Monday, February 15, 2010

contradiction.

A capital city with no sidewalks, in a country where the majority of the people walk everywhere they go; Buses and cars in a hot rush, in a place where time holds no meaning and nothing happens quickly; A country powered on the backs of the hard work of women, who hold no financial or legal power in their own households; A people obsessed with money and social status, living in a socialist society where individuals are not meant to stand out above others; A focus on what something looks like to outsiders, with no attention paid to the inner quality; An established national language, which the majority of citizens fail to speak or comprehend.

The more time I spend in Zambia, the more contradictions I notice. I’ve been stuck in Lusaka dealing with medical issues since Thursday, and have been feeling more and more frustrated with what I see and experience here. As a disclaimer, I’ll mention that of course contradictions exist everywhere in the world; I highlight those in Zambia because in order to understand them I need to put them out there, address them head-on. For my personal sanity I feel a need to comprehend them. Why are things they way they are? Why do people behave the way they behave? My life here is a futile yet hopeful attempt to put the pieces together, although I have the feeling they won’t complete any sort of logical puzzle. I’m destined to leave Zambia with far more questions than with which I came.

Lately even I feel like a walking contradiction. I’m living in one of the poorest countries in the world, in a rural village not found on a map, trying to work with local people to change their behavior. But what if the situation were reversed? If a purple-colored person moved to suburban Minnesota and tried to get me to change my behavior, I would most definitely think they were crazy. Oh, and did I mention that person isn’t fluent in English? Lately I find myself losing passion for grassroots development work. Grass can’t grow if it doesn’t receive nourishment from the sky. People cannot thrive with a government that consistently fails to protect their rights and best interests. If my neighbors in the village were somehow able to afford to travel to Lusaka, they might just die of shock upon seeing the wealth that resides in their capital city. The class disparities in Zambia are black and white, with very little grey in between; it might as well be two separate countries.

Foreigners come here to ‘help’ the people, while the government continues take a lot off the top, breeding both corruption and greed. As cynical as it sounds, power and money come hand-in-hand, and what chance does the majority have if they are poor, lack access to quality education, and are powerless to keep themselves healthy and thus alive? In a perfect world they’d have a fighting chance, but the haunting reality remains that they don’t.

I am almost to the point of feeling hopeless after living here for two years; I can’t imagine the hopelessness one must feel raised in a country that doesn’t even pretend to care about their future. Correction: they do pretend to care, which may be even worse, as it creates the illusion of a potential that can easily be fulfilled. It takes not only a strong sense of self and a willful character to succeed as a Zambian raised outside Lusaka, but help from institutions put in place for the specific purpose of helping. I believe that certain institution is not Peace Corps. It isn’t NGO’s. It isn’t anyone that is not Zambian. It is institutions created by Zambians, made up of Zambians, run by Zambians that have the responsibility to help their fellow citizens.

As a volunteer in Zambia, I am lying to myself if I say that I am doing more for Zambia than it is doing for me. The ultimate truth is that I have gained more from this experience than any Zambian who has known me. And I will return to the United States a more informed citizen because of the opportunities my own country has afforded me. I attended public schools funded by my government. I burrowed money from my government to attend college. I say my government because it is a government with which I have a relationship; Although I’ll admit not always a perfect one, a relationship nonetheless. I would venture to say that tragically few rural Zambians feel any semblance of a connection to their government, and thus lies the contradiction in the Zambian government; It is a government that doesn’t govern its people. A government is a branch or service of the supreme authority of a state or nation, taken as representing the whole. If one is representing themselves and the interests of a select few, they are not a true government. Until the Zambian government decides to govern its people, those same people will continue to die of HIV, be unemployed, turn to the bottle, and experience no quality education and thus ability to better their own situation in life. That is true hopelessness, and it stems from contradiction.

I will be home in a little over two months, and it will be good for me to reflect on my time in Zambia from a different perspective. Although hindsight tends to blind itself to the ‘bad’ and illuminate the ‘good’, I don’t want to forget what has been negative in my experiences here; the frustrations and criticisms are just as important as the positive and praised. It’s human nature to find the silver lining, but we can’t ignore the dark clouds. Until we weather the storm, we can’t experience the sunshine.

katie

Friday, February 5, 2010

notes on development

I believe that approaches to development are changing constantly. As an agent of healthcare development in Africa, if I don’t consistently assess and alter my personal approach at the extreme rural level, how can I expect to effectively participate in that development as a whole? I tend to yo-yo between the belief that all foreign aid should pull out of Africa as soon as possible, and the belief that there is hope in a system of foreign aid that actually helps those who need it most. But hope can only come from consistent dialogue amongst outside agents of development as well as host country nationals.

Among the PC volunteer community, there is a constant running dialogue surrounding whether or not any of us should really be here, and if we are actually doing more harm than good. We share our idealistic solutions to anyone that will listen, as well as our growing list of frustrations regarding living in the middle of the African bush without money or resources for the work we are expected to do; but we would be kidding ourselves if we thought we were the only foreign aid workers in the country who have these conversations.

I attended a development panel last week that opened up such a dialogue between the Peace Corps, NGOs, and the US Embassy in Zambia. It was held at the one of the higher-up Embassy officer’s home in Lusaka. (Light snacks and wine were served…they haven’t learned yet to keep Peace Corps volunteers away from free-flowing drinks…). Although we took time to appreciate good old-fashioned chips and salsa (even salsa con queso!), our main focus was kept on the questions put forth to us by American aid workers outside of Peace Corps (identified by their slick-backed hair, suits, and lack of flip-flops). We talked for a couple hours, although it felt like mere minutes, about issues such as handing out large sums of money to rural villagers, the entrepreneurial spirit (or lack-there-of, according to the US embassy) of Zambians, Zambian politics and its role in aid, and how we can keep hope in what all too often seems to be a hopeless situation regarding development in this country. There was a panel made up of 2 American employees of NGOs in Lusaka, 1 employee of the US Embassy, and 3 Peace Corps Volunteers (representing the education, health, and agriculture projects). Although at times the discussion turned to debate and became a bit heated, what was most significant about the panel discussion was its ability to help us realize the tremendous importance of what we have to teach each other. Although sometimes we hate to admit it, as rurally-placed volunteers we have a lot to learn from those focused on the big picture of development in Zambia. And even those dressed in suit and tie, living in fancy gated homes made to separate Africa from their small American haven, have something to learn from the liberal, tanned and dirty Peace Corps volunteers who spend two years trying to blend into a rural community in the bush, whose job it is to focus on the small picture, the ‘roots’ of grassroots development. If we can learn to listen to one another and open up our discussions and conversations to another point of view, development in this country can only stand to gain. However, there is one party missing from this equation, a group of the utmost importance, without which there would be no equation in the first place. This group consists of Zambians themselves.

One comment made by an NGO worker at the panel rang especially true; that we cannot afford to forget that we are guests in this country. We are welcomed with open arms, complete with a plethora of greetings and handshakes, into Zambia. Zambians desire to show us their culture, the way they live, their beliefs and values, their lives in such a way that allows us to call this land-locked country in sub-saharan Africa that so easily gets lost in the shuffle our home for as long as we choose to stay. Ultimately, no matter what projects we work on, how strong the relationships we form with host country nationals, or how long we talk around the point of development in Zambia, none of us need to be here; from the volunteer carrying water to her hut everyday to the US Embassy worker in charge of dispensing small-scale grants to community schools to the Director of World Vision. Ultimately we should all be constantly working ourselves out of our jobs here. Zambia is developing from the hard work of Zambians, not foreigners. We have to recognize that we are here to aid with that development, not to do it ourselves. I feel like a broken record when I say that development in this country can only come from Zambians themselves; but surely this seemingly simple concept has defined my service and life here for the past two years.

Maybe it’s the tiny hippie hidden somewhere inside me, but I tend to get a bad taste in my mouth when seeing foreign aid workers driving around fancy land cruisers with USAID (United Stated Agency for International Development) emblazoned on the side. I know part of this bitterness comes from seeing them pass by me as I’m stuck hitch-hiking on the side of the road (dude, my tax dollars help pay for that vehicle!), but mostly I tend to think they are missing what’s right in front of them; the projects they fund and work they do doesn’t trickle down to those at the very rural level who need it most. I’m angry at them for not seeing what slaps me in the face every morning that I wake up in my village. But when I get caught up in this anger and bitterness I only forget that they may have the same frustrations with me. I am only focused on development at the smallest of scales, and I don’t see all that goes into efforts to dispense developmental initiatives across an entire country. I don’t see successes and failures on a national level. I don’t have a degree in foreign affairs or international development. I only have my experiences of the past two years, experiences that have never failed to spark my curiosity in the big picture. After discussing/debating development efforts with those with the fancy suits, many pc volunteers feel even more put off by those at the top. As for me, I find myself more intrigued. There is so much more to learn, and unless you are willing to keep your mouth shut long enough to hear another point of view you’ll find yourself stuck in a self-satisfied world in which it’s easy to feel a bit too comfortable. It doesn’t help to criticize a system over and over again. We need to learn to understand that system, its failures and successes, and work within it ourselves in order to change it. I could see myself possibly working internationally in the future, at what capacity I’m not sure. But my interest has definitely been sparked.

The group I came to Zambia with almost 2 years ago had our COS (close of service) Conference in Lusaka last week. There were 52 of us at the beginning, and now we are 45. 15 people in my group have chosen to extend their service for a third year, most continuing their work with different NGOs in Lusaka. In order to celebrate the near-end to our time in Zambia, Peace Corps put us up in a fancy lodge for 2 nights about an hour outside of Lusaka. During the day we had sessions on the logistics of finishing up our service as well as moving on with life after Peace Corps. But the best part of the conference was hanging out with 44 other people who all seem to be in about the same place mentally and emotionally as I do right now, 44 other people who have been living here for the same amount of time as I have. At this point, in the thick of rainy season, most all of us have finished with our projects and are ready to move on to what is next. Of course there is that bittersweet feeling that always accompanies ending an incredible yet, at times, extremely frustrating experience that can’t help but change you. I booked my flight home, and should be arriving in Minneapolis (I pray it’s not too cold) on April 24th. Although I feel more confused now more than when I came regarding exactly what it is I want to do next, I feel at peace with the fact that I’ll figure it out. I know what makes me happy, and I’ve learned to find comfort in the little things. It’s time to leave Zambia behind me, knowing that what I learned here I will carry with me for the rest of my life. And that’s all I know for sure. As so succinctly put by Tom Petty:

It’s time to move on. It’s time to get going.
What lies ahead I have no way of knowing.
Under my feet the grass is growing.
It’s time to move on. It’s time to get going.

katie