tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25714283400867504132024-01-12T11:06:27.369+02:00Thinking Out Loud...about work and life, in development, in ZambiaThulasy B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05684756554935293625noreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2571428340086750413.post-18790879327591713422010-04-12T21:34:00.002+02:002010-04-12T21:42:48.022+02:00Squeezing the lemonHello everyone!<br /><br />You know those early days of summer, when the weather is so beautiful you can’t help but want to be outside all the time? When I was in Canada, I’d make sure to take advantage of those days. My favorite thing to do was ride my bike in Edmonton’s river valley – it’s still by far my favoritest place to go for a run, ride, or walk. Down Keillor Road, up to the university, down to Hawrelak, over to the Valley Zoo, then back past Fort Edmonton. I loved those days more than anything, I lived for them. <br /><br />Almost every day in Zambia is a beautiful day. Big blue skies, warm sunshine. I’m lucky to wake up to this kind of weather every morning, and until yesterday, I didn’t fully realize it. For whatever reason, yesterday felt like one of those days back in Canada. Maybe it was the way the sun lit up the sky, maybe it was the cool breeze marking the beginning of “winter”, maybe it was the perfect puffy clouds. Whatever it was, it felt like a great day to be outside, so that’s where I spent it.<br /><br />Life in Zambia has become just that – life. I no longer see it as something extraordinary or even noteworthy. The people I live and work with are not all that different from the people I lived and worked with back in Canada. People are people are people, no matter where you are. Though the actual differences are immense, and in many cases unacceptable, I find myself enjoying living in the majority world. The injustices still infuriate me, but at the same time, the struggles that are front and center serve as an important reminder; they compel me to act. “I feel alive in Africa.” That’s what a friend once said to me. I tend to agree with her.<br /><br />At the end of February, I ended my time with Engineers Without Borders to take advantage of an opportunity I couldn’t refuse. I now work for a start-up company called Mobile Transactions here in Zambia. We primarily do money transfers on cell phones, but the technology holds much more potential. I’ve been brought in to try something pretty cool – I’m piloting a system that pays small-scale cotton farmers on their cell phones instead of with piles and piles of cash. There are lots of interesting (and challenging!) things about this project, but I won’t go into those nerdy details here.<br /><br />My contract with the project runs until the end of August, though it’s part of a much longer term process for the cotton company that is our client. There will never be a shortage of work to do here, but as I come upon my three year mark, a larger question looms my head: “How long do I stay in Zambia? In Africa?”<br /><br />I’m not sure I have an answer to this question. There’s a big world out there. I have a home that I could always return to. If I choose to stay, I want to make sure I’m doing it for all the right reasons. It’s easy to fall into the expat trap, and I don’t want to do that. It’s also easy to get lost in the (I’m afraid to say) dismal development sector, and I don’t want to do that either. What I want is to do the right thing, and I’m not sure where that will take me. <br /><br />But yesterday, I was reminded that living in Africa is a lot like taking a ride out in the river valley on a precious summer day in Edmonton. I won’t always have the opportunity to do what I’m doing now, so I want to take advantage of it while I have the chance. I kinda want to squeeze that lemon.<br /><br />Though I spend a great deal of my time working, I’ve been doing a lot more playing lately too. Life’s simply too short to let the problems of the world weigh you down, right? I’ve moved into a beautiful home with the most amazing garden ever (and a great roommate to boot!). I take time to enjoy the simple things, like cooking a meal for my friends or going for a run just as the sun rises or sitting on the patio and reading a book or going to a movie with my boyfriend. Yes, it’s all boring, regular life stuff, but if my two+ year foray into workaholism taught me nothing else, it’s that you can either let it all consume you (and it will) or you can eek out a little space for yourself and enjoy the ride. I prefer the latter, and I’m not afraid to stay it! (Step 9 of WA – Workaholics Anonymous).<br /><br />It’s taken me a long time to find the words to explain how I’m feeling about things, and this seems to be the only way to describe it: After a long and brutally cold winter, the first days of summer are upon me, and I think I’m up for a going on a sweet ride. :)<br /><br />tThulasy B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05684756554935293625noreply@blogger.com101tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2571428340086750413.post-53711968928524030862009-07-22T11:12:00.002+02:002009-07-22T11:24:14.022+02:00New BlogEeep.<br /><br />I know, I've dropped the ball with the blog. There are many reasons for this, but none of them are really good enough. Many many apologies.<br /><br />But do not dismay! If you've missed me and my writing (as I'm sure you have), I can be found with The First Mile, here:<br /><br /><a href="http://atdaybreak.wordpress.com/">http://atdaybreak.wordpress.com/</a><br /><br />A couple friends and I have created a new, shared blog; a space for us to write about the things we're learning with regards to doing agri-business schtuff with small scale farmers.<br /><br />I can also be found on Twitter, here:<br /><br /><a href="http://twitter.com/thulasy">http://twitter.com/thulasy</a><br /><br />I may return to this blog from time to time, to share more personal moments of reflection, but I'll be out and about on the other two links far more often.<br /><br />Thanks for reading! Hope you continue to follow me elsewhere on the blogosphere.<br /><br />tThulasy B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05684756554935293625noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2571428340086750413.post-75375868133114541852009-04-11T19:08:00.003+02:002009-04-11T19:21:58.969+02:00Creativity and the child in all of us<span style="font-weight: bold;">You can be champion of the world too.</span><br /><br />While I was loafing around Livingstone the other day, I did a little window shopping at a fancy pants bookstore. One particular book caught my eye, and I couldn’t not buy it – Danny the Champion of the World, by Roald Dahl. <br /><br />Truth be told, I couldn’t actually remember what the story was about, but I knew exactly how it made me <span style="font-style: italic;">feel </span>when Mrs. Holmes read it to my class back in grade 3. It sparkled. It was inspiring. <br /><br />So I took the book back home with me and began to savour it, reading no more than two chapters each day, letting the story envelope me like it did when I was a child. The story has not lost its ability to capture my imagination, but I noticed something else this time.<br /><br />There are a lot of implicit messages embedded in this story, great messages for children. The importance of play and creativity, the influence of role models, and, most obviously, the potential for every person to achieve great things.<br /><br />My childhood was filled with these and other such inspiring messages. They came from a handful of great teachers, my amazing parents, and other encouraging people from my home community.<br /><br />I consider myself very lucky to have grown up in an environment that allowed me to live by those messages, that I had the opportunities to take them and put them into action. I am the person I am today because of all that. Unfortunately, though, not every child is lucky enough to have that, not in Zambia, not even in Canada. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">“Creativity is as important in education as literacy.”</span><br /><br />This is what <a href="http://www.ted.com/index.php/talks/ken_robinson_says_schools_kill_creativity.html">Sir Ken Robinson contends in his TED talk: Do schools kills creativity?</a> He calls creativity “the process of having original ideas that have value”, and he says education systems the world over squander the creativity of children. It’s a compelling (and very entertaining) argument, and I encourage you all the watch it. <br /><br />I’ve met a lot of extraordinary people in Zambia who astound me with their creativity. Now, I admit to not being an aficionado on education in Zambia, but I do know that it is plagued with problems, from a serious lack of resources to archaic methods and curricula to very few post high-school opportunities. But despite a seeming disabling environment for creativity, some people have managed to thrive. Why?<br /><br />My informal and statistically unsound investigation tells me that role models are very important, especially familial ones. Bedford, a driver, revealed that he enjoys writing poetry in his spare time. When I asked how he discovered this talent, he said it was encouraged by his aunt. George, my unbelievably entertaining story-telling friend, told me he was influenced by his uncle and older sister. Mr. Hamoonga, who built the only sunken living room I’ve ever seen in rural Zambia, said he was inspired by his father’s creative architectural tendencies (pic pending).<br /><br />However, even the most inspired person can be discouraged if there is a lack of opportunities to exercise creativity. Chimwemwe, a bright, young, passionate guy who studied international business in South Africa told me that he’d love to try some new ideas out if viable business opportunities were available. What’s worse is that creativity can be equated with deviance in a fairly homogenous society, so new ideas can be stigmatized as just plain weird. “Ah, they just make you feel bad when you try something new” he lamented.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Going to the creativity gym.</span><br /><br />In the world of international development, and actually, in the world in general right now, there is a lot of talk about the need for creative solutions to address the complex conditions of the present and the uncertain ones of the future. I tend to agree with this, but are we setting our children up to meet this challenge? What about adults: Can the creative child in each of us be unleashed?<br /><br />I’m not suggesting we send crates of Roald Dahl books to Zambia to solve this problem. Lack of resources is only one of many problems. Lack of role models in a country where 1 in 6 people are HIV positive and life expectancy is less than 40 is another. The lack of opportunities can be incredibly disheartening.<br /><br />Or maybe…<br /><br />Maybe I’m not exercising that part of my brain that is able to see possibility instead of pitfalls. As I grow older, I’m finding it important to make the space to play, to use different parts of my brain. I write often (and now I read children’s books). I play sport when I can, and I’ve been dancing a lot lately (I may or may not be in a Zambian music video!). I prioritize play, be it physical, intellectual, or emotional. Play is fun. It is also a precursor for creativity.<br /><br />What are your creative outlets? How do you exercise your creativity? I’d love to hear it.<br /><br />In the meantime, here’s a message from Roald Dahl (the emphasis is his):<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">When you grow up<br />and have children of your own<br />do please remember<br />something important<br /><br />a stodgy parent is <span style="font-style: italic;">no fun at all</span><br /><br />What a child wants<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">and deserves</span><br />is a parent who is<br /><br />SPARKY<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">t<br /></div></div>Thulasy B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05684756554935293625noreply@blogger.com333tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2571428340086750413.post-61191560640971155162009-03-12T21:13:00.001+02:002009-03-12T21:58:35.596+02:00Pragmatism and social change<span style="font-weight: bold;">Is there a Weight Watchers of development?</span><br /><br />Ok, that came out all wrong. I didn’t mean to suggest that what the developing world needs right now is a diet plan! It’s just a thought I had when I stumbled onto <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2009/03/08/magazine/08wwln-q4-t.html?ref=magazine">an article in the NY Times about body image and dieting</a>.<br /><br />In it, the woman being interviewed berates programs like Weight Watchers saying that we should “give up dieting and learn to recognize hunger and appetite and respond to them. Dieting…cause[s] compulsive eating and destabilizes our relationship to food.”<br /><br />I think most people would agree with this, what she’s saying is self-evident. But if it were as easy to change people’s eating habits as she suggests, then problems like obesity and eating disorders wouldn’t be as pervasive as they currently are.<br /><br />I often think about what it takes to get people to change. The goal is usually a simple one: To eat less and healthier. Or for rural villages in Zambia, to buy soap and wash hands after using the latrine, or to plan out farming activities in advance of the season. Now, how do you get there?<br /><br />I think it’s pretty complicated. These things are influenced by a bajillion different factors including touchy ones like politics, emotions, and culture. I think people usually <span style="font-style: italic;">get </span>why they need to fundamentally change, but if simply <span style="font-style: italic;">getting it</span> isn’t enough to change behaviours, what is?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Bam! Pow! Bang! Pop! Jenga! (Jenga?) Yes we can! </span><br /><br />Holy social change Batman!<br /><br />If you ever find yourself working in a field that is focused on creating social change*, you’ll come across a variety of approaches.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">(* There is no universal definition for ‘international development’ but if nothing else, it is about change, about people changing and changing people…which is where it gets confusing, but I digress.)</span><br /><br />Like the woman in the article, there are those who espouse the importance of “changing the paradigm”. These people can be down right militant about it; from their perspective, everything needs to change before anything can start to change. “Blow it up!” they say, then build it back up from a place that is grounded. <br /><br />There are others who champion a more strategic approach. If you focus your efforts on the right “leverage points”, you can make even the most rigid system change in time. Like a game of Jenga, you have to be patient and have steady hands, but eventually, the blocks tumble down.<br /><br />Many prefer a more inclusive approach based on the principles of awareness, participation, freedom, choice, and democracy. This approach sees a groundswell of people making a bunch of individual choices to create a better end. Yes, we certainly can.<br /><br />There are many more approaches to creating social change and while I don’t disagree with many of them, I wonder what the best approach is. Is blowing up the system a realistic strategy? Provocative but not very practical. Is incremental change from within the way to go? Patience is definitely a virtue. Is it really just about getting people together? Sounds like fun, but it could also be like herding cats.<br /> <br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">People are people are people.</span><br /><br />People are not like cats. People are people. But though we like to think ourselves rational, it’s important to recognize what we are is beautifully and fallibly human. I’m finding that if I approach things from this perspective, they get a bit, though not entirely, easier to deal with.<br /><br />The article about dieting started off a chain of thoughts in my head about what works, what gets the change process started in the short term. I’m not promoting Weight Watchers, but I think programs like it are onto something.<br /><br />What they do is help people navigate the difficult process of personal change. It gives them simple tools (like a point system), a safe environment (like group meetings), and incentives (like avoiding shame during public weigh-ins) that allow people to not only take the first step but to take ownership over the change process.<br /><br />Some would argue that programs like this address symptoms of the problem and not the root causes. Some would say that they’re just money makers that prey on and even exacerbate unfounded insecurities. I’m not in denial of these things, but I do see value in this as a practical approach. What’s more is that people seem to like it and are willing to pay for it. That says something, something important about people. <br /><br />Maybe I’m stretching things here, but I wonder what a Weight Watchers-esque behaviour change program would look like for rural farmers in Zambia? Certainly numerous things need to be happening in concert, but it’s the pragmatist in me that wants to know what it would take for them to really own the change.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I don't know much, but I do know some things. </span><br /><br />Hey, maybe I'm just on crack. But it doesn't stop me from thinking. <br /><br />And in all this thinking, I’m constantly searching for truths that help me make sense of the complexities involved with creating change, that anchor me to the ground and help guide me through what is a very foggy process. I’ve landed on a few:<br /><br />People are people.<br />Good things happen through hard work.<br />Change takes time.<br />Change happens within first.<br /><br />So the question I should really be asking myself is what would it take for me to change?<br /><br />Yup, that’s likely the first step. Now, if only I had something to help me take it…<br /><br />t ;)Thulasy B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05684756554935293625noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2571428340086750413.post-67361804396560442222009-03-03T01:16:00.003+02:002009-03-03T01:30:39.193+02:00Where I've been lately<span style="font-weight: bold;">Body: Sunrise on Easter Island.</span><br /><br />In a cold, dark moment before the sun rose over the Pacific, I had them all to myself. All fifteen <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moai">Moai</a>, basking in the white light of a nearly full moon that was high in the sky directly behind me. We were early, my travel companions were out of sight, out of mind. I was alone.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">How on earth did I end up here?</span><br /><br />Was I supposed to revere these ancient statues, full of mana and the sweat of thousands of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rapa_nui">Rapa Nui</a> that toiled to carve and drag them to the coast? Was this supposed to be a spiritual moment? I wasn’t so sure.<br /><br />I stopped thinking about it. The sun rose, just like it does everyday.<br /><br />But this time, I was watching.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg23xqcRKRLIqYhpuLrmFj9yv-8BV10lifGVOb4HVuSONaSfKOjisH5xX-NNvJmf2qlpjK-pgX9mjuAXTgE8fKfDm0DAH91oURWPeELY3k7vz6De0K7KplpDpiy80iuiWDcs_p03b9XMbg/s1600-h/n120403201_34971706_1394666.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg23xqcRKRLIqYhpuLrmFj9yv-8BV10lifGVOb4HVuSONaSfKOjisH5xX-NNvJmf2qlpjK-pgX9mjuAXTgE8fKfDm0DAH91oURWPeELY3k7vz6De0K7KplpDpiy80iuiWDcs_p03b9XMbg/s320/n120403201_34971706_1394666.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308734694012699490" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Head: “But why, in Africa, has it come to this?”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Even to begin to answer that question you need time, so much time, dead time. Time has to hang heavy on you. You need to be stuck, bored, and to watch: to watch not attentively, eager to prove or disprove a lively hypothesis, but listlessly, with your eyes roving and your mind empty, and nothing to do. Only then do truths begin to swim into vision.</span><br /><br />- <a href="http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/comment/columnists/matthew_parris/article409644.ece">Matthew Parris on Ethiopia</a><br /><br />This is not the type of work you can simply think your way out of. In fact, thinking too much might lead you astray. This, in part, is the problem with a lot of development efforts: It’s simply too easy to get disconnected, to theorize and strategize and intellectualize everything until it is almost completely irrelevant.<br /><br />As the Parris quote suggests, this work takes time. It’s hard and frustrating and thankless and complicated and challenging beyond belief. But it’s also incredibly important. It’s definitely worth trying, and there’s nothing else I’d rather be doing.<br /><br />But if I’m going to continue to do this, I want to do right by it. Think BIG but start small, stay connected, and try as best as possible to keep it real. This is my commitment. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Heart: She’s gone. </span><br /><br />In the early stages the disease, she reverted back to what I think was the happiest time in her life, her days as a young girl studying to be a teacher at Ramanathan College in Sri Lanka. She’d chatter away about her friends, smiling, laughing. Though there was never a flicker of recognition, I’d laugh with her and take solace in the fact that at least now she was wholly happy.<br /><br />She wasn’t always happy. She was quiet; she kept what was more than her fair share of tragedy locked up inside. She bore heartache that is completely beyond my comprehension. She suffered a great deal of loss…she suffered so that I would never have to. For this, I will always be grateful.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2GQc7X6GPIQSHGJhpdVykCMx4BpXhaNfpnnbCwjsNoGbrOUXoB4_joPRqRILLHb_MCk0BMHS7c4Fen0vAiuJhoirFiwqDaQQLrL2zgTtORuymRh8lCHrzV0_wzmLUCTD05O56HHOrELU/s1600-h/IMG_3529.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2GQc7X6GPIQSHGJhpdVykCMx4BpXhaNfpnnbCwjsNoGbrOUXoB4_joPRqRILLHb_MCk0BMHS7c4Fen0vAiuJhoirFiwqDaQQLrL2zgTtORuymRh8lCHrzV0_wzmLUCTD05O56HHOrELU/s320/IMG_3529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308734689683316930" border="0" /></a><br />I’m writing this post from Toronto. I’m happy to just BE with everyone, to go through the ceremonial motions, the crying and the laughing. She would be glad we laughed together.<br /><br />I've also been forced to stop and think about what tradition really means to me. This is the hardest kind of thing to articulate, so I will just say this: I love, hate, and respect it all at once, but I don’t really understand it, and that might be ok.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">If religion is the opium of the people, tradition is an even more sinister analgesic, simply because it rarely appears sinister. If religion is a tight band, a throbbing vein and a needle, tradition if a far homelier concoction: poppy seeds ground into tea; a sweet cocoa drink laced with cocaine; the kind of thing your grandmother might have made.</span><br /><br />- Excerpt from White Teeth, by Zadie Smith<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">On balance</span>.<br /><br />I am trying with difficulty to make sense of the cumulative effect of all my recent experiences, to balance the various forces pulling at me and try as best I can to, well, do the right thing.<br /><br />I was lucky to meet and receive some words of wisdom from <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_Orbinski">James Orbinksi</a> in January. I think he would be loathe to call what he gave us that day “advice”, but it stuck in my brain regardless of his intention.<br /><br />He said that your success always depends on the success of others, that it’s important to genuinely understand the people around you, to be attentive to the people you are with.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Meaning is in the living, not simply in the thinking or the feeling. And it seems to me that living well is mostly about loving well. </span><br /><br />– Brother Benedict quoted in An Imperfect Offering, by James Orbinksi<br /><br />And so, this just might be the stuff life is made of. Life isn’t something that’s going to happen sometime in the future, it’s happening right now. Self-evident, I know, but it’s easy to forget this simple truth when you are busy busy busy. There is a lot to balance and it might never make sense and fit into a nice little box you can point an arrow to. But this is it – and I’m thankful for every little bit.<br /><br />thulasyThulasy B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05684756554935293625noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2571428340086750413.post-58869356849489349942008-12-05T21:58:00.006+02:002008-12-05T22:24:46.618+02:00What is she doing??<span style="font-weight: bold;">The short answer. </span><br /><br />At the beginning of October, I started my second placement with Engineers Without Borders. This time around, I’m partnered with <a href="http://www.ideorg.org/">International Development Enterprises</a> (IDE). Their mission: To increase the income of small holder farmers through the production and sale of high value crops, namely vegetables. How do they do it? The gist is this:<br /><br />Farmer <br />+ Training (in vegetable growing) <br />+ Access (to micro-credit, inputs, and irrigation)<br />+ Opportunities (to sell their vegetables at a fair price) <br /><br />= Rural Household with $<br /><br />This is an easy thing to write in a proposal (1+1=2, right?), but it is actually an incredibly difficult thing to do in practice. It involves taking an approach that is radically different from those taken in typical agricultural projects.<br /><br />This is all about business. Nothing is given away for free. Everything is accessed for full price through the private sector. Easy peasy? Not quite. The agricultural sector in Zambia is very under-developed and poorly functioning. It tends to exploit or completely exclude small holder farmers. Small holders can’t make money from farming, and if they do, not fairly.<br /><br />There is a lack of confidence in the system. But because of this, there exists an opportunity for NGOs, like IDE, to act as honest brokers to help create a functional market in which small holders can fairly participate.<br /><br />What am I doing? My mandate is to build the capacity of IDE’s field staff to better facilitate market linkages. Disregard the jargon and read on.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The long answer.</span><br /><br />My work with IDE has me abuzz with new thoughts on development and (gasp!) even some hope. Yay! Gone are the days of <a href="http://thulasy.blogspot.com/2008/05/somewhere-over-moonbow.html">thinly veiled cynical melancholy</a>. I’m excited all over again! This time, though, I’m a bit hardened, a bit more realistic, and perhaps even a little contentious. Watch out!<br /><br />What am I so excited about? Simply put, it’s about the people.<br /><br />“Well, Thulasy, if it wasn’t always about the people, what <span style="font-style: italic;">was </span>it about??” Good question.<br /><br />I spent my first 14 months overseas trying to define this problem of poverty for myself and coming up with some reasonable solutions to it. It was about ideas and how those ideas relate to people, mostly village farmers. What did I learn?<br /><br />I learned that there are a lot of smart people out there coming up with some pretty ingenious solutions to the ginormous, multi-dimensional, infinitely complex problem that is poverty.<br /><br />The main challenge, however, is not really in finding the <span style="font-style: italic;">perfect </span>solution, per se, but in actually applying a good-enough solution to the real world. In development-speak, we call this “implementation”.<br /><br />Unfortunately, it’s not as easy as just givin’r and gettin’r done.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">When it all, </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> all falls down. </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> I’m tellin’ you all,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> it all falls down.</span><br /><br />– Lauryn Hill, The Mystery of Iniquity<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Markets and trust.</span><br /><br />Local field workers are at the front lines of development projects. They are the ones who are ultimately responsible for translating those great ideas - seeming panaceas for poverty - into meaningful impact.<br /><br />Problem is, big time donors, who are wildly excited about the great-idea-of-the-moment, expect big time results from these field workers, not just by now, but by yesterday.<br /><br />Expectations like that cannot be met in the blink of an eye. This project may be about getting more money down to farmers, but it takes a lot of time and concerted effort to get money to flow in a system that is completely devoid of any semblance of trust.<br /><br />Functional markets are built on trust. Think about it: You implicitly trust that you’ll get the perfect non-fat, extra-hot, half-sweet venti chai latte from the stranger behind the counter mere seconds after you order it (at least I do). The barista, in turn, trusts that you will front the cash before you indulge in your afternoon pick-me-up.<br /><br />Small holder farmers, however, have never been able to trust seed suppliers to offer reliable products and services, and vegetable buyers have never been able to trust small holders to supply a reasonable quantity and quality of produce. There is zero institutional trust.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">[L]ow income societies have less trust than rich societies….What is important is the radius of trust. Do you trust only the members of your immediate family? Or does the circle widen to include your extended family, or your clan, or your village, or your ethnic group, or all the way to strangers? In a low-trust society, you trust your friends and family, but nobody else.</span><br /><br />– William Easterly, White Man’s Burden<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">“And you’re excited about…?”</span><br /><br />Luckily, field staff are excellent trust builders, particularly with farmers. But the role of field staff is changing. They’re responsible for more than just the farmers. They’re responsible for transforming the tenuous (or oft-times non-existent) relationships between farmers and private sector actors (like seed suppliers and vegetable buyers) into healthy, mutually beneficial ones.<br /><br />I’m here to help the field staff take on this new mandate. I’m responsible for designing and rolling out a tailored, long-term training program for field staff to improve their ability to build these relationships. This is exciting for two reasons:<br /><br />1) I have a growing hypothesis that investing in good people will improve the implementation process (and, by extension, the impact-generating process) far more than simply pumping more great ideas or money into the system. This will be a great chance to test this hypothesis and hopefully demonstrate success.<br /><br />2) I am particularly psyched to be working with the up and coming generation of development workers, young Zambian folks like myself, who are unsatisfied with current approaches and are willing to try new things. Many of them are incredibly intelligent and capable but they just need a bit of a boost (training and practice in the short term, coaching over the long term) to take it to the next level.<br /><br />I’ve spent the past few weeks visiting all of IDE’s 6 field offices, getting to know the field staff, their work, and their challenges. I spent my first placement in Zambia trying to understand and empathize with small holder farmers, and now, I find myself doing the same with field staff.<br /><br />It’s important for me to consider them as whole human beings - just like myself, just like anyone in Canada - to understand their aspirations, their limitations, and how we can work together to achieve the goals of the project.<br /><br />It’s always been about people.<br /><br />This time, the people are just different.<br /><br />T :)<br /><br />--<br /><br />Order your 2009 wall calendar and holiday cards from EWB, and help us build a world of opportunity. / Commandez votre calendrier 2009 et vos cartes des fêtes d’ISF, et aidez nous à bâtir un monde d’opportunités.<br /><br />Visit / visitez le <a href="http://www.ewb.ca/en/whatyoucando/holidays/08holidayindex.html">www.ewb.ca/holidays</a>.Thulasy B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05684756554935293625noreply@blogger.com77tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2571428340086750413.post-46356616293934856442008-11-04T11:44:00.005+02:002008-11-04T12:26:48.292+02:00Choose your own moralizing pitchI know this is a cop out. I know I owe you all a post about what I'm doing right now, and I promise, it's on the way! Just so you know, I'm working with International Development Enterprises (IDE) on their Gates Foundation funded Rural Prosperity Initiative in Zambia. More to come, but you can peruse their website while you wait: <a href="http://www.ideorg.org/">http://www.ideorg.org/</a> <br /><br />In the meantime, I wanted to share this, an article I wrote for Dalhousie's Gazette/Sextant newspaper. Much love to <a href="http://www.thegatewayonline.ca/blogs/graham-lettner">Graham Lettner</a> for pushing me to write something that says all the things that usually go unsaid.<br /><br />T :)<br /><br />--<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Choose your own moralizing pitch</span><br /><br />Today, I wandered into the market in search of a lady selling roasted peanuts.<br /><br />When I lived in Kalomo, small town Zambia, I knew exactly where to find the ladies hawking their little bags of salty goodness. I also knew with 96% certainty that the nuts were grown locally – so a hard-working small scale farmer got a cut, the struggling market lady got a cut, and I gots me some peanuts. It felt like I was having a bit of direct impact in this world.<br /><br />But now I'm in big city Zambia. Lusaka. The market has lots to offer but no roasted peanut ladies. So I headed to the grocery store and found some roasted peanuts at the counter. The not-so-impressive label stamped on the not-so-fancy plastic bag said these nuts were grown, roasted, and packaged in Mongu, Zambia.<br /><br />“Locally grown, locally processed. I’m going to buy local. That seems like a good thing to do.” But before I could pat myself on the back, I hesitated:<br /><br />Did a village farmer grow these nuts? Probably.<br />Was the farmer given a fair price for the nuts? Maybe.<br />Is the processing company good to their workers? Gulp.<br /><br />I was suddenly reminded of the anxiety I’d feel back in the supermarket in Canada. How could I know that farmers half way around the world were getting a good deal? Now, here I am, in country, and I still don’t know for sure!<br /><br />This is where you, kind reader, roll your eyes into the back of your head and think, “Buy the peanuts already, you self-righteous, melodramatic hack. While you’re at it, take that patronizing bleeding heart of yours and shove it up your…”<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I’m</span> aware that <span style="font-style: italic;">you’re</span> aware of the food crisis. The energy, financial, and climate crises. You’re likely tired of the barrage of pleas to eat less meat or buy a Prius. Plant a tree. Exercise. Talk to old people. I’m not trying to convince you of any of this. Here is where you get to choose your own adventure:<br /><br />Go to A) if you want to hear a didactic rant about why you should think more about your food.<br /><br />Go to B) if you want to hear why I bought the packaged peanuts.<br /><br />A) The world is going to hell in a hand basket, and you – YOU – should care more about it. You should be worried about where your food comes from, how the environment and people get hurt all along the way. You should be worried about the long term effects of fertilizers and pesticides on your pituitary gland. Or those of your unborn children.<br /><br />Maybe you should consider that 100-mile diet. Or maybe you should think about the farmers in nowheresville Zambia that would rather get <span style="font-style: italic;">something </span>from YOU than nothing. Think about sweat shops. Think about the bird flu. Think about bird flu inoculated terrorist bombs. Think about whatever it takes to make you ACT, because let’s face it, if we don’t act soon, Chernobyl won’t look all that bad.<br /><br />B) I bought the peanuts. I bought them because this isn’t an either-or kind of thing. It isn’t about thinking global and acting local, about being guilty or being noble. This isn’t about us and them and it.<br /><br />I bought the peanuts because I had a hankering for them. And when I bought them, I appreciated the work of the farmers, processors, and transporters that brought them to me, and how those people have as much a right to make a living as I do.<br /><br />At some point you have to put your stake in the ground and say, “I think I’m ok with this.” This world is wrought with complexities beyond my comprehension. I don’t claim to have answers.<br /><br />All I know is that change is possible as long as good, sensible people around the world (like you) are allowed to make decisions not from fear or anxiety but from prudence and sincerity.<br /><br />Or maybe we should just buy Fair Trade. It’s easier.<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />For the past year, Thulasy has been working to increase the participation of small scale farmers in fair and sustainable agricultural markets in Zambia.<br /><br />--<br /><br /></span><span>If that's given you some food for thought, these might too:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2008/10/12/magazine/12policy-t.html?_r=2&em=&oref=slogin&pagewanted=all&oref=slogin">Farmer in Chief</a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2008/oct/01/foodanddrink.oliver">Britain on a Plate</a><br /><br />And if you're in Edmonton on November 12th, you might be interested in attending an event at City Hall regarding Food Sustainability for the Edmonton Region. Email Debbie Hubbard at: <span dir="ltr"></span><a href="mailto:dreidt@telus.net">dreidt@telus.net</a> for the deets.</span>Thulasy B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05684756554935293625noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2571428340086750413.post-51250618507316927972008-10-02T17:51:00.006+02:002008-10-02T18:13:44.019+02:00Vacation: NAMIBIA!<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA19hzbq_2oGjlUxsSjDmUeEWUHNYwnBT9o9QDBH1cWUabuvzpYOTVBXKvz-Svii11DTOczh5y-hiuJCwfnZv2T7GaQt2ZNahwsO590Juiz9dgzAn5y2cWUBvLMqwNH0DZhKnrrHKEe70/s1600-h/0.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA19hzbq_2oGjlUxsSjDmUeEWUHNYwnBT9o9QDBH1cWUabuvzpYOTVBXKvz-Svii11DTOczh5y-hiuJCwfnZv2T7GaQt2ZNahwsO590Juiz9dgzAn5y2cWUBvLMqwNH0DZhKnrrHKEe70/s400/0.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252585344890625266" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Road-trippin' in the desert...can make you a little crazy</span></span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoUoLcpn-i4PqSfWo-Bp81UaAYGxtY-z6CZ0OsaD6wrftM-kQO6ZU1g8MwgxSFDw3FLLpW1ZUnBZ2EYzCwtCiE2Kji1KCwQY-GmwcTwQ0rRAUqXkWypB_D1FBBrx7s_C7oTsFjdcna_nY/s1600-h/1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoUoLcpn-i4PqSfWo-Bp81UaAYGxtY-z6CZ0OsaD6wrftM-kQO6ZU1g8MwgxSFDw3FLLpW1ZUnBZ2EYzCwtCiE2Kji1KCwQY-GmwcTwQ0rRAUqXkWypB_D1FBBrx7s_C7oTsFjdcna_nY/s400/1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252585346639512258" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Namibia's #1 attraction: Sand. Watch out!</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUQkGWNjbLo8frwoNEqfDX6r6TMEdFc4LxNsBPlZzWnejAvX8IbkIa6w_UMSCzu5QZ5kYcnCRnCdz4gQTGgw5GZ1UGwkD7mUdDESRgJ3H7qqASrrcdgFmizjejEv-6Ln4oJ9764J2bYHQ/s1600-h/2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUQkGWNjbLo8frwoNEqfDX6r6TMEdFc4LxNsBPlZzWnejAvX8IbkIa6w_UMSCzu5QZ5kYcnCRnCdz4gQTGgw5GZ1UGwkD7mUdDESRgJ3H7qqASrrcdgFmizjejEv-6Ln4oJ9764J2bYHQ/s400/2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252585348765865106" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Sunrise from the top of Dune 45<br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT9kv_Xk3PBTILPITjtgs0xqaQxDPD2fpbI-8QfcuGWTsaJ6ZVsOS0tlRIwZLbnTNbE3lGrf35-gM4JZ_2CK4dwfGSjST8fCTLEpE1jLHJLTW3UI19L-9LkhD1kFObT-Ynm1qLl3o9qsw/s1600-h/3.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT9kv_Xk3PBTILPITjtgs0xqaQxDPD2fpbI-8QfcuGWTsaJ6ZVsOS0tlRIwZLbnTNbE3lGrf35-gM4JZ_2CK4dwfGSjST8fCTLEpE1jLHJLTW3UI19L-9LkhD1kFObT-Ynm1qLl3o9qsw/s400/3.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252585348309195186" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Wee little me!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrGiwnE75FPYk8aiCx0Ii3p7AXFUIx_AAXLOUVdwgX-HT_trZCMEF9JoY_9noEBy-nWQFiHsjqqLyRQBG-YXaWWuc-fqCWgN13IsGG5e4cnHEfnb1T0JZyhIRck9bjxSrHZAkf3s5sN9E/s1600-h/4.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrGiwnE75FPYk8aiCx0Ii3p7AXFUIx_AAXLOUVdwgX-HT_trZCMEF9JoY_9noEBy-nWQFiHsjqqLyRQBG-YXaWWuc-fqCWgN13IsGG5e4cnHEfnb1T0JZyhIRck9bjxSrHZAkf3s5sN9E/s400/4.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252585347181846338" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Laura and I basking in the gloriousness</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYg0p1FZAG20Yx4vKiHp236w-82EJus4w8wlZyNEyN30Q5a_-ExmsaW9tKrrcPOMg9eiHG_UWXAEqaaN_iBvSdNca6jt-TAs27xwBXaoB2cPq8WHWmkVx4YJTrf4uYdYhAuUqZLe8epf4/s1600-h/5.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYg0p1FZAG20Yx4vKiHp236w-82EJus4w8wlZyNEyN30Q5a_-ExmsaW9tKrrcPOMg9eiHG_UWXAEqaaN_iBvSdNca6jt-TAs27xwBXaoB2cPq8WHWmkVx4YJTrf4uYdYhAuUqZLe8epf4/s400/5.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252586165704470818" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Powder soft sand<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSvWpd-MGwvkanWXidzZIEqIWwHXJCtXWEiejopoYDTnbHNimT6MDScYXv8TDBQnK6cJfEPMB7nQXTCaEzWoX0WMY_zi-ZPJbZZibEQ6gtf7JRiON8JDEDALIfAw6fOAq4WUMx6KNOXf4/s1600-h/6.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSvWpd-MGwvkanWXidzZIEqIWwHXJCtXWEiejopoYDTnbHNimT6MDScYXv8TDBQnK6cJfEPMB7nQXTCaEzWoX0WMY_zi-ZPJbZZibEQ6gtf7JRiON8JDEDALIfAw6fOAq4WUMx6KNOXf4/s400/6.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252586162474315106" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Razor sharp colours</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ruSe_UFyUBWliICY-I66aX4NrAB_bYaIRp72w1bGodk1MWpo4CfM-9j20bd0yOGCU8jbOoFsFwyl8YjbcKhqEUiaWx2Hs6cVnTU-91uvj1m8XiC9zMH01WvAKRFxZR92dvYGcXVcK8U/s1600-h/7.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ruSe_UFyUBWliICY-I66aX4NrAB_bYaIRp72w1bGodk1MWpo4CfM-9j20bd0yOGCU8jbOoFsFwyl8YjbcKhqEUiaWx2Hs6cVnTU-91uvj1m8XiC9zMH01WvAKRFxZR92dvYGcXVcK8U/s400/7.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252586163246144306" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Meet a member of the desert ecosystem</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR6Rz1hs4nbO2ZHTnNcYueCFs5QLsKAN7Z3aAOf9Arojk7Bp-QpTGP4O23pRlu_qhuQm6yAUF7vQ_4yrcoAbX9FGh4EvQK-T6_9Q4CEsdGtUalXA6aAgUGT8RnrZk9J_IrJke4BIHSIVY/s1600-h/9.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR6Rz1hs4nbO2ZHTnNcYueCFs5QLsKAN7Z3aAOf9Arojk7Bp-QpTGP4O23pRlu_qhuQm6yAUF7vQ_4yrcoAbX9FGh4EvQK-T6_9Q4CEsdGtUalXA6aAgUGT8RnrZk9J_IrJke4BIHSIVY/s400/9.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252586168418398258" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Deadvlei ...or Dali painting</span>?<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs_yQVZvzCvCgb3ji3AxQGJ3EIXMzF3Zs4QzjJNRqbBQXQzwP-_H7gvWlnY8D-pSVMYS3L4oQfyVFsVfb8SnlZlzBomTWAqvXXl8HFY6ByDm_YAGrQOG4RGOiyehezHPo4h2A9RF6dkFc/s1600-h/8.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs_yQVZvzCvCgb3ji3AxQGJ3EIXMzF3Zs4QzjJNRqbBQXQzwP-_H7gvWlnY8D-pSVMYS3L4oQfyVFsVfb8SnlZlzBomTWAqvXXl8HFY6ByDm_YAGrQOG4RGOiyehezHPo4h2A9RF6dkFc/s400/8.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252586166741606354" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Sossusvlei in a word: Otherwordly</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjroXlwKndVvbufo-bqu8yQyKxDTLaH2HL6VsA4zmcra2JDq1gKgeTNwaVCOh8yP4DtSblyF_BnSFl7amxdYH1z0SXCeL2wGM3QQaJ5CXs_6a1u1L8_41bYO2iLWZTwtm6npLV504dw8rg/s1600-h/10.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjroXlwKndVvbufo-bqu8yQyKxDTLaH2HL6VsA4zmcra2JDq1gKgeTNwaVCOh8yP4DtSblyF_BnSFl7amxdYH1z0SXCeL2wGM3QQaJ5CXs_6a1u1L8_41bYO2iLWZTwtm6npLV504dw8rg/s400/10.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252586990302026834" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">DIY sandboarding does NOT work</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6J1vouyL4sIg4-v9Qy3iClWnQnJXmNJDHdWrYSp0EhqseRrbpSW0xHf-B7sIsMqhEoJ2JNAudga95b2AfFgwxQnEFM9xFqUUR4zcOYMbKvfXq0a9ILeKleW97_AKPBaYc3-UxdghSjpE/s1600-h/11.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6J1vouyL4sIg4-v9Qy3iClWnQnJXmNJDHdWrYSp0EhqseRrbpSW0xHf-B7sIsMqhEoJ2JNAudga95b2AfFgwxQnEFM9xFqUUR4zcOYMbKvfXq0a9ILeKleW97_AKPBaYc3-UxdghSjpE/s400/11.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252586987054870450" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">This sandstorm nearly destroyed me; sadly, it took my camera</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIVbJzqRzePbQRnGOxoRabAWYzG2cTz1lr3pJfPUHjMNcUEwB7AucF41eK_4S_XayFItHP2wWiKAgpOKkcdpY9eJRcb5nHxBvm5n93jato3EUC9-LIcUCaHJJQPh3MMMLo1A0OIla6FQo/s1600-h/13.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIVbJzqRzePbQRnGOxoRabAWYzG2cTz1lr3pJfPUHjMNcUEwB7AucF41eK_4S_XayFItHP2wWiKAgpOKkcdpY9eJRcb5nHxBvm5n93jato3EUC9-LIcUCaHJJQPh3MMMLo1A0OIla6FQo/s400/13.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252586994904566722" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Me in a tree, my favorite place to be<br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span>T :)<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></div></div>Thulasy B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05684756554935293625noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2571428340086750413.post-67280852186792581912008-09-07T16:14:00.006+02:002008-09-07T16:35:43.093+02:00A walk, a hurried walk.Inspired by <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZqT9kA1bcVQ">a scene from Amelie</a>...<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">[She] has a strange feeling of absolute harmony. It’s a perfect moment. Soft, light…a scent in the air, the quiet murmur of the city. She breathes deeply. Life is simple and clear. A surge of love, an urge to help mankind comes over her…</span><br /><br />The weather is getting warmer, it’s HOT hot. Dry and dusty.<br /><br />Can you smell that? The air is filled with smoke and fire…<br /><br />Farmers are burning the grasses to coax a bit of new growth. <br /><br />The <a href="http://thulasy.blogspot.com/2007/11/these-are-few-of-my-favorite-things.html">jacarandas </a>are starting to bloom.<br /><br />The president died. <br /><br />“No! I don’t want to go to Mtendere!”<br /><br />But I do want some of those gorgeous red tomatoes across the road.<br /><br />Alas, there are no more avocados…<br /><br />But look! The mango trees are starting to flower!<br /><br />The price of gas is rising so quickly…<br /><br />The taxis drivers are either ripping me off or are in the red. <br /><br />Little girls squeal, big girls sing Alicia Keys.<br /><br />That woman just scorned my sandals…admittedly, they <span style="font-style: italic;">are </span>falling apart.<br /><br />I’m parched.<br /><br />The sky is so big and blue. It is like this everyday. It reminds me of home.<br /><br />Sometimes, it seems that things change slowly…<br /><br />I should cut my hair.<br /><br />And yet, the times, they are a changing…<br /><br />The mosquitoes are back…<br /><br />And soon, so will the rains.<br /><br />We’ll have a new president or prime minister, wherever we are.<br /><br />Friends are leaving (farewell, Nina).<br /><br />But babies are born…<br /><br /><a href="http://thulasy.blogspot.com/2007/08/home-in-kalomo.html">Hilda’s</a> girl is Nkomana (meaning happiness).<br /><br />And families grow…<br /><br /><a href="http://thulasy.blogspot.com/2008/02/blog-post.html">Tangson’s</a> granddaughter is Sudha (named after Amma).<br /><br />I will be leaving sorghum and Kalomo soon, but it’s hard to let go.<br /><br />As I reflect on what Zambia is right now, I can’t help but think…<br /><br />(pause)<br /><br />(pause)<br /><br />I can’t wait for those mangoes.<br /><br />I will leave you here,<br /><br />I should heat water for a bath now.<br /><br />T :)Thulasy B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05684756554935293625noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2571428340086750413.post-59981119753520195722008-08-07T07:15:00.011+02:002008-08-07T08:42:21.591+02:00Who is responsible for "development?"<span style="font-weight: bold;">Big city living.</span><br /><br />I haven’t been in Kalomo for the better part of the last couple months. I’ve been working from the head office in Zambia’s capital, Lusaka, on a variety of higher level activities – a mid-term assessment of the project, year planning, and a market research study.<br /><br />While the hustle and bustle of the big city makes Lusaka one of my least favorite places in Zambia, I must admit that it does have a lot to offer. Lusaka is a (relatively) thriving metropolis that offers many luxuries that are simply not found in Kalomo – a wider variety of consumer products, fantastic restaurants, even a movie theater (where I was able to join in on the global frenzy that is Dark Knight!)<br /><br />And it just so happened that my time in Lusaka coincided with what might very well be one of the city’s biggest events – the annual agriculture and commercial show.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOK5DaHChSuflvMI54lkIeMd-zEBVBBJsgImJda_PUEo2_8jIiWjv8ebirddUnQsfO5CRj0DXv8zwGlpC6wL5FBorKSfUODaEfK5UHOJbC8qYlVA9CuEdzgZKDqKar-z5SnOgHP4am-lY/s1600-h/IMG_2894.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOK5DaHChSuflvMI54lkIeMd-zEBVBBJsgImJda_PUEo2_8jIiWjv8ebirddUnQsfO5CRj0DXv8zwGlpC6wL5FBorKSfUODaEfK5UHOJbC8qYlVA9CuEdzgZKDqKar-z5SnOgHP4am-lY/s320/IMG_2894.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231656683029651746" border="0" /></a><br />The event is kind of like Zambia’s version of the Calgary Stampede (without as much debauchery…well, maybe a little). It’s a time when the government, the private sector, and civil society all come together to show off and share their work with each other and the general public. It’s a fun event, full of excitement and optimism.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">A promising picture of development?</span><br /><br />The theme of this year’s show was “Growth in Diversity”. Organizations from all across the development board proudly displayed the fruits of their labour – plenty of positive, feel good stories. It all sounded so great, if this were one’s first experience in Zambia, they would surely think, “Hey, this country is on the move!”<br /><br />Perhaps that’s true. But I couldn’t help but feel uneasy about the disconnect between the positive stories and the realties I’ve seen on the ground, away from Lusaka, out in the villages surrounding Kalomo. Here are a few examples:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWMyBkeC1FJ1jl-7d9fCU5iET8dTGW8q46KER5U0FpQFedLOSjOw78SpoCEvHcPKjWGp75Z93Qt79LD9P8SDZA4fF-7ywaz6durhhv-NIfC7I3YXjJTtCfVGCkpaIENMlcXQvmRX-MPcM/s1600-h/IMG_2895.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWMyBkeC1FJ1jl-7d9fCU5iET8dTGW8q46KER5U0FpQFedLOSjOw78SpoCEvHcPKjWGp75Z93Qt79LD9P8SDZA4fF-7ywaz6durhhv-NIfC7I3YXjJTtCfVGCkpaIENMlcXQvmRX-MPcM/s320/IMG_2895.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231656685131703794" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">This fertilized and treadle pump irrigated garden looks like a dream compared to the tiny bucket fed plots the farmers in the village painstakingly tend to. With the price of fertilizer sky high and a chronic lack of water in the Southern Province, is this a realistic picture of development?<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7O6z_U_PZ4mmu-Aw5Xl9Cir0wbq93O6Rpwsvj6z31h4o3vwRUnfgPVjht_RklCjH9XNCkZpgzJz3lSp7Aia48B5iECScXmJFcTibUWUNJOdq3tPDeCH6D4y9aMesFv7r4cI3lPBCRFK8/s1600-h/IMG_2899.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7O6z_U_PZ4mmu-Aw5Xl9Cir0wbq93O6Rpwsvj6z31h4o3vwRUnfgPVjht_RklCjH9XNCkZpgzJz3lSp7Aia48B5iECScXmJFcTibUWUNJOdq3tPDeCH6D4y9aMesFv7r4cI3lPBCRFK8/s320/IMG_2899.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231656684220825634" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Since the lack of robust, locally suitable seed varieties is a major challenge for small scale farmers in Zambia, this stand boasting several sorghum seed varieties looked promising. But how many of these varieties will actually leave the research station and reach the farmers that need them?<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnbPtF0wtzJkSgLmMF8TwSL2HcvG5_FJmzvgERYjZu8B93n1yLrgggZHPEFsDOIdNdETHrsc0tuczVJft5r2aCl9pGgMPEJMRPBJYGwiQAX5WECKxKrqpCNBTXfF-XNAeb3UDreMGM0_g/s1600-h/IMG_2906.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnbPtF0wtzJkSgLmMF8TwSL2HcvG5_FJmzvgERYjZu8B93n1yLrgggZHPEFsDOIdNdETHrsc0tuczVJft5r2aCl9pGgMPEJMRPBJYGwiQAX5WECKxKrqpCNBTXfF-XNAeb3UDreMGM0_g/s400/IMG_2906.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231659288880450322" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj5CllnSonNtaln2FHxH_S3hI480qARBbCm-2eUbDdX8sdHVQiSK51YynVeoMIbqWaGXLdSAZgBg5hE6ZowBL3g2yQqejjboxjb9ypNn7ZJMcB0vCt-mePwsY5oOflhHAWyqike16IDgU/s1600-h/IMG_2907.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj5CllnSonNtaln2FHxH_S3hI480qARBbCm-2eUbDdX8sdHVQiSK51YynVeoMIbqWaGXLdSAZgBg5hE6ZowBL3g2yQqejjboxjb9ypNn7ZJMcB0vCt-mePwsY5oOflhHAWyqike16IDgU/s400/IMG_2907.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231659579366787394" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">There are lots of important messages in this poster…but would they make sense to a villager? To what kind of villager? My supervisor put it well when he said, “Not all villagers are farmers, and not all poor people can be business people.”</span><br /><br />The realities in the field are so far removed from the spectacle of the trade show, the relatively wealthy urban centre of Lusaka, and even the 3rd floor of an NGO’s head office. Why the disconnect? Is there value in telling the feel-good story?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The proof is in the people.</span><br /><br />So I’m not trying to be cynical. There is value in telling the feel-good stories. There is value in marketing positive pictures. What makes this acceptable, to me at least, are the amazing people behind the stories who are actually trying to make things happen.<br /><br />I met a number of exceedingly competent and capable Zambians at the show, people who are genuinely excited about seeing and making “Growth in Diversity” happen. Of all the conversations I had, it was a chance meeting with one extraordinary woman that put a perma-smile on my somewhat skeptical face.<br /><br />Nina and I went out of our way to check out <a href="http://sylvafoodsolutions.com/profile.html">Sylva Food Solutions</a> because we had heard that, in addition to providing food services, they were working with small scale farmers to preserve traditional vegetables and other forest products using solar driers. I knew nothing more than this and entered the stand with curiosity.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqCzLxnfhY9fOA9vAGG9w4qnHmukxL_eA5eOwSmJAF4jGNJtwR-KCeNGb7bQLAyPqgtVnbppZ2bJZwiKHpYJ4PEpBEaVQM8AAOMe8N7OnUw3wX-bnWMlvAB6yDXnzLvMs6DmFlIpaJhJA/s1600-h/IMG_2903.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqCzLxnfhY9fOA9vAGG9w4qnHmukxL_eA5eOwSmJAF4jGNJtwR-KCeNGb7bQLAyPqgtVnbppZ2bJZwiKHpYJ4PEpBEaVQM8AAOMe8N7OnUw3wX-bnWMlvAB6yDXnzLvMs6DmFlIpaJhJA/s320/IMG_2903.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231657900246724178" border="0" /></a><br />I was impressed by the quality and variety of the dried products they were purveying. Wanting to learn more about the company, I picked up a pamphlet only to learn that this was no ordinary business venture. Sylva Food Solutions was started by a most entrepreneurial woman, one Mrs. Sylvia Banda. The extraordinary growth and success of her business had attracted the attention and recognition of the African Business Awards, which put her in the <a href="http://www.africasia.com/awards/africanbusiness/02nominees.php">top 6 of all African business women</a>!<br /><br />“This is pretty cool,” I thought to myself as I looked up from the pamphlet to see none other than Mrs. Banda herself walking into the room. I had to talk to this lady! So I sidled up to her and stuck out my hand, “Mrs. Banda, if you have a moment, I’d love to hear your story.” Though she was likely one of the busiest people at the show, she took a great deal of time with Nina and me to explain her rise from humble beginnings.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgyXHBHKtPBlLbKsm8BHVU9KEOb5UkZBR9sNd5POWmdJAZDOAgF6_2TsLV6oWveM6rIg5_1RyS1pMnWFu0Oh-aEN4iHWwFW0XYIFt3wWo-MmmBpJpA9atISpuGd5Exo_ZTu-n8iClMkyI/s1600-h/DSCN1533.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgyXHBHKtPBlLbKsm8BHVU9KEOb5UkZBR9sNd5POWmdJAZDOAgF6_2TsLV6oWveM6rIg5_1RyS1pMnWFu0Oh-aEN4iHWwFW0XYIFt3wWo-MmmBpJpA9atISpuGd5Exo_ZTu-n8iClMkyI/s320/DSCN1533.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231656679940114290" border="0" /></a><br />The one of 7 daughters of a large village family, Mrs. Banda’s enterprising nature was evident from a very young age. At primary school, she sold fritters to her classmates. At secondary school she tailored outfits for girls attending school dances. At college, she cooked and sold traditional meals from her dorm. “I believe in my hands,” she told us. I believe in her hands too.<br /><br />An unabashedly shrewd business woman, Mrs. Banda is a shining example of what entrepreneurialism really means, the different forms “development” can take, and the positive impact one individual can have (even if only driven by self-interest).<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Down and out or on the up and up?</span><br /><br />The development world is full of a lot of doom and gloom, cynicism and gravitas. Years and years of trying have led to very little movement forward. Zambia sits at number 165 (out of 177) on the <a href="http://hdr.undp.org/en/humandev/hdi/">Human Development Index</a>, which puts it among the 22 least developed countries in the world, all of which can found in Africa.<br /><br />What will it take to move forward? Who is responsible for it?<br /><br />There are on-going debates that pit the merits of the public sector versus the private, the collective action of civil society versus the onus of the individual. The current development wave puts the burden on poor people themselves who, once “empowered”, will not only work their own way out of poverty but will build the nation while they’re at it.<br /><br />I feel the debates skirt the crux of the matter…I’m of the belief that it will require the effort of good people doing good work everywhere in the system:<br /><br />NGOs who will improve access to technologies, like treadle pumps, to those who both need and want them;<br /><br />Governments who create pro-poor seed policies so that village farmers can demand and buy the seed they need; and,<br /><br />Entrepreneurs, like Mrs. Banda, who not only make their own way in the world, but provide products and create jobs for many more.<br /><br />One thing’s for sure, this ain’t gonna to be easy:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">If there is a formula [for development], it is ten per cent foreign inspiration and 90 per cent domestic perspiration</span>. – Michael Edwards, “Future Positive”<br /><br />Needless to say, I left the show feeling much more energized than when I entered. I’d like to attribute my new found energy to those people whose perspiration I commend. But there’s an outside chance it was just a sugar rush!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhthdcTcqtofOkpEqO_2t1VYRksGGZMNVsUj2uXgaORmjLlqIWReTAAFvaZr63q2RCDAoTTu_JEwExzrRuzv5WG2kyrENxrVLpiRmPF6k9QmCcu29gyW854Gr_0gMDEklo4StGj_IbpkUM/s1600-h/DSCN1538.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhthdcTcqtofOkpEqO_2t1VYRksGGZMNVsUj2uXgaORmjLlqIWReTAAFvaZr63q2RCDAoTTu_JEwExzrRuzv5WG2kyrENxrVLpiRmPF6k9QmCcu29gyW854Gr_0gMDEklo4StGj_IbpkUM/s320/DSCN1538.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231656683499139042" border="0" /></a>Lots of love,<br /><br />T :)<br /><br />BTW, I've changed the comments settings (finally!) to allow people to comment without creating an account. So feel free to comment away!Thulasy B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05684756554935293625noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2571428340086750413.post-80457684723501492562008-06-28T12:55:00.012+02:002008-06-28T14:44:33.131+02:00You are what you share<span style="font-weight: bold;">Writer’s block.</span><br /><br />Almost one year ago, I was packing my bags in Edmonton in preparation for this wild journey. I was getting ready for one month of intense but fun-tastic pre-departure training in Toronto, and I was in <a href="http://thulasy.blogspot.com/2007/08/im-off.html">giddy anticipation</a> of what was awaiting me in Zambia…<br /><br />Now, one year later, I’ve been doing some serious reflection about the time that’s passed oh so quickly. My reflective head-space, and a timely (and lovely) visit with my parents, pulled me up – waaaaaay up – from the day-to-day of the project and allowed me to take a much needed look around (and a welcome breath of fresh Capetonian air!) It also, unfortunately, brought on a crippling case of writer’s block, hence my long silence. What was so crippling?<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijurBXEhUm8y-2o5bHwvrm1_BFEA8xjigDFUOnIdBhGqEOZboLrcLmWeHxESbTy4xG9iKEHz063CXK8vPeIT8PORkZkrvvyekrMRVlVInGRMXro3S0hJEYq2T0XiM0b0jIZFDgWRivDnE/s1600-h/1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijurBXEhUm8y-2o5bHwvrm1_BFEA8xjigDFUOnIdBhGqEOZboLrcLmWeHxESbTy4xG9iKEHz063CXK8vPeIT8PORkZkrvvyekrMRVlVInGRMXro3S0hJEYq2T0XiM0b0jIZFDgWRivDnE/s320/1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216885152869426786" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">On safari (and hiatus) with Amma and Appa</span><br /></div><br />There was just so much on my mind and so much in my heart that couldn’t possibly put into words. The increasingly somber tone of my posts worried me, as they both accurately described the internal challenges I was battling but inaccurately implied that I was no longer excited or having any fun.<br /><br />During this time, I also read <a href="http://www.wethinkthebook.net/home.aspx">a book</a> that introduced me to an idea that I suppose I’ve always intuited but never really put into practice. The idea – You are what you share. How very true. This blog was my attempt to share my experience in Zambia with my friends and family.<br /><br />But I think I could have done better…my desire to fully immerse myself in Zambian life, my insecurity in writing and sharing with a wide audience, and not least of all, my lack of access to a speedy internet connection, all impeded my ability to share.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1QlW9UfI0ArcztiSCBDgpV1RHge46aXt19IlK2Y8-E7KTVSmnUxGjbjGzmfQhPf6zhMCCrI-nBTMX_ikMHrfBRFw0vxvkIYspRaONkb6fPLSblgEEblfgziEKx587XmIc_zMprIAPPas/s1600-h/2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1QlW9UfI0ArcztiSCBDgpV1RHge46aXt19IlK2Y8-E7KTVSmnUxGjbjGzmfQhPf6zhMCCrI-nBTMX_ikMHrfBRFw0vxvkIYspRaONkb6fPLSblgEEblfgziEKx587XmIc_zMprIAPPas/s320/2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216885159983876018" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Sharing anyone?</span>?<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">(I wish I could’ve shared this<br />hand-shelled-roasted-pounded-whew<br />peanut butter with you!)</span><br /></div><br />But since, as some of you know, I’ve decided to say on for another year, I’ve taken on a personal commitment to share more and share better. In doing this, I’m hoping to take advantage of all that Web 2.0 has to offer (internet allowing!) I’ve started by adding an RSS feed for my blog, including some social bookmarking links at the bottom of each post, and (gasp!) joining Facebook (feel free to ridicule me…but I still stand by all previous Facebook related sentiments!)<br /><br />In the spirit of sharing (errr...self promotion?), here are links to a couple of articles I helped write:<br /><br />Bright Ideas EWB-ISG Canada's e-newsletter May 2008:<br /><a href="http://www.ewb.ca/e-news/en/2008/05/2">The unpredictability of development</a><br /><br />APEGGA's The PEGG June 2008:<br /><a href="http://www.apegga.org/Members/Publications/peggs/Web06-08/EWB-Builds-Sorghum-Crop-in-Zambia.html">EWB Builds Sorghum Crop in Zambia</a><br /><br />As for this post, I will share some fun photos I should’ve shared a long ago.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Cooking with Ba George<br /><br /></span><span>I've mentioned my co-worker and friend <a href="http://thulasy.blogspot.com/2008/03/unabashed-10.html">George's mad story telling skillz in a previous post</a>. Little did I know that he had some more mad skillz up his sleeve...<br /><br /></span>What follows is a play-by-play of an eventful morning I spent with George, as he shared with me his passion for cookery and horticulture.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhllYw2slLdT8w5YsrhAYaUIOPUsweMkwBcvA-wJtywXElbSwwKxlgyFrIFf9M6UYNs-4Ez2KRUJBQJhyJ8JIiQk4NuN-jdqHKym469Gei21uHg9UAjQE7NZYbwkmFMSKXYHwzJ8ZS6SDU/s1600-h/3.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhllYw2slLdT8w5YsrhAYaUIOPUsweMkwBcvA-wJtywXElbSwwKxlgyFrIFf9M6UYNs-4Ez2KRUJBQJhyJ8JIiQk4NuN-jdqHKym469Gei21uHg9UAjQE7NZYbwkmFMSKXYHwzJ8ZS6SDU/s320/3.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216885168379139026" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">George may seem like an everyday, ordinary Zambian guy...but George likes doing what no other Zambian guy likes doing...<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;">George LOVES to cook!</span><br /></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;">After discovering this about George,</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> I did what any other disbelieving person would do...</span><span style="font-style: italic;">I invited myself over for lunch. I needed evidence.</span><br /></div><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtmOdW7QQKVnvKh4tSwbsvo3yfVCPY5seGaaF9yZeCAaUraW4KhbZXupxVZHJ8W7bqz9CIkUFK2tL9_5u119ZgcDef_l-vJUc4iXg30CMxUzSdqyGiB1guy79gm_Aos5trhbz74eHp774/s1600-h/IMG_1971.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtmOdW7QQKVnvKh4tSwbsvo3yfVCPY5seGaaF9yZeCAaUraW4KhbZXupxVZHJ8W7bqz9CIkUFK2tL9_5u119ZgcDef_l-vJUc4iXg30CMxUzSdqyGiB1guy79gm_Aos5trhbz74eHp774/s320/IMG_1971.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216894022672358210" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Worried that the program would be canceled due to a power outage, I tentatively entered George's yard only the find him already busy tending to some beans (my favorite!) on a charcoal stove.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">He was NOT going to let me down.</span><br /></div><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaR8l_chNcqVbdHI_-Ykh3epNC2jY2mPn04JWcVHuLhmu1TQwzd4Q_ln9QzCJ8Rtj9_buTeMr6izLwtgonsIG5dkgzlDZmuDohuJt4VzFFJP-AYScPAMv_X4GP2NRbb8JGAB_LaEa12zc/s1600-h/4.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaR8l_chNcqVbdHI_-Ykh3epNC2jY2mPn04JWcVHuLhmu1TQwzd4Q_ln9QzCJ8Rtj9_buTeMr6izLwtgonsIG5dkgzlDZmuDohuJt4VzFFJP-AYScPAMv_X4GP2NRbb8JGAB_LaEa12zc/s320/4.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216885187077471650" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">George jumped up and immediately started with what I soon realized was a tutorial.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">He started by deftly cutting a pumpkin into bite-size pieces, readied it for some solid steaming, then moved onto his personal favorite, kalembula (sweet potato leaves).</span><br /></div><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij7HwzuFWvze8oULMgnj3HsXmxAHCfZ5D8pO9lhDk8skYUSq8bkkcc25i75BsRNxoGmHOg46fDsQZbfCMfvbzQdJ3k8jLS0uKkmM3E6LCwJp9wYe9nwOooL7vnSxx7AF2muCFl4nsqvgA/s1600-h/6.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij7HwzuFWvze8oULMgnj3HsXmxAHCfZ5D8pO9lhDk8skYUSq8bkkcc25i75BsRNxoGmHOg46fDsQZbfCMfvbzQdJ3k8jLS0uKkmM3E6LCwJp9wYe9nwOooL7vnSxx7AF2muCFl4nsqvgA/s320/6.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216885844510257282" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4kdEPUfNzR2dQgyOcxwslbghltwa6VqrUeABI3uO_LdiLZO-9opmKxcyVPUYXGCcT9lQA7kW3-oWX70GKfhqbi1Li9aVeq4Yk6KZfuHdfFKal_B-gDYBseufNEbbRsDwyPNR46wzIRjU/s1600-h/7.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4kdEPUfNzR2dQgyOcxwslbghltwa6VqrUeABI3uO_LdiLZO-9opmKxcyVPUYXGCcT9lQA7kW3-oWX70GKfhqbi1Li9aVeq4Yk6KZfuHdfFKal_B-gDYBseufNEbbRsDwyPNR46wzIRjU/s320/7.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216885846926316498" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">George says the key to preparing kalembula is to dry the leaves in the sun before frying them in a little bit of cooking oil.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Zambian women have forgotten how to cook traditional meals," George explains, "They think cooking means cooking oil!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Most daughters just do what their mothers do, they add the tomatoes at the end. But I found that it makes the dish too watery, so I started adding them in the middle, so that the water boils off."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Even after telling my wife this, she still doesn't know why my kalembula is better than hers!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">George's comments provide an insight to the strict norms that guide Zambia's food culture. People rarely stray from what's always been done, let alone experiment and innovate.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">George, however, is far from normal.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAdzxCMShZ4s7p3XZ0rwqt0vlUjppry6oy-0C3Fsd8JP0vQircDmoeN4pG1KnIXPI7tpcf_q9mSHY2bsSx7Q4PGA49FhGDutTB6-pRV9I_LSwh3PV9LDeAEjK0mrSgBRAmJWe63VzCfvI/s1600-h/IMG_1973.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAdzxCMShZ4s7p3XZ0rwqt0vlUjppry6oy-0C3Fsd8JP0vQircDmoeN4pG1KnIXPI7tpcf_q9mSHY2bsSx7Q4PGA49FhGDutTB6-pRV9I_LSwh3PV9LDeAEjK0mrSgBRAmJWe63VzCfvI/s320/IMG_1973.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216899811643918914" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">When George was young, he spent hours toiling away in his uncle's garden. This was where he learned how to plant okra and beans, how to cultivate pumpkins and sweet potatoes, how to nurture tomatoes and onions.<br /><br />He LOVES gardening.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"It requires dedication, passion, and ingenuity," he says as he shows off his most prized item...a young pumpkin with sprawling leaves that are often used in cooking.</span><br /></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY1USvdz-zLqkUW-N1U5Hme80uSHRSYfMgVvhJao7NozyfTPe50aQznMp0bRkhNvvZEFIszVynbSwggOLoe84kW2xCQeRE5yDm175na2fkb1V9YGb9WfVqP_7as87y9DWbaK8C6MqYooI/s1600-h/8.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY1USvdz-zLqkUW-N1U5Hme80uSHRSYfMgVvhJao7NozyfTPe50aQznMp0bRkhNvvZEFIszVynbSwggOLoe84kW2xCQeRE5yDm175na2fkb1V9YGb9WfVqP_7as87y9DWbaK8C6MqYooI/s320/8.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216886894069476018" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsDwrkgr1T0PKCGeXwx1A_FRWzOty7c0BmWavW9K4dYs-AcdbP3usrx6PIdwL4fUTt6MtyBRoGxstaC2uNUPPXir_tVMYVijhBkGmk4uY8S9hZm4p3zz_Q7VD1qTCKIsQxRFRZ2OC9kqc/s1600-h/10.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsDwrkgr1T0PKCGeXwx1A_FRWzOty7c0BmWavW9K4dYs-AcdbP3usrx6PIdwL4fUTt6MtyBRoGxstaC2uNUPPXir_tVMYVijhBkGmk4uY8S9hZm4p3zz_Q7VD1qTCKIsQxRFRZ2OC9kqc/s320/10.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216886897939262322" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">George moved onto to the chicken next, which he had seasoned and left to dry in the sun before deep frying to perfection.<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8MrcAw4fCU5Fti0gbp5kP4hxC47i_-OBj12hptszH7tsKLqHBxKc7tTRxGtd-1YnjO-wv9CKzQ_nfPYpTAlaVIjOkkf9K5zCI00lFEeFye0Kz1xYUSX5t_Nw0z5aekSOlNbtOYwYkvaU/s1600-h/11.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8MrcAw4fCU5Fti0gbp5kP4hxC47i_-OBj12hptszH7tsKLqHBxKc7tTRxGtd-1YnjO-wv9CKzQ_nfPYpTAlaVIjOkkf9K5zCI00lFEeFye0Kz1xYUSX5t_Nw0z5aekSOlNbtOYwYkvaU/s320/11.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216886896705900594" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">It soon became time to prepare the nshima, the thick porridge made of maize flour that is the core of every meal.<br /><br />George showed me how to avoid making lumpy nshima. "This is important," he says, "to impressive the in-laws."Apparently lumpy nshima does not show well.<br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1wnMM_4Ciq9e2YmCjIzWvbu5wj3uRWr8iRUPQTHlo1AeF_cuSxPve3W5ES_7lnFMIo31vxAUvS0DNEnYAPVIFLhKy1mOxhQaGIvoRyvwRw5jtJc43YG4Yb2QyC2ANj3R5HbGFiHrHxLw/s1600-h/12.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1wnMM_4Ciq9e2YmCjIzWvbu5wj3uRWr8iRUPQTHlo1AeF_cuSxPve3W5ES_7lnFMIo31vxAUvS0DNEnYAPVIFLhKy1mOxhQaGIvoRyvwRw5jtJc43YG4Yb2QyC2ANj3R5HbGFiHrHxLw/s320/12.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216886897021915570" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPwlSJgaihIh2QuZsrqLBn-6xjli9A64IplfEId3_WY1tg3w6KkGtFh3XvlUkrWok_bAx-TC4rJsFpJI02E5dCmU6c52LZlOaQeJmVSjQS9LWPzUCOijCIyeUaOqTvIDSlW2rzl2xbKJg/s1600-h/13.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPwlSJgaihIh2QuZsrqLBn-6xjli9A64IplfEId3_WY1tg3w6KkGtFh3XvlUkrWok_bAx-TC4rJsFpJI02E5dCmU6c52LZlOaQeJmVSjQS9LWPzUCOijCIyeUaOqTvIDSlW2rzl2xbKJg/s320/13.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216886904817292930" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Before I knew it, it was time to eat the feast!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">On the menu: Nshima with beans, kalembula, and fried chicken</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />For dessert: Steamed pumpkin and baked potato served with gooseberry jam</span><br /></div><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKfNDheMXCRVO6yILlqnuH0dZNcCgCkTVd-7PQsODyiovAUaqIE9Z63M-_acV4KtpkvitZWk55yLVon5Y00-mDoxJFDkEzOTAiZB9SJkg5Dq7yUjBoS1ArQi0jES1gxewwt6QT3VorT3A/s1600-h/14.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKfNDheMXCRVO6yILlqnuH0dZNcCgCkTVd-7PQsODyiovAUaqIE9Z63M-_acV4KtpkvitZWk55yLVon5Y00-mDoxJFDkEzOTAiZB9SJkg5Dq7yUjBoS1ArQi0jES1gxewwt6QT3VorT3A/s320/14.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216887391583431778" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">As we sat down to enjoy the fruits of George's labour, he told me how his aspiration is to own a restaurant, where he can serve traditional meals made with garden-fresh ingredients.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">In his spare time, he wants to write. His dream is to see his stories, the ones I LOVE to hear, in print.</span><br /></div><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;">I think George is a rare individual, not just here in Zambia, but anywhere really. And I consider myself lucky to have him as one of my friends. He's living proof that you are what you share, for George will always be what he's shared with me - a dedicated gardener, a passionate chef, and a riveting story-teller.<br /><br />T :)<br /></div></div>Thulasy B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05684756554935293625noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2571428340086750413.post-10830412612713827552008-05-06T14:14:00.004+02:002008-05-06T14:44:41.859+02:00Somewhere over the moonbow...<span style="font-weight: bold;">A pixie named Leroy.<br /><br /></span>A friend of mine and I went on one of those post-high-school backpacking-around-Europe misadventures back in 2001. In Munich, we befriended a bunch of Irish folk who were squatting at the Big Tent hostel…which is exactly as its name suggests. After a night of campfire sing-a-longs and indulging in bevies as the Irish are wont to do, our new friend Connor claimed to have seen a pixie in the bushes. “I saw a pixie named Leroy,” he boasted, stating this without a hint of sarcasm but as a clear, conscious, and absolute truth.<br /><br />A pixie named Leroy, eh?<br /><br />Maybe it was the moonlight. Maybe it was the Irish. Maybe it was the Jager.<br /><br />Or maybe…<br /><br />I never did meet the pixie named Leroy. I often derided myself for not being able to suspend my disbelief…why is it that I allow myself to automatically deny the inexplicable? Have I completely lost my sense of imagination?<br /><br />Last month, however, I saw something that reawakened my imagination. I saw a moonbow – yes, a moonbow – over the Victoria Falls during the last full moon. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lunar_rainbow">Lunar rainbows</a> are a spectacular phenomenon to behold. All you need is a big waterfall. Check. A big moon. Check. And a big night sky. Check.<br /><br />Viewing it with a few close friends certainly helps, as does an irreverent attitude towards getting drenched.<br /><br />We ran through the spray of the Falls in darkness, chasing moonbows as if they were pixies, trying to touch them with our fingers and toes (one of us claimed to do so…she said it felt like crystals). We screamed at the top of our lungs, giddy from enchantment (but also ridiculously cold from the Fall’s spray). We marveled at the beautiful circle in the sky as its light fractured into a spectrum of colour, made sparkles of the billowing mist, and all the while, lifted our spirits. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">“Why Bother?”</span><br /><br />I must admit, I’ve had a pretty rough last couple of months. I lost a lot of my gusto. Pffft. Gone. A few of my previous posts have alluded to the frustrations I’ve been feeling with development work. My oh my is it hard. It tests your faith, faith being a word with laden meaning in these parts. My faith in the realization of a better world has certainly been tested. In fact, it was almost broken.<br /><br />In low moments like that, one hesitantly allows the big question to creep in, “Why bother?” <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2008/04/20/magazine/20wwln-lede-t.html?ref=magazine">A recent article in the NY Times with that exact title</a> articulated this feeling of hopelessness quite well. In the context of the ever-mounting environmental challenges our world is facing, the author observed this of Al Gore’s suggestion that we all change our light bulbs:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The immense disproportion between the magnitude of the problem Gore had described and the puniness of what he was asking us to do about it was enough to sink your heart. </span><br /><br />Sink your heart indeed.<br /><br />But that’s just in the first paragraph. The author goes on to provide a compelling argument as to why, exactly, we should bother. Now, I’m personally not one to be motivated by big, empty statements like, “Every little bit counts” and was worried the article would go down that same, worn, futile path. I’m also not one to respond positively to the militant shouts of activists that pass judgment on and make unreasonable demands of us lay folk. Thankfully, he did neither.<br /><br />What I appreciated about his thesis, which is for us all to start gardening, is not the technical merits of the act itself – such as reducing your carbon footprint, saving money on food, reducing household waste through composting, or losing weight by exercising – but his emphasis on the “habits of mind” that come from a “solution that begets other solutions”.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">At least in this one corner of your yard and life, you will have begun to heal the split between what you think and what you do, to commingle your identities as consumer and producer and citizen… The single greatest lesson the garden teaches is that our relationship to the planet need not be zero-sum, and that as long as the sun still shines and people still can plan and plant, think and do, we can, if we bother to try, find ways to provide for ourselves without diminishing the world.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">When in doubt, go to the village. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Ndatebula mapopwe, ndagama inhombe, ndapanga garden… </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(I harvested maize, I milked the cows, I made a garden…)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Ulapeja!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(You are lying!)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Nchobeni!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(Really!)</span><br /><br />Coincidentally, (or perhaps not, as I tend to lead myself around in self-referential circles) I found myself in a garden shortly after reading this article.<br /><br />I was down and out and in desperate need of a pick-me-up, and there’s no better place for that than in the village. In the village, you say? Yes, in the village.<br /><br />Whyson, my co-worker, says that when outsiders see images of village life or drive through in roaring white land-cruisers, they say, “Oh, these people are suffering.” Yes, one cannot deny that there is a fair bit of suffering in rural Zambia. But what visitors fail to see, Whyson says, “is that these people are <span style="font-style: italic;">living</span>.”<br /><br />There are a lot of lessons to be learned in the village, many of which fall into those “habits of mind” the author described in the Times article. Waking when the sun rose, sweeping the ground, harvesting the maize crop, milking the cows (and making tea with it 5 minutes later), watering the garden, bicycling to see the relatives, greeting everyone we passed, heating water for a bath, and sleeping when the sun set.<br /><br />I worked very hard alongside my hosts, trying my best to keep up and realizing all along that not only have my muscles atrophied from under-use but so has my mind. The abundant world in which I was raised has actually limited my ability to conceive of what is possible, of what my body is capable of, of the elegance in simplicity.<br /><br />There is so much we <span style="font-style: italic;">can </span>do.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">At the end of the moonbow…</span><br /><br />Romanticizing life in the village is clearly not going to move any of us any further ahead.<br /><br />I didn’t fail to notice the queue at the doctor-less clinic; the bare foot children walking over 7 km to go to school; the piles of dead trees used for fuel; and, the fields and fields and fields of maize and sorghum destroyed by a season that saw a drought follow a flood.<br /><br />I could’ve easily let these things turn my bad mood into a more worrisome cynicism, but luckily, my cathartic release at seeing a moonbow (!!) did much to heal my soul, assuage my doubts, and spark my imagination.<br /><br />It allowed me to open my eyes to more than the obvious…to the amazing community network that has been built up around the clinic; the earnestness of the school children to get that oh so valuable education; the sparing and careful use of fire wood because of its high costs (time and energy to collect it); and, the delicateness that is our relationship with the earth. <br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Sometimes you have to act as if acting will make a difference, even when you can’t prove that it will.</span><br /><br />I still don’t know if Connor really saw a pixie. I’m also not quite sure I can explain what kind of spell I was under when I felt what can only be described as Joy at Victoria Falls. But I do know that in all the complexities of this world, there is a lot of room for the inexplicable. And if I’m ok with that, I can also hope to one day discover a pot of good things at the end of the moonbow.<br /><br />T :)<br /><br />(Note: I purposefully omitted photos from this post to spark your imagination. "What does a moonbow look like?" That's the same as asking, "What does a better world look like?"...just close your eyes...)Thulasy B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05684756554935293625noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2571428340086750413.post-74771170637748877662008-04-04T15:26:00.007+02:002008-04-04T16:19:52.624+02:00The Story of Muzya<span style="font-weight: bold;">At a loss for words.</span><br /><br />There are plenty of words swimming around in my head. Important words…community, trust, cooperation, solidarity, respect, pride, love…and yet, I simply cannot find the words to tell this particular story.<br /><br />So what follows is a simplified (and some may say romanticized) version of the story I want to tell.<br /><br />It’s about the amazing community of Muzya.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Once upon a time…</span><br /><br />Not so long ago, there was hunger in the Southern Province.<br /><br />Another year, another drought.<br /><br />There was no maize. When there’s no maize, there’s no food.<br /><br />But when there’s no food, there’s always <span style="font-style: italic;">chiholehole </span>– food aid.<br /><br />Food aid is important. Food aid is necessary. Well…food aid is necessary sometimes.<br /><br />Other times it destroys people. It destroys their ability, nay, their <span style="font-style: italic;">desire</span>, to feed themselves.<br /><br />Chronic drought begets chronic food aid...chronic food aid begets dependency, and dependency leaves people…wanting.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0JTQ5RJlP-qbXp9_O1HAhcOlQco_KK7DpRGoUwRt70C7v3Z5y_kUpP0L-uPUtzR4_Q_Ihl7aykRldwaKB2sB288Qvo7tCNsSurK660dl_1oLDIPgjI1Z3THNojBhUNEa9vQ-Rt7ftX-c/s1600-h/IMG_1547.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0JTQ5RJlP-qbXp9_O1HAhcOlQco_KK7DpRGoUwRt70C7v3Z5y_kUpP0L-uPUtzR4_Q_Ihl7aykRldwaKB2sB288Qvo7tCNsSurK660dl_1oLDIPgjI1Z3THNojBhUNEa9vQ-Rt7ftX-c/s320/IMG_1547.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185382232109655922" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Farmers and observers.</span><br /><br />In rural Zambia, you will find farmers, and you will find observers.<br /><br />Farmers farm. Observers watch…and wait…and follow…slooooooowly.<br /><br />In Muzya, you will only find farmers.<br /><br />But the farmers in Muzya have not been spared from drought. They have suffered deeply.<br /><br />And yet…<br /><br />They have not let it – or the food aid that followed it – destroy them.<br /><br />In Muzya, you find that rare blend…that elusive, intangible, yet unmistakable quality of a community that every development project dreams of working with…<br /><br />Muzya has social capital.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPFec9nsRAiB1uNiNMtV-pn2vMITviQqKhlvkCv0vfivmm4oVz_DJeNirt4ugmWdqVmuW_zxvremYDDM80zQF9KGQ1Qqzx1uOIPmGLqztNUnVsRsMRf7U6N8h0iRobYGy4BYbq4O63F5w/s1600-h/IMG_1621.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPFec9nsRAiB1uNiNMtV-pn2vMITviQqKhlvkCv0vfivmm4oVz_DJeNirt4ugmWdqVmuW_zxvremYDDM80zQF9KGQ1Qqzx1uOIPmGLqztNUnVsRsMRf7U6N8h0iRobYGy4BYbq4O63F5w/s320/IMG_1621.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185382236404623234" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">What is social capital?<br /><br /></span>Dictionary definitions don’t seem to suffice with this one. Again, I can’t seem to find the words. But there are a lot of words. These are some of my favorites:<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEOAaCNS6Gs-Aez_HDe86C2qPKIsf8-PDPAPmvZLMvCuCGPbDzsLxUL3DVMy7hgx92ds1gBtViIizR4sQlLZjKCP_9ZYhxPr42tP_Iwaa1AaunfnimV3Fgr6HogyG2LwEVy6pNYZEiSxA/s1600-h/untitled.bmp"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEOAaCNS6Gs-Aez_HDe86C2qPKIsf8-PDPAPmvZLMvCuCGPbDzsLxUL3DVMy7hgx92ds1gBtViIizR4sQlLZjKCP_9ZYhxPr42tP_Iwaa1AaunfnimV3Fgr6HogyG2LwEVy6pNYZEiSxA/s320/untitled.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185393390434691058" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">In Muzya, you find…</span><br /><br />An authentic sense of cooperation.<br /><br />A genuine desire to learn.<br /><br />A genuine desire to make things better.<br /><br />Friends and families and acquaintances working side by side…<br /><br />For themselves and for each other.<br /><br />And from all this, given the right conditions, you find…<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">SUCCESS</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMHW4HIxyLatmbydcc5KJpdwbtJVikDxNB9UN6_4u1JAZUi8wWTv1IvoyfNcqGEzkEaP7ure_e6yuotUlY6K3k8fHk1JrrNSoN29fLkmBrDkou7XPCpZdn60TtPCBeVu4WHxWD6S-kks8/s1600-h/IMG_1628.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMHW4HIxyLatmbydcc5KJpdwbtJVikDxNB9UN6_4u1JAZUi8wWTv1IvoyfNcqGEzkEaP7ure_e6yuotUlY6K3k8fHk1JrrNSoN29fLkmBrDkou7XPCpZdn60TtPCBeVu4WHxWD6S-kks8/s320/IMG_1628.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185382240699590546" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Why does this matter?</span><br /><br />Many development projects are designed around the assumption that people can be banded together to cooperate towards ends that are seemingly beneficial to all.<br /><br />They assume social capital can be institutionalized.<br /><br />Taught. Learned. Forced. Imposed.<br /><br />I’m not sure how much confidence I have in this assumption, for among all the communities we’re working in, Muzya is the only one I can safely say is succeeding.<br /><br />And my hunch is that they’re succeeding because they came after us instead of us coming after them.<br /><br />You see, Muzya was never meant to be part of this project.<br /><br />They were never identified from our “assessments” as being a “strong” community group.<br /><br />They came of out of nowhere, not only demanding our attention but proving themselves worthy of participation.<br /><br />They grew sorghum and they even out grew our selected communities!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXH0pwm_7L5B4oqVPMHtgnMXzJvUj4uOnfbgq2gUEzEHFHQpnLVVOFIyT9A7yxV193GzjZKvTSUDWCIIhh8DU-WOJbQmhCtDLMCOI_C0Zg1KR1PzWnqTTzqLtoHl1FSVf3_ZgBKpiU_qo/s1600-h/IMG_1960.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXH0pwm_7L5B4oqVPMHtgnMXzJvUj4uOnfbgq2gUEzEHFHQpnLVVOFIyT9A7yxV193GzjZKvTSUDWCIIhh8DU-WOJbQmhCtDLMCOI_C0Zg1KR1PzWnqTTzqLtoHl1FSVf3_ZgBKpiU_qo/s320/IMG_1960.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185382244994557874" border="0" /></a><br />They demanded more sorghum seed. They said they were willing to buy it.<br /><br />They demanded a contract with the sorghum buyer. They said they were able to meet the targets.<br /><br />And in a year heavy rainfall, when all seems to be lost, where farmers all over the province are reporting significant crop failure, where even commercial farmers aren’t harvesting sorghum…<br /><br />Muzya’s harvest will be plentiful.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAYWt5OFGQ2ZmwKhlTMw7XWkpeStmBzTcoHN3rWMysZdd8a2kiJPeVDnLNVQokxCJXNFlJyYb6wX4hpsvOWkbzvnmiub3SqVLHNIngB_TpFQkLypFysVoMc3OIk0URQiqHwxCtecUNHL0/s1600-h/IMG_2018.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAYWt5OFGQ2ZmwKhlTMw7XWkpeStmBzTcoHN3rWMysZdd8a2kiJPeVDnLNVQokxCJXNFlJyYb6wX4hpsvOWkbzvnmiub3SqVLHNIngB_TpFQkLypFysVoMc3OIk0URQiqHwxCtecUNHL0/s320/IMG_2018.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185384508442322882" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">How do you make or find more Muzya’s?</span><br /><br />This is the hard part.<br /><br />So many rural communities are suffering from not only drought, but also deep mistrust and jealousy and apathy.<br /><br />Is it possible to just get everyone to play together?<br /><br />Methinks not.<br /><br />Or maybe we’re just not thinking about it in the best way. Maybe there is another way to meet the same end. Maybe we need to change the way things are done…or maybe we need to change the way we <span style="font-style: italic;">think </span>about the way things are done.<br /><br />This development business keeps throwing me curve balls. I’m fighting hard to stay in the game, but while I swing and miss, the practice will hopefully serve me well one day.<br /><br />In the meantime, I will learn as much as I can from the people of Muzya. For they have the hard part figured out. Given the right opportunities, I’m sure they’ll hit them out of the park.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0KTEhVjh27wSRyl7OsRCQcsy3vbTl9dXz1RqLVgCsHwGmIcpLn5P8HenC0hYtufPeMMSMuEGPHBigPQ1FqwCnmpOqTlYLXmC470g0vqcKMk80i2syMpGfK45gbJhDR6sEM-JhkN1MeJ4/s1600-h/IMG_1707.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0KTEhVjh27wSRyl7OsRCQcsy3vbTl9dXz1RqLVgCsHwGmIcpLn5P8HenC0hYtufPeMMSMuEGPHBigPQ1FqwCnmpOqTlYLXmC470g0vqcKMk80i2syMpGfK45gbJhDR6sEM-JhkN1MeJ4/s320/IMG_1707.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185382244994557858" border="0" /></a>T :)Thulasy B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05684756554935293625noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2571428340086750413.post-69703190015203868192008-03-03T14:08:00.017+02:002008-03-03T15:26:32.987+02:00An unabashed 10!<span style="font-weight: bold;">Sharing happiness (scores).</span><br /><br />Despite the somber tone of the previous post, I can assure you that the fun wheel is still a’turnin’ for me in Zambia. Life here continues to make me smile on a daily basis. And the reason I’m still smiling (borderline dopey grinning!) is because of my deep appreciation of the things that are keeping me emotionally healthy and happy. When the project gets me down, it’s my home community that brings me back up.<br /><br />Every quarter, all the EWB volunteers in Zambia and Malawi get together for retreats where we reconnect, share experiences, work on a number of exciting development challenges, and of course, have a ridiculous amount of fun. These retreats give us an opportunity to step back from the day-to-day of our placements and take a broader more objective look at our work and our lives. Last weekend, we met in Zambia, along the Lower Zambezi.<br /><br />We begin each retreat with a round of updates: Each volunteer stands in front of the group and describes their current situation with respect to their 1) Project, 2) Partner Organization, 3) Home Life, 4) Impact, and 5) Overall Self. After describing them, we’re asked attach a happiness score (on a scale of 1 to 10) to each. Obviously there is no standard scale with which to measure “happiness”, but simply asking someone how happy something is making them is a surprisingly great way gauge it.<br /><br />For the most part, volunteers are very happy. It’s rare to see happiness scores below 5, but it’s equally rare to see a happiness scores higher than an 8. When considering my own scores, I didn’t have to think twice about what I’d rate my Home Life. Without any hesitation, I threw down a big ole 10! This post is all about why I love my home life oh so much.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Life on a farm.<br /><br /></span>The advantages of living on a farm are many: the fresh air, the quiet serenity, the big family community feel, the simplicity. But one of the things people like most about living on a farm is that food is plentiful, if the season is favorable and you’re lucky, of course! And we’ve been pretty lucky (so far) this year (fingers crossed!)<br /><br />We have a massive mango orchard here at the farm, planted back when white farmers ruled this roost. Mango season has ended (something I’m still mourning), but back when all the mangoes were just ripening on the branch, it became urgently apparent that we must raid the orchard. We ran amongst the trees and scrambled up their excessively climbable branches (is it possible that evolution has naturally selected for mango trees with excessively climbable branches?)<br /><br />While one hand was throwing mangoes in a sack, the other was greedily feeding them straight off the tree and into my mouth. We gorged on what can only be described as succulent gifts from god. We couldn’t help ourselves. It was wonderful…until that night, of course, when our tum-tums suffered from the gluttony that was the raid. But it was worth it. Everyone needs to raid a mango orchard at least once in their lives. Mmmmm, I can’t wait for the oranges to be ready!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-wRKY9cK30EtTPKEQMHMC1vg1aIyIx_2shDKh1t5qbbk78U4fUZE2Sy_rPHs45HCMLILmKwcfjjJQFxCzSM4emo7lZ0mKKp8RtJKJAf956WGt5-E0ODlt5o_WEKq78W63pxLJOlAEyWg/s1600-h/IMG_1145_2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-wRKY9cK30EtTPKEQMHMC1vg1aIyIx_2shDKh1t5qbbk78U4fUZE2Sy_rPHs45HCMLILmKwcfjjJQFxCzSM4emo7lZ0mKKp8RtJKJAf956WGt5-E0ODlt5o_WEKq78W63pxLJOlAEyWg/s320/IMG_1145_2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5173489804683340114" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Me in a mango tree</span><br /></div><br />We started harvesting fresh maize from the garden in early January. There are two ways to enjoy these hearty cobs – either roasting them or boiling them. And boil and roast we did! For the whole month, I would come home from work to find a cob (or four!) waiting for me. I came to enjoy chewing on these not for their yum factor (they are not as sweet or soft as corn on the cob back in Canada) but for the social factor.<br /><br />We would huddle around an open fire, roasting the maize beside the hot coals, preparing tea in a pot on top, and laughing about something or other. This family loves to laugh. And to this day, my favorite moments at the farm happen under a clear star filled sky, beside a warm fire, as the lightening of distant storms flash all around us, and we sit, smiling and chewing.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL8oX50PZRgFiWEP8y7jv185nk5XlHoiM67i8S3HUMkzMPvkxNqoZB_epJM_48YyPTya9tKyT_3hOVS78HJG6DDzoc7TZzS8sOlXe9ozdIPPLaqpzZE4h3wmP9qRwR43bk966nPx576Ks/s1600-h/IMG_1802.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL8oX50PZRgFiWEP8y7jv185nk5XlHoiM67i8S3HUMkzMPvkxNqoZB_epJM_48YyPTya9tKyT_3hOVS78HJG6DDzoc7TZzS8sOlXe9ozdIPPLaqpzZE4h3wmP9qRwR43bk966nPx576Ks/s320/IMG_1802.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5173492574937246098" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Cob on the coals</span><br /></div><br />About one hundred days after we planted them in mid November, the Irish potatoes are now ready to be harvested. There are piles of potatoes everywhere I turn in the house! We sell the big ones to the local market where they fetch a pretty penny. The rest are for the family, for home consumption. We have chips for breakfast, we have boiled potatoes for lunch, we even have potatoes with nshima and relish for supper.<br /><br />I don’t think I’ve ever eaten so many potatoes on a daily basis, nor have I appreciated them as much. Potatoes are a treat for most Zambians, and I think this family’s potato gorge fest is driven by the fact that we’re incredibly lucky to have so many around.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlsvOCzwwxu9FHU0mHhyphenhyphenlvprwhAT1qZrUV5rQqUf58uqYkGDlZ-2s-l7JEygQ3NyzB7nRCGn2uP3aqvzVPKzVTYZc_3RjZwQXiUoM1D5UfdhKeapggHu9i11Albu8mHhn6ql757Oj66Ag/s1600-h/IMG_1826.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlsvOCzwwxu9FHU0mHhyphenhyphenlvprwhAT1qZrUV5rQqUf58uqYkGDlZ-2s-l7JEygQ3NyzB7nRCGn2uP3aqvzVPKzVTYZc_3RjZwQXiUoM1D5UfdhKeapggHu9i11Albu8mHhn6ql757Oj66Ag/s320/IMG_1826.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5173493000139008418" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Pile o' potatoes!</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi24BE4A2E7OQdV8EkLmb0S-qools3v30Zs-UbxfqXWsoyJjb_UywgWkqnO4Drx5kqgJJHPhzYaMR52UXb11Y411JhahpSNouPiv9RxWnxkeCjS65g4GTJ9U22mtvk5zsXUe3MGkiSdTwQ/s1600-h/IMG_1817.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi24BE4A2E7OQdV8EkLmb0S-qools3v30Zs-UbxfqXWsoyJjb_UywgWkqnO4Drx5kqgJJHPhzYaMR52UXb11Y411JhahpSNouPiv9RxWnxkeCjS65g4GTJ9U22mtvk5zsXUe3MGkiSdTwQ/s320/IMG_1817.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5173491002979215746" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Nyarai cools one down</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Friends I can count on (and laugh with!)</span><br /><br />Sylvia is my closest friend here in Zambia. Unlike other friendships I’ve made here, ours is not one of convenience but one of substance. I can speak to her just as I would with any of my close friends in Canada. No filters. No tip-toeing. No holds bar. She is my sounding board, and I’ve become hers. It’s wonderful.<br /><br />We also make fun of each other quite openly, which is the sign of any healthy friendship! I’ve recently felt free enough to ask her if there’s anything I do that the family thinks is completely ridiculous. I haven’t been able to pry any really good stuff out of her (she’s not a mean person), but apparently I have a strange laugh, so she says the family is often laughing at my laughing, not at my funny stories. Haha! I also tend to go, “Mmm hmm, mmm hmm” a lot when listening to someone speak. I never noticed this before, but the baby did and has fully adopted it in her repertoire of pre-speaking gibberish.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs-vGWqXAarbLT0FaBUKjW1qb9yrEt4O4YB6JuWx_KUu9dhRRcxPwcnG8KRIBLFTwPRFCYcr2UnzdOxNmtUsNpvfcSpc9RjeQv5QRuA1pdDE46UNyRUEt_x9ns2wNIVo7nb_6EK1VMouU/s1600-h/IMG_1102.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs-vGWqXAarbLT0FaBUKjW1qb9yrEt4O4YB6JuWx_KUu9dhRRcxPwcnG8KRIBLFTwPRFCYcr2UnzdOxNmtUsNpvfcSpc9RjeQv5QRuA1pdDE46UNyRUEt_x9ns2wNIVo7nb_6EK1VMouU/s320/IMG_1102.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5173488657927072050" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Sylvia would kill me if she knew I posted this one</span><br /></div><br />“Simon!!” “Moto?” Simon, one of my host brothers, should be blamed for causing me to laugh so hard (and apparently strangely). Simon is a proper Zambian comedian. He’s always got a clever little smile on his face and something funny to say. Our love of laughter has made our friendship a fun one. But he’s also a sweetheart who helps me with my Tonga lessons (in exchange for help with his English lessons) and shares with me his precious cobs of roasted maize.<br /><br />While riding our bicycles home to the farm one day, Simon decided to give me a Tonga name. He named me “Cholwe” (pronounced Jol-way). It means “lucky”. Many people have tried to give me a Tonga name while I’ve been here, but none of them stuck. That’s probably because they didn’t mean as much to me as Simon does.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEjzC0f9fK4ivM5vJH0g3Rz0qYEAPZXTnUUw5_8Nzzc1lkAQkUsk94qEIAndSacY7kiLs_O5XngQCJ8LBXKvh67AtGtiA30x7POtMeBQfFgpSddZ21q1pa-d37gkTtEFaVV7GQBfMkvmQ/s1600-h/IMG_1218.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEjzC0f9fK4ivM5vJH0g3Rz0qYEAPZXTnUUw5_8Nzzc1lkAQkUsk94qEIAndSacY7kiLs_O5XngQCJ8LBXKvh67AtGtiA30x7POtMeBQfFgpSddZ21q1pa-d37gkTtEFaVV7GQBfMkvmQ/s320/IMG_1218.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5173490221295167842" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">From left to right: </span><span style="font-style: italic;">Peter, Sandra, </span><span style="font-style: italic;">Simon<br />(of course), </span><span style="font-style: italic;">Twaambo, and Benzu</span><br /></div><br />At work, I’ve made an unlikely friendship with our office administrator George. George has become my official story teller. He tells me long, animated, and often hilarious stories all the time. He first started telling me about animals because he loves them so much. And each story begins with a fact.<br /><br />“FACT: Dogs can smell in a 10km radius.”<br /><br />“FACT: Hyenas can be domesticated like dogs.”<br /><br />“FACT: Badgers will attack if provoked despite their inferior size.”<br /><br />The stories have since become more elaborate and grand in scope but no less amusing.<br /><br />“FACT: You can have all the qualities in the world, but if you don’t have etiquette, you can’t dine with the Queen.”<br /><br />“FACT: Tailors, watch repair men, shoe repair men, and the bus stop boys cannot be trusted.”<br /><br />I nearly die laughing during each of his stories, as I’m genuinely swept away in his wit and wild gesticulation. I’ve always been a sucker for the excessive use of onomatopoeia: “Kakakakakaka! Qua, qua, qua! Chweeeee! Chweeeee!”<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The wonderfulness of Kalomo, in general.</span><br /><br />Perhaps I’m looking at life through rose-coloured glasses, but I really do like the sleepy small town of Kalomo. There’s not much going on. It has no particular aesthetic appeal. It’s described by some as just being a big village. But I don’t know, there’s something here I just like.<br /><br />Perhaps it’s the yummy whole wheat buns Mrs. Mainza makes just for me on special order, out of her home and at no charge. Whole wheat bread is hard to find in general and is non-existent in Kalomo. But I pick up whole wheat flour whenever I go to big towns like Livingstone or Lusaka. And she uses it to make me and my host family her famous “<a href="http://cena-unleashed.net/">John Cena’s</a>”, named so because they’re BIG.<br /><br />Maybe it’s the Saturdays I spend at my friend Hilda’s place. She doesn’t have much to speak of in terms of material possessions, but she has the biggest, warmest heart, and a zest for life. I spend many a Saturday at her place, sitting under the shade of a tree and drinking her perfect cibwantu, a milky sort of drink made with ground maize. We are rarely alone as friends and family come by to visit. And we are rarely hungry, as Hilda and her sisters generously feed everyone that comes by.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh23XBKnDNMEVQwn-2yy8QtEo1FY2P1T5Oa_9ifI4tRwc9dMR7ikAYB0dNEjSaGIELtC807o1Njv-gYiK1h8N6aI8WiyRW-vjhCFUVRWOCDtC2XkxYKqEIMqBwUEExhXtouj0qUSW89hZc/s1600-h/IMG_0214.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh23XBKnDNMEVQwn-2yy8QtEo1FY2P1T5Oa_9ifI4tRwc9dMR7ikAYB0dNEjSaGIELtC807o1Njv-gYiK1h8N6aI8WiyRW-vjhCFUVRWOCDtC2XkxYKqEIMqBwUEExhXtouj0qUSW89hZc/s320/IMG_0214.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5173489349416806722" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Feast a Hilda’s - note my lumpily made<br />sorghum nshima on the far left</span><br /></div><br />Or maybe it’s my recent discovery of a commercial farm just outside town that has a small cheese factory that makes gouda. Gouda! In Kalomo! It’s absurd. Zambians don’t really eat a lot of cheese, so it simply can’t be found. If I now see potatoes as a treat, you can only imagine what a treat cheese is…especially gourmet gouda! I procured a 2kg wheel of cheese for the EWB retreat so that my fellow muzungus could share in this most amazing of discoveries.<br /><br />I guess all these things comprise the great community I’m a part of here. I don’t see community as simply being a group of people who happen to live in the same place. My personal definition of community is that it’s a group of people who live in the same place and <span style="font-style: italic;">are connected together in a particular point in time</span>. <br /><br />Community is something you can create for yourself if you make it a priority. But community changes as people flow in and out and as the place itself evolves. Therefore it’s not something to pine for (from the past) or hope for (in the future), it is something you must continuously cultivate and make sure to enjoy in this moment, as it will surely change in the next.<br /><br />So maybe Kalomo isn't the land of milk and honey (gouda and John Cenas, maybe), but right now, it sure is good to me.<br /><br />Thulasy :)Thulasy B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05684756554935293625noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2571428340086750413.post-49598638185784171382008-02-01T08:42:00.001+02:002008-02-01T09:13:19.857+02:00: ( --> : )<span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">05:45</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I woke just as the sun was rising, groggy from the previous day’s 2 hour ride on the back of a transport truck piled with maize, fertilizer, and people. It was a rough ride, but I made it: I was in Sipatunyana, in the home of Tangson Sialanga, 45 km away from Kalomo town.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">I walked outside and found his 2 wives sweeping the ground between the village huts. I offered to help – they giggled – I insisted – and they gave in. It was the least I could do. They were going to host me for the weekend, as Tangson, a contact farmer for the sorghum project, and I were going to venture deep into the village to find us some sorghum.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaEmEekFoCg58rzM3SLQAI_jloG1qPyK3-uFzGeRXUtvw-7RASVva5ymqhbNM0hnjE1NvqtJTG3gOw9foWbvmcPMgGVoEGvJ7eqBt9FXgYRKx8HtF8G312kBWnBEhBwmvDoTSbcWVwaSM/s1600-h/IMG_1480.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaEmEekFoCg58rzM3SLQAI_jloG1qPyK3-uFzGeRXUtvw-7RASVva5ymqhbNM0hnjE1NvqtJTG3gOw9foWbvmcPMgGVoEGvJ7eqBt9FXgYRKx8HtF8G312kBWnBEhBwmvDoTSbcWVwaSM/s320/IMG_1480.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5161900591169064386" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">In the village</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">My unwavering optimism is being tested.</span><br /><br />The last few weeks have been frustrating. The rainy season has made it incredibly difficult to get into the field and see how sorghum is doing with the unusually heavy rainfall we’ve been receiving. There have been reports of widespread flooding in neighbouring districts. The power keeps going in and out. And my excitement about the project waxes and wanes, which is healthy, I think…but is nevertheless de-motivating in the lulls.<br /><br />I have many frustrations. I fear that sorghum won’t demonstrate itself because of the heavy rainfall…that the cooperatives won’t meet their contracts…that we’re holding on too tightly… that the project is not going to be sustainable (when do we let go of the bicycle seat?)<br /><br />My fears notwithstanding, I was hopeful as the project team was riled up to do some innovative things – to try some crazy ideas! But our hands are ever tied by donor conditions. “Failure” is not allowed in development, not by the standards for “success” that are set by donors. Ironically, it is the process of taking risks, failing, and eventually succeeding that ensures sustainability. This seems to be lost on most donors…or maybe it’s just politics.<br /><br />In any case, I feel that by not taking risks, the project is doomed to fail. Is this the fate of every development project – you get to a point where you say, “Does this really mean anything?”<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">09:00</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The skies were ambiguous. It was either going to pour all day, or we were going to get sporadic showers interspersed with sunshine. It was hard to say. Regardless, we had a program. After stuffing our guts with maize porridge made with busika, a bitter wild fruit, Tangson and I set off on bicycles to visit our sorghum farmers. </span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />Things got off to a dismal start. Farmers had planted half their sorghum seed around mid December as a test to see if it would weather the heavy rains. And while germination was great, their young plants were, as they feared, hammered by rain. Sandy soils were leached of nutrients. The plants turned yellow and are stunted. Farmers gave up and plowed their first lot back in and planted their remaining seed.<br /><br />Gulp. 50% loss. I was not encouraged. </span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRFck1aqwbgzOWESsSOv-4dJ4Te1RR7i8A3IgPZbCCCGvkWCwJfCNrzk_X94IJF1qdqbeeXH2pcsBR8Cvcll7LenRdhJqK_uHzSZfLpweVwyN5CCr0DiIG_qIlBdBckUCtrFFhqClj-nQ/s1600-h/IMG_1495.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRFck1aqwbgzOWESsSOv-4dJ4Te1RR7i8A3IgPZbCCCGvkWCwJfCNrzk_X94IJF1qdqbeeXH2pcsBR8Cvcll7LenRdhJqK_uHzSZfLpweVwyN5CCr0DiIG_qIlBdBckUCtrFFhqClj-nQ/s320/IMG_1495.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5161901097975205330" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Mvula ipati, mapenzi mapati</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">…roughly translated, mo’ rain-y, mo’ problems</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The real drivers of development.</span><br /><br />If you worked for an international NGO, and I told you I could find people with over 15 years of experience in development work and various agricultural activities, an intimate understanding of the local context, an energetic and pragmatic attitude towards their work, and a natural and genuine leadership style, you’d probably want me to hire them ASAP. And you’d likely give them a sizeable salary for their efforts too.<br /><br />But what if I told you that they only have a grade 7 education? That they probably live in the same conditions as that of the intended beneficiaries? That they have likely been on the receiving end of aid more often than not?<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO26Oosd2cSTaQ8bH6Psx9g0Zpsx7V4K6QpZ11NiKnZWEA1ZhGrfZUSILYUE4hv4p7Nigffi_xKdO13eJiL6oFXCjgoZwNMF5FiEpDrBSDDHaIP7rOmAT5m8IqrcdnZZ9yGX0XdtSxMs8/s1600-h/IMG_1540.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO26Oosd2cSTaQ8bH6Psx9g0Zpsx7V4K6QpZ11NiKnZWEA1ZhGrfZUSILYUE4hv4p7Nigffi_xKdO13eJiL6oFXCjgoZwNMF5FiEpDrBSDDHaIP7rOmAT5m8IqrcdnZZ9yGX0XdtSxMs8/s320/IMG_1540.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5161903902588849698" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Tangson with, I kid you not, Gender and Focus</span><br /></div><br />“In the world of international development, too much is being asked of civil society; pausing only to do the washing up on their way to their fourth meeting of the week, poor people (which usually means women) are now expected to organize social services, govern their communities, evaluate projects, solve the unemployment problems, and save the environment. But most poor people are too busy making a living to do these things and most of the time others are too lazy.” – Michael Edwards, Future Positive<br /><br />These people can be found in every village you visit. As Edwards’ quote suggests, it’s often the same people, those leaders who tend to emerge naturally, who take on the responsibility of driving development projects on the ground. Whether they do it out of genuine altruism or a sense of obligation or for the power and status is beside the point. The point is that they do it, and they do it for free. How can I expect them to work so hard for something that I’m not even certain will work?<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">14:30</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />Tangson and I covered A LOT of ground that morning. He wanted to show me a selection of fields from all over the vast village. But we only managed to see 2 (!) farmers before 14:30.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTRU9xmsCL1JD8ml2oSeuVuUK6oFaS7ufxyHOIpRCk666psP9_DHFEbUhonaLH_uIF7tsexFV352ummnVRY8NqXnaRfr_2n8JHCHVqo720e9qfAB3PxjPb26yqCSOFLJzKrVYSbzl2O-c/s1600-h/IMG_1542.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTRU9xmsCL1JD8ml2oSeuVuUK6oFaS7ufxyHOIpRCk666psP9_DHFEbUhonaLH_uIF7tsexFV352ummnVRY8NqXnaRfr_2n8JHCHVqo720e9qfAB3PxjPb26yqCSOFLJzKrVYSbzl2O-c/s320/IMG_1542.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5161904572603747890" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Waiting out the rain</span><br /></div><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />The wives of Edward, the second farmer, kindly offered us some hot maize porridge with pumpkin before we left. I, weary and drenched, was happy to receive the piping hot bowl of pumpkiny yum. Having “filled up with diesel”, as Tangson said, we headed off to our next farmer. </span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />It wasn’t until we left Edward’s that I realized how profound his family’s gesture was – it is hunger season in the Kalomo District. CARE was here last weekend distributing food aid to the community’s most vulnerable households. And in a time of scarcity, I was generously offered some of the little that they had. Now </span>that’s<span style="font-style: italic;"> hospitality. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">On change, learning, and persistence.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Change </span>– Yes, I am idealistic, and yes, I’m borderline insolent about it. I believe change is possible. However, as I venture further into a world that is full of uncertainty, I can see that change isn’t easy. But even though creating change takes time, things are changing <span style="font-style: italic;">all the time</span>. In that, there is a great deal of hope.<br /><br />“Our growing expectation and aspiration for change is itself the engine of change. ‘Development’ is nothing if not change.” – Eric Dudley<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Learning </span>– So, I must continue to learn. Learning is the only way out of this mess. Learning is all we can and thus must do. We can’t always be sure that what we’re doing will be “successful” or “right”, but we can be sure that we’ll learn from what happens and move on.<br /><br />“If we are to have any hope of success we require an approach of constructive humility.” – Dudley<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Persistence </span>– And while we must believe that change is possible and learn from all our attempts to create it, <span style="font-style: italic;">we must never stop trying</span>…<br /><br />“Progress is not achieved by those who wring their hands with worried uncertainty and yet we have every reason to believe that we should be uncertain. The greatest leaders, whether in politics, the military, business, or science, are those who manage the paradox of confident action tempered by profound doubt.” - Dudley<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">…21:47</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">From Edward’s, we rode on to Kennedy Meleki’s place. He is a contact farmer responsible for 40 farmers who are scattered over a very large area. His field and that of his brother’s, Richard, were very promising. Healthy, knee high sorghum! I smiled and said, “Maila mabotu! (nice sorghum!) Ah, Kennedy, you’ve made me very happy today.” </span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrMPY9u9mqN1JlGKC5wYsqp57nmcZy1z703kx-rymYJfYSckk8EDQtAweu21YIAUwXd9FrQK6A8E5-N69PFxsNKLpg89fYYfq0iy80DH99pHC4L_tIMRJmENJfrY3-uXEqR8aBoUz7Ba0/s1600-h/IMG_1504.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrMPY9u9mqN1JlGKC5wYsqp57nmcZy1z703kx-rymYJfYSckk8EDQtAweu21YIAUwXd9FrQK6A8E5-N69PFxsNKLpg89fYYfq0iy80DH99pHC4L_tIMRJmENJfrY3-uXEqR8aBoUz7Ba0/s320/IMG_1504.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5161901432982654434" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Richard's sorghum!</span><br /></div><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />But he said he could show me more, if I was up for a ride that would take us even deeper into the bush. I looked at Tangson and the answer was obvious, “Tiye! Let’s go!”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I had thought the previous few hours of riding was rough, but this was getting ridiculous. We pushed our bikes barefoot through mud, waded through streams, climbed up rocky hills, and veered down barely-there paths. A motorcycle or 4 wheel drive wouldn’t have taken us to where we were going. But I was enjoying it…I was getting my mountain biking fix, albeit on a one-speed, no-brakes, pedal-less farmer bicycle. Needless to say, the downhill bits were particularly terrifying :)</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimbzlJ2IkFGvnTi8MmmRifG3sel_wD_vkLn8fo10dfNavJd4wHhJ6Eh_VyoTNjcS1D8wA7GmS653R4873IGtO-h5354Q6W6fkRAL3z6g3Ujztri8ezmT6TLIJ5039Y6tCwIxv437LSmls/s1600-h/IMG_1514.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimbzlJ2IkFGvnTi8MmmRifG3sel_wD_vkLn8fo10dfNavJd4wHhJ6Eh_VyoTNjcS1D8wA7GmS653R4873IGtO-h5354Q6W6fkRAL3z6g3Ujztri8ezmT6TLIJ5039Y6tCwIxv437LSmls/s320/IMG_1514.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5161902227551604210" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">We waded through numerous streams</span><br /></div><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />We rode through uninhabited bush for an hour and a half before finding what I had hoped to see all day…a field full of sorghum that was taller than me! The three of us were giddy with excitement, our persistence had paid off.</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtGXIF-RjFRtfUjqb3AOPMd5qZruHtozXLd8dglP_EdWmcuRJuwtVDhXyH0Umq_IsB0lo2h6alJWxyolgjHu1RCO0OrrFAIS2Ylro2FvnZYzNvy22QEz0tumGU8Jg7ukeZtOJz69tMX_M/s1600-h/IMG_1518.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtGXIF-RjFRtfUjqb3AOPMd5qZruHtozXLd8dglP_EdWmcuRJuwtVDhXyH0Umq_IsB0lo2h6alJWxyolgjHu1RCO0OrrFAIS2Ylro2FvnZYzNvy22QEz0tumGU8Jg7ukeZtOJz69tMX_M/s320/IMG_1518.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5161902807372189186" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Yay!!</span><br /><br /></div><span style="font-style: italic;">This particular family has grown sorghum before, but they were also lucky enough to have fertile, stony soils on a field that sloped, thereby minimizing the leaching and erosive effects of the heavy rainfall. From what I saw, they are going to have a bountiful sorghum harvest.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">To put a cherry on top of what had become a great day, the skies cleared as we walked down to see the Kalomo River. We had rode very far today, but we weren’t tired at all, we were all grinning from ear to ear.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzJoFknojaemOx16fyf4J2xx27780f_wLuYH_GxrlBE2kaPg-Pj-IXJigSnzD6V9KJWS2iDEx3ARAsd3ZuvGP5Ms7741NuwEEIUEl7wt7CpFCkichPVfixjY5PqD10rWJh7BifjKFCy1s/s1600-h/IMG_1529.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzJoFknojaemOx16fyf4J2xx27780f_wLuYH_GxrlBE2kaPg-Pj-IXJigSnzD6V9KJWS2iDEx3ARAsd3ZuvGP5Ms7741NuwEEIUEl7wt7CpFCkichPVfixjY5PqD10rWJh7BifjKFCy1s/s320/IMG_1529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5161903232573951506" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Mulonga Kalomo</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></div><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><span style="font-style: italic;">The family wouldn’t let us leave without eating, so we “ate like soldiers”, filling our tanks with nshima, vegetables, and what I like to call village lattes, hot, sweet tea made with fresh milk. The sun was setting as we said goodbye, knowing that we had a good 2 hour journey in the dark ahead of us. </span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />But I wasn’t too concerned. I didn’t even feel the ache in my muscles or the cuts on my feet. I could barely see Tangson’s white shirt in front of me, as the night was lit only by the fire flies that flickered around us (and the distant beacon of a Cel-Tel tower that marked our three-quarters of the way home point). </span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />I think I was smiling the whole way. Though my frustrations about the project still stand, they’ve been tempered by my sense of hope. Yes, some of the farmers won’t harvest a lot of sorghum, but some of them will. The cooperatives can still meet their targets. There are people like Tangson and Kennedy who want to see it succeed. So this thing we’re trying to do…there’s a chance it just might work after all.</span><br /><br />T :)Thulasy B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05684756554935293625noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2571428340086750413.post-50549082403077700672008-01-04T12:49:00.000+02:002008-01-04T13:20:20.575+02:00What I learned in Zanzibar of all places<span style="font-weight: bold;">Christmas in Kalomo</span><br /><br />I must admit, I felt a bit guilty about taking a vacation over the Christmas break. It didn’t feel a whole lot like Christmas here, and most Zambians don’t do anything very special around this time anyways – refer to my travel buddy <a href="http://www.kumvera.blogspot.com/">Ka-Hay’s excellent blog post</a> about this (I was lucky enough to see this Zambian Santa in the flesh!) It’s not that people don’t want to do anything special or go anywhere special, it’s that they simply cannot afford to do so.<br /><br />I had wanted to spend some quality Christmas fun-time with my host family before I went on my trip. But try as I might to tactfully probe about the family’s plans for Christmas, I was met with ambivalent responses. And I can see why. Having something as simple as a nice Christmas meal is an extreme luxury that this family of 15+ doesn’t have the means for. Feeling that the holiday season was going to pass unnoticed but wanting to do something special, I decided to throw a party for the family. I enlisted the help of my host sisters to organize a meal of their choice, and all it took was $50 to feed the family to the gills!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1babSC2P7tGqtTfiFP5pl99nuYXLpyp3ssA3gYV04lk4jDiTCBE9wyUsrBjk28qg4HKnB1PNyWwqyYexKoteXVWl-HynhFhnHqfonN-JLbohfKBY-ZqTr1Q9850e-LrtFFvwy-2_wDTc/s1600-h/IMG_1253.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1babSC2P7tGqtTfiFP5pl99nuYXLpyp3ssA3gYV04lk4jDiTCBE9wyUsrBjk28qg4HKnB1PNyWwqyYexKoteXVWl-HynhFhnHqfonN-JLbohfKBY-ZqTr1Q9850e-LrtFFvwy-2_wDTc/s320/IMG_1253.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151574107718512786" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">No nshima tonight: Fried chicken, macaroni,<br />boiled potatoes, coleslaw, scones, popcorn, and pop...<br />mmm, mmm, carb-a-licious!<br /></span></div><br />After the meal, I surprised them all with a gift courtesy of my parents in Canada: some printed photographs I had taken of the farm, a box of Belgian chocolates, calendars with scenes from Canada, and loads of Canada flag pins and tattoos. The gift from my parents was a REAL treat for my family, so on behalf of all of them, thank you Amma and Appa for your thoughtfulness.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0yYc4Pwb92sxUMytHwsV_eYsCW-coS9nFUFgAM_BCMJUevG4UZ0IHXGXzmSXa6ul_ibUkBkSeyliOI6swAQtTU1CETPmGcXQaXgKDbdHnnr8CEb5Y3mJB7DTaa8b7z9LE40aswPm5u5I/s1600-h/IMG_1263.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0yYc4Pwb92sxUMytHwsV_eYsCW-coS9nFUFgAM_BCMJUevG4UZ0IHXGXzmSXa6ul_ibUkBkSeyliOI6swAQtTU1CETPmGcXQaXgKDbdHnnr8CEb5Y3mJB7DTaa8b7z9LE40aswPm5u5I/s320/IMG_1263.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151574258042368162" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">It was a great surprise!<br /></span></div><br />We had a great time eating, laughing, dancing…mostly laughing at me dancing. I am incredibly grateful to this family for taking me in and making me feel at home. So I couldn’t help but feel bad that I would be heading off to Zanzibar the next day, a place many of them will never get the chance to visit. I was also worried that an indulgent vacation would snap me out of a reality I’ve been working so hard to try and understand.<br /><br />I know, I know, I can’t let the guilt get to me. Guilt of that kind will only paralyze me and undermine the work I’m trying to do here. And while I’m here to learn and understand, I believe there is opportunity to do just that almost anywhere. So I bid farewell to my host family and headed off to Zanzibar in search of some sand, sun, and revelations!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The magicalness of Zanzibar</span><br /><br />We started our journey to the magical and mysterious island of Zanzibar quite fittingly on the train from Zambia to Dar es Salaam. That train ride was…sigh…wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. I don’t think I can fully articulate how amazingly wonderful it was. So here are some pics that unfortunately don’t do it justice. <br /><br />Note: I failed to photograph the unicorns I saw, but I can assure you that there were many ;)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGRq-QtxWslfcBZnHiY5Hzg870d2KNKkkcwneqbxVuYnwEuHx9eKOgVoP_iY4UYrnSXiMDdGQ7RDOBb3pTBEAlIOgwxkEi-FuEKis7qSRPkaXjJpL7TTRMEefqbA84essZgkMqLwJcI7Y/s1600-h/IMG_0311.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGRq-QtxWslfcBZnHiY5Hzg870d2KNKkkcwneqbxVuYnwEuHx9eKOgVoP_iY4UYrnSXiMDdGQ7RDOBb3pTBEAlIOgwxkEi-FuEKis7qSRPkaXjJpL7TTRMEefqbA84essZgkMqLwJcI7Y/s320/IMG_0311.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151573184300544050" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVz9JKOi0yinFfzCNjgJen8ABpmqubm9cPwDT7QzOkvMNviHpXGPZWqPW3IQhsE1c0Yt5H6tAsYHA7wlQyp_HMoHfJrnCSwQqLFcvHWuDuwHK8ULW7bKM1QJBt_myEBL6kag4A-vrEqa4/s1600-h/IMG_0307.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVz9JKOi0yinFfzCNjgJen8ABpmqubm9cPwDT7QzOkvMNviHpXGPZWqPW3IQhsE1c0Yt5H6tAsYHA7wlQyp_HMoHfJrnCSwQqLFcvHWuDuwHK8ULW7bKM1QJBt_myEBL6kag4A-vrEqa4/s320/IMG_0307.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151572862177996818" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFV_U0E_A6bA0NwJJrEXKaF1TcQimRunhl5qJGrMrU-n18l6woFgcR0ZqCuNwINVBH_51H5TNAto6cdOll8TmkWMzDhqruXmqVzSMWir9KtYpeRbi-KBS-OeXVdDaQxTJUU3QXEsaK8_Q/s1600-h/IMG_0306.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFV_U0E_A6bA0NwJJrEXKaF1TcQimRunhl5qJGrMrU-n18l6woFgcR0ZqCuNwINVBH_51H5TNAto6cdOll8TmkWMzDhqruXmqVzSMWir9KtYpeRbi-KBS-OeXVdDaQxTJUU3QXEsaK8_Q/s320/IMG_0306.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151572660314533890" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqhHRgSs7LIFoRsDDeSjdmRsB1O18pP_21jVnTptBnKZzi4hVdVRyfZZM9vBJHFtCW5OxMszvYWUNG3B9p4_rbw0slnaePzDBfCnMvWFwDT5M2F6cL5EIYk4MHjGLoRlJcctbvHXfYf-o/s1600-h/IMG_0322.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqhHRgSs7LIFoRsDDeSjdmRsB1O18pP_21jVnTptBnKZzi4hVdVRyfZZM9vBJHFtCW5OxMszvYWUNG3B9p4_rbw0slnaePzDBfCnMvWFwDT5M2F6cL5EIYk4MHjGLoRlJcctbvHXfYf-o/s320/IMG_0322.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151573313149562946" border="0" /></a><br />I hadn’t done a lot of research on Zanzibar before I left but was more than happy to explore it with no expectations. Situated off the coast of Tanzania, it is a beautiful island filled with the influences of its African, Arab, and Asian neighbours. Although it is a haven for tourists from around the world, it has preserved its old world charm, and I immediately fell in love.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMJYj6yc6Dvf4Se9ha_q3rl5593Nd6TmCHJXxLGnrecfQwkAL3X10TnjdcE1o9ngDDrzllfRIlwZUUJ0FTIfKAtoHJmgVueFIyIBVwufZDBXRdpTMnSV642hp9eZNsJMMyykaja4XGtow/s1600-h/IMG_0415.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMJYj6yc6Dvf4Se9ha_q3rl5593Nd6TmCHJXxLGnrecfQwkAL3X10TnjdcE1o9ngDDrzllfRIlwZUUJ0FTIfKAtoHJmgVueFIyIBVwufZDBXRdpTMnSV642hp9eZNsJMMyykaja4XGtow/s320/IMG_0415.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151573450588516434" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp792viXmm-xo-ZVXfhhg6MPBNUjlvg6hv6ZGvaLR4LqymF29PIBMe8AzsvqGbsDu0azcxQaoRxzgdQnuYgJjEyrALDNtF7AeK1AvyeY-JZ_ZuLNGOEC27n4KGf5b_KJy1FcFqVY4UgjU/s1600-h/IMG_0438.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp792viXmm-xo-ZVXfhhg6MPBNUjlvg6hv6ZGvaLR4LqymF29PIBMe8AzsvqGbsDu0azcxQaoRxzgdQnuYgJjEyrALDNtF7AeK1AvyeY-JZ_ZuLNGOEC27n4KGf5b_KJy1FcFqVY4UgjU/s320/IMG_0438.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151573725466423410" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Q21cmAup63bM3fxbyp84iM3hcQxcgHcAYhKefnS68dJ4dJlQtcGem5EBXa0ll0ncLiPwt7E2XQOTeloxi4R1Wk2hLxoUXbo4ZfE9Pb4XA_lisSk4ntJtuDzPe5cEXVfbYrQBrFJ6RZg/s1600-h/IMG_0442.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Q21cmAup63bM3fxbyp84iM3hcQxcgHcAYhKefnS68dJ4dJlQtcGem5EBXa0ll0ncLiPwt7E2XQOTeloxi4R1Wk2hLxoUXbo4ZfE9Pb4XA_lisSk4ntJtuDzPe5cEXVfbYrQBrFJ6RZg/s320/IMG_0442.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151573905855049858" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS0xUuUUz2gd_5QXe9vM0M-WKRnID5xJ_OakXCOU9iHOWPOnqA1_Jj-MKkSfwpkk6E3PvZ0aT5kinENHBClPb7Du9kvuGLYWQIfEsikBU7NUjgl95booXCXu0tvSx7HWBOMhgSbx9cQFI/s1600-h/IMG_0432.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS0xUuUUz2gd_5QXe9vM0M-WKRnID5xJ_OakXCOU9iHOWPOnqA1_Jj-MKkSfwpkk6E3PvZ0aT5kinENHBClPb7Du9kvuGLYWQIfEsikBU7NUjgl95booXCXu0tvSx7HWBOMhgSbx9cQFI/s320/IMG_0432.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151573596617404514" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Beaches smeaches, it’s all about the people. </span><br /><br />After exploring Stone Town for a couple days, we headed to the amazing beaches of the North Coast for some serious relaxing (like we weren’t doing enough of that already…did I mention how wonderful the train was??) The blindingly white beaches and pristine turquoise waters did not disappoint. But surprisingly, that’s not what made this trip so memorable.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia788SKpqevejznIsKI_E-USpxtx_Ys5QpZ3-ZGzPHxklwSDFmnIdOONxuQD5YwvEUsEGA9leQgau9Y_lDzoGa-EBQdbqt85pDdDm2ceqUHOlOv075_NKZLN8-4hb0FwmYJKLNHz_MBLQ/s1600-h/IMG_0514.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia788SKpqevejznIsKI_E-USpxtx_Ys5QpZ3-ZGzPHxklwSDFmnIdOONxuQD5YwvEUsEGA9leQgau9Y_lDzoGa-EBQdbqt85pDdDm2ceqUHOlOv075_NKZLN8-4hb0FwmYJKLNHz_MBLQ/s320/IMG_0514.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151574915172364514" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><span style="font-style: italic;">I'm not trying to make you all jealous...really</span><br /></div><br />As the blazing sun started to set one night, we started up an impromptu volleyball game on the beach. Within no time, we had attracted a motley crew of tourists, locals, and children to join what became a competitive tourney for the coveted King’s Court. There’s nothing like a little sport to bring people together.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj563gLHQkGrNnwDMbjF8OL7LtYmb5yN1dDO3wzbnS6d4je8ttkr1OTbVODmADQpLl_hXnV3c7_G8xqktoKnHpGRGfO6jiak0G1Jhs0kFigJh5kQ3fXIpQaeaJhcE4TBTrxGNbXXLozKqI/s1600-h/IMG_1317.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj563gLHQkGrNnwDMbjF8OL7LtYmb5yN1dDO3wzbnS6d4je8ttkr1OTbVODmADQpLl_hXnV3c7_G8xqktoKnHpGRGfO6jiak0G1Jhs0kFigJh5kQ3fXIpQaeaJhcE4TBTrxGNbXXLozKqI/s320/IMG_1317.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151574653179359426" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLUmbauZNydWkCtN3-nUolG1g6Sw5KR-wey-tbG1xaZ0aq-1rRTx8m8a5VgYE4bb8QfVh55hmzb_zt0lnHdRyhHARM2plZBGv_BD8CcpJKW9H2K2QQKgiG2UND4CVY89IMyr9UPDAc_NU/s1600-h/IMG_1318.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLUmbauZNydWkCtN3-nUolG1g6Sw5KR-wey-tbG1xaZ0aq-1rRTx8m8a5VgYE4bb8QfVh55hmzb_zt0lnHdRyhHARM2plZBGv_BD8CcpJKW9H2K2QQKgiG2UND4CVY89IMyr9UPDAc_NU/s320/IMG_1318.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151574782028378322" border="0" /></a><br />After the game and a well deserved shower (to get the sand out of my ears), we joined our fellow teammates for some drinks on the beach. This was not your ordinary group of tourists. These people hailed from all over the world, but they are all working in Africa on development and relief in some capacity or another…humanitarian work in Darfur, education in Tanzania and South Africa, with the UN in Liberia…<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">…‘the humanitarian international, a trans-national elite of relief workers, civil servants, academics and others’ which has grown to be a powerful and controversial force in defining approaches to emergency intervention<br /><br /></span>– Alex de Waal quoted in Michael Edwards’ “Future Positive”<br /><br />Others that don’t necessarily fit with the above definition but are no less important in describing the global influences in Africa are those that work in the private sector for multinational corporations and the like. These people are quickly realizing that Africa’s market potential should not be underestimated.<br /><br />Ask anyone where they were from and what they do and you’d invariably get a response that starts with, “Well, it’s a little complicated…” Born in one place, raised in another, and working all over, these people are multicultural and multilingual, intelligent and experienced, thoughtful and convention-defying. Unfortunately, development workers, particularly ex-pats, don’t have the best of reputations over here (hence the ‘controversial’ part of de Waal’s quote), but these people didn’t fit the stereotype.<br /><br />Our conversations were spirited and diverse, covering topics including development, economics, politics, conflict, culture, and human behaviour. What blew me away about these people were not their breadth and depth of experience (which was, of course, impressive) but their insightful and compassionate musings about the world in which they work...or I should say “we” work. They are thinking about “what’s possible”, as Ka-Hay likes to put it, instead of what’s impossible. Optimistic and earnest, these people gave me a snap-shot into a global community that is thinking about the world in a new and exciting way.<br /><br />The stories they shared highlighted two very important things to me:<br /><br />1) I have A LOT to learn. Being here only 5 months so far makes me a relative newby who has only scratched the surface of development work. It seems my understanding of international development deepens exponentially with each day that I am here. While this is all well and good, my goal now is to focus and formalize this learning from <span style="font-style: italic;">feeling </span>into critical <span style="font-style: italic;">thinking</span>.<br /><br />2) Although I have a lot to learn, I have an incredible opportunity to learn perhaps some of the most important things from where I’m currently positioned with EWB and CARE – field realities. Staying connected to these realities is so very important. What’s really happening on the ground? What incentives really drive people to “develop”? Why is “development” really not working? These are the questions I ask myself all the time.<br /><br />And so, the learning curve continues on…onwards and upwards.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">What a vacation should be. </span><br /><br />Any glorious beach vacation leaves people feeling well rested and relaxed. But this one has left me completely reinvigorated, ready to get back into field, talk to farmers, ask my burning questions, and test my development hypotheses. And it’s taken me full circle as I’m also very excited to get back to my host family. It seems within the last month or so that I’ve been welcomed even further into the family than I was before – I thought I was in, but now I’m really in. And that feels great. The guilt is gone, and I’m looking forward to getting to know them even better and allowing them to get to know me.<br /><br />Driving this sense of reinvigoration is the encouraging knowledge that there are people the world over thinking about big ideas and acting to create big change. And I’m not just talking about the folks I met in Zanzibar, I include all of you in this group of people – your thoughtful and heartfelt responses to my blog posts and emails inspire me to write more and push me to think harder. I never ever get the sense that I’m in this alone, and I’d like to thank all of you for that.<br /><br />I can’t believe it is January, a point that kept dawning on me on my long non-train-ugly-bus-misadventure back to Zambia. But the 30+ hour journey back did nothing to diminish my energy, I’m gung-ho ready and pumped to rock out the new year, and I hope you all are too!<br /><br />Thulasy :)<br /><br />PS: Credit should be given to Ka-Hay and her mad photography skills for the beautiful pics!Thulasy B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05684756554935293625noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2571428340086750413.post-41157466546953734262007-11-29T11:55:00.000+02:002007-11-29T12:48:22.109+02:00What makes a good "change agent"?<span style="font-weight: bold;">Who’s the boss?!</span><br /><br />The chairman of one of the grower cooperatives involved in the sorghum project came to visit me today. He wanted more copies of the Sorghum Production pamphlet we had put together for the farmers. We chatted for a couple of minutes about the rains and how farmers are starting to plant. And just before leaving, he said to me, “You are our boss!” I was floored. “I most certainly am NOT your boss!” I thought.<br /><br />Whyson and I have been working incredibly hard to de-emphasize the role CARE is playing in this project. The goal is to create a sustainable sorghum market in Zambia via local players. We partner with strong cooperatives in the district and let them lead the project – they are the bosses. Not CARE. Not Whyson. And certainly not me!<br /><br />I often wonder how the cooperatives and farmers really perceive me. I mostly feel like a “glorified Vanna White”, as Nina put it (though I do hope I’m adding more value than just being flip-chart holding eye candy!) No matter how hard I try, I will always be different. And sometimes, this difference creates a weird dynamic between the farmers and me, as was made apparent by the chairman who had no qualms calling me his boss.<br /><br />Pretty much all the field workers at CARE are Zambian. They speak the local languages that I’m desperately trying to pick up. They understand cultural nuances that fly way over my head. They can relate to the farmers on a more genuine level, or at least, that’s what I think. Then there are the leaders within the communities themselves that understand their own challenges better than I ever will and are probably the best people to lead the change we’re intending. So I wonder…am I the best person to be doing this job? What makes a good change agent anyways?<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNPfqoJr0S6QVpC6KsZuqR32Tg3EEhMq0uXlB4fXTeY5WMhyCaSVB0A9faLaueV4htUq9nSM6KBgg9JxONG1g42f6M0alL_eUScypDsDZVD9y2PCGgRsO5bcx3kkOTmXcNXuN-r4oCSrs/s1600-h/IMG_0359.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNPfqoJr0S6QVpC6KsZuqR32Tg3EEhMq0uXlB4fXTeY5WMhyCaSVB0A9faLaueV4htUq9nSM6KBgg9JxONG1g42f6M0alL_eUScypDsDZVD9y2PCGgRsO5bcx3kkOTmXcNXuN-r4oCSrs/s320/IMG_0359.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5138210371859311778" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">My co-worker, Nchobeni, and I out in the field</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">“Come And Receive Empowerment!”</span><br /><br />Empowerment is a popular development buzzword. Every project out here is trying to “empower” something or other – women, children, vulnerable farmers, their chickens…the word is so over used that it has lost its important meaning. Even the intended beneficiaries of this “empowerment” aren’t impressed by it anymore. A clever farmer in Sikaunzwe jokingly said CARE stood for “Come And Receive Empowerment”. (<a href="http://www.care.org/about/history.asp">CARE was an acronym at one time</a>, but it definitely wasn’t this one!)<br /><br />I can see where he’s coming from. CARE’s reputation for handing things out – food aid, bed nets, free seed, etc – precedes them wherever they go, so it’s not a stretch to imagine farmers lining up to receive “empowerment”. This picture is made even more comical/scary when it’s me, a foreigner, handing it out…yikes!<br /><br />All joking aside, this is actually quite a serious issue. This sorghum project, amongst others that CARE is undertaking, is not about hand outs. It’s about improving rural livelihoods by facilitating a sustainable agricultural market. We’re encouraging entrepreneurialism at both the farmer and cooperative levels through sorghum, our commodity of choice. Our underlying assumption is that we can create this “behaviour change” by demonstrating that growing sorghum as a cash crop will improve food security and increase household income.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY_KD30Sd0AYcQY9BmZx5OTeEZCv95zF4etPYpczjUP7lCApOQ2WCPncaK_vnhsMOQA7jWuDDNaMPOcoND96O9_UE_mi2-OD3YwQKsu-qqvwENcmedRxpk_5HTwOVCgfXmj2RuXX7Q2Cg/s1600-h/IMG_0164.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY_KD30Sd0AYcQY9BmZx5OTeEZCv95zF4etPYpczjUP7lCApOQ2WCPncaK_vnhsMOQA7jWuDDNaMPOcoND96O9_UE_mi2-OD3YwQKsu-qqvwENcmedRxpk_5HTwOVCgfXmj2RuXX7Q2Cg/s320/IMG_0164.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5138209581585329266" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Whyson speaking to a group of women farmers</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Positive Deviance.</span><br /><br />There are many ways to approach creating behaviour change within a community. A popular line of thinking is based on <a href="http://my.ewb.ca/home/ShowPost/74">positive deviance</a>. The basic principle behind this is that finding small, successful but “deviant” practices that are already working in a community and amplifying them creates more permanent change than importing solutions from the outside in. In other words, a local change agent leading a locally made solution creates lasting behaviour change.<br /><br />In our production training sessions, we tried to identify these positive deviants, or “teachers amongst us”, as Whyson likes to call them. Instead of a top down, lecture style learning session, we broke the farmers into small groups and gave them some questions to answer about sorghum production methods. We allowed them to discuss the answers amongst themselves and then present their findings to the whole group.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSWV7wwrjD44g3S815LVJyj2f7kWL-pocl96SeSi3yWp1px2vF25B5riKEa4P3XUzXzrdltQq6VXVD2AbRknZ2SSIBzyywCjpUH8ZEsP23tAa93zuLYVMBWYBtmjTfGs6klnkNz5oWUvM/s1600-h/IMG_0356.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSWV7wwrjD44g3S815LVJyj2f7kWL-pocl96SeSi3yWp1px2vF25B5riKEa4P3XUzXzrdltQq6VXVD2AbRknZ2SSIBzyywCjpUH8ZEsP23tAa93zuLYVMBWYBtmjTfGs6klnkNz5oWUvM/s320/IMG_0356.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5138210088391470226" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">A small group engaged in discussion</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">about sorghum production methods.</span><br /></div><br />A lively conversation ensued that highlighted the good practices of farmers who had experience growing sorghum. This led into even more interesting discussions about agricultural marketing, which highlighted the practices of farmers who know how to do business. We left each session feeling confident that the activity had not only identified positive deviants but allowed other people to engage them in fruitful discussions. They weren’t learning from us, they were (and hopefully still are) learning from each other.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGiKso6ZspJdoyg4Qm8OrqSH51rUr5gHwNFMX5yTK-VEKYoY5UBlPjZmKAuCHQIcDVJ3BC3xlH9fDNJ3tnaMDtEl5uEDr_y6CRy3LsmZMU3aNDe3-zJ5eT4QtLsIWqedUZ9wZLF8jtrGA/s1600-h/IMG_0323.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGiKso6ZspJdoyg4Qm8OrqSH51rUr5gHwNFMX5yTK-VEKYoY5UBlPjZmKAuCHQIcDVJ3BC3xlH9fDNJ3tnaMDtEl5uEDr_y6CRy3LsmZMU3aNDe3-zJ5eT4QtLsIWqedUZ9wZLF8jtrGA/s320/IMG_0323.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5138209809218595970" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">A group compiling best practices.</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Social Marketing.</span><br /><br />Another way of approaching behaviour change is through social marketing. Social marketing aims to bring about social change using concepts from commercial marketing. The ultimate objective is to <span style="font-style: italic;">influence action</span>. Though I won’t go into details about the theory behind social marketing, there are a couple important points to consider. One is that the intended change should be a credible answer to the actual frustrations being experienced by the target audience. Another point is that understanding the audience <span style="font-style: italic;">perception </span>is critical and almost more important than reality.<br /><br />So the questions we much ask ourselves include:<br /><br />- What are the farmers in the Southern Province unhappy about?<br /><br />- Does our project address those dissatisfactions?<br /><br />- And how do they <span style="font-style: italic;">perceive </span>our project and the change it intends to create?<br /><br />In answering the first, it is fair to say that most farmers in the Southern Province are extremely dissatisfied with growing maize. It fails to meet expectations, year after year, as erractic rainfall and localized droughts reduce yields. But maize is the only marketable crop for farmers (the government is the buyer), so they keep growing it even though payment times can be incredibly drawn out (some farmers have yet to be paid almost 6 months after harvest!) It’s a catch 22 that keeps rural households food insecure and low on cash. Sorghum, with its drought tolerance and available market can address these dissatisfactions.<br /><br />So what about their perception of the project? Mr. Muleya, another cooperative chairman, says NGO’s come in all the time to promote different crops. He says villagers listen very carefully to see if there is “life” in the project before buying in. That “life” usually comes in the form of an available market. His village has tried growing tobacco, paprika, soy beans, and even castor oil seeds, all in hopes of accessing that ever elusive market. But all those projects failed because, from what I understand, the markets never materialized.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmy8OYUgrhnMnL2nCjXQvJiuiikIdf9K-5UOVISWgkrYK5fpxkkMFPErVqKow-Twz4H8R9Ny1SizeBPnSXZLxQxDc52N8YxDmHW02kAzKOn_geeRgbueWtKIbUeIS30qOZ0SnoZ3_9pw0/s1600-h/IMG_0470.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmy8OYUgrhnMnL2nCjXQvJiuiikIdf9K-5UOVISWgkrYK5fpxkkMFPErVqKow-Twz4H8R9Ny1SizeBPnSXZLxQxDc52N8YxDmHW02kAzKOn_geeRgbueWtKIbUeIS30qOZ0SnoZ3_9pw0/s320/IMG_0470.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5138210809945975986" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Mr. Muleya beside a wonderful masuku fruit tree</span><br /></div><br />I wonder, though, whether my very presence as a foreigner brings “life” to a project. I’m very aware of the fact that Mr. Muleya’s answers are going to be slightly – no, very – distorted because he’s talking to me. But this is not the first time I got this feeling.<br /><br />The sorghum project has had an EWB volunteer attached to it from its inception, and I wonder whether part of its success is due to our very presence as foreigners. I wonder if we bring some sort of sparkle-factor that villagers perceive to be attractive or exciting. Perhaps we lend a credible voice to the project because we, as foreigners, are perceived to be honest, straightforward, and, realistically or not, more intelligent. At worst, our presence brings out a sense of fearful respect, vestige of years of colonial rule and imposed development projects, that motivates people to buy in. It’s entirely possible.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Fair game.</span><br /><br />Within the context of marketing, I think this is fair game. When was the last time you bought a product just because some snazzy celebrity endorsed it? Or because a smart salesman convinced you? Or because someone you respected a great deal told you to? Is this not the same thing? Right, wrong, or straight out manipulative, I feel that having a foreigner on a project like this definitely helps adoption.<br /><br />But there are some drawbacks. Contrary to a positive deviance approach, this can be like imposing a solution from the outside with a big assumption that it’s the <span style="font-style: italic;">right </span>solution. To be honest, I’m beginning to feel a little evangelical about sorghum! I do believe it’s the right solution, but that’s a judgement call this project has made.<br /><br />I also definitely don’t feel comfortable being the reason farmers are adopting the crop – especially if it is out of fear. I don’t think this is the case most of the time, but when a chairman calls me his boss, I begin to wonder. Because of this feeling, I’ve been keeping my direct interaction with farmers to a minimum. I would love to spend most of my days out in the fields with the farmers, learning more about their livelihoods and breaking down stereotypes about foreigners. But I can’t do it as much as I’d like to for fear of distorting the project.<br /><br />When I do spend time in the field, my honesty and enthusiasm appears to be well-received, which does much to build trust. And at the end of the day, this is what counts most. I’m beginning to feel that genuine excitement is a critical part of being an effective change agent, no matter where you’re from. Excitement is contagious, so I’m going to continue to spread the (sorghum) love!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipMjAlg0F7lPqtDrMetSBHnEtXls5fdfXP5oWGACnvanRz2R-n0B6XJXqKNK9i3-MfXeZi5dpjiJmrhi5FXPSNeI5shCE_HbnRy9siwR5il8UFFs3epqAX22aaXmEDEn9NIE-Zj3qW_Vc/s1600-h/IMG_0480.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipMjAlg0F7lPqtDrMetSBHnEtXls5fdfXP5oWGACnvanRz2R-n0B6XJXqKNK9i3-MfXeZi5dpjiJmrhi5FXPSNeI5shCE_HbnRy9siwR5il8UFFs3epqAX22aaXmEDEn9NIE-Zj3qW_Vc/s320/IMG_0480.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5138211016104406210" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Feelin' the love!</span><br /></div><br />Hugs to you all!<br /><br />Thulasy :)Thulasy B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05684756554935293625noreply@blogger.com158tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2571428340086750413.post-23420242489412204582007-11-06T13:31:00.000+02:002007-11-06T14:26:38.158+02:00These are a few of my favorite things...<span style="font-weight: bold;">Comfort vs discomfort.</span><br /><br />I distinctly remember how I felt when the plane landed <a href="http://racecourseschool.com/">the first time I came to Zambia</a> in 2004...”Oh my goodness! I’m in AFRICA!” I was wide-eyed and giddy with excitement. My senses were overloaded. My emotions swung between the extremes of joy and sadness, gratitude and anger, and inspiration and frustration with all that I saw and experienced. It was a time of learning and great personal growth. And in the end, I left Zambia with a strong sense of hope for the future and a feeling that I would return, though I didn’t know when.<br /><br />Now I’m back, and while I still marvel at the world around me, my reaction has not been as strong as it was the first time I came. Cramming myself into a sliver of space in a crowded, rickety minibus is no longer an adventure but simply a way to get around. Eating nshima with “interesting” relishes (like cow tongue, which I had for the first time the other day) is not a special event but a normal, everyday activity. Using the local greetings isn’t a self-deprecating act of hilarity but just an expected and respectful way to say Hello. I am feeling very comfortable here...and at first, this worried me. I was afraid that I was losing my sense of wonder. Why wasn’t I feeling anything as strongly as I did before? Was I not being present? Was it possible that I was I feeling too comfortable??<br /><br />I’ve since realized that there is nothing wrong with this sense of comfort. Far from being a sign of cultural stagnation, it’s actually a sign that I’m getting into the real stuff of life here in Zambia. Instead of being struck over the head by the big things, it’s the sum of all the little things that keep my sense of wonder alive and well. So I thought it would be fun to share with you all those little things that make me smile everyday.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Home life.</span><br /><br />I now live on a farm, the Gold Acres farm, 7km outside the town of Kalomo. I live with a Tonga family 15 people strong, and they are the most wonderful host family I could ask for. We live in an old farm house, remnants of white farmers from years gone by, and although it’s a little run down, it’s perfect for this family. Mr. Mwiinga, my host father, is the manager of the local abbatoir. Beatrice, his first wife (Tonga’s are traditionally polygamist), is a seamstress with a very big heart. Then there’s a swath of children, some of whom are orphaned cousins, and there are always guests, members of the extended family (3 aunts at the moment). And I mustn’t forget to mention the cattle, chickens, dogs, and cat (Chelsea, named after the football club) that roam the property all day long.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDzbbocbsI2a4bSB7iO11Vbu1mjoZ9HEs_s4Na427nrLw1LmHu1x5VoDPjNdXwJjE-vCcKYMdZh4LV6Tq4VVcXnJTmT_WRuwuAxxd4784Y9OxdHPJmQzFcJeITwJ_Go2XitVrAHH-xZAY/s1600-h/IMG_0318.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDzbbocbsI2a4bSB7iO11Vbu1mjoZ9HEs_s4Na427nrLw1LmHu1x5VoDPjNdXwJjE-vCcKYMdZh4LV6Tq4VVcXnJTmT_WRuwuAxxd4784Y9OxdHPJmQzFcJeITwJ_Go2XitVrAHH-xZAY/s320/IMG_0318.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129697334027072674" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Welcome home!</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimIce9uepdaadrXSwkGrfdjbis_frtb34uS-RaEh1_wgAz40MBWNxvASOXvfLH4pN84Yo9uBhEe4bIg16xUL5XzEzbXtfevlsauwsnVDWC9FRvVcJkNSILTsiejD7T-T13kbdXmL5xs1Y/s1600-h/IMG_0406.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimIce9uepdaadrXSwkGrfdjbis_frtb34uS-RaEh1_wgAz40MBWNxvASOXvfLH4pN84Yo9uBhEe4bIg16xUL5XzEzbXtfevlsauwsnVDWC9FRvVcJkNSILTsiejD7T-T13kbdXmL5xs1Y/s320/IMG_0406.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129697123573675154" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Jr. and Namwiinga in front of the house and<br />beside my primary method of transportation<br /></span></div><br />This is a farming family. Although they rent the farm and manage the owner’s cattle, they are allowed to plant their own crops for sale and consumption. We will soon be planting maize, potatoes, tomatoes, and hopefully sorghum in anticipation of the upcoming rainy season. But for the time being, they irrigate a small garden plot for home consumption, and I LOVE eating fresh veggies everyday.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV_IudMbYBor3tHexgd9aAik1eMi5Oox8YMtFyK1ii2g4idb-Udw8_XbBvGjT7WD9PxJwX0wk6v_JpGnDSjBkqbF2H_h_r2_e8VwjnqhDsMi5RJFJRfOEUxhGcOuJCDjjCXPKzeLx-hMo/s1600-h/IMG_0144.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV_IudMbYBor3tHexgd9aAik1eMi5Oox8YMtFyK1ii2g4idb-Udw8_XbBvGjT7WD9PxJwX0wk6v_JpGnDSjBkqbF2H_h_r2_e8VwjnqhDsMi5RJFJRfOEUxhGcOuJCDjjCXPKzeLx-hMo/s320/IMG_0144.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129693120664155058" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">My 12 year old host sister, Twaambo,<br />in front of the garden and bore hole<br /></span></div><br />I’ve been particularly lucky to find a good friend in Sylvia, the eldest in the family. She has a daughter, Nyarai, who has just turned 1 year old. Like a lot of the small children here in Zambia, Nyarai was very uncertain of my presence. She would furrow her brow and give me a disconcerting stare, as if to say, “I don’t know about you...” The look is priceless. Fortunately, she is now used to having me around, and I’ve taught her to give high fives and makes blubbering noises with her mouth. We’re tight.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKCLXghAjwdxZq3mQN-hhapUls_MnPOjZWc2MyOWlU0LYMVx9vX6ti0FoysSm5bz5nXMxXPbrQn6f_7jEQ5y0zjBURAUJMsyI4Up3OEgFu0a9hcowNeTeFzPsMlVVF7smYAKBGd3NJmdU/s1600-h/IMG_0320.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKCLXghAjwdxZq3mQN-hhapUls_MnPOjZWc2MyOWlU0LYMVx9vX6ti0FoysSm5bz5nXMxXPbrQn6f_7jEQ5y0zjBURAUJMsyI4Up3OEgFu0a9hcowNeTeFzPsMlVVF7smYAKBGd3NJmdU/s320/IMG_0320.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129695989702308946" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Left to right: Baby Nyrai, Sylvia, Lenley (back),<br />Yvonne, friend I don't know, and Twaambo<br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpH5qz0L3kh-mGKjaIuYfLUEyWl5CJU_seUnBS6D6lbte_-qyay_dMP_-mqaw3Q09w50N6fwWN1nsVGT35XGLovlYG3UXHk6wWLAEaXv4cbr_JRV2MOlGOMnEr3OnsZHEM3PCclZ1yRB8/s1600-h/IMG_0309.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpH5qz0L3kh-mGKjaIuYfLUEyWl5CJU_seUnBS6D6lbte_-qyay_dMP_-mqaw3Q09w50N6fwWN1nsVGT35XGLovlYG3UXHk6wWLAEaXv4cbr_JRV2MOlGOMnEr3OnsZHEM3PCclZ1yRB8/s320/IMG_0309.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129694383384540146" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">That's the look...oh, she's so not sure of me...<br /></span></div><br />The fields of Zambia are filled with good intentions gone wrong – unused wells and pumps, solar panel systems that have fallen into disrepair, and of course, tonnes of broken down, rusted out, stripped down tractors. They’re everywhere. And each time I see one, I’m reminded that handing out seemingly useful technologies may not be the best way to improve people’s lives, no matter how good the intentions are. But they do serve one good purpose – they can make great lawn ornaments.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiENt5UeYEXMWcdKNTSEXya11ijoeq0Epj2lTZXf4Jk5FkNPK_oJfVPUjat_dObx2oev9A7TCJ9VLUk2kSew05v4h423TIOeWueyFdXsJVu7GDutVPa4GSxSz8paIiPCw5oKXUbLf59J74/s1600-h/IMG_0151.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiENt5UeYEXMWcdKNTSEXya11ijoeq0Epj2lTZXf4Jk5FkNPK_oJfVPUjat_dObx2oev9A7TCJ9VLUk2kSew05v4h423TIOeWueyFdXsJVu7GDutVPa4GSxSz8paIiPCw5oKXUbLf59J74/s320/IMG_0151.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129693378362192834" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Best</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">lawn ornament ever</span><br /></div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Town life.<br /><br /></span>I use my bicycle to get into and out of town for work everyday and spend most of my time on the weekends there too. My favorite places in town are the ones where people go to talk, have a chat, and shoot the shit with friends.<br /><br />Beatrice’s shop is in the heart of the market, and she and her cohort Sarah host a constant flow of patrons and visitors. Beatrice is an excellent seamstress and spends her days making beautiful chitenge suits (blouses and skirts made of colourful African fabrics) for the ladies of Kalomo.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7hmhrhSrW6_WW9eG7KgZTMqUt8-Dk0xY1GjGW-reulMmKic8OiYCnSFPSVIymOUFvxwLXQGNZPwFUWsbSY4I0jgUVWZEbs9o8sXERMGhHNvoPVkdCu7gatqdOkwmwDwEPvza1Ewvwq0s/s1600-h/IMG_0310.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7hmhrhSrW6_WW9eG7KgZTMqUt8-Dk0xY1GjGW-reulMmKic8OiYCnSFPSVIymOUFvxwLXQGNZPwFUWsbSY4I0jgUVWZEbs9o8sXERMGhHNvoPVkdCu7gatqdOkwmwDwEPvza1Ewvwq0s/s320/IMG_0310.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129694662557414402" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Sarah in the foreground and Beatrice,<br />chatting up a storm, behind the counter</span><br /></div><br />Judy’s house is where I get the low down on what’s <span style="font-style: italic;">really </span>happening in Kalomo. Judy is Mr. Mwiinga’s 2nd wife. She’s a talker...the kind of lady you want to be friends with but also the type you never want to be foes with. Between talking to Beatrice, Judy, and their daughters, I’m getting a glimpse into the fascinating world of polygamy. I could (and may, in the future) dedicate an entire blog entry to this subject, but for now, all I can say is that it’s kinda cool most of the time, kinda frustrating some of the time, and crazy confusing for me almost all of the time. I still have a lot to learn.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg11u0gxKHJwzPJl0_ZrdqdShqX1VsPMIvsgotesrwp8InHiuot_6Cog3wgolG-fmYpD1NRWNa-badhIVJR4nYUwkrmNpd94PWKJPPHT1Nl09C9eaNC8P9fnRfewp7HNkWkFrhyQilzczY/s1600-h/IMG_0319.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg11u0gxKHJwzPJl0_ZrdqdShqX1VsPMIvsgotesrwp8InHiuot_6Cog3wgolG-fmYpD1NRWNa-badhIVJR4nYUwkrmNpd94PWKJPPHT1Nl09C9eaNC8P9fnRfewp7HNkWkFrhyQilzczY/s320/IMG_0319.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129695461421331506" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Judy and the girls<br /></span></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Life life.</span><br /><br />Then there are a plethora of little random things that I love seeing everyday.<br /><br />There’s the beautiful jacaranda tree, whose purple flowers bring life to the dry, dust swept landscape of the dry season.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRPHbHA-GxwGpQWbAf8rH04ZWMlTKPl6zOkx-goT7clxm-ccnSc_wuivRiw9ABQ4wnC6pv76Vou-EFYZrxDN1XO0ulkZKmZ6ceYxrKjlImWZE0w5JBEMT7sPLEgoKgRjblc6enB5Oz9P8/s1600-h/IMG_0306.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRPHbHA-GxwGpQWbAf8rH04ZWMlTKPl6zOkx-goT7clxm-ccnSc_wuivRiw9ABQ4wnC6pv76Vou-EFYZrxDN1XO0ulkZKmZ6ceYxrKjlImWZE0w5JBEMT7sPLEgoKgRjblc6enB5Oz9P8/s320/IMG_0306.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129693657535067090" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Stunning tree on my ride to work</span><br /></div><br />There’s a moringa tree in our farm yard. This, in itself, is rather un-extraordinary. BUT, it’s pretty humorous to me. Amma has been cooking the fruit of the moringa trees in her traditional Sri Lankan stew for years and years, but I never knew how they grew or what they looked like in the wild. I actually never really thought about it. Just another reminder of how disconnected I am from the food I eat.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWnKrzkhWKZ9KUSwyEoWa3m_DBqC39joFY7aADat6Fl5ISwJpjSOF4YvptAolBwcA1dxIv0e0n434jXcDQtfaxBciuvsuK115YF3-KKcIu1oNUBR2UAi-EdeH8fTHpJEJo-cvYpFnTxn8/s1600-h/IMG_0307.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWnKrzkhWKZ9KUSwyEoWa3m_DBqC39joFY7aADat6Fl5ISwJpjSOF4YvptAolBwcA1dxIv0e0n434jXcDQtfaxBciuvsuK115YF3-KKcIu1oNUBR2UAi-EdeH8fTHpJEJo-cvYpFnTxn8/s320/IMG_0307.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129694018312319970" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Moringa trees...who knew?</span><br /></div><br />African bubble gum is a fruit-like thing that grows on trees in our farm yard. You basically crack them open, take out the seeds, and chew the sweet, gooey segments into a pulp, which you then spit out. Chewing these is favorite pre-supper activity for my family. And they’re pretty tasty too.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguypUv2TnEmmcH7RDpLTZLw_pQ4YqK7rB73at8wQqIijFE2taFJwRLpAHhGE24fPxN8t8kebCR3Q-jWNN5l5TJ97ANergRYMvepv3ZyebYQBVlth5OO4Wia4okTuYFEZslpSdKTNsGfNU/s1600-h/IMG_0312.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguypUv2TnEmmcH7RDpLTZLw_pQ4YqK7rB73at8wQqIijFE2taFJwRLpAHhGE24fPxN8t8kebCR3Q-jWNN5l5TJ97ANergRYMvepv3ZyebYQBVlth5OO4Wia4okTuYFEZslpSdKTNsGfNU/s320/IMG_0312.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129694873010811922" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Crack 'em open and chow down</span><br /></div><br />Deleli, or okra, comes in two forms in Zambia: the pod form (which can be found in Canadian supermarkets as well) and the wild form. The wild form can be found in the hinterland behind the farm house. So every once in awhile, the ladies go out to pick the wild okra. We go out in the evenings, when the sun is setting and it’s cool. I love going out, picking them, and immediately cooking them into a yummy, albeit gooey, relish.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2p8TcXhviZRU9FbgPN-qwTMphldy72bPkF-n16pf1myOu2c7XaedNvOkLT4KIf-dmkggSiWrPeUoGFED10bQS7WsHy4TWHRinNGyIuekeMWNxM3RxNUloYBWzHWSJxVzBylGWDQaeYNY/s1600-h/IMG_0345.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2p8TcXhviZRU9FbgPN-qwTMphldy72bPkF-n16pf1myOu2c7XaedNvOkLT4KIf-dmkggSiWrPeUoGFED10bQS7WsHy4TWHRinNGyIuekeMWNxM3RxNUloYBWzHWSJxVzBylGWDQaeYNY/s320/IMG_0345.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129696307529888866" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to pick we go!<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrODw5d0bl6f2Bngqpo9Ad978E6MLY9KcyRl26SWr4bZ6imcTk3pAakSVzhDlUzrAigqG4w-qiTJdbu2qVkjECa616K1T5-_fw5iUt4hMuYS4jkaClsEpf-eUKgnTPojg7wYm3tOZqODI/s1600-h/IMG_0347.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrODw5d0bl6f2Bngqpo9Ad978E6MLY9KcyRl26SWr4bZ6imcTk3pAakSVzhDlUzrAigqG4w-qiTJdbu2qVkjECa616K1T5-_fw5iUt4hMuYS4jkaClsEpf-eUKgnTPojg7wYm3tOZqODI/s320/IMG_0347.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129696535163155570" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">And in the middle of no where...</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLL7R5cGBw7TtJrp0EakvVNOvtWvVSBmFDBr49zjG2CTbqWwhLvKubtnX9-J2LPl86JIkRxU4gBb3Uz0klfD6uLc26_Z2yYi2zgqyF31Ehtj2tMVGHNegjlANjB4V89emzLtyDosjZgI0/s1600-h/IMG_0352.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLL7R5cGBw7TtJrp0EakvVNOvtWvVSBmFDBr49zjG2CTbqWwhLvKubtnX9-J2LPl86JIkRxU4gBb3Uz0klfD6uLc26_Z2yYi2zgqyF31Ehtj2tMVGHNegjlANjB4V89emzLtyDosjZgI0/s320/IMG_0352.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129696805746095234" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">...we find them</span><br /></div><br />A lot of people in Zambia cook over fire or charcoal stoves because they don’t have power and/or electric stoves. One day, my friend Hilda said we would be baking cakes, but I had no idea how we were going to do this without an oven. When I inquired, she simply said, “Fire on top, fire on bottom.” I had no idea what she was talking about until I saw it. It’s brilliant! And the cakes were delicious.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuu23hji9frJ3lY6elvE21Xtps6gzRHCBSxquWQua2gTVZfocvUA36nUC-3sXIVxc0kGwprrukn0CjybtFJ0rvhIpTFonQYKNlVn6F-Km1tFVpuJCFicEMUu_fCdUpwhJE5ZDhapcg3t4/s1600-h/IMG_0138.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuu23hji9frJ3lY6elvE21Xtps6gzRHCBSxquWQua2gTVZfocvUA36nUC-3sXIVxc0kGwprrukn0CjybtFJ0rvhIpTFonQYKNlVn6F-Km1tFVpuJCFicEMUu_fCdUpwhJE5ZDhapcg3t4/s320/IMG_0138.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129692343275074450" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Fire on top, fire on bottom baking<br /><br /></span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1lG4_SoepAFzUq56mW90SzT664SQ7iQbgfJD0C4155e180-ZYBmQ7PdxGKBfi39DN4RP8nnUci_kzdGxISa5b_YLBN9YrrvOj1rgrXa8sLp6z-KIUmm0UUvOaVLNuirnnfFlAfFSuZAM/s1600-h/IMG_0140.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1lG4_SoepAFzUq56mW90SzT664SQ7iQbgfJD0C4155e180-ZYBmQ7PdxGKBfi39DN4RP8nnUci_kzdGxISa5b_YLBN9YrrvOj1rgrXa8sLp6z-KIUmm0UUvOaVLNuirnnfFlAfFSuZAM/s320/IMG_0140.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129692553728471970" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Green cakes for a treat<br /></span></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">As with most things, there is, of course, balance.</span><br /><br />I’d be lying if I said everything was hunky dory over here. I can safely say that yes, 98% of the time, things are hunky dory (whatever that really means). And the rest of the time, well...<br /><br />I’ve had my fair share of “Arg! I’m so irritated!!” moments. These mostly happen when I’m exhausted. Too tired to listen to and learn Tonga, too tired to humour the people who call out to me at the market, too tired to explain that one lump is plenty nshima for me, too tired to laugh when being laughed at for whatever strange thing it is that I’m doing, too tired to push myself to learn more and be thoughtful...these moments are very rare, but sometimes, there’s only so much putting-myself-out-there I can do without getting any reciprocation.<br /><br />I’m more than happy to get to know people and their culture, but I see cultural integration as a two-way street – I get to know you, you get to know me. It’s just that the getting-to-know-me part is hard to do. It requires a special sort of friendship with a lot of trust and understanding. I may be on my way to getting this with my host sister Sylvia but not with anyone else quite yet. And that’s ok. Because most of the time, I’m over-the-top happy about being here, experiencing amazing things, doing work that I love doing, and being able to share it with all my family and friends back home.<br /><br />Thulasy :)Thulasy B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05684756554935293625noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2571428340086750413.post-63805722600900848962007-10-01T07:50:00.000+02:002007-10-02T08:49:28.666+02:00My (nerdy) learning curve<span style="font-weight: bold;">Agri-what?</span><br /><br />I’ve been in Zambia for about 2 months now. It’s been a whirlwind of learning on all fronts, but particularly on the project front. I fully admit that I’m a city girl, so the nitty-gritty details of agriculture and rural livelihoods have never really concerned me, not in Canada, not in Africa. As far as I was concerned, food production, agricultural markets, agribusiness in general…they were just magical mechanisms humming in the background of my day-to-day existence.<br /><br />Comfortably separated from (but essentially enabled by) these mechanisms, I pondered big ideas about the unsustainable use of mass-produced fertilizers, the pros and cons of agricultural subsidies and protectionism, the growth of fair-trade and organic markets, the ever-more-frequent environmental extremes being experienced around the world…all important ponderings, yes, but never once did I stop to think about what it means to be a farmer. What do all those big ideas look like from their perspective, from the beginning of the chain? And more importantly, what do they spend their time thinking about?<br /><br />In order to address this outstanding gap in my knowledge, I’ve dedicated the first few months of this placement to getting a better picture of what it means to be a farmer in Zambia.<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">A bit of context.</span><br /><br />Small-scale farmers in the chronically food insecure region of the Southern Province are concerned with one main thing: growing enough food to eat, and if all goes well, a bit of surplus to sell. They grow and eat maize here. But maize needs more rain than this drought-prone area has been getting lately. Sorghum, however, is a drought-tolerant crop, which can serve two purposes: it can be sold to market for cash and it can be eaten. Silver bullet? If only it was that easy.<br /><br />Small-scale farmers are incredibly vulnerable – to drought, to volatile commodity prices, to transportation costs, the list can go on indefinitely. As such, they are very risk-averse. Adopting a new crop like sorghum on the grounds that it’s a “good idea” is simply not enough. The project needs to convince farmers to grow, eat, and sell sorghum.<br /><br />The goal is to facilitate the growth of a sorghum market in Zambia that small-scale farmers can participate in. Existing agricultural cooperatives that have strong leadership and business acumen are chosen by CARE to be “partners” in the project. These coops will buy sorghum from the farmers in their respective areas, bulk it, and sell it to Coventry Hawke Commodities (CHC) under contracts that are negotiated by CARE. CARE initially plays a large role in the process but slowly steps away as the reins are handed over to the farmers, the cooperatives, the buyers, and what hopefully will be a self-sustaining market.<br /><br />To get farmers on board, CARE runs awareness meetings at each of the partner coops, inviting farmers from around the area. And what we do is essentially a sales pitch. We deliver an informal presentation about sorghum. We explain how sorghum is drought tolerant. How it is cheaper to grow than maize (because it doesn’t require fertilizer) and thus more profitable per kg. We tell them about the guaranteed market to CHC, and their main buyer Zambian Breweries, who are using sorghum in their new line of beer, Eagle Lager. (SAB Miller, their parent company, has been <a href="http://news.independent.co.uk/business/news/article2318810.ece">lauded </a>for their work with small-scale farmers in Uganda and hope to do the same in Zambia.)<br /><br />They are told that the project is about improving livelihoods, with the goals of:<br /><br />1. Income generation;<br />2. Improved food security; and,<br />3. Crop diversification<br /><br />So farmers volunteer to grow sorghum, get some free seed (only in the first 2 years), get some production training from CARE, get some extension-like support from a sorghum supervisor hired by the coop, and away they go. They plant, they weed, they scare away the birds, they harvest, and they get some food AND some cash. Well, that’s the idea.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Timing is everything. </span><br /><br />The weather is acting weird here in Zambia. There are clouds in the normally blemish free blue sky. Not just a few but lots of clouds. It’s an ominous sign…the rains are coming soon. But it’s much too early for rain. September is supposed to be blazing hot and dry. There shouldn’t be any clouds in the sky, but they’re here now…<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghOb0zNedLvElyGyqikUiIeNZ6B3Qs0R-ILicMztm4WgqND5lvhEmxcWxZatsIlI7uJ1CTcXfUrQQS0fDoH6vH-ewQaDNvSsS1xgjwphqOoaOeEUrnT_46bTG37UVdmmAP6alQFJB91B8/s1600-h/IMG_0296.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghOb0zNedLvElyGyqikUiIeNZ6B3Qs0R-ILicMztm4WgqND5lvhEmxcWxZatsIlI7uJ1CTcXfUrQQS0fDoH6vH-ewQaDNvSsS1xgjwphqOoaOeEUrnT_46bTG37UVdmmAP6alQFJB91B8/s320/IMG_0296.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116292556104786450" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">The clouds have started rolling in<br /></span></div><br />There are a number of factors that affect crop yield for a small-scale farmer – rainfall, pests, use of fertilizers or chemicals (pest-/herbicides), available labour, available farming implements (plows, oxen, tractors even), etc. But from what I can tell, the number one make-or-break factor for a small-scale farmer is the timing of planting. Timing is crucial. In theory, seeds should be planted just after the first rains. And then it must rain again within the first few days and weeks to ensure germination. After that, consistent rains are required until crop maturity, and the length of time to maturity depends on the type and variety of crop.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinKm9pAraFpWUeUuv1rNLkp-OZ3eDHVL9RTTrcohohxIK2OKGl4m8KFQ1Zo0f0gU0cTfqdIVWUlQZaTs1XusYSmLo4bmBgG0T8Sza-AL8GCq3HUgCqF3PSJjFttHdtjyY4nQ3vcTzr7Vg/s1600-h/untitled.bmp"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinKm9pAraFpWUeUuv1rNLkp-OZ3eDHVL9RTTrcohohxIK2OKGl4m8KFQ1Zo0f0gU0cTfqdIVWUlQZaTs1XusYSmLo4bmBgG0T8Sza-AL8GCq3HUgCqF3PSJjFttHdtjyY4nQ3vcTzr7Vg/s320/untitled.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116297555446719122" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Seasonal calendar for maize in Zambia, which is roughly the same for sorghum.<br />Source: <a href="http://www.sahims.net/doclibrary/Sahims_Documents/220807_FEWS_Zambia_Food_security.pdf">FEWS Net Zambia</a><br /></span></div><br />In the Southern Province, farmers are encouraged to plant as early as possible – after the first rains in November or early December – to take advantage of what little rain they do receive during an increasingly shorter and inconsistent rainy season. Most of the farmers we’re working with don’t have access to irrigation, so the rule is to plant early...easy-peasy? Far from it. I can only wonder what those farmers are thinking when they look at the sky these days, with the clouds coming and the smell of rain in the air. When should they plant?<br /><br />Last year, many farmers delayed planting for fear of jumping the gun and ruining their chances of good germination, but then the rains stopped before their plants reached maturity. Those who planted earlier were not necessarily more successful – germination failed for lack of rain or erratic rainfall (floods in some areas, drought in others) reduced yields. All this makes it seem that choosing the time for planting is like playing a game of chicken with the sky.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Risky business.</span><br /><br />I’ve always heard that farming is not easy. Even a few years ago when <a href="http://www.cbc.ca/news/story/2002/07/17/drought020717.html">Albertan farmers bemoaned the lack of rain</a> and how it was affecting their livelihoods, I heard them, but I wasn’t really listening. Here in Zambia, I’m finally getting the message loud and clear – farming is risky business.<br /><br />Since controlling the rains (or buying them, which is essentially what irrigation allows) is not an option for these farmers, we’re putting all our efforts into creating a production training workshop for sorghum growers that will (hopefully) help in mitigating some of the risks they face. We’ve whittled it down to 3 main messages:<br /><br />1. Plant on time - Plant early for late maturing varieties and later for early maturing varieties<br /><br />2. Plant properly - Use suggested spacing, depth, and seed rate per station, and ideally inter-crop or rotate with legumes to enrich nitrogen content of soil<br /><br />3. And practice good field hygiene - weed, thin, and transplant plants as appropriate<br /><br />This is not revelatory information for most farmers, they know farming better than I ever will. But lack of resources – labour, farming implements, etc – inhibits them from performing these basic activities. And even if they do everything by the book, their field can be decimated by unpredictable factors like birds (who like sorghum) or a herd of elephants or, of course, floods/drought. They do what they can with what they have, hedge their bets whenever possible, and hope for the best.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">From theory to reality.</span><br /><br />In an attempt to inform myself on the ins-and-outs of sorghum production, I mined all the literature I could find about it. I read about sorghum production around the world. I read about average yields, what environments (temperatures, rainfall, soils) they thrive in, how risks (environmental stresses, pests, diseases) can be mitigated, and how seeds can be stored. I soaked up everything I could find, filled my head with sorghum information, then headed to the field to talk to farmers.<br /><br />I’m not naïve enough to think that what I read would be the reality of small-scale sorghum farmers in Zambia. I’ve read <a href="http://www.ewb.ca/en/whatsnew/advisoryboard.html">Robert Chambers</a> and have internalized his mantra that the lives of poor people are <span style="font-style: italic;">lcddu – local, complex, diverse, dynamic, and unpredictable/uncontrollable</span>. But even with all this in the back of my head, I was astounded at how lcddu the lives of these farmers really are.<br /><br />Each farmer had a story. Some of the stories were good (Regina grew a remarkable 42 by 50kg bags of sorghum last year, despite bad rains), some were not so good (Patricia failed to harvest any sorghum last year due to rampaging elephants), some made me want to cheer (Christine didn’t have a stellar sorghum harvest, but she’s diversified her income with an gorgeous garden), others made me want to cry (Mary managed to grow a bit of sorghum, but her house burned down this year). Overall, no two were alike.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSt60bDnZHdGKdcdrz0_ct-AXvmrp2rfkQxLofgaOO4hyphenhyphenapSnGLUNdkwgG3s9fJmaV0ujlmKQ291LyM3dX3uvo2Pr0SJ3OSDOkoAFkHVSwlv-uAAEG-P7p1KGQ6wolbytCiprL6UJBMK0/s1600-h/IMG_0171.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSt60bDnZHdGKdcdrz0_ct-AXvmrp2rfkQxLofgaOO4hyphenhyphenapSnGLUNdkwgG3s9fJmaV0ujlmKQ291LyM3dX3uvo2Pr0SJ3OSDOkoAFkHVSwlv-uAAEG-P7p1KGQ6wolbytCiprL6UJBMK0/s320/IMG_0171.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116295687135945314" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Christine with her lovely garden, from which she gave us fistfuls of yummy carrots...mmmm!<br /></span><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Reconciling the reality of sorghum production with the theory is a near impossible task. In fact, I got incredibly discouraged during my last field visit – story after story made me think, “How are ever going make this <span style="font-style: italic;">work</span>?” But I had to step back and look at the whole picture. The bad stories were distracting me from the good ones, of which there are many.<br /></div></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Why I can’t not be excited about this!</span><br /><br />Farmers from non-target areas have heard things about the sorghum market and they want in. In fact, farmers from Muzya were not even officially included in last year’s project, but they still grew sorghum, even out-grew official participants of the project, and are by far the most enthusiastic group going into this year. Even more remarkable is the fact that these people have been receiving food aid from CARE for at least the last couple years and have not grown complacent or dependent because of it – they are determined to grow food for themselves. I’m incredibly encouraged by this group. And their enthusiasm proves that this sorghum idea may be a great one.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqha4Qpb12KgpPMlUT_ONHywN38UXnqufjQsQglnMonwNJa2FSN0Q0TY2SAjWtnJladQOG3RsWR91GgGSyiow4pA6x8G1naVv5-CK_VC1kAJEJVFqlUbxwbyXz2f3ZDBcQWwPg7oC9QZ8/s1600-h/IMG_0135.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqha4Qpb12KgpPMlUT_ONHywN38UXnqufjQsQglnMonwNJa2FSN0Q0TY2SAjWtnJladQOG3RsWR91GgGSyiow4pA6x8G1naVv5-CK_VC1kAJEJVFqlUbxwbyXz2f3ZDBcQWwPg7oC9QZ8/s320/IMG_0135.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116293797350335026" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Farmers at a meeting in Muzya</span><br /><br /></div>Farmers, recognizing the trends in the weather and lacking cattle for plowing due to an outbreak of <a href="http://www-naweb.iaea.org/nafa/aph/stories/2007-zbz-cbpp.html">CBPP</a>, are now choosing to practice conservation farming techniques, such as pot-holing the land during the dry season (i.e., right now). Pot-holing is done to aid water retention and germination come planting time but it requires a considerable amount of physical labour. Despite this, farmers are doing it and some are even experimenting with the technique by varying the size of the holes to see which size will work best for their specific conditions. I’m glad to see the techniques of conservation farming – which will serve them well far into the future – used without prompting.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj9-UsoFRXjT3HcOGLZH-c6eXxBm9uPbKlgttDe79spg9CjPDMNeZPFEeF-86xRge5y3_zN0VIXyiHrZ031IXI_2fv-zZ9nx4_Z5uALCuCAihOycCmQxns5Thn19Sqd84KLiP-oIB8104/s1600-h/IMG_0156.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj9-UsoFRXjT3HcOGLZH-c6eXxBm9uPbKlgttDe79spg9CjPDMNeZPFEeF-86xRge5y3_zN0VIXyiHrZ031IXI_2fv-zZ9nx4_Z5uALCuCAihOycCmQxns5Thn19Sqd84KLiP-oIB8104/s320/IMG_0156.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116294256911835714" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Farmer with his pot-holed plot</span><br /></div><br />As an incentive for farmers to participate in the project, CARE organizes an annual sorghum competition that rewards the highest producers with cash prizes. We just held the award ceremonies for harvest from the 2006/07 growing season last week. The largest competition was held in Sikaunzwe, which has been in involved in the project for 2 years now. And many of the top producers – including the top winner – were women farmers. When Josephine went up to get her award, holding her child’s hand, she looked so incredibly proud. And I was proud that this project was at the very least highlighting the hard work of many amazing women farmers, who are now able to earn a little cash for their households.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivhyphenhyphenhxSa7Yvm7a_gMpTCkvjSVdOVys33WsnqhrHJ1Dr5Oy6baezRbFSvn2X-iKzsy15Nty2t8jVEbhd8PZnDZ17yh7pUHLfrf-1Pw9zAaSKFF4ucisDPXVQf2ZXNYc_z9yLi_w5zLbzYg/s1600-h/IMG_0272.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivhyphenhyphenhxSa7Yvm7a_gMpTCkvjSVdOVys33WsnqhrHJ1Dr5Oy6baezRbFSvn2X-iKzsy15Nty2t8jVEbhd8PZnDZ17yh7pUHLfrf-1Pw9zAaSKFF4ucisDPXVQf2ZXNYc_z9yLi_w5zLbzYg/s320/IMG_0272.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116296700748227202" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Josephine, grand prize winner of Sikaunzwe's Sorghum Competition<br /><br /></span></div><span style="font-weight: bold;">With rain (or sorghum?) comes relief.</span><br /><br />When I left the competition at Sikaunzwe, I didn’t join the CARE staff in the convoy back to Livingstone. I jumped on a mini-bus headed in the opposite direction to Mwandi, where my friends <a href="http://web.mac.com/bryan_peck/iWeb/GuPeks/Home.html">Bryan and Patti</a> are currently volunteering. On the ride out there, dark clouds rolled in above us and suddenly started dumping buckets. The bus had to stop so that we could get the luggage (that we were towing) into the bus through the windows. It’s the first time I was caught in such a torrent in Zambia. The temperature dropped and the air smelled clean and cool. I took a deep breath and let out a sigh of relief.<br /><br />A good friend of mine once used “relief” to describe what it means to be human. I’m not sure I remember what she meant by it, but it stuck with me for reasons of my mine. When the rain fell, I got an inkling of the kind of relief a farmer might feel. I think I'm starting to get what I set out to get - understanding the perspective of a small-scale farmer - though there's still lots to learn.<br /><br />I know there’s no guarantee the rains will be decent this year, but my hope is that a vulnerable farmer living in a village several kilometers away from the paved road, who is responsible for feeding the many mouths of her extended family, can get some relief – no matter how infinitesimal – by growing sorghum this year.<br /><br />Thulasy :)Thulasy B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05684756554935293625noreply@blogger.com53tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2571428340086750413.post-78685338329581331842007-08-27T09:06:00.000+02:002007-08-27T14:41:34.292+02:00Home in Kalomo<span style="font-weight: bold;">After a long wait...I’m finally here!</span><br /><br />Here I am, in my new home, the town of <a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&hl=en&amp;amp;geocode=&q=Kalomo,+Zambia&sll=37.0625,-95.677068&sspn=32.80241,82.265625&amp;amp;ie=UTF8&ll=-17.329664,25.982666&spn=4.938431,10.283203&z=7&om=1">Kalomo</a>. After 3 weeks of in-country training in Lusaka and project overlap with the outgoing EWB volunteer in Livingstone, I was left in Kalomo, all by my lonesome. Truth be told, I had been eagerly awaiting this moment – being dropped in the middle of nowhere and left to fend for myself – and even complained a little about all the hand-holding we were got upon arrival. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciated the guidance, but honestly, I’m ready to just get at it!<br /><br />I am going to be based out of CARE Zambia’s Kalomo Field Office for at least the next few months, and last Wednesday, I met my new co-workers. There are 22 people in the office. <a href="http://www.care.org/">CARE</a>, being the mega-ngo (non-governmental organization) that it is, works on a wide variety of projects. While its bread and butter has been emergency/relief type work, they are slowly <a href="http://www.time.com/time/nation/article/0,8599,1653360,00.html">changing direction</a> towards development work. The sorghum project I’m working on is part of this new direction.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Step 1: Find a place to live.</span><br /><br />My first and foremost objective was to find a place to live. Nothing fancy, something shared, preferably with a family, something within my $14/day living budget. I thought this would be a little difficult, but it was actually sorted out before I even arrived! Celestina, a co-worker at the office, was already looking for a roommate. So I promptly moved into her 2 bedroom house, equipped with electricity, running water, a stove and sink, and a self-contained flush toilet. Not too shabby. But while life with Celestina is wonderful, I would prefer to live with a Tongan family so that I can learn the local culture and language. Plus, I love having kids around :) So I’m going to stay with her for a couple of months while I search out another place to stay.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Step 2: Make friends. </span><br /><br />For the last couple days, I’ve been tagging along with my co-workers as they go about their normal routines – work, shopping in Choma (one town to the east), cooking, socializing. They’ve taken me under their wing, which is very nice of them. But I was eager to get out into the community and explore for myself. My opportunity came on Saturday, when Celestina went to Livingstone for the weekend, and I had pretty much nothing to do.<br /><br />I was finally free to jump out of my comfort zone and get to know Kalomo. So I gathered up my nerve (nerve is required, even for an extrovert like me) and walked out to the market. Kalomo is located on the rail line and major highway between Lusaka and Livingstone, but it’s a very small town, the kind of town you’d miss if you blinked, kind of like Innisfail, Alberta. So it didn’t take me long to reach the Kalomo Dairy Cooperative, one of our partners in the sorghum project. I was greeted by a friendly face, Hilda, the manager of the coop’s milk business. I had met Hilda earlier in the week when Whyson (field facilitator extraordinaire for the sorghum project), Sylvester (wonder-driver), and I did our sensitization rounds with the new coops in the project. I was immediately put at ease by her warm welcome. We chatted for awhile, then she invited me to a “small celebration” out at a nearby village that afternoon. I responded with an enthusiastic “Yes, absolutely!”<br /><br />I was told to meet her at the coop at 1pm, even though time means almost nothing here. While I waited for her, I chatted with a Bangladeshi <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abattoir">abattoir </a>owner, and he remarked that, “time, here...is value-less.” Interesting contrast to Western notions of time is money. Soon enough, Hilda arrived. “Hey you, let’s go!”, she roared. I jumped into the car, her friend Fred in the driver’s seat, she handed me a lollipop and we drove off into the countryside blaring the tunes of Don Williams. Hilda and Fred? More like Bonnie and Clyde..I knew immediately that we would be good friends.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZb2Zl4xe2oayY8EiIN6hcNe8Luw1fwop0Bpthe13-vgKK4AsOLj7Br6tXLUj8q5qO4OaNqbc5xDuHEZhh0er239v0vYiXcLDIzUIPDgqWdgL78nqJIuTUWd0uGyd2IyMqmpcuaEcuYhA/s1600-h/IMG_0130.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZb2Zl4xe2oayY8EiIN6hcNe8Luw1fwop0Bpthe13-vgKK4AsOLj7Br6tXLUj8q5qO4OaNqbc5xDuHEZhh0er239v0vYiXcLDIzUIPDgqWdgL78nqJIuTUWd0uGyd2IyMqmpcuaEcuYhA/s320/IMG_0130.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5103284682665967186" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Hilda and Fred</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Step 3. Have fun. </span><br /><br />I had no idea what to expect from this “small celebration”, but it didn’t matter, I was up for an adventure. And if you haven’t heard already, any time you travel in Africa, there’s a big chance you’re in for unexpected happenings. The vehicles, even the good ones at CARE, are touch and go. I have taken to completely ignoring the strange noises and smells that come from under the hood, the broken speed/odometers, and fuel gauges that are always at “E” (like Kramer, I’d like to see how far past the slash we can go!) The roads are notoriously bad, so rocky and pot-holed that they torture any vehicle’s alignment, that is, when you’re not sinking in sand or water. It being the dry season now, we happened upon some sand. Fred not-so-skillfully tried to maneuver around it while Hilda giggled away.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvH0BTc2FSy2Z7zfQdeHV5dU2aiMYWZGsQ5xJJFBt2-XHa-LG3e88mYY-wQNlHUjibP0bZN9i34Cg6FOSEkw35NlWNSjz1NDfm-7OqYu-yX2gm50L5_Gv3oHbGqehsaNhBPp2HJ-Tq2vQ/s1600-h/IMG_0122_comp.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvH0BTc2FSy2Z7zfQdeHV5dU2aiMYWZGsQ5xJJFBt2-XHa-LG3e88mYY-wQNlHUjibP0bZN9i34Cg6FOSEkw35NlWNSjz1NDfm-7OqYu-yX2gm50L5_Gv3oHbGqehsaNhBPp2HJ-Tq2vQ/s320/IMG_0122_comp.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5103285966861188706" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-style: italic;">Stuck in the sand</span><br /></div><br />We drove past a sign that said, “Zunga Zunga Palace. The Home of HRH Chief Supitunyana”. “Is <span style="font-style: italic;">this </span>where we’re going?!” I blurted out. Yup, we were going to the chief’s post-harvest celebration. We were, of course, late, so we sat anonymously at the back. This didn’t last long. After the speeches, we were motioned to the front to eat a meal with the “important” people. Fred and I declined, feeling we weren’t nearly important enough to warrant special treatment, but Hilda urged me forward. She and I joined about 20 men for a meal of nshima with village chicken and goat, which were just slaughtered. This was the first of many instances where I will be given privileges over others just because I’m a muzungu – or Westerner. I’ve accepted the fact that I’m a novelty wherever I go, and if it doesn’t harm anyone or compromise my values, I’m ok with playing along.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTQo9hK7XzgBfrodugY0DxQAFKsWD_K82mIwS_B3WqEJJolKU95LBN28HQaHlKlc24CpEfmlTvwA5vHhHFjaDTMqEmEf9K-pLH36viODwC_YFsMqGNvNcddMEpmBaQGf9bXPLaYiDv1iA/s1600-h/IMG_0126.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTQo9hK7XzgBfrodugY0DxQAFKsWD_K82mIwS_B3WqEJJolKU95LBN28HQaHlKlc24CpEfmlTvwA5vHhHFjaDTMqEmEf9K-pLH36viODwC_YFsMqGNvNcddMEpmBaQGf9bXPLaYiDv1iA/s320/IMG_0126.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5103286383473016434" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-style: italic;">Chief addressing the crowd</span><br /></div><br />After the meal, Hilda and I walked around and socialized with the villagers that had gathered from around the area to participate in the celebration. I felt a little out of place, having come late, unwarrantably eaten with the important people, and foolishly forgotten my chitenge (the local cloth that women wrap around their waists). But to my surprise, I knew quite a few of the people from the sensitization meetings of the week before. So many familiar faces, all I could do was smile and repeat, “Mwalibiya buti?” (How are you? in Tonga) over and over again. They love hearing the greeting, and it seemed enough to be forgiven all trespasses.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqrN4uLi21Wiokd0Xfb5hFmpmxSVazn14kDF8Yh3_IbzQ0bi5cxD5Z6myuAFf0m_GIqLoSOm7Me8tq1BGCfuHyevIFHpZm9gaFtyCyExhBcx3-_XXaUwTVApKrdJh16pIg-dyVSaMtw2g/s1600-h/IMG_0128.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqrN4uLi21Wiokd0Xfb5hFmpmxSVazn14kDF8Yh3_IbzQ0bi5cxD5Z6myuAFf0m_GIqLoSOm7Me8tq1BGCfuHyevIFHpZm9gaFtyCyExhBcx3-_XXaUwTVApKrdJh16pIg-dyVSaMtw2g/s320/IMG_0128.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5103287040603012738" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-style: italic;">Women preparing lunch</span><br /></div><br />But Clyde/Fred was getting restless and Bonnie/Hilda bored, so like any good dine-n-dash-post-harvest-celebration-crasher, we left early, before everyone could notice. I’d like to say that I was innocent, just following their lead, but I pretty much became their backseat accomplice as soon as I jumped in the car. We had a laugh that afternoon.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Step 4. Culture Shock</span><br /><br />To continue the roller-coaster analogy, I feel like I’m being pulled up that initial climb, slowly but surely anticipating the inevitable plummet. See, I’m very much aware that I’m still in the honeymoon phase of my placement. I’m loving every minute of it – all the differences I encounter make me smile, I’m reveling in the wonder of it all. But I know this won’t last forever. Soon everyone in Kalomo will be used to me, the novelty of both them and me will wear off, and I will be faced with the reality of the situation. It doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad reality, it’s all about perception. Since I realize this now and am anticipating it, I’m sure I’ll be able to mitigate the downsides of culture shock. But if all else fails, I can always jump on the adventure wagon with Hilda and Fred and be assured of a good time :)<br /><br />If you ever feel inclined, you can call or text me at:<br /><br />+260978756064<br /><br />I would love to hear from you!<br /><br />ThulasyThulasy B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05684756554935293625noreply@blogger.com39tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2571428340086750413.post-54974482543829554062007-08-01T20:14:00.000+02:002007-08-01T23:19:36.835+02:00I'm off!<span style="font-weight:bold;">Why is my heart beating so quickly?</span><br /><br />It’s difficult to describe the tumult of emotion I’ve been feeling for the last few weeks. I spastically alternate between giddy excitement and nail-biting apprehension (for those who know me well, don’t worry, it’s the former that tends to dominate), with moments of calm, clarity speckled in between. I’m feeling anxious in a good way, because despite my apprehension, I’m comforted by the fact that I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. In T-minus 10 hours, I will be boarding a plane on-route to Zambia to begin my 13 month placement with Engineers Without Borders.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">The details…well, as much as I know. </span> <br /><br />The details of my placement are still being figured out, but I will share the general gist with you. I have been placed on the EWB / CARE Zambia “Sorghum Market Enterprise Project.” Sorghum, eh? Well I’m glad you asked. <br /><br />The staple food crop in Zambia is maize, which is prepared and eaten as a thick porridge called nshima. Everyone loves nshima. No meal is complete without nshima. But all is not well in the world of maize. It requires consistent rainfall to thrive, and the Southern Province of Zambia has been hit by increasingly frequent droughts over the past two decades. As a result, the area is suffering from chronic food insecurity, so in 2005, EWB partnered with CARE Zambia to address this in a sustainable manner. <br /><br />Sorghum is a drought and heat tolerant cereal crop native to the region that appears to have real market potential in Zambia. This project aims to promote sorghum as a viable alternative crop in drought prone areas. The idea is to establish a sustainable, market-driven “value-chain” whereby farmers can grow and sell sorghum as a cash crop. And in years where their maize crop fails, the surplus sorghum can be used to supplement their food supply, thereby improving food security. This is the ultimate goal.<br /><br />The project has fared well in its first two years, and Nina Lothian (fellow EWB volunteer) and I will be coming in to help with scale-up and expansion. But while all this seems like a great idea and I’m very excited about it, I’m also very aware of the many challenges still ahead on the long road to food security and sustainability.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Who, what, where, when...why???</span><br /><br />Me. Sorghum. Zambia. 13 months. And the big why…<br /><br />There are many reasons why I decided to take this next step, and I don’t think I can fully articulate them, except to say it just seemed like the right thing to do. This probably sounds like a cop-out answer, a not-so-clever way of avoiding a hard question. But it’s the best way for me to describe it – the right thing to do. <br /><br />During our pre-departure learning session, we were asked to pick 3 things from an enormous list that describe what we value most. My 3 things were: Do the right thing, fun and laughter, and of course, love. And if you look at it this way, it becomes obvious why I’ve chosen to take this path. <br /><br />I have an incredible appreciation for community, for it is fun and laughter and love all made manifest. But I also feel very strongly about the injustices facing humanity. And so it is my belief in this common humanity, this global community that has compelled me to be a part of the solution, to do the right thing.<br /><br />I expect this placement to be the funnest time ever. I also expect it to be one of the hardest. But that’s why I signed up…I’m ready for the challenges, and I’m open to the good times. I’m looking forward to getting to know the people of Zambia and letting them get to know me. And hopefully, I’ll have some impact along the way. It will be a roller-coaster year of awesomeness, and I’d like to invite you to join me on the ride. <br /><br />Lots of love, <br /><br />ThulasyThulasy B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05684756554935293625noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2571428340086750413.post-31061565676857750362007-07-26T23:06:00.001+02:002007-07-26T23:07:59.923+02:00I'll post soon......I promise!<br /><br />T :)Thulasy B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05684756554935293625noreply@blogger.com1