Am back to work after a very...full weekend. The house I live in has many different rooms, and though no one is currently living with me full time, there is a project being run about an hour from Kigali that rents out several rooms for its workers, who drop in from time to time. This weekend was one of those times. After my run on Friday I came home to a full house. Countries represented: Burundi, Rwanda, Israel, and the US. When living and working with people from many different countries, it is amazing the depth of conversation that comes about at the dinner table.
As several of us were discussing possible plans for dinner, the Rwandan asked me about my initial impressions of Rwanda. This is a tricky question-there are a lot of things that are amazing about Rwanda. But it is very different from my experience in West Africa, and I find negotiating the issue of the genocide-the white elephant that is often in the room- very difficult. After spending some time feeling this Rwandan out, I felt comfortable enough to mention that I didn't really know how to negotiate acknowledging this enormous event, thus not pretending that I don't know it happened, without opening old wounds and unwanted pain. And thus began a pretty amazing tale. This man is a survivor of the genocide and watched his mother and sister be slaughtered in front of him. His father had been killed in massacres before the actual triggering point of the genocide in 1994. He talked about the years leading to 1994-how one day (1992ish) at school his teacher asked the Tutsi to stand up, and he did not stand up because he didn't know what he was. The teacher then asked the Hutu to stand. He didn't stand. The teacher asked the Twa to stand. He still didn't know when to stand. So the teacher told him that she knew his family and that he was Tutsi. The beginning of a renewed attempt to re-emphasize ethnic divides based essentially on Belgium's manufactured divide and conquer technique-dating back to colonization in the 60's when Belgium decreed the 10% Tutsi population to be the preferred ethnic group, who consequently received economic and political kickbacks, thus securing their loyalty and assisting in managing the Hutu majority. He spoke of a time when his best friend from school came over and grabbed one of his chickens. "Why are you taking my chicken?" he asked his friend. "You Tutsi will all be dead and I will take your chickens then, but I need one now" replied his friend. He also talked about the roadblocks and how the Hutu had devised some scientific measurement scheme to prove your ethnicity by measuring the circumference of your head and nose etc.-apparently I would not have been able to pass through, my nose is too small. After several specific horrific stories, we talked more about Rwanda today. As I understand it, Rwanda's present day Constitution acknowledges the genocide against the Tutsi. It does not, however, acknowledge what many argue was a genocide against Hutu moderate. It is a very difficult question to tackle, so I asked him what he thought of this. In his mind, no genocide against the Hutu occurred. Period. And frankly, I was not here, and I don't really know. But from my understanding, within an hour of the former President's plane was shot down, a set of lists of moderate Hutu (who would ostensibly try to stop their extremist counterparts) and Tutsi were systematically followed to begin slaughtering hundreds. And so from whispers around here and from the West, it is politically difficult to acknowledge the genocide of the Tutsi without simultaneously acknowledging the great loss of life of Hutu moderates. Though our conversation did beg the intellectual question of whether the massacre of Hutu could technically be considered genocidal if it was orchestrated by their own ethnic group (as genocide is defined as the act of ethnic cleansing). A question I acquiesce to the authority of my professors back home.
My colleague's gardener of one year was also arrested last week for his role in the massacre of ten families. Difficult for my colleague-he likes this man, trusts this man, the man played with his daughter. But as the Rwandan at my dinner table pointed out, the genocide was orchestrated with machetes, not machine guns, and massacring 800,000 people in one hundred days in that way required a lot of participation. The Gacaca courts-the local courts held to try less serious offenders-happen at least once a week still. So 15 years later, people are still going to jail.
Anyways. After that heavy discussion, we went for a great dinner at this very nice hotel near our house, and then the tone switched to the expat M party hosted by four UK guys (former speech writers for Tony Blair, now working as representatives of the UK President). The M party demanded that you dress as something beginning as the letter M. As I had not been planning to go, I ignored the demand. But I was amazed at how many people took this very seriously. There were Michael Jacksons, Madonna's, Miners, my colleague from the UN went as a representative from MONUC (the peacekeeping operation in Congo), pregnant Mothers to be, etc. Very fun. There was one very snobby guy from the UK who was lamenting the terrible music (and it was pretty bad), who announced he was pissed. I regaled him with the old tale of Winston Churchill's wife saying "You're Pissed!" and he says "and you're ugly, but I'll be sober in the morning". He asked me which one of us was which, and I gave him the pissed role. It won me brownie points. He was v. impressed.
On Saturday, I went with my American friend, Benna, and my Burundian friend, Sonia, into town to get coffee. The place we were hoping to go to was closed for renovations, so we went the the Hotel Serena, a very swank hotel near my office. Unfortunately swank=ridiculously expensive, and my latte was instead a bizarre cold coffee like drink with a scoop of ice cream in it. Hmm. When I returned home, another Israeli, an older man, arrived to stay the evening. He's a neat guy-one might say he has an abrasive personality, but being that I myself have had such accusations thrown at me, we got along well. It was interesting to have his perspective on the genocide-being an Israeli, his position (and granted, he had a thick Israeli accent so perhaps I'm misrepresenting slightly), was that though it was tragic, it was one country doing it within their borders to themselves. Interesting that even in the face of genocide, victims are more willing to distinguish the uniqueness of positions rather than identifying with one another.
He also had an interesting position on the UN-largely he wasn't impressed. He can't understand why it is ok for Russia to invade Georgia, the States to hold Guantanamo Bay in Cuba and go into Iraq, but its not ok for the Israelis to protect themselves against Hamas, and by extension, the Palestinian Authority. A position I can somewhat understand, but not entirely agree with. The problem, then, is both the Rwandan and the Israeli have a particular perspective that is vehemently held as the "right" perspective. Being that I am neither Rwandan or Israeli, nor was I present during the genocide or the attacks, it is difficult for me to hold a position. Academically, I feel a bit more confident in doing so, but personally it is very tough.
What was emphasized this weekend is a lesson I had already learned in the UK when interacting with my Middle Eastern friends. Largely, sometimes its ok to keep your mouth shut (from the girl who rarely closes hers). Given our different backgrounds and experiences, we often hold very different and sometimes conflicting perspectives. My Middle Eastern friends, for instance, were flabbergasted that I would associate with my queer friends. My queer friends were angry that I would become friends with people so adamantly opposed to homosexuality. The bottom line is, I'm not going to change my mind about human rights. I'm for them. I know what my position is on that and I am comfortable with that. That said, I still think it is important to negotiate dialogue and hear the other side. Interestingly enough, one Middle Eastern friend was floored that I wasn't trying to change his mind; I simply held my position. I think, in the end, this tactic earned me more respect, and consequently though I don't think he's going to warmly embrace homosexuality, he will have to think twice because someone he respects holds a very different position.
On Sunday I went to the Genocide Memorial Museum with Benna, but this post is getting long enough and I have work to do. All in all it was an excellent if difficult weekend, and work is proving to be a bit of a relief.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Barriers=Security?
With the kiddies
Corn for CowsAm seriously fighting waking up on the wrong side of bed this morning. We all have days like this and I know it will pass. As I was lying awake last night listening to the final moments of Obama mania taking place on my street, I was considering all the barriers I have to go through to get to bed each night. First, I'm dropped off by my driver. Then I get by the outside guard. Then the locked gate to my compound. Then the courtyard houseboy/guard. Then through my front door. Into the locked wing of my home. Into my locked bedroom. Then have to crawl into the mosquito net after putting on long bed clothes and an application of Deet. That's ten barriers of security by my count. I wonder precisely how necessary it all is-and weigh the value of security versus the value of avoiding crazy making. I also wonder how many doors I should lock to keep the badness out vs. the risk that I would need to get out of my house at somepoint (the locked maze would make this tough). In many ways, I feel more secure when I'm outside my gates and aware of what is going on around me (its actually not that scary), as opposed to locking myself away thinking about the boogeyman. I often think these efforts are the same as four wheel drive-as Dad says, they provide a false sense of security. For a high-strung girl from the Kootenays, it's all a little much.
On the work front, I've been passed the Disaster Management Task Force (DMTF) portfolio. Rwanda is particularly susceptible to natural disasters-earthquakes, volcanoes, and floods, not to mention political unrest. After floods in 2007 killed 20 people and displaced hundreds, the Government of Rwanda made disaster management a priority, though it has yet to be fully implemented. Thus Henri, my colleague from Belgium, and I are to come up with UNDP's role of coordinating various stakeholders-NGOs, the Red Cross, the Civil Defense, Rwanda's Police force, and community leaders in creating a coordinated disaster response plan. This will be excellent experience if I ever work with the International Commission of the Red Cross, and the work is of particular interest to me, so I'm excited to be participating. Rwandan troops went into the Congo yesterday to try to oust hutu extremists still trying to destabilize the government. Here's hoping we don't need the DMTF too soon...
Otherwise, the field project is also coming along, and Jovin and I will take another trip there tomorrow. Am looking forward to seeing the villagers, and am particularly looking forward to going to the returnee camps. Maybe I'll get some more corn. I also have to make sure that the cocoons for food storage are going to get filled and transferred to the storage site; that an infrastructure specialist is hired to consult on the rice marshlands project; and that somehow we start getting some cows to these returnees. I think maybe I should try to get some more sleep...
Monday, January 19, 2009
Photos
One of the sitting rooms
The outdoor kitchen where the houseboys prepare food
Hill leading to my home ( I run here every day)
Front Patio
Thursday, January 15, 2009
A preface on walking the line
Blogging is not my thing. I'm no writer-I don't aspire to be one. But it has proved to be a very convenient way to communicate enough detail in one shot to tell everyone what I want to tell about what is going on while I'm off and about.
It becomes very tricky, however, to edit the world in which I live to the extent that it needs to be edited. I did this before while I was in Cameroon. And to be honest, the blogs were more boring than anything else. I didn't want to tackle specific issues because there is always a risk in exploring controversial topics. Instead, I wrote about my day to day life, which inevitably became mundane.
That said, my work remains inherently political. Particularly now-working for the UN is about as political as one could get. And it is important to maintain decorum. There are legitimate security concerns, issues of containing classified information, and general good sense that need to prevail. But within this highly politicized context is the day to day politics of class, races, sexuality and religion that I think should, to some extent, be explored. I think it is both intellectually and socially irresponsible not to talk about some of this stuff. So, after great consideration, and nestled into quips about daily happenings, I'm going to touch on some of the stuff I've been confronted with on my different missions. This will include things I've thought about before, and things that come up as my life unfolds in this new country. I cannot say all the things I would perhaps like to say about some of these issues. If you are interested or want further clarification about something that may offend, please consider emailing me directly rather than posting. But with this in minds, I will attempt to more honestly convey and confront what it means to me to work in an intercultural and highly political environment.
That said, the first issue I've been confronted with is that of living as a minority in a new environment. In a country where I am white and woman in a region that is predominantly black, it is virtually impossible to go unnoticed. This means that as I am running, I get thumbs up, horn honks, the flash of headlights, and sometimes hordes of kids running along behind me as though I was the pied piper of Kigali. Artificial admiration simply because of my skin colour. Sometimes men also try to take a kick at running along beside me. Where to go with this? It's tough. I don't want to ignore people, especially in the part of Kigali where I live. It is important to me that I don't simply look, but actually see the poverty and politics that surround me. Willful ignorance does not suffice. I want to develop a rapport with the locals and have some sort of trust established. At the same time, there are moments when I put my sunglasses on, keep my head down, and try to avoid the onslaught of comments and stares. And there is always issues of security-I don't need any man thinking that I've given him an extra special smile that day and take that as an invitation to follow me home.
Though I therefore understand to an extent what it is to be a minority, I am also a white minority, and thus remain in a position of privilege. There is, of course, discrimination as people stare and make crude jokes, but largely its more as though I am the local celebrity. People often want to touch me. As a friend in Canada maintains, the colour of your skin and the class you are born into is inherently political and impossible to avoid. Thus while I am beginning to understand what it means to be a minority, I don't and won't ever understand what it means to be oppressed. If a political or environmental crisis occurs while I'm away, both my government and the United Nations will work to get me out. The same luxury is not afforded to the local populations-as evident during the genocide here where horrific acts occured and much of the international community turned the other cheek.
Being white in a black country, with the assumption of wealth trailing behind me, also leads to some problems. Take for instance this weekend. Work on Friday ended with Jovin announcing he wasn't taking me home. Oh cute, I think, I'm hostage in my own vehicle. But his eyes gleamed and he announced he was going to take me for a tour- a favour I'm to return in the event that he drops around in Canada. So he took me to the location where President Habyiarama's (the former Rwandan President in 1994) plane was shot down, the triggering event of the genocide. Not exactly happy stuff, but as an IR dork it was essentially the equivalent of letting me loose at Disney Land. We didn't have a lot of time to explore, but he assures me we will return. Friday evening was spent at the US Embassy screening a movie, Saturday spent at the Canadian Ambassador's gorgeous place enjoying an expat party. Sunday brought with it my houseboy banging on my window at 6am. A totally disoriented me hopped out of bed and ran to the door to find out what the trouble is. I'm told that his father has passed away and he needs money to head to the Congo.
And thus I am confronted with a difficult position. Wealth is relative. Though I am here working on a practicum for six months before I can be hired into the UN officially, I still hold more wealth than my houseboy. But I also have much greater financial responsibilities than he-student loans that need to be maintained, much higher housing and living costs while I am here, etc. etc. And though I'd rather not talk about it, Muzungo (white men) are often targeted with tragic stories in an attempt to score money. So I now have to decide whether I want to find $60,000 francs (the equivalent of about $150) for my houseboy to lay his father to rest. If I do, there is a good chance that the requests won't end there, that his other father will pass away next week, or that he could take off entirely and I never see him again. But I could afford him the opportunity to be there to bury his father. If I don't, there is the risk that he will steal my stuff. I have to live with him and I'm alone (asides from the other employees) at the house for at least another month. A tricky predicament indeed.
After much consideration and consultation with colleagues (one who mentioned that she'd given her cleaning lady the day off to go see a sick aunt, only to return home to a pillaged apartment), and after transferring funds to take the money out only to find they were seized as Visa is concerned with transactions in Kigali, I've decided not to give him the money. It is a huge amount to ask by local standards, and I'm told he could easily get to where he needs to be on 10,000 francs. We also pay him a very good salary by Rwandan standards. So my driver is going to come with me and try to translate that I don't have the money, and also to take his identification number and name in an attempt to stop any efforts to steal all my junk. I don't feel great about this option, but I don't feel great about any option. So we shall see where it all leads.
I leave you with some pics of my abode- they're not great, but I find I don't want to take a lot of photos when I first get to a new country. As I am not a tourist, I will be around and thus feel accountable to the people whose photos I take, and I would rather wait and make some friends before I march around taking shots as though they are animals at a zoo. So for now, voila. Enjoy.
It becomes very tricky, however, to edit the world in which I live to the extent that it needs to be edited. I did this before while I was in Cameroon. And to be honest, the blogs were more boring than anything else. I didn't want to tackle specific issues because there is always a risk in exploring controversial topics. Instead, I wrote about my day to day life, which inevitably became mundane.
That said, my work remains inherently political. Particularly now-working for the UN is about as political as one could get. And it is important to maintain decorum. There are legitimate security concerns, issues of containing classified information, and general good sense that need to prevail. But within this highly politicized context is the day to day politics of class, races, sexuality and religion that I think should, to some extent, be explored. I think it is both intellectually and socially irresponsible not to talk about some of this stuff. So, after great consideration, and nestled into quips about daily happenings, I'm going to touch on some of the stuff I've been confronted with on my different missions. This will include things I've thought about before, and things that come up as my life unfolds in this new country. I cannot say all the things I would perhaps like to say about some of these issues. If you are interested or want further clarification about something that may offend, please consider emailing me directly rather than posting. But with this in minds, I will attempt to more honestly convey and confront what it means to me to work in an intercultural and highly political environment.
That said, the first issue I've been confronted with is that of living as a minority in a new environment. In a country where I am white and woman in a region that is predominantly black, it is virtually impossible to go unnoticed. This means that as I am running, I get thumbs up, horn honks, the flash of headlights, and sometimes hordes of kids running along behind me as though I was the pied piper of Kigali. Artificial admiration simply because of my skin colour. Sometimes men also try to take a kick at running along beside me. Where to go with this? It's tough. I don't want to ignore people, especially in the part of Kigali where I live. It is important to me that I don't simply look, but actually see the poverty and politics that surround me. Willful ignorance does not suffice. I want to develop a rapport with the locals and have some sort of trust established. At the same time, there are moments when I put my sunglasses on, keep my head down, and try to avoid the onslaught of comments and stares. And there is always issues of security-I don't need any man thinking that I've given him an extra special smile that day and take that as an invitation to follow me home.
Though I therefore understand to an extent what it is to be a minority, I am also a white minority, and thus remain in a position of privilege. There is, of course, discrimination as people stare and make crude jokes, but largely its more as though I am the local celebrity. People often want to touch me. As a friend in Canada maintains, the colour of your skin and the class you are born into is inherently political and impossible to avoid. Thus while I am beginning to understand what it means to be a minority, I don't and won't ever understand what it means to be oppressed. If a political or environmental crisis occurs while I'm away, both my government and the United Nations will work to get me out. The same luxury is not afforded to the local populations-as evident during the genocide here where horrific acts occured and much of the international community turned the other cheek.
Being white in a black country, with the assumption of wealth trailing behind me, also leads to some problems. Take for instance this weekend. Work on Friday ended with Jovin announcing he wasn't taking me home. Oh cute, I think, I'm hostage in my own vehicle. But his eyes gleamed and he announced he was going to take me for a tour- a favour I'm to return in the event that he drops around in Canada. So he took me to the location where President Habyiarama's (the former Rwandan President in 1994) plane was shot down, the triggering event of the genocide. Not exactly happy stuff, but as an IR dork it was essentially the equivalent of letting me loose at Disney Land. We didn't have a lot of time to explore, but he assures me we will return. Friday evening was spent at the US Embassy screening a movie, Saturday spent at the Canadian Ambassador's gorgeous place enjoying an expat party. Sunday brought with it my houseboy banging on my window at 6am. A totally disoriented me hopped out of bed and ran to the door to find out what the trouble is. I'm told that his father has passed away and he needs money to head to the Congo.
And thus I am confronted with a difficult position. Wealth is relative. Though I am here working on a practicum for six months before I can be hired into the UN officially, I still hold more wealth than my houseboy. But I also have much greater financial responsibilities than he-student loans that need to be maintained, much higher housing and living costs while I am here, etc. etc. And though I'd rather not talk about it, Muzungo (white men) are often targeted with tragic stories in an attempt to score money. So I now have to decide whether I want to find $60,000 francs (the equivalent of about $150) for my houseboy to lay his father to rest. If I do, there is a good chance that the requests won't end there, that his other father will pass away next week, or that he could take off entirely and I never see him again. But I could afford him the opportunity to be there to bury his father. If I don't, there is the risk that he will steal my stuff. I have to live with him and I'm alone (asides from the other employees) at the house for at least another month. A tricky predicament indeed.
After much consideration and consultation with colleagues (one who mentioned that she'd given her cleaning lady the day off to go see a sick aunt, only to return home to a pillaged apartment), and after transferring funds to take the money out only to find they were seized as Visa is concerned with transactions in Kigali, I've decided not to give him the money. It is a huge amount to ask by local standards, and I'm told he could easily get to where he needs to be on 10,000 francs. We also pay him a very good salary by Rwandan standards. So my driver is going to come with me and try to translate that I don't have the money, and also to take his identification number and name in an attempt to stop any efforts to steal all my junk. I don't feel great about this option, but I don't feel great about any option. So we shall see where it all leads.
I leave you with some pics of my abode- they're not great, but I find I don't want to take a lot of photos when I first get to a new country. As I am not a tourist, I will be around and thus feel accountable to the people whose photos I take, and I would rather wait and make some friends before I march around taking shots as though they are animals at a zoo. So for now, voila. Enjoy.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Yes, Jovin, the World is Your Four Lane Highway
Am coming to the end of a busy day. Have been to a retreat this morning, then had to create my first power point presentation on the project I am managing to be presented tomorrow afternoon to all the funders. Big pressure for week one and a bit. Work is moving along precisely as it should.
With much time for reflection, and with my favorite driver Jovin by my side, I have been thinking a lot about the people who seemingly arbitrarily have come to play an influential role in my life. Jovin, for instance, is a driver with UNDP. It will be he who I share much of the next six months + of my life with. Instead of my family or my friends, or even really my colleagues, Jovin will know when I've had a bad day, he will know when I've had a great day, he will know which villagers are giving me a hard time and which will become my friends. It is he who I talk to about religion and politics, and more importantly, about various techniques I'm to employ to keep him awake on our long journeys. So far, I'm to poke him if it looks like he's nodding off. We also are to keep the windows wide open at all times, no matter that the extensive air pollution gives me a headache, so that the air keeps him awake. He also likes if we leave five minutes early back to Kigali so that he can get his smoke break in half way. So much so that he was not looking impressed when the Nyagatare project coordinator suggested we view' just one more site'. He also likes to careen down the highway, dodging in and out of traffic, and blowing his horn at a mighty blast when passers by, children, goats, chickens etc. dare to get in his way. The world is indeed his fourway highway. He skillfully dodges ridiculous traffic jams at the end of the day that are always on the hill that leads to my home, so I'm very grateful to him.
Jovin's eldest daughter is my age (he's got nine kids. NINE.), and I suspect he's taken me under his wing, though he would never outright say it. He's got a sparkle in his eye, laughs his head off when people scream MUZUNGO! (White man) as we pass by, and when they follow me around like the paparazzi taking as many pictures as possible, much to my chagrin. Will now get caught and have evidence for posterity when I have a bad haire day. He is there when I start and end my day. And the first day I spent with him, he demanded to know my religion. I don't think he cares so much what the religion of choice is, as long as it is something. When I mentioned it was not yet well-defined, he gave me a disgusted look, and from time to time busts out some catholic hymns perhaps to get me inspired. But regardless of the fact that we have been randomly thrown together, I am so grateful to have him.
Today at lunch I marched off to the local supermarket and bought tape (to tape up my pictures of you-all the ridiculously important people in my life that I can't bare to not have with me at all times), a french language set so that I can more easily partake in the meetings that are supposed to be in english but inevitably fall into french hollering, free weights (as I did not closely check the size of my excercise ball and am dismayed to find that it would be better suited for an oompa loompa-will have to more carefully consider how to implement it into my daily routine), and some water. Am v. pleased with my purchases and am looking forward to getting home and making my new nook in the world my own.
With much time for reflection, and with my favorite driver Jovin by my side, I have been thinking a lot about the people who seemingly arbitrarily have come to play an influential role in my life. Jovin, for instance, is a driver with UNDP. It will be he who I share much of the next six months + of my life with. Instead of my family or my friends, or even really my colleagues, Jovin will know when I've had a bad day, he will know when I've had a great day, he will know which villagers are giving me a hard time and which will become my friends. It is he who I talk to about religion and politics, and more importantly, about various techniques I'm to employ to keep him awake on our long journeys. So far, I'm to poke him if it looks like he's nodding off. We also are to keep the windows wide open at all times, no matter that the extensive air pollution gives me a headache, so that the air keeps him awake. He also likes if we leave five minutes early back to Kigali so that he can get his smoke break in half way. So much so that he was not looking impressed when the Nyagatare project coordinator suggested we view' just one more site'. He also likes to careen down the highway, dodging in and out of traffic, and blowing his horn at a mighty blast when passers by, children, goats, chickens etc. dare to get in his way. The world is indeed his fourway highway. He skillfully dodges ridiculous traffic jams at the end of the day that are always on the hill that leads to my home, so I'm very grateful to him.
Jovin's eldest daughter is my age (he's got nine kids. NINE.), and I suspect he's taken me under his wing, though he would never outright say it. He's got a sparkle in his eye, laughs his head off when people scream MUZUNGO! (White man) as we pass by, and when they follow me around like the paparazzi taking as many pictures as possible, much to my chagrin. Will now get caught and have evidence for posterity when I have a bad haire day. He is there when I start and end my day. And the first day I spent with him, he demanded to know my religion. I don't think he cares so much what the religion of choice is, as long as it is something. When I mentioned it was not yet well-defined, he gave me a disgusted look, and from time to time busts out some catholic hymns perhaps to get me inspired. But regardless of the fact that we have been randomly thrown together, I am so grateful to have him.
Today at lunch I marched off to the local supermarket and bought tape (to tape up my pictures of you-all the ridiculously important people in my life that I can't bare to not have with me at all times), a french language set so that I can more easily partake in the meetings that are supposed to be in english but inevitably fall into french hollering, free weights (as I did not closely check the size of my excercise ball and am dismayed to find that it would be better suited for an oompa loompa-will have to more carefully consider how to implement it into my daily routine), and some water. Am v. pleased with my purchases and am looking forward to getting home and making my new nook in the world my own.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
The Rooster was still alive
My silence for the last five days has been the result of work and a somewhat self-imposed hiatus from technology. At the office, longer days are worked from Mon-Thurs, and then on Friday we get off at 1pm. I suspect that as I get busier with work, more time will be spent at the office on weekends. Until then, faced with the prospect of essentially three days to fill with no computer and no roomates, I devised a plan. In my experience, this sort of alone time doesn't happen a lot in the West. There is always a distraction-tv, friends, family, work, telephone, internet.... When you find yourself in a developing country with no friends, no tv, no internet, a telephone that works sporadically, and a ten hour time difference from anyone who would want to talk to you anyways, there is a lot of silence. And a lot of thinking. And it's not always easy to have that kind of alone time. But given that this sort of scenario has happened more frequently as my rendezvous to foreign lands increase, I'm learning to-maybe not quite enjoy it yet, but sit with it. Apparently, I don't bite.
My first project: march around my new neighbourhood and find dinner. A daunting task when you are the only white person for miles, the market is huge, and everyone has a deal for you if you'd only step this way. After a forray into the masses where I purchased some veggies, I decided I was not well equipped to purchase a live chicken and kill it for dinner. Nor did I want to carry one home. So I asked my congolese house boy to go get one for me. And then I sat, rather smug, as visions of chicken and veg for dinner danced in my head, and I ploughed through some of the reading I had brought. Four hours later, I marched around to check on the progress of said dinner, and the rooster was still hanging out in the back yard. Ok, dinner will happen tomorrow. A bit of a dissapointment given that it was going to be the event of the day.
The rest of the weekend was spent going for runs and exploring new terrain. The UN has hired me three guards, in addition to the houseboy and the guard we already have at the house. Consequently, despite being essentially alone, there are always people tracking me. Feels really odd. And a little violating. But I'm told I will grow used to it.
On the work front, I am officially the project manager of the Community Development Project in Nyagatere District. Supported by the Italian government, this project was strategically developed to assist some of Rwanda's most vulnerable: returnees from Tanzania who were unceremoniously kicked out in November 2006, and demobilized soldiers. Stabilizing this region will contribute substantially to Rwanda's security. And so, the project consists of a number of components. One is food security. Fifty-three concrete slabs have been poured to hold cocoons of food so that there will be food available during the dryer seasons. As I visited this project in the field last week, it became clear that one of the challenges will be getting the cocoons, currently in storage, to the site with the food stored securely. It is harvest time now, so it will be a priority to get this done. Under food security, the project is also supporting a rice production cooperative by providing fertilizers, inputs and irrigation. The rice marshlands are majestic. It looks like a little Vietnam nestled into the hills of Rwanda.
There are seven displaced persons camps this project support (326 families). The area this project covers is extensive, so I was only able to visit one of the camps, but it was beautiful and the people were great. As I got out to discuss with the camp leader challenges and goals for 2009, he suggested in no uncertain terms that I figure out a way to come up with 300 cows. His people, who have spent a large part of their life in Tanzania, are pastoral people, he tells me. They don't know how to farm-they want cows. Got it. Unfortunately, so far the budget only allows for 65 cows. So we'll have to negotiate.
To support income generation, the Nyagatere District Project is supporting microfinance loans, with 14 projects and 1 022 participants trained in fertilisation, crop disease control, animal traction, agro-forestry, irrigation, seed multiplication, processing and marketing, cooperative management, beekeeping, mushroom, banana, coffee and passion fruit production. I visited one cooperative that is now developing paint (yes Dad, more colours to choose from, I'll send you some swatches if you are interested).
Otherwise, the project has also installed 14 bore holes. The holes are relatively accessible, but by western standards are still very difficult to get to, and once there, it was my task to pump some water. Ha. It's tough work. I was told I wasn't fast enough. And I was escorted in and out via my lovely driver Jovin and an entourage of 10 other people. And I don't have to plop the water on my head and walk it out. Renewed respect for those who have to go for miles to get some water. And it's not even clean enough to drink.
Maggy, my supervisor, has also been kind enough to ask me what work I am interested in-peace and security is very difficult to get into this way, and so my first job with the UN is in development. However, in light of the extensive peacebuilding efforts going in to post-conflict Rwanda, the government is establishing an institute focused not solely on peacekeeping, as institutes such as the Kofi Annan International Peacekeeping Centre tend to focus on, but rather on peacemaking and peacebuilding. I'm very happy to have the opportunity to get my foot in the door on this project.
In the meantime, I'm trying to kick my coffee habit-my Dr. tells me the combo of my generally constant state of anxiety mixed with the ridiculously strong coffee I have become accustomed to drinking after team Middle East in the UK got me hooked is a bad habit and could lead to ulcers. The tea is not a disaster but its not entirely appealing either.
And a word about mosquito nets: I hate them. I know they're useful, but I think they mean more for sleeping babes. For those of us who flail, you get caught up in them and feel claustrophobic, mosquitos tend to find their way in regardless, and particularly for more public areas like hotels where they are provided, it feels like you are sleeping in someone else's sheets. If anyone has any suggestions as to how to come to terms with, and use effectively, mosquito nets, I'd be thrilled to hear them.
My first project: march around my new neighbourhood and find dinner. A daunting task when you are the only white person for miles, the market is huge, and everyone has a deal for you if you'd only step this way. After a forray into the masses where I purchased some veggies, I decided I was not well equipped to purchase a live chicken and kill it for dinner. Nor did I want to carry one home. So I asked my congolese house boy to go get one for me. And then I sat, rather smug, as visions of chicken and veg for dinner danced in my head, and I ploughed through some of the reading I had brought. Four hours later, I marched around to check on the progress of said dinner, and the rooster was still hanging out in the back yard. Ok, dinner will happen tomorrow. A bit of a dissapointment given that it was going to be the event of the day.
The rest of the weekend was spent going for runs and exploring new terrain. The UN has hired me three guards, in addition to the houseboy and the guard we already have at the house. Consequently, despite being essentially alone, there are always people tracking me. Feels really odd. And a little violating. But I'm told I will grow used to it.
On the work front, I am officially the project manager of the Community Development Project in Nyagatere District. Supported by the Italian government, this project was strategically developed to assist some of Rwanda's most vulnerable: returnees from Tanzania who were unceremoniously kicked out in November 2006, and demobilized soldiers. Stabilizing this region will contribute substantially to Rwanda's security. And so, the project consists of a number of components. One is food security. Fifty-three concrete slabs have been poured to hold cocoons of food so that there will be food available during the dryer seasons. As I visited this project in the field last week, it became clear that one of the challenges will be getting the cocoons, currently in storage, to the site with the food stored securely. It is harvest time now, so it will be a priority to get this done. Under food security, the project is also supporting a rice production cooperative by providing fertilizers, inputs and irrigation. The rice marshlands are majestic. It looks like a little Vietnam nestled into the hills of Rwanda.
There are seven displaced persons camps this project support (326 families). The area this project covers is extensive, so I was only able to visit one of the camps, but it was beautiful and the people were great. As I got out to discuss with the camp leader challenges and goals for 2009, he suggested in no uncertain terms that I figure out a way to come up with 300 cows. His people, who have spent a large part of their life in Tanzania, are pastoral people, he tells me. They don't know how to farm-they want cows. Got it. Unfortunately, so far the budget only allows for 65 cows. So we'll have to negotiate.
To support income generation, the Nyagatere District Project is supporting microfinance loans, with 14 projects and 1 022 participants trained in fertilisation, crop disease control, animal traction, agro-forestry, irrigation, seed multiplication, processing and marketing, cooperative management, beekeeping, mushroom, banana, coffee and passion fruit production. I visited one cooperative that is now developing paint (yes Dad, more colours to choose from, I'll send you some swatches if you are interested).
Otherwise, the project has also installed 14 bore holes. The holes are relatively accessible, but by western standards are still very difficult to get to, and once there, it was my task to pump some water. Ha. It's tough work. I was told I wasn't fast enough. And I was escorted in and out via my lovely driver Jovin and an entourage of 10 other people. And I don't have to plop the water on my head and walk it out. Renewed respect for those who have to go for miles to get some water. And it's not even clean enough to drink.
Maggy, my supervisor, has also been kind enough to ask me what work I am interested in-peace and security is very difficult to get into this way, and so my first job with the UN is in development. However, in light of the extensive peacebuilding efforts going in to post-conflict Rwanda, the government is establishing an institute focused not solely on peacekeeping, as institutes such as the Kofi Annan International Peacekeeping Centre tend to focus on, but rather on peacemaking and peacebuilding. I'm very happy to have the opportunity to get my foot in the door on this project.
In the meantime, I'm trying to kick my coffee habit-my Dr. tells me the combo of my generally constant state of anxiety mixed with the ridiculously strong coffee I have become accustomed to drinking after team Middle East in the UK got me hooked is a bad habit and could lead to ulcers. The tea is not a disaster but its not entirely appealing either.
And a word about mosquito nets: I hate them. I know they're useful, but I think they mean more for sleeping babes. For those of us who flail, you get caught up in them and feel claustrophobic, mosquitos tend to find their way in regardless, and particularly for more public areas like hotels where they are provided, it feels like you are sleeping in someone else's sheets. If anyone has any suggestions as to how to come to terms with, and use effectively, mosquito nets, I'd be thrilled to hear them.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Plastics are forbidden, but straws, they are ok
I bring you this blog sitting at my desk in the UNDP office, munching on a tuna fish sandwich and sipping my yogurt with a straw. Indeed, it is lunch time. In a bold move, Rwanda has outlawed plastic. Well, plastic bags at least. Plastic spoons also seem to be a no go (hence the straw), but staws thus far seem ok. It is these sorts of rules that make some of Rwanda's policies' quite progressive. As plastic bags a) aren't good for the environment, so they tell us, and b) cause pollution, a+b=c, c being a ban on plastic bags. Not a bad solution. When you buy groceries, you get a paper bag. It works. Who knew. In addition to an outlaw on plastic bags, on the last Saturday of each month, all Rwandans are expected to participate in a community clean. Consequently, Rwanda is a very clean African nation. It is also very ordered. As I moved my belongings to my new abode today, my driver informed me that the numbers on the helmets of motor drivers is actually the number that can be reported by if they don't tow the line. Police are on every corner, and we watched as a motor driver and his passenger, both of whom were not wearing helmuts, made a panicked dodge away from the police officers lest they get busted.
The UN in Rwanda is also participating as a pilot country in a move for a more efficient United Nations. In November 2006, the UN Secretary General's High Level Panel on System-Wide Coherence produced a set of far-reaching recommendations for UN reform. This was largely in response to the fact that it became clear that under current operating standards, the UN was simply not equipped to respond to the challenge set by the Millennium Development Goals, due to fragmentation, duplication, high overhead costs, and lack of focus. In Jan 2007, Rwanda was selected as one of eight countries where the "One UN" model has been introduced. The idea is that One Country will equate to 'One Office', 'One Programme', 'One Leader', and 'One Budgetary Framework'. It is great to have the opportunity to see first hand how this sort of program might work.
In other news, I have a home. At least, I do unless the security team deems it unfit, but I think it will be fine. It is essentially a gated mansion ( a far cry from my digs in Cameroon), a little far from the office but near public transit, and when my driver took me there this morning to drop off my junk, he informed me that other UNDP workers live in the area so there is a shuttle I can pay for that will take me straight to the office, and back home again after work. Huzzah. One small point: be there or be square, ie they're not waiting for me. Got it. The house will be shared with several other ex pats-one Danish girl who is leaving in a week, two people who are back and forth from Burundi, I believe, an American girl who will be back in March, and another American girl and her boyfriend. Should be interesting to see who pops by. But I'm very very happy to have a room to settle in to, where I can blow up my excercise ball and put up my photos. The place is very clean, there is a water heater (which I am overjoyed about: true story, cold showers are really more of a symbolic gesture than an actual valid mechanism to achieve hygeine. They are awful and no amount of time is going to help anybody get used to them. Stay tuned for my thoughts on mosquito nets...). We have a house boy who does the cooking largely in the outdoor kitchen. Contrary to popular belief, I'm not super comfortable with this, but I'm told he comes with the house and we'd be putting him out of a job if we let him go. So he stays.
At work, the people have been amazing. My supervisor is very supportive, and though technical difficulties continue to plague my computer, I've been given a new one that works. So I'm ploughing through official UNDP protocols and trying to get a handle on the project I will be managing. The first field mission is scheduled for thursday, and I'm excited to get out there and see whats been happening and what more can be accomplished. For now, back to work.
The UN in Rwanda is also participating as a pilot country in a move for a more efficient United Nations. In November 2006, the UN Secretary General's High Level Panel on System-Wide Coherence produced a set of far-reaching recommendations for UN reform. This was largely in response to the fact that it became clear that under current operating standards, the UN was simply not equipped to respond to the challenge set by the Millennium Development Goals, due to fragmentation, duplication, high overhead costs, and lack of focus. In Jan 2007, Rwanda was selected as one of eight countries where the "One UN" model has been introduced. The idea is that One Country will equate to 'One Office', 'One Programme', 'One Leader', and 'One Budgetary Framework'. It is great to have the opportunity to see first hand how this sort of program might work.
In other news, I have a home. At least, I do unless the security team deems it unfit, but I think it will be fine. It is essentially a gated mansion ( a far cry from my digs in Cameroon), a little far from the office but near public transit, and when my driver took me there this morning to drop off my junk, he informed me that other UNDP workers live in the area so there is a shuttle I can pay for that will take me straight to the office, and back home again after work. Huzzah. One small point: be there or be square, ie they're not waiting for me. Got it. The house will be shared with several other ex pats-one Danish girl who is leaving in a week, two people who are back and forth from Burundi, I believe, an American girl who will be back in March, and another American girl and her boyfriend. Should be interesting to see who pops by. But I'm very very happy to have a room to settle in to, where I can blow up my excercise ball and put up my photos. The place is very clean, there is a water heater (which I am overjoyed about: true story, cold showers are really more of a symbolic gesture than an actual valid mechanism to achieve hygeine. They are awful and no amount of time is going to help anybody get used to them. Stay tuned for my thoughts on mosquito nets...). We have a house boy who does the cooking largely in the outdoor kitchen. Contrary to popular belief, I'm not super comfortable with this, but I'm told he comes with the house and we'd be putting him out of a job if we let him go. So he stays.
At work, the people have been amazing. My supervisor is very supportive, and though technical difficulties continue to plague my computer, I've been given a new one that works. So I'm ploughing through official UNDP protocols and trying to get a handle on the project I will be managing. The first field mission is scheduled for thursday, and I'm excited to get out there and see whats been happening and what more can be accomplished. For now, back to work.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Jet lagged incoherent introduction
The past month has been a whirlwind-I can barely believe I'm lying in a random hotel in downtown Kigali listening to local yahoos tear it up on a Saturday night. But I digress.
My African (re)introduction began on my flight from Vancouver to London. My seat mate was a man from Nigeria, heading back to take care of his family as his father had recently passed away. Across the aisle was a family from Djibouti, a small East African country, next to Eritrea I believe. Their son was seventeen and three quarter months old. To be precise. But he was a sweet pea and spent much of the trip on my lap screaming Djibouti! And grinning wildly.
From London I headed to Zurich, and spent the night in a swish hotel, though my sleeping patterns, ahem, had been less than admirable in the nights leading to my departure and I was a touch...unglued? Shall we say? When I got on the plane in Vancouver, so I spent the night in Zurich dosing and waiting to catch my flight to Nairobi. In Nairobi, they announced that my flight had been cancelled. Visions of sleeping in dodgy plastic chairs in Kenya danced in my head, but they came through-put me up in another swank hotel close to the airport, and I kicked it in Nairobi for the evening. Not too shabby. Have been in Nairobi before, on my way too and from Cameroon, so felt right at home and was grinning from ear to ear as they crammed me into a van playing local tunes and whisked me off. Another man, Pieter from South Africa, also had his flight cancelled-he was on his way back to Darfur, where he works for the UN as a police officer. Neat guy. Had to do some bribing in Kenya to get all my luggage on the flight and prayed that my extra bag was not going to be the straw that broke the airplane's back. Thankfully, flight was not full and all was ok.
Yesterday afternoon I took my final flight of the journey into Kigali. In boarding I met two Doctors working for MSF, about to depart to the Congo in the Kivu region, which is really in trouble. Kigali is beautiful. It really is a land of a thousand hills. And Chrys from UNDP was there to collect me, totally on time. I was very impressed. So I have been deposited at a small hotel called the Dream Inn about a ten minutes walk from my office. The office is literally across the street from the President's home, so security around here is tight. Hotel Rwanda (now called something different but I didn't quite catch it-maybe Mille Collines?-will investigate further and report back) is around the corner from where I am. I've been told for $5 I can go for a swim in the same pool that kept over a thousand people hydrated during the genocide. In the meantime, I'm fighting with my computer that seems to feel a breakdown is in order. I spent all night fighting with it to do a systems rest0re-was finally successful this morning, and it seems to be working now but I'm not holding my breath. If anyone has any epic ideas as to why my computer would be intermittently seizing, and better yet, any ideas as to how one would go about fixing that, do tell. Normally these concerns are left to my rat of the Stu variety. For now, I'm going to try to figure out my living arrangements and hang out until I report to the office tomorrow morning for duties.
My African (re)introduction began on my flight from Vancouver to London. My seat mate was a man from Nigeria, heading back to take care of his family as his father had recently passed away. Across the aisle was a family from Djibouti, a small East African country, next to Eritrea I believe. Their son was seventeen and three quarter months old. To be precise. But he was a sweet pea and spent much of the trip on my lap screaming Djibouti! And grinning wildly.
From London I headed to Zurich, and spent the night in a swish hotel, though my sleeping patterns, ahem, had been less than admirable in the nights leading to my departure and I was a touch...unglued? Shall we say? When I got on the plane in Vancouver, so I spent the night in Zurich dosing and waiting to catch my flight to Nairobi. In Nairobi, they announced that my flight had been cancelled. Visions of sleeping in dodgy plastic chairs in Kenya danced in my head, but they came through-put me up in another swank hotel close to the airport, and I kicked it in Nairobi for the evening. Not too shabby. Have been in Nairobi before, on my way too and from Cameroon, so felt right at home and was grinning from ear to ear as they crammed me into a van playing local tunes and whisked me off. Another man, Pieter from South Africa, also had his flight cancelled-he was on his way back to Darfur, where he works for the UN as a police officer. Neat guy. Had to do some bribing in Kenya to get all my luggage on the flight and prayed that my extra bag was not going to be the straw that broke the airplane's back. Thankfully, flight was not full and all was ok.
Yesterday afternoon I took my final flight of the journey into Kigali. In boarding I met two Doctors working for MSF, about to depart to the Congo in the Kivu region, which is really in trouble. Kigali is beautiful. It really is a land of a thousand hills. And Chrys from UNDP was there to collect me, totally on time. I was very impressed. So I have been deposited at a small hotel called the Dream Inn about a ten minutes walk from my office. The office is literally across the street from the President's home, so security around here is tight. Hotel Rwanda (now called something different but I didn't quite catch it-maybe Mille Collines?-will investigate further and report back) is around the corner from where I am. I've been told for $5 I can go for a swim in the same pool that kept over a thousand people hydrated during the genocide. In the meantime, I'm fighting with my computer that seems to feel a breakdown is in order. I spent all night fighting with it to do a systems rest0re-was finally successful this morning, and it seems to be working now but I'm not holding my breath. If anyone has any epic ideas as to why my computer would be intermittently seizing, and better yet, any ideas as to how one would go about fixing that, do tell. Normally these concerns are left to my rat of the Stu variety. For now, I'm going to try to figure out my living arrangements and hang out until I report to the office tomorrow morning for duties.
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