With life in India being so different from all that I am used to, there are times when peace, quiet and wee bit spoiling myself is required. This can be difficult when I know very little people, places and things to do.
One day I went on the Metro in Delhi and walked in the central area of the city. Saw their broadcasting building, press association and much more.
Then I needed food! I turned a corner, wondering where I was and found this place! An oasis in the hectic life on India, a blessing!

VSO volunteers are given places to live whilst in placement, they vary very much. Here is the first day in my new home!

It was also the same day I attended Sanchar’s State Level Federation Meeting for People with Disabilities (PWD), which was held in the Rotary Sadan (house) in Central Kolkata. An annual event that brings together Disability Rights Groups (DRG’s) from all over West Bengal, meeting to share information, discuss ongoing campaigning and other important aspects of their advocacy and representation work taking place in their individual local groups. Along with invited guests, members of the district level groups are given time to share headway they have made in raising awareness, obtaining rights for members, supporting PWD’s with health and employment issues etc. It was a great day! And, it was all in Bangla!

Participants registering at the State Level Federation meeting of People with Disabilities.

This is one of the many advantages to going native. Learning a language, being competent in using it – whilst being able to listen, support and converse with people that benefit from the work and support of Sanchar. After 4 hours of this meeting, bearing in mind the heat and energy required to ‘stay on the ball’ with language, learning, barriers etc. I was rung out! I just wanted to go back to my newly developing home, crawl into the fridge and drink some cold mango juice!

It was not to be!

Being in central Kolkata has its advantages; the main one at that time was the shops! In the outer districts of this metropolitan city the main areas for shopping are local bazaars, which I enjoy, but in all seriousness I need to have the energy of an 8 year old child having consumed 4 packets of skittles, to get through the whole hot, sweaty, bartering experience! It being Friday evening, I knew it would be busy in all bazaars, and was also aware that it was the start of the weekend, and my fridge and shelves were nowhere near on the full side!

So, I bit the bullet and started to get advice from my work colleagues on where I was and what shops were nearby.This, to my advantage, turned into the whole staff team that was present at the meeting, all 12 of them, discussing where and which shops were best to take this mad Scot to. It was finalised, ratified and agreed upon, then I was summoned! To my complete astonishment the Executive Director (ED) of Sanchar, Tulika Das, had informed the staff to take me for snacks and a cold soft drink, then the person who had just planned, implemented and fronted the day’s meeting, was to then take me shopping and make sure I got back home! No amount of refusal, negotiation, and counter-insistence was going to change this, as the staff were getting snacks and cold drinks, and I, only on the peril of my life, was going to be allowed to refuse this whole deal.

Tulika Das, ED of Sanchar addressing meeting, supported by sign language interpreter.

Snacks and cold drinks it was, reluctantly obviously…

Afterwards it was into a taxi, big yellow beauties; they remind me of New York taxis, Andy Kaufman style. 50 Rupees and we, Pragnya and I, were outside Spencer’s a luxurious shopping boutique. Well it is compared to Sakaar bazaar near my house. Asia’s bazaar experience, local markets, is to-die-for; but it takes a certain type of human being, I think, to appreciate, survive and thrive in them. At times I can find them difficult, other times though, I am deeply in love with the whole atmosphere!

Spencer’s had everything! It wasn’t quite Blues Brothers – ‘disco pants and haircuts’, but for food, It was more like ‘the brown fox’s seventh heaven’. So, started I got. Everything I needed. Pasta; garlic and ginger paste; hand-wash clothing soap powder; mango juice (3 FOR 2!), fresh prawns; coconut milk; oranges… it goes on! One hour later, with Pragnya gone, having given up waiting for this mental case that was living in a version of ‘supermarket sweep on adrenaline,’ I was outside carrying 3 large bags of shopping looking like Garfield having consumed 3 lasagnes. The issue in front of me now was: How do I get this lot back home? I am in the centre of a city I know nothing about, or very little, and I am still losing bodily fluids at a rate quicker than I can replace. Another Taxi! More expensive than ‘autos’, the three-wheel CNG’s as they were called in Bangladesh, but quicker. CNG, as they run on compressed natural gas.

Another hour later, having trudged up and down the roads around Spencer’s, the traffic was getting busier, dustier and noisier. I eventually gave up and got my sorry carcass to a metro station, having been rejected by 5 taxi’s, as it was too far a journey. My prawns were now a bit smelly and I was sure I could smell the faint aroma of my natural yoghurt. But I was at Rabindrasadan metro station knowing my lifeline to Tollyganj was in sight! Two stops, 6 rupees, half an hour, I was outside Tollyganj! The trip in front of me from Tollyganj metro station to Diamond Park, where I live, I had experienced on the evening of the Bangla New Year, the previous Saturday. That resulted in me waiting two and a half hours for an ‘auto’; me fainting in the heat; getting bundled into a cab, whose route stopped halfway home; into a shop for water; then walking for 15 minutes (still 25 degrees) before getting another auto to near where I lived! So, My learning from that experience, taught me that I was determined not to hang about and get into the act of not going anywhere!

So, straight to auto stand! Too many people, about 100 waiting for Sachaar, not waiting in that! 40b bus arrives (to Diamond Park), refused access as I have 3 bags of shopping, and bus is too busy! Back to taxi rank! 400 rupees – I flip my lid! (Taxi drivers are playing con-the-white-rich-man.) Manage, eventually to get it down to 200, DEAL! Into the back, windows down, cold air! No! Traffic jam ggrrrr… Eventually, after 2 hours from leaving the shop, I was home.

Travel in the city of Kolkata, which has a population of almost 5 million, (Scotland ‘the country’ has 5.2 million) it does not take a genius to work out that it is impossible to get around, and even more mind-boggling when you see the infrastructure: What infrastructure Kevin? Exactly! If there is one thing I need to work out, it is how to survive the travelling in Kolkata.

Emptied the now hot content of my plastic shopping bags, mmm… steamed prawns! In a plain yoghurt marinade, to die for, quite literally! BUCKET.

So, slightly dejected, I cleaned my kitchen up, put away all the shopping that survived, got a shower and sulked in my bed! Then the most amazingly beautiful thing happened! I have been captivated by Ranbindranath Tagore ever since I came across his work in Bangladesh, and being a ‘Culcuttian’ literary hero, this experience was even more amazing!

I was lying in bed, when a firefly managed to get under the mosquito net, which I have pinned to the inside of all my windows, and fly around my room! The room was pitch-black except for this ‘bright dancing angel!’ Initially, I was very startled (brown trousers), but when I ‘let go of my fear’, I was in seventh heaven once again! This was the most amazingly beautiful and calming experience, I was reminded of Tagore’s poem ‘Fireflies’. It felt like she was with me for hours, dancing me into sleep and calming my very soul…

I slept for 6 hours that evening, the best sleep I have had since arriving in India.

I woke the next morning, refreshed and ready to face all that was. My start to the day is a perfect breakfast of rolled oats, fresh fruit, nuts, raisins and Misti Doy – sweet curd! Please view a small film made earlier in Delhi showing this style of breakfast. Thanks for reading and watching – may you meet your dancing angels soon…

written for Abby.

Link to my breakfast short film: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jOogizrPmwc

Fireflies

I touch God in my song as the hill touches the far-away sea with its waterfall.
The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough.
Let my love, like sunlight, surround you and yet give you illumined freedom.
Love remains a secret even when spoken, for only a lover truly knows that he is loved.
Emancipation from the bondage of the soil is no freedom for thee.
In love I pay my endless debt to thee for what thou art.

by Rabindranath Tagore.

The two children pictured here have disabilities, and you will get to know all about them through my future blogs. Through my placement with Voluntary Service Overseas (VSO) I am working in an organization called SANCHAR, a non-government organization (NGO) that the two young people rely heavily on for support in their own and family’s lives. Founded in 1988 by a group of disability workers, SANCHAR supports People with Disabilities (PWD) and recognizes their beneficiaries as partners, for their social and economical development and to ensure their human rights. SANCHAR is an organization that believes:

‘People with disabilities have equal rights as citizens and should have access to opportunities in every aspect of life like others in society. Given support they and their families are capable of understanding, strengthening and building on the positive aspects of their situation to change their lives.’

Through my blog, you will get to know SANCHAR, the organization, and more importantly, how it achieves the above bold and meaningful statement. You will get to know its staff members and all that they do in their work/vocation. To start, I have given statistics enabling you to view, understand and come to terms with the issue of disabilities in India, and also provide a background or context to which the work of SANCHAR and my volunteering is set.

The population of the Great Britain and Northern Ireland (GB) is estimated at 62 million, India is estimated at 1.2 billion. GB’s landmass is 245,000 square km, gulfed by India’s 3.2 million square km, the 7^th largest country in the world; GB being 78^th.

52% of India’s population is 25 years of age or under. 72% of its people live in rural, village, settings. West Bengal, of which Kolkata is the district’s capital, has a population of 91 million, higher in itself than Great Britain. Population density estimations are 349 people per sq. km in India and 248 per sq. km in Britain. Astonishingly Bangladesh’s population density is a staggering 1,066 people per sq. km (my previous placement country with VSO).

According to the World Health Organization (WHO) 10% of the world’s population is disabled. 20% of extreme poor people are also disabled. In India the most commonly accepted figure is 6% or 70 million people with disabilities. India has the largest number of people with disabilities in the world – the entire number of PWD’s in India is equal to, if not more than, the entire population of the Great Britain.

Disability is both a cause and consequence of poverty. Socially erected barriers deny disabled people opportunities such as education and employment, thereby further marginalizing them and increasing the causes and risks of poverty. For example, although the average national literacy rate is 56%; with only 8% of India’s disabled children in full-time education and less than 10% of disabled adults having completed the school curriculum; literacy among disabled people is estimated at 25%. Similarly, the rate of unemployment for disabled people is said to be over 99% in India, compared to the national average of just 8%.

There is a high correlation between disability and poverty but few studies have investigated how poverty and disability influence each other and with their combination create new forms of barriers for individuals and their families. In general, people with disabilities are estimated to make up 15 to 20% of the extreme poor in developing countries’ populations. Inequitable economic and social policies have contributed to large numbers of people living and being kept in extreme poverty. Poor families often do not have sufficient income to meet their own basic needs, never mind the needs of siblings with a disability. Inadequate shelter, unhygienic living conditions, lack of sanitation and clean drinking water combined with poor access to health facilities lead to the perpetuation of both poverty and disabilities.

Through this blog I will be presenting the hard facts and realities of PWD who are involved in SANCHAR’s programme of projects. I hope you will follow, give support, comment and thought to all that will be posted within this blog. Finally, I encourage you to connect in with me, so as not to miss out on the next time I blog…

Thanks to all those people who have supported me, provided feedback and advice, you know that I appreciate your time and effort very much.

Borobudur temple in Java!

And now the moment I’ve been waiting for: I am now officially ready to head off this summer for my internship! I got an internship with ChildFund International in Indonesia!

Considering I was the first to apply and the skills they were asking for in the requirements (being able to adapt, be flexible, and write) matched my expertise. This is why you must be not only punctual, but prioritize and apply as soon as possible.

I get to travel around Java (primarily Yogyakarta), work in schools around the rural and urban areas in early childhood development, analyze and write about it, meet with other NGO folks in Jakarta, and play with the children when not talking to their teachers, parents, or tutors.

Now here’s where I realize that having creativity is equally (if not more) important compared to knowledge: my blogging, writing, and photography skills which I mentioned in follow-up correspondence resulted in them updating the terms of reference that define my duties as an intern. Additionally, because I already planned to make some web series or film about my adventures, we decided we’re going to put those budding film making skills to use and create a presentation at the end of the internship.

A couple of lessons are learned:1)  you can negotiate if you feel you have something to offer that others might find useful; 2) you may be a lot more useful than you think, as others might find your skills and level of knowledge handy even if you find them arbitrary.

Now that the terms of reference are closely-aligned with my interests and skills, it’s time to stop playing games and start having some serious fun.

Soon I’ll be posting my Kickstarter campaign and some other alternatives to raise funds for my internship, which include travel preparation and tickets, and cost of production. Stay tuned, because it’s going to be an exciting time from take-off on 18 June to my return on 26 September.

So I have been convinced to write a blog. Firstly, apologies if at first they seem roughly designed and put together, it is part of my learning to work wordpress et al. I will attempt, as advised, to make use of some humour as well as serious thoughts regarding both my time in India as a whole, and, more importantly, my Voluntary Service Overseas (VSO) placement in SANCHAR, Kolkata, West Bengal.

My first blog allows me to show what life is like for some in Delhi, the capital, where differing standards of ‘living’, some an existence, are pushed together, making both Delhi and India as whole a very diverse nation of around 1.1 billion peoples.

My time in Delhi was very rewarding, arrived 4^th March. The country was coming out of its winter season, so in the evenings I was sleeping in thin cloth tracksuit trousers and a long sleeved top. The heat rose daily within the first three weeks in Delhi, where myself and 8 other ‘new’ volunteers were participating in In-Country Training. The ICT covered many aspects of living and volunteering in India, as well as daily Hindi language teaching classes.

This blog captures two small communities that have grown out of the needs of people living on the street; and thus evolving into something more tangible. Both were near my accommodation in the Indian Social Institute, which all 9 volunteers were housed whilst participating in the VSO India ICT programme.

My initial contact with these communities was to travel ‘by them’ as part of my daily routine of attending language classes, going to the shops on Lodi Road and eating food together with some of the volunteers in Ganesh restaurant; which I highly recommend!

Then one day, I ‘challenged’ myself to not walk by, or, ‘on the other side of the road…’

This short film allows me to show the Lodi Road Community:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HtxayHolIIc&list=UUiGcjihyeV0ViFs4mTNxdEg&index=3&feature=plcp

Idyllic Janzon

Janzon is an hour’s ride through bumpy bush road from Zwedru town.  Once there, you are completely cut off from the phone networks, there is no source of power, not even a generator, and only three or four water pumps.  The town is centralized along the main road but stretches far back, and the land is cleared, sandy, golden.  The houses are mud-daub, thatch roofs.  People are plenty there.  They used to be a small town with about 1,000 people.  Now, they are hosting a refugee influx of anywhere from 8,000 to 10,000 (it’s hard to believe the figures, they’ve learned the game of inflating numbers to get more aid, some people claim they are hosting 38 refugees in their 5x5m homes.)

Family in Janzon

Our first stop was actually Bawaydee, a community another 20 minutes from Janzon.  Also very spacious, airy, with good vibes all around.  The town chief wasn’t there so we met with the assistant chief, who helped us meet the refugee chairman, and the teachers at the refugee school (they were using the main school campus now that it was summer vacation for the local students).  They were genial, saying they could host us to stay, but we said we would be based out of Janzon, thanksverymuch.

Wellington meets with assistant town chief of Bawaydee

We agreed to meet them tomorrow to also meet the women’s committee and discuss with them about GBV issues.  One thing of interest they mentioned when we opened the topic of GBV was that there was a law in the village that no man was allowed to beat his wife at night.  If he did beat his wife, he would be taken to the police in Zwedru.  Any dispute a couple had, whether in daylight or nighttime, would be fined two chickens.  All conflicts were arbitrated by the town chief.

Bawaydee women

We reached back to Janzon as the sun was setting.  A man named Daniel Koe helped take us around to meet the town chief.  Right when I met the chief, I didn’t trust him.  He was too well dressed, hair too coiffed, eyes shined of money.  He promised to help us look for a place where we could set up our center, but his words fell flat.  We would continue the conversation in the morning, he said, and stood up and left, without offering us anywhere to stay or any sort of hospitality.

sharing stories at Koe's house

Daniel Koe allowed us to park our vehicle in his courtyard, and it would be there we would spend our night.  But seeing as it was only 7pm, we still had a ways to go before we could settle down to sleep.  We walked around the pitch black town for a while, illuminated only by the occasional flashlight.  Krahn was the primary dialect spoken here, a singsong language that sounds almost south asian.  Women sang out at wood pole shelters, touting their bushmeat soups.  My driver had a porcupine soup while Wellington had some monkey soup.  I had a thing of boiled corn.

at refugee school

Night was spent sitting on low benches talking to the many refugees Daniel was sheltering in his home.  They were the same ones that had sheltered him in Cote d’Ivoire when he was a refugee of the Liberian war, and their relations were close.  Wellington asked them to tell us their stories.  One woman spoke slowly and carefully, recounting how her husband and her  two children ran out of the house at 3am, as the rebels came into their village.  Her husband was cut to pieces behind her while she gripped her children’s hands tighter and ran deep into the bush.  It took them two weeks to reach Janzon.

Another woman gave birth while running from the rebels, hiding in the bush.  Her mother tended to her and cut the umbilical cord, and then the two of them picked up the baby and continued their trek.  She recounted this as she breast-fed the tiny child in her arms.

A third old woman recounted tearfully how she ran with her two grandchildren, but when the rebels approached, she became separated from the two, running in one direction while they ran in another.  She made the rest of the trip alone and still didn’t know what happened to her grandchildren.

All of them had come from the same village.  All of them started the story the same way.  It was 3 in the morning, when the rebels came.

It was sobering, to be before them, who had survived so much.  And who were still there, ensconced in the safety of this community.  But with so much loss.

our hotel for the night

The night spent curled up in the front seat of the car was actually surprisingly comfortable, with the gentle snoring of Thomas and Wellington on the back benches.  I woke up dirty, but refreshed.  Wellington had found me a stick with which to brush my teeth.  It wasn’t particularly useful, not like the mishwaq I had come to know in the Middle East.

in the morning

We spent the day meeting with the town chiefs, women’s committees, and refugee committees of Janzon, Pohan, and Bawaydee.  The meetings were somewhat difficult because of the language barrier.  I was using my awkward french to try to communicate, but Wellington really struggled since he only spoke English.  I wondered how we would be able to gain their trust and do this work with such a large barrier before us.

meeting with bawaydee committees

All community members seemed happy about the idea of distributing food security kits.  Town leadership were willing to provide land to refugees for farming, and there really was a sense of support for the refugees there.  They all described how the Ivorians had hosted them during the war, and the least they could do was host them.  It was touching, really.

mtg with Bawaydee

However, GBV was a different issue.  Even discussing in private with the women the issue of GBV, trauma, and rape, most of them shook their heads and said, “none  of that happens here.”  When I tried to approach it through sharing stories of war, they said, “maybe there are girls who have gone through something like that, but we don’t know them.”

womens committee of Bawaydee

The only breakthrough we had was in Bawaydee where, sitting under a tree in front of the town chief’s house, a young girl who looked no older than 16 told us the story of how the rebels had gang raped her and then locked her and several other women from the village in one house, where they would come in every day to have their way with the women.  She said it very matter-of-factly, with no remorse or sadness in her eyes.  As if the story was just a story, and not something that had happened to her.  I wondered what was running through her mind, or did she just forget about it.

women's committee in janzon

But that was the only story we managed to collect that day, all others denied the existence of GBV, admitting that perhaps it happened, but they didn’t know of specific cases.  We would have our work cut out for us.  Not only in finding out the survivors of GBV, but also conveying what it meant to provide psycho-social counseling, and breaking that language and trust barrier.  I was worried.  What could we do in three months time.  It’s such a sensitive issue, we ran the risk of making it worse.  Of drawing out these stories and then abandoning them.

This was going to be a tough assignment.

I left Monorovia July 18th, hard top vehicle driven by Thomas, my trusty construction supervisor Yao and our newly hired psycho-social counselor Wellington in the back.  The car was loaded with all the tools and materials we had purchased to start office construction, the road ahead filled with promise.  Our logistician had insisted we not leave, since by the time the car was fixed it was around 6pm.  But I knew to hang around Monrovia was to lose another day, particularly in the time-suck that was the head office.

We arrived in my home base, Saclepea, at around midnight.  I fell fast asleep.  The next morning was running errands and dealing with some issues that had sprung up the day before, most notably, one of our staff in the field had been accused of accepting gifts and funds from a community in exchange for the promise of well rehabilitation.  So we went to Ganta to procure some materials, I cashed the first check of $7000, and interviewed two candidates for psycho-social counselor.  We went to the UNMIL human rights office in Sanniquelle, found out who was accusing our staff of extorting funds, and called the woman, promising to pay it back this weekend.

The following day we made the 5 hour ride to Zwedru.  Upon arrival, we checked out the site where the new office was to be constructed, which an unruly patch of land right next to the SDA church.  The Zwedru Multilateral School, situated on an impressive campus constructed by the Ministry of Education and USAID some years back, provided us with some storage space and even a halfway decent guest house for me to spend the night.

We visited UNHCR, informed them of our new project, which they seemed pleased about.  They also suggested we stick to Janzon, since other IPs working in GBV (most notably Handicap Internatinoa) had just pulled out of there (due to lack of funding promised to them by UNHCR, which I found out later).  They also suggested we come tomorrow morning for the GBV taskforce meeting before heading off to Janzon.  I was all too happy to shift the operation to Janzon, as it was significantly closer to Zwedru (about one hours drive) and was where we would also be focusing our food security interventions under FAO.

The next morning I worked on making some forms and around 10am went to the Ministry of Gender where the GBV meeting was supposed to be held.  Half an hour of waiting later, I called the Protection Officer who had apparently forgotten all about it and said she was coming right now.  Ten minutes later she called and said that most of the participants were at a workshop so the meeting was canceled.  Thanks UNHCR for being so on top of things.  I went back to their office to get a clearer picture of what they wanted us to do, who were the IPs currently working in Janzon axis, and what were they doing.  The protection officer showed me a table of refugee numbers that was 3 months old.  Even the IPs that were listed were no longer working there, and there were a whole host of new ones in the field.

Understanding that it was useless to stay any longer at UNHCR we left, got in the car, and headed for Janzon to start our work.

Saclepea farming group constructing a floodway canal

i feel like i’ve been writing a lot of negative things lately about the work here in Liberia. it hasn’t been all bad, and i have certainly done some rewarding things, which, i think, get lost in the politics and backstabbing of the whole business.

Verifying peripheral canal work in Gbedin

one relatively positive learning experience was my visit to the livelihood asset rehabilitation project we are implementing with WFP.  In Nimba County, we cover 8 different communities, in four districts.  Let’s see if I can name them off the top of my head.  In Tappita District, there is Tappita Farming Group.  In Saclepeah Mah District, there’s the Saclepea Women’s Farming Group.  In Sanniquelle Mah District, there is a farming group run out of Gbedin.  And in Zoe-geh District, we have Zayglay, Zontuo, Kparglay, Nyenpa, and…damn I forgot the fifth one.

Anyhow the idea is this.  The farming group is given the tools and training to do infrastructure rehabilitation of lowland rice farms.  Doing brushing, clearing, and constructing canals, bunds, and dykes to prepare the land for seeding and planting of rice.  The farming groups are then paid according to the amount of work completed, where every so-and-so meters of work means so-and-so number of work norms, which translates into $2/work norm.

it’s a system that’s still trying to figure itself out, having transitioned out of the food-for-work program, to which many farmers (rightly so) revolted.  the first version of this program had farmers being paid according to daily attendance, but then it was decided it would be better to pay according to amount of work completed.  so a matrix was developed which assigned for example, 1 hectare of heavy brushing and clearing earned 55 work norms ($110), and 100  meters of floodway canal rehabilitated earned 10 work norms ($20).

saclepea swamp land to be rehabilitated

we visited some of the work done by the farming groups a few weeks ago, to verify what was reported and to determine the amount to be paid.  To be honest, I was nervous, because we had already had so many problems with reporting, and it was an issue of constant conflict between the WFP office and ours.  Also, some of the agriculture technicians who were feeding me the numbers didn’t seem extremely literate, and I was nervous about their comprehension of what the numbers represented.

The place I visited with WFP was Gbedin, where we had reported some of the highest numbers of peripheral canals and bunds.  The lowland was vast, we took a motorcycle to get there off the main road.  The grass had grown high around the bunds because they had been rehabilitated over two months ago.  The WFP official went to the start of the canal, declaring his stride was .7 meters.  Then we began counting.  Through the sharp reeds scratching, through the low hanging branches that whipped in our faces, the insects swarming around our faces.  When I emerged, 1,400 steps later, my arms were bleeding and covered in bumps and bites.  But the verification was sound, we had reported accurately.

WFP talking to farming group in Gbedin

It is a good project, and the farming groups work hard.  And when they finish, they will have something to show for it, they will have well-laid-out land with canals and bunds cutting across, dividing it for rice cultivation.

The problems in this project have been delays in payment, which are an adminstrative issue caught up in NGO inefficiency.  It has led to the drop out of many participants, who feel the NGOs are just exploiting their labor without any returns.

This is especially the case with the Saclepea and Tappita farms, which are women-run farming groups.  This means, the farming groups have no men within them who are able to work, and therefore they hire daily laborers from outside to do the work.  But the amounts paid and the time lag between work, verification, and payment, mean that laborers feel cheated.  If it was the landholders themselves working, they would at least feel some benefit to their labor, as evident in their own land being improved.  but when it is outside hires, there is not that same level of stakeholding.

One of the agr technicians on a bund in Saclepea

This can be chalked up to poor decision-making and assessment when first identifying the beneficiary groups for this project.  I understand why they focused on women-based farming groups.  Women-based anything in the NGO world is an immediate buzzword for donors, and they are targeted for all interventions, by pure virtue of their gender.  Vulnerability comes second, but is not heavily scrutinized.  And for many of these women-based farming groups, the women in these groups have husbands who are businessmen, and who run the farming group as a hobby or as a way of gaining project money from NGOs. they are not necessarily the most in-need, nor the most-invested in these projects.  Yet they are the ones that get the money, and get their land up and ready to make them more money.  All without lifting a finger.

me: the plan is to build mud brick houses, as had been previously agreed upon in these meetings.

UN: oh really, well that’s a problem isn’t it?

me:  what?

UN:  well, is anyone else doing mud brick houses?

me:  not right now, but the plan is to retrofit all the houses into mud brick because its a better construction, and more environmentally sustainable.

UN:  yes, well, it seems that other organizations are all doing either tarpaulin or daubed houses, so for consistency sake i don’t think you should be doing mud-brick.

CA:  you see, the reason is because mud brick houses are the local style of constructing, and they are the most durable and good quality.  already the daubed houses that have been constructed have started leaking.

UN: i mean, is there any real evidence that they are better?

GO:  oh yes!  mud brick is far better.  it lasts much longer, it is stronger, it is rain resistant…in fact, the government has been pushing for all the shelters to be made of mud brick since the beginning.

UN:  are they more expensive?

CA:  no, once you factor in labor prices and everything, it is about the same price.

UN:  well, anyway, we don’t to have multiple different standards for shelters.  then that will create conflict between the NGOs, everyone will want to go to a mud brick house, and leave the other ones.

CA:  but the other ones are leaking, they are not good.

UN:  that may be true.  no one is arguing that mud brick isn’t better, but for consistency sake, we just can’t be going and making mud brick houses.

CA:  well the original idea was that we could retro-fit all the tarpaulin and daubed houses with mud brick, that it would be a multi-phase process.

UN:  well since this is an emergency, i don’t think that that will be necessary.  the daubed houses work just fine.

CA:  mud brick houses take the same amount of time as daubed, especially in the rainy season.

UN:  well anyway, for consistency sake…we just can’t.  sorry.

me:  *frustrated face

so, because other NGOs started doing shoddy work, we have to follow their example and also do shoddy work.  just so they won’t look bad.

funny, i thought we were here to help refugees.

on the car, Tommy told me another story, where during a certain EC project, the latrines the org had constructed in the community were better quality than the houses in the community.  the latrines were brick, with iron roofing and plaster and paint.  the project was criticized for making too nice of latrines.  saying, the latrines should have been of the same level as the beneficiaries houses, that they shouldn’t have been better.  only the base level of quality was necessary in a community like that.

i guess sometimes its a curse to be of too good quality and have pride in worksmanship.  especially in the NGO field.

i am here…in the field…work boots on…to write proposals and look for money.  exactly what i did not want to be doing.  i am at my best when i am working and making things run.  not when i’m trying to beg for favors.  i’ve already been told in the past that i’m undiplomatic.  so unless i can convince people by my dance moves…or by the pure virtue of written proposals, which we all know are bullshit anyway, we shan’t be seeing funding for a long while.

i call unhcr everyday.  everyday it’s,”the senior program officer is out of town.  we’ll try to arrange a meeting as soon as he is back.”  i’ve been hearing this for two weeks straight.  every meeting it is, ok we will discuss it.  we’ll let you know next week.  everyday i hope that fateful email will come, “go ahead and start.  funding has been deposited in your account.”  each day it seems a more distant illusion.

otherwise i’ve been having a grand old time in saclepea.  i’ve already been to two parties, one at wfp compound and one at the unhcr compound, and made friends with the bangladeshi UNMIL battalion here, so they’ve been inviting me to lunch, taking me to the market, joining me in bars.  i’ve met some hilarious folks from kenya and people with whom i can practice my french with from the drc.  i’m not particularly interested in meeting expats, since most of them are on their way out anyway, but the few I have met from NRC and Save the Children have been very pleasant.

But I can’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy whenever I meet them.  These people, with their sense of purpose.  with real projects to manage.  with real results.  seeing the work of their hands.  i am jealous that they know why they are here.  they are confident in the work they are doing.  that they have work to do.  give me a project.  and i will show you what i can do.

it was on this road that, eight years ago, in 2003, the country director and a visiting director from Norway had been killed in cold blood.  i ask Yao about it.  They had been doing an emergency project in Nimba, Grand Gedeh,  Maryland, and Grand Bassa counties at the time, he explained.  the Norwegian loved Liberia and kept coming back, it was his second time visiting to monitor the projects he was sponsoring.  school construction in Nimba and Grand Gedeh.  “They had been going from Saclepea to Grand Gedeh to meet me, in fact,” Yao says solemnly.  And they were carrying tens of thousands of dollars to pay the staff.   Back then, banks were few, far between, and unreliable.  So hard cash was transported with them.

What had happened, was that after dropping off the money in some project sites in Nimba, where they had paid salaries in front of the locals, they got back into the car and continued on. They didn’t realize they were heading into territory that had newly been taken by Taylor’s fighters.  And some of these fighters must have overheard them saying they were heading to Grand Gedeh, and set up an ambush on the road ahead.

The ambush appeared to be a typical checkpoint, and the driver slowed down and stopped at the beckon of the “official”.  The car was peppered with gunfire.  They were then pulled out of the car and the money taken into the hands of the attackers.  The country director recognized one of them, and their fate was sealed.  The attackers could not leave them alive, because they would surely have been identified and arrested.  So the country director was shot at point blank range.  The driver, who had previously fought in the war and had “juju” protecting him, could not be killed by a bullet, so the attackers took a large boulder from the side of the road, and crushed his head beneath it.

The Norwegian was dragged into the surrounding bush to be killed.  No one saw what happened to him.  The only person to escape was a woman riding with them, who dove out when gunfire was opened on the vehicle and crept into the forest.  “The war was a war between men,” Yao explained.  We usually left the women.

It was she who would finally inform the office in Grand Gedeh.  They did not have mobile phones in that time, and their only means of communication was through vehicle radios.  When communication was cut between the Zwedru office and the vehicle on its way, they radioed Saclepea, who reported that the directors had left several ago, and should have arrived by then.  They tried the vehicle again.  The line was dead.

It was Yao who would drive back to the site of the attack to identify the bodies.  He first saw the car, which had been burned but still bore the telltale bullet holes throughout.  Then he spotted them, still lying on the side of the road, the driver with his head split open, and the country director’s body riddled with bullets.

A few weeks later, after things in the area had calmed down, the Norwegian’s wife came to Liberia to see for herself the place where her husband had been killed.  Following the description of events as told by the woman who had escaped, Yao and her traced the path of the attackers into the woods.  A few hundred meters in, she found a piece of his hair clinging to a stick.  She gingerly put it in her pocket, and took it back with her.  It was all they ever found of the Norwegian who had so loved to visit Liberia.  The rest of his body had decomposed by then.

A few hours later, when the conversation had moved to donors and the organization, I asked why the organization had received such a small project from UNHCR, compared to other organizations.  Yao explained that after the killing happened on the road to Grand Gedeh, UNHCR demanded that the money that had been stolen be returned to UNHCR.  The organization could not produce the money.  It had disappeared into the bush, another victim of war.  But the fact that the organization could not return the money, soured relations between UNHCR and us.  it has only been recently that they have been willing to even begin working with us again.

i did not know what to make of that.  somehow it felt wrong, to make so petty the brutal massacre of three people, whose families lives had been robbed, and instead to crudely request the money that had been taken and hold a grudge when it could not be returned.

i struggle to wrap my mind around it and formulate an opinion, when Yao points out the window.  “Here it was,” he says.  “Here is where they were killed.  Their bodies were here,” he indicates a normal looking part of the road.  The forest is not even thick and menacing, as I had imagined.  But thin brush, with tall grass and palms.  You would never guess people were murdered in cold blood here.

“It was war.  Anything was possible.”

This question is abysmal for the following reasons:

1. Africa, as I have repeatedly mentioned, is a continent and NOT a country. Yes, I’ve been to six (and by the end of the summer, possibly 7…more for another time!) African nations in both Western and Eastern Africa. This accounts for approximately 10% of the countries on this continent, and as for Burundi and Côte d’Ivoire I hardly spent any time in-nation and did not even get my passport stamped (a tale for another time). So really, I’ve only come to know Rwanda, Uganda, and Ghana. A blessing, but by no means enough to make me capable of answering how a continent that is larger than Russia, China, all of Western Europe, and the USA combined is faring.

2. Condensing ten weeks worth of time, experience, feeling, learning, and growing into one little question is like asking Jo Rowling what it was like to write one of the Harry Potter masterpieces. It’s your entire life for an intense amount of time- how is one supposed to compound it all into a sentence?

Now, unfortunately, I see no easy answer to the problematic question, because I do generally really appreciate that people who ask such questions (a) actually care enough and remember that this is what I did for the summer, which humbles me and reminds me of the incredible people who fill this world, and (b) are opening a space, usually, for dialogue to ensue.

And, let’s be real, so many times questions like this are asked over punch after church or in passing in the cereal isle, so it’s not exactly like I’m going to go NGO-fanatic all over you and nit pick the question and belligerently proclaim myself to be a sage whose mighty wisdom deserves more than a measly sentence asking. (Mighty wisdom, ha!). Perhaps a better question might be, “Tell me about your time in Uganda” or, the money-maker, “This must have been quite the adventure [/experience/formative time…] and I’d love to hear more over coffee [/drinks/a meal/a long romantic walk on the beach…].” Alas, these exist in dream worlds and not really in reality. And, let’s be real, I may not want to take a quixotic stroll with you on the sand- no offense.

In lieu of this microcosmic dilemma, my dear mentor told me I needed to prepare three kinds of responses: the two-sentence/thirty-second reply for those vaguely interested and merely fishing for a conversational topic; the five-minute story for those who have genuine interest whom you either do not want to divulge all or, more commonly, are more on the periphery of your life and therefore don’t have the time for the hand-holding sharing session; and lastly, the full experience, to be shared with the few people who truly want to know it all.

The last divulgence is a rarity; usually among family and close friends. I tend to include pictures and video with this sharing and, if you’re especially lucky, some full Ugandan regalia.

Having taken this to heart, my return to the states at the age of fourteen was a little less burdened by this guidance. Still, I struggled for months post-landing, wrestling with questions of why I am white, American, middle-class, and handed an excellent education merely because I was conceived in a womb of parents with the same privilege. I was blessed with people wanting the whole story, but blinded in some ways because not everyone wanted the full, gory, intensive retelling. A little older now, I understand why. Not everyone can care about what I feel passion for and people have their own lives. This is neither here nor there, but learning to respect people’s passions is a lifelong journey for me. Regardless, this kowledge doesn’t mean my return is going to be any easier.

Which was, in part, my secret motivation for creating this blog. Yes, I wanted to have a place besides my journal to look back on fondly to recall my time; yes, I wanted a central place to share my tales of woe and glory with friends and family; yes, I think someday I’ll write memoir (I’ve already got a title, is that bad?) and this will be a place to begin; yes, I think a life-abroad is rich material for blogging; but most of all, I thought (and still think) that by sharing the micro-events and big feelings bit by bit as they happen I will have created a space for healthy transition and sharing. Ultimately, selfish as it is, this blog is for me. I’m so grateful you all are along for the ride, especially because you being here (virtually) is helping and encouraging me every step of the way.

But now, having laid out for you my trick to sanity and transition, I now must make one further confession.

A question I am often asked pertaining to my internship here in Uganda for the summer is: what exactly are you doing in Uganda? It is, admittedly, a perfectly fair and reasonable question to ask as I have yet to be explicit with projects to be undertaken or outlines of my job description.

My avoidance of writing out a concrete, as-you-please, simple explanation are one of two reasons; the first being I like to be counter-cultural in my avoidance of feeding what surely People want to hear: a clean-cut, two-sentence sized-down version of an entire summer’s worth of work, meditation, and exploration. The second is because, as in many things pertaining to NGO work in Uganda, what tangibly can be accomplished in ten weeks is often not apparent until those ten weeks have commenced. And, you know, it’s my rebellion against the two-sentence reply.

But, having forced you all to endure my aloofness and avoidance of the subject long enough (though, strictly speaking, I do feel that you all read this blog of your own will and therefore I haven’t, per se, forced you to do anything (dually, however, if I pester you in real life (which could well be the case) to read my blog is some sense that is forcing you…hmmm, food for thought)) I think it is high time I made a material list of our project goals for the end of the summer.

(This might also have been prompted by the planning session held by Thera and I yesterday…but to keep the mystery alive, I won’t share that…oops.)

So here it is, at long last, my thirty seconds condensation of three weeks thus far:

In the Karamoja region of Northwestern Uganda I am working for the North Karamoja Diocese of the Church of Uganda under the Educational Coordinator. Our principle jobs were in capacity building, community living, and educational support and reform.

Now, if you’re like me, you might say “what does that mean?” (ENSUE MY TRICK!) For, if you are in fact looking at the screen with a dubious and confused expression scrawled across your visage, you might ask “Tell me more about that” or “What exactly does capacity building mean?”

And now, dear reader, you have transitioned from the two-sentence to the five-minute reply. (I HAVE ENSNARED YOU, HAHA!) And I might reply, “capacity building is the idea that we, as Western NGO workers, recognize that the Karamajong are perfectly capable of raising themselves out of material poverty and creating their own educational reform. With this recognition we seek to build this capacity within the community in which we live, creating a space and laying the foundation for those native to this community to create their own change. We create sustaining relationships until there is no need for us, not necessarily until we feel like leaving mid-project.”

Should you be even more curious, you might ask me to explain in detail some projects to enlighten one’s understanding of this fabulous concept of capacity building.

And now, after this ridiculous ramble, I present to you three key projects Thera and I hope to accomplish (or make serious headway on) for the summer:

1. Education Surveys

A few months ago Thera took a comprehensive survey of all the schools in the district; what they needed, how they were doing, etc. There are a few schools left to be surveyed which is our first task: to complete the data compilation so as to have a full report on the district. However, as any researcher knows, paper-copied data is a pain in the ass to read through and, dually, needs to be compiled into a more cohesive and read-able format for future workers and fellow Diocese employees and volunteers. Thus, the concrete:

-       To finish surveying the remaining three schools.

-       To compile all the data into on cohesive and legible format both on paper and electronically.

-       To write a narrative report of the data with an easily updateable at-a-glance for every school.

The analytical:

-       This project falls under “educational reform and support”

-       We also hope, once the data is coherent, to find ways to satisfy the needs of the schools.

2. Water Bottle Building

Unbeknownst to many, water bottles actually make incredibly sturdy and useful bricks when building homes (my new friend and fellow MCC worker, Elizabeth, has an awesome blog post about the first-ever water bottle house built in africa here). Filled with concrete/dirt and sealed together like any other mud-brick home these bottle-bricks are both incredibly good for repurposing and thus, our environment and a very cheap way to build a home. We are hoping to receive grant money to begin the project (for which we’ve been saving all of our bottles (which are many, when one cannot drink tap water and therefore often must drink bottled water)) and, praying all goes well, we shall begin the campaign for collecting plastic bottles from across Kotido. Once enough are collected, we hope to construct a structure on the Church property (probably a latrine).

The concrete:

-       To collect water bottles so as to reduce carbon footprints and as an innovative and useful way of recycling

-       To build, with professional guidance, an example structure on the Diocese’s property

The analytical:

-       Capacity building resides in the idea of “we did this from local materials for cheap and so can you!”

-       Community living will have ensured trust within (hopefully hopefully hopefully) much of the community and, therefore, we hope to have a successful bottle-collecting campaign as our fellows will have trusted us with our initiative (crazy as it may sound to Karamajong or Westerner alike)

3. Solar Appliances (Oven/Cooker & Dryer)

This might by my favorite project initiative, and certainly seems the most do-able. We intend to build a solar cooker and solar dryer for our own compound completely from found materials within the community. Solar cookers have been around even in the states since the 1960s and are (a) incredibly efficient, (b) good for the earth, and (c) very easy to make from fancy materials or found trash. This is the biggest capacity building and community living project; we build the oven/cooker as a demonstration to the rest of the community, bringing it with us to visits and sharing food we will make in the oven with others. Most importantly, in using local materials we can show (once again) that it is a relatively simple project that anyone can do! Assuredly a video will ensue of the whole process, but it’s already looking to be incredibly cool!!

The concrete:

-       To collect the necessary materials, visibly, from our surroundings (two cardboard boxes, a sheet of glass, flour paste and soot to make natural black paint, a piece of hanger wire, and the silvery metallic insides of plastic bags)

-       To build the solar cooker and dryer

-       To cook in the oven/cooker and then share it with the community to prove its effectiveness.

The analytical:

-       Capacity building at its finest!

-       Efforts towards long-term renewable energy and sustainability

-       To also show you, dearest readers, that you can make these as well and reduce your carbon footprint! I fully intend to make on my return to the states as well! (this, in turn, is Western capacity building)

These are the three main objectives we hope to achieve. I am, understandably, terribly eager to begin. And while these are the tangible, so much of work in NGOs abroad is simply living as a community member, understanding cultures and embracing and learning from the collision space between us.

—

current jam: “swee swee” mountain men

best thing in my life right now: i woke up to a snuggly cat on my lap this morning!

pages read: still 17; it’s barely noon here and i spent all morning writing this, okay?! (judgement judgement judgement)

fantas consumed: 5

The situation is this.  Our original project was to set up transit shelters (tents, communal kitchens, registration centers made of local wood and tarpaulin) in three districts in Nimba County, Karnplay 1, Karnplay 2, and Zorgowee.  We brushed and cleared the land and started setting up tents at Karnplay 1 in March, at the start of our project.  Then UNHCR told us to move to Karnplay 2, where there were more refugees, before we had finished putting up all the tents.  So we dismantled the tents, and began brushing and clearing Karnplay 2.  Then UNHCR protested, saying the land was too sloped, and asked that we just start working in Zorgowee.

We set up 266 tents, installed lights, and set up communal kitchens.  Before we were able to start working on the communal shelters, we were asked to construct a clinic, and 3 registration centers.  We did so.  Then we planned to first set up one communal shelter as a sample, and UNHCR asked us to set up all five instead.  So we began work on all 5, and halfway through the framing, UNHCR asked us to complete one instead, so they could see what it looked like.  *sigh.  We finished one, it was nice.  The Ivorian refugees requested to move into the communal shelters, but the overseeing organization of the camp refused, for whatever reason.  So then we continued work on the communal shelter.  One was 70% complete and the other was 40% complete when UNHCR decided in their infinite wisdom that, due to falling refugee numbers, we should halt construction until further notice.  We halted.  And began working on a second proposal for a semi-permanent shelter in Old Yorpea to secure the remaining $300k and use our stockpiled materials.  But we weren’t permitted to move until UNHCR gave the go-ahead.

At the last shelter coordination meeting, the UNHCR official asked about our progress and I informed him that we had halted all work, as per UNHCR instruction, and were awaiting further response regarding the proposal.  He said, what?  You should finish the second communal shelter, since it’s 70% done.  I explained that since refugee numbers had fallen, and since most refugees were expected to move to a semi-permanent shelter set up by another implementing partner, it didn’t make much sense.  He said, no no, we agreed before to finish the second shelter.  That way the refugees can move in during the rainy season.  Why don’t you just finish it and begin dismantling the tents.  I agreed.

I sent a few emails asking confirmation about finishing the second shelter, ccing all officials involved.  the same official from the meeting wrote back saying as per our discussion, finish the second shelter.  We began work on it on Monday.  By Tuesday, we needed to haul rafters to complete the roofing.  And to haul 280 of the 15 ft rafters, which were hand hewn and sold in the bush, we needed a large truck.  We had originally been promised 2 vehicles from UNHCR, but it was later decided that due to the short time frame of our project, we should supply our own vehicles, but that they would lend us trucks when needed.

We put in a request for a truck, the supplies woman told us to come back in half an hour.  then another half hour.  then another.  finally they said, they might be able to release the truck in the afternoon.  The next morning we left for Zorgowee transit camp.  After arriving, we saw the UNHCR truck there, which had transported some 24 refugees into the camp earlier that day.  It had nothing more to do that day, but to return to Karnplay. I called UNHCR to see if we could use the truck to haul our 280 rafters.  She informed me that the truck was “engaged” and that we would not be able to use any truck until sometime next week. When I tried to argue, saying that the truck was sitting right there and clearly not engaged, she informed me that UNHCR was under no obligation to lend us a truck, and it was merely an additional assistance they provided when they could.  Sorry, but that was it.

Frustrated, but not wanting to halt work with our workers and contractor there, we first tried bargaining with the truck driver, but he was asking $125 to haul the rafters (which themselves only cost $200).  Fine, we would use our own pickup.  Everyone looked at me incredulously when I said that, saying our little pickup was not even half the length of the rafters we would be hauling, and couldn’t fit but 20 at one time.  Then we’ll make 15 trips, I said.

We hopped into the back of the pickup and went into the bush.  We crossed a precarious plank bridge (with the wood not even nailed in), which UNHCR trucks were forbidden to cross.  Then went deep through a narrow forest road for about 30 minutes until the trail widened into a small village.  The site supervisor hopped out and went to look for the man who sold him rafters.  He came and jumped in the truck bed with us, taking a small dwarf-size man with him who must have been 80.  I bought a handful of peanuts from a girl under a tree and gave them to the men sitting with me in the back.

We were off again, through the beautiful thickness of the forest.  Until the small old man looked up with wide glaucomic eyes and pointed into the forest.  I looked around and saw nothing, but all the other men also started shouting for the truck to stop, pointing deep into the trees.  They hopped off and ran into the bush.  A few minutes later, they reappeared, hauling thin but supple 15 foot thin trees, stripped of their bark.  We loaded them one by one into the bed of the truck, where they flopped over the front windshield.

The back gate of the truck was coming unhinged and we tied it up with fraying yellow rope.  Finally all 20 pieces were tied onto the truck, we hopped on, this time sitting on the rafters to keep them steady, and made our way back, carefully winding through the narrow trail, trying to avoid low hanging trees.  Only once did one of the rafters catch on a low branch, being pulled backward until it bent and split.  The site supervisor jumped off, twisted the branch this way and that until it broke completely, and then hopped back in with the two broken pieces.

We made it back to the camp, feeling like champions, sitting towering over everything on our throne of young trees.  No excuses.  We would get the job done, even if UNHCR wouldn’t provide us with the necessary tools to do so.  Even if it took us a hundred trips.  We would do it.

The next day the pickup left early in the morning in anticipation of the many trips into the bush it would have to make to retrieve rafters.  While they were still en route, I received a call from a UNHCR official.  We heard that you have begun construction again at the camp when you were told not to.  I explained that another official had told us to do so, we had the emails to prove it, and that they were the ones who had referred us to this man.  The official said, no, you shouldn’t have continued.  please stop.

Then the official who had told us to continue called, and accused us of inflating our progress, saying that 70% meant almost done, not partially done.  I explained that we had in fact completed 70% of the work, but he insisted that if we were still hauling rafters, it did not count as 70%.  I think he had 70% confused with 90%, but didn’t say so.  Anyway, seeing as you were not clear with the amount of work  you had completed, I must ask you to halt construction.  In my head, I protested against the implied accusation, but out loud, I said, “you just tell us what you want us to do, and we’ll do it.”

and so we stopped the work, again, for the fourth time.  i asked what we should be doing in the meantime, and they said, just wait until we can meet to discuss it.  when would that be? i asked politely.  maybe sometime next week…

i’ve been here two and a half weeks now. my project has yet to start. we are ready to work.  my staff is itching to get moving.  our materials are here.  we are just waiting for the go-ahead from an organization that is too big to care.

tommy was telling me on our way to the camp that we as an organization need to have assets of our own, so that we can work independently, and to show donors and other orgs that we have capacity to get the job done.  we should amass a fleet of vehicles that are working (not the five broken down jeeps that we have all sitting in the garage in Monrovia), and a transport truck.  then we can really do something.

we used to have several trucks, when we were doing school-feeding, tommy said sadly.  but they were all taken during the war.  and now look at us.  we have nothing, no projects, no funding, no staff.  we used to be so great, he explained, recalling days when we were running multi-million dollar projects that covered all nine counties, building schools, wells, agriculture projects.  back then every project had an accountant, and our director made sure to keep our work separate from the church.

now, after the church began interfering in all the decisions of the org, they decided our staff shouldn’t be paid more than they were making, and so we lost our qualified staff.  “cheapness is expensive”, he said.  in trying to save money in salaries, and in equipment, we ended up paying more for the mistakes we made in the field.  in failing to invest in our own vehicles, we lost out on the big projects.

CRS has a large truck pulling into the yard, covered in mud from a days work.  Meanwhile I’ve been sitting under this palava hut working on proposals and hoping.  Cheapness is expensive.

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Recently, he was standing next to me, complaining that I was doing too much work. He clearly wanted me to drop everything and chat to him… so I did.

He had a new piece of jewellery - two rings hanging off a chain around his neck, so I asked him about it. He told me the rings were too small for him to wear, so he put them on the chain. As I laughed and said “they are not THAT small” I placed one on my pinky finger, to show him he could still wear them. He exclaimed:

“Now you are my wife!”

Laughingly, I quickly removed the ring and told him to save them for his real future wife, and that he was far too young to get married (I believe he is 18 in Western counting).

But no. He no longer calls me chicken. He now calls me his wife.

“My wife!” makes people look just as much (or even more!) as “chicken” used to do. Funny that. I think I may have to explain this one, though.

Where in the world are you? Where is home? For now or for good? Image via Wikipedia

If you’ve ever left your home country behind to live abroad — as many of us do for work, study, a partner’s job or your parents’ profession — you’ve felt the visceral punch of cultural dislocation.

You’ve become an ex-patriate.

(Not, as some think, an ex-patriot!)

The money/food/temperature/humidity/foliage/animals/language/flag/national anthem/what they eat for breakfast is all different, new, disorienting, unfamiliar.

What do you mean X is considered normal behavior? Are you kidding?

You might not be able to read road signs or communicate clearly with your physician, grocer, hairdresser, dentist or your kids’ friends.

If you stay long enough, and remain open to the culture of your new country (and there may be several along the way), you change, likely forever. Then, when you go “home” to the country you initially left behind, it now feels weird and alien.

I’ve worked as a cross-cultural counselor for Berlitz and loved it. I counseled senior American executives moving to (my native) Canada and Canadians moving to (my adopted land of 22 years) the United States. I love being the middleman, explaining the minutiae of daily life and social cues and faux pas.

Language skills are barely half the battle if you fail to understand the most fundamental attitudes underlying local choices, whether what to bring to a dinner when you’re an invited guest to knowing which local colleges are truly worth the time and money for you or your loved ones.

The learning curve is vertical.

I’ve just spent three weeks back in Canada, a mix of caring for my mother and vacation time, and it’s the longest I’ve been back since 1998, when I also spent three weeks here. But the culture shock this time, for a variety of reasons, has proven by far the hardest ever, partly because — surprise! — I have now truly adopted many of the behaviors and attitudes and expectations of my home just outside New York City.

In Canada, let alone Western Canada, many of these are deemed downright rude. Like:

Directness. In New York, where people rush about at warp speed all the time, few people waste time. It’s too valuable. So we often say exactly what we think, for better or worse, and get on with things. But being direct can lead to openly expressed differences of opinion which, in some cultures is a toxic choice…

Confrontation. In Canadian culture, about as popular as belching. Just. Not. Done. Those who do it or seek it are seen as boors and best ignored, no matter how urgent or pressing the underlying issue.

Expecting answers to my questions, promptly — if at all. Hah! I am appalled and frustrated beyond measure at the number of unreturned phone calls and emails, from banks, physicians, health care workers, academia. Everyone. I have an assistant, a woman my age who is very polite, tactful, calm, hired to help me promote my new book, a necessity for every author.

She is burned out, fed up and deeply shocked at the profound indifference she encounters from everyone she contacts. I had forgotten — and it’s one powerful reason I chose to leave Canada in the first place — that Canadians hate fame, fortune, celebrating success and those who achieve it. They sneer at it and deride it and make fun of it. Americans live, eat and breathe it. Talk about a cultural divide!

Expecting excellent customer service from the medical system. As if. In the U.S., where MRIs are as common and easily gettable (if you have insurance) as M & Ms (a popular candy, for the non-Americans among you), doctors are usually pretty responsive and respectful. Because Americans, who expect great service everywhere, can and will sue at the drop of a scalpel. Canadian physicians play a totally different role and they retain tremendous power as a result. There are so few of them and they are so busy. They expect deference. They don’t seem to use email. They may take a while to return a phone call. They are essentially paid government employees, and seem to have less accountability to patients or their families. A friend, with a chronic health problem, told me; “Doctors don’t return phone calls.”

But, after that plane takes off from YVR today, I will miss:

Civility. Essential to the Canadian character. It’s assumed and expected. I have retained the habit, which I heard a lot here, of saying “Take care” at the end of even the briefest conversations with bus drivers or bank clerks.

Compassion. In a nation where everyone has access to cradle-to-grave healthcare and $10,000 university educations (or less, per year), caring for strangers is how Canadian public policy enacts larger cultural values. In the mememememememe culture of America, where there is almost no social safety net and growing income ineqality, I miss this a great deal.

I’m aware that it’s perhaps a lot easier and simpler in a nation of 30 million (Canada) than in one with 300 million people, and one with a history of racial brutality.

Shared cultural references. I really enjoy being able to talk about almost anything with people who know exactly what I’m referring to, whether its Air Canada, Big Turks (a fab candy bar) or the NDP (the leftist political party.) Fewer Americans seem to know or care much about life beyond their borders.

Here’s a terrific post by a former expat wife and mother, who lists 10 ways to be (come) an ugly expat.

And for those seeking practical advice and face-to-face help, there’s a conference March 17-19 in Washington, DC, held by Families in Global Transition.

Have you been an ex-pat? How did you like it?

And how was it when you re-patriated?

“The experience of working with The SOLD Project in Thailand has been difficult to capture in words. It was, by far, one of the most rewarding, restorative, and challenging experiences I have ever had. The experiences of Thailand and its people have been etched into my heart… This has changed my life and I wouldn’t have it any other way…”  –D. Flynn

Deirdre Flynn was a volunteer for The SOLD Project for much of 2010 in Chiang Rai, Thailand.  She was our English teacher extraordinaire and helped establish our volunteer program at the Resource Center.  The kids adored P’Dara and always had a blast learning at Saturday English classes.  She moved back to the U.S. in November 2010 and is now living on the East Coast.  Follow her blog at takenbythewinddf.wordpress.com

Thank you, Deirdre, for picking up our life in NYC and bringing so much love and commitment to the Resource Center.  The kids miss you, Thailand misses you, and the guy that makes rocking lab-moo down the street misses you too!

Thank you, Deirdre!

Why did you decide to go? (What was the particular moment when you said, “Yes, I’m going to do it”?)

I have wanted to visit Haiti ever since I can remember. I was in Mexico, where I’d planned to spend the year volunteering and backpacking with friends, when the January 12^th earthquake hit. A week or 2 later I met Chelsea, an American girl who told me about Hands On Disaster Response and her plans to volunteer in Haiti with them in March. I had no idea that it was possible for someone such as me, who has no specialized skills and zero disaster response experience, to go and help out. I immediately said “Me too!”, and signed up online. Then I thought about it. But by that time I had already been accepted, and before I realized what I was doing I was buying myself a ticket to Port-au-Prince!

What did you do over there? Did you work with a charity or local program?

I was one of a constantly rotating group of 100+ international volunteers with an organization called All Hands Volunteers (formerly known as Hands On Disaster Response…they just changed their name September 1^st). They’re a US-based grassroots non-governmental organization (NGO) that uses skilled and unskilled volunteers as manpower to help communities worldwide recover from natural disasters. The project they are currently operating in Leogane, Haiti, is the largest in their 5-year history. With this project, they have had the opportunity to get involved in the community on a deeper level, branching out into more sustainable development initiatives in addition to basic disaster response activities.

The primary activity of All Hands in Leogane is rubble clearing. We are the only NGO doing residential rubble clearing in Leogane. This is unfortunate because, according to reports from the UN Office for Co-ordination of Humanitarian Affairs, rubble is one of the main barriers preventing people from moving into the next stages of recovery (i.e. having somewhere to put their temporary shelters, or eventually rebuild). We all spent a lot of time clearing rubble by hand, using shovels, wheelbarrows, sledgehammers and pickaxes, and a whole lot of teamwork from the other international and Haitian volunteers. I also got to participate in some of All Hands’ other projects, including building demolition, school construction, tent distribution, internally displaced persons’ camp relocation, creating a community garden, and teaching English to our local volunteers.

Throughout my time with All Hands, the main project I was involved in was at the office of the Mayor of Leogane. All Hands was working with the employees of the mayor’s office to get their systems back in order after the chaos caused by January 12^th. We offered training to support staff, helped the executive to improve their internal systems, and were working to improve the relationship and facilitate communication between the local government, NGO’s working in Leogane, and the UN (who were in charge of coordinating the relief effort). It was an uphill battle, as the local government was generally unreceptive to the idea of working with a foreign NGO after having many bad experiences in the past. It wasn’t until we went to the office every day for about 2 months that they finally realized that we were sincere in our desire to help, and not just there for our own self-interest.

What part of Haiti were you in? Did you move around?

Our project was in the city of Leogane, which is about 30km west of Port-au-Prince (although it takes 2 hours to drive because of the terrible condition of the roads). I spent all of my time there, except for during my ‘mental health breaks’ after every 30 days of work, when I would hitchhike around the area and go camping with friends.

Tell me about your experiences over there. Describe what it was like. Where you lived, what you ate, what you saw, what you did.

Whenever anyone asks me what Haiti is like, I always struggle to come up with an adequate description. Basically, it’s the opposite of Canada. It’s hot. It’s crowded. There is a lot of garbage burning everywhere, because there is nowhere to dispose of it properly. There are a lot of goats and pigs eating the garbage. There are a lot of children laughing and chasing the goats and pigs in the streets. There are a lot of parents chasing their children in the streets. That’s where they live now that they no longer have a house that is standing. Every piece of public space has been filled with temporary shelters and tent cities. Everyone travels on motorcycle or in beat up pickup trucks called tap-taps (except for most of the people who work for wealthy foreign organizations, who travel in air-conditioned SUV’s), so the atmosphere is noisy and full of exhaust fumes. Everywhere you go there are lots of people, even on what you might have thought was a deserted beach or mountaintop. And everywhere you go there is rubble. Lots and lots of rubble.

I lived with the 100+ other international volunteers on the All Hands base not far from downtown Leogane. The building used to be a disco, and sustained little damage in the earthquake. I, along with about 50 other people, pitched my tent on the roof. The other half lived in bunk beds underneath us. All Hands hired an amazing team of Haitian ladies who cooked for us 6 days a week (all of the days were working). The food was surprisingly good considering the circumstances, although there was always someone complaining about the lack of variety and nutritional value. Rice, beans, goat, fried plantains, chicken, and spaghetti with ketchup were in solid rotation on the meal table. Meat and vegetables were always rationed, with the bulk of our diet coming from white rice. On Sundays, when we had the day off work, we would usually buy egg sandwiches from a lovely lady who set up shop across the street from our base. While she cooked, I would exchange English phrases for a basic Creole lesson. All of the vendors in our neighbourhood were happy to see All Hands volunteers, especially the people who sold beer out of coolers at roadside tarp stands.

What was the best part?

Without a doubt, the best part of my experience was having the opportunity to meet so many amazing and like-minded people.

Getting to know the Haitians who volunteered with us was an amazing part of my time with All Hands. These were young men, many of whom were still in school, who came in their spare time to work for free doing hard labour with a bunch of ‘blancs’ (the Haitian slang word for white people or foreigners) who didn’t speak their language, all for the greater good of their community. It’s rare to see volunteerism in the developing world, and a lot of our Haitian volunteers were stigmatized by their peers. People in the community would ostracize them, saying they were lying when they said they weren’t being paid for their work. But they kept showing up every day, because they were proud to be Haitian and proud to help without asking anything in return.

My fellow international volunteers gave up vacation time, jobs, school, and all notions of personal space and comfort, to pay their own way to a disaster zone in the poorest country in the hemisphere, to help people who they had never met before in a place to which the majority had no tangible connection. Amongst the long-term volunteers (people staying for 2 months or longer), the unwritten rule was that you never asked why someone was there. No one could explain it; we all just knew it was where we had to be.

Worst part?

The worst part about volunteering in Haiti was the constant feeling of powerlessness. Since Haiti is a country that has a history of being bombarded with well-meaning NGO’s, people tend to expect that as a foreigner you have the resources and the know-how to fix anything. On a daily basis I was forced to tell people that there was nothing I could do for them, whether they were asking for housing or for a pair of shoes for their children.

There have been billions of dollars poured into the ‘Haiti earthquake relief’ fund, and yet there are still so many Haitians living in the earthquake zone who are not much better off than they were in January. Especially when I was working at the mayor’s office, people were always asking me, “Where is that money?”. It was incredibly depressing and frustrating.

So you made poutine on Canada Day…? How did that go?

The poutine was great! The number of Canadians on base fluctuated between about 5 and 15 during the time that I was there. On Canada Day there were 7 of us, representing 6 of Canada’s major cities (2 of us were from the Ottawa area). We got some powdered gravy from Port-au-Prince, and fixed up some makeshift cheese curds out of whatever kind of cheese we could find in Leogane (mostly Bongu, Haiti’s answer to La Vache Qui Rit). After an all-Canadian rubble team cleared a slab for a local family in the morning, we spent the better part of the afternoon cutting potatoes into French fries and preparing a snack for all our fellow volunteers. The Haitians loved it, and it made us all feel less homesick to have a little piece of Canadiana with us in Leogane.

What struck you the most about Haiti when you arrived, and when you had been there for a while?

When I was flying into Port-au-Prince, my jaw dropped as the clouds parted and I saw the seemingly endless landscape of tent cities and broken buildings. I have always assumed that most of the things I see on the news back home are exaggerated, or that they show the same images over and over to make it seem worse than it actually is. But when I got to Haiti, it was even worse than I had imagined. Everything was damaged.

After I had been in Haiti for a while, I guess the thing that struck me the most was how normal everything I was seeing and experiencing had become for me. It took next to no time to get used to the rubble, the chaos, and the extreme poverty that was everywhere around me. That’s just how life is in Haiti, and you can either live it or leave it. There’s no in between, and there’s no ‘break’ from it all.

Why do you want to go back?

I want to go back because I feel like there is so much more that needs to be done, and that there is so much more that I can offer as a long-term All Hands volunteer. A huge problem with NGO’s in Haiti is the short-term nature of many of the staff and volunteers. It’s difficult to move forward with initiatives and build effective relationships when the international “face” of a project changes every couple of weeks.

How are you trying to get back? (you’re trying to raise some money, no?)

I have basically been trying to get back to Haiti since I returned to Canada in late July. I tried writing to different community organizations looking for grants and I searched all over the internet, but it seems as though no financial support exists for independent volunteers. Eventually I resorted to independent small-scale fundraising, in the form of asking my family and friends for money. Everyone has been really supportive, including the choir I sing with in Ottawa and the Toronto folk community with which my family is involved. I think that I will be able to get enough money together to make it back for October. It’s later than I would have hoped, but it’s been harder to get funds than I had hoped it would be.

What do you want to do when you go back?

I want to continue working on the mayor’s office project that I mentioned above, as well as continuing to become more involved in the Leogane community in any way that I can. Also, I want to perfect my Creole!

Are Canadians still doing enough to help? Are we forgetting about Haiti?

I’ve heard that North Americans are suffering from ‘Haiti fatigue’, after being bombarded with news of the earthquake and its aftermath, and being asked for donations at every turn. Canadians have been very generous, and everywhere I went in Haiti people had a story about the Canadian Army or a Canadian NGO that had helped them in some way. Haiti had a lot of problems before January 12^th, many of which were compounded by the impact of the disaster. There is going to be need for help for a very, very long time, and we shouldn’t ‘forget’ about Haiti, in the same way that we shouldn’t ‘forget’ about Pakistan, Sudan, the Democratic Republic of Congo, Somalia, Iraq…I do think that if Canadians want to help out through donating, it is important to do your homework and find out exactly where your money is going. Smaller organizations often have lower administrative costs and your money will likely be used in a more direct way to help people on the ground.

What has been the response from people about your work there?

There has been a mixed response. Most people have been incredibly supportive, especially my family and friends. Before I went to Haiti, my parents were pretty freaked out by the whole idea of it. They tried not to let on, but I could tell they were worried for me. But once I was down there, every time I talked to them on the phone or sent e-mails, all I could do was gush about what a positive experience I was having. I guess it had an impact on them, because both of them (along with my two brothers and two sisters) signed up to come volunteer with All Hands for a week in December! It will definitely be the best Christmas present I’ve ever received!

What do you hope to take away with you from your experiences there, as a life lesson kind of thing?

This wasn’t my first time in the developing world, but every time I travel I’m always amazed at the things I learn. This was the first time I’ve done any long-term volunteer work overseas. As a ‘volunteer tourist’ coming from a background of relative privilege, it is shockingly easy to dehumanize the people you are supposed to be helping. As terrible as it sounds, foreigners volunteering in the developing world are always about helping ‘The Haitians’, or ‘The Africans’, or ‘The Guatemalans’, or wherever it may be, and not just helping people. It seems ridiculous now, but when I first arrived in Haiti I couldn’t believe that the people that I have always seen on the news as the poor and starving were one and the same with my new friends who came out hip hop dancing every night, told filthy jokes, and debated religion and politics with me over a cup of coffee or a beer. People are people everywhere you go, no matter what circumstances they grew up in or what they have experienced in their lives. The way that the media portrays the people of Haiti paints a picture of a long-suffering people who have the strength of character to endure hardship upon hardship. In real life though, Haitians are human and are simply carrying on living, much as anyone would.

Jenni Dunning works for the Toronto Star. Her blog can be read at www.nowherewithyou.wordpress.com

Today I lifted much more than just my litte finger. It was my first full day back out in the field “rubbling”, and man was it ever amazing. When I first started volunteering with All Hands Volunteers in May, it was called Hands On Disaster Response and their main function in Haiti was clearing rubble and doing demolition work for residential properties. Over the course of my time here, and during the three months that I was back home in Canada, the project has changed a lot. Instead of having 120+ people living together on base all the time, we’re down to about 70-80 volunteers. And instead of sending out 5-10 teams of volunteers to rubble, today we were just one team of 12. More people are here long-term and are involved in more sustainable development-type projects like developing hygiene education programs and constructing schools. It makes for a very different feeling on base…fewer sweaty shirtless men, more people cooped up in the office or in meetings, and a generally elevated level of hygiene. Being a fan of filth, I’m not sure how I feel about it yet.

Not that it’s not great to be back. In many ways, I feel like I never left. A lot of my friends who were here before have either stuck around over the past few months, or have done as I have and left for a while and then come back. The volunteers who are new to me all seem wonderful, and it feels good to be back in this communal environment where everyone feeds off each other’s energy and ideas so readily. I’ve been blown away by how well received I’ve been. All our Haitian voluteers made me feel like a long lost sister when I walked through the door, and random people from the community who I never expected to remember me have been calling me by name to come get a hug and a “welcome home!”. We had a big dance party my first night back, and I’d almost forgotten how good it feels to dance barefoot to terrible Haitian hip hop in the pouring rain. (Still very sweaty!)

Whenever I’m about to set off on a new adventure (or set out to revisit an old one), I always have a few solid freak-out sessions during which I question everything and wonder what I was smoking when I decided to go through with this crazy plan, whatever it may be. (Usually this process involves  teary phone calls to my parents and at least 2 of my best friends, and eating my feelings through either ice cream or poutine. All of the above is sounding pretty good right now, actually…) The more I’ve experienced the easier it has become to reason with the voices inside my head, but they still pop up every single time. Even once I get to where I’m going and am doing what I’ve set out to do I can’t help but experience serious doubts now and then about the choices I’ve made and my reasons for making them. I tend to act on impulse or instinct (often confusing the two) and my “shoot first ask questions later” lifestyle does catch up with me from time to time.

But no matter where I end up, I always end up finding something that reassures me and makes me want to keep doing what I’m doing. In this case, it was my reception from the Haitians I was involved with last time. No matter how different or frustratingly the same things are here, I know I will be able to count on the personal relationships I’ve established, and the culture I’ve grown to love, to keep me going. I still have conflicting feelings and opinions about “the situation” in Haiti and my role as a volunteer here, but at the end of the day I know that if I have treated people well and kept a smile on my face, I’ll know I’ve done some good. This is one lesson that is amazingly easy to forget, considering how relevant it is to everyday life no matter where you are or what you’re doing.

I am excited about what the next 3 months have in store for me. Over the weeks to come I’ll figure out what I’m doing as far as work goes and what my role in the orgaization will be. But for the time being, I am just so unreasonably happy to be back with a sledgehammer in my hands and an obnoxiously repetitive song called “Anba Dekomp” in my heart (and in my head, 24-7). I can’t wait to build up some muscle again and get dirty cleaning stuff up. 

The generator gets shut off in half an hour, so I’d better wrap it up. Now it’s off to treat my heat rash, drench myself in carcenogenic DEET to avoid Dengue fever, check my teeny tiny tent for tarantulas and poisonous centepides, and curl up on the concrete floor on my yoga mat so that when it inevitably pours rain tonight I don’t get wet from touching the tent walls.

Wait…what the hell am I doing back here again?

Christmas Hampers in Kenya

from: Bartholomew “Fisher” Harkirat Sullivan

For many families here in Rongai, a town on the outskirts of Nairobi Kenya, Christmas will come and go without much of a celebration for lack of food in the cupboards. I have been staying here for the past three weeks participating in a lunchtime feeding program for 120+ orphan children. So I m inviting you to buy some Christmas food hampers for the orphans to take home to their households over the holidays so they can have a christmas. – you can buy one for $8, two for $16, ten for $80… and so on.

How Can you Help? Our goal is to get

120 Christmas Hampers for the children ($8 each)

We want to send the kids home with somethign they can share with their households over the holidays (most are staying with relatives/guardians and not in orphanages).

Each hamper contains (and can last a family approx one week)

• one 2kg package of maize flour (to make ugali)
• one 2 kg package of wheat flour (to make chapatis – my fav)
• one bar of cooking fat
• one bar of soap (to wash clothes)
• one 1kg package of sugar
• one package of kenyan tea
• 100 kenyan shillings cash for whatever

How to buy a christmas hamper(s)

Good old paypal. You can sign up for a free account, if you don’t already have one, and can use visa/mastercard/paypal to buy. Just follow the link below:

https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_xclick&business=abangbart%40yahoo%2eca&item_name=Christmas%20Hamper%20for%20kids%20in%20Kware%2c%20Kenya&no_shipping=1&no_note=1&cn=Note%20to%20the%20kids%3f&tax=0&currency_code=CAD&lc=CA&bn=PP%2dDonationsBF&charset=UTF%2d8

The lunch program is scheduled to run until January 7th. If you wold like to donate to any of the meals or to help cover the small payments made to the staff – please feel free and mention it in your paypal note.

Yaro Ghana – Education Scholarships

For those of you who don’t know, Yaro is an organization very near to my heart, as a friend of mine while in Tamale, Ghana estabilished the educational scholarships program.

This is your rare opportunity to make a contribution that will change a young girl’s life, with confidence that every penny will be used as promised. I have personally spent time with each and every one of these girls, assessing their individual needs as young woman in Ghana, who are brilliant but unprivileged in so many regards.

While teaching in Ghana, I was astonished by the number of girls attending school in comparison to boys, and I started to ask why? Girls never have priority over their brothers when it is decided who will attend school, and many of them will compete with between 5-15 siblings. Only those who are insistent and determined will attend school, and many suffer hardships that would deter any young girl in the western world.

These girls walk from surrounding villages for hours in the dark, only to arrive to school with an empty stomach and a will to learn. They foresee their education as the only way to create a life for themselves different than those before them, who have lived as trade workers, working endless hours with no means of financial stability.

These girls have dreams of being nurses, doctors, bankers, reporters, and they all have demonstrated a determination that is not only admirable, but inspiring. It is my goal to have these girls, and hopefully many more in the future, sponsored initially by my family and friends, and eventually anyone who discovers the Brilliant Futures Sponsorship Program. My commitment to these girls and the Yaro program is one that I intend on fulfilling until I personally see my girls graduate, and go on to live happy healthy lives!

 What can you do?

Your contribution of $300 will pay for a young woman’s textbooks, transportation costs, and school fees for THREE YEARS! You will be provided with annual progress reports and after three years you may decide if you would like to continue to sponsor your student.

$100 provides a young woman with textbooks, transportation costs, and school fees for a period of ONE YEAR! At the end of the year you will receive a progress report and you may decide if you would like to continue to sponsor your student.

Please remember to note the name of the student your are sponsoring if you are paying via paypal.

$20 buys one school uniform and a pair of shoes.
		$40 buys tuition for two extra classes and a computer course.
		$60 buys a bicycle that will make transportation to school reasonable!
		$80 provides 2 desks for a library (reaching 4 young people per day)
		$100 buys a wheelchair for a disabled student.
		$500 provides books of all kinds that will be available to approximately 500 students in Tamale.
		$1,000 provides computers, software, and accessories that will be available to 50 students from various schools in Tamale.

Please visit http://www.yaroghana.com/brilliant_futures.html for more information or to make a donation.

Kiva – Microcredit Program

Assuming you have all heard already of last year’s Nobel Peace Prize Laureate Muhammeh Yunus who was the founder of the Grameen Bank which has revolutionized the field of micro-credit and lending in the majority world.

Kiva lets you connect with and loan money to unique small businesses in the developing world. By choosing a business on Kiva.org, you can “sponsor a business” and help the world’s working poor make great strides towards economic independence. Throughout the course of the loan (usually 6-12 months), you can receive email journal updates from the business you’ve sponsored. As loans are repaid, you get your loan money back.

Kiva is a really amazing program in my opinion, and I can’t do it justice in just a few words here. I recommend you go, check out their website at http://www.kiva.org

********* Now my one disclaimer for this post:

I am not saying by any means that these organizations are perfect. Every program, every organization has its flaws. What I have tried to do is provide two options for very grassroots, small organizations that I have personal experience with, and know for a fact that less than 0.5% of your money donated goes to infrastructural costs. That means at least 99.5% of what you donate is going straight to people who need it. Unlike those two, Kiva is a very large organization. However they are incredibly transparent, and data-rich, they understand that the best way to get our money is to show us exactly where it is being spent and how it is constantly being repaid and reused!

This is also by no means, an extensive list of every option out there. Check around find things that suit your interests. Maybe there is something in Canada, contact your local youth, womens and family shelters; cancer hospices; spca or whatever cause is near to your heart.

But please in this time, when we are so consumed with the concept of consuming, think of someone else. Think of how far that $8 can go if you buy a christmas hamper in Kenya. Think of how far $100 goes when you are paying for a girl to go to school and the far reaching effects that will have on everyone in her life. Think of how far $50 goes in a loan cycle  where you can constantly relend your money, (or withdraw it if you choose).

Merry Christmas everyone, and a happy holidays!

Cheers.

2:34 pm – Tamale, Ghana

            This morning I went out with my co-worker David from CALID, to visit 3 of our 4 field sites to mobilize the people so that they are ready for field testing beginning on Monday. At the second community that we visited, we had to wait for a bit for the CBO representative to return from the fields so we could talk to him. As David explained the project again to this man, everything was greeted with okay, all right, yes, but not a lot of other action. The man then indicated that to have the schoolteachers ready for interviews on Monday morning, he would have to call the headmaster to let him know in advance of our arrival, and then he just continues to look at Mr. David. Finally David says, “what will it take for you to call him?” and the man responds “credits.” After a bit of discussion and bargaining David hands over C10, 000 ($1) to the man.

            I’m not really sure why this took me by surprise the way that it did, but I found it interesting the amount of negotiating, and possibly pettiness, that goes into organizing things here. Another thing that ties into that is just the complicated relationships that have been built up here between NGOs to get work done. I was hired by WUSC, to work at ActionAid, to implement a project with CALID and in order for us to implement to project we go through local community based organizations (CBOs). From a purely theoretical point of view these relationships seems unnecessary, redundant and an ineffective use of resources for NGOs. However after going into the field, its easier to understand why these stages are all so necessary.

            ActionAid (Kafui and I) can’t just go into the field and announce ourselves and start working. CALID has a reputation for working with these people in education issues. They have their contacts in the communities who can organize people much better than a foreigner can. It just seems frustrating some times how much time and human capital has to go into planning the most minute details of a research project.

1:27 pm – SSNIT Flats Rd, Kalpuhin Estates, Tamale Metropolis, Ghana

            We have finally sorted out our NGO assignments today, and I think it is safe to say that I am disappointed at the very least.  Between 4 of us, there are 3 NGOs to go work for. Gillian and Leisha both wanted ISODEC for their first choice, and since ISODEC needed 2 volunteers, we agreed they could have it. Then Laura and I were left to ‘duke it out’ over Ibis. I very much wanted to work with Ibis for several reasons.

            First of all at school my interest has been developing very much in the area of grassroots solidarity networks, and the opportunity for indigenous projects to take root to promote development. I also identify development with a strong basis in human rights promotion, which is evident in Ibis’ general madate, other projects and their work on girl-child education in Ghana.  Ibis is also doing their research in a small rural village several hours away from Tamale which interested me, rather than focusing on the metroplis population here. On the other hand, I was apprehensive about being assigned to Action for other, yet very different reasons. Action Aid International is a huge NGO. They are in dozens of countries around the world (as I sit here and type I can’t remember the number of course, but I remember it was high, even for a large international NGO), and within Ghana their focus is mainly in the south, with this just being the Northern office (where the other projects are all rooted here in Tamale). This however doesn’t mean that the office isn’t well equipped. Quite to the contrary actually, they have the fastest internet in town, I would have access (on occasion) to a computer, and they have the largest team, and collection of resources at my disposal.

            That being said, I still don’t want to work for them. My friends have tried to reassure me by saying that if nothing else, it is a good experience, and a resume booster, saying I worked with ActionAid. But I already know that the bureaucratic, hierarchical nature of such well established NGOs are highly inefficient in promoting lasting change, and giving space to the concerns and projects of local projects and programs unless they align with the ‘greater vision’.

            Perhaps I will go to Action Aid and love it. Perhaps it will be an opportunity for me to see how the ‘traditional’ development NGO industry is failing. I’m disappointed that I couldn’t be involved with a project that better suited my interests, but there is very little that can be done when drawing names from a hat. I do know though that I have to go in tomorrow morning with a positive attitude if I want to get anywhere on this project.

This thing that really sucks about this situation though, is the way in manifested itself in our house. Everyone knew from day one that I wanted to work for Ibis. Gill and Leisha made it clear that they wanted ISODEC and Laura made it clear that she didn’t want either of the two. We all (mistakenly) assumed that meant she wanted Action Aid. But as soon as we had the discussion she changed her tune, and despite vehement complaints about Ibis work in the previous week, she now suddenly wanted to go work for them. I felt completely sideswiped, and to be honest quite hurt by the situation. I made it clear from the MINUTE we stepped out from our meeting with Ibis that was where I wanted to be, regardless of a number of problems there. Ibis doesn’t have office space for us. Laura kept going on and on (with the others) about how she didn’t come all the way to Africa just to work from home, she could do that from canada. Fair enough, but I made it clear that I loved their project so much that the lack of office space didn’t bother me. I wanted to work on their topic. But of course it got down to the nitty gritty, I wasn’t chaning my tune (nor would I honestly expect her to) so we had to draw names from a hat.

            To top things off she is now being really patronizing about the whole situation, and I can’t sit in the same room as her. which is great because we are also roommates while here! At least I know that I have some support from the other girls which is amazing.