Rwanda

Sometimes I think I invented Africa. I think about it daily in DC. I decorate in early modern jungle. I work on African issues. I tell tall tales to my friends and family ad nauseam. “This one time I hosted 50 people for thanksgiving dinner and we slaughtered a turkey and a goat. This one time I owned a restaurant in Gulu. This one time I drank whiskey with one of the Presidential contenders for Uganda. This one time…” It’s such a definitive part of who I am, but I don’t live there anymore.

And then I return to Africa, like arriving in Rwanda this week, and I’m reminded that it wasn’t all a figment. I stare at the bougainvillea and realize when I say “I miss bougainvillea” I remember why – it’s beautiful. I giggle at baby bananas and bodas and baby bananas on bodas.

This week I’m in Byumba Rwanda to facilitate a training on Gender-based violence at Gihembe Refugee Camp. We have staff from four of our countries: Rwanda, Uganda, South Sudan and Somalia. It’s pretty intense and productive and I’m inspired by these ladies who do this incredibly difficult work. It’s been a real boost.

But I’m most of all enjoying the everyday life of Africa that I’m always going on about. It’s so familiar and comfortable. Not boring, oh, it’s never boring here. Often times in DC I find myself saying. “The thing is you only hear about the bad news in Africa, but there’s so much good news too.” Sometimes I struggle to remember it though. And then I see the biggest smile I have ever seen in my life on the cutest five year old I’ve ever seen in my life, simply chuffed because he’s splashing about like a duckling in a borehole, playing with a plastic water bottle and I remember.

I'm not yet ready to move back, but I just picked an avocado off of an avocado tree that I had been eyeing from my hotel window. What a delight.

Get on the bus (1)

I’ve settled into my work commute. For the foreseeable future I will walk through the Checkers parking lot to the bus stop at 14th and H Northeast, take the X2 (or mythical X9) to Gallery Place Chinatown, transfer to the Metro’s Redline, disembark at Dupont circle, ascend the infamous escalator (walking!) and scurry across the street to my office. I’ve dabbled in a few other experimental routes, other bus lines, Union Station, etc, but it seems the above mentioned route is the most reliable. It takes me 37-47 minutes each way.

I like riding the bus, because I like watching the city go by, but there’s a skill to it. First of all, there are city bus-riding rules that I’ve followed since my days of riding the M14 up First Avenue to the UN in NYC. I always go as far back as possible. This is because I don’t want to have to give up a seat should I be lucky to get one. This is a guaranteed strategy, but should some elderly woman with a shopping cart or a dad with three children make it all the way to the back of a double length bus without anyone giving up their seat, I’m happy to sacrifice mine.

I also like the back of the bus, because that’s where the real crazy is. How could I miss out on the teenager playing his gansta rap ipod without plugging his headphones in? (Nothing like a little “Move B---h Get Out The Way” in the morning.) Or the semi-homeless guy taking up 3 and a half seats in the back? Or the old guy shouting about the Redskins game to both the person on the other end of his phone and the entire bus? I also follow the rule of taking the first bus that comes and not waiting for the express. This is especially necessary in DC where an express bus comes every 20 or 9 or 37 minutes every other hour three times a week. Also one must not pay attention to the individual stops or to traffic, for this could drive one postal. Yesterday for example, there was very bad traffic for a couple of blocks and as I tucked neatly into my Kindle, the guy next to me was fidgeting like mad and cursing under his breath. Amateur.

There are, however, irresistible habits of bus riding that I do succumb to, like bemoaning the wheelchair rider (that’s right I do it and you do it too!) Even though technology has improved greatly, it still wastes a good 3.5 minutes of the commute waiting for a wheelchair to get off or on and that’s not ok when you’re rushing to or from the office. Driving me equally batty is getting stuck behind the guy that pays his bus fare in nickels. Click…click…click…and so on for 30 individual nickel clicks. Really? Who even has nickels anymore?!

There are of course endearing moments on the bus, which is a bonding experience unique to the bus. The other day a woman got on a very crowded bus with three kids under the age of two. She was about 18 or 19. She wasn’t offered a seat, because there were a whole mess of grannies that were not going to get up from their precious and well earned seats, but they did offer to take the kids. One schmoopy per granny and the whole bus smiled. Another time I witnessed a brief exchange about a book a woman was holding turn into an entire nerdy sci fi conversation between a young white guy and an older black woman. Talk about May-December. These two could not stop geeking out!

It is interesting that although my commute is equal parts bus and metro, my stories come from the bus. I’m still trying to figure out if that’s because of the nature of the riders or of the vehicles. Is there some sort of subterranean depressant on the metro platform that dissipates as one ascends and fresh air rushes back into one’s lungs?

I don’t yet have my finger on why, but I sure am thinking about it as I get on the bus.

Guest Blog: Hayden goes to Ecuador

The last two days have been pretty enjoyable.Yesterday I went to Guayaquill in the south for the day. There are many domestic flights going to Guayaquill as it is the biggest city in Ecuador and the commercial capital. We have many of our businesses in the coffee and cocoa industries that we work with based in Guayaquill who we are helping connect directly with farmers in rural communities. This is the crux of the whole value chain approach that ACDI/VOCA and a lot of people in international development are preaching at the moment. In Ecuador it is much easier to build such relationships since the private sector seems to be so strong here.

My colleague, Esteban, the deputy program manager on the project took me around to visit three companies. I was able to meet the directors of each company, talk with them about how our project had impacted their businesses and whether they intended to continue working and investing directly with their suppliers with credits and training. I took tours of all the facilities. One of the larger companies, Ecococoa, had a huge facility. They were not only buying and exporting cocoa beans but also roasting and crushing them to make "cocoa liqueur" (100% pure cocoa) and cocoa butter ( the by product which is a fat that is used in cosmetics).

A highlight of the day was being able to sample the different kinds of cocoa from all the different parts of Ecuador. They set out a six or so jars of melted cocoa and I took a tongue depressor to each rolling the cocoa liquor in my mouth. Amazingly there is a lot of difference between cocoa beans grown on the coast or in the Amazon or in central parts of the country. Some have floral and fruitty after tastes while others are more bitter or subtle tasting. Like wine there is a whole science to picking the right bean and then making sure you know which tree it came from and then regenerating many of these "super trees" through grafting techniques. Considering my chocolate sweet tooth it was incredibly interesting.

The other cool visit was with the largest coffee and sweet shop in Ecuador called, Sweet and Coffee. they have 41 stores throughout the country and are growing like mad and expanding to countries like Panama and Peru. I was met by this young, tall, handsome Ecuadorian guy who looked very European. Niles, was the marketing director for the company. He must have been only 23 or 24 years old as he said he just graduated from LSU university in the US. He gave us a tour of the "coffee university" where they train their baristas and then took us to two sweet and coffee shops where I devoured the biggest piece of chocolate cake I had seen in a long time. We rushed back to the airport at the end of the day and 30 minutes later I was back in Quito.

Dad- you would not recognize Guayaquil. It has been totally made over in the last fifteen years with a renovated downtown and port and all this "Miami style" developments in these very American looking gated communities. There is still a lot of poverty but you don't see much of it in the downtown.

Today was also a interesting day as Esteban and I toured through the old town of Quito which was the first UNESCO city heritage sight. Esteban loves playing tour guide and insisted we not finish our work plan in the office but go to lunch in the old town. We were gone for about 5 hours touring around narrow cobble stoned streets, walking past very European and ornate government office buildings and beautiful catholic churches. One of the most famous churches is filled with gold leaf in side and was built at the height of the Spanish rule when they were pillaging all of south america for gold. I don't think i had ever seen so much gold lead in my life. We stopped into a fancy old style restaurant that looked out on to independence square. We then continued to stuff ourselves with empanadas, potato soup and a huge steak with fried egss on top. My stomach was stretched to the brim.

So this has been one of the more entertaining work trips. There are not too many places in the USAID world that are as nice. There are two more years on this project so i am hopeful to at least go back once more - maybe next time I could even fit in the Galapagos.

WFP Flight

A few days ago I took a World Food Programme (WFP) flight to Wau in northern South Sudan from the capital city Juba and back again. It was a first. I always fantasized about these flights. The rumors of drunk Russian or bad ass Israeli pilots traipsing across crap holes in Africa delivering heroes of humanitarian work sounded amazing when friends sat around tasting Tuskers and telling tales. But the Quakers were never hooked up enough to get these flights and then I was settled in Gulu. So I felt pretty cool rocking up to Juba airport with my ID that says “Emergency Humanitarian Assistance Worker.”

It’s also a bit funky to travel to small airports in Africa. And by funky, I mean terrifying. It wasn’t the smallest plane I had ever been on; it fit about 40 people on it. But it had propellers and landed on a dirt runway in Wau, and these are to me the telltale signs of gutsy travel. Before boarding I had to select my bag from all of the baggage lined up in front of the plane and then personally hand it to the guy loading the plane. I kind of like this idea and think we should be able to do it for transcontinental commercial flights. After that it’s basically the same drill as a normal flight: “ladies and gentleman please fasten your seatbelts…” Although I was delighted to spot a rarity: a female co-pilot.

I’ve always said that Air Burundi cured my fear of flying. If you are flying at 18,000 feet in a plane that has original 1967 upholstery and you are in Africa, well you might as well let go of your fear, because it truly doesn’t matter. And I was reminded of this as we took off and pitched through the clouds while huts and people and goats faded away.

On the way back to Juba, I took out my traveling savior, my Kindle, and began to read a New Yorker from two weeks ago. The article was about the raid on bin Laden. It was perhaps one of the most griping things I’ve read in years. Hayden said it read like a van dam action film. Seriously. I couldn’t read it fast enough yet I read it meticulously so as to comprehend every SEAL acronym and every minute detail of their mission. Stephen Greenblatt knew he had a winner and teased his audience. Just when the pilot realizes the helicopter is going to crash Greenblatt cuts to Obama and the efforts to make the right call.

While I remain gripped on the article, I bounced through South Sudan airspace with my humanitarian compatriots. I barely even noticed the thing I had dreaded the night before: a pit stop at some other po-dunk SS town. The night before I worried that I’d have to land and take off an extra time, which would leave more occasion for pilot error. However, when we landed in Rumbek I was more worried that the flight attendant was going to ask me to switch off my kindle – right as the SEALS breached the inner wall! Luckily she did not.

As we landed back in Juba and jumped on a white bus marked “UN” (how cool?!) of course I recognized how different my mission was from these guys in Pakistan. Not just in terms of levels of badassness but also in service to a very different mandate. But it was still undeniably poignant to read this article on my 20,000 ft sojourn to humanitarian street cred.

Welcome to Suoth Sudan

The most annoying thing a person visiting a place for the first time can do is pass judgment on the place. Too bad!

After the initial shock of coming to this place (the airport does not a good impression make), I am realizing that South Sudan is not nearly as dire as we all thought. It is dire, mind you. For example, there ain't much here. “Capacity building” is a term used frequently and loosely in my line of work. It is a term meant to address the needs of a developing country, not with neocolonial ideas of how so society is shaped, but rather in partnership with a people and place utterly different then us.

South Sudan needs all the capacity building it can get. It is the world’s newest government. Systems are in start-up mode to say the least. People are being placed in jobs that literally no one has ever held before and policies are being created to align this country with international norms and standards decided in faraway places. Decades of lawless and corrupt practices have strangled development and must be mitigated. On top of that, this country is struggling to maintain a tepid, insincere peace with its northern neighbor. Tensions along the border where oil is prevalent flare and wane on a daily basis. Professionals with more than a few days of experience with South Sudan can articulate this far better than me. The challenges are enormous.

But I am also very pleasantly surprised by South Sudan. A sign post outside of Wau airport greeted me: “Welcome to the Republic of Suoth Sudan.” There is a tangible sense of pride and national unity here, despite the typo. Independence is only in its second month, but fears that South Sudan would descend into tribal civil war upon inception seem to be trumped by enthusiasm for this new country. For now at least.

It’s more than that though. Driving three hours from Wau to Aweil I realize that although infrastructure is scarce, there are so few people. Surely providing services for only 8 million people in a place the size of half of western Europe cannot be impossible? Ok, perhaps it is, but compared to its congested, over-populated cousins in the region, this seems to be an advantage for South Sudan. Also, despite being warned that goods were scarce and very expensive, I think I was expecting something far worse. It is true that South Sudan cannot manufacture anything on its own yet, but there appears to be an intricate and elaborate network of service and goods delivery in this country. I used to imagine in horror, seeing trucks broken down on the side of the road in northern Uganda on their way to South Sudan, that they were only beginning a nightmare journey. Surely utter hell awaited them on the other side of the border. Instead it doesn’t seem worse than the Uganda side and perhaps even a bit better because there is not the throngs and madness of the Ugandan roadside.

Apologies for a very naive first impression, but I cannot help but catch a little of this national fever. Perhaps it’s because I’ve stopped traveling for the first time in five days. Perhaps it is because I’m enjoying wireless internet, pizza and beer by the poolside at fabulous river lodge here in Wau. Perhaps it is because I met a bunch of community members in Aweil who spoke perfect English and Arabic and were volunteering to tell their communities about women’s rights and gender-based violence.

Or perhaps the news just isn’t all bad from South Sudan.

The world's newest country

I wonder if I’ll ever get to the stage where I don’t think it’s completely insane to jump on a plane and suddenly fling myself to a new country. This is what I did on Thursday when I arrived in South Sudan, a new country for the world as well.

It’s nuts. I find myself going with it physically except for my eyeballs. The rest of my body grabs suitcases amid the utter chaos of Juba International Airport, shoving grannies and 8 ft tall Sudanese men to the side while praying that my newly purchased paintings don’t get crushed. My eyeballs blink slowly while I jump into a Toyota hard top like I’ve been doing it for years. No one stops to acknowledge that I’ve never been in this crazy place and I offer almost no evidence of this. The only hesitation is detectable in my eyeballs. They move slowly and I blink about once every 10 minutes and when my eyes close, they make a noise: clang……….clang……..clang………

Clang…pile up at the airport exit…clang…there’s the ARC sign, thank fuck…clang…bumping up and down the road to get the office; that looks like a really deep ravine; will we makeand we’re through…clang…roll up to the guesthouse and see a bunch of ex-pats staring at me; no smiles and blinking slowly too…clang…and now I’m giving a presentation; I’ve been in this country for 45 minutes…clang…shoving beans and rice in my mouth, clutching for a soda to pep me up because it’s 400 degrees and I woke up in another country hours ago…clang…driver takes me to the hotel where they demand a bunch of paperwork I don’t have and we call the office and they don’t have it either…clang…in my hotel room which is clean and new but not very functional…clang…seven minutes of internet and gone for the rest of the evening…clang…staff dinner at an Indian restaurant that also serves pizzas. Why is there pizza at an Indian restaurant in South Sudan?...clang…back in the hotel where the sheets are made of some sort of plasticy polyester…clang…go to bed because tomorrow you’re taking a UN flight to north south sudan, where the trouble is; WHAT?!...clang…zzzzzzzzzz

A Sort of Homecoming

Well, I’m back in Uganda and it feels great. I arrived in Entebbe as if I never left…immediately knew the drill. Africa is much less intimidating when you know what you’re doing.

On Saturday I stopped briefly in Lugogo shopping center to buy some forgotten toys and had to resist the urge to stock up on cheese and pasta and dog food. It was nice but difficult to avoid the usual mad dash to stock up before trekking back to Gulu. I traveled up to Gulu, snoring off my jetlag on the usually tedious drive. Within seconds of arriving I started running into people I knew and noticed subtle changes in the months since I left. I pulled over to buy some pineapples and ran into Simon the handyman from NRC. I gazed over to the Total station, where I usually stocked up on samosas and other field food to see that the overhang had blown off – apparently that had just happened today. I asked the driver to do a loop past both of my old houses which looked exactly the same, but quiet. Jeter was not poking his nose through the gate upon hearing the vehicle outside. No doubt he was home in his DC townhouse, cuddling on the couch waiting for the next dog walk. I drove past the boda boda stand and got big smiles from the lads and after a quick hug for Uma I arrived at Jeanne’s, the ultimate refuge in Gulu.

The welcome from my friends was wonderful. It felt like seconds since I left. It was also a nice reminder of the true friendships I made in Gulu – an important reminder as I’m still working on such things in DC. My phone started ringing as word got out I was in town. I headed to Café Larem, where I was pleasantly surprised that it looked much the same. Tonny was behind the bar and there were random summer ex-pats using the internet. I planted myself outside and people began arriving. I had a lovely SPRING reunion with George, who filled me in on all the gossip; I assume about 50% was true. Office Mike, Emily and the GLACCR guys also joined us. Emily is about to have a baby (“SPRING 2” we called it and giggled at the reference to the sequel project that never came.)

I came back to Jeanne’s and a larger group of friends greeted me, including the newest of the group: Anna Carolina, born two months ago to Robi and Coy. I fell in love immediately. I was also greeted by my Dorian Grey, which Scott never, ever misses an opportunity to shock me with. Ugh!

We went to an ex-pat party and met a mix of new and old, but I was eager to leave. The days of meeting new people in Gulu expired long ago for me. So it was back to Jeanne’s for a great meal and great night of catch up.

On my second and final day in Gulu, I made the rounds at a fever pitch. I saw Emily, my former housekeeper who is struggling to find work. That was very tough. Johnson also showed up, who I feel less guilty and worried about, but nonetheless it was a heartbreaking reunion. I met Jennifer and Claudia, who were the same – great spirits, but stubborn. Claudia got a new swing, which I think was the perfect gift. I popped in on the Paramount Chief, which I’m pretty is against protocol. He looked good and it was happy to reunite with him. Before heading to another ex-pat BBQ, my last stop was to visit Beatrice, Arthur and Hope. The baby is now old enough to take one look at me and burst into tears, but I was prepared and bribed her with a toy turtle – it worked! They are surviving, somehow and were in good spirits anyway.

All in all it was great to visit! I do not regret my decision to leave Gulu – heck no! But it felt like coming home. Just like before I moved there, I always find a way to get to Gulu every once in a while. This will continue forever I think.