safari njema

On Sunday afternoon, April 11, I left Moshi to go on safari. First we picked up my travel companions, 18-year-old Rachael from England and 19-year-old Boldwin from Holland, who are volunteering at an orphanage outside of Moshi. From there we drove out, through the dark and endless countryside, to Mto wa Mbu (“River of Mosquitoes”), the village outside of Lake Manyara National Park After a walk through the village and a drink (Safari beer for me, since I was on Safari) at a local bar, we had a late dinner and then went to bed in our clean and basic ensuite room at Fig Resort. We woke up early Monday morning for an early morning game drive in the park. En route to the hot springs we saw plenty of baboons, some giraffes, zebras, impalas, and buffalos. But really we were looking for elephants and some of the famous tree-climbing lions. We stopped to eat our boxed breakfast at the hot springs, and then continued deeper into the park, in search of lions. And then we got stuck in a muddy ditch.

At first I stayed in the car, reading a little, not sure what I could do to help and afraid to get out of the car lest a wild animal suddenly appear. But eventually we all got out to try and help but it was futile. The left rear wheel kept spinning and going deeper into the mud, and the 4-wheel drive wasn’t working right so the other wheels with traction and power couldn’t pull it out. Finally another car appeared. They had a jack that we were able to use to lift the car up and then throw rocks in the hole under the tire. With the help of the rocks and 7 people pushing we were able to get the car out of the hole. And into another one. So then again we jacked up the car, threw rocks under the wheel, and pushed it out, for good this time. By then it was about time for lunch, and the car had to go to the garage to get its 4WD checked out, so we headed back to the gate. En route, we came across a large herd of elephants on both sides of the road. After marveling at them for a bit, we continued on. On the final stretch of road through the jungle, there was a single large male elephant, walking towards us and blocking any way forward. We ended up having to back down the road about a kilometer before the elephant went off into the trees, allowing us to pass. In the late afternoon (after my first hot shower since I’ve been in Tanzania, since I’m never patient enough for the hot water at my house) we went back for another drive, stopping by the hippo pool. Unfortunately they were a bit far out and submerged, so we couldn’t see them very well, though there were also lots of pelicans which was cool.

Monday night we stayed at the same hotel, and then Tuesday morning after breakfast we headed west to the Serengeti. We drove through Ngorongoro Conservation Area (but not the crater) en route, where giraffes and zebras and buffalo and cattle and Maasai all peacefully co-exist. The conservation area was originally part of Serengeti National Park, but except for staff and researchers, people aren’t allowed to live in national parks, so the Maasai protested their displacement and got the status of the area changed. They can live in the Ngorongoro area so long as they don’t upset the balance of the ecosystem.

On the other side of Ngorongoro we passed into the Serengeti, a wild open prairie that made me think of what the Great Plains must have been like to Lewis & Clark and the travelers on the Oregon Trail. Considering how much trouble our LandCruiser had on roads more worn than those of the Oregon Trail, I can only marvel at the journey by Conestoga wagon.

Along the dusty and straight main road to the Serengeti gate, we saw two pairs of lions mating in the distance. We also got to see the wildebeest migration crossing the road. The line of wildebeests extended to the horizon in either direction, spotted occasionally by some zebras or antelopes. Zebras and wildebeests often live and travel together because the zebras cut down the grass so its easier for the wildebeests to eat, and the wildebeests are better at detecting predators (with their noses – their site is pretty bad). We stopped at the gate for boxed lunch and bathrooms, and to check out the view of the plain from the top of the hill. We then spent the afternoon driving around en route to the campsite, seeing plenty of gazelles and elephants and giraffes, but nothing really new or exciting. At the campsite we set up tent, had dinner, played cards, and chatted with some other travelers around a campfire before bed. Going to the bathroom in the middle of the night was terrifying because of the animal sounds around us, and in retrospect I don’t know how or why I walked all the way to the squat toilet rather than just squatting outside my tent.

Wednesday morning we woke up early for an early morning game drive. We weren’t the first ones out but then everyone in front of us stopped to take pictures of some buffalo, which were old news to us, so we took the lead. We ended up on a muddy road through the plain. I thought I saw the footprints of a big cat on the road, so I think our driver may have been following those. But then we got stuck. Another car came slipping and sliding down the road and we warned them not to continue so they turned around and drove out through the grass. They probably couldn’t have helped us out anyway because they didn’t have any traction themselves. We weren’t completely stuck either. Eventually we followed their lead and drove onto the grass to get out. But then right as we were about to get back on the road, we got stuck in the mud in the grass. So we got out and we tore up some grass to put under the wheels and we pushed and we got nowhere. Eventually another car came with a chain, and they pulled us out. And told us to go see a leopard in a tree. So we went and saw the leopards in the trees and some lions in a tree and finally got back to camp for a late breakfast.

After breakfast we drove to a hippo pool that was much cooler than the one in Manyara, because we were closer and there were more of them and we could look down at them in the pool. So we watched the hippos for a bit and then drove around and saw some gazelles and giraffes but nothing too exciting. In the late afternoon after lunch we drove out to the Maasai Kopjes, searching for lions. No luck of course, though the landscape was very “Lion King” and I had the soundtrack playing in my head the whole time. We also saw some ostriches. We stayed at the same campsite another night. This time there may have been lions in the area at night. Luckily I didn’t have to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

Thursday morning after breakfast and packing up our tents we went on another game drive around the Simba Kopjes en route to the gate. Of course there were no lions hiding out there. Boldwin was getting tired of looking for lions and wanted to see the wildebeest migration. He didn’t seem to remember that we had seen it on our way in and would see it again on the other side of the gate whether we wanted to or not. Finally, on our way to the gate, right off the main road, we found a pride of lions lying in the bushes. Actually, someone else found them, but we found their cars. Eventually the other cars left so our driver decided to drive on the grass a bit to scare the lions. We got the male lion to come out and move from the back on the bushes to the front by the road. Then the driver opened his door and got the lion to jump at us and growl (though remain at a safe distance). Rather than pressing the photo button on my camera when this happened, my reflex was to press the power button. Oh well. Eventually we saw enough of the lions and continued on to the gate for lunch. On the other side of the gate, on our way to Ngorongoro, we saw the wildebeests again, as predicted. At one point, in the boundaries of Ngorongoro, we drove off onto a side road to get a closer look, before continuing on to our campsite on the rim of the crater.

It was cold and rainy on the rim of the crater, though fortunately the rain did not start until after dinner. I wore layers and drank lots of tea. The two other groups there that night had been at the same campsite in Serengeti the night before. After dinner we played Danish Trivial Pursuit with them until I was too tired and cold. My comprehension and pronunciation of the Danish clues was not as bad as I had expected. Luckily only one person actually knew Danish (the Dane who brought the game), so he translated everything.

In the morning we woke up early, had breakfast and packed up, before heading into the crater. Of the three parks I would most recommended Ngorongoro Crater because you see lots of different animals and all of them pretty close. The only animal not in the crater is giraffe, because there are no acacia trees, but they live outside the crater in the conservation area so you can still see them. We saw a lake full of flamingoes, some zebras and wildebeests, and some old male buffalo and lions. Then, near a herd of wildebeests, there were a bunch of cars stopped, and there were two female lions hiding in the bushes, looking for breakfast. Unfortunately for us and the lions, the wildebeests smelled the threat and moved away. But then the lions decided to walk out into the road, right up against the cars, which was incredibly exciting.

Eventually they moved on and so did we. In the middle of a herd of wildebeests and zebras that was blocking the road, we all decided we had to pee. So I squatted behind the car while a zebra watched. After this pit stop we drove on. In the distance we spotted four rhinos and we think a baby rhino, but it was a little too far to be completely sure. Eventually we drove off to the picnic area for lunch. I spotted a water tank so I figured we must be close to the picnic area; I started looking around carefully to see what the amenities might be. Instead of a picnic site I saw an old male lion hiding in the bushes not far from the road. This lion was especially exciting because I found it, not some other car or even someone else in my car. When we stopped to look at it we noticed there was an old female even closer to the road on the other side. So we watched them for a bit but they didn’t do much and then we continued down the hill to the other side of the water tank where the picnic area was. We had to eat in the car so that the eagles didn’t steal our lunch. Then we went back to the lions, who were now on the same side of the road. As we watched they moved right next to each other right by the road and were very cute. So we watched them for awhile and took pictures and my camera which had been acting up all week, saying the batteries were dead when they weren’t, finally gave up. But conveniently those were the last animals we saw. After looking at the lions for a bit we headed out of the crater, out of the park, and back to Moshi in time for dinner.

building a brand

The past week has been spent in an intensive market research and branding seminar with consultants from KIT, the Royal Tropical Institute of the Netherlands. The workshop started slow, with lectures on market research. I found the initial classroom aspects a bit dull; it didn't help that I was suffering from a renewed bout of homesickness. The first afternoon we went to Arusha to interview consumers in supermarkets. Unfortunately due to the holiday many of the supermarkets were closed by the time we got there. Seeking coffee drinkers who spoke English comfortably, I ended up at Africafe where I enjoyed a decent but expensive latte, complete with rosetta, and stared longingly at their majestic La Marzocco GB5. Energized by my latte, I enjoyed the chance to interview coffee drinkers. The major finding of our combined research, in the stores, on the streets, and in the cafe, was that almost all coffee drinkers in Tanzania drink Africafe instant coffee. It's quick and easy and tastes good (I personally disagree with the last point, but apparently it's good for instant at least). This definitely poses a challenge for KNCU because the ground coffee market is just a small section of the small coffee market. But as we learnt in our focus group blind taste test on Tuesday, we have a superior product that both coffee people and Africafe drinkers prefer, and which retailers and institutions are interested in purchasing. The market may be small but there's definitely interest in our product. I think there's a lot of potential for KNCU Gold, rebranded as Union Coffee. The trick will be promoting our product to get people to try it in the first place, and then maybe even convincing them that making coffee from roast and ground beans is almost as quick and easy as instant, and tastes so much better.

The workshop definitely got more interesting by Day 4, when we finally started working on branding, developing a brand key, brainstorming names, exploring the 5 Ps - price, product, placement, promotion, pack, thinking about slogan and promise and logo. After plodding through research and theory, we had finally reached the action portion of our week. Ideas were shared, designs made, things happened. What the follow-up will be is to be determined. We lost about half the workshop participants after the first day, but I think the people who remained throughout the week are pretty dedicated and hard working and have what it takes to see this project through, provided they continue to get enough support from the managers and board of KNCU to make things happen.

In other news, I leave tomorrow on safari to Lake Manyara, Serengeti, and Ngorongoro Crater. I'm off in search of lions and elephants.

coffee talk

Tuesday I headed out of town again to visit Mama Mary Machange, the farmer I had met while visiting primary societies the other week. She lives in Uuwo, a little village just past Mwika, a town notable for all the bananas and mangos being brought there and loaded onto trucks. I was a little anxious because this was my first time traveling outside Moshi on my own, and I didn't know exactly where in Uuwo to find her, but it ended up being very easy. Conveniently I have picked a friend who lives on the main road, which, though not paved, is still passable in the rains. Over coffee, chapati, and farm fresh bananas, I asked her questions about her farm and her life. Although her English is pretty good, especially considering she has no education past primary school, I still struggled to formulate some of my questions in a way that I could get the kind of answer I was looking for, and was often unable to press for a deeper answer. But I also ended up with some answers I wasn't explicitly looking for that were just as valuable. I wanted to learn more about the co-op, and what it means to Mary to be a part of it, so I was trying to ask why she had gone to the meeting with the Dutch lady where I had met her. I didn't get that answer, but she ended up talking about gender, and being a woman in the co-op. In that coop of 867 members, only 52 are women. My guess is that those 52 are all widows like Mary. But Mary noted that the coop used to not listen to the women at all, but now they are. This is true in the courts of Tanzania as well - Mary noted that her husband had had other children, sons, who had wanted the property when he died, but now the magistrates recognize Mary's property rights. I asked her why the coops have started listening to women, and she said it was because of the world decision, that women are like men. That's progress and globalization at its best for you.

The anthropologist in me wants very much to spend more time in Uuwo learning about Mama Machange and her life as a farmer, beyond conversation in the living room and a brief walk around the farm. We will see.

Yesterday I met with Stephen Vick of Sustainable Harvest, a coffee importer that reinvests 2/3 of its profits in non-profits at origin. There seems to be a lot going on in the coffee world in Moshi (and in Tanzania), but it's still small enough that it's all connected. The winner of the Tanzanian National Barista Championship, who works at the Zanzibar Coffee House, was trained and coached by Stephen and later by Kara. No wonder she won... Sustainable Harvest is working on building a barista training and cupping center in Moshi. KNCU is similarly working to improve the quality of coffee and baristas in Moshi. There is a lot happening, even at its slow pace. There is a lot of entrepreneurial spirit and development and economic growth going on; quite a change from the America I left behind.

the snows of kilimanjaro

This morning I awoke to a new view outside my window: fresh snow had fallen on the peaks of Kili during the night.

I haven't been posting much because there hasn't been much to write about. I am no longer bored but I occupy myself with the trappings of daily life - checking email, doing internet research, meetings to discuss various upcoming trainings, long lunch breaks, listening to the rain, drinking coffee and tea, hanging out with my roommate, reading books, and studying swahili. I've spent a lot of time this past week thinking about what's next for me, weighing my options and my desires. Things are starting to fall into place.

This weekend the director of Visions in Action was in town, as well as a short term Visions volunteer through IEEE who is living in Arusha. It was interesting to hear more about this NGO I've become somewhat affiliated with. Over dinner we discussed sustainable volunteering. I am quite certain that by the time I feel comfortable here and understand the system and what's going on and how I can best make a difference, I'll be getting ready to leave. I have the benefit of taking over where Kara left off so a lot has already been figured out and established, but there is no one coming to replace me. But I am also not willing to wait infinitely until the cafe opens, as approval for construction keeps getting pushed further and further back. Maybe I'll just have to come back once the cafe is open and do some barista training. Or maybe I'll have set up a sustainable barista exchange program between Equal Exchange Cafe and KNCU Cafe, to the mutual benefit of both parties. (Anyone know any good grant opportunities?)

cultural comparison

The honey tastes distinctly different here, which, like everything that has been different from what I expected, makes perfect sense.

In my first couple weeks I've spent a lot of time comparing Tanzania to Ghana, or more specifically Moshi to Awutu and Buduburam (and to a lesser extent Accra). A lot of the differences seem obvious in retrospect - Moshi is a growing city, not a small village or a refugee camp. It is also a very clean city. There are waste barrels throughout town and they are very serious about littering. Ignorant muzungus have been hauled off to the police station to pay a fine for dropping their cigarette butts on the street. I hear the term "mzungu," meaning "foreigner, white person," much less than I heard "obruni" in Ghana, which is refreshing. I still get it from time to time, but I have yet to encounter a horde of children running up to me yelling "mzungu mzungu what is your name?" Overall the people seem less demanding and confrontational, but they also haven't been recently traumatized by a civil war and dependent on others as the Liberian refugees were. I've already mentioned the luxury of my house, running water, usually electricity... But I think that is part and parcel of living in the city. I work out of an office. My computer is pretty old and we don't have air conditioning but it's easier for me to get online here than any time I went to Equal Exchange in West Bridgewater. I think I already mentioned the availability of milk and cheese and ice cream, though I will note that the bread upon which to put cheese is not as good as in Ghana. Also I haven't been as deprived of fresh fruit and vegetables as I was in Ghana. Almost every dish from a restaurant here is served with some sort of small cucumber and tomato salad. And I've discovered the delicious and intriguing passionfruit. In terms of water, they do not have the lovely half liter bags, so it's either bottled water or boiling and then cooling and then drinking. Though straight from the tap has been fine for brushing my teeth. I kind of miss the bagged water, and I definitely miss Awutu egg sandwiches. All in all, life in Moshi is much more similar to life in Boston than I expected - more like Boston than like Awutu, that's for sure.

adventures in the shadow of kilimanjaro

From the farm the parchment coffee is brought to a curing facility to be de-husked and graded. For KNCU farmers and many others in the region, this curing center is a massive factory in Moshi town with a capacity of 50,000 tons of coffee. If the factory is working efficiently they are processing 8 tons of coffee/hour. When I was there on Thursday it was mostly empty, as the season is over, but there was still some coffee being delivered and sorted and packaged. The machine sorts the coffee by size and density, which determine the different grades, and then it is hand sorted for defects. It is quite an intensive process, and this account fails to do justice to the immensity of the task and the factory.

On Thursday I also observed the coffee auction. The information about each lot of coffee up for sale (seller, size, grade) is projected on a screen and the bidding is silent and electronic. It was kind of boring and I was only slowly getting a sense of what was going on, but it was pretty interesting.

On Friday I accompanied the KNCU organic guy to three primary societies. He was escorting a Dutch woman from Pharm Access, an organization that is looking in to providing health insurance for the farmers utilizing pre-existing community structures like the co-ops. Although the meetings were repetitive and mostly in Swahili, it was good to get out into the country again. It was interesting to learn what Pharm Access is trying to do, and to think about the role of KNCU as a broker between farmers and other services that have nothing to do with coffee farming. The meetings with the primary societies reminded me a lot of the Peace Cells at Buduburam, except much more positive, which shouldn't be surprising but was uplifting for me to see. The highlight of the day was probably getting the phone number of a woman farmer who spoke some English - my hope is to be able to visit her again, and learn more about farming and not just middle-class urban office life in Tanzania.

Saturday I went on a one day safari at Arusha National Park. I saw giraffes and zebras and warthogs and buffalo and monkeys and butterflies and some other animals. The giraffes were the coolest, and very close up. I got a bit of a sunburn and lots and lots of pictures. Now I just need to find the lions and the elephants.

Down on Kahawa Shamba

And I didn't even have to be a biscuit...

Yesterday I went on a day trip to Kahawa Shamba, an eco-tourism project of KNCU to visit a small coffee farm, along with Kara and a delegation from the African Fair Trade Network (AFN). We went to the village of Urumsumi, about 30 minutes outside of Moshi, up in the foothills of Mt. Kilimanjaro where the weather is much nicer. The Kahawa Shamba project benefits three primary societies that are a part of KNCU (which has a total of 67 primary societies). The project is run by local farm families, who serve as tour guides and cooks, and is a bridge between producers and consumers. They get about 1100 tourist visitors in the high season, primarily with groups. Most of these tourists are already the type interested in fair trade, and like to see the impact as well as the origins of their purchases. Unfortunately there is not a way for them to buy coffee after the tour (something the roasting value-addition project should fix), and the farmers don't know much about fair trade. These primary societies certainly benefit more from the tourism project than from the fair trade premiums.

The coffee tour on the farm takes you step by step through the seed-to-cup process. Unfortunately, since the harvest is over, we were not able to pick the ripe red cherries, so the first part of the process had to be explained to us. We tried running some green cherries through the pulper, but they just get crushed, rather than depulped. The crushed green cherries smell like fresh peas. From the parchment (dried, depulped coffee) stage on, we were able to participate. We removed the husks by mashing the beans in a giant mortar and pestle (more about the de-husking process on another day...), then roasted the green beans in a broken piece of clay pot over an open fire, stirring constantly to get as even a roast as possible. After second crack, we removed the beans from the fire and returned them to the mortar, where we ground them. In the meantime we started boiling water over the fire, then added the ground coffee. And then, after boiling the coffee for a while, we drank it! Seed-to-cup!

It was really cool to be on the farm and talking to farmers, hearing their concerns, realities, and aspirations, and especially interesting to be there with the AFN, since they are interested in how to make fair trade better for the farmers. There has been a lot of talk, on the farm and elsewhere, about value-addition, which is what KNCU's roasting project is, and local labelling. These ideas are all still new to me, but I'm gaining many insights.

Arusha: serving coffee and justice

I'm trying to slow down a bit now, adjust to 'Africa time' and the lethargy that comes from this heat. It's hard for me, especially since I'm so used to running about and keeping busy. I am too new here to even know how to keep busy. I need to accept that boredom is a part of this, and that's okay. In the meantime, for the weekend, there is absolutely nothing I have to do, or should be doing, so I'm forcing myself to relax.

I think I'm going to start taking Swahili lessons next week. It will give me something to do and help me understand the world I'm in, or at least some of what people are saying. I'm still getting a hang of the basic greetings - mostly I spend a lot of time saying "ahsante" - thank you.

On Friday Kara and I went to Arusha. I met Mageche, our cafe manager, and we checked out a couple cafes - one had a beautiful La Marzoco that made me a little homesick. We also stopped in at the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda, located in the Arusha International Convention Center. We were only able to catch the very end of a session, and it took me awhile to understand what was going on, but it was very interesting. I recently saw a film about the reconciliation process within the country, which provided a lot of contrast. The woman on the stand was a witness whose past testimony about the accused, apparently a man she had worked for an respected, was being questioned. It is crazy how people are held accountable to remembering testimony and events that happened over ten years ago. The lawyer we saw interrogating the witness posed many questions as suggestions: "Might I suggest that you said this because..." The witness defended the nuanced differences between her testimonies, and did not agree to the lawyer's suggestions. And then the court was adjourned and the witness was told she could greet the accused. It was all very formal and civil. I hope to go back and observe more of the proceedings.

Yesterday, when poking about my house, I discovered a folder of information about the ICTR. Most interesting was a little illustrated book about testifying for the ICTR. According to the introduction, the cartoon guide was printed in English, French, and Kinyarwanda, the three official language of the court, and was intended to help people understand the purpose of the court and the process of testifying. I'm not quite sure how this book and information were disseminated (I think through local teachers), but knowing the confusions around the Liberian TRC, such a guide definitely seems like a good idea, and was certainly the most accessible thing I've seen.

soaking it all in

I've spent the morning orienting myself to Moshi. Kara showed me around town, I got a sim card for my phone, bought some peanut butter and bread, and had lunch at The Coffee Shop, one of the more popular cafes in Moshi. This morning they brought us a thermos of coffee in the office. It was delicious, and also pretty powerful to think about how close to the source of that coffee I am. I still have yet to see Mount Kilimanjaro itself, as there were clouds in the way this morning.

The house I am living in is quite luxurious, at least compared to where I lived in Awutu, and right on the edge of town. It has electricity and running water! There's an electric kettle to boil my drinking water! I can keep the cheese I bought in the Amsterdam airport in the fridge! I was kind of looking forward to having to take bucket showers, but I guess I'll stay cleaner this way. There's another girl who lives there, a volunteer for Visions In Action, the NGO that owns the house, but she's in Zanzibar for the week. Settling in would be a little easier if there was someone there, because I have to figure out for myself things like turning on the stove and where to put trash, but she'll be back soon and Kara's nearby so I'll be fine for the next few days. There's a guard at night and a "housegirl" who comes by during the day.

I've been reading over the KNCU cafe business plan to familiarize myself with what's going on here. I think we're going to visit a coffee plantation this week. I'll have more to say once I've experienced more, but in the meantime I'm just going to enjoy the verdant landscape and the fresh coffee and the humidity...

I want to dance a tango with chance

I'm sitting at the airport in Amsterdam enjoying a cappuccino while waiting for my flight to Kilimanjaro. Despite the instantaneousness with which it came out of a machine, it's the perfect size and in a ceramic cup and has the comforting taste of Europe and something I might have liked before I knew better. I didn't sleep much during the flight, even though my TV didn't work, but I read a little and listened to lots of music. I feel like I should be more prepared for what I'm about to do, intellectually at least, but at the same time I feel open and ready, for this, for anything.

What I'm doing, in short, is helping the Kilimanjaro Native Cooperative Union, the oldest coffee coop in Africa, open a cafe in Moshi, at the foot of Mount Kilimanjaro. In theory most of what I'll be doing is barista training, though how much of that I"ll actually be able to do is questionable considering renovations of the site haven't started yet. Basically I'll be taking over for Kara, a former barista from Equal Exchange Cafe, who has been in Tanzania working for KNCU since August. I don't really know what she's been doing, so I'll just have to wait and see.

Of course, waiting at the gate makes it all the more real. I'm so much more curious about what brings people on flights to African than on flights to Europe. Who knows what adventures we are all about to embark on. It's exciting as well as terrifying. This is it.

election eve

Tomorrow's the big day. And maybe, by Wednesday, we'll know who the next president of the United States will be. I voted absentee weeks ago, so this is weird. I won't have any first hand experience of the polls, of that energy - and in many places frustration due to long lines - of election day. I plan to listen to a lot of NPR, provided my co-workers don't object, and maybe people will come in to the farmstand wearing "I Voted" stickers. It will be interesting to hear what the customers might have to say.

But this isn't just interesting. This is big. But it's certainly not the end. It may be the end of the political tv watching season, but really, Wednesday is when the real things starts. When we know who the next president is, we can start making plans on how we, the people, are going to bring about the changes we want and need - what is and isn't possible, what strategies to use, what to prioritize. We can't lose our momentum but we need to stay and get organized because despite how big this is, so much of the struggle for a better America is fought and won on the ground. It's the fear of forgetting this, of believing that the president is everything, that has turned me off from the presidential campaign, that has prevented me from jumping on the Obama bandwagon of donating and volunteering. And this coming from someone who, after seeing Obama speak at the Democratic National Convention in 2004, suggested, "Obama for President 2008, anyone?" When I saw Obama in Boston in 2004, he excited me in a way none of the candidates had and I knew he would run for president someday but I never really thought in would be so soon. When I saw him in Iowa after he won the caucus in January and shook his hand, I was still unsure that this day would come. And here it is. If he wins, great, we'll celebrate. But we can't lose our momentum, that doesn't mean the battle is won and that we can stop. It means one door has opened but we've got to keep fighting to open more doors. And if he loses, I know I'll feel angered and frustrated and downtrodden. But that just means we have to try harder, we have to bring about more change from the bottom up. If McCain wins, I'll struggle to understand the meaning of America, the values of this population, the direction of this empire. But (and I say this mostly to my potential future self) we cannot let this beat us. Instead, let whatever the election results are be a starting point, inspiration out of anger and defeat or out of celebration and victory. It may go either way, but as far as I'm concerned, for the rest of us there is only one way to go, and that's forward.

So tomorrow we vote (if we haven't already). I got a phone call from the Northfield DFL the other day, reminding me to vote for all the democratic candidates, Obama, Franken, Sarvi, Bly. Listening to the message I thought to myself, "Well aren't I a good little Democrat, voting down the line like that." But the thing is, I didn't vote for those candidates just because of their party. I've heard each one of them speak, in person, at least once. I've followed Obama's campaign since before it was a campaign. I've talked to Steve Sarvi, donated money, time, even use of my car to his campaign. I didn't blindly vote along party lines - I voted for the candidates I liked best, because of who they were and who they weren't. And tomorrow I'll see if they win.

My Democratic Party

Yesterday's West Virginia primary raises some important questions about race, politics, and the future of the Democratic Party (and subsequently the United States).

I have too much respect for Hillary and many of her supporters and recognize that she has received much undeserved criticism and flak because she is a woman to join the cries for her to drop out. While I think the amount of money put into primary campaigning is somewhat absurd, and I am getting impatient with this drawn out process, that the voters of every state are getting a chance to weigh in is, I believe, a good thing. In November I will enthusiastically vote for whomever the Democratic Party nominee is. However, if at this point Hillary manages to win the nomination for the racial reasons that the press suggests she may likely have won West Virginia, I will be somewhat troubled by the make-up and direction of the Democratic Party.

In the New York Times's coverage of the West Virginia primary, they mentioned that race was "an unusually salient factor." And while a West Virginia victory isn't particularly significant, Obama's loss might raise questions about his appeal to some traditional Democratic voting blocks, such as white workers, the Times contended. My question is, should we care?

I'm reminded of the Democratic Party's desire, in the 1960s, to pander to the Dixiecrats so as to maintain their support. The party was so afraid to lose Southern white Democrats that it accepted the disenfranchisement of black voters! I am in no way suggesting that Hillary supporters or even Hillary supporters in West Virginia are racist whites--and in fact I think that much of this perceived polarization around race but not gender in the primary has been created by the media--but some of them certainly are (even if in no way resembling the infamously violent, racist Mississippi whites of the 1960s). The New York Times clearly suggested that voters who considered race voted for Hillary. Also according to the Times, 1/2 the Democratic voters in WV think that Obama shares Rev. Wright's opinions (I am too outraged over the fiasco around Rev. Wright and the fact that people feel Obama ought to dissociate himself from the pastor to write eloquently on that matter). The Democratic Party cannot afford to listen to racist white voters--in my opinion it is more desirable to alienate such people from the party than to allow them to sway the direction the party is heading. If you don't want to vote for Obama because he's black, if you don't want to vote for Hillary because she's a woman, get out of my party. (If you don't want to vote for Obama because of Rev. Wright, I would also like to ask you to leave.)

so much for "humanizing refugees"

And the future of refugees at Buduburam is even more uncertain...

A few months ago the women of Buduburam went on strike. (Not all of them, certainly, but a significant amount to disrupt life on camp.) Somehow the UNHCR had agreed to extend voluntary repatriation one year and increase the cash attachment to $100 from $5. But these women, these mothers, wanted more—and who wouldn't want more, who wouldn't want to provide the best, ensure the safest future for one's children. Thus they took to the football field with demands for either resettlement or $1000 for repatriation.

A few weeks ago, Ghanaian police came into the camp and arrested hundreds of women and brought them to an undisclosed location. A few days later they came in and arrested some men as well. The UNHCR negotiated the return of many of the arrested refugees to camp, but some were deported back to Liberia without due process.

If this had to happen, I'm glad that it happened while I was in Canada, visiting my fellow volunteers, because it forced the issue to resonate with me, it forced me to care more, it made it so that I couldn't hide from the terrible reality of what has happened.

It's a clash, no, a convergence, of my recent academic studies of protest and (especially) mothering and my experience in Buduburam.

Of course, it's hard to get the facts straight about what happened. It was hard when I was there, and it's even farther from afar. The international news sources, the American news sources, they don't give a damn. While I wouldn't want what's recently happened at Buduburam to be blown out of proportion, the fact that there's not a single mention in even a tiny little hidden corner of the New York Times upsets me. Because this absence makes me realize just how much bad stuff happens all over the world that we would never, could never, know about, even if we tried.

There's a difference between the facts I read on the petition and those cited in the PCO report I was recently emailed. But the truth doesn't depend upon the facts and the details. In both accounts, peaceful protesters (and even non-protesters?) were arrested, and some were even deported despite their legal refugee status.

Liberian/Ghanaian relations around camp are, I would guess, at an all time low. The protesting women said they didn't want to be integrated into Ghanaian society, and I can understand why. They want to preserve their culture and identity, and if they can't they want to give their children what they believe is the best possible opportunity for them.

So chaos may not reign. Life may go back to normal. But according to the PCO report, the camp will close in 2009. Who knows what will happen to the Liberians who remain in Ghana, but it doesn't look good. Regardless, I admire the women of Buduburam, who took action—disruptive action—on an issue that intimately effected them. Their demands may be impossible and unreasonable, but their agency is admirable.

I realize the lack of explanation in this post of the events that recently transpired on camp. But from this distance I feel inadequately prepared to cover them. I can write about what I experienced and discovered when I was there. But for account of what has happened regarding the protests and arrests and deportations, I suggest you read the petition, and I hope you sign it. Its demands are mild but important. This situation must be resolved, and the UNHCR needs to do a better job mediating and meeting needs. In order to effectively resolve the situation (immediately and in the long run), the voices of these women must be heard. Their concerns, needs, and demands must be a part of any proposed solution if it is to work.

a long way gone

I just finishined reading a long way gone: Memoirs of a Boy Soldier by Ishmael Beah. Beah is from Sierra Leone. I picked it up as a reminder of the emotional reality while writing my article for The Lens, to ensure that I didn't get too tied up in dry politics and facts. The memoir is certainly more heart-wrenching than my article ever could be - it represents an extreme I was not willing or able to write about.

Beah ends the book with a story/riddle he remembers being told frequently as a child. A hunter goes into the woods and is about to kill a monkey when the monkey turns to him and says, if you kill me your mother will die, if you don't kill me your father will die. The children, listening to this story in the presence of both their parents, are asked, what would you do? The children would never answer, but Beah tells us what he never told anyone as a child:

When I was seven I had an answer to this question that made sense to me. I never discussed it with anyone, though, for fear of how my mother would feel. I concluded to myself that if I were the hunter, I would shoot the monkey so that it would no longer have the chance to put other hunters in the same predicament.

The end. I cry. Best book ending ever. What a miserable world we live in.

He's right, of course, as far as I can tell. Beah's willing to take one for the team, but on another level its much bigger than all that. Although it's doubtful that anyone will ever come across a monkey that puts them in that predicament, this folktale accurately depicts the essence of the world. Beah joined the army for food, for security. And he's still probably paying the price of surviving. From a more anthropological perspective, I think it's significant that to kill the monkey is to kill the mother. Removing the monkey from existence removes the source of moral dilemma, of suffering; but to do so also removes the source of life. No more monkey, no more mother. No more mother, no more birth. The end of war, the end of hate, the end of violence - the end of the world. And anyway, who's to say that there won't be anymore monkeys like that?

We who believe in freedom cannot rest

So said Ella Baker. So sang Sweet Honey in the Rock.

But then, we can never rest.

Until the killing of black men, black mothers' sons
Is as important as the killing of white men, white mothers' sons

Even if this day ever came, we still couldn't rest. Because someone, somewhere (actually, many people, many places) will always be denied freedom and justice. For every good deed done by one person, an evil deed is done by another. We may be striving, above all, for balance, so that the bad cannot outweigh the good. But in the end, we must conclude that the badness, the evil, the cruelty, they persist, and always will account for at least as much of the world as goodness and kindness and generosity. Love and hate are intrinsically connected. Self-preservation drives both the oppressor and the liberator.

And yet...we go on. We can acknowledge that evil (though I hesitate to use that word given its Christian connotations) will continue to exist no matter how hard we try to fight it, while still refusing to let it win. The problem comes when we recognize that our fight creates new evil as it destroys old evil. But if we give up, what's the point of anything. I think Phil Ochs said it best:

Can't live proud enough to die when I'm gone
So I guess I'll have to do it while I'm here

"[Ariel] educated the refugees on important issues"

Last week I was interviewed by someone from the Carletonian who was writing an article on fellowships. While I appreciated the opportunity to talk about my experience, I have issues with this one sentence published in the article. To start off with, "important issues"? Did the Carletonian actually publish such imprecise language? I expect more from the writing of Carleton students.

But beyond finding the language choice to be extremely poor, I find the statement to be false. Certainly, my friends who worked at the mothers' center and the school, at the very least, taught the refugees "important stuff." I, on the other hand, wasn't there to teach or educate. I was only there to learn. If I tried to educate anyone on important issues, it was the Ghana Refugee Board and the UNHCR, not the refugees. The refugees were the ones who educated ME on important issues, not the other way around, despite what the Carletonian may say.

Despite my criticisms of the article, I did appreciate my one direct quote published:
"There were amazing moments, and at times, it was miserable. It was trying, both emotionally and physically, but it was all incredibly rewarding. All of it."

remember me

The distance, in space, in time, feels greater than it is. And yet, my watch is still on Ghana time, 4 hours fast, and I no longer have the excuse that keeping it that way will help me remember to take my malaria pills. But why bother changing it anyway? I bought the watch in Ghana; let it remain Ghanaian at least a while longer. That way I can never forget.

Before we left, many people asked me, and all the other departing volunteers, not to forget them. As if that were possible. But I started to think that maybe “forget,” like every other word, means something different to them than it does to us. To me, “forget” means “to not remember, to no longer have memory of.” But for them, I think, “forget” means “to not think on or about.” The “correct” discourse these days on reconciliation is that you cannot forgive and forget, you must forgive but remember, but that’s based on a particular western connotation of “forget.” For Africa, though, maybe it is possible to forgive and forget, to forgive and not dwell on. The past must certainly be remembered: the good things embraced and passed on, the bad things learned from. But little good can be done by dwelling on the particulars of who committed what atrocity against whom. Of course, that is largely what the Truth and Reconciliation Commission aims to do, for heaven forbid the Liberians forgive and forget. Discourse is everything — meaning, nothing. But the TRC has its place and time will tell what good it can do for Liberia – but before it can really do anything it needs to do a better job informing the people of what it is and what it’s doing and why and how that matters. Because there are perpetrators who want to apologize and be forgiven, and there are victims who want to be apologized to so that they can forgive but right now that’s not really happening in any ordered manner.

Enough about what others forget or remember. What do I do, now that I have left? How do I remember? And how can I let the Liberians know that I remember – and not just that I have memories of them stored away inside me, but that I think about them? I have plenty of email addresses (and plenty of them have mine) but there are challenges to keeping in touch. Any maintained relationship, if it’s kept up for more than a couple weeks (which I find doubtful, based partly on my own inability to expediently respond to emails), will undoubtedly become more than I was looking for, with confessions of love and requests for financial support in times of trouble. I can’t continue to deal with the BS that was driving me crazy after 6 weeks. And yet I can’t just leave them there. I can escape, I can forget. I can act like my time in Africa was just a little trip into other people’s lives, and I can just leave with my pictures and memories, as though the people I met and talked to and befriended and cared about were no different from elephants I might have seen had I traveled to northern Ghana. (So much for “Humanizing Refugees.”) I can’t just take what I want from Africa, the lessons, the friends, the experiences, the burdens, without giving back in return. When I was there, I gave, or at least I tried. But even now I’m still benefiting from Africa, yet who knows if Africa is still benefiting from me? (It should be. I told Meredith to finish up my unfinished business. But what about the people, what about the relationships? Those are mine and mine alone, and who am I to desert them?) I’m morally confused right now, because I don’t know that love is any better than hate for this world, but it still seems that to do something is better than to do nothing (though better is a misleading word). It may be for good, it may be for bad, in all likelihood it will be a combination of both – but I cannot disconnect.

Onward and upward, onward and upward
More adventures await, if you (and I) know where to look

phase II and the beginning of the end

In response to tension and confusion on camp regarding the end of voluntary repatriation and the role of the UNHCR on camp, at the advice of the international volunteers, PCO changed the Peace Cell discussion topic for the first half of July from economic growth to the future of refugees at Buduburam. To avoid any accusations of getting political, we informed the UNHCR and the Ghana Refugee Board of what we were doing, and intentionally avoided any mention of either body in our new questions. The questions we asked were, 1) What are your feelings regarding repatriation?, 2) What challenges do you expect to encounter in integrating into the Ghanaian community?, and 3) What can the community do to assist each other at this transitional time? For the first question, discussion focused on the traumas experienced in Liberia, the ongoing problems there, and the desire for resettlement. Most refugees, it seems, despite the fact that they have, formally or informally, learned a great deal in Ghana, claim they want to be resettled in a third, Western, country, if only for a few years, so they can learn a skill they can use to help rebuild Liberia. The second question revealed the degree of tension between Liberians and Ghanaians, much of which is normally not discussed. But there was one Liberian boy murdered a few years ago between camp and the nearby village where I live, and his death is now used as an example as how unfriendly and unwelcoming Ghanaians can be. Interestingly, the attitude of Liberians in Zone 12, who rent their homes from Ghanaians and who have Ghanaian neighbors, is much more positive towards integration - they have a much better opinion of Ghanaians in general, and accept that they must change some to integrate, but that it is certainly a viable option. While questions 1 and 2 were written as ways for PCO to collect information on the opinions of the refugees on camp, question 3 was primarily for the sake of the community members themselves, to think about what they could be doing for themselves, for each other. Unfortunately, a lot of the answers were about what the UNHCR, what the white volunteers, what the western world, et cetera should do for them. As volunteers we started to get defensive, and after hearing meeting after meeting of the same answers we were getting quite tired of our topic. We finally finished meeting with every zone last Wednesday, and have moved on to economic growth. Now, however, we are summarizing the meeting minutes and on Wednesday Kyle, another volunteer, and I will be going into Accra, finding an air-conditioned coffeeshop, and writing a report for the UNHCR and the Ghana Refugee Board tellin them, this is what people on the ground think. Whether the information will be of any use to them, whether they will take it into consideration, who knows? But at least we are doing our part to get their voices heard. Early next week, Tuesday I think, we're trying to get an appointment with the UNHCR and the Ghana Refugee Board to present our report. Wednesday evening I board a plane and head back across the pond.

perspective

I never before thought that helping a friend deal with a broken heart could make me feel so good. But today for me it signified business as usual, trauma I have at least some experience dealing with. It was a moment of humanity, universal humanity, a moment that has put the past week in much needed persective.

Thursday afternoon I was confronted with a confession of horrific crimes and was shown things I would never have believed possible. I've been grappling with the things I saw and heard ever since, because, not to sound melodramatic, I can never look at the world the same way again. Today I realized that for better or worse, human pain and love are much the same, whoever you are, wherever you are, whatever you've done. It may very well be impossible to take away a person's humanity. Perhaps temporarily, but not in the long run. Even a refugee, even an ex-combatant, even an international volunteer - we are all, and always will be, human. But at the same time, we must humanize ourselves, the only person you can truly, ultimately depend upon is yourself.

Maybe this doesn't make any sense because it is certainly vague. But what I've learned, among other things, is that trauma is relative: pretty much everyone here has experienced significant trauma, and yet they experience love and hate, empowerment and frustration, much as anyone else. A broken heart is a broken heart, whether it belongs to a spoiled and protected white person in America or a traumatized black person in Africa. And what that also means is that even when the world is falling apart, when people are starving and sick with malaria and trying to succeed with business and deal with their traumatized pasts and afraid to sleep in their own homes and every other problem you can imagine, people still fall in love, people still get worked up emotionally about boyfriends and girlfriends, there's even space in the mind to think about stupid little crushes. Even in the most extreme of conditions, some things in life go on as normal. And that, that is comforting.

debt repaid

This weekend I returned to Kokrobite, where I spent my first weekend in Ghana. I wasn't too excited about going back because I associate it with feelings of culture shock and confusion and not knowing what my place was in all this. However, pretty much all the PCO volunteers were going there this weekend to have a final goodbye party for some of the volunteers and I didn't get a chance to make more ambitious plans because Thursday afternoon I ended up caught in the most heart-wrenching, gut-churning conversation of my life.

It was good, and necessary, to get away. I enjoyed relaxing on the beach and just hanging out and talking with my friends. They sell a lot of good tourist knick-knacks and clothing and I didn't end up buying as much as I had hoped to but I found some nice stuff and I enjoyed looking at everything. I didn't go swimming but I lay on the beach for a while, reading and writing. Kokrobite is a strange place, filled with rastas and white volunteers who are escaping for a weekend. I feel kind of guilty being there, because it's such an escapist kind of place, such a backpackers' beach resort haven, but at the same time, we don't escape, we mostly talked about camp and Liberians and volunteering and all the issues we deal with on a daily basis but don't really have time to talk about. Guy, a former PCO volunteer now anthropologist, is always interesting to talk to because he knows quite a lot about camp and yet is always learning things from us as well.

What made this weekend excursion feel complete for me was this:
We were walking back to our hotel in the dark with our flashlights. On the path a man stopped us and asked if I could shine my light on my foot. It appeared he had cut his toe on a rock while walking. I still had my purse with me then, and in it Band-Aids. So I shone my light on him and gave him some band-aids. Last time I was at Kokrobite, I cut my foot and some boys helped me. This time, I had an opportunity to do the same for others. I was, for once, able to return a favor, and help someone out in a simple, yet meaningful, way.