June 26, 2008
Nelson Mandela finally commented about the crisis in Zimbabwe, and blamed it on ‘bad leadership.’ He never mentioned ZANU-PF (the ruling party) or Mugabe, but it is a great step forward. With the run-off elections tomorrow, and the MDC opposition leader , Morgan Tsvangirai having pulled out of the race, there could be absolute chaos. Tsvangirai pulled out in fear of his life since so many of his colleagues have been killed in recent weeks, but has offered negotiations with Mugabe to try and settle the crisis. It is an important offer to give, but we all know very well that Mugabe will never negotiate.
So why is Mandela only just speaking out against Mugabe now? Mandela was one of the best leaders Africa has ever known; even that the world has ever known. He avoided major civil war in South Africa and pulled his country out of the violence of Apartheid. He is a man who believes in peace, democracy, and term limits, and stepped down once his time was over. For the past decade, people have been saying Zimbabwe ‘can’t get much worse.’ But it has. And there was silence among almost all South Africans, the one neighbor that could have actually done something to stop Zimbabwe’s spiral towards disaster.
Mugabe and other leaders of the ZANU-PF helped protect the ANC (now the ruling party of South Africa) during their fight against the Apartheid regime. So not only do ANC members feel indebted to the ZANU-PF, but many of them see Mugabe as a symbol of the fight against white colonial rule. Mugabe was a major player in fighting the brutal white regime in Rhodesia – the colonial name of Zimbabwe – in the 1960s and 70s. Mugabe was praised as Zimbabwe's savior and has been treated almost as a God ever since.
In Africa, these bonds matter. You respect your elders, and you do not speak out against your brothers who fought alongside you. But Mugabe’s claim that he is protecting Zimbabwe from western colonialism is getting old. Although Mandela was careful not to say Mugabe’s name, the fact he said that Zimbabwe’s crisis is a result of bad leadership is a vital step forward, especially since the Southern Africa Development Community (SADC) countries are taking a stance against Mugabe as well.
From an on-ground report, apparently the slogan is “support Mugabe, vote Tsvangirai.” Civilians are forced to wear t-shirts and hats with Mugabe’s face, people have to drive with Mugabe slogans in their cars, and restaurant and hotel owners must have a portrait of Mugabe on their walls. Anyone who does not have this is considered an enemy, and is accused of supporting the opposition.
Tomorrow’s run-off elections could end in violence. Tsvangirai’s name is still on the ballot, even though he pulled himself out of the race. There is no doubt that the Zimbabwean army – both official (what is left of it) and unofficial – will be out in the rural areas forcing people to vote for Mugabe. But if Mugabe claims victory, even after the clear win of Tsvangirai in last March’s elections, who knows what will happen.
Bread costs 8 billion Zimbabwean dollars, and even the average Zimbabwean can’t afford it -- all as a result of ZANU-PF policies and Mugabe's hunger for power. Talk about bad leadership.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Saturday, June 21, 2008
If you give a mouse a cookie
Refugees are now asking me on a daily basis for money and favors. Some have been demanding for more than what we are already giving them -- as though all the work we are doing to help just isn't ever enough.
Not that I can blame them -- with that little income, and that much fear about my future, I might do the same. I'm lucky to be born into a world of running water and a family who can support me if I need help. I suppose that after staying in a place like Buduburam for over a month reality begins to sink in. People start to feel comfortable with you and tell you stories about their past you don't necessarily want to hear -- not that I don't care, but that is not why I am here. I want to help them focus on a more hopeful future, not on the trauma of the past.
I hate thinking "it's because I'm white." But I do, every time something seems slightly pricey. I think about it when someone is friendly to me, or even just says 'hello.' I give a friendly nod, but think to myself, "it's because they want something from me." It's as though they think you have money flowing out of the drain pipes at home.
It's a shame that's the way it is. So many of the volunteers on camp march in thinking we can make the world of difference. We do, in some ways. The orphanage wouldn't exist without the support of my organization which means 25 children would be malnourished or not even alive, and most children would go to school hungry without our morning feeding program. But sometimes it's as though they just want more and it is never enough. They want a raise for their work, they need more clothes, more food, more... more... more.
Understanding the dynamics of refugees on the ground will really affect my research next year. I do believe that these people have seen things no human being should ever have to see. Many have done things none of us should ever be forced to do. The sense of loss is so great it makes my stomach turn. But, if all we do is give away our help, then it doesn't only create dependency, it also creates expectation.
If you give a mouse a cookie, well, then he'll just ask for some milk.
Not that I can blame them -- with that little income, and that much fear about my future, I might do the same. I'm lucky to be born into a world of running water and a family who can support me if I need help. I suppose that after staying in a place like Buduburam for over a month reality begins to sink in. People start to feel comfortable with you and tell you stories about their past you don't necessarily want to hear -- not that I don't care, but that is not why I am here. I want to help them focus on a more hopeful future, not on the trauma of the past.
I hate thinking "it's because I'm white." But I do, every time something seems slightly pricey. I think about it when someone is friendly to me, or even just says 'hello.' I give a friendly nod, but think to myself, "it's because they want something from me." It's as though they think you have money flowing out of the drain pipes at home.
It's a shame that's the way it is. So many of the volunteers on camp march in thinking we can make the world of difference. We do, in some ways. The orphanage wouldn't exist without the support of my organization which means 25 children would be malnourished or not even alive, and most children would go to school hungry without our morning feeding program. But sometimes it's as though they just want more and it is never enough. They want a raise for their work, they need more clothes, more food, more... more... more.
Understanding the dynamics of refugees on the ground will really affect my research next year. I do believe that these people have seen things no human being should ever have to see. Many have done things none of us should ever be forced to do. The sense of loss is so great it makes my stomach turn. But, if all we do is give away our help, then it doesn't only create dependency, it also creates expectation.
If you give a mouse a cookie, well, then he'll just ask for some milk.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Ghana’s Most Beautiful.
I am now a celebrity not only amongst the children of the Buduburam camp but now also among all of those who watch Ghana’s Most Beautiful on Sunday nights. Ghana’s Most Beautiful is a slightly altered African version of US reality television. The stage is small, there were only about 100 people in the studio, and the judges are kind in their criticism, but everyone with a TV in Ghana watches it. It is down to four contestants and this Sunday each of them had to describe a social service project they would conduct for their country.
I went with my friend Laura who has a family member who works in the studio, along with PK from Fletcher. After we waited for a full hour past the time the show was supposed to start – technical difficulties, surprise, surprise – the show finally began. It somehow worked out that the three of us sat behind the three judges – which means that every time a judge spoke, there was one of our white faces reflecting the light in the background in an otherwise-completely-African setting. I wanted to laugh every time I saw us on the screen, only because I couldn’t believe that somehow it was the three of us who got those special seats. I got a phone call from some of the Liberians on camp when the show was over, who were extremely excited to have a celebrity friend and another American friend of mine told me there was a direct close-up of my face that took up the entire screen. Yikes, here I come, Ghana.
The past week and a half has been busy. Last week, we had to carry one of my roommates to the camp clinic in the middle of the night because she was so sick and her fever was so high. Even though she was hooked up to an IV immediately, she still wasn’t feeling well 48 hours later so we took her to the hospital in Accra. She got treated for dehydration, got some Cipro, and turns out she is ok, but the ride home was hectic. Between being forced to change taxis in the middle of the ride, two hours of traffic before we even left the city, a flat tire (which had to be changed just off the road) and almost running over a bicyclist who fell over in front of the taxi (just ran over his tire, I almost had a heart attack) we got home safely. Since then I’ve been working and spent the weekend relaxing during the day and dancing with friends at night in Accra, while also meeting some public officials for my research. Life is exciting, busy, stimulating – and exhausting.
Where is everyone else’s blogs? I want stories!!
I went with my friend Laura who has a family member who works in the studio, along with PK from Fletcher. After we waited for a full hour past the time the show was supposed to start – technical difficulties, surprise, surprise – the show finally began. It somehow worked out that the three of us sat behind the three judges – which means that every time a judge spoke, there was one of our white faces reflecting the light in the background in an otherwise-completely-African setting. I wanted to laugh every time I saw us on the screen, only because I couldn’t believe that somehow it was the three of us who got those special seats. I got a phone call from some of the Liberians on camp when the show was over, who were extremely excited to have a celebrity friend and another American friend of mine told me there was a direct close-up of my face that took up the entire screen. Yikes, here I come, Ghana.
The past week and a half has been busy. Last week, we had to carry one of my roommates to the camp clinic in the middle of the night because she was so sick and her fever was so high. Even though she was hooked up to an IV immediately, she still wasn’t feeling well 48 hours later so we took her to the hospital in Accra. She got treated for dehydration, got some Cipro, and turns out she is ok, but the ride home was hectic. Between being forced to change taxis in the middle of the ride, two hours of traffic before we even left the city, a flat tire (which had to be changed just off the road) and almost running over a bicyclist who fell over in front of the taxi (just ran over his tire, I almost had a heart attack) we got home safely. Since then I’ve been working and spent the weekend relaxing during the day and dancing with friends at night in Accra, while also meeting some public officials for my research. Life is exciting, busy, stimulating – and exhausting.
Where is everyone else’s blogs? I want stories!!
Sunday, June 1, 2008
"Is America always cold?"
Some nice men are letting me use the internet cafe for free since apparently it is closed on Sundays. But as I entered they smiled and offered me the one working computer in the place, which faces out onto the single highway going through the camp. That seems to be the general attitude of everyone here - despite the circumstances, the majority of people are focused on the community, and generously share the little they have. So this one will be quick.
When I look above the computer screen, I see a number of scenes - a sign that says "Buduburam School for the Deaf", a group of elders standing around in traditional dress and waving their arms around, a man behind them slowly transporting some chairs in a red, rusty wheelbarrow, and a young boy probably not taller than two feet carrying a bucket of water on his head. There's also a fire burning and the smoke is drifting towards me, smelling of burning plastic. I'm listening to some sort of jamaican-sounding song on the radio that the internet place is blasting out into the streets. To the left, there is a truck, probably about forty feet high packed with all sorts of various household items, such as refridgerators, tables, even lamps and drums. It is heading for Liberia and who knows how expensive things will be when it arrives.
I started my research this weekend after getting approval from Tufts IRB. I've done five interviews in the past two days and I am beginning to dig deeper into the lives people expect upon arrival in Liberia. I am hoping to write my thesis on repatriation and the role of the international community. I have yet to come up with a specific thesis yet - but as I am talking to people I am finding that there are three main concerns that continue to surface. First, most are worried about housing and where they will live. No one has money - and that is a given. The $100 they get if they travel with the UN will not be enough to get their lives started, and if they have no network they will arrive without a place to spend the night. Second, jobs. Monrovia is already overcrowded but is the only functioning part of Liberia - how will refugees return and find jobs to support themselves and their family? And third, education. Some never finished high school while they were here and have started raising families or created their own businesses alongside the main road to have some sort of income. How will they be able to complete their education so they can make a living in Liberia, when there is only one or two universities, all located in the capital city?
One of the older men I interviewed, who has a law degree and fled Monrovia in 2002 to come here, said that he wishes they could be given some cement so they could build houses outside of the capital. It turns out that most of the houses on camp were built by refugees - not UNHCR - and he said they could do the same in their own country. Buduburam has flourished over the years, and although a refugee camp (officially a settlement camp today), it is actually richer than many other villages in Ghana. This is in part because of the remittances sent back by friends and family who have made money in the US, Australia, and the Netherlands, but some of it is from people who created their own businesses from buying materials in Accra and selling their products for a profit.
More on this later. Last night, a funny comment from a young Ghanaian (there are Ghanaians still here who were part of a village before the Liberians settled here). We were watching Save the Last Dance, and there was a scene in the snow. He turns to me, completely straight-faced and says, "Is America always cold?" Sometimes I wonder how people picture the US from the movies they see and the songs they hear. There are so many American movies and soap operas on TV I have no idea of how they picture the States. It is also never cold here - and although the nights have cooled and it rains almost every day now, I still sweat through my shirt and have a fan directly on me whenever possible.
Ok, a friend just called, and I'm off to the beach....
When I look above the computer screen, I see a number of scenes - a sign that says "Buduburam School for the Deaf", a group of elders standing around in traditional dress and waving their arms around, a man behind them slowly transporting some chairs in a red, rusty wheelbarrow, and a young boy probably not taller than two feet carrying a bucket of water on his head. There's also a fire burning and the smoke is drifting towards me, smelling of burning plastic. I'm listening to some sort of jamaican-sounding song on the radio that the internet place is blasting out into the streets. To the left, there is a truck, probably about forty feet high packed with all sorts of various household items, such as refridgerators, tables, even lamps and drums. It is heading for Liberia and who knows how expensive things will be when it arrives.
I started my research this weekend after getting approval from Tufts IRB. I've done five interviews in the past two days and I am beginning to dig deeper into the lives people expect upon arrival in Liberia. I am hoping to write my thesis on repatriation and the role of the international community. I have yet to come up with a specific thesis yet - but as I am talking to people I am finding that there are three main concerns that continue to surface. First, most are worried about housing and where they will live. No one has money - and that is a given. The $100 they get if they travel with the UN will not be enough to get their lives started, and if they have no network they will arrive without a place to spend the night. Second, jobs. Monrovia is already overcrowded but is the only functioning part of Liberia - how will refugees return and find jobs to support themselves and their family? And third, education. Some never finished high school while they were here and have started raising families or created their own businesses alongside the main road to have some sort of income. How will they be able to complete their education so they can make a living in Liberia, when there is only one or two universities, all located in the capital city?
One of the older men I interviewed, who has a law degree and fled Monrovia in 2002 to come here, said that he wishes they could be given some cement so they could build houses outside of the capital. It turns out that most of the houses on camp were built by refugees - not UNHCR - and he said they could do the same in their own country. Buduburam has flourished over the years, and although a refugee camp (officially a settlement camp today), it is actually richer than many other villages in Ghana. This is in part because of the remittances sent back by friends and family who have made money in the US, Australia, and the Netherlands, but some of it is from people who created their own businesses from buying materials in Accra and selling their products for a profit.
More on this later. Last night, a funny comment from a young Ghanaian (there are Ghanaians still here who were part of a village before the Liberians settled here). We were watching Save the Last Dance, and there was a scene in the snow. He turns to me, completely straight-faced and says, "Is America always cold?" Sometimes I wonder how people picture the US from the movies they see and the songs they hear. There are so many American movies and soap operas on TV I have no idea of how they picture the States. It is also never cold here - and although the nights have cooled and it rains almost every day now, I still sweat through my shirt and have a fan directly on me whenever possible.
Ok, a friend just called, and I'm off to the beach....
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