“The Earth is round, we shall meet.” This was one of Roy Kazanda’s favorite lines. Roy worked for FORGE as our PM Assistant (AKA: right hand man, savior, translator, bike mechanic, veterinarian, chef, etc.) and he was also our neighbor and a great friend. He repatriated to Angola in April, to live in a country without stipulation to his movement, employment or education.
Two hours after Michael Jackson died, we knew. Globalization and interdependency may not play as visible a role in Meheba on a macro level as it would in other more glamorous parts of the world, but there are plenty of indications that even in this isolated place, we are closer to each other and to the rest of the world than even eight months ago. That was when cell phone reception came to the settlement, we all (international staff and refugees) now speak to our families and friends in our home countries all over the world with a regularity that we never had and its assurance not only brings us closer to the familiar relationships from our past, but links our privilege with the experience of the refugees who never had this kind of access to knowledge, or dare I say power, in their country of asylum.
Every time we demolish the invisible barriers that break the continuity of our existence, I am reminded of the reciprocal and spherical shape that our lives can take. Or so I tell myself. The inevitability of leaving a place that in all likelihood you will never return to is heartbreaking. The concept is amorphous, yet terminal, simple and terrifying. Until I discover small but remarkable symbols of the modernity that is redeeming an otherwise impenetrable fear of finality.
Our FEF-U students in Lusaka are on facebook after all.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
LOST
This show is one of the most important contributing factors (besides our cats) to our survival here. We often joke that whatever our work was in the day time was irrelevant, and that our real lives were in LOST, what we came home to watch every night. Yeah, reintegration therapy, anyone?
Creating a Meheba edition of Lostpedia was a nightly activity that one year later, still hasn’t gotten old. Some of the most front running analogies from our hundreds of hours of analysis are listed bellows.
The Island = Meheba. Duh. It’s healing/destroying powers are particularly applicable to laptops and other high tech gadgets. Also, time passes on the island in strange ways, sometimes not moving at all, and other times we find time is behind us before we our minds have time to catch up.
The Others = The Mission. They live in Meheba, yet somehow have satellite internet, television, gas stoves, refrigerators, 24/7 electricity, two brand new and sparkling clean SUVs, hot showers, and a sculpture garden for the Mother Mary.
The Dharma Initiative = AAR. AAR was a Japanese NGO that worked in Meheba for a decade doing all sorts of high budget development activities that we think were actually experiments. Autoshop, carpentry, building wells and bridges, photography (there is a dark room for photo development in Sherie’s room, with thousands of pictures of random Japanese people from the 80s).
There are also random refugees who still wear clothes with Japanese writing and bow when they greet you and once in a while you will come across a strange diagram in some nook or cranny of the compound with Japanese writing captioning a foreign looking contraption from the future. They also pimped out our compound with flood lights, big scary dogs, running hot water, and other luxuries.
The Button = Solar battery alarm. Every night when our battery runs out of power it starts beeping, and we immediately run to turn it off. We have no idea what will happen if we don’t press the button.
Jack’s Dad = Atlantic (name changed for protection reasons). This refugee pops up everywhere he shouldn’t be. Sherie will see him in Block A the same day I will see him in Block G the same day Nick will see him in Lusaka. He might be a figment of our imagination??
Creating a Meheba edition of Lostpedia was a nightly activity that one year later, still hasn’t gotten old. Some of the most front running analogies from our hundreds of hours of analysis are listed bellows.
The Island = Meheba. Duh. It’s healing/destroying powers are particularly applicable to laptops and other high tech gadgets. Also, time passes on the island in strange ways, sometimes not moving at all, and other times we find time is behind us before we our minds have time to catch up.
The Others = The Mission. They live in Meheba, yet somehow have satellite internet, television, gas stoves, refrigerators, 24/7 electricity, two brand new and sparkling clean SUVs, hot showers, and a sculpture garden for the Mother Mary.
The Dharma Initiative = AAR. AAR was a Japanese NGO that worked in Meheba for a decade doing all sorts of high budget development activities that we think were actually experiments. Autoshop, carpentry, building wells and bridges, photography (there is a dark room for photo development in Sherie’s room, with thousands of pictures of random Japanese people from the 80s).
There are also random refugees who still wear clothes with Japanese writing and bow when they greet you and once in a while you will come across a strange diagram in some nook or cranny of the compound with Japanese writing captioning a foreign looking contraption from the future. They also pimped out our compound with flood lights, big scary dogs, running hot water, and other luxuries.
The Button = Solar battery alarm. Every night when our battery runs out of power it starts beeping, and we immediately run to turn it off. We have no idea what will happen if we don’t press the button.
Jack’s Dad = Atlantic (name changed for protection reasons). This refugee pops up everywhere he shouldn’t be. Sherie will see him in Block A the same day I will see him in Block G the same day Nick will see him in Lusaka. He might be a figment of our imagination??
Friday, July 3, 2009
Blog is Back!
Africa and technical difficulties are pretty much synonomous. No idea how or why all my blog posts and comments disappeared, and of course I haven't had the prolongued internet time to recover them :(, but I just dug them up on my external (because my computer died for the umpteenth time this year) and will work another new one soon!
What's been happening? Cliff notes: vacation in Botswana and Namibia for the past couple weeks.
today, picking up the new PMs who will be replacing us when we leave- in THREE WEEKS! WHAT!?
What's been happening? Cliff notes: vacation in Botswana and Namibia for the past couple weeks.
today, picking up the new PMs who will be replacing us when we leave- in THREE WEEKS! WHAT!?
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Offroading
In the past 6 months, I have found myself stranded in Solwezi for a total of 10 days on three different occasions due to car trouble. Our Toyota Landcruiser Prado is an impressive automobile, but despite being one of the strongest and most popular SUVs in 4x4 country, we have had to replace the shocks, ball joints, tie rod ends, and all four tires, and the wheel alignment and balancing are pretty much shot after just a few drives in and out of town. And then there’s that one time our brakes completely gave out on the way to Solwezi. And that time our mechanic persuaded us into buying parts all the way in Lusaka that were always on their way “just now,” or “now now,” but didn’t arrive until 6 days later, and were not even genuine parts.
The reason behind the breakdowns is singular and simple, the road conditions. The level of disrepair of the dirt stretch that is Meheba’s main road is severe, 40km an hour is the fastest you could possibly go while dipping up and down and swerving side to side to avoid the giant potholes that are over a foot deep and easily 6-8 feet wide. Sometimes you have to stop, get out of the car, lay down some tree branches in an impassible ditch, get back in the car, drive, and then do it again. And during rainy season, you can’t even see the road, because it turns into a river, so the treacherous terrain is invisible, forcing you to crawl at the pace of 20km an hour. One time, a pot hole became so large and filled with water that it was essentially a pond, in the middle of the road, and even ministry and UNHCR vehicles were unable to drive to their offices.
In Zambia, taking the road less traveled (literally) isn’t for the unadventurous or unprepared. And neither is it metaphorically. Under normal circumstances I am a remarkable flexible person, able to withstand wild fluctuations in a variety of external factors that shape my relationships with society, individual people, institutions, work, nature, money, food, and the list goes on. But here, those external reference points are so foreign, and often times so unfair, that the strain it puts on a person who is normally capable of adapting to tough surroundings can be acutely taxing.
From issues pertaining to living wages for refugees, to the stock of medical supplies in the clinics, to the cost of secondary education, the framework within which we operate needs to be reconstructed. Service delivery suffers when the infrastructure we take for granted in our plans doesn’t exist. But we aren’t here to build roads. We just hope to learn to navigate them as best we can to help get ourselves and those we are trying to impact to where we all want to be.
When we see unavoidable mud in our path, the best vehicular maneuver is to keep driving, fast, without hesitation. But even the most experienced drivers find themselves stuck in “black cotton” (very fine soil that acts like quicksand) from time to time. Reflexively, I rev the engine and spin the wheels, which only digs me deeper into the bog. Getting frustrated about things you can’t change is probably the most common novice development worker’s downfall, and dwelling on them only submerges you further. Instead, try standing still for a moment, relax, and reassess the situation. Look out the window, there’s a whole village of people willing to help push or pull you out. And once you’re moving again, keep up the momentum: if you pause, you will sink and stop.
The reason behind the breakdowns is singular and simple, the road conditions. The level of disrepair of the dirt stretch that is Meheba’s main road is severe, 40km an hour is the fastest you could possibly go while dipping up and down and swerving side to side to avoid the giant potholes that are over a foot deep and easily 6-8 feet wide. Sometimes you have to stop, get out of the car, lay down some tree branches in an impassible ditch, get back in the car, drive, and then do it again. And during rainy season, you can’t even see the road, because it turns into a river, so the treacherous terrain is invisible, forcing you to crawl at the pace of 20km an hour. One time, a pot hole became so large and filled with water that it was essentially a pond, in the middle of the road, and even ministry and UNHCR vehicles were unable to drive to their offices.
In Zambia, taking the road less traveled (literally) isn’t for the unadventurous or unprepared. And neither is it metaphorically. Under normal circumstances I am a remarkable flexible person, able to withstand wild fluctuations in a variety of external factors that shape my relationships with society, individual people, institutions, work, nature, money, food, and the list goes on. But here, those external reference points are so foreign, and often times so unfair, that the strain it puts on a person who is normally capable of adapting to tough surroundings can be acutely taxing.
From issues pertaining to living wages for refugees, to the stock of medical supplies in the clinics, to the cost of secondary education, the framework within which we operate needs to be reconstructed. Service delivery suffers when the infrastructure we take for granted in our plans doesn’t exist. But we aren’t here to build roads. We just hope to learn to navigate them as best we can to help get ourselves and those we are trying to impact to where we all want to be.
When we see unavoidable mud in our path, the best vehicular maneuver is to keep driving, fast, without hesitation. But even the most experienced drivers find themselves stuck in “black cotton” (very fine soil that acts like quicksand) from time to time. Reflexively, I rev the engine and spin the wheels, which only digs me deeper into the bog. Getting frustrated about things you can’t change is probably the most common novice development worker’s downfall, and dwelling on them only submerges you further. Instead, try standing still for a moment, relax, and reassess the situation. Look out the window, there’s a whole village of people willing to help push or pull you out. And once you’re moving again, keep up the momentum: if you pause, you will sink and stop.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Potpourri
So I like to spend a lot of time on my blogs, and when I am unsatisfied with them, they never get published, which defeats the purpose of this whole endeavor. So from now on, I am going to post whatever drafts I have if I have not completed them after two weeks of starting. So here are three that I haven’t been able to commit to, flashes of what’s going on in my head.
Zambia Real Africa
Zambia has an informal slogan that is somewhat nonsensical. “Zambia Real Africa.” Everyone has a t-shirt that proclaims it. Over Easter weekend, Sherie and I went to Kafue National Park, about three hours east of Lusaka. We stayed at this great lodge called Mukambi, where Basel the Hippo walks up the verandah in the evenings and every evening meal is three courses. On a game drive we saw herds of zebra, four lions, several elephants, a spotted hyena eating a hippo carcass, and tons of impala and other deer like creatures. Afterward we took hot showers and roasted marshmallows to make smores. And for a few days, Zambia really did feel like the “Real Africa.” Gorgeous, serene, and teeming with life and promise.
The work we do is usually fraught with the opposite stereotypes about Africa—exploitation, hunger, unemployment, squalor, poverty, etc. Sometimes it is just nice to be on the other side again, although it’s also disorienting to experience abundance in such close proximity to scarcity. And it’s definitely hard not to feel guilty, knowing that in just a few short months my life will return to whatever I want it to be, but there will be thousands of refugees left in the dusty confines of their current lives for decades to come.
Maptitude
Maybe more than shoes, or French toast, all the women in my family have a proclivity for loving maps. The way they fold up (properly, do not bend against the crease), for one thing. Or show you vista points, or shortcuts. And make you feel so small and knowledgeable at the same time. But more than that, maps tell you where you are, where you’re going, and where you’ve been. The geography inextricable from the aspect of time associated with place- the very two components of life itself.
But maps are not static pieces of paper that are eternally reliable. Borders, especially in Africa, are porous and shifting. And where there might be a mass of grayish green color with no other demarcation on a two dimensional plane, on top of it in the real world there may in fact be a 500 square mile refugee camp, as forgotten as the cartographer who chose not to label the area.
Character Study
Some quirky notes and anecdotes about the non-refugee people who surround us.
Father Kim/Father Young- Two youngish Korean missionaries and Catholic priests who live in Block B with awesome facilities (as in satellite television and a gas stove). They treat us to refrigerated cokes whenever we visit and I am always sure to use their toilet just for the sake being able to flush it. They also make weird funny jokes about eating dogs. They are also trying to learn English, so sometimes you catch them repeating words to their computer screen for their English lesson software. Last time was “Fornication.” “Fornication.” “Fornication.” I kept trying not to laugh…
The Italians- A beekeeping couple from north of Milan who lived in Zone G for almost four years (holy cow). They have a pizza oven in their beautiful kitchen that they built themselves. They are teaching the community how to make honey and sell it to generate income.
Peace Corps- One volunteer lives just outside of Meheba and comes to keep us company when we are overwhelmingly bored (usually once every week or two). He recently ate a whole frog, alive, on a dare. They do nice things for us, like let us stay at their communal house in Solwezi when our car breaks down, or invite us for Thanksgiving meals.
Pharmaking- Sam, Raj and Vinod are three Indian guys who started a pharmacy in Solwezi, and hook us up with whatever meds we want because they are awesome, in the past they donated medicines to our health service centers, allowing us to treat over 1000 patients.
The Royal- Anthony and Corne are two young South African guys who work at the Royal Solwezi Hotel and ceaselessly make fun of us for being “dirty tree huggers,” and people who just want to “save the whales.” Corne lives on a chicken farm called Flamingo Farm.
Zambia Real Africa
Zambia has an informal slogan that is somewhat nonsensical. “Zambia Real Africa.” Everyone has a t-shirt that proclaims it. Over Easter weekend, Sherie and I went to Kafue National Park, about three hours east of Lusaka. We stayed at this great lodge called Mukambi, where Basel the Hippo walks up the verandah in the evenings and every evening meal is three courses. On a game drive we saw herds of zebra, four lions, several elephants, a spotted hyena eating a hippo carcass, and tons of impala and other deer like creatures. Afterward we took hot showers and roasted marshmallows to make smores. And for a few days, Zambia really did feel like the “Real Africa.” Gorgeous, serene, and teeming with life and promise.
The work we do is usually fraught with the opposite stereotypes about Africa—exploitation, hunger, unemployment, squalor, poverty, etc. Sometimes it is just nice to be on the other side again, although it’s also disorienting to experience abundance in such close proximity to scarcity. And it’s definitely hard not to feel guilty, knowing that in just a few short months my life will return to whatever I want it to be, but there will be thousands of refugees left in the dusty confines of their current lives for decades to come.
Maptitude
Maybe more than shoes, or French toast, all the women in my family have a proclivity for loving maps. The way they fold up (properly, do not bend against the crease), for one thing. Or show you vista points, or shortcuts. And make you feel so small and knowledgeable at the same time. But more than that, maps tell you where you are, where you’re going, and where you’ve been. The geography inextricable from the aspect of time associated with place- the very two components of life itself.
But maps are not static pieces of paper that are eternally reliable. Borders, especially in Africa, are porous and shifting. And where there might be a mass of grayish green color with no other demarcation on a two dimensional plane, on top of it in the real world there may in fact be a 500 square mile refugee camp, as forgotten as the cartographer who chose not to label the area.
Character Study
Some quirky notes and anecdotes about the non-refugee people who surround us.
Father Kim/Father Young- Two youngish Korean missionaries and Catholic priests who live in Block B with awesome facilities (as in satellite television and a gas stove). They treat us to refrigerated cokes whenever we visit and I am always sure to use their toilet just for the sake being able to flush it. They also make weird funny jokes about eating dogs. They are also trying to learn English, so sometimes you catch them repeating words to their computer screen for their English lesson software. Last time was “Fornication.” “Fornication.” “Fornication.” I kept trying not to laugh…
The Italians- A beekeeping couple from north of Milan who lived in Zone G for almost four years (holy cow). They have a pizza oven in their beautiful kitchen that they built themselves. They are teaching the community how to make honey and sell it to generate income.
Peace Corps- One volunteer lives just outside of Meheba and comes to keep us company when we are overwhelmingly bored (usually once every week or two). He recently ate a whole frog, alive, on a dare. They do nice things for us, like let us stay at their communal house in Solwezi when our car breaks down, or invite us for Thanksgiving meals.
Pharmaking- Sam, Raj and Vinod are three Indian guys who started a pharmacy in Solwezi, and hook us up with whatever meds we want because they are awesome, in the past they donated medicines to our health service centers, allowing us to treat over 1000 patients.
The Royal- Anthony and Corne are two young South African guys who work at the Royal Solwezi Hotel and ceaselessly make fun of us for being “dirty tree huggers,” and people who just want to “save the whales.” Corne lives on a chicken farm called Flamingo Farm.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Here and There
Here: If you find yourself at the end of a rainbow, you must bleat like a goat, or else you will turn into an albino
There: At the end of the rainbow there is a short green man with red hair, big ears, a top hat and buckles on his shoes. Next to him, you will find a pot of gold.
Sometimes our crazies collide.
There: At the end of the rainbow there is a short green man with red hair, big ears, a top hat and buckles on his shoes. Next to him, you will find a pot of gold.
Sometimes our crazies collide.
Voacb Lesson
Humanitarian jargon—what does it mean? Sometimes I use these words when I am talking to you guys, and realize that they might not make sense outside of the context of work.
Refugee Camp vs. Refugee Settlement: Meheba is a refugee settlement. That means that after two years of living here, refugees are no longer eligible for most relief type services (namely, food rations) and are given a two acre plot of land to cultivate for subsistence farming (Meheba is 750square kilometers). A camp is thus much smaller geographically and its residents tend to live there for a shorter period of time, during which refugees are assisted with food, education, healthcare and other services.
Protection: This word is used incessantly, by UNHCR, NGOs, and refugees alike. It actually encompasses anything and everything that safeguard’s a refugee’s security. It can range from food safety to physical safety to educational and employment rights. UNHCR’s responsibility is to “protect,” refugees, in this sense of the word, so if you can prove that you are “insecure” in the camp and are unable to return to your home county because you would be insecure there too, you may qualify for resettlement.
Insecurity: lacking in protection. Someone somewhere made the mistake of teaching this word to a refugee, and now every letter written by a refugee in Meheba hides a sentence in it that includes the phrase, “I am insecurity.”
Durable Solution: theoretically, no one should be a refugee forever. Being a refugee is a temporary solution to fleeing conflict. The three durable solutions are:
1) Repatriation- Returning to your country of origin. In Meheba, this is not happening as successfully as it could be. Our three largest demographics by nationality are Angolan, Congolese, and Rwandese.
A) The Angolan population has lived here for more than three decades. Culturally and linguistically they are nearly Zambian. Most young Angolans in Meheba were born here and don’t speak Portuguese, making it impossible to continue school or work in Angola.
B) Eastern DRC is still conflict ridden and too unsafe for the Congolese to return home.
C) The Rwandese living in Meheba are predominantly Hutu and fear being persecuted as genocidaires if they return home.
2) Resettlement- Being adopted by another country (US, Norway, Denmark, Canada...). The process for resettlement is lengthy (up to two years and dozens of interviews and fact checking procedures) and a last resort. It is intended to serve the least secure refugees. Often they are victims of torture both in their home countries and in the camp.
3) Local Integration- Being accepted as a legal immigrant in the host country and living there indefinitely. Zambia is very unlikely to grant Meheba’s refugees this status. They believe that allowing other nationalities to live here would sow seeds for future political and cultural instability. This is what happened in eastern Congo over a hundred years ago. Rwandese were allowed to settle in that country, and ethnic and political tensions slowly built up until war eventually broke out. The Zambian government has told Angolan refugees that they will never be locally integrated.
Cessation Clause- A legal declaration that refugees are no longer welcome in the host country. For example, Zambia has issued the cessation clause on refugees from Sierra Leone. They do not have the right live or work in Zambia unless they have immigration papers, which can be extremely expensive to obtain. A work permit costs around 3 million kwacha ($600). UNHCR mandated wage standards for refugees in Zambia are around $40/month for fulltime work.
Unaccompanied minor or Double Orphan: Children under the age of 18 who have no parents. The word orphan here can mean the death of one parent, not necessarily both.
Vulnerable- The disabled, unaccompanied minors, and unaccompanied elderly.
Participatory development- A development philosophy that prioritizes community input in the creation of development projects. FORGE develops our projects collaboratively, assessing needs through community members themselves and developing proposals through community project facilitators. Great in theory, imperfect in practice.
Refugee Camp vs. Refugee Settlement: Meheba is a refugee settlement. That means that after two years of living here, refugees are no longer eligible for most relief type services (namely, food rations) and are given a two acre plot of land to cultivate for subsistence farming (Meheba is 750square kilometers). A camp is thus much smaller geographically and its residents tend to live there for a shorter period of time, during which refugees are assisted with food, education, healthcare and other services.
Protection: This word is used incessantly, by UNHCR, NGOs, and refugees alike. It actually encompasses anything and everything that safeguard’s a refugee’s security. It can range from food safety to physical safety to educational and employment rights. UNHCR’s responsibility is to “protect,” refugees, in this sense of the word, so if you can prove that you are “insecure” in the camp and are unable to return to your home county because you would be insecure there too, you may qualify for resettlement.
Insecurity: lacking in protection. Someone somewhere made the mistake of teaching this word to a refugee, and now every letter written by a refugee in Meheba hides a sentence in it that includes the phrase, “I am insecurity.”
Durable Solution: theoretically, no one should be a refugee forever. Being a refugee is a temporary solution to fleeing conflict. The three durable solutions are:
1) Repatriation- Returning to your country of origin. In Meheba, this is not happening as successfully as it could be. Our three largest demographics by nationality are Angolan, Congolese, and Rwandese.
A) The Angolan population has lived here for more than three decades. Culturally and linguistically they are nearly Zambian. Most young Angolans in Meheba were born here and don’t speak Portuguese, making it impossible to continue school or work in Angola.
B) Eastern DRC is still conflict ridden and too unsafe for the Congolese to return home.
C) The Rwandese living in Meheba are predominantly Hutu and fear being persecuted as genocidaires if they return home.
2) Resettlement- Being adopted by another country (US, Norway, Denmark, Canada...). The process for resettlement is lengthy (up to two years and dozens of interviews and fact checking procedures) and a last resort. It is intended to serve the least secure refugees. Often they are victims of torture both in their home countries and in the camp.
3) Local Integration- Being accepted as a legal immigrant in the host country and living there indefinitely. Zambia is very unlikely to grant Meheba’s refugees this status. They believe that allowing other nationalities to live here would sow seeds for future political and cultural instability. This is what happened in eastern Congo over a hundred years ago. Rwandese were allowed to settle in that country, and ethnic and political tensions slowly built up until war eventually broke out. The Zambian government has told Angolan refugees that they will never be locally integrated.
Cessation Clause- A legal declaration that refugees are no longer welcome in the host country. For example, Zambia has issued the cessation clause on refugees from Sierra Leone. They do not have the right live or work in Zambia unless they have immigration papers, which can be extremely expensive to obtain. A work permit costs around 3 million kwacha ($600). UNHCR mandated wage standards for refugees in Zambia are around $40/month for fulltime work.
Unaccompanied minor or Double Orphan: Children under the age of 18 who have no parents. The word orphan here can mean the death of one parent, not necessarily both.
Vulnerable- The disabled, unaccompanied minors, and unaccompanied elderly.
Participatory development- A development philosophy that prioritizes community input in the creation of development projects. FORGE develops our projects collaboratively, assessing needs through community members themselves and developing proposals through community project facilitators. Great in theory, imperfect in practice.
A day in the life
So I am asked variations of this question a lot, “So, what do you do?” blah blah project manager, oversee the development and implementation of a variety of empowerment projects with refugees, blah blah “No, like, everyday, what do you actually DO?”
There is no typical day, that is for sure. In fact, you could say each day is typical in how not typical it is.
Here are two examples of what a day could be like during rainy season.
Scenario A
7:30am: Wake up to some insane thunder. Like cracking, rumbling, booming sounds that make you think your roof is going to fall on you and lighting is going to blind you and then fry your brain.
8:00: Manage to light those darn coals, wait for water to boil.
8:40: Eat some toast and tea and read (right now, Invisible Man and The Stuff of Thought, both are awesome).
9:00: Examine the sky, it is still raining. Too wet to ride our bikes anywhere, and wherever we get to we probably won’t find anyone at our projects. Or our bikes will break from the bad road and weather conditions (this has happened to me twice!) and then you are stuck walking in the rain, grr.
9:30: It is still raining.
10:00: File some old monthly reports. Tape receipts from this month’s purchases into the accounting binder.
11:00: The power is still on orange (almost empty), impossible to do work on my uncharged computer (used the battery yesterday, when there was also no power).
12:00: No employees come to work at the sites that are on our compound because it is raining.
12:30: Make a tuna sandwich (yeah, I horde the contents of my care packages) because the coals have gone out and I am too lazy to re-light them and Alice (our sweet house lady) didn’t show up because of, you guessed it, the rain.
The remainder of the day we twiddle our thumbs and make plans, but really can’t get anything done.
5:30: Eat dinner early due to boredom, probably some sort of Ramen, lament my devolution to my collegiate ways. Exchange stories with Sherie, reminiscing all the crazy things that happen while on the job. You have no idea how much mileage we get out of one or two phrases that were funny when we first heard them, months ago. Re-telling the same sagas over and over is kinda a thing we do.
And they aren’t even funny to anyone else, examples: “We ran into a bit of trouble, somehow.” Or “Just build us a roof!” or “Dogs are bad.” Or “I can come after I finish typing Prince Ben’s police report.” Or “We are not refusing the bicycle.” I am chuckling to myself as I type this, and you all have no idea what I am talking about. Not to fear, I will regale you with these tales over and over (and over) when I return. Call it cabin fever, but leave us alone, we are starved for entertainment out here.
6:30: Play Scrabble with Sherie by candle light.
8:00: Take malaria medicine. Read.
9:00: Bedtime
Scenario B
7:00: Wake up, brush teeth, look outside, it’s going to be dry today!
7:30: Bike to Block D (7km) to meet with police and the Head Teacher at FORGE’s Kunachi Preschool about a burglary of our school.
8:00: Arrive at the police station, wait while some other case is being heard.
9:00: Describe our side of the story, we have recovered the stolen property (some jump ropes, soap, books, chalk, and random classroom materials) and don’t want to press charges against the 16 year old who broke into the school. Give the kid (who has been handcuffed to a pole in the backyard for a day or two) a lecture about going back to school, and tell him we will hammer him in court if he’s caught stealing again.
While at the station, discover that one of your employee’s bikes was stolen three weeks ago and never reported it.
10:30: Check in on our computer training staff, deliver some supplies to them (paper and scissors, very high-tech). Remind them to gather demographic information for their students to incorporate into monitoring and evaluation data collection. Commiserate about the bad power these days.
11:00: Bike to Block G (5km)
11:30: Catch the end of Dufatanye Preschoolers (our school in G) doing PE. Teach them “Simon Says,” they don’t really get it, hilarious but great.
12:00: A teacher asks for a salary advance, I tell him to fill out the appropriate form. The Project Coordinator and I discuss goats for the IGA (income generating activity, the parents of our preschoolers raise goats and then we sell them once a year in Congo for a profit that goes back into the project). A woman who takes care of an orphan doesn’t want to be responsible for having to take care of a goat since the Dufatanye student isn’t actually her child. Fine by me, taking in an orphan and sending them to school is good Samaritan enough. I also tell the coordinator I need to meet with our employee the “Goat Master,” because I want to reduce his work to half time and make a consequent pay reduction. The coordinator is surprisingly on board with this and agrees that the goat master’s work can be done in fewer hours per week, he says he will let him know to come see me.
He also tells me about an idea the PTA at Kunachi (the school in D) came up with, to all pitch in money themselves to create their own community lead IGA. Good stuff, I tell him we don’t have the budget to contribute to their initiative, but that we can definitely offer logistical support and maybe offer them a small business training workshop.
12:45: Meet with building contractor to check on progress of the construction of our new health service center in G. There is additional unforeseen structural damage to the building that needs to be repaired, the contractor wants to charge extra to fix it. Finally negotiate a price that is only slightly under the budget and keep fingers crossed that the exchange rate won’t fall.
1:15: Get hounded by a different carpenter who wants me to pay him for an old project he took seven months to complete, though the contract he signed seven months ago (and definitely understood) said he would be paid the balance only if he completed his work in 14 days (he has been paid for materials, and some, but not all labor). Internally debate whether or not to just pay him (his wife left him and he has many mouths to feed), tell him no, and decide to wait and see if it will blow over in a few more days.
1:30: Paint one wall of the new health service center (cut the construction cost by a couple hundred thousand kwacha by agreeing to do the painting myself). Tell the kid that keeps asking me to give him food that I will make him a math test, if he passes, I will buy him a biscuit, go study now. I am my mother’s daughter.
2:30: Meet with two applicants for the health advocate position at the new center. Neither speaks a word of English, I encourage them to take free English classes offered by FORGE and apply for a position with us in the future.
3:00: Bike back to D (5km)
3:30: Grab a cold pineapple juice at Sam’s (the only place in Meheba with a generator, i.e. power for a fridge and tv) and sit in the back row of the side room off his cafe to remain out of sight from any potential staff members who will tell me to buy them bike parts and rain coats and give them advances and sponsor them to university, etc., etc. Some movie that is reminiscent of Blade, but worse, is playing on VHS. Look around me at the kids who paid money to watch this and are glued to the television and wonder why they love it so much. Pay a “small boy,” 100 kwacha, which translates into exactly two cents, to fetch me some popcorn. Small boys are awesome, basically you can employ any kid under the age of 13 to do random errands for you (cut your grass, pump water, go find people you can’t locate while you do something else, etc.) Scarf down the popcorn and return half the pineapple juice to Sam, ask him to keep it cold for me and tell him I’ll come back later in the week to drink it.
4:00: Buy cabbage, bananas, and bread in the market.
4:15: Run into the FORGE English class teacher in the market. Remember that I gave him an extra set of Scrabble from our compound at the last staff meeting to use with his advance English class. We make a date to play the next day so he can learn to use it.
4:40: Get back to the compound (7km)
5:00: The health service center coordinator that works on our compound returns his key to me at the end of the day. 20 cases of malaria today and we are out of Fanzidar (anti-malarial meds), yikes! The sunny days in rainy season bring a lot of patients…
5:30: Bath
6:00: Dinner and story exchange with Sherie. Why do my preschools keep having to deal with the police? OH yeah, tell the story of how I fell off my bike this day, coming around a hair pin turn on a shortcut, in front of me, this guy has 5 huge bags of coal attached to his bike so he takes up the whole path and I have nowhere to go but straight and crash right into him. Grr.
6:30: TV. Between both of our fully charged computers, Sherie and I watch a few episodes of Friends (courtesy of Father Kim’s, a Korean missionary who lives in the camp, external hard drive). I knew this show was very popular in its day, and now I know why, laugh out loud funny. Then again, that might be due to the “bush goggles,” I am wearing (referring to our bad taste in everything due to our blurred perspective from living in the bush for too long). Then Heroes, if I hear the phrase, “Save the cheerleader, save the world,” one more time, I might give up on this show.
8:00: Take malaria medicine. Write a letter by candle light, more annoying than romantic, to many moths to dodge.
9:00: Read some pieces from 2008’s Best American Poems anthology. Modern poetry is kinda weird.
10:00: Bed
There is no typical day, that is for sure. In fact, you could say each day is typical in how not typical it is.
Here are two examples of what a day could be like during rainy season.
Scenario A
7:30am: Wake up to some insane thunder. Like cracking, rumbling, booming sounds that make you think your roof is going to fall on you and lighting is going to blind you and then fry your brain.
8:00: Manage to light those darn coals, wait for water to boil.
8:40: Eat some toast and tea and read (right now, Invisible Man and The Stuff of Thought, both are awesome).
9:00: Examine the sky, it is still raining. Too wet to ride our bikes anywhere, and wherever we get to we probably won’t find anyone at our projects. Or our bikes will break from the bad road and weather conditions (this has happened to me twice!) and then you are stuck walking in the rain, grr.
9:30: It is still raining.
10:00: File some old monthly reports. Tape receipts from this month’s purchases into the accounting binder.
11:00: The power is still on orange (almost empty), impossible to do work on my uncharged computer (used the battery yesterday, when there was also no power).
12:00: No employees come to work at the sites that are on our compound because it is raining.
12:30: Make a tuna sandwich (yeah, I horde the contents of my care packages) because the coals have gone out and I am too lazy to re-light them and Alice (our sweet house lady) didn’t show up because of, you guessed it, the rain.
The remainder of the day we twiddle our thumbs and make plans, but really can’t get anything done.
5:30: Eat dinner early due to boredom, probably some sort of Ramen, lament my devolution to my collegiate ways. Exchange stories with Sherie, reminiscing all the crazy things that happen while on the job. You have no idea how much mileage we get out of one or two phrases that were funny when we first heard them, months ago. Re-telling the same sagas over and over is kinda a thing we do.
And they aren’t even funny to anyone else, examples: “We ran into a bit of trouble, somehow.” Or “Just build us a roof!” or “Dogs are bad.” Or “I can come after I finish typing Prince Ben’s police report.” Or “We are not refusing the bicycle.” I am chuckling to myself as I type this, and you all have no idea what I am talking about. Not to fear, I will regale you with these tales over and over (and over) when I return. Call it cabin fever, but leave us alone, we are starved for entertainment out here.
6:30: Play Scrabble with Sherie by candle light.
8:00: Take malaria medicine. Read.
9:00: Bedtime
Scenario B
7:00: Wake up, brush teeth, look outside, it’s going to be dry today!
7:30: Bike to Block D (7km) to meet with police and the Head Teacher at FORGE’s Kunachi Preschool about a burglary of our school.
8:00: Arrive at the police station, wait while some other case is being heard.
9:00: Describe our side of the story, we have recovered the stolen property (some jump ropes, soap, books, chalk, and random classroom materials) and don’t want to press charges against the 16 year old who broke into the school. Give the kid (who has been handcuffed to a pole in the backyard for a day or two) a lecture about going back to school, and tell him we will hammer him in court if he’s caught stealing again.
While at the station, discover that one of your employee’s bikes was stolen three weeks ago and never reported it.
10:30: Check in on our computer training staff, deliver some supplies to them (paper and scissors, very high-tech). Remind them to gather demographic information for their students to incorporate into monitoring and evaluation data collection. Commiserate about the bad power these days.
11:00: Bike to Block G (5km)
11:30: Catch the end of Dufatanye Preschoolers (our school in G) doing PE. Teach them “Simon Says,” they don’t really get it, hilarious but great.
12:00: A teacher asks for a salary advance, I tell him to fill out the appropriate form. The Project Coordinator and I discuss goats for the IGA (income generating activity, the parents of our preschoolers raise goats and then we sell them once a year in Congo for a profit that goes back into the project). A woman who takes care of an orphan doesn’t want to be responsible for having to take care of a goat since the Dufatanye student isn’t actually her child. Fine by me, taking in an orphan and sending them to school is good Samaritan enough. I also tell the coordinator I need to meet with our employee the “Goat Master,” because I want to reduce his work to half time and make a consequent pay reduction. The coordinator is surprisingly on board with this and agrees that the goat master’s work can be done in fewer hours per week, he says he will let him know to come see me.
He also tells me about an idea the PTA at Kunachi (the school in D) came up with, to all pitch in money themselves to create their own community lead IGA. Good stuff, I tell him we don’t have the budget to contribute to their initiative, but that we can definitely offer logistical support and maybe offer them a small business training workshop.
12:45: Meet with building contractor to check on progress of the construction of our new health service center in G. There is additional unforeseen structural damage to the building that needs to be repaired, the contractor wants to charge extra to fix it. Finally negotiate a price that is only slightly under the budget and keep fingers crossed that the exchange rate won’t fall.
1:15: Get hounded by a different carpenter who wants me to pay him for an old project he took seven months to complete, though the contract he signed seven months ago (and definitely understood) said he would be paid the balance only if he completed his work in 14 days (he has been paid for materials, and some, but not all labor). Internally debate whether or not to just pay him (his wife left him and he has many mouths to feed), tell him no, and decide to wait and see if it will blow over in a few more days.
1:30: Paint one wall of the new health service center (cut the construction cost by a couple hundred thousand kwacha by agreeing to do the painting myself). Tell the kid that keeps asking me to give him food that I will make him a math test, if he passes, I will buy him a biscuit, go study now. I am my mother’s daughter.
2:30: Meet with two applicants for the health advocate position at the new center. Neither speaks a word of English, I encourage them to take free English classes offered by FORGE and apply for a position with us in the future.
3:00: Bike back to D (5km)
3:30: Grab a cold pineapple juice at Sam’s (the only place in Meheba with a generator, i.e. power for a fridge and tv) and sit in the back row of the side room off his cafe to remain out of sight from any potential staff members who will tell me to buy them bike parts and rain coats and give them advances and sponsor them to university, etc., etc. Some movie that is reminiscent of Blade, but worse, is playing on VHS. Look around me at the kids who paid money to watch this and are glued to the television and wonder why they love it so much. Pay a “small boy,” 100 kwacha, which translates into exactly two cents, to fetch me some popcorn. Small boys are awesome, basically you can employ any kid under the age of 13 to do random errands for you (cut your grass, pump water, go find people you can’t locate while you do something else, etc.) Scarf down the popcorn and return half the pineapple juice to Sam, ask him to keep it cold for me and tell him I’ll come back later in the week to drink it.
4:00: Buy cabbage, bananas, and bread in the market.
4:15: Run into the FORGE English class teacher in the market. Remember that I gave him an extra set of Scrabble from our compound at the last staff meeting to use with his advance English class. We make a date to play the next day so he can learn to use it.
4:40: Get back to the compound (7km)
5:00: The health service center coordinator that works on our compound returns his key to me at the end of the day. 20 cases of malaria today and we are out of Fanzidar (anti-malarial meds), yikes! The sunny days in rainy season bring a lot of patients…
5:30: Bath
6:00: Dinner and story exchange with Sherie. Why do my preschools keep having to deal with the police? OH yeah, tell the story of how I fell off my bike this day, coming around a hair pin turn on a shortcut, in front of me, this guy has 5 huge bags of coal attached to his bike so he takes up the whole path and I have nowhere to go but straight and crash right into him. Grr.
6:30: TV. Between both of our fully charged computers, Sherie and I watch a few episodes of Friends (courtesy of Father Kim’s, a Korean missionary who lives in the camp, external hard drive). I knew this show was very popular in its day, and now I know why, laugh out loud funny. Then again, that might be due to the “bush goggles,” I am wearing (referring to our bad taste in everything due to our blurred perspective from living in the bush for too long). Then Heroes, if I hear the phrase, “Save the cheerleader, save the world,” one more time, I might give up on this show.
8:00: Take malaria medicine. Write a letter by candle light, more annoying than romantic, to many moths to dodge.
9:00: Read some pieces from 2008’s Best American Poems anthology. Modern poetry is kinda weird.
10:00: Bed
Saturday, February 21, 2009
And… I AM BACK!
HI EVERYONE!
I am so sorry for dropping the ball on keeping this blog alive, my apologies; it won’t happen again, I promise, I actually need this thing for my own mental health! I’ve really missed writing, it helps me feel connected to you all, my dearly belovedsJ. The past few months have been a crazy concoction of vacations, visitors, and all consuming graduate school applications. Let’s recap- no electricity, no internet, no peers to commiserate with about how much that sucks. Wth was I thinking??
Many computer crashes, seventeen (this number is REAL) essays, one solid panic attack, a million copies of my resume, and a few torn out gray hairs later, I have at least one acceptance letter to show for this bad idea, actually transforming it (miraculously) into a not so bad one, YAY! Hopefully this bodes well for more good news in the future, but I am relieved and thrilled to know that at least I will be going somewhere I want to be come fall, and with the added bonus of never having to examine my background and career goals in 500 words or less ever again.
And where FAFSA killed my desire to participate in the self-important and very expensive institutions that human civilization has created to satiate our intellectual curiosity (sometimes I just wish I had the life of our baby cat, Jambo, the cutest living thing to bless my life so far), vacations and visitors were wholly restorative in reframing my “perspective on life.” That phrase should not really be found in any respected writer’s, or in my case, ANY writer’s, semantic repertoire, but how else can I say it? Embarrassing word choice aside, I have never shifted my paradigm of thought and the way it pertains to our being, so many times, in so short a period of time before.
But if the expanses of the mind could take on a physical being, Victoria Falls would be the place where it happens. Truly the most astonishing and spectacular thing I have ever seen, or more accurately, experienced. I am prone to hyperbole, but it is impossible to exaggerate how magnificent this place is. You know when you watch Planet Earth in high definition on your big screen with surround sound and marvel at the miracles of the natural world? Remove from celluloid and multiply by a factor of ten and that’s still a vague description of how awesome the falls are. An unknown void, a part of my life that I never knew was incomplete has been filled by some exclusively gorgeous and incommunicable thing. Its immense physical scale, sensational beauty, primordial age, were all so wondrous. No matter how you describe it, it can never be over-hyped because its existence transcends linguistic expression, relying instead upon the poetic intricacies of the unspoken and universal language of the soul.
I felt like I was being swallowed up. And that this world, for all its cruelty, treason, and resolute unfairness, is in fact driven by rhyme, rhythm, and reason. Perspective, before just a banal noun, after was transformed into the truest combination of letters in the English lexicon. Never had I felt so strongly that life on this planet, our one Earth, was a privilege and a responsibility. Why should we ever waste time here? Unhappiness should be made right. We owe it to God, Mother Nature, Xenu (wiki it)…to take care of ourselves, each other, the ground beneath us, and the heavens above.
I am so sorry for dropping the ball on keeping this blog alive, my apologies; it won’t happen again, I promise, I actually need this thing for my own mental health! I’ve really missed writing, it helps me feel connected to you all, my dearly belovedsJ. The past few months have been a crazy concoction of vacations, visitors, and all consuming graduate school applications. Let’s recap- no electricity, no internet, no peers to commiserate with about how much that sucks. Wth was I thinking??
Many computer crashes, seventeen (this number is REAL) essays, one solid panic attack, a million copies of my resume, and a few torn out gray hairs later, I have at least one acceptance letter to show for this bad idea, actually transforming it (miraculously) into a not so bad one, YAY! Hopefully this bodes well for more good news in the future, but I am relieved and thrilled to know that at least I will be going somewhere I want to be come fall, and with the added bonus of never having to examine my background and career goals in 500 words or less ever again.
And where FAFSA killed my desire to participate in the self-important and very expensive institutions that human civilization has created to satiate our intellectual curiosity (sometimes I just wish I had the life of our baby cat, Jambo, the cutest living thing to bless my life so far), vacations and visitors were wholly restorative in reframing my “perspective on life.” That phrase should not really be found in any respected writer’s, or in my case, ANY writer’s, semantic repertoire, but how else can I say it? Embarrassing word choice aside, I have never shifted my paradigm of thought and the way it pertains to our being, so many times, in so short a period of time before.
But if the expanses of the mind could take on a physical being, Victoria Falls would be the place where it happens. Truly the most astonishing and spectacular thing I have ever seen, or more accurately, experienced. I am prone to hyperbole, but it is impossible to exaggerate how magnificent this place is. You know when you watch Planet Earth in high definition on your big screen with surround sound and marvel at the miracles of the natural world? Remove from celluloid and multiply by a factor of ten and that’s still a vague description of how awesome the falls are. An unknown void, a part of my life that I never knew was incomplete has been filled by some exclusively gorgeous and incommunicable thing. Its immense physical scale, sensational beauty, primordial age, were all so wondrous. No matter how you describe it, it can never be over-hyped because its existence transcends linguistic expression, relying instead upon the poetic intricacies of the unspoken and universal language of the soul.
I felt like I was being swallowed up. And that this world, for all its cruelty, treason, and resolute unfairness, is in fact driven by rhyme, rhythm, and reason. Perspective, before just a banal noun, after was transformed into the truest combination of letters in the English lexicon. Never had I felt so strongly that life on this planet, our one Earth, was a privilege and a responsibility. Why should we ever waste time here? Unhappiness should be made right. We owe it to God, Mother Nature, Xenu (wiki it)…to take care of ourselves, each other, the ground beneath us, and the heavens above.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
YES WE CAN!
The headline is probably painfully cliché by now (I have no access to the media, but I can imagine the magnitude of Obama-mania sweeping the country right now), but before you roll your eyes or throw up a little in your month, bear with me. The last time I posted a blog, it was from the Royal Solwezi Hotel where my fellow Americans and I pulled an all nighter, my first in years, to view the American elections. Glued to the television for hours, eating the most American foods we could find on the menu (mac ‘n cheese), playing protest songs on our ipods (Bruce Springstein), that distinctive mixture of excitement and trepidation that precedes most momentous occasions was thick in the air.
Eight hours and many caffeinated drinks later, my heart swelled. After Obama gave his victory speech, the hope I hadn’t allowed myself to feel finally burst, breaking the dam that had pent up my closeted optimism. Deep wells of conflicting emotion emerged. I was proud of America, but I also felt guilty for not having expected high standards of her. The feeling of being wrong was one of pure joy and also shame.
The undeniable thing was that this moment was history. My parents remember when Kennedy was assassinated, when man landed on the moon, when Nelson Mandela was freed. After 9/11, I will remember this day more than any other. A testament to the United States. Proof that the dream Americans hold of making something of themselves, of making our country better, is not one held in vain. The day American people of color were convinced that you really can be anyone you want, do anything you want, and that one person can be the impetus for worldwide change.
I have debated the question internally for a long time: how is change best created? For years I worked for institutions, believing that operating within existing systems was the best way to change them, and convincing myself that those changes inevitably effect the population as a whole and consequently move society forward. But corporations, The White House, think tanks, and the Department of Justice were all gigantic stepping stones that lead me downwards. I felt weighted by the sluggishness with which those organizations slowly chip away at barriers on the fringes and shift paradigms in the margins. Knowing that I saved someone from paying an extra few cents on bleach was important in protecting the free market and a competitive economy, but it was not inspiring. Anyone who knows me will tell you I am impatient, for better or worse, immediate gratification motivates me. So every red tape barrier drove me deeper into the ground, finally reaching the grassroots.
I chose to move to Zambia and work in the field (er, bush) to observe the flipside of public service. I sought to gain a holistic view of the sector from the ground up, to experience change on a personal level and observe it happening in a perceivable way. I thought that here I could make an impression on one person at a time and that it would be tangible and evermore fulfilling. And of course, now that I am here, I am frustrated by reverse challenges. Only making a difference in the most miniscule way possible, denting the lives of a few thousand people at most, is grueling and painstaking work that can break your heart.
Just as despondency began to cast its shadow on my outlook, I mailed my ballot for Barack Obama. We wrote it in at the Peace Corps house, off a tiny unpaved back road of Solwezi, Zambia. It was thrilling, empowering, enfranchising, more than any vote of mine in America had been. I needed an outlet that granted me access to way the world’s biggest decisions are made. I needed to believe that though my work in the field may be inconsequential in changing the way the world works, it matters deeply to a community that would be otherwise overlooked, forgotten, or ignored.
Obama reminded me that the world is not binary. Whether talking about the left or right, or the unity of our fifty states, Obama’s message is one that can apply to so many realms. He reminded me that systemic change complements the work I do here, and that the work I had done in the past was not ineffectual. In hindsight, it is may seem obvious, even glib, to proclaim that both approaches to public service are symbiotic and important. But I had never believed this to be truer than on this day. My renewed cognizance of this fact injected some much needed positivity into my attitude and helped revive the spirit of my work here. And for that, I would seriously like to thank you, Mr. Barack Obama, the President Elect of the United States of America!
P.S.
I would also like to thank those friends of mine who poured their blood, sweat, and tears into his campaign. It is because of your sleepless nights and tireless efforts that this was made possible!
Eight hours and many caffeinated drinks later, my heart swelled. After Obama gave his victory speech, the hope I hadn’t allowed myself to feel finally burst, breaking the dam that had pent up my closeted optimism. Deep wells of conflicting emotion emerged. I was proud of America, but I also felt guilty for not having expected high standards of her. The feeling of being wrong was one of pure joy and also shame.
The undeniable thing was that this moment was history. My parents remember when Kennedy was assassinated, when man landed on the moon, when Nelson Mandela was freed. After 9/11, I will remember this day more than any other. A testament to the United States. Proof that the dream Americans hold of making something of themselves, of making our country better, is not one held in vain. The day American people of color were convinced that you really can be anyone you want, do anything you want, and that one person can be the impetus for worldwide change.
I have debated the question internally for a long time: how is change best created? For years I worked for institutions, believing that operating within existing systems was the best way to change them, and convincing myself that those changes inevitably effect the population as a whole and consequently move society forward. But corporations, The White House, think tanks, and the Department of Justice were all gigantic stepping stones that lead me downwards. I felt weighted by the sluggishness with which those organizations slowly chip away at barriers on the fringes and shift paradigms in the margins. Knowing that I saved someone from paying an extra few cents on bleach was important in protecting the free market and a competitive economy, but it was not inspiring. Anyone who knows me will tell you I am impatient, for better or worse, immediate gratification motivates me. So every red tape barrier drove me deeper into the ground, finally reaching the grassroots.
I chose to move to Zambia and work in the field (er, bush) to observe the flipside of public service. I sought to gain a holistic view of the sector from the ground up, to experience change on a personal level and observe it happening in a perceivable way. I thought that here I could make an impression on one person at a time and that it would be tangible and evermore fulfilling. And of course, now that I am here, I am frustrated by reverse challenges. Only making a difference in the most miniscule way possible, denting the lives of a few thousand people at most, is grueling and painstaking work that can break your heart.
Just as despondency began to cast its shadow on my outlook, I mailed my ballot for Barack Obama. We wrote it in at the Peace Corps house, off a tiny unpaved back road of Solwezi, Zambia. It was thrilling, empowering, enfranchising, more than any vote of mine in America had been. I needed an outlet that granted me access to way the world’s biggest decisions are made. I needed to believe that though my work in the field may be inconsequential in changing the way the world works, it matters deeply to a community that would be otherwise overlooked, forgotten, or ignored.
Obama reminded me that the world is not binary. Whether talking about the left or right, or the unity of our fifty states, Obama’s message is one that can apply to so many realms. He reminded me that systemic change complements the work I do here, and that the work I had done in the past was not ineffectual. In hindsight, it is may seem obvious, even glib, to proclaim that both approaches to public service are symbiotic and important. But I had never believed this to be truer than on this day. My renewed cognizance of this fact injected some much needed positivity into my attitude and helped revive the spirit of my work here. And for that, I would seriously like to thank you, Mr. Barack Obama, the President Elect of the United States of America!
P.S.
I would also like to thank those friends of mine who poured their blood, sweat, and tears into his campaign. It is because of your sleepless nights and tireless efforts that this was made possible!
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
If Wall Street Got Drunk…
Then someone should tell Bush that our sector is suffering from a potentially fatal hangover. Much worse than a mere headache, startups, especially non-profit ones, are being hit by a maelstrom of factors that may have terminal consequences for many organizations that don’t have the capacity to weather the storm. Though bailouts galore will not anchor the financial markets enough to reduce the impact of this tempest to zero, they at least provide some sails for the heaviest players in the game to stay afloat.
Meanwhile, nonprofits the size of FORGE have absolutely no protection against macroeconomic fluctuations that affect the pool of disposable income available to us from individual private donors, our primary source of funds. This fact, combined with the bad luck of being rejected in the final rounds of two large and prestigious grants, and not making as much money as we had hoped from a traditional fundraiser (fancy expensive dinner featuring Tom Brady, Giselle, etc.), have lead to dire straits for budgets in the field.
Last week our Programming Director informed us that Meheba had to make around 24,000,000 kwacha worth of budget cuts to remain operational through March1st. In perspective: over HALF of our budget needed to be slashed. The PMs hashed out some drastic changes, entire programs were cut, and 10 staff members (almost a quarter of our workforce) were laid off in total. The PMs took a pay cut in solidarity and decided to use the money toward creating a small severance package; but the timing of the announcement was brutal, only four days before pay day, leaving no time for employees to budget their money. However demoralizing the facts of the financial situation are, the suddenness of the situation was by far the worst part of the announcement, and it severely limited our ability to damage control.
In Meheba, there is no free market economy. There are NO other employers in the camp. Wages are standardized to already pittance levels and the World Food Programme is no longer providing food rations to anyone in the camp (including the elderly, disabled, orphans, and other vulnerable people) beginning January 1st. Unlike other camps where salaries are incentives for people to work, to lose your job in Meheba is to lose any possibility of having some livelihood. The only other option is to become a farmer, but cultivation has already begun, if you haven’t prepared your field already, it’s too late to start for this year’s harvest. Some of those let go include FORGE’s first employee ever, and all of the staff from FORGE’s first project.
Beyond our staff, the community is equally affected by the abruptness of our scale back. Vulnerable (mentally and physically disabled or orphaned) preschoolers who are already psychologically unstable now must completely change their schedule midterm and adjust to new teachers with no training overlap, who are unfamiliar with the new students (personally, linguistically, and culturally) and are taking on twice their previous workload. The example is one of many.
I made it through the emergency staff meeting that we held to announce the changes. I made it through nine of the lay offs, where the PMs stoically and calmly took turns repeating the same words over and over: “unfortunately,” “the reality of the situation,” “I am so sorry,” “absolutely nothing to do with your performance,” etc. Finally we reached the last one, an outreach worker named Given, who I personally manage for the health services project. Given’s coworker is his good friend (and mine) and holds the exact same position and was not being let go because of her certification has a psycho-social counselor. She was the first to cry all day. And then quietly, the tears just started flowing, leaving cool trails on my cheeks, evaporating quickly into the African heat.
Being a young manager, for all the advantages it holds in energy, innovation, optimism, dedication, freshness, and drive; my youth in this case did nothing but long for advice. I missed my dad, a seasoned manager who has supervised hundreds (maybe thousands?) of people and let go of a few in his time; someone who has navigated through organizational and financial turbulence with deliberate finesse and forward thinking. I have no tools to deal with this from a managerial stand point, nor from an emotional and psychological one. And none were given to me by the executive team that is equally as wet behind the ears as I am, and whose responsibilities, as is the case in any startup, are already spread paper thin.
Having grown up in the entrepreneurial culture of the bay area and then having worked for one of the largest bureaucracies in the world (the U.S. government), I had once concluded unequivocally that the latitude of having a youthful, flexible, approachable group of supervisors and employees would be the strongest advantage FORGE has to “Go get ‘em.” And that fact remains. But in this situation I see more clearly than ever the benefits traditional, conservative, and most importantly experienced, leadership can have in tempering instability.
Ironically, this whole experience may be exactly what develops all of us into more mature managers, ready to take on bad news and expertly handle it whenever it’s thrown our way. Unequivocally I look at this as an experience I look at as an opportunity to grow. Here’s hoping!
Meanwhile, nonprofits the size of FORGE have absolutely no protection against macroeconomic fluctuations that affect the pool of disposable income available to us from individual private donors, our primary source of funds. This fact, combined with the bad luck of being rejected in the final rounds of two large and prestigious grants, and not making as much money as we had hoped from a traditional fundraiser (fancy expensive dinner featuring Tom Brady, Giselle, etc.), have lead to dire straits for budgets in the field.
Last week our Programming Director informed us that Meheba had to make around 24,000,000 kwacha worth of budget cuts to remain operational through March1st. In perspective: over HALF of our budget needed to be slashed. The PMs hashed out some drastic changes, entire programs were cut, and 10 staff members (almost a quarter of our workforce) were laid off in total. The PMs took a pay cut in solidarity and decided to use the money toward creating a small severance package; but the timing of the announcement was brutal, only four days before pay day, leaving no time for employees to budget their money. However demoralizing the facts of the financial situation are, the suddenness of the situation was by far the worst part of the announcement, and it severely limited our ability to damage control.
In Meheba, there is no free market economy. There are NO other employers in the camp. Wages are standardized to already pittance levels and the World Food Programme is no longer providing food rations to anyone in the camp (including the elderly, disabled, orphans, and other vulnerable people) beginning January 1st. Unlike other camps where salaries are incentives for people to work, to lose your job in Meheba is to lose any possibility of having some livelihood. The only other option is to become a farmer, but cultivation has already begun, if you haven’t prepared your field already, it’s too late to start for this year’s harvest. Some of those let go include FORGE’s first employee ever, and all of the staff from FORGE’s first project.
Beyond our staff, the community is equally affected by the abruptness of our scale back. Vulnerable (mentally and physically disabled or orphaned) preschoolers who are already psychologically unstable now must completely change their schedule midterm and adjust to new teachers with no training overlap, who are unfamiliar with the new students (personally, linguistically, and culturally) and are taking on twice their previous workload. The example is one of many.
I made it through the emergency staff meeting that we held to announce the changes. I made it through nine of the lay offs, where the PMs stoically and calmly took turns repeating the same words over and over: “unfortunately,” “the reality of the situation,” “I am so sorry,” “absolutely nothing to do with your performance,” etc. Finally we reached the last one, an outreach worker named Given, who I personally manage for the health services project. Given’s coworker is his good friend (and mine) and holds the exact same position and was not being let go because of her certification has a psycho-social counselor. She was the first to cry all day. And then quietly, the tears just started flowing, leaving cool trails on my cheeks, evaporating quickly into the African heat.
Being a young manager, for all the advantages it holds in energy, innovation, optimism, dedication, freshness, and drive; my youth in this case did nothing but long for advice. I missed my dad, a seasoned manager who has supervised hundreds (maybe thousands?) of people and let go of a few in his time; someone who has navigated through organizational and financial turbulence with deliberate finesse and forward thinking. I have no tools to deal with this from a managerial stand point, nor from an emotional and psychological one. And none were given to me by the executive team that is equally as wet behind the ears as I am, and whose responsibilities, as is the case in any startup, are already spread paper thin.
Having grown up in the entrepreneurial culture of the bay area and then having worked for one of the largest bureaucracies in the world (the U.S. government), I had once concluded unequivocally that the latitude of having a youthful, flexible, approachable group of supervisors and employees would be the strongest advantage FORGE has to “Go get ‘em.” And that fact remains. But in this situation I see more clearly than ever the benefits traditional, conservative, and most importantly experienced, leadership can have in tempering instability.
Ironically, this whole experience may be exactly what develops all of us into more mature managers, ready to take on bad news and expertly handle it whenever it’s thrown our way. Unequivocally I look at this as an experience I look at as an opportunity to grow. Here’s hoping!
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Constants and Change (and Eid Mubarak!)
My life here is drastically different in almost every way possible from life in San Francisco. The polarity is stark. In most cases the observations are obvious: rich and poor, urban and rural, cold and hot, white and black. In other cases, the contra-positional nature of what you have and don’t in one place or the other doesn’t hit you for a while, and the significance of the juxtaposition is only realized after a bit time.
In SF, you have refrigeration. In Meheba you have three day old cheese that still tastes delicious because it’s cheese, and you spent four dollars on it in Solwezi (the same amount you spend on food for the whole week in the camp). In SF you have MUNI. Never thought I would tout the glory of public transport in that city, but here you have one hour bike rides, uphill, both ways, in the heat (can’t wait to tell my kids about it). In SF you have organic, free-trade, non-fat, extra hot, sugar-free vanilla skim lattes. In Meheba, you have powdered instant hazelnut flavored “Ricoffy,” and “SupaMilk”- it’s “Supa” because it somehow doesn’t need to be refrigerated (yeah, don’t know how that works). In SF you have carpeting. In Meheba you don’t take your shoes off, ever. And speaking of shoes, I miss my stilettos. Surprisingly, the things I miss less than expected are the things I initially thought would be the hardest to adjust to—lack of cell phone reception, television, internet, H&M, and hamburgers.
But one thing that never changes is the constant comfort that lies in the universally identical practice of being Muslim. The month of Ramadan is one I look forward to every year, and it has just ended- Eid Mubarak! Even here, it offers the gifts of mental clarity, a sense of purpose, peace, and this year, more than ever, a connection to the global suffering of the billions of people who simply just have less. This is a feeling that universally arises wherever I am when fasting. It is a thread that connects my existence here, or anywhere, to my own being, and at the same time, to the world at large.
Living in the very population that American Muslims are presumably trying to remember during this month is extraordinarily moving. Being hungry and thirsty while living in a hungry and thirsty community and praying together through that discomfort with miners from Arab countries, refugees from Buruni, Rwanda, Congo, Somalia, Sudan, and Angola, and a UNHCR Program Officer from Bangladesh highlighted for me that my work here exposes me to far more than the differences that exist between us, which are many, but to the more profuse commonalities that range from the mundane to the profound.
Parents walk their kids to school and hope education will improve their lives, young adults would do anything for love, sharing stories around dinner and a bonfire is always fun, whatever line you pick at the grocery store will be the slowest, everybody enjoys watching and playing soccer, more people will attend your meeting if you serve biscuits, babies smell like Vaseline and talcum powder, bureaucrats can’t really help you, girls like braiding each others hair, whoever you sit next to on the bus will be the smelliest, music makes people happy, everyone puts off doing laundry until Sunday, old people are wise, and we all brush our teeth in the morning and start everyday hoping to do the best we can.
In SF, you have refrigeration. In Meheba you have three day old cheese that still tastes delicious because it’s cheese, and you spent four dollars on it in Solwezi (the same amount you spend on food for the whole week in the camp). In SF you have MUNI. Never thought I would tout the glory of public transport in that city, but here you have one hour bike rides, uphill, both ways, in the heat (can’t wait to tell my kids about it). In SF you have organic, free-trade, non-fat, extra hot, sugar-free vanilla skim lattes. In Meheba, you have powdered instant hazelnut flavored “Ricoffy,” and “SupaMilk”- it’s “Supa” because it somehow doesn’t need to be refrigerated (yeah, don’t know how that works). In SF you have carpeting. In Meheba you don’t take your shoes off, ever. And speaking of shoes, I miss my stilettos. Surprisingly, the things I miss less than expected are the things I initially thought would be the hardest to adjust to—lack of cell phone reception, television, internet, H&M, and hamburgers.
But one thing that never changes is the constant comfort that lies in the universally identical practice of being Muslim. The month of Ramadan is one I look forward to every year, and it has just ended- Eid Mubarak! Even here, it offers the gifts of mental clarity, a sense of purpose, peace, and this year, more than ever, a connection to the global suffering of the billions of people who simply just have less. This is a feeling that universally arises wherever I am when fasting. It is a thread that connects my existence here, or anywhere, to my own being, and at the same time, to the world at large.
Living in the very population that American Muslims are presumably trying to remember during this month is extraordinarily moving. Being hungry and thirsty while living in a hungry and thirsty community and praying together through that discomfort with miners from Arab countries, refugees from Buruni, Rwanda, Congo, Somalia, Sudan, and Angola, and a UNHCR Program Officer from Bangladesh highlighted for me that my work here exposes me to far more than the differences that exist between us, which are many, but to the more profuse commonalities that range from the mundane to the profound.
Parents walk their kids to school and hope education will improve their lives, young adults would do anything for love, sharing stories around dinner and a bonfire is always fun, whatever line you pick at the grocery store will be the slowest, everybody enjoys watching and playing soccer, more people will attend your meeting if you serve biscuits, babies smell like Vaseline and talcum powder, bureaucrats can’t really help you, girls like braiding each others hair, whoever you sit next to on the bus will be the smelliest, music makes people happy, everyone puts off doing laundry until Sunday, old people are wise, and we all brush our teeth in the morning and start everyday hoping to do the best we can.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
TOP 5!
5 things I took most for granted before Meheba:
1) Having citizenship.
2) Knowing where my family is.
3) Access to information.
4) Friendship.
5) Duct tape.
5 crazy quotes from Meheba*:
1) “The whites have an invisible airplane that runs on human blood.”
2) “Mobutu Sese Seko (former dictator of Zaire, now Democratic Republic of Congo) had x-ray vision glasses and his wife used to kill people with her deadly back flips.”
3) “There is a black mamba snake in block B that is actually white, and it kills you by flying into your head and piercing you with a venomous claw on its tail.”
4) “There is a lady in block A who can reach block G in less than 20 minutes, the only explanation is that she flies.”
5) “FORGE may have access to that building when the suspected Wizards vacate its premises.”- An officer from the Zambian Ministry of Community Development and Social Services.
Runners Up (2 stories and a quote):
1) Seeing a young boy kill a rat, befriend and keep the dead animal as a pet in the morning, and eat it for dinner in the evening (witnessed this one myself).
2) Having dozens of unknown refugees ask to take a picture with you at church the first week you arrive, then finding pictures of yourself in the homes of refugees you don’t know 6 weeks later.
3) “I can’t come for dinner that late because there will be demons on my way back.”
*Really, you can’t make this stuff up, magic is very serious business in Meheba.
5 most unexpected forms of entertainment:
1) Watching insects knock themselves unconscious by repeatedly flying into the ceiling/walls.
2) Watching cats sleep. Or play, or cuddle, or hunt, or clean each other, or…
3) The game “SET.”
4) Killing ants.
5) Listening to refugees make fun of American accents.
5 of the most delicious foods in Meheba:
1) Pineapples (rarely available).
2) Fresh garlic (rarely available).
3) Avocados (rarely available).
4) Fried sweet potatoes.
5) Fanta.
5 least delicious foods in Meheba:
1) Caterpillars (haven’t actually tried them, but they don’t look appetizing).
2) Dried minnows (tiny little fish that smell very fishy).
3) Milk Maheyu (a really sweet, yet sour, grainy cornmeal drink).
4) Nshima (boiled cornmeal dough, eaten daily by Angolans, not a big fan of it myself).
5) Cassava (a bitter potato like starchy vegetable).
Commonly found foods in Meheba:
1) Beans (eaten daily)
2) Rice (eaten daily)
3) Cabbage (2-3 times per week)
4) Onion (daily, usually mixed with rice, or beans, or cabbage)
5) Tomato (daily, usually mixed with rice, or beans, or cabbage)
6) Rape (a dark leafy green, 2-3 times a week)
7) Chinese (like Bok Choi, 1-2 times a week)
8) Peanuts (usually for lunch)
9) Bananas (also for lunch)
10) Popcorn (the only snack food)
11) Potatoes (sweet, and regular, 1-2 times a week)
12) Bread (breakfast, thank God!)
12 things may sound like a lot, but that’s ALL there is. When rotating them everyday, there’s really not much variety, trust me.
5 favorite new slang terms:
1) “To Hammer.” An all purpose word that has many practical uses. To hit, to be hit, to be overcome, to overcome…
In a sentence that was actually used by one of our employees, “I saw a black mamba coming down the path! First Bartho screamed and hammered himself into the bush. Then I screamed too and the bike hammered me when I swerved into the bush. Then we got up and started throwing stones at the snake, just hammering it!”
2) “Peddle Down.” To bike fast.
In a sentence, “I am so exhausted, I was peddling down all day, from A to D and back home.”
3) “That Side.” A term used to refer to anywhere but wherever you are when the term is used, similar to “over there.”
In a sentence, “And how are things that side?” “I’ve just come from that side” “Where is everyone that side?”
4) Chimbo. A term in Luvale (local African language) that means cheap, backwards, a simpleton, or ignorant.
In a sentence, “My bike is so chimbo, it’s going to fall apart any day now.”
5) Eeway. Another Luvale term. A combination of “hey you” and “get lost.”
In a sentence, To the neighborhood kids, “Eeway! Stop clicking the gears on my bike.” To our cat, who is also named Eeway (he really lives up to his namesake), “Eeway, get out of there, that was going to be MY dinner.”
1) Having citizenship.
2) Knowing where my family is.
3) Access to information.
4) Friendship.
5) Duct tape.
5 crazy quotes from Meheba*:
1) “The whites have an invisible airplane that runs on human blood.”
2) “Mobutu Sese Seko (former dictator of Zaire, now Democratic Republic of Congo) had x-ray vision glasses and his wife used to kill people with her deadly back flips.”
3) “There is a black mamba snake in block B that is actually white, and it kills you by flying into your head and piercing you with a venomous claw on its tail.”
4) “There is a lady in block A who can reach block G in less than 20 minutes, the only explanation is that she flies.”
5) “FORGE may have access to that building when the suspected Wizards vacate its premises.”- An officer from the Zambian Ministry of Community Development and Social Services.
Runners Up (2 stories and a quote):
1) Seeing a young boy kill a rat, befriend and keep the dead animal as a pet in the morning, and eat it for dinner in the evening (witnessed this one myself).
2) Having dozens of unknown refugees ask to take a picture with you at church the first week you arrive, then finding pictures of yourself in the homes of refugees you don’t know 6 weeks later.
3) “I can’t come for dinner that late because there will be demons on my way back.”
*Really, you can’t make this stuff up, magic is very serious business in Meheba.
5 most unexpected forms of entertainment:
1) Watching insects knock themselves unconscious by repeatedly flying into the ceiling/walls.
2) Watching cats sleep. Or play, or cuddle, or hunt, or clean each other, or…
3) The game “SET.”
4) Killing ants.
5) Listening to refugees make fun of American accents.
5 of the most delicious foods in Meheba:
1) Pineapples (rarely available).
2) Fresh garlic (rarely available).
3) Avocados (rarely available).
4) Fried sweet potatoes.
5) Fanta.
5 least delicious foods in Meheba:
1) Caterpillars (haven’t actually tried them, but they don’t look appetizing).
2) Dried minnows (tiny little fish that smell very fishy).
3) Milk Maheyu (a really sweet, yet sour, grainy cornmeal drink).
4) Nshima (boiled cornmeal dough, eaten daily by Angolans, not a big fan of it myself).
5) Cassava (a bitter potato like starchy vegetable).
Commonly found foods in Meheba:
1) Beans (eaten daily)
2) Rice (eaten daily)
3) Cabbage (2-3 times per week)
4) Onion (daily, usually mixed with rice, or beans, or cabbage)
5) Tomato (daily, usually mixed with rice, or beans, or cabbage)
6) Rape (a dark leafy green, 2-3 times a week)
7) Chinese (like Bok Choi, 1-2 times a week)
8) Peanuts (usually for lunch)
9) Bananas (also for lunch)
10) Popcorn (the only snack food)
11) Potatoes (sweet, and regular, 1-2 times a week)
12) Bread (breakfast, thank God!)
12 things may sound like a lot, but that’s ALL there is. When rotating them everyday, there’s really not much variety, trust me.
5 favorite new slang terms:
1) “To Hammer.” An all purpose word that has many practical uses. To hit, to be hit, to be overcome, to overcome…
In a sentence that was actually used by one of our employees, “I saw a black mamba coming down the path! First Bartho screamed and hammered himself into the bush. Then I screamed too and the bike hammered me when I swerved into the bush. Then we got up and started throwing stones at the snake, just hammering it!”
2) “Peddle Down.” To bike fast.
In a sentence, “I am so exhausted, I was peddling down all day, from A to D and back home.”
3) “That Side.” A term used to refer to anywhere but wherever you are when the term is used, similar to “over there.”
In a sentence, “And how are things that side?” “I’ve just come from that side” “Where is everyone that side?”
4) Chimbo. A term in Luvale (local African language) that means cheap, backwards, a simpleton, or ignorant.
In a sentence, “My bike is so chimbo, it’s going to fall apart any day now.”
5) Eeway. Another Luvale term. A combination of “hey you” and “get lost.”
In a sentence, To the neighborhood kids, “Eeway! Stop clicking the gears on my bike.” To our cat, who is also named Eeway (he really lives up to his namesake), “Eeway, get out of there, that was going to be MY dinner.”
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Hold On (/On Hold)
The tribulations of being a manager in the setting of an African refugee camp are many, but so far, one of the most constant is the level of interruption (more or less daily) we face from either life taking its course or other unavoidable occurrences.
Over the past eight days, we have celebrated a staff member’s wedding, visited another’s new baby, and attended the funeral of another staff member’s brother. The circle of life here is so visible and constant and holy. Yesterday one of our staff members helped dress the wounds of a burn victim on a volunteer basis at the clinic, and in the morning, the girl died. As a result, he has asked for the day off to counsel the family instead of manage our health services center. Last week there was a fuel crisis in the province and transportation into and out of the camp became impossible, and anything running on a generator (shops, clinics, offices) needs fuel. Without preventative healthcare, our refugee staff are ill and constantly taking days off. Roads here are pretty rough so bicycles (a necessity in a cap our size- 500 square miles) are constantly broken and limit our staff’s ability to come to work.
Living without any escapist pastimes here, it is actually refreshing to experience the robust joy, sorrow, excitement, frustration, and pain of these real life stories. But these occasions constantly put work on hold, and another day is escaping us now.
Today we are in Solwezi and much of the city is shut down in mourning of Zambia’s president’s (Mwanamwasa) death yesterday, and this will continue for 10 more days. I knew adapting to the pace of life here was going to be challenging, but being unable to schedule more than two tasks a day, can be frustrating.
Apologies for this short draft blog, but this week, our first really on our own, hasn’t left too much time for contemplation and eloquence. Next time I promise something fun and thoughtful and well written!
Over the past eight days, we have celebrated a staff member’s wedding, visited another’s new baby, and attended the funeral of another staff member’s brother. The circle of life here is so visible and constant and holy. Yesterday one of our staff members helped dress the wounds of a burn victim on a volunteer basis at the clinic, and in the morning, the girl died. As a result, he has asked for the day off to counsel the family instead of manage our health services center. Last week there was a fuel crisis in the province and transportation into and out of the camp became impossible, and anything running on a generator (shops, clinics, offices) needs fuel. Without preventative healthcare, our refugee staff are ill and constantly taking days off. Roads here are pretty rough so bicycles (a necessity in a cap our size- 500 square miles) are constantly broken and limit our staff’s ability to come to work.
Living without any escapist pastimes here, it is actually refreshing to experience the robust joy, sorrow, excitement, frustration, and pain of these real life stories. But these occasions constantly put work on hold, and another day is escaping us now.
Today we are in Solwezi and much of the city is shut down in mourning of Zambia’s president’s (Mwanamwasa) death yesterday, and this will continue for 10 more days. I knew adapting to the pace of life here was going to be challenging, but being unable to schedule more than two tasks a day, can be frustrating.
Apologies for this short draft blog, but this week, our first really on our own, hasn’t left too much time for contemplation and eloquence. Next time I promise something fun and thoughtful and well written!
Monday, July 28, 2008
Hello There- A Blog in Four (long) Parts
I.
SO I am alive! I have been here for just over two weeks now, and I can’t decide if time has gone slowly or quickly. Either way, writing about the past 17 days is a challenge. So many thoughts to process, senses to sort, and ideas to formulate. I thought I was going to start with something sappy about the beauty and hope of the African sunrise, but thought better of it mid-sentiment…
The deep orange sun here is striking mostly in its elegance and simplicity. The residents of Meheba refugee settlement, while equally fluorescent, are profoundly complex, in a way no metaphor can capture. Their lives are mixed with the weighty histories of their countries (Somalia, Sudan, Rwanda, Congo, Uganda, Angola): decolonialization, resource wars, despotic leaders, civil unrest, failed states, and genocides.
The microcosm of Africa in Meheba lends itself to observing the legacies from this narrative, which are extremely fascinating but also disturbing. Stereotypical ethnic antagonisms (Hutu v Tutsi, Katangese v Kasai, Western v African) actively continue to play out on the ground, obviously diminishing the degree of “refuge” many are able to seek. In some ways, that brings me full circle to believe that despite the abundant diversity between the people of the African states represented in Meheba, most of the refugees here now share one predominant struggle: SURVIVAL, which maybe is like the singularity of the African sun after all.
II.
So much for organizing my thoughts. Since Africa has me talking in circles, I’ll scale the conversation down to Zambia and my immediate experience so far. I left SFO on July 10, flew to Heathrow, then to Lusaka (the capital of Zambia), where I arrived on the 12th. I spent fewer than 24 hours in the city, but my overall impression was that it is less urban, less developed, and smaller than I thought. 80% of the population (which is only about 3 million) lives in “compounds,” which are basically shantytowns on the outskirts of “town,” which consists of about 4 high rises and a few strip malls.
On the 13th we took a nine hour bus from Lusaka to Solwezi, the town nearest Meheba. The buses are Japanese, and as a result the seats are about ¾ the size of a seat on an American bus, so that was amusing. It was crowded, but enjoyable.
Solwezi has recently seen a boom in development because there are international copper mining operations here. It is the nearest town that has full cell phone reception, electricity, internet, more than 5 grocery ingredients, a gas station ($13/gallon!), etc. It is about a 90 minute drive from Meheba, though it is probably only about 40 miles away. The roads in the camp are unpaved and abundant with huge pot holes, which means driving 20 mph until you get reach the borders of the settlement. We will probably be coming here twice a month for project supply trips, so hopefully I can post blogs with the same frequency J
III.
Meheba itself is huge, over 500 square miles. It is actually designated by UNHCR as a settlement as opposed to a camp. This means that each refugee head of household is given two acres of land to farm and is expected to survive without food rations after the first two years of residence in the settlement. The average Angolan has lived here for 17 years, some for over 30. Thousands of refugees were born here. Rwandans have been here since 1994, Somalis since 1992, and Congolese from the 1990’s as well. 60,000 refugees used to live here, which has dwindled to 17,000. As a result, in the past 10 years Meheba has seen an exodus of NGOs. MSF, Red Cross, LWF, AAR, and others have all left for newer crisis zones.
The main implementing partner of UNHCR in Meheba now is the Zambian government, which runs the schools, clinics, police, and all social and community development services. The relationship between us, UNHCR and the Zambian ministry is complicated, but basically I’ll save some nice words for them in emails to you all if you’re interested.
Since FORGE is the only remaining NGO in the settlement, and as a staff, we are the only non-refugees who have a physical presence in the camp itself, we have intimate knowledge of the discontents in the camp. Our projects here survey a wide variety of needs. In sum, we operate (and I co-manage):
- 3 Preschools
- 7 Libraries
- 1 Women’s Center (outreach on subjects of nutrition, reproductive health, childcare, sexual violence, and workshops on income generating skills like knitting and tailoring)
- 2 Forge Health Services (general health outreach, basic medical assessments and referral services to the clinics)
- 1 Micro-finance/agro-lending institute
- 1 Peace Education and Computer Training Center
- 1 Refugee Advocacy Initiative (a referral service to inform and direct refugees to appropriate resources/authorities depending on their problem, this year we have also been referring people for resettlement with over 90% of our referees being granted resettlement!)
- 1 Adult Education Center (English, Piano, and Guitar classes)
- 1 Reliable Seed and Market Program (creating this project currently)
- 1 Forge Education Fund (scholarship program supporting high school and university students)
These projects are fully staffed and coordinated by around 60 refugees, and we rely heavily on our strongest refugee coordinators to propel the projects. So, as you can see, your hugely generous contributions, for which I can’t THANK YOU all enough, are making a very real and significant impact here on the ground!
In addition to overseeing the operation, implementation, progress, and evaluation of these projects, we also work with UNHCR on higher level issues (ex: we just submitted project proposals for a Sexual and Gender Based Violence (SGBV) drop in center that may be funded by the Danish Embassy), attend inter-agency and task force meetings and act as liaisons between refugees and UNHCR and the Zambian ministry.
Overall the work so far has been hard- professionally, physically, emotionally, and psychologically. But at the same time rewarding in a way that I expect will make this experience wholly phenomenal.
IV.
As cheesy as it sounds, the setting outside really is quintessential African bush. Some refugees claim that elephants used to live here. Tall grass, giant anthills, flat topped trees, mud brick one room houses with thatched roofs, red dust on everything, goats, bicycles, and a warm, calm breeze sum it up for now. More than any other word, mother nature might best capture the scene.
Inside though, life is comfortable. The daily challenges here will not be related to lighting coals and pumping water to bucket shower, eating beans for every meal every day, conserving solar power, or learning to transport everything (mattresses!) on a bicycle. Even my intense arachnophobia has started to subside (these huge armored looking spiders pretty much live on every wall). But if you want to help make life a little more familiar, please send me letters and love and packages and text messages!
My phone number (including international/zambia code): 011 260 976153560
You can buy reasonable calling cards to Zambia online at nobelcom.com
My mailing address: Meheba Friendly Library
Attn: Sabah Khan
P.O. Box 110299
Solwezi
ZAMBIA
U.S.P.S. has a worldwide flat rate envelope which is $12 that you can apparently pack a lot of stuff into, and a flat rate box for $35 that holds up to 20lbs. Packages take around 3 weeks to get here. Things like protein (packets of tuna, chicken, beef jerky, nuts, etc.), granola, dried fruit, chocolate, anything that can be cooked by adding just hot water, are hard to find here. Also, movies, music, magazines, and books are very welcome.
So, this posting ended up being much, much, longer than I thought it was going to be, but I hope it provides some insight into this adventure! Needless to say, I miss you all dearly and can’t wait to hear about what all is going on in your lives too, until then, hugs and goodbye for now! :)
SO I am alive! I have been here for just over two weeks now, and I can’t decide if time has gone slowly or quickly. Either way, writing about the past 17 days is a challenge. So many thoughts to process, senses to sort, and ideas to formulate. I thought I was going to start with something sappy about the beauty and hope of the African sunrise, but thought better of it mid-sentiment…
The deep orange sun here is striking mostly in its elegance and simplicity. The residents of Meheba refugee settlement, while equally fluorescent, are profoundly complex, in a way no metaphor can capture. Their lives are mixed with the weighty histories of their countries (Somalia, Sudan, Rwanda, Congo, Uganda, Angola): decolonialization, resource wars, despotic leaders, civil unrest, failed states, and genocides.
The microcosm of Africa in Meheba lends itself to observing the legacies from this narrative, which are extremely fascinating but also disturbing. Stereotypical ethnic antagonisms (Hutu v Tutsi, Katangese v Kasai, Western v African) actively continue to play out on the ground, obviously diminishing the degree of “refuge” many are able to seek. In some ways, that brings me full circle to believe that despite the abundant diversity between the people of the African states represented in Meheba, most of the refugees here now share one predominant struggle: SURVIVAL, which maybe is like the singularity of the African sun after all.
II.
So much for organizing my thoughts. Since Africa has me talking in circles, I’ll scale the conversation down to Zambia and my immediate experience so far. I left SFO on July 10, flew to Heathrow, then to Lusaka (the capital of Zambia), where I arrived on the 12th. I spent fewer than 24 hours in the city, but my overall impression was that it is less urban, less developed, and smaller than I thought. 80% of the population (which is only about 3 million) lives in “compounds,” which are basically shantytowns on the outskirts of “town,” which consists of about 4 high rises and a few strip malls.
On the 13th we took a nine hour bus from Lusaka to Solwezi, the town nearest Meheba. The buses are Japanese, and as a result the seats are about ¾ the size of a seat on an American bus, so that was amusing. It was crowded, but enjoyable.
Solwezi has recently seen a boom in development because there are international copper mining operations here. It is the nearest town that has full cell phone reception, electricity, internet, more than 5 grocery ingredients, a gas station ($13/gallon!), etc. It is about a 90 minute drive from Meheba, though it is probably only about 40 miles away. The roads in the camp are unpaved and abundant with huge pot holes, which means driving 20 mph until you get reach the borders of the settlement. We will probably be coming here twice a month for project supply trips, so hopefully I can post blogs with the same frequency J
III.
Meheba itself is huge, over 500 square miles. It is actually designated by UNHCR as a settlement as opposed to a camp. This means that each refugee head of household is given two acres of land to farm and is expected to survive without food rations after the first two years of residence in the settlement. The average Angolan has lived here for 17 years, some for over 30. Thousands of refugees were born here. Rwandans have been here since 1994, Somalis since 1992, and Congolese from the 1990’s as well. 60,000 refugees used to live here, which has dwindled to 17,000. As a result, in the past 10 years Meheba has seen an exodus of NGOs. MSF, Red Cross, LWF, AAR, and others have all left for newer crisis zones.
The main implementing partner of UNHCR in Meheba now is the Zambian government, which runs the schools, clinics, police, and all social and community development services. The relationship between us, UNHCR and the Zambian ministry is complicated, but basically I’ll save some nice words for them in emails to you all if you’re interested.
Since FORGE is the only remaining NGO in the settlement, and as a staff, we are the only non-refugees who have a physical presence in the camp itself, we have intimate knowledge of the discontents in the camp. Our projects here survey a wide variety of needs. In sum, we operate (and I co-manage):
- 3 Preschools
- 7 Libraries
- 1 Women’s Center (outreach on subjects of nutrition, reproductive health, childcare, sexual violence, and workshops on income generating skills like knitting and tailoring)
- 2 Forge Health Services (general health outreach, basic medical assessments and referral services to the clinics)
- 1 Micro-finance/agro-lending institute
- 1 Peace Education and Computer Training Center
- 1 Refugee Advocacy Initiative (a referral service to inform and direct refugees to appropriate resources/authorities depending on their problem, this year we have also been referring people for resettlement with over 90% of our referees being granted resettlement!)
- 1 Adult Education Center (English, Piano, and Guitar classes)
- 1 Reliable Seed and Market Program (creating this project currently)
- 1 Forge Education Fund (scholarship program supporting high school and university students)
These projects are fully staffed and coordinated by around 60 refugees, and we rely heavily on our strongest refugee coordinators to propel the projects. So, as you can see, your hugely generous contributions, for which I can’t THANK YOU all enough, are making a very real and significant impact here on the ground!
In addition to overseeing the operation, implementation, progress, and evaluation of these projects, we also work with UNHCR on higher level issues (ex: we just submitted project proposals for a Sexual and Gender Based Violence (SGBV) drop in center that may be funded by the Danish Embassy), attend inter-agency and task force meetings and act as liaisons between refugees and UNHCR and the Zambian ministry.
Overall the work so far has been hard- professionally, physically, emotionally, and psychologically. But at the same time rewarding in a way that I expect will make this experience wholly phenomenal.
IV.
As cheesy as it sounds, the setting outside really is quintessential African bush. Some refugees claim that elephants used to live here. Tall grass, giant anthills, flat topped trees, mud brick one room houses with thatched roofs, red dust on everything, goats, bicycles, and a warm, calm breeze sum it up for now. More than any other word, mother nature might best capture the scene.
Inside though, life is comfortable. The daily challenges here will not be related to lighting coals and pumping water to bucket shower, eating beans for every meal every day, conserving solar power, or learning to transport everything (mattresses!) on a bicycle. Even my intense arachnophobia has started to subside (these huge armored looking spiders pretty much live on every wall). But if you want to help make life a little more familiar, please send me letters and love and packages and text messages!
My phone number (including international/zambia code): 011 260 976153560
You can buy reasonable calling cards to Zambia online at nobelcom.com
My mailing address: Meheba Friendly Library
Attn: Sabah Khan
P.O. Box 110299
Solwezi
ZAMBIA
U.S.P.S. has a worldwide flat rate envelope which is $12 that you can apparently pack a lot of stuff into, and a flat rate box for $35 that holds up to 20lbs. Packages take around 3 weeks to get here. Things like protein (packets of tuna, chicken, beef jerky, nuts, etc.), granola, dried fruit, chocolate, anything that can be cooked by adding just hot water, are hard to find here. Also, movies, music, magazines, and books are very welcome.
So, this posting ended up being much, much, longer than I thought it was going to be, but I hope it provides some insight into this adventure! Needless to say, I miss you all dearly and can’t wait to hear about what all is going on in your lives too, until then, hugs and goodbye for now! :)
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Into the Deep End
Today we are in Solwezi to send off the former Project Managers under whom we’ve been training for the past three weeks. They’ve been an invaluable resource to us, and have walked us to the precipice of a journey that will tomorrow become ours.
From where we stand now, the depth of the plunge we are about to take is uncertain. The dimensions of the rabbit hole we will face tomorrow are two fold:
1) Darkness
Some levels of gloom are visible to us from the surface. Hunger is an obvious shadow cast over Meheba. We have staff members who do not eat before 5pm, men who are 5’10 and weigh less than 125 pounds, in fact most men never grow to their full height because they were malnourished as children, and one has casually mentioned feeling drunk because he must spend his salary on medicine and so can not afford to also buy the food that it should be eaten with to avoid lightheadedness (though obviously this is preferable to potential blindness, for which he is being treated).
A snapshot of just one day out of 365: On Monday, one of our Women’s Center staff members had a miscarriage and begged us to use our vehicle to take her to the clinic. Waiting for the only ambulance in the camp can take hours. Two hours later, we found out our house lady’s brother and father were killed in Angola.
The dimness of these situations I suspect will only darken as time passes and we plummet into the underbelly of humanitarian work. The stories of those refugees who we have interviewed for resettlement are necessarily fraught with cases of repeated rape, arson, torture, unjust imprisonment, kidnapping, and murder. In essence, blackness of the deepest intensity imaginable.
2) Deepness
The darkness though is by no means opaque. As cavernous as our work may be in breadth, it bears a fractal quality of multidimensionality in depth: the more we unravel one issue, the more new, and equally thorny, problems appear in its stead. Dilemmas here are deeply composite, and rebellious to our attempts to disentangle them. The complexity underlying seemingly solvable predicaments is deeper than I could have ever predicted.
Understanding both of these qualities of my work together—the depth of darkness— is not easy. The only solution I can anticipate is to harness the light that still remains. And it is abundant, even if hidden. The talents of our refugee staff are innumerable and inspiring. Our Peace Education instructors hold master’s degrees in conflict resolution, if their seminars were held in the U.S. they could be celebrities of the Angelina Jolie (humanitarian-cum-Hollywood) variety (the fact that much of our staff have gorgeous, statuesque, dignified features, i.e. the highest cheekbones you’ve ever seen, adds to the Hollywood potential). Our new preschool has over 180 students, and the Ministry run Basic School in the area subsequently had their largest class of 1st graders ever (increased enrollment in that grade by almost 50%) last year, setting the students on a lifelong path of education to freedom. Our health services project is run by a man who was a nurse in the Congo and who spent seven years working for Doctors Without Borders (MSF) before they left Meheba, and the project last month (only its second in operation) reached 404 people under his leadership.
The thought of amplifying and multiplying these successes is the parachute that controls the free fall that starts tomorrow; it is my motivation, and it transforms my fear and thrill into deliberation and action. It is scary, it is exciting, but altogether we are ready to make the jump, and tomorrow we will! Wish me luck :)
From where we stand now, the depth of the plunge we are about to take is uncertain. The dimensions of the rabbit hole we will face tomorrow are two fold:
1) Darkness
Some levels of gloom are visible to us from the surface. Hunger is an obvious shadow cast over Meheba. We have staff members who do not eat before 5pm, men who are 5’10 and weigh less than 125 pounds, in fact most men never grow to their full height because they were malnourished as children, and one has casually mentioned feeling drunk because he must spend his salary on medicine and so can not afford to also buy the food that it should be eaten with to avoid lightheadedness (though obviously this is preferable to potential blindness, for which he is being treated).
A snapshot of just one day out of 365: On Monday, one of our Women’s Center staff members had a miscarriage and begged us to use our vehicle to take her to the clinic. Waiting for the only ambulance in the camp can take hours. Two hours later, we found out our house lady’s brother and father were killed in Angola.
The dimness of these situations I suspect will only darken as time passes and we plummet into the underbelly of humanitarian work. The stories of those refugees who we have interviewed for resettlement are necessarily fraught with cases of repeated rape, arson, torture, unjust imprisonment, kidnapping, and murder. In essence, blackness of the deepest intensity imaginable.
2) Deepness
The darkness though is by no means opaque. As cavernous as our work may be in breadth, it bears a fractal quality of multidimensionality in depth: the more we unravel one issue, the more new, and equally thorny, problems appear in its stead. Dilemmas here are deeply composite, and rebellious to our attempts to disentangle them. The complexity underlying seemingly solvable predicaments is deeper than I could have ever predicted.
Understanding both of these qualities of my work together—the depth of darkness— is not easy. The only solution I can anticipate is to harness the light that still remains. And it is abundant, even if hidden. The talents of our refugee staff are innumerable and inspiring. Our Peace Education instructors hold master’s degrees in conflict resolution, if their seminars were held in the U.S. they could be celebrities of the Angelina Jolie (humanitarian-cum-Hollywood) variety (the fact that much of our staff have gorgeous, statuesque, dignified features, i.e. the highest cheekbones you’ve ever seen, adds to the Hollywood potential). Our new preschool has over 180 students, and the Ministry run Basic School in the area subsequently had their largest class of 1st graders ever (increased enrollment in that grade by almost 50%) last year, setting the students on a lifelong path of education to freedom. Our health services project is run by a man who was a nurse in the Congo and who spent seven years working for Doctors Without Borders (MSF) before they left Meheba, and the project last month (only its second in operation) reached 404 people under his leadership.
The thought of amplifying and multiplying these successes is the parachute that controls the free fall that starts tomorrow; it is my motivation, and it transforms my fear and thrill into deliberation and action. It is scary, it is exciting, but altogether we are ready to make the jump, and tomorrow we will! Wish me luck :)
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