I am no longer blogging on this page. Please visit www.reckoningwithwanderlust.blogspot.com or


See you there!
gypsy rose

I'm in Arua, Uganda at the moment at an internet cafe so no big updates right now, but coming soon. Just a funny little story for you in the meantime.

Me: What do you think these bites are? (showing two small bug bites on my arm)

CoWorker: Could it be a mosquito (pronounced mo-skwee-toe)

Me: No, this is a mosquito bite (showing him a different one)

CW: It looks like a rash, could it be the sunshine did it?

Me: No... wait... I'm not allergic to sunshine...


Realization of the day: Oh you get red when you go in the sun? Thus it makes sense that you're allergic to sunshine. It actually kind of does!

LGBT Rights (or lack thereof) in Uganda

(Just a little note: every time you see a word underlined or in blue on this blog, there is a link to a related article, if you'd like more background information)

Uganda has been in the news lately. Granted, if you don't follow East African news, perhaps it hasn't crossed your desk or screen yet. Uganda currently has a bill in Parliament which proscribes the death penalty for anyone convicted of 'aggravated homosexuality'. Alternatively, if one is convicted of 'the offense of homosexuality', you are merely sentenced to life in prison. So what falls under 'aggravated homosexuality' that merits the death penalty? To summarize: if: the person is HIV positive, is a parent or authority figure, administers intoxicating substances, or engages with a minor or someone with disabilities, or is a repeat offender of 'the offense of homosexuality'. But wait, there's more. Ugandans can be extradited back to the country for engaging in homosexual acts outside of the country, and the bill includes punishment for individuals, companies, media organizations or non-governmental organizations who know gay people, or support them.

The bill has, expectedly, drawn a lot of criticism from the West as well as from human and civil rights organizations. I won't begin to get into why killing people for their sexual preference or HIV status is wrong. Granted, you get 'merely' life in prison for your first offense. But punishing people for those qualities isn't in line with any sort of respect for people's rights either. So we're clear that I am not in support of this bill in anyway, and am hopeful that it either won't make it through Parliament, or will be amended before it does. However, the proposal on the table at the moment for amending it is to remove the death penalty, but leave the rest.

But. Let me show you a headline from BBC online: 'Uganda Man Jailed for Killing Gay Activist David Kato'. If you read the article you will find that a Ugandan newspaper published a list of homosexuals, with the headline, 'Hang Them' above it. Mr. Kato's name was on this list. You will also find that apparently the man defended himself in court by saying that Mr. Kato made sexual advances towards him, which made him outraged, and so be bludgeoned him to death with a hammer. The perpetrator received 30 years in prison for the murder, following what was called 'an usually speedy trial'. Seems like a hate crime from this story, no doubt.

But then, let's talk to someone Ugandan who lives in Kampala, where the crime took place. Now we hear a different story. We hear that while most of the above is true, some of it is not. Yes, Mr. Kato was gay, yes he was a gay teacher (which some people in Uganda take to mean he was 'recruiting' children' or abusing them). But apparently, the West took the story that Mr. Kato was a gay rights activist and ran with it. According to the man I talked to, Mr. Kato was gay, but so was his killer. They were long term partners. This was a case of domestic violence between two gay men. The man who was convicted simply used Mr. Kato's 'sexual advances' as a defense because he thought it would garner sympathy from the jury, and to avoid the consequences of being openly gay and serving time in prison. Additionally, the police issued a statement saying that Kato's death was in no way connected to his role as an LGBT advocate, and in fact called the murder a consequence of an attempted robbery.

Reading this summary of the summaries, I have an initial urge to believe one over the other, I am inclined to believe that Uganda wanted to cover up a hate crime. But why? Why would the state cover up a crime that they themselves are trying to essentially turn into law, that someone who is openly gay deserves to be killed. They might cover it up to avoid international criticism. Or alternatively, the Western media might hear that a gay rights activist had been murdered, and assume that it was a hate crime, because it demonstrates the intolerance of the country, that they have seen examples of in the past. This death occurred during the time when the bill to increase penalties for being convicted of homosexuality was already in Parliament, so perhaps we should ask ourselves, who could stand to benefit from Mr. Kato's death. It brought international attention to the harsh persecution of members of the LGBT community in the country, but alternatively justifies such killing, as the man who murdered Mr. Kato was convicted of second degree murder rather than first, as he had 'had no choice but to act in self defense' to protect himself from the advances of a gay man. Either way the LGBT rights movement in Uganda lost a vocal advocate. Whether he was targeted because of his activism, because of his sexual identity and forwardness, or was a victim of domestic violence cannot be known with absolute certainty. Unless of course evidence exists as to the motive or premeditation of the murder that has not yet come to light. For now we rely on the statement of the man who murdered Mr. Kato, and a legal system in a country where homosexuality is condemned.

What do you think? What was the real motivation behind the murder, the defense, and the sentencing? What should and will happen with the bill currently being reviewed in the Parliament?

Humanitarian Assistance and Religion

(I’ve arrived in Kampala and am safe and sound!)

I am currently en route to Uganda and contemplating where to start this new round of blog entries. First let me tell you that I’ll be in Uganda through mid-March and then will travel to Liberia until the end of April. More details to come on the work and all sorts of other exciting things.But, given that I’m on an airplane, let’s talk about one of the things that often occur to me when traveling, which is that it seems like I’m surrounded by people on missions or church trips on every flight. It’s really incredible how many people go to and from these countries regularly, whether to provide aid and development assistance, or to spread the gospel and assist local churches. There are also school and volunteer trips and the like, generally short term things working with particular communities.

Let’s focus on religiously based groups that engage in this sort of work. Everywhere I have worked I have encountered members of religious organizations. There were Mormon missionaries on my daily bus in Ecuador, Seventh Day Adventist missionaries on bicycles in the Dominican Republic, people who left Liberia during the conflict and returned to work with local churches, and religious groups from the Middle East supporting work in Indonesia.

I think it’s easy to make a snap judgment about whether or not development work should be tied to religion, but as with much of this sort of work, it usually depends on the organization. On the positive side, religion has the potential to unite groups of people who might otherwise not interact. People are often willing to work for groups associated with their religion, as they view it as a way to give back as well as a way to support and spread their faith. Alternatively, religion can be divisive; for example if two religions co-exist in a particular area and an outside organization only provides services to the members of one group this can lead to everything from anger from those not receiving support, ostracization among groups that may have been friendly in the past. Which of these outcomes occurs has much to do with the organization and its goals, both explicit and implicit, and their inclusivity or marginalization of those with different backgrounds.

I believe it is important to look at ethical guidelines when evaluating any emergency response or development program, and those sponsored or led by religious organizations should be no different. The first element of such work is “Do No Harm”; all programs must be considered for both their potential positive and negative outcomes, and must be evaluated to ensure that participants do not experienced unanticipated negative consequences from their participation. In addition to this, the issue of coercion must be addressed, because how coercion is defined is context specific. For example: if I tell you that I’ll give you a flu shot for free in return for answering my questionnaire, and you have health insurance, so you can access the flu shot without me, then that is not a coercive incentive for participation in any given program. However, if you’re uninsured and your only means for protection against the flu is to participate in my research or program, then the practice may be coercive, as there are potential negative consequences for you not participating, ie you get the flu.

Let’s translate this to Uganda for example: if a religious organization offers free education to all children at a local school, without demanding that they worship at this school or adhere to those beliefs, then they are simply supplementing the public education system. However, if this religious school is of superior quality to the public school, and the only way to enroll is to subscribe to adhere to a particular belief system, both children and parents may be coerced into subverting their own personal beliefs for their children’s education.

An actual example is where I was in an island country and while there were public schools (one public high school in the country) the high school that was widely regarded as the best was private and Mormon run (my memory might be failing me, it could be Seventh Day Adventist). If you attended the church associated with the school, your children attended school for free, however if you were a member of a different church (regardless if it was also Christian) your children had to pay fees to enroll. So, for access to quality education for their children, parents changed (or pretended to change) their religious beliefs. In my book this is coercion, worship my god or pay money you don’t have to educate your children?

And so, as you may have noticed with my blog entries, there really is no clear cut answer here. I think what is important is that we hold all development organizations, religious or not, to the same ethical standards. Religious organizations should not be allowed to discriminate based on race, creed, ethnicity, ability, religion, or anything else. Religious organizations do not get a pass on equal promotion of human rights simply because they are targeting a particular population. 

There have been a variety of instances where the intervention of religious organizations in conflict zones, South Sudan during the conflict for instance, has actually fueled the conflict itself. In an effort to assist South Sudan (viewed as the ‘Christian’ side of the North/South war, but that’s a little simplistic in truth), foreign Christian organizations provided funding to the SPLA, or Southern Sudanese liberation group, which is now officially in power in the country. Without the funding (and access to weapons according to some sources) provided by these external sources, the war might have ended long before it did.

There are religious groups that do great work, and there are those that miss the mark, as can be said about humanitarian and development groups in general. But let’s hold everyone to the same standard, because no matter whether you’re doing the work for your God or your conscience, the potential for unintended negative consequences for those you want to help has the potential to be equally devastating.

What do you think about intertwining religion and humanitarian assistance? Is it a good way to tap into commitment to a cause and funding, or is it similar to government and religion (according to my Western background) and the two should be separated lest they corrupt one another?

Humanitarian Space

Humanitarian space "is  often used to denote areas to which humanitarian agencies have safe and protected access, in order to provide urgent relief assistance. This is generally dependent on the consent and cooperation of the controlling authorities," according to change.org


One of the goals of this blog, in addition to sharing personal experiences and keeping me from tearing my hair out, is to share the work I do, and to give people a better understanding of what the humanitarian sector is, and what it means to be a part of it. One of the questions I am often asked is how I choose where I will work. While I am not at a point in my career where I get to choose explicitly where I will work, I can turn down any assignment I like. It occurred to me the other day that the places I wouldn't consider working all have something in common, the humanitarian space in those countries (or some cross-border conflicts) is shrinking or practically non-existent, which in turn would make it difficult to accomplish whatever my task was, but it would also have the potentially to considerably increase the personal danger of the assignment.


Some argue that humanitarian work can be traced back to the Red Cross, workers could run onto battlefields, after the fighting was over, to aid those who were injured on either side of the fight. That is an excellent example of protected humanitarian space, you aren't associated with fighting forces on either side for offering medical and other aid. However the lines between fighting forces and humanitarian groups have continued to be blurred, especially over the past two decades, to the point where humanitarian workers may be in just as much danger as members of the military, except they don't get bullet proof vests or guns. You've heard about humanitarian workers being kidnapped or killed in conflicts where they were working, this is the ultimate violation of humanitarian space, where, for whatever reason, one armed group believes that a humanitarian group is aiding the other side, and is therefore classifiable as an enemy combatant. 


There are overt and covert ways that humanitarian space can be compromised. The most recent overt example is where individuals identifying themselves as employees of USAID (the US Agency for International Development - intended to be a state run humanitarian organization) were later identified as spies in places like Pakistan, Afghanistan, and Iraq. USAID is not only an organization that does work of its own, but also funds a litany of organizations all over the world. With the connection now confirmed between the CIA and USAID, the ability of USAID and anyone funded by them to claim neutrality in a conflict in which the US has an interest is diminished.


Above is an example of when partisan influences work their way into the humanitarian sphere, but another important way that humanitarian space is compromised is when members of fighting forces participate in humanitarian work. If the US military is in Afghanistan handing out food or blankets or stoves or what have you, they are are generally doing it to build goodwill and help gain the support of the local population. But then suppose I work for the Norwegian Refugee Council and the next day I'm giving out out blankets and stoves; there can be confusion in the minds of local people where the line between the military and the humanitarian spheres lies. What this can lead to is that humanitarian workers are assumed to be partisan, rather than the opposite.


Humanitarian organizations that expect to be granted humanitarian space in which to provide assistance are expected to abide by the principles of impartiality, neutrality, and independence. This means that they should provide assistance to both sides of the conflict, should not do anything to support or diminish the capabilities of either side, and should not be susceptible to outside influences. Many organizations do not take grants or donations from large organizations or governments as it could compromise their impartiality in the eyes of others, as well as their independence as they may be beholden to this funding their activities.


It is in places where humanitarian space has diminished the most: Somalia, Iraq, or Pakistan among others, where humanitarian workers are most at risk, and where you are most likely to hear of them being kidnapped or killed (in my experience, I do not have data on this, but this article addresses related research). One last element that has contributed to greater compromises in humanitarian space is the nature of war. Humanitarian space finds its jurisdiction in international law and the Geneva conventions. But today more wars are between non-state actors, or non-state actors and the state, and these groups are less likely to be held accountable for upholding the Geneva conventions, as they technically are not a party to them. 


We all have our limits, and realizing that mine are based in reality, rather than simply in fear, is comforting to me. In most places I have worked humanitarian workers are viewed as a nuisance (another survey!) at worst, and with gratitude at best. I think humanitarian workers themselves absolutely have a role to play in maintaining their neutrality, but governments must also realize that they put hundreds of thousands of people at risk when they blur the lines by having the military engage in humanitarian work, or ask humanitarian workers to engage in non-neutral activities. There are conflicts where all outsiders are seen as the enemy, as is shown clearly in In the Land of Blood and Honey (please see my post of January 9, 2012 for my review of the film), where Serbian forces attack UN peacekeepers, associating them with outside forces attempting to end the conflict. It is only through ongoing respect of and persistent maintenance of humanitarian space that those employing that space can do their jobs safely. 


However, an important question is that given that the nature of war is changing, and non-state actors often decline to abide by international law, how can this space be protected? The International Red Cross wrote an article addressing this question in Afghanistan. Also the Forced Migration Review dedicated an entire issue to non-state actors and displacement. I have much to learn about the subject, but for the time being will continue to avoid locations where being an American means being associated with the military. And as an aside, this is in no way a judgement of humanitarian workers living in working in places where humanitarian space is diminishing as we speak. You are brave; you are doing good work; and just because the military is active in a particular place does not mean people there are any less deserving or in need of support. Stay safe. 

Review: In the Land of Blood and Honey

The Global Fund for Women invited members of its mailing list to attend a screening of In the Land of Blood and Honey at the Metreon. At first I was a bit reluctant, despite Angelina Jolie's work with refugees I'm not her biggest fan and this is the first movie that she has written and directed. But, unable to turn down a bargain (the New Englander in me) and trying to meet my goal of seeing several movies a month in the theatre, I RSVP'd for two. A fellow public healther who also made her way to the left coast said she would come with me. I've been to screening put on by NGOs before, usually there's 20 or 30 people, if you're lucky. When I arrive at about 5:45 with the movie starting at 6:30, there were at least 100 people in the VIP line (those of us with reserved tickets) and several hundred people waiting in line to try to secure unreserved seats. I was astonished. Did this many people want to see a film about genocide on a Thursday night? Did they like free movies? Or was it Angelina Jolie's star power and willingness to rent out an entire AMC screen? Either way the room was packed, with two entire rows filled with press. Little did I know we were attending the West coast premiere of the film!

I can't tell you to go see this film. It's not that it wasn't good, but it portrays war and its accompanying atrocities in such a vivid way that I would recommend you think long and hard before you go see it. Neither my friend nor I got much sleep the night after seeing it, and she jokingly emailed me that she has a little PTSD with loud noises after the fact. But also note that I am particularly affected by films, I don't sit back and assess what is unrealistic about them, but rather believe it all and let myself by drawn in. So with that said, here's what I thought without many spoilers just in case some of you do choose to see the film after it's February 12 general release date.

In an effort to keep this short and sweet, here are three initial thoughts after seeing the film:
1. The setting and elements of the film outside of the main story are incredibly well done. The entire film is in Serbian and Bosnian with sub-titles. The film was shot on location. All the actors are of the ethnic backgrounds they represent. Additionally, scenes meant to convey what it feels like to live inside of a war zone do just that (from what I've heard and read). The constant, the arbitrary nature of punishment, and feeling of powerlessness. If you have ever wondered what it would be like to live in the middle of a war where a slew of war crimes are taking place, I think this film will give you an idea.

2. I'm glad this film wasn't set in Africa. Now hear me out. Angelina could just as well have chosen to document a different war where genocide occurred and rape was used as a weapon, this war was not unique in that. However, I think that the portrayal of Europeans committing such acts against one another, solely because of politics and religious differences makes the horrific nature of the crimes more difficult for some people to dismiss. I have heard many people say things about genocide or rape or war 'over in Africa'. There is a view that 'those things happen there'. But those things happen in many places, and I think that having perpetrators of crimes against humanity who look like me or many of you has a different impact. This doesn't lessen the importance or inhumanity of such acts in Africa, but I think that once people see how horrific such a conflict is in a culture to which they can relate, perhaps they are more likely to realize it is equally horrific among people with whom they have more difficulty identifying.

3. The main plot. I am a bit conflicted about how I feel about the main plot of the movie, essentially Danjiel, a Serb, and Ajla, a Muslim, go on a date before the war and hit it off. Then the war begins, but they end up meeting again. The main conflict in much of the movie is how they choose to and are forced to interact given that they are technically enemies, but in fact have romantic feelings for one another. I think the plot itself is a stretch, but I also feel like it provides a glimpse of humanity in the midst of atrocity. There is rarely purely good and purely evil during conflict, and many people are 'assigned' to a side which they may not wholly support. The plot is absolutely a stretch at times, I could imagine a skeptic watching it and finding it unbelievable. But finding a love story in the midst of tragedy is also difficult, and just watching one war crime after another would quickly go from engaging to nauseating without breaks where the humanity of people is shown. There is an adage in the humanitarian community that it is easier to make someone care about one child in danger than a country full of children in danger. So it goes with this film, seeing one person struggle with choices, engage in and be tortured, change due to the things they do and witness is easier to understand than watching populations go through the very same circumstances. While it may not be entirely believable, I think Angelina succeeded in making perpetrators and victims of war crimes personable, which is a quite a feat.

As a final note, I know far less about this conflict than others that were taking place around the same time, Rwanda for instance. I cannot attest to the accuracy of the portrayal of the actions of the various factions. However, I can say that the perspective was not entirely unbalanced and I think learning about a war, where ethnic cleansing was occurring, in which the US avoided intervening for years because they said 'we don't have a dog in that fight', is useful, whether through this film or other means.

Happy New Year and Wanderlusting 2012

Happy New Year everyone! Most people who know me know I love making resolutions at the beginning of the new year. One of my resolutions last year was to post more than I did in 2010. Mission accomplished, I posted 23 times in 2011 vs 20 in 2010. I also had more views of the blog, with people from all over the world taking a look (thanks google analytics) with 132 page views in December alone. What this tells me is that my loyal readers (hi friends and family!) are still reading, but that Reckoning with Wanderlust is also getting viewed by people who don't know me (!) and are reading the blog for the material. So blog related resolution for 2012? Let's grow the blog and make it a little more consistent. This means that I'll still be letting you know where I am and where I'm going, but I'm also going to try to keep posting when I'm home.

Also, based on a 2011 resolution to read at least one book a month (I read 39!) I'm going to start doing book or movie reviews at least once a month. This way, should any readers be interested in finding about more about topics somewhat related to what I do, they'll know where to look. As always, for my readers who receive this blog as an email, this is the time of year where I offer you the opportunity to get off that list, especially because there will hopefully be more blog posts this year, which means more emails to you.

Lastly, thanks to everyone who reads, I can't believe I'll have been blogging for 4 years in May! Your support and comments are invaluable. And of course, as I know you're all amazing and talented, anyone who would like to do a guest post about something related to this blog should email reckoning.wanderlust@gmail.com with your ideas.

Who Are You When No One's Looking?

How much of how we act is a result of who we are, and how much of it is the result of social pressure exerted by those around us and the norms and regulations imposed upon us?

Most of us like to consider ourselves ethical people.  We like to believe that we would be good people, even if there weren’t any consequences for acting in ways that are contrary to existing laws and norms. For example, I like to believe that I wouldn’t purposefully hurt someone for the heck of it, even if it wasn’t against the law. But, in fact, I think we’ve all seen that this isn’t necessarily true. We often act and speak differently depending upon whom we’re with and where we are. People who make sexist or racist comments in private, but hold their tongue in front of those they don’t know well or who would be offended.

This can also hold true when we travel, when we’re in a place away from ‘our’ culture, norms that hold true at home may not apply. Think of men who travel to other countries to abuse children, and justify it by citing the normalcy of it in the place they are and the availability of children. Or people who would hold their tongue in the US, but have no problem calling entire cultures or countries ‘lazy’ or ‘incompetent’. I’ve noticed that the tendency towards disregarding criteria for acceptable behavior increases when (some) people are traveling or working in the developing world. (I can’t speak about whether this happens in the developed world as I have no experience working abroad there.) Somehow it’s suddenly acceptable to be more ‘ist’ of every sort. Whether this is because of the legacy of colonialism and white men’s superiority is still assumed to a greater extent or because the stereotype of the people in that place as less moral or less deserving of commonly held rights is difficult to say and not necessarily generalizable across diverse contexts.

Alternatively, perhaps it’s that people with those attitudes are more likely to work abroad as participating in things like the diamond industry are less likely offend their scruples. Or maybe my naïveté is showing again, as assuming that people working in the developing world want to work to improve things, when in fact they may be there with the explicit goal of exploiting a country’s wealth of resources. So there’s the question, do more people ‘behave badly’ in developing countries, or do people with the desire to do so seek out those places where they are less likely to be criticized or ostracized and in some cases are effectively above the law or local moral order?

Is it being in Las Vegas or the fact that the city’s ad campaign tells you that you can do anything there because no one will tell the people that respect you at home? 

Happy Holidays and here's to positive situational and personal influences, and to the people who act morally and ethically even in their absence.

What's in a Name?

I have a very common American last name. It just so happens that a former Liberian president has the same last name as me. He was Americo-Liberian, which means he came to Liberia after being enslaved in America before emancipation.

Liberia has been described as America's only outright foray into colonialism. The initial goal was to create a country in Africa of freed American slaves, and this was accomplished through the purchase of land and conquest of the Africans already living in what is Liberia today. The irony doesn't stop there sadly, Americo-Liberians took control of the country, placing themselves in positions of power and excluding native Liberians from many parts of social, economic, and political life. Somewhere in here there must be a lesson about how people who are the victims of abuses of power will come to abuse power, should they be given the chance, rather than treating others as they wish they had been treated. 

Americo-Liberians were, and are, lighter skinned than native Liberians, due to generations of coupling between slaves and slave-owners, whether by force or by choice. This was used as a means to measure their superiority, as they went about creating a society in West Africa that closely mirrored America, but with themselves as the dominant group. Many buildings in Monrovia are similar in style to those in the American south. There are similar holidays, laws, and elements of culture. The Liberian flag obviously is based on the American flag.

And so what's in a name? In the United States, when I meet someone who is African American and has the same last name as me, the issue is largely ignored. It may cross my mind that somewhere in far off history someone with the same last name as me owned slaves. Hopefully not my actual ancestors because I think we're exclusively Northerners, but it's hard to be sure. Then if I meet someone in Liberia with the same last name as I do, I know this person most likely Americo-Liberian and is a descendent of American slaves. I can't quite put my finger on the difference between the two experiences, but they certainly exist. Perhaps it is because the identity of ex-slaves in Liberia is in fact one that garners privilege, as they are the relatives of people who are viewed by some to be 'more civilized' because of their time in American, than members of tribes who have always lived in West Africa. I get the impression that in America we are more reticent to point out our likely roles as relatives of ex-slaves and ex-slave owners, we most often talk about slavery in the abstract, as something that happened, not as something in which our ancestors participated. Whereas every time anyone mentions any sort of Liberian history, slavery is mentioned. There is a slavery museum and historical anecdotes about Americo-Liberian ex-slaves are shared with a kind of pride.

I'm still digesting this part of the experience and welcome any thoughts you all have. Here are a couple of my reflections:

1. Liberia has been a place of clashing interests and cultures for over a hundred years now. From clans to politicians to rebel groups, conquest and violence have been the name of the game. This was supposed to be a place where former slaves could be free and start over, forgetting that they had to take land and power from someone to do that. So how can people in a place born of violence stop the cycle of aggression and retaliation while still allowing members of diverse histories and backgrounds to interact and participate in decision-making?

2. Historical memory is an interesting thing, and it is the winners who write the history. This has made being descendants of former slaves a matter of pride in Liberia and what appears to me (as someone who has an admittedly limited peripheral perception) a source of shame and hurt for many African Americans and caucasians alike. 

3. Why is people's reaction to being dominated to dominate others in return? It's like paying forward pain and vulnerability in exchange for power. I suppose this is not everyone's reaction, but the people who want to treat others fairly and kindly are rarely the ones pursuing power.

Compounds Part II

So I have a follow-up post for you which is a bit of a reflection on the previous post about the prevalence of compounds in Liberia. I'm home safe and sound in San Francisco, but have a list of topics to blog about and am going to do my best to get through them while everything is still fresh in my mind.

Some of my lovely readers offered interesting insight into the world of compound living, the effects it can have on the psyche of those living both inside and outside its tall walls. They also mentioned other places in the world where such things have happened, where people foreign to the environment arrived and built walls to protect themselves from nature/people/animals/the unknown. It fascinates me that people move away from their homes and across the globe only to wall themselves off into places that keep out everything that is different about the place they live.

HOWEVER, I think I neglected to appropriately explain why all these walls exist in Liberia in particular, but rather simply pointed the finger at the expat community for being paranoid and isolationist. I know many of you know a lot more about the civil wars in Liberia than I do (like did you know Charles Taylor escaped from a Massachusetts prison?!), but I'm learning and I welcome your input here. But during the wars, almost back to back, 1989 - 2003, with a one year reprieve in 1996, Monrovia was often the center of conflict. Unlike in many civil wars where most conflict takes place outside the capitol, Monrovia was often at the heart of the violence and fighting (in addition to border areas, and areas with diamond mines etc). And while I can't think of a civil war that didn't involve unnecessary loss of life, this war was particularly brutal for a variety of reasons. 

There were many factions fighting so, for example, one group of young men with guns arrives in a village and demands shelter and food, which the people have no choice but to provide. Then a rival faction arrives, calling all the people in the village supporters of the first faction. Then they take all the young men and (this is one example I heard), first teach them how to shoot a gun, then tell them they need to know how to shoot it blindfolded, so the men practice firing again blindfolded. Then the blindfolds are removed and the boys find that they have killed their parents and brothers and sisters. Then the entire village is burned to the ground and young boys, and often girls as well, become associated with the fighting forces. Or as various factions would try to enter Monrovia to take over the national mansion and kill whoever was the leader at the time, local people would often take refuge in 'neutral' locations. I was informed that the church near the apartment where I stayed had been one of those places. Until one faction decided not to respect the sanctity of the church, locked the doors, and burned it down with everyone inside.

I apologize for the graphic nature of the stories, but I think that they bear sharing, partially because I think the effect of that sort of indiscriminate violence on the psyche of individuals and a nation is both important to remember, and also impossible to forget. Additionally, many of the young people who were associated with fighting forces are unemployed or underemployed, and spent their youth using violence to get what they want. The vast majority of people I met in Monrovia were incredibly friendly and polite and helpful and kind. But the prevalence of petty crime as well as robbery, assault, and sexual assault is astounding and apparently increasing. So while one could look at living in compounds as a way to isolate oneself from reality and maintain a distance from the local population, it also allows international experts in post-conflict redevelopment to remain in the country and continue working "Lift Liberia" as the UNMIL slogan says.

I think that some crime will always exist, as it does in any city, but I also hope that some day violent crime is low enough to decrease the security focused feeling that exists in many parts of Monrovia due to high walls, razor wire, guards, and barred windows. But on the other hand it's always easier to put up walls than to pull them down.

Compounds

Have you ever lived in a compound? Worked in a compound? I remember when I was a middle school a friend of mine told me that her father's family in Chile lived in a compound. There was a big house surrounded by high walls, topped with coiling razor wire, with security guards out front. At the time it sounded like a castle, and that her family must have been one of the richest and most powerful in the country. Little did I know how much time I'd be spending in compounds in the future.

Compounds in every country I've been to have a number of similar features: the property is surrounded by high walls. These can vary from 8 feet to 12 feet from what I've seen. For instance when I was in Juba, the walls were 8 feet but were being raised to 8 or 10 after a number of robberies had occurred in the area, so the height of the wall matters. Walls are almost always made of cement, and are invariably topped with coiled barbed or razor wire, or with pieces of broken bottles with the sharp edges sticking up. There is almost always only one way to enter a compound, through large metal gates in the front that are locked at all times unless someone is coming or going. Then there are guards, always one, often more, who open and close the gates and generally stand around watching who comes and goes. Depending on where you are the guards may or may not have guns. In Liberia none of them do because firearms are completely banned, but in much of Latin America the guards do have some pretty intimidating weapons.

At first it feels strange to work and live in compounds, when I was in rural S. Sudan I worked and lived inside the same compound, so while the commute was just a few steps, it makes your world incredibly small. In almost every place I've worked you spend your day going in and out of compounds, greeting guards, occasionally showing ID if you're going into a UN compound. But the idea that what's inside the compound needs to be protected from what lays outside it becomes the norm. Here in Liberia most of the people I've met (who can afford it) live in compounds. Imagine if you've ever lived in an apartment or condo complex, now just surround it with walls and barbed wires, replace your doormen with security guards, and you've got the idea.

I remember when I was younger my family went on vacation with friends, and our friends didn't like the idea that the house we were all staying in was inside a gated community, because it implied the exclusion of the locals. Here there are certainly Liberians who work at businesses and organizations that are located behind high walls, but living within a compound seems to be an exclusively ex-patriate thing to do. On one hand, it's understandable, I've heard stories about a number of robberies and home invasions that have occurred in Monrovia. On the other hand a friend of mine lived on the top floor of an apartment building in Harlem and was constantly being robbed as people would hop from building to building and came down from the roof. It's not just here that crime occurs, and the security standards for the UN and other organizations exist for a reason. But what feels strange, is that it doesn't feel strange any more. I expect it, and though I still occasionally stop to wonder what it must be like to live in a place where the international community has come to "help" and "rebuild", but feels the need to wall themselves off and protect themselves from the people they're ostensibly here for. I think about it sometimes, but it's no longer my first thought when I see the razor wire. It doesn't even phase me.

Just another manic Monday

I realize it’s no longer Monday, but I figure I get a couple of days of wiggle room with the time difference and the holiday and whatnot... right?  Also this is a long one just giving a recap of my day, the short version is that while I’m having a good time I wish I was home spending Thanksgiving with friends and family. I was in Thailand for Thanksgiving last year, and at least this year I’ve got other Americans around to celebrate with, definitely something to be thankful for.

Monday

After a good weekend full of work and sunshine and even a little BBQ by the pool I was ready for my second week in Monrovia to begin. I set my alarm, hopped into bed, did a little light reading and called it a night.

I was shocked awake by my phone. It was someone from work, where was I? It was 9:30 and I had overslept by 2.5 hours after getting little sleep during the night itself! While I hate being late in general, I particularly try to avoid it in places where the general trend is to be late. In my mind if I consistently show up to things like meetings on time, maybe everyone else will start to also? It could happen.

I went into the bathroom, only to find that the lightbulb turned on and promptly went out. Fabulous. Dark cold shower. I headed to work soon after, speed walking my way through crowds of people on Tubman Blvd trying to hail taxis. If I could describe the taxis here to you, I’d say to imagine what you’ve heard about Japanese elevators; that there are “elevator packers” who push more and more people in to be sure the elevator is at capacity. All taxis here are shared, and there is no limit to the number of people you can fit inside. If you find a taxi going your direction (you flag them down with different hand signals depending on which of the major roads you want to go down), it will slow down and you open the back or front door, looking in to see who can squeeze over. It is common place for there to be 4 or 5 people in the back seat and 2 in the front seat. Needless to say the competition for taxis is tough.

I arrived at work at about 10, only to find that there was no car to take a colleague and me to a meeting. I suggested we head back out to the main road to find ourselves a taxi, but after a few minutes of watching packed taxis crawl through traffic in the 90+ degree heat, we decided to walk instead. It wasn’t less hot walking, but at least there was a little breeze. We arrived at the government office dripping and a little out of breath, but right on time after a 30 minute walk.

After the meeting we went on to walk to our next meeting. I’m here helping an umbrella body for public health research organize for it’s next project, and the task begins with a meeting with every member of the steering committee. Walking into downtown Monrovia, we found our next meeting which was at the top of a very rickety, very tall, and very steep set of stairs. After our meeting our colleague led us out to the front door, commenting that they were thinking of moving because it was difficult for the disabled children they worked with to make it up the stairs. My eyes opened wide imaging young people on crutches or missing parts of legs (the most common and visibly evident disabilities I’ve seen) trying to make it up 2-3 flights of uneven tiled stairs. Yes, a move seems in order.

My colleague then suggested we go to his house for lunch since it was nearby, and previous people working with this project from my job had also joined him at his house for a meal. On we went, walking through small alleys and across big streets until we reached what looked like a gated driveway.  But as in sloped downwards I saw that, like much of the city, it was actually an interconnected network of paths, unnamed, that you essentially can only get around if you know the area. Children ran up as we approached the house, they had been playing outside and helping to wash dishes. The power in the house was out, but regardless eating at the kitchen table in the pitch black was presented as the only option. My colleague held his cell phone, which has a small flashlight at the end of it with one hand, gesturing for me to serve myself. I took what I consider a good portion of rice, definitely more than a cup, and he acted surprised “That’s it?! That’s all?! Well I am African and I am going to EAT!” and he proceeded to fill his bowl until it was brimming with white rice. We topped this with a spicy mix of dried fish and cassava greens and palm oil. I told him it was the most delicious food I’d had since arriving, and also my first Liberian food, and I meant it.

We walked back out to the main street to wait for someone from our organization to pick us up and drive us back to the office. Enrique Iglesias was blaring from a CD shop and as I started to hum along I saw that every fourth or fifth Liberian was also singing along, some even out loud. I got and gave smiles as we sang along together.

After a long wait a driver pulled up, complaining of the traffic he’d encountered on his way to fetch us. We found out why about a half mile later. Coming from the other direction was the CDC protest that was slated for that day. CDC is a political party that lost the most recent presidential election; there have been protests and right before I came a member of the CDC was killed in one of the protests. Monday was to be his burial. We crawled along through traffic as the crowd of CDC members, mostly young, many wearing leaves and branches in their hair with faces painted, chanted and sang. Then came a truck carrying the coffin of the man who had been killed; they were parading it throughout the city. It was a group of a couple hundred people, many less than I would have expected. Then we continued on, passing the President’s office and UN buildings. Outside were international and national armed forced and police in full riot gear every few yards. Fences were reinforced with sandbags and policemen were directing traffic (a true rarity).

We spent the rest of the day at the office trying to schedule more meetings and working to plan and organize a workshop, which took place today.  Every day I get driven home at 5:30 pm, and today when I got home I realized I needed to go to the grocery store, which is thankfully only a few blocks away. After dropping off my computer I walked over, darting through traffic into the store. Big bottles of water for drinking, two lightbulbs to replace the ones that had burnt out in the apartment where I’m staying, and I tried to buy freshmade hummus but “Is finish, come again”. (Many stores here have Lebanese owners, and I’ve never had such fresh and delicious Lebanese food as in Monrovia!)

As I left the store I was stunned by a huge crowd. The CDC march was still going and the number of participants had increased incredibly, as had the number of people gathered along the street to watch. Rush hour traffic was trying to crawl through, relatively unsuccessfully as people walking, on the backs of trucks and motorbikes passed by, always chanting or singing. I carefully followed a car across the road to ensure I wasn’t the one cutting in front of the protestors. I then went inside my apartment, and pulled up a seat on my balcony, and sat watching them pass by. They passed in clusters, but there were several thousand people participating without a doubt. From my perch on the second floor I got a couple great pictures as well which will have to be shared later.

I then went to install my lightbulbs, the first one didn’t work, the entire socket was burnt out rather than just the bulb. I then went into my bathroom to install the second, the bulb was in a regular box but was red. I sort of threw up my hands and decided to go with it, showering under red light would be new and exciting. It lit at first, off and on, as I wiggled it around in the socket, before glowing and going out, leaving me once again in the dark in the bathroom.

I then went across the street to a restaurant with wifi to eat dinner and get some work done, and the marchers were continuing by, slower now, less of them, but still going. I sat down and started working, then ordered. But the internet soon went down and as every person behind a computer in the place frantically called the waitress, I gave up, enjoyed my dinner and headed home to work on the implementation plan for the research.

Certainly not your average day, but definitely one of the most memorable ones I’ve had so far between protests and riot gear and home visits. If nothing else Monrovia keeps me on my toes.

Welcome to Liberia

Customs Agent: Is this your first time in Liberia?

Me: Yes, it is

Customs Agent: Ah! You are welcome!

I know now, that this is simply a common greeting in Liberia. After the introduction people say “You are welcome!”, whether it is at a restaurant or a government office. It’s quite a nice way to start an interaction.

I was picked up from the airport and driven into Monrovia, and fields slowly turned into small buildings, which turned into slightly larger buildings and the streets got busier. We passed the CDC, the opposition party headquarters where election violence had occurred days earlier. We passed Charles Taylor’s house, then his wife’s house.  It seemed like almost all the billboards we passed were placed by the government, reminding residents to pay their taxes, to share their opinion with the ballot box and not with guns, showing them the changes that had occurred since the last election, with bridges built and roads paved, promoting women and girls’ participation in decision-making. We pulled into a parking lot of a two storey building,  and two men who had been waiting to show me into my guesthouse took my bags. First on unlocked the large padlock, attached to a chain locking a gate at the bottom of the stairs. He explained that I was always to lock it whenever I was entering or leaving. He then used the light on his cellphone (who needs an iPhone when you have a Nokia with a built-in flashlight!) to show me up the stairs, leading to a door with a small balcony in front of it. He then unlocked another padlock, as well as a deadbolt. He showed me inside the apartment, but there was no power. With his flashlight he showed me how to lock the deadbolt on the handle of the door, followed by the sliding deadbolts at the bottom and top of the door. [A post about security is on its way to explain all the locks] He then gave me a tour of the apartment b the light of his phone: the kitchen, leading into a bathroom, the living room, a random room with an ironing board and a stack of mattress, and a large bedroom, with another bathroom attached. It looked lovely through the beam of the light. Before I arrived I was told I’d be staying in a guesthouse, and that if it wasn’t up to my standards I could move to a hotel. After over 24 hours of travel, the one bedroom apartment was more than I could have hoped for.

The next morning things weren’t quite so bright, and after a visit to the Stop & Shop (!) down the street I spent the better part of the day sweeping and scrubbing and mopping. But I’m happy here, with a small kitchen to cook in, a grocery store nearby, a bustling street below, and air conditioners for when the temperature soars. There’s even a café across the street with wi-fi if I get the urge to check my email or chat with all of you.

Any of you who have been following my blog for several years know that while I have had several experiences working in Africa before, I have never felt welcomed in this way before. Once I was taking a picture on one of my first days, and didn’t realize it was a sight owned by the government. A military truck rolled up and a man yelled at me, threatened to arrest me, told me to go back to where I came from. After I convinced him not to throw my entire camera into a field of rubbish, he proceeded to throw only the memory card. On another trip I was told to lie about where I was from because people didn’t take kindly to Americans, and was sat in the middle of the back of UN vehicles whenever possible, so it was harder for people to tell there was a white person in the car. I had good times on those and other trips as well, but it always felt like a struggle. I fall in love with most of the places I travel to, and always wondered why I had yet to fall in love with Africa like I had Latin America, Asia, and the Pacific. I get it now. It’s amazing what a difference people being nice to you can make. It almost makes you want to be nice to all the tourists in Times Square. Almost.

I regret that the only thing I forgot at home is the cable to transfer pictures form my computer. (Okay not the only thing, but brushing my hair is overrated anyway). But I promise to show you everything when I get back.

Basta Ya!

Basta Ya! means  something along the lines of "Enough Already" in Spanish. It was one of the slogans used by protesters in Ecuador when they ousted the President in 2005.

 I was studying abroad there at the time and given that the President had essentially replaced the entire Supreme Court with his cronies then proceeded to start to change the constitution among other things, I thought my participation in the protests and eventual coup d'etat was warranted.

 While the University I attended was closed for several days and my parents were a bit nervous, everything turned out fine and the only casualty occurred when someone fell out of the back of a truck.

 I later used this experience as the basis for my personal essay for graduate school, drawing parallels between group action needed to throw out an unjust leader and the collective action needed to improve health in communities and the population at large.

 Not exactly a radical concept but it made the essay more exciting.

So as some of you may (or may not) know, presidential elections have just occurred in Liberia and there has been some protests and violence. Feel free to click on the links to the right to get more information (or go to kwrwandering@blogspot.com if you received this as an email). The election was a run-off between the current president and her opponent and the protests have already turned violent. Supporters of the incumbent's opponent have called the election fraudulent, with many refusing to participate and protesting instead. To be honest I have no information about the basis or legitimacy of these claims. But I did want everyone to know that while I'm still going ahead with my trip, I will be extremely careful. I also already promised my dad I wouldn't join in the protesting and rioting. Aw man! Ruining all the fun :) I'll keep you updated as things progress and it'll be very interesting. One of my favorite things to do is compare the news and situation on the ground to what is presented by major media outlets. We shall see. I'll have a cell phone there and anyone who is interested can ask me for the number if you'd like to be able to check in.

Off to catch my flight to Monrovia via Atlanta and Accra!

Work-Life Balance

So Wikipedia tells me that  "Work–life balance is a broad concept including proper prioritizing between "work" (career and ambition) on the one hand and "life" (Health, pleasure, leisure, family and spiritual development) on the other. "


How's your work-life balance these days? Mine is sort of one or the other, with no balance. It's interesting, sometimes I'm working and sometimes I've got the whole life thing going on. It has its ups and downs, but for the moment it pays the bills. So on that note, I've had a whole lot of life the past couple months, and now I'm off to work again! I'm heading to Liberia next Thursday, just for a couple weeks. But sadly I'll be missing Thanksgiving again; on the other hand I already celebrated real (Canadian) Thanksgiving with the fam in Portland so that's a plus.


I've never been to West Africa before and have never worked in a country where English is the official language, so this should be a whole new experience. I'm going to do recognizance and to set up for a research project that will begin in January, but hopefully I'll have all sorts of fun things to share with you. Everyone keep in touch and I'll let you know when I make it to Monrovia safe and sound.

Feels like Home

I woke up this morning sleeping on a futon on the floor in my sister's beautiful guestroom. The bed had a top sheet and a bottom sheet. A feather duvet kept me warm during the chilly night (anything under 85 feels cold now). As I lay in bed at 5:30am, amazed that the sun was up, that no one was honking or shouting, I realized it felt like home. I grew up sleeping on futons, in fact I didn't move to a bed with springs until... high school?

I realize that a futon on the floor isn't what typically feels like home to most Americans. Maybe home feels like a specific kind of blanket, or your dog whining to be taken out, or the bird singing outside your window. But a comfortable bed, a top sheet (no top sheets in Indonesia!), and a place where the sun rises and sets at different times depending on the time of year feels comfortable, even though I've never actually lived in this city, and this house is not technically my home.

While contemplating my comfy bed,and what I would do without my luggage, since it got lost in customs limbo, I got to thinking, that even though this is what I'm used to, that doesn't make it better than how anyone else sleeps. In Indonesia a lot of people simply unroll a straw mat, sometimes grab a pillow, and go to sleep, no blankets, no privacy. This has nothing to do with how much money the family has, they are just most comfortable sleeping on a straw mat, often with several other people.

Where am I going with this? It has occurred to me that through my presentations of culture, and the manifestations thereof, in the various places I visit, I may have done you and my friends in those places a bit of a disservice. I was hoping to present my experiences with reverence, to show the differences as well as the similarities, as well as to share my reflections on living and working somewhere so different than where I'm from. But instead, it has occurred to me that some of my posts could simply make someone say "phew! I'm glad I don't live there, those people really are uncivilized/undeveloped/in need of help." And while I could see why someone might feel that way, I think there is a different way to look and understand.

I have argued here and in other arenas against the concept of cultural relativism when those things that some claim are cultural infringe upon the human rights and dignity of people, most often women and children, but also other vulnerable groups. So while you may read my descriptions of whether to wear a jilbob (veil) or discussions with people that show me they have different understandings of the roles and rights of members of their society, it was not my intention to present all aspects of that cultural as inherently less valuable or less correct than those of the West.

I was talking with another Western researcher about how she felt in rural areas of Aceh, and her response was that she felt lucky. Lucky to have been raised by parents in a place where education and self determination were a given. We discussed who we might be if we had been raised in Aceh. I commented that I like to imagine I would be like myself, that I would have moved away to somewhere with more liberal laws, but who knows, maybe I would hold as tightly to Islam as I do to humanism. How do people living in Aceh, for instance, feel when they look at me though? It would be conceited and narrow sighted to imagine that everyone looks at me and thinks I am lucky and developed, something to strive to be like. We all cling to our own cultures and backgrounds, seeing everyone else as different, but often forget to imagine what we look like through their eyes.

I was taking a walk in rural Aceh with a researcher and several girls around 13 years old. They were giving us a tour of their town. They all wore veils and I would be genuinely surprised if any of them had left Aceh province. One girl, through the Bahasa Indonesia and English speaking researcher, told me that I should marry an Acehnese so I could move here. (I often get similar suggestions and marriage proposals, so I've got a bit of an arsenal of responses). I told her that that sounded like a good idea, but in return she would have to marry an American man. She looked at me with a mix of shock and disgust and shook her head. The researcher (who is Indonesian) apologized to me for the girl's response, explaining that it was not meant to be disrespectful of America, or some dislike of American men. But to this girl, who had worn a veil since a young age, rises at 5 am to pray, praying 4 more times throughout the day, was appalled by the notion of marrying someone who was so ignorant and uneducated that he was not Muslim. I just laughed, knowing that the vast majority of Americans would react the same way if I suggested they marry a traditional and strictly religious Muslim man in Indonesia.

And so, we must remember not only to observe the world around us, but also to look in the mirror on occasion, seeing ourselves as others see us. Perhaps you read my blogs and feel sorry for the women in Aceh, forced to wear veils and cover from ankles to wrists to neck, punished if caught engaging in premarital relations, prohibited from praying when menstruating, and who must have a male relative present to consent to their marriage. But look back, they may be looking at you and feeling pity too. Pity because you have not accepted Muhammad as the one true prophet, pity because you think that by showing skin and looking "sexy" you are showing your power, when in fact you are demonstrating your weakness rather than demanding respect from men, pity because your country has forgotten the meaning and value of family, pity because you worship money and power instead helping one another and working together.

And so, never forget that neither you nor I are objective observes of culture, nor can we be. And while you may read about the people in the places I go and feel sorry for them or thank your lucky stars for your freedom, the people I describe may be looking back and thinking exactly the same thing about you.

If I called you a misogynist, would you hold it against me?

Is it just me, or is it more socially acceptable to be a misogynist than a racist?

Most people seem to have heard that being racist, at least openly with people you don't know are also racist, is not socially acceptable. Judging people based on their race, hating them or assuming things about them, is relatively widely known to be unacceptable. But generally people at least look a bit sheepish after saying something racist, they realize they've said something that contradicts social norms, and sometimes even apologize.

Why isn't this also the case with misogyny? Somehow it hasn't gotten quite the same publicity. I've had several experiences over the past few weeks that have shown me that while women here may drive cars and go to university, feelings about their inequality with men not only exist, but are the standard. To start with a light example, I have been driving here, a stick shift on the left side of the road for that matter. But I had, up until this point, only driven myself and a friend, whenever the two men I work with were in the car they drove, in my mind because they know the area better and are used to the different traffic laws (and can read the street signs). But then I drove one morning, and both men sat in the back. One of the men continuously called me lady-driver, calling himself and the other man in the back ladyboys (or transgendered). So my driving feminizes you? It makes you more like a woman when a woman drives? It makes you less of a man? Hmm...

Then we were talking about corporal punishment of children. This is a contentious issue in many places, including in the United States, as parents maintain the right to hit their children to teach them discipline. A group of men voiced their disagreement with the promotion of Child Rights here, as it makes children object to being hit, and leaves parents without a means to teach them right from wrong. I commented that this might be true, but on the other hand, the same excuse has been used for hitting women. "I only hit my wife to teach her a lesson, and never with a closed fist." Ah how kind of you, good thing you know so much and can train your wife to act exactly as you want her to, in a situation where she is essentially powerless. As I said this I glanced into the back seat and saw one of the men I work with nod. Nod. As in a "yes yes, but it's only to teach her" nod.

Then today at dinner we were chatting, and another team member brought up a story of a girl who was raped in a rural area of the province. She expressed shock that a member of our team agreed that in this and other similar incidents of sexual assault, the girl always carried the blame. She should not have worn that, been there, enticed him so, smiled at him like that. Girls are sent away in some rural areas after being raped, partially because they have dishonored their families by having pre-marital sex, and partially as punishment for enticing a man to have pre-marital sex.

I know what I would do if either of these situations occurred when I was in the US. I would express my outrage verbally, focusing on the lack of blame placed on men in either of the last two scenarios, despite the fact that they are the violent aggressors. I would ask the men if it would be similarly acceptable to do such a thing to a man, to hit him to teach him a lesson or to rape him because he smiled and wore his shirt a bit tight. Oh no? Why not? He might hit you back? He is your equal? He doesn't need to be taught a lesson because he already knows the right way to act?

I know no one has ever changed such an ingrained opinion over the course of one conversation. No one will decide that women are victims and survivors of sexual violence, rather than its cause and consequence in a day. But I would also be unwilling to bite my tongue, because I would equate my silence with tacit acceptance.

"All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing." - Edmund Burke

But what about when the people you're talking to are of a different culture? I don't believe that violence against and hatred of women can be justified via cultural relativism. Cultural norms are important and necessary, but are not worth preserving when they violate the basic human rights of others. But what about when they are people you work with and must continue working with? How do you balance you personal beliefs and morals while maintaining tranquility among colleagues, who will likely only dismiss what you have to say as Western anyhow, claiming you do not understand the Culture here? Can you keep quiet without feeling guilty?  I don't know.

But I do follow the cultural norms here. I don't shake your hand, we gently touch fingertips and touch our hearts. I am quiet when appropriate, as our local male researchers lead introductions and explanations. I express doubt at their overt and covert misogyny, enough to have expressed how I feel, but just little enough to avoid a debate that I know will go no where. Then I come here. And I tell all of you. And then I get in the driver's seat, and let them fight their own feelings of inadequacy, because those are not mine to fight.

Slap Jack

Have you ever played slapjack? It's a bit like the card game war, but with more hitting. You sit facing your opponent(s), cards in hand, as cards are laid down by players one at a time, you may slap the pile every time you see a jack. If you're the first person to slap the pile, you win the jack and all the cards beneath it. The game ends when one player has all the cards. A player who is "out" because he or she is out of cards can "slap back in" by winning a slap when a jack turns up. It can turn into a bit of a violent game (if you play it right).

Now imagine slapjack with food, and some manners. A lot of the food here is Padang food, it is both a style of serving food, as well as the cuisine that hails from Padang, Indonesia. Each person at the table starts with a heaping bowl of white rice. No, you can't have something else. No they don't have brown rice. Next is when the food is dealt, all hands off the table now, no cheating and jumping your turn. Everyone at the table watches as the waiter brings small bowl after small bowl of food. They are all placed on the table, then as more bowls come a second layer is carefully balanced on top of the first, making a small pyramid of bowls.

Everyone at the table watches as the food is delivered, secretly having their eye on one particular dish or another, as the food is different in each bowl. This dish has fried shrimp, that dish has beef with spicy red sauce, this dish has boiled greens, that dish has fried chicken, this dish has big pieces of fish in yellow sauce, that one has shrimp and potatoes in chili, this one omelette with onion, that one many tiny fish mixed in sauce, this one fried tempeh, that one something you can't quite identify. You only pay for the dishes you eat, each ranging from about 50 cents to 2 dollars USD.

Once all the food has been laid out, everyone dips their right hand into a small bowl of water sitting next to their bowl of rice, washing it by dipping it in and out of the water and rubbing the fingers against the palm. Then people start reaching for bowls. They're small bowls so there may only be enough in a particular bowl to serve one, maybe two people. You see someone lifting that bowl of curried oysters off the top layer, your heart skips a beat, but then they set it down, going for the shark beneath. You politely reach over, bringing the oysters to rest beside you, content that you've slapped your jack.

Then you either pour the contents of your bowl over your rice, or spoon it in, making sure to "wet your rice" with lots of delicious sauce that invariably contains lots of chili, and a little coconut milk too if you're lucky. You ask to a share the mixed veggies that someone else has only taken some of, you add a few shrimp to even out the meal. Then you dig in. Using your right hand (right hand only! I tend to keep my left hand in my lap to make sure I don't use it, just like you have to keep your left hand behind your back in slapjack), reach into your bowl. Mush your rice around a bit to make sure it's wet with sauce. Scoop up a shrimp, still in its shell, and some rice you've squished together, then use the four fingers of your left hand like a little shovel. Raise the shovel to your mouth and slide your lunch in. Crunchy (here shrimp shells are viewed as a good source of calcium), spicy!, chewy, delicious. Have another bite. Yikes a chili! Have a bit of cucumber, desperately sip your hot water (it's hot so you know they've just boiled it). No milk here. No bread here. Just you against the chili oil burning your lips.

But it's addictive. You want more. You keep spooning and mushing. When you finish you rinse your right hand in the bowl of water again. Luckily for you, you eat Padang food at least once every day or two, sometimes twice a day. Plus, if you ask nicely, they'll always bring your table a second dish of whichever is your favorite, but it's not nearly as much fun that way.

In a Barbie World

There are a few words I generally learn very quickly when I am traveling for work, one is the word for foreigner (bule - BOO-lay - in Indonesian) and others are the words for white and pretty (putih - POO-tee, and cantik - chan-TEEK).

So first they call me a foreigner. People everywhere call out to me, people I know, people I don't know. Not in a mean way, just as though to point out to me that I am different. But then I talk a bit more, often with pre-teen and teenage girls, in rural and urban areas in a variety of countries. They like to touch the skin on my arms, they point to it and say "white", followed closely by "pretty". They are simultaneously amazed and disgusted when I show them how you can see the veins in my hands and arms, and tell them that the lines they see are blood. But then they often point to their own skin, and call it black or dark. They motion rubbing it off, they stick their tongues out, they say it's ugly.

When I was young, my parents tried their best to keep me away from Barbies and the like, until at some point I imagine it was inevitable with birthday parties and being surrounded by other children and mass media. I remember asking my mum about why Barbies weren't a good idea, and her telling me about how they create ideas of what we're supposed to look like that aren't real. Everyone has heard that various parts of Barbie's body are disproportionate to her height. In fact, her proportions have been changed since I was a kid, although her feet still point downward at that frightening angle... but if Barbies were bad because they give unrealistic and unnecessary expectations and can put irrational demands themselves and peers about womanhood, then what about girls who don't look even a little like Barbie. What about the girls who call their skin dirty, using endless whitening products and carrying umbrellas and wearing long sleeves in the rice paddies to keep their skin from getting "uglier and darker"?

What is it about girls that leads them to focus so intently on their looks at such a young age? Where do they learn that what they and other women look like is the first thing to be noticed, commented upon, and changed about themselves?

What about the 15 year old girl I met who was 8 months pregnant. She marveled at my nose, touching it then touching her own. She told me that she hoped her baby would be born with my nose instead of her ugly nose. She was beautiful. But all she saw was that her nose was different from mine and she didn't look like any of presentations of beauty she saw all around her on billboards and tv, where models are thin and rich and happy, and look just a little bit Asian, but not too much, and whose skin is impossibly white.

What about the man who told me that all the women in his Latin American country are ugly because they are short and their skin is dark? What about the way he scoffed when I told him that Western constructions aren't the only measure of beauty? What about the girls who giggled when I asked them why they wanted to marry Westerners? Answering that in part, they wanted their babies to be half white, because that was better than being fully of any local ethnicity. What about the girls who grow up believing the skin and noses and lips and legs will never be good enough or pretty enough because they aren't Western or Caucasian or white enough? What about when those girls turn into mothers? Can it be any wonder what they will tell their daughters?

When will we start teaching girls that they are more than their appearance? And when we do discuss their appearance, when will we stop telling them to look like someone else, and start telling them to be who they already are; to pursue something deeper than a small nose, more profound than straight hair, more lasting than smooth white skin. Imagine all the time, energy, effort, and pain that goes into these things; imagine what the world would be like if that energy and passion were redirected.

Lisa Bloom hits the nail on the head in How to Talk to Little Girls, if we call them smart instead of pretty, tell them they look like astronauts, engineers, authors, and artists instead of ballerinas and models, it just might be a step in the right direction.


(I've been wanting to write about this for quite a while, but organizing my thoughts and finding a way to say all this has been a bit confusing, so you'll have to excuse me if this comes across a bit muddled, I did my best, and as always, look forward to hear what you all have to say about it.)