Bits and Bobs

Well 2010 and all its adventures are coming to a close. At the end of November I said good bye to the wonderful friends and family I had created in Kailahun, Sierra Leone and, after a few days on the beach, headed home for Christmas. I am currently sitting by the Christmas tree my family and I cut down and decorated yesterday, in chilly but cozy Squamish, British Columbia. As I wrap up the year here are few bits and bobs that might be of interest to those of you who stop by here.

• Alan Whiteside and I have published an article on AIDS exceptionalism which can be read here.
• Emmanuel Center, a home for street children in Kenya, is very grateful for any donations that might help the children have a bright Christmas. Donation can be made online via the Squamish Rotary Club here.
• After my fill of skiing and shortbread,  in January, I will be heading back to the Peace Studies Department at the University of Bradford to begin my PhD!

I wish you all a very happy holiday season and a peaceful journey through the new year.

Julia

Bumpy Roads Through Paradise

I convinced a friend from Canada to join me on mini West African tour, and as often happens getting from place to place was as much of an adventure as any destination......

The road to Safari Beach Eco Lodge, on the coast of Ghana, was full of craters. It was narrow and twisty. It scratch the bottom of the taxi S. and I rented and made our driver swear. But it was worth it when we arrived in paradise.
Paradise included our own private beach, our own private waiter/bartender/cook, even our very own palm tree. We spent the next three days like this: wake up when we want to, pretend to do yoga on the beach but mostly just stare at the waves crashing, eat a delicious breakfast of yogurt fruit and honey, sit under the palm tree and read, jump around in the waves when it gets too hot, drink a great big beer, eat a delicious lunch, move lounge chairs to other side of palm tree, jump around in the waves when it gets too hot, drink a beautiful cocktail, eat dinner of decadent seafood such as lobster, drink a bottle of wine, walk on the beach looking for sea turtles, which we never did see.
Despite the absence of turtles, it was perfect. Then we had to brave the road again, but this time it wasn’t the dirt part that was the problem but the way our driver drove on the paved part. It tried to fall asleep but every time I opened my eyes our bumper was one inch from the bumper in front of us. It was the most terrifying drive ever – and I’ve had some pretty terrifying drives.
The ‘final’ day in Ghana was spent navigating Accra’s crazy traffic to find Global Mama’s and do Christmas shopping. We then went to the airport where we spent the better part of three days thanks to idiocy of Kenya Airways. We will not discuss these days, as we now refer to them as ‘The Lost Days.’

Back in Sierra Leone, we wound through the old mountain road outside of Freetown – causing yet another taxi driver to swear as his car scraped over the boulders – to Tacugama Chimpanzee Reserve. This magical spot is home to over 100 rescued chimpanzees and has delightful little forest huts for accommodation. Watching the baby chimps play, looking out over the forest of a million colours of green, it was easy to see we had found another corner of paradise.
We spent a final day on the beach in Freetown and then headed out on the long journey to my own little corner of the country. First we had to navigate Freetown traffic though, which meant that the one hour it should have taken us to leave the city took three. This meant we got on to ‘the real bad part’ of the Kailahun Road as dusk was falling. S. turned to our driver and said ‘Are you sure this is a road?’ At which point he burst out laughing. However, for the next three hours there were times when we did wonder if we were following a road or a long mud puddle/ baboon track/ old river bed/ etc. in the dark by accident. Thankfully, it led us back to Kailahun, which may not be paradise, but is pretty darn lovely after a long journey.

A Goat Named Turkey

Turkey had four legs, two horns and brown fur. He was a lucky goat to have survived Eid in Sierra Leone a month ago. However, unbeknownst to him and the rest of Sierra Leone, Canadian thanksgiving was just around the corner. He died at dawn, shortly after my co-worker arrived with a large knife.
While Turkey was being cut up another friend arrived with a huge pineapple – he too had heard about thanksgiving. Shortly afterwards school children arrived carrying a papaya nearly half their size – they too want to give ‘thanksgiving gifts.’ Within a few hours three friends arrived with their aprons on - it was time to get to work on Turkey dinner.
First we cleaned out the intestines and stomach, and cut up the lungs, liver and kidneys. These went into the pot with a whole lot of pepper for ‘pepe soup.’ Mmmmmmmmm.....
After we had feasted on this lunch, we boiled up Turkey, mixed in more pepper, plus onions and garlic, and then skewered the small pieces of meat which we barbequed – boy did Turkey smell good.
He was done just in time. At 5 pm sharp the friend I had asked to bring his laptop and speakers, for music, arrived. What I hadn’t anticipated was that the speakers were borrowed from Kailahun’s only night club, complete with a full sound system and turn tables. The DJs set the speakers up on the porch and pretty soon the whole village was dancing in our front yard.
Sierra Leonean’s like formality, so we (my Canadian roomy and I) made a short welcome speech (because we don’t like formality). We then asked everyone inside to introduce themselves (there was about 30 people in the house by this point and 60 outside) by saying one thing they were grateful for. This turned out to be very good for the ego, as most people said they were thankful for us Canadians!
We gobbled Turkey all up, and danced a little more. Then there was a call for us to teach another Canadian game. You see ever since our Canada Day Party, there has been a lot of talk about the funny games Canadians play. So we introduce charades, which was, well – quite a charade. There was a lot of yelling, a fair bit of cheating and tones of laughter.
We finished the night off with more dancing, of course, and then fell asleep content and exhausted. It was a very good Canadian Thanksgiving in Sierra Leone for everyone except for poor Turkey.

Ramadan

It’s nearing the end of Ramadan. Villages are over flowing with goats, encouraged to grow fat for a few days more. Women sit under trees elaborately braiding their hair. Tailors bend over piles of colourfully died clothes, sewing dresses to compliment the new hair styles.  The roads have been turned into long strings of mud puddles by a persistent rainy season. I am travelling back and forth over them conducting a social impact assessment of the community credit unions and supervising the beginnings of a microfinance program.

At the credit unions I hear the members explain how loans have helped them pay school fees for their children, buy tools for their farms, and buy land to build on. They explain that people in the community are not used to savings but are learning slowly. One woman says there is now peace in her family because she deposits the money she earns from making soap in the credit union; when her husband wants to go use it to buy palm wine he can’t get at it and so they never fight about it.

The women come to the first microfinance sensitization meeting in colourful traditional dresses, bright cloths wrapped around their heads and strings of beads around their necks. They laugh and tease each other, and yell and argue with each other all at once. There is nothing quiet and meek about Sierra Leonean women. I take their energy to mean engagement and therefore a good sign.

By the time I reach home in the evening,  the rain is falling in hard drops making a racket on my zinc roof. I fry some plantains and stand in the doorway eating them and watching the rain splash off the banana leaves. 

Awesome Kailahun

I recently downloaded The Book of Awesome on to my e-reader. The internet connection is so slow here that my patience is usually exhausted by the time I’ve loaded the e-book store and searched for a title. Since downloading a book is at least a 45 minute commitment, I don’t usual bother to read descriptions. Instead I put blind trust in recommendations from friends and family.
So I was surprised that The Book of Awesome is not a novel but a serious of descriptions of common place, but AWESOME, events: such as the smell of freshly cut grass. It’s a wonderful idea, and I opened it on a day when I really needed to be reminded of the small but precious details of life. But I felt most of it didn’t apply to my life in Kailahun – so far away from things like snowflakes, lawn mowers and grocery line ups. Then I realized that I should make a list of Awesome Kailahun. The list reminds me of what is great about this place and gives you (my friend/family/reader) a little insight into my life. Here it is.....
Impromptu Dance Parties
Sierra Leoneans like to shake it whether they be toddlers or seniors, and impromptu dance parties are a wonderful part of life here. Sometimes they happen with the kids on our front porch when the a driver decides to crank the car stereo, sometimes they happen in the office when we catch the accountant listening to lively Ghanaian beats, sometimes dancing just bursts out of nowhere. No matter what – Sierra Leoneans can dance AWESOME!
When Gmail loads on the first try
As I mentioned, the internet connection is crazy slow and for some reason Gmail is especially stubborn. So I usually have to refresh the page at least three times. This can be frustrating when I can see an email with a subject line like “PhD Application” and have to wait 10 minutes before it loads properly and I find out if I’m accepted or not (I was!). However, every now and then Gmail just loads, I don’t have to wait, I don’t have to pound my computer keys, it’s just there - AWESOME!
Jolof Rice
There are three ‘restaurants’ in Kailahun. Each serves one dish per day. Most days this dish is cassava leaf and rice. For variety it is sometimes potatoes leaf and rice. Every now and then it is Jolof Rice (rice cooked with tomatoes and spice) and soup (usually with chicken or fish), and the complete absence of slimy green mush is AWESOME!
Holding Hands
Sometimes when I walk to or from work, or through town, one of the little kids from the neighbourhood runs up and grabs my hand. We walk down the road holding hands until he or she skips off back home. Nothing is said, nothing is accomplished, but it sure feels AWESOME.
Mastering Mende
So far I have learned only the basic greetings in Mende (the local language). I’m trying to learn more and every now and then someone calls out to me and I reply in Mende, and they don’t burst out laughing, but respond as if I’ve said something that makes sense, and I feel so proud of myself - AWESOME.
Motorbike in the Mud
I always thought those guys who say motorbikes are awesome were just trying to be macho. Now I know better. I love riding the motorbike down the mud roads, walled by jungle trees, rain falling, sun beating, whatever the day is like – it is AWESOME!
Cold
It is hot here. Even now, during the rainy season when all my colleagues tell me it is ‘cold’, it is still hot (at least 28 degrees). However, there are pockets of cold – the refrigerator at the office when the generator is turned on; drinks at one of the restaurants when they turn on their generators; heavy rain drops at the end of especially hot days. In the heat, these things feel AWESOME!
Papaya and Pineapple
You know that 4 pm fade? You’ve worked all day and still have a couple of hours to go but really need a shot of energy. Well sometimes, right around this time, someone in the office busts out a pineapple or papaya. It’s cut up and distributed one plate per office. We all pause what we are doing and let the sweet fruit run down our throats and chins. It’s AWESOME!
Emails
When Gmail finally loads and I see an email from family or friends it is AWESOME. It can be juicy gossip, detailed description, silly jokes.... it doesn’t matter. I just love getting news from ‘home’. It brightens my day.
And the list could go on and one......

What is lost in war

We count the costs of war in lives lost, people displaced, money spent – all very important measures. But by listening to stories from friends here, by observing both Sierra Leone and Liberia, I realise so much more is also destroyed and not just by the conflict itself, but by the aftermath. For example:
Environment - The jungles of Sierra Leone used to be heavily populated by monkeys and chimpanzees. However, these animals were either killed or fled during the war. Seven years later they are only beginning to return.
Food Security - The land people farmed was left unattended and the jungle quickly grew over it. Without any modern farm machinery, farmers are still struggling to reclaim their land. As a result they cannot grow enough to meet their basic needs.
Education - The University of Sierra Leone was once considered one of the best universities in West Africa, with students coming from Nigeria and Ghana. Now the university is still struggling to recover and Sierra Leonean students try to find a way to study elsewhere.
Culture - Both Sierra Leone and Liberia were once famous for having the most intricate masks in West Africa. Few such items survived the war. Even less of the knowledge, expertise and culture still exists, so now such mask are a rarity. Similarly, Sierra Leone used to be known for its beautiful gara-dying of clothes. This art is just beginning to be revived by women’s groups.
The Youth - In rural Liberia I saw villages consisting of only small children and their grandparents. The youth had all left of the big cities. They felt no historical ties to the land, as their parents had done, having been torn from it by conflict. They were looking for paid employment, not farming opportunities. This is logical of them – but who will grow the countries food, who will care for the young and old, what will this do to the African concept of family?

Kailahun's First Canada Day

My two Canadian roomies and I decided that as the only Canadian representatives in all of Kailahun, it was our duty to through a Canada Day party for our friends and collegues that would not be forgotten.
We insisted that the party be Canadian in its totality, but certain exceptions did, in the end, have to be made. First, the food..... we managed to serve pancakes, which we felt was truly Canadian. There was also guacamole, which certainly wasn’t Sierra Leonean. But the rest of the dishes (friend plantains, tropical fruit etc.) was very local. We also insisted that, unlike Sierra Leonean parties, we would not have an agenda or speeches. However, the whole process (or lack thereof) was so confusing to our Sierra Leonean friends that we did have to say a few words in the beginning.
This was interrupted by one friend reminding us that there is a tradition that if they eat strange food without changing their names they will all get bloated bellies – this affliction will particularly affect the hosts of the party. So we all went around announcing our new names which ranged from ‘All Questions Will be Answered Tomorrow’ to ‘All the guests’. This obviously created interesting conversations.
After names were given there was a brief interlude for dancing, a necessary requirement for all Sierra Leonean parties, and which we were happy to adopt as a new Canadian tradition. Unlike in Canada though, it is the older men that lead the dancing – and can they ever dance!
Once everyone was very much warmed up it was time for the first game (we argue playing games is very much a Canadian pass time). – Canadian Trivia. Our friends were divided into three teams and asked a series of questions relating to Canadian culture. For example, they were asked what was Canada’s favourite sport, to which the closest answer was ‘snow ball’. They were then shown a picture of snowshoes and asked to guess what they were used for – straining cassava leaves, playing tennis....?
One team appeared to have an unfair advantage, including people who had worked most closely with the Canadians, so when they started to crow too loud about winning, we introduced the Canadian tradition of rewarding the underdog by presenting the prizes (two bags of candies) to the losing teams. This caused a great deal on conflict, which required some typically Canadian diplomacy.
After more dancing, so the Sierra Leoneans could sweat out any remaining frustrations, we introduced them to pin the tail on the donkey - once again maybe not necessarily a Canadian game, but definitely a novelty here. This was a huge hit, and even resulted in plans to include it in future SEND workshops.
The night ended with more dancing, as is only appropriate at the first ever, but not last, very Sierra Leonean Canada Day Party.

Liberia

A few weeks ago I travelled to Liberia. It’s taken me a while to write about it because it was the type of trip that required some processing afterwards. While I’m still turning over much of what I experienced in my mind, let me share a few notes with you.

Monrovia, the capital city, is spread out along wide roads. It has the potential to be beautiful, boasting white sandy beaches and lush green trees – and perhaps it once was. But the scars of war are still very present. As a tour I was taken to a five star hotel, or what had once been a hotel; now it was an empty shell with soldiers camped out in the lobby to prevent squatters. Street children played in the empty swimming pool and parking lot. From the poolside I looked out all over Monrovia – directly bellow me a massive slum pressed out on a peninsula of white sandy beach.

 I then was taken to a church, now repaired, where I was told 200 people were massacred. The tour continued on such themes: the jail where my colleague was imprisoned for political protest; the beach where former government ministers faced Charles Taylor’s firing squads, and so on. The blue helmets and white land rovers of UN peacekeepers were everywhere.

We went to a rural village. On the bumpy 8 hour drive my travelling companions told me about spending two weeks fleeing Taylor’s rebels in the juggle. They spoke of eating razor blades because the traditional spiritual leaders told them it would make them bullet proof. They spoke of refugee camps and long years in exile.

In the village they describe how it once had been, pointing out the businesses that had been but were no more. They told me the pile of rocks I was standing on had been their grandmothers’ house and pointed out where her bedroom had been. It was like a tour of a ghost town – every pile of rubble or new little shack shadowed by the greater building that had once been there.

We visited a school my colleagues were trying to assist. The eight classrooms cannot accommodate the 500 children so they hope to build more, plus buy text books (since there are almost none). When we arrived many of the teachers were absent. They were required to travel 20 km to collect their pay of about $50 a month – the travel itself cost them $5 and collection had to be done on a working day, so once a month the children received no instruction.

When I visit a place I always look for the good. I don’t like presenting depressing stories from African countries – there are so many of those already. I found a glimmer of this good at the school. I saw seeds of hope and in the plans the people I met were making for themselves and their communities. I saw the potential for growth on the streets of Monrovia. But in truth, despite my best efforts, I was overwhelmed by destruction and suffering left in the wake of conflict.

Preventative Medicine in Sierra Leone

On Kailahun’s ‘Free Immuniztion Day’ I was sitting in my office getting increasingly angry. I decided I needed an outlet before I committed some huge cultural taboo like yelling at all the men in authority around – so I did what I usually do. I emailed a rant to my mom. She wrote back in her typical thoughtful/understanding/encouraging way, and then suggested I should publish my rant somewhere. So I sent it to the very fabulous website called RHRealityCheck and they posted it.
Here it is - Preventative Medicine in Sierra Leone

Feeling the Freetown Love

I have to admit, my first impression of Freetown was not one of instant love. Perhaps it was the jet leg back in April when I first landed there, but I found the city dingy, dilapidated, crowded and dirty. I was in no hurry to return, until the lack of chocolate, fresh coffee and other ‘necessities’ in Kailahun finally motivated me to head for the big city.
The pink Charm Beach Hotel, were we stayed looked like it lost its charm in the 70s. True you could see a speck of the ocean, but only over top of the half built/half falling down houses and razor wire. So I only started to feel the Freetown love when we headed into the city center. There a recognized the vibrancy I’ve experienced in other African cities: people from all over the continent mixing together, selling everything from goats to fake Gucci watches, spilling out of tiny houses by the dozen dressed to nines.
As our colleagues did some business in the bank, R. and I checked out the city center. I got passport photos taken for my Liberian visa (the actually purpose of my Freetown trip) on the street corner. We walked up to the giant cotton tree where slaves were once sold, and later free slaves returned to. We saw Freetown’s few historic sites – colonial style government buildings and a museum we didn’t go into. I bought a beautiful tie-died traditional dress (anywhere else in the world I’d look like a hippy but here I fit in. Besides it is the most comfy thing I have ever owned.)
Then we found Crown Bakery! We opened the door, stepped into the air conditioning and felt like we had been transported to North America. Without thinking that we were due to meet our colleagues we sat down and ordered cappuccinos, cinnamon buns, smoothies..... things we had only dreamed existed in Sierra Leone. When our work mates called to say we had to get to the embassy pronto, we begged them to wait. There was no way we could leave just yet.
From then on Freetown grew on me. For lunch we indulged in overpriced western goodies, and in the evenings we hit up the much cheaper make-shift stalls on the road side that sold food from all over Africa. We ate eba (Nigerian), and groundnut soap. I got to eat Nyama Choma (Kenyan) for the first time in years.
When A. arrived from Kailahun, I got to see more of Freetown up close and personal. We travelled the city by public transport visiting his family (our family actually since I’ve been adopted as A.’s twin sister). I discovered I much prefer crowded public taxies to travelling in air conditioned NGO trucks – there is something about public transport that makes one feel in beat with the pulse of the city. Inside the family homes I felt I was inside the heart of Freetown - these were busy places crowded with love.
In the evenings we dappled our feet in the waves at the beach, and sat in the sand speculating about what an amazing holiday destination Freetown will be one day soon. The never ending white sands certainly hold a lot of promise and the beach bars present a most relaxing atmosphere.
So I left Freetown with a bag of chocolate, cookies and wine to take back to Kailahun – and a much better impression of the place. It is a lively city, with friendly people, gorgeous beaches and great food. What more can you ask for?!
Peace.

What am I doing here?!

What am I doing here? I have to admit sometimes this question runs through my own mind at least once a day and I get asked it at least three times a day. So here it is. . .
My main task right now is to design and implement a research project on microenterprise development in the District. Practically this means I spent days walking through hot crowded markets literally counting the numbers and types of businesses (which incidentally I loved because I quickly became familiar with where to buy the best palm oil, plantains, etc.). I tried to figure out how many ladies there are selling peppers? How many are selling handmade soap? How many young men sell fake Gucci watches? Etc... Since there are no government records – or records of any kind – and most of the economy is informal, my early research was based on this very unscientific method, from which I designed a survey sample and questionnaire.
Yesterday, I trained eight local young people to administer that questionnaire. The challenges we discussed ranged from how to determine income and expenditure when the business person is illiterate and keeps no records, to how to convince respondents that you aren’t going to report them for not paying taxes. The survey results will lead to focus groups, which will lead to a validation workshop, which will lead to a report...... but not a report to sit on a shelf – I hope!
The thing is there is absolutely no information on small businesses here so we are hoping other NGOs as well as the government might be interested in what we discover; even if they aren’t the results will inform SEND’s program development.
Personally, I find researching small business inspiring. Instead of dwelling on how poor people are; how they are dying; how policy is failing - I’m looking at how people are trying to make a living; at what they aspire to achieve; at how they can be best assisted. It is research for change and I’m thriving off it.
Meanwhile, I have created a multi ethnic/religious/cultural family. It includes my ‘sister’ R. (the other Canadian) who everyone thinks is my sister and so has become one (besides we are basically attached at the hip); my ‘twin brother’ A. who I work closely with, travel around on the motor bike with and rely on for all interpretations of Sierra Leonean culture; my ‘mom’ N. who I also work with and who insists on feeding R. and I more than we need to eat; and about a dozen children who hang out on my porch every evening to play games.
The social scene in Kailahun is limited, especially for single women (going out at night attracts a great degree of unwelcome attention and the only disco/bar is not the most comfortable place anyways). However, I have fallen into a peaceful social regime that involves working till 6:30, riding my bike home, playing with the children on the porch, eating dinner with R., reading and going to bed by 11.
So in short – what am I doing here? I’m talking to business people, I’m playing with children, I’m building new relationships, I’m being grateful for the simple things..... It’s not a bad life at all.

An Afternoon in Kailahun

About 3 pm, the clouds move in and the humidity rises. I’m sitting at my desk. Out of the window directly in front of me I watch women and children balances buckets on their heads as they go back and forth from the river. Through the open door to my right I can see the massive mango tree that shades our office. The temperature directly under this tree is always a blissful few degrees cooler than anywhere else. Now the leaves are beginning to tremble and in a moment the whole tree is shaking in the wind and ripe mangoes are falling like rain. Everyone is laughing and chasing to catch the sweet fruit. Then the rain pours down, sending everyone except the children inside. The children continue to chase the mangoes and then begin to dance in the rain. They are thin, except for swollen bellies, and they are getting the only clothes they own soaked, but they are laughing and playing like children do everywhere.
When the rain stops I get on the motorbike with A., my colleague, and head for the market. There are no stores in Kailahun – as we know of them North America – but there are clusters of stalls that sell the basic necessities - plus hair products, cigarettes, and coco cola. We have an appointment at a stall that sells fabric. Earlier in the week the women who own the stall expressed interest in joining the credit union – the microfinance scheme the organization I’m working with is facilitating. I watch as the lady now puts her thumb print on the signature line – over 90 percent of the women in Kailahun are illiterate. As A. explains how to save and access loans, I listen to the hum a diesel generator somewhere, reggae music, children laughing, motorcycle horns, and neighbours calling out the constant greeting in the local language, ‘Kiegoma’ (thank God).
We cross the road and head to another potential member’s house. We walk carefully through the muddy paths between homes that are one third dilapidated building, one third mud hut, and one third adobe house. We find the lady we have come to see leaning over a huge pile of laundry, wearing just a wrap around her waist – there is little bother with modesty here. She is a laughing, joyful woman, who has great influence in the community. She is one of the most prosperous business women, but to my North American eyes her home is poor. There are only a few wooden benches for furniture: there is no electricity, no running water. Everything is the same mud colour. The children stand in doorways wearing only dirty bits of clothes. Still she produces the initial savings to join the credit union (about $20, an amount many people struggle for) and we are grateful to have such a positive influence onboard.
It’s seven pm by the time we are done and I hurriedly ride my bike home before dark. I’m not worried about crime, but about the motorcycles who are dangerous enough when they can see me. I discover the real threat though is the bugs that splatter into my face as I try to navigate the muddy street. By the time I reach home I have swallowed at least three of them.
As I pull in to the yard I hear, ‘Mrs. Juillette’ chorusing out of the darkness. I have taken pains to teach the children to call me by my name instead of ‘pumwi’ (which means white person). However, as Juilette is much more common here than Julia, somehow I have become Mrs. Juilette. Along with the sing song voices come smiling laughing faces and outstretched palms. One at a time I gently hold each palm face up, tracing circles with my finger singing ‘around, around the garden goes the teddy bear...’ It was my favourite game when I was little and when I introduced it to a toddler here it became an instant hit - I now repeat this game at least a couple times a day.
Tonight I’ll eat avocado, bread and mango for dinner, and then fall asleep exhausted. Sometime around 3 am I will wake up and think ‘oh it is cool’, and then fall back asleep. Tomorrow it will be another day in Kailahun.

Snap Shot from Kailahun

First some context: According to the Human Development Report Sierra Leone is one of the poorest countries in the world. Kailahun (the town where I am based) is the in the poorest region of Sierra Leone. This is largely because this was a rebel strong hold during the civil war that lasted from 1993 to 2003.
Everywhere there are children with extended stomachs, young girls balancing babies on their backs and water on their head. There are the skeletons of bombed out buildings. I’ve seen two rusted tanks – one with ‘For sale’ spray painted on the side. There are many people with amputated limps.
Despite all of this one of the first words I would use to describe Kailahun is ‘peaceful’. Partly because it is so far away from any hustle and bustle, because the stars aren’t drowned out by electrical lights, because fresh sweet fruit grows naturally. But also because people are quiet but kind, they work hard (so very very hard), and everyone seems determined to build this into a better place. Perhaps I still have an idealised version of the place, not yet grasping the nuances, but that is my first impression.
Where do I fit into this world? I’m not too sure yet. I start working at a local NGO this week, where I’ll be designing and implementing a study to inform a business plan for further program development, but I haven’t figured out the details yet. In the evenings I sit on my little porch and open my book – by the time I’ve read two pages the neighbourhood children have congregated in front of my smiling and laughing. I try to talk with them but so far I have only gotten far enough to learn their names and if they go to school or not. Mostly they just watch me. They have no toys, TVs or video games so I guess I’m their new source of entertainment (Rezi, another Canadian, and I are the only two foreigners here from what I can tell so we are quite the novelty).
One final snap shot from Kailahun: Its Easter Monday and Rezi (another Canadian and I) are told there is a ‘celebration’. Our colleagues pick us up on motorbikes and we jump on back. Soon we are bouncing over the bumpy dirt roads as the landscape of palm trees and cocoa trees passes by. We get to the banks of a broad river, which we are told divides Sierra Leone from Guinea. There are about 100 people either sitting in the shade drinking coco cola and star beer, or dancing beneath the trees. There is a sound system and a generator. We have no choice but to join the dancing, despite the fact half the people are staring at us - the new comers. It’s a surreal experience – dancing in the late afternoon heat under the jungle shade, beside a tropical river on Easter Monday.

The next bend in the road

I created this blog about two years ago. I chose the name The Winding Road because I was about to embark on an adventure that lead me from Canada, to Kenya, to the UK. I didn’t realise then how many other twist and turns I would take in the processes: I went to Ireland and Israel, South Africa and Italy, Scotland and Botswana. Many of my adventures didn’t require travelling – they were the escapades of living in new places, making remarkable friends from around the world, studying new ideas, and trying my best to soak up the knowledge I found myself immersed in. My journey was made possible by the Rotary World Peace Fellowship – the remarkable scholarship program from Rotary International for which I will always be grateful.

Since I returned home to Squamish, British Columbia in December I have been still – which is not easy for me. I have been catching up with old friends, skiing with family, taking long naps on the couch, and contemplating – ‘what is next?’ It has been a very rejuvenating time and I’m grateful to the friends and family that made it so.

Now I’m ready for the next twist in the road, and what a twist it is. On April 1^st, I will board a plane in Vancouver and, after a brief pause in London, will touch down in Freetown, Sierra Leone. From Sierra Leone I will travel nine hours on what I hear is a very bumpy road to the town of Kailahun. I have a position as Monitoring and Evaluations Advisor for the SEND Foundation, which is a West African organization that focuses on social and economic development in post-conflict and hard to reach areas. My placement is actually via the Canadian Co-operative Association – the organisation that launched me into development work six years ago by sending me as an intern to Kenya. Sometimes my path has a bit of a 360 aspect to it.

The thing about a Winding Road is you can’t always see what’s around the corner. I didn’t expect my path to lead to West Africa, but I’m thrilled that it has. I can’t tell you what it will be like until I get to Sierra Leone, but I will try to do so when I can. Until then, it’s the start of another adventure.  

A Utopian Dream on International Women's Day

It’s International Women’s Day! And on such a day I have already heard the very unoriginal complaint from the opposite sex of ‘When is it international men’s day?’ To which I heard the equally unoriginal response, ‘Every day is international men’s day.’ Still wouldn’t it be nice if we didn’t need an International Women’s Day; if every day belonged to everyone? Yes, I’m having a utopian dream – because after all we (as in all of us = men and women) do need an International Women’s Day.

The facts prove the need:

• Women still make less money than men everywhere in the world.
• 90 percent of the victims of sexual and domestic violence are women.
• Women represent 70 percent of the world’s poor.
• They represent 60 percent of those living with HIV/AIDS.  
• Etc.

So what does International Women’s Day achieve besides reminding us of such mind-numbing statistics? It celebrates women who are making a difference, hopefully inspiring more women and men to do so. And it gives us a chance to say loudly, and with actions, that these mind-numbing stats – which we tend to ignore every other day of the year and therefore accept - are actually unacceptable.

International Women’s Day allows us to imagine a world where our communities foster equality, not the subjugation of one group by another; where we all live in safety and with respect; where poverty doesn’t exist, and where health is a basic human right. Yes... I’m off to utopian dream land again. But seriously, isn’t that a nice vision for everyone? So International Women’s Day – in my mind – is for women and men. We’ve all got something to gain from greater gender equality, even if it is just a more peaceful and prosperous world where every day belongs to everyone.

Giving in to Olympic Fever

From the beginning I haven’t been the biggest Vancouver 2010 Olympic fan. In fact, back in 2008, I sewed a costume for Bity the Bedbug – the unofficial mascot of the Poverty Olympics (a protest event held by a group of community groups trying to create awareness about the ‘other’ issues in Vancouver that are in desperate need of just a fraction of funding the Olympics received). However, now the Olympics are on my doorstep I have decided I can either be grumpy about it, and achieve little more than making myself miserable, or embrace the joy and chaos. I have given in to Olympic fever.

On Wednesday I was lucky enough to get given two tickets to the dress rehearsal of the opening ceremonies. They swore all 50,000 of us who were there to secrecy, so I can’t tell all but I will say I believe tonight’s event will make all Canadians proud. The highlight for me was seeing one of my favourite Canadian musicians singing one of my favourite Canadian songs.

Tomorrow I am off to watch the bobsledding. I don’t know much about bobsledding but it will be fun to head up to Whistler and see the action. There is certainly a festive air around town. It’s kind of like Christmas – lots of hustle and bustle, and ridiculous consumerism and marketing, but all in good spirit and fun. So I will make the effort to pull out the patriotism I usually reserve for health care and human rights debates, and try to apply it to sporting events instead – Go Canada Go!

The job hunt and other adventures in my pyjamas

It’s a bit like going from 1000 Km/h to zero in a second; going from the Rotary World Peace Fellowship to being unemployed living at home. It’s an adjustment that’s for sure – with both pluses and minuses. Pluses include: I can generally wear my pyjamas for as long as I like (which is usually until lunch time), get to go for long hikes and have fabulous ski days. Minus include: I miss the lively conversations with my fellow Peace Fellows (the dog I hike with is a good listener but doesn’t offer much feedback), I crave my former hectic schedule of international travel, and even miss the constant rigour of putting my brain through the dissertation grind.
Luckily, I’m keeping busy. Besides devouring a novel every few days, I on the great job hunt. I check the various posting for work in international development/research/social policy/ other adventures every day and cast resumes, applications and letters out into cyber space. There have been a few nibbles but nothing hooked yet.
Meanwhile, I’m very lucky to have the opportunity to do a bit of contract work with HEARD, which not only keeps my brain in academic gear, but also reminds me that I do have useful skills on offer. In fact, with a few contract opportunities piling up, I’m starting to think about starting my own consulting business..... more on that in a later post though.
And final, I’m still doing what I can for Emmanuel Center. On Saturday some of the staff members attended a peace and reconciliation meeting in Eldoret, aimed at overcoming tribalism. It was inspiring to hear their stories. Daniel told me, “We’ve decided we can’t wait for the politicians. We will have to make peace ourselves, with our own hands.” It’s good hear that such initiatives are going on.
So now I will sign off and return to my job applications and other adventure, but I thought I should offer an update from ‘the field’ of my parent’s basement.
Peace

On Haiti and Heroes

The news from Haiti makes my heart sink. The earthquake is an unprecedented natural disaster, but the suffering is also the results of decades of human disaster. Haiti’s ability to help the third of its population that are affected is limited by its poverty and lack of infrastructure. As the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere, it was dependent on foreign aid before the earthquake, and now it is dependent on foreign aid to respond to the earthquake.

The reasons for Haiti’s poverty are complex, but many of them are not innocent. Foreign involvement on the island has not only been about providing aid. The American military has occupied the country twice, and has been accused of aiding paramilitaries there more than once. The only period during which there was substantial foreign investment was during the reign of the Duvalier family, who acted as dictators, violating human rights of citizens and plundering the country for 30 years. In fact, when the last Duvalier was ousted and a democratically elected president came to power – that was when the US decided to slap sanctions on the impoverished country.

Some of this history can be found in the books by Paul Farmer, and a book profiling him by Tracy Kidder ‘Mountains Beyond Mountains.’ Paul Farmer is one of my personal heroes. He began working in Haiti decades ago, bringing quality health care to the poor. He founded the organizations Partners in Health, which provides HIV/AIDS, TB and other care to impoverished communities around the world. He also speaks and writes prolifically about structural violence, human rights and social justice. He is not afraid of a little controversy. As someone who has spent a lot of time researching health policy, HIV/AIDS and international responses, I have remained convinced that Partners in Health does it best.

Partners in Health is now accepting donations in order to continue to help the people in Haiti recover from the most recent disaster. They are not just flying in because they know that is where the aid dollars will be pouring. They have been there for decades and will be there for decades. They will continue to do their best to provide the best care to those in need – and I will lift my heart by contributing to their efforts.