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November 5th, 2009
05:55 pm - The highland hug
Last year I found myself devastated when a colleague refused to shake my hand when I met him at Mogadishu's K50 airport. Once I had recovered my pride, I started getting cautious when approaching men. A smile and a nod would suffice, I thought. Or if adventurous, I would look expectantly for a handshake.
So when I arrived in Goroka in the Papua New Guinea highlands a few days ago*, I wasn't so sure what to expect. It wasn't too long before we were piling into a Land Cruiser to head off to village meetings. The trek uphill to the village was short and slippery, but left me breathless at the high altitude. In a little clearing on the plateau, there were little round thatch huts and scores of Highland people to greet us.
Not knowing what the etiquette was, I started shaking hands with only the petite Highland women, who only reached my shoulders in height. First they started shaking my hand one by one. But then one woman got rather excited, and started hugging me. And I'm not talking polite little Euro-hugs with Euro-cheek-kisses. I'm talking a proper grab by the waist and a solid squeeze with a little jig. And that was it - a precedent was set. So I had to hug every woman in the entire village.
Once done with women, I thought I would be prudent and revert to shaking hands with men. But it was not to be. Hugs it was. So not only did I hug all the women in the village, but all the men too. The most memorable of the men was a tiny wizened old man with a machete (called a bush knife here) in his left hand. He came up to me poised for a hug. Then he put his right hand firmly on my left bum cheek. Then gave it a firm squeeze. Then shook it. Up and down. Three or four times.
This profession is indeed rather special. From being refused a handshake in Somalia, to have my bum shaken in PNG. Who would have thunk?
*Don't get too excited. It's just a short trip.
Current Location: Goroka, Papua New Guinea
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August 20th, 2009
05:30 pm - The humanitarians I want to remember
It was the inaugural World Humanitarian Day yesterday. The day marks six years since a bomb in Baghdad killed the then UN Special Representative Sergio Vieira de Mello and 21 others. Whilst I am glad that humanitarians finally have their own day, I have been feeling an increasing discomfort about the number of articles about humanitarian heroism. Particularly when there are so many other less visible heroes around. Heroes without four-wheel drives and NGO t-shirts.
And just when I thought I could not possibly read another article on World Humanitarian Day, I saw this post by Chris Northey, Emergencies Coordinator from CARE Australia:This week, as we celebrated World Humanitarian Day, I would like to give name to a couple of these so-called ‘forgotten’ people, Faith and Paulo*.
Faith was a midwife and well known in the refugee community for her skills and her kindness. Acquiring a bicycle meant Faith was able to assist more women to have their babies, as well as being able to transport women to the closest clinic when complications set in. Faith was seldom paid for her service, hardly anyone had money in the camp but she often found a chicken clucking outside her house or a bag of maize on her doorstep.
Paulo was a teacher. When he’d arrived in the camp, he started to teach the children from his community. Initially classes were under a large mango tree and then in a more ‘school-like’ structure as the years passed. One day Paulo came face to face with a man who had tortured him when his village had been caught up in the conflict. Now this man had also fled his country, arriving as a refugee and wanting Paulo to teach his children. When I asked Paulo what he did, his response surprised me, shrugging, he said, “I have accepted to teach his children. He is like me now, a refugee, I have to try to forgive him otherwise the conflict I ran away from will follow me here.”
Faith and Paulo are my humanitarian heroes. They sought to improve their communities; they had survived unbelievable violence and tragedy themselves yet did not allow that experience to destroy them. Instead, through a combination of grace and tenacity, they rebuilt their lives and the lives of their fellow refugees in a place far from home. They are a constant reminder to me, in my current work with CARE, of who the humanitarians are that we remember and honour.
Current Location: Canberra, Australia
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June 9th, 2009
08:50 pm - On climate change and the developing world
When I was in Somalia, I was astounded at the repeated failed harvests of their main crops, sorghum and cowpea. Given this, why do people even bother planting a crop? Surely it's not even worth getting out the hoe, I thought. At the time, I thought that the problem was that the land was just prone to drought. "No", a senior Somali staff member told me, "it is climate change. I heard about climate change on BBC radio, and this is climate change". Surely not, I thought.
He went on to explain that rain now fell at the 'wrong times' of the year. There was meant to be one long rainy season and one short rainy season in the year. But now, rain was falling even in the dry season. And sometimes the short rainy season had more rain than the long rainy season. Sometimes, it would stop raining for too many days during the rainy season, and the crop would fail. So even if the annual rainfall was the same, rainfall patterns were making cropping difficult.
He had a point, I thought. So I mentioned to the head office that we really should be commissioning a study about this through the Horn of Africa (Somalia, Ethiopia, Kenya). Well, imagine my uncontrollable bouncing excitement when I saw that a study was published that looks into this exact issue (though it was not done by us, but a mob with considerably more resources). And the study, Croppers to livestock keepers: livelihood transitions to 2050 in Africa due to climate change, makes pretty much the same recommendation that we came to through instinct: for affected areas, move away from growing crops, and start rearing drought-hardy animals such as camels and goats. And there is a nifty map in there that shows the areas most prone to change in the coming decades. (If the scientific paper is too filled with jargon and graphs, try the user-friendly IRIN article instead.)
The solution sounds easy -- trade in your sorghum seeds and hoe for a herd of camels. But how are they going to get hold of a herd of camels when they have been impoverished by drought? Also, in a larger scale, another problem arises: cropping can provide more food per hectare than pastoralism can. Effectively, our 'holding capacity' for people would go down. Where do people move to? Like it or not, it's likely to result in conflict, like seen with Nigeria's pastoralists.
Alas, climate change is having a very real impact on people in the developing world, as Duncan Green, Head of Research at Oxfam GB constantly blogs about. As this map from New Scientist shows, developing countries get hit pretty bad. Mozambique knows what it's in for, and says that climate change adaptation can't wait. Too right.
Friends, it's begun. If you are an aid worker (and more so if your work is in livelihoods, water supply and sanitation or health), I urge you to understand climate change and its impacts. If you design a project, include adaptation features. Just as you mainstreamed gender, do no harm and protection, mainstream climate change. And more.
Current Location: Canberra, Australia
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June 1st, 2009
08:46 pm - On the bench, the aid worker bench
I honestly didn't think it would be that difficult. I told myself I needed a rest. And I really needed a rest. With each month, I am still getting stronger, more energised. Less burnt out, less bitter, less despairing. Perhaps even scar tissue can heal.
But then, I get an email from a friend in Darfur telling me of her work with a UN agency. They've been filling gaps in programming since the major NGOs were kicked out. My friend has been designing a project to provide livelihoods options for former child soldiers. Another friend writes from Zimbabwe. He's been doing a Household Economy Approach (HEA) analysis there. He's going to meet up in Nairobi with a mutual friend who has just left Wajid in Somalia, where I was based a few months ago. This mutual friend has been doing food distributions in areas where our programme had been suspended. Yet another friend sends me her report from eastern DR Congo where she's been doing important work on women-and-child-friendly spaces in IDP camps. It's a damned good report.
Then I get an email from the Food Aid Blonde, the one who calls me Boss Chinois du Merde. She's in Bangladesh at a refugee camp for the Rohingas. Doing what a Food Aid Blonde does best -- food aid arithmetic. Another friend coincidentally writes from Bangladesh too, where he's doing some work on water supply and sanitation. In the next country on, I have four friends working in Myanmar, still doing work following Cyclone Nargis a year ago. And on Facebook, I natter with other friends on posting in Sri Lanka, Malawi, Liberia, Sierra Leone, Indonesia, Timor Leste and Pakistan.
As I receive their emails (or Facebook status updates or RSS feeds), I feel so proud of all of this amazing work they are doing. Yet, I am so very jealous!
You know what it feels like? I feel like a footy player who's out for the season because I've done my hamstring. Some days, I test my metaphorical hamstring and think that I'm almost ready to make a comeback. But then, on other days, I think resting is not such a bad thing. After all, we are in a soft and comfortable place, as fellow returned aid worker Phil Sparrow would call it.
Current Location: Canberra, Australia
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May 2nd, 2009
02:47 pm - Dabbling in microfinance
So I'm here in Cambodia to have a 'look see' at our projects here. I've been asked to have a look at two areas in particular -- microfinance and gender. Both are areas I've dabbled in, but can't claim specific expertise in. (Indeed, I'm beginning to wonder if have any specific expertise at all, or am perhaps doomed to be a specific dabbler for the rest of my career.)
Why microfinance?
Today, I've been thinking about microfinance. Donors and NGOs are often fixated on microfinance when it comes to livelihoods sector projects. And it is not without reason. Poverty is often a trap that can't be broken out of unless one has opportunities. And opportunities usually cost money. To set up a micro-business or to grow a crop, one needs money to buy tools, equipment or inputs. The question is how does one access that money?
Reading project documents, it seems that Cambodian farmers suffer from a similar plight to farmers in Nias Indonesia (where I had worked previously), and indeed farmers all around the world. Farmers need money to buy seeds, fertiliser and tools. Usually, they need to borrow money to do so. As other farmers are in a similar plight to them and can't lend them money, the only person who to do so is the trader that comes to their village. But the interest charged by the trader is usually about 10% per month! Plus, they become obliged to sell their produce to that trader -- at a lower price. The total equivalent interest rate may be 200% per annum or more. Much of the income at harvest time then goes to servicing the loan and repaying the debt. It's a trap.
Again and again, NGO workers hear such stories around the world. I have not been exempt. This is why we have an obsession with microfinance. How can we give access to loans at a reasonable interest rate -- say at 3% per month? Or how can we help people save money so that they don't have to take out loans in the first place? In some countries, like Bangladesh and India, such microfinance services are now available through businesses such as the Grameen Bank and BRAC. But what if no such service is available? Is there a do-it-yourself alternative?
Lessons learnt from Nias
When working in Nias, I inherited an admirable project that promoted village-level savings and loan groups. About 15 to 25 people were grouped together and given a grant from our NGO. The grant was about $100 per person (about the same as one month's household income). A loan was then provided, and each member was expected to make a repayment with interest. The loan period would typically be a year. As money was saved, it would be 'revolved' by providing more loans to members. In technical terms, these funds were Accumulated Savings and Credit Associations or ASCAs. Training was provided to members on how to manage the fund.
A few months later, we went out to audit each group. In most groups, members had followed the rules exactly. But it was clear that not many understood the savings-credit mechanism we were trying to promote. We were asked many questions like, "Why does the NGO want the loan money back?", "When should our group pay the NGO back?", "But if you don't want the money back, then why are we making repayments?". In some groups, there was already up to $300, but people did not realise they could borrow the money. Come to think of it, even our NGO field staff lacked understanding of what we were trying to achieve. Thusly, none of the groups were functioning as intended.
In a small minority of the groups, there was serious dysfunction. Instalments were not repaid. Bookkeeping was inaccurate. In four groups (out of 70), the group leader or village chief had stolen the initial grant or the repayments in its entirety.
Only one group had a robust savings-credit system. I recall my meeting with this group. It was a group of 30 small-scale fishermen. They had a great commitment to making the group work, and using the fund to get an outboard motor engine for each person. So, they threw out our recommended ASCA system, and developed a new system that suited their own needs. Each month, they would get together, and each person would put in the equivalent of $10. One person would take away the entire $300 each month, and use that to buy their engine. Poorer households were scheduled to receive their share first. They proudly told me that by 2009, each person would have an outboard motor.
In Indonesia, this nifty system is called arisan, and occurs commonly without the input of NGOs. In microfinance-speak, it's a Rotating Savings and Credit Association (ROSCA). The beauty of the ROSCA is that no bookkeeping is required, and money needn't be stored. And if money doesn't need to be stored, it means that there is less chance of it being stolen. And in contexts with low literacy, limited options for safe money storage, and high risk of abuse of power, this was just what was required.
We learned a few lessons. So, a few months later, we were going back to groups to give them a choice in what they wanted to do: 1. dissolve their group and take their share of the money; 2. stay on as an ASCA; or 3. convert to a ROSCA. Alas, this occurred after my tenure was over, and I never got to know the results.
A book recommendation
Being asked to have a look-see at the microfinance on this project, I felt a need to do some revision. To go back to the basics. I had read about how microfinance institutions (MFIs) should be run. Or about best practice for a village bank or an ASCA. But after the Nias experience, I want to be more cautious even about what type of savings-credit mechanism we were promoting, making sure it's appropriate to the context. So what I wanted to know was quite fundamental. My questions are: What type of savings-credit mechanism should we choose to promote, be it an ASCA, ROSCA, village bank or MFI? How can we make sure that we are meeting the financing needs of the people we are working with (eg., for daily consumption needs, business needs, or events such as weddings and funerals)? Can we meet these needs? And finally, how can we make sure that the finance options help the poor to get out of poverty, rather than to be just a safety net?
To this end, I have been reading The Poor and Their Money by Stuart Rutherford. It's also available as a pdf. I highly recommend it. It starts with the assumption that you know nothing (which is good for us dabblers). And it certainly is not prescriptive or evangelistic about one model or another. Indeed, it acknowledges that sometimes, simpler is better. It also draws in valuable empirical information -- such as the fact that NGO-promoted savings and loan groups almost always dissolve once the NGO leaves. Like all good books, it leaves you to make up your mind yourself.
Now filled with more questions than answers, I leave for the project site tomorrow. To ask many questions. And most importantly, to listen and learn.
Current Location: Phnom Penh, Cambodia
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April 23rd, 2009
08:52 pm - The secret of a lady and her magic sponge
There is a lady in my office here. She's about my mother's age, and has the same energetic air that my Ma has. Each morning, she comes into the office an hour before opening time, and she spends ten minutes tidying up the kitchen. Even though it's not her job. After she's done, the kitchen is spotless and welcoming. As the morning goes on, people gradually shuffle into the nice clean kitchen for their morning cup of coffee. Mostly unaware of that ten minute gift of labour.
This morning, as I saw the lady heading for the kitchen, I rushed in with her. "Let me give you a hand," I said. So I washed the cups whilst she dried them and put them away. Meanwhile, we chatted away about weekend plans, travel plans and all sorts of things.
Then, I came across A Badly-Stained Mug. It was so bad, no amount of scrubbing seemed to get the stains off. "Let me get something that might help," said my new friend. And she rushed off to her desk drawer. She came back with a re-used margarine container. In it, was a super sponge that will remove all manner of stains. A Chux Majic Eraser, I was told, with a wink. A special item that my friend had brought in from home for these testing moments. Indeed, within a few seconds the cup was as good as new. Sparkling.
Then my friend carefully squeezed the Magic Sponge dry, and carefully put it back into the margarine container. Our job was done. The kitchen was beautifully clean. Together, we trotted out of the kitchen, my friend with the sponge-containing margarine container under her arm. I could not help but smile. And felt privileged, like I had been let in on a very special secret.
Current Location: Canberra, Australia
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April 14th, 2009
07:59 pm - Thinking of aid effectiveness
There is a new book out on aid that has caused some controversy. The author, Dambisa Moyo, an economist, argues that "overreliance on aid has trapped developing nations in a vicious circle of aid dependency, corruption, market distortion, and further poverty, leaving them with nothing but the “need” for more aid". Myself, I haven't read the book, and therefore cannot offer any comment. But others have read it, and it has received negative review from the likes of The Guardian, The Economist, and a whole swathe of bloggers.
Regardless of whether the book is right or wrong, I have been spending much time contemplating aid effectiveness from my NGO head office ivory tower. This is a time of global economic crisis. Budgets are tight. How can we make sure that there is less 'dead aid'? More bang for our buck? I'm not looking to reform the entire aid world, ranging from UN to World Bank, donor governments to NGOs. I'm just thinking of my small patch -- the NGO sector.
Then, I stumbled upon this paper on how international NGOs could do less harm and more good (Development in Practice, November 2008). For the experienced aid pundit, there is not much new here. We have vented about all of this time and time again over bottles of beer. The paper asks for donors to be consistent. For NGOs to work more collaboratively, and try to genuinely do themselves out of a job by building staff capacity. And lastly and most curiously, for an end to 'aid tourism', where people from head offices and donors go out to visit aid projects. Just for a look-see.
Interesting reading, though my questions still aren't answered. If you have a good paper to recommend on aid effectiveness, please drop me a comment. I have many questions that need answering yet.
Current Location: Canberra, Australia
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March 19th, 2009
09:23 pm - Beneficiary targeting by textbook
In a frantic attempt to brush up on the current aid jargon, I have hit various aid publications with the vigour of a university student swotting before exams. This afternoon, I read about how to target effectively to reach the poorest households. What we would try to do is clear: try to make sure that all the poor are targeted (ie., minimize exclusion error) and make sure that people who aren’t poor aren’t targeted (ie, minimize inclusion error). How are we meant to do this? Through a tight definition of our target with clear eligibility criteria, and using an appropriate targeting mechanism.
Which reminds me of our cash-for-work project in Somalia. We used what the paper calls a hybrid community-based approach with a combination of having strict selection criteria, then asking the communities to do the selecting on who fits into these criteria. In our case, the criteria were:Less than x number of goats or x number of camels
Less than x area of land
Less than x amount of remittances or cash income In this case, the amounts for each were determined by each community. To limit the number of beneficiaries, we also then put a cap on the number of beneficiaries, which was typically set at a third of the number of households of each target village. Once these criteria were set, then the village elders would get together and put the list of beneficiaries together. The list would be then read out at a public meeting where all community members and NGO representatives were present. The meeting would serve as a process for accountability and cross-checking. Sometimes, the meetings would get messy. Two years ago, a gunfight broke out. But usually, only fisticuffs and herding sticks.
But anyhow, in theory, our method for selecting beneficiaries was picture perfect. Theoretically speaking, we should have got the poorest third of households in each village. Each selected beneficiary household proudly had a cash voucher with their household head's name on it. The donor loved our beneficiary selection methodology. They even told other NGOS to use the same methodology.
In practice, I'm not sure what happened. Last October, during my final trip to Somalia, I went out to talk to beneficiaries the day before the cash payment was due. "What will you do with the money you earnt?", I asked. Invariably, they told me that they would share it with another three to five households. Typically, four others. Apparently, people said that the amount of money was so large (EUR50) and the need within the community was great. They did not feel that one family should be entitled to the grant. So they would share it five ways. Each family receiving a measley sum of EUR10. Just enough to buy a sack of sorghum, and that's all.
I was furious! Our careful targeting was a waste of time! Plus, I was convinced that the elders were placing pressure on the poor to share their money. But a colleague pointed out a few valuable points to me. Somali culture, she said, was sophisticated and nuanced in its coping mechanisms and sharing of resources. The fact that the poor families shared this precious cash probably meant that, later on, they could call on the other four households to support them in lean times. And perhaps, this way, even though they 'gave away' EUR40, they essentially leverage much more in future support. Or perhaps, they were just bullied and their money taken away.
Alas, I couldn't learn of such unintended outcomes in textbooks and papers!
Current Location: Canberra, Australia
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March 11th, 2009
08:49 pm - A new generation of aid jargon
It has been four years since I last worked in Australia. It's been five years since I last worked in an NGO head office. Back then, the fashion was to mainstream Do No Harm principles and join the Humanitarian Accountability Project. We also talked a lot about SPHERE and about how the Most Significant Change approach was going to revolutionise the way we evaluated projects! Man, we were cutting edge! I was so cutting edge, I even evaluated a project in Bangladesh using the Most Significant Change approach! It was, indeed, the best thing since sliced bread.
Five years out of the loop, in the backwaters of field offices, I am now passe. Just like my very unfashionable flares, just like my unfashionable Vespa ET4, my terminology too is now outdated.
People now talk of 'mainstreaming climate change' and rolling out AusAID's new Child Protection Policy. They ask me for my 'theory of change'. When I look gob-smacked, they begin to suspect I have not undergone the p-shift. What is a p-shift? Why, thinking in programmes now rather than in projects! Then, when I have no idea how one ought to monitor and evaluate a programme rather than a project, I realise it is time for me to do some serious homework.
Which brings back a memory. About nine years ago, as a young pup, I recall meeting a Programme Director from another organisation. Having just come back from years in a field office, she was gaunt from tropical diseases, and wrinkled and weathered from years of sun exposure. Her clothes looked like they were from another decade. She wore no jewellery and no make up. She spoke slowly and deliberately, using simple words and short sentences. No jargon. No sophistication. Plain speaking. Every few minutes, she would pause and check that you got her point. I recall another colleague saying derisively, "You can tell when they have been in the field too long. They lose touch". I recall that now. And realise, with some pride, I too have lost touch.
Current Location: Canberra, Australia
Current Mood: ![[mood icon]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/mood/growf/smileys/confused.gif) lost
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February 28th, 2009
02:48 pm - An aid worker once more
It always seems to be either feast or famine with me. After three months of unemployment following the Somalia misadventure, I was offered three positions in one week. And you know how human nature is. Offer me one job, and I will think I am the luckiest woman in the world. Offer me three jobs, and I have to choose. And along with having to make a decision, comes self-doubt. And instead of feeling like the luckiest woman in the world three times over, I will feel like I'm making the worst decision ever. And so it was. I agonised, churned, and wished I was three people so I could accept all three jobs. Or at least two.
Eventually, I chose. Of the three, I chose the job with the least pay and with the least opportunity for career advancement. But hell, I get to be an aid worker once again with a major international NGO. This time, in a head office, based right here in Australia. And since I get travel to other countries, it is indeed the best of both worlds. And unlike the recent jobs I have had,
1. I have actually met my boss.
2. I have seen the office I am to work in.
3. I don't have to move to another country, find a new home, adopt a different lifestyle.
4. My not-so-freshly-married husband does not have to pack up his life and come along for the ride.
5. I don't have to learn a new language and new customs. Plus, the people I work with all speak the same language as me.
6. I have actually been to the country that I am to be working in. Hell, I'm living in it!
All this aside, most importantly, I am heartened by the fact that my new employer likes me warm, except when I'm cold and hard.
Current Location: Canberra, Australia
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February 18th, 2009
04:18 pm - How not to do it
A couple of weeks ago, I received an email from a young woman seeking to establish herself as an aid worker. She had already done an impressive amount of research, and was wondering if I had any 'advice' about where she can find work. I didn't have much further advice.
The truth is that it is bloody difficult to get a job as a paid aid worker with a major NGO. Most of the Australian aid workers I know have two degrees and served several years as a volunteer before getting their first paid stint overseas. For me, my period of 'incubation' and 'apprenticeship' lasted seven years. I must have submitted dozens of applications that were simply ignored.
Ironically now, the situation is reversed. It's much easier for me to get work overseas than in Australia.
In fact, job hunting in Australia is rather different experience. I had underestimated the difference between doing phone interviews in pyjamas and real-life interviews. Plus, the questions are different. I'm used to questions such as:- What steps would you take to undertake a food security analysis?
- Do you have experience in dealing with fraud?
- How do you think you will cope with an isolated context with limited opportunities for recreation?
- Have you mainstreamed child protection before?
I had gotten the phone interview down to a fine art. Undeterred by visual cues and other distractions, I would launch into responses methodically and clearly. I would often even write notes as I went along and draw diagrams. But of course, to do so in a face-to-face interview might be a bit strange. In person, I get distracted by people nodding, or tilting their head, or even smiling at me. I fidget, and fret about what I wear.
So last week, when I was asked, "How would you describe your working style?", my brain went blank. My response? "People say I'm warm". The interview panel looks decidedly unimpressed. I struggle and continue, "Well, very warm. You know, people like working with me. [pause, look around the table in panicked manner] Unless I'm about to sack them. Which I did a bit of in Somalia and Indonesia. Then they don't think I'm warm. Actually, then they think I'm cold and hard". Yep, that's what I said. I had an opportunity to use wanky adjectives such as methodical, results-oriented, proactive, analytical, prompt, responsive, etc. But no, I was warm. Warm. Except when I'm cold. Cold and hard.
As much former French colleagues would say: quoi le fuck?
Current Location: Canberra, Australia
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January 27th, 2009
08:04 pm - Secret returned aid worker
It's been two months since we returned to Australia from the Somalia misadventure. My ability to remain gainfully unemployed has been tested. At first, I thought I would write a book of my travels. But as tears slid down my face from some of the more pained memories, I knew it is too soon. Perhaps one day.
What does a returned aid worker do?
Within weeks of my return, a friend wrangled me a job with a UN organisation in the conflict-stricken Southern Philippine region of Mindanao. Whilst the world focuses on greater conflicts in Gaza, Zimbabwe and DR Congo, the 390,000 people displaced by fighting in Mindanao are forgotten. And the job sought to provide assistance. As I was poised to accept it, telling myself that this is not really a 'hot' conflict. Just a war economy conflict. But then, I remembered my previous posting in Mindanao. A colleague from the NGO I was working with, merely 23 years old, was brutally murdered. His body was not found until weeks later. A migraine began, I got the jitters, then the runs. So I pulled out. And I realised, it could be a while until I go back into any conflict zone. Maybe never again.
At thirty five, and after 11 years in the international development and humanitarian sector, it might very well be time to move on. Whilst I do have a job interview with the Australian Public Service, I'm not putting all my eggs in one basket. And I'm sick of the waiting game. The recruitment process in the APS is known to take months.
One night, quite by accident, I saw an episode of Secret Millionaire. Whilst I am not usually one for reality TV shows, this Secret Millionaire, Charan Gill, a big-hearted Glaswegian Sikh, had me thinking. He got a job by just going around and asking. They were unskilled jobs, but he took joy in doing them (particularly working as a kitchen hand). And most importantly, he formed friendships that were meaningful. Given that I have only two friends in Canberra (though very good friends they are), the thought of meeting new people is rather attractive.
Guess who has an interview-slash-training-session tomorrow as a kitchen hand in a pizza pub?
Current Location: Canberra, Australia
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January 25th, 2009
11:54 am - A new era of job interviews
For years, I did job interviews over the phone whilst sitting on my bed in pyjamas and hugging a cushion named Woogie. It's the nature of overseas work that interviews are usually over the phone. At first, they are disconcerting as you can't see the panel. There are no visual cues, so I can't tell if the interviewers are getting bored, or if they are in agreement or are just confused. To get myself in the job interview mood, I used to put on 'work clothes' for the interviews. Then I realised it made no difference what I wore. Thus the pyjamas.
Another aid worker friend preferred dressing up. So he would put on a cowboy suit, complete with boots and hat. Just so that he could say he had an interview (albeit over the phone) dressed as a cowboy. There he was, dressed as a cowboy and waited for their phone call. The time passed, and still no call. Fifteen minutes later, still no call. Half an hour, and he was beginning to feel like a dickhead in his cowboy suit. After an hour, he thought: fuck it, I gotta take a crap. Of course, as he sat on the toilet, the phone rang. I'm not sure if it's true, but he swears it is. And according to him, yes, he did do the whole hour-long interview on the crapper with his trousers around his ankles.
A change of career means that I now have to do my interviews in person. So, for the first time in years, I shall have a face-to-face interview this week. I looked through my wardrobe and realised that all my clothes are either threadbare or 'ethnic'. I briefly wondered how the Australian Public Service would respond to someone showing up to an interview in a shalwar kameez. Needless to say, I'm going for the threadbare black shirt as the safe option.
Current Location: Canberra, Australia
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January 12th, 2009
01:34 pm - An Afghan marriage proposal
Back in Australia, I have been regaling friends and family of tales of my (mis)adventures. There is one tale I hadn't blogged about at the time, as it was all a bit raw and close-to-heart. But now, three years later, with some distance, it's time to tell the tale.
It was early 2006, and I was in Afghanistan. My estranged husband had e-divorced me. No other relationship seemed to work. I was 32, and was convinced that I would never find love again. I would sit at my desk in the frigid office I shared with three Afghan staff, and tears would fall from my face. My colleagues were worried about me. "Is there a problem? Are you sick?", they would ask. "No", I replied. Trying to explain things in Afghan terms, I explained, "My husband left me, and I am growing old. I don't know if I will be happy again". News spread fast. Before I knew it, all the women in the office were praying for me. Much to my horror, others were trying to matchmake me to brothers or cousins.
One morning, when we were alone in the office together, an Afghan colleague came up to me and said, "I have spoken to my wife. We would like to propose marriage to you. You are a divorced woman, and are now too old to marry. You can be my second wife. My wife is pregnant, and will give birth in one month. We can give the baby to you because you are too old to be pregnant. Also, it's already her fifth child. We live on a hill and the well is at the bottom of the hill. But do not worry, we will not make you carry the water".
I only wish I was able to meet his wife to thank her for her generosity.
Current Location: Canberra, Australia
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December 13th, 2008
12:13 pm - Carbon copies go walkabout
When in Somalia, I had heard anecdotally that many of the 'carbon copies' were deserting. 'Carbon copies' are what the Somalis call their fellow countrymen who were trained by the Ethiopian forces. Carbon copies of the Ethiopans. A derogatory term.
Apparently, the UN has now reported that More than 80% of Somalia's soldiers and police - about 15,000 members - have deserted, some taking weapons, uniforms and vehicles. Also, the BBC reports that "most of the Somali government's security budget - supposedly 70% of its total budget - disappeared through corruption". And the whole problem is that all the skills, weapons, vehicles and money is then used to fuel the ongoing conflict, whether it be through insurgents or pro-TFG warlords.
And surely anyone who has spent any time working on or in Somalia could have predicted this would occur?
Current Location: Canberra, Australia
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December 3rd, 2008
04:30 pm - When your boot becomes a metaphor
I bought them in my hometown of Perth, Western Australia, about twelve years ago. I paid for them with money earned from being a cook in a noodle bar. They travelled with me to the eastern states, where I got my first job in international development.
I wore them to my first 'mission' in Inner Mongolia, where it was -30C. I discovered they weren't so good on ice. And the ladies there thought they were spectacularly ugly. They came with me to postings in Philippines, Afghanistan, Indonesia and Somalia. Through ice, humidity, dust, floods, drought.
Other aid workers would take one look at my boots and know that I was Australian. Though many think that Blundstones are the height of fashion (*choke*), they are hard to find overseas. Precious, they are.
Then in Paris last week, it cracked. Just like that. The bastard cracked.
Current Location: Canberra, Australia
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November 16th, 2008
05:49 pm - Reflections on toasting
There I was, thinking I was quite the seasoned traveller. I had now understood the idiosynchracies of hand-shaking. But little did I know that I was up for another lesson. This time, on toasting.
The first lesson I had on toasting was in Australia. I don't come from a drinking culture, and didn't know the etiquette. So was advised that after I toasted, I had to drink from the glass... even if I didn't feel like it. Just put it to my lips. Also, one can't have the first drink until one has toasted. No sneaky sips.
Then I went to China. There, I was not allowed to drink unless there was a toast. Drinking if there was no toast is a no-no and extremely uncouth. Then, also, when you clinked your glass with someone, your glass has to be lower than the other's. Otherwise, it means you think your status is higher. So one struggles to get one's glass as low as possible. Hopefully, the two glasses end up being quite equal.
But earlier this week (it seems an age ago) in Nairobi, when we were having our final meal together, I had another lesson. There I was, trying to clink my glass at an appropriate level, and then I was yelled at. "Look my heye! Look my heye!", said my much-loved French colleague. She was clearly deranger, and was pointing emphatically to her eyes. "When you toast my glass, don't look my glass! Look my heye!", I was told. Then a big sigh, and a shake of the head from the French colleague. "Ah, Boss Chinois du merde", she concluded in mock disdain.
Ah, I'm going to miss the bastards.
Current Location: Paris, France
Current Mood: ![[mood icon]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/mood/growf/smileys/surprised.gif) deranger
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October 24th, 2008
06:46 pm - End of the one-month water catchments
During my first trip to Somalia, I was mortified at the design of the water catchments that were dug as part of a Cash-For-Work intervention. I'm not a water engineer, but nonetheless, I asked, "You call this a water catchment?".
So I went about asking the engineers for advice. And with the help of an amazing Water, Sanitation and Hygiene (WASH) evaluator from Malawi, we got a few rules figured out:
1. We should not dig new water catchments, as we do not know what the soil is like underneath. Water catchments need clay soil to retain water. If the soil is sandy, it will leak like a sieve. So, it's better to expand existing water catchments.
2. Know where the clay layer ends, and don't dig past it. And if you do, patch it up by putting more clay over it.
3. Given that evaporation in Somalia is 1.5 m per year, it's best to have the water catchments deeper and narrower rather than shallow and wide.
4. Think of how to improve water quality and not just quantity. So think of adding a sedimentation trap / settling pool to reduce soil and animal droppings from entering. Also think of animal troughs or an infiltration well for human consumption.
5. Improve the capture of water by rehabilitating or extending inlets.
So, we proceeded and worked on more catchments in the last dry season. And with my visit last week, I was able to visit two that were just dug. This one is a whopping four metres deep. And the villagers reckon that the water will now last them twelve months, whereas only six months before. I think it's optimistic. But perhaps nine months? Nonetheless, a shitload better than the one-month water catchments we used to dig.
For more of my Somalia photos, click here.
Current Location: Nairobi, Kenya
Current Mood: ![[mood icon]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/mood/growf/smileys/smile.gif) pleased
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October 8th, 2008
08:50 pm - Al Shabab improving the lives of women?
I'm heading off to Somalia next week to do a mini gender analysis, not unlike the gender analysis we conducted in Aceh earlier this year. We're hoping to find out what roles women, men, girls and boys play in rearing livestock. Who takes the animals to pasture or to get watered? Who milks the camels and takes the milk to the market? Who owns and sells the animals?
So today, we met to discuss the methodology and tools we are going to use. Also, which questions we should ask. "I want to know how the presence of Al Shabab has changed gender roles", says a Somali Kenyan colleague, "People tell me that a lot has changed since they have come in power".
My eyes widen. Have they imposed Taliban-like rules regarding movement of women? Have they stopped women from selling their produce in the market? Worriedly, I ask, "What have you heard? What are they doing?".
"I heard that since the Shabab came, men have been taking more responsibility for their families. Whereas before, many would just sit around and chew qat all day and not provide for their families. Now they work. Because if they don't, the women go and complain to Shabab. And you know, it's Islamic law that a man has to provide for his wives and children," says my colleague with a twinkle in his eye.
I had previously heard of Al Shabab's strict stance on qat, a stimulant that Somali men sit around chewing, just as Australian men sit around drinking beers. But I had not quite realised that Al Shabab could be changing gender dynamics (to the benefit of women) through it's implementation of Sharia law.
Indeed, an anecdote I need to verify.
Current Location: Nairobi, Kenya
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October 7th, 2008
03:49 pm - The $360 aperitif
Having so many French colleagues has caused my taste buds to morph. I now find myself wanting to have some cheese on little toasts, and a glass of wine to wash it down. Whilst on her break here in Nairobi, a French colleague and I decided to treat ourselves to a bottle of wine and a whole swathe of cheeses.
Last night, I looked at the price tag on the box of camembert. 310 Kenyan shillings, or about USD5. Then I realised with some embarassment that it was about the same as day's wage at the minimum wage in Kenya. But many people earn less. The groundsman at our block of flats only earns 200 shillings per day.
The Australian minimum wage is about AUD17 per hour, or about AUD120 per day. And I imagined some foreigner going into a supermarket in Australia to buy a 200g piece of cheese for a day's wage, or AUD120. I would just deck the bastard. But what had I done? To the average working class Kenyan, we ate the equivalent of a $120 round of cheese, and drank a $240 bottle of wine. In one sitting. $360. That's totally saying "fuck you, I'm so rich, I don't care if you are in a food crisis". You know, I'm considering an ugali and githeri diet in solidarity with the woman in the linked article.
Current Location: Nairobi, Kenya
Current Mood: ![[mood icon]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/mood/growf/smileys/blah.gif) *sigh*
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