The Path of Trayle

A rant or two...

2012-02-24T11:42:00.002-05:00

Recently a little article entitled "7 worst international aid ideas" from the Matador Network has been making the rounds on the Facebook and the Twitter. A friend of mine shared it, then her friend commented on it. Then I filled up her page with counter-comments... then I deleted them because I thought they needed a blog post, rather than a discombobulated commentary on Facebook.

A long blog post at that: Aid is criticized in the media (and it should be, like anything), but often people focus on things that are exaggerated by some sexy, dramatic, shocking story and hence myths are born. Here I'll comment on the article, then I'll talk about exaggerated issues. As an aid worker, I obviously believe in aid and I think you should too, despite its issues.

First, I like the article: I think it did a good job of choosing several higher-profile examples of dumbassery that occurs everyday (1, 2, 3, 4, and 6), as well as highlight two bigger issues (5 and 7) that no one really talks about, but should.

Second, the article is talking about bad aid ideas, not problems with aid. There is a subtle, but important, distinction here.
> Bad aid ideas like this: What should we do to help the poor? Oh, let's send them used underwear.
> Problems with aid are more like this: Why isn't aid working? Oh. Shit. That's a hard one, but let's blame the NGOs.

* * *

The 7 Worst Ideas + 2 more bad ones

#1 - SWEDOW, or "stuff we don't want", a now ubiquitous term coined by my favorite aid blogger Tales from the Hood (though I like to say "shit we don't want"). 'Nuff said. The article got it covered, just to say there are a bazillion examples of this: used bras, pillow case dresses, motel soap bars... the list is endless.
I personally would choose another as the WORST example: old, outdated baby cribs "that do not pass new safety standards". Most mamas living in a poverty stricken slum in Nairobi don't want a crib, don't have room for one in their home, and much less one that could perhaps strangle their child.
(Here is some more on SWEDOW from Good Intents are not Enough, an excellent blog about aid. I couldn't get the link to Tales from the Hood to work... sorry.)

#2 - TOMS shoes is SWEDOW, but with a hint of bad CSR (corporate social responsibility) - or vice versa. Not much to add here, this probably is one of the WORST examples because it is so popular. TOMS raised a hullaballu in the aid-blog world sparking the "Day without Dignity" campaign by Sandra over at Good Intents (my contribution to that campaign).

#3 - Crazy dudes with guns claiming to save kids. Bad. Very Bad. Crazy dudes without guns are bad enough. I am glad there are not very many examples of the armed type, but sad to say there are too many of the unarmed type. I'd put the hot aid-worker marrying a warlord in this category as well. The article definitely got the WORST crazy dude example, especially since this one was made into a movie... (nice transition to #4).

#4 - Crazy celebrities and their stupid ideas, perhaps a subset of number 3? I might say that when Nick Kristof purchased the freedom of 2 prostitutes maybe a WORSE example.

#5 - USAID "buy American" is indeed the WORST example because this is a government (and a big one), not a corporation, but this is basically an example of bad CSR. Grants for aid (by a do-gooder government or corporation) who then says "Okay but you gotta use (or even worse, you gotta promote) our products in your project" whether or not their product is the most appropriate for the project or context.
Some commentary on the Facebook feed mentioned that USAID has loosened their guidelines on this recently, but not by much.

#6 - Food looking like landmines. Oh god, say it ain't so. Definitely the WORST example of confusing packaging of aid products. Other examples that I have seen include oral re-hydration salts and water purifiers that look the same, chlorine tablets that look like medicine...

#7 - Aid as foreign policy. This one is a little heavy and really beyond my expertise. But I agree, it is evil (though not only American).

So, that's my take on the article's 7 WORST ideas. I would add 2 things to the list...

> Orphanages: Please read more by Good Intents who asks "Does funding orphanages crate orphans?" and has many other enlightening posts on the subject.

> Products that don't always work: I hate the LifeStraw because, while it may work for a little while, it is going to ware out and get gummed up pretty quick. I also think it's a little un-dignified to walk around with a straw around your neck. Another example is the bio-sand filter, which seems cool because it can be made by local masons, but which doesn't always clean the water. Both of these would often give the idea that the user is drinking safe water, but that in fact she isn't. Dangerous.

* * *

7 myth-buster comments on Why Aid Doesn't work

My subtitle is a little misleading: I do think that aid is helping. Aid is making the world a better place, although I would have to say that poverty is not being eradicated: the subtle distinction between "helping" and "working" that I won't address here.

Anyway, let's get on with it. My goal here is to address a few misconceptions highlighted about how aid works (or doesn't work).

> 1: "Emphasis on building large dams" - First, I don't think there is an emphasis on dams in development. No grand conspiracy to dam all the rivers of the world. Second, sorry to my environmentalist friends, but dams have the possibility of being an excellent project for a developing country to alleviate some poverty. I don't like dams either, and no they are not always good, but they aren't all bad either (electricity, jobs, exportable commodity...).

> 2: "NGOs that crowd out weak or disinterested governments": NGOs substituting for governments is indeed bad news and happens all too often. But sometimes the goal is to save lives, not to develop the country, in which case substitution can be appropriate and acceptable. Also, NGOs don't have as much power as this statement implies. NGOs are more often manipulated by governments for political gain than the other way around.

> 3: "The creepy emphasis on combating the 'brain drain' ": Well, it works both ways - aid can increase and decrease brain drain. In the long run, it probably will decrease it. Again, there also isn't any hidden agenda on this.

> 4: "The principle of paying immense salaries to mildly-qualified foreigners and putting them in charge of local specialists": Oooooooh, a touchy one. When this happens (and it does) it is indeed bad. Very evil white men. Neo-colonialist. Bad. Bad. Bad.

(Full disclosure: I am a foreigner paid to be in charge of aid projects.)

BUT, it actually doesn't happen that often in NGOs. The basic fallacy in this statement is "mildly-qualified" and "immense salaries". Foreign aid workers are brought in with skills that the host country doesn't have. You might not think so, but host governments regulate this pretty well, and NGOs are pretty transparent about it too. Addtionally, local hire salaries and expat salaries aren't usually very different for the same job. (Full disclosure: expat benefits are often significantly better than for a local hire.)

The other fallacy this brings up is that aid-workers have to suffer to do good work. How ridiculous is this idea. So for me to do good aid work, I need to be a volunteer? To get good people, you need a living wage. I volunteered for 2 years (Peace Corps), then I needed to make a living. And I do. And I am not ashamed of the money I make. I deserve it. I'm good. You want me out there doing aid work. Trust me. (And by the way, it isn't a lot. But it's enough.)

> 5: "Spectacular programs to eradicate various diseases, instead of spending much less money to provide the basic medical services that would control them, and take care of many other ailments as well": Says he who lives in a country where malaria has been eradicated... First, eradicating certain diseases can be the most cost effective program ever, especially in the long run. Imagine how much money in curative care that would be saved if malaria were eradicated globally, not to mention savings in terms of deaths and suffering. (I've had malaria, trust me one suffers.) Second, providing basic medical services that would control them also is VERY expensive and complicated.

(The next two are not in quotes because these misconceptions didn't come from the Facebook comments, just one I know exist.)

> 6: All those NGOs with high overheads are inefficient, ineffective because they are just lining their greedy pockets: Basically, overheads are necessary to do good work and the "overhead figure" is easily manipulated. Again, I'll refer you to Ms. Sandra and her wisdom over at Good Intents here or here. She has basically written the book on this myth. No need to really re-hash it.

> 7: There is one solution that will alleviate poverty: Nope. That's the thing. It's complicated.

Something that worked in India won't always work in Africa. In fact, something that worked in village X might not work in a village 5 miles away.

It won't just take more money. That money needs to be well spent.

A little technological gadget won't solve it. Not even the cell phone.

* * *

But you know what'll help? Continuing to question aid, continuing to think about it, and continuing to do it.

One year more... or less

2012-01-28T07:29:00.000-05:00

One year on from the revolution of January 25th here in Egypt.

We asked
the delivery guy
if he was going
to Tahrir square.
He said
"No, this is not
the time to go to the square.
This is the time to work.
Halas."

* * *

What's on the roof?

2012-01-21T04:24:00.001-05:00

Roofs are more interesting in Egypt than at home.

In the US, roofs are mostly gabled. We might have tar paper or shingles or skylights, and in some cases even solar panels - but that's about as interesting as it gets.

Roofs that I've seen lately are flat and much ado is had upon them. A lot of buildings are half built... (speculation as to why: Did they run out of money? Do they leave them like that for tax reasons? Is it just the normal pace of construction?) ... and the top floor of a half built building is a lot like a flat roof.

In Syria I mentioned the satellite dishes, nestled across every bare square inch of rooftops, searching for the mother ship. In Damascus they changed the law and now there is just one dish per roof. More developed? I say, not as interesting.

In Egypt there is no such law. Roofs are littered with soft circles of all sizes as far as the eye can see, gazing towards ArabSat or NileSat, sucking in billions of channels. A half built building with no heating or windows will already have the dishes starting to sprout.

On our roof there is an elevator motor house, some water tanks, satellite dishes, a sunny sitting area, and a picnic area with a stove and some decrepit stationary bicycles. On a clear day you can see the big pyramids across the Nile. I would enjoy it more except that it is extremely dusty.

The staples of an Egyptian roof are (of course) the aforementioned dishes, the water tanks, and bird houses. We have speculated about the bird houses. Are they for foul (roof-top livestock)? Are they for the swarms of pigeons that seem to occupy them anyhow? Do people hang out in them? It seems people put a lot of care into them. Designs and gay painting. Large structures of wood.

I have simple dreams. I'd like to visit one of these exciting roofs.

...to turn

2012-01-14T03:49:00.000-05:00

One adventure has come to an end. I entered 10 writing contests or tests of some kind. Here's a link to my kick off post from more than a year ago. I know I took my time, but I wanted to find a variety of interesting contests. (Honestly, I was also lazy at times and busy at other times, but that's life.)

I got a little ego boost because I won one of the contests I entered. Of course that means I didn't win nine of them, but I didn't expect to win any!

I entered essay contests, poetry contests, some with different kinds of judging, some contests were goals I set with myself to beat, I submitted to a variety of literary magazines. There is a summary of contests 1 through 7 here. Number 8 was a 50 word essay contest - and the only one I won! Numbers 9 and 10 were poetry submissions to good literary magazines, and none were accepted for publication.

I did this to learn: I wanted to learn about what sort of online writing opportunities are out there and I wanted to see if I could win anything. I am really happy with what I accomplished. I had a lot of fun looking for different contests and things online, there are a ton of fun things out there.

What I learned about myself and my own writing is that I need to make it a habit. Those pieces that were recognized as "good" by outside sources were those I had worked on for a while. Feedback I got often was some version of "Nice imagery, but needs to be worked more."

So what's the conclusion? It is that I need to make it a habit. Let's see if I can do that:
A blog post a week for the month of January... This one counts for week 1, but I'll do another in a few days (it's been brewing already).

2011-12-01T05:49:00.001-05:00

Be forewarned, some not so PC phrases and four letter words will ensue shortly.

* * *

Tahrir square is full again. Is gassed again. Is exaggerated again.

Elections started in Egypt on Monday. It's complicated. This infographic tries to explain the election process. There are party candidates or individual candidates, professional or worker seats, and about 19.000 symbols for each one. To me it seems even more fucked up than our own dear electoral college (which is retarded). I mean not fucked up in an evil way, but in a confusing way. Why do people come up with crazy election processes? Just get the people to vote, count the votes, and majority wins. Maybe it can't be that simple, but it also doesn't need to be quite so complicated (and I'm not just talking about Egypt here).

I've been following these elections and those in the Democratic Republic of Congo on the Twitter. Well, all those Egyptian activist complaining about irregularities here should check out the Congo scene.
People died.
Just sayin'.

* * *

Inspiration comes from other bloggers. My friend T. over at About the Bees blog just had a baby boy too, and she's blogging. On the other hand, J. over at Tales from the Hood seems to have let it go.

I've been busy or lazy, depending on your perspective. Thinking about these two respectable folks motivates me a little.

Not to be like them, but to be like them.

To say something despite my new found obsession (i.e. my son) and to say it until I've said it so many times in so many different ways that I am done saying it.

* * *

Evil for good

2011-09-24T04:15:00.001-05:00

Serendipitous events have encouraged me to write about work: The mighty Mr. J. over at Tales From the Hood blog has initiated an Aid Blog Forum. His goals are to generate conversations around certain topics relevant to aid work. You can see his call to arms here.

His first topic up for discussion is Corporate Social Responsibility (CSR, if you're an acronym junkie). As J. points out, there are many forms. Here's my low down on a couple.

* * *

In the USA

In everyday life in the States, it seems we generally think of CSR as something "certified," for example fair trade coffee or conflict-free diamonds or pretty much anything having to do with REI.

This is marketing, pure and simple - and it works. Prices are raised a little. People choose to pay a little more and support "goodness". Profits are made. That's cool.

But are we (consumers) thinking about it properly? What does "certified" mean? In my examples above, certification means there is some kind of control or regulation of the process by which the product is produced. It's never black or white, but I know that sometimes this "certification process" is totally bullshit.

Those local farmers in Rwanda, Kenya, or Ethiopia who made your fair-trade coffee probably didn't get the global market price for their coffee and still have trouble feeding their kids. In certain contexts it's pretty easy to bribe someone to get "evil diamonds" mixed in with a batch of "good diamonds", and they sparkle just the same.

It's not to say to hell with CSR in this form, it's just to say that it's not always such a pink and shiny simple solution to the world's problems. It is a step in the right direction. It gets people thinking about world problems. And sometimes "certified" might actually mean something. But I doubt if we will save the world this way.

(You may have noticed I didn't bash REI... eh, I admit I'm a fan. NOT for their CSR BS, but rather 'cause they make good shoes and gear, and it's worth it when you get a good sale on.)

* * *

In Aid Work

In aid work, I think of CSR generally as philanthropy by a corporation and can come in two forms: stuff or money.

Stuff has a high probability of being categorized as SWEDOW (stuff or shit we don't want, copyright J.), and usually that means the "needy" folks being "helped" don't want it either. (See Footloose post for an example.)

Of course sometimes there are products that could be useful to the "needy" folks and then donated by a corporation, and can thus do some good. An example: A water quality expert was on his way to a big disaster brought some machines to donate to local chlorine producers to increase their production capacity of this much needed product. Why this is a good example: The product was needed for the context, the recipients were already using the product, basically the whole donation was made with forethought about contextual need and appropriateness (and in fact communication with some folks on the ground before hand).

But if forced to get off the fence, I'd say that stuff donated for CSR is pretty much stupid. No, not categorically, but usually. And when I say usually I don't mean 51% of the time, but more like 95-99% of the time.

Money donated by a corporation can have negative connotations associated with it in the aid world, but money is money is money. If it's donated well and used well, then to hell with idealistic hang-ups.

A colleague once said "I wouldn't want to put a Wal-mart logo on my wells..." Why the hell not? We put US-AID or ECHO or OFDA or whatever other humanitarian donor logo you like on our wells. We put our silly NGO logo on the well. Why not Wal-mart? Because they are big and evil? Fine they are evil, all the better to take their money and use it for good! (Evil laughter ensues.)

Good donor-ship is a huge topic in and of itself, as is good use of donor money (i.e. good projects), but if there is a little common sense employed, aid can really benefit from a diversification of donors - including corporations.

The sad thing is that common sense isn't always employed. To save the world, NGOs need money. They don't often have the power (or the balls) to say "No" and don't often have the time (or the money) to educate a new corperate donor of the real needs of a strong project. This too often leads to bad projects, or worse to harm.

* * *

Corporate Social Responsibility isn't going to save the world, but like anything, if used intelligently it can be part of the solution and I am all for harnessing evil for good.

Unfortunately, it's not as simple as my blog post makes it out to be.
-Fist of all, I am being pretty naive to think we can harness all evil for good. A lot of corporations don't give a rat's ass about saving the world, but rather focus on taking over the world.
-Second, I have assumed NGOs know what they are doing (not always the case) and that "normal" institutional humanitarian donors are some sort of saints (not always the case).
-Third, I've left out some important scenarios... but you don't really want to read 75 pages of blabber anyway.

Saving the world is pretty complex shit. Read the other posts in this CSR series by clicking here, and new information will be brought to light, man.

Sitting here in limbo...

2011-09-19T01:05:00.001-05:00

Some of my posts are about writing.
Some are about personal things.
Some are about work.

Lately I've sort felt as if I am in limbo, between here and there, in all these subjects.

(Some of my posts are about places too, but there is no limbo about that. I'm in Egypt.
Egypt, herself, may be in limbo, but I'm simply an observer.)

* * *

On writing:

Well my 10 contest adventure is coming to a close. I have now entered 10 contests online... Actually 11: I submitted an extra one because a previous entry seemed to be to a defunct organization. So, on the countdown, I will cut out the defunct submission and now say 10.... Results so far: 1 win, 8 losses and awaiting 1 result.

The limbo: Am I encouraged? Am I discouraged? In the scheme of things, am I a loser or a winner? Hell if I know.

* * *

On Personal Things:

Limbo at it's finest. Somewhere between being a daughter and being a mother.

Building a cabin with my mom and sister.
Building a baby with my husband.

Both make the earth shake in strange ways that I like.

* * *
On work:

As a workaholic, the past months of not working have been a little hard for me. I admit it. I miss working. I miss toilets. I miss staff. I miss being on the phone for 18 hours straight. I miss logical frameworks. I miss bullshit meetings.

I read a lot about work (about aid work). I read technical documents that I never had the time to read. I read aid blogs. I read criticism of aid work. And there is a lot of criticism out there. Sometimes it tires me. Sometimes it excites me. Sometimes I agree, sometimes I don't. Sometimes I think it's crap-dribble from ignorant people... (and not only when I disagree).

But why's that put me in limbo?
Because I know I am lucky as hell to be able to take this time off to be pregnant and to be a mom for the first time, but I still miss it.

* * *

I have a choice: either be okay with the limbo or do something. I don't much like conclusions, but as long as they are vague enough, maybe they can be useful. So since I've been reading a lot about work, since I don't know where to go with my writing adventure and since my mom is coming to visit me for a while and will probably motivate me...
I should just try to write more about work here.
We will see. I don't want to end up a crap-dribbling idiot.

You win some...

2011-08-16T01:17:00.000-05:00

I haven't won any of the 10 public writing contests yet.
Feeling like a loser.
But life goes on. . .

And Ha!
The results for Contest Number 8 are in and I got an Honorable Mention!
Okay, so I didn't get the 1st prize for 100$, but I am counting this as a win in my adventure. (As always, I make the rules.)

The Foundling Review is a bonified, professional online literary magazine, and as honorable mention the piece is published there. The contest was judged by professional editors and a guest author. So, to me, an honorable mention is a win: it is some recognition by strangers, by professional writers and editors that what I wrote is somehow worth reading.

* * *

The piece itself, as you remember from Eight is Infinity, is a 50 word short story entered in the "Pachas 50-word Fiction Contest". My entry is called "Painting" and started a while ago as a poem that I wrote for my wonderful friend Adrianne for her wedding day, she will recognize it. You can read my 50 word short story here on The Foundling Review website - and also read the winning entry and the 2 other honorable mentions because they are all very cool.

* * *

For the last two contests, I decided I would submit poetry to online journals to see if anything would be accepted for publication. This decision came about because in undertaking this adventure I have found that I, personally, hope more for publication in a journal than winning a contest. So a very personal feeling which maybe tells you about how my goals have changed.

Also, it has been more than a year that I have been on this adventure, and while I will continue to write and submit stuff to contests and other things online, I sort of want to wrap up this 10 writing contest thing.

* * *

Contest #9 will be a poetry submission to The Foundling Review. (I chose this because of the last contest... seems if those editors liked the 50 word story, maybe I have a better chance?)

Contest #10 will be a poetry submission to Le Petit Zine. (I chose this one because I really like the style of most of the pieces they publish - vivid and interesting. The authors all seem to have a grasp of where to end lines, which is something that is hard for me so I probably have no chance.)

Each submission will consist of a few poems, as per each magazine's guidelines.

* * *

P.S. Today is my birthday. Puts me in limbo? More on that later.

Sum of a summer

2011-07-12T04:01:00.005-05:00

They've been calling it The Arab Spring.
It is turning onto summer.
Sunshine. Stagnation. Stifling heat.

* * *

Egypt is hard to characterize. Even those speaking loudest ask themselves questions: "Are we socialist?" or "Are we liberal?" or "Are we secular?" or "What do those terms even mean?" or "What do we believe in?" Exciting to define political parties and hope for elections, but difficult to imagine what is coming together from a million directions.

Sporadic art exhibit in the metro station near Tahrir.

Protests persist, sporadic and punctual - though last Friday was particularly large and specific. The peoples pressure continues from that iconic focal point of Tahrir square. Tents are up and staying, flags, talk of hunger strikes.

Without taking sides, I say this is a good thing. Change won't happen by the revolution itself. Or another way to look at it is that maybe the revolution, as an event, was A change; but defining THE change is gonna take a while and a lot of work.

* * *

Most people haven't seen their lives change yet. There are not more jobs or higher pay. This shouldn't surprise anyone.

Inequality can be subtle or blatant, but it's always there.

There is a man who by day sits in front of the metro station under a bit of shade from a tree. He sells lettuce. His spot is washed and cared for. He has 4 healthy basil plants that he sets out to outline his spot. He sleeps there.

There is a man and his son who have a cart and donkey. They sell tomatoes, potatoes, peppers and onions. Their cart is clean, they have a scale, the donkey is skinny. They move about calling constantly a repetitive song announcing their arrival.

There is an old man, fat and content, who has a small shop that he locks at night. He sells 3 kinds of lettuce, 2 kinds of eggplant, 3 kinds of onions, 2 kinds of garlic, fennel, celery, spinach, potatoes, sweet potatoes, zucchini, squash, rocket, herbs, about a dozen kinds of seasonal fruit, eggs, and often he has frozen shrimp or whitefish fillets. He has some refridgeration. His son does most of the work, with their 3 other employees. The older man sits in his chair, says hello to everyone and smokes.

There is a shiny mall with 6 floors and a 3-D cinema. In the mall is a huge supermarket. The vegetables are frozen and wrapped in plastic. They are all imported.

* * *

My last 2 lessons in Arabic class were the most useful so far (this will tell you something about what I do with my time these days). We learned the numbers and about the vegetable seller. How to say "Where is my change?" and all the fruits and vegetables. I still suck at speaking Arabic, but with this lesson under my belt I am really going to impress the fat man and his son.

I've been out of the academic environment for almost 10 years now, but when I was there I was a nerd: I always had good marks, maybe not #1 every time, but top 3, top percentiles on standard tests. I was never outrightly arrogant about it, but B's upset me and I just always expected myself to be at the top.

But alas, we grow up and have to learn things that are more useful than calculus or physics. Like new languages.

Learning French in the Peace Corps, I was the worst, or at least bottom 3 (at least I stuck to my pattern there). Today I am learning Arabic at the American University and I suck. Suck. SUCK.

Humility is good for the soul and has a practical purpose as well. Re-evaluating priorities. Physics happens weather or not I understand it, but can I purchase a head of lettuce?

* * *

Eight looks like infinity

2011-06-20T06:19:00.002-05:00

Writing Contest Update!

Check out post "Seattle Seven" for a complete summary and links to all past contests. I'm not doing so good, but still having fun.

So, contest number 8 has been entered! Results should be known by mid-July, as per the contest announcement.

It is sponsored by the Foundling Review literary magazine, and is called the "Pacaas Contest." From the website:

"Foundling Review's 50-word Fiction contest
Pa.chaas [pah-chaas] - noun Hindi fifty.
50 words. No more, no less."

As usual, I can't put the piece up until after the results are announced, so you'll have to wait until mid-July for that.

* * *

In the mean time, I like the idea of 50-word fiction. In entering this contest I wrote another piece, which was a bit too cliche, so I will share that here, just to keep you entertained. I don't know what is special about 50-word pieces, but I like it.

I think creative writing should be about using as few words as possible. If the word isn't needed get it out of there. If you get rid of a word and lose meaning, then search for better words. I guess that's why word restrictions are cool to me.

There is an interesting man who I "know" professionally, if only briefly by email. None the less, I have some respect for the dude. He seems to be smart, with critical, yet proactive and practical ideas about the work we do (or try to do) in coordination. I regret not getting to meet him in Haiti. His relevance to this post is that, as well as being a cluster guru, he is a rad poet of 50-word poem essays. I like them and I like to see this personal, creative side of someone whose name I see a lot professionally.

* * *

Son

Archetypal pterodactyl egg transmogrified into lizard, into monkey, into man. I make you rumble, jerk and pee, scraping your insides with virilocal nails and lenient bones. I breathe your blood in and out and in, while you cry, sucking solid air. We will meet and you will love me.

Why ask why?

2011-05-09T05:29:00.001-05:00

First advice I received from Mario upon arrival to Egypt: "Do not ask why."

Of course, my response was: "Why?"

The response to me was: "Yes."

* * *

Depending on where I am going in Cairo, I take a taxi or the metro. I like the metro better because it is such a good deal! A taxi ride is cheaper than in the states (maybe 10$ across town, only 5$ to downtown), but it is still more than the metro. The metro costs 1 Egyptian pound, about 20 cents.

The metro has lady cars, which is nice. Ladies can ride anywhere, but men can't ride in the lady car.

* * *

There is a 15-20 minute walk from my house to the metro station. It's a nice walk, but no matter where you go outside the air pollution gives you black bougers. Sidewalks exist - but it is like that old conundrum... we park in the driveway, and drive on the parkway.

In Cairo, cars park on the sidewalk and folks walk in the street.

In my Quest for Why? I have come up with a hypothesis.

The sidewalks are about a foot high off the street (that's almost up to my knee). So, as you are walking along and the sidewalk ends (for a cross road or what not), you have to make this big ass step down (KER-PLUNK) then a big step up on the other side (ooOOF). I know I am not the only lazy walker on Cairo streets, because many people have set up little rag-tag pieces of rubble to make an intermediate step.

* * *

As it is in traffic, on the metro, it is not uncommon to see people that walk through the cars selling things you might need. Band-aids, gum, coloring books, blow up guitars, phone credit, stickers. Sometimes the seller will yell out his/her wares, sometimes he/she will throw them in everyone's lap only to make another lap around the car to collect them all back, sometimes they are real sales people with a show.

One day I was sitting (rare) on the metro with my Ipod listening to This American Life watching this Egyptian life. There were two ladies selling household items like hangers, knives, shower curtains, loofas and what not. They apparently were quite good because people kept laughing as they talked about their merchandise and demonstrated the practicality of the loofa on a rope to scrub your back.

And they had potato peelers.

An old, large woman in a black hijab at the back of the car beckoned to the young ladies, she was interested. The saleswoman showed her the item: high quality, she assured her. There was a thin, Coptic woman next to the old woman. The thin woman reached in her bag, pulled out a potato and handed it to the older woman to try out her peeler.

* * *

As for the revolution. I need not speculate on what will happen in the future, but today the revolution has affected the metro.

As in many metros around the world, in the cars there is a schematic map of the stations along the line. There once was a station called "Mubarak."

First, the station name was scratched out, as if with a boys pocketknife or with a marker or a ball point pen.

Then, home-made stickers appeared in some cars, with a new name.

And now a law has been passed to officially rename it.

Oh the wonders of democracy.

* * *

So why ask why?

Because sometimes there is an answer.

Because sometimes it is entertaining.

Because sometimes no answer is really just a million answers.

Footloose

2011-04-01T16:09:00.001-05:00

Loose, footloose
Kick off your Sunday shoes
Please, Louise
Pull me offa my knees
Jack, get back
C'mon before we crack

Sometimes on Facebook or here I link to blogs or information on aid work and discussions about improving aid. Here on my blog I tend to talk about what I do, on Facebook I try to steer my friends toward information on good giving. Today's post sort of connects the two.

One of the blogs I've shared before, "Good Intentions are Not Enough" from Sandra, has started a blog campaign to counter a silly advertising campaign. This post is in response to her call to arms. I suggest reading the whole thing, and the comments at the bottom are worth a gander as well.

But here's a summary of the counter campaign from her page:

"It’s time again for TOMS Shoes’ annualadvertisement (awareness raising activity) called A Day Without Shoes. Everyyear TOMS gets celebrities and college students to walk around barefoot so thatthey are more aware of the plight of people without shoes. And of course, whatbetter way to put shoes onto the feet of these shoeless people than to purchasea pair of TOMS Shoes.

As you’ve probably guessed, I’m not a fan of thisannual event. So this year I’m proposing a counter-campaign called A DayWithout Dignity.

On or around April 5th – the same date as A DayWithout Shoes – we’re asking aid workers, the diaspora, and people from areasthat receive shoe drops and other forms of charity to speak up in blogs, ontwitter, or at school."

* * *

Dr. Strangeshoe or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Shoe Shopping

I come from modest hippy roots, ripe with barefoot, naked, free-loving childhood memories. After a teenage bout with Guess? jeans, hairspray and make-up (my form of rebellion), I returned to my roots, joined the Peace Corps and wore nothing but home-made clothes and Chacos. When I got a paying job as a professional aid worker, I expanded my wardrobe (peace-drobe, as my uncle says) to include NGO/donor branded t-shirts, flip flops and gum boots.

As I moved up the ranks and out of the bush, I had a "need" to look nice for donor meetings, coordination meetings and "representation". The dirty aid worker look wouldn't hack it. So, for my highest goal of saving the world, I went shopping.

I was a big spender. I bought red Converse low tops from the rasta DJ for ten bucks. I bought wooden wedge heels from the fat mamma on the corner for five-fifty. I bought basic black flats from a nondescript guy for a dollar. Despite haggles, I am sure I paid the "muzungu price" (foreigner price), probably twice of normal.

"Have I sold out?" I asked myself, as I put on black linen slacks and name-brand button up shirt.
"No, it's for the children." I justified to myself, as I tied the laces on the super-stylee red Converse. "You're gonna wow those donors! You're contributing to the local economy, feeding those people's kids," I added to really convince myself. I added a locally-made red beaded necklace to complete the look.

* * *

You're playing so cool
Obeying every rule
Dig way down in your heart
You're yearning, burning for some...

So, what's wrong with TOMS barefoot "awareness raising" (advertising) campaign? Isn't it cute? Not really. I'll just point out two things:

It perpetuates the image that poverty stricken people live undignified lives of squalor and need any handout they can get. "Those poor African children don't even have shoes!" Um, Maybe they don't even want shoes.

Generally, if you're really trying to help people - giving money is better than giving stuff. Even if you're dead set on shoes, send money to buy them locally - it's cheaper and more efficient and the person you're trying to help can choose the stylee shoes she likes herself.

The issues and debates are long and complicated (and really interesting!), so I encourage you to look around Sandra's Good Intents site, as well as the other blog posts participating in this campaign.

It is sexy to give in these "trying times" of earthquakes, tsunamis, droughts, floods, epidemics, civil wars, revolutions, ongoing conflicts etc. So do. But also have a good conversation over dinner about it. Disagree with me. With whoever. Just ask questions. And keep your damn shoes on.

Everybody get Footloose.

The Seattle Seven

2011-02-20T14:39:00.001-05:00

Writing contest update time!

For anyone new, last April or so I embarked on this adventure to enter 10 online writing contests. So far I have entered 6, and well it was Friday, but today I will report on number 7.

So far, 7 contests entered, 0 won, but still waiting for results in 1.

* * *

Past Contests Summary: I'm a loser baby.

Contest #1 was sponsored on Helium and I did horribly. I should have done well, because it was a subject I know and love (water and sanitation), but I sucked. That's cool. I kept submitting things on Helium, and on subjects where I felt less passionately (like make up tips), I did quite well. The poetry is still doing crappily, but I have made about 20 bucks over the past 10 months.

Contest #2 was an annual poetry contest to raise awareness about land mines sponsored by Poetic Republic. Well, I didn't win that one either. The same poet as the year before won again.

Contest #3 was also a poetry contest, called Best New Poets, and is highly competitive. I didn't have a chance, but it was fun anyway.

Contest #4 was another contest sponsored by Helium, in which the articles compete to be purchased by some magazine looking for articles about "Garden Gifts for Dad this Father's Day". I didn't win, but I wasn't last.

Contest #5 was simply a poem submitted for publication to ISREADS, a literary magazine that publishes their stuff outside - like on light posts or supermarket carts. I thought it was a cool idea. This is the only contest to which I do not have my response. I have followed up with them, but to no avail, and they have not published another issue yet... so I await.

Contest #6 is one I made up to compete with myself to see if I could double the maximum number of hits to this blog in one day. I didn't win. Although I did get a maximum number of hits in one day, I didn't double my previous record. It made for one of my favorite blog posts. I did this post as part of Blog Action Day, which in itself was fun to participate in as well.

* * *

New Contest #7 Summary: Best of what's around.

I entered contest #7 on Friday, and by far the most fun I have had during this adventure! It was on a site called Words Undone, which is a small online writing group which I am quite liking. You have to be a member to view the forums, which is good because then submitted work is simply critiqued, rather than published (like it is on Helium).

The contest is something they call "Friday Flash" and it goes something like this: There is a prompt. You have 24 hours (but I figure you should do it as quick as you can, I took about an hour). Then members vote for their favorite and give feedback on all the pieces submitted. There were 8 submissions and 10 people voted.

"The following prompts can be combined or used individually as required

Suggested words: Burn, Trees, Lips, White
Or use one of the following titles: Power Supply, My Favourite Place
Or include any of the following phrases: The cupboard was bare, Wish I’d thought of that, I found this lying around

Maximum of 500 words
Submissions to be posted by midnight Friday. Once all submissions are in, the thread is open for comments and voting. Winners are proposed to Lorraine for inclusion in the next WU Magazine."

I got 1 vote (Yay! the winner got 3), and some great feedback! Here is my non-winning entry, although I revised it only slightly according to the feedback given (specifically, the beard was "golden", as in the King Tut mask in my head, but someone thought I meant a blonde man and got confused).

* * *

[out to lunch]

* * *

Ego Summary: Be here Now.

Have to say that traffic to this site has increased. I have profited from the awareness about Egypt, it's place in this exciting region, and the fact that I have the good luck to be here now. I'll take it. Thanks to everyone sharing my link on Facebook and thanks to the Beaufort Gazette for a little more publicity (featured hometown girl blog).

I have some ideas for upcoming posts: more on Egypt, Cairo, and life here, but also some rants on data, dorks, and dumbassery (stolen word).

Magic Carpet Ride

2011-02-13T06:20:00.003-05:00

After a serious bout with the much heralded aid-worker affliction of righteous indignation, demonstrated in my last post, I will embrace my inner hypocrite and tell you about my visit to Tahrir Square. In my defense (or how I have satisfied my moral dissonance with "revolution tourism"), the Egyptian people have already won their battle.

In all seriousness, it is one of the most amazing events I have ever witnessed, up there with babies being born. Here is one of those iconic images I took on my own camera (which yesterday I mocked).

* * *

Some friends had gone down to Tahrir Square last night, just after the president stepped down, handing power to the military. They had been on the square during the protests for work, and they were really impressed by the change in vibe. Before it was full of tension and edgy, after it was full of joy and smooth.

Saturday morning, I hopped on the Metro and finally got out of Maadi. The ticket monitor dude sat on his chair, looked at me and said "Welcome!" waving the laminated Egyptian Flag hanging from his chest. I smiled and gave him a thumbs up.

My fellow metro riders were also headed downtown to Tahrir square. Many people carried brooms and mops and buckets and plastic gloves.

* * *

From a balcony about 2 blocks from Tahrir square I checked out the traffic. Not unusual in Cairo, but this time full of Egyptian flags waving out the windows and the horns were a little better coordinated into
Beeeeeeeeeeeeep Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep Beep Beep Beep.
I was pretty overwhelmed, even from 2 blocks away.

As we entered the fantastic fray, back at street level, black and red and white swarmed around me.

* * *

I love hippies: old hippies, young hippettes, dirty hippies, but they ain't got nothing on Egyptians today. The joy and good will felt on Tahrir Square today was deep and genuine and unpretentious as I have ever seen.

Everyone was cleaning as they had demonstrated. Everyone. Women, men, kids. People passed out rubber gloves, garbage bags, brooms. Everyone scrubbing off the words, trash already gone, even the dust that settled on the pavement was swept into dustpans.

If the same happened in New York or Nairobi or even a hippy-filled field in California, you would be left with a disgusting shit-filled mess with trampled grass and flowers. Not here.

The dignity and pride of this movement. It has been Civilized from start to finish, it seems.

There was violence, but very little and it was short lived. Many tried to incite more, but that didn't work very well. Everyone expected more. Each time there was a change, the media went on and on and on, speculating about how it could break down, always surprised when it was okay. Communication was completely blocked, but that too was short lived. For the most part, the military respected the peoples legitimate right to protest and the people respected the military.

* * *

One man brought his 3 young sons to Tahrir square on Saturday, maybe aged 6 to 11 or so, dressed in military uniform. He got a lot of smiles.

One group of young man had a sign and chanted something like "With Mubarak's money I can get afford to get married!" An old woman laughed and joked with him. I imagined she said something like "You're still too ugly to marry my daughter, ha ha ha", but really I have no idea what she said.

Dolled up young women, in their best head scarves in the color of the flag, glamorous JLo sunglasses, shiny shoes. Flirting with the boys wearing cleaned leather jackets.

The iconic images of this event were still there, like where a guy had opened up the light post, connected his wires and with a multi-plug, 15 phones were charging at once. Youth on the square with thier laptops out. More flip phones than I have ever seen.

The military men threw candy at the crowds. This reminded me of the Coast Gaurd Santa Ship that would throw candy to the old dock on the island where I used to live.

* * *

As we walked among the back streets, off the square, we continuted to think of Cautious Optimism. Businesses were opening. The streets were being cleaned. People sat in plastic chairs drinking tea and smoking sheesha.

The McDonalds, where on the 25th I had taken refuge when the riot police started marching, has been destroyed. I thought of the McDonalds Indicator of civil strife mentioned in a previous post and decided I would monitor the situation.

I have talked to people a little. The nutritionist and trainer at my gym are worried about the future. A businessman downstairs says he is optimistic for the future. The people on Tahrir square don't seem to have thought that far a head yet.

Another side that I should share is that people have said that yes, the president needed to change, but that the way he was forced out lacked dignity, that he deserved more respect, that he had done a lot for the country in the past.

80 million people. 80 million perspectives. 80 million futures.

* * *

So there I was.
So I was there.

I am so lucky.

To the right you see, from back to front: burnt out NDP headquarters, cranes in front of the museum, the crowd, veiled women, proud man, sarcastic white woman.

* * *

What lies a head will be interesting and exciting here. The region is on fire. I just hope it is good.

Revolution 9

2011-02-11T14:58:00.004-05:00

(I don't think John or Yoko will mind if I put their lyrics out of order... sort of their point wasn't it?)

(Editorial note added after: Why is Revolution 9 more appropriate to this Egypt today than Revolution? The song Revolution is before the action, almost mocking it - but Revolution 9 is clearly after the action and dealing with the chaos and the pieces and the potential of change.)

* * *

Number nine, number nine, number nine, number nine

Take this, brother, may it serve you well
Maybe it's nothing
What, what oh...
Maybe, even then, impervious in ~~London~~ [Cairo]
...Could be difficult thing...
It's quick like rush for peace because it's so much
Like being naked
It's alright, it's alright, it's alright, it's alright

* * *

The incessant horns of traffic have been tuned into an anthem for today. The conductor is blind and invisible. Two long and three short blasts.
Beeeeeeep Beeeeeeeep Beep Beep Beep

I am privledge to have witnessed this event. And not from my balcony, but from street level.

I met a friend at the metro station and we walked to a cafe to have a sheesha and a tea. We chatted over the loud television about the media, about how people want to go back to normal, about how incredible it is. We watched people walk by. There was a quick address, in arabic, so we kept talking - then everyone cheered. We asked for a quick translation.

"He left."
"He is no longer president?"
"Yes. The army."

Firecrackers, I say. My friend thinks it's celebratory gun fire next door. We will never know, but celebratory it is indeed. That's when the cars started honking, rolling by. Where their Egyptian flags had been stuck in windows, they were now being waved by youth hanging out of moving cars.

I walk the 20 minutes back home, the
Beeeeeeeeeeep Beeeeeeeeeeep Beep Beep Beep continues with flags and cheers, punctual but repeated.

At the small roundabout just after the train track, for the first time I have ever seen, the fountain was flowing and lighted. I jump and laugh at myself as a young man throws fireworks in the air.

* * *

But what now? Wow, this will be interesting.

We are smiling large pumpkin grins with a shadow of

Cautious Optimism.

This is not Africa, we say.

Tongue in cheek, but it's true.

* * *

There was not really enough light to get down,
And ultimately (...) Slumped down
Suddenly...
They may stop the funding...
Place your bets
The original
Afraid she'll die (...)
Great colours for the season

Number nine, number nine

* * *

So, I will update quite a bit in the next few days.
Until then, please check out this interview of me on a Seattle rogue podcast show (The Marty Riemer Show). He wanted to talk to me about Egypt, about what the people are saying. I didn't really want to talk about what Egyptians are saying. I guess I see his point of view, it IS interesting, but they are saying it themselves and I thought asking me was sorta lazy. After the interview I wrote him an email, but I don't think he mentioned it on later shows. That's fine, I still dig him and his show. Check him out if you are from the area.

Here's a sorta wordy excerpt of my sorta wordy email:

"Howdy Yaz, Marty et al.

It is a really romantic idea to go join the protests here in Cairo, (to get out as you said... )
to go collect some iconic pictures on my own camera,
to be one with the people, to make history, and to yell
"Viva la revolution!" (preferably in a sweet spanish accent)
or "Down with zee facists!" (preferably in a sweet french accent).

But it is actually a stupid, not a romantic, idea for me to do that.

Foreigners like me have nothing to offer these protests: it is theirs and should remain by and for Egyptians. It is not my place. In fact, by participating I could undermine their message. By trying to interpret their message I could also undermine it. Their message is getting out by "real journalists" and by their own voices (esp. online), i.e. not by me.
By the way- you can get an Al Jazeera English app for your smart phone that streams it live (... and if THAT is not available from Comcast, then maybe our own government should be over thrown... ha ha ha.)

Sorry, I know there are a lot of activists and politically active people out there (a lot of them are my friends and probably your listeners) ... It is good, important and there is a place for that sort of activism. But it is not my style, nor appropriate here. You see, I find it a bit pretentious when privileged white people pretend to "feel the pain" of the less fortunate. I am a privledged white person and I try not to pretend to be anything else. We all want to help people (usually for selfish reasons, in fact, but that's another debate) but sometimes,
the best way to help someone is NOT by protesting with them
and NOT by running down to watch them for our own entertainment and awe,
but by doing nothing.

In Cairo, they don't have any need for me (a privileged, sarcastic, white lady) right now and THAT is exactly what makes these events so powerful and extraordinary - even for my fruit dude.

Take care and I'll keep listening. Love your show.
Maybe after this settles down, I'll have another perspective (a real one) to show you... if you like. I haven't made it to the pyramids yet, but I heard they smell like piss."

* * *

Number nine, number nine
Who's to know?
Who was to know?
Number nine, number nine, number nine, number nine
Number nine, number nine, number nine, number nine
Number nine, number nine, number nine, number nine
I sustained nothing worse than (...)

* * *

Beeeeeeeeep Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeep Beep Beep Beep

has replaced the gunfire that started this and it sounds like cautious optimism.

Blinded by the night

2011-02-03T10:21:00.003-05:00

there is no sand storm
despite yellow stained rays
creeping up the side of shaky skyscrapers
leaning on poorly built lintels
cracked re-bar exposed
under thick un-mortered walls

* * *

So, in the last post I didn't say it explicitly. But here we are, I must... Heisenberg and Bias. Check out the old post, if you haven't yet or if you are new.

* * *

Last night was really incredible. Of course I mention how peaceful it has been, and then it explodes. Do I keep my mouth shut now?

I will not speculate on Why or How or Motivations or Timings of the clashes. I admit that my view of Tahrir square is from 10 km away.

The pro-government protesters approached the square where the anti-government protesters have been for the past week. They charged on foot, on horseback, on camels. A lot of things were thrown by both sides, rocks, sticks, "gas bombs" or molitov cocktails. The front between the two groups shifted back and forth, back and forth as they pushed each other. It was impossible to tell who was who. People got onto roofs. Throwing off chairs and other things.

There was a line of 3 trucks that had no drivers. They were used as a front line, a shield for both sides. They were pushed and moved as the tide of the line moved back and forth.

But that was last night... today is today... now is now... and when you are reading this it will be later.

* * *

Reputable news agencies in this end of the world keep asking leading questions. Interviewing one side only. Using inflammatory language.

There are 80 million people in this country and probably 80 million sides. I guess they can't get to everybody, but maybe more than one would be nice.

* * *

Ego update: Lots of hits on this here humble blog in the past few days. Leave me some comments here! I would love to hear what you like and don't like.

Pollution Revolution

2011-02-01T19:03:00.005-05:00

“There is a fine line between freedom and chaos,” the president said.

I promised first impressions of Cairo. Well, it is an interesting time to get some first impressions. It has been a week since the protest started and I am fascinated. I am also frustrated because I am not working, I am not out there and I have to stay indoors a lot.

Adoring Robert Fisk does not make me an expert on the Middle East.
This post is not about the region or the politics itself, just my observations.

* * *

Backdrop

I was going to write about the civilized pollution of 20 million people in the air, in the river, blowing noise in your ears. Street exhaust turns my snot black, yet this city noticeably lacks the scent of piss. A blue toilet ended up on the bank of the Nile, but I have not seen a single turd. Under the eerie orange tinted sun, like a solar eclipse, the never ending din of traffic horns is maddening.

I was going to write about the pulse of 20 million people. I walked upstream, south along the corniche, passing resters on benches along the Nile under shade trees. I visited some old churches like a tourist. I wandered through tiny streets filled with baby goats where the dust is packed neatly by old women (still a foreigner, but less of a tourist). I went to the movies at a shiny mall and saw “6 7 8”, a new Egyptian masterpiece about another type of revolution.

I was going to write about how I like this city, but it seems that this here revolution could be more interesting.

* * *

Timeline

The work week in Egypt is Sunday to Thursday. Sunday and Monday were calm and were spent moving into our new apartment.

Tuesday was Police Day and the day it started; a holiday for the country, a day off from work for all, but protests ensued and so the police did not get their day off.

Wednesday I went into town to register for a continuing studies class in Arabic at the American University. Riot police blocked several streets and intersections; it was calm, but tense and they didn’t bother me. I found the metro station on the main square (Tahrir Square) was closed, so I walked south about 10 minutes to the next station and went home.

Thursday, protests continued downtown. I stayed out of the way and successfully explored my new semi-suburban neighbourhood.

Friday was my wedding anniversary. Mario and I had planned a romantic dinner along the Nile. Friday was named the Day of Rage (or Anger ... lost in translation) because the people had planned mass protests after Friday prayers.

Friday evolved somehow sublime, slow and sneaky; filtered by 10 km of city between our suburb and downtown, filtered by our suburban expatriate sphere, filtered by the television.
The cell phone network went down.
Then the internet, but not the land-line.
Then we tried the sat phone and it was jammed.
Then a curfew was imposed across the country, announced at 5:30 pm and started at 6:00.
The vegetable seller sold me sweet potatoes, and as usual tried to push his broccoli, while he rushed me out and complained that because of the government he had to close his shop without proper cleaning. He would see me tomorrow, Insh’allah.

* * *

In the midst of this turmoil, protest, uprising, infatada, revolution - whatever you want to call it - Cairo is colourful, exciting, moving and incredible to observe.

* * *

Since last Friday, January 28th, the situation changes quickly, yet a steady rhythm has developed in the turmoil: in the movements of people, in the news, in the sounds of gunfire. The rhythm is somehow correlated to the curfew.

The curfew ends at 8 in the morning. As the week has progressed the curfew start time has been moved up from 6 pm to 4 pm, and yesterday to 3 pm.

When the curfew lifts, people start moving for the day. The first days everyone rushed the markets, stocking up and sounding a little confused; yesterday the streets were full of expatriates waiting on the corner for taxis with piles of luggage to get out; today the gym is open, banks are still closed and foreigners know if they are leaving or staying.

When the curfew starts the city shifts. People head home, but once you are in your own neighbourhood you can be outside freely. The neighbourhood men put back up their blockades, drag their sticks on the pavement clang, clang, clang; start their fires, put on the teapot for the nightlong watch.

During the first days, I was glued to the news constantly flipping between channels because it changed rapidly (Mario translating the Arabic channels). A week on, most of the exciting news is broadcast when the curfew starts until about 9 pm. Al Jazeera had their Cairo offices shut down, some of their reporters arrested (who have since been released) and cameras confiscated, and so their coverage has become a bit more sporadic and less deep.

During the first days, there was little or no gunfire in my neighbourhood at all. Then some throughout the night and then a lot throughout the night. Yesterday, there was less throughout the night but more during the day. Last night was quiet, as is this morning. It is not a civil war, not people shooting at each other, per se. It seems to be people shooting in the air as warnings. At first it was smaller arms, then a bit of automatic fire.

* * *

The most iconic scene has been of the crowds of protesters at prayer time. A chaotic mass of people organically arranges itself in neat lines facing Mecca, all the while standing and kneeling in unison.

But don’t misinterpret the image. These are not religious protests; it is simply that the majority of people in Egypt are Muslim, so they pray as such and do not miss a call.

* * *

In my opinion, the lack of violence so far is astonishing. Yes: tear gas was fired, people have looted, people have been shot, people have been beaten. Not to minimize that, but it is a lot less than it could have been.

During the first days (when the riot police were present) were the worst so far in terms of violence - a dangerous, impulsive, edgy energy prevailed - but even then, the riot police did stop hitting when the protesters retreated.

The police disappeared after the first days. The army has been a constant presence.

The interactions of the army and the protesters is amazing. Tanks are everywhere downtown, they come and go, but the protesters and people welcome them. The tank drivers don’t fire on the people and respect their legitimate “right to protest”. There are official statements by the state as to this. There are slogans spray painted on the tanks. The tank drivers and protesters shake hands.

The ruling party’s headquarters were set on fire, next door to the famous Museum of Antiquities. In the beginning, protesters joined hands around the museum to protect it from the fire and looters until the army arrived.

Preserving order and protecting private property in light of chaos has fallen upon the people somewhat. Neighbourhoods have set up “vigilante groups” - a bad translation I think - they are more like a very active neighbourhood watch. Each night they stand guard with sticks, metal rods and some guns. Looking down my long street I can see about 6 stations, where the men have pulled concrete blocks into the road, moved the garbage cans into the street. Cars cannot pass. Walking people, like myself, are not hindered. (Although I have to admit, I live in a nice neighbourhood.)

“Vigilante groups” are not the same a “thugs”. The deciphered Arabic to English vocabulary of Egypt is delightful, fascinating and surprising sometimes.

* * *

It is important to understand that there are several types of security forces. As far as I can gather, the police are under the Ministry of the Interior and the military is separate (Ministry of Defence?). Both command a certain kind of respect: The police are feared, and the military is revered.

* * *

One of the first interviews I saw was with a young woman from the American University in Cairo. She came across as cold, but informed and clear headed. When asked to describe the street scenes, she said something like “Today, in the streets I saw more blood than I have ever seen. More than in the movies.” And she smiled.

* * *

When it is in front of you, it is easy to see the difference between reality and what is in the media. I am not a skeptic, but I am skeptical.

Sensational sexy stories sell: Camera angles make crowds look bigger. The most graphic images are played and re-played. The most violent quotes are iterated and re-iterated. The most shocking stories are told and re-told.

Control can check conception: Images and facts can also be manipulated to minimize the situation. Numbers and can be misconstrued or can be absolute lies propagated on purpose. Images of streets with no crowds
present can also be played and re-played.

It is not black and white. And it is not simple. The scene is always shifting greys, with colours fading in and out depending on the angle from which you view the scene (or the quality of your webcam). Each exaggeration or downplay is based on reality, or rather someone’s vision of reality, or rather what was once reality.

* * *

There are some journalists who give and command respect; who are rational and neutral in their use of language, tone and facts. There are also some journalists who employ 'Jerry Springer' style reporting (and indeed they are on reputable stations, during non-editorial shows). They are on both sides.
They threaten the integrity of the action and seem to want to incite violence and anger and emotions.
And they make me sick.

As the government has been dissolved and ministers step down, some reporters have used the word “defect” instead of “resign”.

A woman interviewing a government representative interrupted him at least 5 times, never let him finish a sentence and screamed at him. “... these are not mobs. Men, women and children.”

* * *

I don’t have photos of the protests for this post. I am neither a journalist rushing for a story, nor a foolish idealist who thinks my presence is needed to enhance the voice of the Egyptian people. I have simply observed them from walks in calm areas, from my balcony and rooftop, through television and through conversations.

Now people are talking about economics. Stock market closed. More practically, banks are closed and ATMs are out of money.

As I write this, there is a stand off. No one is moving on either side. What’s next?

* * *

At the top of this blog, you will find a favourite quote of mine, which in context has nothing to do with Egypt, but out of context can be appropriate today.

Tourist tales

2011-01-21T14:18:00.009-05:00

It's been a while, I know. I've been on vacation and have now emptied my brain of all things.
Time to fill it back up.

* * *

I started this "10 writing contest adventure" back in April last year. I have entered 6 so far, again - no wins and waiting on 1 result. I will try to at least enter the last 4 before this April. Look for that coming up.

* * *

Two perspectives of malaria.

I have had malaria twice while working: first time in DR Congo, second time in Kenya. The routine when you are in the bush is to find someone to look at a blood slide, get some meds and rest (no big deal). Malaria fevers come in cycles. Mornings are clear, afternoons wreck you- so in Congo I would go to work in the morning, then go home in the afternoon and cry about my crazy sick malaria induced nightmares and headaches. Total cost: 10$ maximum.

The third time I had malaria, I was on vacation: I was 4 days back to "the homeland" from Haiti this past November. In the great United States, malaria was deemed "a life threatening condition". Emergency room, ICU, specialist infectious disease doctors, CDC reports, more doctors and visits from students. Monitors of all sorts of vital signs, IVs, worries about my low blood pressure, but never enough pain meds to eliminate the incredible headaches. Total cost: 36,000$ minimum.

* * *

Next leg of the vacation was Syria for Christmas time (and a weekend in Beirut, Lebanon). I was somehow surprised, and somehow not surprised, to find that Christmas in the Middle East is just as commercialized and tacky as it is in the states. Almost identical. Neighborhoods where neighbors compete with extreme lights displays. Sales. Carols in the malls.

Mario and his family were superb hosts to this intrepid in-law-come-tourist. We visited many stark, dusty, open, sunny, quiet, old sites... St. Simion church where a man stood on the pillar for 40 years and today rests an obilisk, the Citadel in Aleppo, Ain Dara site, Rasafa and Jabbar castle on a pristine lake. I guess because of the season, there was no one around.

It was as if all these ancient walls, rooms, stables, churches, mosques existed only for me to crawl around in. Mario was a good sport and waited patiently while his wife turned into a kid crawling down, down into water cisterns and up, up onto falling down walls where I thought the slight wind might blow me over.

Driving to and from such sites gave another view of Syria. Not the upper middle class apartments and Christmas lights. Not the ancient antiquities and tourists sites. Mud houses, nomadic tents of farm workers, bright clothes on the lines, black dirty workshops tucked into a tiny unfinished room, bus stops with tiny shade. Men working, drinking tea. Stooped women in heavy clothes. Boys collecting sticks. Girls collecting water on their backs, with donkeys. Agriculture. Rain fed. Irrigation- unlined canals, lined canals built parabolas leveled just so, weirs, gates, control valves, drip systems, boreholes, rotating sprays like Nebraska.

Syria is under drought.
Like Kenya. Like Afghanistan.
While others are under water.

To the right is me in a huge water cistern. Long ago it was filled with rain water, collected runoff in a desert in northern Syria. While differing in construction and style from those in northern Kenya, it is basically the same thing as what is called a birkad in Somali.

* * *

Then the great return to Kenya for 2 weeks. A week at the beach. Few days in the mountains. Our old haunts. Saw lots of wonderful friends.

Driving in from the airport to town, some things seemed to have changed. Some roads were repaired. A new overpass and bridge was under construction. Many new apartment buildings going up too quickly to be built to code. The slums are so big, you don't notice they grow.

Reading the paper, nothing seemed to have changed. The International Criminal Court has publicly named 6 politicians for inciting the last bout of ethnic violence associated with the 2007 elections (see post from 2008). The unity government promptly dedicated millions to defending them and is on a major campaign to keep the 6 in Kenya for trial. Meanwhile, the northern areas of the country is being thrashed by more (repeated without recovery) drought, animals and livelihoods dying, people are threatened by lack of food and water, while the farmers in the bread basket area of the country have ruined crops.

It isn't as simple as one paragraph. Or even two.
It never is.

Unemployed men still seek out small shadows under trees, bushes, skinny lamp posts on every median, every corner, every small park in which to curl and hide from sun and sons and wives during hot afternoons spent waiting.

* * *

Next up, first impressions of my new home, Cairo.

I me mine

2010-11-25T22:56:00.003-05:00

Having perspective and having a perspective are two different things.

* * *

All thru' the day I me mine, I me mine, I me mine.
All thru' the night I me mine, I me mine, I me mine.

* * *

Last night, the BBC criticized the UN's coordination of the humanitarian response to cholera outbreak in Haiti. I told my dad, that was my job. I am not a defensive person, I didn't take it personally (I am a small person in a big machine), I know we worked our asses off. I have my criticisms too.

* * *

Now they're frightened of leaving it
Ev'ryone's weaving it,
Coming on strong all the time,
All thru' the day I me mine.

I, I, Me, Me, Mine

I, I, Me, Me, Mine
I, I, Me, Me, Mine

* * *

George was the genius. Taking us deftly from a sweet waltz to hard riffs and screaming, imposing his rock upon the listener.
Just to make his point.
It's his song.

* * *

All I can hear I me mine, I me mine, I me mine.
Even those tears I me mine, I me mine, I me mine.

* * *

When I returned from Haiti, I sat in the Maimi airport thinking of how selfish everyone else in the world was. Wanting to see Haiti still on the news, more than the same false numbers updating on the CNN ticker. I wanted everyone around me to care. To know the lack of dignity that is cholera. The lack of shit pits. The lack of body bags. I wanted them all to care. And they didn't.
And I become a cliche bleeding heart aid worker who lost perspective. And I went from tears to giggles, regaining a little perspective upon my own selfishness.

* * *

No-one's frightened of playing it
Ev'ryone's saying it,
Flowing more freely than wine,
All thru' your life I me mine.

* * *

My job in Haiti was coordination... meetings, meetings, meetings. Each person in each coordination meeting had their agenda. Their message. They become characters in a sitcom. Each had their role to play. The roles developed.
Rooms of strangers became strangely predictable.
Me too, just like everyone. I, sometimes deftly, sometimes clumsily, eventually sounded like a broken record.

* * *

I, I, Me, Me, Mine

* * *

My perspective ain't no better than yours, unless I am right and you are wrong, which seems to be the case, from my perspective.

And that is precisely why a perspective is useless, but perspective is invaluable.

How many days?

2010-11-15T00:39:00.005-05:00

I was taking time to comment on writing, on water.
On rubble and iron bar.
On this country.
Today,
I can't tell you what is happening anymore
because it changes too quickly
because I don't have enough perspective
because anything I say will come out as
sentimental
sinical
or
desperate.

* * *

You know my thoughts on data and numbers and indicators.
Read the papers about the cholera in Haiti, but remember bias and Heisenberg.

* * *

Context is everything.

I was enjoying the sourth in Leogane in Peitit Goave, under the mango tree. Getting the maps in order. Staying out of Port au Prince. During a completely failed meeting I was chairing, I got a call and left within two hours and was in the Artibonite region to respond to the cholera outbreak. Not a warm welcome.

Cholera is not a nice thing. You have to be ahead of the curve. Especially when it's unknown.

Final report

2010-10-17T09:47:00.004-05:00

Alright then. Fine. Contest #6 was invented by me, therefore the results come quickly.

The short answer: I lost.
After a project is implemented, a final report is written. That will be the long answer.

Total contest tally: 0/5, awaiting the results of submission #5.

* * *

Final Report

Project Title: Emergency support to vulnerable egos affected by the writing contest drought

Trayle, 17 October 2010

Overall Purpose: To contribute to my own happiness by having some fun writing

Achievements: Significant improvements in happiness and fun are evident within the target population. Ongoing, qualitative and quantitative monitoring and evaluation exercises continue to demonstrate an improved level of autonomy, ego-satisfaction and humor. The style of the blog in question has improved and focused, comments are increasing and the audience is becoming wider. The Technorati Authority of this blog has increased from 1 to 110, although the Google rating remains at 0. This shows minor improvements, but is also evidence that long term investment is needed to have an impact upon the overall purpose.

Specific Objective: To "win" at least one of these damn "contests"

Achievements: Although the specific objective for the current project was not yet achieved (see discussion on indicators), it is part of a wider, integrated approach of 10 coordinated efforts from various sources. The 15th of October 2010 indeed had the highest number of visitors in the history of the blog (59 total).

Objectively Verifiable Indicator: The number of visits to this blog on Blog Action Day (October 15, 2010) will be twice the maximum number of visits on any other day (baseline value: 45 visits).

Means of Verification: Google Analytics

Achievements: Google Analytics showed 59 visits during the project implementation period, an improvement of 31% from the baseline, and the highest number of visitors ever in one day. It is hypothesized that seasonal effects impacted baseline value of the indicator (see graph for long term seasonal variations). It should be noted that the baseline measurement was made on 7th of September, after two significant changes in status of the direct beneficiary population (moved to Haiti and got a new domain name) and thus the baseline value is artificially high (high interest season, new domain testing hits). Long term averages show about 9 visits per day, and thus 59 visits in one day is an excellent improvement (555% above the long term average).

The Tao of Water

2010-10-15T02:19:00.007-05:00

I am an amateur blogger.
I am a professional humanitarian aid worker in the water sector.
I am thus obliged to participate in this here incredible extravaganza called “Blog Action Day 2010 Water.”

But don’t think I do so begrudgingly. To save the world, you have to focus and today that focus fits me pretty well.

* * *

Water is simple: three atoms, two elements, one small molecule.

Add another molecule and those tricky little hydrogen bonds start complicating things. Water doesn’t behave the way it should. Water is subversive. Little rascal. And that is precisely what makes it important.

Add solutes, energy, people and the rest of the world and water gets complicated. Very complicated. Very quickly. And very important.

* * *

A link poem
(But don’t let the links distract you just yet…)

Water is or is not
accessible, distributed, shared,
contaminated, cleaned, protected,
managed, exploited, recycled,
used.

Water creates or controls
diarrhea, malaria, malnutrition,
HIV, health, bodies,
food, animals, products, energy,
productivity, livelihoods, economics,
life.

Water detains or develops
women’s choices, education, social structures,
religion, land issues, conflicts, wars,
politics, corruption, human rights,
history.

Water is oceans, tsunamis, floods and droughts, climate change.

Water is simply
part of a complex
violent, calm, deplorable, luxurious
system of which we are
a small part.

* * *

Words on a blog are linear. Water is not linear.

If you spread out all those words in a circle on the floor, take colored string or paint or sand, and started connecting each idea to all those others with which it has a relationship, you would end up with incredible art, perhaps a mandala, about water. One day I will do this.

* * *

Today, I will let others take you on the journey through those ideas. Although I am qualified, I will let others explain and expand on that simple list of words. I will let others cite numbers and statistics.

Get out of your pool (so you don't ruin the computer), sit in the shade (so you can see the screen) and follow links and learn about water and the world in which we live.

Trust me, water shapes your world and a world bigger than yours. Those iron-sheeting shacks, those mud-pressed-in-sticks huts, those billion slum/desert/jungle dwelling worlds aren’t so far from yours.

(But please, please, I beg you… remember two things: Hiesenberg and Bias).

* * *

Today, my contribution will be an introduction to the Tao of Water.

You have probably heard of the Tao Te Chieng. It is a series of 81 chapters of (sometimes cryptic, always relevant) Chinese wisdom compiled around 500 B.C. in which water is a reoccurring theme (my bias).

In chapters 8, 15, 32, 36, 39, 43, 61, 66 and 78, water or its properties are mentioned.

8:
Higher good is like water: the good in water benefits all, and does so without contention. It rests where people dislike to be, so it is close to the Way.
Where it dwells becomes good ground;

15:
…their relaxation was as that of ice at the melting point. Simple as uncarved wood, open as valleys, they were inscrutable as murky water.
Who can, in turbidity,
use the gradual clarification of stillness?

32:

Heaven and earth combine, thus showering sweet dew. No humans command it; it is even by nature.
The Way is to the world as rivers and oceans to valley streams.

36:
This is called subtle illumination. Flexible and yielding overcome adamant coerciveness.

39:
When unity was attained of old, heaven became clear by attaining unity
valley streams were filled by attaining unity…
What brought this about was unity:
without means of clarity, heaven may burst; without means of steadiness, earth may erupt; without means of quickening, spirit may be exhausted; without means of filling,
valley streams may dry up,

43:
What is softest in the world drives what is hardest in the world.

61:
A great nation flows downward into intercourse with the world.

66:
The reason why rivers and seas can be lords of the hundred valleys is that they lower themselves to them all;

78:
Nothing in the world is more flexible and yielding than water. Yet when it attacks the firm and the strong, none can withstand it, because they have no way to change it.

(Translations used without permission, although I have indeed purchased the book from which they came and recommend it as a nice translation. From THE ESSENTIAL TAO - Translated and presented by Thomas Cleary)

* * *

Words to live by. Literally.

I hope you enjoy Blog Action Day about water. I hope you let the links destract you.

I hope you stick around and check out my adventures and adventrues.

I hope you leave a comment. Do you have a link that might fit in my poem? Did I miss a water reference in the Tao?

* * *

End note 1

In doing what I do, I work in a broader field than just water. We have a nifty acronym: WASH. This stands for water, sanitation and hygiene (though I try as much as I can to get even boarder than that). As a wild WASH woman, it is my duty to also share with you some related news about today, October 15, 2010:

Today is also Global Handwashing Day.

Handwashing is important. It the most cost effective way to prevent diarrhea (Lancet). More so than clean water. Admittably, water helps in washing hands… (although when you are in the dessert, rubbing your hands with dirt and sand can also clean them), but don’t get me started on handwashing, just check out some of the interesting stuff online. (Just remember Hiesenberg and bias as you read.)

* * *

End note 2

“I am an expert.” (hits television…)

I have asked you readers to trust my qualifications, to trust that I know what I am talking about, to trust I have some authority to blog about water and that maybe my links here are “good” ones. In fact, I do.
I don’t mean to sound egotisitical (although sometimes I play that game here in blog-land), and in fact I am quite humble and insecure.

“…and thorough.”

My point is not my personality, but rather if you don’t trust me (and why should you?), drop a comment and I’ll send you my CV (especially if you want to hire me).

Everywhere there's signs...

2010-10-11T00:11:00.001-05:00

Shameless editorial note: Please come back the 15th of October to help me win contest #6.

* * *

Don't get the wrong idea from this post. Haiti is not getting back to normal.

It is not being reconstructed. Or deconstructed. Or inducted.
But people live here. And they are living. And to do that, things are constructed.
As this happens, the landscape changes. Shapes of slumped buildings adjust themselves, they become lighter, they become transparent.
Their pieces are laid in neat piles.
It is like wind is blowing around the rubble, the iron bar, the cement.
Shifting desert sands and dust, but a thousand times heavier.

* * *

I was in a certain meeting the other day. It lasted two days. It was many things... Many things were said and said again. And again. Somethings were said only once. Some things were brushed aside.

Discussing aspects of worst case scenarios, someone said "...if people build without control."

Life happens, my friend, and it is not controlled.

Walls and roofs and floors are no longer separated. They are being broken up. Piled up. Recycled. They are being built back from blocks that fell.

* * *

I am not a bleeding heart aid worker. I am not naive (though my father may argue otherwise). I am not one who instantly identifies with a suffering population, believing I can solve their problems because I mistakenly think I understand them and feel their pain.

But I do think it is important to take off those damn yellow glasses and try to see something from another point of view than your own. Forget your own priorities for a second. Just one second, then go back. That's how we might start to get a realistic view of whatever it is we are looking at. It's not that we can ever be inside, really inside, something else; we are outside and will remain so (and there is value in that). But just a quick flip of perspective, upside down, once in a while is good. Question it. Then go back to where you were perched before, with a little clearer view.

Living. Eating. Bathing. Gambling. Carrying on after. Of course people are picking up old blocks and putting them back together. People aren't waiting for the engineers to come. They are not waiting for development projects with seismic retro fitting. They are not waiting for our project frameworks. They are living. And they will continue to do so.

Everyone has an agenda and a bias. I tried to loose my own, but maybe it is easier for me because I do not claim to be an expert on Haiti or reconstruction or normal.

* * *

Messages are passed, as in other parts of the world, by taxis - or tap taps.

Many have heartfelt messages of faith (though most are french or creole, here is an english one).

Some are less deep and less meaningful. Most are spelled wrong.

This is my favorite. It is in creole. The driver translated for me (and did some awesome driving so I could catch a photo of it). I understood that it says roughly: "I would be ashamed if I were you."
With Rambo below.
Classic.
Excellent.

"God directs my affairs

fizzy drinks."

And if three people do it...

2010-10-02T08:59:00.016-05:00

There is a fun treat at the end, after the business.

* * *

So, the contests continue, although I seem to be cheating a lot. But I make the rules, and no one seems to be objecting. (Uh, maybe that's cause no one is reading.) It's gone from contests to competitions, to submissions... to this. In my defense, the process has been transparent, I am not trying to manipulate the data, just have some fun.

To the right you will see a little widget for Blog Action Day. I normally won't put any advertising or such on my blog, but this is to fully participate in the endevour. You can read about the event or sign their petition to save the world.

Contest #6: In terms of my contest rules, this is not a contest. So I will make it a contest with myself.

I previously discussed indicators. In aid work, these indicators demonstrate that you have achieved your objectives at/to various levels - in other words, show if you have "won" or not.
In my line of work, indicators must be SMART:
- S - Specific
- M - Measurable
- A - Achievable
- R - Relevant
- T - Time-bound
(Not as easy as you think.)

So in order for this to be a real contest with myself I have devised a contest FRAMEWORK, which includes a smart INDICATOR to measure the success of my OBJECTIVE. (Which is how it works in my world, but I won't give you a lessson of aid project frameworks today. For those of you in my line of work enjoy the following...)

* * *

Project Title: Emergency support to vulnerable egos affected by the writing contest drought

Overall Purpose: To contribute to my own happiness by having some fun writing

Specific Objective: To "win" at least one of these damn "contests"

Objectively Verifiable Indicator: The number of visits to this blog on Blog Action Day (October 15, 2010) will be twice the maximum number of visits on any other day (baseline value: 45 visits).

Means of Verification: Google Analytics

* * *

There you have it. Spread the word. I will make a lot of noise to remind you on the 15th.
I promise I'll make it "good" - though what's good for me, may not be good for you...

* * *

"You know, if one person, just one person does it
they may think he's really sick and they won't take him.
And if two people, two people do it,
in harmony,
they may think they're both faggots and they won't take either of them.
And three people do it,
three, can you imagine,
three people walking in singin a bar of Alice's Restaurant and walking out.
They may think it's an organization.
And can you, can you imagine fifty people a day,
I said fifty people a day walking in singin a bar of Alice's Restaurant and walking out.
And friends they may thinks it's a movement.

And that's what it is, the Alice's Restaurant Anti-Massacre Movement, and all you got to do to join is sing it the next time it come's around on the guitar.

With feeling.

So we'll wait for it to come around on the guitar, here and sing it when it does. Here it comes."

-The younger Guthrie man

Follow down

2010-09-28T23:36:00.007-05:00

I felt I needed to follow up on a few things. So in all ernestness, I try to satisfy that subversive dark side and hence I will follow down.

* * *

Writing adventure:

With all my ranting about numbers, you'd've thunk I'd get them right myself, or at least use some consistant reporting format. Last time I mentioned my progress, well I screwed it all up. So, in fact I am 0/4, awaiting results on 1 submission. Some time back I wrote 4/5, which doesn't even make sense. (Even less than the double contraction in the phrase "you'd've thunk.")

To those of you who are new, that means I have entered 5 writing contests or competitions of somesort, I have not won any of them and I am awaiting the results of 1.

The sixth event is in view. It is not a contest at all I don't think, so maybe I won't count it in the tally, but it is a writing event in which I will participate. Stay tuned for mid-October. (Thanks for the tip, Sophie.)

Not very good results, but half way through my adventure, I think it is really hard to win these things. Who knows what "they" are looking for. Who knows who I am competing against. But I do know one thing, I am having fun and it is making me write more.

As for my ego, it is happily enjoying trying to make my blog better.

* * *

Life adventure:

Maybe the events of the past few weeks is why I feel the need to follow down, rather than up. Earthquake. Floods. Mouse in the office.

There was no major damage from the earthquake (a few things fell down that were already falling, I thought that someone was kicking my bed). More significant was the way it made people feel.

Summary Data: Magnitude 4.4, 3 minutes to verify it by a USGS siesmologist, 3 more minutes to get my own GPS point from my phone, download the KML file from USGS, plot the points in GoogleEarth and make the following map. 19.2 miles from me (as the crow flies). I love it. How cool is that!

The bias is clear. How me-centered is all that data? Hiesenberg... not sure how he fits in, but he must. By making the map did I affect anything? I spent a few minutes with the gaurds showing them the map. They may have thought I was nuts, but they seemed to enjoy the company.

And then the floods and winds came down from heaven with great wrath, and many of the 8 (9?) month old ramshackle tents and tarps got blown to shit. Billboards flew around among the power lines. People died. And how did it affect me? The office went into overdrive. Very exciting and good learning from some talented folks.

But the mouse in the office was the real emergency, and like all big storms, he got a name. Murphy the WASH Cluster mascot mouse.

Oh boy do I sound... jaded? tired? twisted? I assure you, I am all of those things.

* * *

For you folks at home, I do not live in a tent anymore. When I am not in Port au Prince, I live in a 2x3m room in a metal shipping container. Quite safe in an earthquake and in a storm. When I am in Port au Prince, I live on my friends' floors. Still a hobo singin' that lullaby.

Indicators

2010-09-19T14:03:00.014-05:00

The answer is 42.
But what does 42 mean, really?

Remember two things: Heisenberg and Bias.

* * *

Dirty old Heisenberg

If you look my way
I might smile or scowl
or curse
depending
on who you might be
friend or foe
or dirty old man.
Even when I seem
to do nothing
know that ignoring you
is a calculated reaction.

* * *

Inherent Bias

We wear yellow glasses. We are looking at a blue world. We see a green world. If we know our glasses are yellow, then hopefully we will remember that the green world we are looking at is actually bluer than that which we see as green.

* * *

The problem of measurement or observation or knowing is not new. Heisenberg was mentioned and there is Schrödinger and his poor cat or the quantum suicide scenario, which are more obtuse discussions about observers and the observed, whose practicality is questionable. I am a scientist and aid worker, so that’s what’s practical to me.

An interesting and practical discussion about the perspective of being outsider on the Tales From The Hood blog rung true with me in certain situations, but he left something out. He is right, sometimes an outsider can filter out a local bias, but sometimes an outsider can exaggerate a local bias as well. The important thing is to be aware of one’s effect and one’s biases and the situation and the complex interactions therein. We can never eliminate these things, but we can at least be aware of them.

* * *

Intelligent scientists and aid workers alike know that by measuring something you do indeed affect it. We also know, despite not being quantum physicists, that we will never know the exact value or position or whatever. Whether numbers or simple observations, we are careful to minimize these things by triangulation, awareness and thoughtful measurement methods.

An example: Hydrogeologists poke holes (i.e. dig wells) into aquifers and in doing so disrupt what was once, and in being aware of that, we accept it because it is good enough to understand the system. It is that, in fact, our goal in observing anything: to understand what is going on.

When we do science in aid work, we are still scientists and indeed report a range of values or other interpretations that reflect uncertainty. The methodology (how these numbers are arrived at) is rigorous and has been peer reviewed, published and duplicated by experts. The documentation of such methodology is available, transparent and clear, even to someone outside the relevant technical field who has basic mathematics background, some curiosity and half a brain.

An example: We measure a certain number of randomly sampled children to represent a greater population which is very specifically defined and say, for example, that for this defined population there is an 80% chance that we are beyond the emergency threshold of global acute malnutrition or that the level of X problem is Y% with a 90% confidence interval of +/-Z.

* * *

On NOT understanding Heisenberg: The danger in science and in aid work is when people do not take the time to understand what a number or observation means: how it was measured, the constraints and limitation inherent in it, some people don’t even know the units associated with that number (e.g. 42). Without some knowledge about the mechanics of the observation, you will never know what anything actually says about the system or population or, really, about anything.

On NOT understanding Bias: This can be your bias (your yellow glasses), as well as the bias of the presentation. The most dangerous and common thing of all is to talk about a number or to compare two numbers that are not related at all and then draw some wide-sweeping conclusions from them. There are many particularly worrying examples of this. Some examples of this are well intentioned but careless, and some straight-up-dirty manipulation of data.

Back to practicality. We make observations to come to conclusions. I hate conclusions. They are usually wrong because they depend on a complexity of things. But alas, conclusions are a necessary evil.

Understanding Heisenberg + Bias = better conclusions. Knowing what the number or observation means helps filter some bias, but can’t get it all. By being aware of bias, and especially the bias of the audience, and by trying to take off or lighten the yellow glasses makes the conclusion stronger, more realistic and inherently better.

* * *

One problem with my argument is that it is too idealistic and simple. Bad science, bad measurements and bad observations are rampent. Which makes pretty much any view of them moot. (But can you expect me to address everything in a single blog post? Really?) And the point is, by using the noggin a little and not just accepting what you read, you can identify this "badness."

Another problem with my argument is that I am guilty too, I sometimes draw conclusions too fast, I have biases, I have a sick sense of humor that gets the best of my biases. But sheesh, I am human. The point is not that I know best, it is that I am thinking about it and you should too.

* * *

Did I bore you? Confuse you?
If so, read it again.
If not, enjoy lighter side of indicators.

* * *

In every niche there are standard, quantifiable indicators. For me professionally, this often boils down to things like the prevalence of WASH related diseases, number of people per latrine, liters of water per person per day, fecal coliforms per sample etc. We also have qualitative indicators which may give another, less number-full view of the situation, but equally valuable.

I have come up with a few indicators of my own, which mean nothing, are not scientific and are most undoubtedly influenced by my sick sense of humor and biases. The ones I will present here relate to the level of development of a place, mostly the economic development of that place.

I hoped I didn’t have to say this, but I guess I need a disclaimer: In all seriousness, these are really complicated subjects. Please realize that by presenting these ridiculous indicators, that I am demonstrating exactly the danger of this entire discussion. My apparent hypocrisy is intentional. I am a sarcastic person and I intend to remain that way.

* * *

Fire: And god said let there be light, and it was good. And man discovered fire and flint. And then matches were available on the local market. And then lighters. And then lighters with flashing lights inside. And then lighters with flashing light and a button to make those flashing disco lights be projected onto a close wall or floor.

Beer for your buck: The bigger and cheaper the beer, the more dire the economic situation of the country. Can the average cost per swig of beer be positively correlated to the average income of a household or somehow be an inverse proxy indicator for GDP? You find big, cheap beers in Congo and Guinea; smaller, expensive beers exported from Europe. Do note that Budweiser has a pretty cheap, twenty-two ounce beer. America is going to shit.

McDonalds for peace: Some people claim that there are fewer wars and less strife in countries with McDonalds. Clearly a chicken-vs-egg argument should ensue, but in my recent history I have lived in countries with relatively high levels of strife and not one had a McDonalds. (Not my own idea, just one I thought was worth sharing.)

Gambling as an indicator of early recovery after displacement:

I see Haiti eight months after the earthquake. Life is not normal here and won’t be for a long time, but it is transitioning back slowly. With this bias, I look for signs of normalcy. I search them out. And I found one. The lottery is up and running, people are gambling again, so one can conclude that this place is getting back to normal.

The lottery kiosks or shacks or buildings are newly painted. They say “BANK – LOTTO- CHEZ TITI.” Other types of kiosks haven’t been repainted, even if they are starting to reopen. Not the water sellers. Not the pharmacies. But indeed the lottery bosses are back in business. Folks are crowded around the blackboards on the walls and doors which are updated twice a day with the winning numbers. A clear early warning indicator of recovery.

So my boss asks, can you assess Maya Camp, where people are re-settling? How is it there? I visit. I don’t even have to get out of my air-conditioned, white Land Cruiser to draw my conclusion. I see that a Chez Titi kiosk is up and running within the camp and I know that these people are ready to get back to normal. They are doing fine.

* * *

Perhaps I can solicit Paul Collier and his army of ingenious grad students to run an in depth retro-analysis on existing data to check the validity of my new-fangled-sarcastic indicators.

* * *

On inspiration: This post was gourbled out of my head, somewhat, by checking out the aforementioned blog, and in particular his post about Skynard and simplicity, actually many of his posts. Clearly I dig this dude’s style and outlook on aid work. Take some time to check out his posts.

Editorial note added afterwords: Hey number-geeks and aid-workers, here is some interesting questions posed by statiscians dealing with the MGDS. It's a start. (Thanks Trish, for pointing this out to me.)

Geology rocks

2010-09-15T23:53:00.006-05:00

I admit that I sometimes mock tourists, but today hypocrisy bit me in the ass: I couldn't help myself and so I took fifteen minutes to be a tourist. To my credit, I was a geologist-wanna-be tourist, which is way cooler than obnoxious Americans or teenagers of any nationality.

I stopped at my new favorite place - where the biggest fissures I have seen are. Every so often we have to slow down because there are dips or drops in the road. All from the earthquake. But this point just blows me away. The driver laughed when I tried to explain how impressed I was. It's a little hard to explain, even here, in English.

I am such a geek. I dare not show my lack of actual geology knowledge, despite my degree (I studied the water in the rocks, not so much the rocks). Of course I studied basic geology too, and saw photos and learned about faults and earthquakes and the wrath of plate tectonics. I lived in California where you have the San Andres, but the signs of creep I saw there are nothing, I tell you nothing, compared to this.

Geologist friends, please enlighten us.

Holy shit. (Expletives! YAY!) There is nothing else to say. I mean really? This happened in seconds. Imagine.

On the left you see the driver looking into the crack that opened up. This is close up, but the fissure goes on forever. See the photo on the right is only about half of it. (And yes, it is full of trash... we are eight months after.)

These two are looking the other way up the road. The crack on the right side of the pavement is the same fissure as above, from the other direction. But that is not what I am trying to show here: you see how it is wavy. This used to be flat. Flat. Flat. And now, it's wavy. Awesome.

I am reminded of an ironic geology bumper sticker that encourages us all to "Stop Plate Tectonics!"

Pissed off

2010-09-10T16:14:00.005-05:00

This may be my most explicit post. I do hold back and usually keep it pretty clean. But not this time. It's not that I am having a bad day, it is just that today I will share my judgment and rancor.

* * *

Looking up, the remnants of tropical storm Gaston makes the clouds churn, black and full of rain over the mountains, while towards the bay is white and puffy. Not unique, simply a beautiful, complex sky.

Looking down, the steep street is dirty and the smell of urine flows uphill. Urine in the street is ubiquitous, not unique to Port au Prince (see posts about Kabul and Kenya), and today is no different than any other, except that I have to blame someone.

I blame the men around the world who whip it out and piss along the concrete walk.

I drove about an hour to a meeting and (just like any other day) along the way I saw at least seven men pissing in the open. Not behind a tree, not tucked away somewhere, not in the woods. Along the street. I could see the streams of their piss sparkle in the sun.

They disgust me.

* * *

The bitch with black spots,

her white coat brown, rough and crusted,

mangy red teets swing, panting

while she squats

over discarded plastic,

rotting fruits and a flat styrofoam box.

The man with oil stained jeans,

has no coat, steps over that same debris,

and shields just his cock, pausing

while he pees

upright, upon a busy street

exposing his sequined stream.

* * *

One could attack me as a hypocrite. And that is fine, perhaps I am. But an honest one.

I grew up peeing in the woods, I pee in the bush on a long car ride, I am an expert and rarely wet my feet. I also have no aversion to excreta (that's my job) or even to the smell of urine (which is in fact sterile). But there is something disturbing about city-scape, concrete laden, public man-pissing. Some of what bothers me deeply, perhaps, is seeing the pee raining down without regard to the throngs of strangers who are forced to watch this display. Forgive my sexist tendency, but no woman anywhere in the world would take a piss on a busy street. (Yes okay, indeed if she is ill or completely wasted.) There is something to be said for respect and dignity.

Double rubble trouble

2010-09-06T23:05:00.013-05:00

Writing contest update: nothing to report. still 0/5, awaiting 1.
The adventure is neither gone, nor forgotten.

* * *

Ego update: How do you like my new domain name? Pretty cool, eh? Pretty egotistical, if you ask me, but still pretty cool. I will be fixing some of the formatting and making it better, slowly by slowly. Feedback is welcome. In other ego-news, I was featured in a "local do-gooder" story from the newspaper where I went to high school.

* * *


Today's front page.

Not all the graffiti is artistic, though it all seems to be idealistic.

On the walls that stand or slump, amongst the graffiti, there are stenciled and spray painted signs in green, yellow or red. They read "MTPTC" and then a number. MTPTC means "Ministère des Travaux Publics, Transport et Communications." The number, I assume, relates to an inspector or zone. The color indicates if the building is safe, needs repairs or is unable to be repaired. I can't wait to see the final maps. An utterly fascinating and impressive endeavor.

Today driving to meetings, we passed teams of people in yellow t-shirts with Haitian flags upon them. The people each had a bucket. Some were lined up passing one bucket to the next up a narrow hill. In the bucket was rubble.You can't get machines in to many places, but you can get buckets.

Up to 20 million cubic yards of rubble is a lot. If each bucket contains half a cubic foot (only filled a little so they can be lifted), that makes over a billion buckets (hope my math is right, it is a little late). Of course some of that will be moved with machines, but still, that's a hell of a lot of rubble.

Men climb the skeletons and crimped bodies of buildings with pick axes. They slam and crack, little by little, separating the concrete from the re-bar. The concrete adds to the rubble. The re-bar is sold and recycled. They are strategizing on how to use the rubble. Inventors bring in hand powered machines to break it up, sort it by size, make ballast, aggregate for new concrete mixes and new houses. The rubble fascinates me almost as much as the fissures.

As usual, to save the world you have to focus.

* * *

People sometimes ask if I live in a tent. For the past two weeks, yes. Military style tents within tents. Hot water with pressure that will take your skin off. This place is Camp Charlie and, like fissures and spray paint, is fascinating.

* * *

For a more informative view of this situation, check out Jesse's blog that I linked to in the last post. He has an interesting perspective and is much more factual than I.

What was once

2010-09-01T21:56:00.009-05:00

What was once upright
rigid brightly painted or gray
is resting
tired
from a violence
absent of aggression

* * *

I can not claim to know what was once. Here.

From one perspective, I gape at walls and floors and ceilings draped over one another. I stand upon, step over fissures in the road. I listen to stories and gasp, knowing that I am only an observer, but not the only observer. My own perspective quite the same as many, except that I am probably more intent than most on getting a good picture of the fissures in the road to impress my geologist friends.

From another perspective, this event has been measured by standard metrics: Richter, deaths, displacement of people or earth, monetary value of infrastructure destroyed.

Heisenberg was right. Absorbing light off the white rubble changes its direction, phase, superposition, tint, interpretation. Putting a number on this scene affects it.

* * *

I have seen the palace and the jail, the cathedral and the bridge. Each of them have split in half and what was once proud is crass.
I did not enter convinced by ghosts and twisted iron bar that locks inside some stories that only come from far.

Secondhand stories

2010-08-27T18:08:00.003-05:00

I had another enjoyable day chatting in traffic with the driver. Today it was not the banalities of life, but rather the turning upside down of a regular day.

I heard stories about the earthquake.

I do not mean this post to be sentimental. Or sad. Or exploitative. Just simple. I mean to tell these stories as he told them.

* * *

"Everyone knows someone, near or far, who died in the earthquake."

* * *

Sometimes the ground vibrates. This time it did not vibrate, it rolled and rolled. My house rocked back and forth, back and forth. He showed me with his hands, tilting his vertical palm to and fro. A friend of mine was sitting in her car in traffic when the quake happened. She said that the earth looked like the giant snake in the movie Anaconda when it was under the soil.

* * *

This driver is often the driver of the big boss. He told me of the man who used to wash his windows everyday. He worked hard washing, quickly rubbing, clearing the glass for the boss and VIPs who visited. He fed his family this way. He eventually bought a motorbike. He kept on washing windows. The day of the quake, he went out to buy some food on his motorbike and never came back.

* * *

There was a man and a woman who had moved to the states from Haiti. They had 3 children there and made a good life. When it came to retirement age and their children were grown, they decided to return and enjoy their retirement here. They returned, all their children with them to help with the move. The day of the quake they were having a big party. All the neighbors and cousins and aunts enjoying and celebrating the retirement and the return of the family. They ran out of ice and so the father went out to get some. He returned to find them all dead. The old man walks the streets talking to his family who are all dead. It made him loose his mind.

Hobo's Lullaby

2010-08-24T20:58:00.009-05:00

I am officially a hobo. I have spent about two months living out of my bag in the US, and have embarked on three more of the same in Haiti. I live on about thirty kilos (including my computer), and that is still too much stuff.

* * *

The Van. Oh the van. I had so much fun and a great learning experience. Here I am, dressed up for a wedding.

At first I was a little apprehensive or nervous about living out of the van. It was a little claustrophobic. It is a little tricky to park over night. The radiator leaked. The solar system wasn't working perfectly. But there was water, shower, stove, toilet and a lot of dust.

So first I cleaned. I scrubbed. I used bleach.
Then I got three gallon jugs, ready and waiting to add to the radiator at any moment. I got into a rhythm and knew how long I could go before needing a refill, and never even overheated.
Then I figured out that my old campus during the summer is a great, safe place to park over night where no one bothers you and you can pick up a great wireless signal.
Then I went camping on the coast. Parking was not as easy as on campus, and I ended up paying to camp in Butano state park - which is five minutes from the beach and five minutes from Duartes restaurant and the San Gregorio country store (with music in the mornings), and which facilitated the burning of my leftover firewood from my northern escapade.

Then I listened to my dad's advice.
I enjoyed days with the doors wide open in the Baylands nature area and my new set of binoculars and the birds. Cleared up that claustrophobia and made for good hikes.
I cooked. I visted with my dad. Two of us in our little RVs parked, in his cause it is bigger and has the satellite TV. We watched the news and old school sci-fi where Leonard Nemoi was an alien from the Stratosphere.
He showed me how to maintain the toilet (and I thought I was a toilet expert).
When I tripped the inverter on the solar panels, he guided me by phone to reset the panel controls (involved wires) and then I figured out how to reset the inverter on my own.

I told my dad that I wanted to paint the inside. He agreed that it needs a coat. I suggested flowers and some artsy stuff. He laughed and thought that might make it look like a closet homosexual case: blue and manly on the outside and all flaming girly on the inside. Sounds good to me.

Totally sweet.
Totally free.
Dug it.
Will do it again.

* * *

I had a window seat from Miami to Port au Prince. I have seen the photos and knew what to expect: rubble, tents and a city made of plastic sheeting, but - maybe because it is more impressive in real life or maybe because I am getting better at not having expectations - the view surprised me. It wasn't much more than the rubble, tents and cities of plastic sheeting... but there were people too. People who I can't describe yet, people who I have not met, people just the same.

The office is a bunch of air conditioned, pre-fabricated, plastic containers. I spent my first day bursting in and out of cold, dark offices into blinding sunshine on white rocks and back again. I visited each of the following departments more than once, usually 3 times: movement coordination, human resources, security, planning, finance, ICT (forget what that stands for, but it is the dudes who give you a phone, a radio and a computer, but no mouse) and of course my new boss. I didn't get too lost, thanks to the friendly people.

My role is to support the Government in the coordination of all things WASH, but I don't work for the government. Right now in Haiti is an interesting time of transition from the initial emergency phase of the response to the earthquake to more long term, stable and sustainable interventions.

Originally I was destined to support the regions south of the capital, but since we are under staffed, I will also liaise with several of the municipalities in the capital. That should be interesting because I will get to interact with other sectors. That should also be a little overwhelming because it used to be (and maybe soon in the future) one and a half or two people. I should also put the disclaimer that it is my second day, and all that may change or I may have misunderstood the expectations of my boss...

Today I needed a mouse. I mean needed one, bad. I can not deal with the little touch button thingy on the IBM laptop they have given me. So, I tagged along in a car to find one. I found a mouse, but driving around was better than the mouse itself.

Graffiti: The shape is a map of Haiti, not a penis.
The artist, "Jerry" apearently, has done many of the best.

We went up high, low, through tiny streets with more potholes than concrete. The roads are lined with rubble. Tent cities are on every corner and open space, save the cemeteries. The graffiti is the best part. There are simple messages "votez pour" X candidate for Y post, and, in a country known for its artists, there are fabulous caricatures of Haitian faces: children, women and old men. Some hold signs that say "I (heart) Haiti." And there are other signs as well, in sloppy hand writing and not as optimistic: "We need help. Food. Water. Doctors."

I chatted with the driver, always a good source of information on the banalities of life in the place you are. Where to buy what, the hours what kind of shops are open, why those hours, how to get the cheap charges for international phone calls. I learned a lot in a few hours.

I am a little timid to take photos yet, but stay tuned.

Pretty sweet so far.
Although not free in any sense of the word.
Whether I dig this or do it again needs more than two days to figure out.

* * *

Also, my friend Jesse from Peace Corps is here in Haiti and he has a blog too. It is quite cool. It gives an interesting first impression of the country from his perspective.

* * *

*This blog is only an expression of me and in no way represents any other agency mentioned herein.

Shifting stances

2010-08-23T00:52:00.003-05:00

I'll try to keep it short, but the stream is moving and I am going with it.

* * *

Business first.

So on the contest front, I was 3/5, awaiting the results of two contests. Now I am 4/5, awaiting 1.
Contest #3 results are in and, as I predicted, I didn't win. This does not break my heart because this was a high level competition. Students in professional writing programs are nominated. You can't see the poems on the site yet, but I am sure one or two of the poems will blow my (your) mind.

During my off-time I have gotten to see so many old friends, and with some I have had the pleasure of chatting about this adventure in writing contests or writing in general. I am blessed to be friends with poets, editors, dreamers like me and my mom. I was hesitant in all this. Professionals confirm it is hella competitive. Friends are honest. Moms are always encouraging.

I said: I don't want to say my goal is to write a book, because - what if I don't or I can't?
Friend: But by saying it, you might be more motivated. And your friends will care and encourage you.
Mom: And if you don't that's okay too, just do what god makes/lets/encourages you to do.

That's pretty paraphrased, but I kind of agree with all of that.

* * *

Breathe out.
I am headed out.
New country.
New adventure. New organisation. New role.
Same me.
How will it all combine and entwine and rewind?
To become my life?

* * *

More to come about the past two weeks which have indeed been learning for me in a small van, with fog, with sunshine, with micro climates and with...

All I ever wanted

2010-08-03T11:03:00.008-05:00

Adventure: a new and exciting experience.

Adventrue: a known and exciting experience.

My vacation is ending and a new adventure will begin (stay tuned). I am lucky. I have had many adventrues, but none so sweet as getting back. And within that adventrue are many. The poem in my last post came from home, an island and its memories. Here are some new ones mixed with old, because you can’t really separate them.

* * *

the incredibility of tidal standing waves washes over

cradled kelp heads green pink anemones speckled seals

these sound straight channels are never full never empty

twice a day they still rise fall whip around steady rocks

discreet violence that harbors flotsam memories

* * *

I am still seven inside and slept only three hours the night before, excited for the journey. But things do change. I am not seven, but seven times five; and while the child was eager to go, I am eager to come home.

Welded steel rattles, strains and pushes its mass against cormorant laden pilings and the rocky mainland; the same old rusty ferry sliding deep into the early mist caught between the islands. Breathe deep, exhale and let the salt spray drizzle muck up your glasses or you won’t make the transition in smoothly.

Sleepy legs under heavy bags push up the tarpaper boardwalk and find a spot for me to wait; the cold stone wall where I lean back on my warmed pack above the fuel stained creosote dock. I take in the busy view. I know the boat when it rounds the point. I rest, watching her come in.

I am the only passenger back. After hellos, we settle into comfortable silence and skirt the shores before crossing the channel. The waves are small, constant and graceful; dancing with bull kelp among familiar carved conglomerate; lifting then dropping sea birds just a foot; slapping the metal bow just hard enough that my knees bend and straighten in time.

But things do change. The dock is taller but the dockhouse is the same, although shifted to where you can not leap, and so the resulting difference in jumping height is similar. The water seems colder and trees seem smaller, although they’ve grown. Cell phones work, making logistics simpler, but not simple.

By three boats I landed on three islands, each dock smaller until none, just a gravel beach in a protected rocky bay. The second run brings friends, flowers and spiced beans; the beginning of festivities no one can dispute. I smile, breathe, exhale and clean my glasses.

* * *

I am alone and quiet, snuggled into the orchard, thankful for the clearing. Cassiopeia rises, her W matching the jagged tree line. Breathe, exhale, my glasses were already off so I stretch and lay back. I spy a shooting star and watch its long fall. It burned, lit and then exploded in the atmosphere. Alone in the silence I whoop, hands up in appreciation, and wonder who else saw it.

* * *

Many good hugs hello don’t make up for one goodbye.

2 to 2

2010-07-26T13:53:00.001-05:00

Contest #2) So, not really any news cause I didn't win the contest, but they finally put up the poems for the public to see, so I thought I would provide a link here so you can check it out. None of the judges put any comments, which I was bummed about, but that is okay. This poem I had shared with a friend and my mom, neither loved it.

To A Poet Laureate

Dear Sam,
I once wrote eight page
letters to your son, quickly
placed inside the cedar shake box
punctuating
your driveway lined with alder saplings.
I pumped my bike up one, two, three
straight hills to Sawmill Corner
hoping you and Sally
never knew that it was me.

A round faced nine, ten, eleven
year old, I once bound blank
diaries during art, which you
the printer, must have taught.
Boring holes through stacked sheets with
needles, the blunt end cut my finger
making it hard to tie thin thread.
Somehow three small bundles became a single
tome, glue beaten with a wide stubby brush
into paper we must have made
from fresh pulp.

Inside, I once wrote eight line
poems, invented words in colored
pen, punctuation
revised with wild insects flying round
kerosene lamps, flashlights and blue
computer screens.
I completed only one, quickly
placed inside the cedar shake box
hoping you and Sally
might think that it was me.

Back to backsides

2010-07-21T15:13:00.000-05:00

And so the tally stands as is. 0/3, waiting on 1/1 and not so optimistic (I aimed a little high).

Contest #5) Is not a contest, but is competitive. The goal in this is to motivate me to just see what's out there, not winning, but exploring. So cause I found something I thought was a pretty interesting idea, I thought I'd include it. Cause I can. I submitted a poem to "IsReads" an outdoor journal: "The concept of the outdoor journal is to put short poems in unusual places, like on abandoned buildings and in shopping carts."

Regarding contest #1) Helium. I find it depressing and poor today. The one reason I liked it at first was that it seemed open and democratic, but I found that to be its weakness. The content of some articles against which mine compete are just wrong. Maybe it's me not being open enough. Who knows. I will continue until I have made 25 dollars. Fine. Currently still have the two stars, which is good, but my poems fell to having only a bronze medal from silver.

* * *

And my vacation will continue.

Stateside besides

2010-07-18T17:32:00.001-05:00

Don't let it fool you. Negativity isn't negative.

It is simply down. It is a valley. Drainage.

* * *

California business: Threw out 15 years of bank statements and nice skirts that will never fit me. Dug out my high school writing which led to some rare, fictional fun (that's the teaser...).

California fun: Joined my dad and his cat in Big Sur. We passed Bixbey Bridge and watched sunsets from the best lookout along the coast. Wildfires 2 years past could not stop the beauty here. If not for fog, one could see 180 degrees from San Francisco to LA. (As a science geek I have to admit that the curvature of the earth may hinder more than the fog.) I climbed to Cone Peak Lookout and could see 360. If I were a lizard I could enjoy this view each day.

After two weeks, it was time to head north. Golden rolling hills become cooler and greener. Fewer grasses, more bushes and trees. The ones I remember picking... ferns, mustard, thimble berries, salal, douglas fir. The hills become steeper up, the bays become wider across, the sky becomes gray. Today I arrived in Washington. When Luis and Clark arrived here in 1805, it was overcast too and December (not July). They too could not see across the Columbia in this dank drizzle that defines the Pacific Northwest. Ah.

* * *

I must have written this around 1992 as a high school creative writing assignment. It is a fable and it made me laugh.

The Lions

Far, far away there was a huge forest that was ruled by a great, beautiful, old lion. He had a great golden mane and a beautiful roar that filled the forest like the wind when he spoke. He was charismatic as any leader of the free world, yet he had little wisdom. But being a good lion at heart, not hungry for power, he left the general ruling of the forest to his Royal Council of Owls.

One day the old lion fell extremely ill. His mane looked dull and his voice was soft. Seeing this the Royal Council of Owls decided to send word throughout the forest to summon all of the old King's many sons. (For in his more vivacious years head been quite the ladies lion fathering many children.)

The first of his sons to arrive had the greatest, most golden mane any lion had ever seen. When the sun fell upon it, golden reflections scattered about. As he reached the entrance to the Royal Lair, the guard dogs stared at his great, golden mane and bowed their heads as he walked through the door.

The Owls complemented his mane, and asked him a riddle:
"What is beautiful, but not conceited?"
"What is wise, but not arrogant?"
"What is compassionate, but not lenient?"
The young lion shook his mane, almost blinding the night-loving owls.
"His current King, His majesty." He said, trying to gain points.

The second son to arrive could roar so beautifully that when he sang, every animal sopped what he was doing to listen. When he reached the entrance to the Lair, he roared loudly as if to prove his relation to the dying King. The guards lowered their heads as he passed.

When he was asked the same riddle, he cleared his throat showing off the strength of his voice. But his response was the same, he too trying to gain popularity with the owls.

When the last son arrived, the guards barely noticed him. He was handsome, with a sweet voice, but he did not flaunt his royal lines. The owls were tired of the parade of lions, but asked him the riddle:
"What is beautiful, but not conceited?"
"What is wise, but not arrogant?"
"What is compassionate, but not lenient?"
"That is what I wish to be," the last son answered quickly.

The last son was crowned King by his dying father and they all lived happily ever after in a well-run forest. Except the old King of course, who was dying and did not live very long. The first son found happiness as a successful model and the second son launched a singing career.

The wallow

2010-06-21T10:43:00.010-05:00

Today is loser day, in which I will wallow. I try not to let that damn Super Ego get in the way, but sometimes you just gotta give him his time to say his piece. He is embodied by the neighbors to my office window who are beating their dog.

In response to that damn Super Ego, my Ego has been procrastinating this entry by doing my actual job, by telling myself I am so busy and generally ignoring the fact that I am 0 for 3 in my contest endeavour. I admit I should have updated this about a week ago when I got the results, but I was feeling a little down with my lack of success. I am still feeling silly in this 10 contest adventure - simply because I am sucking.

* * *

Contest #1) Essay. Didn't win. Totally tanked, in fact.
Contest #2) Poem. Didn't win. I guess the cyber democracy populous didn't dig my style. Don't really have any indication of the level of my sucking.
Contest #3) Poem. Awaiting results. I stick by my odds in the last post.
Contest #4) Article. Not purchased. Didn't win.

* * *

Art. From 2002.

(Thanks for scanning this, Don and Kathy.)

* * *

In other news, I will be jobless in about a week. This is by choice and I feel blessed to be able to make that choice and I am looking forward to it. Although it may not last. I will take some time (after this excercise in self-pity today) to enter more contests, to get back my positivity on this writing thing and to revel.

One must take time to revel.

For the Id.

The Second Tanking

2010-06-09T02:47:00.015-05:00

- Contest results so far - Self-soothing - Photos and a poem -

* * *

Writing contest summary statistics
Contests entered: 4/10
Contests complete: 2/4
Contests won: 0/2

Contest #1) Didn't win.
Contest #2) Awaiting results.
Contest #3) Awaiting results.
Contest #4) Not purchased. Didn't win.

My Super-ego is a little upset.
My Ego has authored the next section.
My Id still having fun, still learning and still has lighthearted expectations.

Any wagers on the 2 contests in progress?
I will give you odds of 1/300 for #2 and 1/10,000 for #3.

* * *

Sometimes victories are not found where you are looking. Sometimes they come and tap you on the shoulder; you turn your head and are pleasantly surprised by what happened to your right. Sometimes they fly in from the far left and knock you over.

The first minor victory that makes me happy is explained in my last post. (You should be aware of my bias: I value the opinion of Google as the most-awesome search engine out there.)

The second victory is on Helium. Despite the 2 failed contests, there has been some progression since my last analysis of the Helium sphere. First, I achieved 2 writing stars with only 9 eligible articles (I have 11 now). The calculation of this I can not explain, but it is a measure of the quantity and quality of your Helium articles. Most users seem to get 2 stars after 30 articles and since I did it with only 9, I think that is good. Second, I mentioned back in April that my essay percentage was only 48%. Today, after reading and revisions, it is a big fat 92%. I guess I can say I have learned a bit how to write to this audience. Small, but it soothes.

* * *

I just returned from 1 week in Garbatulla. My last week in Garbatulla. My contract is complete on 30 June 2010. I have a long history with the Kenya Mission of ACF. I started here in 2006, came back in early 2008, and then came back again in July 2008 to be the WASH Coordinator, which I have done for the past 2 years. I am happy. I am nostalgic. I am ready to go.

I see many countries out the windows of Land Cruisers. Going a little too fast:
Mis-spelled signs.
Half built cement buildings. Half falling apart mud buildings.
Goats. Camels. Cows. Sheep. Skinny, fat, pregnant, as the seasons change.

Dusty men pissing. Dirty men pissing. Men pissing. The most common sight. Disgusts me. I don't want to see the stream of your piss. I don't want to smell your piss on the wind. I want you to have as much dignity as the women.

Dusty, wrinkled, calloused women. Bent forward with straight backs, always lifting up the house. Her faggot; heavy strapped to the head. A pile of grass, only legs are visible. Yellow plastic jerry cans of water. A child.

A Kenya Picture Poem:

Kenya is iconic Africa

Savannah grasses

Flat topped trees

Elephants lumbering through vines

Silent only becuase we didn't stop to listen.

Communities
make thier houses out of white dust
and iron sheets.

The mother cracks stones

hammer on old truck parts

pliers prized possesion

sorting saphires on a worn mat.

Because
the left hand is stagnant

while the right hand evolves
and the head is on backwards
this country
explodes

in a thousand directions.

pure ego

2010-06-08T10:07:00.002-05:00

I confess that more than once since 1999 I have googled my own name.
If you haven't googled yourself (but you know you have...) you should: it can be fun.

Where do I stand?
I now know there is an electronic musical artist named Mark Trayle.
I was disappointed when Trayle.com started: a travel diary site. Thieves.
It used to be that you had to wade through all those sites and references to find anything about me or you had to google my full name - in quotations.

Today, I googled just my first name.
No Kulshan. No quotes. No "and... bla bla bla."
Just my name.
And hell if my blog- this blog- is not first on the google list.
This is some kind of egotistical victory.
I am basking in googletistical glory.
And I am okay with that.

Note that this of course is not a constant, tomorrow or the next I might not be first on the list, but still this was cool! And just shows an evolution. A progression. A change.

Thanks for visiting. Please come again.

4 for the score

2010-06-04T00:12:00.007-05:00

Contest #4) I may be cheating on this one, but I think it is okay. On Helium they have what they call a "Marketplace" where publishers post articles titles they want written to. Then in theory, the publisher will choose one of the articles to publish - and they pay you money - 32 big ones riding on this one. Nice. Also, I think the turnaround time is quite quick, so my poor ego will quickly be either slightly hurt or 32 bucks richer. This is not a contest, per se, but it is a competition - so I'm letting the rules slide.

The really moving article title is "Garden gifts for Dad this Father's Day." How mundane is that? But this is part of the challenge. I have no authority here. My dad neither gardens, nor gives a hoot about gifts. He is way too cool for that. Let us continue.

One must be able to write about anything. I remember in college, one of the senior members of the lit mag staff said: "If you can write a poem about a cup of tea, you can be a poet." I did write that poem; it probably sucked and who knows where it is now... I may have to try again.

Do check out my Helium article on "Recipes: Great ways to cook muskrats."

* * *

In more exciting news... On my drive "up-country" from Nairobi, I saw an ELEPHANT! In the wild, my friend, au natural. Moving so slow as we zoomed by, it moved me a little. Just hanging out by the side of the road. I got a photo of its butt, which I will post (in all it's anti-climatic glory) but the internet is by cell modem for the next week, so I am slightly handicapped. I saw baboons too, but they aren't quite as magical as an elephant.

There was also a boat in a tree and roofs without walls...

I am also working on my manifesto. Mario, my husband, and I are involved in a friendly manifesto competition (we are truely made for each other)... but I won't count that as one of the contests.

An Optimistic Pre-quel

2010-05-31T00:47:00.007-05:00

Back in 2006, I arrived in Kenya and was on my way to the wild northeastern bush- Mandera. I didn't know much about Kenya or Nairobi and, more importantly, I didn't know much about Mandera... just that it was dry, there was a strict curfew and nothing to do anyway but sit on the roof and gaze over the hills at Ethiopia or Somalia. I'd need some entertainment.

In preparation, I dutifully went to the bookstore downstairs from the movie theater and started picking stuff up.

It was here that I discovered "Kwani?" - the Kenyan literary magazine.

It is full of fantastic writing in English, Kiswahili and Sheng (an evolving slang language of the youth). Okay, let's be honest, I can really only say the English is entertaining, I can't read Kiswahili or Sheng.
It has poetry, stories, cartoons and other sort of creative stuff.

It has a pulse.
It is political.
It is gives an insightful perspective into the thoughts of Kenya and - to me personally - a bit of optimism for this country.

Since the post election violence at the end of 2007 (see Kenya Quickie)- Kwani? has sponsored and lead some of the most moving efforts at showing and questioning what really happened to people, as well as peace building and reconciliation through art. Take a look around thier site.

So there I sat on my way to Mandera with the 2005 edition of Kwani? in hand, in a yellow, 7-seat, twin-prop plane. There were plasic jerrycans of fuel stored in the nose and wings of the plane. The fumes wafted back. The big people were spaced in the plane to balance it out. Someone's daughter was on the lap of the Head of Mission. It flew low but finally did make it. The flight was 5 hours long (or more?) and I didn't read a page. An interesting beginning to my relationship with Kenya...

Since then, there has been at least 3 more Kwani? published, as well as some feature length books, some of which I bought - and then at some point I seemed to have lost or given away somewhere.

(And a historical note, it was on my way out of Mandera when I started this blog.)

My first buck

2010-05-28T07:32:00.012-05:00

* * *

Business, first:

Contest #1) Helium… That's where it started, and it will apparently continue into oblivion, but is none-the-less an interesting background to my adventrue in writing. I haven’t submitted anything new here since the last posting, but I am earning good money. To date: $1.05, at this rate I'm going to need a piggy bank! The biggest earner by far is my masterpiece on beauty tips- more than 1/3 of my total earnings are from this article alone. How about that. Deep. Fufilling. $1.05.

Contest #2) Poetry contest for charity… 2nd round of cyberetic-domocratic judging completed. The quality of poems is better in this round, so I guess that should give me confidence in the merit of the contestant-come-judge approach. There is no feedback from the contest organizers if you passed to the second round or not, so I have no idea what people thought of my poem. I will only know if it passes to the final 12 in the next few weeks. If not I will never know how far it went. Oh woe goes the fragile Ego who sits atop her fence.

Contest #3) The more professional poetry contest… No idea. The contest is closed, and if I don't win then I don’t expect any feedback. Wish I had a clue. Wish I had a chance.

Both #2 and #3 should have results in July. I am honestly pretty nervous at the idea of the outcomes. Discouragement? Depression? Elation? Egomaniacal striation?

* * *

Writing, second:

So, the artist. Is so deep. Is so idealistic. The process is supposed to be moving and personal and involve a muse. The artist is not supposed to create for the audience or for appreciation, but for the pure and simple joy of creation.
Creation of any sort seems to involve some evolution.
And evolution involves some reflection and adaptation and revision to improve upon that creation. And sometimes that involves some sort of opinion that is not your own. Which by definition is involving the audience and by-passing the muse and maybe isn't so deep. But it's still being an artist, I think.

So here is some creationist evolution by an amateur artist who is perhaps not so idealistic.

Here are two versions of something. Which do you think came first? Which one do you like better? Did it evolve at all? Should it have even been created?

Shifting nomadic sporadic emphatic
transient walking with steps automatic
a basket a bundle a trundle crate casket
reflective packing with questions to ask it

I tell myself I am not in the race,
not influenced by the incompetence
of the electoral college, not capitalist, not racist, not American.
I tell myself I am not in the bottom,
not affected by the incompetence
of taxes called inflation, not corrupt, not tribalist, not African.

I tell myself I am not
in the race, not
influenced by the incompetence
of the electoral college, not
capitalist, not racist, not
American.
I tell myself I am not
in the bottom, not
affected by the incompetence
of taxes called inflation, not
corrupt, not tribalist, not
African.

Here is my answers to my own questions: I sort of like the two part one because it is more playful, but it doesn’t seem finished yet, needs more to make it strong. The bottom one seems to take itself too seriously, trying to be deep, trying to speak for everyman - but could be complete as it is.

* * *

Personal, third:

We are moving. My next 3 months are pretty unclear, but (as life seems to keep on going whether or not one has a plan) the next month promises much more excitement in my life than just the outcome of the second two contests. I will definitely leave Kenya by mid-July. I might get a job. I might not. I might go surfing. I probably won't. Either way, there will certainly be some interesting blog posts. Currently I am a little bit reflective, as one tends to be upon the brink of leaving 2 years of inspiration, frustration and fun.

There is no fastlane

where

potholes appear

with overnight rains,

where

streetlights are standing

with bulbs dark,

where

I saw a dead man

hit last new years eve.

Adventrue Numba 3

2010-05-08T12:19:00.008-05:00

I broke the promise consciously,
left it without regard.
I promised pictures and rancorously
left my honor marred.
Can I make up for my mistake
with this stupid rhyme?
My life is dull, I could not take
an adventrue in this time.

* * *

Well the Helium experiment (from Contest #1) continues. I have learned that the first essay I wrote will never be removed from that site, and I will never be able to improve it! Damn, says my ego. Good for ya, says myself.

Still, the experiment continues. I have submitted a few more essays, just for practice. I have earned the first form of Helium-based validation - a "writing star" which means that I have reached some quantity goal while maintaining some quality of standard based on how the masses view my articles (poems don't count).

I have learned that when I write about stuff I do not really care about or about subjects in which I am not an expert, the ranking of my articles is much better. I am trained as a hydrogeologist and I am a weird and not-too-girly woman, but my articles about aquifers and water are apparently shit and my best ranked articles are about how to cook and put on makeup.

I suppose I must admit, in public, that I do love to cook (my stress relief) and I find getting all kinda nice-looking fun. I guess I am a little girly.

I also must somehow question, not the quality of the Helium site or the writing there, but it's purpose. I guess it is not meant for public enlightenment on scientific issues and that this is not the venue to achieve the goal of trying to convince stupid people that climate change exists. Which, you may observe, is leaving me somehow frustrated because there are so many crappy articles there arguing that climate change and global warming are myths. There are articles that are supposed to talk about aquifers, but go on and on about the "groundwaters" with heaps of wrong information. Arf.

I seem to have started that paragraph sensibly enough, but it degenerated into a rant. Drama can be good. But really it just proves what I said before, is that I guess popular writing is figuring out what your audience wants.

I feel some subversive energy coming on here.
I want to use bad english to explain the glory of science and all its uncertainties!
I want to use incomplete sentences to subtly insult creationists!
I embrace bad spelling because sometimes it makes life an adventrue!
Is that so wrong?

(Source: Adventrue is a brilliant slip that I have stolen from my mother.)

* * *

So Contest #2 is closed and I am now participating in the cyber democratic voting process. So far I have had to read 12 poems, in which I ranked my top 4. There were some good ones - as well as some true crap, which one will undoubtedly find where ever one endeavors to read anything remotely poetic. I think the winners are announced sometime in July. I will keep you posted on how the competition stacks up in the continued rounds of judging... I might not be so quick to use the word "crap" next time.

* * *

Contest #3) So, in all transparency I must disclose that between now and 20 May 2010 I will enter another contest. This one is also for poetry. It is different than the last in that it is judged by professional poets at a literary magazine. While a supporter of the cyber-democracy voting process of which I have been a part in the first two contests, it is my duty to choose contests with varied challenges.

As this is a pretty high level contest, I doubt I will have any chance and feel a bit foolish and freaked out. That said, my ego thinks it would be damn cool to get a nod from a professional, even if I don't win. I mean, I got to go all out and day dream.

So, on this one I enlisted a friend and a mom (my own mom) to rank some of my poems to help me choose which ones to enter. They also gave me some useful feedback on how to make them better. I was surprised to find they both had the same favorite, and it was not my favorite. I liked the one that was more personal to me I guess. I trust them on their judgment of the best.

After the contest, I will tell you which contest it was (with a link to the winners etc.) and I will also post the poems that I entered. I am not sure on rules, but it may be better to leave them off the blog until it is over. Same with the last contest. Frankly, I am not at all clear on what means the word "published," as to me a blog ain't exactly respectable literature. But who knows, the words are out there.

* * *

Fine. I give in. Here is a photo or two. My consciousness is not, in fact, rancorous.
But be aware, I am forced to recycle a bit for lack of adventrue.

This is me between 2 big ass tanks on some rocks in Garbatulla. Just doing my job. I was just looking, we didn't build these, the ministry did.

This is just a strange image that I like.

These are my new glasses. That may be as close to my recent medical adventrues as you will get without me totally grossing you out. But that would've been more fun wouldnt it?

Wanna be

2010-04-29T15:56:00.009-05:00

Editorial Note: Africa heat poem has been removed temporarily.
Here is a replacement that is posted elsewhere.

I enjoy the warmth beneath
your purple cotton shirt
your double chin beneath
straight spiky hairs
your arm between
rough polyester
airplane seats.
I enjoy the stinging fear
of this surprising
intimacy.

* * *

I wanna be Bob Dylan. Not even original, but it's true. I enjoy most things in life, but sometimes I fall in love. Once because of him. Last thoughts on Woody Guthrie is a masterpiece. Like "Tonight" below, it is better read aloud. Maybe that is true of all poems that move.

* * *

I am writing on the Mac today. My own computer, which ironically I am not used to. The keys are quiet and the screen doesn't flip quite to the right angle when I put it on my belly. But it's lighter. And looks cool with its little glowing Apple derrier.

I am using here to spit out words until they become a better poem. Sometimes feeling like someone else has read it, even if untrue, makes me want to revise something and make it better. Sometimes I do. Sometimes I don't. If you look at the poems on my Helium page (explained below) you will find that most of it is revised from here.

What's with the lack of photos? Eh? Promises, promises, my dear. Okay. Fine. Next time.

21 cents and a poetry contest

2010-04-25T13:17:00.009-05:00

So recently I may have said that I was "puttin' myself out there" and that I would enter 10 writing contests. Despite tanking on my first try, I will carry on. I will... (Ah I wanted to quote "Californication," but it’s definitely not appropriate, so I will simply...) continue.

I am having a great time at this. I have learned you need write to the right audience and I may be a better poet than esseyist.

Contest #1 (the tanker) was through a site called Helium, where you set up a profile (check me out, click on "articles" tab to see the writing) and you submit articles. Your articles are then rated by the other members against the others anonymously, double blind. Part of my duty as a member is also to fairly rank others against each other. Democracy. There is apparently like 400,000 members or some such mad number. So everything you submit is ranked by "the masses."

My conclusion about poetry is related to the rankings of my poems on this site. So far, I have submitted 4 essays and 4 poems. My essays are ranked at 48% and poems at 95%. Go figure. I didn't find my essays THAT bad! A little boring, maybe, but more factual than some of the competition... to be continued. You haven't seen the last of my science-geek-essay-writing-ass!

The other semi-interesting thing on this site is that they share their advertising proceeds with members (to be a member is free). I have, so far, made 21 cents. Does that make me a professional?

Contest #2) I have entered a poetry contest (MAG Poetry Compitition 2010 on PoetRepublic.com) which costs 6 pounds sterling and benefits MAG, a de-mining organization, which is a worthy cause which I believe in, especially having lived in Afghanistan. The poem must be unpublished and less than 42 lines long. It doesn’t have to have anything to do with Afghanistan or mines. Since it is a contest, I can not put the poem here on my blog until it the contest is done. The winners are announced in July. The judges are the contestants in another web-domocratic-double-blind-manner. So I am a judge. Wish me luck on my poem.

On anther interesting side note, this writing adventure has brought me a little closer to a friend, of course re-discovered through facebook, but who is sorta like me in exploring writing and who is very cool.

And to bring it full circle, her sister just started blog about bees, which is pretty funny. Why would you need 14,000 bees? But you just might.

* * *

I went to Oslo, where I went to the ICE BAR. eh. over rated. over priced. Cool to be in a freezer, but not worth 30 bucks.

* * *

I also went to Garbatulla again, which was very nice now that we have something to do!

Relentless.

This photo shows

Drought,

Flood, Drought

upon cornstalks.

Kenya is beautiful. From a distance.

Somehow I kept looking like a fat pirate.

Two things I like

2010-04-17T02:33:00.003-05:00

On a certain 9 hour journey, I fell in love twice. I thought I'd share.

POEM : Tonight

by Agha Shahid Ali

I suggest listening to it, rather than reading. Or both at the same time.

MUSIC: Zoe Keiting
Very cool. The first time I heard it, I thought it was interesting and creative, but wasn't excited. Then I listened to it at 7 am, coming up from the arid Garbatulla to the misty mountains, lush and green. Then it became very cool and was a nice background to my journey. I love Legions (War). I guess it's mood music.

Puttin' myself out there...

2010-04-01T06:02:00.015-05:00

I want to ask you a favor in a small adventure to either satisfy or break my ego. Read on.

So, I like to write. I like words. In the past I dabbled in literary magazines and participated in a fairly prestigeous writing camp. Not really been published, but sort of. I have this darn blog that not so many people read. Sometimes people find it entertaining and sometimes boring. So, I asked myself, if I want to write and say something... how do I know if I really can? Am I good enough? How can I get better? Does anyone want to read what I write? Why? Why not? What do I have to say anyway?

Basically, this is my ego talking (yes, we all have one). So I thought I would look online for some adventures in writing. Can I validate myself? What's my direction? Is there some niche for my quirky style? Or should I continue to be satisfied writing for fun?

I am going to enter 10 online writing contests and see what happens... I will try to find a variety of them, but so far I am not an expert and there is a lot out there! (oh and by the way, no deadline... eh. I do have a job.)
As I do so, I will post them here and I will include the outcome.
I would love to hear what you think too!
Tell me where you got bored, where you stopped reading.
Don't tell me what you liked.
Tell me what sucked.

Contest # 1) I entered an essay writing contest for World Water Day. The audience wasn't totally clear, but to be less than 750 words. The results are announced the 9th, but I won't win, gosh darn it. Today (9 April) it is ranked 38 out of 105 submissions - and you have to be in the top 10 to be considered. Not exactly validation, I am afraid to say. But Fuck it, right? You gotta just put you self out there and let your ego take a thrashing.
So here is my entry, in all its sentimental glory.

(the title was given by the contest makers)

Inadequate access to safe water and sanitation claims 4,500 lives a day. What should we do about it?

Quick update: I changed the above to a link, as appearently this is better netiquette.

The article has currently fallen to 87/103 (14 April)! I have gotten some great feedback, though and I will be updating the article once I am allowed by the site (when contest winner is announced). Stay tuned as my ego bashing continues. (Waaahaa haaa evil laugh)

Happy World Water Day 2010

2010-03-22T08:36:00.002-05:00

'Tis the season... for a bunch of links. World Water Day 2010.

World Water Day is also know in some circles as World Whiskey Day. But honestly, the logic is a bit questionable...After you drink whiskey in order to save water, you are going to need a lot of water to get over your de-hydrating hangover.

Seriously... I won't quote you statistics (but I will link to some) but let me make 2 points:
People die from diseases linked to water.
People die fighting over water.

So again, I remind you that to save the world you need to focus.

Who doesn't love national geographic? I sure do...
National Geographic special issue on freshwater (March 2010)
I have been waiting for this issue on the edge of my seat... (yes, I am a dork.)

If you feel the need for statistics and sound bites:
Numbers Galore from Water.org
(I do not endorse Water.org for donations - of course I do not NOT endorse them - I just have no idea if they are reputable in terms of serving people with your money. They just have a nice list of numbers. If you want recommendations on where to donate money then ask me - but that is not my point here.)

I will write something more personal on water, but that will not appear here today, on World Water Day.

El Nino

2010-03-05T00:30:00.006-05:00

And what of this... absence? I take no responsibilty, whatsoever. Though I have no excuses.
Past months in suspended animation, I should have made that time somehow.

Remember a comment on kidnapping? (On kidnapping) eh well. Phrophetic of course... An entry I started back in July: "I love my job. But there are days it makes me speachless and this weekend has been one. 3 collegues were kidnapped, to join others somewhere in Somalia. You get in the habit of sarcastic emails, farts and animal noises. You get used to disagreements with warmth."

I never finished the entry. A little scared of being sentimental, which is fine over a beer when the guys got out in October, but not so entertaining here. Frustrating this time has been. Stiffled, yet somehow free eventually.

***

Passing time is inevitably seen
blowing past a window screen
ostrich plumes and elephant tracks
crocodile teeth and camel backs
flat red roads run to rocky hills
drying rivers tests a mother's will
Got out to walk on black craggy stone
sometimes salt white, dust alone
water from rock where donkeys drink
blinding desert, pupils shrink
skinny man, his wives wash grime
parched and poor, not pressed for time

***

Drying Ewaso Nyrio River in January.
Today it flooded it's banks.
Precocious little bastard.

Spring in the middle of nowhere.
This photo does not justice.

Thirsty cows.
'Nough said.

Typical scene at a drying earth pan.
Little bit of everything.

animals

2009-04-10T08:16:00.008-05:00

****

take a deep breath and clear your mind
but i'm in a smokey room here
i'm afraid of respiration
i can't make it to the door

not long to see the moon
through dust storms without lightning
i have lived through one or two
and i think ill see another

at the river bend
the water keeps its way down
keeps the wind clear from the smoke
keeps the mind from knots

***
Camels share a single cup.
***
Giraffes glide through trees with grace.

***
I walk the line.

The Marriage

2009-02-15T07:29:00.019-05:00

Apologies. I have linked here from some other places, so I took off this most personal entry. Anyway, it was not so poetic or interesting unless you know me, same with the photos, and I think everyone who missed the marriage has seen the posting so, no loss. I have saved the photos and posting, so if you missed them, send me an email and I can share.

Thanks for understanding.

Kenya Kataclysm

2009-01-16T01:58:00.017-05:00

Back in November, I took a little trip to Takaba. That is up in Northeastern Kenya where we have some cool programs running. It was in the rainy season and it was lovely... except the flat tires (that's the hook there, can't beat a little suspense).

***

On the road between Malkamari and Takaba:

There wasn’t much to see the second time round

Lightning still broke the wide skies, silent as the sun sank
We past this turn before, she thought
As roads became rivers, melting sand to glass pathways
without wind before but waves behind shifting beneath tires
Red to green muddled eyes climbed muddy trees
A wild grey cat in the shadows motionless watching waves
Rain and thunder joined the lighting and still no wind
Perhaps there is indeed some magic here to see
she thought the second time around

***

On Takaba by night:

Seems these days I don’t hear anything
Only silence and bullfrogs singing off the hills
Filled their ponds, their houseboats
Where are they in drought?

***

Takaba was cool (work wise) - except then it got hot (security wise) and we had to bolt out the back door to get back to Nairobi: via Moyale. Driving from Takaba to Moyale is only 5 hours usually, but it took us about 10. We braved the mud pits! Then we smartened up and just drove through the brush to avoid the mud pits, the drivers keeping top speed as not to sink... Then the epic of the flats began.

Two at a time - with only one spare (which is half flat, so really only a quarter of what we need)!

What to do? What to do?
(.... interlude under the only shade tree for several hours, talking human resources....)

Ah - Ha! What is coming over the horizon? That's a Matatu (local public transport, see photo below)! And oh what luck, the driver of this truck is a friend of our driver and he lends us his spare tire. And we are off again, with the matatu spare that is too big for our car and rubs at every turn. And our original spare is low on air, but it'll have to do... Ah - Ha! What is that bumping down the road? It is a BIG truck, and a nice one! They have an air compressor and are very nice and fill up our half flat spare... And we are off again...

As we roll into Moyale (a boarder town with Ethiopia that hasn't much to offer) the spare from the matatu gets a leak! But we tax the tires and keep driving, leaking and all, to the hotel and park the car at the police station just as the tire becomes too flat to move.
We have dinner at the Prison Canteen "under da shades" and da stars.

(Just a note, the next day I fly back to Nairobi and having been in the bush eating goat meat for a week, Mario takes me out for Sushi. On the way to the restaurant ... you guessed it! We got a flat tire! 4 and a half flats in 36 hours. That's a pretty good record.)

Back to Moyale, the boarder town with not much to offer, as I mentioned. Moyale by night is not an exciting thing. But we let sleeping goats lie...

This is our hotel in the day time. The hills in the background might be Ethiopia. They might not be. Who knows.

Moyale Intenational Airport, Gate 3, Boarding for Nairobi
The pilot inspects the plane before takeoff and seems to spy a problem.
"Is it gonna fly?"

Not until we get the cows out of the landing gear!

Just kidding! That's not really our plane (and that's not the pilot, it's our watsan engineer). That's a dead plane on the airstrip (no African air strip, dare I say airport, is complete without a dead plane or two, see blog of "Welcome back Congo").
We made it back to Nairobi safe and sound.

***

On Kidnapping:

Each time it seems to get closer; hoping it's an illusion
like when the moon is on the horizon and it seems bigger.

*** *** ***

A few months ago I had a blog about “Kenyan Quickie” where I described my rapid adventure in toilet building in the camps that developed when people were displaced due to fighting and violence after the 2007 Kenyan elections.

So… 1 year later. Those political folks in the elections found a “power sharing deal.” There is a report into the violence on the table, with ultimatums of a Kenyan tribunal or the Hague. Personally, I can’t help but be skeptical. Is there real accountability, real responsibility, real closure? I can’t help but feel sad; those who were harmed, stay harmed and they are the ones who want this peace, who want reconciliation, who just want to live the life they have or had, who want their sons and cows and sheep and houses back. There’s a lot of fear and a lot of hope and my biased, skewed and skeptical view won’t really help fix the hurt either way. And neither will all the 378 latrines we built.

And yes, so 1 year later and we are closing our programs in that area (Nakuru) because it is time - the emergency is over, things are getting back to "normal" and the situation is outside our meager mandate. You can only save the world if you're focused, you know. But we built a lot of latrines and showers and water supply systems, some trash bins and distributed a lot of tools, jerry cans, soap, water filters, and other hygiene products and to top it off a lot of hygiene promotion (awareness raising). So what was the impact? Why do we do what we do? Well, we just did a survey to find out – and here is what we found. In areas where we worked people are twice as healthy (or half as many general illnesses); there is 3 times less diarrhea for children! People are 4 times more likely to drink potable water. So that’s nice.

Like I said, you can only save the world if you're focused.

Nairobi - not so bad

2008-09-04T14:05:00.007-05:00

Well life isn't so bad in Nairobi. Nai-robbery. We live in a nice neighborhood, in a nice house that comes with a dog (nice german shepard who's called Leo). We have a normal life. We go to work and come home to be together and say "how was your day, honey?" I cook, I do the dishes, he does the rest of the cleaning and the finances. Sadly typical, yet comforting.

Don't worry anyone, this is our house, inside a walled and guarded compound. You can't see this from the road.

Welcome, as you come in the door (which is on the side of the house)- here is what you see.

Walk across the room and look back, you can see we have a sweeet loft upstairs area....

And looking down from the loft on the living room.
But just when you get tired of the normal life- jonsing for some camel meat, scarred donkeys, diarrhea, cold showers, and the wind in your hair - a field visit to bases saves the day... Mandera, Garissa or Nakuru (and Mario heads to Somalia), just enough to spice it up enough to remind us why we love our jobs: the dusty, bumpy roads, big camels (cute and tastey), dirty kids (cute and funny), land cruisers, cement mixes and sunburns.

Just a little publicity

2008-08-08T00:02:00.004-05:00

I am settled in Nairobi now, quite lovely and simple time for me.
I promise that this weekend I will put up some photos of my house and work!

In other news, Science Magazine (only the coolest science geek magazine in the world!) did a little article on careers in hydrogeology. I was included cause I have a cool career! With a photo. Nice.

Science Magazine - Careers in Hydrogeology Article

Good publicity for the organization and cool for me and my ego!

my brain

2008-06-04T07:59:00.003-05:00

Brain Lateralization Test Results

Right Brain (66%) The right hemisphere is the visual, figurative, artistic, and intuitive side of the brain.
Left Brain (34%) The left hemisphere is the logical, articulate, assertive, and practical side of the brain

Overall I appear to be Right Brain Dominant!

Right brain dominant individuals are more visual and intuitive. They are better at summarizing multiple points, picking up on what's not said, visualizing things, and making things up. They can lack attention to detail, directness, organization, and the ability to explain their ideas verbally, leaving them unable to communicate effectively.

-----------------------------------------

According to Darwinian theory, optimal evolution takes place with random variation and selective retention. The evolution savvy individual will try many different approaches when faced with a problem and select the best of those approaches. Many historical intellectuals have confessed their advantage was simply considering/exploring/trying more approaches than others. The left brain dominant type suffers from limited approaches, narrow-mindedness. The right brain dominant type suffers from too many approaches, scatterbrained. To maintain balanced hemispheres, you need to exercise both variability and selection. Just as a company will have more chance of finding a great candidate by increasing their applicant pool, an individual who considers a wider set of options is more likely to make quality decisions.

-----------------------------------------
Are You Right or Left Brained?
personality tests by similarminds.com

Welcome back Congo

2008-05-13T14:27:00.007-05:00

Bienvenue au Congo! Where the time flys better than planes. Where the solution to everything is a laugh, and if you forget that you'll end up in tears. Where everyone suffers - from the suffrance.
Where you can find views uninterrupted by mens hands or feet or cars or houses. Where the forest simply goes on and on and ... is just simply there and green. Where the forest is a jungle.
(The texture on the photo above are trees and trees and trees! The texture on the one below is termite mounds!)

Where termites rule. Spaced approximately 50m apart termite mounds made the plains dimply. (Googlearth Rocks! Which you may already know if you're on Facebook and are my friend. Which I scorned in the beginning, as I scorn Harry Potter, but am now addicted to, although I still scorn Harry Potter.)
Geeky side note: Termite mounds are facinating. The dirt in the mounds makes good bricks because it is fine particles that are well sorted. They say the mounds can often indicate water at some accessible depth (if i had some time and money i'd like to check this out and see if this is true).

Some things never change- like bad but beautiful roads. Like driving on barely a road, horn blasting to warn those up ahead to jump out of the way and you come through a wall of elephant grass to find five ladies blancing on the side, up off the road with fish in a plastic basin on their heads, or men scrambling with their bicyles. Like talking about the crops that are growing as we pass. Like kids swimming in the river in the rain with their mamas washing clothes on this rocks. Like bridges that are barely bridges on the barely roads. Like never getting stuck (at least for very long) despite the barely roads and bridges.
Like the ubiquitous humanitarian bumper sticker.
No arms on board.

No arms. No feet. No noses. No regrets for that matter. No radio (just the VHF for communication, where sometimes you find the BBC). No sense. A little non sense.

A short history of me and the magnificent Democratic Republic of Congo: After Peace Corps in Guinea I got my first job with this NGO in DRC, based between Shabunda and Baraka in the province of South Kivu in (see Flashback post) in 2005, where I worked for a year. At the end of 2005 I went to another region of Congo (because it is soooo huge and has such difficult logistics, no roads, we have 2 missions here) to help them out. That was South, in Katanga province, where I stayed only a month (but where I met Mario). Then I headed off to Mandera in Kenya, where I worked for another year, and again at the end of 2006 I came back to help out again in Baraka and Fizi - back in South Kivu. Somehow in 2007 I never made it here. Then in 2008 I have been here for 2 months doing an interim stint as the Coordinator. Whew. I just can't stay away, I don't know why... it drives me bananas! I don't like the music (Well I do dig JUPITER (see photo below)! I am tired of corruption (but it's getting better). But something here keeps bringing me back.... the jungle, the vrai bush, and the laughter perhaps.

Kenya Quickie

2008-04-30T05:11:00.003-05:00

I was back in Kenya for the past 2 months (February and March) for a short mission being the WASH (water, sanitation and hygiene) program manager of the emergency response programme for Kenyans displaced by the violence after the elections. (Mission in my job means "assignment" - I assure you it has nothing to do with "missionaries" nor "top secret" missions.)

What a great time. I have learned a lot and working in camps, which has been a new challenge. Here are some photos. I am a bit cautious to comment on generalities, as the situation is quite political. I guess what was important for my life was the pace of work, the lessons learned from colleagues, analysis, protection discussions. Most memorable were the smiles of those who'd lost everything or who brought it all with them, stories and laughs and wondering where the truth is...

........

One man hid in a well for 2 days to escape people who were trying to hack him up. Then one day I saw a crow on phone line and it was wobbling, on the wire, all ruffed up with feathers sticking out all which ways, back and forth, about to fall off, back and forth.... And I thought of this guy in the well.

So with their houses burned they ran with nothing, or from just a fear of burning, rumors of burning they packed up their things. Some with nothing. Some with everything.

It is easier to show you those that packed it all up ... their chairs beds tv antenna , literately the kitchen sink.

Still smiling.

Not exactly welcomed to the stadium in Nakuru, but also not refused.
The showground had more people, although this picture was taken before they moved into this section of the camp. A bit strange like a ghost town for ghosts that have never been.
Some didn't feel safe in places like the showground or the stadium.
Some settled at polices stations all around the country, like this tiny group of ramshakle shelters made as just a roof from plastic sheeting with dirt floors. They felt safer there, the police to protect them, but they had no tents and rarely food.
In this camp (shown above) a baby had been born with no medical care available, the photo below was taken inside one of these tents with the mother (behind) and her sister holding the baby.
...............................................................................
My work entailed building a lot of toilets. I have never built so many toilets and showers and clothes lines in so little time. Here is a view from a top the water tanks looking out over the showground upper site - as you can see the folks had moved in by this time.
These are the water tanks from which the previous photo was taken. We, with the Kenyan Red Cross built the tanks and water supply. Good collaboration thanks to some speical people.

Good bye Afghanistan

2008-04-09T12:11:00.007-05:00

Last thoughts on Afghanistan:

Watched the snow road block and fall
smelled the river from far too far
while others rushed and resigned to crawl
and irrigate almond lands
burqua eyes blind to mine
i lived outside them all.

...........................

So I am a bit late (as always) but then that's fine. So I was so sad to leave Afghanistan,
but I think my dad was pretty happy that I am gone...

Mario too was happy to go, but I know it was bittersweet for him and parts of it he loved... like Ghor where we spent a romanic week. (As romantic as Taiwara can get).

Back in December - We flew out praying it wouldn't snow. And it did - but not enough to keep us down. Too many memories to tell you here....

But we had time for one good party.... actually i am cheating this picture is Ophelie, from quite a while ago...

A road trip... a bit belated

2007-10-21T09:40:00.002-05:00

Back in March I took a cool trip to Hazerajat.
Yeah, yeah.... I posted the Hazerajat photos but here are some from the road trip.

Here I am at a stop on the road for a photo op. In the US this would be called a scenic outlook.
Bandi Amir... the coolest lake in the world. I guess it has built up these walls around with minerals and now it is an elevated lake. Cool huh? I wonder if any geologist has studied this. You can find on google earth.

There are a million russian tanks from here to there anywhere you go in Afghanistan.

Me and the budda hole in Bamian. The buddist built it (duh) and the Talebs destroyed it and finally it fell. UNESCO is rebuilding it and there was some rumors of it being replaced by a lazer show. . . . I may have mentioned that before. What a serious waste of money, when there is no electricity for the people there. Nor water, and only food for some of the year.

This is Ophelie and the trucks. As we was rollin' down the road. Our trip was hard and long....
But our ass didn't hurt as much as this guys ass.

Flashback to Shabunda

2007-10-18T07:49:00.001-05:00

Every now and then we recieve here in Kabul the Gaurdian Weekly.

A few weeks ago I was flipping through, looking at the photos and I saw a bridge that I knew.
I looked again, and said yes indeed I have crossed this river many times on a motorbike and on foot (as I decended to cross on foot because sometimes the tires of the motorbike would fall through the decaying planks) during my time in Congo. This is in the middle of no where, the bush - so imagine my surprise. The bridge is the only part of the road wide enough for a truck to pass - not that it could support a truck at that time, so we all crossed on foot, the drivers pushing the motorbikes, sometimes pulling them out of holes in the planks. The photo shows that the planks on the bridge have been replaced since my time there.

We protected springs in the area and some of my most fond memories are of cruising through the jungle on a one lane path on the back of a motorbike with a 10 kg HF radio on my back. We paid men to carry over 200 50 kg sacs of cement, 1 and 2 at a time up this road on their bicycles. Wow. What lovely memories.

I read the article. It agreed with the stories told to me during my time there and had fantastic photos. The names of the towns are where I have spent nights with rats chewing on my toes or running across my pillow. Where I have tasted smoked monkey meat and porky pine (neither are recommeded). Where I have climbed down ravines with no trails to a mucky spring. Where I have eaten many many plates of foo-foo (manioc goo) with chicken and palm oil sauce with lots of hot peppers. Ahhh. what faboulous memories.

Please check it out.
Article: http://www.guardian.co.uk/congo/story/0,,2162182,00.html
Photo gallery: http://www.guardian.co.uk/news/gallery/2007/sep/01/congo?picture=330664279

It is worth the read and the photos - the roads, the people, the airstrip. Some of the folks hanging around the airstrip are ACF staff - or were at one time.

Taiwara

2007-09-13T03:58:00.002-05:00

"On the road again,

goin' places that I've never been

Seein' things that I may never see again,

And I can't wait to get on the road again."

- Willie

Trayle is takin' ova!
Taiwara district is in Ghor province, in central Afghanistan. It is pronounced like you would say "whore." We have a great WASH program there, but no expats had visited for over a year. Matteo, the Head of Mission and I had the pleasure of going in June... And it was SUPER!
Hills are red and yellow and green!

We flew first to Chagcharan, the capitol of Ghor spelled Ghwor on Google Earth, by Beechcraft airplane and then we drove for 8 hours to Taiwara, a district in the south. We drove and drove and we reached the top of a big hill to get out and rest (and pee). This hill was in the middle of no where, nothing to see for miles and miles. Wahkil, the logistics and administrator for the Taiwara base and our guide, announced this was the last place there was phone coverage. So we all had fun making calls. I called my dad, said hi and chatted about investing money. Totally surreal at the end of the world.

Coming into "downtown" Taiwara. Oh the hills are alive with color.

Villages are small and filled with mud houses and compounds. River run through as this year is a good year in Ghor. Lot's of water after 8 years of draought.

I just love this photo, taken by Matteo. The men are the program manager, Taher, and a local elder. Of course nothing captures the biggness like being there.
Here's the team, Taher, Abdullah (with his hands in the well) and Matteo, fixing a broken pump we found as we surveyed the water points.
This may be the only forrest in Afghanistan. Not really, just the only one I have seen. That is Abdullah with me. It is so unbelievibly green for this raw country. The results of this good rain year. After a long walk through the only woods I've ever seen in Afghanistan, we ate some tasty apricots. Afghanistan grows a lot of apricots.
So there are some images of the last region in which we work here in Afgha! You have seen Kabul, Hazerajat and Ghor! what a beautiful place. Maybe some more creativity to come, but with this workload I just am getting by....

What a short, strange trip...

2007-07-10T08:26:00.002-05:00

A voyage in may, but went by too quick.

some few photos and fewer words.

sorry for that, you can call me a turd.

but i am too busy to even tak a shit

and that is why i made this lickity split.

AMERICA!

little pink houses for you and me.

DAMACUS!

lookin' for the mother ship.

My mamma and me. Sitting in a tree. Giggling dee dee dee.
Cindy, Cyndi and babies. So fun.
G5 Alive
The silly happy couple at the silly engagement party.

Hazerajat - Day Kundi Province

2007-04-29T04:50:00.001-05:00

Typical Hazerajat village in a valley.

Can you see the irrigation channels?

View from the roof of the compound at sundown.

spring time

Ahhh. The field at last – out of Kabul and into Afghanistan. Started in a helicopter! What fun, a great sensation, but once you get going just like a small plane really, but louder. They do a small test where we were hovering just feet above the ground, then start going. It is like being in a loud box, pulled by a big crane over the sky.

From Kabul we landed in Bamian, where the big buddas are. Left from long ago, and destroyed throughout the history (that I know so poorly that I dare not try to tell). From the helipad there you can see millions of caves – small simple holes to great big budda shaped things, 10 stories tall. Really amazing. I would like to return for longer than 30 minutes at the airport. There is a project there to rebuild the buddas, and until they are built to replace them with lazers that outline where they once were in some sort of cool effects. Nice idea. Until you realize where you are talking about and that maybe lazers are a waste of money considering... well a lot of things. But it is art and it is politically incorrect to criticize art.

So we take off again and bob along through mountains, snow covered but melting. Rock colors changing from red to grey to green to black, melted by erosion, each tint spilling down the valleys in inverted triangles from the topmost layers into those below. Some places are wet, giving away the hiding places of springs as they themselves spill through the grounds, leaving a saturated patch running down the side of the hills.

We turn a corner mountain and there are wide spaces of granitic rock, flaking away like Desolation wilderness, cracked and chiseled by ice wedging and worn away by spring rains and winds. Grey and rounded, cracked into unbelievable shapes, with holes and caves. There are pockets of green crops (wheat, I know) and fruit and nut trees (apricots and almonds) now and you can see the miles and miles of irrigation chanels.

We land and I am met by some of the local team and head back to the base. Two other expats and my engineer are still on the way, they came by plane (little tiny Cesna) leaving two hours before my helicopter, but the airstrip is 5 hours away. We drive to the base- up and down and up and down about 15 minutes only but incredible turns. The base is simple, one office, one bedroom for the girls and one for the boys. 2 tents inside full of stock, a third full of fuel and a large blue water tank. We have a land line, we have radios and several thurayas for communication. No internet… yet.

Fixing the generator in paradise.

I am in Nili.

To do internet, you climb the hill behind the compound (quite a feat at 2200 meters, I am all out of breath) and then there are 2 metal boxes, shipping crates to be precise, and a huge satellite dish. See the photo. You enter one of the boxes, one has a desk and the other does not. You sit on the floor with your laptop in front of a big server beeping like Hal on top of an Afghan hill surrounded by snow capped peaks and the sun sets, putting it all on fire. And the server keeps beeping.

Watsan equipement in paradise.

Goats and sheeps hangin' on the hillside.

Gaurd, Driver and my Engineer fixin' a mean Kabob.

We had a barbeeque day at the river.

The watsan team in the field. Kickin' ass as usual. The road was bad. We had to walk the last half a kilometer or so to the village we were assessing.But this man was happy for the visit.

urban spawl

2007-03-14T22:39:00.002-05:00

Urban Sprawl

This is a link to a nice article that sheds a bit of light on the water and sanitation situation in Kabul...

Kabul copes with lots of people, little water
Afghans see a possible livelihood in the city, despite its crumbling infrastructure.
By Mark Sappenfield Staff writer of The Christian Science Monitor

A Kabul Picture Poem

2007-02-25T02:35:00.003-05:00

This is Kabul.

And her childrenengulfing them slow

crawling up from below

this motherful city

hiding what's smotherful colorful

within silent grey mystery.

The unemployed beside the destroyed

not sure who is who
between buildings or boys
looking upwards to something

that destroyed joy down the road.

* * *

It aint easy being green

playing the scene

making up dreams

sometimes wishing we were back

in Mombassa...

links to others photos

2007-02-12T08:22:00.001-05:00

My uncle is famous! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vcQZBSEyAMM:

OK all in French, but the photos are cool...
For more super Kaubl photos check out http://tomtommaou.blogspot.com/
For a french dudes view of this place check out http://jeanraphael.blogspot.com/
who seemed to find my analysis of francophone culture particularly funny (see entry 8 feb 07)
Both great guys.
For my honey's http://mothergaia.blogspot.com/ (in french no photos) and in english http://hotpotbelly.blogspot.com/

impressionist kabul

2007-02-08T09:18:00.001-05:00

A kabul moment captured...

... the man in the corner is taking a piss.

Driving out towards Jalabad road, you pass tall buildings that look as if they belong in Novosibirsk - a remnant of some type of development that has since been not destroyed but damaged and then reworked into warmth. You might call them projects and imagine crack dealers peaking around the open dirty snow crusted yard between two towers where there was once a fountain or a pool of odd shape with a bridge empty now of water, but not of children with blue hands and red noses. But they are the nicest place in town the residents have private cars and sometimes water and electricity and carpets and warmth and food and lovely clothes and make up.
The buildings are grey reinforced concrete. The skeleton breaking out of the cracked cement at the top, fingers of rusted re-bar reaching for the sky freed by blasts of ... They were styled as Russian style goes with geometric shapes into the cement a bit subtle then, but now riddled with bullet holes pock marked, spaces in between but more holes than not. You can imagine the sound or wonder how long it took to cover the walls with bullets, even with an automatic Kalashnikov, or if there were people hiding and if it all happened at once or over the years.
But it’s a quiet day today sunny and the kids are climbing on the bridge over no water. And the men wander about maybe having hot tea by a shaggy sloppy stand in the parking lot. And the women are inside they have made this building home and warm. Carpet and cylindrical diesel heaters with their tell-tale smoking chimney, making dumplings and youghurt and spices with the smell of henna drying on the feet. Warm tea is always ready for those blue fingered children as they come in and out and in or a cousin or a bother in law or cousins brothers sisters cousin in law.

A man passes on a bicycle wrapped in a blanket and hatted tight against the cold, rolling heavy old and slow with some momentum a bit to tall for him. Difficult to ride, especially with one leg.

Sometimes there is some random person walking or on a bike with a handful of bright clear sparkling dancing helium filled balloons passing by never seen again themselves but the colorful bouquet is seen from day to day as if they fit into this grey city. I wonder who gets them in the end.

First snowy story...

2007-01-24T09:16:00.001-05:00

This is outside my office door in our compound after the snow....
Last week in snowed. A lot. It was ankle deep and beautiful. The roads filled with people bundled and hiding from the snow. At home we started the day throwing snowballs at each other, at lunch time the guards joined in, but slowly, at first the just made a stash of snowballs for us to use, or threw them at each other. As we arrived at the office after lunch, we continued… the staff laughing with us or at us, but not really throwing.

The logistician was leaving so we got everyone together outside for a photo with him… and then it began. Someone slammed snow into someone else head. Snowballs started to fly. The head of mission is a great shot and hit almost everyone straight in the face.

Hierarchy here is well respected. The local staff did not at first want to hit the boss with snowballs, or especially the women bosses… but by the end everyone was laughing and hitting each other. Sneaking around behind the car and ambushing people. It was great. Everyone let their guard down and just laughed and laughed and laughed and got cold.

Settlin' in

2007-01-20T07:13:00.001-05:00

Thanks to all the notes and emails - wow! Just awsome to hear about everyone's news! These are the moments when living so far away seems a bit hard...

Sorry about any strange lingo that may seep into my writing. A "mission" is how most NGOs call their operations in a country - so we are the Afghan mission for Action Against Hunger (http://www.actionagainsthunger.org ) . No covert operations, just plain old well digging and latrine building. This week has passed so fast! Our work week is Sun-Thursday, which for some reason makes it go by faster.

What do I do anyway? So I do "watsan" (water and sanitation) - which are grouped together because what good is water if it isn't clean. Perhaps the most important (but less sexy) part of any watsan project is the "software" (knowledge and skills) to complement the "hardware" (construction, see the handpump above). In the beginning of the week I went with the "home visitors" for some home education sessions. The home visiting team are all women and they visit the homes of those people in the neighborhoods where we implement construction. They go door to door and sit with the mothers and children, men sometimes, and talk to them about hygiene behavior... cleaning their water jugs, cleaning toilets, washing hands and more on washing hands. It is just a great approach I think, makes people feel really responsible - more so than if they are all gathered together into a public place and taught in a session.

To enter into someone's home; you see their children who are comfortable and climbing around, their rug they are working on, half-done and rough and beautiful, their simple room with mud walls (thicker than mud walls in Africa), no furniture except the loom, warm from a diesel heater and comfortable with flat pillows around. A family of 3 mothers, maybe the same husband or not, and an old grandmother. One could read (Dari written in the Arabic alphabet) so she said we should leave the colorful flyer with pictures with her to share with the family, so we did. Some of the women had darker skin and some with Asian eyes and some who look like me with darker hair. They are attentive and positive and smiling with the home visitors.

After the team of home visitors had prepared a meal with afghan food from their homes; boiled meat and some wonderful boiled dumplings with lentil sauce and youghert poured around. The ladies were so sweet and lovely. One older women spoke French and was so cute, asking me about Paris.

Most Afghan people assume I am French, because most of our expatriates are. I tend to not correct them, and if they ask I say that I have American origins, but I am French now because I am married to a French man. So first, I am not too psyched to be American in Afghanistan. I do not agree with how we are here or have been in the past (detrimental, hypocritical and self serving). I am very fearful of being judged by Afghans by that on first impressions. But as someone gets to know me or wants to know me, asking me about myself, learning my own personality I am happy to tell them about my nationality. In fact this I think is important so that people realize that Americans don't always agree with America or with W, so when I have the opportunity (a conversation deeper than an introduction) I try to discuss it too... so it is a bit of both and a careful balance. Second thing; here Mario and I are married. There is either married or not, and so we are married. This there is no getting around it. We just have to be married. Everyone now wants to know why we do not have kids. ACK!

Now to other expatriates, I am American. My country hasn't screwed up their countries and I would hate to be mistaken as French in the expat circles (ha ha ha), which would be easy considering that I hang out with mostly French people. It is an entertaining dynamic here. Most of the people I have met here are French, because the ACF expats are French… Some French people here refer to ALL non-“French NGO” people as “Anglophone” therefore: military (even ISAF which is mostly French) is anglaphone, private companies, security, UN is anglaphone, Russians are anglaphone, Indians are anglaphone, any NGO worker whose NGO is not French is anglaphone. It is a good joke with some Frenchies who make it fun, and really annoying from some others who are just plain ignorant.

I am giving a bad impression… Everyone here I have met are really cool, nice people. I am having a good time and having new friends, luckily especially those I live with. So don’t get me wrong at all, it is just sometimes the interesting things come out as negative.

Mario and I are happy here (although the picture is from Kenya with Mt. Kilimanjaro faintly in the background). We like our jobs and teams. We hope to stick around a while. We have each other. Security in Kabul is okay, although we are quite restricted to where we can go as preventive measures.

A change of continent...

2007-01-14T08:02:00.001-05:00

After 4 years in Africa, I have arrived in Kabul, Afghanistan. Quite chilly and beautiful. A small high basin surrounded by snowy peaks, the air a bit polluted - trapped by the mountains and the ambiance is a bit French - a mission mangaged through our Paris office, but all lovely just the same.

Someone once asked me if wearing a headscarf would bother me. No it doesn't, it's pretty practicle as it is damn cold. It's just like a shirt in our culture - if you're a woman you have to wear one in public. All cultures are sexist, westerners just tend to think we are above it, but we are just used to it in our own way.

As you can see the scenery is pretty impressive - more to come as I get settled in. By the way I am 12 and a half hours ahead of the West Coast.

Good bye to Africa... at least for a while.

2007-01-14T07:44:00.001-05:00

A fitting farewell to Africa. Here is Dinner (shown at left), a dear gift from the Chief of Garbakoley in Mandera Kenya. He was the favorite Chief of most of us; educated, spoke great English, loved to debate politics and religion and was very helpful in implementation of the project.

We had a lovely staff party. One of my staff sang to me a goodbye song that almost made me cry. I received some thoughtful gifts (a headscarf for Kabul). We saw the honorary "Camle Dance." Speeches were made; the best again being from the Chief of Garbakoley who says "In Muslim culture women stay in the kitchen, but I guess that is up to Mario. I have some advice for Kabul, be patient and do not dress like an American, dress like a Muslim lady." The first part was a joke and the second pretty good advice.

I'll miss the continant that I had grown used to... all the chaos that works, the stinky, the green, the beautiful, the corruption, the comfort, the knowledge that there is always a solution. But we will be back I am sure...

And I do suppose I should explain who "we" are... For those of you who don't know, Mario is a lovely man I met in DRCongo, who also works for ACF, and to whom I have just gotten engaged. We won't be married until after our mission in Afghanistan is through, i.e. 2008. I am so happy to have found someone who I can work and travel with, who is smart and interesting, who has a cool background (he is French, but is of Syrian origin), who I can put up with and who can put up with me.

So here I go out on the next part of the adventure. Some of it staying the same and some of it getting better: I will still work in Water and Sanitation for Action Against Hunger, but this time as a coordinator (more mangaging, less cement). I hope that this blog will encourage me to write a bit more, get a bit more creative... although as you can tell this one is a bit of an update, make it easier to share photos with you all.

The Path of Trayle

A rant or two...

One year more... or less

What's on the roof?

...to turn

Next page

Evil for good

Sitting here in limbo...

You win some...

Sum of a summer

Eight looks like infinity

Why ask why?

Footloose

The Seattle Seven

Magic Carpet Ride

Revolution 9

Blinded by the night

Pollution Revolution

Tourist tales

I me mine

How many days?

Final report

The Tao of Water

Everywhere there's signs...

And if three people do it...

Follow down

Indicators

Geology rocks

Pissed off

Double rubble trouble

What was once

Secondhand stories

Hobo's Lullaby

Shifting stances

All I ever wanted

2 to 2

Back to backsides

Stateside besides

The wallow

The Second Tanking

pure ego

4 for the score

An Optimistic Pre-quel

My first buck

Adventrue Numba 3

Wanna be

21 cents and a poetry contest

Two things I like

Puttin' myself out there...

Happy World Water Day 2010

El Nino

animals

The Marriage

Kenya Kataclysm

Nairobi - not so bad

Just a little publicity

my brain

Welcome back Congo

Kenya Quickie

Good bye Afghanistan

A road trip... a bit belated

Flashback to Shabunda

Taiwara

What a short, strange trip...

Hazerajat - Day Kundi Province

urban spawl

A Kabul Picture Poem

links to others photos

impressionist kabul

First snowy story...

Settlin' in

A change of continent...

Good bye to Africa... at least for a while.