The Adventures of Alex in Wonderland

The End...

2010-09-04T23:07:00.002+02:00

So, my travels have come to an end. It was a great trip but I'm happy to be back in DC. I want to leave you with a few quotes from a great interview with Anthony Bourdain which I think do a decent job summing up my time in Cote d'Ivoire. Thanks for reading!

"Well, good food is a willingness to step out of your comfort zone a little, take a shot at the unfamiliar, try something that, OK, might give you diarrhea. There were times that I was pretty damn sure I was going to be really, really ill if I ate this. But if you're lucky enough to have a passport and find yourself on the other side of the world, and somebody without a lot of money is being generous to you, then I think the onus is on you to help bring honor to your hosts."

"It's the most exciting thing about travel to me. You're constantly wrong. You're constantly challenged by your own preconceptions. You're forced to relearn such basic, basic things. Words you thought you knew the definition for become completely changed: the word work, the word hunger, the word generosity. Or you think an entire country's going to be one way and then it's another way. I like being wrong in that respect."

"I used to believe, deeply, that people were basically bad—that given a slight change in the our situation, we would all revert to packs of wild dogs who would devour each other and sell each other out. I took a very dim view of human nature. Travel has made me more optimistic. I believe now that for the most part, the world is filled with people doing the best they can under the circumstances."

Absolutely Stunning

2010-08-04T15:29:00.007+02:00

Wow. Wow. Wow. That was all I could keep saying. I could cut the disbelief with a knife, not trusting what I saw in front of me. Words like biggest and tallest and most don't have sameimpact on paper as they do in real life, particularly when these adjectives emerge where you least suspect.

A couple days ago I trekked up to Yamoussoukro, the official capital of Cote d'Ivoire. The city isn't much, but there's a lot more there than 50 years ago. Yamoussoukro, known by the sweet nickna

me Yakro, just happens to be the home town of founding father/long-time president Houphouet Boigny. During his 30+ years of rule he built the city up and put into motion the process of moving the capital from Abidjan to Yakro.

The legacy of this work begins with highways to nowhere. Six-lane roads, I was stunned to see, actually have lanes painted on them and traffic lights that work, something that the bustling roads of Abidjan could use. The fantastic roads are occasionally dotted with a few cars. The roads take you to a foundation in Boigny's honor, the presidential palace, Hotel du President and other impressive buildings found among fields and empty lots

But, the main legacy of Boigny's investment in this city is the National Basillica. For an undisclosed sum, Boigny commissioned a French architect to design and build the world's largest Basillica. They kinda cheated a little because the dome is smaller than St. Peter's in Rome, but the huge cross on tops gives it the edge.

It is big. And it is breathtaking, all the much more so because

it is completely

surrounded by abandoned fields. All sense of scale is completely lost as one walk up to this immense

structure, which is double the size of Notre Dame in Paris. In this picture, you can almost feel that car's humiliation next to the dome.

The inside, where they wouldn't let me take pictures, is equally amazing. Here are a few:

The Basillic is an absolutely magnificent strucutre. I love architecture, particularly its ability to throw our senses out of wack and humble us with its power (e.g. the same reason why I love the natural architectural feat that are waterfalls). I also like the unexpected, and who'd've of though the most magnificent church I've ever been to would not be in France, Italy or Spain but in Cote d'Ivoire. Thus, this building is an, er, Mecca for me.

But, my development instincts won't let me fully enjoy it. The millions and probably billions of dollars sunk into this building could certainly have been used to better the lot of the nation's millions of poor. How can I justify this expense, other than by saying that this is better than a secret Swiss bank account?

But it is beautiful, and a place that I will not soon forget. If I were a religious person, perhaps I'd ask God to help me figure this dilemma out. In any case, I do know a great place that I can go pray...

The Anatomy of a Meal

2010-07-31T01:43:00.004+02:00

Close your eyes and imagine this. OK maybe read this, then imagine. The crisp skin of fried fish yields to your fingers as you tear off a steaming morsel of flaky, perfectly-cooked white flesh. The smell of fried fish surrounds you as you drape stings of onion and diced tomato drizzled with fish infused oil over the fish. Fresh cut hot peppers and a smoky, spicy tomato sauce top it off. Your fingers warm with the delicious flavors as you add a smattering of attiéké, a couscous like grain with a tangy, bitter taste. You move the mixture towards your tongue and the result is sweet, spicy, salty, tangy, fishy and, yes, delicious.

See the album here

Learning to Speak Ivoirian

2010-07-27T18:07:00.000+02:00

I thought French was the official language of Cote d'Ivoire. I was wrong.

Of course that's not to say I don't understand the folks around me. But, the interesting twists of the French in Cote d'Ivoire remind you (in case, for some reason, you forgot) that you are not quite in Paris. In two months, I have the pleasure of discovering, getting used to and, yes, going native with Ivoirian and using it myself.

As I detail a few of these idiosyncrasies, I have a caveat. One of the issues I've come across a lot while traveling, that I imagine others have as well, is knowing how much to read into the differences of a new place. When, on one hand, is a different just a simple choice that isn't meaningful. For example, driving on the left side of the road isn't indicative of deep-seated communist leanings. On the other hand, when is a difference a revealing cultural/historic/social choice? I'm not sure the answer to that question, but I'll do the best I can.

"Payer"

"Acheter" - to buy - does not really exist in Cote d'Ivoire. Instead, "payer" - to pay for - is the word of choice. For instance, the mother of the family I was staying with would ask me if I wanted her to "payer du pain," literally to pay for bread. An interesting choice, that I don't think is random. My theory is that when you are living in a place where time is plentiful, but the means to buy something are not, it makes sense to place the emphasis on the actual paying. In states, we tend to focus on the purchasing process "do you want me to go buy some bread" since the effort of hopping in the car and going to the bakery is the main barrier to getting that bread, not the $2 the baguette costs.

"Envoyer"

Instead of asking for someone to give you something by saying "donner" - to give - the phrase envoyer - to send - is employed. It's an interesting term because its rather abstract - the bread is being sent, not given or handed to you. Not too sure what to make of this, though.

"Il faut..."

French usually reserved the phrase "il faut" for general cases where something should be done. For instance, you might say "il faut appeler la police en cas d'urgence" - one must call the police in case of emergency.

In Cote d'Ivoire, il faut has morphed into a broad expression for anything someone wants, and is how Ivoirians ask for just about anything. For instance, at a restaurant, one might say to the waiter "il faut m'envoyer de l'eau" to ask for water.

It's a rather abstract way to ask for something specific that is perhaps born out of a culture where people have fairly clear roles. For instance, a family in a village knows who's responsible for getting water, preparing dinner and getting groceries from the market. The context of the hierarchy and defined roles tells you all you need to know; there is no question of the father walking to market to get bananas.

But - and I'm not sure if this is rational - but this expression has bothered me a little. When a colleage asks for a favor that leads with "il faut;" my reflex is : No I do not need to do that! But if you ask me nicely I will!

I don't think they mean any harm, but I guess I'm used to an individualist culture when doing something for someone is heartily acknowledge and appreciated, not assumed.

"On dit quoi?"

The "wassup" of Cote d'Ivoire meaning literally "what do we say?." It's a fairly indirect phrase, not asking someone how they are doing, but not wholly different than "ca va..."

"Ca va...un peu"

Ca va is not exactly rare French phrase. In fact you can have an entire conversation with just these two words that mean at once "how's it goin" and "it's going fine." (For instance Ca va? Ca va. Ca va? Ca va.)

But in Cote d'Ivoire, the addedum "un peu" - a little - is interesting. Responding to "ca va?" with this almost seems a way to dampen enthusiasm and keep expectations low. Yeah things aren't super, but they're going OK. The product of a country that has seen the highs of economic boom, the lows of civil war and the stagnant malaise of the past 10 years? It's possible.

"Il n'y a pas de problème"

"There's not a problem" is a common way to say yes here. But, be careful. It doesn't necessarily mean that there's not a problem. In fact, especially when you are bargaining for something, this phrase might tip you off to the fact that there is a problem.

For instance, I was in the market looking for a Didier Drogba jersey for my 6 year old half-brother. I saw one that looked about his size, but it had a long white line across it. After mentioning that it looked like Drogba has been stabbed, the salesman asserted "il n'y a pas de problème" at first trying to scratch off the white, and then pretending that it was part of the jersey. Yeah, right.

The Articles that didn't Bark

Ivoirian is definitely not as, shall we say, refined as Parisien French. For one, articles (the the's, a's etc.) are often dropped. So, to ask for bread, one might just say "envoie pain" instead of "envoie du pain" While this doesn't communicate if you want all the bread (le pain) or just some bread (du pain), it gets the crux of the message across. In a place where French is often a second langauge (though less and less so) communication, rather than beautiful, elegant French is key. Yes, this is certainly not Paris!

Food!

2010-07-15T20:22:00.004+02:00

Some pics and descriptions of the delicious food here: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2472815&id=2702788&l=4569a4ed85

Special Treatment

2010-07-15T11:30:00.000+02:00

Rolling up to the American Ambassador’s residence for the 4^th of July reception, I, the lowly intern, sat in the back and my Ivoirian colleague, the program coordinator, was the front passenger seat. As we approached the guards, my coworker rolled down his windows, but, the guard, thoroughly ignoring him, turned to me and said “bon soir monsieur” and waved us through. My colleague prodded me, “le patron,” about my promotion to boss.

In the US, the intern tagging along is barely given the time of day; here the white guy automatically is front and center, whether he or she deserves it or not.

I imagine many of you have experienced the special treatment that those identified as foreigners get in less developed places. As you might imagine in Cote d'Ivoire, I'm not too hard to pick out, though I did tell one guy in jest that I was albino and got a slight hesitation out of him. Regardless, this special treatment gets to me, and I wanted to reflect on why.

Bargaining

We all know the foreigners get different prices than locals, and we don’t like it. It hasn’t been too bad in Abidjan, the food vendors and the yellow taxis I ride in all have fixed prices, and the lack of tourists at most of these places means that they operate on the standard prices regardless of the clientele.

The normal taxis and the markets are a different matter and I definitely don't get the same prices as locals.

While I don't like it, I'm a little confused as to why. I am a little cheap, so it could just be wanting to pay as little as possible, but I don't think it's that simple.

For instance, on one of my routes I bargain down cab driver from 2000 to 1500 CFA. Some complain that this is not a fair price - "c'est pas normal" - even though I know it definitely is normal. Yet they procede to take me anyway, but not without contrition and a little pouting throughout the ride. At the end, the often ask me to add some money. I never do.

But there are others who smile as they, still reluctantly, go down to 1500. They are friendly and when I ask them how things are going, they often respond "je ne plaigne pas," I'm not complaining. I like that. The conversations is friendly and we get on a first name basis. At the end they wish me luck. I often give them an extra 250 or more CFA because they were so nice, even though they don't ask.

Quelle paradoxe! But of course this is not an African thing. I feel the same tension when tipping at restaurants. I love seeing people do their jobs with pride and a smile, so to the friendly, happy server who does a great job, I'll happily give 20 percent or more. But to the irritable, unfriendly server, I feel guilty even giving them 15 percent, in my mind they "deserve" less.

It's not just about the price or my cheapness, it's about how I feel about the transaction. I want to emerge from the deal feeling that I was treated fairly, not given special, inferior, treatment because I'm a foreigner.

Still, the criteria for "fairness" is elusive. It is certainly based on some permutation of the pricing that falls some just distance in between what that Drogba jersey costs to make and what it's worth to me. Perhaps it should fall somewhere in the middle of this range. To borrow from economics lingo, neither side should have too much producer or consumer surplus.

It is also about agency, am I giving them more than the normal price because they are "ripping me off" and over charging, or because I choose to because they are kind?

And it is also about how I feel I was treated. While I certainly am different that those around me, and no amount of eating with my hands at muddy food stalls will change that, how they treat that difference matters to me. Do they see me as someone they can take advantage of? Or do they see me as someone who might have more money and who might be willing and able to pay than the average Ivoirian, but still deserves fairness?

What this means in practice is murky. But it seems that fairness, like pornography, is something I know when I see it.

Lines

Speaking of fairness, at a recent work conference, as I patiently waited at the back of the long lunch line, one of the servers told me to hand her my plate and go sit down to wait for my meal. I was hungry, and tempted as I saw the mangoes I was eyeing at the end of the table steadily disappearing. But I refused, and adamantly so.

Why so stubborn? They were just trying to help, no?

It was because of my notion of what is fair. Getting in line is how things are decided. First come first serve. Take a ticket and wait for your number to be called. No cut-sies. Why should I go before everyone else just because I don't tan easily?

I think it's because I'm really sensitive to how others perceive my actions, especially in a foreign context that might not have tons of contact with Americans. That's why I can't turn down any meal because of the smell or cleanliness thereof. I care about other seeing me as someone who appreciates and wants to learn about their culture.

Similarly, I care about governance, institutions, norms of fairness and as I'm getting into a field that supports those areas, I would feel terrible to not practice what I preach, even for the oh so sweet, sweet taste of mango. On top of that, I feel that if I even if I don't make any marginal impact with my internship, at least I can make some minuscule difference by setting a good example. Revealing my vanity, this makes me feel good.

Piment

Finally, the special treatment that comes with people trying to protect the foreigners. I've run into this most clearly when I go to the local maquis, or restaurants, and they'll say something like "piment pour le blanc," that is spiciness for a white person. Now anyone that knows me knows that I like a decent kick in the pants from my food.

But I appreciate them looking out for me.I challenged one lady who was reluctant to put some chile sauce in my Chep, a delicious Senegalese rice dish, to make me sweat. Slight mistake. Next time I saw her I reminder her that I said "make me sweat," not "kill me."

Still, I tend to think she was just looking out for me by teaching me a little lesson. Sometimes a little special treatment isn't such a bad thing.

Laziness in Africa

2010-07-07T16:58:00.006+02:00

I like to think that I'm pretty proactive. But the people I'm exposed to day-in and day-out in Abidjan blow me away. While I've had experience with the African stereotype of the lazy and corrupt politicians and the equally lazy and often drunk husbands, what so many people do to survive and create a better life for their family blows me away.

For your consideration:

1. While having a delicious lunch of roasted chicken, a child, who couldn't have been more that 10 years old, started shining my shoes. I actually had this done by another kid the other day, so I refused. He persevered. On his knees he crouched his head under the tiny table and brushed voraciously. He clearly really wanted to do this. I relented. He worked hard, scrunched in uncomfortable positions, pulling out his cute little shoe polish containers from a bag made of twine and a old sac of rice and did a pretty good job.

The whole idea of walking around all day looking for clients can't be much fun either. Asking busy people who try their best to ignore you to be inconvenienced. But these kids do it, tirelessly.

And the payoff? 50 CFA. Ten cents. I gave him double. He was grateful. But I still feel cheap. Also makes me feel lazy, and lucky, as I returned to my air conditioned office.

2. Street vending means something different in Africa. It is not about fancy trucks that serve the sidewalk bureaucrats during lunch hour. We're talking literally vending on the street, think k-mart meets frogger. Darting in between traffic with odds and ends, from hats to small chalkboards to newspapers to clothespins, selling a few items isn't about the risk of investing in inventory. It's about the risk of getting killed for a sale.

It's not passive hit or miss sales job. Show just the slightest interest and they will follow your car in a dead sprint. Give them the sign you want to buy and they will follow you through the stoplight, across the road and its 6 lanes of traffic. Not a picnic.

3. African women. Do I even need to go into this? Anyone who's had the opportunity to visit Africa knows that African women male David Petraeus look like a bum. There are the women sitting in front of hot coals in the often blistering Abidjan sun, shucking and grilling corn from dawn until dusk.

Perhaps the most thankless workers I've seen are women who every morning sweep the dust that accumulated the previous day off of the main roads. Not hard? The lucky ones have brooms with handles, most have pieces of straw bound together an have to hunch over all day. Still not impressed? Trying doing all of that with an infant on your back.

4. Nescafe mobile vendors have a pretty thankless job too. They guys (and they are exclusively guys) walk around with this cart full of hot water and instant coffee, serving the cities bureaucrats.

Small cups of strong, black instant coffee might not sound good to you. After getting a bit too used to fantastic espresso in DC's fancy coffee shops last fall (my favorite is Bourbon Coffee in Foggy Bottom, more coffee than bourbon, FYI) I was deeply skeptical. However, using just a second cup, these vendors perform an act of alchemy. They pour the coffee from cup to cup in long streams like they do in Morocco with mint tea, aerating the coffee and turning a simple cup of coffee-like swill into a frothy mixture that ressembles a latte. It's actually better than a lot of office coffee I've had sitting all day in coffee pots.

In conclusion: the net laziness of Africa will decrease when I head home in August.

Why I love travel, even if it hurts my spelling

2010-06-22T14:10:00.002+02:00

It was early, but that didn't keep my phone from ringing.

"Oui, âllo?" I replied.

*incomprehensible*

"Oui, âllo?" I repeated.

*incomprehensible*

I just couldn't understand, so I hung up, with the consolation of a "Désolée."

My phone rang again.

"It's your brother!" came the exasperated voice. Ah! English. What a novel thought.

I'm amazed at how adaptable human beings are. After a few weeks making errors on my AZERTY French keyboard, which I have grown to despise, I decided to break out my laptop. The warm, comforting womb of the keyboard I have to come to know and love?

Hardly. Muddling through the AZERTY world of Abidjan has slowly and quietly retrained my fingers' instincts. As a result, the QWERTY keyboard has become to be quite the winding qwze, if you will.

Both these experiences remind me of the timeless French film l'Auberge Espagnole (if you haven't seen it, do yourself a favor and watch it). After spending a few months in Barcelona, the Frenchman dreams that he has lost his mother tongue and can only speak Spanish.

This is a common experience when you're in a new place. You want to take in and learn about this new culture and you gradually adapt to the speed of life, the gestures, the habits, the language.

But, whether you like it or not you are still different. For one, you identify with where you came from and you don't want to lose that part of yourself. Soccer's great and I'm loving getting my ass kicked and making a fool out of myself with the neighborhood kid but boy do I miss going to baseball games. You better believe my patriotism comes out, especially when Wednesday's game against Algeria comes along. You should've heard me waxing poetic about the resilience of American when we came back to tie and almost beat Slovenia after falling behind 2-0.

Second, even if you take up their language, you're still different because you have access to luxuries and safety nets that set you apart While I'm riding in a the shared taxis, if we get into an accident, my health insurance will evacuate me. The passenger next to me will most likely have to stand in line at an overcrowded hospital, if they can even afford it.

Still, what I love most about travelling is not the process dividing the world into the quaint things that are different than known universe I will return to. Think AZERTY vs. QWERTY, language or the transportation network of your destination.

Instead, it's experiencing the different answers to universal human questions that keeps me coming. What do we value? What are our priorities? How to we treat money? How do we treat the people we know? What about strangers? And perhaps most importantly, we're hungry, what culinary solution do we find?

The diverse world we live in has produced a lot of different answers to these questions, and I know, set aside the World Cup jingoism for a second, that we can learn a lot from each other.

I'm proud that people in the US apologize for being 5 minutes late, especially when there's important stuff to do. But, there is something to taking the time for the people around you, even if it means you'll show up elsewhere late. I can't count the number of times I've been running late for a class and crossed paths with a good friend I'd been wanting to sees for a long time. A smile, a handshake and a quick look at my watch and I was on my way. I'm not sure how proud I am of that and if that, and whether that really represents what I value.

Being out of my comfort zone in a place where time, keyboards and relationships are treated differently helps me question and reassess the home I think I know. One of my favorite quotes puts it better than I ever could:

We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time. - T.S. Eliot

Exploring this world isn't just a matter of learning about others. It's about learning about ourselves.

What Makes a City Go 'Round

2010-06-18T12:31:00.001+02:00

Tightly packed bullet trains in Kyoto, iPod-entranced New Yorkers crowding subway cars, Copenhagen bikers patiently waiting at a bicycle traffic light, solitary SUV drivers bumper-to-bumper on DC's beltway.

How people get around tells you a lot about a culture. After almost three weeks here, I'm still trying to get a handle on Abidjan's culture and transportation. I am partly to blame, since the iPhone/googlemaps/gps troika has caused my sense of direction to decay. But, Abidjan is complicated.

The city's layout is not what I, with all my biases, would consider successful urban planning or efficient market real estate imperatives. Instead, Abidjan is a behemoth unlike western big cities. There is no central downtown that gradual fades to a more and more sparsely populated periphery. Instead, Abidjan has multiple hubs that are quite far from one another, with empty lots, banana fields and slums (bidonvilles) strewn in between.

The transport too does not reflect sustained planning or private investment that often yields an underground system or decent bus system.

In Peace Corps lingo, the complex network that has evolved to meet the needs of the city's almost 4 million people is "high context" (on a bored night last summer in Togo I perused an old Peace Corp manual). It requires a knowledge of all the working parts and doesn't give you a safety net of low-context clues like crazy things called signs and maps. It is opaque and not too well suited for the tourist or dilletante. No bus maps, no fare meters, no stops.

Yet, what has emerged in the vacuum is not haphazard or disorganized; it has a rhyme and reason that I just need(ed) to figure out.

First there are the red taxis. These fit the standard taxi rubric, well sans meters, radios, windows and (somtimes) doors that work. Get in, tell them where you want to go and negotiate a fare. The fate of this negotiation rests on your ability to convince the driver how close the destination is ("ehh c'est pas loin...") versus his ability to play-up the severity of traffic ("mais il y a beaucoup d'embouteillages"). The learning curve isn't too tough here, I usually ask someone nearby how much a fare should cost and argue around that.

Then there are the yellow taxis (yes... like the Joni Mitchell song, except small). These cute little toyotas have fixed routes and are communal. Flag one down and hop in. While they cost about 1/4 as much as red taxis, there's a much steeper learning curve. The routes are only slighty mysterious: there are tons of different lines, but they largely follow major roads. The rates on the other hand are quite the enigma. Trips range from 150 to 350 CFA (33-66 cents), but somehow the drivers all know what you owe based on where you got on and got off. It's incredible how they all have internal meters for all the passengers, and they all work out the same price.

I use a less scientific method to figure out the rate: I give them a 500 CFA coin and see what kind of change I get.

One fascinating note about these is that they are 1) never over-filled like lots of African communal transit and 2) the front passenger must always wear the seatbelt. Initially I was surprised when the driver made sure I put a seatbelt on (for one I was shocked it even worked!) but it turns out these oddities are not for comfort or safety. Rather the driver is trying to reduce his risk of being extorted by a police office looking for an excuse to extract a bribe. The same thing I do by carrying around my passport!

Then there are Gbakas, large vans that seat 17 that remind me of the minibuses in South Africa. While I haven't had a chance to explore Gbakas, they are usually for longer trips to and from the outlying areas. They are pretty awesome as these white vehicles have become canvases for self-expression. Nike logos, American and Ivoirian flags, Koran and Bible quotes are all elegantly painted on these decaying vehicles. Pretty neat!

Finally, there are the large, dilapidated city buses. These come rarely and when you do see them they are often broken down by the side fo the road. On the plus side, they are dirt cheap. There aren't any of these in my neck of the woods so I haven't had the pleasure yet.

This system isn't for the faint of heart. Like the culture of this nation, there isn't a whole lot of planning, its not pretty and polished and is not immediately accessible to people outside the culture. But it works, and has evolved over the years into a pretty effective system given the economic and political constraints. Plus, if you ask, people are eager to help you figure it out.

Throughout the world, there are many different ways to get from point A to point B.

These journeys tell us as much about the world as where these folks are trying to go.

Match Nulle!

2010-06-16T19:36:00.003+02:00

Great game for Cote d'Ivoire yesterday! 0-0 against Portugal and we played great! Team-work, great defense and even some Drogba, even though he wasn't in top form. Quelle surprise!

We've got a steep challenge against Brazil (ah!) on Sunday but that should be exciting!

Allez les Elephants!

What the World Cup could mean for Cote d'Ivoire

2010-06-10T11:30:00.004+02:00

If you think soccer doesn't matter to politics, you must be American.

As the World Cup gets ready to kickoff today, the world is considering its potential larger geopolitical and economic impact. To some it's the country's coming out party as a global power. For others, the poverty and inequality are stirring reminders of challenges that remain. Regardless, people hope that the World Cup will do more than improve the ranking of Bafana Bafana, the South African National team.

In Cote d'Ivoire, from the countless kids playing soccer or jugging a ball on street corners , to taxis plastered with logos of Chelsea of Barcelona soccer teams, soccer is important, to say the least. It's also just about the one thing that brings this country together. There's hope that it can do so again and help the nation emerge from its ongoing political crisis.

There is a precedent for this hope. Soccer played a key role in ending its civil war and creating peace. My good friend Thomas Ginn brought this article to my attention which described how soccer, and particularly Cote d'Ivoire's omnipresent star, Didier Drogba, brought peace to Cote D'Ivoire. After an African Nations cup victory in 2006, Drogba and his teammates dropped to their knees and pleaded their fellow countrymen to stop fighting. Later that year when Drogba, a southerner, was crowned Footballer of the year, he began a nationwide tour in Bouaké, the capital of the rebel north. This act was only overshadowed by an African Nation's cup game against Madagascar that Drogba lobbied to have held in the north, against stiff security concerns. The 5-1 victory prompted celebrations that reverberated across the entire country.

The question of Ivoirian identity has has been used by polticians to divide the country by pitting ethnic group against ethnic group and "native" Ivoirians against the sons of immigrants who came to Cote d'Ivoire in the 60s and 70s. Facing this context, a sense of national identity has been elusive, as it has been throughout much of Africa. However, Cote d'Ivoire's national team, known as les Elephants, have been a "crucible of inter-ethnic contact and ... an irresistible symbol of unity and inclusion."

As the long-awaited World Cup begins, what are the prospects for soccer replicating this role and heliping Cote d'Ivoire get out of its current crisis?

Well, I first have to acknowlege that success will be incredibly difficult. Cote d'Ivoire is a good team, no doubt. It is filled with talented players playing with the world's best club teams. Yet, their team has not gelled as well as others. It also had a tough draw, as it is stuck in the "Group of Death" with Brazil and Portugal, two of the favorites to win, as well as perenially unlucky North Korea. Moreover, the injury of the Elephants captain, Drogba, in a friendly has cast a further shadow on their hopes. Thus, finishing in the top two of this group to progress to the next round would be a herculean achievement.

A recent allafrica.com article predicted that every single sub-saharan African team would make it to the second round - including South Africa - except for Cote d'Ivoire. Ouch.

However, the upside of this lot is that the bar is low. This is reflected in the pessimism I've encountered in every single person I've asked about the Elephants. I'm used to at least a patina of hope, yet I have found none. Yet, for this reason a draw - or dare I say a victory - against Brazil or Portugal would create incredible excitement. Getting out of group stage would be a miracle come true. Anything more would be transcendent.

What could this mean? Well I think success would have two huge impacts:

First, putting Cote D'Ivoire back in the international eye could provide an external push to move towards elections. This exposure would feature context stories that remind the world of Cote d'Ivoire's past success and the stumbling blocks to restoring this progress, creating pressure on the country's elites to break the stalemate.

Second, success would provide a brief opening for national unity, temporarily sidelining party/ethnic group interests. Increasing the salience a united Cote d'Ivoire would provide a focal point for civil society and party activists to pressure their leaders to think about the national interest and get elections moving.

The bar is low, the task is hard, but the beauty of the World Cup is that anything can happen.

Here's to the World Cup and it paving the way for a brighter future for Africa.

**Just came across this article in Foreign Policy talking about how soccer has been - and continues to be - divisive in the Middle East. I also like this line: "Soccer is one of the greatest, and most successful, acts of cultural imperialism the world has ever seen and provides the perfect mirror with which to view the region."

Words that Stick (Mots qui collent)

2010-06-06T18:47:00.012+02:00

There are some words you learn in a new language that go in one ear and out the other. Perhaps the context or the usefulness might not be particularly compelling, perhaps we don't ever truly encode it, or maybe we just forget as we tend to as we (I?!) get older and older. For some reason I can't think of an example.

However, sometimes you learn a new word in a memorable context that irreversibly engraves the meaning in your mind.

Last Friday, I learned - and will not soon forget - that "crevaison" means flat tire.

We heard a muted "thunk!" as our work car was entering the highway on the way home from a conference at the National Assembly. The sound wasn't particularly loud, it was a rainy night and the thunk had to compete with the noise from all the muffler-free and honking cars around us. Nor was this sound abnormal, as a drive on the pot-hole filled streets of Abidjan isn't complete with a few dowen dips and thuds.

But, as a new sound, one perfectly synchonized with the turning wheels, emerged, we sensed that we had a problem.

The driver pulled under a bridge, as the darkness and rain continued to descend upon us. He sprung into action and got out the tools to change the tire. We scrambled to help, gathering rocks to steady the tires and, mostly, keeping out of the way. As a few random people hovered around us, we were slightly concerned for our safety, but all went well. My coworkers joked, or at least I hope they were kidding, that if someone were to come with a weapon, they would sacrifice "le blanc," i.e. the white guy, i.e. me.

Still, we were safe in numbers and it was actually a fun experience. I was lucky that this was my my first ever non-bicycle crévaison, or flat tire. Learning how to change a tire was actually pretty exciting, too. I actually remember thinking how excited I was for the next one.

However, that luck and that thought quickly changed as we were pulling away, tire successfully changed. The car rose up, thunked against the ground and we were on our way. But, quickly a new sound emerged, again in lock-step with our speed. Puzzled, we wondered if the new tire was a dud. It was not. When a friendly driver next to us point alarmedly at our tire and we pulled over to investigate it became clear.

Those rocks used so-effectiely to steady our car as the crévaison was repaired were equally effective in preventing our getaway. My hypothesis is that we forgot to remove them, and as the car came up and over the rock, the good back-tire became signficantly less-so. Merde!

With no spare tire remaining, tired and incredulous we pondered. Luckily, a colleague knew a nearby gas station. We got back in the car and literally burned rubber as we crawled along the slow lane of the highway with our "feux de détresse" on and cars and trucks whizzing by.

We got to the station which was fortunately still open, providing some welcome shelter and light. From there I was able to get a ride home and my colleagues called a friend who gave them rides as well as the car rested there for the night. Back-to-back flat tires. Not exactly what one looks forward to on a rainy saturday evening after a long day at a conference. I shouldn't have jinxed us.

Still, as I collapsed on my bed after this exhausting and far-from typical Friday night, I saw the silver linings of this memorable adventure. One of these certainly is that next time I have a crevaison, I will certainly know what to call it.

Oh the Smells. . .

2010-06-01T12:37:00.002+02:00

Bienvenue en Cote D'Ivoire!

After a couple days in Cote D'Ivoire, things are swell! Met some interesting folks, had some great food and am speaking almost exlcusively French. For those of you that know me, you're aware that as far as I am concerned this is a pretty good combination! Still, trying to settle in and get aquainted with the daily life is a challenge, particularly transportation. But the family that has so graciously taken me in has been a big help. More on them later.

First, I want to talk about smells. There is something indescribeable about the West African air, but this won't stop me from trying.

The moment I entered town, my nose instantly transported me to Togo. The swollen, humid air enters your nose like soup. A deep breath is a struggle and leaves you feeling a few pounds heavier.

But this is only the first layer; the smell of humidity is the base on which a bittersweet odor follows.

First, the air is laced with the myriad wonderful smells of food being prepared by the side of the road. Women frying doughnut-like beignets. Aloco, plantains fried in deliciously spicy palm oil. Fish and chicken on the grill at maquis, or little restaurants.

Even as I commute to work at 7:30am, these smells cause my mind to drift to the next meal, or desparately search for an excuse to grab a quick bite ("I gotta ty that as put of this cultural experience, right?!") Since they say smell contributes to around 3/4 of taste, one sniff and I know I'm in for a treat. And boy am I ever, food will be the agenda for the next blog.

The delicate wafting of Cote D'Ivoire's culinary gifts is brought back to earth by the bitter, overpowering consequence of zero vehicule emmission standards. You can see the dark plumes leaving the tailpipes of run down trucks and vans, vintage Mercedes on their last legs as well as the yellow and orange taxis that paper the streets. Observing the hand-me-down vehicles from places where the burden of taking your car inspected is a perennial complaint (from me at least), creates an intellectual response concerning the respirtory and environmental effects.

Yet, it is not until you peek your head out a open car window searching for a brief reprieve from the morning heat and take in a breath of this filthy air that you feel it.

Gross, I know.

But, this bitterness is a part of the odor that reminds me of the wonderful part of the world that is West Africa. Perhaps its because the belching cars remind me of the irrepressible creativity and adaptability that let's Africans fix these metal skeltons that, for so many reasons, should be in a cube in a junk yard (see this Togo blog entry ).

Or perhaps, the smell of unburnt gasoline and all the -oxides entering my lungs is a price I'm willing to bear for a breath of fried plantains and the other incredible smells that taunt me until my next meal, or, often, excuse for a snack.

Cote D'Ivoire, the Prequel!

2010-05-31T17:24:00.001+02:00

On Sunday I will arrive in Abidjan, Cote D’Ivoire. Ah! I will be interning here for two exciting months and I will use this blog to chronicle my adventures - I hope you’ll read along. I can’t wait to learn about the food, culture and politics of this country and I’ll try to pass on my thoughts and reactions in as engaging a way as possible. Let me know how I do!

Please (!) comment! I’m eager to hear your reactions as well as similar or conflicting experiences you might have had throughout the world or in the US. I love hearing different perspective, so share yours with the others who are reading along and me!

Before I arrive in Cote D’Ivoire, I figured I’d get a bit of background out of the way and pass on what I’ve learned working on a couple papers about Cote D’Ivoire. It’s a tad dry, (sorry!) but here’s the cliff notes version:

Throughout the 1960s and 1970s, Cote D’Ivoire was a rare development success story in African. Its economy was the envy of the African continent and its largest city, Abidjan, was the commercial and cultural hub of West Africa. However, since it suffered a coup in 1999 and witnessed the horrors of civil war from 2002-2003, it has undergone a disastrous decline. Negotiations over elections, the key to stopping this slide, have ground to a halt. While the this impasse continues to limit the country’s development, its leadership isn’t as hurt by the status quo and is hence less eager for elections to occur.

After receiving independence from the French in 1960, Cote D’Ivoire Felix Houphouet Boigny became the country’s first president. Booming cocoa and coffee trades and foreign investment create impressive declines in poverty and built a modern nation. Meanwhile, the strong economy overshadowed the fact that Boigny, who ruled the nation for an incredible 33 years, was committed to enriching himself and his allies and offered few outlets for political expression.

In the 1980s, resource prices faltered and Cote D’Ivoire’s growth and ethnic harmony began to unravel. When Boigny died in office in 1993 he was succeeded by a handpicked successor, Henri Bédié. Bédié introduced a concept that has played an important role in Cote D’Ivoire, “Ivoirité.” This sought to define who was - and who was not – Ivoirian, requiring someone to have at least one parent born in Cote D’Ivoire to be declared a citizen.

While Ivoirité was introduced under the guise of promoting national unity, it was mainly used to marginalize and scapegoat the immigrant populations and those of mixed origins. As such, Ivoirité targeted the nation’s most sensitive ethnic fissure, between those with deep roots in Cote D’Ivoire and the many immigrants from Mali and Burkina Faso that had settled to work the coffee and cocoa plantations in the north and south.

Disaffection with Bédié prompted a 1999 coup that brought General Robert Guei to power. While he promised free and fair elections the following year, as elections approached Guei used Ivoirité to prevent one of his strongest opponents, Alassane Ouattara, from participating. Just to be sure, Guei rigged the elections in his favor. Protests erupted and the runner-up in the rigged poll, Laurent Gbagbo, became the president.

Gbagbo continued the divisive path of Ivoirité and tensions came to a head in 2002, when an attempted coup against President Gbagbo escalated into a civil war. Rebel groups from the north coalesced under the umbrella of the Forces Nouvelles (FN) to fight against government-led.

The Ouagadougou Peace Agreement (OPA) finally brought violence to an end in 2007. President Gbagbo and FN rebel leader, Guillame Soro, signed an agreement that established a de-facto north-south division of the nation. President Gbagbo maintained his post until elections were held and Soro became the Prime Minister, though his powers were unspecified.

To date, however, the implementation of this agreement, notably the restoration of democracy to Cote D’Ivoire and disarmament, has not occurred. The north and south remain heavily armed and elections, originally scheduled for 2005, have been continually postponed.

There seems little momentum to break this deadlock. This undemocratic status quo seems to benefit the leaders in both the south and the north, even though the average Ivoirian is much harmed by this impasse. Gbagbo has access to massive cocoa revenues and doesn’t have to risk losing power through elections. The North is tax-free, minimally governed space nicknamed Soroland, where Guillame Soro has significant power, largely because he gives rebel FN members the space to solicit bribes in exchange for security guarantees. Meanwhile, the lack of democracy is preventing the nation from resuming the progress it saw in the 1960s and 1970s.

So, that’s my academic impression of the country. I’m looking forward to having this challenged as I jump into Cote D’Ivoire and talk to the full spectrum of actors who know a lot more about this situation!

With regards to the food, football (aka soccer...I guess I have to adapt!) and culture I will certainly be sharing those discoveries with you as well! I can't wait

Until Next time!

"Collaboration" without the "Co"

2009-07-29T13:05:00.007+02:00

The meeting had a noble goal. As part of the action plan of a village-wide meeting a few weeks ago, I decided to pull together the leaders of the village groups, associations and organizations to try to figure out why there isn't more collaboration among community leaders along with lots of duplication and redundency.

I was really excited about this. From the day of my arrival, that is my second arrival that didn't involve fainting and lots of blood loss, I had talked to many passionate people doing some really neat things in the village; However, they all seemed to be off in their own corners, not sharing ideas, stories of success or failure or simply feeding off each other's energy. So, for this meeting I had in mind a room filled with a dozen of the town's movers and shakers where we figured out where we shared the mission and activities of all these different organizations did and worked through some of the key ways they can work better together for their beneift as well as that of the village.

It was not to be. However, what did happen ended up being really interesting and telling in its own right.

Thirty-mintues after the meeting was supposed to start, only four faithful participants showed up, all people I knew fairly well and had effectively guilted into coming. It's actually the good opening line to a joke: "So a chief, an imam and a president of a women's co-op walk into a room.."

Anyway, given this ironic nature of the turnout, i.e. a meeting about collaboration without collaborators, the plan would have to change but not in too different a direction. We started talking about why people wouldn't show up for a meeting about collaboration, something that I intuitively thought people would jump to as well as as we would have to do for people in the village to work better together.

What came out, especially from the local Imam and the Chief of Farende (a sweet guy with a voice like Marlon Brando - if Brando spoke French, that is - and an amazing collection of hats), was that people, although they might understand in the abstract why colaboration is important, aren't motivated enough to invest in it. The chef talked about how at the family level, they save together to buy a radio and understand how working together solves common problems. At the level of the village or among different organzation, however, the rewards of collaboration seem uncertain and abstract. Perhaps I could learn from the examples of others, but is the time it would take to have a meeting worth it, given my dusk 'till dawn schedule of hard work at home as well as the uncertain nature of what will come. In other words, being an entrepreneur testing the waters and learning from best practices is a lot easier without the constraints of subsistence living. You're also a lot more motivated to do the tough work of organization, coordination and analysis if you're from a can-do culture where the resoruces make success likely, not where you are used to being stuck behind.

So, through this meeting, quite accidently, we ended up getting to the core of the problems of collaboration in this setting. The only difference was that a kind of meta-lesson about the difficulty of collaboration was mixed into this dialogue. Cute.

I have another big meeting planned for this Thursday, one which is town-wide and with a narrower mission. The goal is to promote this tax-system I have been working on all summer. The Impot de Solidarité pour la Developpement (ISD, a solidarity sax for development of the village) is 100CFA (20 cents) per month per family tax that will be used to pay for public goods in the community. This fund will be used to repare roads, dig wells and fix up the market.

I think it's a great way to give this village a chance to invest in its future in a way that is empowering to the villagers both in terms of independence from outside help and also in bringing together the village for these common goods. However this tax poses a particular problem for me and the village: it is not a matter of getting a grant or not or getting a big donation or not. The village has the resources and the success or failure of this project is purely an issue of motivation and organization to get the work done.

So, my work to this point has been to figure out how we can convince the villagers to give up their much neeed money for these public goods. I've worked to set up a special commission to research the details of potential projects, follow up on ones that are started, follow-up with collectors and do the public relations work. It's important for the villagers to know that their money is going to be taken care of in a transparent and accoutnable way where they have a voice. But, they with also need a push o f motivation. At this meeting, it is my job to kick start the public relations work by trying to convince the villagers that what they do for their families - saving and working together towards common ends - is something they should and must do for their village:

I'm looking forward to the challenge and will let you know how it goes. I only hope people show up!

Cheers,
Alex

Cards and Steriods

2009-07-22T11:31:00.004+02:00

It was another quiet evening in Togo and I was playing cards with the two oldest kids in the household. My family here in Togo has three adorable kids, all boys. Firmin is 11 and the partiarch of the family and not quite naive enough. Marusa is 8 and is appropriately naive. Paulin, the oh-so-cute 3 year old with a pot-belly, an irrepressible smile.

The game, which they call the "Jeu American" or American game, is basically crazy 8s with a few other rules mixed in. It's always a good time for all and a great way to pass the time after a good meal. It was a good game of cards and I had just won a round. As the cards were being counted for points, a saw the oldest, Firmin, sliding one of his cards into the pile before counting it.

Cheating. My reaction was not one that cared about winning but did care about making a point and teaching a lesson, and I saw an opportunity. This is not the first time I caught him doing this, but I gave him another, now perfected, lecture about how important honestly is, how if he wants people to trust him in life he has to be honest even when he's playing cards blah blah blah. Sensing this message needed some additional reinforcement since it wasn't the first time I used it, I imposed a new rule that those that are caught cheating gets 50 points added to their score. Thinking I finally had won, we continued the game. Before the night was out, I caught both of the brothers cheating once. Sigh.

Now, what to make of this? Even after explaining how it doesn't really matter who wins because it's just a game; that being honest will make you feel much better when you do win; that having people trust you is one of the most important things out there and even some pontificating about the idea of fairness, the kids still cheat. Is it just youthful immaturity? A blood-thirsty desire to win? Or rather a deeper cultural phenomenon?

It's probably a combination oh all of these, but looking at it through a cultural lens, it follows a lot of what I've seen in terms of bribery and corruption in Togo. From the cop that pulled over my professor here for "running a red light" and got 5,000 (10 bucks) in a bribe before he'd let us go to the cop that pulled over our taxi going between my village and Ketao for absolutely no reason, just to extract a 1,000 (2 bucks) payment, for what exactly I'm not sure, the attitude seems to be something as follows: although there are rules and laws, everyone is breaking them. By not taking a bribe or cheating, you are at a disadvantage and falling behind those around you, missing out an opportunity to help yourself and your family.

From this comes a different idea of fairness. In the US we tend to believe in fair systems. A deck of cards dealt out gives everyone an equal shot of having a good hand. Maybe fate will deal you a bad hand this time, but you're just as likely to get a great hand later. The same can be said about the police. Although everyone around me was speeding too, the fact that I got caught was random, but in the long run it's fair to all.

In Togo, it's a little different. They believe in fair relationships. By that I mean, that the systems are always tilted against them so that they have to rely on people to help them out when they are in a pickle. Pay for police officers is lousy, thus bribes are part of the job, and are exactly what you would do if you were in that position or one of your family members was as well.

The same seems to go for jobs and university admissions. I was talking to a friend of mine the other day who said he supports the leading oppostion party, the UFC, which hardly has a foothold as the RPT, the ruling party has been in power for 40 years. However, when I was asking about ways to raise their support in Togo, he mentioned that even he worries about being too vocal for fear of being blacklisted. Not exactly democracy or fairness, but if everyone is protecting members from their party or ethnic group or family, then it all evens out, right?

When I talk to Togolese about how they see corruption, they respond with slight indignation that is over shawdowed by pessismistic fatalism that has accepted this reality. But I'm also brought back to examples in the US culture of shameful, widespread cheating. The CEO scandals as well the steroids epidemic in baseball show that this sort of corruption and cheating depends not just on the larger, but also the relative context. In other words, otherwise perfectly honest people find themselves in a context where they cheat. In regards to the Major League Baseball scandal; the public reaction is unamious condamnation. But when you hear the players talk about it, they claim that everyone is taking sterioids, and that even though it's illegal, you are falling behind others if you don't follow suit. Even though they apparently have the same norms of fairness as the general American population, the desire to compete and the lack of faith in others forces them to give in to temptation.

Thinking about how this might change, it seems that the belief in abstract concepts like fairness and justice that we have in the US requires a huge amount of faith. That those that take bribes will eventually be caught and punished and good officers will be promoted requires the faith that those above and around you will enforce the institution of the thin blue line and also that others around you are following suit. If not, you're only hurting yourself and your family by not following suit; you're the sucker not taking advantage of what he can. The same goes for those baseball players that cheat: unless they are convinced that those around them are clean, they will think they need to juice up just to keep up. The idea of appealing to abstract ideas public service, or ideas of justice is tricky when in the larger context and, probably more importantly, the smaller context of those around you, people aren't following suit.

So, back to those ragamuffin children who I repeatedly catch cheating. If you live in this relationship culture, one that instructs you to take advantage of the system when you can and the larger context which is pretty corrupt, it might make sense to cheat when you think everyone else is. If everyone is cheating at cards, all you are doing is being competitive. They do say that if you're playing cards and you can't find the sucker, then it's probably you. So maybe they are just taking me for a ride?

I'm going to see what I can do to root out the corruption in my family card games - if you have any ideas let me know! It's been tough already so I can't imagine a country wide anti-corruption campaign would take! But I'm also going to be thinking a lot generally about how corruption can be fought in Togo.

Cheers,
Alex

*I also have to take this moment to mention a small personal tragedy which depressed me a little. At this big ceremony last week my camera with all my great pictures on it was stolen from right out of my pocket while I was making my way through this big crowd. I know these things happen everywhere in the world but I was still pretty upset because I had just gotten to feel very safe and comfortable here in Togo, more so that I'd ever felt in other developing countries I've been to. I'm lucky enough to be able to replace the camera, but the pictures not so much. Oh well, one of the risks of travelling!

Village Life!

2009-07-15T14:03:00.000+02:00

The Schedule of the village.

I wanted to take some time to get a window into my daily life here in the village. It’s different, let me tell you that. Visions of TiVo, a baseball game, an ice-cold happy hour beer, cities blanketed with wi-fi - those things that make life worth living, are hardly close enough to make wish for them. Yet life here is hardly anything that’s too tough or even too far out of my comfort zone. Perhaps I’m well equipped for this environment because I moved around a lot when I was young, and in that context I learned that although I am happy in a certain environment, that doesn’t mean that I couldn’t be just as happy in a completely different context. Or perhaps it’s just because I have the luxury of knowing that I’ll be going back to my… luxury… in a few weeks.

First of all, life in Farendé starts early! I’m awake for about the same number of hours everyday, but the schedule is completely at the mercy of the sun. I get up with the roosters and the sun, usually around 5:30. I usually go for a run that morning with a kid or two from my house or my fellow Duke student, Rui, who is working on public health in the village. As I run across the gently rolling plain or up the nearby the mountains, I pass several villagers with hoes hanging over their shoulders and those already tending their corn or yam or rice fields. Nyen-e-liu I say to them, to which the reply is either silence as they don’t know what I said, “Bonjour” as a nod to the fact that as a white person probably speak French (or more likely speak French than the local Kabiyé) or the appropriate response, “Yo” (yes, it is fun to say!). I of course pass no other early morning joggers, even though our families here always talk about working out (faites du sport!), probably because they’ve seen various white people doing it.

After these gorgeous early morning jogs with the sun rising and fog lifting, I come back to the homestead and begin to get ready for the day. The first thing is a refreshing bucket shower! I head to the well in the center of the homestead and fill my bucket, grab my soap and head to the concrete stall with a piece of scrap metal which I must reposition to serve as the door. Particularly when it is warm (which it always is here) and I’m sweaty, I love the bucket shower. Think of it as splish-splashing in a bubble bath. Surprisingly fun and I use a lot less water that I do elsewhere.

Breakfast I eat on my own, either some oatmeal (Quaker Oats!) with powdered milk and some sugar cubes or some local break which I eat, and I’m not kidding, interspersed between bites of banana and peanuts to simulate a peanut butter and banana sandwich. Delicious! Then I head out for my days, which vary greatly. Usually they involve meeting with a variety of representatives or members of various organizations (such as the local microfinance branch, different groupments and associations in the village), local chiefs or simply members of the community to discuss different issues of development. These conversations range from the nitty-gritty of financing a small commerce to larger issues of democracy (or the lack-thereof) in Togo and larger structural problems such as the lack of electricity.

A quick example was a meeting I had yesterday with the members of a women’s cooperative who take small loans to finance their small commerce activities like making doughnuts or the local beer. I got a lay of the land and saw how it works, loans over 4 month that they pay back in part every week in a group-wide meeting. A great effort, but the interest, 10 percent over 4 months, is exorbitant. The local microfinance branch isn’t too much better, 13-18 percent over a year, but better than these ladies are getting. The rub is that the Microfinance branch requires a 15,000 CFA (about 30 bucks) deposit and a fee of 2,500 to open an account, out of the reach of many of these people. At this meeting I asked them questions about what they do with their loans as well as how they collaborate and compete with others. A few interesting things came out of this meeting. I asked if they had a notebook where they keep track of their costs and earning along with the interest they have to pay. Their response was that their accounting “est à la tete”- it’s in their heads. When talking about competition, I asked about the scene at the market: six women sitting side by side for the entire day selling beignets, each with a few customers and a few dozen beignets to sell. My natural instinct was to ask if they thought about consolidating their businesses to free up some time to do other things. They made a few comments about some people having bad luck and not wanting to take that chance, but it seemed that their view was that this coordination required a lot of effort for an uncertain result, while the status quo helps out a little in raising money. This group asked me to come back and talk to them a little more about my ideas to help them organize their businesses better. So I’ll look forward to that!

I usually come back for lunch which consists of either rice; beans with this dried, crunchy cassava flour; or spaghetti along with a spicy sauce of onions; tomato paste and red palm oil, the staple oil here (no olives in sight!). This is actually delicious, and usually wolf down the huge amount of food they give me. Yes, no Atkins diet in sight either.

The afternoon is similar, often with various forms or relaxing over some local beer or playing cards with the kids in my homestead inserted. Dinner is on at around 6:30 and consists of a standard pate of either petite mille (don’t know English word!) or corn, which tastes like a thick mound of unsalted grits. The sauces are usually delicious; with leaves I’ve never heard of before, various parts of baobab trees and some other flavour like peanuts or crushed okra. They are usually very tasty, but the routine is getting a little old. I crave this carb they eat during the dry season, Fufu, a delicious thick mashed potato like substance made of mashed and well-pounded yams, and of course some variety of cuisine. That will have to wait! One fun thing is that the eating of this is all done with the right hand, an adjustment, particularly when you the combination of being starving and piping hot food leads to injured hands!

After dinner I usually hand out with the family for awhile, before retiring to bed around 8 or 8:30 to read or do some work. As mentioned before I’ve been able to read a lot here which has been fabulous. But, after a long day in the sun, a filling meal and some time with a good book I’m about reading to hit the hay and repeat by about 9:30. It’s no watching 24 on TiVo with a cold microbrew and my close friends, but it’s a great life that I’m enjoying heartily!

Cuture Conflict

2009-07-08T12:08:00.005+02:00

The run-down taxi slowly rolls to a stop on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere. The driver jumps out, opens the hood, taps a wrench he hides under the hood a fewer time and gets back it. He figets with the gas pedal, clutch, and - for some reason - the interior fan. This process repeats 3 times on the 10 kilometer long trek to Ketao. Ah, the African quick and dirty fix.

My last post talked about the culture of chaos here in Togo. This time I want to go a little deeper into the cultural issues that, as the progam assitant here calls it, mettent le freign sur la developpement - that put the brake on development - in Togo and delve into that dangerous territory of the cultural things that need to change for Togo to develop.

I want to start out by looking at culture from an objective viewpoint. The director of this program in Togo is an anthropologist and constantly pushes us to see Togo trough the lens of evolved cultural practices that are atuned to the conditions they live in. The underlying message is that people don't do things randomly, all things are done for a reason.

I accept that premise, however, I don't think this neccesarily means that all things are done the best way they should (a dangerous word, I know), particularly for the current time and space. My thoughts on this boil down to two forces. First that inertia - continuing what you did yesterday even if times have changed - is a powerful force in all human beings. Second, over time some practices have clear mechanisms that reinforce gradual evolution towards a more effective endpoint at the indivudal. Others do not have such a mechanism, particular at the indivdual level.

Agriculture is a good example of a practice that easily evolves. Whether your crop does better or worse a certain way will affect what you'll do next year. There is no reason why you'd want less corn. For instance, in my village, isn't too reliable; sometimes there is too much and sometimes not enough. This is even more problematic if you're trying to grow a few different crops. However an ingenious solution emerged for how you grow both yams (which require less water) and sorghum (which requires more water) at the same time is by building these cute little mounds around the sorghum to give the yams a higher and drier place to grow. The culture here has been very receptive of fertilizer and people always complain about why it isn't cheaper.

A muddier case of an eveolved cultural practice is the afernoon siesta. Waking at sunrise and taking a nap from 12-3pm is a great idea when you are a farmer who doesn't want to be out during the hottests hours. But should this also apply to the microfinance office in Farende? Maybe... but for the banker in Lome with hardly a field in sight? I doubt it. I heard that Spain is working to abolish the siesta there but you can see how long that took. Inertia. But also the fact that there is no force to change this practice is everyone is doing it. Why would you keep the supermarket open from 12-3 if everyone else is taking a nap, even if you'd prefer not to close and reopen? The evolution to the culture can only happen collectively, not at the individual level.

And then there is the case of the quick and dirty fix, one that looks to the short term - completing that taxi trip - instead of the long term - not having to stop 3 more times on the way back or the rest of the year. An attitude that privledge the short term against the long term is one I've bumped up against time and time again here. Whether it has to with buying cigarettes one at a time instead of a pack, buying small cheaper per unit can, poorly organized meetings or making key investments by taking a loan or saving to start a business.

After hearing all about the power of microfinance, I was excited to see how it would work out here. I've talked to the office in the village and he says there buisness is very slow because people don't want to take risks and don't like saving. According to him, although they are poor, they prefer to do what they know works as opposed to saving an investing in a better future. Yes, if you are poor it makes sense to be risk averse. However; if you are trying to get out of poverty, it doesn't.

I imagine this short term practice developed because of the subsistence nature of farming. You live day in and day out and just try to make ends meet. This continues into other spheres: because you don't have the money to get a new engine, or transmission, you push it till it gets going. However when you extend this attitude to other question of development, it gets dicey.

Take those development meetings that start 2 hours late. Great idea, but they are also poorly planned, don't accomplish the main goals and have no follow-up. Sounds like a procrastinating student. But in the terribly difficult coordination task of development, you can't priviledge the short term over the long term. You have to do the hard work and focus so that you can see results in a year.

However what is so striking is that in a society that farms, the ultimate tale of delayed gratification as you spend months toiling for one harvest, this attitude hasn't transferred elsewhere. So perhaps there is the possibility to change this cultural practice in those instances when they need it to? I can only hope so as I see nothing imperialistic about focusing on the importance of saving and planning!

My internet time is expiring; but until next time?

Things!

2009-07-01T13:58:00.002+02:00

It's been an exciting week here in Farendé! Ive had a bunch of time to be in this fascinating community and try to learn a bit about the challenges and opportunities for development here. Ill get into my observations on that next week, but for now I'd like to discuss some of the, let's call them "adjustments," that I've had to make.

Electricty, specifically the lack thereof.

To be honest, it's not too bad. Thinking about 2 months without iPhone was almost enough to make me not get on that plane to Togo, but despite the definite adjustments it hasn't been too bad. For one, your schedule changes... to one that makes you live the way the earth wants us to. In bed by 8:30, ie a few hours after the sun sets, reading with my headlamp. Up around 6 if the sund doesnt wake me sooner. Ive really enjoyed early morning runs when it feels pretty nice actually. The time between 10-3 isnt terribly conducive to athletics, although there is this natural sauna everywhere. Its definitely a pain using a flashlight for everything you do once the sun goes down (think 2am stumbling to find a tree that looks like it would make a good toilet).

The second thing about the lack of electricity, and something Ive actually really enjoyed, is the fewer distractions that are around me. It's been so much easier to get immersed in a book when you dont have DVR, the internet and all those electronic temptations at your fingertips. Beyond that, Ive had the feeling that the lack of all these technologies that let us be elsewhere has allowed me to do a better job of living in the moment and place and time that Im in. For instance, I just finished reading Moby Dick for the first time, and how incredible it was immersing myself in that tale, especially as I read by a kerosine lantern as the storms brewed overhead, as I can only image this book was designed to be read.

Some nights have been better than others without AC or a fan in my room, but how hard it is to really escape the heat has been rough. There are several methods used here that work to variying degrees: tree shade (not bad); these straw-covered open-air huts called paillotes (pretty good); a shower (soothing, but temporary). There are times, particularly when Im trying to sleep, bullets of sweat running down my body, that I would kill for AC or even a cold beer (the local beer, made for sorghum is pretty good - for taste, think a dry alcoholic cider type taste, is served tepid and no fridge means no ice cold Coca-Cola(TM)) but I think of what this place must be like in the dry season and that these people deal with it their whole lives and I generally stop complaining.

Chaotic Improvisation

My previous summers featured the pretty standard unpaid internship elements: 8:30 to 5:30 office hours, button down shirt (open collar though!), a small desk with stacks of papers and ball-point pens, and lunch breaks at the local café. Not so this summer. This sort of organization was not what I signed up for, and its certainly not what Im getting! The roads are such a fantastic example: cars darting back and forth in between broken down trucks, fearless motorcyclist (there are TONS here), over-loaded bikers and woman with more than I can imagine carrying effortlessly balanced on their heads. With all this, the roads mostly have no lines, are full of pot-holes or just uneven dirt, don't exactly have gutters to help with drainange and stop-lights are interpreted as friendly suggestions, rather than any sort of legal impediment.

Chaos in the way things are done at all different levels as well! Visas? Go through a hole in a wall (literally a hole in the wall) to find an unmarked office. Time? Ha! Meetings that start 2 hours late do not jive with me! Do people show up? Sometimes!

Again, adustment needed. There clearly are benefits of this timeless-ness. I havent seen anybody powerwalking down the streets of Farende with their head down, too busy to say hello and ask how I am doing because they are late for a meeting. They take the time to welcome you and invite you for a drink almost always.Where in the US we'd say (as I have many times before!) that I'd love to catch up with you or do X, Y or Z, but Im too "busy" or Im "late" for a meeting or I dont have the "time" today. In a chaotic, improvised culture, you allow yourself to be immersed in what you have around you, instead of running off to what might be. Ive actually come to realize that part of the problem is that I try to come on time, not thinking about the paradox that if two people are both 2 hours late for a meeting, they are actually both on time.

However, for getting stuff done, for having meetings to learn about development here, this is a pain. For the future of business and government here, this will be a problem. However, maybe it is possible for development to bring timeliness to these sectors, but leave us the time to make time for those around us. Being late always makes me think about my much beloved who is unfortunately not with us any more, Eve Carson. She gave you a 120 percent of her soul when she was with you, but she was always horribly late. Thinking about the concept of being late doesnt usually make me smile; but it does in this case.

But yes! Adjustments! Adjustments that are temporary, but ones that are helping me digest the way I live my life no matter where I am. This is why I love travel!

Until next time,
Alex

Lome!

2009-06-24T01:08:00.002+02:00

Lome, Togo's capital and largest city, is unlike any other African capital I've been to. It is very poor and lacking even the very beginnings of a tourist trade. Yet it also has the charmingly unpolished nature about it. That is - and this is going to sound harsh - but when you're in a place that is trying so hard to pretty up things for western tourists (e.g Cape Town, South Africa), the pot-holes and shanty towns hit you hard: you realize the stark contrast between the haves and have-nots.

Lome, on the other hand, has few pretenses (or more like the ability to maintain pretenses) about being a tourism hot spot. There are a couple nice hotels and fancier restaurants, but they are poorly kept up and are not much to look at. Lome does not have the fancy well-kept districts you see elsewhere. And it's a good thing because there are very few ex-pats here and even fewer tourists to go there. I certainly felt out of place as a white person elsewhere in Africa, but seldom have I been so scarce. Oddly, this gives the city a type of charm: people are living their lives not for this lack of tourist economy but completely in spite of it. I don't know if this is a good thing for me to feel, but the fact that there isn't a whole lot of outside wealth coming in and surrounding the poverty actually let's me forget my white/liberal/western guilt just a little bit more.

The culture of street vendors seems to also reflect the lack of outside money. In the Cape Towns and Rabats of the world, the street vendors eye-in on the tourists to sell their various trinkets and souvenirs. In Lome, the vendors don't sell Togolese masks or carvings, but simple commodities. Whether you are stopped at a traffic light, walking into the supermarket or just strolling around the market, you will see scores of people selling everything from boxes of kleenex to Chinese made belts to mangoes (yes, delicious!). It becomes clear that none of these men or woman is trying to climb the economic ladder and start a business. They are simply trying to make ends meet. And while I am singled out as a "Yovo" or white person quite readily in these situations, it is usually not to try to sell me something or even if it is to sell me a phone card or something else, they do this just as they would sell it to a Togolais.

The way food is ordered at local restaurants is another particularity of Lome, one that seems to borrows from this type of subsistence history. At most places around the world, you order the quantity of food you want - a medium fry, a 1/4 chicken etc. - and you pay the price associated with that amount. However, the local restaurants here flip that around: you tell them how much money's worth of something you want and they give you whatever quantity that is. True, prices don't change too much and people tend to know how much 500 CFAs of something is, however the idea of having a fixed income and letting your appetite be satisfied is certainly not something I am used to. I can't imagine going to an Italian place and asing for $5.64 worth of pasta.

With these examples, I don't want to paint too dire a picture of Lome. It has beautiful beaches. The people are super friendly. The food is delicious. bOne of the great things about not having many tourists is that it is very safe, even downtown in the big market. But, I can't help think the most striking part is that the capital - the largest and supposedly most developed part of tihs country - is stuck in the past. . Looking across the dusty, pot-hole-ridden streets and being amazed by friendliness of those who come off them, I wonder what the prospects are for Togo.

Tomorrow I head back up north to Farende, finally. I should have a good chance to explore this next week and will get back to y'all with my take in a week.

Until then!
Alex

Whew...

2009-06-19T09:36:00.004+02:00

So, I apologize for being out of touch for so long. However, in my defense, I was a little busy testing out the ins and outs of the Togolese health care from Mountain, to village to city. That is, I had a bit of an accident.

Do not fear, I am OK. Well my pride is a bit shot, but luckily I have plenty of that. Anyway, this is what happened...

Last Wednesday the 10th we (two other Duke in Togo students and my amazing friend David Fiocco who was dropping by to visit me Togo on his way from Sierra Leone to Uganda and the professor who is leading the trip, Charlie Piot) headed up North to begin our work up there for the summer. After the 6 hour drive on often-nice roads, we got to the mountain village of Kude where we would be spending the first night. This community welcomed us with open arms, local beer and a ceremonially killed chicken (apparently they like it when the chicken flails about after its throat has been cut...)

The night was coming to an end after a good meal as we were sitting around a small table at a dimly lit, rocky homestead. I had to go to the bathroom, which meant finding a suitable patch of dirt on the mountain-top. As I got up to make this happen, stepping over my friend, I suddenly felt a little light in the head. I stumbled up against the wall and regained my balance, but not for long.

The next thing I remember is waking up lying with my eyes shut, hearing people talking around me. I was cold, shivering actually. I had lost consciousness after that brief stumble, and fallen across the homestead, down two steps, forehead flat against the stone ground. My eyes were shut because of the swelling of that impact and my head hurt. But, the medical assistant from the clinic, who I had met on my way up the mountain was called and I was taken good care of. The cuts and swelling weren't (and still aren't) pretty, but I will survive. I spent a few days in my homestay recovering (this was their introduction to me) before heading back to Lome for some tests. The results were good, no brain damage but a little bit of a fracture and some blood in my sinus; nothing time shouldn't be able to heal I'm hoping to get back to the village early next week and really begin this trip.

It was a, if you will, rocky start to my summer and I am deeply looking forward to getting back on track. However, a silver lining was the chance to look at the health care of Togo at a few different levels. My cuts were cleaned and bandaged a few times up in rural Farende. The medical assistant was firm, very firm, but fair, making sure - with some elbow grease and tough love - that my cuts were clean. I probably could have used a couple stitches, but this wasn't in the cards. They gave me antibiotics and something for the pain and they refused to take any money for me for helping me. No infection to-date, so bravo.

The CT scan and EEG scan in Lome were brief and to the point. The facillities weren't fancy but were more than adequate. I was excited to see that the waiting room had some Togolese newpapers. Turns out there were two years old, but this didn't seem to matter - news included "President of Togo visits soccer match." This hospital, on the other hand, was happy to take my money.

Certainly an adventure but, hopefuly a one-off. I am currently resting up in Lome, the capital, which is an interesting city. More to come on that soon!

Hope you all are well!
Alex

The Trip (Le Trajet)*

2009-06-09T18:43:00.004+02:00

I like airports a lot. They are where random people are herded together like cattle, thought lines and various other holding pens. Unlike cattle - no disrespect to them - everyone in the airport has a story to tell. Wedding or funeral, vacation or visit, love or lounging. While so many situations put us around these people (say buses & elevators), fewer are the ones that give us the right framework to start up a conversation with a stranger. Waiting for the flight you are both taking, or stuck next to someone as the plane idles on the tarmac. I was reminded of this as the airport was the start to my adventure this summer.

On my way to Togo, I planned a couple little escales (stopovers) in Morocco and New York since my first flight left through JFK and took me through Casablanca en route. NYC was great - stayed with my good friend Noaufel and enjoyed the hustle and bustle of the city as I saw some of my other friends camped out there.

Then, I headed to Rabat, via Casablanca, to see my old stomping grounds (see blog posts below fron 2007!) and a couple of my friends who are from there. My plan was to get into Casa and hop on a train to Rabat. Easy enough, right? That would soon change.

As I sat strategically placed on the floor with my back to a column that happend to have an outlet in JFK airport , charging my iphone like the consummate travelling Gen Yer, a middle-aged woman wearing a Hijab asked for my help in broken English. She was in way over her head, travelling by herself with three kids under four including an infant and a bunch of bags. It turned out to be a facsinating story. She was a winner of the green card lottery a few years ago who lives in upstate NY with her husband and 3 kids. However, for some reason her husband couldnt join her green card so he is in the US illegally. So, she was travelling to visit her family with her kids for the first time in 4 years by herself because if her husband left he couldn't return. But, my goodness, was it a tough trip for her - what a saint! An infant on her back and a 3 and 5 year old scampering around. Through security, baggage claim, lines everywhere...a very courageous woman!

Anyway, to her question I responded in similarly imperfect French, telling her I'd be happy to help, having no idea where this would lead me. It turns out her family in Morocco lives in Rabat. As she found out my destination, in typically Moroccan fashion she offered me a ride. I hestitated at first knowing how much stuff she had but she strongly insisted. So, we arrived in Casa and we embarked on the drive to her house. But the kindess did not stop. Not only was I given the front seat on the drive, I was welcomed as the guest of honor even as her family had not seen her for 4 years. They served me a full meal of prune and beef tagine, couscous (it was friday, the day when everyone in Morocco has couscous), salad and some delicious, very sweet carrot juice.

One gesture that showed this generosity concerned the TV. Upon my arrival they showed me to their modest apartment and into the TV room. Of course they had satellite TV so the grandfather of the kids flipped on the TV and surfed over to France 24 in English. Surprised, I told him that I didn't know he spoke English. Turns out he doesn't, he put that on just for me, some stranger who he met an hour ago.

But it is this attitude of genorosity that I've found throughout the developing world on my travels and it continues in Togo. I arrived a couple days ago and my next post will be about my arrival to Lome (hopefully with pictures!), so keep tuned, but the first and most salient thing as I try to process the sights and sounds and put pen to paper about them has been this openness of spirit and friendliness. It really has me in awe just how willing people are to be just plain nice to you, the stranger. I know most people say that about the places they visit, especially those off the beaten track, but I want to find out whatùs in the water here (in the best of the expression)! Until next time!

*I'm loving working on my French so my apologies in advance for the French words that will sully this blog!

Le Togo

2009-06-08T21:26:00.004+02:00

Hi again! So after two years of nothing interesting happening in my life, I will be blogging again this year as I explore Togo! I had the opportunity this summer to go anywhere in the world and do something for my personal development. Pretty neat, huh?

Overwhelmed by this choice, I decided to go somewhere in francophone West Africa and try to investigate grassroots democracy there. As luck would have it, I happen to stumble across the Duke in Togo Program through a good friend of mine, Meggie Staffiera, and it sounded like a great opportunity. If you're anything like me, you are asking yourself "where the hell is Togo?" Well check out this map.

So, this summer I will be spending most of the time in a small village in the north called Farende. I will spend the first couple weeks getting a lay of the lan' but then it is likely that I will help further develop a local tax system to provide for some of the public goods in this villlage (think latrine at marketplace, fix roads etc). As a poli sci major at UNC who is about to start at Georgetown's MSFS program where I will get a 2 year MA focusing on international development and someone who is interested in promoting and improving democracy this will be a great adventure (read: crash course) in rural life and community organizing there!

So, keep posted and I really do appreciate comments (I will be oh so lonely!) so don't be shy!
Au revoir!
Alex

Sadly...

2007-08-11T19:12:00.000+02:00

So, as you might have guessed from the absence of posts, I have returned to the good old United States. Morocco certainly was a great experience and one that will stay with me for a long time. I wish I could have stayed for longer, especially considered that the Moroccan legislative elections are scheduled for the start of September. It will be an exciting moment in this country that continues along the difficult path towards modernization and democracy.
Thank you for reading!

All Veils Ahead?

2007-08-02T17:57:00.000+02:00

In French, the language from the country that bans women from wearing the veil (and men and women from wearing religious-themed apparel or accessories) in public schools, voile has an interesting double meaning: it means both sail and veil. Hence, it is good fodder for puns, for instance the French equivalent of "full sail ahead" - 'toutes voiles dehors' has been used in the title of a book talking about the Koran and Islam in the modern world. However, in spite of the title, the book stresses that Islam is about much more than a "square of fabric" despite what the critics and defenders say.

Personally, I've never felt particularly comfortable with the idea of the veil. That's not to say I've always been against it but rather than I'm uncomfortable with a lot of the issues that inevitably arise when talking about it. For instance, those talking about it as a matter of choice, not considering the difficult social pressures that distort the meaning of choice.

While being in Morocco I have heard a variety of explanations for the veil, both from those who wear it or those who do not.There was one that made me particularly uncomfortable: I was in a taxi talking to the driver, we passed a couple of women who were dressed in shirts and skirts, not anything particularly revealing and something that wouldn't have turned a head in Europe or the US. But this guy turns to me, in French, and said "This is not good. They should be covered up and wear the veil" as he implied they were bad people for dressing as they do. I did not take the easy road of just nodding and accepting this; I did not heed the words of Linus from "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown:"

"There are three things I have learned never to discuss with people: religion, politics, and the Great Pumpkin."

I challenged him and ask why they should have to follow his belief of what he felt is proper. His answer was that it wasn't his belief, it was God's belief and all must adhere too. Still not satisfied I pushed it further, and asked why its important that God said that. Yet, unsurprisingly, I remained unsatisfied as he said that the fact that God said it is all that matters. That does not do it for me, no matter who the god is.

A quick aside, I consider myself am agnostic and think I fall most closely in line with the beliefs of secular humanism. I know its trendy but then again, so am I, right? That being said, I do believe in the belief in God and acknowledge that this can play an important role in the lives of many, many good people. However, I do require that people's beliefs and values - be they religious or not - be translated into moral terms that all people can understand. Additionally, I care most of all that, whatever their motivation, they are at the end of the day caring, tolerant and kind-hearted in their actions. So for this conversation I was left very unconvinced. I think a large part of this has to do with my my knee-jerk aversion to this side of the veil issue, rife with associations to male chauvinism and restricting the rights of women. Yet something I discovered in Morocco is that this is not the complete picture.

I have had other conversations, generally with women who defend it for other, at least to me, more understandable reasons. Some cite modesty, piety (along the lines of a yarmulke, that is serving as a reminder) while oter justify it purely because it says so in the Koran. The interesting part for me has been how many veiled women have been taking part in NDI conference. The reason I find this intersting is that I often paired the idea of veiled women with those of restricted, hardly liberated women. Yet, these veiled women are campaigning to have their voices be heard. They certainly don't see the square of fabric as restricting their liberties,

Another interesting thing is the thriving veil industry. The veils seen around Morocco certainly aren't just black. They come in a panoply of colors that leaves me wondering if some see it purely as a a fashion accessory. Instead of the veil being an instrument of restricting choice, it is instead one that provides many choices I'm picturing the Gap commercial now.

Despite these cases, I still find it hard to be completely satisfied with just saying that the veil is a matter of choice, some choose to wear it while others don't. I've learned here that there is a lot of pressure on some women, either in their communities or through their piety. However, one of my Moroccan friends told me what he wanted to do when he was explaining how he felt about women and the veil. As he is not exactly a traditional guy, initially I was surprised when he said he wanted to marry a woman who wears the veil. It all made sense, however, when he explained why: to do his part to fight against the veil; he wanted to convince her to take it off.

It certainly isn't an easy situation for me to reconcile in my head, but I guess that's what makes it a good ethical dilemma. What does seen to be important though is not to let this be a stumbling block to discussing other important elements of the role of Islam or for that matter all religion in the modern world. Just because someone doesn't wear a veil does not mean she can't be just as pious and committed to preserving some parts of tradition as others. If someone does wear a veil, don't count them out of being empowered, modern and, in some cases, politically active. So, toutes voiles dehors? I still haven't figured that one out yet.

"hey, I have a historical question..."

2007-07-20T12:20:00.000+02:00

So, just now i was looking at my Moroccan change and n0ticed something peculiar. Each coin had two different dates on them, one which was clearly the modern date, and one which must have been some historical period - they spanned from about the late 1300s to the early 1400s. So, I turned to my colleague and asked the above question, seeing if he could explain the historical significance of all these dates.

He responded simply by saying "it was the year it was printed."

I responded with disbelief, "you're telling me this money is 600 years old?"

No, of course its not. And, as he explained to me its not a historic date. All it is is the date on the Muslim Calendar.

"Ohhhhhhh..." was my response.

It's amazing how things can just seem so weird when you don't understand the context. First example, I was walking around the neighborhood near my office and noticed a lot of streest named "Oued ____," with the street I work on Oued Sebou. So I asked a coworker who this Oued Sebou guy was, joking about how common a name that must be ...although I'd never met an "Oued". It turns out.... that Oued means river in Arabic.

"Ohhhhhh...."

Last example, every morning when I was talking the bus to work and I saw a big mass of people gather in this small park by the side of the road. They didn't look active or energetic enough to be protesters, they didn't look passive enough to be sunbathers. Instead, the person on the bus who I asked revealed to me, they are standing outside the Spanish Embassy trying to get Visas. That was apparently the line.

You can imagine what my response was to that.

The Language of Democracy in Morocco

2007-07-19T15:29:00.000+02:00

Something I realized is that I haven't talked too much about on this blog is my work, interning for NDI. Part of the reason might be the "well I could tell you, but....then I'd have to kill you" point, that is that a lot of NDI (National Democratic Institute)'s work in Morocco is done discreetly. As an American NGO in a nation where it isn't particularly beneficial to your political future to be considered 'pro American' or be seen as receiving help or worse from the American government. But, what I'm talking about in this blog is pretty harmless, so sorry for the lack of juicy info but I don't want to get fired from my unpaid internship!

NDI uses a lot of different tools to help support democracy in Morocco. The tactics range from trainings of Ministers of Parliament, party officials and activists and candidates on the nuts and bolts of running effective campaigns, voter outreach and communication to supporting emerging political leaders to conferences centered on promoting women's participants to attempts to increase politician accountability and citizen participation such as a website (www.moroccodemocracy.com) aiming to bring more information to Morocco's citizens. Their work here really is exciting and, seeing as it is about 6 weeks until the next elections (mark your calendar for September 7, 2007!! You know CNN is going to give it 24 hour coverage, that is, assuming there isn't an attractive white child missing), NDI has many activities and trainings going on.

Among their activities have been a number of trainings and conferences for political parties that I have had the opportunity to help out with. I've been a part of three conferences, one with women from one of the poltical parties which provided them specifically with training on how to promote their party's message and convince voters. Another was with a variety of parties and focused on get out the vote efforts and how these can best be done. The third was on the role media plays in elections both from a theoretical/ethical point of view and from a practical, maximizing positive coverage standpoint.

These have been great experiences on three levels. First, being part of and helping put on these trainigs to help advance the capacities or politicians and those aspiring to be part of this process has made me feel - selfishly- like I am playing a role - albeit a tiny one - in helping these passionate actors in the Moroccan democracy create a more democratic, more social just nation

Second, actually meeting these - for the most part - very friendly people who have ranged from those working for their party to current MPs in office to members of the press and other NGOs, has been really fascinating. Something few Moroccans will deny is that they love talking and very few topics are off the table (especially their opinions on the US! :)) Another nice part is that, as I experienced in South Africa, the MPs and party leaders do not perceive or treat you as if there too much of a barrier between them and some lowly intern.

The third interesting part has actually been the content. The training n how to organize a campaign, how to effectively communicate you message has been a really exciting (for me at least...) how to on conducting a campaign. I've run into a lot of tactics that I've only seen in practice, to ideas I haven't really encountered in looking at actualy campaigns. One good example is the concept of repeating an idea in communications to get it to stick. One good example is the concept of repeating an idea in communications to get it to stick.

For these conferences, I've been heavily involved in preparatory work, such as finding suitable materials for the participant packets, heling the presenters with their presentation etc. before hand. During I've been mainly doing the note-taking for the goings-on. With these notes, I've then proceeded to write the final reports that need to be submitted to national NDI in DC and eventually the donors.

Contrary to what the movie Office Space says about writing reports, those I've been writing here have actualy been pretty interesting. They have forced me to gain a grasp of NDI's mission and motivations for each of the activities and learn how to put the Moroccan context and its worldwide important into words.

The notetaking itself has also been more compelling than it is made out to be. First is because of my dorky desire to learn and retain the information at hand. Second has been my, again dorky, desire to practice my french since the conferences are usually in French with a translation into Arabic for those who aren't as fluent in French. This leads to the third reason, the language particularity.

In spite of the fact that NDI is an American NGO, it makes a considerable effort to tailor its programs to each country. A large part of this effort is the langauge of its programs, materials and publications. Thus, in Morocco there are in Moroccan Arabic and French. The conferences themselves too are in theses languages, usually with a simultaneous translation but sometimes consecutive (simultaneous is UN style, that is the presenter carries on in French and there is a translator who translating at the same time - shockingly called simultaneously - with participants having nifty head phones, consecutive means the presenter pauses and lets the translator do the translation then.)

All this is well and good, I could happily take the French part and copy it down in note form. However, the final reports I had to write have to be in English. As note-taker, I was faced with the dilemma of note-taking in English while the conference was in French. Luckily I had spent the last 4 months before Morocco in Dijon, France learning French or I wouldn't be able to keep up, let alone talk to the participants. That is not to say that I didn't have a few frantic translation search on my computer... hey, personne n'est parfait.

Yet, where this starts to get really interesting (for those of you keeping track, this is the 4th level of interesting) is when you take into account how many Moroccans speak in a hybrid of French and Arabic (as those of you who have read the previous blog would know). Most of the presenters would keep to one lanuage pretty well. However, once the floor was open to the often copious amounts of comments and questions (remember, loquacious people) the poor translators (one from Arabic to French and one from French to Arabic) often need to switch as participants go from one language to another. This is equally difficult for the participants that only speak one of the languages and, namely, me. Having the headphones in, I would have to take them out to hear the presenter when she spoke in French but put them right back in when she switched to Arabic.

It certainly can get confusing; I remember one time where the translator ended up translating the Arabic into...Arabic, not noticing he wasn't being particularly helpful. Talk about getting lost in translation...But, but, this difficulty is well worth the pain. Yes, for the practical point of best being able to train the participant. Yet, for me the most critical point is to highlight that NDI's work isn't about imposing a specific type of pre-packed democracy to all the nation's it works in. Yes America's model work's fairly well in America, but its clear that for democracy to work, it must be suited the the different nuances of each society. Instead, my understanding of NDI's work (disclaimer: these words are the thoughts of Alex Snider and Alex Snider alone and cannot be linked to the parent organization of which he is an unpaid intern) is that it is about using its expertise and experience to provide tools, support and help to those working to realize their own version of democracy. It's not about creating America's democracy in Morocco or anywhere else and its not anything NDI can do without the dedicate political actors in each of the countries it works in. Above all, NDI is about about helping to facilitate democratie à la Marocaine, designed according to Morocco's social circumstances and priorities, political realities, and, yes, naturally, its language(s).

Random Story

2007-07-10T19:26:00.001+02:00

So I met this guy from Rabat on the train. Just randomly I asked him if he had a favorite restaurant in Rabat. He replied yes and proceeded to describe where it is in a telling fashion:

Him: It's located near the mosque...
Me: Which mosque?
Him: Well, the one by the McDonalds?
Me: Which McDonalds?

Well, that's it. OK I didn't say it was a good story, I just said it was a random one!

People Dynamics

2007-07-10T18:29:00.000+02:00

One of the most interesting things about traveling - for me at least - is not so much those special "ethnic" things that are completely different from one society to another. Instead, it is how they those same daily, routine things are done differently and what this says about that society's priorities and values.

The first thing you realize in just any random conversation is that the whole "personal space bubble" does not apply here. This doesn't just apply to random touching to make a point but also just to where people stand. When I talk to a Moroccan, I often find myself reflexively stepping back for no other reason than my eyes aren't used to focusing that close on someone. In the US and Europe we -subconsciously or consciously - give others their space and ensure we are given ours. That's why if you're in an almost empty metro car or bus and you sit next to someone, they might eye you warily. Here, even the monkeys are touchy-feely (see picture).

Another example is business related encounters. In my experience in the State Department, when you call or meet with someone, its mainly business first, everything else is secondary. However, here there is an array pleasantries that must be done before you even start to think about business. It makes life a little less efficient but, at times, it certainly seems worth it.

Anyone devoted to their personal space would not be all too happy in the Medinas (old towns), buses or grand taxis of Morocco. These narrow streets more often than not filled with people, donkeys, bikes and motorcycles are the public's domain. When you talk to anyone expect to have at minimum a handshake if not 2 kisses on the cheek (regardless of sex). The taxis that go longer distances, called grand taxis, have a standard capacity of 4 in the back and 2 in the one front seat. I'm reminded as well of the mini-buses in Cape Town: a number of times I had my face squished against the "Maximum capacity 12" sign as 16+ were piled on top of me. The big city buses of Rabat have small seats and are usually overflowing with people, hence allowing you to get to know the people around you and all the assorted smells that this necessarily entails.

I want to take a minute with the buses. I remember when I first got to Morocco and my friend was telling me how the buses work. And, you certainly do need someone to help you. The routes and schedules are certainly not posted online, and, as far as I know, no hard copy guide exists. People just know. So, being a neophyte, I asked where the bus stop was for the bus I needed. He proceeded to explain the bus stops do not really exist; they usually just a group of people huddled by the side of the road. Interesting, I thought, as I imagined myself ending up somewhere in rural Morocco while my coworkers started to get worried.

With a few exceptions, the buses are fairly old and run down. Little money is wasted in keeping them in good shape or, for that matter, comfortable. They are dirty and pollute a lot, belching black smoke seemingly whenever I'm standing next to one. Often, the drivers will actually come to a complete stop at the stops, sometimes people hop in as it rolls away. The system of collecting money is not high tech - one man (and it is invariably a man)with a bag of coins and carnival-like tickets. They are not user friendly at all. You have to magically find the right place to stand to get on. To get out, there is no fancy button to press, you have to be ready where the stop is, and then bang on the door frame to get it to open up.

But...and there is a but...the buses excel in two key ways - they work ( and quickly so) and they are cheap (4 Dirhams or $0.45 per trip). In other words, they sacrifice style and comfort, but they are effective as they do what they need to do and no more. If you know where the stops are and the procedure for getting off, it certainly does work quickly and easily. And, most everyone on the bus does know how they work. With not a single exception, I have been the only white person every time when I've taken the bus to work.

Someone else extraordinary that I've seen is, every now and then one person will talk to the man collecting money, and, I assume, tell him they can't afford it. The man usually nods, leaves the person be and continues collecting money. I can imagine one pleading such as case in the US would wind up on the sidewalk, not out of a lack of sympathy but rather fear that if they let some do that, others might much such claims and, pardon the pun, try to free ride.

So for me, the bus was trial and error. I definitely missed my stop the first few times because I didn't realize you had to bang on the side of the bus for the driver to open the door...you live, you learn. What I also learned, however, is that these mundane parts of life in Morocco do seem to be more about substance than style. You get close to someone and touch them while you're talking to them to show affection, not worrying about infringing on someone's personal space. The bus isn't pretty but its gets your from point A to point B...well that is if you can figure it out. There are times I really long for online schedules, predictable stops and the peace of mind and calm this all entails.

Yet, I'm also reminded that many people cannot afford such peace of mind - what matters is that it works. In America, more often than not, if something doesn't work we toss it out. But, as a friend of mind, Ben Mansbach talked about in his blog from Cameroon (http://benjamin.nomadlife.org), in Africa people tend to fix them up again and again and again, rather than just buying a new one. Because money certainly is an object, they are eager to substitute style for substance. Maybe this is a trade-off we need to consider a little more back in the good old US. We forget that the reason we take a bus or have a car is to get from point A to point B. We forget that what makes life special aren't material comforts but rather the intimate personal relations and interactions that we have with people, be they members of our family, random people we meet in the street or those we do business with.

Don't get me wrong, I enjoy my convenience and comforts to some extent and feel fortunate to be able to afford them. Yet, too often many in the west, myself included, or others who lead privileged lives regardless of where they live, focus a little too much on the style in which we get somewhere (figuratively or literally), and forget to stop, be thankful, and appreciate the fact that we got there in the first place.

Newfound Patriotism

2007-07-04T16:31:00.001+02:00

Yesterday was the 4th of July, usually a day that only means fireworks and a party for me. Today, moreso than ever before, I had a swelling of patriotism coming up to this day. That was surprising for me, particularly being in an area that never lets you forget about Iraq or Israel. Yet, what these many conversation have done - with people from taxi drivers, to shop-keepers, to those involved in Moroccan politics, is to yes, remind me of the bad America has done, but also, in defending my country against such overly-unflattering portrayals, I remember all the good we have done and all the important values we more often than not stand for.

The irony is, is that when I am in the states, I can't help but recoil when I see an American flag or hear that chillingly-catchy country song "Proud to be an American". I can't help but think about all the bad things Bush has done to threaten a lot of what I hold dear. Whenever I meet a foreigner there talking about how great America is I say "Well, wait a minute - we aren't even close to perfect.." and so on, presenting the picture that all of the good things America and Americans dois somehow mitigated by the bad. Yet, here, when I hear some critical of America, my reaction is the opposition - that, yes, we have done some bad things, but we are also a great source for good and that all the good certainly does offset certain, shall we say, lapses in judgment.

For those who have seen the movie Goodbye Lenin, it's been a similar experience to that of the main character, who when looking back at pre-fall of the Berlin wall Germany, appreciate some of the things he had neglected. That is one of the fantastic things about traveling - you get to go outside of the context you know, seeing the things you thought you knew from a new perspective. I'm reminded of a T.S.Elliot quote: " We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time. "

So, for the 4th a threw a cloyingly patriotic 4th of July party, including fireworks (the powerpoint variety) and good old Moroccan-made hamburgers and hot dogs. Yet, during the party, I did try to remind people (about 3/4 foreigners) that the reason we celebrate 4th of July in the States - well at least the reason why I did it this year and why I will continue into the future - is to celebrate the great values and ideals the nation was founded on, and our responsibility to live up to these ideals in our actions within and outside of our nation's borders every day.

And, yes, I did play "Proud to be American"... that song sure is catchy...

Assumptions Part 2

2007-06-26T16:35:00.000+02:00

Assumption #3: Democracy is good, monarchy is bad.

Shame of me for having this assumption in the first place. Mrs. Mirkow, dear Mrs. Mirkow, my 11th and 12th grade history teacher first lesson in class - I remember it like it was yesterday - instructed us to throw out all our western-centric ideas that go as follows: we are in a democracy, it works well for us, so others should follow us so they can become better.

However, over my past 3 years of Poli Sci schooling at UNC and Duke, I've had the idea that democracy is the be all and end all crammed down my throat. I've learned much about how a vibrant and active democracy it is supposed to promote peace, free trade, more sustainable & equitable development, less hunger and many other desirable traits such as have a representative government.

Two things have given me pause over the last few years however. First, that some things about democracy just plain suck. By this and I'm sure many of you feel the same way, among other things, the campaigns and media coverage thereof are ridiculous, often about style over substance, are sensationalist and rarely narrow their focus on the real nuts and bolts issues of what's important to a country. The incumbency rate is unbelievably high and politics - in America at least - seems to be more about how much money you have, who you know (and how much money THEY have) then about merit or vision. I've heard that people are predicting the 2008 presidential campaign to be the first campaign where candidates combined spend over $1 billion on expenses to win the White House. Well, at least Rupert Murdoch is happy.

Once in office, it doesn't seem to get much better. The mountains of bureaucratic-inertia are often stifling and what gets done isn't always a whole lot better than doing nothing. While The Daily Show does a fantastic job of finding and exaggerating every single ridiculous debate, rider amendment and pork-barrel spending to make it seem like this is ALL they do, it definitely seems to happen way to much as it should considering how great democracy is supposed to be.

Don't even get me started with lobbyists.

Secondly, democracy seems like it needs to much more that a system or series of
elections or new story but rather a culture and way of life. More importantly, for
democracy to work, the society that suits it. By this I mean it must have an independent and free press to be able to verify and hold leaders accountable as well as inform the public about what is going on. There must be a thriving civil society with businesses, community groups, NGOS and other interests groups so citizens can come together to lobby for their rights. There must be stable and multiple political parties so that individuals have viable alternatives to choose from if one party doesn't carry through on its promises. The democratic system must be designed in a way that suits the country's demographics. Finally, the people in the nation must at a state where they can participate. Yes, that means willing. But this also means not hungry and impoverished, with a job, educated, and not fearful for their lives because of violent conflict or insecurity.

As the French would say, "c'est pas evident" - its not easy/simple. It is these sorts of democratic enablers that Iraq lacked and is the reason that the idea of imposing democracy with the sword made and stills makes absolutely no sense. Don't get me wrong though, I think democracy is a fantastic tool. However, I do think it is one that a country must be ready to use. It is at this point that I find myself between two conflicting quotations - first, that democracy merely is "tyranny of the majority." And second, that democracy is "the worst system except for all the others."

I certainly believe that if given the choice between any given country to be either a democracy or at the whim of a random autocrat, I would certainly choose the former. However, Morocco, in particular, isn't faced with this choice.Instead, Morocco is a "democratic, social and constitutional Monarchy."

The first things one of my colleagues noted is that democratic monarchy is about as oxymoronic as it gets. In spite of this, Mohammed VI, the King, has made considerable reforms during his tenure. Provding more political and social freedoms, rewriting Morocco's antiquated family code to give women unprecedented legal rights in the Arab world and focus on poverty alleviation and housing as two of his major policies.

Hearing about this brings "benevolent dictator" to mind, which many see as the ideal form of government, if you can assume he (or her...ok he..jk) will remain this way and is motivated to be efficient in being benevolent. But it is this that gives me pause. In a democracy, there are tangible incentives for doing good, for improving the lives of your citizens: your job. If you don't produce results, you get the boot. But for dictators, unless you really terrorize your people so that they revolt against you, all you really have to do to keep your job is keep your inner circle content.

Yet, in applying my democratic education to Morocco, I've found my initial assumption - that Morocco would be better off right now with a full democracy (ie no King or a king like the UK has one) by some of the conversations I've had. Instead, it seems that what he's doing - promoting economic and social development while engaging in the process of democratization gradually and still remaining a unifying force is a pretty good step.... for the mean time. According to many I've talked to Morocco is not ready for full democracy with, for instance almost 1/2 of the population illiterate and many still in poverty and with voter education and party development still lacking.

However, is not clear cut. When South Africa held elections in 1995, it was still a very poor country. Yet, it was privvy to a unique period of unity behind Mandela that Morocco has not experienced. That doesn't mean that SA doesn't face huge democratic challenges today. SA, on the other hand, also did not have the option of a gradual transition from benevolent dictator to democracy. It is possible that with a full democracy here, the government would not be stable enough to do the hard work that must be done. The NGO I'm working with here, NDI, and many others NGOs are working with political parties, young leaders and the electorate to promote a more effective democracy. One thing I want to learn more about - and eventually write my thesis on (I think.....uggh I don't even want to start to think about my thesis) is democratic transition, how you cross the point of no return from autocracy to democracy.

For the moment, however, the King seems to be on the right track. He is providing more and more press, civil society and democratic freedoms while pushing for social justice. I only hope he continues his current reform and trend towards increased democratization and social development and, eventually, has the humility to ease gently out of the spotlight and let a thriving democracy, with all the benefits, and, yes, shortcomings, take center stage.

Unsurprisingly, it seems Mrs. Mirkow was right...she has always been there watching over me...

Assumptions Part 1

2007-06-18T17:25:00.000+02:00

Assumption #1: I know my way around Rabat

Maybe others have had similar experiences or maybe its just because I'm a guy and a) don't like to ask for directions b) like taking shortcuts c) and c) like to pretend like I know my way around somewhere even if I really don't have a clue where I'm going, but in my life I have found that the second that I think I've figured out how to get around a city, I get horribly lost. This happened to me going home from work the other day - I just simply wasn't paying attention and found myself walking up the wrong street. Any normal person would have turned around, walked back to the junction I knew and find the right street. I, on the other hand, thought I could cut my losses by taking a short-cut. I would soon discover that this would only add to them.

Luckily for me, I was able to use my French to communicate with some nice folks and got myself in the right direction, eventually, a stable, forest and a few tennis courts later. Then, I was lucky enough to have my family friend see my walking the street and be nice enough to turn the car around and pick me up. In sum, I'm a lucky guy. What this experience did make me thankful for was having my French. Being in Morocco - even more so than France - has made me sympathetic to those travelling to lands where they don't speak the language. I'm thinking about those Asian tourists I see clicking photos around DC. Just like me trying to read an Arabic sign - I can't even begin to pronounce it! - the letters that your reading right now look like Greek to someone from Japan, or from Morocco for that matter, who hasn't had any schooling with them.

While French is around most of Rabat and I can get along just fine with it, especially in upscale or touristy places that cater to foreigners or local frogs or events targeted at a wider audience such as the recent Jazz festival, Arabic is the language of the street. When i take the bus to work every morning, I notice very little French and a whole lot of Arabic. Being in that environment and speaking ore or less no Arabic has reinforced the idea that not speaking the language that's around you is an isolating, difficult and frustrating experience. It's something you don't even notice in others around you when you speak the language of the place you're in, but when you have something you're dying to say and you just have no idea how to express it using gestures (and contrary to popular belief speaking the language you know REALLY LOUD won't communicate the message either), it is irrepressibly frustrating.

One of the places I've had more trouble than I expected is in whats known as Petit Taxis here - small, cheap taxis that cost about 2 bucks to go anywhere in town. Having a few drivers who barely speak any French has left me feeling distant and in a different world that the driver. For a moment, I almost started to get irritated that the driver didn't really speak French, a language I had hoped would allow me to communicate with everyone. However, I was able to take a step back and realized that Arabic really is the language of this country, not French.

What I also realized was that I was not really as irritated by the fact that he didn't speak French than by the fact that I don't speak Arabic. I always enjoy knowing enough of a language for simple pleasantries, to be able to ask questions about a person in their own language and, of course, to be able to say "I speak a little of X language" or preferably "I'm trying to learn X language, but its not going so well!". Yes, for the selfish reason of wanting to communicate to people but also to convey that I have at least made some effort to meet the other halfway - well not quite halfway, maybe 1/100th of the way.

This brings me to the next assumption...

Assumption #2: Arabic is Arabic

"Mbtekti arabi shwia" or so I thought. This, of course, means I speak a little Arabic in Arabic. But, as I pulled this expression out as I talked to a storekeeper, all I received was a blank stare. At first I thought it was just horrible pronunciation. It turns out this was PART of it, but I also learned that while this might be "I speak a little Arabic" in Classical Arabic, it doesn't really mean all that much in Moroccan Arabic.

To back up, I thought a good way to learn Arabic was to get an Arabic audio lesson so I could have the basics of Arabic . I remember vividly one of the examples used "I am not Syrian, are you?" I probably should have taken that as a hint that it might not fly. It turns out that most Moroccans can understand classical Arabic, but its not a good way to communicate.

What's interesting though, is that Derija, the Moroccan slang dialect, is a blend of Moroccan Arabic, Berber (Moroccan rural language) French and apparently some Spanish too. As I hear my colleagues and friends talk it, I can understand just about every 9th or 10th word, usually filler words like "tu vois" and "en fait" (you see and in fact). They don't help all that much with comprehension, but they are an interesting indicator of the history of this country and the diverse influences that shape what it is today.

Next step, learn a enough Moroccan Arabic to get by. Wish me luck, j'en aurai besoin! (I'll need it!)

P.S. All these signs are helpful to know, the first is "Truck Exit" and the second is "It's strictly forbidden to cross the tracks" - good thing I speak French! The third obviously means "Protect the Grass" (I had to have it translated)

A Land of Contrasts

2007-06-12T10:49:00.000+02:00

After spending last semester in Dijon, France studying French and ..well...food, this summer I am spending two months in Rabat Morocco. Here I am doing an internship with an American NGO called NDI (National Institute for Democracy) which promotes democracy throughout the world. I'm hoping to contribute to their mission in Morocco, a particularly important part of their work. I am very lucky that this is an even more exciting time in Morocco than usual because the country is slated to have Parliamentary elections in September of this year. After having their first truly free elections in 2002, Morocco is a country on the cusp of great change, as I have already seen in the weeks I've been here.

I had previously read about Morocco's important geo-political role. As an Arab nation, it is the most advanced democracy among them, the most modern and the most likely to embrace an inclusive notion of globalization. While Iraq is where the battle between the modernism and fundamentalism is taking place with guns, Morocco is on the forefront of the ideological battle, seeking to modernize and adapt while also sensing the Islamic revival that has emerged in the past couple decades. I heard that Morocco can be seen as a sign of things to come for west-east relations. If Morocco allows modernism and tolerance to overcome extremism and bigotry, it portends good things.

I've had many experiences that testify to the struggle in this country that I had read about. However, I have also been humbled by how much I did not expect, both in the ways Morocco is still tied to the past and the ways it is embracing the future, and by those small things you just cannot prepare yourself for. This is really the first place I've ever been where I've faced Islam and Arab culture head on so I've had a number of firsts: fully veiled women, a taboo against alcohol, Mosques where non-Muslims are prohibited from entry, gyms segregated by sex. By the last thing, I do not only mean that you have men's gyms and women's gyms with different focuses etc. Instead, there are gyms with hours or days for each sex so that each gender has a single-sex workout environment. I could never imagine this in the US so you can imagine my surprise when I first was made aware of this by the gym receptionist. Morocco seems to be full of contrasts, a place where where one of the biggest issues of our shrinking world, traditionalism versus modernism, is ever-present, juxtaposed and divisive.

One example of this contrast is the culture of drinking here. It's something I've struggled to get used to, particularly coming from France where anyone and everyone past infancy has a glass of wine or two with dinner. While alcohol is technically forbidden by the Koran, this does not mean that Muslims do not drink. Instead, there really is a variety of the way people interpret this: some have a glass of wine, some don't, others have about ten of them. Like some of the Southern US, there are attempts made to keep alcohol on the down low. For instance, at the local supermarket ,there is a separate subterranean (it is technically underground) floor devoted to alcohol. With wine, beer and everything it was an alcoholic's paradise. As you check out, they go to great effort to hide the contents of your bag. They are dark black and they double bag it - tying the first bag off. Interestingly, I didn't notice a single female client there.

Another example of the modernism/traditionalism contrast is the below picture . Right outside the main square in Marrakesh, about 4 hours SW of Rabat, a teenager was selling this toy. which was an electric train with two parts: our president, Dubya, on a tank with its barrel pointed at Osama Bin Ladin in the car in front of him. As I'm sure was the intention, Dubya and him go around and around in circle, with W never catching him. In a country where most people strongly dislike Bush, this product is being marketed to tourists, representing the modern capitalistic influence, promising to share the better standard of living shared by the western world. Meanwhile, the omnipresent symbol of traditionalism, Osama, is very much a part of this picture, providing the dramatic chase and fighting against the values that tourism - and Bush - represents.

I encountered this again when talking to a local shopkeep in the Medina (or old city) in Rabat that I have gotten to know. He argued two things. First, that the only thing coming between the US and the Arab world is Israel Palestine, saying that is solved tonight, Americans and Arabs would be dancing arm-in-arm. Second, that Bush is the same type of person as Bin Laden, just the other extreme. Bin Laden offers complete traditionalism with the destruction of the US and what it represents and Bush offers the opposite.

One stereotype that has proven true is that no one likes Bush in Morocco. Once, I even had a taxi driver ask me what I thought about Bus before he'd let me out of the cab. While I have been here for the summer and during the last four months in France, for that matter, I've often found myself sympathizing and agreeing with the pretty significant disdain for Bush, as I did with that cab driver. Yet, I've also occasionally - and grudgingly - found myself defending him. I've not really made an attempt to defend what he's done but more-so his intentions. Besides some of the arrogance and belligerence he's shown, I believe he has had mostly good intentions. For instance, my work here, promoting democracy, is something he's stood staunchly behind. I do commend him for this but I also remember that this is exactly what he was doing in Iraq... When thinking about Iraq, I remember my country too contains some of the same contrasts and hypocrisy I've run into in Morocco. Bush does represent a kind of extremism that does delegitimize some of the good work being done to promote democracy that NGOs such as NDI are doing. While Osama clearly is much more extreme, his presence too delegitimizes a cause that does have some merit, preserving some of our traditional values in light of a world that is rapidly changing, yes, often for better but, occasionally, also for worse.

Yet, It seems like the media sensationalizes and distorts reality by over representing these extremes. As Jon Steward says, the media only talks about the trucks that are on fire. I've been amazed by how mixed these two "worlds" are . I imagined a deeper separation but I've encountered a blend of traditionalism and modernism in many parts of daily life. Unlike the impression I got from what I've read or seen in the media, these aren't always in conflict. One of my friends cares for both mixed drinks and Allah. I asked if he thought this was a contradiction and he said not at all. Instead, just like Christians who do not follow all of the instruction of Leviticus, he said that he has his interpretation of what's important just as others have their. Taking to him, I realized that I have a lot to learn about Islam and the role it plays in the lives of those who follow it. Just as Christians are a motley crew, so too the Islamic world is full of contrasts. That is something I hadn't really begin to understand until I got here.

I also realized I did not understand what the contrasts of this nation really meant. I had in mind the deadly results of extremism and modernism clashing symbolized by the Casablanca bombings in 2003 that killed more than 40 people. However, such explosive events have seemed to be the exception, not the rule. Instead, Moroccans of all beliefs have lived together in relative peace in spite of their "contrasts". Thanks to this, baseball caps are seen next to veils, the sound of the call to prayer are heard along side the sound of merchants selling socks (made in China, of course), Coke is sold along side of The a la Menthe (traditional Moroccan mint tea) and tradition and modernism are able to live side-by-side.

Out of Touch!

2006-07-05T08:50:00.000+02:00

So if you feel I’ve been a little absent recently in cyberspace, you’re right. We have been out in the rural Eastern Cape and I haven’t really had access to the wondrous world of cyberspace, for better or for worse. Let me just give a brief synopsis of the trip.

We flew into East London, a small town a hundred km or so from Port Elizabeth. There we stayed at a small backpackers situated on a beautiful beach. We got to hang out there for a couple days before the back breaking manual labor commenced. Just kidding, well, kind of.

Then we drove a couple hours to a TINY village named Tuku. There we were welcomed with open arms by the villagers. They seemed excited to have us there and show us their beautiful hamlet of a town. We stayed with home stay families, mine was fantastic. There was a lot of estrogen – a grandmother, her daughter and 4 grand daughters – but I could deal with it. It was fantastic being out of the city which allowed us to see the stars at night and be waken up – much to our dismay at about 4 A.M. but the roosters perfectly situated outside our window. It wasn't exactly luxurious; we washed in a bucket and didn’t have running water. Yet the family’s warmth more than made up for what it lacked in accommodations

Our task in this town was to fix up a forsaken school in complete disrepair. Apparently the government isn’t into fixing up old schools, merely building new ones…it showed. We spent three days sanding, painting, and trying to fix broken panes of glass… the works.

From there we came back to the backpackers and spent a few glorious days lying on the beach, body surfing and tanning (read turning my body from white to pinkish-red). We took a plane from there to Joburg, where I am at the moment.

Now we are just finishing up a quick stop in a backpackers by the airport before we start a loooong drive to Chobe, Botswana for a safari. From there we travel to Victoria Falls. I apologize if I fall out of touch again. I most likely not been eaten by a lion, just most game parks don’t have wireless.

If I have in fact been eaten by a lion, honor me, please.

Oh the minibuses

2006-06-21T12:34:00.000+02:00

You learn a lot about people by the way they travel. Tell me about your new H2, Hybrid, mountain bike, or walking shoes and I can already make judgments about the kind of person you are. In Cape Town, one of the most popular form of transit is the minibus. These are basically big VW Microbuses with enough seats for 14-16 people. When you cram people in, as they always do, its more like 16-18.

I am a huge fan of the minibuses. Yes, they aren't always comfortable. Yes, the drivers drive like madmen, disobey just about every traffic law, and most drive minibuses that aren't exactly - let's call it - well maintained. In spite of this, however, I love riding on them. First all they make so much sense. Each ride is about 60 cents to a dollar, they go across main streets and to townships, you just flag them down to get on and say "enkosi driver" (thanks driver) to get off.

Being jammed in with people is a double edged sword. First you expect it so its no big deal. Second, after our American notions of personal space, one must quickly abandon this if you want to get anywhere fast. Unlike American transport, there isn't a fare box and anything like that. Sometimes there's a guy with a bag of change and everyone just passes their stuff forward. Everyone helps out getting people the right change and all. I also enjoy the lack of personal space because it reminds us of how sheltered we get in America, especially in public places. We have this image of everyone wanted their own privacy that rarely do strangers strike up conversations.

I don't know about you guys, but I love those random chats with strangers. The minibuses are perfect places. It's just amazing to meet people and hear about their views and life. Also, people on the minibuses are soo willing to help people out. You really feel the communal nature of the country. For instance, one time I was riding back to Observatory and I didn't know the cross street, so I was frantically looking outside the foggy windows for something that looked familiar. Suddenly, without me asking or soliciting his help, this nice guy asked me where I was headed (in English, goodness knows how he picked me out as a tourist) and told me where to tell the driver to stop. I don't think something like this would take place as often in America. There people are very willing to help when you ask. But our notion of individualism and minding our own business prevents a lot of human to human interaction and helping.

A few times I've yelled to the driver to stop but b/c I was in the back he didn't hear. People closer to the driver told him to stop. They didn't do it because I asked or because they had any interest in me getting to the right stop.

Another time, in line for the minibus to Langa, some lady asked me very nicely"ummm are you in the right line, because you know this minibus is going to Langa. Again this was without my prompting but she was trying to be helpful and make sure I got to the right place.

Another ride, I started talking to this woman next to me in isiXhosa and all these ladies around got so excited that I was learning and speaking isiXhosa very, very poorly.

The minibuses just reflect a lot about the culture here. It's communal and you share a lot (in some cases 3 seats between 4 or maybe 5 people). It's something that I think American culture can learn a lot from. So, to everyone reading, promise me next time you're in public transit, you'll lean over and ask the person next to you how there day is going or some trite comment about the weather. It might just be small talk but it's some of the smaller human to human moments that remind us how connected we are (or should be) to each other.

As always, comments are welcome,especially stories or interactions on public transportation.

Escapism, for better or for worse?

2006-06-19T00:13:00.000+02:00

There are two types of vegetarians.

There are the quiet, "I just don't like the idea of eating meat" for whatever guttural reason (pun intended) type and mind their own business.

Then there are the militant "I'm morally opposed to being vegetarian to such an extent that I will disregard the boundaries between my stomach and yours to make sure every ounce of pleasure that that oh-so-supple pork chop supplies is completely annihilated the mounds of guilt I will heap upon you for participating in the circle of life, you souless bastard."

After 3 weeks of a pretty intense learning experience at our township home stays, this weekend we had the amazing opportunity to go to Cederberg, a secluded nature reserve about 4 hours drive north of Cape Town. It is a place far from most of modern man's influence, for better or for worse. Honestly, it was a more than welcome reprieve from seeing some of the worst of modern man's influence: the segregation, the poverty, the desperation, the insecurity in Langa township. It was more than welcome to wake up to the sunrise over a beautiful lake surrounded by sparkling red rock instead of that very same sunrise over teetering one room shacks. What was welcome was an escape from the realities of our imperfect world.

In Cederberg, we were privy to a landscape of immense natural beauty. Saturday we hiked through a Mars-like red rock landscape (that is, if I mentally erase the trees, brush, birds...and water...well pretty much everything except for the rocks). Our day trip ended by a ...let's call it refreshing25 ft jump into a freezing river. It was certainly enjoyable but I'm not gonna lie, after I hit that bitterly cold water, I imagined those Martians had life pretty good on Mars without water...

Anyway, Friday and Saturday nights we (and by we, I mean Zed, our group leader) cooked out. Sitting out in the crisp, beautiful nights with good friends and good food, life seemed pretty simple. Strolling under the many stars that filled the night sky unpolluted by articficial light was something I particularly enjoyed. I feel very humbled looking up at the stars. It reminds me not to sweat the small stuff; seen from any of those stars in the beautiful expanse of our universe, complaints about imperfections in our lives and petty arguments seem insignificant, to say the least..

While you should have already drawn the connection to vegetarians, let me explain the link in my twisted mind, if you will indulge me. The striking juxtaposition of untouched natural beauty in a land of so many problems is not something I had to go to Cederberg for. I saw it on (or rather around) Table Mountain. I saw it in the beautiful tourist beaches in camps bay. In Cederberg, however, the contrast was so much more vivid because it was a trip specifically designed to get away from it all.

In everyday life, however we make efforts to get away from our problems. The oft used phrase out of sight out of mind seems to fit this build. I so often do my best to stay on the "right" side of the train tracks because it is so much easier to not confront the poverty of DC, for instance. My beautiful, mainly white middle-upper class corner of NW DC sure is an escape from the poor SE corner. The difference, however, is that this is a pretty permanent one.

However, the question that those vegetarians lead me to is where the balance lies between truly enjoying the finer points of life and remembering all the injustices and inequities of the world? Should your knowledge of the outside pain and suffering spoil the taste of escapist pleasures? Are those who relentlessly remind us of all that is wrong with the world ruining the wealth many enjoy? Are guilt tripping vegetarians are evil as I put them out to be?

Ubuntu is a culture in African communities that asserts that all human beings are connected and reminds us of our responsibility to treat everyone as a brother and sister. Certainly, there is nothing wrong with retreating to a simpler less worrisome life. I just think we, myself included, need to be sure to remember that there are those who do not have the option of retreat. They must be battle ready and charge in the face of injustice every day.

We must remember that as we escape from some of the realities of our planet, our sympathy, empathy and sense connectedness to those less fortunate should never be allowed to escape us. Most importantly, we must make sure we acknowledge that we are escaping from the realities of the planet. Cederberg was a retreat but an acknowledged one.

So yes, you can enjoy your lamb shank or pristine waters and crimson rocks over cloudless blue skies. Just don't forget where these opportunities came from and just because they are away from the realities of the Townships and heart-less meat-packing conglomerates, they certainly are not connected to them.

A different kind of life...

2006-06-14T11:54:00.000+02:00

Poverty is something I have read about. It is something I have seen on TV. It is something I have discussed passionately. It is not, however, something I have ever experienced.

In my homestay, I certainly have had this experience. Certainly not myself. I still have my ATM card to fall back on. Yet, Langa -- one of the richest townships in South Africa -- is a very poor place. My family is very well off by Langa standards. We have a TV, stereo, dog, washing machine (no dryer though), an old Mercedes -- hell we even have a fishtank! Yet, money is not something that flows freely in the house.

Two examples come to mind. First, our mom has said she has a tough time sending her cute granddaughter, Sinu, to preschool because its experience. "How expensive is it?" I ask. Oh 80 Rand per month. For those not up on the daily Rand-$ exchange rate, that's about $12. It has been pretty depressing comparing that to my daily spending.

That's about a good sit-down lunch.

That's about four drinks at a pub in downtown Cape Town

That's about 1/2 and ounce of cocaine... just kidding -- but you get the point, it's peanuts in my books. In fact about 2 bags of them at a ballpark.

Example two is ice cream. Mama one day mentioned she liked Ice Cream. So, being a good guest I went out and bought her some. As the container was nearing its end, I asked Mama to remember me next time she eats ice cream. She didn't, however respond with the standard sarcastic OK. Instead she said "But what if I can't afford it?"

I had no answer.

Living a poor life makes you more creative. Once something is broken or you find you don't have something, you can't just by a new one. That is what we do in the States and I certainly have taken this freedom to buy more or less whatever I needed for granted. Yet, the tattered clothes, the poor dog's torn and broken dog house are testament to this lifestyle.

This weekend, I also was taught a lesson by a kid of about 10. Cooper and I were outside trying in vain to teach Sinu to kick a soccer ball. We soon realized that 3 years old might be a little early. But, some kids came along and wanted to play with us. They suggested we start a game. I thought this was a great idea. In my mind I wondered how far the nearest soccer field is or where I could get cones for goal posts. Little did I know the kids were already making the field. The sidelines were the sidewalks and the goals consisted of 4 well placed bricks. They didn't need a fancy field or even a wide open park to have a good time. They made do with what they had even far away from the grip of materialism.

I've been learning a lot in my homestay, perhaps the most valuable lesson is the value of experience. I have felt this before in my international travels and living. Yes, it is great to study something academically. Yet sometimes, you just need to live like someone to really understand their point of view. As one of my all time favorite books says:

"You never know someone until you step inside their skin and walk around a little."

Yet, what I have learned as I take pictures of shacks with my $300 digital camera and listen to my $300 iPod in bed while Mama's surrogate son lives in a one-room shack with only a kerosene lantern is that I am far from stepping inside someone else's skin. Yes Langa is outside of my comfort zone and a foray into a community I would otherwise steer clear of. At the end, however, the comforts I have gotten accustom too and do not want to give up prevent me from really understanding what it is like to live a different kind of life.

I would love to hear comments and advice on how to balance trying to experience the lives of those who are disadvantaged while at the same time having many comforts to fall back on that these disadvantaged people just don't have access to. Can you really emphasize with people if you haven't really lived like them? If not, is sympathy enough?

A Couple Thousand Words...

2006-06-12T13:33:00.000+02:00

Don't worry I won't subject you to anything that long, title was figurative. In fact this will be very brief. Yesterday I had a chance to tour Langa again and take picture of the sites with Kenneth. I think the pictures are much more eloquent than I am so I will let them do the talking.

Kenneth and a friend with brewing beer.

Zimbabwe in Cape Town

2006-06-09T10:40:00.000+02:00

America has the great luxury of having two huge Oceans isolating it from the strife of the developing world. South Africa, as the most developed nation in Africa is not so lucky. It faces massive unemployment, rising inequality that is even worse that the US (an impressive task), and rampant crime; all of these worse since the end of Apartheid. Meanwhile it has to deal with an influx of immigrants from even more impoverished nations hoping to fight for the bottom rung of the South African ladder. Because it is hard enough for South Africans themselves to get employed; unemployment is 40% (to put this in perspective, the peak of the Great Depression saw 25% unemployment), there seems to be much xenophobia and fear of immigration. Luckily this is nothing a soaring nation like America ever has to deal with.

Oh, wait.

More on that later. But I had first hand experience of this yesterday as I attended a chic Cape Town Press Club lunch with my family's good friend, Peter Soal. He invited me to this great event hosted at a beautiful hotel at the Baltimoresque V&A Waterfront, hardly Langa. Speaking was an asylum-seeking ex-opposition MP in Zimbabwe's Parliament, Roy Bennett. He had been thrown in jail and treated horrendously for bumping another MP from Mugabe (Zim's authoritarian "democratically elected" "President") party, ZANU-PF. It's probably not a coincidence Bennett has been extremely vocal in criticizing Mugabe.
After finally being released last year, he has been seeking asylum in South Africa because of his legitimate
fear of further persecution. Much to his (and the Press Club's) chagrin, he was denied asylum by the government. The reason for this is not the merits of his case. Instead, it seems it has to do with the precedent this would set for the two million or so refugees from Zimbabwe seeking asylum in South Africa.

During his speech, he made a impassioned plea for South Africa to stand up to Mugabe and not only open its warm womb of stability to not only himself but other Zimbabweans fleeing oppression. This was a plea well received by Cape Town's intelligentsia, myself excluded -- well not from the fact that I received it well...you get the point. To me it was great to hear about Zimbabwe -- a country I lived in for two years when I was a little tyke of about 6 or 7 -- first hand and it reminded me of how a country I had know only for its immense natural and human beauty had been driven into a ditch by Zimbabwe's ruling government.

Yet, what it also reminded me of was what I was told by a sweet old lady on a minibus to Langa: "All the countries in the world have so much to learn from each other." People often seem to think problems with immigration, poverty, education, unemployment and destructive regimes (I'm looking at you, Canada) are issues that only afflict one country in the world, their own. Yet, these are all issues countries across the globe struggle with despite nationalistic pleas insisting that each nation is an island, with nothing to learn from others.

I have a cheap pen bic pen in my hand right now.

The need for a writing instrument is a common affliction. There is a perfectly good reason why everyone in the world doesn't have to manufacture one for themselves. Yes, I know what you are thinking, heartless capitalist rational self-interest. Touche. But the point is that capitalism does the same thing that global citizenship does. It looks at our common problems and addresses them so that our common desires (be it cold hard cash or less human suffering) are met.
I'm not certain how to deal with immigration and instability issues be they in Mexico or Zimbabwe. Perhaps it has to do with recognizing the human cost of the immense poverty and instability. However, there this is not easy when your own country must deal with its own problems. Yet, being in a Catch-22 when you want to help other nations while simultaneously needing to provide for your own people is something every nation has in common.

When we pool our resources together and learn from each other as that sweet lady on the minibus suggested, it seems the pen is mightier than the sword.*

*Sorry, anyone that knows me certainly is aware that I can never resist a bad pun.

"Adventure" on Table Mountain

2006-06-05T10:12:00.000+02:00

Interesting fact: more people die every year on Table Mountain than on Mount Kilimanjaro. With that in mind, we began our trek up Table Mountain bright-eyed, bushy-tailed and full of energy, hope and fluids. We aimed to hike all the way up, approximate 2 1/2 hours according to the guide book. About a half hour into our journey, and as we glared at a sign post on the main trail, we ran into a hiker who appeared like he knew what he was doing . He had the hiker look going with the thick hiker socks, cut off t shirt and sunglasses which screamed "I know where I'm going". What's more, he casually and amicably asked us if we knew where we were going in a thick South African accent.
At this time, we were following the main path, which seemed clear enough. Yet we answered honestly that we didn't exactly know as none of us had hiked up Table Mountain before. Little did we know, answering him honestly was a poor decision.

"Oh, this way is much faster," he asserted as he pointed up the steep slope, away from the trail we were following, "the trail gets a little faint at times but its easy to follow."
Yeah, right.

About three hours later we ran into that sign post again, thankfully -- for the sake of his health -- he was nowhere to be seen. No, we had not made it up the mountain. Instead, we had spent hours trudging through prickly bushes, climbing up and down rock formations and bloodying ourselves as we tried -- and failed -- to make it up Table Mountain.
Before we reached the sigh and that damn hiker, we saw the pictured sign which has a pretty clear message. Even men can follow those simple directions to stay out of Blinkwater Ravine. Little did we know that just a few hours later we would find ourselves going down that very ravine to try to save ourselves from, what I will euphemistically call, fertilizing a national park.
Alas, we made it back down to that sign and after much false hope on my part that we could make it up before sun down following the real trail, it was crushed by reality and we decided to head home. As we descended Table Mountain we were distraught, thirsty, tired and sore. We were only left by three small consolations.
First, I don't recall any of us saying we wanted to hike to the top of Table Mountain. As I recall, the semantics were "hike up" Table Mountain. Certainly, and I think you will agree, we had done that.
Second, we were certain that hiker who gave us horrendous directions would burn in the firey pits of hell.
Third, by the time we made it back down to the cable car station, we realized that any dignity or pride we wanted to salvage was heavily outweighed by our desire for some ice cold water.
So, we ended our journey with a SUCCESSFUL trek to a neighborhood supermarket, thankful to have our health and that "adventure" under our belts.

Turning Langa Inside-Out

2006-06-01T10:00:00.000+02:00

Crossing the threshold of my home stay house in Langa, I had no idea what to expect. All of the township I'd seen before was the shanties, AKA informal settlements, that line the main highway from the airport into Cape Town. Coming into our comfortable lodging in Observatory on the outskirts of Cape Town, the dilapidated shacks of Langa and other townships were merely a blur, footnote or asterisk on our journey.

Having the opportunity to live in Langa allowed us to actually take the time to examine this footnote and really see how the poverty of wealth of township life shapes the way people think, act and live. Little did I know I would be thrown head first into this my second day in Langa.
Last Sunday, I met Kenneth a wirey man of 40, visibly aged to what seemed to be 55 by life with a big smile thrown off balance by a missing front-left tooth. He was firmly planted in a chair in my home stay living room as Cooper and I returned from church. I plopped down on the couch adjacent to it and introduced myself in broken, mispronounced Xhosa. As we got into a deeper discussion, he passionately told me about the changes in his country and how much hope he had for the younger generation.
The most notable moment of this conversation came as he stated that he thought South Africa was the best nation in the world. As he said this, my mind immediately went to GDP figures, international acclaim and other sorts of measure that we often use to justify such claims. Instead, he simply asserted that the spirit of his nation was so welcoming, so kind, so communal oriented that knew he was part of the greatest people on the planet. In his eyes, any poverty of wealth in South Africa is certainly counteracted by a tremendous wealth of spirit.
After hearing him say that he was a man of little means who simply worked odd jobs to stay alive, he offered me something that I will never forget, a chance to experience how people live in Langa. I accepted, slightly unsure what he meant. I certainly am glad I did. He took us all through Langa, from old apartments with 6 people living in 3 beds in 1 room to the new apartments the government is not building fast enough to, reluctantly, his own, dilapidated shanty to a dark, drab shebeen (informal bar rife with an African beer made of sorghum (however you spell that) and milk). It was an incredible, eye opening experience that I only now am beginning to process.
What made it so difficult to do so was not the dire poverty - I expected this. What made it so difficult to process was the stunning contraction between the absolute, bitter poverty and the amazing openness, magnanimity and friendliness of those I met, especially Kenneth.
Throughout our journey, I carried the baggage of being white. I was repeatedly approached for money, money that I could certainly afford to give away. However, Kenneth was our buffer, repeatedly telling those who approached us in isiXhosa that we were her to see, to experience and not to give. This gracious attitude pervaded as we approached his dull, one room shanty. We sensed his reluctance to show it to us, but he did so and invited into his shack consisting of a chair, a bed, and a small table with an oil lamp on it. This was an immensely emotional moment as I stared eye-to-eye with someone with twice the kindness, compassion, magnanimity that I will ever have yet without the very basic means of survival that I have come to take for granted, take as human essentials.
Yet, part of why this was so hard to process was the moment as he dropped us off at our home stay. As we were saying thank you and good bye, he quietly asked us if we could give him some money. I was happy to do so as he had given me a priceless experience, but this moment showed that despite his desire merely for us to learn, he had to eat too. This is something I certainly cannot fault him for.
The view of Langa I was given is not what most outsiders see. Yes they see the shacks. However they see them as inanimate objects lumped together as a "shanty town." They don't usually have the amazing opportunity to really see how people live, to really see how America's obsession with dialectic materialism completely loses focus of what happiness is. The stark contrast between poverty of wealth and enormous wealth of spirit is something I still am processing and something I will surely not soon forget.

The End of the Beginning!

2006-05-27T12:19:00.000+02:00

So the first part of our trip living in the comfortable reality-tv style house has come to an end. Soon I will be departing to my township homestay. There I'm staying with a single mother and her two kids, 24 and 15. I'm really excited to get to meet them and get immersed into REAL South African culture. Observatory, where our house is itself fairly westernied, I mean a few days go we got Mexican food. I don't know about you, but when I think of Africa, I don't think about Tacos.
There I will have a chance to work on my Xhosa, which is somewhere between horrible and horrendous. I'm hoping their interpret my desperate attempts to do the clicks correctly as me making an effort, not mocking them!
Smileys
n. A traditional African meal consisting of a boiled sheep's head served whole
These three weeks I'm going to do my best to be adventurous as I live and commute with Africans from Langa township on the outskirts of Cape Town. I will be making the trek into Cape Town each morning to my internship just as Africans were forced to do under Aprtheid migrant labor system.
Just about every part of my journey to the township is going to be a LITTLE outside my confort zone. Yet I need to make sure I make the extra effort to make myself that much more uncomfortable.
Wish me luck as I depart into the unknown and onto this next exciting stage of my adventure
Sobonana!

Fortuitousness?

2006-05-26T11:05:00.000+02:00

This summer I am interning at the Catholic Parliamentary Office in Cape Town (CPLO). Its role is to mediate dialogue on issues of public policy between the government and the Catholic Church through forums, round tables and position papers. For those of you who know me, you might be wondering why someone like me, who is pretty secular (albeit spiritual), would take such a job. Well, the reason I chose to commit heresy on my atheist beliefs is because South Africa is a special country in that civil society has had an unusually heavy influence in its past, present and for the foreseeable future. This main reason for this is the systematic disempowerment of Africans and coloreds, who are the vast majority of the population, over the years of colonialism and Apartheid.

However, I will talk more about religion in South Africa and how it compares to the states in my next post. Starting…dun dun dun…tomorrow we (my dozen or so fellow Robertson scholars and I) are moving to our township home stays. I will be staying in Langa Township and am really looking forward to it as a cultural experience and a chance to step outside of my comfort zone. To discuss religion in SA, I feel I need this at least partially under my belt as it will bring me head on with religion, race and poverty. For this post, I want to focus on the culture of interaction and how it differs in SA and the US.

I’ve already found out, through day-to-day interactions and my first few days at my NGO that this culture in SA is much different than that in the states. As we were told when we arrived, South Africans are very warm and friendly people. Yet, at the same time we were also told how dangerous certain parts and activities are. In my mind, this didn’t compute. In my home, DC, other cities and even in our national dialogue, security concerns breeds mistrust and a desire to shut oneself off for the sake of protection.

This isn’t to say that South Africans don not make efforts to secure themselves – far from it. In fact, barred windows and security signs with “armed response” clearly written on them are more pervasive than street signs. Yet, in person to person interactions, this doesn’t show. Instead they reflect genuine concern for well-being. For instance, as our program coordinator, Zed noted, when someone says “what’s up” to a South African, they actually answer it. Today I also experienced this culture. To get to work, I need to take a couple minibuses, which are said to de dangerous. But, I love them. For instance today, I was sitting in the back, talking to a few women next to me very, very poorly in Xhosa. As a yelled to the driver “yima,” meaning stop, he didn’t hear me. But, the nice women who were closer helped me out by conveying my desire to get out.

In addition to being friendlier, there seems to be a general more relaxed attitude to life. People in my NGO office show this and it has been quite a shock, strongly contrasting with my NGO experience last summer at the Carter Center. There it was much more hectic with schedules meticulously adhered to and people, especially my supervisor, often did not have the time to just chat. It seems that overall, an attitude not focused as much on efficiency but more on human connections pervades.

South Africa has had a long history of disaffection with government. Hence, South African government adopts this culture and prides itself on its transparency. Besides sensitive intelligence hearings, members of civil society and even private individuals can attend just about every committee hearing if they can navigate the bureaucracy (a universal theme). Security is surprisingly relaxed at parliament, considering how it would be in the states. I just had to show them my fake-looking student ID and go through a metal detector and I was free to wander around parliament. This is pretty neat considering that wondering the halls of Congress by myself would probably get me to a hospital pretty quick.

The CPLO is extremely close to parliament, a convenient fact that helps it pursue its goals and, coincidentally, has already been a boon for yours truly. On Wednesday, I had the fantastic opportunity to shadow a colleague at CPLO as she sat in on a Defense Committee hearing on a bill about prohibiting mercenary activities by South African citizens. There I was able to hear a fascinating discussion of the implicit and explicit implications of a bill. Yet, before it ended I had an even more exciting experience, one that showed me this culture first-hand South African.

As I entered into the small committee room, I saw a large, circular hardwood table in the middle with chairs positions around it, important-looking people contently occupying them with their leather portfolios. There were also chairs along each wall where the civil society and private observers sit, a fact I inferred from their casual dress, cheat spiral notepads and inquisitive grins.

When I walked into that committee room, much to my surprise, I discovered that it was a full house; all the seats around for civil society were filled. Yet, I did spy a seat around the conference table, between what I now know to be the Defense committee chairwoman and a senior Minister of Parliament (MP). So, after a few minutes of indecision, I went over, sat down and smoothly pushed my chair back a foot or so. While this obviously was a pretty good view of the deliberations, the moment of most interest occurred during the break.

As most of the room got up to stay true to their British colonial heritage by getting some tea, the man to my right, who I would soon learn is a senior MP for the Democratic Alliance (an opposition party to the ANC), casually and in a friendly fashion asked me what I was doing there. First off, I was stunned that an important looking man would even acknowledge the pretense of a casually dressed kid who is clearly out of place. However, I was amazed by how down to earth and friendly he was. By the end of the meeting he gave me his business card and suggested we have a theological discussion over lunch in the future.

I imagine that such an experience in the states would be extremely rare. I can more easily predict receiving a whole lot of disdain and possibly some indignation – I doubt a business card.

Most people at the CPLO were impressed by my “smoozing” with such an important guy, but this serendipitous encounter really isn't a credit to me. Instead, it reveals much about the South African culture; it reveals something that I believe the US can learn a lot from.

They aren't overly concerned with political correctness, formality or – as that MP showed – status. These all contribute to the general relaxed attitude that I have repeatedly seen through their apparent disdain for schedules.

Yet, this culture is not without its disadvantages. At work, I have been frustrated by how little I have been give to do so far. My colleagues are content to let me shadow them and just discuss issues. While this has definitely been a shock, I have definitely loved talking to them and picking their brains about the many problems South Africa faces.

This is all well and good, but it is not the drive for efficiency that I’m used to. It seems on this regard there is much room for cultural exchange. While America does have a very efficient system, I see much being lost in interpersonal connections we sacrifice for it. In South Africa, I’ve already met more representatives in one week than in living in DC's fast, impersonal culture for 5 years. It’s probably just luck, but not a bad first week!

All in all, I’m not quite sure how to evaluate how the pros and cons between these two cultures balance out. Hopefully as I listen, learn and experience more I will have a better impression of where the line is between efficiency and interpersonal relations. With any luck, I’ll be shown first hand that these are not mutually exclusive.

Welcome

2006-05-23T21:40:00.000+02:00

Thank you for mistakenly clicking on my blog! I appreciate you taking time away from valuable pornographically themed browsing to read it.

I hope you enjoy hearing about my adventures in South Afirca throughout the summer (winter here!). Please let me know -- preferably through lengthy, spiteful diatribes -- what you think :)