Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Don’t Ring the Doorbell
In the interest of modesty, I decided not to bring any swimwear to Bissau in the consideration that what I possess was purchased in a southern country where the cultural clothing norms are not as stringent (to say the least). Upon arrival in the 95-100 degree weather that greets you in Bissau, I suddenly began to wish that I could throw myself immediately into a body of water, ANY body of water, save for the trash-filled lake in front of the UN (these lakes are for fishing, not swimming). Determined to remedy the situation, I went on a shopping expedition with Janet and Sara, the Gender Adviser from Portugal. We found microscopic scraps of cloth called bathing suits. When I declared my dismay, the man poking around in his duffel bag full of bikinis shrugged his shoulders and said, “Hey! What can I say…Brazilian style.” He looked rather embarrassed. I was embarrassed as well, for in my hand I was holding the smallest piece of Lycra that has even been called clothing-what they called in Brazil “fio dental” (dental floss), but to make matters worse it was bright fluorescent pink, and had a strange attachment that both confused and repulsed me. On a long braided cord attached to the thong, a round plastic apparatus with a red tassel dangled, of resemblance to a gaudy Victorian doorbell or perhaps the clapper for a very unholy church bell. Thoroughly traumatized, we stumbled out of the store and back into the heat. That was more than a week ago and I haven’t been swimming yet...
Friday, July 18, 2008
GHANA TRANSPORTATION 101
I had written this transporation guide for future int'l grad students that come to work here in Ghana, but since i've been hearing that more and more fletcherites are planning on visiting later on this summer, i'd thought i'd post it as a guide...its also quite funny...at least i had quite a laugh writing it all down...
Tro-tros
Ghanians either walk from place to place or take these large minivans called tro-tros around. Tro-tros are old school private large mini-vans that are packed to the gills with bodies and babies...even if one is not yours you tend to have one on your lap. They are super cheap, but if you take them you end up leaving with more sweat and on you than when you got in (and not necessarily your own!). Imagine nothing more than a gutted van outfitted with bench seats for maximum occupancy…it is not abnormal during rush hours to have over 25 people in a tro-tro. ‘Twenty-five people in a five row mini-van – is that possible?’ you might ask yourself. Well estimate four people sitting per row (and in the aisle) and then there’s the infants that people dole out. Many women travel with 3+ toddlers at a time and therefore hand out their children to neighboring riders to hold and play with until they arrive at their destination of choice.
Furthermore, each tro-tro goes to a distinct location. This would be ok if there were some kind of signage on the outside of each van to identify exactly where it goes, or at least a map of the key routes would be ideal…but alas, no dice. Oh yeah, and there are also no bus stops. Tro-tros basically tell people where they are going not by having formal bus stops or signs (these types of things dont exist in Ghana). Rather, the front passenger-side guy called a ‘mate’ hangs the upper half of his torso out the window and makes different waving signs with his hands – pointing strait up means the tro-tro is going to Accra, waving around in downward-pointing circles means Burma Camp (the military part of town), beckoning aggressively towards themselves means another key main part of town. Were you not to know this important hand-signal code you would think that every passing tro-tro is harassing you as they stare and wave at every passer-by just in case they should be wanting to hop aboard (while the tro-tro is still moving of course – they do not stop).
Taxis
Most expats and people working at jobs take taxis or have cars and/or drivers in Accra. This is a normal thing if you are a white collar worker as a decent taxi ride only costs a dollar or two...this of course is a lot more than the .30 or .40 cent tro-tros, but gets you to where you want to go in a timely fashion. When utilizing a taxi, prices here always need to be negotiated before one enters the vehicle, for if you wait till you get in, the drivers pretty much hold you hostage - where they want to go, who else gets in the vehicle, and what price they want to set. Be warned it is most likely that the original price anyone quotes you in Ghana is 2 to 4 times what is a normal price…most taxi rides are 2 or 3 cedi (2/3$). I think the most I have ever paid for a cab is 5 cedi and that was when there were 3 people in the car and we were travelling a long distance across town. A fail-proof, key negotiating (or rather ultimatum) tip that we learned early on is to state your price and if the taxi driver will not accept it say ‘It’s ok, we’ll just find another cab...’ this has never failed us! Now, should you find a cab, have negotiated an agreed-upon price, it is pretty common for the driver then once en route to turn around and ask you for directions! Therefore its always a good idea to make sure he knows where you are going before getting in as well as always being aware of a few notable landmarks in the general vicinity of your destination so that the driver can better identify your location.
Cars
Most of the vehicles on the road here are what western standards would consider scrap metal, threatening to sputter out and die at any given moment. Travel therefore utilizing public transportation almost always carries with it a high risk of getting stranded somewhere in the middle of the day or night (not so fun in the dark). Or, if you are so lucky enough not to break down, chances are almost 100% that someone else along your road will, and being that roads are at most always two lanes in one direction, the chances that you will be stuck in the impending traffic are almost 100-0.
Night travel in general is generally discouraged for visitors and tourists here because 1) not many people have cars and are normally dependent upon public transportation, 2) public transportation consists of the tro-tros I had discussed earlier which are VERY unreliable and unsafe (16 people were killed when one crashed into a river last week). 3) The reason I referred to above - the darkness factor - were one to break down is due to the fact that there are no street lights really *anywhere* in Ghana (ok, ok…there are one or two new roads that have been built this past year that have lights). 4) There are no signs anywhere (street signs, highway signs, traffic signals, etc) and 5) maps virtually do not exist. So the chances that one would get lost are also pretty high.
Roads
Now the distance between cities here is pretty small…many of the popular destinations in the south are 100-200km from one another. For an American or European car that trip would take somewhere around an hour to two hours to travel. However in Ghana well paved roads are non-existent outside of the big cities, and the more common unpaved roads are full of 1ft deep very wide potholes practically everywhere so that slows down travel time quite considerably. An exception to this rule is the road between Accra and Cape Coast which was paved this past year so not only is it paved, it is also well lit (gasp), as well as strait (virtually non-existent!).
Ghana’s Finest
So one night we were actually driving on a weekend evening to Cape Coast from Accra around 11:15pm, having made terrific time - 1hr45min for a 99km trip – we were held up for about twenty minutes because they had just erected a new toll booth (10cents) which virtually stopped all traffic because people have to hand their coins to individuals in the toll booths. However, here we come screaming around one of the last corners totally exhilarated that we were going more than 40mph, and were forced to screech to a halt because of an unexpected police checkpoint. Now, I should point out before I go any further that we were travelling with a Ghanian who was driving us in his own private (and legal) car. Immediately the police were furious that our friend hadn't known about the checkpoint (though there were no signs alluding to the fact that one had been set up) and had inadvertently had to kind of screech to a stop. So ten minutes, and a lot of high-toned talking and arm waving later, our friend Michael hops back in the car with a smile and a wink to continue the last few kms of our trip. BUT the car wouldn't start; the battery had died. Well-prepared Michael came to our rescue busting a very large toolbox out of the trunk which he had brought in case just such a breakdown were to occur. Another ten minutes (and a lot of banging) later, our battery had been decalcified, and we were on our way, with (I might add) the Chief of Police, who after ten minutes of chatting-while-decalcifying had gone from a virtual life enemy to very good friend status. In fact, he told us that he held us in such high regard that he was going to help us out by accompanying us to his favorite hotel in Cape Coast (yes, this was the same guy who twenty minutes earlier had seemed most likely to rip up Michael's license and throw him in jail). It wasn’t of course until the next morning when we were well rested, fed, and realizing how very far off we were from all the coastal attraction that it dawned on us that the hotel most likely had an agreement with the police where a certain commission was paid to the police guy for sending guests to the hotel!!
Tro-tros
Ghanians either walk from place to place or take these large minivans called tro-tros around. Tro-tros are old school private large mini-vans that are packed to the gills with bodies and babies...even if one is not yours you tend to have one on your lap. They are super cheap, but if you take them you end up leaving with more sweat and on you than when you got in (and not necessarily your own!). Imagine nothing more than a gutted van outfitted with bench seats for maximum occupancy…it is not abnormal during rush hours to have over 25 people in a tro-tro. ‘Twenty-five people in a five row mini-van – is that possible?’ you might ask yourself. Well estimate four people sitting per row (and in the aisle) and then there’s the infants that people dole out. Many women travel with 3+ toddlers at a time and therefore hand out their children to neighboring riders to hold and play with until they arrive at their destination of choice.
Furthermore, each tro-tro goes to a distinct location. This would be ok if there were some kind of signage on the outside of each van to identify exactly where it goes, or at least a map of the key routes would be ideal…but alas, no dice. Oh yeah, and there are also no bus stops. Tro-tros basically tell people where they are going not by having formal bus stops or signs (these types of things dont exist in Ghana). Rather, the front passenger-side guy called a ‘mate’ hangs the upper half of his torso out the window and makes different waving signs with his hands – pointing strait up means the tro-tro is going to Accra, waving around in downward-pointing circles means Burma Camp (the military part of town), beckoning aggressively towards themselves means another key main part of town. Were you not to know this important hand-signal code you would think that every passing tro-tro is harassing you as they stare and wave at every passer-by just in case they should be wanting to hop aboard (while the tro-tro is still moving of course – they do not stop).
Taxis
Most expats and people working at jobs take taxis or have cars and/or drivers in Accra. This is a normal thing if you are a white collar worker as a decent taxi ride only costs a dollar or two...this of course is a lot more than the .30 or .40 cent tro-tros, but gets you to where you want to go in a timely fashion. When utilizing a taxi, prices here always need to be negotiated before one enters the vehicle, for if you wait till you get in, the drivers pretty much hold you hostage - where they want to go, who else gets in the vehicle, and what price they want to set. Be warned it is most likely that the original price anyone quotes you in Ghana is 2 to 4 times what is a normal price…most taxi rides are 2 or 3 cedi (2/3$). I think the most I have ever paid for a cab is 5 cedi and that was when there were 3 people in the car and we were travelling a long distance across town. A fail-proof, key negotiating (or rather ultimatum) tip that we learned early on is to state your price and if the taxi driver will not accept it say ‘It’s ok, we’ll just find another cab...’ this has never failed us! Now, should you find a cab, have negotiated an agreed-upon price, it is pretty common for the driver then once en route to turn around and ask you for directions! Therefore its always a good idea to make sure he knows where you are going before getting in as well as always being aware of a few notable landmarks in the general vicinity of your destination so that the driver can better identify your location.
Cars
Most of the vehicles on the road here are what western standards would consider scrap metal, threatening to sputter out and die at any given moment. Travel therefore utilizing public transportation almost always carries with it a high risk of getting stranded somewhere in the middle of the day or night (not so fun in the dark). Or, if you are so lucky enough not to break down, chances are almost 100% that someone else along your road will, and being that roads are at most always two lanes in one direction, the chances that you will be stuck in the impending traffic are almost 100-0.
Night travel in general is generally discouraged for visitors and tourists here because 1) not many people have cars and are normally dependent upon public transportation, 2) public transportation consists of the tro-tros I had discussed earlier which are VERY unreliable and unsafe (16 people were killed when one crashed into a river last week). 3) The reason I referred to above - the darkness factor - were one to break down is due to the fact that there are no street lights really *anywhere* in Ghana (ok, ok…there are one or two new roads that have been built this past year that have lights). 4) There are no signs anywhere (street signs, highway signs, traffic signals, etc) and 5) maps virtually do not exist. So the chances that one would get lost are also pretty high.
Roads
Now the distance between cities here is pretty small…many of the popular destinations in the south are 100-200km from one another. For an American or European car that trip would take somewhere around an hour to two hours to travel. However in Ghana well paved roads are non-existent outside of the big cities, and the more common unpaved roads are full of 1ft deep very wide potholes practically everywhere so that slows down travel time quite considerably. An exception to this rule is the road between Accra and Cape Coast which was paved this past year so not only is it paved, it is also well lit (gasp), as well as strait (virtually non-existent!).
Ghana’s Finest
So one night we were actually driving on a weekend evening to Cape Coast from Accra around 11:15pm, having made terrific time - 1hr45min for a 99km trip – we were held up for about twenty minutes because they had just erected a new toll booth (10cents) which virtually stopped all traffic because people have to hand their coins to individuals in the toll booths. However, here we come screaming around one of the last corners totally exhilarated that we were going more than 40mph, and were forced to screech to a halt because of an unexpected police checkpoint. Now, I should point out before I go any further that we were travelling with a Ghanian who was driving us in his own private (and legal) car. Immediately the police were furious that our friend hadn't known about the checkpoint (though there were no signs alluding to the fact that one had been set up) and had inadvertently had to kind of screech to a stop. So ten minutes, and a lot of high-toned talking and arm waving later, our friend Michael hops back in the car with a smile and a wink to continue the last few kms of our trip. BUT the car wouldn't start; the battery had died. Well-prepared Michael came to our rescue busting a very large toolbox out of the trunk which he had brought in case just such a breakdown were to occur. Another ten minutes (and a lot of banging) later, our battery had been decalcified, and we were on our way, with (I might add) the Chief of Police, who after ten minutes of chatting-while-decalcifying had gone from a virtual life enemy to very good friend status. In fact, he told us that he held us in such high regard that he was going to help us out by accompanying us to his favorite hotel in Cape Coast (yes, this was the same guy who twenty minutes earlier had seemed most likely to rip up Michael's license and throw him in jail). It wasn’t of course until the next morning when we were well rested, fed, and realizing how very far off we were from all the coastal attraction that it dawned on us that the hotel most likely had an agreement with the police where a certain commission was paid to the police guy for sending guests to the hotel!!
Monday, July 14, 2008
UNAMID Ambush
When we, in our western lives, watch the news we don't always notice the continuous headlines that flash across the bottom of the screen. Should something like 'peacekeepers ambushed in UN Mission to Darfur' be noticed, it would probably generate a minimal reaction, if any. The words 'peacekeeping' and 'Darfur' are immediately and subconsciously associated with dangerous and risky work in an extreme conflict environment—conditions that could lead to an increased threat or harm to one's wellbeing.
Seven peacekeepers from the African Union/United Nations Hybrid operation in Darfur (UNAMID) were killed in an ambush this past Tuesday in Darfur, and twenty two were injured. One was a Ghanian policeman. Many of them are likely to have taken a UNAMID Pre-Deployment 101 course—the same course I am currently enrolled in this week at the Kofi Annan International Peacekeeping and Training Center (KAIPTC). This week's UNAMID course contains policemen from Ghana, Liberia, Nigeria, El Salvador, and Bangladesh who are receiving training on the geography and political situation in Sudan, the risk of HIV/AIDS, off-road driving, and, yes, what to do if they are ambushed. We were informed of the ambush when the entire 70+ participant course was summoned to the large auditorium to observe a moment of silence.
Having spent the past four days in class, I have gotten to know a good number of the participants. I find that the best way to meet someone is at lunch. I always try to break the ice with a universal conversation starter, food: "Is fu fu (a Ghanian dish) very different from your country's food?" Almost immediately the question comes up, "How do you feel about deploying to Sudan next month?" The quick answer is a smile, wink, and "Well, you're coming too, right?" Duty and commitment to work, force, country, and continent frame most of the responses.
African contributions to peacekeeping missions have increased eleven-fold since the early 1990s. Currently nine of the top twenty troop contributing countries are African nations, and make up approximately 30% of all field personnel. This increase in commitment is the result of centers like KAIPTC, which is one of three peacekeeping training centers of excellence in the ECOWAS sub-region, and six total on the continent. As of May 31st, the joint AU-UN hybrid mission (UNAMID) was composed of 9,563 total uniformed personnel. Not only does this number fall far short of the almost 26,000 that are supposed to staff the mission, but the troops and personnel currently suffer from a chronic lack of equipment as well as cooperation from the Sudanese government.
After the announcement about the ambush, the mood of the training class was more serious than usual; as I looked around, I saw a lot of solemn, yet attentive faces. No jokes were being cracked. Instead, nervous energy was being directed elsewhere. Throughout the day there was a consistent shuffle of participants leaving the class to take a break and huddle for a few minutes in front of the 'daily news & announcements' board where stories about the incident were posted. They worried that the same fate could befall them—their worst fears had been confirmed. Never did they imagine over a decade ago—when the majority of them began their police service—that they would one day face international deployment to a war zone.
This morning as I got ready for work I turned the news on and took a few moments to sit there and give the headlines my full attention. The images of those officers' earnest faces trying to respond to my questions immediately came back to me...as well as their words about 'duty and commitment to work, force, country and continent.'
Seven peacekeepers from the African Union/United Nations Hybrid operation in Darfur (UNAMID) were killed in an ambush this past Tuesday in Darfur, and twenty two were injured. One was a Ghanian policeman. Many of them are likely to have taken a UNAMID Pre-Deployment 101 course—the same course I am currently enrolled in this week at the Kofi Annan International Peacekeeping and Training Center (KAIPTC). This week's UNAMID course contains policemen from Ghana, Liberia, Nigeria, El Salvador, and Bangladesh who are receiving training on the geography and political situation in Sudan, the risk of HIV/AIDS, off-road driving, and, yes, what to do if they are ambushed. We were informed of the ambush when the entire 70+ participant course was summoned to the large auditorium to observe a moment of silence.
Having spent the past four days in class, I have gotten to know a good number of the participants. I find that the best way to meet someone is at lunch. I always try to break the ice with a universal conversation starter, food: "Is fu fu (a Ghanian dish) very different from your country's food?" Almost immediately the question comes up, "How do you feel about deploying to Sudan next month?" The quick answer is a smile, wink, and "Well, you're coming too, right?" Duty and commitment to work, force, country, and continent frame most of the responses.
African contributions to peacekeeping missions have increased eleven-fold since the early 1990s. Currently nine of the top twenty troop contributing countries are African nations, and make up approximately 30% of all field personnel. This increase in commitment is the result of centers like KAIPTC, which is one of three peacekeeping training centers of excellence in the ECOWAS sub-region, and six total on the continent. As of May 31st, the joint AU-UN hybrid mission (UNAMID) was composed of 9,563 total uniformed personnel. Not only does this number fall far short of the almost 26,000 that are supposed to staff the mission, but the troops and personnel currently suffer from a chronic lack of equipment as well as cooperation from the Sudanese government.
After the announcement about the ambush, the mood of the training class was more serious than usual; as I looked around, I saw a lot of solemn, yet attentive faces. No jokes were being cracked. Instead, nervous energy was being directed elsewhere. Throughout the day there was a consistent shuffle of participants leaving the class to take a break and huddle for a few minutes in front of the 'daily news & announcements' board where stories about the incident were posted. They worried that the same fate could befall them—their worst fears had been confirmed. Never did they imagine over a decade ago—when the majority of them began their police service—that they would one day face international deployment to a war zone.
This morning as I got ready for work I turned the news on and took a few moments to sit there and give the headlines my full attention. The images of those officers' earnest faces trying to respond to my questions immediately came back to me...as well as their words about 'duty and commitment to work, force, country and continent.'
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Making it Official
Today is was a big day. I am now officially a card-carrying foreign resident of Bissau. Earlier in the afternoon, Aliu and I set out again to run some errands. I listed out several items, including the foreign residency card pick-up. “Agh!”, he cried, smacking his head. “We were supposed to be there by 2!” I had assumed when the woman said “after 2”, it was a general bracket of time in which specific appointments were not made (my perception of how time works in Bissau). However, Aliu explained impatiently that since the government has not paid the salaries of the workers for months, they usually go to work for half the day and then leave. We got lucky.
The office in the back courtyard was still full of people and the annoyed finger-stamp woman located my card and went through the perfunctory motions of printing my fingers for the third time, sighing in a way as if to say, “I’ve stamped so many fingers that they no longer have any meaning. You are just another thumb in this world.” She waved me off to once again dunk my inky fingers in a plastic tub filled with black water. Even after scrubbing my fingers with the sliver of orange soap provided, my hands were far dirtier than before. I wiped my hands on the blackened towel and we left. Aliu galloped away, waving goodbyes to everyone and me and my inky hands tailing behind. When he got back in the car, he smiled a toothy smile, clapped me on the shoulder and declared, “Hah! Now you can stay as long as you want!”
The office in the back courtyard was still full of people and the annoyed finger-stamp woman located my card and went through the perfunctory motions of printing my fingers for the third time, sighing in a way as if to say, “I’ve stamped so many fingers that they no longer have any meaning. You are just another thumb in this world.” She waved me off to once again dunk my inky fingers in a plastic tub filled with black water. Even after scrubbing my fingers with the sliver of orange soap provided, my hands were far dirtier than before. I wiped my hands on the blackened towel and we left. Aliu galloped away, waving goodbyes to everyone and me and my inky hands tailing behind. When he got back in the car, he smiled a toothy smile, clapped me on the shoulder and declared, “Hah! Now you can stay as long as you want!”
The Man in the Baby Blue Suit
One benefit of working with this particular organization is that, when justified by agency budget, you can take advantage of the squadron of blue-suited drivers in white jeeps in various stages of decay. Certain agencies have brand-new vehicles, others you can hear approaching from miles away. The state of these jeeps accurately reflects the financial or organizational state of each agency. Luckily, ours seems to be surviving well enough, and I was paired with Aliu, by far the most animated and well-connected driver of all. “Of course he knows everyone, he is a spy!” says my boss. Well if he is, he is a very nice spy, a very goofy looking, lanky African James Bond with personality as his only weapon.
Aliu is the man. Everywhere he goes, he shouts commentary to each person on the street, slapping shoulders, shaking hands, giving the thumb’s up, the wave, and a multitude of other gestures unique to his person that I can’t begin to explain. He also speaks so quickly that each comment comes out in a rapid jumble and by the time you have deciphered all that he has said, he has already moved on to the next topic. Aliu could easily be a radio personality. He has an opinion on everything, and likes to postulate about Guinean culture, politics, marriage habits (more on that later) and any other topic that emerges during the course of a trip to the bank or the Ministry of Such-and-Such. I benefited immensely from Aliu’s personality cult and his insights. Everywhere we went, he cut the line and no one complained. In the span of a couple hours, he had purchased me a cell phone, opened a bank account, submitted an application for foreign residency, among other errands. This would be an efficient run even in DC, but in Bissau, it was something akin to a miracle. In the cell phone store, for example, the line went out the door and there were people there who looked like they had been waiting their entire adult lives. Did I feel guilty for cutting the line? Well, of course, but there is no stopping Aliu. He is determined to do his job to the fullest, with the maximum enthusiasm possible, in the shortest span of time imaginable.
After I recuperated from my sickness, he confessed how upset he was that the nurse wouldn’t let him visit me in the infirmary. “ Just because YOU happened to choose ME as your INTIMATE friend, well then why can’t I visit you? People die in hospitals all the time, not just from their sickness, but from their MINDS because they don’t have people around them!” I assured him that the nurses had taken good care of me and within seconds, we had moved on to another topic. “Africa!” he said, “Ah, Africa. Africa can’t move forward until we change our ways. See this list I have here? This list is a list of things I must do for my family. My brother died, I have to care for his family. People say it is my right to take his wife but I said ‘no!’ I will never do that.” With the list from his family in one hand, and the list from the UN in the other, Aliu was constantly in motion.
On this particular day, we were taking care of technical reviews. Somehow I have mustered the strength to race behind Aliu like a very bedraggled, sweaty and sickly terrier, running in circles around the city. Stepping inside the narrow halls of the old building of the offices of the Ministry of Defense is like walking into someone’s shoe that has been sitting in the sun for 20 years. Why someone would decide to put down carpet in a tropical country I do not know. It must have looked very distinguished years ago. But now, like all infrastructure in poor Bissau, it stinks. Literally. Yet somehow, some way, people still work in these conditions, dressed in camouflage gear from head to toe, with black lace-up boots and black berets. The officer that led us up the stairs was so old and thin his uniform was nearly hanging off of him.
The Guinean military is an aging population, most being veterans from the war of independence against Portugal and still possessing a high rank in the hierarchy. According to a UN census, of nearly 4,500 members registered, more than 3,000 are officers, 1,800 of them holding the rank of major or above. Of the 4,500, only six are younger than 20, and there are hundreds older than 60. In addition, the military deals with a reality of no air-conditioning, no lights, no computers, no screens in the windows, and often no pay. Without a little greasing of the wheels, they probably wouldn’t survive. And neither would the government. And they don’t sweat. Me, on the other hand…well, I’m starting to smell like an old sock myself.
In general, the “fichas” (forms) were not ready: the person happens to be out for a 3 hour lunch, or traveled to Bafatá, or is having a meeting with a Minister of Something, or has decided to engage me in conversation long enough to distract me from my purpose. Aliu was in a great hurry to get back to take the Mine Commission people out to the fields to look at unexploded ordinance. I was also in a great hurry to get all the reviews in before 5 pm before the meeting. In our last visit, at the Association of Business Promotion, the man started to talk about how he had traveled to the United States. “Where?” “Virginia? Oh really, where in Virginia?” He surveyed the ceiling as if the answer was written there. “I don’t know…O.K, name me all the cities in Virginia and then I will try to remember..” By the time I reached “Richmond” Aliu was giving me such a pained look that I diverted the conversation back to its purpose. “Oh, the form?” he said casually, laughing and adjusting his watch, “Oh, but I haven’t looked at it. Don’t worry, I could perhaps get it to you by Monday”. By the time the words left his mouth Aliu was already flying down the stairs in his little blue suit.
Aliu is the man. Everywhere he goes, he shouts commentary to each person on the street, slapping shoulders, shaking hands, giving the thumb’s up, the wave, and a multitude of other gestures unique to his person that I can’t begin to explain. He also speaks so quickly that each comment comes out in a rapid jumble and by the time you have deciphered all that he has said, he has already moved on to the next topic. Aliu could easily be a radio personality. He has an opinion on everything, and likes to postulate about Guinean culture, politics, marriage habits (more on that later) and any other topic that emerges during the course of a trip to the bank or the Ministry of Such-and-Such. I benefited immensely from Aliu’s personality cult and his insights. Everywhere we went, he cut the line and no one complained. In the span of a couple hours, he had purchased me a cell phone, opened a bank account, submitted an application for foreign residency, among other errands. This would be an efficient run even in DC, but in Bissau, it was something akin to a miracle. In the cell phone store, for example, the line went out the door and there were people there who looked like they had been waiting their entire adult lives. Did I feel guilty for cutting the line? Well, of course, but there is no stopping Aliu. He is determined to do his job to the fullest, with the maximum enthusiasm possible, in the shortest span of time imaginable.
After I recuperated from my sickness, he confessed how upset he was that the nurse wouldn’t let him visit me in the infirmary. “ Just because YOU happened to choose ME as your INTIMATE friend, well then why can’t I visit you? People die in hospitals all the time, not just from their sickness, but from their MINDS because they don’t have people around them!” I assured him that the nurses had taken good care of me and within seconds, we had moved on to another topic. “Africa!” he said, “Ah, Africa. Africa can’t move forward until we change our ways. See this list I have here? This list is a list of things I must do for my family. My brother died, I have to care for his family. People say it is my right to take his wife but I said ‘no!’ I will never do that.” With the list from his family in one hand, and the list from the UN in the other, Aliu was constantly in motion.
On this particular day, we were taking care of technical reviews. Somehow I have mustered the strength to race behind Aliu like a very bedraggled, sweaty and sickly terrier, running in circles around the city. Stepping inside the narrow halls of the old building of the offices of the Ministry of Defense is like walking into someone’s shoe that has been sitting in the sun for 20 years. Why someone would decide to put down carpet in a tropical country I do not know. It must have looked very distinguished years ago. But now, like all infrastructure in poor Bissau, it stinks. Literally. Yet somehow, some way, people still work in these conditions, dressed in camouflage gear from head to toe, with black lace-up boots and black berets. The officer that led us up the stairs was so old and thin his uniform was nearly hanging off of him.
The Guinean military is an aging population, most being veterans from the war of independence against Portugal and still possessing a high rank in the hierarchy. According to a UN census, of nearly 4,500 members registered, more than 3,000 are officers, 1,800 of them holding the rank of major or above. Of the 4,500, only six are younger than 20, and there are hundreds older than 60. In addition, the military deals with a reality of no air-conditioning, no lights, no computers, no screens in the windows, and often no pay. Without a little greasing of the wheels, they probably wouldn’t survive. And neither would the government. And they don’t sweat. Me, on the other hand…well, I’m starting to smell like an old sock myself.
In general, the “fichas” (forms) were not ready: the person happens to be out for a 3 hour lunch, or traveled to Bafatá, or is having a meeting with a Minister of Something, or has decided to engage me in conversation long enough to distract me from my purpose. Aliu was in a great hurry to get back to take the Mine Commission people out to the fields to look at unexploded ordinance. I was also in a great hurry to get all the reviews in before 5 pm before the meeting. In our last visit, at the Association of Business Promotion, the man started to talk about how he had traveled to the United States. “Where?” “Virginia? Oh really, where in Virginia?” He surveyed the ceiling as if the answer was written there. “I don’t know…O.K, name me all the cities in Virginia and then I will try to remember..” By the time I reached “Richmond” Aliu was giving me such a pained look that I diverted the conversation back to its purpose. “Oh, the form?” he said casually, laughing and adjusting his watch, “Oh, but I haven’t looked at it. Don’t worry, I could perhaps get it to you by Monday”. By the time the words left his mouth Aliu was already flying down the stairs in his little blue suit.
"It's not easy"
As my time here is wrapping up, the camp is getting more and more quiet. I’d like to think it is a moment of silence before I leave, but it has more to do with the fact that refugees are heading home as fast as they can. “It’s not easy,” as they say here. It’s even less easy for those who don’t have UNHCR ID cards because the machine broke down about three years ago (a rumor yet to be confirmed). If you don’t have a UNHCR ID card, you cannot travel with the UN that gives refugees a free plane ride home and $100 per adult ($50 per child) upon arrival. Although the money will most likely be gone in less than two weeks since prices in Liberia are high in comparison to Ghana, it is at least a safe and free way of getting back. Finding the money to pay for rent in the overcrowded Monrovia is the next challenge. For those who have no networks in Liberia, either because their family was killed or they grew up in Buduburam, it is a frightening reality that they will not have a place to stay while they look for a home.
If you don’t have an ID card, you have to travel by road. It is rainy season, so traveling by road can be dangerous. In Ghana, the deafening pounding of a rainstorm on my tin roof is enough for me to appreciate the intensity of storms here in western Africa. If I put my buckets out to collect water, they are filled in five minutes. But in Ghana, these storms come and go. The farther you move west, the longer and harder it rains. A normally two- or three-day trip back to Liberia can turn into three weeks as the roads are destroyed and Liberians have to set up camp in Cote d’Ivoire. Cote d’Ivoire is also not safe. Because of the recent civil war there, the crime is high and many Liberians are afraid to stay multiple nights. But some can’t even afford to go by road. If refugees have no money, no vehicle, and no ID cards, they are stuck in Buduburam, which will be closing in the next few months.
Refugees have had three options over the years: local integration into Ghanaian society, repatriation back to Liberia, and resettlement to a third country such as the US or somewhere in Europe. Resettlement to the US ended last year, not including the few P3 cases (which means there are family members there) that are still being reviewed from last year. Only 1% of refugees were sent abroad, since an intense interview process picks out the most vulnerable to go. Refugees are not interested in reintegration in Ghana, which was part of the protests this past March that raised tensions between Ghanaians and Liberians. Ghanaians think Liberians are ungrateful since they have been allowed to settle in Ghana for 18 years, but Liberians know it would incredibly difficult to start a life in Ghana. Even though local integration is free, and Liberians will in theory be given all the rights of a Ghanaian, it is still unlikely they will get a job because employers will hire a Ghanaian before a foreign national.
What is going to happen to the camp once it is ‘closed?’ What does ‘closed’ really mean? What happens to the Liberian refugees who are still here, and can’t afford to go back home? These are questions I’ve asked public officials in Accra who don’t even know the answers. Some Liberians think this area will turn into an army base, while others think Ghanaians will come and live here. And as for the Liberians who can’t afford to leave – breaking up the camp in October or November is still a possibility. The more aggressive Interior Minister who was advocating for this has been replaced, and it would take a great amount of resources to do this – but it has been done before in Togo and could happen here. No one really knows what to expect.
With repatriation as the ‘preferred’ – in other words, pretty much only – option that refugees have now, everyone is heading home. Now it’s just a question of how they get home safely and how to “start their lives” upon arrival to an overcrowded city, high crime rate, and few resources. As I head home with a recorder full of interviews with nervous refugees and notes from discussions with public officials, I’ve come up with a few theories on how to better help the process of repatriation; but these ideas will be shared in a later blog entry.
It’s not going to be easy to leave the people I care about. It’s as though they are walking off a cliff with their eyes closed, unsure of how far they are going to fall before they hit the ground.
If you don’t have an ID card, you have to travel by road. It is rainy season, so traveling by road can be dangerous. In Ghana, the deafening pounding of a rainstorm on my tin roof is enough for me to appreciate the intensity of storms here in western Africa. If I put my buckets out to collect water, they are filled in five minutes. But in Ghana, these storms come and go. The farther you move west, the longer and harder it rains. A normally two- or three-day trip back to Liberia can turn into three weeks as the roads are destroyed and Liberians have to set up camp in Cote d’Ivoire. Cote d’Ivoire is also not safe. Because of the recent civil war there, the crime is high and many Liberians are afraid to stay multiple nights. But some can’t even afford to go by road. If refugees have no money, no vehicle, and no ID cards, they are stuck in Buduburam, which will be closing in the next few months.
Refugees have had three options over the years: local integration into Ghanaian society, repatriation back to Liberia, and resettlement to a third country such as the US or somewhere in Europe. Resettlement to the US ended last year, not including the few P3 cases (which means there are family members there) that are still being reviewed from last year. Only 1% of refugees were sent abroad, since an intense interview process picks out the most vulnerable to go. Refugees are not interested in reintegration in Ghana, which was part of the protests this past March that raised tensions between Ghanaians and Liberians. Ghanaians think Liberians are ungrateful since they have been allowed to settle in Ghana for 18 years, but Liberians know it would incredibly difficult to start a life in Ghana. Even though local integration is free, and Liberians will in theory be given all the rights of a Ghanaian, it is still unlikely they will get a job because employers will hire a Ghanaian before a foreign national.
What is going to happen to the camp once it is ‘closed?’ What does ‘closed’ really mean? What happens to the Liberian refugees who are still here, and can’t afford to go back home? These are questions I’ve asked public officials in Accra who don’t even know the answers. Some Liberians think this area will turn into an army base, while others think Ghanaians will come and live here. And as for the Liberians who can’t afford to leave – breaking up the camp in October or November is still a possibility. The more aggressive Interior Minister who was advocating for this has been replaced, and it would take a great amount of resources to do this – but it has been done before in Togo and could happen here. No one really knows what to expect.
With repatriation as the ‘preferred’ – in other words, pretty much only – option that refugees have now, everyone is heading home. Now it’s just a question of how they get home safely and how to “start their lives” upon arrival to an overcrowded city, high crime rate, and few resources. As I head home with a recorder full of interviews with nervous refugees and notes from discussions with public officials, I’ve come up with a few theories on how to better help the process of repatriation; but these ideas will be shared in a later blog entry.
It’s not going to be easy to leave the people I care about. It’s as though they are walking off a cliff with their eyes closed, unsure of how far they are going to fall before they hit the ground.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Summer in DC
Greetings from DC! Since getting back from China on June 10, I’ve been interning at World Resources Institute. (I still have a few things I’d like to write about our Asia Foundation portion of the trip, but that might have to wait for a rainy Saturday). World Resources Institute is probably best described as an environmental think tank. They provide research, analysis and policy proposals to address environmentally sound and socially equitable development. The organization has several departments, focusing on everything from climate change, species protection, transportation, and base-of-the-pyramid sustainable development. I’m with in the Institutions and Governance Program, on the Electricity and Governance Initiative, which works with electricity sector decision-makers and civil society leaders to promote transparency, accountability and public participation in the energy and electricity sectors worldwide. Admittedly, that’s a lot of jargon, but basically we work with governments on how to reform their electricity sector to promote sustainable energy solutions.
I have two specific projects. The first is working with the Inter American Development Bank on writing a background paper on renewable energy in Latin America. The paper presents an overview of the current state of the energy sector, and offers several policy, technology and financing solutions to meeting the growing demand with sustainable energy. The second project is analyzing the balance sheets of state-owned utilities in Brazil and South Africa to identify their overall sustainability and who is bearing the risks for their regional investments. I’m sure many of your eyes just glazed over reading this paragraph, but I have to say I’m really excited about the work I’m doing.
I’m also happy to be in DC for the summer. I’m definitely making the professional connections I was looking for, and it’s been a ton of fun hanging out with the motley crew of other Fletcher students in town for the summer. My first weekend in town, Ivan, Brett Yellen, Scott Dash, Emily Neishem, Anna Farber and I went to Mt. Vernon for the day. You’ll have to hear it from Brett in person this fall, but during our short time there George Washington was revealed to be an anti-Semite and a womanizer.
I have two specific projects. The first is working with the Inter American Development Bank on writing a background paper on renewable energy in Latin America. The paper presents an overview of the current state of the energy sector, and offers several policy, technology and financing solutions to meeting the growing demand with sustainable energy. The second project is analyzing the balance sheets of state-owned utilities in Brazil and South Africa to identify their overall sustainability and who is bearing the risks for their regional investments. I’m sure many of your eyes just glazed over reading this paragraph, but I have to say I’m really excited about the work I’m doing.
I’m also happy to be in DC for the summer. I’m definitely making the professional connections I was looking for, and it’s been a ton of fun hanging out with the motley crew of other Fletcher students in town for the summer. My first weekend in town, Ivan, Brett Yellen, Scott Dash, Emily Neishem, Anna Farber and I went to Mt. Vernon for the day. You’ll have to hear it from Brett in person this fall, but during our short time there George Washington was revealed to be an anti-Semite and a womanizer.
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