Staying in this line of work and keeping your hopes and dreams is difficult to do. Your sunshine, rainbows and basket of cute puppies assumption about how you will help bring peace and end poverty in this country drains out with every power outage (which I’m enjoying right now) you experience. I don’t know about you, but I can’t bring peace to a country with a head light. End poverty with a horrible internet connection? Heck no. It’ll take me 20 minutes to download the UNDP’s piece on poverty in Liberia, shoot looks like that won’t be solved.
Ok maybe being in this field doesn’t kill your hopes and dreams, it just reshapes them. For example: I hope these ex coms are successfully reintegrated, turns into I hope I find these ex coms in a stationary place. Heck even jail will do (at least I know they’re not going anywhere). I dream about turning this armed robber into an honest carpenter turns into, you’re home now has walls? YES! Party time. Dream fulfilled. A friend of mine recently said that innovation and jaded don’t go hand in hand in international development (http://resistingthecoolaid.blogspot.com/2011/04/sustainability.html). Although there is definite truth to that, sometimes their experience makes them seem jaded. Innovation seems lacking because the original hopes and dreams were repeatedly beat out of them with a reality stick. Or at least that’s how I see it. I’m of course, excluding the UN from this. Their little check list of post conflict success makes it easy to say they’ve done their job well, so they can move on with their fleet of jeeps to a new destination…check list in hand. Bring on the peace.
Sure, sometimes the realistic beat down and donor pressure (they are just as at fault here) leads organizations to re implement programs that hardly meet the definition of success, but that doesn’t mean that innovation has escaped them completely. Innovation, just like their hopes and dreams, simply reshapes into something more obtainable. They know what can and cannot be achieved so innovation comes in baby steps. Like: now I’m writing this with a head lamp and candles. Baby steps. Now would be the time to say “Rome wasn’t built in a day.”
For those orgs that re implement mediocre programs, knowing full well that it didn’t work, well they’re not jaded, they’re just looking for a way to spend their excess money.
That must be nice.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
For Truth?
I’m pretty convinced that if I was to construct a survey around drugs, sex, abuse and alcohol and then conduct this survey in the US, it’d be difficult to get an honest response. Hardly any American is going to tell a surveyor how often they buy cocaine or that they have a wife, a girlfriend and yet frequently enjoy some late night female company. Denial would be the response of choice in the US because, heck, who wants the fact that they have a profitable drug business operating on the weekends to be public knowledge? No one. Sure you spend your Saturdays with women who charge by the hour, but you keep that to yourself.
This however, is Liberia and the bounty hunters (in the bush or in the hood) get the info we need. Liberian men will admit to things that many Americans would never admit to. In the bush: “You spent how much money on “going on the block” (prostitution) this week?” I could buy three meals with that. Wait, and you have a wife? Who’s got belly (her ego is prego) and you have a girlfriend? (in a school uniform, classy) I’m struck by your cavalier attitude. In the hood: you spent all that money on rubber bands? Previous job: drug dealer. Current job: hmmm let me guess…drug dealer? What are the rubber bands for? To tie you plastic bags, ok. Seeing as how you have bought 3x the amount of rubber bands than last month, I’d say you’re doing rather well for yourself. Oh good, you agree. So you’re expanding your drug trade with the money we hoped you’d change your life around with (give me the money back, you honest little hustler).
Things we’ve realized: prostitution, drug dealing, stealing and my favorite so far, fighting:
[What happens if someone get you vex (makes you angry)? “I’ll find something and hit them in the head with it, brother” For truth (really)? Ok, let’s not get him vex]
are all acceptable things to admit to. Beating and drug usage (for the most part) at present are not, but if these things happened in the past, they’ll tell you all about it. The difference between what I find acceptable and what they’re willing to say openly, always amuses me. You pushed you girlfriend into a wall once? Oh, I guess she should keep her mouth shut then? Oh, you agree again. Not surprised.
Despite the Liberian honesty on these matters, they are masters at never overtly asking for money. “You have something for me?” Do I? “You were suppose to send it to me in the field” We were supposed to send you a lot of things. “Yea, but you said yesterday that…” Oh you need money? Why can’t you just say “where’s the money!?” We have people admitting to illegal actions and you can’t say we need money? I just wasted 20 min deciphering your rambling. The things that are culturally acceptable here...man.
This however, is Liberia and the bounty hunters (in the bush or in the hood) get the info we need. Liberian men will admit to things that many Americans would never admit to. In the bush: “You spent how much money on “going on the block” (prostitution) this week?” I could buy three meals with that. Wait, and you have a wife? Who’s got belly (her ego is prego) and you have a girlfriend? (in a school uniform, classy) I’m struck by your cavalier attitude. In the hood: you spent all that money on rubber bands? Previous job: drug dealer. Current job: hmmm let me guess…drug dealer? What are the rubber bands for? To tie you plastic bags, ok. Seeing as how you have bought 3x the amount of rubber bands than last month, I’d say you’re doing rather well for yourself. Oh good, you agree. So you’re expanding your drug trade with the money we hoped you’d change your life around with (give me the money back, you honest little hustler).
Things we’ve realized: prostitution, drug dealing, stealing and my favorite so far, fighting:
[What happens if someone get you vex (makes you angry)? “I’ll find something and hit them in the head with it, brother” For truth (really)? Ok, let’s not get him vex]
are all acceptable things to admit to. Beating and drug usage (for the most part) at present are not, but if these things happened in the past, they’ll tell you all about it. The difference between what I find acceptable and what they’re willing to say openly, always amuses me. You pushed you girlfriend into a wall once? Oh, I guess she should keep her mouth shut then? Oh, you agree again. Not surprised.
Despite the Liberian honesty on these matters, they are masters at never overtly asking for money. “You have something for me?” Do I? “You were suppose to send it to me in the field” We were supposed to send you a lot of things. “Yea, but you said yesterday that…” Oh you need money? Why can’t you just say “where’s the money!?” We have people admitting to illegal actions and you can’t say we need money? I just wasted 20 min deciphering your rambling. The things that are culturally acceptable here...man.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Street Cred
So, I get in my cab last week and get greeted with “yea I don’t travel without a weapon on me-o.” (awesome cab choice, Brehaung). The conversation continues with something about cab drivers and crashing and danger. “If it seem like bad ting will happen I can stab the driver and get out quick quick.” (I should get out quick quick, where’s a motorbike?) More about trips down to Broad Street (my neighborhood), sketchy cab drivers and then “I get out and hit the driver in his face.” By the end of the cab ride it’s just crazy woman and me. “Why don’t you move tis way.”(no I’m good over here, armed and dangerous). By the end of the ride, I get out, shake my head and say the only thing you can say at this point: “oh, Liberia.” This all happened right after Phil brought up street cred. Liberia, of all the places I could be gaining street cred. What gets me is that there are tons of expats around the world gaining equal street cred and having a lovely time. Where’s my CV shirt? On top of listing the places off in alphabetical order, I’ll group them by level of difficulty. Liberia should go in bold, maybe in a different color and in bigger font on the shirt, because let’s be honest, not ever street cred country should be treated equal. Heck not even every African country should be equal (because Africa is not one place).
Soon I’ll be lining up for jobs with a bunch of eager beavers who have earned equal street cred. I’m sorry, you were where? Beirut? Accra? Tunis? No. Not the same to me. Did you have decent electricity? Running water? How long can you go without a shower? Can you track down an ex combatant? How about a drug dealer? Stranded in the jungle in the rain? No. Revoking your street cred is pushing it, knocking it down a notch or 2…or 12, is fair. I’m not discrediting your time in Geneva, I’m just saying there should be a point system and you should get a 3. Oh you don’t speak French? You get a 4. Come back to me when your nurse thinks putting on gloves before drawing your blood is unnecessary.
ipal workers: I give you a 10.
Soon I’ll be lining up for jobs with a bunch of eager beavers who have earned equal street cred. I’m sorry, you were where? Beirut? Accra? Tunis? No. Not the same to me. Did you have decent electricity? Running water? How long can you go without a shower? Can you track down an ex combatant? How about a drug dealer? Stranded in the jungle in the rain? No. Revoking your street cred is pushing it, knocking it down a notch or 2…or 12, is fair. I’m not discrediting your time in Geneva, I’m just saying there should be a point system and you should get a 3. Oh you don’t speak French? You get a 4. Come back to me when your nurse thinks putting on gloves before drawing your blood is unnecessary.
ipal workers: I give you a 10.
Monday, April 4, 2011
The first Milestone
I am of the firm belief that only wusses count down their time here by days. Eager much? That said I’ve officially been in Liberia for 1/3 of my allotted time. The first of three Milestones. 2 months. 8 weeks. 56 days (hypocrite). So, in the spirit of this accomplishment, because it is an accomplishment, I’m going to throw out some tips and favorites (from my all of two months of experience).
Shared taxis:
Seating: Since the back seat of these golden chariots are nice and snuggly (i.e. your head is in someone’s armpit), slow, shallow breathing is the best way to go. 2 reasons: 1. There’s a less likely chance you’ll notice the odor spreading across the back seat. 2. Someone’s hand, arm, shoulder, donut bucket or toddler (they’re the worst, squirmy little suckers) is jammed up against you in a way that restricts any normal, deep breaths.
Singing: There will be singing in the golden chariot. Sometimes to music and sometimes not. If it’s just one person, let them do their thing. They will serenade the entire cab all on their own. “I can be your hero baaaaaabyyyyyy” (gotta love Enrique). Be warned: if it’s Akon, Justin Bieber (yes, Liberia has a bit of Bieber fever) or P squared, it’s going to be a full cab affair. Know the lyrics people. You don’t want to stick out more than you already do. As a side note: I was shocked to find myself singing to Nelly and Kelly. Not on the list of songs to know, but luckily on my list. Close call.
Food:
“Are those ants in my oatmeal?....the hot war will kill them. I’m good.” Learn to embrace eating small creatures such as these. It’s happening whether you're consciously aware of it or not, so get over it, or don’t eat. The fridge is your friend. Stick something with little bugs in it, in the fridge and it’s edible in 15 minutes. Problem solved. You need the protein anyway (seriously, you do).
Health:
Think you got something? Google it. You and a friend checking off symptoms and figuring out what meds to buy at the pharmacy is the way to go (I am not advocating this, only suggesting). Go to a clinic and you’ll come out with more holes in your arm than a heroin addict and a malaria diagnosis (no, I’m sorry. Every fever is not malaria). And, every infection is not a mango fly! (had to get that out). Google it. Mental Health—when you stop asking yourself what the heck you’re doing in Liberia, worry. I’m convinced that so long as I think I’m nuts for being here, I’m ok. Even while typing that, I must admit I thought: that sounds nuts!
Responses:
“White woman!” Response: “Black boy!” (It’s only fair).
Favorite quote so far:
I’m war affected. If they didn’t have 2 wars, you think I’d be here? They should give me aid.
–Ben, during a “Make Fire” meal.
Most interesting name acquired:
Brehaung (on my Liberian Driver’s License documentation). That’s a keeper.
56 days down, 120 days (and change) to go.
Shared taxis:
Seating: Since the back seat of these golden chariots are nice and snuggly (i.e. your head is in someone’s armpit), slow, shallow breathing is the best way to go. 2 reasons: 1. There’s a less likely chance you’ll notice the odor spreading across the back seat. 2. Someone’s hand, arm, shoulder, donut bucket or toddler (they’re the worst, squirmy little suckers) is jammed up against you in a way that restricts any normal, deep breaths.
Singing: There will be singing in the golden chariot. Sometimes to music and sometimes not. If it’s just one person, let them do their thing. They will serenade the entire cab all on their own. “I can be your hero baaaaaabyyyyyy” (gotta love Enrique). Be warned: if it’s Akon, Justin Bieber (yes, Liberia has a bit of Bieber fever) or P squared, it’s going to be a full cab affair. Know the lyrics people. You don’t want to stick out more than you already do. As a side note: I was shocked to find myself singing to Nelly and Kelly. Not on the list of songs to know, but luckily on my list. Close call.
Food:
“Are those ants in my oatmeal?....the hot war will kill them. I’m good.” Learn to embrace eating small creatures such as these. It’s happening whether you're consciously aware of it or not, so get over it, or don’t eat. The fridge is your friend. Stick something with little bugs in it, in the fridge and it’s edible in 15 minutes. Problem solved. You need the protein anyway (seriously, you do).
Health:
Think you got something? Google it. You and a friend checking off symptoms and figuring out what meds to buy at the pharmacy is the way to go (I am not advocating this, only suggesting). Go to a clinic and you’ll come out with more holes in your arm than a heroin addict and a malaria diagnosis (no, I’m sorry. Every fever is not malaria). And, every infection is not a mango fly! (had to get that out). Google it. Mental Health—when you stop asking yourself what the heck you’re doing in Liberia, worry. I’m convinced that so long as I think I’m nuts for being here, I’m ok. Even while typing that, I must admit I thought: that sounds nuts!
Responses:
“White woman!” Response: “Black boy!” (It’s only fair).
Favorite quote so far:
I’m war affected. If they didn’t have 2 wars, you think I’d be here? They should give me aid.
–Ben, during a “Make Fire” meal.
Most interesting name acquired:
Brehaung (on my Liberian Driver’s License documentation). That’s a keeper.
56 days down, 120 days (and change) to go.
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