tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232574372024-03-07T03:33:29.510-05:00Beyond the ShelterbeltExploring life on the other side of the tree row.M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12757475703469466839noreply@blogger.comBlogger417125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23257437.post-18770031060257477422015-10-22T21:11:00.003-04:002015-10-22T21:11:25.989-04:00Practicing Happiness<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
It has come to my attention
recently that I don’t know how to “be” happy. I mean, what kind of Pollyanna simpleton
walks around just being happy? Life is harder and more complicated than that, and
accepting otherwise is just plain naïve. It’s much safer and easier (and
socially acceptable) to sabotage our thoughts, expect the worst and hope for
the best.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
But what if this just isn’t the case?
What if today is what happiness looks like and we just don’t know how to enjoy
it? What if being happy takes…practice?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I have just made two major life
changes: job and marriage. I’ve moved overseas and back again, and in the midst
of all that found a person for whom I feel profound and deep love. Now I get
the opportunity to try something new, to grow, to do something I’ve always
wanted but wasn’t sure how to go about it. Not only that, I’ve found an
organization that lets me keep my toe in development work and is flexible with
me and themselves. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I shudder in writing the above, because
I fear I may sound like a braggart, because I fear I may lose it. On bad days,
the soundtrack playing in the back of my mind is: I’ve gone from being my
own woman with steady benefits and paycheck and taking life by the tail - to a
consultant with little or no job security, relying on a man I hardly know,
almost exactly back where I started. Worse – dumped by my old employer, stuck
in the suburbs, with an SUV. Next to Costco. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Barf.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
So which is it? Both are
technically true, but why do I feel more comfortable sharing the more negative story? <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Brene Brown calls the idea of
downplaying our happiness as <i>Forboding
Joy</i>. In essence, happiness means being vulnerable and in order to avoid
that, we downplay it. In her book, Daring Greatly, she writes: “It’s <i>easier
to live disappointed than it is to feel disappointed. It feels more vulnerable
to dip in and out of disappointment than to just set up camp there. You
sacrifice joy, but you suffer less pain.” </i>So, while good things have
happened, I focus on the down parts, in order to keep myself “grounded” or “not
get ahead of myself” or [insert any other reason not to be happy]. That way, if
it does work out, I’m supposed to be pleasantly surprised.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Moreover, let’s be honest, happy
people are friggin’ obnoxious. When I was single, I hated being around what
Bridget Jones called the ‘Smug Marrieds’. While I was happy for them, sometimes
the jealousy, the loneliness, the wondering if it would ever happen for me - it
physically hurt. Their happiness literally
made me miserable. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
My husband and I have had long
talks about how to be responsible in our love for each other and those in our
lives, single or married. While not being held hostage to the naysayers, having
been so long at the other end, we also don’t want to twist the knife. Those
married folks with whom I could open up to were both genuine in their concern
for me and made space in their lives for me.
We are committed to making space, committed to sharing, spreading around
some of that love we took so long to find. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The thing about Forboding Joy is,
I’m never as pleasantly surprised as I think I’m going to be. I end up just
wandering around, picking at the scabs of old wounds or pushing at emotional
bruises. I just ruin the experience by worrying my way through it. And sometimes our happiness allows others to be happy themselves.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
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From here on out, I’m done not
fully enjoying what I have the moment I have it. I’m going to practice being
happy, and allow others to be happy (without judgement). I won’t always get it
right. Perhaps this post is obnoxious, but that’ ok. I’m going to embrace good
things right now, exactly because they might not come back. I may look stupid but what if this is what
happiness is? I’d be even dumber to miss it. <o:p></o:p></div>
M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12757475703469466839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23257437.post-1205806358315682022015-09-19T19:12:00.000-04:002015-09-19T19:12:29.372-04:00Have a Heart(land)<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Last week I volunteered at <a href="http://www.2harvest.org/?referrer=https://www.google.com/#.Vf1ohN-5bGc">Second
Harvest Heartland</a>, a food bank which serves 59 counties in Minnesota and
western Wisconsin. September is <a href="http://www.feedingamerica.org/take-action/campaigns/hunger-action-month.html?referrer=https://www.google.com/">National
Hunger Action Month</a>, and all throughout Bremer Bank is matching every
volunteer hour at Second Harvest with a $5 donation. Having spent my last two
years thinking about and seeing hunger and poverty in Malawi, I thought it was
a good opportunity to explore the same issues closer to home. Plus, they made
it <a href="http://www.2harvest.org/get-involved/volunteer/#.Vf3gM9-5bGc">super
easy to do</a>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Second Harvest (@2Harvest) is part
of <a href="http://www.feedingamerica.org/hunger-in-america/impact-of-hunger/">Feeding
America</a>, a nationwide network of more than 200 food banks that helps feed
people across the country. According to their website 1 in 7 Americans
struggles with food insecurity. One in seven! <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I’ve learned a lot about “food
insecurity” in developing countries, but it never really occurred to me that
the same terminology would be applicable so close to home. From what I remember in my grad school days, food
insecurity revolves around three things: access, availability and uptake. That
is: is there food nearby? Is it affordable? Is your body getting what it needs? <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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In Malawi, our program explored
this through periodic surveys covering the three aspects. How far do you need
to walk to find food? What could you afford? Were there enough calories
available? The local staple was nsima and relish with <i>every</i> meal, so we also asked if they were getting enough dietary
diversity (a fancy way of saying “balanced diet”). <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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In the United States, the three
aspects still hold. Getting enough calories is less of an issue, but given the
overabundance of cheap, sugar-filled calories, finding a healthy and nutritional
balance remains a struggle. According to the latest <a href="http://www.2harvest.org/our-impact/hunger-facts/hunger-study.html#.Vf1uw9-5bGc">2014
Food Hunger Survey</a>, 81% of clients in the Second Harvest service area
choose inexpensive, unhealthy food.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Hunger is at once an uncomplicated
<i>and</i> complicated issue. It’s relatively
easy to improve access and availability – that’s what food banks like Second Harvest
try to do. It’s harder to teach about <i>what</i>
to eat. Adding to that, it also impacts so many other things: if you are food
insecure, how do you have enough energy to learn? To work? To borrow a
development phrase, this is called poverty ratcheting. Not having one puts you
at risk for the other, which knocks you down another step, and then another,
etc.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I enjoyed my afternoon re-packaging
excess tortillas and sorting through boxes of semi-expired goods from local
grocery stores (it is seriously fascinating to see what things get donated. Easter
Eggs! Gluten free matzo balls!). It also helped that I randomly ran into my
friend Curt, who was also there to volunteer. It felt good to spend time
thinking of others, learning something new and putting myself to service.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
It’s sexy to think about helping
others in far off places. It’s easy to think about a poor hungry Ethiopian child
with flies about her nose, but that is not necessarily the reality. It has been
somewhat difficult during my return to reconcile the image of this land of
abundance with one that perhaps has more in common with Malawi than it would
like to admit. Returning home, I feel
more strongly than ever that “making a difference” isn’t something that is done
to Another in a Far Off Place, but to each other, as we live our lives, every
single day.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12757475703469466839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23257437.post-43883837472434345192015-08-16T21:50:00.000-04:002015-08-16T21:51:16.184-04:00Plight of the Intern<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ3L5HxHI70HCFyCQAB1QH2t7d-dknz6I00suJ-mSdJnBUJ5scGiEiNYncd83JCTGbixNjZoOLFx1bG80var2CDCe412GqyLf9wT29V9vQfJ1ghkvYxHgWPjLkYxepY3cy7IdU-Q/s1600/2015-05-03+12.34.54.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ3L5HxHI70HCFyCQAB1QH2t7d-dknz6I00suJ-mSdJnBUJ5scGiEiNYncd83JCTGbixNjZoOLFx1bG80var2CDCe412GqyLf9wT29V9vQfJ1ghkvYxHgWPjLkYxepY3cy7IdU-Q/s320/2015-05-03+12.34.54.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Recently, an intern from New
Zealand caused an internet stir when he <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/world/2015/aug/12/unpaid-un-intern-who-had-to-sleep-in-a-tent-quits-after-media-uproar">quit
his unpaid UN internship</a> in Geneva, Switzerland, after being outed for
living in a tent outside of town. In his statement, he admitted he couldn’t
afford to support himself for the six month stint. Despite being asked during
interviews if he could, he wasn’t honest about it because he felt he’d be
passed over for previous internships because of it.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Having lived in Geneva for six
months on an unpaid internship myself, I’ve got some insights on this. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
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By whatever miracle, early in my
development career, I found myself an unpaid internship in Geneva with a
non-profit organization that followed the United Nations conventions. (I would’ve
killed for an internship at the <i>actual</i>
United Nations like this guy, but I digress.) I researched the crap out of
places to stay, ending up the first two weeks in a hostel that I knew I couldn’t
afford for more than a few weeks, waiting for space in another place that was
so popular, it had a waiting list.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Eventually, I moved to <a href="http://www2.mandint.org/en/accommodation">Mandat International</a>
Rappard House, a beautiful old house on the outskirts of town that had room
rates based on the economic situation of your country. Nationals from developed
countries paid more, those from developing countries paid less. While I would’ve
loved the lower rate, overall it seemed fair. I got to mix and mingle with
folks from all over the world, building a vibrant communal support system. And
what a community! We had debated over breakfast every morning, and discussed
our days while cooking pasta in the evenings. I loved it there, and am even
still in touch with a few.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Then, my supervisor travelled to
the Gambia for a month and offered to let me house-sit. All of a sudden, I had
my own flat in downtown Geneva for free! That single gesture of trust and
understanding saved me a ton of cash. My friends and I subsisted on UN happy
hour fare, partied in squatter housing, nursed drinks at the <a href="http://www.tripadvisor.com/Attraction_Review-g188057-d542801-Reviews-Alhambar-Geneva.html">Alahambar</a>
and made pasta dishes on tiny hot plates across the city. In the end, I was
able to live in Geneva for less than I thought.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I don’t know this guy’s
situation. However, I do know a few things:</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: justify; text-indent: -.25in;">
</div>
<ul>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">It takes time to get where you want to be. If I
had quit in the first two weeks, I would’ve missed some wonderful opportunities
both to meet new people and work on my career. I couldn’t have foreseen that my
boss would travel and like me enough to let me house-sit, but I took a leap of
faith anyway and toughed it out.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Geneva is well-known to be an expensive place.
Within the UN community, I believe that nearly everyone knows (or has been!) an
unpaid intern. Sympathy was on his side! Resources abound for those coming in
to do short or long term stints.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Interns aren’t the only ones who have it rough. I
feel like not only did he gave up too quickly, but for a bourgeois cause. If
interns have it rough, what about the number of </span><a href="http://www.newsweek.com/switzerland-sudden-fear-immigrants-232430" style="text-indent: -0.25in;">other
immigrants who fight for the right to live</a><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> and work in Switzerland on a
daily basis?</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">From most accounts, it appeared he made
conscious a choice to go it alone, refusing family and other support to live in
a tent. Yes, not everyone has the luxury of being able to rely on family, but
what a wonderful gift when you do. It was his choice to refuse those gifts.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">No matter where you go, you retain the capacity
to network and problem-solve. The best thing I did while in Geneva was as let
go of certainty and learned to rely on my community. It led me down some
amazing paths I would’ve never seen. </span></li>
</ul>
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M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12757475703469466839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23257437.post-24664252166441684082015-07-18T16:38:00.000-04:002015-07-18T16:40:57.899-04:00All the Small Things<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; tab-stops: 103.5pt;">
It's been awhile - and for good reason: my husband and I moved back to America at the end of June. We left behind so many wonderful people and experiences, I'm having a hard time processing, believing it was even real. Such are the throes of culture shock, I guess. </div>
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<br /></div>
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This is also the exact best time to keep writing. </div>
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<br /></div>
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One of the things I love asking people is what they miss - either where there coming from or going to. There are big ones of course (friends! family!) but today I find myself ruminating on the small things:</div>
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<br /></div>
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The small things
I enjoy about returning to America:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<ul>
<li>Being able to
wear high-heeled shoes, and not wonder a) how I’m going to navigate a rocky (or
gravel) road or b) if my heels are going to sink into the grass at any point
during the day.</li>
<li>Ice cream, Dairy
Queen or otherwise, and the subsequent takeover of the Caramel and Sea Salt
flavor. </li>
<li>Caribou coffee
shops – being able to get coffee to go and/or just sit in a cozy coffee shop
and chill out with the free, fast, wi-fi.</li>
<li>Free, fast,
wi-fi.</li>
<li>Hot water,
anytime.</li>
<li>Being able to call anyone in the US at any time. Including my
sister and my best friend, whom I missed texting.</li>
<li>My beautiful
Raleigh road bike. Love. Swoon. Love, love, love.</li>
<li>Showing my legs
in public. Legs! Everywhere! And mine aren’t even the worst.</li>
<li>Target. This
could also go on the worst list, but I’m still only three weeks out.</li>
<li>The softest
bedsheets I have ever felt in my life.</li>
</ul>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
The small things
I miss about Malawi;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<ul>
<li>WhatsApp. Man,
that thing was amazing.</li>
<li>Having a
routine. This will change, as I get more into a routine here, but I wow. I do miss that structure right now. </li>
<li>Running into the
same great people at the same events/places all over town. I felt like I had a
handle on all the activities that were going on in a given weekend.</li>
<li>Community.</li>
<li>Getting excited
about finding asparagus (or insert other hard to get item) in the grocery store.</li>
<li>The hustle and
the open air awesomeness of the used clothing market.</li>
<li>My Rav4.</li>
<li>Game night.</li>
<li>Dare I admit it,
<a href="http://www.wine.com/v6/Porcupine-Ridge/learnabout.aspx?winery=6009&state=CA">Porcupine
Ridge</a>.</li>
</ul>
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<o:p>I know that many of the small things from Malawi will eventually find there way here. We've already talked about instituting a game night, for example. However, one of the neat things about blogging is capturing the in-between times. I am in the tweeniest of in-between times right now, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other until things feel "normal" again. </o:p></div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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<o:p>Until then, I'm writing a lot of lists. </o:p></div>
M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12757475703469466839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23257437.post-83343055232184258402015-07-08T09:52:00.002-04:002015-07-08T09:52:17.581-04:00Billboards of Lilongwe<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
One of the things I'll miss about Lilongwe are the random billboards. I know good money went into putting these up. However, until someone shows me a direct link between seeing a billboard and behavior change, I'm going to find them inadvertently amusing...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEyHeUt_VIvxIMCoqOURtdWLa5bu71UE9RPYXIAEm3me4VEP_EI2ZRzOXfmJ1G1g7JcLnJLn5Nk-NYw-Fy40BBsirO3PSUvSSuzPdCRKcttj8vN0ABg3TOZ1oXlbzK5kseZv7XTA/s1600/DSCN4067.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEyHeUt_VIvxIMCoqOURtdWLa5bu71UE9RPYXIAEm3me4VEP_EI2ZRzOXfmJ1G1g7JcLnJLn5Nk-NYw-Fy40BBsirO3PSUvSSuzPdCRKcttj8vN0ABg3TOZ1oXlbzK5kseZv7XTA/s640/DSCN4067.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Stop your cars! Have responsible mining! Also, check out the token woman in the business room. Why does she look like the maid?</div>
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzs0nomaY_6WhdkZGXUDvY0_ewiPK6qFcWPtVHQSQjVKZ73KVALsMyZVOQBvdi7g5Os_XnY_FjSS1qyFLjiol6DUD8wZo0wzIlUAze0GdtpPtqc_ZIczAIdS5PBsucpEasCk9bbA/s1600/DSCN4068.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzs0nomaY_6WhdkZGXUDvY0_ewiPK6qFcWPtVHQSQjVKZ73KVALsMyZVOQBvdi7g5Os_XnY_FjSS1qyFLjiol6DUD8wZo0wzIlUAze0GdtpPtqc_ZIczAIdS5PBsucpEasCk9bbA/s640/DSCN4068.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
This one is not so bad, really. It's true, young girls need to speak up. But I would've preferred the message to be one about stopping abuse, rather than stopping the silence around abuse. It just makes it seem more like their problem because they are not speaking out.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLNA-ifBkDUYlS4TB3w_ibhGyO_2fL_BOAEC4u3Rx6BzKm5EEAdCXN5hmyg9YQcRMZgJKzljUkbUB7KZgOTJxwAkpwzCak_2ioDXzCL-YRoEaGADlB4VOn1vVIcJenE85Pj1DHKA/s1600/DSCN4070.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLNA-ifBkDUYlS4TB3w_ibhGyO_2fL_BOAEC4u3Rx6BzKm5EEAdCXN5hmyg9YQcRMZgJKzljUkbUB7KZgOTJxwAkpwzCak_2ioDXzCL-YRoEaGADlB4VOn1vVIcJenE85Pj1DHKA/s640/DSCN4070.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
My absolute favorite, on my way to work. It helped, because otherwise I would've engaged in money laundering and terrorist financing that could've tarnished my image. </div>
M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12757475703469466839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23257437.post-86030925171752464542015-06-25T15:52:00.001-04:002015-06-25T15:52:16.031-04:00Adventures in Road Traffic<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCvnc0dYykz_-PDQsqDPPvvJls0BwM5UxKMvw2bf5FxG4_COJurh6nexHqq9QmL1kk5ryudAnSQVNcUSqoyjFQTrA09DHMZ1rXNM5MYEKkl-gxLuD1NjtpitxxQTQtRc2TMpBNuw/s1600/2015-06-17+10.17.55.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCvnc0dYykz_-PDQsqDPPvvJls0BwM5UxKMvw2bf5FxG4_COJurh6nexHqq9QmL1kk5ryudAnSQVNcUSqoyjFQTrA09DHMZ1rXNM5MYEKkl-gxLuD1NjtpitxxQTQtRc2TMpBNuw/s320/2015-06-17+10.17.55.jpg" width="320" /></a>Early on, I bypassed some
bureaucracy by dropping my quest to get a Malawian driver’s license and
choosing to drive on an AAA approved International one. I figured I had
successfully escaped having to spend time at the Road Traffic Authority (aka,
the DMV). Alas, I was wrong.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Dead wrong.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Turns out, the bureaucracy gods
are a fickle bunch. As of June 1, anyone wanting to conduct business regarding
their vehicle first must get a Traffic Registration card. As I am leaving June
30<sup>th</sup>, I wanted to sell my car. Luckily, the purchaser clued me into
this little debacle, and readily prepped me: Five lines, three hours. She even
helpfully got the application form for me, taking care of line #1. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I arrived at Road Traffic early (though
not as early as I wanted because - guess what? - There are two road traffic
offices. *facepalm*). From that moment on, it was as if the universe swallowed
me up and I was required to spend all the time I <i>would’ve</i> spent at the DMV over the past two years in the course of
two <i>days</i>. Arg. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The first line, Biometrics, took
me 2.5 hours. Not so bad; I finished my book. The clinical label turned out to
be nothing more than a glamour shot and a finger print session. This was important,
as they took your fingerprint at every other subsequent queue. I heard that one devout 85 year old Muslim man
was convinced the finger print machine didn’t work on him because he’d spent
his whole life washing his hands before and after prayers five times a
day. Turns out, the system was just
down.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The next line, Enrollment, was
another hour. By this time, I was
noticing a curious event. Prints were scanned, but only at the window. Those of us waiting in line were just that:
waiters. Many of these patient folks next to me were just place holders for the
more affluent! (and better prepared) who were called in at the last minute to
take their place in line and swipe their prints. How naïve I was, waiting in
line for my own self! I had failed the most basic line-hack.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Finally stepping to the window, I
watched in agony as the registrar glanced out at me and then turned to help <i>two</i> MP’s who were next to her behind the
glass. When she was finished, she stepped away into the back room, only to
return 10 minutes later. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Gah.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Too far in to abandon my quest, I
moved to the third line: Payment. By this point, I was a little batty. After two
years in Malawi, I thought I’d finally learned to stop asking <i>why</i>, but at this point I was near
hollering: WHY COULDN’T WE HAVE DONE
THIS ALL IN ONE LINE? Credit card kiosks are still new here, so cash payments
had to be made at the approved government bank teller window…around the corner.
Then you had to take the evidence of payment to the final line to collect your
card. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
After a little over four hours
total, I had received a receipt stating I had paid. Unfortunately, having
little fortitude to handle any more lines or human contact, I conceded defeat.
I vowed to return the next day for the fourth and final queue: pick up. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Day two was the absolute worst.
The queue itself didn’t seem so long. However, I failed to discount cultural differences
in personal space. Meaning, the distance of the line is not necessarily directly
correlated with the amount of people. Place said line in a 10x15 foot room with
no air conditioning with only two of the five windows processing cards and you
have my idea of hell. I had thought of sending someone to stand in my place,
but by this time I figured I might as well have the whole horrible experience. It’s
a wonder I never learn.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I stood in line behind a nice
lady with a red dress (Martha) and a young man (Marcus). The process was going
like this: one had to show their receipt at the window, get your prints
verified, and then go wait outside while they printed your card. When it was
ready, they yelled out your name and handed it back through the queue,
effectively negating the point of taking your finger prints. Hilarious. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Two hours later, when there was
twenty-five people ahead of me, the system went down. Then they ran out of
cards. After a while it was tough to
know what exactly the problem was, as everything being shouted was in
Chichewa. The one thing I did know was I
was hungry, thirsty and had to go to the bathroom all at once. My tongue began
to feel thick and my head ached.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Around hour three, a savior
emerged. A new window opened right in front of me, Martha and Marcus. Upon a few
words from Martha, he quietly processed our fingerprints and we shoved our way
back out the door to the sidewalk. Triumphant, exhausted, dehydrated, we split
some tangerines from a roadside vendor and waited for our names to be called. Two
days, 6.5 hours later, I had my card.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I’m still not sure if I
accomplished anything, but as it turns out, there <i>is</i> a direct correlation between the degree of difficulty and
feeling pride. Many people decry African bureaucracy and claim that standing in
line is a Malawian past-time. But Malawians aren’t any different than Americans
when it comes to queueing and let’s face it, DMV’s are suck holes anywhere on
earth. Some people were angry, some were patient. Some cheated the system,
others waited for their appointed turn. In the end, I think it ws a fitting way
to leave Malawi: on its own terms. I sold my car, transferred the title, and feel
like I have paid my bureaucratic dues. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Time to go home. <o:p></o:p></div>
M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12757475703469466839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23257437.post-83382658450190763822015-06-07T09:39:00.005-04:002015-06-07T10:02:14.948-04:00Honor Among Thieves: A Review<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXvHaWIaRL6iifqX3CzhpqqbFSeFEa7HjtrLmYz4zmv57nMHYiy2bmZ7hc8m05yr_1Bq8gulfzSzAlysyUQEK2MTk0hKD87vPaf3sCj0b3gZEqHQnyjTC7C9X6Gaa4a6I4mycOFg/s1600/HAT_bookcover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXvHaWIaRL6iifqX3CzhpqqbFSeFEa7HjtrLmYz4zmv57nMHYiy2bmZ7hc8m05yr_1Bq8gulfzSzAlysyUQEK2MTk0hKD87vPaf3sCj0b3gZEqHQnyjTC7C9X6Gaa4a6I4mycOFg/s320/HAT_bookcover.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Third in a series (including one
prequel) by blogger and development professional, J., <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Honor-Among-Thieves-J/dp/0989365972/ref=sr_1_sc_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1433684077&sr=1-2-spell&keywords=honor+among+theives" target="_blank">Honor Among Thieves</a>, more than any
of the others, delves into the day to day life of the development industry. The
protagonist, Mary-Anne, has found her way from the horn of Africa to World Aid
Corps (WAC) headquarters in Washington DC, as director of global programs. She’s
left to the wolves of political whimsy as WAC fights to distinguish itself from
a sea of bigger development organizations.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The Shangri-La of funding,
$500,000 of unrestricted, private money waltzes through their door in the form
of Gary, outdoor clothing entrepreneur, with a desire to “do good in Cambodia”.
As a result, Mary-Anne gets told by her boss Jillian to hop on a plane and work with the curmudgeonly
Cambodian country manager, Patty, to come up with something. But, midway through
program design, the donor decides that all the money should go only to water
projects. Marie-Anne and Patty have, of course, designed a livelihoods program.
Cue drama. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
This might not come off as a
nail-biter for non-development readers, but as far as a true-to-life telling of
the development rat race, this book nails it. J. does a great job wiggling his
finger in the soft grey middle where we most live. Which is better – create a
program that speaks to people’s needs, or get the funding that keeps the
organization going that can do other impactful programs? Design a water
program, but have other initiatives around it? Fight the battle or win the war?
There are no simple answers. Explaining this book to a few friends over dinner
one night, one of them exploded “That exact same thing happened to me!” So
clearly, J. knows his material. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
J. does excellent work portraying
everyone as rounded out human beings, with families and decisions and
motivations far beyond the work of the work. Each character brings with them a
new conundrum, a new avenue of exploration into what ‘doing good’ actually
means. My favorite is Trevor, fresh out of undergrad and ready to save the
world. J., uses him as a vehicle to answer some of the more basic questions
about the development industrial machine. (But there’s so much need! Why doesn’t
someone just <i>do</i> something?). Starting
his own non-profit, he finds, it isn’t as easy as it seems. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
While more true to life, this
book also loses some of the tittering decadence from the pre-quel (<i>Marie-Ahhne</i>, Jean-Philippe whispered)
that made it such an entertaining read. I wanted someone to hate. I wanted a place to
hang my hat and yell with moral superiority: YOU HAVE CHLAMYDIA YOU IDIOT! Mary
Anne should’ve told that crappy Todd that if he’d done his job in the
beginning, he could’ve wooed the donor away from water, and this story could’ve
been written entirely from the arms of Jean-Philippe.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
In the end, I’m not sure if the
true-to-life mundaneness overshadows the bones of what makes a good story. This
first novel was entertaining in a dashing, bold, even corny kind of way. To be
a true homerun, this third novel needs bolder statements, darker lines, bigger
dichotomies and a stronger narrative arc than just “Mary-Anne grows up in
development”.<br />
<br />
This may be exactly the point: development <i>is</i> one big grey area. It’s still a great book, but the big reveal
comes in such a non-exciting way that it feels buried, ambiguous,
almost after-the-fact. Even if it might not ever happen in real life, I wanted
Patty and Mary-Anne to gloat, for Jillian to get her public come-uppance and
for Todd to become addicted to opium and fall into a river of crocodiles. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
That is, perhaps, for next time. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"> Views are my own and I was not compensated for this review.</span></i></div>
M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12757475703469466839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23257437.post-88828142188262169412015-05-30T12:43:00.003-04:002015-05-30T12:43:46.086-04:00Tit for Tat<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0WZiyrE69l4_etmjtQu2oHxoTDgTqn4phcSrJJlddRpbZ7fg-2lCaWwXtSdmEHaB2F7AbWDPhSoyMn7QmdV_XgrvaE86KpGatjsfnfmtw4RtN0NQNt1O3VBNK27v22sFkmPCLxg/s1600/DSCN4061.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0WZiyrE69l4_etmjtQu2oHxoTDgTqn4phcSrJJlddRpbZ7fg-2lCaWwXtSdmEHaB2F7AbWDPhSoyMn7QmdV_XgrvaE86KpGatjsfnfmtw4RtN0NQNt1O3VBNK27v22sFkmPCLxg/s200/DSCN4061.JPG" width="150" /></a>Last week, for one day – and one
day only - the Government of Malawi charged $160 to American citizens for
visitor visas on arrival. Normally, a 30-day visa is free and a 60-day
extension the equivalent of $10. It supposedly was meant to mirror the amount
that Malawians have to pay to get into America, but it appeared literally
overnight. All the flights arriving that day were met with this new requirement
and, finding no provisions to help them fulfill it (stocked ATMs, cashboxes,
change), were left to deal with painfully long queues, confusion and
frustration. Welcome to Malawi!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
It was rescinded the next day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Not speaking much Chichewa and
never listening to the Malawi Broadcast Company station, if there was an announcement, it’s
not surprising that I didn’t hear it. When I asked at the American consulate, I
was told it came as a surprise to them as well, and they were not consulted on
the amount. Even if they had been, the roll out
seemed unnecessarily speedy and confusing. The only thing I saw in the news was <a href="http://allafrica.com/stories/201505270962.html">a few days later</a>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Bizarre roll out aside, a few
other countries structure their visa fees in this tit-for-tat manner. Certainly
it’s very politically popular, and given the amount of development folk that
jet in and out, seems to be a viable revenue stream. I do think Malawi ought to
have a (minimal) visa fee, like its neighbors. But what point is really being
made here: is this visa fee meant to change US policy towards Malawi?
Elevate their status as a country worth paying to get to?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
All it appears to do is make
getting to this corner of the world even harder, a further dis-incentive to well paying tourists. It seems unlikely to change the way Americans view Malawi, and if
they exempt everyone on government travel (as stated in the news link) they’re
not even going to get that much money. Worst of all, the madcap way it was
implemented does nothing to dispel the stereotype of the disorganized African nation. Status: denied.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
As sympathetic as I am towards
high visa fees for Africans to America, this kind of retaliatory policy-makes
siding with Malawi here really hard. I’m only left shaking my head, like I have
on so many other things here I just don’t understand. I’m glad I wasn’t
traveling last week!<o:p></o:p></div>
M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12757475703469466839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23257437.post-78869624988959280632015-05-21T08:56:00.003-04:002015-05-21T08:56:52.724-04:00How to Talk About Africa Without Sounding Like a Jerk<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Oh, you’re moving to Africa?,”
mused the hairdresser, pronouncing it ‘Eh-free-ka,’ “Where are you going to
live?” she snapped her gum thoughtfully, comb dangling mid-weave, “I mean, are
you, like, gonna hafta live in a mud hut?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEGu9GS8-ILB2z-mAQKOl19GhpdJqbnuKijisfrKjmwZlgj03sbWLun991EcxRi9h1fVzG-zk9-_Nm_Dom5uSMUZS1N7bq0SyisA6J6AyrbpVrRDOS0JqBFzlBii5ZD4nJWGHQPQ/s1600/DSCN4026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEGu9GS8-ILB2z-mAQKOl19GhpdJqbnuKijisfrKjmwZlgj03sbWLun991EcxRi9h1fVzG-zk9-_Nm_Dom5uSMUZS1N7bq0SyisA6J6AyrbpVrRDOS0JqBFzlBii5ZD4nJWGHQPQ/s320/DSCN4026.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Talkin' 'Bout Africa</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I peered at her from under my
tinfoil, keeping my tone as even as I could. “Um…I’m going to live in a house.”
I was embarrassed by my obvious response. She seemed like a nice lady, here in
the middle of the upper Midwest, making conversation on a normal, sunny
Saturday morning. Sure, it was a silly question, but I could see she was just
making conversation. I didn’t feel like cracking her mind wide open and pouring
in my panoply of African facts.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I just wanted a touch up on my
highlights.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Oh.” The hairdresser blushed,
realizing her underlying assumption. The conversation dropped. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The ignorance of Americans in
regards to all things Africa is well documented. Ms. Hairdresser didn’t know a
thing about Africa because, quite simply, she doesn’t need to. I’m not excusing
wanton ignorance, but if you have no context or previous thought to a subject,
it’s easy to say something that sounds ignorant, especially when just making
small talk.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I’d love for this to change. I’d
love for Africa to matter to Americans the way it does at the end the John
Cusack disaster movie, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2012_(film)">2012,</a>
where they land their arc in South Africa after the entire world is flooded. I’d
love for our schools to teach the richness of African geography, history, art
and literature. I’d love for Americans to stop being unnecessarily afraid of
what G.W Bush called it “a nation that suffers incredible diseases.” (pssst –
54 nations actually and <a href="http://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2015/01/carter-center-guinea-worm-jimmy-carter-parasite-pipe-filter/384557/">not
that many diseases</a>).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
They only way this is going to
change is if we find a way to share personal experiences, spark interest, and
make Africa come alive for Americans outside of news stories and savior
complexes. Sometimes there are openings for this, sometimes there are not. I
don’t want to be that smug party bore who stands on her soapbox, lecturing
about how the Tuaregs are a Berber people in Mali and not some Volkswagon SUV
(because really, it’s a cool name regardless). But, I do want to help people
stop sound so ridiculously ignorant.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The way that I see it is that talking
about Africa has two parts. It starts with curiosity, and involves right-sized
information.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
On curiosity, I find it a little
like fishing. You cannot capture the imagination of someone that isn’t interested
in the first place; you must wait for them to approach the boat. So, that’s a
big NO starting off a story by hiking up your khaki pants, throwing your scarf
around your shoulder, adjusting your pith helmet and puffing “Well when <i>I</i> was in Africa…” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
If it’s not central to the topic
at hand, the idea of being in Africa can sometimes be distracting and
off-putting. It looms large in the American psyche as a horrific Terra
Incognito, and therefore, why would anyone go there? No matter if you were
there by your shoestrings, it sounds exotic. Proceed with caution, warm up the
audience first, and use this phrase sparingly (and for goddsakes, put the pith
helmet away...) <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
On the other hand, if people are
interested, right-sizing the information for the moment is crucial. Small talk with my hairdresser? Not the place
to launch into a mud hut discussion, but I might mention that hairdressing is a
wildly popular career. I once saw a barbershop called Tupac’s Alive! and the
Princess Diana Everything Is in Order Salon.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
More open ended questions with
close friends, I might press the envelope. Before moving here, I invited a
bunch of friends at a dinner party to come visit. One of them told me that she
was interested, but probably wouldn’t come. “Why’s that?” I probed. “Oh, well,”
she flustered, “You know, diseases and all that.” Then she paused, “Actually, I
don’t really know. It’s just a feeling I have, from all the things I’ve heard.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
That. That right there is an
invitation.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The African continent needs to be
removed from the Pity Pedestal, and normalized in American conversation. The
only way for this to happen is to share stories and experiences, become that
person who has travelled there and lived, and isn’t a bore to talk to about it.
Once, a guy I’d met online said to me: “You’re much more party fun than I
thought you’d be. I kind of thought you’d stand around talking about AIDs
orphans all evening.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
That’s one of my favorite
compliments (perhaps to the detriment of AIDs orphans).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Maybe after all this, you think I
<i>still</i> sound like a jerk. That’s ok.
Sharing news and information is not about being smug, or preachy, or keeping
information from people because they are too ignorant to understand. It’s about
being authentic, right-sized, and approachable. It’s about sharing something
you love. It’s about changing perceptions in others that were once - blessedly,
luckily - changed in yourself.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12757475703469466839noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23257437.post-64976513891270470502015-05-10T09:42:00.000-04:002015-05-10T09:42:55.850-04:00Head, Heart, Hands, Health<br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGNeiVjOz9XgGDwi-l06zvvN49kLEPS-ziOoIwo8dUx-yyPUsVUEqR3wpIEmgQYZepflyMNQQH6MBcOMy3krYlV_kv2NRJvU1uEg7zxBWhi99hiyEz-OiGA4QrGYOY5ZIVFLNabw/s1600/4Hlogo04wboxGreen180.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGNeiVjOz9XgGDwi-l06zvvN49kLEPS-ziOoIwo8dUx-yyPUsVUEqR3wpIEmgQYZepflyMNQQH6MBcOMy3krYlV_kv2NRJvU1uEg7zxBWhi99hiyEz-OiGA4QrGYOY5ZIVFLNabw/s200/4Hlogo04wboxGreen180.jpg" width="195" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Logo courtesy of <br /> http://www.extension.iastate.edu</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
Growing up on the farm, I couldn’t wait to escape.
Our house was situated in the middle of an endless gravel road, stretching from
one end of the earth to the other - no stops. I was adrift in flat sea of wheat,
corn and soybean fields, broken only by the occasional shelterbelt. It seemed
to me that everything interesting happened “out there” – off the farm, in the
city, in another state, across the world. I used to gaze at the world map in
our basement, wondering when (and if) I’d get to see it all.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
As a club for farm kids, 4-H was part of the fabric
of our lives. Like our parents before us, my siblings and I attended meetings, worked
on our projects, went to the county fair and wrote records. It was just
something we did; I never dreamed it would be the vehicle of my first trip
abroad.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
Traditionally, most people think of 4-H as a youth
group that focused on showing livestock and learning about agriculture in rural
America. Those aspects are still there, but it has evolved into so much more - including internationally. Where my parents showed cattle, my siblings and I focused on collecting insects,
practicing demonstrations, fashion revue (sewing and modeling our own clothes)
and public speaking.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
Thanks to my parents encouragement and lots of
practice, when I was seventeen I won a statewide </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
4-H public speaking contest. Due
to a generous co-sponsorship by the Jewish Community Relations Council of the
Twin Cities, the grand prize was a 10-day study tour of Israel. I don’t
remember the topic of my speech, but I do remember driving home across the prairie, feeling elated. I finally got
a peek at the rest of that map.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
4-H is so much more than an agricultural
organization for farm kids; it is a vehicle for learning valuable life skills. Every time I go on a job interview, I channel
all those years being grilled by State fair judges. In my work and civic life,
I draw upon years of running 4-H meetings (and my mom forcing us to use Roberts
Rules of Order). But most importantly, 4-H gave me that first glimpse across
the shelterbelt, that first step off the middle of the gravel road and into the direction of my career helping farmers overseas. Thanks to 4-H, I’m not looking at the map
anymore; I’m on it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
For more information about 4-H overseas, check out:
<a href="http://www.4-h.org/about/global-network/">http://www.4-h.org/about/global-network/</a><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12757475703469466839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23257437.post-56165868641323874052015-05-03T13:43:00.000-04:002015-05-03T14:03:47.666-04:00This Week I'm Thinking About...<br />
<ul>
<li>The devastating earthquake in Nepal. <a href="http://www.npr.org/blogs/goatsandsoda/2015/04/28/402842890/what-you-need-to-know-before-donating-to-earthquake-relief-for-nepal" target="_blank">This excellent article about how to donate effectively.</a> How much easier it is to the throw money at the problem after the fact, rather than address underlying issues of poverty, governance and equity.</li>
<li>State sovereignty. The thin line between individual rights and a government mandate to protect its people. <a href="http://m.canberratimes.com.au/comment/bali-nine-why-i-wont-be-lighting-a-candle-for-myuran-sukumaran-and-andrew-chan-20150129-130v38.html" target="_blank">That countries have a right to set their own laws and consequences, and carry them out. </a>Even if they are tragic.</li>
<li>Data. Lots and lots of data entry. It's report writing time for our donor, and we are crunching numbers. I'll be happy when this is done.</li>
</ul>
<br />
<br />M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12757475703469466839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23257437.post-4951646053383073342015-04-25T14:56:00.000-04:002015-04-26T06:18:14.421-04:00Douchey Douchebagitarianism<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
This week, <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/global-development-professionals-network/2015/apr/16/humanitarian-douchery-volunteering-voluntourism-endhumanitariandouchery">the
Guardian</a> did a piece on the <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/global-development-professionals-network/2015/apr/16/humanitarian-douchery-volunteering-voluntourism-endhumanitariandouchery">End
Humanitarian Douchbaggery campaign</a><span class="MsoHyperlink">.</span> It’s a
couple of guys who wanted point out the inherent hypocrisy of going to another
country and volunteering, when you’re not remotely qualified to do such
activities at home. They’ve got a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_8GZjZTZrWA">clever video</a>.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
On the surface, it’s funny. They
have some really great points and offer some good advice. I’ve often thought
along the same lines: what if Malawians came to America and started telling us
how to plant our fields? What if we started talking about North America as one
homogenous place the way we talk about Africa?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
However, the message here is so
pitch-perfectly snarky that it kind of hurts. I’ve got mixed feelings about voluntourism,
but the fact that these guys choose to make their very valid point about doing
research and approaching service with a Humble Heart in the snarkiest,
eyeballing-rolling-ist ironic way possible invalidates their point. It’s just
so…off-putting. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
As an added bonus, their video
makes us all feel better about ourselves because it pokes fun at an easily hate-able
Other: hipster wannabees/trustafarians taking
selfies with little non-white kids for many Facebook likes. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
We hate those.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Except…… I’ve never met any of
those people. Further, I’m not sure anyone is going to look at this campaign
and think “Gee, that’s me!” I’m sure they exist, but I want to say: hold up a
minute with the judgement. Let’s not assume that everyone is an asshole.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I pick on this not as an
apologist to voluntourism, but to make a point. After ten years in development,
I’ve learned to drop the assumptions. Not only is it unnecessarily divisive,
but life is way messier than you anticipated. Yes, development work should be
done by those qualified to do it. Yes, foreigners can and do displace local
labor pools. Yes, you should educate yourself as best you can before traipsing
into an unknown situation. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
But here’s what really annoys me
about this campaign: being so cool as to point out how others have got it wrong
infers that you’ve<b><i> got it right.</i></b> <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
And that, I certainly don’t
believe. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The thing is – you could do all
the right things, do all the Fair Trade Learning you want, but you will never
definitively know what kind of impact you’re having on another human. You can
do all the research in the world, read all the organizational philosophies you
want – you will just <b><i>never</i></b> know. I'm not saying you shouldn't do those things; just get used to ambiguity, too.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Organizations are made up of
humans, who are inherently imperfect. We all make assumptions. For example:
Organization A swears that everything is reciprocal, community-driven. Well
guess what? Ideas about community development are not homogenous, even among the
“locals”. But…but…we did a community mapping program! Well, guess who goes to
those meetings? It’s the same people that do here: the ones that have the time,
the status, the gumption. Community-driven approaches are great, but
let’s not kid ourselves. They aren’t what <i>everybody</i>
wants. They’re what the majority wants. (And usually, the majority wants
whatever will bring them the most money...but I digress…)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
This campaign, in all its slick
jingo-ism misses the mark. It’s cute, but I’m tired of being cynically cool. I
want sincerity, I want thoughtfulness, I want to believe in something that
doesn’t catch my eye because it’s a funny made-up word about a vaginal
cleanser. Community engagement for social change either at home or abroad takes
work. Sometimes it takes volunteers. It takes unbridled stupid optimism,
guarded wisdom, time, careful collaboration and a whole lot of
open-mindedness. It takes all of that and
so much more.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
So, yeah, I get their very valid
points about being humble, making educated decisions, putting others first and
taming unbridled bravado. I just wish they would’ve taken that same advice in
their messaging.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12757475703469466839noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23257437.post-48391590838036815882015-04-19T15:49:00.002-04:002015-04-19T15:51:16.802-04:00Fast Facts About African Agriculture<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWHqJn97FxKJ2jqmsCUFWLVvuO58ri55A0M_C-cN0r7FlEHeq8GBviMNL3lbMwv54eokrVhr8XSwiJq8u3GwBsO1ahVRxm-x0lDOxYFnSS5qf0I-P1Pv7qFBZORHLv0qNwrJamCQ/s1600/Facts+about+African+Ag+(Conflict%2BCopy)%2B(Conflict%2BCopy)%2B(Conflict%2BCopy)%2B(Conflict%2BCopy)%2B(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWHqJn97FxKJ2jqmsCUFWLVvuO58ri55A0M_C-cN0r7FlEHeq8GBviMNL3lbMwv54eokrVhr8XSwiJq8u3GwBsO1ahVRxm-x0lDOxYFnSS5qf0I-P1Pv7qFBZORHLv0qNwrJamCQ/s1600/Facts+about+African+Ag+(Conflict%2BCopy)%2B(Conflict%2BCopy)%2B(Conflict%2BCopy)%2B(Conflict%2BCopy)%2B(1).jpg" height="400" width="346" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Today I spent learning this new program, Picktochart (www.piktochart.com)</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Wish I'd had this program when I was in 4-H!</div>
M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12757475703469466839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23257437.post-47577475982502885552015-04-11T12:19:00.000-04:002015-04-12T08:06:48.292-04:00A New Job, Part Deux<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf4hwGzuMCLfjypWOJpGAHOTrvhx3mc1ZBkDRg8uv-HFdHga2PuT30uI1eh8W3l9DP_g4VzlsQ1JFhdZUueCWyP0_3bKP_P2e66JhKbxKNfGoewIi1s5JIDURUYWqPQ7aZBvbGAg/s1600/2011-2012+507.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf4hwGzuMCLfjypWOJpGAHOTrvhx3mc1ZBkDRg8uv-HFdHga2PuT30uI1eh8W3l9DP_g4VzlsQ1JFhdZUueCWyP0_3bKP_P2e66JhKbxKNfGoewIi1s5JIDURUYWqPQ7aZBvbGAg/s1600/2011-2012+507.jpg" height="238" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An appropriate question, tucked behind the door of a<br />
truckstop bathroom in Zambia.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I thought that buying a house would be fun (all those HGTV
shows couldn’t be wrong, could they?). Imagine my surprise when the process was
much more emotional and fraught with fear than I anticipated. Where do I find a
plumber? What happens when my wash machine breaks? What the heck is escrow?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Job hunting is much the same way. It sounds like fun to
start a new job, turn a new page, but it is fraught with more emotional pitfalls
than a Nicholas Sparks novel. I’ve already written about <a href="http://beyondtheshelterbelt.blogspot.com/2015/01/new-years-resolution-new-job.html" target="_blank">a good way to start.</a>
But, somewhere in this process you have to figure out more or less where you want
to go, and what skills you have to get there. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
What skills have I picked up during the last ten
years in International Development? Some days, it feels like just showing up.
Other days, it feels like something useful. Here’s a run down of some of the
more useful aspects:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<ol>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Experience
dealing with being totally overwhelmed and under-prepared: </b><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">In International
Development, this seems to be concentrated in two- three week stints where you
asked to do the impossible. My first four months on the job in my first job
ever, I got sent to set up an office in Azerbaijan (negotiating the lease,
buying furniture, finding and setting up the phone system). I’d never even done this
stateside, let alone in a foreign land where I didn’t speak the language. How
this was a good idea, I don’t know, but I learned a ton. Somehow, in spite of
myself (and more likely, because of better local staff) it got done.</span></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Flexibility:</b><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
Every year I am asked by my current employer to rate myself on how my work
flexibility. Every year, I laugh. This is the same firm that once asked me to
fly to East Timor on three day’s notice.</span></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Ability
to “Learn on the Fly”:</b><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> No one on staff that knows how to use pivot tables,
or create maps from GPS data? No problem. It only takes time, and electricity
(and likely, a fair bit of You Tube). I actually love this part of my job.</span></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Writing/Copy-Editing:
</b><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Reports. Reports, reports, reports. No longer a dirty word, learning to
write well (especially technical writing, translating M&E data into
digestible results) is extraordinarily important. So is scanning the previously
created field document for typos, or mis-captioned photos of cattle going to
the bathroom.*</span></li>
</ol>
<span style="text-align: justify; text-indent: -0.25in;">Many of these are “soft skills”, transferrable anywhere, which gives me hope. I have managed get experience in something, however non-technical. </span><span style="text-align: justify; text-indent: -0.25in;">I doubt my new office environment will really
be curious about the going price of copy machines in Baku however, so I must
still rephrase my experience and retool my resume.</span><br />
<div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
After covering this ground, I’m now left with the darker, more
existential part of the job hunt experience: actually applying. Which leads me to my next hurdle: geography and
phase of life has means that for wider options, I may have to look outside the field international development. If not entirely, then at least cutting down on the 30% travel I did before moving to Malawi. But what do to? Where to start? It’s scary. It’s liberating. </div>
<br />
<o:p></o:p>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Perhaps it’s not my skills set that’s limiting my exploration. It could also be lack of my own imagination,
willingness to give up my frequent flyer mileage status (Platinum, FTW!) and my
professional (and somewhat personal) identity.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I suspect that last step – personal identity – is the doozy. But I'm hoping that, much becoming a first-time home owner, once you get over the initial hump everything seems to work out ok. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: xx-small; text-align: justify;">*really happened</span><br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12757475703469466839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23257437.post-76470057112677282692015-04-05T13:20:00.000-04:002015-04-05T13:20:37.795-04:00Happy Easter!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEnjQ8-UmV3_GlMVQMaMw_j4t9NYD4qErd5CLQjMNEB_f6zKOVWlcr068RDAthaZjNTESKp9zOd04Vlj9_j80yWEEg0OPZrmUMYwdr8T7FljRrfgWD9jFROg5_zjLjgLDI5Jqt8Q/s1600/2011-2012+174.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEnjQ8-UmV3_GlMVQMaMw_j4t9NYD4qErd5CLQjMNEB_f6zKOVWlcr068RDAthaZjNTESKp9zOd04Vlj9_j80yWEEg0OPZrmUMYwdr8T7FljRrfgWD9jFROg5_zjLjgLDI5Jqt8Q/s1600/2011-2012+174.jpg" height="640" width="382" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Good Friday and Easter Monday are still public holidays here in Malawi, so I am off, exploring this lovely country. See you next week!</div>
M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12757475703469466839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23257437.post-6560323996299192942015-03-29T09:54:00.002-04:002015-03-30T16:21:20.950-04:00Per Diem is a Big Hairy* Deal<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGqva9x8uqYdJOCpP7I498vDOxDPsOyfB71KWCGVktbwzc1OWProE_mALaKUb4RucAYVnLKQV2dickvdb-2DXLAuOuI1r_g1kx1cr0KA3qqJZvKdf2VPgziOvNmXfZ_IaeH1s6zA/s1600/DSCN4009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGqva9x8uqYdJOCpP7I498vDOxDPsOyfB71KWCGVktbwzc1OWProE_mALaKUb4RucAYVnLKQV2dickvdb-2DXLAuOuI1r_g1kx1cr0KA3qqJZvKdf2VPgziOvNmXfZ_IaeH1s6zA/s1600/DSCN4009.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All About the Banda's</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Per diem</span></i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> is meant to
defray the daily cost of breakfast, lunch, dinner and “incidentals” (defined
mostly as <a href="http://www.gsa.gov/portal/content/104208#12" target="_blank">tips</a> by the US Federal Travel Regulations) incurred when traveling
for work. It is typically a flat rate, prorated by percent for each meal. The
US government international amount seems to be set by assuming the traveler
would eat all meals at the most expensive hotel restaurant in town.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Because it’s usually so ridiculously high, it ends up being
closer to a salary supplement. When I was traveling abroad from the US, I
considered it a small consolation prize for sitting 18 hours cramped in aisle 48H
next to the bathrooms. It was a nice bonus, but it wasn’t why I worked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Thing is, when people live closer to the margin, the
collection of per diem gets elevated into an art form. It moves beyond
supplement to an incentive, and for some, a second salary. For a few more, it
becomes a right. Thus, its provision in your project becomes more urgent, more pressing…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">…and more of a barrier to actual work.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">For example: Because drivers travel frequently, they need
this benefit the most often. We spend a lot of time carefully managing their
schedules to avoid complaints that one may be getting more than others. As
such, between all the last minute changes, time off schedules and </span><span style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">jockeying amongst seniority, </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">setting the monthly schedule can sometimes feel like giving birth to a pound of razor
wire. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When I first arrived, a group of sub-partners actually threatened to walk
away from <i>an all-inclusive training in
Nigeria</i>, because they’d only take home a nominal incidental fee. Forget
learning, they wanted the money.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Local governments also seem to be in on the take. To get
community buy in, development organizations work hard to meet with and work
through existing channels (such as local district executive committees). Unfortunately, some committees refuse to convene unless they receive per diem! I recently discovered that
one such committee charged three different organizations for the same meeting. Coordination and communication being what it is (fairly informal) this was only discovered after the fact.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Imagine if you were just an average constituent; how would
you afford democracy this way?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">If I let it, the Per Diem Issue feels like being hijacked by
the people we want to help, off the backs of people we want to help. Aside from
wasting resources, it expends a ton of organizational and emotional energy. Policies
upon policies are created. Schedules are scrutinized. Meetings turn tense. At
the end of it all, precious, valuable work undone. Even now, as I write, I feel
the bile rise. If donors really wanted to see where their time and money were
going, my bet is on this.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The solution here isn’t easy. How do you move someone from
considering per diem as a right to a nice supplement? From beating the system to doing your job? The answer lies in the rat’s nest of macroeconomics,
global inequality, choices and personality.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There’s nothing wrong for having the costs of your job be covered. However, how does this translate when everything has a cost? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I
contextually understand, but it’s a culture shock every time I run into it.
This is consistently where my Midwestern no-nonsense work ethic rams like a
sledgehammer into my carefully constructed attempts at cultural sensitivity. <i>Why are you even here?! </i>I want to
scream. <i>Do you care so little about helping
others that you’d kidnap the entire program over a measly $8? </i> We more than likely end up paying, because we have indicators to hit, targets to achieve. But I hate every conversation about it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I try to have compassion. I try to remember being squished in
48H, dreaming of what I would do with that extra money. But mostly, every day
I’m reminded: Per Diem is a Big Hairy* Deal. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; text-align: justify;">*Not the original adjective.</span>M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12757475703469466839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23257437.post-66614143692346353942015-03-22T11:28:00.000-04:002015-03-22T11:31:08.861-04:00Five Things that Have Surprised Me About Life In “The Field” <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtWEj93mzMoVDYNFi7-d_E9B-X1voyah_L4NJpUFplvGfvomO-J8u01c72basXXoKuYgvmqbB_tIChboTrOoJA7zkVmNa2OF3Gly7P7KGRJNIipc46vSPPC-p5JSqMWRe9wsCwkA/s1600/incoming+storm.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtWEj93mzMoVDYNFi7-d_E9B-X1voyah_L4NJpUFplvGfvomO-J8u01c72basXXoKuYgvmqbB_tIChboTrOoJA7zkVmNa2OF3Gly7P7KGRJNIipc46vSPPC-p5JSqMWRe9wsCwkA/s1600/incoming+storm.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bean field, feeling misunderstood</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1)<b> Every work place has “a field”</b> – whether a country office, district office, or literally, a field of beans. Headquarters is, likewise, relative. They all equally feel misunderstood by the others. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
2) <b>The importance of having a back-up for the back-up</b>. To get a simple phone call through to headquarters, I keep two internet connections, one dongle, a cell phone and a landline on hand. For a local call, most folks use two phone numbers on two different networks, text, or even WhatsApp to get through. Constant problem-solving, creative thinking, bobbing-and-weaving is a <i>must.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
3) <b>Streamlining does not always equal most efficient/effective (see #2).</b> Why don't we just....? All that diversifying makes it tempting to cut through the red tape with simple solutions. Sure, it might make sense in one context to buy goats from all one vendor. One set of paperwork, one contract. But spreading the risk amongst three or four vendors ensures that if one overstates their capability there’s enough of a back up to keep the distribution on track. I call it the <i>Not All in One Basket</i> approach. It's exhausting, but not as exhausting as explaining why there are no goats.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcaj6nlnOGjh5M1ocfzh42BdLGVh8KIoNpw756KivzCQja42yiSTJ4KwATkKwUR0-P9IBMv_dZCRebtFSnD4iF8QBDswegvDuKnIRlX-0-HfLy3CjHlj3IG5FzVEUglg2Hc25SCg/s1600/isaac+mangoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcaj6nlnOGjh5M1ocfzh42BdLGVh8KIoNpw756KivzCQja42yiSTJ4KwATkKwUR0-P9IBMv_dZCRebtFSnD4iF8QBDswegvDuKnIRlX-0-HfLy3CjHlj3IG5FzVEUglg2Hc25SCg/s1600/isaac+mangoes.jpg" height="200" width="138" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Proudly displaying mango #11</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
4)<b> I wouldn’t have interpreted it that way, but…it works.</b> In an attempt to keep track of our office inventory, our gardener numbered each one of the ripening mangoes in the yard with a magic marker. I once also worked with an office manager who knew the project was underspending, so she stock piled over 100 bottles of toilet bowl cleaner, toilet paper and other cleaning supplies in an effort to increase the burn rate. I am constantly reminded that procedures need context, people need guidance, and it's ok to not take ourselves too seriously.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
5) <b>Waiting is the New Doing.</b> When our car ran out of gas (because we didn't follow #2 and get gas when we were still at half tank and trying to streamline our stops) and the only station within 100 km hadn’t had electricity to pump in 14 hours, there was literally nothing we could do. So, we sat in the station with a coke and a samosa. Several solutions eventually revealed themselves (ending with the electricity magically turning on.) When in doubt, wait it out.</div>
M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12757475703469466839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23257437.post-85836328004098519182015-03-14T02:18:00.001-04:002015-03-14T02:55:42.847-04:00The Development Myth<div style="background: black; margin: 0in 0in 13.5pt; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; line-height: 18.7pt; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTGsGRhsExuzyo6PB0pz_vKg8DJ2Maa3j86YJOlze-hY9vM9YPbykxs14MxiZxzE85UMZocUZVyc9BC3YbxRiWCcLl7VyIvRSMfOB-jt2yGWm85J2zmph-K9-_ntJxqxL9RqVCbA/s1600/DSCN2600.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTGsGRhsExuzyo6PB0pz_vKg8DJ2Maa3j86YJOlze-hY9vM9YPbykxs14MxiZxzE85UMZocUZVyc9BC3YbxRiWCcLl7VyIvRSMfOB-jt2yGWm85J2zmph-K9-_ntJxqxL9RqVCbA/s1600/DSCN2600.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here come the goats! Here come the goats!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="line-height: 24.9333324432373px;">When I first moved here, the realities of what I thought my job would be and what it actually turned out to be was a bit jarring. I imagined I’d be delivering of goats to women-farmers while they sang, danced and ululated around me in the sunshine of a bucolic farmyard. Instead, I’ve developed a hunchback and squint-eye compiling bid matrices and no-conflict-of-interest forms in triplicate that justify why Fatso Investments (name of real firm) has the best goats for the best price.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="line-height: 24.9333324432373px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 24.9333324432373px;">Complaining one night over beers, a good friend of mine (who works in the UN system) laughed and then advised. “Remember, your job is not to do your job. It’s to cut through all the bureaucracy to enable someone else to do their job.” I laughed, ruefully.</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 24.9333324432373px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 24.9333324432373px;">This perspective just doesn’t mesh with the humanitarian stereotype. You know, the one of a Westerner who has assimilated perfectly to their adopted homeland. S/he lives in a mud hut, happily without electricity, eating street food, and cheerfully taking public transportation. They speak the language, get all the formalities correct, never point their feet where they shouldn’t. As such, they are able to do really effective cool stuff. They hand out blankets to AIDs orphans, mobilize community health programs, and rehabilitate boreholes with a toothpick and a smile.</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 24.9333324432373px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 24.9333324432373px;">I will never be one of these people.</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 24.9333324432373px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 24.9333324432373px;">I used to feel so guilty about this. Sure, I’ve eaten street food and murdered “thank you” in eight languages, but I can never quite move from “clumsy outsider” to “effective local”. I like roadside samosas as much as the next person, but that doesn’t make me Indian. I can admire, adopt even, certain things out of respect and even, enjoyment. I can slow down when I talk. Share my food. Sit in the driver’s office and get the gossip. But I’ll never be Malawian. The best I can hope for is cultural competence, not fluency.</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 24.9333324432373px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 24.9333324432373px;">I’ve gone round the emotional mill on this (sad, angry, frustrated, guilty). The development stereotype tells me that I should be good at all these things - but I’m just not. I have spent the last ten years carrying residual guilt about this until, last week, something caught my eye on a recent post on AidSpeak. J., was expounding on the skills needed to be a good development professional:</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 24.9333324432373px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 24.9333324432373px;">The value that foreigners (us) bring to the table is less and less about our knowledge and understanding of the details of local culture (local staff usually know organically in a few seconds those things that take us months or years of study to get right), or our ability to endure harsh conditions (the fact that we might be able to live like refugees for a few days almost never impresses real refugees), and more and more about our ability to engage with the global humanitarian system.</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 24.9333324432373px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 24.9333324432373px;">Suddenly, I feel so much better. I've stopped beating myself up over this. </span><br />
<span style="line-height: 24.9333324432373px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 24.9333324432373px;">The truth is, I don’t think these people actually exist the way we think they do. And even if they did, there’s an awful lot of tedium that you don’t hear about in the run up to becoming that effective. Never once do you hear about cleaning data sets or editing quarterly reports. No one ever spends hours waiting for the lights to turn back on, or the government official to show up or fixing crashed computers. But those things need to be done.</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 24.9333324432373px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 24.9333324432373px;">This misconception has to change. We have to start being honest about what development work looks like. And sometimes, it's boring.</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 24.9333324432373px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 24.9333324432373px;">Our lead farmers and local staff know Chichewa and how to castrate a goat much better than I do. But I do know how to jump the hoops of procurement and the industry terms (allowable and allocable anybody?) to get those darn goats in the first place. I can practically quote 22 CFR 226 in my sleep. The thing is, I never valued these things as “skills” because that’s not what I thought a “good” development practitioner did. The mundane is always overlooked, undervalued.</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 24.9333324432373px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 24.9333324432373px;">That’s not to say understanding local context is unimportant for expats, or examining the intricacies of the global humanitarian system are impossible for locals. I’m just saying: Let’s each play to our comparative advantage. My comparative advantage will never be goat vaccinations and chatting away in Lao/Chichewa/Hausa. It is in understanding and following a donor system, their regulations, and smoothing the way for smart, creative local staff who understand their culture and their context to do their job.</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 24.9333324432373px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 24.9333324432373px;">My friend was right, it's not my job to do my job. It's to pave the way for someone else. That realization adds so much value, so much relief, it almost makes the paperwork...palatable.</span></div>
</div>
M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12757475703469466839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23257437.post-73987725162409859042015-03-08T04:21:00.000-04:002015-03-08T04:36:30.295-04:00Grit and Resiliency<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
This week I came across the <a href="http://www.whydev.org/">WhyDev.org</a> podcast, <a href="https://soundcloud.com/missioncreeppodcast">Mission Creep</a>. While still new (and not as slickly produced as say, NPR) Mission Creep is
refreshing to listen to, as it brings mid-level aid professionals together to discuss
“fresh and frank” development issues. I appreciated the non-Amero-centric views
and diverse newspaper and website references (who loves the Guardian? I do). <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
In their January 2015 podcast,
they discussed a <a href="http://www.peopleinaid.org/news/626.aspx">recent
article about grit</a>. Specifically, how (and if?) grit is a good way to
measure a successful development professional. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
As they were discussing grit, it reminded
me of a talk I listened to last year by Angela Lee Duckworth (link to a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H14bBuluwB8">short video version</a>
here). Sure enough, they bring her up later on in the episode.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
According to Ms. Duckworth, grit
is <i>“passion and perseverance for very
long term goals, […] having stamina, […] sticking with your future day in day
out […] and working really hard to make that future a reality. Grit is living
life it’s a marathon, not a sprint.” </i> <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Everyone knows people in their
lives who have grit, whether or not you call it that. They are the ones who
stick with something long after it seemed prudent to stop. The ones who work
harder than anyone else, hustle faster, show up earlier, stay longer, practice
more. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
My high school best friend has
grit: she farms with her dad, owns her own business and fosters <a href="http://www.wdaz.com/news/north-dakota/3652548-eleven-dogs-rescued-cold-are-almost-ready-adoption">eleven
puppies in the middle of winter</a> when they were literally thrown away by
someone else. When we played volleyball in high school, she hustled after every
stray ball, even into the bleachers, even as her elbows and knees bled. I’ve
never known someone to work as hard as she does.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The article suggests that the
concept of grit is better than resiliency to evaluate if a person will be a
successful manager of development projects. Resiliency, woefully over-used yet
still an industry favorite, basically means ‘the ability to bounce back after
setbacks’ or ‘rolling with the punches’. Did half your staff just quit? Did you
indicators just double? Did your donor reduce funding? Did the lights just go
off? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The hosts were quick to define grit
and resiliency at odds with one another. On the one hand, grit equalled
‘pushing through’ and ‘not adapting’. On the other, resiliency was a how one
changed, or rolled with it. The problem is, these things are not mutually
exclusive. You have to have grit to stay in the dark while you figure out an
alternative way to get the lights back on.
You have to have grit to attend yet another meeting that has been co-opted
by the grandstanding government official to eventually meet the right person
who can push your project forward. You have to have grit to tell someone they
are not getting any more grant funding unless they can show you where the
previous funds went even if you have that money burning a hole in your budget
and HQ keeps yammering on about NICRA.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Granted, it’s only a thirty
minute podcast, but I felt like their framing of these two concepts was off. Grit
doesn’t mean be a jerk, it just means “Do the hard things.” That doesn’t mean
you’re not changed by them. It doesn’t mean you don’t roll with the punches. It
doesn’t mean you don’t cry internally (and sometimes externally, alone, in your
office, at 8:05 am). It simply means that you show up, time and time again, and
again, even when stuff gets hard. <o:p></o:p>Grit is what keeps you there, while Resiliency asks "What's Next?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Does grit equal inflexibility?
Inadaptability? I don’t think so. I think grit and resiliency are closer
cousins than academics would have us believe. It’s easier to gravitate towards
the term grit because it’s colloquial; we can all identify. If Ms. Duckworth
had been talking about resiliency, I would’ve never remembered her podcast or
identified my best friend in her description. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Do I have use grit all the time?
No way. In fact, I think that’s a pretty good way to burn out. Same with being
resilient – even the most flexible things can break. I recently came across a
great quote by Nelson Mandela: “Quitting is leading, too”. As someone who
doesn’t thinks she’s had much grit lately, I love this. Both quitting and
hanging tight have their moments; it’s only the timing of when and how that we
have to perfect. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Grit and resiliency are both tools
we need to survive or successful at, well, anything. Jobs. Earthquakes.
Marriages. Children. Just the way we sometimes need to be supple and forgiving,
thankful and proud, fun-loving and hard-nosed. I love the idea of grit, I love
the idea of resiliency. Do we really need to pick?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
What do you think? <o:p></o:p></div>
M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12757475703469466839noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23257437.post-17073062030615076402015-02-28T00:00:00.000-05:002015-03-01T01:09:14.076-05:00Letters Left Unsent: A Review<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>I’m a bit late on this – although I was given a beta copy to review, his book was launched on Amazon in
November. Check it out <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Letters-Left-Unsent-J/dp/0989365956/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1424893983&sr=8-1&keywords=letters+left+unsent" target="_blank">here</a>!</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNSbAMagkcy5rkIfYaBN4H2XWpgX8UmuCUHzEKB6L1K-qon10xcKRn2YBgT6PREK5Mg3Lp24MY7h5lNytg0kTcjgdZf94iwIx7YJ4gF8Zyl5z7va0vXpAIgxmm1I22MVtOa6nMPQ/s1600/letters+left+unsent+photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNSbAMagkcy5rkIfYaBN4H2XWpgX8UmuCUHzEKB6L1K-qon10xcKRn2YBgT6PREK5Mg3Lp24MY7h5lNytg0kTcjgdZf94iwIx7YJ4gF8Zyl5z7va0vXpAIgxmm1I22MVtOa6nMPQ/s1600/letters+left+unsent+photo.jpg" height="320" width="210" /></a>This collection of essays loosely
drawn into a book by author and blogger J., depicts snapshots in the life and
travels of a humanitarian aid worker. Unsurprisingly, it’s not all parties on the
Serengeti. Like most jobs, it has ups
and downs: long hours in dusty hotels, stuffy conference rooms, morally difficult
decisions, poor coordination. <i>Letters Left Unsent </i>is the distillation of thoughts that come from twenty years of these experiences, for better and worse.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I’ve been following (rather,
lurking) J’s blog <a href="https://talesfromethehood.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Tales from the Hood</a> and <a href="https://aidspeak.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">AidSpeak</a> for a few years now. I check
in when I need inspiration, provocation and a little moral outrage. Being mired
in the day to day realities of life “in the field” (e.g. trying to get fuel
into six cars and eighteen motorcycles on weekly basis while keeping rats from
chewing up seed corn in storage and spilled generator diesel from starting the
kitchen on fire), it feels so good to read about someone else’s thoughts, opinions
and struggles with the Aid Industry writ large. Reading his words are like hitting a release valve. Throughout
his book, I found myself nodding and laughing, relieved that someone finally
understands, finally can advise. (I found his comments on having an exit strategy particularly useful...)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
For those considering a career as an aid
worker, this book gives a straight picture of what to expect. It even includes the Aid Work Suitability Self-Test, which is as snarky as it is real to life.
Outsiders may bristle at some assertions throughout the book (development is
for professionals, not volunteers) that may sound elitist and exclusionary on
the surface, but I assure you it is not. I do wish there was more of a narrative arc, but I'm more a fiction person than I am an essayist, so it may be personal preference.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
As it stands, <i>Letters Left Unsent</i> is a collection of
essays, blog posts that represent a tome to development work, one that gives voice
to a little acknowledged non-Hollywoodized perspective of humanitarian aid.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
It is well worth the read. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12757475703469466839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23257437.post-77267471055665869642015-02-22T09:19:00.000-05:002015-02-22T09:35:03.184-05:00This is a blog post.<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxvda1RTciwwRPlj_wFxxZOlYrPQiBDlhG2hD_MYs_7us0AdFC6FPXncAqJYSS7x4r7IDKM2vEDW3pe1FXxPgXuXfoLuD1fT5OUD_fBGXkyJnsqgZbpzBiKH6fodgd_QhQr7Uwsg/s1600/DSCN3869.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxvda1RTciwwRPlj_wFxxZOlYrPQiBDlhG2hD_MYs_7us0AdFC6FPXncAqJYSS7x4r7IDKM2vEDW3pe1FXxPgXuXfoLuD1fT5OUD_fBGXkyJnsqgZbpzBiKH6fodgd_QhQr7Uwsg/s1600/DSCN3869.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Actual elephant crap (half dried)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
This is a blog post about writer’s
block, because I have it. Sometimes there is nothing pithy to say. But sometimes,
you just have to keep going. You know that saying “If you don’t have anything
nice to say don’t say anything at all?” That’s elephant crap. Keep going.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I made a commitment to myself
that I would update this blog every Sunday in 2015. This is what that
commitment looks like. I’m only mildly sorry that it sucks to read. FYI
commitment is sometimes not pretty (also, like elephant crap).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
It’s not like I haven’t been
busy. This week was crazy with work, more electrical issues with the house, Robert
Mugabe’s 91<sup>st</sup> birthday, my fiancé climbing Kilimanjaro and coming home
safely. Friday night I think I had two nervous breakdowns 1) because I was exhausted
and 2) because who changes the locks on the office door and then goes home for
the weekend, leaving you inside, and doesn’t tell you? OMFG.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I am practicing patience. I am
dreaming for the future. I am
preparing for some terrific and terrifying life changes. I am getting married,
interviewing for jobs, and getting ready to move (again) and I of course
decided it all NEEDED TO BE DONE THIS WEEK. Life is dull, tedious, joyful and
hilarious all at once. I am breathing in my nose and out my mouth and trying
not to swallow another fly like I did in the backyard this morning while
picking fresh lemons.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL4CMf94vIUdVJm4nhHViqlcqndvQ9Z3nWhAfxaWmaBhe0hQldeIaN-WMlAWWuNYscK4Hp_cKiZjVyY2amRf8wf0LEM_vTpTXSlaHhnD_ttxYezewxWjy4Wv9D1rnmKNwsnLn9sQ/s1600/DSCN3608.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL4CMf94vIUdVJm4nhHViqlcqndvQ9Z3nWhAfxaWmaBhe0hQldeIaN-WMlAWWuNYscK4Hp_cKiZjVyY2amRf8wf0LEM_vTpTXSlaHhnD_ttxYezewxWjy4Wv9D1rnmKNwsnLn9sQ/s1600/DSCN3608.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Three dung beetles, fighting over crap.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Some day (soon, I hope) my writing will be better. It will not be a pile of crap. If I keep at it, like the dung beetle, I might roll it in to a little ball over half my size and push it along until I can get it home and live off it for a long, long time. Until then, I will keep going. I will keep going until that pile of crap is something useful and beautiful and that causes a Land Rover of white people with enormous cameras to stop and peer at a pile of poop, literally, rolling away from them.<br />
<br />
Because that's a story, too. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Until then, this is a blog post.<br />
<br /></div>
<o:p></o:p>M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12757475703469466839noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23257437.post-32413712598522123392015-02-15T14:19:00.000-05:002015-02-15T14:26:24.237-05:00This is Rainy Season?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHSTBJdE7euu1NhvJAGiCIN9BdXEgO5fr-jmsxZCN9X1RwMnhshCWPYrOyanyhii95REOL7PodWtGV_dpolte0Enw8364luC8GboEn3P0M23eJ42xVhjrQrHdYXAFrP5drQGWXmg/s1600/DSCN3809.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHSTBJdE7euu1NhvJAGiCIN9BdXEgO5fr-jmsxZCN9X1RwMnhshCWPYrOyanyhii95REOL7PodWtGV_dpolte0Enw8364luC8GboEn3P0M23eJ42xVhjrQrHdYXAFrP5drQGWXmg/s1600/DSCN3809.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Last week, I visited a farmer in southwest Zambia - Kazungula district to be exact. This area along the Chobe river between Botswana, Zimbabwe, Zambia and Namibia is known to be drought prone. I was told it has something to do with the dry winds from the Kalahari desert, but I'm not a meteorologist, so I don't know. However, in terms of drought, it looks like this year will be no different. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCvx1Q0umOA-TxWDnF0uUbCQFoASSPd5iO9v8hPCCjHO_zLsdnz8DlMPoMIX-7YZof-1tdT-hqkzvFYcR3KT8AX2UBF6gYVBxdRTUCzZ2QD1tOA971PiaQHiMFtGpwfA-BqgAXLQ/s1600/DSCN3811.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCvx1Q0umOA-TxWDnF0uUbCQFoASSPd5iO9v8hPCCjHO_zLsdnz8DlMPoMIX-7YZof-1tdT-hqkzvFYcR3KT8AX2UBF6gYVBxdRTUCzZ2QD1tOA971PiaQHiMFtGpwfA-BqgAXLQ/s1600/DSCN3811.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a>The maize on our farmer's field was between three and five feet tall, some of it already tasseled, forced into early maturity by the dry weather conditions. Many leaves were already starting to curl and brown. It was hard to see that it would grow much taller. In a good year, he said, he could get upwards of 80 bags (50 kgs each) of maize from his two hectares. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
A little while on, he showed us his ground nut (peanut) field (right). It had been planted after the first rains, which had come late (January). I might not have gotten this down right in my notes, but I believe he said it had been three weeks since the last precipitation. I asked him what he would do if the rains didn't come. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"There's nothing we can do," he said. "We can't control the weather." </div>
<span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span>M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12757475703469466839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23257437.post-86871579447316929632015-02-08T00:00:00.000-05:002015-02-08T00:00:08.664-05:00I walk the line<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
This week, strange new waves of
feelings have hit me. I’ve been hosting visitors for work and they are
hilarious. One is a former beauty queen and one is a former major league
baseball player. It’s hard not to smile
as they react to commonplace things (look at the baby on that woman’s back!),
or ask completely inane questions in very loud voices (what is the name of that
brown bird? You know, the one with the tail?)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
While they are both
extraordinarily sweet people, they could not be more opposite from the
development set. He has biceps as big as my thighs. She has more highlights
than a sports reel. It’s hard not to be a bit jealous and frustrated with people
who are so shiny and new, oblivious to their affluence. I want to tell them to tone
it down. Take off the Rolex. Put the I-Phone away (or at least, crack the
screen so it matches everyone else’s). But, it’s not their problem that they
are out of context. I must look the same way to my Malawian colleagues. So I
keep my mouth shut.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
(Also, I can’t wait to get
highlights). <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Although I’ve been living in
Malawi for nearly two years, I often wonder when this place will feel like
“home”. Being with these ridiculously rich and carefully coiffed individuals
makes me realize that, while not exactly a local, I have come to live here in
my own way. No power? No problem. No petrol? No worries. We’ll make a plan. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
As much as I complain about the
hardships, these crazy experiences and power outages and frustrations have
become a permanent part of my life’s landscape. I can snarl and rail and weep
and gnash, but this place has railroaded me into acceptance (and even love)
with the patience of having nothing better to do. Like a mother with a trying
child, I am annoyed, but I love. Oh, how I love.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
This is my home. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
To share this space with someone
new – especially someone so clearly out of their natural habitat and with whom
I have little in common - makes me feel vulnerable. What if they don’t like
jazz at Chameleon’s? What if they get sick? – I want them to understand their
new context and join this crazy club. But that’s not going to happen in 10
days. So, I show them the “best” of what we’ve got, knowing that it’s not the
“best” by any international standard, wanting them to know <i>I know</i> it’s not the
“best” but that it’s still a good life. Most days I go home, feeling like a
poor church mouse. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I don’t want to be that
development person who makes others feel unworthy and uncomfortable because
they haven’t lived in South Sudan for 10 years. This isn’t about “field experience” or “street cred”. It’s about being in the middle of two
worlds and asked to be the cultural ambassador for both. I want people to know
how hard the Malawians are trying; how eager they were to welcome visitors; how
concerned they were when they home early because they are sick. I want
Malawians to know that Americans are trying; we don’t all wear Rolexes; how
much we really do want to help. No one should live without access to clean
water and electricity (and education! And health care! And…and…and..) <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
These are the waves of emotions I’ve
been rolling with all week. <o:p></o:p></div>
M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12757475703469466839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23257437.post-64836983138238293302015-02-01T06:41:00.000-05:002015-02-01T06:47:14.314-05:00The Itch<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The mosquito net had to come
down. Against the wall, an air con leaked semi-cool air, feeble and ineffective
against the humidity. The tiny room sagged and sighed. Only the ceiling fan was
able to stir the atmosphere. It hung awkwardly on a loose eye hook above the
bed, obstructed by the mosquito net from making relaxed deliberate strokes. Given the option for malaria or a breeze, we
decide to take our chances.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
It had been a long day. No power.
No water. A six-hour escape drive to the shore, arriving only at dark. Lying there
side by side, we tried not to touch each other. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The stale air undulated, washing
against us like waves from a too warm shore. I drifted to sleep, watching the
ceiling fan wobble a few feet from our faces.
We kept it on low not to tempt fate, but I wondered idly what it will
feel like when it fell on our faces. And what would malaria feel like? Would I
be sleepy? Mal-aria, meaning “bad air”. It was a possibility.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
These anxieties tickled me, but
like whispers through a door, weren’t quite sharp enough to arouse concern. The
air was too thick for them, so I drifted away.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I woke a few hours later, needing
a toilet. It was a surprise not to get caught like a fish in the ever-present
mosquito net. I reveled in that freedom,
but not the missing toilet seat. I swam back to bed, falling in mid
breast-stroke. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Suddenly, my ankle stung. A jelly
fish! No, a mosquito! It’s the only thing that has the energy. I kicked my feet and try to wash back into
slumber, but it was too late. The itch had begun. Still clinging to sleep like the
shoreline, I used my big toe as scratching tool. If I didn’t move my upper body,
I could still float away.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
But then - again! A different
ankle. I waved my foot to warn them off again, but it should’ve been a white
flag. Another gets my shin, then my forearm.
I felt a line of bites along my calf. Each pinch pierces the veil of slumber, needling
me into consciousness. There could be one, or a hundred.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Like a shark to the surface, I
snap. I thrash upright into the darkness, abandoning sleep altogether. They are impossible to intimidate, but at
least I can scare them. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
My partner snores beside me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The overhead fan whirs: “wud-wud-wud-wud”.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
As the silence settles back in
around me, I feel the itch creep around the delicate bones of my foot. It’s the
spot they like best, the most vulnerable, where the lacework of my veins is
closest to the surface. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Having nothing else to do, I
scratch with vengeance, as if to get back at the little beasts who put them
there. It feels so good, giving in to that temptation to itch, finding that
line between relief, satisfaction and pain. But I stay a little too long and end up
drawing blood.</div>
M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12757475703469466839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23257437.post-69591793982450880742015-01-25T03:55:00.000-05:002015-01-25T04:00:13.115-05:00Watered Down<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_uN2a2UFZzPGIfBIMiWlnwsnTI1DG4BV_q7KgDJUkTQRip_i8KCkmG7_UmBgsRk0R0aqYL7l7_mWz8S4WPQG87YmPZRduh1_s_LIHbetSRg0Nsx9bY43Orul8MZIYhY8fhtg22Q/s1600/The+Rains.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_uN2a2UFZzPGIfBIMiWlnwsnTI1DG4BV_q7KgDJUkTQRip_i8KCkmG7_UmBgsRk0R0aqYL7l7_mWz8S4WPQG87YmPZRduh1_s_LIHbetSRg0Nsx9bY43Orul8MZIYhY8fhtg22Q/s1600/The+Rains.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>View from the waiting area at the airport.<br />Normally, you can see a tree row at <br />the far end of the tarmac.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Although the rains were
late again this year (see my host and dusty earlier post about Tropical Christmas), they made
up for it by arriving with a vengeance. In fact, they arrived right as we were
preparing to board our plane to Capetown. The whole airport shut down for
approximately two hours while we waited for the skies to empty. We returned to a
green and glorious Malawi.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Unfortunately, there can be too
much of a good thing. Following an enormous typhoon off the coast of Mozambique
the week of January 13<sup>th</sup>, fifteen of Malawi’s twenty-eight districts
were catastrophically flooded. Thus far, the government’s department of
disaster management affairs has announced a state of emergency, mostly in the
southern region. <a href="http://mg.co.za/article/2015-01-23-flood-hit-malawi-faces-aid-deficit/">Estimates
are over 60 dead, 150 missing and 200,000 without homes</a>. This does not
include damage to just-planted fields and loss of livestock, which are nearly
too many to count.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
My company doesn’t work in those
areas, but I have plenty of friends who do. One friend is managing camp in
Nsanje for over 5,000 people. Another friend has been frantically busy garnering resources and is
hosting a delegation of donors next week. Malawi is on a “no aid”
budget, but suddenly it’s pouring in. Malawi seems to be flooded every year, taken by surprise by the onset of such fast and heavy rains. Although there are always efforts to prepare, the environmental impact of poverty - deforestation, poor housing, land degradation are endemic. They don't lend themselves to being solved by one season of "no-aid" solutions.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJSGH37c63otEKSIfO8ldCygjBTwEDpsMHMZleCzlvEDX44j-FDrMfbX3np7FEYR0Zgct00-Zx-3sWcIRqQV5UL3fSxOADvadfllkNcZmm0237rXsRhgG2886V923ybXNZSkODwA/s1600/flooding+in+nsanje.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJSGH37c63otEKSIfO8ldCygjBTwEDpsMHMZleCzlvEDX44j-FDrMfbX3np7FEYR0Zgct00-Zx-3sWcIRqQV5UL3fSxOADvadfllkNcZmm0237rXsRhgG2886V923ybXNZSkODwA/s1600/flooding+in+nsanje.jpg" height="238" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Photo courtesy of Malawi
Red Cross, near Nsanje Southern Malawi. </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">www.FaceofMalawi.com<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
For us here in Lilongwe, the
major impact has been electricity. It’s always been a bit variable in rainy
season, but it’s much worse now. <a href="http://www.nyasatimes.com/2015/01/24/malawi-braces-for-continued-electicity-woes-escom/" target="_blank">Reports are that a few of the hydroelectric power stations have had their water intakes damaged by trash, logs and detritus</a>. To clean them out, the entire station has to be taken offline,
leaving even more load-shedding than normal. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="text-align: justify;">For us now, it’s not a matter of </span><i style="text-align: justify;">if</i><span style="text-align: justify;"> the electricity will go off, it’s </span><i style="text-align: justify;">when</i><span style="text-align: justify;">. When it does, we manage. The longest our power has been out is twelve hours. Not so bad really, but there’s not a lot of warning, so we try to keep our electronics charged and plugged in as much as possible. We have a lot of candles. It helps that the
whole community is affected, because we rely on each other. I have only had to
take one dish over a friend’s house (with generator) to finish a meal. As we go
into week two, it’s getting a little less “adventurous” and more “annoying as
hell” but all things considered - if it comes down to this or having my home
washed away in a flood, you can bet which one I’d take. Having lived through </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1997_Red_River_Flood" style="text-align: justify;" target="_blank">the 1997 flood of the Red River Valley</a><span style="text-align: justify;">, I know it could be much, much worse.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
**If you'd like to donate to victims of this flooding go to: <a href="http://www.unicef.org.uk/landing-pages/donate-malawi-floods/">http://www.unicef.org.uk/landing-pages/donate-malawi-floods/</a>**</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12757475703469466839noreply@blogger.com0