Is there a "left" bias in development practice? (October 28, 2006)

Apparently I am the resident lefty of the expat house. No, not left-handed, but rather, dialectically down with the critical program. I think this label gets at some of the underlying assumptions about the kind of people that pursue the study and practice of development.

If we narrow this field down to U.S. expats in development, many are women, "liberal" or "left" leaning, white, and middle- to upper-class. Another large subfield are political conservative and very Christian, and I think this goes back to the historic role of churches and Christianity in missionary and development work. That said, I find myself as the token exception to the expat house. There are a lot of identities I have going for me on this one: I came from a political activist background; I identify strongly as a woman of color; and as a religious minority my attitudes towards domestic policy are decidedly pro-civil liberties. These "differences" are also probably heavily influenced by the fact that I am one of 3 (out of 7) non-economists and one of two with a deep civil rights background.

In several recent discussions, the standing joke has become that I am the person who is "out there" politically, at least relative to the others. I am sure part of this is my Bay Area bias, which I did not really believe was "out there" until I spent a summer in Washington, D.C. working in the executive branch during George W's first term in office. In some ways, there is a similar disorientation here in Busia expat-land. While I came into this job thinking I had no expectations of my peers, I realized this was naive. I thought that because this group is involved in some pretty exciting development research that people would have pretty exciting politics.

And they might. I mean, who am I to sweepingly judge someone's experiences or outlook? I do learn a lot, and I find myself doing much more listening than talking about different political outlooks (overall a good thing, I think). The most recent conversations we have had have included: whether certain (minority) populations in the U.S. are genetically predisposed to violence and poverty, philosophies underlying vegetarianism, and whether or not people should abort children who are going to be born with disabilities.


That said, I don't think that I am really so far out on a limb. Consider that we assume that poverty and its repercussions - generally a lack of access to resources, services, livelihood, and political voice - are not inherent facets of development, the economy, or "growth" (however defined). Instead, let us assume that this is the product of policies, systems, attitudes, and actions, and that further, these things all manufacture poverty in ways that are racialized, gendered, spacially-defined, etc. All these items - both the processes and the products - are normalized, defined, and created by societies. The (in)famous social construction, if you will.

Now, let us think of how we define authority. Who is an authority in local sustainable development? Is it the community devoted to subsistence agriculture who refuse to buy Novartis's genetically modified seeds and who also pay close attention to topsoil replacement, the water table, the role of reforestation, etc.? Or is it the World Bank? Is it USAID? DFID? CARE? Oxfam? That said, why do we place greater faith in one or the other? Which one do we legitimately think of as authoritative, and which one do we "want" to think of as authoritative? That is, where does our gut lead, and where do our minds lead?

Let's take it a step further. Let's extend the language and rhetoric of development (that the poor must pay to ensure the financial sustainability of projects they do not necessarily ask for, that something is broken in the social makeup of poor communities and must be fixed, that poor people are primarily responsible for their poverty), and we find ourselves looking at the same bylines we read in domestic newspapers and magazines. After all, isn't the poster-child for welfare, the single black mother, on welfare because she was irresponsible? Nevermind that the majority of welfare recipients are white, that many black women and mothers are the primary income owners in their homes, and that the number of black men in prison rivals the number of black men registered to vote in the U.S. All products, in my humble opinion, of a larger system of racialized and classed inequality, not the genetic or inherent characteristics of people of color communities.

If you begin thinking about the connections between policy, language, authority, and product, it is hard to ignore the impact of all these social constructions on society and on poverty. And when these connections seem so clear and obvious, how can you not align with an agenda that promotes justice, equality, and community? And if such a program is "left" or "liberal", then why is this derided as non-academic, non-quantifiable, or unproductive? If we continue with the dichotomous language of "left" and "right," then to be anything but "left" would be tantamout to being anti-equality, anti-justice, and anti-community. This is not my argument, but rather, an illustration of how stupid I think this entire left/right/middle classification system is. Further, I think it keeps people from seeing their common ground, and further still, it prevents people from having to define and defend where they stand. If everything is easily distilled into a position on a line, or on the fence, then we don't really have to think about the larger questions, conversations, and issues at hand. We can spend more of our time name-calling and trying to lump people into categories and camps instead of addressing the societal challenges that we have created and that we are responsible for resolving.

The Relativity of Poverty (October 25, 2006)

Anne and I were discussing the other day how we are often shocked by how normalized poverty becomes the longer we stay in Busia. For example, we are so used to seeing malnourished children with huge potbellies that we find ourselves surprised when we see well-nourished children. We are so used to seeing villagers with no shoes and worn clothing, that when people are dressed nicely we are a bit surprised. To be honest, I sometimes forget that Busia is the 2nd poorest district in all of Kenya. Additionally, if I never left the main road or the town, I would probably never realize that this area is desperately poor.

From the MSF perspective, we had a long conversation with some of the doctors about how people in Kenya are (relatively) rich compared to other areas of Africa, particularly West and Central Africa. Amaya, one of the on-site doctors, explained that, "When I came here I thought people were rich. They had shoes, they had clothes. It was completely different from the Congo.[her last post]"


These anecdotes underscored for us the relativity of (perceptions of) poverty. While there is a general threshhold below which everyone considers people to be living in poverty, within that definition it is alarming to see how quickly we become desensitized and accustomed to seeing lives governed by a under-resourcing. This idea of separating the poor from the very poor is common in development discourses, and I guess it is not unusual that we try to rank and categorize levels of poverty in our own heads.

That said, I don't think this idea of relativity and categorization speaks to the idea that poverty is in the eye of the beholder. Conversely, I think it speaks to how the human psyche adjusts to situations of duress and how we try to order, prioritize, and make checklists of the world around us in an attempt to feel like we are actively thinking and by extension, acting. At the same time, becoming more comfortable or used to these scenes is both a coping mechanism and a bit of a trap. The more complacent you become or the more normal it seems, and the more difficult it is to stay grounded and to keep a critical perspective regarding measures of poverty and livelihood. As poverty begins to seem more normal, the lack of access to health resources, education, jobs, etc., begins to seem like "part of the package." The normal things become, the more difficult it is to think of alternatives, solutions, and services. At the same time, I think it makes your heart a little more steely. I find that I engage much more with my head when I become used to a situation, and much less with my heart. This emotional distance is in some ways helpful, but in other ways incredibly cruel. It removes completely the human element, passion, and drive behind why anti-poverty programs and measures are necessary and urgent. In effect, it removes that sense of urgency.

I suppose the only thing we can really do to stay grounded is to continue to remind ourselves of the realities on the ground. To a certain extent, for me this involves continually reorienting my lens and really focusing on "keeping myself in check," so to speak. It's much harder than I thought it would be, and I think part of it is an element of immersion. Whereas in the U.S. it is relatively easy for me to look at the spacial segregation of socioeconomic communities and see the disparities, in Busia there is not a high level of income inequality to point to. While this may not be the case in one of the cities, or in Kenya as a whole, because Busia is in many ways "my world" here in Kenya, there are no vantage points with which to compare things.

A Favorite Music Shortlist (October 24, 2006)

I like to make lists of the music I'm listening to from time to time. This helps me remember what my favorites were (and when), but also, I feel like a female version of High Fidelity. Throughout highschool I was convinced that I would own a record store (a la Empire Records) along with an adjoining cafe-come-bar (a la D.C.'s Tryst) where I could serve good coffee and host live music. Who knows, maybe I will.

At any rate, I am ransacking my iPod and have realized that I really like all of the following:

Ryan Adams, Fiona Apple, Bird (Charlie Parker), Mary J. Blige, Bright Eyes, Jeff Buckley, Buddy Guy, Buena Vista Social Club, CCR, Ray Charles, Charlie Christian, Patsy Cline, Coltrane, Common (Sense), Celia Cruz, Dave Matthews Band, Miles Davis, Dead Prez, DMX, Lila Downs, Missy Elliot, Aretha Franklin, Marvin Gaye, Guster, Lauryn Hill, Indigo Girls, Etta James, The Jayhawks, Kelis, KRS-One, Talib Kweli, Led Zeppelin, Mana, M.I.A., Mos Def, Matt Nathanson, Edith Piaf , Radiohead, Mohd. Rafi, Bonnie Raitt, R.E.M., RENT Soundtrack, Silvio Rodriguez, Bally Sagoo, Nitin Sawhney, Jill Scott, Shaggy, Shakira (en espanol), Simon & Garfunkel, Nina Simone, Elliot Smith, Sublime, 2Pac, Train, U2, Stevie Ray Vaughn, Westside Connection

Deforestation, the Environmental Agenda, and the Geographies of Disadvantage (October 20, 2006)

When I was young, global warming had become a pretty big deal. The 1992 Rio Conference put conversations regarding development and environmental sustainability on the map. Climate change was a big topic, and the buzzwords "greenhouse effect," "CFCs," "carbon dioxide output" became more and more commonplace. I remember my 4th grade science fair project modeled the greenhouse effect on plant growth. My argument was that increased carbon dioxide outputs, paired with deforestation, would result in yearly temperature increases of 1-4 degrees Celsius, depending on regional location. So you could say I thought the environment and environmental conservation was pretty interesting.

Then, sometime between 8th grade and high school, just as the most recent debate on the Mexican border and immigration policy/asylum rekindled, some idiot at the Sierra Club said that they could not support calls for asylum because overpopulation was the singlemost environmental threat to sustainability in the U.S. And just like that, I was soooooo over environmentalism.

Over the past few years I have found myself coming back to the (false) tension between environmentalism as a concept of conservation and environmentalism as a social justice issue.

Bear with me as I take you through an even longer walk down my childhood. I spent most of my Bay Area childhood in east Richmond, California. Richmond, for those who do not know, is home to the highest cancer rate in California, the highest number of acute and chronic respiratory diseases, and some of the poorest zip codes in the state. It is a prime case study for industrial development and environmental racism. Coming to terms with the role of industrialization on the health, well-being, and economic vitality of Richmond has opened my eyes to the many ways in which the "environmental agenda" is inherently intertwined with the future of vulnerable communities.

Deforestation in Kenya has been a hot button issue for nearly 20 years now. Rapid deforestation of the country's forests has left it with a bevy of problems that will be difficult to resolve. Many of these trees were cut down for firewood, or furniture, or for some project spearheaded by a local MP or even by sitting presidents. In the 90s, the government's decision to build skyscrapers over Nairobi's Uhuru Park led hundreds of women (led by Wangari Maathai) to strip naked in protest. [in Kenya, especially in Central, seeing a woman nude who is not your wife is that woman's way of cursing you and is seen as a highly powerful act of political protest]. Uhuru Park is still there -- the government quickly retracted its position, one of the only times it recanted under Daniel Moi --, but the rapid deforestation of the state persists. To date, Kenya has lost all of its rainforests save one (Kakamega Forest).

So what does deforestation have to do with people? Aside from contributing to global warming and drought, Kenya now faces a water crisis. In Central Province, sanitation and water pumping has dropped the water table down to crisis levels. Officials are desperately exploring the feasibility of importing water from neighboring provinces and from neighboring countries. That said, even the lush Rift Valley, Nyanza, and Western Provinces - all of which historically have had enough rainfall to merit their very green and prosperous agricultural industries, are finding themselves hard up for rain. Water diversions at major mountain sources are also contributing to a dropping water table, warmer temperatures, wacky rainfall, the loss of topsoil/arable land, and a general decline in agricultural productivity. For a country where the majority of people engage in subsistence agriculture for their daily food this is a case of double jeopardy. Not only do they lose all access to drinking water, but they also lose all access to their food security.

It is no coincidence that this change in resource access is concentrated in poor countries, particularly those that have had a history of dependence or allegiance with the U.S. In neighboring Tanzania, a country whose Socialist-inspired first president - Nyerere - turned down U.S. development aid in favor of promoting a different development plan, the climate is much more stable. The landscape is lush. There are forests of baobab and pine trees (together) lining the roadside. Granted, the overall level of poverty in Tanzania is much more acute than in Kenya. At the same time the economic gains it has seen recently have been more evenly distributed, and many of the local Kenyans I've spoken with believe that Tanzania will have much "smarter" growth. Kenya, meanwhile, has been continually pressured to pursue destructive economic growth policies. These range from mineral exports and mining to the creation of EPZs (export processing zones - effectively regulation free economic production zones). Trucking is a major source of goods transport, particularly to landlocked countries like Uganda, Rwanda, and Burundi. These diesel vehicles, of course, have no standards for emissions regulations. These same growth policies include a lack of a policy. Within this policy vacuum we see a waste management system that eschews providing sanitation services in rural areas in favor of burning all physical waste, including plastics. All of these relieve the cost at the margin, particularly for foreign multinational corporations who enjoy the freedom to pollute at will, and for the government, which saves millions of shillings in public services that, in truth, it cannot afford to provide.

Worldwide, generally, more vulnerable communities will bear the harshest brunt of water scarcity. While everyone will eventually suffer, when water is only available in bottles, only those who can afford those bottles will have the access they require. While subsistence farmers can hardly irrigate their crops here, massive water schemes in the first world divert and irrigate lands that, for centuries, should never have been arable to begin with. I can't help but wonder what the extent of the oncoming environmental violence will be. Can we pinpoint who where the worst victims of climate change and environmental policies will be located? If these communities are situated in at-risk locations, like those residents of the lowland neighborhoods of New Orleans, how many disasters will it take before we change our current policies? By then, will it be too late? Who has to suffer the most before we exercise a modicum of compassion and consciousness? Is a slightly higher profit this quarter worth the cost of human lives and worth the cost of reversing the size of our ecological footprint? When will environmental sustainability become as important as financial sustainability in development programs and funding? Will the push for environmental balance be inclusive of, and reconcile itself with, the needs and demands of those very poor people who development ought to help the most?

The Challenges of Voting from Abroad (October 1, 2006)

Right before catching my plane to Delhi I posted my overseas absentee ballot at the Nairobi central post office. The process of voting abroad can be as complicated or simplified as a state chooses. Virginia residents are emailed a ballot which they can then print and send back to the state in a fairly easy/straightforward process. California residents, conversely, are sent 1-2 blank forms in which they are required to hand-write each office they wish to vote for (or proposition/measure) and in the corresponding line, their vote.

As stated, the process can be as easy or as difficult as a county/state wants. In my case, my first elections overseas has resulted in a bevy of correspondence with my county clerk and the CA Secretary of State's office over the sheer stupidity of their system. For example, prior to receiving a ballot my county clerk confirms that I am still, in fact, overseas. Sounds reasonable, right? One would hope to avoid voter fraud. This confirmation happens by mailing me a letter wherein there is a form that I am to return prior to September 4th. This is totally logical and reasonable, except that the notification letter is sent out August 1st, which means it arrives usually within 11 days of its deadline. For many overseas voters this is too little time. For example, it takes a minimum of 10 (business) days to post a letter from Kenya. There is the option of faxing in your confirmation, but if you are posted more rurally (as I am), there is generally limited to no fax access as well. There is no fancy U.S. Counsel post service that is going to whisk my confirmation letter back to the U.S. and ensure that it reaches California in any semblance of timeliness.

After that hurdle, your voter guides finally arrive. In my case, I received half my guides in September, and the other half after the postage deadline for the ballot in October. In and of itself, the delay in guides arriving is of course a bit of a shit show. Furthermore, relying on voter guides as my sole source of elections information, I realized that these are generally put together in a pretty useless way. Not only do whole sections of the guide refer the voter to online resources for "additional information," but the online web sites only have *.pdf copies of the physical voter guide. Further, if you live somewhere without internet access, you are effectively cut off from any and all background information, etc., that you can dig up about organizations funding and supporting initiatives, candidate voting histories, and even which judges are up for reconfirmation. While this is a pain and is disproportionately annoying for those overseas voters who are not working for the U.S. government, in a city, or with a major aid/NGO agency, it also disproportionately encumbers low-income voters in California itself.

Can you imagine if the majority of your voting information had to come solely from the internet? Let's say TV was out given the number of misleading and confusing ad campaigns and the lack of (non-spin) press coverage on campaign issues. If you come from a more low-income and/or rural area of California, then chances are you will have zero access to internet resources, and consequently, zero access to thorough elections information. As I went through propositions and candidates in frustration I couldn't help but wonder a) if I felt informed enough to make an educated voting decision, and b) if my ballot was even worth casting. These are not feelings that voters should have, particularly when the whole function of the Sec. of State's office is to provide thorough voter information and streamline/ensure a smooth elections process. Voter guides in particular should be thorough and holistic. While I found the Legislative Analyst's reports helpful, particularly on California's proposed and actual bond burden, there was not much in the way of any other analysis offered to help read through the lines. One of hte most ardent arguments for going mostly online is that paper guides are wasteful, bad for the environment, etc. This is true, but in the meantime the Sec. of State will have to come up with a better and more accessible alternative so that all walks of voter can get reliable information. No wonder voters feel overwhelmed and underinformed.

Language Lesson #3 (October 22, 2006)

Here are words I've learned in the past few months here in Busia:

virusi: virus
ugonjwa/mgonjwa: sickness / sickly (person)
kwashiokor: "wet" malnutrition
ukimwi: AIDS

Busia district has one of the highest HIV/AIDS rates in Kenya (estimated at 25% by MSF), and it is the hub for Doctors Without Borders' East Africa ARV program. In a country where HIV/AIDS has already been declared a national emergency, it is criminal that transmission rates have increased over the past 5 years.

Granted, the Lake Victoria population has specific challenges that make them a higher risk community. For example, major transitways run along and across the top of the lake into Uganda, opening the border to a great deal of trafficking in persons, but also to sex worker markets. Additionally, polygamy is not uncommon, and some of the most at-risk populations are married women and girls. Further, there is a strange market exchange that happens along the lake that I still don't fully understand. Effectively there is a (somewhat) historic trend where fishermen demand sex from women in exchange for fish, etc. Consequently, women, especially single women and mothers, end up trading sex for food in order to survive, but also, there seems to be less of a stigma attached around this trade.

During the mid-90s I had several friends die from AIDS, and at the time a person's HIV status was still incredibly taboo. That said, I don't think I've ever been so jarred by the hyperpresence of the virus. When I first arrived I was inspired to see the openness with which people support organizations for those living with AIDS, as well as those supporting public health campaigns aimed at safe sex practices, VCT founding, and public health campaigns. It is not common to see posters and t-shirts advertising safe sex, ARV treatment, and pro-testing slogans.

In the same breath, I sometimes feel that I am walking through a community that is dying. To say that death is everpresent is an understatement. The cruelty lies in the unnaturalness of it; people are dying of diseases that have cures. They are dying while those in the west enjoy superior access to medicine and healthcare while western pharmaceutical companies squeeze every last drop of money out of third world countries (with their patent protections). This is not an uncommon fact, nor is it uncommon to know that those same countries use these populations as their human guinea pigs in trials where informed consent is a joke, not a standard.

There are already so many challenges here - malnutrition, lack of adequate medical access/care, malaria, poor water and sanitation, the list could go forever. I knew all of this logically before I arrived in Kenya. But if you've had a loved one pass away from AIDS, you will understand the gnawing feeling that seizes your heart when you know someone is dying. I don't know how to describe the disorientation and longing in the bottom of your heart when you are looking at another person, maybe someone you love, and know that you are staring at an inevitable and cruel death, compounded by the incidence of location. I can't describe the pain and the outrage knowing that this is ridiculous, unjust, and cruel. Most people here are not going to start up ARV treatment or even have access to any such thing, and many more are cast out of their homes to die; some will starve to death, and some will die from exposure. Nearly all will contract TB and die from it sometime during the course of the disease. By the time people reach morbidity, they have already been abandoned by the world. If you have seen someone cough up blood and parts of their lungs when there is nothing left to their body but bones, thin skin, and lesions - or if you can imagine that - magnify that feeling 1 billion times, and you might approximate the shroud of death that hangs over everything.

I often feel emotionally lost in a sea of despair. I am drowning, and the only way to reconcile all the pain and helplessness is to either detach coldly from the situation or the pretend that you don't notice anything. Sometimes I wonder what kind of battles we have to fight with our minds to maintain a shred of sanity in a situation that defies all logic and reason. While there are many good programs and organizations in the area, at the same time everything feels hopeless. For example, the Kenyan Ministry of Education requires that students be taught about methods of avoiding contracting AIDS (but are not allowed to teach about safe sex). One of our programs tries to decrease transmission for young women, but we find repeatedly that teachers tell their students that condoms have small holes in them that will allow them to catch HIV/AIDS, so better not to use one at all. What good is education if you then actively lie or obscure the truth from people under the guise of religion, conservative values, or whatever nonsense someone comes up with that day as an excuse?

I had mentioned MSF's ARV program. While they have offered amazing homecare and ARV services, the ARV program is shutting down in East Africa next year. I've heard mixed messages for why this is happening, but effectively the community here is not seen as being as "at risk" as other populations (e.g. the Congo, Sudan, west Africa). At the same time, MSF is trying to transition the program to Kenya's Ministry of Health (MoH) as part of their mission to achieve sustainability. More obviously, MSF is transitioning patients off of ARV treatment altogether. Why? Because no one expects the MoH to be anything short of inept at providing treatment, and further, most of the drugs they receive will probably be sold on the black market and will never reach patients. People will begin treatment and will not be consistent. As you might know, ARVs have to be taken on a very strict schedule and must be kept up throughout the entirety of treatment. If you go off part way or are not consistent in taking the drugs they do not help, and further, the virus mutates to become immune to treatment. This complicates things further because it puts everyone else at risk, effectively creating "super HIV" strains.

I know logically that does not mean that everything is hopeless, but sometimes I wish people had to live with the consequences of their actions. Sometimes I wish I could take every pharmaceutical chairman and leave him abandoned in a hospital wing full of dying African AIDS patients. I know that this may conjure some kind of stereotypical vision of AIDS in Africa, but to me this is about a larger issue of justice, compassion, humility, and humanity. How cruel that by an accident of birth we decide in a moment who deserves to live, and who is dispensible. How, with any moral conscious, can we continue to support systems that perpetuate the utter disregard and devaluation of human lives?

When I first saw the (red) product campaign, the bitter cynic in me laughed. Here is another way to make people feel good about their materialism, or here is a way to promote a "solution" through capitalism without looking at the regulatory issues that we [the U.S.] place as blockades to access to affordable treatment.

But then I thought about it a bit more. It's not like people are going to stop shopping tomorrow. So why not at least throw your dollars behind something that may alleviate someone's suffering? Does it address the larger issues in place? Not really. But maybe it offers some kind of solace in the interim. It's not like the world medical system and intellectual property system is going to do some kind of magic reversal or exception for the betterment of society overnight. The AIDS rate in Busia is not going to drop abruptly in the next year. I guess I have to hold onto the thin thread that says that maybe we are a generation who will care more today than others did yesterday, and that maybe we will use the information we have to inspire and to act. Maybe there will be a sense of responsibility to one another as a beloved community to love one another passionately, no matter how foreign or how far. And maybe that kind of passionate love can help us dedicate our lives to "righting" some of the wrongs we've allowed and benefitted from. Maybe it will help us to realize that we are hyperconnected and that each time we act or choose not to act we send out a ripple that touches the entire world. Maybe we will realize that we cannot continue to close our hearts to the suffering around us because it is difficult, but that the only way we can move forward is to open ourselves to this kind of pain and realize that we, each of us, are capable of even the smallest actions. And maybe all these smallest actions, in sum, are the kind of lifeline that we are all waiting for.

Here is the last word I've learned:
dawa: cure

Hey Shorty, It's Your Birfday (October 9)

There is something guiltily satisfying about online quizzes. According to some internet quiz producer, when I type in my birthday the following appears:

You are a born idealist, with more pet causes than you can count. You prefer be around others, both when working and while relaxing. Generous and giving, you believe you can change the world one person at a time. You're open minded and tolerant. People feel like they can tell you anything.

While I understand that roughly 1/356.25(th) of the population has the exact same characteristics according to said quiz producer, it still made me smile.

On the same note(ish) sometimes I forget I'm an adult. I know this sounds ridiculous; I have been voting and legally liable for my actions for the last 5 years and have been contributing to the U.S. tax system for the last 7 years. I guess I generally equate being "grown up" with life after school, or with what comes next. Because this job is so research oriented and is in many ways a stopover between my undergraduate and graduate education, it is kind of like being in extended class. By this self-defined measure, I will not be grown up for 4-8 years, depending on what I decide to pursue. I just realized that this means I won't seriously begin my professional development until I'm nearly 30. Wow. I guess this is sobering, but I guess this is kind of the "folly of youth" - feeling like time is running out when it hasn't even started, really.

Letter from Kenya #8: Trees, Cake and the Nile (October 20, 2006)

Hello friends, nonRomans, countrypeople,

Welcome to your latest mass e-mail installment. Since my last letter I have have been pondering the future and enjoying a crazy month. I admit up front that this email is much more random than others, but will hopefully prove entertaining nonetheless. I've also decided that instead of clogging your inbox I will try to keep things brief and link to the blog for longer posts. Sneaky, I know.

In this digest:
1. Hey shorty, it's your birfday
2. Genius cat, or sleep deprivation?
3. Hot Hot Heat
4. The Blue Nile
5. Tupac
6. Pick your favorite Kenyan dictator day
7. What a girl wants

1. I am getting old
Some of you have asked what I did for my birthday, so here are the juicy details: In the middle of the day, the office staff surprised me with cake and a birthday card full of very cute birthday notes. Then, that evening, Willa (also known as our resident master chef) made an amazing vegetarian dinner, and we all pigged out. It was cozy, low-key, and very sweet, and the following day was a public holiday, which allowed for lots of recuperation. It also reminded me that I am way older than I think I am. For example, when I'm carded in the U.S. I always goof and say I'm 21. This is ridiculous because I haven't been 21 for years, but clearly my head has not caught up with the rest of me.

2. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Cat
Around 5:30AM last Sunday I woke up to the sounds of someone rattling a bag of what sounded like cereal. I called out, but no one responded. "Oh no!" I thought to myself, "The cat is tearing up the kitchen!"

In fact the cat was not tearing up the kitchen. T/Su had climbed up the cupboard to the top shelf, knocked over a closed bag of cat food, and then knocked over a pair of scissors. To my astonishment, the bag had scissor-like slash marks in it! Oh my God, I thought, my cat is a freaking genius, and he doesn't even have opposable thumbs. Upon closer reinspection a few hours later, I realized that these were probably claw marks, but still, it makes you wonder.

3. Excuse me, could you spare a tree?
As we move out of the rainy season, the weather has gotten ridiculously hot. By 10AM on most mornings the temperature climbs to about 100 degrees Fahrenheit, and we have definitely been feeling it. I was talking to one of the local staff, Carol Eve, and she mentioned that it used to be cool this time of year (around 85 degrees). What changed? The forests were cut down for firewood.

This got me thinking about deforestation, climate change, and water security. One of our major challenges on the project is that springs keep drying up. While this area has remained relatively untouched, Kenya has had a massive drought for the past few years. Many environmental experts attribute this to the gross deforestation of the country. This also brought me back to Wangari Maathai, who recently published an autobiography. As you might know, Wangari Maathai is the first African woman to receive the Nobel Peace Prize for her work in leading an environmental women's movement to protect green spaces and replant trees. More on this in the blog.

4. Jinja
This weekend was amazing, phenomenal, beautiful! Willa and I crossed the Ugandan border and hopped on a matatu (i.e. van) to take the 2 hour drive down the Busia(U)-Jinja Road to Jinja town. From there we took motorcyle bodas to our camp site overlooking/on the Nile River, about 9km from the town proper. This is the major location from which people go white water rafting, but since we are relatively broke we just came to commune with nature. [an aside, if you do want to raft the Nile you should def. try it out. It is $75US for the day and includes lunch/breakfast and like $10/night for loding, which is super cheap if you are making any kind of US salary]

First and foremost, WOW. I honestly have no idea how to describe how incredibly lush, beautiful, and gorgeous Uganda is. The trees go for miles, and ripe jackfruit weigh down limbs as you drive down the road; it is almost like the branches are leaning down to say hello. While Jinja itself is a bit clogged, you can see glimpses of the Nile stretch across the horizon of town. And the motorcyle taxi? Probably the best experience of my life to date! I had never been on a motorcycle before, but if you can imagine The Motorcycle Diaries, call this Africa edition. We went up and down these huge hills past gorgeous homesteads and beautiful villages with nothing but blue sky and green land. For whole moments it felt like I was flying, and I honestly thought that if my heart was any happier or lighter that I would float away. By the time we reached the campsite, we could see the entire expanse of the Nile stretched out.

Visiting the Nile was surreal; in some ways being on a hill made me feel like I was watching a movie and that none of it was real. We also scoped out the showers at the site. Basically what they've done is built showers into the slope; you open the door and lock it behind you, and it is your regular grody/dingy campsite shower, but when you look out the other side and there is no wall, just trees and the Nile. No one can see you, but you can see everything. It was probably one of the most beautiful things I had seen in my life, trumped only by the most glorious pink-red sunset setting over the hills above the river. I don't know if you can imagine what it must like to stand, so small, at the edge of the world's biggest river. I kept thinking of all the civilizations that have relied on this site, and all the fertile and rich life around it, and I couldn't help but think of how lucky I am. How blessed to have a glimpse of this when I could have gone for years without ever knowing how the definitions of beauty in the world can be pushed to new meaning.

While the site kind of had an overlander feel, there were a lot of different populations of tourist that it catered to. Willa and I spent most of our time outside, visiting local village shops and eating Rolexes and fresh pineapple. A Rolex, unlike the watch, is a Ugandan chapati (v. similar to the Swahili/Kenyan chapati) with an omelette rolled up in it. Mine was tomato, onion, egg and avocado. Kind of like a heavier crepe. Amazing.

5. 2Pac
As a Californian, I cannot understate the impact of Tupac on my hip hop education. What's interesting is the prevalence of Tupac here as well. It's funny to see his face on t-shirts, on the sides of matatus (public transit vans), and in homes/restaurants. It's also an interesting example of the global impact of hip hop, the role of African American music in pan-African/African diasporic culture and communication, and on the influence of urban radio on rural taste.

6. Public Holidays
So there are 3 public holidays in October. One is for Eid (how exciting is that?) because the government has decided that, in light of recognizing Christmas as a public holiday, it does not want to alienate Muslims on a day that is important to them. So Eid Mubarak, all!

The other two holidays are Kenyatta Day and Moi Day, more commonly known as the first 2 presidents of Kenya. The fact that both led quasi-dictatorships for much longer than term limits allow, especially the latter, seems not to be as big of a concern. So I asked the local staff if there would eventually be a Kibaki Day (Kibaki is the current president), and if Kenya would add a public holiday for each president. The office just looked at me like I was crazy, though.

7. What a Girl Wants
So some people have asked me what I want while I'm here. I have been racking my brain because most things I can get here, and the things I can't get are hard to ship. But I have come up with 2 things for those who are so inclined:

A. The Busia Library
Busia is trying to refurbish and restart its library, and it needs books. Now, don't go too crazy, but just make a mental note of whether or not you have books you might think of donating. I have to check with the library committee first, and the logistics are tricky with shipping, but this might be something to think about for January/February-ish.

B. Music
I don't want to foster illegal activity, but the other expats overwhelmingly listen to emotional/hipster rock. Before I came here my iPod sputtered, and I didn't have a chance to redownload all my music. If you are so inspired to put together a mix CD, any of the following artists would be greatly appreciated:

Dead Prez, Charlie Parker, Lila Downs, Talib Kweli, Silvio Rodriguez, Common, Mos Def, The Roots, M.I.A., Shakira (Spanish only, please)

Also, Jas, can you please copy my Goapele, Mohd. Rafi, Lata Mangeshkar, Punjabi MC, and Dhamaal CDs onto MP3 and collate into one CD-R, pleeeease?

So that's it for now, but the next email will include our Halloween party. Get ready!

Best,
Camille

Credit Where Credit is Due? (October 13, 2006)

I am always a bit amazed at how much credit Westerners get for coming to third world countries. I hear so many people talk about how brave someone is, or how adventurous, etc., for stepping into the "developing" world.

How many times have you thanked a third world migrant for coming to the U.S. or another industrialized world power?

And why should we get credit for issues that are, in many ways, byproducts of the policies and regimes we tacitly or actively support? What does it mean to hold a privileged position (e.g. "American") in the world in the context of everyone around you? How does the language of adventure reinforce the norms by which colonizers and explorers have been travelling across the world forever?

This is not of course supposed to be some angry rant on why people should not go abroad or engage in critical work - I think they should. That said, I think it's interesting to reflect on where we stand when we define what's hard, what's easy, etc.

Also, is it just me, or are many more of my friends abroad than ever before? I know there's some selection bias in this, but it's also a bit weird. Is it a larger trend, or a phase?

Why Does My Heart Feel So Bad? (October 11, 2006)

I firmly believe that I am developing a peptic ulcer. According to Where There Is No Doctor, the worst book to read when you are feeling sick in a country where you have limited health care access, here are the symptoms:

"Acid indigestion and 'hearburn' often come from eating too much heavy or grasy food... frequent or lasting acid indigestion is a warning sign of an ulcer. An ulcer is a chronic sore in the stomach or small intestine, caused by too much acid. It may cause a chronic, dull (sometimes sharp) pain in the pit of the stomach."

Too bad I have been unable to eat for 2 days, have had trouble sleeping and have been vomiting stomach acid. Similarly annoying is that vomiting is a sign of every possible infection, and quite a few non-infections. It is also something I seem to be doing a disturbing lot of in general recently. Have you ever seen the episode of Seinfeld where he ruins his 16 year non-puking spree? Kenya is ruining my 12-year non vomiting run! As someone with a self-professed iron stomach, I am not pleased with this turn of events. I also found myself laughing at the statement that ulcers can be caused by too much heavy/greasy food. Hello, is there any other kind of food in Busia?

On the same note, I have been getting depressingly sick yet again. I'm beginning to seriously worry about my physical health, and I don't know if this has to do with being in Africa, or being kind of sad, or just having a bizarre family medical history to begin with. In the past 3 months I have been seriously ill at least 6 times, have had to have antibiotic treatment 4 times, and have caught everything but malaria, typhoid and dengue (all mosquito-borne). Now I am paranoid that I am developing something else disgusting and generally bad for me.

I would love to feel healthy, happy, alert, and energetic again.

Missing You (October 6, 2006)

"Without you the hand gropes/ the ear hears/ the pulse beats/ life goes on, but I'm gone/ 'cause I die without you."

Recently I've been desperately missing my friends and family. This isn't the traditional homesickness kind of missing, but rather the missing that comes with being entirely lonely. I generally don't think of myself as someone who is difficult to get along with, or someone who is a bore or overbearing, but I find myself feeling frantically alone in Busia. Among other things, it has been hard to meet people here. The expats generally stick to other expats in a division that I find disturbing and a bit problematic. I'm having a terrible time meeting local Africans, though, because I am so unused to the social dynamics here. Generally there is no young 20-something crowd that you would find in a bigger city. It seems that most people, particularly women, go from children to married overnight. Gender norms make befriending guys a strained relationship, and almost every friendship that starts up is quickly followed by requests for money, or an all-expense paid trip to the U.S.

There's not really a time of life when folks are fabulous and single out here. It also means that the most traditional way to socialize is to go over to someone's house or to share a meal or tea. While this is perfectly lovely, I often feel stupid because my Swahili is so poor that I can't keep up a detailed or animated conversation. On the subject of Swahili, I worry that I am hitting my learning curve, and am thus, not improving, but also that I will never have enough free time from work to really be serious/hardcore about my language acquisition. Also, I have never really made peace with being silent, and I find it incredibly difficult to have conversations where tens of minutes go by in perfect silence.

I miss having animated conversations about current events, foreign policy, elections, the state of the world, hegemony and empire, the OC, and a number of other things I have been spoiled by for years. I find myself incredibly cautious in broaching anything remotely political - be it Kenya's recent moves towards a single party state (again), corruption, ethnic fractionalization, or democratic participation. I find whole parts of my heart turning into stone and parts of my brain feeling like they are atrophying. While economics is a field that I am happy to engage with more deeply, sometimes I want to throw all the numbers out the window and ask how people really expect to enumerate fairness and equality and progress and how these definitions are written anyway.

I am ashamed to admit that I really miss soymilk, and by extension, I really miss soy chai. The next time I eat Thai food I may die of happiness. I am disturbingly becoming sick of Indian food. If I eat another deep-fried meal, I think my arteries will close on the spot and refuse to channel anymore blood.

I didn't expect life to be glamorous, or even particularly easy, but right now there are many more sad than happy days, and I am frustrated that I am no longer excited. I wanted so much to be in love with my experiences here, but at the moment I am not. Perhaps this was my folly, and maybe this expectation is just as problematic as the expectations of some to come to foreign countries and "save the world." I didn't want to save the world, but I am worried that I am losing myself.

Letter #1 from India, via Dubai (October 3, 2006)

Salaam, Namaskar, and Sat Sri Akal,

Live, from Jalandhar and Delhi (via Amritsar and Chandigarh), is your latest mass update. To mix things up, I decided that each topic should be accompanied with its own totally inappropriate/quoted-out-of-context lyric lifted from a Punjabi folk or pop song. Beneath it is a translation* into Californian slang with a hyper-emphasis on syntax from Clueless, one of my favorite revivals of 19th century English lit. Isn't it amazing what you can do when waiting for a connecting flight?

1. Wedding Season in Punjab
2. The Best Jalebwala East of the Border
3. Favorite Punjabi Words
4. Why I Love Delhi
5. An open invitation to Kenya

1. Aaj Mausam Bada Beimaan Hai
(Californi'slation: There's, like, something in the air. No, not smog.)
If August is wedding season in Busia, then October certainly marks the beginning of the wedding season in Punjab. While my universe revolved around my cousin's plans, at least 5 other weddings took place this week in the immediate neighborhood. A nice byproduct were the awesome fireworks displays as people lit rockets off their roofs (I guess the proverbial roof was on fire?).

While a week of wedding events is a bit longer than the normal average here, the extended version meant a) a lot of really good food, and b) a lot of dancing, particularly of the bhangra/giddha variety. Can I get a bale bale?


2. Mai koi chuth boileyaan? (Koi naa!)
(Californi'slation: What, am I lying? Uhhh, no!)
Having never been to Pakistan, I cannot speak for the sweet-making skills of confectioners west of the border. However, by far the best Jalebwala in north India (and perhaps all of India) hangs out in the Amritsar market, about a block from Harmandar Sahib (commonly known as the "Golden Temple"). If you're in the area, he's at the first major market intersection as you head at a 30 degree angle left away from the main entry to the Gurdwara Sahib.

So first, a few explanations for those who are not familiar. A jaleb (plural: jalebi or jalebee, depending on your transliteration) is dough that's fried in an oil-based sugary glaze. It turns a bright orange color and is slightly crunchy -- it's not thick like a donut --, and a lot of the skill is based in flavor, consistency, and intricacy of the spirals made to hold it together. Its overall shape is usually like a donut, but the insides are full of designs. A jalebwala is someone who makes jalebi. Amritsar is a city about 20km from the border with Pakistan -- this is where people head out from when they want to see the changing of the border guard when visiting India. It's home to a lot of Sikh history and a relatively new international airport, but it's also home to my Naniji (maternal grandmother)'s side of the family. And to the jalebwala!

About two years ago my great aunt referred me to the Amritsar market for jalebi. I was having a difficult time balancing personal allergies against a major sweet tooth, especially with all the amazing Punjabi desserts around me (e.g. gulab jaman, barfi, ladoo, gajrela, kulfi, kheer - the list continues). Just fyi, I'm allergic to dairy and all of the aforementioned desserts -- in fact, every Punjabi dessert I can think of, sans jalebi, gud, guchak and shukar pare -- are milk based sweets.

So finding a person who makes good jalebi is a pretty sweet deal. The Amritsar jalebwala can make any kind of jalebi you want. I once ordered a 1 kg jaleb from him (obscene, I know). Why? Because I could. Keep in mind, jalebi aren't even my favorite Punjabi dessert, but this guy catapults them to the top of my list. The added bonus of having (and visiting) family in Amritsar is that a requisite stop at the jalebwala is not too much to ask.


3. I have no clever lyric for this topic and was too impatient to find one
One of the best things about being in Punjab is that I get to practice reading Punjabi. Sometimes I stare at walls like an idiot for what feels like painfully long seconds sounding out words phonetically. I dig through my memory for the closest vocab approximation, when I realize that it's not Punjabi at all -- it's transliterated English. Here are some examples of my "favorite" Punjabi words (transliterated back to English) with translations in parantheses:

naishunal (national); vain (van); beesaaeecul (bicycle); bee bee see (b.b.c.); bus (bus); edooceshunal (educational); skool (school); midul (middle); (s)teshun (station); staind (stand); mainejar (manager); cumitee (comittee); caampaanee (company); seemaint (cement); Motorola (Motorola)


4. Aaj Mera Jee Karda/ Mai Udajaa Nal Havavaaaaaaa/ Mera Jee Karda
(Californi'slation: I like Delhi so much it hurts. Or, as Kanye says, "I'll fly away." Actually, Puff Daddy and the Family said it, too, in their tribute to Biggie, but that's what happens when you sample gospel)

There are many people who find Delhi polluted, overcrowded, claustrophobic and chaotic. I agree, all of those things may be true, but I love Delhi. I don't love driving in Delhi, but I don't think things are so bad once you get out of your car or autorickshaw. The extent to which I love Delhi is probably obscene. Here are things I like:

1. My great-aunt and great-uncle, who live in Vasant Vihar, one of my most favorite neighborhoods ever.
2. I can spend weeks here and still have tons of city to explore
3. I often feel like I'm walking through history. And I am!
4. I like the diversity of seeing all sorts of people from all over the world interact and hang out
5. I understand what people are saying, and they generally understand me (despite my very bad American accent)
6. The food!
7. The names of streets

5. Karibu Kenya!
Ok, I know I have been ramming this down people's throats, but I thought, why not do it again? There are many exciting things going on in the world, one of which is being hosted in Kenya, and that is the World Social Forum 2007. Here is the link: http://www.socialforum.or.ke/.

What is the World Social Forum? you might be wondering to yourself. The World Social Forum is an alternative to the World Economic Forum held in Davos (Switzerland) every year. The World Economic Forum concerns itself with decisions often associated with traditional neoliberal globalization - free markets, free tariffs, free export processing zones, freedom to degrade the environment, human rights, people's indigenous livelihoods, and labor rights in the name of corporate and (first world) profit, productivity, and efficiency. For example, if you attended or tuned into the Live8 concerts that happened in 2005 (hint: Bono was the face of the concerts), people were talking about debt relief at the latest G8 meeting. While the World Economic Forum is not a G8 meeting, it is quite similar in the topics it discusses and the impact it has on people's lives.

The World Social Forum is concerned predominantly with an alternate approach to globalization, and it emphasizes a focus on social issues. This means there's an amazing diversity of people from around the world who gather to share ideas, organizing principles, etc. This includes NGOs, human rights organizations, refugee relief & food security people, and also mass social movements, particularly from the "third World." There are also a lot of local NGOs and people who gather to set their agenda for building a more just global society. I think it is absolutely worth checking out, and it is only a week long. It is also not that expensive, and for those who are still students there are lots of funding opportunities for something like this.


Or, if you are completely disinterested, you can come join my heathen self over Christmas, and we can go to Mombasa, Lamu, and Dar-Es-Salaam together. Nothing says Happy New Year like the Indian Ocean coastline :)

See you back in East African Time,
Camille


* If you would like real translations, just let me know :)

Nairobi, revisited (September 23, 2006)

The first time I came to Nairobi, you will recall, I slept the entire time and took a bus to Busia the next day. On my flight to/from Delhi, I got to spend about 10 (non-sleeping) hours in the capital city, just walking around and exploring. First and foremost, Nairobi is huge. I walked over 6 miles and did not even clear all of downtown/center city. I did not make it near Kibera, and Westlands was an entirely different universe full of posh shopping and an amazing Italian restaurant. I ate food that I will probably dream about for weeks, had good pastry, and drank good tea. I did not find lactose-free soymilk, despite reports otherwise, and I spent more money in 2 days there than I do in an entire month paying for cost of living in Busia. I also ate strawberries - not the shrivelled kind in Kisumu that are dwarves, but real, juicy, red strawberries. I know I will salivate every time I think about it.

It's hard to imagine what this city was like when it was smaller. I don't know the exact estimates, but an obscene proportion of the Kenyan population lives in the city alone. There were so many amenities that I honestly felt like it was my first time in a big city. I had even forgotten, for a moment, how to use normal toilets. I found myself deeply intoxicated and intrigued by the City; the thought of returning to rural Kenya was a bore compared to Nairobi. It didn't seem worth the 10 hour bus ride; why not stay there forever? Except for the fact that this would be financially impossible, I realized something I've suspected about myself for a long time. I am a city person. There is something strange that I enjoy about cities. I know that they are filled with paradoxes, that they are bounded with inequalities and extremes, but at the same time there is something satisfying about exploring a super diverse area with so many resources and so much access to the "outside world." I knew more about current events in the 10 hours I was there than I have in the 3 months I have been in Busia.

Also, as far as crime goes, I didn't find the city so scary or crime-prone, but perhaps I am being a bit Pollyanna'ish about it. I definitely did not go out after dark, and the one night I was semi-stranded waiting for my taxi in Westlands was definitely nerve-wracking. During the day, there were rougher areas, but nothing seemed too scary. Maybe I am being too flippant, or maybe I am more used to being suspicious of pick pockets, etc. Sometimes I wonder if the danger of Nairobi is also relative and based on people's experiences, or if it is just a bit overexaggerated. It fits neatly with the idea of a lawless and corrupt Africa where everything is dark and evil and black faces watch your every move silently. That said I thought the stereotype was generally a bunch of bull during the day, and equally as ignorant as the aforementioned imagery. The same conditions, in any other place in the world, would not necessarily be described the same way (unless of course you were in Washington, D.C., or New Orleans, or any other city with a sizeable African-American population).

Letter #6 from Kenya (September 15, 2006): Rainforests, Religion, and Levelling

Good morning, America! (and expats)

This update will probably be a bit short, relatively speaking, since I am falling asleep at my desk. It's nice and sunny and warm outside, and I am inside entering in survey data and designing questionnaires. For those of you who thought this job was sexy, now you know what really happens on Saturday mornings. This week's update features:

1. The only living rainforest in new york (if by "new york" you mean "kenya")
2. Religion
3. Code-Switching
4. Levelling


1. Kakamega Forest
I'll be honest with you, I don't know a lot about the historical legacy and circumstances around Kakamega forest, but it's the only surviving rainforest in Kenya. I'm pretty sure the others have been completely deforested, but don't quote me. Last weekend I took a day trip to the forest to hike around. At first I thought this would be lonely, but I'd forgotten how nice it is to just chill out with nature.

I'm not sure how to start describing the forest, but it definitely wasn't like the mental images I have of the rainforest (which are usually of the Amazon). Yes, there were monkeys, no, I didn't see too many, and other than that it was a lush and green break from the hills and dust all around the rest of Western. Mostly it was a sanity break, and that in and of itself was restorative.

Interesting facts about Kakamega town:
Kakamega is the cultural heartland/city for the Kenyan Luhya, and it's a pretty big town (perhaps the 4th largest in Kenya?). It's interesting b/c in Uganda there are about 30 Luhya subtribes (e.g. you could be Luhya - Maragoli, Luhya - Saamia, etc.), and each has a distinct dialect, practices, customs, etc.

In Kenya, however, all these groups have been lumped together, mostly for political reasons. If you took each tribe individually they'd be a tiny fraction of the population, but together they're 12%. I don't know if this analogy works, but perhaps they're like the Iroquois Nation? Super diverse and distinct, but kind of lumped together for political strategy reasons.

2. Religion in Busia
While everyone claims that there's religious diversity in Busia, there are only two religions: Christianity and Islam. Within that, there are way way more Christians than Muslims in this town, and nearly all of the Christians are members of different Pentecostal denominations (there is a RC congregation and a Friends church, but other than that it's all evangelical). It was a bit of a culture shock to come somewhere where people open meetings with prayers about the blood of Christ, but I knew that religious diversity was not the norm here before I arrived.

What I didn't realize was that people would be hostile and rude. I was told that so long as a person had some kind of religion people generally didn't pressure you and also that the staff is kind of used to the research assistants being somewhat strange.

For me, however, I've found that people are not so tolerant of "Eastern" religions, or religions that are not "of the book." While there have been a number of anti-Semitic and Islamophobic comments that have circulated, there seems to be a lot more malice for Hindus (despite the fact that I'm not Hindu it has been impossible to help people understand the difference). It's also interesting because this kind of latent anger seems to be tied up with hostilities and anger towards Indians/South Asians in general. I find myself consistently exasperated with the comments I get about damnification, my soul, and about generosity.


3. Code-Switching
So I also visited Kisumu last weekend and stopped by the Sikh gurdwara there (for context: the place of worship for Sikhs is referred to as a "gurdwara" or "Gurdwara Sahib" -- literally a "house of God").

I had a true bizarro moment as I tried to explain to the caretakers that I was an American in Kenya, and that I had been curious to find the nearest congregation.

An aside: This was actually a really cool experience. The local congregation has a building for prayer services, etc (the Gurdwara Sahib proper), and across the street is their "Harambee dispensary center." The term harambee is the national motto of Kenya and doesn't have a direct translation to English, but is generally the idea of a community coming together to support one another together (perhaps a bit more proactive kind of "united we stand"?). So the harambee dispensary center is this big building where the congregation distributes all manner of social services -- malaria nets, drugs for the sick (usually over the counter things like anti-malarial pills and deworming pills), food for the hungry, clothing, etc.

The difficulty in my exchange was this: none of us spoke the same languages at a highly proficient level. For example, the director of the Sunday services only spoke Punjabi and was clearly a recent Indian immigrant. The caretakers spoke predominantly Punjabi and Swahili. I spoke much better English, passable Punjabi, and very basic Swahili.

The confusion arose in my inability to keep my languages straight. I haven't spoken any Punjabi to anyone in over 3 months, and I kept mixing my foreign languages up (Spanish, Punjabi, Swahili). I must have sounded like a walking Tower of Babel.

Malcolm Gladwell (author of Blink and The Tipping Point) calls this code-switching. Basically, second languages are generally stored in a different part of your brain than your first language, but as you become more fluent your brain "switches" over to the other language. I guess for myself all of these languages are jumbling together in my head, which makes me sound pretty stupid when I try to speak since the entire meaning of words and phrases change in this process. It makes me a little dizzy.

4. Levelling
Friends have been super kind in commenting that it sounds like Kenya is a lot of fun and really exciting and amazing. These things are all true. However, I'll level with you: in these digests I filter the more exciting parts because I know that many of you worry or will be sad to hear about all the painful things that happen. Life is not easy or exciting or fun all the time, or even most of the time. It is often tiring and emotionally exhausting to reconcile all the things that happen and everything I see. So from time to time I might slip in some of the more serious stuff; I want to be more honest, and I don't want you to think that this is a 2 year backpacking adventure where I disengaged from the community around me.



So that's the skinny from East... Africa! I'm off to India next week for my cousin's wedding, so the next dispatch will either a) come from South Asia, or b) be delayed and be all about Delhi & Punjab as opposed to Kenya. If you have any special (and small/carryable) requests, you know who to email :)


Cheers,
Camille

Language Lesson #2 (August 15, 2006)

Luhya is a strictly Bantu language which has a lot of grammatical overlap with Swahili. Luo is Nilotic and is, in my opinion, one of the more difficult languages to grasp because it's not linguistically related to any of its neighboring dialects. I still don't understand the grammar for either of these, but here are the five words I know in each language.

Another pronunciation reminder: these vowels are pronounced like those in Spanish.

Also, if there's a double vowel (e.g. "kiingereza") you don't pronounce the vowel twice, you just draw out the sound ("eeeee" versus "ee").

In Kiluhya (Luhya)
Greetings:
Formal: Marembe (or Malembe, depending on pronunciation); Orie?
Response: Marembe mono; Ndimalamu

Thank you: wevare
You're welcome: karibu (same as Swahili - maybe this is a usage thing?)

To cook: odeha
Thank you (in Kiganda): orio mono

In Kidiluo (Luo):
Greetings
Formal: Oyaore (morning); osaore (midday); oimore (evening)
Slang: Coro
Response: Beshere; Adimaber; Ber

Thank you: Erukamano


A random note on Kiganda:
So "Kiganda" is the Swahili word for "Luganda," one of the more commonly spoken languages in Uganda. I think this is interesting because technically Swahili and English are the national languages, I think, and yet from what I've been told way more people speak Luganda. Really strange - maybe like how in Pakistan the majority of the population speaks Punjabi but the national language is Urdu?

Letter from Kenya #5 (September 1, 2006): Barack Obama and The Lion King

Good morning Western Hemisphere (+ JK in West Africa)!

You know what time it is; that's right, time for more mass updates. I realized I might have been misleading when I said "bimonthly" since these are really "semimonthly." Oh English.

I know folks are gearing up for life again, so if these emails suddenly become a source of anxiety instead of entertainment, let me know if you'd like "off" the list. Again, I promise I won't take it personally, and my postcard offer stands. If this is your first email and you're wondering what happened to the other 4 emails, let me know, and I will send you "back editions." By the way, I love hearing back from people (hint hint) so don't hesitate to holla back. Let's dive in, shall we?

This week's email features:
1. Irish Clarification
2. Do you believe in miracles? or, Barack Obama Comes to Kenya
3. The Circumcision Parade
4. Stars
5. Things I've Disambiguated from the Lion King

Context:
I think I've explained, but in case I forgot, there are 3 major tribes in Western. The Luhya (12% of Kenya's population), the Luo (6%), and the Teso (4%). They're all lake tribes who are located in Uganda, Tanzania, Kenya, and sometimes Sudan.

1. Irish?
So I mentioned last time that people at the Ugandan border asked if I was Irish. The short version is that there are all sorts of weird diplomatic relationships that different countries have with each other vis-a-vis foreign aid, etc. Apparently Irish citizens are allowed free entry into Uganda w/o having to pay a fee and without having to obtain a visa. You may ask yourself, "but why would they think you're Irish when there are people of South Asian descent in East Africa?" Refer to previous posts for more details.

2. Obama
You may not know this (or you may, from the DNC 2004), but Barack Obama's dad is from Nyanza district in Western Province, and Obama is Luo! He was in Kisumu, and as much as I wanted to see him, everyone at the office (local and expat) was warned not to go because of the potential for police violence in the huge crowds. Having already dealt with the Kenyan police three times this month, the thought of deaing with them in riot-mode was not so appealing. Talk about missing the opportunity of a lifetime.

3. The Circumcision Parade
The other day I was biking through town and saw a group of about 50 people parading down the walking path (parallel to the road), chanting and banging pots and drums and ringing bells. People were dressed in feathers, beads, and bright colors -- totally atypical and abnormal for Busia. At the head of the parade was a young boy, about 13-14, leading the charge with some bizarre necklace. It took me a moment to realize that what was hanging around his neck were the biggest goat testicles I'd ever seen.

So why was this parade happening? Because the boy was going to go have his circumcision ceremony, a rite of passage that marks that he's become a man. My first reactions were, "Oh my god," and "that can't be sanitary." From what I've heard I was right on both counts; it's not sanitary and further, it hurts like crazy.

I asked folks at the office if this was common, and the general consensus was that it's more common among Luhya and in that peri-rural area between town and shamba (village). They asked, "Isn't it the same in the U.S.?" I tried to explain that if people are circumcised in the U.S. it's usually when they're <1, and it's done by a trained medical professional in the hospital. The response I got was, "Like the Jew?" at which point I dropped the issue.

The parade(s) is usually in August because everyone has a month off of school (to recover). You'll see young men walking around in kikoi's (kind of like a sarong) instead of trousers, or riding side-saddle on a boda, and you suddenly it clicks. This guy is recovering.

4. Look at the Stars, Look How They Shine For You
The other night I tried counting the number of stars in the sky. Even with all the lights on in town, and the moon out, there were more stars than I've ever seen in my life, even more than I've seen when camping in the U.S. My newest home improvement project is to buy an outdoor mosquito net and a hammock for night time star gazing. Most nights it's so warm and dry that I could spend hours just staring at the sky wondering where I am and what all those stars are.

There are constellations here that I thought only existed in theory, including Scorpio, Sagittarius, Cassiopeia, and Lyra. We can also see Alpha Centauri (despite it not being the brightest star in the sky - I think that's Sirus, the dogstar), and the Milky Way!! Talk about surreal! The whole idea of being able to see the galaxy that you're actually occupying is totally weird to me. I mean, I've seen pictures, but to see it in person is a whole other level. In case anyone's wondering, it's still there, or at least it was there a couple hundred light years ago.

5. Moment of Duh
So when I was young it didn't really sink in that The Lion King probably took place somewhere in the Serengeti/Maasai Mara. I know, I know, the savannah was kind of obvious if you've ever been on safari (I haven't). At any rate, here are things I've learned (in Swahili):

Rafiki means "friend"
Simba means "lion"
Hakuna matata means "There are no worries," or "I am without worry", just like the song

On the last point, no one actually says this b/c tourists love quoting this; same goes for "Jambo" -- it's generally reserved for conversations with watalii (tourists). If you're in Kenya/Tanzania and you want to say "no problem," say "Hakuna shida."

Also, some random trivia: Kilima means "mountain" or "slope" in Swahili, and "njaro" means snow. Put it together, and you get "Kilimanjaro" - the snowy mountain. As Al Gore reminds us, this won't be for long, and it makes me wonder if the mountain will have a new name in 200 years? (like dry mountain, or something)

Roger, I'm out.

With love,
me

Capital Expat (August 25, 2006)

There is a running joke in the office about capital expats. To be fair, this is probably just a reflection of our hubris and of the pecking order that expats create wherever they go. Karen (our country director) points to the recently published book on the "White Tribe of Kenya," which is an anthropological exploration of the behavior of different (white) expat communities in Kenya.

The gist of it is that when two expats meet, they shore each other up and try to define one another in the social hierarchy of what it means to "truly" be an Africanist. Here are examples of pecking order questions:

1. Do you live in Kenya? [Yes puts you higher on the ladder]
2. If yes, for how long? [Length of stay, higher still]
3. Did you live in the bush, or in the city? [Bush is bonus points]
4. Have you lived in other African countries? [Yes is more points]
5. Do you speak Swahili? [more bonus points]
6. Do you speak other tribal languages? [even more points if the language is particularly hard or not Bantu, like Maasai or Diluo]

And of course, the butt of most jokes in this pecking order assignment is whether or not you are a capital expat. The stereotypes around these kinds of expats fall into one of two categories. You are either:

1. A backpacker, come to "go native" and explore Darkest Africa on the cheap
2. Ridiculously rich, live in an uber-nice suburb of the capital - for here, something like Karen -, and work for some hoity toity organization like the World Bank, UNDP, or the U.S. Embassy or British High Commission.

We joke that capital expats want the luxuries of the first world with the illusion of being seasoned and hardened travellers. They want swimming pools, internet, gourmet lunches and servants, but they want it at a fraction of the cost of what it would take at home. They don't bother themselves with locals, generally turn up their noses to the natives, and like to detach emotionally from the world around them. They often operate at the level of the transnational, or more specifically the multinational.

When any of us is given to nostalgia for home (e.g. craving a very good caffe latte, or Thai food) we joke that this is a moment of "capital expat" weakness. But it's funny to think how much we are promoting the pecking order in doing this. It's also funny to think of the judgment behind such a statement. While I agree that it is critically important to gain language skills and try to learn as much about local cultures as possible, it is also funny to think one's status in an elite circle precludes this. It's also funny to think of how we beat ourselves up. Why can't a person crave a caffe latte every now and again? At the end of the day, that is the context we come from, and there's a great deal of humility to be had in understanding that we are not Africans, nor will we be Africans, nor can we ever claim authenticity on that point. Regardless of whether we live in a rural area, or speak Swahili, or live here for a few years. What is that really in the great scheme of things?

Christianity & Busia (August 20, 2006)

There are lots of things about religious fundamentalism that make me uncomfortable, and despite the fact that I consider myself to be fairly religious, there is something about fervent Christian piety that makes me nervous.

Busia only adds to this nervousness in that no one has a problem explaining how I'll be going to hell because I don't believe that Jesus is God, or for that matter, my savior. Even when I respond to questions regarding my religious philosophy, I find this is more to determine just how hell bound I am -- will I be driven down to the depths, or just to purgatory?

But I find the take on religion here really confusing. For example, I was asked if I go to church every Sunday. The answer is of course, no, but I don't go to the equivalent of church (i.e. gurdwara) on Sundays either. This is not because I'm some kind of heretic, but because it is fairly cost-prohibitive, requires 4 hours of commuting, and requires that I take off each weekend from work -- something generally impossible when I work 6-6.5 days/week.

When I asked about someone's church-going, they explained that they were required to support the Church, and that that's why they go. I found this puzzling; I thought the point of church was to attain some kind of spiritual harmony, or at least to reflect on God, faith, etc. However, the idea of "supporting the Church" has become more and more clear the longer I am here.

First and foremost, nearly all the religious organizations here are evangelical organizations. There is a heavy emphasis on giving to the Church, whether it is to provide a new building, or buy new furniture, or whatnot. What I find is that very few of these churches offer services or support for their congregations; they do a lot of open-air preaching and encourage efforts at prosletyzation and conversion. Busians are so poor relative to their neighbors that, to me, it seems unconscionable not to invest in social promotion or community projects. Very rarely do I see people's contributions returned to the community, or even to the church proper (this does not mean it doesn't happen -- there is notable good work done by specific congregations, but sometimes this is in spite of the formal set up of the church, although church may create a catalyst/space for a subcommunity to work together). To date, one of the best paid professions in the area is that of preacher.

Many congregations/churches here are started by Europeans or Americans, and they also sponsor speaking tours. Preachers rarely preach in Swahili -- I've been told (by expats) that this shows how "good" a preacher is; i.e., why would you want someone to preach in Swahili when anyone can do that? English shows finesse. Because the American preachers preach in English, similarly ranked African preachers also preach in English and have a member of the congregation translate into Swahili. This denotes importance as well as prestige and rank.

Now some of you may recall that oftentimes churches in the U.S. will fundraise, particularly to support African villages, congregations, etc. What may surprise you is that this money -- in Busia, at any rate -- does not go to support the local community. In fact, when American speakers come to visit they often make money through donations from local residents. This is what I find the most disgusting; that people of relative wealth would encourage and willingly take the earnings of those who make so much less and have so little to give.

This commentary should not be seen as a general attack on Christianity, or on the validity of evangelical organizations. But I do think it merits paying attention to what faith-organizations do, particularly in the name of religion. Some of the most widespread and oldest supporters of development projects have been evangelical churches. Does that destroy all the positive work they have done? No. But I think it is important to know the reality of what is happening, albeit in a local context, when deciding what to support and how to support it. There are some churches in Busia that that are very clearly invested in worship as their primary objective, but I find that these are the exception, not the rule. This situation also makes me wonder more broadly about the role of religious organizations in development policy, and in development. Some of the oldest expats were missionaries, after all. What does this say about aid, charity, and support? Who receives "aid," what are the target populations, and are these populations defined in just ways?

Popular Music (August 19, 2006)

Recently we all had lunch at Cecilia's house. Cecilia is a customs officer on the border. There were two competing theories that were bandied about that afternoon. That good music is created in one of two atmospheres:

1. Under extreme oppression/civil war
2. Under extreme boredom

That said, three of my favorite artists here have been Chameleon, Tony, and Jua Kali. Chameleon is a rapper from Uganda, Tony is a traditional Luo artist from the Nyanza area, and I have no idea where Jua Kali come from, but they seem to tour wherever I go. There is something incredibly clever about their lyrics, but also in their beats. All three have a strong background in melding traditional melodies with ragga, hip hop, and basic beat-matching, but they are all so much fun to listen to. That said, I cannot seem to find a music store anywhere that has their CDs. One of the most popular forms of music dispersion, aside from the radio, is via music videos available on bootlegged VCDs.

Of course, there are artists who are way more popular here than these three. For example, German Eurotrash bands seem to be particularly popular, and everyone plays their songs at weddings, during work, and while entertaining. These are bands who would not have been popular 20 years ago, despite the fact that their style is very much New Kids on the Block inspired. The fact that they can't carry a note in a bucket or write a coherent lyric doesn't seem to matter much, and it makes me wonder how widespread their East African following is.

We're lucky to be big enough that bands come through about once/month. We haven't all been able to get organized together, but I am definitely looking forward to my first super-live concert (I did hear Tony live once, but I don't think this counts since I was in the lobby and could not pay the cover to get into the bar where he was performing).

Race at Work (August 15, 2006)

Increasingly I find it difficult to negotiate conversations regarding my racial identity. At work, I have become a bit of a standing joke. I am frequently lumped in as one of the many white people (wazungu) at the office. Even small children chant "whitey" when they see me. It's strange and also frustrating to be seen as white; in some ways I feel that it ignores a specific experience that is interlinked with my "racial"/ethnic identity, but also I feel like it whitewashes all people of color who are Americans as well. In the past few weeks, the following comments have been made:

"I have a question... are you white, or are you mixed?"
"This woman is Red Indian!" [i.e. Native American/American Indian]
"I am telling you, she is mixed - either her mother or father is Indian, and the other is mzungu [white]."
"I have wanted to ask you for many months. Is your father Indian?"
"Surely you are white!"
"You cannot be Indian; the Indians do not speak to Blacks."

It has been incredibly difficult to explain the concept of being Asian-American. For example, I'm often asked if I'm more white or Indian. Do I watch Bollywood films? Do I speak "Indian"? Am I Hindu? The answer to many of these questions are considered unsatisfactory. Sometimes I watch Bollywood films, there is no such thing as "Indian" -- I speak limited Punjabi, and I am not a Hindu. Often I try to use Kenya as an example of the diversity found in India -- there are hundreds of tribes/groups with individual traditions, cultures, and languages. That said, it is not impossible for them to live together or understand one another.

But this discussion is further complicated by the fact that I don't identify as an Indian, or even as someone of Indian heritage. There are many identities I do embrace, but these are not the answers that people want to hear. How do you explain to someone that your family comes from a country that was split during British Partition, or that you have a different perspective/identity as a member of a diasporic community, or that, in many ways, you are just another American 20-something, but that there are definite differences in your experiences because of your perceived or assigned race?

However, shockingly I become "unwhite" when it comes to people venting their anger. For example, I have been told several times that the South Asian community in Kisumu (the closest sizeable population) hates black Africans, refuses to socialize with them, and that they do not share with others. The last point comes up often. Because we live in a primarily cash-economy, it is not unusual for expats in our office to be asked to give people money, with the underlying assumption that we are a) paid American salaries [we're not], and b) that because we are Americans we are rich [a logical assumption]. Several times I have turned people down -- no moreso than my coworkers --, but I also do tend to share when I know someone is hard up, or that their family member is ill, or if I generally believe in the cause. Recently the staff has begun to comment that Christians are generous and that Christians share; implying that I, as a heathen (and as the only declared non-Christian expat), am neither generous nor sharing. The irony of this statement is not lost on me.

Things are even more mixed up within the expat community here. The other Americans (who should be called Wamerikani, to be accurate) often refer to me as Mhindi (Indian). This is of course not an identity I would take on by myself, nor is it one I have ever tacitly encouraged or accepted. To take it further, it is mind-numbingly weird to be one of the only U.S. people of color abroad, and further, to be one of the only people of color who identifies as such. Of the 18 research assistants who have been in Busia at any given time, only 4 have been non-white. Of those 4, three were Asian-American (self included), and 1 was a native Kenyan who attended college in the U.S. These demographic stats don't seem to be unusual across international (i.e. non-local) NGOs. Underlying dynamics have also played out in our relationships in strange ways as I find myself noticing things that do not phase or bother the others.

There are a number of interactions and things said that many would call racist in a different context. Not since high school have I heard the term "those people" or "these people" used so often and so disparagingly. But for some reason, being abroad seems to exempt us from accepting the responsibility of being vigilant about our own assumptions. Comments that would never pass in the U.S. are surprisingly common and accepted. There isn't much protest between one another on what someone says. Because we all live together, there is a hesitation to call someone on their shit. And despite the overall "liberal" leaning of the group, there is a tacit acceptance that we are abroad and that the rules are different.

Altogether I find it exhausting. This is one of the things I miss the most about the Bay Area; having a group of friends with whom I could have conversations about the nuances of inequality, consciousness, and social justice. This is not to imply that my coworkers are not capable of these conversations, but rather, that we have not reached a place where we can comfortably discuss. And maybe this is a discipline-based issue as well.

Letter from Kenya #4 (August 14, 2006)

Live from Busia (K) comes your most recent semimonthly digest of Letters from Kenya. This month's edition features:

1. Wedding Season in Busia
2. A Boy Named T/Su
3. Busia (U)

1. The Season
This month there are 4 office-related weddings, and 3 of these involve members of my team. Interestingly, of these 4 weddings, 3 involve couples who have been common law partners for years and who already have children (and for all state purposes are considered "married"). The couples are definitely on the older side (30 - 45), and apparently these weddings are so that they can be married in the church. Entertaining the number of people you want to invite is so expensive that couples often wait years until they can afford a big party-style wedding and honeymoon.

Now each couple getting married this month belongs to a different church, so ceremonies differ widely. (sidenote: if anyone would like to talk about the politics of evangelical Christianity in Western Province, definitely holla back). That said, here are a few things common to all that I've learned so far:
1. All weddings here start at 10AM (officially), but in reality they start around 12-1PM.
2. There will be lots of dancing and singing, both during the ceremony and after.

And each time it's been great; lots of community members come (from the same church and from family, friends, coworkers), but Busia is so small that I keep running into the same people at each wedding. There also seems to be a lot of audience engagement in the process. I'm not sure how to describe this, but my general experience in the U.S. is that guests hold their breath waiting for the ceremony to conclude before the party begins. From my very limited experience here, everyone has been super participatory in the ceremonies I've seen. Lots of cheering, "hurray"'ing, singing, hugging. This is not to say that it's a free for all, but it seems like there's a lot of love that's manifested for the couple.

2. A Boy (we think?) Named Su
One of the great things of living with a bunch of 20-somethings who like to pretend that they're on permanent safari (even though they live in a proper house) is the number of mice and rats that are attracted to the random foodstuff that rests on our sink counter, etc. In response, we have recently invested in the newest addition to our house, Su.

Su is our new kitten, and not only is he totally cute, but he is a superb chicken stalker. Su inherited his name from the Johnny Cash song because we wanted him to grow up tough so that he would properly fight the rats (who are currently bigger than he is). Su's name is sometimes spelled Tsu because we also wanted him to be inspired by Sun Tzu, author of The Art of War. Naming took place during a week of discussions in which the Swahili words for lion, cheetah, and leopard were all rejected. Why? First, because nearly everyone here calls their cat "paka" (cat in Swahili), and second because every mzungu expat gives their cat one of the aforementioned cliches as a name, and third, because all of the larger cats actually exist here, so I felt it was a lot of false advertising on our part.

3. Busia, Uganda
While I live on the border of Uganda, I had never actually walked over until yesterday. This was a totally bizarre experience on many levels. First, you check in with Kenyan immigration to tell them you're going to go visit for a few hours. Then you change your money (1 KSh = 24 Ugandan Sh) and walk past the Kenyan gate (red, green & black) into "No Man's Land" -- that's really the name of the area --, which is about 50m wide and easily 300m long. You pass Sofia (the slum in No Man's Land - an entire letter unto itself), then you arrive at the Ugandan gate (red, yellow & black), check in with immigration, and continue into town. If you're lucky you won't get harassed too much.

I think the best way to describe this experience was like walking through the looking glass, much like Alice. Everything is hauntingly similar and yet totally different. For example, our boda boda drivers (in Busia-K) wear blue shirts as uniforms, but the boda drivers in Busia(U) wear hot pink shirts. The road is twice as wide in Busia(U) but there are fewer markets on the side streets, and the speed bumps are totally different! [an aside: this is called the Busia-Kisumu Road in Kenya - I wonder if it's the Busia-Kampala Road in Uganda?]

It was really difficult to find Kiswahili speakers (most folks spoke Luganda - which we call Kiganda in Swahili - or one of the many Kiluhya dialects), and I was asked several times if I was Irish - another strange story. Further, there was a noticeably large Somali refugee population and way more people of South Asian origin in Busia (U) than in Busia (K)

Totally unrelated, in Uganda right now there's an electricity shortage, so the government rations it out. They have 24 hours of power, and then 24 hours without power. If you're thinking to yourself, "What a ridiculous conservation policy," then I would probably agree with you, and if you're an environmental economist and you're thinking "what a recipe for disaster," I would also probably agree. More on the energy policy and on the Ugandan Luhya in the next letter.


This is long enough as it is, but only skims the surface. Speaking of which, I hope you're all doing really well, and I also hope you'll drop a note and let me know how you're doing if you find a moment.

Until next time,
Camille

The Busia Police Commissioner (August 13, 2006)

After a very long day at work, Anthony, Owen and I walked over to Chauma for a quick approximation of dinner. As our ugali, sukuma and omelette arrived, we found ourselves with more beers than we had ordered. This is not rare since every now and again the staff at Chauma slips us additional beers with the hopes that a higher tab will result in better tips. "Jackie," Owen called to our waitress, "we didn't order these, please take them back." Jackie explained that these were on the house and that they had been bought for us. We looked around the restaurant, trying to discern who our mysterious benefactor was.

A very drunk man raised his glass and said, "Karibuni, wazungu! We are so happy to have you white people in our country." Inwardly I rolled my eyes, anticipating another monologue on the generosity and wonderousness of white people, come to save local Kenyans. Anthony and Owen politely bantered with the man and his table of guests when he finally said, "You know, I am an important man to know in Busia." Now we were all on alert; generally this is a phrase that means we have run into a government official or that we'll be asked for a bribe - not that the two are mutually exclusive (or inclusive, for that matter).

Turns out our benefactor was the Commanding Officer (CO) for the Busia Police, the equivalent of a U.S. Police Commissioner. I was remarkably and uncharacteristically silent, but the conversation was predominantly downhill from here. After about 5 minutes, the CO professed that he was entirely grateful to all the white people who come to help Kenyans out of their poverty. This is not unusual - I've heard this explanation several times from many different people in Busia, but nonetheless I find myself angry every time I hear it. I want to shake people and ask them why they are so willing to embrace and elevate people whose countries have either furthered or perpetuated the colonization of African countries, be it economic, cultural, or formal. Another story for another time, though.

At any rate, the CO proceeded to offer Anthony and Owen two "fresh" women, each, as a sign of his thanks [in case you are wondering, "fresh" indicates someone's virginity and there are a number of ways that people check for this, all of which are bull, in my opinion]. At this point, Owen and Anthony bantered with him, clearly joking with each other, but pretending they were serious with the CO. They began to bargain for different offers, and Owen was adamant that, given his girlfriend in the U.S., he would pass altogether. The CO tried to entice him further by ensuring that the offered women were "cut" (i.e. circumcised). At this point Owen found he could no longer joke and was very serious with the CO in turning him down, and further, condemning FGM. The CO retorted with, "You wazungu, I know you don't like this cutting, but it is really for the best. Otherwise women get too hot [i.e. aroused], and they cannot be controlled. If you cut them, then they lie there, and it is much more pleasurable for the man."

At this point we tried to figure out how to extricate ourselves without causing offense. The CO is certainly not someone to have as an enemy (especially given our history of incidents), but at the same time I found my stomach knotting up tighter and tighter. Anthony continued to banter, asking for ridiculous things and bargaining for more women - mostly as a joke, but also as a way to avoid answering the CO's requests. In the process of bargaining, the CO finally came up with a new bargain in exchange for his generosity -- me. I swear, you cannot make this stuff up.

Very rarely in my life do I find myself so digusted with a human being that I stop seeing them as human, but this was one of those moments. Throughout the conversation I had found myself repulsed and silently seething over the entire exchange, but it was also late at night, and I was not about to walk home by myself in the rain. I wanted to tell the others to just shut up and leave; certainly this table of police officers were too drunk to remember the details of our conversation anyway, and we were beyond the point of offense. Instead, my tablemates began to entertain a conversation on bargaining over the exchange rate of me (classified as "mixed" race for the purposes of this exchange) against Kenyan sex workers. Afterwards, as we walked home Anthony told me to lighten up and that the Busia police commissioner was not someone to be rude to. This was one of many times where I felt ready to punch him, both for assuming that I didn't know what was on the line, but also for being told to basically shut up.

It's hard to sum up my feelings on this experience because so many thoughts were rushing through my head. First, I was saddened and appalled by the fact that the entire conversation happened. It was a shocking reminder that, despite programs and constitutional amendments, gender equality is lip-service for many power holders in our area. Further, it was my first experience discussing issues of FGM, sexism, etc., with someone so blatantly and openly. There was no pretense, no covering up -- reality was defined by positionality and power. Finally, I was uncontrollably angry, but unlike my normal catty self in the U.S., I felt that confronting the issue would have been inappropriate. I don't think I've reconciled my feelings about the event with my personal views or politics, nor do I think the actions of my coworkers reflect their personal politics. What turned out to be a light-hearted evening quickly became disheartening.