Olution

Returns

noreply@blogger.com (Bonobo) — Tue, 01 Feb 2011 18:24:00 +0000

Warning: This blog will now be used as a personal space, documenting the job hunt in Washington, DC in the fields of human rights advocacy and international conflict resolution. Instead of letting my frustrations out on roommates, long distance boyfriend, or the cats, I will simply blog about it, and hope that through a lighthearted look at the job hunt, I will find some semblance of peace.

Now that you've been warned, I have to vent.

There have been three particularly ludicrous events in my current job hunt, which began in full force in August 2010 and will continue indefinitely.

1. "Would you consider going to Kyrgyzstan?"
Not many people are privileged to be asked this question. My response, of course, yes! Why not? That sounds delightful. Then...silence...6 e mails and 4 phone calls later and I am no closer to going to Kyrgyzstan then I ever imagined myself to be a month and 6 days ago.

Perhaps it was my eagerness, my willingness to go to a country I know nothing of on the off chance of being provided air fare and housing. Perhaps it was the disorganization of one international NGO which actually had no positions in Kyrgyzstan. Either way, the month that has passed since I received an e mail asking that very odd and, at the time, hopeful question, implies that there is no position in Kyrgyzstan, paid or unpaid.

In retrospect, I should never have been interested in going to Kyrgyzstan.

2. "You are overqualified."
That's right. My $80,000US of debt and over education, as well as dedication to continued employment throughout said education is actually hurting my ability to find a full time position. This one particularly stings as the organization and position were ideal, with at least a glimmer of promotion in the future. C'est la vie.

In retrospect, I should never have been so interested and knowledgeable about the organization's mission.

3. "I'm sorry, this is embarrassing, I assumed she looked at your resume to see if you spoke Spanish"
No, you have the wrong First Name. I understand. It's confusing when you get so many applications, and the phone number is listed right there, and you want to call all of the people who have the same name in the hopes that you will reach the correct one. (This is the most recent absurdity and the motivation for this blog post.) It's not just that I went to an interview, leaving work, but also that I'm traveling on a bum leg, with one foot in a boot to keep the ligaments in my ankle from tearing any more than they already are. A pathetic figure, hobbling across campus, catching busses at the wrong stops and being scolded by patient bus drivers.

Two in retrospects: I should not have applied for a position that would have required a language proficiency that I don't have. And I should not be applying at disorganized organizations.

What is perhaps most frustrating about the job hunt, is the constant reminders of what I could be doing. I could have returned to Egypt months ago, and now be in the midst of one of the most exciting and potentially ground breaking times of middle east history (and that's saying something). I could be in Liberia, working with old friends on local projects, facilitating human rights advocacy workshops, like the old days. I could be advocating for gay Ugandans, Sudanese refugees, Ivorian displaced peoples. Instead, I sit at my semi-comfortable positions (3, I have 3 jobs), and wonder what the future holds, trying, vainly it seems, to apply wherever there is a glimmer. I'd quit, but...well...how does one quit trying to have a productive future?

"True peace is not merely the absence of tension, it is the presence of justice."

Uncertainty and Desire

noreply@blogger.com (Bonobo) — Thu, 02 Dec 2010 20:45:00 +0000

Around the beginning of September this year, I had what I affectionately called an epiphany. Technically, it wasn't much of an epiphany. It related to my use (abuse) of alcohol, lack of sleep and lack of fulfillment in various aspects of life, from work to romance. The epiphany was basically, "I quit." I quit dwelling on the negativity that was coming my way (either perceptually or verbally), quit filling my head with thoughts of disappointment and escapism, quit feeling completely dissatisfied without cause. I just quit. And it felt awesome. Quitting things that suck, such as those that were plaguing me, is amazing. I look forward to learning about more unpleasant things and quitting them.

While I have been traveling through the uncertainty of part time employment, graduation, and searching for a path into a future "career" of sorts, I have been grappling with understanding myself in relation to others and what I really want out of life.

I have a new spirit guide.* He is one of the many inspirations that have stumbled into my life over the years. He is Sufi, a faith I know little about but with every passing conversation we have, I become more interested in.

*
But yesterday morning, over a cup of coffee with the sweet smell of bark incense infiltrating American University's shiny new building, we talked about uncertainty. He rejects it, straight out. Life cannot be uncertain and whenever you feel uncertainty, he tells me, you must approach it knowing what you want and how you want the uncertainty to wash away. This is not to say that approaching uncertainty with certainty will always end in good results, but it is a step in the right direction.

And knowing what you want seems to be key to this process. I often feel that to ask for something from life is to risk losing what comes your way. More accurately, to with great expectations come great disappointments. My spirit guide is teaching me otherwise.

And it takes someone like him to get through to me. I have been privileged (a more faithful person would say blessed) to work closely with two of the most thoughtful and considerate people I have ever met. And while I am not wholly satisfied in my work, I am satisfied in knowing that the relationships between the people I work with are healthy and constructive. That's one thing to put on the list of wants. Other than that, I'm working it out still.

*In light of my distaste for naming the people in my life on a public blog, we will simply call him my spirit guide.
*Not my picture, but click on it and it will go to the Encyclopedia of the Middle East.

Perchance to Dream

noreply@blogger.com (Bonobo) — Fri, 13 Aug 2010 17:39:00 +0000

The existential malaise of transitional life is setting in once again. But this time, without the excitement of foreign lands and far off places, new friends yet to be met, new quandaries yet to be pondered.

This is not my usual tone.

I've been reading blogs at work.

But, lacking a goal on the horizon, I look for work, any work, that keeps me occupied, from doctoral studies applications to GIS studies of conflict, sudoku on the train to poetic rambles of people who hardly know me (or once did).

An academic? definitely, but do academics find any place in reality or are we doomed to mentally wander without leaving the comfort and confines of the arm chair?

I went to North Carolina last weekend, for a festival of sorts. The food was terrific, the music was smooth and polished with the grit of folk, and the hippies were plentiful. I still have the glow stick I was handed upon arrival stuffed in my purse. The glow has faded but it serves as a reminder of who I am, where I come from and what I love about life. The festival was a community, strangers to me but merely friends I hadn't met (to be as cliched as possible). It was sleepless nights and lazy days and over too quickly but it reminded me of the joy of living in the middle of nowhere and the hope that while I spend my time thinking of what I can do that will both be beneficial to me and others, I also can't lose touch with my roots.

The middle of nowhere is a good place to start and to hold on to.

Web work (and back in the USA)

noreply@blogger.com (Bonobo) — Tue, 23 Mar 2010 20:41:00 +0000

It has been too long, you're right.

I have had little interest in blogging since I returned to the US in December. While some interesting new details have come up in my life and experiences, they just weren't blog worthy. Of course, by that standard, most of my time in Egypt wasn't blog worthy either, but I digress.

I have realized that the technical skills I've picked up along the way should help me with something, and have decided to spend much of my time at the office learning Dreamweaver.* I have a website that is somehow linked to this blog (at least now). Right now, its awful. As is the site I created for DEN-L last summer. I'm a bit ashamed of that, it was a fairly simple task that I have yet to complete for an organization that I hold in the utmost respect.

This shout into the void is searching for ideas, web design tips, "marketing yourself" BS, and the rest.

I know a little to reflective for this blog, given the observational nature of so many of the posts. Luckily, I'm not a formalist by any means and thus it means very little to me that my blog doesn't have a defined theme.

*a legitimate pursuit since faculty, who I am born to serve, may need my assistance with Dreamweaver, were I ever good enough to assist them.

Bush. No good.

noreply@blogger.com (Bonobo) — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 14:46:00 +0000

Today on the way to Alfa Market (the biggest grocery store in Cairo, that I’m aware of), my taxi driver decided to make small talk. Taxis in Egypt are great and also a constant source of stress.

1. Taxi drivers speak about as much English as I speak Arabic, as a general rule. Meaning that I can tell them to go straight, turn right or left, and where my destination is. I can tell them I’m American (today’s driver asked if I was Armenian). And we can discuss politics.

2. Taxi’s are, in fact, cars. Unlike Liberia, I cannot hail a motorbike and hop on the back for a speedy, death-defying journey. Instead, I wince and cringe as we maneuver, in a car that by all logic should no longer be moving, around people, cars, bicycles, motorcycles, and the occasional traffic circle.

3. There are no lanes in Egypt, they are simply guidelines.

4. Taxi drivers all smoke. Most men in Egypt smoke, probably upwards of 75%. So, as a friendly gesture, I usually offer my driver a cigarette, unless he beats me to it. It is very rare though for a driver to offer me a cigarette when I’m travelling alone. Most women, after all, don’t smoke. Or at least not in public.

5. As a how to guide: when paying for a taxi, one must immediately get out of the car upon stopping at the destination. Then lean in the front window and pass however much you deem appropriate to the driver. Generally, I go by the 5 pound minimum but sometimes the drive is very short and then less. However, if for some reason you think it’s wise to pay while still in the car, and are not fluent in Arabic, prepare of an argument upon your arrival. Even when I pay and walk away, I can hear the driver yelling animatedly in Arabic behind me. I would say I’m being cheap but if I let everyone charge whatever they liked, I’d be paying 50 pounds just to get some groceries. This is why it’s extremely important to know how much the drive should cost before arriving.

6. Oh and just like most of the world, taxis pick up multiple fares at once, as they like.

But today’s driver decided that I was a particularly interesting fare and called a friend to introduce me. He was talking on the phone, asking me questions and repeating them into the phone (in Arabic, of course). This is when we started talking politics. He explained to me that the Bush’s and Clinton were no good. He liked Reagan, oddly enough. I was going to ask about Mubarak but decided that while we can have a reciprocal discussion of American politics in broken English, that it may be difficult to get a solid “good” or “no good” answer about Egyptian leadership. (I regret not asking).

My return trip was eventful in a different way. I was walking, trying to hail a cab, which is just not done here (you stand and wait, I’m too impatient and like to walk, so a few cabs missed me as they passed). One finally stops, right before the bridge to get me back downtown (which is a decidedly nasty walk because of the sun, the exhaust, and the leers). He first stops for one woman. No, not going where she’s going. Then two children, about 8 and 9 respectfully, obviously brother and sister. He cruises past to me. Then, immediately hits the gas and is off. There a little ways down the road, three men in pure white galibeyas (the traditional dress of men in Egypt, particularly religious men, but just about everyone where’s them, it goes to the floor, has the little slit at the neckline in the front, looks like a big robe) and what appear to be Saudi head wraps (the red and white pattern, long, loose, tied around the head) are his fares. Wealth and piety definitely win.
The kids and I managed to get a cab that had one woman already in it. The boy, graciously and chivalrously sat in the front. I believe this custom must have to do with protecting women by not letting them sit in front, where they could fly out a windshield (airbags and seatbelts are rare in taxis). It’s also a little like separate-but-equal, particularly among strangers.

Most awkard cultural experience so far...

noreply@blogger.com (Bonobo) — Sat, 19 Sep 2009 13:05:00 +0000

Walking into a brothel.

Sparks asked me what my most awkward experience in Egypt was thus far and I had to think of something to share with the world.

What happened was:
In the usual ex-pat style, we all met up for sheesha near my place, had coffee, tea, etc, and then decided that what we really wanted was felfela, which serves ful and falafal for really good prices. There were four Americans and one Brit. We got our food, ate standing at little tables in felfela, and start walking back towards our place when we hear raucous music coming from a bar with a red door. The sign above the door said Carol restuarant. As we walked by a man slipped in the door and we saw what must have been a good time.

Collectively, we paused. Let's see.

Rafiki and I took the first steps. We were greeted upon entrance by a man at the bar, leering with a big smile on his face, a man singing some sort of karaoke, a woman dancing, and another man clapping. That was it, but it seemed extraordinarily crowded. The room was smokey and the lighting was all red. It was a shot gun of tables with dancing space at the back and the bar at the front. Ramadan had never entered this place. The woman dancing immediately grabbed Rafiki to encourage him to dance. He declined and upon exchanging glances we all backed out of the bar with little grace. I immediately assumed brothel because:

a. I like to think the worst of situations
b. The lights were red
c. there was dancing and drinking going on during Ramadan, performed by Egyptians (not ex pats).
d. Women never grab men here

I have since asked my broker friends who have told me that yes, that place is for prostitution. And may have had some prior experience there as they also implied that they would really take your money if you go there.

So not entirely relevant to Egyptian culture, but most definitely awkward experience thus far.

Alex Photos

noreply@blogger.com (Bonobo) — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 12:55:00 +0000

The ocean, the sunrise, the citadel, the beach and Alex at night...

Rose colored glasses

noreply@blogger.com (Bonobo) — Mon, 14 Sep 2009 14:05:00 +0000

I am an eternal optimist. I've been labeled an idealist, a nut, and just plain wrong but I can't help being optimistic about my general surroundings.

So now I'm in Egypt. And Egypt is not an easy place to be optimistic. For one thing, nothing is done quickly. Everything that is done quickly is done in rapid fire Arabic. But as a friend of mine has begun to say (mocking me for my TIA comment), TIE, This Is Egypt. And then there's the crude things said on the street. But whatever.

Cairo is just, different from anywhere else I've ever been...but at the same time, sort of like Cleveland in its monotony.

Alexandria, however, is beautiful. Me and a posse of 6 other Americans, one Greek and one French went on a journey last weekend. I have learned not to travel in groups of 9, I get frustrated, and feel a little embarrassed to be that transparently out of place. Not that I would fit in if it was just me. Maybe if I covered my head, but right now, I'm a sore thumb. I have short hair and show off my arms (short sleeves at the most) and my ankles (roll up the pants, it's hot out) let alone my neck which is totally visible given the lack of hair covering it. Either way, though, even if I wouldn't blend in on my own, a group of 9 foreigners...no one wants to run into that...

"Cause, everybody hates a tourist" - William Shatner, Common People (the Pixies wrote the song, but Shatners version is hysterical)

The water in the mediterranean is crystal clear. We saw a 3 year old driving a four wheeler. A man was carrying a gun with a dead bird in his hand. I didn't get burned, no one did, the sun wasn't in the burning kind of mood.

Went to the Library of Alexandria (or Alex as the locals call it). That was cool. Even if it's not the same, the principle is still there.

Thinking of hitchhiking through Europe if I get this grant done (no class till October 3). Any suggestions?

Forgetting to Write

noreply@blogger.com (Bonobo) — Thu, 10 Sep 2009 08:53:00 +0000

This is an open letter of apology to all the people that I've told I would contact and then didn't because I forgot.

Sorry.

I know this doesn't make up for the fact that I still haven't contacted you. But the first step is admitting you have a problem, right?

Now that I have semi reliable internet access I don't know what to blog about

noreply@blogger.com (Bonobo) — Sun, 06 Sep 2009 09:56:00 +0000

There is something seductive about the desert. To me, it feels the same as the ocean, when you look out and all you see is that one thing. But with sand instead of water. And frozen waves. Cheezy, I know. We went last night, me and a gaggle of Americans, all of whom have become my close friends since my arrival, and M* one of the brokers. I wish I could spend more time with my brokers than with the Americans. I need to go back to the office for internet. It's not that I don't like the Americans. Obviously I think they're great, but I feel like I'm missing out on a place where I can't hang out with the locals. (See the second picture for an example) At least on a semi regular basis. But I don't know. Maybe I'm just feeling anxious because I spent all of my time in Liberia with Liberians and now I can't find any Egyptians to talk to. My curiosity is stifled.

I've also been wandering around the city a lot. Learning some new words every day but it's hard when I have so much ground to cover. I know most of the numbers in Arabic but very few nouns and a few greetings, usual words, etc. I'm best at ordering sheesha but even buying things at the market or store is a challenge. Mostly because I don't want to use English so I just point when I don't know the words. And reading is a whole other monster. I have to make flash cards and sticky notes to help me remember. I'm doing much better at Arabic than Kpelleh though.

*Who I still might interview.

Rights of Women: Or why I can't seem to get out of feminist rants

noreply@blogger.com (Bonobo) — Wed, 02 Sep 2009 09:37:00 +0000

I just read an article from World Affairs about women in Muslim countries. It starts off well, keeping a narrative going, but then it sort of descends into generalizations and fear mongering.

The point of the article, and this post, is that women are treated badly in Muslim countries. Unfortunately, as some of my previous blog posts mention, women are treated badly in Christian countries as well. Maybe even in Jewish country, I don't know, I haven't been to Israel. I also wonder how much of that "treated badly" is about a lack of understanding (besides massive generalizations, of course). I know, saying wife beating, violence, rape, ownership of another human being, saying these things are simply not understood due to cultural divides is unacceptable. And, as Paul so graciously pointed out in an e mail (and not a blog comment, keep the discussion public if we can! We can get more feedback that way) chivalry has been subordinating women in many ways as well. So, if cultural values play a role, and any attempt at separate but equal isn't going to work (obviously) then where do the rights of women fit.

That article sited above gave a stat that may or may not be accurate. 85% of women in Egypt have undergone FGM. Is it possible? This modernized city has had more than half of it's women abused in this very fundamental way? But due to the articles' outlandish claims like that Mauritanian practices should be compared with Saudi Arabian because they practice the same religion, it's hard to trust the statistic.

It's hard to know what to believe, really. And there was a time, in my sweet innocent days of Cleveland Ohio, when I thought I could go through life without contemplating the rights of women, without getting pegged as a feminist (which often discounts your views by listeners), and without advocating for women's rights. I didn't want to be type cast as a woman for only women. But it's impossible not to. Even if I stuck falafel in my ears and cucumber over my eyes I would still have to bang my head not to hear and not to know of women's oppression all over the world. But the thing to remember, is there's nothing Muslim about oppressing women, it's global and it's going to take a global movement to do anything about it.

My rant for the day. Brought to you by Krupar and Family Soap Incorporated.

What am I allowed to blog about?

noreply@blogger.com (Bonobo) — Tue, 01 Sep 2009 14:25:00 +0000

8-31-09
I’m having trouble focusing.

My mind is moving too fast with this new language to understand any of what’s going on around me. I’m curious about Egyptian life, as any good anthropologist living in Egypt would be, and am attempting to talk like, eat like and, perhaps even, walk like, an Egyptian. I’ve been wanting to make that joke for days. I know, awful, but when that song comes in and out of your head all day, you have to think of not so clever ways to broadcast it to the world. Sorry blog readers.

Seriously though, I’m trying to work on my proposal for Liberia, my application for HRW and all of the AUC stuff that I still have to do (medical forms and in a week, student visa), but instead I’m blogging. Procrastination meet your new friend: blog. You two will hit it off.

I’ve met a former Egyptian social worker who has mentioned an English language book about social work in Egypt. He’s going to bring it tomorrow or the next day. I can’t wait. I know, nerd! I feel just like Hermione Granger. Wow, I’m really digging myself into this nerd thing, aren’t I. Well…to be less nerdy, I’m going to go ride on a sail boat tonight, after having some socially stigmatized alcohol (I hope). The boat is called something…but it’s in Arabic and my memory is crap. The alcohol may or may not happen, when someone invites you out for drinks, what does that mean? In the US, it means alcohol, but it’s Ramadan and alcohol is extremely hard to come by. So drinks probably means tea and sheesha. That’s ok. A month without booze could do me good.

So in Liberia, I blogged about all sorts of human rights issues and I've been hearing stories that maybe I shouldn't do that here. Especially if I had Egyptian citizenship. More on that later.

Ok, seriously now, back to the grind. Signing out from the afterlife –

Photos

noreply@blogger.com (Bonobo) — Tue, 01 Sep 2009 14:06:00 +0000

Here are pictures of the apartment and the new campus.

First two are the new campus, third one is the street my apartment is on, across from the building with the columns, and the last two are my room and view from the balcony.

30 August 2009 Observations:

noreply@blogger.com (Bonobo) — Sun, 30 Aug 2009 14:22:00 +0000

In no particular order:

Ramadan seems to be the most fun for children. They get to stay up late, they’re totally accepted into the adult world for one glorious month. They run around at 3 in the morning, energetic from a day of sleep, and encouraged by their parents who seem to think it’s funny. The children here may be more accepted into the adult functions in general, I haven’t done enough “participant observation,” or sitting at coffee shops smoking sheesha and drinking delicious beverages I’ve never had before, to know for sure.

Chivalry isn’t dead, Honey, it moved to Egypt. Not that men treat women with the respect they deserve, well not all men anyway, but they do make sure women don’t get hurt. Since the sidewalks are often blocked or gross, we walk on the street, which means dodging cars and being mindful of any passing vehicle. The men, usually, take the outside when walking with a woman, as to be the first one hit if a car veers too close. They also like to open doors for women. That seems to be as far as it goes but, again, further observation and documentation is needed.*

There seem to be more homeless women in Cairo. Women, and their daughters often, sell small things like tissue at the coffee shops. They sleep on the street, in very public places. Maybe the parks are more dangerous, I don’t know. There are homeless men too, same as in the US, but seeing a mother and her two daughters (or a woman and two girls) sleeping on the side of a very busy sidewalk is strange and completely depressing. I tried to talk to the Broker about this more because I know that the Koran speaks of philanthropy and actually requires volunteerism and community service, so why are these women homeless? He didn’t have a good answer. He didn’t blame them though and seemed to think that the government was responsible for not providing welfare services to those who needed it.

That brings me to the welfare state. I know that some in the US may have a problem with the current system of aid in the US given to women with children, families, the mentally ill, etc. I’ve heard that they think we give too much and that it isn’t effective. From my experience in Liberia and Egypt, I would say the while the US government doesn’t have a perfect system and doesn’t lift everyone out of poverty, at least it exists. Without a welfare system, US city streets would be overrun with those who need shelter, food, and clothing because, let’s be realistic, society does not, and never has, benefited everyone in the same way. I know, this sounds like a lot of common sense, but I worry that it’s not.

It’s like rights and responsibilities. We all have human rights, but we also have responsibilities to maintain those rights. We have the right to good health, we have the responsibility to ensure that we are healthy, go to the doctor, don’t smoke (yeah, I know), etc. We have the right to vote, we have the responsibility to do it. That’s probably the most important lesson I learned in Liberia. Rights and responsibilities.

But let me step off my soap box for a minute.

My personal adventure is going well. I’m registered for the classes I want, Intro to International Humanitarian and Human Rights Law, Writing and researching for human rights, and Human rights in Africa. All my classes are on the old campus, which is, as far as I can tell, extraordinarily cooler than the new AUC campus. The new campus is in a suburb that doesn’t really exist yet. The buildings are all being built, the desert stretches past the few apartment complexes. It’s like an oasis of modernity. It’s awful. The new campus is surrounded by parking lots. Why they couldn’t build a parking garage so as to make a more aesthetically interesting campus, confuses me. But there, in the center of desert, empty in progress buildings, and suburban parking lot, lies an architecturally interesting, if over thought, complex of connected buildings stretching over a mile. The facilities are brand new, the indoor track has never been stepped on, the dormitories have had few guests, the library has yet to lose any books to forgetful students. There’s something incredibly unreal about it all.

*The smile is implied, as emoticons seem silly on a blog.
** I tried to post pics but so far, no.

Arrived

noreply@blogger.com (Bonobo) — Fri, 28 Aug 2009 11:27:00 +0000

It's the second full day in Cairo. So far I've: Made friends with the apartment brokers, one of whom calls me his "sweet little sister," Smoked sheesha, smoked way too many cigarettes, Met a handful of Egyptians (all men though, too bad for now) and one Russian, Been to the tourist market and the Egyptians market at night (it's Ramadan!), seen the Nile, been to two five star hotels, signed away all the money I needed to for security deposit/finders fee, eaten a traditional break fast, and witnessed successful haggling (though haven't participated yet).

I'm listing all of that mostly to impress readers. Well, actually, while that would be cool and all, it's also because it feels like I haven't gotten much done. I've been sitting around the brokers office most of the time, as we don't have internet at the apartment yet, and wandering around the city with either of the brokers.

I have witnessed a business disagreement, or shouting match, and have got some views into the human rights situation here. As I knew already, the government is open but also oppressive, strange huh? Open in the sense that people have basic freedoms, freedom of movement, right to work, etc. But then there are those sticky ones, freedom of the press (one of my contacts worked briefly at a newspaper but quit because he couldn't speak his mind), freedom of speech, rights of women.

Rights of women. Well there's the whole Hijab thing. Not that I think that that necessarily oppresses women. It serves two roles I've discovered in my walks, keeps your hair from looking like a sweaty mess and keeps all the bits and pieces of the city from finding a home on your head. And there's the cultural value as well. The Hijab though, doesn't oppress women. It's the attitudes that are oppressive. Men leer, grab, etc. Women don't make eye contact with men. I'm bad at that but have become more comfortable searching out the scarf covered faces and making eye contact with them. At least then I know that I'm not invisible, right? It reminds me of the Liberian concept of separate cultures for men and women. They live in almost completely different worlds. The brokers have welcomed me into theirs probably because I smile a lot and because I didn't really have a choice since the apartment has been under construction. I look forward to making some female Egyptian friends, most likely at AUC.

I haven't taken any pictures yet. I know, I'll get on it! But because I know blog posts without pictures are really boring, I found one online.

On the road again...

noreply@blogger.com (Bonobo) — Tue, 25 Aug 2009 16:15:00 +0000

That was fast.

I'm off to Cairo tonight. Leaving here around 2 or 3pm, won't arrive at the Cairo airport until tomorrow at 6pm. And once I get there I have to maneuver my way to Talat Harb Square where I meet a blond white man who will direct me to my new residence. I also have to pay him 6000EP. Ew. No one said it would be easy. Or cheap.

I'm a lot more hesitant about traveling to Egypt. I knew that I would have a compound full of people in Liberia. In Egypt I have two American roommates and a city that may or may not be friendly to me. Cities are often unfriendly, after all. Particularly when you don't understand them, speak the language, or even know what to wear.

I want to wear a hijab. I think they're cool. And they give me hair accessories without having to style my hair. Which I don't like to do. But I'm nervous about wearing something that I don't fully understand. I don't fully understand the religious context, though I have a pretty good idea, and I don't fully understand the mechanics. Like, where do I put this clip, anyway?

Back in the USofA

noreply@blogger.com (Bonobo) — Wed, 19 Aug 2009 14:55:00 +0000

The ex-pat has returned for a brief stay in Ohio. Right now I'm enjoying the quiet of Woodhollow Drive, the homestead, and my mom as she continues to use her broken arm without concern for the long term damages.

I have a lot to do. And, like my last week in Liberia, I'll probably be keeping myself as busy as possible these next few days as I get everything together for my journey to Egypt next Tuesday.

But it's good to be back. I miss Liberia though. A lot. More than I thought I would. As I was traveling yesterday I realized that what I'd really like was to lie down in my room at the DEN-L compound and relax for a couple hours. And I miss my Liberia family, my many stranger mothers and brothers.

DEN-L's Website and the Mysterious Unknown Blogger

noreply@blogger.com (Bonobo) — Mon, 10 Aug 2009 12:10:00 +0000

For those readers who are technically inclined, or just want to see some physical proof that I've been working this summer and not riding motor bikes all over the country.

The DEN-L website.

Please review and add comments.

Then the mystery comes in. I'm finishing up the final touches on the layout of the website and I found....a mysterious DEN-L blog with no contact information:

Mystery Blog

The TRC report, responses to some informal interviews:

noreply@blogger.com (Bonobo) — Sun, 09 Aug 2009 11:43:00 +0000

The TRC, for those who are not completely involved in everything Liberia, is the Truth and Reconciliation Committee, established by the Comprehensive Peace Agreement in 2003 that began preliminary work in 2006. They recently, over the past month, released their recommendations and basically created a list of everyone who should be tried or investigated in relation to the war, including warlords, fighters, and funders. I haven't finished reading the document but what I've read shows that the amount of victims who went and spoke to the TRC was not as great as the amount of perpetuators, so there are now a lot of people implicated but the TRC's findings. The main problem is that no one’s hands are clean from the war and President Johnson-Sirleaf is listed for her funding of the NPFL in the early stages of the war. Also in 1991, she encouraged the NPFL to burn it [Monrovia] to the ground, we can rebuild it. That’s not a direct quote but the meaning is the same. Sadly, her rebuilding has not involved an electric grid for residences, city water, or sanitation. Or if it has it hasn’t happened, yet.

I asked people what they thought about the TRC in order to get a better view of the problems and fears that I’ve overheard. Most of the negative views seem to be coming over the radio.

For instance, one individual who is a high school graduate would like Liberians to “forget about everything…everyone felt the weight of this war.” Another, who spent some time studying in the US and has his masters said that the TRC recommendations are a good document but will not be implemented because the current government is implicated. He believed that if the people had the political will to see the recommendations acted upon, they would be, but the people of Liberia, he believes, do not have that will.

A man from Mali, who now lives and works in Liberia, described the TRC committee as unprofessional, since they released an “unedited copy” when they did not have the document complete by the due date. He also said that the committee only sent one copy of the recommendations to the Senate, due to lack of funds, and the Senate was expected to make copies or in other ways distribute the information. He also pointed to the Virginia Declaration that was attached to the final document as a particularly troubling piece. The problem he said with the VA declaration was that the delegates of the TRC committee claimed to be representing the people of Liberia, but they were not elected and were not a representational body.

The controversy then is that political leaders are implicated by the recommendations. But, as many advocates and social workers have argued to me, what was the purpose of the investigation if it is just going to be ignored now that the present government doesn’t like the findings.

noreply@blogger.com (Bonobo) — Tue, 28 Jul 2009 18:57:00 +0000

Picture 1 is our cook, Alice, who is very sweet and works very very hard. The next photo is in Gbarnga, it's the new bank that was prepared for the Independence day celebration, you can't really see it but in there is a "wacky wavy inflatable arm flailing tube man" that made many many people stop and stare. Yes, it's air that's keeping it up. The next photo is of the presidential house that i first took a photo of with the burned out guard center. You can see some progress, but it was getting dark. The last picture is of a women's group that B's a part of that pulls money together and supports each other when something bad happens, which seems to happen a lot.

The Independence Day Program

noreply@blogger.com (Bonobo) — Tue, 28 Jul 2009 18:56:00 +0000

So the program was disappointing because:

It was held inside with limited space.
Many of the VIP’s were not Liberian so most of the awaiting crowd could not participate and see their president.
There was no space for questions.
The Paramount Chief (chief of chiefs), was very old and said some things about women’s empowerment that involved words like “natural order of things.”
There was a bunch of political jibber jabber, patting each other on the back. I know this is to be expected of all political functions on patriotic holidays but I would have liked some more depth.
Time was wasted awarding two people with “the knight (or ninth) grand band of the humane order of African redemption Ph.D.” one of the highest degrees obtainable in Liberia. The title of which makes very little sense to me.

Some responses to the good points:

One presenter emphasized reducing the number of political parties in the country to 3. B and Fabna seemed to think this was a good idea and many people I’ve talked to have said that the 40 – 50 political parties make elections unclear and complicated.
The same presenter (who unfortunately I don’t recall) also said that we should look closely at the TRC recommendations so there isn’t a future conflict.

What was interesting was the devil.

noreply@blogger.com (Bonobo) — Tue, 28 Jul 2009 18:48:00 +0000

Or the Bush Devil, country devil, dancer*, guy/girl in funny costume, etc. This one was from one of the tribes on the coast. Every tribe in Liberia has some version of the Bush Devil, some are more commonly seen in public, like on this occasion. Some, like the Kpelle Bush Devil, are not seen by women at all and seem to come out at night on what Stephen Ellis called Carnival (no one I’ve met calls it that, though it’s a useful way of describing the cultural event that isn’t really translatable in the American context). This Bush Devil was covered head to foot in long dried leaves, like those from a palm, sewn together into a costume resembling Cousin It from the Adams Family. He/She/It danced in a circle when given money and was blessed by what I assume was a chief or a zoe, who couldn’t care less about the blessing. He tapped each dancers back while using his right hand to text message someone on his cell phone. On odd clash. The Devil was decidedly menacing. It did somersaults wherever it pleased, with no regard to who was standing where. It also was accompanied by a masked figure, with a black clothe tightly covering his/her face, in traditional garb (false hair or animal hair extending out of a hat, brightly colored clothes, mostly red with some green, and very little if any visible skin). I felt like, because this person was covered, they could do whatever they pleased. Like a mascot, only with less wholesome intentions. I can see why on those “carnival” nights there is both a feeling of excitement and anxiety.

There were other “street performers.” One man danced in a similar way as the devil, but without the elaborate garb. Both used hand drums for the beat, with the other man interacting with the drum as if he was dancing with the rhythm. When the beat slowed down, he did, when he wanted to go faster, he danced closer to the drummer. I’m describing this in such detail because unfortunately this was one of the days I warned about that I forgot my camera. It’s a long story, my camera is on the other side of the country right now recording interviews for an assessment to possibly start work in Sinoe.

The other performer I saw was a contortionist, a man in black wearing a woman’s wig and padding on his butt (probably useful for his many awkward positions). He was walking in the middle of the street with his hands. He legs were wrapped around his head. I thought he was a legless chimp until I got closer. B was particularly disturbed by him as she assumed he was breaking his bones in order to do his tricks. Apparently he also had some knife tricks but I missed those. I’m not much of a fan of knife tricks, they always scare me.

I say they were “street performers” because they were performing on the street for money but there was something else involved. While they were entertaining the crowd, they were also pushing boundaries. The devil performing in public, for example. As well as the contortionist’s tricks, which I’m quite certain convinced many people that he was really hurting himself. It was almost like a freak show, or how I assume a freak show crowd would respond. It made me feel oddly at ease being among others who were looked at like aliens. There was definitely an element of fear in all of the performances that was, I think, more palpable than in the US. Possibly because many of the audience had not seen these tricks before, and the cultural connotations to the devil, of course.

*JJ, the executive director, discouraged me from using the term "bush devil" instead he preferred "dancer."

Many days and many thoughts

noreply@blogger.com (Bonobo) — Tue, 28 Jul 2009 18:06:00 +0000

I have been slack to keep up with my days here, mostly because things started to blend together in workshops and work but today was different. Today was Liberia’s Independence Day. Technically July 26th is the date but because it fell on a Sunday the festivities were today (Monday). I’ll start with today and work backwards. Think Memento but not as well written:

President Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf, locally referred to as Ellen or Mama Liberia, came to Gbarnga for this years celebration. This morning at about 10am she arrived at the administrative building in the city. My French speaking counterparts, their supervisor and fellow member of the CAP team, and myself traveled to the building to see her speak. We stopped off at B’s to pick her up but she was still cooking. So we continued on and walked around. I, with my light skin and familiarity with rule breaking, crossed the caution tape to the area that was “reserved for people with passes.” The French speakers and A with CAP did not follow me even though I came up with lots of reasons that they should be allowed in, they didn’t try. But, this meant I got up close and personal with many youth groups, women’s groups, tribal groups and of course, politicians. Luckily, I don’t know anyone so I can’t falsely venerate anyone and cautiously talk to them. Besides, when I’m by myself, I don’t need any help talking to anyone, they’re more than willing to talk to me. Even the women are entertained by my curiosity. Some pictures from the event are posted.

I got a call from B. and the driver and I headed to her place where she fed me a Liberian version of fried rice with goat. Goat is delicious, I never knew. There was also pasta salad, with lots of mayonnaise. The Liberians are close to my own heart when it comes to mayonnaise. Then B, Fabna and myself went back to listen to the radio of the program (since we were not VIP to get in to see the program), and then wander around the same path I’d already traveled.

This time it was much more interesting. I bought a map of Liberia (200LD, I talked him down to 160 but probably could have bargained more had I tried). We weaved our way to the top of the hill where the administrative building sits and found a perch that could see the tv screen showing the program inside and the crowd. The program itself was less than impressive, more about that later.

My name is Nyapu

noreply@blogger.com (Bonobo) — Tue, 21 Jul 2009 20:47:00 +0000

It means bright woman, or light skinned woman. M, with the GAP team gave it to me. I’m very proud and honored to have a Kpelleh (pronounced Bellay)* name. It’s prounounced Nya (like an n in Spanish) – poo. When people say it, it sounds like Nyampu but I don’t think there’s an M in there.

*The Kp sound in Kpelleh is a new one to me, it’s not a b, it’s a b with a k in front of it, so it pops when you say it. It’s hard to describe without doing it.

Plants: (Yes, I’m blogging about plants because some have asked, and they’re different here)

noreply@blogger.com (Bonobo) — Tue, 21 Jul 2009 20:47:00 +0000

Eddoes – a wide leaf that is eaten in Ghana, the root is eaten in Liberia
Palava sauce
Cabbage and palm cabbage
Collards
Tomatoes – “bulbs”=cherry tomatoes
Potato leaf – they eat the leaf here! Didn’t know you could do that…
Fever leaf – semi-bitter, used to release bowls (the liquid that comes out of it being mashed) and break a fever
Cassava – eat the leaf and the root, this plant is life
Bitter balls – look like peas but taste disgusting
Okra
Water greens
Yam – bush yam, wild yam (which is sweet)
Hot pepper (soup)
Spice pepper – sweet scent, black
Medigeta pepper
Plantain and banana trees look the same! (I’m from Ohio, ok, I don’t know these things)
Papaya is called pawpaw
Sousa fruit is that green fruit with white flesh
Topasoyea is pepper soup without oil
Greens is soup with oil
Sugar cane
Palm oil – mash palm seeds to make oil
Palm butter – cook palm seeds and mash into cream (a natural “anti-constipation”)
Kanel oil – used like castor oil (medicinal as well)
Sowa sowa soup is the specialty in Lofa but I don’t think I’ve eaten it yet.
Coca
Kola nut – traditional welcoming nut, shared with guests, don’t refuse, tastes kind of bad (kind of like tobacco would taste were I ever inclined to chew it), appetite suppressant. Addictive-ish.