Will Theorize for Food

Winding Down

2007-08-26T17:52:00.000-07:00

August 22

Last night was the Gala Dinner of the conference. It was like an enormous wedding on a huge lawn on the lake with food and African dancers and music. A good time. We spent last night in the hostel, so I woke up again all night to the sound of dog fights, bats screaming and roosters crowing. How pleasant it will be to wake up to the sound of an alarm clock! I never thought I’d say that, for sure. The hostel was full tonight, so we’d made plans to stay in a hotel in the center of town. When we arrived this morning, however, they had no record of our reservation. C and I are just about at the end of our tethers, so we worked hard to control ourselves and get out of that hotel without making a scene. All things work out in the end, though, and we found ourselves at the newest hotel in town that doesn’t even require a mosquito net! Our last night in the country will be a good one.

Still so much to do before getting on a plane tomorrow! Maybe one more meal of posho and matooke. Or not… I get to be a big geek today and hear Malcolm Harper, a big name in microfinance, give a talk about what is wrong with microfinance. He’s an outspoken critic after spending about 30 years in the business, and I’m unreasonably excited to hear him.

Hooray for home! I’ll try not to complain about breathing the air in L.A. so much anymore. I’ve come to know well that it could be so much worse!

See you soon!

Meeting of the Minds

2007-08-26T17:50:00.000-07:00

August 20

Back in Kampala, and it is as ick as ever. The air is so black and thick with diesel I get awful headaches every day. Luckily the conference I am attending is at an absolutely beautiful resort on Lake Victoria, so I get a gorgeous retreat every day. Thank goodness, too, or I might have just fled Kampala last night when I saw a mouse in our hostel room as we were getting ready for bed.

Traveling the city has also been adventurous as always. Yesterday the two bodas C and I happened to be on were disasters! The first one had really no idea where he was going (though he told us he did) and it took us half an hour to end up a short distance from where we started, already dirty early in the day. The other boda, later in the day, actually ran out of gas in the middle of a traffic circle, so we had to get off in the street so the driver could push his bike to go get gas. That’s another interesting trend I’ve noticed here. The drivers only get enough gas to get where they are going, but not enough to come back. And no one ever has any airtime on their cell phones. They buy enough minutes to make the next phone call, but no more. So much of life here is day to day – buying just enough food and gas, and working just enough hours to eat that day but no extra. Perhaps it is because there is such uncertainty about how tomorrow and the next day will go, it isn’t much worth the effort or worry of planning ahead. No wonder the microfinance industry has such a hard time convincing people (and enabling them) to save money.

Last night I had a great conversation with a microfinance practitioner C knows about why the people here seem “content” to remain poor and how they treat white people (to paraphrase him). His comments about his own countrymen were a little surprising, and he had much to say about how many people seem to assume all whites are rich and therefore have much they can, and should, give. This was followed quickly by another circumstance of someone inflating our dinner check, by a lot, and getting irritated with us when we asked them to correct it. This friend said it was because they assumed the white girls wouldn’t look at the bill, and would pay whatever we were charged. Even in America I always look at the bill! So many little things to notice…

The conference is quite an affair. It has drawn hundreds of microfinance practitioners, enthusiasts and banking executives from all over Africa, Europe and the US, and the session discussions are pretty lively. I attended a session about climate change and microfinance, which was a lot more about climate than anything else, but it was a nod in the right direction at least. Much of the discussion is on very technical issues, and some are over my head. But many people across Africa seem to be struggling with many of the same problems, like how to reach the rural poor, the very poor, and how to create/avoid formal national regulation of the microfinance industry (depending on who you ask). I’ve been able to talk to a few people, and most are unsure how to approach the questions I’m posing – but I suppose that is a finding in and of itself. There seems to be a small enclave of people discussing environmental issues, so perhaps it is becoming more relevant in the field. Only two more nights left in Uganda, then the long road home. There’s a great feeling of freedom here that I think I will miss, but I am very excited to come home, for some many reasons. I’m sure, though, that I won’t find monkeys outside my bedroom at home the way I do here. Bummer… even if they are a little scary!

Back to the Capital

2007-08-26T17:49:00.000-07:00

August 15 - 19

This week in Jinga has been quiet and relatively calm. I worked all week at the microfinance office, gathering data and talking to people. I hope I got what I was looking for, but it is hard to tell at this stage. I really need time to sort through the data, figure out whatever it is I want to concentrate on, and go from there. This makes me a little anxious, naturally, since I leave the country in four days, but I’ve really done all I can for now. Time ran short so I didn’t get to go up north to meet C in Lira, but I did go to visit Bujagoli Falls yesterday. Bujagoli is a village about 10km out of Jinga on the Nile, and people go there to raft the rapids. I hired a boda to get me there, and hiked down to the river. I wasn’t prepared to get in, and it is probably a good thing. I was in a little lagoon area, and the water there is relatively quiet, so I would have risked my luck getting all kinds of gross things if I’d jumped in (say schistosomiasis three times fast). I do not envy the shivering Canadians I met there… I moved out a little further and was able to climb onto a rock in the middle of a tiny rapid and stay dry. The Nile valley is really beautiful, and it was worth the second sunburn.

I haven’t been sleeping well the last few nights, on account of the people in the room next to mine. Every night the man comes home at about 3-4am, and turns on his music – American pop songs that were all the rage, say, 8 years ago. So I know all the words and can hear him singing them all wrong… Plus his voice is very very deep, and just shakes the walls. The upside of not sleeping, however, is that I got to see a great lightning storm over the hills across the lake, which was dotted with hundreds of fishing boats, each with a single lantern floating in the dark. They must come out around 2am, and I’m not sure what time they go back in, but it was somehow comforting to know they were all awake too.

Leaving Jinga today was actually more bittersweet than I was expecting. I was sad to leave the lakefront and the busy streets of the town, but also excited to get to Kampala to attend the African microfinance conference and go home in a few days. I left my hotel around noon and went to the taxi park, which is the absolute definition of “chaos.” Dozens of matatu vans with dozens of hawkers trying to lure you into their specific ride, people selling every manner of food, toy, newspaper, and weird kitsch. Let me just tell you, I am about tired of being called “Mzungu.” Done. Especially because it is most often followed by a request for me to pay for something. At any rate, I was able to get onto a matatu almost immediately and cruised through relatively traffic-free Sunday roads back to Kampala. There was a brief moment of panic when I thought a man in the taxi park carrying a dead chicken by the legs (feathers and head still on) would get into our matatu, but thankfully I didn’t have to ride an hour with a dead chicken next to me.

I got into Kampala and went to the café where I’d arranged to meet C, and instantly collapsed with fatigue. This trip has been draining physically, emotionally, mentally… I’ll be glad to have some time to decompress and process when I get home. I think I will do my decompressing in a hot shower. As many as I can handle. C and I perused the conference schedule online and, to our surprise, the president of Uganda will be giving the opening speech tomorrow morning! Plus there is a special session on climate change and microfinance, so I’m hoping to talk to everyone I can get my hands on.

I don’t think I’ve mentioned this weird thing to anyone, but in Uganda every establishment that has any amount of money come through it (banks, microfinance offices, even nice hotels) have armed guards out front. Seriously, men with semiautomatic weapons who lounge on the front steps 24 hours a day. I’ve been having a hard time getting used to seeing those guns, especially attached to people who look completely unconcerned and unresponsive. Let’s say the security leaves me feeling less than secure...

Flying solo in Jinga

2007-08-15T07:07:00.000-07:00

August 13-14

Monday morning C took off for the north, J left for India, and I was left alone in Jinga. That morning I was a little nervous about going into the microfinance office, but it turned out to be a great first day. I met with the loan supervisor, and she was happy to answer my questions and let me see some client files. I worked for a few hours, seeing many clients come and go (and getting many inquisitive stares). That afternoon I traversed town a bit more and finally came back to my hotel. I got a wretched sunburn the other day, so I am nursing some pain and fatigue, and decided to go to bed early. I was watching the African version of “Deal or No Deal” (where the top prize is only US$100,000), and discovered I’d made the mistake of leaving my overhead light on a little too long – my room was swarming with blackflies and mosquitoes! Eeek! I hid under my bed net and just pretended they weren’t there, and when I woke up this morning they were gone. It is for that reason I am in my room tonight working by the light of my computer…

Today I woke up early and went into town to find real coffee (all the stuff you get in hotels is Nescafe… ugh). Thank goodness for the Source Café and its catering to westerners. I found real brewed coffee and good breakfast, so I started my second day at the microfinance office full of energy. I was able to meet the branch manager and get my hands on more files; they even set me up in an office in the back away from the hustle of the front office and the grass mower drone of the generator. I made some more progress today, and hopefully tomorrow will be even better. I’d like to interview the branch manager, I just have to catch her when she is in the office…

This evening I went to the bus park to inquire about a bus up north to Lira, and got many conflicting stories from the bus “agents” there. I think I should be able to get a bus early Thursday morning, if I’m ready to leave by then. Then I decided to have dinner at Volcano again, just because posho and beans sounded like a great meal. When I came in, though, the owner told me that the posho, rice, beans and matooke were all gone (“were not there”)! Curses! Instead, she said, she would feed me other good things. Little did I know that would be goat stew and cassava root. But, being New Brave Heather, I dove into the goat, and it was really very tasty! While I was eating I started talking to the woman sitting next to me. It turns out she is a microfinance client, and wanted to tell me everything that is right and wrong with the whole process. She told me many “secrets” I would never have learned by talking to microfinance professionals. She invited me to come have a beer with her at Volcano tomorrow evening.

Another interesting part of today was being approached by a woman selling those paper bead necklaces you’ve probably heard of. These long strips of paper are rolled to make beads and then varnished. This particular woman is part of a co-op of women living with HIV and AIDS – she even had a membership card to show me. The combination of me being very moved, very impressed, and a sucker means I bought three. J

It has been quite a day, so I’m ready to get some shut eye. Still only one mosquito bite so far – keep your fingers crossed!

August 12

Saturday afternoon three of us left Kampala for Jinga, a much smaller town on the shore of Lake Victoria, about 30 or so miles east. Getting here was another new adventure. One of the most common ways to travel longer distances around here is by matatu – imagine an old Volkswagen Vanagon (only flimsier) with 4 rows of seats. Matatu drivers cruise the streets of a city with a sort of heckler friend sitting in the second row of seats behind him, leaning out the window and calling to people telling them where the van is headed. The trouble is, however, that the matatu won’t leave until it is full, and that doesn’t mean each seat is full. It means that there are so many people in the van that people are sitting on laps, or in the aisles, and just when you think another body could not possibly squeeze in, the drivers somehow figure out how they can. The matatu we took to Jinga had 20 people in it at its fullest, and my friends said that was actually not the fullest they’d ever seen. I was blown away!

About two hours later we arrived in Jinga, crossing over the Nile along the way. The differences between here and Kampala are remarkable. Besides being much smaller, Jinga is much cooler in temperature, and there is generally less commotion and chaos on the streets. There are far fewer people out, and the bodas are mostly bicycles and not motorcycles. That means the air smell much fresher and less like diesel. Bike bodas are a bit worse for the self-esteem, though, since you feel like you’re weighing the driver down and his bike has no gears, so he’s struggling to get up a hill with you in tow. After a series of weird events we were sent to the Hotel Triangle, right on the lake, and were able to get a great room. It is apparently a real treat to have a hotel with carpet and hot water, and this one also has a pool, so we hit the jackpot. I think the people directing us decided that since we are mzungus they should send us to one of the most expensive hotels in town. Still, we paid about $15 each for these luxuries, so there is no room at all for complaint.

There are a lot more children on the streets here during the day, some in school uniforms, many not. They smile and wave and some run after you when you are walking. Others ask for money, but the most common comments from the kids are “Mzungu, bye!” and “Mzungu, sweet?” I brought some individually wrapped Life Savers with me, and they are on fire for them.

On a walk the other day we stumbled upon what seems to be Jinga’s charcoal market. A tiny shantytown at the edge of the lake has a dozen shacks with piles and piles of charcoal. There were women and children in front of many of the shacks, and they would call us over and have us take their picture, even passing us their infants to hold. My researcher brain was running a mile a minute checking out the charcoal business. Dozens of huge sacks of charcoal piles high went as far as the eye could see. Uganda has a big problem with deforestation – people are cutting down forest trees not only for fuel wood and charcoal creation, but also to create farm and grazing land. Charcoal in particular is a booming business since it is the most common source of energy in the country.

While in the market we passed a girl and a few of her siblings carrying jugs of water up a hill, and as we passed she turned and said “help me,” and C took up the task of carrying her huge load. Little did we know how heavy it would be, or how strong this girl must be to carry it on her head! She invited us back to her house, which is really an abandoned building down the road from our hotel that she shares with her mom, her many siblings, and her and her siblings’ children. Lea is only 17, but she has a baby that she and her sisters care for. We met the siblings, they sang for us, offered us roasted corn, and made us feel very welcome. One of the babies cried when she met us, and Lea explained it was because my “hair is scary.” I suppose blonde is not a color they see often. Eventually we said goodbye to Lea and her family and went into town.

I found the office where I would be working, and was surprised to see an old man outside guarding the place. I’ve forgotten to mention a strange pattern I’ve noticed, and it didn’t really strike me until I saw the old man outside the closed microfinance office – every establishment here that carries any significant amount of money (banks, exchange bureaus, even busy businesses and microfinance offices) have armed guards outside at all hours. Not armed as in pistols in holsters, armed as in semi-automatic weapons slung over their shoulders. It is… unnerving, to say the least. This very old gentleman informed me that this office would open Monday morning at 9, and I could come back then. My friends and I found a hole in the wall restaurant called the Volcano, and ate an incredible amount of posho, matooke, beans, greens, and chipati (an incredible sort of homemade tortilla). We wandered around town a bit and familiarized ourselves with Jinga. Finally we headed back to the hotel and crashed, sleeping like we’d never slept before or would again.

Out of Kampala

2007-08-11T01:06:00.000-07:00

August 11

Yesterday we left the Red Chili and moved to a guest house called the Squires. Outside my window I can see an enormous Catholic church up the hill with a relief of the Virgin Mary standing on the African continent on the outside, and at the bottom a group of ramshackle shacks, put together with scrap metal and wood. This morning I woke up to the sound of a church group singing and roosters crowing while out the window women and a few men opened their fruit stands and swept up. I saw a group of young boys playing soccer in the street, and they stopped to pose and smile when I took their picture. Some of them look at us in amazement, like white people are sort of a funny new animal to them, but they always smile and wave.

Most of yesterday was spent at the Kabira country club here in Kamapala. A group of us sat talking with a friend who works in with orphans and street children in the north of Uganda, and he was telling incredible stories about how his group is working hard to get kids into homes closer to school because they are often targeted for abduction by the Lord's Resistance Army while walking to and from school. Another friend told a story about her time up north when some street children she was working with asked her to bandage up some wounds they got after being beaten by the drunk "security" guards who patrol the streets at night. Down here in the South it is hard to believe such atrocities are happening up north. No one is really talking about them. Those incidents aren't on the front page of the newspaper like they would be at home. As we're having these conversations tourist families with small children are coming in and out, and I was having a hard time fathoming taking a six year old child on holiday to Africa. All I wanted when I was six was to go to Disneyworld, and these kids are on safari. Incredible. The girls and I have been having long conversations about what it takes to make non-profit work actually effective and sustainable, and I trust their opinions since they have many years of experience here in Uganda putting together a non-profit to assist children. They all try to stay positive but ackowledge how hard it is...

This afternoon I'm getting on a bus to Jinga to get myself oriented and settled before I head into the MFI office there on Monday. I'm a bit nervous about how it will go, especially since I'm not sure how people will respond to the questions I'm asking about the environment. Even in the US you're never quite sure how people will respond to such a hot topic, and here I'm even less sure. Fingers crossed it will be all that I need it to be.

And in case you're wondering, I haven't been sick at all (knock wood). I had some great Ugandan food yesterday (matooke -- a banana mash stuff, white sweet potatoes, ground peanut sauce stuff...) and haven't brushed my teeth with tap water, so I'm avoiding parasites as best I can. :)

Jambo!

2007-08-11T01:01:00.000-07:00

August 7-10

It has only been three days since we set out on this journey, but it feels like years since I last saw home. CM and I left for LAX from Long Beach at 5:00am Tuesday, August 7, hardly conscious but still excited… Five uneventful hours later we were in New York, and had to figure out getting our luggage and re-checking in with a totally different airline. After standing in line for almost 45 minutes at the Emirates counter a man told us that we wouldn’t be able to check our bags until 7:00 that evening (about 3 hours away). One of C’s old friends from home is living in NY and came to JFK to hang out with us, so we lugged our stuff down to the food court and ate and talked until we could finally check our bags. We had to relinquish our luggage knowing we wouldn’t see it again for over 24 hours, so we set off with our backpacks and hoped for the best.

Our flight to Dubai was interesting even before it began. Going through security at the international departures terminal in NY was fascinating because there were so many different kinds of people headed in a thousand different directions. One of the most interesting sights was actually the group of flight attendants for Emirates Airlines that was gathering to board our flight. Emirates attendants wear tan colored suits and red hats with long white veils on one side that wrap under their chins and around their necks. Strangely all of the attendants we had on Emirates were from non-Muslim countries, like South Korea, Australia and the UK, but they had to wear the headwear, too. As a side note, if you ever need to fly to the Middle East or Africa, try Emirates. The food is surprisingly good, they gave us socks and toothbrushes, and the movie selection in each seat is great (over two flights I watched “The Waitress,” “The Namesake,” “Three Men and a Baby” and part of “Young Frankenstein”).

The 12 hours in Dubai are where things started to get tough. We got through customs at about 8:30pm, and decided to take a taxi to the enormous shopping center at Derai. Leaving the airport I thought for sure we would burst into flames it was so hot (over 30C and terrible humidity). People often say that Dubai is the Las Vegas of the Gulf region, and I’m not sure that characterization is far off. The shopping center was full of Benetton, Banana Republic, Puma, Starbucks, McDonalds and Baskin Robbins… but all of the people shopping for clothes were in head-to-toe Muslim dress. C and I had long conversations about the many variations of dress we saw, trying to figure out the significance of the different combinations. The men wear long tunic “dresses” in shades of white with long head covers, some in red, some in white, some with their ears covered, others not… Most of the women wear black from head to foot, some have their faces uncovered, some show only their eyes, others show no speck of skin whatsoever, even wearing gloves and covering their whole faces. I was impressed, though, that the women who do show their eyes or their faces take every opportunity to adorn themselves, with pretty frames for their glasses or sparkled eyeliner. Other less conservative women wear more casual clothes and printed headwraps, more like you would see in Orange County. I wish I’d been able to take a picture of the Starbucks in this mall – on one side of the shop was a group of men in their white tunics and red headwraps, on the other side a group of women in burkahs, all of them drinking out of Starbucks logo coffee mugs. Talk about a clash of civilizations…

After the mall clothes and we spent an hour in line for a taxi, C and I went back to the airport. Too little real sleep on the planes had left us exhausted so we crashed on some benches and tried to get a little rest, only to be frequently interrupted at Muslim prayer times with prayers coming over loud speakers positioned throughout the airport. Many many many hours later it was finally time to get on another flight from Dubai to Addis Ababa to Entebbe. I’ve never seen a group of people jump so far out of their seats at ever bit of turbulence! And the flight attendants were entirely unable to keep the anxious passengers in their seats once we reached Uganda – the entire plane jumped out of their seats while we were still taxiing, and eventually the Emirates women just gave up. After paying the entry visa in Uganda, getting our luggage, and haggling with a taxi driver, C and I were on our way to the capital city, Kampala.

The drive from the airport is about 30 minutes, and it was along Kampala Road (at about 100kph) I got my first look at East Africa. All along the road were people walking and many different shop fronts. I figured out quickly that the most common advertisements along the way were for paint, Coke, and cell phone minutes. Mobile phones are ubiquitous in Uganda, even when electricity is scarce and unreliable where it does exist. Driving in Uganda is as adventurous as you might imagine. They drive on the left, which is already a bit disorienting, and then there don’t seem to be any lines on the road, and red lights are more a suggestion than a commandment. Just close your eyes and keep breathing…

C and I arrived at our hostel for the night, the Red Chili, and on the road up actually ran into our colleague SL who is studying in Rwanda for a few months! We knew she was traveling through Tanzania and Uganda for a few weeks, and arranged to meet up the day we got in. She and a friend were such friendly faces and it felt so good to ease into this experience with such a great traveling partner and a friend from “home” here so far away. C and I settled into the cottage we were sharing with two of C’s friends who are also in the country at the moment, took our first showers in over 48 hours (we needed them badly) and realized we could actually relax and breathe for the first time in a long while. We didn’t need to be watching our bags, taking turns sleeping, negotiating with customs or arguing with airline employees. We could just relax. And our hostel was a perfect place for it – there are two house dogs who are fat and lazy love to be petted (!!), a goat wandering around the yard, other travelers from all over the world, and very friendly employees. Thank goodness. There was even a group of about six small monkeys wrestling and playing in the grass outside our cottage, and when I stopped to take their picture they rushed me like a gang. If anyone was watching me squeal and run I’d be a bit embarrassed, but I didn’t get my rabies shot and I’ve been warned about the monkeys, so… Can you blame me?

Dinner our first night here was an eyes-wide-open kind of experience. The six of us girls decided to go to a restaurant across town that has excellent Indian food. So we convinced 5 boda-boda (motorcycle taxi) drivers to take us, having agreed on 2000Ush (Ugandan shillings), about $1 for each of us. Bodas are really the only way to get around since private hire cars are so expensive and the group taxis don’t actually move until they are full. The drivers told us they knew where the place was, and we hopped on. Twenty minutes later it became clear these drivers did not actually know where we wanted to go, and they started pulling over to the curb every few yards to ask passersby for directions. We must have been sent to 3 or 4 different places before we finally got to Sam’s, having had to stop to refuel once on the way. When we got off the bodas at Sam’s, though, the drivers wanted each of us to pay 10,000Ush! We acted appropriately outraged, but they said it was our fault it took so long and they wasted so much fuel. We argued back that they told us they knew where it was, so it wasn’t our fault they got lost. Evidently this happens a lot. – the boda drivers will agree to a price and then drive you around for a while, and they try to overcharge you once they finally drop you off. I, being totally phobic of confrontation, wanted to just pay them and be done with it , especially when I thought about how little money it is to me and how much it is to them, but the other girls (all of whom have done far more traveling in East Africa than I) were insistent that we not be taken advantage of, and that 10,000Ush was far too much. They held their ground (and mine) and coaxed me into paying just 5,000USh and walking away. The boda drivers wanted to argue more, and eventually the manager of Sam’s came out to talk to them, telling them they had been dishonest by telling us they knew where to go in the first place. Eventually we just have them 6,000Ush each and ended the arguing. [If my mother is reading she should skip to the next paragraph: Those boda drivers are nuts!! They squeezed into places I’m not sure I could have walked through on foot, weaving in and out of cars… There were a number of times I was sure we were about to hit a pedestrian or be hit by a van, but I arrived everywhere in one piece and without a scratch.]

The two most striking things about Kampala so far are of course the poverty, but also the pollution. I don’t know why I wasn’t expecting such terrible air quality and trash everywhere, but I have to admit I was shocked by it at first. All of the vehicles use diesel fuel since it is cheaper, and the plumes of smoke emitting from the tail pipes are just black and foul. Riding a boda of course you end up with it right up your nose, and it will make you horribly nauseous. The air is heavy and you can actually feel it on your face, making it nearly impossible to feel clean for long. There is a lot of garbage picking and metal scrapping going on on the side of the road, even as people pay $250US a night for a room in a hotel right up the street. People pile garbage in the street outside their shop or home and burn it. Goats and cows and chickens wander in certain parts of the city and pick at whatever is lying around. There isn’t much pavement, but women will sweep the red clay dirt in front of their shops to keep it “clean.”

Last night was my first night in a mosquito net, and I have to admit I found it strangely comforting, like when I was little and could hide under the canopy of my bed. I slept well after the goat bleating and dog barking stopped, only to wake up to the sound of roosters and bird calls I haven’t ever heard before. I was able to call the CEO of the MFI I am working with here in Uganda (after several phone line disconnections) and at least let him know I’d like to go to Jinga to do research there starting next week. He was quite hospitable and offered to let me go really wherever I wanted, so I think I’m off to Jinga Saturday. Hopefully I’ll get to raft the Nile, or at least be there at the source for a while.

Sorry for the lack of pictures at the moment -- internet connections are so unreliable and pictures take sooooo long to load on a slow connection. I'll do my best to upload some soon!

Uganda or Bust!

2007-08-03T12:09:00.000-07:00

Dear Friends, This blog began as a way to keep my fans aware of my progress in Washington, D.C. this past Fall, and now it is time to take it a little farther East...
I leave for Uganda in just 4 days to do the field work components of my dissertation research, and I am an indescribable jumble of excitement, nerves and mild panic. But I have my vaccinations (too many!) and my malaria pills, a planet ticket and -- not much else. For maybe only the second time in my life I am relying on this sense of faith that everything is going to turn out just fine, somehow.
Keep your eyes peeled and your ear to the ground. Uganda here I come!

Conflicted Spaces

2006-11-28T17:15:00.000-08:00

The last few weeks have been so hectic I hardly know where to begin. I've had many visitors and gotten at least a few things accomplished, as well as traveled to North Carolina and back again to spend Thanksgiving with my family. Now I have just a few days left in D.C. and I feel like there are so many things left to see and do. I did manage recently to spend an entire afternoon in one spot in the city that actual moves me to silence -- the Vietnam and Korean War Memorials. I'm not sure if its my military family or my grandfather's career service as a Marine and his tours in Korea and Vietnam that draw me to these places, but I have a hard time tearing myself away.

The Vietnam Memorial was moving to the point of tears, but also a bit frustrating when I stood back and observed how the space was being experienced by some others there. I noticed some people speeding past the walls without really stopping to look. I saw some parents let their young children put their hands on the wall just to see their handprints on the highly reflective marble. I saw some read the names and point ones out to each other that sounded particularly "funny." I was shocked and saddened that somehow this space wasn't inspiring the awe and reverence I really thought it deserved. But it is still my favorite place in D.C. so far, regarless.

I've visited the Korean War Memorial twice now, and I feel like I could sit for hours just staring at the faces of the men. The artist did a really wonderful job making these men look haggard and worse for wear. I especially like the inscription on the memorial: "Our nation honors her sons and daughters who answered the call to defend a country they never knew and a people they never met."

Of course I also had to visit the only place on the National Mall that actually involves American women specifically, the Vietnam Women's Memorial. It's a comparatively small sculpture off the beaten path, and in some ways it irks me... The women in the sculpture are nursing a wounded male soldier, which of course pays homage to their roles as nurses but doesn't recognize women for much else. And yet while I wish there were more recognition for women soldiers, somehow the size and simplicity of the memorial are just right to reflect the general underrecognition of women in the armed services.

I'm doing my best to tie up loose ends and make sure I have my head wrapped around my project and my data before I leave here in a few days. I swing between feeling like I've accomplished much and laid the foundation for my research, and then feeling like I lost more ground than I gained. I can't deny, however, that this quarter has definately challenged me, both as a student and a teacher, in ways that will certainly shape my progress from here on out. I've enjoyed D.C., but I will sure be happy to see the Pacific again...

Small Miracles

2006-11-15T14:23:00.000-08:00

Days like today, when somehow the puzzle pieces of worries and doubts that float through your busy mind come together to form thoughts of hope and contentment, are sometimes too few and far between.

This has certainly been the case for me lately. I've been a jumbled mess of fear and loathing. Graduate school is by its very nature an exercise in critical self-awareness. You assess and evaluate your own worth daily by looking at the research you do, the writing you produce, the students you mentor... You come to doubt your abilities and panic that there is no contribution you could make to the world, until you get yourself so worked up that you begin to think you've never lived a productive or substantive day in your life.

And then you have a day like today.

I woke up this morning terribly frustrated with my lack of progress on my own research as of late, and nervous about facing the students who have made teaching difficult this quater. But I had a moment today of actual communication and understanding with a student I honestly never thought I would ever reach. I was sure I wouldn't mind never seeing this student again. But today he suprised me so much with his creativity and thoughtfulness that I was humbled by him. I was able to evaluate my own work with fresh eyes and felt proud for what I have uncovered so far, and excited about the potential contributions I can make with my work. Thank goodness for small miracles.

All is quiet on the Eastern front for the most part. There are a few more snickers around the lunch table about the lame duck Congress and remarks made by the President after the elections last week. I have a few students interning for Congressional representatives, and they're all lucky that the representatives they work for still have jobs. There are a few other students in the UCDC program working for representatives who are now out of work, so they spend their work days packing up the offices. I heard tell from my students working in Congress today that there are unspoken, sometimes even explicitly stated, rules that interns do not speak directly to the Congress(wo)man when they are in the office. Professor Morales and I were both outraged that such a rule would exist! Imagine, working in an office where you are not allowed to make direct eye or verbal contact with your boss! And more than that, these people are serving real constituents in the House of Representatives, but can't be bothered to actually speak to those they represent? Absurd. I added that to my list of grievances about the atmosphere of Washington, D.C. It has its advantages also of course, but I'm not positive I would survive long in this city...

Just three weeks until I'm back in California. I didn't think I'd miss the sun so much, being from Western Washington, but I could definately use some Vitamin D... For now I'll enjoy the leaves.

Election Day

2006-11-07T20:07:00.000-08:00

There is something both magical and eery about Washington, D.C. today -- almost as though there is some sort of palpable energy in the air, and no one knows which way the tide will turn. The city is a sea of "I Voted" stickers and last minute campaigners on street corners. You can eavesdrop on conversations as people walk home from work and make out the strains of argument or enthusiastic debate. I love it. I love knowing that while I am inside, hiding from the rain, glued to CNN's coverage of the election results, just a few blocks away the President is doing the same in the White House. He probably isn't eating macaroni and cheese and knitting while he watches, like I am, but still I feel we are sharing a moment as Americans. And that works for me.

The last few weeks have been a difficult mix of doing my own work, attending to my students, grading papers... I was lucky enough lately to get to attend one workshop at a conference held by the SEEP network locally, about energy services and microfinance. It gave me a bit of insight about what conversations are and aren't happening around my research question. I have to keep reminding myself that a lack of information is sometimes an even more significant finding than a wealth of it. It's a struggle. I've also been connected with a consulting group that works with microfinance organizations on issues of environment, so hopefully they will be able to give me the insight I really couldn't get anywhere else. I cross my fingers daily. Any graduate student could tell you that attempting to do your own work and act as a teaching assistant at the same time is rather difficult; you always seem to spend far more time on your students' problems/assignments than you do your own. I didn't realize that once you get into your dissertation phase, that work distribution is even more problematic. I'm doing the best I can, which is all I can ask. Time is running out on my journey in D.C., so nose to the grindstone it is!

Food for thought

2006-10-18T15:46:00.000-07:00

Back in D.C. after a week in Orange County... I went to California specifically to attend the Center's Human Security Summit (www.cusa.uci.edu), and to witness the presentation of the Human Security Award to General Romeo Dallaire. Gen. Dallaire was the Force Commander for the UN Assistance Mission to Rwanda for 1993-1994, when over 800,000 people were killed in 100 days during the country's massive genocide. Listening to him talk about what he saw, and how he attempted to reason with country governments and the UN about establishing and maintaining a peacekeeping force there was truly awe-inspiring. This man saw women, men and children raped, murdered, tortured, and driven from their homes in the worst humanitarian crisis since WWII, yet he resonates this grace and calm that makes you trust his words, and makes you ache for how much he must have suffered.

In his speech the General mentioned how several factors came together to allow this masacre to occur: some fundamental failures of the UN system and the emphasis on national sovereignty, what seems to be a pervasive racism in the international government community against Africa, and the lack of concern by UN-participating governments for a country with no strategic purpose. How was it put? "...All that is here are humans." He emphasized that too often governments, even citizens, come to regard some people as "more human" than others, and therefore worth more effort to protect. The people of Rwanda were of no value, were considered "less human," and so no attempt was made to prevent or arrest the genocide even though there was advance warning of the impending doom. Even though individual governments and the UN were pulling troops out of the area, General Dallaire refused to budge, and convinced a handful of soldiers to stay with him in Kigali. And he says it would have taken so little to make a difference in the level of violence that occurred, less in total than we spend in a single day now in Iraq.

Needless to say I was totally and completely moved and inspired, while at the same time ashamed in a way. But I was lucky enough to meet him at the reception after the lecture, and got him to sign my copy of his book Shake Hands With the Devil (go out and buy it right now! you won't be sorry!). I even got a sly grin and a remark about my lovely dress... He has managed to keep his great taste and a sense of humor! I'm almost ready to move to Canada I'm so proud of him!

Of course there were other exciting people at the dinner/lecture/reception as well -- Lady Heather Mills McCartney, who is a friend of the Center and for whom one of our fellowships is named. She was the first to recieve the Human Security Award for her work with Adopt-a-Minefield (www.landmines.org). Also some of her friends, including the director of "Grosse Point Blank," a fantastically hilarious movie. At dinner I sat at the same table as General Claudia Kennedy, the first and only woman to reach the rank of 3-star (Lieutenant) General in the US Armed Forces. And, my date was admired by every woman at the table. It was quite a night.

Now I am absorbed in General Dallaire's book, and having a hard time tearing myself away to grade student papers. Just a few more pages...

Allons-y!

Feet to the fire

2006-10-08T16:14:00.000-07:00

This week was a challenge on several levels. I conducted some subject interviews for my research, which were difficult to say the least. I got the impression that the information I'm interested in just doesn't exist... And while that is actually interesting in itself, it does not a dissertation make. I left these interviews paranoid I'm destined to be an unemployed PhD, but still I forge on with hope and determination on my side.

The other challenge is a bit more difficult to shake off: my students. They've tried the limits of my patience and understanding of late, and I was actually dumbstruck by some of their behavior earlier this week. We took a class trip to the Smithsonian Castle (which houses James Smithson's crypt and some small collections) and the National Archives. I suppose a "highlight" from this trip might make my point well enough -- one of my students managed to get himself thrown out of the Rotunda of the National Archives, the room that houses the Chaters of Freedom (the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, and the Bill of Rights). Sigh. Yes, it has been that kind of week.

On the up side, however, I did get to see the Charters up close and personal, which was more awe-inspiring than I had expected. Unfortunately the Declaraion and the Bill of Rights are rather damaged by spending a lot of time in direct sunlight, but you can still just make out the giant signature of John Hancock and on the Bill of Rights you can see where Pennsylvania is misspelled (no spell check -- imagine!). Two of my favorite documents on display, though, were the arrest warrant issued for Susan B. Anthony when she voted "withtout the right to do so," and the draft of John F. Kennedy's inaguration speech that he edited in his own hand. I did my best to enjoy myself despite the interruptions.

I also took a trip to Union Station to look around, and began to wish we still travelled by train just for the romance of it all. I had visions of black and white movies, a woman with a hankerchief waving out the window and a man in a short-brimmed hat jogging alongside the train... I didn't actually see any of this, but I can imagine... Somehow there isn't the same romance in hopping a jet.

I'm headed back to Irvine this week to attend General Romeo Dallaire's speech, and the presentation of the Human Security Award. It will feel good to soak up some California sun -- it has been 50 degrees and pouring rain for days... I think I've gone soft, because I am just chilled to the bone.

As Scarlett O'Hara said "Tomorrow is another day," so I think I'll recoup from this week tonight, and start all over again tomorrow. Wish me luck!

From Capital Hill to the Barrio

2006-10-01T19:54:00.000-07:00

So much to report! This week I sat in on a talk by former Ambassador Joe Wilson, who wrote that infamous commentary piece "What I didn't find in Africa." Wilson describes himself as "the husband of the only US spy to have her identity compromised by her own government," referring to his wife Valerie Plame and her work for the CIA. Listening to him talk was rather inspirational on several levels, particularly because he continues to have such faith in the American system of democracy even though he feels he's been betrayed by his government. His speech reminded me that though practice may not match the ideal, that doesn't mean we have to lose faith in the ideal. And that to question/argue/challenge is truly patriotic, and the framers of our system would be terribly dissappointed in us were we to keep quiet.

In other news, I spent the weekend shopping in the Eastern Market, where you can buy pig's feet along with fresh baked cookies and gourmet cheese... hung out in Capital Hill for a bit. I stopped by the National Book Festival on the Mall, and listened to a talk by that crazed man who does the "Mad Money" show on CNBC. Finally I took a tour of the Library of Congress, where there was a really great exhibit of political cartoons and other "American Treasures."

Today my roommate and I went to Columbia Heights, a near exclusively Latino neighborhood, and joined in the Latino Heritage Festival. There were mariachi singers, drum circles, and foods from Mexico, Peru, El Savlador, Cuba... It was great! I danced, I ate new and favorite foods (coconut with salt and lemon juice, papusas from Peru, and delicious homemade horchata), and got to see a really vibrant, thriving local community that I would never guess existed based on my view of D.C. here in the Dupont area. There were families and babies and older folks, and people crowded on their front stairs listening to the music, people leaning out upper floor windows to watch the chaos in the streets, and hardly a word of English uttered. Definately a feast for all of the senses.

Miss Goldsworthy Goes to Washington

2006-09-28T15:14:00.000-07:00

It looks like Fall is arriving in D.C., by way of a raging lightning storm with rain coming down sideways! I love every second of it.

I held my second seminar yesterday, and took my students to the National Building Museum. It takes up an entire city block! This used to be the pension building, until the number of Americans collecting pensions (particularly soldiers after the Civil War) grew so high the whole operation had to be moved. Across from the museum is the "policeman's memorial," which has thousands of names of police officers who've died in the line of duty carved all around it.

My own research is moving slowly, but I'm slated to perform my first interviews next week. I'm nervous, but excited, too.

I rode the Metro outside the Beltway today, and was struck by how large a gap there is between the money that lives and changes hands in Washington, D.C. and the lack thereof in neighboring areas. The gentrification of the city definately has its marked boundaries...

I had dinner with some friends a few days ago, and one of them commented "This is the new Rome." That comment has stuck with me, and I wondered how many Americans have visited Rome, but never D.C. There is such a reverence for past cultures, particularly European ones, but so little interest in what happens here in our own capital...

Dog Day Afternoon

2006-09-22T15:13:00.000-07:00

I went the Smithsonian American Art Museum today, specifically to see an exhibition of William Wegman's art that a friend recommended. Wegman is, of course, best known for his photographs of his Weimaraner dogs. This exhibit also included his paintings, drawings, videos, and non-canine-related photos. These dogs must be most patient breed on Earth... I loved it.

I also spent several hours going through the portrait galleries, which feature painted and photographed portraits and busts of historical figures -- everyone from Hillary Rodham Clinton to Elizabeth Cady Stanton (and of course all of the men in between). The gallery of paintings of the presidents was particularly interesting, also, especially the modern art rendition of JFK and the satirical sculptures of Nixon (as Napoleon), Ford (with a Band-Aid on his forehead), Carter as a sad loner, and George H.W. Bush as a horseshoe player. There was still hours of art to see, but I had to save some for a later day.

D.C. is already cool and gray, but I don't think I could be more excited about a true Autumn. Tomorrow is the first day of the new season, and I will welcome it with open arms.

Post Script...

2006-09-20T15:18:00.000-07:00

By the way, I've changed the settings so that anyone can leave comments on the blog, not just registered users. I understand that not all of you are so interested in on-line journaling...

Seminars and civil religion

2006-09-20T14:44:00.000-07:00

I'm finally resting my weary bones after what feels like a much longer day than it has been. Several student orientations for the UCDC program, then I led my first seminar class on D.C. It'll be my job this quarter to teach the seminar, take the students on trips, grade their assignments, etc. I've asked them to do some analytical thinking about Washington D.C. as a city unto itself as well as the nation's capitol, and I'm not sure how excited they are about it. I was met with many glazed stares today. I personally don't see what could be more interesting than this particular city at this particular moment in history, but I'm don't think they're coming along with me on that one.

I've been doing a lot of reading from Meyer's (2001) Myths in stone: The religious dimensions of Washington, D.C., and thinking about the national mythology that is reflected in the city's monuments and memorials, and how that national mythology is recreated every minute as American citizens and foreign visitors alike walk the streets in a sort-of pilgrimage. We read the plaques placed on historical spaces, and absorb the words of valorization and heroism... I am making a conscious effort to take stock of my own perceptions and whether being in this city and soaking in the history is making me more or less critical of our governmental system. I myself am going through the civic rituals of the pilgrimage, visiting the monuments and standing in awe, hoping to catch a glimpse of the President through the windows at the White House. I'm trying to be a perceptive observer, trying to figure out if and how our national ideologies are expressed through the design and symbols of D.C. -- what message about our society a non-American visitor might get by coming here. My view is certainly not objective, but it is worth a think.

I spent the afternoon on a self-guided walking tour of the unfortunately named Foggy Bottom area. I walked 17th Street to Lafayette Park, sat at the White House gate (watching the groups of French and Japanese tourists), then walked what I could of The Ellipse to the South of the White House. The National Christmas Tree was not what I had hoped... But the buildings of the Daughters of the American Revolution and the American Red Cross definately inspired some reverence. Then I walked through the Renwick Gallery, one of the Smithsonian Institute galleries, full of art by American artists. Just another day in D.C....

Painted Democrat

2006-09-17T17:42:00.000-07:00

To Georgetown the long way

2006-09-17T17:17:00.000-07:00

I saw Zainab Salbi on the street today! That's way better than any celebrity sighting I've ever made in So Cal. I've made few, admittedly, but one of them WAS Jude Law, and this was better! Go to www.womenforwomen.org to find out why.

I spent my first Sunday in DC wandering through the New Downtown portion of the city, near Dupont Circle. I walked Q Street to gaze at the beautiful brick row houses until it met up with Massachusetts Avenue, where I saw the Ghandi statue. Then I crossed the Dumbarton Bridge to Georgetown, scoped out the Mount Zion and Oak Hill Cemeteries. I was amazed by the tombstones in Mount Zion -- they seem to have been placed at random and are overgrown with grass and weeds, but have epitaphs with messages that resonate. {Jennie Lynch 1897-1920: Angels get my mansions ready for we are crossing the misting river one by one} This is a town of substantive lives and work, even among the very young.

"Cabs don't stop for pedestrians..."

2006-09-17T17:07:00.000-07:00

Just one of many pieces of advice bestowed upon me by my new roommate is that it doesn't matter if you are a pedestrian in a crosswalk with the right of way -- a cab (most drivers, really) won't stop for you. A reality I certainly witnessed today... Luckily no accidents.

I have arrived on the scene of the UCDC Center! The UCDC program is an academic internship program for undergraduates from all of the UC campuses (save Merced and SF, I think). Each campus sends roughly 25 students, who have all competed for limited positions, as well as a faculty member and a graduate TA. The undergrads are responsible for a few classes, but spend most of their time as interns somewhere in D.C. -- at the capitol, at a non-profit agency, all kinds of places. Graduate students compete for spots, too, with preference for people whose research requires time in DC. Mine clearly does, so it was a natural decision to apply. I was lucky to get the TA position, and also lucky to get an apartment in the Center where all of the students and faculty live. I have an apartment on the 9th floor that looks over the Australian embassy, Scott Circle, is a few blocks from Dupont Circle, and has a view of the dome of St. Matthew's.

If I could learn to tune out the street noise of police sirens, I'd be set...

Mission Statment

2006-09-08T00:09:00.000-07:00

While I am hoping to find a little more excitement than dear Orange County has to offer, I certainly have accepted a mission (even created it myself) that will require my diligent attention and most waking hours. My time will be spent as a Teaching Assistant for the UCDC program, representing the UCI campus (zot...!), and culling information for my dissertation on the microfinance industry and environmental sustainability. The topic has me quite empassioned, and I'm hoping my faith in this endeavor will prove to be well founded. Check out www.yearofmicrocredit.org and http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Microcredit to find out the basics of microcredit (and microfinance more broadly). The Clinton Foundation has also been making news of microcredit recently, as part of the Clinton Global Initiative (http://www.clintonfoundation.org/index.htm).

My project will focus on what potential microfinance has to act not only as a tool of poverty alleviation, but also as a facilitator of environmental sustainability and human security. Poverty, environmental degradation, and human insecurity are so intimately linked, intuition suggests the recent wealth of interest in microfinance could be used to make strides in all three areas of economic development, environment, and human rights... Let's hope I'm right.

I refuse to call it "Washington"

2006-09-07T23:20:00.000-07:00

Being from the actual STATE of WA, my heart aches a little when the District of Columbia is called "Washington." I will do my best to avoid the native-speak. Will the locals peg me as an outsider?

Only 8 days until I leave for the other Coast, into the lion's den of young congressional aids in Brooks Brothers suits and dirty bribes. Oh! One can only hope D.C. is as sordid in its goings-on as I imagine... It would shake things up compared to the OC.