For the purpose of getting to know our project partners and in order to plan the coming year of project implementation and related activities we went to Tiwai Island, a wildlife sanctuary and project area of EFA, for a 2 day workshop.Packed in a van (fully decorated with forest scenes and animals) with 6 colleagues, a driver and lots of luggage we started our 6 hour drive to the Island. Not sure whether google maps will help but it’s a river island near Potoru, which is near Bo. As usual we had quite some stops on the way for peeing, eating and undefined purposes which I’ve given up on trying to figure out as we seem to fall out of the equation of ‘who needs to be informed’. When I say ‘we’ I mean Chani and me. Interestingly enough Chani and I have become one person in most people’s minds and I’m called Chani on a regular basis by colleagues I work with frequently and people that know us quite well. Whenever one of us enters Lakka alone, people are always more curious to know about ‘the other’ than about the person that’s in front of them (“Where’s Chani?” is more common than “How are you?”) So the same happened with our partners on the Island. It took one man quite a while to tell us apart. Consequently he had to create some donkey bridges (this is a Dutchism I really like, basically it means something like tricks to remember) to tell us apart and started to compare us in detail physically. Highly inappropriate for a project partner if you ask me. I guess we did stand out being 2 out of 3 women and 2 out of 3 white people.
The template of a business trip I have in mind needs some serious revisioning. All I’ve ever heard about business trips is flying, airco, meetings, dinners and networking. Our business trip however, was a touch different. We bumped our way to the site in a painted (hippy) van, slept in tents in the forest, saw some of our partners and colleagues in their underwear (on the way to the bathroom that is!), and certainly could all have done with a little airco. Since it had just rained a lot on Tiwai the air was extremely thick and humid which certainly did not contribute to our productivity. The weather really slows down your brain and movements. We did have the luxury of a shower, toilet and mattress in the tent. The food was very tasty (though cassava leaf sauce with palm oil does get boring after having it at least 3 times a week). After the workshop on the second day I went into Kambama with some guys who needed to make some phone calls. Again I wasn’t aware of what we were doing and just followed the guys who said we were going for a stroll (I’m sounding more naive than intended here...don’t worry, I don’t follow strange guys randomly J ). Our stroll ended at a primary school sponsored by EFA. To be precise it ended at 2 rocks next to the road near the school. So the guys got onto a rock and started dialling while moving around on the rock slightly. Still no one bothered to explain but I soon figured out that the two rocks designated the 2 spots in the village where there was reception for one specific network provider (!). I can only imagine how people must have tried to find out about this network coverage. 1 step, 1 call. 1 step, another call. 485 steps later (if not more), dialling tone!! PARTY!! On the way back we took a goat in the boat. 3 hours later we had goat soup. The soup was enriched with unidentifiable bits of goat (lots of skin, fat, tubes, bones). It was only during lunch on the next day that we discovered where the real goat meat had gone and that hierarchy was reflected in food (and yes, they did go through a lot of trouble to get to the Island as well...fair enough to give them something nice) Whilst on the island we did go for a little stroll on the second day but I decided to come back properly and solely for animal watchin purposes. I didn’t get a chance to go on a boat trip (and see the meters long constrictor, crocodiles and the shy pygmy hippo) and really need some time to go take some photos. Chani is a bit of a snapshot freak which I’m grateful for but it also made me lazy thinking I can just take photos of her. I’d take similar ones anyway.
Our third day on the Island was for a TIAC meeting (Tiwai Administrative Committee). Our partners had left which meant I could have a tent to myself the last night: bliss! During the TIAC meetings the stakeholders/village chiefs of surrounding villages get together to discuss matters, progress, future plans etc. As can be expected with large groups, it was a very long meeting without a break as people tend to leave if they get a lunch break. So from 10 till 15.30 I was an intrigued listener. The meeting was translated between Mende, Krio and English (which certainly did no speed things up but definitely made it interesting for me). At some point sustainability came up and it became apparent that there is no word for ‘sustainable’ in Mende, which caused some discussion about the translation. This really makes you wonder how productive development jargon actually is on the ground. I did commit a couple of cultural blunders which happens more often and are always pointed out to me thank god. I have some very nice colleagues who are not shy to tell me what I do wrong from their point of view. Although I’m always proud of having studied cultural anthropology it’s hard to put into practice in a working environment that doesn’t allow for months of observing and diary writing before you actually involve yourself in their lives. You have to join in straight away as a colleague and try to grasp the right modes of operation.So little did I know that I upset the whole van on the way to Tiwai because I didn’t feel great and showed some emotion. Everyone felt responsible whilst I just felt uncomfortable and wanted to be left alone. Your business is everyone’s business, whether you’re in a village, van or on an island.My second blunder was saying no to the director in front of all colleagues. It was imposed on me (democratically decided) that I had to present some project stuff. I refused, arguing that I hadn’t even known anything about the project until the morning of workshop day 1 and I certainly could not present confidently in front of our partner (who we depend on for money!). I thought this was a strong argument but apparently it’s not about the argument or logic, it’s about respect for the boss. A communication issue, again. And perhaps others were more confident about my skills than I am.The third cultural learning moment I had was when we started having some drinks the second night. In Sierra Leone someone has to ask you whether they can open your drink when you order one. If you get an opened drink you can be sure that you’re going to be poisoned. If you want to buy someone a drink you take them to the bar. If you poor someone a drink you have a sip first to show it’s safe or that you’re willing to die together.We’ve spent quite some time with people from all areas, shapes and sizes and it’s unbelievable how many rules and regulations people have based on supernatural (superstitious?) phenomena. People in Sierra Leone believe and fear many things and people. Every village has witches. There’s one village where if you park your motorbike it will never start again so you have to drive through or keep the engine running. People can walk on water. People can bleed without the blood ever reaching the ground. People can poison your food in such a way that you’ll never want to eat anything else again.Speaking of food. I tried something new. On the first night on the island I caught a colleague catching some kind of flying termite and drowning them in a tub of water. On day two we got the wingless bodies fried on a plate. Everyone dived for the delicacies. I forced myself to try (hey, when do you ever get to taste fried insects?!) and they were indeed yummy! Sort of mini-shrimp like look, crunchy texture and smoky taste. Amost Lapsang souchong snackettes. Definitely delicious and rich in protein. Oh and by the way, when you catch these termites to eat yourself you better not go for a stroll in the woods as snakes will not be happy with you for taking their food and they’re very likely to bite you...
woensdag 24 maart 2010
maandag 8 maart 2010
My complete address
Unfortunately I forgot an essential line in my address so all those lovely letters you sent me have not arrived (and I hope I can say they have not arrived YET).
My complete address is:
Fee Romein
EFA guest house
PMB 34
1 Beach rd, Lakka
Freetown Peninsula
Sierra Leone
My mobile number here is: +232 77 812 825
I'm always up for a chat :)
zondag 7 maart 2010
Liberia
Friday night, before my trip to Liberia, I enjoyed a marvellous night on the beach. It felt like day time and everything around had a clear shadow. It was unbelievable for a city girl like me to see so much natural moon light. Hypnotised by nature I didn’t go to bed until 3 am but was still ready to go at 6am as instructed. I still think that every day and every appointment I have might just occur at GMT . I’m always ready to roll, always unprepared for BMT (black man’s time). At 9.30 we drove away to pick up every other crew member of the renewable energy team to finally leave Freetown at 11.30 squashed in the front (which always makes me feel a lot safer than having all the space I need to bang around when there’s an accident). Being the only woman on the trip I was allowed to enjoy the front seat together with our shortest colleague (I quote another colleague: “Where’s Kaiza? Did you put him in your pocket?”) listening to my favourite (I think it's SL) tape over and over again. Apparently Nigerian music is considered the best, then Ghanaian, third is Sierra Leone. Not sure whether this is a well known fact or an opinion, but in terms of the music you hear in the Sierra Leonean and Liberian streets it's right.
On our way through Salone there were signs absolutely everywhere besides the roads designating projects and initiatives for the development of the country. But what is actually going on behind the signs is less clear. Either all projects are finished or have stagnated. Entering Liberia there were even more signs, possibly due to the fact that the war continued for longer. I haven’t seen the whole of Salone and Liberia but it struck me that Liberia has better houses (less huts vulnerable to the weather) and generally has benefited more from ‘quick fixes’: solid, tarmac roads that will possible be improved to slightly less wobbly but definitely already beneficial for trade and commerce. Monrovia, the capital city, is American-like in the sense that it has huge, broad highway roads and you can pay with USDollars or Liberian dollars (1USD=70LD).
On our way to Monrovia we drove in the direction of Tiwai island and passed village after village that made me feel like I was living a déjà vu dream. Every couple of miles there was an identical village to the ones before and after. Every village had couples of women sitting in the shade braiding each other’s hair. Every village had people outside cooking rice and fish and laundry drying on the frames of houses or what looks like unfinished market stalls. The same food is sold everywhere, groundnuts (or peanuts if you like...like I keep saying. An ‘oh-is-that-what-they-taste-like-fresh?’ moment is guaranteed) candy (caramel under the sun? Just eat the wrapper too), deep fried salty crunchy fishes. Delicious. One thing they don’t sell here is dust. That’s a free bonus, all-inclusive. It’s Everywhere. Up your nose, behind your ears, on your food. A little rain does wonders in preventing you from full cover but has the side effect of enhancing gap and pool formation on the roads.
EFA has some extremely skilled drivers. So skilled I’m scared as the drivers have the confidence to drive on the opposite side of the road when the road has too many ditches because that way they can see how far they can slide off the road whilst trying to avoid the roller-coaster pits.
Entering Liberia is amazing. After Sierra Leone, which is quite dry and only has about 30% of its natural forests left, Liberia is incredibly green (and it’s dry season!). Liberia has about 70% of its natural forest left and even now with sweltering 38 degrees it’s green green green (and I’m no longer sweating anymore, no I’ve reached a whole new physical dimension of heat: I’m just open and pouring. Can someone please close the Fee-tap?) As I enjoy a lot of cold fizzy drinks (other cold options would be beer or metallic tasting (hard!) water which does get boring not the beers!...) I do keep worrying about my teeth but my new motto is ‘better cold than clever’.
We were just in time to cross the border actually, which closes at 6pm. I thought the customs police were talking in a local language until someone told me it was English. I seriously could not understand anything of what people were saying unless they spoke extremely slow. Liberian English sounds like a drunk, sleepy person trying to save energy by connecting all words in a sentence and omitting as many consonants as possible. By the end of the week I mastered to decipher 1 sentence independently.
When we arrived in Monrovia (12 hours door to door journey) we stayed at the Atlantic Guest House which charged ridiculous prices (30 dollars) for used sheets, a noisy fan, no mosquito net, and red lighting (naive as I am I didn’t realise this guest house was particularly for those who like to bring home the ladies. The pile of condoms on the TV should’ve made that clear to me).
Sunday we left for Ganta where I'd be visiting the REP project (solar panels for an UNICEF school, LAB4LAB project). A 5 hour journey brought us to a lovely Methodist guest house with crisp white sheets, a fan and a mosquito net for a lovely 15 dollars. I met Moulou, from Ethiopia, teaching ministers of health and such about nutrition for 3 weeks. Interestingly enough she’s the best friend of the owner of Addis Ababa, my favourite Ehtiopian restaurant on the Overtoom in Amsterdam. They went to school together. She shared her pineapple and bought me an egg. The caretaker, Emma, was a wonderful lady and I spent most of the evening chatting to her and Jonathan, the technician. Jonathan let me try some of Emma’s bread which she must have regretted because I begged her to bake me one for the road. After lots of soft white bread with no texture or flavour the crunchy home made banana bread with some spices was just the best thing since...white bread I guess. Consequently Jonathan would not have any of ‘my’ bread. “I cannot take food from a stranger.” I guess I am the stranger in this case, being in his country. Though he’s as much a stranger to me as I am to him in my eyes. An interesting cultural difference in perception of communities and belonging.
I told Jonathan about the education system in Holland and he couldn’t believe my words. I, me, small lady (meaning only 24 years young) have a master’s degree? And the government helped me pay? And that’s it? Most people in Liberia don’t get their master’s until they’re 40 years old, when they can finally afford to study. Unless you’re wealthy and in that case you’d rather send your kids abroad to obtain their degrees instead of supporting your own educational system.
Although I felt bad about my privileges I continued talking, not to make him feel bad, but to try and get him motivated to look for opportunities, scholarships etc. But there’s hardly any electricity in Liberia, people keep their computers to themselves and the internet is just not within reach of many people. If I had internet in the guest house I would’ve taken my time to show him some opportunities...One of the electricians on the team (a pastor/mathematics and physics teacher) cannot work within his field of expertise and is earning a living as a teacher because electricity is just not happening in Liberia. A 2 million USD project should have sorted the Methodist compound out but they’re still using the generators. Apparently because the new system is underground which is not familiar enough.
Tuesday I left for Monrovia. On our way back we had a site visit stop in Salala where Aloysius showed me around the former Internally Displaced People’s (IDP) camp. The landowner who gave his land for use to UNHCR to build camps has now been compensated with seeds and restoration of his land.
The rest of the week was filled with site visits and talks to the country director for EFA in Liberia. The site visits were a little too much in terms of heat. We’d usually arrive at midday and I mastered the skill of wiping the sweat of your forehead, nose and lips in one sweep like a windscreen wiper.
After several short nights (the owner of the guest house also owned a ‘disco’ across the road) a colleague convinced me to go watch the people dance rather than lie in bed awake in frustration. In the disco/supermarket it was mainly men doing their thing. The ‘disco’ was actually a shop with huge speakers outside and some chairs and tables. Most customers soon forgot what they came for and started dancing either before or after their purchase. Worryingly enough I discovered that the kids helping around in the guest house (from 7am) all stayed working in and around the disco/shop until closing time (around 1 or 2 am). But it seemed like the disco offered them a satisfactory reward for their work.
The journey back was a lot easier knowing I’d be in quiet, comfort and coolness. I’ve moved from the front of the guest house, where the sun shines full blast all day, to the back, where the sun doesn’t come and there’s an almost continuous breeze.
I certainly have plenty information now to start writing the annual report for EFA... if only there wasn’t so much gossip around to distract me...
On our way through Salone there were signs absolutely everywhere besides the roads designating projects and initiatives for the development of the country. But what is actually going on behind the signs is less clear. Either all projects are finished or have stagnated. Entering Liberia there were even more signs, possibly due to the fact that the war continued for longer. I haven’t seen the whole of Salone and Liberia but it struck me that Liberia has better houses (less huts vulnerable to the weather) and generally has benefited more from ‘quick fixes’: solid, tarmac roads that will possible be improved to slightly less wobbly but definitely already beneficial for trade and commerce. Monrovia, the capital city, is American-like in the sense that it has huge, broad highway roads and you can pay with USDollars or Liberian dollars (1USD=70LD).
On our way to Monrovia we drove in the direction of Tiwai island and passed village after village that made me feel like I was living a déjà vu dream. Every couple of miles there was an identical village to the ones before and after. Every village had couples of women sitting in the shade braiding each other’s hair. Every village had people outside cooking rice and fish and laundry drying on the frames of houses or what looks like unfinished market stalls. The same food is sold everywhere, groundnuts (or peanuts if you like...like I keep saying. An ‘oh-is-that-what-they-taste-like-fresh?’ moment is guaranteed) candy (caramel under the sun? Just eat the wrapper too), deep fried salty crunchy fishes. Delicious. One thing they don’t sell here is dust. That’s a free bonus, all-inclusive. It’s Everywhere. Up your nose, behind your ears, on your food. A little rain does wonders in preventing you from full cover but has the side effect of enhancing gap and pool formation on the roads.
EFA has some extremely skilled drivers. So skilled I’m scared as the drivers have the confidence to drive on the opposite side of the road when the road has too many ditches because that way they can see how far they can slide off the road whilst trying to avoid the roller-coaster pits.
Entering Liberia is amazing. After Sierra Leone, which is quite dry and only has about 30% of its natural forests left, Liberia is incredibly green (and it’s dry season!). Liberia has about 70% of its natural forest left and even now with sweltering 38 degrees it’s green green green (and I’m no longer sweating anymore, no I’ve reached a whole new physical dimension of heat: I’m just open and pouring. Can someone please close the Fee-tap?) As I enjoy a lot of cold fizzy drinks (other cold options would be beer or metallic tasting (hard!) water which does get boring not the beers!...) I do keep worrying about my teeth but my new motto is ‘better cold than clever’.
We were just in time to cross the border actually, which closes at 6pm. I thought the customs police were talking in a local language until someone told me it was English. I seriously could not understand anything of what people were saying unless they spoke extremely slow. Liberian English sounds like a drunk, sleepy person trying to save energy by connecting all words in a sentence and omitting as many consonants as possible. By the end of the week I mastered to decipher 1 sentence independently.
When we arrived in Monrovia (12 hours door to door journey) we stayed at the Atlantic Guest House which charged ridiculous prices (30 dollars) for used sheets, a noisy fan, no mosquito net, and red lighting (naive as I am I didn’t realise this guest house was particularly for those who like to bring home the ladies. The pile of condoms on the TV should’ve made that clear to me).
Sunday we left for Ganta where I'd be visiting the REP project (solar panels for an UNICEF school, LAB4LAB project). A 5 hour journey brought us to a lovely Methodist guest house with crisp white sheets, a fan and a mosquito net for a lovely 15 dollars. I met Moulou, from Ethiopia, teaching ministers of health and such about nutrition for 3 weeks. Interestingly enough she’s the best friend of the owner of Addis Ababa, my favourite Ehtiopian restaurant on the Overtoom in Amsterdam. They went to school together. She shared her pineapple and bought me an egg. The caretaker, Emma, was a wonderful lady and I spent most of the evening chatting to her and Jonathan, the technician. Jonathan let me try some of Emma’s bread which she must have regretted because I begged her to bake me one for the road. After lots of soft white bread with no texture or flavour the crunchy home made banana bread with some spices was just the best thing since...white bread I guess. Consequently Jonathan would not have any of ‘my’ bread. “I cannot take food from a stranger.” I guess I am the stranger in this case, being in his country. Though he’s as much a stranger to me as I am to him in my eyes. An interesting cultural difference in perception of communities and belonging.
I told Jonathan about the education system in Holland and he couldn’t believe my words. I, me, small lady (meaning only 24 years young) have a master’s degree? And the government helped me pay? And that’s it? Most people in Liberia don’t get their master’s until they’re 40 years old, when they can finally afford to study. Unless you’re wealthy and in that case you’d rather send your kids abroad to obtain their degrees instead of supporting your own educational system.
Although I felt bad about my privileges I continued talking, not to make him feel bad, but to try and get him motivated to look for opportunities, scholarships etc. But there’s hardly any electricity in Liberia, people keep their computers to themselves and the internet is just not within reach of many people. If I had internet in the guest house I would’ve taken my time to show him some opportunities...One of the electricians on the team (a pastor/mathematics and physics teacher) cannot work within his field of expertise and is earning a living as a teacher because electricity is just not happening in Liberia. A 2 million USD project should have sorted the Methodist compound out but they’re still using the generators. Apparently because the new system is underground which is not familiar enough.
Tuesday I left for Monrovia. On our way back we had a site visit stop in Salala where Aloysius showed me around the former Internally Displaced People’s (IDP) camp. The landowner who gave his land for use to UNHCR to build camps has now been compensated with seeds and restoration of his land.
The rest of the week was filled with site visits and talks to the country director for EFA in Liberia. The site visits were a little too much in terms of heat. We’d usually arrive at midday and I mastered the skill of wiping the sweat of your forehead, nose and lips in one sweep like a windscreen wiper.
After several short nights (the owner of the guest house also owned a ‘disco’ across the road) a colleague convinced me to go watch the people dance rather than lie in bed awake in frustration. In the disco/supermarket it was mainly men doing their thing. The ‘disco’ was actually a shop with huge speakers outside and some chairs and tables. Most customers soon forgot what they came for and started dancing either before or after their purchase. Worryingly enough I discovered that the kids helping around in the guest house (from 7am) all stayed working in and around the disco/shop until closing time (around 1 or 2 am). But it seemed like the disco offered them a satisfactory reward for their work.
The journey back was a lot easier knowing I’d be in quiet, comfort and coolness. I’ve moved from the front of the guest house, where the sun shines full blast all day, to the back, where the sun doesn’t come and there’s an almost continuous breeze.
I certainly have plenty information now to start writing the annual report for EFA... if only there wasn’t so much gossip around to distract me...
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