Elders

As I read the sympathetic messages from aunts, parents, Rotarians and friends in regards to my last post, I begin to reflect again on my essay on indigenous conflict resolution in Africa. One of the characteristics of indigenous approaches to conflict resolution across the continent is the role of elders. Now ‘elder’ is not necessarily a flattering term in the Western context, but in Africa it invokes wisdom, generosity and respect. So with that impression of elders in my mind I start to reflect on the elders in my life.
Though I grew up in the West, there certainly was a ‘tribe’ of elders (you know who you are) who gathered nearly weekly around a dinner table, good food and multiple bottles of wine to share stories, opinions, and yes even wisdom. Visiting family included a similar ritual, and somehow as the hours vanished in the chit chat based on full tummies and the warmth of wine I think I learned something – I certainly gleaned a great deal of support, encouragement and what we in the peace studies field call ‘empowerment.’
As I’ve left home I’ve never left that support behind – though the ritual of dinners and drinks isn’t possible, the virtual support is still there. Plus, here in Bradford I’ve found a new tribe of elders to rely on – Rotarians, professors and friends.
In the African context, Elders guide the young, cool passions and are the voice of experience. For sure my Elders offer the same service, and when I get down and angry I’m glad their encouragement and empowerment is there. Plus it is nice when I can relate to what I'm studying : )

In Memory

Last week a former resident of Emmanuel Center died. His nickname was Odijo, which means teacher. I realize I actually know very little about his life. I know he was originally from Western Kenya and had lived on the streets of Nairobi as a boy. He struggled, as street kids do, with addictions and violence. Around the age of 19 he came to Emmanuel Center were he lived and volunteered as a security guard. He was called Odijo because he was good at guiding the younger boys, and often taught them sports. He was in charge of Emmanuel Center’s make shift gym (made up of paint cans full of cement) and loved to work out. I remember discussing his dreams with him one day – he wanted to work in a gym. Together we drew up a budget of what it would cost to buy the equipment and I hoped we could find funding for it, and then could run it as an income generating project for Emmanuel Center – but nothing ever came of it.
Odijo struggled with alcoholism and sometimes he would lose control and we would have to send him away from Emmanuel Center. He would vanish for months at time and then turn up apologetic and sheepish. He was part of the Emmanuel Center family and so got a second, third and even forth chance. However, the last time I saw him in August Daniel was telling him to leave once again – the neighbors had accused him of stealing and he was obviously drunk.
Today Daniel told me that Odijo had been caught stealing by the police, who had shot and killed him. My sadness at this news has many levels: I’m morning for Odijo’s life which was hard from the beginning, had potential for love and kindness, but ended too soon; I’m furious that he died a violent death that goes against all notions of human rights, and I’m pained to think that we couldn’t help or protect him at Emmanuel Center.
Daniel says this tragedy demonstrates the importance of the work Emmanuel Center does. I guess so, but right now I’m raging against a system that breeds street kids, feeds them drugs and alcohol and then guns them down. I don’t want to read my human rights text book, or write my essay on conflict resolution in Africa – it all seems a little futile in the harsh light of the reality of life and death on Nairobi’s streets.
Those of us who knew Odijo need to remember him for the good gentle soul that he was. We need to remember him helping the younger boys do bench presses, and sitting under the tree by the gate to Emmanuel Center in the evening sun.

I am because of you

I’m afraid the most exciting thing going on in my life right now is the essay I’m writing on African Indigenous Knowledge and Conflict Resolution. Basically the just of the issue is that outsiders (the UN etc.) have been trying to ‘solve’ conflicts in Africa for decades and with very little success. As a result a renewed interest is forming around African solutions to African conflicts. Of course there are the usual dry academic debates about what terms like ‘traditional’ and ‘indigenous’ mean… but I won’t bore you with the theory. Instead let me share some points of interest….

Ubuntu - This African philosophy exists across many African cultures and can basically be summed up in the phrase “I am because of you.”

Or as Desmond Tutu puts it: “Ubuntu speaks particularly about the fact that you can't exist as a human being in isolation. It speaks about our interconnectedness. You can't be human all by yourself, and when you have this quality - Ubuntu - you are known for your generosity. . . . A person with Ubuntu is open and available to others, affirming of others, does not feel threatened that others are able and good, for he or she has a proper self-assurance that comes from knowing that he or she belongs in a greater whole and is diminished when others are humiliated or diminished, when others are tortured or oppressed.

So what does Ubuntu have to do with conflict resolutions? Well there is a lot of variety across communities and cultures, but basically Ubuntu –esque conflict resolution would involve the whole community affected and aim at restoring harmony. For example, someone who had broken a societal rule (who Westerns would call a criminal) may have to confess in front of the community or appointed elders, pay reparation and/or go through a symbolic ceremony and then be forgiven by whom he/she had offended. The aim would be to restore the perpetrator to the community as opposed to isolating him/her. The best example of putting Ubuntu into practice on a large scale is the South African Truth and Reconciliation Commission.

Another aspect of African conflict resolution models that struck me is that the whole community takes responsibility for the conflict. As one of the essays I’m reading states, “The African model accepts responsibility for the conflict. The mad person (who Westerners would call the criminal) is taken over, reintegrated into the traditional milieu, brought back into the social fold; he lives together with others. His statements are understood, experienced, accepted. Where necessary, purification rituals are performed. The Western mode leaves the mad person on his own. He is accused, subjected to treatment.” For example, former child soldiers in Northern Uganda are reintegrated through symbolic cleansing, songs and rituals and then welcomed back into their communities.

Of course all this sounds very ideal, but it is also realistic. African approaches see conflict as a necessary component of societies and therefore restitution as an on going process. It’s not like everyone lives in the Ubuntu ideal – it just another approach to solving conflict with its own strengths and weaknesses. Still I like it, especially compared to the punitive approaches of the West.

Perhaps I’ll have deeper insights the deeper I get into this essay. In the meantime …. Be Because We Are : )

Coffee Daze

I think that when I look back on the year one of the things I’ll miss most in hours that fly by over coffee and chit chat. The University of Bradford’s heart beat is a little café called Jasmines.

At the counter I order my standard Americano, at which point the smiling server quips back “don’t you mean Canadiano” in his thick Yorkshire accent- to which I always laugh at as I snatch another piece of broken cookie from the sample plate. I sit in my favorite spot in one of the round armchairs in the far corner, from which I can watch the café buzz over the top of the book I’m suppose to be reading. From this vantage point I can watch the university drift around in its little eddy.

In one corner the PHd students will be talking ever so seriously. In another, the Japanese girls are laughing. Professors walk in and out, before students can bombard them with questions. My fellow peace studies students mull over current events and the daily cross word puzzle. Nobody seems in a rush, and the only stress factor is the essay we are suppose to be working on but are talking about instead. The circle of arm chairs I sit in is like a game of musical chairs – whenever one person gets up there is someone else to sit down and renew the conversation. I have a feeling that if I just sat here long enough, the cycle of people would continue to repeat itself. But I noticed two hours have past with no productive work being accomplished, so I reluctantly pack up my books and head to class.

A Week in Italian Paradise

I always had a feeling I would love Italy – any country that makes good food, wine and coffee sacred is my kind of place. Of course one of the best things about my trip was the fabulous Danes I was skiing with, but I’ll get to them later. Let’s start at the beginning….

On the airplane I met one of the nicest people in the world - Ben. I didn’t know this when he sat down next to me, but we hadn’t been chatting more than a few minutes before he offered to show me around Milano the next day. When we got off the plane he offered me a lift into the city and his mom even took us out for delicious pizza in the old city of Bergamo.

The next day I got up early to wander the sunny, but chilly, streets of Milano. I had delicious espresso and a croissant for breakfast (twice!) and figured out how to take the Metro. I had to ask a few people for directions, but even the Italians who couldn’t speak much English were very helpful (hand gestures are generally universal and Italians are good at talking with their hands). At lunch time I met Ben who took me to this remarkable little restaurant, which as a tourist I never would have found on my own. I told him that it was so ‘authentic’ and he said that’s because it is! As I ate the best risotto ever, I learned more about Italian food than I knew was to know. It was a perfect meal.

After lunch we went to the Domu – this remarkable gothic cathedral that rises out of center of Milano. Inside the sun shone through the massive stain glass windows sending rainbow reflections on to the marble pillars. It was the type of place that makes you catch your breath.
But the really breath taking beauty was on the top of the Domu. After climbing a long spiral stone stair case we emerged between the pillars, gargoyls and golden statues. Milano stretched out before us – now I was really breathless.

Next we went to the Castelo, a huge ancient fortress in which I could almost see Don Giovanni galloping through on a dark stead, through a lovely park and down the winding cobbled streets. That evening we had a drink by the river and I felt very spoilt to have had such a perfect day in Milano.

The next day I was up early and on the bus to Canazie, in the Italian alps. I was surprised to see vineyards so far North, but thought the little villages at the foot of the Mounties, with square church spires poking out, looked just like they were out of a picture book. As we approached the resort the mountains got bigger and the road twisted and turned. I had expected the mountains to remind me of home but they didn’t. They were some how harder, more stern and more jagged than the wrinkly coast mountains in Canada.

So I found myself on one such mountain, skis in hand, searching faces for the Clausens, who I hadn’t seen in 12 years. I recognized Karen’s smile instantly and soon Thomas was there to. It was just like being reunited with family. We had a lovely skiing afternoon – It felt like being a home to have to slippery sticks strapped to my feet again.

The next day Peter Michael showed up and his he skied down towards, big smile shining, I thought he looked just like the 17 year old who had lived with us 15 odd years ago. Of course he is actually a bit more mature looking now, but he was still just like a big brother to me.

Now I must explain something about skiing in Europe for the North Americas out there…. Well when I go skiing in Canada with my Dad and my sister in Canada they always promise lots of hot chocolate breaks but then make me hike over mountains instead, in search of ‘fresh tracks’, ‘the best powder’ and other elusive dreams. As a result I might get one hot chocolate break at the very end of the day if I’m lucky. Well in Europe we stopped as much as we want and not only for hot chocolate – for beer (at 10am!), warm wine, or this sweet tea with very strong rum in it. We had big relaxing lunches and took everything nice and easy – it was divine! Kind of like skiing in paradise, with the mountain views, great company and good food.

There is another cultural aspect of skiing I feel responsible to share – that is the Apres Ski culture. As you can guess from the name, this ritual takes place at the end of the ski day and once again includes drinking yummy drinks, chatting and relaxing. Peter Michael told me it is very important to keep you ski boots on during Apres Ski, otherwise it’s just drinking : )

So five days past way too fast with the wonderful Clausens and their fellow Danes. I felt completely spoilt by the great company, soft snow and sunshine. I really didn’t want to leave, but alas I had to. I headed back to Milano where I had a final lovely Italian meal, and then it was back to reality.

The only disappointment to the whole trip was that my camera battery was dead on arrival and I forgot the charger so I don’t have any photos to remember one of the most relaxing, fun weeks of my life. I’ll just have to day dream about it instead.