, but he wouldn’t take any money. I practically tried to throw 500 kwatcha (~$3.50) at him but he wouldn’t take it. He just wanted me to have something to remember him by. So I took a picture with him (below) and headed down the road, almost emotionally overcome by my new African brother. TIA=This is Africa.
I kept walking down the road and all the little kids were yelling at me, saying “Hello! Hello! Hello!” This happens everywhere I go as if they just want to make contact with the outsider. At the same time they always keep their distance as if they don’t want to get THAT close to me. But for the first time since I arrived on the continent a little kid who must have been about 3 years old walked all the way up to me and grabbed my hand with the biggest smile on his face. And for about 100 meters we walked hand in hand as he kept saying over and over “Hello, hello, hello!” He seemed so proud to walk through his little village hand in hand with a giant mazungu. TIA=This is Africa.
I was going to write some snappy conclusion to this post. Something like, "For all it's problems there's still so much beauty in Africa". But that seems like such a hopeless way of summing up the weekend. All I can say for now is that I've got 8 more weeks here to try to learn a little more about Africa.
(Caution: This blog post got a little long, but I had a lot to fit in. So feel free to take breaks while reading through it [I've provided resting points in the form of paragraphs, and there are pictures to keep you entertained]. Also be sure to drink plenty of water and take a walk at least once every two hours. And yes, the lake pictures are here to make you extremely jelous.)
(Also I didn't feel like uploading the pics to both spots, so if you want to see them go check out my original blog.)
Thanks to the movie Blood Diamonds (which stars Leonardo Dicaprio as a swashbuckling ex-mercenary – yeah, right) the phrase TIA, “This Is Africa” has become a popular way to explain why crazy things happen in Africa. As if only crazy things happen in Africa. I think it fits in with the dominant view that people have of Africa where the four horsemen of the apocalypse (war, famine, pestilence, and death) dominate the only headlines that escape the black hole of information that envelops the continent. It’s a trite and hackneyed statement that could be used to capture so much more…as I found out this weekend.
To me this weekend felt like a 30-minute sitcom sort of situation where so much emotion is packed into such a short time that it hardly resembles reality. You know how a major problem is introduced and 21 minutes later it gets resolved. Yeah, that’s kind of how the weekend was.
My week ended on a down note emotionally. A couple of things came to a head on Friday. The first is that I finally made it out to a market to buy some gifts for back home. One of the really difficult things about Africa is that a white person can’t go anywhere without having a thousand hands held out palm up asking for money. It makes it really hard to be a tourist, but at the same time, isn’t that what I came to see? In the moment, though, I struggle with how to deal with it and usually just mutter a “Sorry” and try not to make eye contact. As if making eye contact obligates me to stop or maybe just makes the encounter more personal. Sometimes I take advantage of the attention and stop to discuss their lives to get a first-hand account. I’ve had the best conversations through such encounters, but they always end up the same way. Just as I think I’ve made a friend in Africa, they ask me to come check out their booth or buy some of the necklaces. It feels like to them I will always be a dollar sign.
So obviously this gets magnified when a muzungu (white person) voluntarily enters a market, which I did on Friday. This time, however, with the intent to buy. Of course in these market situations they always start with an exorbitant price and hope that the muzungu doesn’t try to barter down. In these situations my competitive instinct always comes out. I ended up bartering down to some extremely low prices for some pretty nice carvings which they had done themselves, probably in the last day or two. Afterwards I ended up feeling terrible and overcome with guilt. This is the only money that these guys were going to make that day probably and I talked them out of something like $1.50. Did I really need that $1.50 more than they did? Of course not. So now even when I do give them money I felt bad. I wondered if this is how Africa would always be for me. That there would always be a barrier between me and the potential beneficiary of my perceived wealth. The outgoing American Ambassador of Malawi said as much to me. He told me that everywhere he goes people ask the US for money through him. He hardly had any Malawian friends because it was so hard for him to break through. TIA=This is Africa
The second thing weighing on me had to do with one of my security guards named Frank. One night after work I came through the gate and asked him how he was. This is usually a formality in Malawi where whenever you see someone you ask them how they are and it’s usually just a string of platitudes from there. But this time Frank said that he wasn’t doing okay. I asked him why and he showed me an insect bit on the back of his neck. Through broken English he said it was giving him a bad headache and making his whole body sore. He didn’t have any money for a doctor and he definitely couldn’t afford to miss a shift. So he was forced to come to work for his 12 hour over-night shift feeling terrible. The guards don’t even bring food for the shifts because they can’t afford it. I looked through my medicine travel kit and all I could find was some ibuprofen to give him. I gave it to him with some water and a banana and wished him well as I went to bed. The next evening I saw him again and again he wasn’t feeling great. The bite mark had gotten bigger. I gave him 2 more ibuprofen. A couple of hours later he knocked on my door and said that the medicine had helped him so much that he wondered if he could have more. My heart broke that this proud Malawian would be in such pain that he would break the rules of his job to come beg for some more medicine. I gave him enough to last through the night, but knew it wouldn’t solve the problem. This was the same week in which my other security guard told me that his 10 month old daughter had contracted malaria but had recovered, and even the computer technician at work had come down with malaria. And these are the people who actually have jobs and live in a relatively developed city. It all just became so heavy for me thinking about the 11 million people in this country who live in much worse situations. TIA=This is Africa
With all of that on my mind I headed out to visit Lake Malawi for the first time. Lake Malawi is third largest lake in Africa and is formed between the thousands of hills created by the escarpments of the Great Rift Valley. It’s supposed to be most endearing parts of “The Warm Heart of Africa”. It ended up being one of those instances in life where reality surpassed the hype. I took public transport to get there which allowed for some new forms of travel for this Texan wandering across the open plains of southern Africa. I left Lilongwe in a mini-bus with 17 other people and a sign on the back that said “No Fear”. Not a comforting sign when your crammed in like a sardine to the back seat. They call mini-buses “matolas” here in Malawi. Matola is Chichewa for “Close your eyes around corners!” Just kidding. It means mini-bus. The matola ride took 40 minutes to start as we waited for people to pile in. After two hours of driving we ended up in Salima which is about 20 km from the beach. From there I hopped on the back of a kid’s bike – a Malawian taxi. So add to my previous list of things on Malawian’s bikes a 182 pound Texan with a 40 pound rucksack in tow. It took him awhile to get going which drew laughs from the on-lookers. Then I loaded into the bed of the smallest Toyota pickup truck I had ever seen. There were 16 of us crammed in there along with two large baskets of tomatoes. Hold on to something!! This was a 40 minute drive to the beach. TIA=This is Africa!!
And finally, the beach. Boy, was it a sight for sore eyes. What an incredible view to behold in the middle of this dry continent. I camped out for the night and saw one of the most beautiful sunsets I have ever seen (pictured to the right). The powder blues and magentas of the sky overlooked the silvery water which seemed like an ocean of mercury. As I sat there in the cool night air I felt a thousand miles away from the crowded cities I had spent too much time in while in Africa. This ended up being the first time that I felt at home since I got here. Finally there were no people asking me for handouts. Out of sight, but definitely not out of mind. Even in this moment I couldn’t shake the emotional rollercoaster of the end of the week. But at the very least I felt like this great continent was reaching its giant arms around me and embracing me like a native son. As I looked out over the water I remembered Jodie Foster’s line at the end of the movie Contact where she’s supposedly overlooking all of the mysteries of the universe and she says “They should have sent a poet”. I felt like the most beautiful part of Africa was revealing itself to me in that moment. Suddenly all of the travel and fatigue was worth it. I was finally home. TIA=This is Africa.
One of the things I noticed while lying out on the lake enjoying some good books is how empty the skies are in Africa. I never really noticed it back home, but our skies are so cluttered with aircrafts. Maybe it’s because I only look up when I see planes flying. Maybe it’s because I lived right next to an airport and air bases in DC for the last year. But it feels rare to look up in the sky in the States and not see aircrafts, no matter how far out we are. Take a second to look up at the sky today and tell me what you think. But in Africa there is nothing above us. It’s a completely virgin sky…so natural. TIA=This is Africa.
At the same time, while I looked out over the pristine waters of Lake Malawi with fisherman busy at their vocation I was reading a book about some of the greatest tragedies that have befallen Africa in the last twenty years. In Central Africa there has been one genocide after another, and each time they dump the bodies in the rivers. As a result these waters are almost permanently stained, at least in the minds of those who witnessed the atrocities. It’s made it hard to look at waters in Africa and not think about the evil side of the continent. 300,000 killed in Burundi. 1 million murdered in Rwanda. 4 million dead in Congo. Each time the rivers ran red. This is the Africa that too often people choose to think about. And all the while Malawi has gone centuries without any major conflicts. This water has remained clean. TIA=This is Africa.
Even after such a beautiful experience, Africa was not finished revealing itself to me this weekend. Still a little heavy hearted after catching one of the most beautiful sunrises I have ever seen (pictured to the left) I decided to head out on the arduous journey back to Lilongwe. As I was packing up my tent and leaving the campsite I ran into one of the venders who had come up to talk to me at the restaurant I ate at the night before. It was another conversation where I felt like we really got to know each other. We even realized that we shared the same name and had a good laugh over it. We called each other brothers – African Mike and American Mike. But at the end of it he invited me back to his shop to look at his key chains on which he could carve anybody’s name. I told him maybe in the morning on my way out just to get out of the situation. So on the way out that morning I had to walk back by his shop. I thought about trying to hitch a ride just to avoid another time when I had to disappoint him. But I kept walking and sure enough he was there waiting for me. African Mike greeted American Mike wearing a Houston Astros shirt he had found somewhere. I was in my Spurs shirt so we were in full Texas regalia. He told me to have a safe journey and then pulled out a key chain holder on which he had carved my name on one side and a rhinoceros on the other. I thanked him for it and asked him how much he wanted for it since I felt obliged to buy it now. He looked disappointed and said he didn’t want any money. I thought he was trying to get a pity donation, but he wouldn’t take any money. I practically tried to throw 500 kwatcha (~$3.50) at him but he wouldn’t take it. He just wanted me to have something to remember him by. So I took a picture with him (below) and headed down the road, almost emotionally overcome by my new African brother. TIA=This is Africa.
I kept walking down the road and all the little kids were yelling at me, saying “Hello! Hello! Hello!” This happens everywhere I go as if they just want to make contact with the outsider. At the same time they always keep their distance as if they don’t want to get THAT close to me. But for the first time since I arrived on the continent a little kid who must have been about 3 years old walked all the way up to me and grabbed my hand with the biggest smile on his face. And for about 100 meters we walked hand in hand as he kept saying over and over “Hello, hello, hello!” He seemed so proud to walk through his little village hand in hand with a giant mazungu. TIA=This is Africa.
I was going to write some snappy conclusion to this post. Something like, "For all it's problems there's still so much beauty in Africa". But that seems like such a hopeless way of summing up the weekend. All I can say for now is that I've got 8 more weeks here to try to learn a little more about Africa.
Friday, June 20, 2008
House that USAID Built
Photo Courtesy: whiteafricanNot many USAID stickers around here, but wanted to play the home edition of the game. Thank you, flickr! This was a home in Kenya made of USAID food bags. Does that count?
This fork brought to you by USAID
Speaking of USAID stickers...
I've just received some interesting tidbits from my consulting teammates about The Brand. Apparently about 6 or 7 years ago USAID went ballistic with stickering everything and created a several-hundred-page document with minute details about branding and marketing. It even includes prescriptions for how large other organizational logos can be in comparison to USAID on a document. Everything has to be stickered, and I do mean everything.
I like Billie's question about weirdest places you've seen the stickers. I think we should start posting photos of USAID stickers in odd locations. So far the strangest thing I've seen here is a bunch of bags of cement on the street with the logo. Although actually everything in the dorms we are staying in is labeled too, including the bunkbeds, cabinets, and washing machine. Thank goodness for those nice folks at USAID, or I wouldn't have any clean clothes right now.
It occurred to me the other day as we were driving down to the Lake that this is the first time I've been in a country that is a USAID baby. Or maybe it's just the first time I've noticed it. But it's a little disconcerting to see all the billboards and stickers everywhere. I feel like we're only a hop-skip-and-a-jump away from having villages sponsored by Reebok or RightGuard.
I've just received some interesting tidbits from my consulting teammates about The Brand. Apparently about 6 or 7 years ago USAID went ballistic with stickering everything and created a several-hundred-page document with minute details about branding and marketing. It even includes prescriptions for how large other organizational logos can be in comparison to USAID on a document. Everything has to be stickered, and I do mean everything.
I like Billie's question about weirdest places you've seen the stickers. I think we should start posting photos of USAID stickers in odd locations. So far the strangest thing I've seen here is a bunch of bags of cement on the street with the logo. Although actually everything in the dorms we are staying in is labeled too, including the bunkbeds, cabinets, and washing machine. Thank goodness for those nice folks at USAID, or I wouldn't have any clean clothes right now.
It occurred to me the other day as we were driving down to the Lake that this is the first time I've been in a country that is a USAID baby. Or maybe it's just the first time I've noticed it. But it's a little disconcerting to see all the billboards and stickers everywhere. I feel like we're only a hop-skip-and-a-jump away from having villages sponsored by Reebok or RightGuard.
Millenium Challenge Epiphany
This is especially to all you who worked at MCC over the past year.
So I've been hearing all about this economic development grant that World Vision is supposed to be getting for the Northern Region of El Salvador. I'm almost positive more than one have asked me, "But MCC only gives to governments, how's that possible?" To which I shrug and say something smart like "Because God provides." Just kidding.
Anyway, so i figured out how it works the other day. You all are indeed correct that MCC only gives to governments in order to build institutional capacity. However, once the government (in this case the neoliberal, 13% tax rate government of El Salvador, who sells the success of globalization to its people in the form of malls and luxury car dealerships in San Salvador) gets it, they can contract out as much as they please. So in essence, instead of World Vision-US winning a USAID grant which they routinely do, World Vision El Salvador (with the help of World Vision-US) won a grant from the Government of El Salvador who won it from MCC.
What does this sound like to you? If you answered "development money laundering" you are correct.
So I've been hearing all about this economic development grant that World Vision is supposed to be getting for the Northern Region of El Salvador. I'm almost positive more than one have asked me, "But MCC only gives to governments, how's that possible?" To which I shrug and say something smart like "Because God provides." Just kidding.
Anyway, so i figured out how it works the other day. You all are indeed correct that MCC only gives to governments in order to build institutional capacity. However, once the government (in this case the neoliberal, 13% tax rate government of El Salvador, who sells the success of globalization to its people in the form of malls and luxury car dealerships in San Salvador) gets it, they can contract out as much as they please. So in essence, instead of World Vision-US winning a USAID grant which they routinely do, World Vision El Salvador (with the help of World Vision-US) won a grant from the Government of El Salvador who won it from MCC.
What does this sound like to you? If you answered "development money laundering" you are correct.
Sticker Sightings
Michael's mention of the USAID stickers reminded me of something - Where is the strangest place you have seen these stickers?
I'll go first:
1. In Jordan attached to the fire extinguisher in my hotel
2. At my office here in Ramallah stuck inside the cover of a book by a famous Palestinian poet who is an inspiration to Palestinian resistance.
Here people tend to roll their eyes and raise their eyebrows at the stickers. There are also these USAID billboards that people have written to our government to complain about. They are supposed to encourage young Palestinians to dream big and pursue a positive future...or something. Anyway the ones for boys show doctors and engineers. And the ones for girls show...you guessed it...teachers.
This week I was finally able to get out of the office and head to the field. Some USAID officials were visiting projects and I got to tag along. So I thought I’d detail the projects and give you a better idea of how your tax money is being spent abroad. If you didn’t know, everything that USAID gives to poor countries is tagged with the motto, “From the American People”. And, at least in Malawi, people seem to recognize some of the good work that the US is doing.The first project I visited is where I took the above picture. Everyone in the picture is infected with HIV/AIDS. USAID supports a consortium of organizations which does a lot of work with HIV/AIDS in Malawi – both treating victims and preventing the spread of the disease. Malawi has one of the highest rates of HIV/AIDS in the world, so this is one of the biggest programs we do. In this case the consortium, called I-LIFE, was distributing free cornmeal and pinto beans to 120 rural farmers infected with HIV/AIDS. I got a chance to interview a few of them after the project. As I was interviewing others jumped in and wanted to tell me how much they appreciated the grain and how important it was to them. One said the grain was 50% of the food their family eats in a month. Another said the grain would last three weeks. One lady said that she had 8 children and without the grain shipment she would not be able to feed them for the month.
I think the thing I noticed most about these victims of HIV is that they weren’t the emaciated faces with swollen bellies that you see on tv. They were relatively well-fed (for Malawians) and strong enough to carry 55 pound bags of grain on the tops of their head. I wondered if that really was thanks to the program of the US government. We picked this area because of its extra high HIV prevalence. So they were lucky enough to receive the rations of grain. But we only picked 8 out of 20+ districts in Malawi to give the extra food. So I wondered what the HIV victims in other district looked like. Maybe I’ll see them in the future.
The second project I saw was a hand-over ceremony for scientific equipment. It was at the Natural Resources College just outside of Lilongwe. This is one of the two main agricultural colleges in Malawi. USAID donated about $50,000 worth of mushroom spawning equipment. Yep, mushroom spawning equipment. You know, for spawning mushrooms…
The look on your face is the same one that was on my face when they told me why we were there. But it turns out that it’s actually very practical for small rural farmers. All across Malawi people are cutting down trees which they burn and turn into charcoal to be sold in cities or they simply use to cook their meals. They do this because it’s the only way to make money during the “Hungry Season” – the part of the year in between harvests when no more money is coming into the home. To prevent continued degradation of forest land donors are trying to come up with new income sources for rural Malawians. And one of the most profitable new sources of income, strangely enough, is mushroom farming (no, not those kind of mushrooms). As I learned, mushrooms can be grown in bags inside small houses (like the one pictured on my blog) that act as humidifiers. The great part is that mushroom plants continue to grow and produce mushrooms providing a steady source of income for almost no work (which is great for HIV victims who tend to have very little energy). The thing is that you have to have quality spores (basically seeds) to buy. But thus far Malawi hasn’t been able to produce quality spores. Thus the US government donated the machinery to produce mushroom spores, which then go to produce a sustainable source of income for some of the poorest and vulnerable Malawians. Very interesting stuff I’d say.
Beyond that getting out on the road afforded me the opportunity to notice a few more things about Malawi, such as:
-It’s very common for men to walk around with machetes in Malawi (something I got used to seeing in Central America), but it’s just as common to see people walking around Malawi with big stalks of sugar cane. They peal away the bark and gnaw on the sugar inside. Cheap snack.
-At the HIV site I noticed that when the audience applauded, they did so in synchronized fashion. It was really impressive. There was no cue for them. It was just that when it was time to applaud they all found the same beat at the same time. Then I was told what they were doing when a guy got up and asked them not to clap like that. As my interpreter told me, the synchronized clapping is reserved for chiefs and special guests (me). But the unsynchronized clapping that we’re used to hearing is how they clap normally.
-There’s a main highway in Malawi called the M1. It turns out that it’s really just a road with one lane going in each direction and no shoulder. And while you’re driving the M1, just like any other road in Malawi, you must keep a weather eye for obstacles such as goats, kids, bikes with incredible loads (see next bullet), and slow cars with way too many people in them for safety. There is never a relaxing moment for drivers in Malawi.
-One of the most noticeable things about traveling around Malawi is the role that bikes play in life. Bikes have really turned into the beasts of burden for Malawians. Each bike has a platform behind the seat for carrying loads such as: firewood literally piled 7 feet high which must weigh easily over one hundred pounds, sugar cane also stacked high, 40 gallon barrels, boxes of vegetables going to and from market, pots and pans, men riding behind and women riding side-saddle, goats, chickens, sides of beef, and 55 pound bags of USAID-stamped grain rations. And this is just in my first two weeks.
-Another interesting thing I noticed about Malawi is that I have only seen one woman riding a bike. But women are carrying just as many loads as men. Unfortunately for them, they carry their loads on their heads. I saw these two older women carrying 8 foot long bundles of limbs three feet in diameter. When I asked some Malawians about this they didn’t really know why women don’t use bikes. They said it wasn’t taboo or anything, it’s just something that women don’t do. One guy told me “Men come from very far, women, however, only travel a short distance”. I guess.
-Another fun fact about my life in Malawi is that the house I’m staying at doesn’t have satellite tv, instead it has The Armed Forces Network – the same programming offered to the military. The most interesting thing about AFN is that they don’t have any commercials. But since there are still breaks in shows they have to fill, they have produced public service announcements for all the military folks watching around the world. These are fun and very patriotic. For instance, they tell us that it’s no longer legal to bring back treasures from wars, the difference between general vs. special powers of attorney, how to get citizenship for your new wife, be sure to check your tire pressure, obey local laws, the history of the military, the origin of simper fi, and my favorite – Be sure to vote in November!! The Republicans need you!!!
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
You down with entropy?
I hereby officially announce that I've decided to re-invent myself as a B-girl. Pei is helping me perfect my moves. Check out my signature song here.But I digress. Pei and I are chillin' (literally) on a remote university campus in the mountains above Lake Atitlan in Guatemala, where we feel a little bit less like tourism development consultants and a little more like our parents just shipped us off to the crappiest summer camp ever. We eat in a mess hall that is just one song away from girl scout camp. Girl scout camp with only slightly more testosterone (read: only 4 members of our 24 member team are male) and a helluva lot more beans and tortillas. I'm all about checking out the local cuisine, but beans and tortillas three times a day has already started to get old.
Enough of the petty stuff. We have electricity most of the time and now we even have hot water in the showers, so really we can't complain too much. In other news, we are learning by sink-or-swim how development consulting really works. Or doesn't work.
Pei: As the only person here who knows absolutely nothing about tourism coming into this project, I've been acting rather hilariously as a crisis management/disaster response expert. My crisis management group is kind of the renegade team that everyone has to wait for at night to have dinner with because we've been meeting with every crisis management representative here at the Lake. Hearing about freaky disaster and crime stories everyday, but seriously, Lake Atitlan is pretty amazing. But anyway, I'd really like to not talk about tourism for a second. Jessie has assumed the new identity as B-girl Jessie, and we will be working on some badass dance moves. (Yeeah.. that's what we mean by REMOTE) Keep you posted. If the power stays on.
Jessie: Today I spent an hour sitting in an underground pit that used to be a traditional Mayan sauna listening to an old Mayan guy tell me in Spanish about how NGOs don't help anyone except for the people who run them, and in fact they are often doing harmful things to the environment in their naive attempts to make things better. This is just a small piece of the puzzle that my team is trying to put together - how do we identify what community-based tourism is, and how do we encourage communities to adopt the principles we identify in order to make their tourism operations more sustainable? We are visiting lots of communities around the lake to take a look at what they have going on and interview some key stakeholders. On Friday we are going to gander at the town where people go to re-align their chakras and practice their yoga positions. Today's visit was to the place where people go to get cheap drugs and/or study Spanish in outdoor garden schools. Two days ago we went to the town that has put into action a true community-based operation, right down to the women's weaving cooperatives and the tree-planting tours. What a mix. I have no idea how we're going to sew this all up into a cohesive presentation, let alone some sort of deliverable product. But I have to say, this is a pretty cool experience. Even with all the beans and tortillas.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Rwanda!
Thanks for sharing your experiences here. It’s nice to hear about what everyone is learning from all over the globe! As a proud member of IDS diaspora, I’m in Rwanda working for an itty-bitty community based organization called SEVOTA, which works with widows and orphans from the 1994 genocide. I will be conducting an evaluation of their HIV/AIDS support groups and education program.
So far my time here has been a flurry of adjustments and introductions. I’m living with a very kind and accommodating family in a relatively nice area. The house is big, but there is no running water. As an avid shower-er, I’m finding that this is the most difficult aspect of life here for me. That, and judging from the fact that I’m followed, touched, and yelled at by people who seem to be both amazed and frightened by my existence, I seem to have grown a second head.
Luckily though, other aspects of life here are much better than expected: the food is very yummy (I’m on a high-carb diet this summer), my French still works, the local language, Kinyarwanda, is coming along nicely, and I have electricity for at least the next two weeks! All very good things. Plus, I saw Anderson Cooper in the Kigali airport, which was pretty much the highlight of my life.
This week, I had my most impactful experience yet. Jen (my travel buddy) and I got to sit in on a meeting of a widow’s support group. The women shared what has happened to them over the past week, leaving me astonished as woman after woman shared horrendous stories as though they were routine… a woman with HIV explained that she’s getting sicker and sicker, another has a child in the hospital and can’t afford the bus money to visit her, one widow had to beg her neighbors for food this week, while another told the story of her son who is being teased because he is the child of a rape, several women reported that their homes had been destroyed during last week’s rainstorm, and the group commiserated about how a “genocidiare” still awaiting trial had recently paid off a local judge and been released. They ended with the affirmation that sharing each other’s burdens and knowing that others are experiencing the same things helps them to heal.
Finally, they read this Bible verse, “Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us” (Romans 5:3-5). I have read this verse many times, but seeing heads nod as it was read to women who have seen their families killed, been raped by many men, and daily live in extreme poverty was incredibly humbling. Suddenly my own concerns of not being able to take a shower or call my family whenever I want to seemed pretty small.
The presence of the genocide is everywhere here and I’m still not sure how to interpret it. How do victims continue to live next door to their families’ killers? Before I came here I wondered how anyone could forgive something this horrible. After meeting the widows and seeing them cry fourteen years after the genocide ended, I understand that they have not forgiven. They are still forgiving and it seems must do so many times a day for the community to hold together.
I’m learning so much and am looking forward to the rest of my time here. I hope you all are happy and healthy wherever you are! I’ll talk to you again soon.
Stephanie
So far my time here has been a flurry of adjustments and introductions. I’m living with a very kind and accommodating family in a relatively nice area. The house is big, but there is no running water. As an avid shower-er, I’m finding that this is the most difficult aspect of life here for me. That, and judging from the fact that I’m followed, touched, and yelled at by people who seem to be both amazed and frightened by my existence, I seem to have grown a second head.
Luckily though, other aspects of life here are much better than expected: the food is very yummy (I’m on a high-carb diet this summer), my French still works, the local language, Kinyarwanda, is coming along nicely, and I have electricity for at least the next two weeks! All very good things. Plus, I saw Anderson Cooper in the Kigali airport, which was pretty much the highlight of my life.
This week, I had my most impactful experience yet. Jen (my travel buddy) and I got to sit in on a meeting of a widow’s support group. The women shared what has happened to them over the past week, leaving me astonished as woman after woman shared horrendous stories as though they were routine… a woman with HIV explained that she’s getting sicker and sicker, another has a child in the hospital and can’t afford the bus money to visit her, one widow had to beg her neighbors for food this week, while another told the story of her son who is being teased because he is the child of a rape, several women reported that their homes had been destroyed during last week’s rainstorm, and the group commiserated about how a “genocidiare” still awaiting trial had recently paid off a local judge and been released. They ended with the affirmation that sharing each other’s burdens and knowing that others are experiencing the same things helps them to heal.
Finally, they read this Bible verse, “Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us” (Romans 5:3-5). I have read this verse many times, but seeing heads nod as it was read to women who have seen their families killed, been raped by many men, and daily live in extreme poverty was incredibly humbling. Suddenly my own concerns of not being able to take a shower or call my family whenever I want to seemed pretty small.
The presence of the genocide is everywhere here and I’m still not sure how to interpret it. How do victims continue to live next door to their families’ killers? Before I came here I wondered how anyone could forgive something this horrible. After meeting the widows and seeing them cry fourteen years after the genocide ended, I understand that they have not forgiven. They are still forgiving and it seems must do so many times a day for the community to hold together.
I’m learning so much and am looking forward to the rest of my time here. I hope you all are happy and healthy wherever you are! I’ll talk to you again soon.
Stephanie
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