tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36766132240390857692024-02-08T11:24:02.473-08:00Out of AfricaRebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12041303576069773507noreply@blogger.comBlogger36125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3676613224039085769.post-21914911559881446532008-09-18T20:46:00.000-07:002008-09-18T21:44:48.975-07:00The Return of Tracy Chapman.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">The process of applying for provincial and federal grants has begun. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">I was shocked into one of the realities of academic research last Friday morning: in order to research, you need money, and to get money, you need to write convincing and exciting grant proposals. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">For the majority of the people in my program, it appears that this is not a new or intimidating prospect. They are simply copying and pasting from a variety of undergraduate thesis and grant proposals, or have already received these prestigious allocations, and do not need to bother with it this year. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">For the rest of us, this now requires a scramble to quickly review the relevant literature in our field, produce a 'cogent research question' to investigate, and then devise a plan to actually gather the data. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">For the past six months, I have been planning on investigating the experiences of gender-based violence in the Aboriginal community. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">Ever since returning from Iqaluit, I have been unable to forget the way that domestic violence was visible in the community. Working at PPSC I used to read through the files during my spare time, pulling out anything coded with domestic or child abuse. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">For the past week I have been wading through my memories of being in Iqaluit and Malawi, and engaging with survivors of gender-based violence. Two different continents, languages, cultures, skin colours, and communities. Same problem. All of this brought me to this Masters program, to the opportunity to contribute to the existing knowledge and research on this issue. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"> Somewhere years ago, I tapped into the violence and pain that is experienced by people just like me. People who could have easily been me. It has now taken me half-way around the world, and to remote places in my own country. It drives my academic pursuits and volunteer activities. It makes up my leisure reading. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">And now I have to find a way to translate this passion and interest into a scholarly thesis. It feels emotional. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">Tonight I attended a 'Take Back the Night' ceremony in downtown St. Catharine's. Take Back the Night is held in communities around the world and offers people a chance to speak out against violence against women, as represented by many women's inability to walk safely at night. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">One woman was holding a sign which read </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">"Women have the right to walk at night"</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">Say that a few times. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">Hear the emphasis on </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">right</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">Think about what the sign is saying. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">How can a person in Canada in 2008, one of the countries looked to throughout the world as a symbol of democracy, freedom, and model human rights, have to assert her right to WALK at a certain time of day. I looked at that sign for a long time. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">It really struck a chord. How many times have I tried to explain what it feels like to walk alone at night? How many times have I tried to articulate my own sense of vulnerability, my own fear? </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">It was a good idea to go to the event tonight. Even if my study is not about women walking alone at night, or even about the experiences of Aboriginal people by the time this is all said and done, it is an important issue. And for whatever reason, it is my issue. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">So tonight was the night to bring back Tracy Chapman. If you ever listen to her lyrics, you will hear that she sings about equality, rights, minorities, oppression, fear, sadness, women, men, humanity. They are good songs. </span> </div><div><br /></div>Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12041303576069773507noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3676613224039085769.post-83231321943113194552008-09-11T15:15:00.000-07:002008-09-11T15:33:17.958-07:00Research?<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">It feels like today is a good day to write. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">I read a very interesting article for my methods class yesterday. It introduces the model of </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">autoethnography</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">. In many ways, the term is not really definable. At its core lies the idea that the researcher themselves is able to offer learning and insight through exploring their own experiences. Through analyzing their emotions, memories, feeling, and thoughts on an experience, they can offer understanding to one experience as part of a greater whole. Autoethnographies can take the form of poetry, monologues, plays, or personal narrative to name a few forms. I was extremely excited and engaged by this article. To think that telling ones story is viewed by a small number of academics to be a truly valid and important way of doing research totally shakes my world. I was also drawn to the therapeutic aspect of autoethnography. The scholar presenting her argument made no attempt to rationalize or justify the secondary benefit to sorting out ones emotions through autoethnography. She instead celebrated it. I think this idea especially spoke to me because of how passionately I feel about my research topic. Many of the more traditional social science research methods seem to curb that passion, or moderate it in order to produce the 'distanced and objective researcher'. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">While reading this article, I immediately began to think about my experiences living in Malawi. I have been struggling for the past year trying to figure out how to best capture all of my thoughts and memories about this altering period in my life. I have wanted to write, but have not been sure how. The idea of writing articles for a newspaper or magazine does not appeal to me. I do not write poetry or music. I have wanted to write, but I want my writing to have a purpose. Autoethnography appeals to me. I think that the material gathered from living and working in Malawi would be very well suited to this method of research. Not only is the experience deeply emotional, personally challenging, and I believe, an engaging story. But I also feel that my experiences are deeply rooted in a sociocultural political context. Many of the overriding lessons and conclusions that I have drawn from my experiences are related to development and colonial theory, the discourse of intercultural communication, and the place of a white woman working in development. I would love for any writing I produce to help me further uncover these themes in my experiences. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">Perhaps there will be a point to this past year after all. A synthesis of sorts. </span></div><div><br /></div>Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12041303576069773507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3676613224039085769.post-68965157189157173312008-01-24T02:53:00.002-08:002008-01-24T02:54:12.230-08:00Love My Job?This seems like a completely normal statement for most North Americans in the working world. And I have found this to be one of the biggest differences between work culture in North America versus Malawi. I have grown up with the understanding that I should explore a variety of fields of study, and try out different professions, until I find my true passion. It is a reasonable approach in university to base your major on whatever excites and interests you most, and to change that major when the interest wanes. Like many recently graduated individuals, I am on the hunt for that perfect job. One that makes me excited to get up to go to work and that makes me feel engaged on a daily basis. Perhaps it is because the financial reality of life has not yet set in, but I feel entitled to take the time to find that job, before turning to something less satisfying in order to pay the bills. In Canada, it is a perfectly normal to ask someone if they enjoy their job, how they came to it, and what they get out of it. <br />From what I can tell, none of the above assumptions apply in Malawi.<br />I ask people if they like their jobs, and most look at me like I am crazy. The response is usually ‘sure, I like my job’. The reality is that for those Malawians who do have jobs, it doesn’t matter whether they like them or not. They are in it for the money. They have not grown up cultivating the idea that they are entitled to a job that they love, and that they should hold out until they find it. In most contexts, work has an entirely different meaning. <br />This question about feeling passionate about your work has been coming up a lot in my office. As my organization is in the process of restructuring and re-strategizing for next year, there have been many many long (very long) meetings about the work that is done at CAYO and how people feel about it. <br />This past week, my director led a discussion about what would make people more excited about coming to work. The staff were very divided about the motivations that they have for coming to work. For some it is clear that they love working with youth, and for others, money was the primary reason for working. Nothing wrong with that, they are simply differences in opinion. <br />For me, I am extremely passionate about working with youth and on the issue of gender-based violence, so it is hard for me to understand other reasons why people would choose to work in this field other than genuine interest in the issues. These interests are what got me on that plane. So it has been an extremely humbling experience to realize that my belief in the necessity of loving your job is a very privileged one. To come from a world where learning and exploration to uncover what excites each person is encouraged and supported is rare. And should be appreciated.Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12041303576069773507noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3676613224039085769.post-59140973026721511942008-01-24T02:53:00.001-08:002008-01-24T02:53:27.787-08:00A Different Standard.Last week one of my Malawian friends paid me the greatest compliment (according to a Malawian woman) – she told me that I “was getting round”. Also known as putting some extra padding around the hips ;)<br /><br />My mouth literally dropped open and a shocked look spread over my face. But before getting upset I remembered to “unpack the situation” as I learned in my course on Inter-cultural effectiveness, and try to understand why she would have said that.<br /><br />I explained to her that in Canada, that is probably one of the most insulting things you could say to a woman. She was extremely apologetic and tried to explain that in Malawi – this was a huge compliment. She was trying to tell me that she thought I was looking great. In Malawi (and many other East African countries) the ideal shape of the female body is round and padded, with a very large bum. She explained that a woman gaining weight signifies to others that she is doing well financially and can afford enough food, and that she is healthy. She said that if you saw a woman losing weight, or looking thin, you would assume that she is very poor or sick. My friend said flat out that a person who is losing weight probably has AIDS. Because people don’t try to lose weight in this country. <br /><br />It is so interesting to see how different cultures view and construct beauty. As someone who has grown up in North America, it is almost impossible for me to understand why a woman would want to be ‘fat’. Where I come from, woman and men have eating disorders, people undergo invasive and dangerous procedures to alter their body, and those who model our fashions are overwhelmingly clinically underweight. In contrast, in Malawi women are injecting fat into their hips and bum in order to make it bigger (at least those who can afford it).<br />I am not suggesting that that is a healthier option – just simply driving home that point that standards of beauty are completely constructed in the culture that we live in. And that there are crazies all over the world who go overboard in their attempt to reach that standard. <br /><br />I find it so interesting that a comment that would send most North American women up in arms actually comforts and compliments Malawian women. I guess the question to ask now is what being thin represents in North American culture?Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12041303576069773507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3676613224039085769.post-74312501870983821922008-01-24T02:51:00.001-08:002008-01-24T02:51:39.365-08:00Confrontation.I find that I shy away from most confrontational debates about issues directly affecting CAYO’s policies and daily functioning. It is a combination of not having the interest or the energy in engaging in the debate. <br />These are the three possible reasons I see for not engaging in the discussion:\<br />I simply do not have a confrontational personality (partially true, but also a bit of a cop-out at the same time)<br />I do not feel personally invested in the organization to want to give input on the decisions being made<br />I do not feel like I have the right to steer a decision in one direction when I am not the person who has to live with that decision in the future (since I am leaving soon). And that as a foreigner I almost do not have a right to an opinion.<br /><br /> This internal confusion brings me back to the old question about how much I can and should be saying/doing as a Canadian intern in a Malawian organization. <br />On the one hand, I most definitely care about the direction that CAYO will take and want to help them shape a positive plan for the future. But I am always hesitant to overstep the invisible boundary that I feel between what is acceptable for the foreigner to comment on and what is off bounds. Another thing to look as also is the process of how an intern from a different country comes to be invested in the organization they are working for. The issues of time and cultural differences clearly play a part in creating obstacles for that investment to take hold. But I also think that there has to be a conscious effort made to help integrate the intern in the decision making processes, while giving them permission to take positions on the various issues at hand. <br />I am very lucky to have been given a lot of input into strategic changes that are currently taking place at CAYO. But am still unclear about how to reconcile those three issues competing to direct how much input I give and how to give it.Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12041303576069773507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3676613224039085769.post-67567254000945782902008-01-24T02:49:00.000-08:002008-01-24T02:50:33.596-08:00Vacation.The biggest highlight of the past few months was my vacation to Kenya. One of my friend’s from McGill grew up there and her parents still live there. They graciously took me in on their family vacation. Nairobi is like another world compared to Lilongwe. I didn’t feel like I was in a developing country that often. Nairobi is large and very metropolitan. There are condominiums popping up on every block, in contrast to the very few number of buildings in Lilongwe that are more than two stories. The city is almost fully paved with street lights. I went to a wide variety of excellent restaurants, better than I have had in Canada. There are ‘real’ shopping malls and coffee shops with wireless internet. Fantastic. Best part was the movie theatre! When buying your tickets, you also get reserved seats. Highly organized. Unfortunately, there was not a lot of choice, and my weakenss for romantic comedies steered me wrong when I chose “enchanted”. A disney movie come to life. Complete with singing animals. Not good. Christine needed popcorn and chocolate simply to stay with it. <br /><br />We spent Christmas in Nairobi and then went to an island off the coast for New Year. The island is called Lamu and it is fascinating. It developed into a trading centre many centuries ago as it is right on the Indian Ocean. There is a very large Arabic influence on the island and it is expressed through the most incredible architecture. The majority of people are Muslim and the women wear burkas when leaving the house. There are no cars on the island and donkey is the main mode of transport. Swahili language and culture began on the coast and then moved inwards on the continent. Therefore, many people argue that Lamu is that last place where Swahili is spoken in its true form.<br /><br />We flew into a small airport made out of grass and bamboo (I am not kidding – the waiting room has a thatched roof), and then took a boat to Lamu. We stayed in Lamu town which is a small, bustling town with many narrow winding lanes and streets. Each day we took a boat over to the other side of the island to go to the beach. For someone who has not taken many ‘hot vacations’ - this was an incredible treat. The beach is white and the water is turquoise. There are gorgeous sand dunes covering the length of the beach and the water is so warm. One afternoon, we hired a dhow, a traditional Swahili sailboat, to take us snorkelling. The dhow is made entirely of wood. Aside from the anchor, there is no metal or plastic aboard. Once I became comfortable with the extreme heeling in the wind, the sail was great! The dhow was captained by two Kenyans who were extremely entertaining. We sailed over to another island and did some snorkelling over a small coral reef. Good, although I had to fight feelings of claustrophobia with that mask on!<br /><br />I extended my stay three times (much to the chagrin of my hosts ;) ) The last time was to network with some NGOs in Nairobi working on gender-based violence and youth issues. It was great to hear what other, more developed, organizations are doing in these fields. It quickly became clear how far ahead of the game Kenya is on addressing human rights issues like gender-based violence. <br />So instead of returning on the 2nd as planned, I came back to Malawi on the 10th. All in all, an excellent three and a half week vacation. I am sure you are all wondering about the political situation in Kenya. I was always safe, so that was never a problem thankfully. We returned from Lamu right after the first of the violence. Nairobi was a ghost town; with groups of riot police walking the streets (they strongly resembled purple teenage mutant ninja turtles). We were under self-imposed house arrest for about four days. Christine and I were extremely antsy after four days of watching the L Word (fantastic show by the way) – that we volunteered to do the three store family shopping just to get out of the house. One of the most interesting aspects of the situation was the disparity between the headlines my parents were reading in North America versus what was actually happening in the country. Considering the newspapers internationally were announcing “memories of Rwanda” and “tribal warfare”, I give my parents credit for remaining so calm. From everyone that I spoke to, the general consensus was disappointment that after a peaceful election last time, things have turned to violence.Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12041303576069773507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3676613224039085769.post-43838139176436276752008-01-24T02:44:00.000-08:002008-01-24T02:49:20.181-08:00Apologies All Around.I apologize. I haven’t written anything in over a month. <br /><br />No excuse. I got lazy. Blogging is a tiring business.<br /><br />As a peace offering, here are few new posts :)Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12041303576069773507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3676613224039085769.post-50244386723759183852007-12-16T22:16:00.000-08:002007-12-16T22:17:04.972-08:00Contributions.The staff at my NGO use an interesting technique to gather financial donations. <br />We were having our weekly meeting last week and one of the staff brought up a new program idea he had for Christmas baskets for those living with HIV/AIDS. It is a great idea: the basket contains the basic health necessities (soap, bed net, condoms, latex gloves, water purifier, etc.) and a food supplement that should last between two weeks to a month. The goal is to distribute ten baskets at $24USD per basket. Everyone agreed that it was an excellent idea and that my co-worker should go ahead with the plan. In Canada, this would be the point where the director asked his staff to begin soliciting donations or devise a fundraising scheme. Instead, my director turned to all of us. He basically went around the circle asking each person what they were going to ‘contribute’ and would stare until the person offered something. I found this whole exchange extremely uncomfortable. I am not sure if this is the Malawian way in general to raise money, or if this is the way it happens specifically in my organization, but I find it both uncomfortable and ineffective. Not only does it financially tax people who might not be in a position to contribute, but it is also SO AWKWARD. I find it much more sensitive and discreet to present the idea and then ask people to approach you privately to commit donations. This is not the first time this has happened. It seems to be a pattern where when CAYO needs to raise small funds, we all sit uncomfortably until one of the staff agrees to give some money. I always find it uncomfortable, which is compounded by the feeling I get that my co-workers are waiting for me to offer up the money. There have already been numerous comments to the effect that they are hoping that I will convey to my friends and family the needs of the community here. I understand that to most Malawians I represent endless wealth, and compared to most of their incomes, my intern’s stipend far surpasses theirs. I try to contribute to the economy and NGOs in any way that I can. I do however, resent being bullied into donating money that I do not necessarily feel confident in giving. Every time you give money to an NGO, you have to ask where that money is going and how it is being used; it is unfortunately the reality around here (and elsewhere in the world). I bought a basket. I am glad that it will help the person who receives. But there has to be a less awkward and more reputable way of donating – which does not involve passive aggressive bullying!Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12041303576069773507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3676613224039085769.post-14122243022764816482007-12-16T22:12:00.000-08:002007-12-16T22:16:29.799-08:00The Most Productive Day Ever!Last week did not begin well. The past few weeks have been very overwhelming, both emotionally and mentally. Work has also been moving slowly and it has been frustrating trying to stay positive in the face of many challenges. <br />But on Wednesday I had a breakthrough!!! The community audit officially began.<br />On Wednesday I trained two of my colleagues to be research assistants for the audit. We did a short training covering interviewing and data recording techniques, as well as a basic introduction to gender-based violence and active listening. I decided to approach this audit with two goals: the first to obtain the most accurate information possible, and the second to do this in a way that is supportive to the participant. I could not imagine asking extremely personal questions without accounting for the emotional and mental ramifications of the exchange. My colleagues completely understood this, and quickly got on board with the concepts of ‘survivor’ instead of ‘victim,’ and non-directionality. One woman, Linly, is the librarian for CAYO and up to this week, I had not interacted with her that much. She is very quiet, and I stupidly took that to mean that she did not have a lot to say. She has been especially committed to the study and you can see her excitement when we discuss the ideas of gender-based violence. On Friday she went out in the pouring rain (voluntarily) to hunt down some teen mothers to interview. On Thursday the first interviews were conducted. I did one with a juvenile justice officer on his experiences with gender-based violence in the courts. He explained that women do come forward to report violence, but since the courts are so understaffed, the case often goes nowhere. And this then discourages other people from reporting. He also told me that the majority of cases are punished by a fine to the perpetrator, but again, due to staffing gaps, the fine is rarely enforced. <br />The second interview of the day was the first participant interview with a teen mother. Linly conducted it as well and it went so well. The on Friday, Linley did two more teen mother interviews (reaching our quota of three for that district). I also met with a group of commercial sex-workers and three agreed to do individual interviews starting on Monday. The women were fantastic – laughing and joking all the time. They were warm and only laughed at me a few times J<br />It feels incredible to see all of the planning and preparation of the past two a half months finally come into fruition. There is still a long way to go (69 more individual questionnaires to go), but it is at least a start. And now there is finally something to put in my mid-term report for CIDA this week!Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12041303576069773507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3676613224039085769.post-22099837749962751662007-12-16T22:10:00.000-08:002007-12-16T22:11:27.688-08:00Clubbing The Malawian Way.On Friday night my friend’s co-workers took us out. This is a fellow Canadian who I met during my pre-departure training in Canada. She works with a much larger NGO here in Lilongwe. <br />Her co-worker came to pick me up at home and we started at a British-style pub. We had some drinks and played a little pool. Most of the music was from the 80s and 90s, which thanks to my mother’s enjoyment of radio station CHFI 98.1, I knew most of the words to. We sat down at a table with two women, who began talking with my friend. After a while they asked her for her phone number. After giving it to them, my friend’s co-worker become concerned. He pulled us away from the table and explained that the women were sex-workers. “mahule” in Chichewa – meaning prostitute. Or “oyendayenda”, the more politically correct term, meaning ‘women who walk about in the dark’. For the rest of the night the co-worker kept repeating that we should not associate with women like that, and if we sit near them or talk to them, other men will think we are like them. The prejudice towards sex-workers was evident in the way the men spoke: the words they used and their tone. <br /><br />After the pub – we moved on to a club called Chez N’Temba. It is a chain that is all over Africa. They had just re-opened their Lilongwe club after a renovation. <br />The ways in which Malawian clubs are the same as Canadian:<br />I recognized a lot of the music<br />girls dance with their friends in a circle<br />you can buy beer<br />there are lights and smoke<br /><br />The ways in which Malawian clubs are different from those in Canada:<br />there is no ‘last call’<br />men are much more respectful and actually listen when you say you do not want to dance with them<br />there is a woman asleep in the bathroom who you have to wake up in order to get your ration of toilet paper<br />there is another woman who watches the stalls themselves and watched me pee (very awkward)<br />there is MEAT! yes, meat. Good barbequed meat to eat.<br /><br /> We were there until about 4am and had a great time. One person even told me that I dance like a Malawian: a huge compliment! Now if only I could do something about my skin colour……Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12041303576069773507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3676613224039085769.post-22348590372793730132007-12-09T22:58:00.001-08:002007-12-09T22:58:56.573-08:00Theatre For A Change.<span style="font-family:georgia;">I mentioned this amazing organization in my last post. Starting in Ghana, they developed a highly effective model for behaviour change that uses theatre and drama techniques to intervene in (mostly) youths’ lives. Today I went to special presentation for their new pilot project working with sex workers. This group of sex workers has been meeting for only two months, and using the same model of dramatics to tell the stories of their work and lives, have already made significant changes in their lives. They have come together so quickly to learn from each other and teach the community about the challenges that they face. The group has already noted the power that comes with organizing and working together and now plan to use their strength in numbers to advocate on behalf of sex workers throughout Malawi.<br />Today’s presentation was a series of sketches written by the group about situations that occur in their lives. It was performed for their friends, as well as for the chiefs of their communities. Unfortunately, the performance was in Chichewa, so I was unable to understand what they were saying. But it was quite entertaining even with the language barrier, and I was occupied trying to understand what they might be talking about based on their facial expressions and hand gestures. At the end of each sketch, the TFOC staff lead the whole audience in an interactive breakdown of the sketch. They discussed what had taken place, got feedback from the audience about what might have been done differently had the scenario been in real life, and then redid the scene where people from the audience were encouraged to come in and ‘tag’ one of the actors when they thought they knew what that character should do. It was fantastic. So concrete and useful. One of the scenes was about a husband who was HIV+ and having extra-marital relations. He would not discuss his status with his wife, and in the end, she contracted the virus, and then killed herself. Like I said – these scenes were written by the women and were very raw. <br />The audience was able to weigh in on how the wife might have better protected herself, and then was able to practice those strategies by acting them out. Having the opportunity to see the words and strategies used to negotiate for safe sex in a marriage and how to encourage communication with one’s husband is a very effective tool, as sadly, this is a situation that many women in Malawi face. <br /><br />The group had wonderful energy, and in between each sketch the women would break into song and get up and dance. I did some dancing myself, and got my first lesson in the ‘kwassa kwassa’ – a Malawian dance where you shake and undulate your hips – fun and complicated all at the same time. <br /><br />Towards the end of the event something very interesting happened. A group of men pulled up to the British Council (where the event was taking place) and all got out singing in a line and came to sit in the circle where the play was going on. I did not really understand what was happening as there was a lot of talking and ‘speech making’ about something. Then one of the TFOC staff suggested that everyone move outside. At that point, the men all got up, started singing again, and went outside. I asked the other white girl there what was happening (no one else really spoke English). She explained that one of the male trainees from the TFOC teacher training program had thought that it would be a great idea to round up twenty of his friends, get drunk, and then come over here. Sadly, there are idiots in every community. What was especially unfortunate about this situation was that in coming over to this group, thus guy not only lost his chances of being part of an amazing organization, but he also violated the trust and confidentiality of the sex worker group. The women will now no longer be able to use the British Council for their practice site, as the safe space they had created was destroyed. It was very unfortunate. <br />Luckily, the women were not discouraged and picked right up dancing where they left off.</span>Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12041303576069773507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3676613224039085769.post-14620499677638372512007-12-09T22:52:00.000-08:002007-12-09T22:58:02.252-08:00Chanukah In Malawi.Happy Chanukah to all that it applies. I am convinced that I am the lone Jew in Malawi. Although a friend contests that there might be one or two others, though he does not know who they are. I came prepared and brought my own Chanukah candles with me. I have been crafty, and fashioned a channuakiah out of two bricks from the yard. <br />I have been domestic and made latkes and Chanukah cookies from scratch. I have been social and made a party on Saturday night where I got to showcase my religion for those interested. <br />Not too shabby. <br />However, it has brought two very significant issues to the fore. <br />The first is rather obvious: I have been wondering whether I would be able to make a place like Lilongwe my home, knowing that it has no Jewish community whatsoever. It is not a very serious problem right now as I am here for a short time, less than six months. I also planned this very strategically, leaving after the High Holy days and returning before Passover. Chanukah in the scheme of holidays is relatively minor and does not require a synagogue, other Jewish people, or really hard to find and expensive food. But if I were offered a job to stay here for another year, would I be able to knowing that I would be on my own for all things Jewish. It is lonely feeling unique (at least religiously) all the time. Most people (Malawian and not) have endless questions for me when they find out that I am Jewish. And it is amusing for me to try and explain both religious concepts as well as cultural/stereotypical ones such as summer camp, or “the JAP” (one of my favourites). But in the long run, I anticipate that the novelty would wear off, and then I would be left on my own. <br /><br />This line of thinking then leads to the second issue: How important is my Judaism to my daily life? Important enough to turn down international opportunities in places where I cannot find a community of fellow Jews? I have noticed a pattern, that the periods where I am most identified with and connected to Judaism are when I am traveling. This makes sense; to cling to things that are both comfortable and make you unique when faced with constant change and difference. But if the times when I am most into Judaism are the ones when I am not with other Jews – does that automatically lead to returning home to be with other Jews….I am not sure. <br />All I know is that it is probably a good idea to sort all of this out before I rush off to some other foreign county where there will be no hope of finding any matzah. As it would get quite ridiculous to have to pack a year’s worth of Jewish paraphernalia very time I leave home.Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12041303576069773507noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3676613224039085769.post-71632033903321475182007-12-05T22:12:00.000-08:002007-12-05T22:14:08.652-08:00The Rain Has Begun.Today it rained, no - poured, for an hour straight. It was amazing. <br />The more I travel, the more my appreciation for the weather grows. Especially clouds. I don’t know what it is about clouds and the sky, but I always find them beautiful. It is harder to see in cities like Toronto and Montreal where there is a thick layer of smog. But in the North and now here, the sky is clear and bright, or overcast with incredible cloud formations. One of my favourite things to do in Iqaluit was to check out the clouds at sunset. Here is a bit trickier as the sun sets in about 30 minutes – so you have to be on your game to catch it. But is just beautiful if you do. <br /><br />Today was a day full of ups and downs. It is surprising to think back on the day and realize the wide spectrum of emotions that I ran through in less than twelve hours. I will organize this post by emotion (trying to spice things up for you a bit!):<br /><br />Stubbornness: I woke up this morning and simply decided that I was not going to work. There was nothing that could have made me go into work at 7am today. Not a thing. Luckily I had a meeting close to my house at 10am and was able to justify working from home before hand (something I do frequently now). <br /><br />Calm: I have started drinking instant coffee – ‘ricoffy’. I am not exactly sure why as I have never been a big coffee drinker. It is now part of my morning routine and I am beginning to appreciate the importance of morning routines. My old routine at school was to drag myself out of bed in the pitch dark, make a bowl of cereal, get back into bed, eat, and then go back to sleep for a few more minutes. Here, I get up fairly easily to a combination of beautiful sun and the squawking of my fan (it makes a horrible noise that I cannot figure out how to get rid of). Make my fake coffee and oatmeal and then sit on the couch to relax for half an hour and read one of the many magazines that my roommate’s mom sends her from Canada (for anyone who wants an entertaining and informative read – check out “The Walrus” – I am in love!). It gives the morning a sense of calm I have never felt before in Canada. <br /><br />Clarity: I had an extremely productive hour and a half of work before my meeting. I find it much easier to work from home where it is quiet and there is air quality control. I have been working on a training for the volunteers who will be acting as research assistants for my community audit. It has been slow going gathering the needed information, tailoring to this context, formatting, etc. This morning the final details came together and it is now in a neat and organized manual entitled “Research Assistant Training Manual for the Community Audit on Gender-Based Violence Amongst Vulnerable Youth Groups”. It is so satisfying when the final product fits into a nice package. <br /><br />Excitement: My meeting this morning was with Theatre For A Change. Theatre for a Change takes a unique approach to behaviour change in developing countries. They use theatre and drama techniques to educate and empower groups in society for positive behaviour change. They started in Ghana and had incredible success. They are currently starting in Malawi as their hub for east Africa. They are partnering with the Ministry of Education to train teachers on the behaviour change model to then be incorporated into mainstream curriculum. Their programming focuses specifically on human rights and girls’ rights. They use drama games to teach girls how to use their words, say ‘no’, express their own needs. It has also been highly effective in getting youth to talk about controversial and difficult subjects like HIV/AIDS. I was meeting with them concerning their new project focusing specifically on commercial sex workers. They have had fantastic success with a small pilot group in Lilongwe that through the group work with Theatre for a Change has increased their use of the female condom, learned to more assertively negotiate for safer sex, and most importantly, become hopeful that change is possible in Malawi and that they can help influence the change in people’s attitudes and treatment of sex workers. Inspiring. I am hoping to incorporate whatever groups of sex workers I meet through the audit into Theatre’s program. Please check out their website, it is wonderful. <br /><br />Overwhelming Frustration: My project is at a stand-still. It is almost exactly half-way through my placement and my midterm report is due in Canada in two weeks. Slight problem is that there is not a whole lot to report. I am still stuck at item one on my seven-item job description. I am not sure where things have gotten off track as there is a long list of challenges in getting this audit off the ground. Perhaps I have not been assertive enough in asking for the help that I need. But I was trying not to harass anyone….. I was supposed to start research assistant training two weeks ago, but then found out that the office is closing for a month (long story, largely due to there not being enough money to pay the staff to stay in the office – so the director is calling it a ‘long vacation’). Therefore, the staff that would be trained to conduct the interviews would not actually be available to do them. So next idea was to find volunteers to do them – but again, I am not in a position to find these volunteers and find myself relying on someone else’s motivation and schedule to find them. Language – still trying to get all of the questionnaires translated into Chichewa – but I feel badly asking my colleagues to do it as they are already over committed on their own projects. <br />The biggest frustration has been trying to understand how I am supposed to be finding the participants of the audit. I need to find 72 teen mothers, sex workers, disables youth, and female heads of house who are willing to do individual interviews, and then a whole slew of youth to participate in focus groups. I was so confused about how this was supposed to happen: there is a specific protocol for going through the chiefs of each village to get their permission for working there. In Canada, I would simply put up posters, talk to the sex worker collectives, go to youth health centres –etc. I understand how Canada works. I do not understand how Malawi does. All of this came tumbling out to my wonderful co-worker Trish in a fit of frustration and despair, which culminated in the announcement that I would most likely be fired as the least effective Canadian intern in Malawi ever! She was reassuring and most importantly, finally walked me through the steps of how this was actually going to work out. Good news, there is a process of sorts for this type of research audit. There are defined channels through which to access participants. Bad news, at every step, I am relying on someone else to complete their task before being able to move on to the next step, which means that I am at the mercy of other people’s schedules….patience is a virtue in Malawi. I am not very good at it. <br /><br />Quiet: Back to the rain. I was sitting in the office. Hot as usual. When suddenly I heard pounding on the roof. The rain had begun. A few minutes later the power went out (surprise!). At that point, there was nothing to do but wait it out. The library at the front of the building was quiet as usual. I went and sat on the porch watching the rain. It was almost silent on the street (a very rare occurrence). It was nice and quiet.<br /><br />Happiness: After the rain slowed I headed for home, hoping to make it in time for my Chichewa lesson. It had been a few days since I have walked through Kawale 2, the neighborhood where my office is. I started walking and was immediately faced with the mud and large puddles – to which my flip-flops were no match. The women standing outside the grain grinding house next to the office were having a great time watching me pick my way through the muck out to the road. Very funny. Every day there are situations where if one does not have a good sense of humour you are screwed! Sometimes there is no way to win as the newbie white girl hanging out in a traditional Malawian neighbourhood. <br />I hit the road and suddenly a woman was shouting and yelling at me from her house – I looked up just in time to avoid the fallen electricity cable – it was nice to have the warning J The walk was shaping up well, and then soared off the charts when half-way up the road a group of about ten kids suddenly swarmed me. All screaming and laughing. There were all a little damp from the rain, and were clearly having a great time playing outside. A few had very good English and we started chatting. Names exchanged, I asked how school was this morning, tried out a few Chichewa words. I told them I had to go wait for my bus (‘basi” in Chichewa) and the boldest held out his fist – to tap to mine. I of course obliged and then all of the kids had to get in on it. When that novelty wore off, the same boy asked me if he could give me a hug. It was the first time any child here has asked if they could hug me. It was wonderful. I knelt down and got a big squeeze from this boy, and then all of his friends starting giving me hugs, some two at a time. This went on for about five minutes, until my bus came. It was the best I have felt since coming here. I constantly feel so separate from the world that I am living in: due to social class, money, language, location, transport…all I want to do is connect with the people I see everyday. I am hoping that this a sign that things are turning. And the best part; none of the kids asked me for money even once.Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12041303576069773507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3676613224039085769.post-80934505328731499242007-11-26T01:56:00.000-08:002007-11-26T01:57:29.183-08:00$2.It recently came to my attention that Malawi has a minimum wage. It is set at a monthly rate of 5000 kwacha, corresponding to about $35. A friend of mine brought this up in the context of her boyfriend’s house keeper. She realized that the house keeper was being paid at a wage that was lower than the national standard. After some calculations, I discovered that this wage also puts the worker at an income of less than $2 a day. <br /><br />Incidentally, my night-watchman is also being paid both under the national standard and less than $2 day. Ever since I realized this I have been very confused. <br /><br />My roommate and I were not the ones who set the contract with the watchman, and were reassured that he is being paid a decent wage. My first reaction is to be disappointed that the organization I work for might not have been as honourable as they could be in hiring this man,<br /><br />Now, I am not sure what to do. My immediate response is to raise his monthly salary up to a point which is above the $2/day rate (which would more than double the pay). However, my friend quickly came back with a number of concerns to take into account. First is creating dependency. As I am only here for a few more months, what will my watchman do when I can no longer employ him? Is it fair to raise his salary so drastically for a few months and then leave him with nothing afterwards. Second, is creating disparity. There is some concern about making him the best paid watchman on the block and the communal response that could elicit. <br /><br />On the flip side, I am extremely uncomfortable with contributing to the global problem of millions of people living on less than $2 a day. Organizations worldwide are working to reduce this devastating poverty. Malawi has been especially hard-hit and has very high national poverty levels. It is not something that I can consciously contribute to, especially when I am in the position to directly affect someone’s income. <br /><br />If anyone has any insights or suggestions, please let me know. I am really not sure how to handle the situation.Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12041303576069773507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3676613224039085769.post-74984118396352108962007-11-26T01:55:00.000-08:002007-11-26T01:56:42.998-08:00Signage.There is a significant difference between the signage here than at home in Canada. <br />In Canada, there are building projects springing up all over. In Toronto and Montréal there was also a new condo building, new shopping centre, or at least a new gas station being built in town. Accompanying these projects were always large signs announcing which corporation was behind the build, whichever large company was supporting this build and claiming all the wonderful things it was going to do for the community.<br /><br />In Lilongwe there are also many building projects, accompanied by the requisite signs. At first, I took little notice of these signs as they seemed to be fairly similar to the ones I see at home. Upon closer examination it was obvious that these were a different variety of sign. Instead of a large corporation, these signs all cite different donors who are supporting the project. On my bike to work alone, I see a roads improvement project funded by the EU, a new lodge sponsored by something from Japan (there is a lot of Japanese support in Malawi), and something from DFID. <br /><br />These signs always serve as a reminder for me about one of the main differences in the Canadian and Malawian economies. In Canada, our economy is supported by and thrives on the presence of corporations and other types of companies. They provide services and products, as well as support the job market. In a developing country like Malawi, foreign donors are the main source of services, products, and most importantly, jobs. International financial support plays a critical role in the basic functioning of the Malawi economy. <br />Important to remember.Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12041303576069773507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3676613224039085769.post-6475853522879052332007-11-26T01:54:00.000-08:002007-11-26T01:55:54.170-08:00The Top 10In no particular order: The top ten things that make my life both enjoyable and amusing:<br /><br />1. Banana bread from Foodworths, the top ex-patriot grocery store.<br /><br />2. Fresh pasta from the Italian restaurant called Claude’s – owned by a Malawian/Italian guy named Claudio, who fully supports my growing addiction to his cooking ever since I told him about my Sicilian heritage. (I actually just had dinner there tonight….and probably will again tomorrow…) <br /><br />3. The way Malawian children run up to me, crowd around, and then the bravest will reach out to quickly touch my skin. And then they all run away screaming – never fails to entertain.<br /> <br />4. Spontaneous singing by the women in the market. I have no idea what they are saying, but there is usually a rousing chorus that highlights the word ‘yesu’ – Chichewa for ‘Jesus’.<br /><br />5. Fresh fruit being sold on the street. Pineapples, papayas, avocadoes, peaches, oranges, and mangoes…oh the mangoes. God bless the beginning of mango season. I buy ripe and delicious mangoes for about six cents each. <br /><br />6. My morning walk. I leave the house around 7:15 and walk twenty minutes into City Centre on my way to work. It is a beautiful walk. The sun is shining, but there is a cool breeze. There are bright flowers in the trees that form a canopy over the shortcut I take. It reminds me every morning to be excited and grateful that I am having this experience. At least that is how I feel until the temperature hits the mid-thirties in the afternoon….<br /><br />7. I have learned that almost anything is a possibility in Malawi, if you are willing to pay for it. While I know this has extremely negative repercussions for certain sectors, I take advantage of this reality in far less controversial situations. For example, when I get on a bus that typically stops a few blocks from where I want to go, I simply offer the driver some extra Kwacha and he is happy to drop me right where I want to go. Whenever I do this, I always imagine approaching a TTC bus driver and offering him at extra twoonie to drop me at the next corner. <br /><br />8. Malawians call traffic lights “robots”. I was very confused for the first month when I would get directions that included “make a left turn at the robot” – still makes me laugh every time I hear it. <br /><br />9. The reaction I get when I tell people that I am Jewish. It usually follows the question of which church I belong to. I am often faced with a blank look and then “you are what? Jawish?” (note the ‘Ja-‘ sound) Always amusing, but the explanation of why I don’t think Jesus is the messiah does get a bit tiresome. <br /><br />10. My tan.Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12041303576069773507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3676613224039085769.post-53478187519359038842007-11-26T01:50:00.000-08:002007-11-26T01:54:04.237-08:00MIA.I apologize for the gap in time since my last post. I have been out of my office for the past week, and hence cut off from the internet. I checked my email once from a hotel near my house, which ended up costing 900 kwacha/ $6.50 for a half hour – a little too pricey to spend blogging.<br />Regardless, I actually write most of my posts from home during the evenings. I find it very hard to concentrate at work and need the quite space to gather my thoughts.<br /><br />This past week I attended a ‘training’. Malawians love to use the word ‘training’ for everything. I guess it implies gaining new skills or doing something productive, I am not quite sure. All I know is that any time we talk about doing anything new, someone brings up an idea for a training to go along with it.<br />So this training was put on by the World University Service of Canada, one of the groups involved in my internship. It was offered to those volunteers who have recently arrived in the country to orient us on the history, politics, culture, and language of Malawi. I attended, along with my roommate and our friend Julie (another CIDA intern from Toronto) and a couple from Halifax in their late 50s (more on them later).<br /><br />The first two days were a bit of a disappointment. Our ‘trainer’s’ name was Mr. Nthala. He seemed knowledgeable enough, but his delivery rubbed me the wrong way. I found his tone very condescending, and he kept pausing after almost every second sentence as if he was waiting for a large reaction from his audience. He covered a lot of history and politics, some of which was really not applicable to what any of us were doing. We spent a good hour on the different political divisions and chain of command in every Malawian District. Tedious, but I guess informative.<br />The most interesting subjects were about cultural practices and taboos.<br />Malawi is divided into three regions: the north, the central, and the south. I live in the Central region which is predominantly populated by the Chewa tribe –so most of the stuff I learned applies to this tribe. Although we also covered things pertaining to the other tribes as well. It is not entirely clear how important tribal identifications are in Malawi. The impression I got from the trainer is that it applies mostly to language and heritage. People from different tribes do live in the same villages, there is no history of violence between them, and people marry between the tribes as well. I think it is mostly a matter of pride and identity, as well as language classifications. Tribal leaders also play a role in the political system – I didn’t really understand how it works – but I see that they are consulted on various political matters by the president.<br />In terms of cultural taboos – there was a long list. For most of the taboos and practices I cannot understand why they are important or what would have started them, and cannot help but be skeptical of people who follow them (although I am trying not to be). Some examples: - do not point your finger at a cemetery or else it will become frozen that way<br />- do not whistle after dark<br />- a woman on her period cannot season any food and has to find a random little boy in the village to do it for her<br />- a lot of the rules have to do with sex – and we thought that religious Jews had a lot of rules – they haven’t seen anything!<br />Two of the most disturbing practices that we spoke about are the Guluwankulu and the Fisi.<br />The Guluwankulu are a secret society of men in the village. They are responsible for initiating selected boys into manhood at puberty. They perform secret ceremonies and educate the boys. The trainer could not give further information about what the education consists of, and for this reason I am not wholly convinced that this education is beneficial. They are responsible for educating the boys about sex and relationships, but no one really knows what they are teaching…….. The Guluwankulu also perform ritual dances in the community at different points during the year. They dress up in costumes with elaborate (and very scary) masks. They also have a tradition of being extremely violent. According to my co-worker, when you see a Guluwankulu walking in the village you should run away from them as fast as possible and go into any house in order to be safe. Otherwise they are likely to whip or beat you. Apparently the police are trying to crack down on this practice, but it sounds extremely intimidating – a way of terrorizing people in your village.<br /><br />The Fisi is even most disturbing (in my opinion). The Fisi is an older man in the village whose identity is unknown except to a few key older women. They play a few roles: they are often brought in to sexually initiate a young girl who has reached puberty. I think the intent is to teach the girl what she is supposed to do and also to try and reduce her fears about sex. But the reports that I have read indicate that it has the opposite effect. These girls are often emotionally scarred by the experience, as well as being susceptible to HIV and other STI transmission as these practices are not being done safely. The Fisi is also used to ‘cleanse’ a widowed woman sexually before she can remarry –whether she wants to be cleansed or not. This practice is viewed by the NGO community as a form of gender-based violence and from the reports I have read, occurs in the communities that I am working in. Extremely concerning.<br /><br />After that we moved to language introduction. I spent three days trying to understand Chichewa. It is an extremely confusing language. There are prefixes for everything!!! For nouns, verbs, adverbs, adjectives…..and there are few rules about when and why we use the prefixes. It quickly became clear that three days wasn’t going to do it for us, so Jenika, Julie and I are taking lessons twice a week to try and make progress quickly. I will keep you posted on this venture, although I am not feeling optimistic.<br /><br />To round out the week, we spent Friday night in Salima – one of the towns on the lake. It was really nice and relaxing. And I ate great banana pancakes! Three times!<br />We bought a sack of mangoes on the way home – they are especially ripe in Salima because of the temperature. My fifty mangoes cost 35 cents- its nuts.<br />Our last stop for cultural training was a Kangoni Cultural Centre in Mua. It is run by a Catholic mission (I think) and has a really well developed cultural program and museum. As well, the grounds are beautiful and lush. We watched a two hour demonstration of traditional dances (including three by the Guluwankulu – I have some crazy pictures). It was great to see. The men wear extremely elaborate costumes with large head-dresses and do most of the dancing. While the women (including babies strapped on their backs) sing and dance around them. The singing is incredible. I think North America really looses out by not having more communal expressions like singing and dancing – it is so enriching.<br />I bought some great carvings as they have a woodworking studio there. Certain family members will be benefiting from these purchases.<br /><br />Now I am apparently culturally aware and sensitive and therefore more able to carry out my work in Malawi. Let’s hoRebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12041303576069773507noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3676613224039085769.post-20511811083353466082007-11-14T03:20:00.001-08:002007-11-14T03:20:50.937-08:00Work Update.It has been close to a month since I have given an update on my project. The project is often overshadowed by the many other aspects of my life and adjustment here that I often have to remind myself that my primary purpose here is to work. <br /><br />The community audit has turned into a larger research study than I was expecting. This is great as it will be an opportunity to gather concrete information about a wider number of experiences than I was originally planning for. The research proposal was completed last week and sent to my Canadian organization to approve the budget. I have no sense of whether this budget will be approved or not. The costs are very low for a study, mainly gas and transportation costs. As well as hiring someone to teach me Chichewa. Planning this study has driven home the point to me that I will most likely be unable to communicate directly with any of the beneficiaries for whom I am planning these programs. This has been disappointing and requires a significant adjustment to my expectations. I am most excited by interacting directly with women and children, speaking with them and building my own relationships. In light of this challenge, I will be training a team of research assistants to help me with conducting the interviews and leading the focus groups. Again, an interesting challenge (if anyone has any concrete information on interviewing techniques for qualitative research, please email me!).<br /><br />Now I wait. <br />Waiting is pretty standard around here. <br />In the meantime I am working on the training for the research assistants and a manual for the youth clubs that CAYO coordinates. <br />Technically a lot of work. But the days feel empty. <br /><br />The office environment is unique to any other working situation I have experienced before. I am trying not to be nit-picky, but the space is extremely small. There is NO privacy. For someone who is used to sitting in silence and privacy to gather my thoughts, I find it very hard to get the juices flowing at work. Someone is always looking over your shoulder to see what you are doing…..<br />I am also not exactly sure what my co-workers think of me (not that I will ever find out). I try to be friendly and talk, but am not always sure what to talk about. I want to build relationships with them, I just don’t know how. So I amRebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12041303576069773507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3676613224039085769.post-21427683145448225172007-11-14T02:53:00.000-08:002007-11-14T02:54:18.512-08:00Random Thoughts.My hair hates it when I travel. It is not cooperating at all.<br /><br />The other day I was sitting at the pool at the hotel near my house (yes, shameless escapism), and there was a young girl with blond pigtails who was very entertaining. She was wearing flippers on her feet and was amusing herself by taking large steps around the pool where the flippers would flop onto the ground, making a very satisfying ‘flop’-ing noise. I reminded me of how good it is to be a kid. When activities consisting of repeated actions or loud and weird noises are the most amusing of all.<br /><br />But truthfully, anyone who knows me well can attest that I still find those types of activities highly amusing and can amuse myself in that fashion for an extended period of time.Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12041303576069773507noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3676613224039085769.post-44551355234761972462007-11-14T02:36:00.000-08:002007-11-14T02:39:34.738-08:00Thoughts.Every time I sit down to write another post I am overwhelmed by all of the thoughts going on in my head. I have caught myself numerous times over the course of a day composing blog posts without even realizing it. The list of things I want to discuss grows longer and longer, to the point where I am unsure where to start. Especially knowing that my audience is so diverse……what is appropriate and what is not? <br /><br />A good friend of mine has a blog from the time she spent as a CIDA intern a few years ago. I have been reading the archives of her blog from that time period as a source of encouragement. Even though we are working in different counties on completely different projects, the issues remain the same: <br />language barriers, isolation, loneliness, blackouts, transportation challenges, co-workers of a different culture, making friends, trying to be patient, learning to procrastinate effectively, craving foods from home, taking pleasure in really small accomplishments, wondering what on earth we are doing here, wondering how to be effective, questioning development as a whole….and the list continues.<br /><br />Her blog is my greatest source of comfort and validation. I read it as living proof that I will survive the struggle and come out on the other end to tell its story. <br /><br />But then, when I go to write my own blog, I wonder why I don’t just send you all the link to hers ;)Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12041303576069773507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3676613224039085769.post-35390453642108759072007-11-12T22:27:00.000-08:002007-11-12T22:29:17.526-08:00Almost Malaria.It has not been a great weekend. Prepare yourselves for a less than uplifting post. <br /><br />I woke up Friday morning feeling very off. Decided to try and go to work anyways. By 10 am it was clear I was going to have to go home. I called the driver I use (his name is Joseph and he takes excellent care of me in any way that a driver can: he always stays with me until whoever I am meeting arrives, he lets me make lots of stops and doesn’t charge me, he sympathizes with me when I am sick and calls the next day to see how I am doing) to pick me up early from work. After trying to buy a fan and 10 litres of water, Joseph brought me home with the plan to pick me up again at 6 for a sailing course I had signed up for (and was really looking forward to). I had been looking forward to this sailing course for three weeks. It is with the Lilongwe Sailing Club and was going to be two full says of sailing on the lake and hopefully meeting some good people – and I love sailing!<br />After getting home and realizing that I had a fever, I decided it was time to go to the doctor (thank you Louise for the most useful thing I brought with me – the thermometer). I have not had a fever in over five years – so for me – this was a serious red flag. Also, the advice I have been given repeatedly is that a fever in Africa is not the same thing as a fever at home – take it seriously!<br />A colleague from work came to pick me up and we went to the clinic near my house which was recommended to me by the World University Service of Canada office that did my orientation as the place to go for any illness. Two hours and a blood smear later the doctor diagnosed me with Malaria. Relieved to have a diagnoses and medication to go with it, I went home prepared to ride it out. <br />Unfortunately, the medicine did not start to work as quickly as I had hoped. I have never been as sick as I was on Friday night. For someone who has not had a fever in five years or thrown up (save for a 22nd birthday gone awry) in four, this was not something I was ready for.<br />My body ached in every joint, it hurt to roll over in bed, I had a high fever making me sweat through my sheets, but then alternating with chills, diarrhea and vomiting making it impossible to keep anything except water down ( I tried the rehydration salts but I think that is what made me throw up). Not a great Friday night.<br />My roommate gets a present for being amazing and taking great care of me. Including placing numerous international calls in the attempt to reach my mother or one of my grandmothers while I lay crying on the bathroom floor (and you have all seen that bathroom floor now from the pictures) wanting to die. I feel horrible for how much I must have upset my mother with that phone call. <br />My roommate decided it was time to call a friend who had had malaria just to get a sense of when we should start to see some improvement. He was surprised at the medication I had been put on and suggested going a doctor he knows for a second opinion in the morning.<br /><br />After finally getting some sleep thanks to gravol and a fan we headed to Dr. Huber’s clinic on Saturday. He is from Amsterdam and has a wonderful clinic. He is warm and took a lot of time explaining to me what was happening. After three different blood tests Dr. Huber confirmed that I did not have malaria, but a bacterial infection. <br /> I was shocked to learn that many doctors in Malawi diagnose malaria even when there are no parasites. He said that it is often easier and makes all the parties involved happy to hear that it is malaria. The patient gets a quick diagnosis, the lab technician is airing on the safe side, the pharmacist gets to sell the drugs, and the doctor gets you out of his office. Dr. Huber said that he has seen many situations where malaria was diagnosed in a completely different case – everything from gastro-enteritis like me to appendicitis!<br /><br />I was really unsettled to learn this. I had been trying to remain positive and supportive of the Malawian medical system. Cautious not to fall into the easy trap that many westerners do in discounting the Malawian doctors and viewing their treatment as second rate. But after this experience, I am not sure what to think. I know that I do not feel safe seeking out any Malawian medical treatment after this. And no longer feel paranoid for bringing all those medical supplies with me even though I got a lot of flack for it (on both ends). It is very disconcerting……..<br /><br />Oh, and good news: I am back to work tomorrow and should be all better by the end of the week.Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12041303576069773507noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3676613224039085769.post-2910779050272681942007-11-07T22:17:00.000-08:002007-11-07T22:19:07.068-08:00It Has begun.Culture shock has officially set in. It was hard to see at first. Only subtle hints to start, but now we are dealing with full blown culture shock.<br /><br />There are many different manifestations and interpretations of culture-shock. I believe it to be a very individual experience. My first understanding of it was as a state of total disorientation and overwhelming emotion. It may be that for some people, but for me it looks more like a pain in my ass. <br />The director of my Canadian organization who spent fifteen years living in Africa explained it to me in highly accessible terms. He said that culture shock essentially feels like waking up pissed off at the world everyday, for no apparent reason. Let’s just say that we are going on day five of not knowing why I hate the world, but I do. <br /><br />My inner monologue has turned into more of a rant that changes content depending on the context, but not the tune.<br />On my bike ride to work in the morning every second person feels the need to yell out to me. The women are sweet and sort of whisper hello. The men, on the other hand, prefer to use a limited vocabulary consisting of “Tsssssssssssssss youweh (which means ‘hey you – come over here and talk to me’) or “Hey woman/sistah/auntie/madame”. Irritating to say the least. I have developed a non-committal wave that I use in passing. I truly miss my Canadian home where no-one speaks to each other and everyone below the age of thirty is now a member of the Ipod generation, with headphones permanently attached to their ears – leaving little room for conversation on the subway. <br /><br />At work, my thoughts consist largely of questions as to why the office is so small, hot, and why no-one will leave to door open for some much-needed airflow!<br />In terms of my project itself: My frustrations are expected. My interpretation of timeliness is a little different, as well as my own time-management. <br /><br />I knew it would hit eventually, the first month went too smoothly…. Now all there is is to wait for the inevitable blowout. The director explained that culture shock cannot last forever, and that it usually culminates in a complete and total meltdown that usually occurs in a highly public space like the mini-bus or market. Wish me luck…….Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12041303576069773507noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3676613224039085769.post-45120051128864345352007-11-07T22:14:00.000-08:002007-11-07T22:16:37.236-08:00Impossible Choices.Let me start by saying that I am extremely proud of my sister. My sister has proven time and time again to be someone who does not merely feel passionately about social and humanitarian issues, but also acts to respond to them. She doesn’t just talk the talk, she also walks the walk. The minute I announced that I was moving to Malawi to work in development, my sister also announced that she wanted to do something to help. The plan was that I would make a connection with a worthy cause that spoke to her, and then she would go from there with a fundraiser of sorts in Canada. <br />After being here for a week, I began the hunt for an opportunity where my sister’s interest and compassion would be useful. <br />I found Chikondi Orphan Care. At first I overlooked the needs of the many orphans living in and around Lilongwe. I felt that it was an issue that must be already addressed by numerous organizations. I was wrong.<br />Chikondi Orphan Care is an orphanage that is a few blocks (well, windy dirt roads) from my office. It serves close to 1000 orphans. None of them sleep at the orphanage as it just does not have the capacity. The little children come in the mornings for informal schooling and a feeding program of basic maize porridge. In the afternoon, the older kids come after school for some rice and beans. The orphanage cannot provide the kids with the clothes, school materials and fees that they so desperately need. <br />When I presented the idea of working to help Chikondi, my sister immediately jumped at the idea. There are so many needs, that she can choose to work on any aspect that she feels connected to. <br />My job was to return to the orphanage, get to know some of the kids, learn more about some of their stories, find out what their needs are – and send that information to her. <br /><br />Last week I went back to do that. I spent part of the morning playing with children from ages two to six. They are so funny and alive! They sang some songs and then just sort of ran around. I had a chance to learn more about some of their lives through my co-worker who was interpreting. In the afternoon, some of the older kids came by my office and again I had the chance to hear more about their lives. <br />I now feel incredibly overwhelmed. Before starting this process and while talking with my sister about the idea of trying to help I had a very simplistic view of how this would work. I was ascribing to the mantra I have often heard people use in humanitarian work: that every little bit helps, and that we cannot help everyone, so choices have to be made. I used to think that made sense. But I just cannot follow that approach anymore. After talking with those children I do not understand how we are going to choose. I want this to be a successful project for my sister – a way for her to feel like she is contributing to an important cause – which she is. And I also want her to know that whatever money or materials she raises will be an incredible gift. But now I am worried: what if it is not enough. <br />How will we be able to choose which girl gets a new skirt, which boy gets a toy to play with, which boy gets pencils and paper enabling him to go to school? I do not think that I can be the one to make those choices.<br /><br />Before coming to Malawi I knew that every child deserves all the gifts and opportunities in life to succeed, but I am ashamed to admit that it took this trip to really start to believe that. I feel like a cliché that only after seeing the orphans do I feel more compassion toward this place and the environment that I am living in. But I am hoping that so long as the lesson is learned that is all that matters. I feel internally conflicted, guilty, ashamed, angered, and sad about the challenges that face so many beautiful people every day. I know that choices are inevitable in this type of work - but there has to be another way. I cannot make that choice. <br /><br />If you want to know more, ask my sister.Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12041303576069773507noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3676613224039085769.post-11237053455224473822007-11-04T04:38:00.000-08:002007-11-04T04:41:21.080-08:00Standard Protocol.I took another day off work this week and went to one of Malawi’s national parks.<br />My boss was driving to the southern region to a city called Liwonde, home of one of Malawi’s best park for viewing large game. I decided that it was an excellent opportunity for me to further my cultural education on Malawi – so hitched a ride.<br /><br />Liwonde National Park is home to may animals and birds. They have two lodges inside the park that offer excellent accommodation as well as safari services.<br />I stayed at the smaller, less expensive one. <br />After driving four hours from Lilongwe and arriving late at night, we finally found the lodge and the drunken owner came out to greet us. A sarcastic and bitter British ex-pat, Darren the owner explained that the lodge was low key and informal. We could drink whatever we like and simply add it to our tab in the ledger. There was no electricity, and at night the sky was lit with thousands of stars. We slept in a rustic dorm house with a thatched roof. Since we were the only visitors in tat building it was nice and quiet. We slept soundly and safely while our guard stayed watch with his rifle, ready to fend off any animals that came to eat us.<br />Jenika and I rose early (4:30) to go on an early morning safari. Apparently early morning and late afternoon are the best times to see large game out and about. We met a group of Dutch travelers who were in our car and we set out with an excellent guide around 5:15. I was of course wearing all of my safari gear. And I maintain in the face of continuous ridicule – that these are the most comfortable, serviceable, and flattering clothes I have ever owned! <br />We saw many animals: a herd of water buffalo, bushbucks, warthogs, baboons, monkeys, waterback antelope, and something like a deer – but I cannot remember its name.<br />The highlight of the ride was without a doubt our interaction with a male elephant. After seeing a beautiful herd of elephants cross the road (they actually do cross single-file holding onto each others tails), we continued driving to suddenly face a male elephant standing in the middle of the road.<br />Our car stopped less than 250 metres away from the male. He started to trumpet his horn and stomp his feet. Needless to say, everyone in the car was getting a little anxious. Appearing completely calm, our guide informed the driver to rev the engine. This can only be what I assume is the standard protocol for encountering angry male elephants. The engine sounded like a growl from another animal. We continued this for almost ten minutes- the elephant only finally showing signs of backing down. <br />A scary and very real encounter with an animal I have previously only known from Disney movies. <br />Let’s just say this elephant was a little different from Dumbo. <br /><br />After, we went on a canoe safari to look at Hippos. I was still a little shaken up from our morning encounter and opted to stay far back from these other large and scary animals.<br />Overall: my first safari was wonderful. The natural beauty and untamed surroundings are incredible. But I am not sure if it compares to Northern Ontario…………man I miss those trees.Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12041303576069773507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3676613224039085769.post-33907911069064262652007-10-31T03:20:00.000-07:002007-10-31T03:21:04.915-07:00Playing Hooky.Yesterday was a great day.<br />I took a personal day. Each month I am allotted one day to use for personal purposes and I decided yesterday would be it for October. <br /><br />I got up around the same time as usual: 6:15. It is amazing how quickly one’s body adjusts to a new sleeping schedule. I can barely sleep past 7:30 now even if I try really hard. <br />Left the house around 8 for a nice walk to City Centre, about 25 minutes from my house. First stop was the British Council. Word on the street was that they have a library that lends DVDs – obviously the most exciting news I have heard so far in Lilongwe. Sadly, it was explained to me that they no longer offer that service.<br /><br />Next, on to the WUSC office (World University Service of Canada). I looked at some of the travel books there for southern Africa and used the internet for a bit. Saw Joyce, my WUSC contact – we talked about upcoming plans for a cultural orientation for Canadian volunteers. It will hopefully be taking place in November. We will go to a resort by the lake for a week and try to learn Chichewa.,….. ‘try’ being the operative word.<br /><br />After that I went on to the Lilongwe Nature Sanctuary. On Saturday night I met a guy named Steve from the UK. He has been here for five months volunteering with the Sanctuary and offered to take me on a tour of the place. There are actually two sanctuaries in Lilongwe. The old and the new. The old one treated their animals horribly. Housed them in small cages and didn’t clean their areas properly. The new Sanctuary (the one I went to) took over all of the animals as well as bringing in new ones. I saw numerous varieties of monkey, a really large spotted hyena (they are huge!) and a leopard. However, I actually head more of the leopard than I saw. We didn’t get too close to the fence and I could only barely make out his spots from afar. The Sanctuary is beautifully done and feels very natural. They are working to rehabilitate all of the animals and will release most of them back to the wild when they are ready. There was actually a group of 19 Vervet monkeys that were sent over from a sanctuary in Israel which are on their way to being released. Small world. <br />The highlight of the tour by far was Bump (read with an English accent). Bump is a five-week old baby vervet monkey that was found by one of the Sanctuary’s trustees at the side of the road a few weeks ago. There is a significant problem with the animal/pet trade in Malawi and part of the sanctuary’s mission is to work against it. Bump is a victim of that industry as his mother was left for dead and he escaped from capture. Bump is being cared for right now in the woman’s home and then will move in with the Israeli monkeys when he is old enough to feed himself. I carried him around for an hour – by far the cutest thing I have ever seen. A mix between an adorable baby (his hands are just like humans, and he has incredible facial expressions) and an old man – his face is all wrinkled!!!<br />I can now confidently add baby monkeys to my list of baby loves. <br /><br />Then (no the day is not over) – I headed to Old Town. Had lunch (which was not cooked, so I instead looked at my lunch instead of ate it). Then went to the Old Town Market. Most neighbourhoods have their own small markets with the basics, but this is the mecca of Lilongwe markets. It covers many blocks, has the widest selection of produce, as well as the Chitengi alley. I am not sure if I have explained ‘chitengi’ yet: Chitengi are the colourful fabrics that women wrap around their heads and waists, as well as have them sewn into amazing outfits. 2 metres sells for 300 Kwacha ($2.15). They can be used for numerous purposes: my favourite uses are The Towel (as I did not pack any), The House Dress, and The Bag (I have been sewing them into fun shoulder sacks). So I bought a bunch more fabrics and actually had one sewn into a skirt by one of the tailors sitting nearby. It cost 1000 kwacha to make the skirt (including lining and zipper) – about $7. I am not sure if I am crazy about it, but is all part of the experiment. <br /><br />Afterwards, I went to the produce section and got an assortment of beans, mangoes, papayas, watermelon (it is watermelon season!!!!!) and other random things – some of which I am not exactly sure what they are as there is no translation for them. I will just do what I am always told: slice it, boil it, fry some tomatoes, and add it to the vegetable – that is how all Malawian food is made J<br /><br />Then I caught the correct minibus home (another amazing accomplishment when faced with about 75 to choose from) and made it home before dark.<br /><br />An excellent day. Too bad I can’t do it more often.Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12041303576069773507noreply@blogger.com2