The aid industrial complex and crises of conscience

When I was leaving for PC, most people were supportive. You kind of get treated like a hero, as if you're sacrificing a huge amount to go live as people in the developing world live. It is certainly a sacrifice. You miss big events -- weddings, the arrival of babies, birthdays, graduations -- and you have to take a bath in a basin. But it isn't heroic, and I go back and forth about whether we as a nation should be doing this at all.

My feelings on my time here have varied wildly of late. I go from deep cynicism about aid and development work to a feeling of personal joy when I spend time singing with and teaching girls in my community. The best way to describe it is ambivalence, a strong love and a strong hate for the aid structures that are in place.

A problem with aid work is that it is difficult to avoid being patronizing. In a sense, anyone who comes in from another country to teach or train people is suggesting that the people in the developing country need help from outside their borders. It suggests that they aren't adequately addressing their own problems, whether that's attributed to a lack of money or a lack of knowledge/training/skills. Then, when you come in as the outsider, it's assumed that you do have the money and the skills. Your presence alone suggests that you think -- or your sponsoring agency thinks -- you know best.

Many volunteers and development workers don't believe this. Many want to come in with humility and learn from and share information with local communities; they don't want to be paternalistic. I've been told that it's far better to think about Peace Corps service as sharing information rather than as "helping." I think about how I would feel if someone from another country came to America and started telling me that I ought to use a condom or eat more vegetables. I'd want to know just who the hell she thought she was, coming in and thinking she knew more than me about my life, culture and country. I'd want to know why she thought I needed her help. There are educated people everywhere. Legions of skilled, intelligent Swazis are already trying to provide public health information to their neighbors.

So, what am I doing?

Truth be told, I'm not sure. It feels a bit repugnant to be here, whatever my intentions were when I arrived. Have I affected the lives of some people in my community? Perhaps. I only hope I haven't done more damage than good. I hope I haven't reinforced that developed-developing country hierarchical dynamic. I hope I've been more than a sign of white privilege and wealth, an ignorant, arrogant outsider who flits in for two years and uses terms like "girls empowerment" and "permaculture" and then watches American movies on her MacBook all night.

On top of my personal moral quandaries are those related to the big picture of development. The vast majority of the work is being done in developing countries. The vast majority of the money comes from developed countries. This creates a power imbalance. Can a Swazi health official truly stand up to an American aid official if he or she disagrees with how U.S. money is being spent? When Western organizations seek community input, are they truly listening? Do they trust the feedback they get? Or is it more of an act of courtesy? Sure, tell us what you want, but we already know what we intend to do. It's also difficult because funding and grant writing often precede those community conversations. How much flexibility is there, really, when you've already made promises to funders back home?

By and large, I think organizations that seek community input do hope to use that input to inform their work. But regardless, most of the money is coming from outside the country and is being spent by outsiders. Reports go back to Washington; there are numerical targets and legislators to answer to. Is that the best way for us to work toward improved global health and development outcomes?

There's a big push now toward capacity building and sustainability. Organizations want to train people on the ground to do the development work they're doing and to perform the research that foreign academics are performing. That's laudable, I believe. The people who live in these countries, whose lives will be affected by the research, programs and policies in place, ought to be a major part of setting the research agenda and determining how development moves forward. But that presents difficulties of its own, which I won't explore here.

At the end of the day, I have more questions than answers. People often say that in public health, the goal is to work yourself out of a job. Are we that altruistic? I hope so. That's a question related more to human nature than development, however. This field is ballooning. The future of public health workers, to an extent, will depend on people NOT having what they need to be healthy. Seems like a tenuous system.

These are the thoughts floating around my head as I prepare to look for a job back home. Do I attempt to plug myself into this system? Do I believe in it enough? Are we doing it right, or do we need to blow it up and start afresh? I haven't even touched on colonialism and how its legacy ties in with what the West is doing in the developing world now. And then there's aid as foreign policy, which represents another strand of the web.

Many others before me have considered these issues at length and more coherently. I'm nothing if not unoriginal, friends. Perhaps what I need to do is read more about how others have found their way through this maze of concerns and out the other side. Insights, article and book suggestions welcome.

Weekend update

Sanibonani, bangani bami! (Hello, my friends!)

I'm killing time till Jor arrives in the place with probably the best Wifi in Swaziland. I could probably watch a YouTube video if I wanted! It's THAT good! I don't mind not having access to Internet, really. I've been living without a computer of my own since January, and it has not been apocalyptic. I feel like I'm going to be overwhelmed by the go go go of life back home when I get there. TOO MANY INSTAGRAMS. Do people still use that, even? The Internet will be unrecognizable to me.

I attended the cultural evening at Jack's school last night, and it was delightful, if a bit chaotic. I think my favorite part was listening to 20-something primary-schoolers singing "God Bless America." I was moved, not gonna lie. It made me even more excited to visit home in a month and a half.

As part of this cultural evening, I baked six apple pies. Yes, I made the crusts by hand. And then I had so much extra crust that I baked two chocolate-chip pies. I have officially surpassed my lifetime pie-making total in the past year. People seemed to mostly like them, though Swazis tend to find American desserts too sweet. What can I say? We love our sugar and butter.

The event also included Swazi cultural dances, which I always love, and a section of Afrikaner culture. The children wore the traditional clothes of the Afrikaner settlers. I was thinking "Little House on the Prairie." The kiddos did a great job.

I can't remember whether I've talked about our Future Plans. Jack and I were considering staying here another year. He had a lead on a job, and I was considering extending my Peace Corps service. I would have moved to town from my homestead, so I would have had more of the modern conveniences. We were pretty sold on it for a week or so. Then things fell apart a bit with his job offer. I wasn't thrilled with the direction my plans were heading. At the end of the day, the benefits of going home outweighed the benefits of staying.

So I'll finish up my service in August, and Jack and I are planning a packed post-PC trip. The one certainty is hiking Mount Kilimanjaro in Tanzania. Aside from that, we're looking at Victoria Falls, Lake Malawi, the Serengeti, Zanzibar and Morocco (some combination of these). We'll see how we go. I'm sure we can't go wrong, and if we miss something, it'll just mean we have to come back. Kute inkinga, as they say (no problem).

THEN it will be on to the wedding in November and trying to persuade someone to hire us, probably in Washington, D.C. If y'all know anybody who wants a journalist/social media pro in Jack or a journalist/public health type in me, drop us a line. I'll be ready to do ALL THE WORK.

---

In work news, my counterpart and I have chosen the three girls who will go to our Girls Leading Our World (GLOW) camp next month. I'm excited to participate. It's a whole week, and I expect it to be exhausting and exhilarating. The girls will learn about health topics, community service, leadership and other fun stuff. There will be arts and crafts and games as well. I wasn't able to go last year because of health problems, so it'll all be new.

Have I told y'all that I've been writing letters with a first-grade class from my elementary school? Their letters are pretty amazing. I tend to reply by email and explain things like toilets, our lack of running water and which animals I've seen. I also told the kids recently that I've read more than 100 books since I've been here. It's kind of great what facts stick in their minds.

These are some of the questions I've gotten:

"What are the titles of the 100 books?"
"Was one of the books Go Dog Go?"
"What was your favorite of the 100 books?"
"Have you seen a dust devil?"
"Do you go to college?"
"What is your mom's name?"
"How do you play?"
"Do you like fashion and makeovers? I like fashion and makeovers."

And my favorite comment: "We have running water here."

Kids are pretty great.

---

We have a new puppy on the homestead! She is covered in fleas and ticks because I haven't had a chance to wash her yet. Babe calls her Tsatsakhona (take and eat), the same as our other dog. I'm going to call her Wolverine in hopes that she'll be a survivor. I will try to avoid getting attached.

---

Did I tell you guys that I'm getting my wedding dress made here by a Swazi designer? I am. It's pretty exciting stuff, AND he thinks he can arrange a fitting while Jor is here. That will be my first traditional girl move.

---

OK, I think that's all the news that's fit to print for the moment. I hope to be able to post photos from Cape Town after our trip. If you were feeling sorry for me because I never have Internet or running water or whatever, don't. I get to go to CAPE TOWN, which is an incredibly sweet place.

Stay tuned.

Salani kahle!

Bread, transport, etc.

Sanibonani!

Here are some weather words for you:
Emafu = clouds
Liyana = rain
Lilanga = sun (this word also means day)
Futfumele = warm
Kuyabandza = It's cold
Kuyashisa = It's hot

And some from my current activities:
Ngibheka sinkhwa = I'm baking bread
Ngifuna kulala = I want to sleep
Ngiyagijima = I am running
Ngine umhlangano = I have a meeting

A PC friend taught me how to make challah and biscuits this past Monday. It was a gray, cool, rainy day, perfect for that activity. She lives less than an hour's drive from me, but transport in Swaziland meant that I had to travel an hour to Manzini, meet her in the bus rank at 8 a.m. and get on a bus to her spot. We sat on the bus/van for about 45 minutes until it was full. The bus carried us through the hilly bush, easing through places where water was running over low bridges.

We arrived at her place after an hour or so and went to work, making the dough and letting it rise. We chatted about challenges we were facing with our work and drank delicious coffee. About four hours later, I had a lovely loaf of challah to share with Jack and a handful of biscuits for me to munch on.

I could have spent the night at her place, but PC restricts how many nights we're supposed to spend out of our village per month. I knew I'd be out for other reasons, so I decided to try to get home. I waited for about half an hour on the road that would have taken me the short way toward my place. Nothing. No cars, no bikes, no motorcycles (not that I'd have taken one, strictly forbidden). After about half an hour, I spotted the same bus we'd come in on, this time heading back to Manzini.

"Is it better for me to take this to Manzini and go back to my place?" I asked a woman who was also waiting.
"Yes, it is much better."

I hopped on the rickety bus and headed back down that sketchy, hilly dirt road. There was less fog this time, and the ride was beautiful. It was also nerve-racking. It was nearly 4 p.m. when I got on the bus, and I knew I'd have an hour's ride to Manzini. I also knew that I'd have to get right on transport back to my site and hope like hell that I'd make it by dark. Being out after dark is a real no-no in the SWZ. No one does it in the rural areas (the cities are different), and the night is ruled by scary dogs and unsavory types. So I was getting stressed. Darkness falls between 6 and 6:30 these days.

The bus labored into Manzini by about 5 p.m., getting caught in a huge line entering the bus rank. Rush hour, y'know? So I hopped out and made a beeline for the spot where my khumbis hang out. I was the second-to-last person on. These modes of transport, basically minibuses, leave when they're full. That means you could wait on one for five minutes or for more than an hour. It's a crapshoot. And sometimes you find that there isn't one heading to your location, so you have to wait in line for who knows how long. It's a logical system for the SWZ, but it can certainly be a pain in the ass.

In summary, I scored big time by being almost the last person on. We rolled out just after 5, and I knew it'd be smooth sailing as long as we didn't break down or hit something. I made it to my bus stop by 6 and was home in time to keep my host family from worrying. Success!

Also that day, I dealt with my first electrical issue in a while. The night before, my lights had gone out. This was strange because my other electrical sockets were still functioning. I got ready for bed in the dark and puzzled over it a while. It took make and babe's help plus a call to the electrician to nail down the problem: blown fuse. Duh. That was the first thing babe told me to check. Host dad doing a great job at typical dad functions.

Electricity in SiSwati: igesi

That's all for now! I'm at Jack's school filling in for their volunteer computer teacher today. We're selecting our girls for the girls empowerment camp soon, and I have a support group meeting Friday. I haven't seen those ladies for months, so I'm pretty stoked.

AND Jordan visits starting March 22, if I didn't mention that. It'll mean SWZ adventures and EIGHT DAYS in amazing Cape Town. Hurrah!

On February

Sanibonani, team.

It has been criminally long since I updated, which is partly because my computer is dead. This post is sponsored by Jack, whose laptop I've snagged for the morning. Also, I'm at one of the only places in this country with a bottomless cup of coffee. Mugg & Bean, you're my hero (as is Jack, obviously).

I want to tell y'all what I've learned about the child who asked me for a job. As is often the case, the situation is more complex than I realized.

My friend who tracked him down told me this: The child's parents did both die, and he was taken in by his paternal grandmother. They moved him to a new homestead in my community. He didn't want to stay there. He keeps running away and returning to his previous homestead, which is uninhabited. So he does live alone, as he told me. She also said he is 12, not 14. She told me that his family has sent him to school repeatedly, but he runs away. He says he would rather get a job than attend school. My host father actually ran into him as well. The child also asked him for a job. My host dad instead asked where he stayed and took him back to his grandmother's house. (My host dad is a pretty awesome guy.) I don't know whether the child has since run away again.

So it's interesting, right? The situation isn't as dismal as I thought it was; the boy does have family members who are concerned for his whereabouts. He still isn't in a safe or stable situation. I don't know why he continues to run away. It's entirely possible that there are issues at home that make his life difficult or unpleasant. I certainly can't speak to that. But he has resources and a backup in case of emergency, and that's better than nothing.

If I have more contact with him, I'll write a bit more about it. I haven't yet remembered to ask my host dad for details of his encounter with the boy.

---

Onward!

February has been extremely busy. Yes, you read that right: I've actually been busy. One of the staff members at the clinic was on leave for the whole month, so they asked me to fill in at the registration desk in the HIV section. It meant getting there at 8 a.m. Monday through Thursday and staying till about 3 p.m. I KNOW, RIGHT?! Who works those hours? It's INSANE.

But seriously, it is extremely rare for me to be doing anything, especially sitting, for that long. It was kind of exhausting. I did find, however, that it made me super productive. That's a thing, right? The busier you are, the more productive you are with other parts of your life. When I have a ton of spare time, I find it difficult to get myself to do anything. When I'm busy and have to pack in activities, the momentum keeps me going. So in January and February, in the midst of busyness, I wrote the first draft of my second "Haunted Library" children's novel (buy the first one here! http://www.lulu.com/shop/blythe-terrell/the-haunted-library/ebook/product-17421356.html). I wrote it out longhand because that's how I prefer to do it. I want to have all the original thoughts and scratch-outs and notes, so I don't like typing creative writing. I think it turned out OK, but I'll type it and edit as I go, I'm sure.

I also wrote a few poems, which is not a thing I usually do, and I experimented with some truly awful short stories. I'm going to take another stab at those in the coming months.

Also this month, my friend and I started a girls empowerment club at one of the primary schools, and I helped start weekly spelling bees at the other primary school. It's meant running around a lot and has been really satisfying.

March will bring more club meetings, preparations for the annual girls empowerment camp in April, and probably some time with the support group I've been working with. Jor visits (!!!) at the end of the month, and we're heading to Cape Town as Jack goes back to the US of A for Wedding Extravaganza 2014. I'll be back for Morgen's wedding in May, and I'm scheduled to complete service in August. I feel like these months will really fly.

Salani kahle! Nginibona ngeMay (I'll see y'all in May)!

A thing that happened

I was on a walk one Sunday afternoon in my community when I passed a child walking the opposite direction. He was lean and wearing worn clothes, not unusual for the weekends here. He carried a bulging plastic bag. I figured him for 8 or 9.

"Ngicela umsebenta," he said. "I'm asking for a job."
"Ncesi, ngilivolontiya. Ngite umsebenta," I said. "I'm sorry, I'm a volunteer. I don't have a job."

We walked our separate ways. I overtook him again on my way back, after I'd hit my turnaround point. I didn't have a whole lot more I could say in SiSwati.

I asked if he could speak English.

"I am asking for a job," he said.

I explained again that I didn't have one to offer him. I wished I had.

I asked if he went to school. He said he did not.

I asked if he had brothers and sisters. None, he told me. I asked if he lived with his mother.

"She has died," he said in English.

I asked if he lived with his father.

"He has died," he said.

We went through the grandparents, and I asked who he lived with at home.

I am alone, he told me in SiSwati.

I asked how old he was, "unangakhi iminyaka?"

"Fourteen years," he said.

This silenced me. We walked quietly together. After this long in Swaziland, I figured I'd be immune to feeling sad in these situations. I've met many children who have lost their parents. It's rare, however, to find a child who doesn't live with another adult relative. I felt myself starting to tear up, which is approximately the least useful reaction.

After a few minutes, I thought of a question.

"Uthandaza kuphi?" I asked. "Where do you worship?"

He told me the name of his church, and it was a church that I knew. I asked what his name was, and he told me.

Normally, I wouldn't give money to anyone in my community. If I'd been carrying money, I almost certainly would have given some to this child or bought him bread. But I didn't. I wasn't even sure where he lived, exactly. But I had a name and a church.

Since that conversation, I've spoken with a friend who lives near his church. She's talked to the head of the youth committee there and confirmed that the child attends. I intend to find out more about his living situation. But it gives me great relief to know there's a community helping him. Although I don't go to church, I know that sometimes it's the only support system an orphan has here in the SWZ. I'm thankful for it.

Holidays in the Southern Hemisphere

Sanibonani and umnyaka lomusha! (Hello and happy new year, sort of. Umnyaka lomusha just means "new year," but it seems to be the common thing to say to wish someone the best.)

I wrote a chunk of a post and then tried to add a photo, but Google is now doing something really dumb where it requires you to sign in to get photos from some imaginary online space, so ... I might be looking for new blog options in the future. Regardless, the holidays were lovely.

Highlights:

We enjoyed some Christmas hiking and potluck at Ngonini in northern Swaziland. We stayed with our friend Kathy, who was a PCV in the 1980s and has lived in Swaziland since. It was a lovely time.

We headed to Tofo, Mozambique, on Dec. 28. It's a 12-hour drive from Swaziland, and we were lucky enough to have friends to organize the transport. Otherwise, you have to take a khumbi about three hours to Maputo and then stay the night before getting additional transport to Tofo. No, thank you. Our driver was stopped by cops a few times, and he was always able to talk them down on the fine/bribe.

TOFO is glorious. It has amazing white sand beaches on the Indian Ocean, and a spot called Fatima's hosts a days-long New Year's party. We spent the first three nights camping at a hotel called Mozambeat. This was grand, except Jack sustained a bite that we think led to African tick bite fever. He saw a doctor immediately upon our return to Swaziland, so it never developed into full-blown illness (thank goodness). He's basically a Peace Corps volunteer now, though, as ATBF is a bit of a rite of passage. I haven't gotten it, probably because I'm too tough for ticks to bite.

The food in Tofo was ah-mazing. I ate barracuda with coconut curry, a fish with a face, and a traditional dish called matapa (pureed spinach with coconut milk and peanuts). There are also natural and spicy cashews available from dudes on the roadside. Surprisingly, we found amazing Italian food there as well. Everything we ate was fabulous, and they make amazing bread there. We also drank all kinds of tasty Mozambican beers. Sorry, Swaziland and South Africa: Your beers are terrible.

We went snorkeling with whale sharks one day. As it turns out, I do not enjoy snorkeling on choppy open ocean. I hopped out of the boat once, and that was enough for me. Luckily, it was whale shark central that day. We had five sightings, and I saw at least two on the surface of the water. I felt like I definitely got my money's worth. It was amazing. Jack has better stories to tell from swimming alongside the big guys. I was in the water with a shark, which is apparently enough for me. What can I say? I'm an air sign, and I hate choking on saltwater.

We did a pretty good job of avoiding sunburns and still getting in great beach time. The water was gorgeous, and Tofo remains surprisingly low-key and un-built-up (that is an awful hyphenate. What's the word I'm not using here?) The street market turned into a big party on New Year's Day, and that was fun to see. You can also buy plastic 500-mL bottles of Tipo Tinto rum for 50 meticals, which is less than $2 U.S. You might be getting what you pay for. The favored way to drink it is mixed with raspberry soda, which is just weird. Coca-Cola did us just fine.

We spent New Year's Eve day in the nearby town of Inhambane. It poured on us, which was unfortunate. We tried out the local public transportation, called choppas (shoppas?). These are like the minibuses in Swaziland, but WAY MORE people pack onto them. Cops in Swaziland will give tickets for overloading. It appears that this isn't a thing in the Moz. There were 30 people on a 16-seater on our way back to Tofo. We were speeding through driving rain when the vehicle slowed to a stop on the roadside. There were few English speakers on board, but the man next to me managed to communicate that it was broken.

After a few minutes of waiting, I desperately wanted out. I figured we could hitch a ride the rest of the way to Tofo, and the steamy inside of a van full of people was the opposite of where I wanted to be.

"Can we get out?" I asked the man next to me.
"Sorry," he said. "I don't speak English. I speak Portuguese."
"Sorry," I said. "Umm ... out?" I gestured toward the door.
"You want to run?"
"Yes."

Heated discussion followed among passengers. I have no idea what they were saying, but the gist was clear: No one wanted to get out into the rain to let us crawl out of the back seat.

We asked again a few minutes later.
"Another car is coming," the man told me.

I writhed in frustration, feeling claustrophobic. About 10 minutes later, another vehicle showed up. This choppa turned off the road into the sand, promptly getting its back wheels stuck. As men left our choppa to help, I saw the opportunity and squeezed out past an old (and grumpy) grandmother. The rain was still pouring, and I pulled open our umbrellas. But once we were out, Jack felt obligated to help with the unsticking of the other vehicle. Men rolled it up to one side and jammed palm tree bark beneath the back wheels.

Jack and I tried halfheartedly to flag down a ride, but it wasn't happening. No one wanted to stop for two people next to a broken-down van. By this point, Jack was sopping wet, and the people on the bus were ready to punch us. Several minutes later, the rescue choppa popped free onto the road. Cue mad dash by the 30 people on the broken choppa. We mashed onto the new choppa and were on our way.

Lesson: transport is waaaaay easier in the SWZ than in this particular part of Mozambique.

We spent New Year's Eve dancing to DJs at Fatima's and chatting with new friends. The place is right on the beach, and it was lovely (if not the greatest service I've ever encountered).

After six days in Tofo, we were sad to leave but happy to get back to our comfort zone. Overall, it was glorious. I'd highly recommend it.

Since our return, Jack has started year two of teaching, and I've participated in a training of trainers for the Girls Leading Our World program. A counterpart in my community and I attended so she could learn how to be a camp counselor for GLOW. That was an inspirational week. The counselors were amazing (though someone might have walked away with my male condom model), and we capped it off with a phenomenal talent show.

This is, ladies and gents, the home stretch. Things are fixin' to get interesting.

Graduation!

The preschool I work with held its graduation yesterday (that's right: yesterday. CURRENT INFORMATION!). Preschool graduations are a big ol' affair here. The two I attended last year went on for five or six hours. I was worried that mine would be no different. Have you ever sat through five hours of a preschool graduation in a language you don't speak? It can be a bit exhausting. They typically include lots of dancing, speeches and costume changes. Last year, one of the preschools hosted a motivational speaker from Kenya. KENYA.

As luck would have it, my preschool is awesome. Our graduation started only an hour late -- which is pretty impressive for the way things can roll here -- and was finished in a tight two-and-a-half. I shot a few photos with my phone. The girls and boys both did traditional dances. The iPhone shutter speed isn't quite good enough to get the high kicks. But here you are. AND I took a photo of the food because it was delicious and I never post food photos. I was a VIP (and spoke briefly, and handed out diplomas), which meant I got a piece of fried chicken! It was very exciting.

So now the kiddos have graduated, and they'll be off to primary school next year. Milestones, y'all.