Why I love travel, even if it hurts my spelling

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

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!

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

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)

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. . .

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!

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"

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

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!

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

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!

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!

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...

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)*

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

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...

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?

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..."

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

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).