anabstrusereality

[anabstrusereality]

Resetting The Board

Chess is a strange game. Unlike other games you don’t win by having the most points at the end of a predetermined time, winning a race to a predetermined end, or removing all the other players pieces. You don’t even capture the most important piece from your opponent. The game ends by simply trapping that piece, allowing it no more possible moves.

Checkmate.

At that moment, the pieces are locked in place, forever, until someone resets the board.

The other night walking through Yerevan as Halloween revellers applied their makeup and donned their scariest masks, my partner and I noticed a young couple taking the time to rearrange the pieces of one of the many life-sized chess sets in downtown Yerevan. Many Armenians love chess and it seems to permeate the people here in their quiet, keep to yourself, demeanor. We each said hello in two languages, smiled, laughed and used hand signals as we helped them put each piece into its proper place, dislodging them from their previously irreversible positions. Together we arranged them each facing forward, on their appropriate square, all ready for a new match to begin. We didn’t know if the couple had intended to play then or to get the board ready for whoever happened upon it in the morning, but as it sat there ready for an entirely new scenario to play out, I thought about the resetting I had done.

We all have chess games in our life. Not one, but many, all being played simultaneously, in each facet of our life. Each relationship we encounter, each value we hold, each teaching we have received, each disaster we are faced with, each moment our heart jumps into our throat, is its own separate game. Each miniscule decision we make is a new move. Some games are over in moments, speaking to a stranger on the street or a taxi driver at the end of a ride, while others last for years. With each move we get to choose, how we react, how we engage, how we decide, how we change, how we fight for justice, or don’t. How we approach new people, new situations, new ideas. How we think about something which has defined us. How we are defined. We are always playing, making moves, deciding what is best, what makes us happy, what helps us to love and be loved.

We don't win or lose, we are playing against ourselves. There is no set amount of games or score, no specific amount of victories to be achieved. We decide when we are victorious, or not, and when we begin each game anew.

Juggling hundreds of thousands of chess games seems like it would crush our brains into oblivion in an instant, but all of us do it, every single day. We are not just juggling the big games, like our source of income, our partnerships, or our families, which most of us spend exorbitant amounts of brain power on. Each different topic we decide to think or learn about, each person we know, each of our beliefs or values, all have a game of their own. If we knew we only got one chance at each game the pressure would surely be too much for us. But, while we are always aware of the chaos, we somehow find ways to mitigate it and, if we are lucky enough, we have the opportunity to reset each of these games whenever we desire.  

Lucky is the crucial word. A nice neat chess analogy for life assumes that life is anything like chess. It is not. Chess is ordered, life is not. Sometimes when we are thinking about one game, life kicks over the table of another, or lights it on fire, or drops a boulder right in the middle of it on a Tuesday night. Sometimes we don’t have the extreme privilege of thinking about our games. Sometimes there is only one we can focus on, survival or hunger or other traumas, which does not allow us to give attention to any others. Only one, and the moves matter a hell of a lot more. Sometimes, someone or something steals all the pieces from one of our games, and we lose it forever.

In these moments, I hope it makes me stop.

Breathe.

And see the rest of my games in a new light.

Sometimes we restart out games from exhaustion, being beat down, defeated, changing ourselves or seeing someone changing around us. Maybe from wanting to play the same moves in a different way. Maybe from admiring the way someone else is playing some of theirs.

Resetting is not starting over from scratch. Far from it. Each game we play, each move we make, has an impact on the rest. They allow us to obtain better strategies. Learn new ways. Have people to help us try a different move or, if need be, help us to reset a certain game again.

Sometimes we get stuck and we leave the games as they are. Scared to make the wrong move, scared that if we start again, we may ruin everything. It doesn’t matter if we won or lost the game, or if there is another way we could play that would help us feel more like a full human, the fact that the pieces are locked in checkmate works for us. It is finalized, we know how to react or think or feel, and it feels easier to leave it how it is than think about starting a new game. Sometimes we leave them for so long the board gets coated in dust until we can barely see it, or we forget about it altogether. Some of them we think we have won and long forgotten about, are the most in need of a reset.  

But holy fuck is it difficult. Just when you think you have your eyes on all your games life smokes you in the face, or shows you a game we really want to leave finished must be reset for our own good. When that dawns on us, it is absolutely terrifying.  It gets harder and scarier as we get older or the more others are relying on us. We know what we know, who we are, how we feel we should react, and we think trying to change any of those is not an option.

Perhaps these games are the easiest to reset though. For many of them we have the pieces and moves memorized from restarting many times over. We know exactly what we will say or do when a certain situation arises, we have done it for as long as we remember. If we start these ones again, we can either get back to the same place much more quickly and have lost nothing, or decide to make a few different moves along the way and see if it feels better than the game before. Even when we feel we are stuck in checkmate, we can always reset. Especially for the ones that we know something doesn’t feel quite right, if we are lucky enough to start them again, we almost always feel better when we do.  It may take the 2nd, 3rd, or 45th, time for us to make the moves we truly want, and sometimes for the very difficult games, the ones that are sitting in the corner, we need help. This is something I have been immensely lucky to receive from those that have guided me in my life, from my partner, and from a professional. Someone who knows how to find the games we forgot we ever started playing.

Resetting our boards is quite a forgiving way to think about life. To try a new way, do the opposite of what everyone expects, to discover that no one has it figured out, to allow ourselves to have the freedom to be different from the way we once were. Resetting how we approach each aspect allows us to shape and change and breath and grow. We can do it anytime, at 19 years old or 91. Hopefully when we do, we have others in mind and try to improve how we move through the world, increasing our empathy for how much each of our moves affects those around us. Our games are not ours alone.    

Walking through Republic Square and past the Russian theatre in Yerevan I couldn’t help but think that the city itself has reset a few times. Fireworks over the Cascade steps a few weeks ago marked its 2,801st birthday. It has been part of the Persian empire, fought over by the Greeks, Turks, and Russians, part of the Armenian Kingdom, declared the capital in the first Republic, served as a refuge for victims of the Armenian Genocide, became part of the Soviet Union until its collapse, formed a new identity after, and most recently was the centre of the country’s Velvet Revolution.

As I set in place a pawn that came up to my waist, I pondered the resetting I have done. I have reset things a few times and it is frightening, exhilarating, confusing, and destabilising. Not just moving locations, or areas of study, or ending relationships but challenging myself to restart games about my thinking, my masculinity, my being, my work, my country, my priorities, about myself. Hopefully I am getting better at it. As I get older, I find solace in the fact that the games I thought had ended a long time ago were never really finalized. I just have to decide to reset them.  

Checkmate is not the end.

As we strolled away from the newly set board I worried about my games. I thought how lucky I was to have baby laughs, funny dances, video messages, mistranslations, and sharing lava cake in a warm pub on a chilly autumn afternoon, to help me worry less. To help me see each new move I am making through new eyes. I thought about those games that have gathered dust and those that I have not looked at in a long time. I have been trying to brush that dust off in the last little while, and I certainly have a few that need to be reset.

My hope is that I never feel I have finished them all.

[anabstrusereality]

At The Edge

Before I went home for my leave I had removed myself greatly from the events that were going on around me. I was still performing my job and trying to do the most we could, but emotionally I had found a middle ground. A way to interact with the events that we encountered while not feeling too much happiness or sadness. I say we because everyone goes through the same joy and sorrow here.  Some of the staff such as the midwives and nurses are much closer to it than I will ever be. I think the people here have found a way to moderate what they feel, their anger and sadness. Are the abominable things that happen here normal? No, they are not acceptable, and people don’t accept them here, but it is the way it is sometimes. Perhaps if we allow these things to affect us too much, we will crumble.

We had a woman come to us in labour on Saturday with twins. As we were sitting having a cup of coffee our midwife Kuol came to tell us there was a problem. He had done an ultrasound and discovered that the second baby was sideways in the woman’s uterus. Korir the clinical officer came to me, explained the situation and said, “these cases are usually 50/50.” We hoped that once the first baby was born the second would turn the right way. I saw Kuol later and told him to work his magic and do the best he could. He was frustrated that this mother had not come earlier. She was scheduled to come ten days prior but, perhaps because of a lack of understanding of how important the checkup was or a reluctance to walk through the recent floods, she had waited until she was in labour. What this meant was it was almost impossible to transfer her, and her babies lives and her own were now in danger. When the medical staff began counselling her and asking why she had not come earlier, her eyes welled with tears as she realized her mistake.

I saw Kuol the next morning and asked him how the woman was doing he shook his head, and said she gave birth. “Did they both survive?” I asked, he replied “yes, they just took a while.” He went on to explain that the second child came with his arm first. Kuol told him that would not do and pushed the arm back in. He repeated this a second time, until the baby came with his hand on his head, and Kuol guided him out. A very good way to start our Sunday.

Jubilation. Relief. Joy.

Early the next morning I was sleeping in my bed at six am and was startled awake. I had trouble falling asleep the night before, thinking about life and the different paths we choose. I awoke as I heard someone coming in my tent, I found myself coming out of a deep sleep, oblivious to where I was. I recognized the sound of the zipper but couldn’t figure out what is happening as I was stuck in that limbo between dreaming and awake. “Yeah …….Kris,” it was Jok, another NGO worker that is staying with us here and organizing healthcare in Duk County. “There is a woman in Poktop that has been in labour for two days, she has twins and the first baby is stuck, it has died and they need Kuol to take it out.” I process this a bit and measure having no midwife at the clinic against needing to help this woman. “That is terrible, of course he can go, try and get back tomorrow.“ Usually our staff members are not supposed to travel around the county, but this is obviously an emergency that requires Kuol’s expertise. Jok sat exacerbated and frustrated at the common occurrence of such situations. , “if only people knew what was going on in Duk County….ahhh” he trailed off and went to get ready.

They were off on their trek about an hour later, ready to travel to Poktop which is four hours through thigh high water at this time of year. This type of walk is exhausting as your legs drag and your feet continually slip in the mud that lines the way. We got a call later in the day telling us that it was not twins and the baby had been removed. The mother was recovering and Kuol and Jok would return the next day.

The next morning we heard that the mother had died. She was extremely anemic and, as our clinic is the only place for hundreds of kilometres that could transfuse blood, she could not get a transfusion where she was. The community decided she could not be carried on people’s shoulders as she was too weak, and they would have had to move at night through the same 12 km of water.

When Jok and Kuol returned today we sat and talked about what had happened. When they arrived in Poktop the woman’s stomach was severely distended from the trauma. Someone in the village had attempted to remove the baby with rudimentary tools, sometimes fishing hooks are used, so that it could be pulled out. When Kuol began his work he described how the baby’s corpse could no longer hold its form and his limbs became detached as he tried to remove it.

Hopelessness. Despair. Sorrow.

I believe this is why I found the middle ground in the past. To ride on the emotional roller coaster that is here, is sometimes treacherous. While you climb to high heights, you can always hear that clicking chain, knowing that at any moment it is going to release, and you could be plunged over the other side. I am trying not to block these things this time, trying to make sure I feel, trying to make sure I get angry, be sad, not lose myself, to be aware of my own humanity in the impossible situations that sometimes present themselves here. But sometimes it is certainly not easy.

I can feel the weight, I didn’t feel it last year, but I do this year. The weight of the responsibilities increasing, the dry season coming, the emergencies increasing. I explain sometimes that this place seems like the edge of the world. Maybe we have to be careful not to fall off. I debate how much of this I should share, how much I should unburden myself by burdening others. You certainly don’t put the details of the second story on facebook. How much does it help? How much does it make us desensitized to abysmal situations that exist?

Aid workers often do not go down these paths. I find many of them do not think of these things, we try and tell ourselves things are getting better, even if the progress is slow, they are improving. Hopefully you feel you have a hand in that. But it is the what ifs, the why nots, the why didn’t this or that happen, that make you peer over that edge. Why didn’t that woman go to a health facility earlier, why didn’t the facility she visited have the proper medicine, materials, and staff to help her, why didn’t she come to our clinic where she could have been helped? It is these unanswerable questions that drive anyone facing tragedy to second guess, to wonder how things could have been different.

We broke even in these two days, two lives brought into the world and two lost. These are the odds we are trying to improve. Hopefully they are getting better, and I know the medical staff are making a big difference here on a daily basis. We will try and pull as many back from the edge as we can, and keep ourselves from tumbling over in the meantime.

[anabstrusereality]

Being Careful

“Pop!”  Sitting in front of my tent today washing some clothes, I heard the first gunshot since returning to Duk.  After being in Canada for a little over a month I had begun to realize how ridiculous some of my stories from the village sounded.  Talking about cattle raids, insecurity, vehicles being attacked, and the difficulties of the rainy season left some wondering what the hell I was doing.  The constant reminders to be careful, be safe, don’t be stupid, and don’t take any unnecessary risks, began to play on my mind before I returned.  For the first time I began to worry about my safety and wonder what type of place I was living in.  Maybe I had misrepresented the danger to people when I was home, after all I never felt fearful being in Duk, or maybe I was just misleading myself.  At least the single shot today gave me pause, before I went home I had heard four outside our compound, and had just rolled over and gone back to sleep. 

The most difficult aspect to convey to people is the normalcy with which these things are treated here.  They are a regular part of life.  Yesterday I went for a walk in the village, usually I go with someone, to have company and act as a translator when people want to really get into a good conversation in Dinka.  Yesterday I went alone to check out the village and see how bad the flooding had become.  The water is certainly not as bad as last year, and I was only getting my feet wet for about ten minutes, trying to avoid the razor sharp snails.  As I slowly made my way through the village greeting those I knew, and some I didn’t, I decided to return to the clinic.  I forgot the road I chose was usually one of the first flooded during the rainy season and this year was no different, it had turned into a small knee deep lake.  As I stood on the edge contemplating walking through or going around, I saw a group of young men headed towards me, there were about ten of them and most had guns, not an uncommon sight in Duk.  I stood and waited for them to walk through the water and realized I didn’t recognize any of them.  Finding a white person alone in the middle of the village must have seemed rather odd.  I greeted them as they approached and they continued cautiously.

I asked them where they had come from and what they were doing.  “Patrolling” they told me.  “Protecting cows?”  I asked.  “Not only cows, even you!” the young man with the best English replied with a smile.  I asked him how old he was.  “I was born in 1994,” he told me proudly, and he wasn’t the youngest.  At nineteen it was part of the responsibility of this young man and his peers to patrol the area.  With no soldiers around and very limited police, the responsibility to protect the cows and the community fell to these young boys.  In their minds it was not necessarily unsafe, or noble, or extraordinary, but just what is done.

We walked through the village and I learned that the young men were visiting from a neighbouring village.  They were tasked with watching out for Duk Payuel, the village that the clinic is near.  Most were the same age as the most talkative one and they were interested in what I was doing in Duk, when I was going to marry a Dinka woman, and how many cows I had.  When I told them none they said, “that’s ok, you bring money.”  I laughed and asked if I could take a picture of my newly formed entourage.  They one young man said it was probably not a good idea, until I told him I wanted a picture of everyone.  Then the others said of course it was ok!  As I snapped a few shot I couldn’t help but notice the serene expressions on their faces.  For them maybe a peculiar twist to a tiring Sunday.  As I parted ways with the young men and began to walk through the water, I laughed realizing the irony that I was probably much more at risk of injury by cutting my foot than getting shot.

This time of year the community is vulnerable to cattle raiding, the grass is very long and people have planted many crops, which give raiders many places to hide.  Two people were killed a few weeks ago when they were tracked down after they had taken cows.  When I told people stories like this while at home most of the reactions were the same, muted confusion and concern.  But here these stories go right alongside stories of the rains, or the harvest, or getting stuck in the mud.  Just another part of living in Duk.  It is also important to make the distinction (especially when my mother is reading) that the danger to people here is relatively low as the cows are really the only thing of value, and the target of raiders. 

After the single shot this afternoon people went to investigate as I continued to wash.  I went and read my book, fell asleep for a while, and then cleaned my tent.  After the many warnings and concerns I received in Canada, I felt trepidation at coming back to a place which often seems dangerous from the outside.  Now that I am here, it is just another Sunday afternoon in Duk.     

[anabstrusereality]

Tired

I’m tired.  And angry.  I just held my cellphone light for one of our clinical officers while he tried to find a vein in a 6 month old baby’s arm.  We have light in the clinic, but the baby was so dehydrated that the veins were almost impossible to see.  They had collapsed because he had diarrhea, and although his mother had taken him to a local clinic about 30 minute drive from where we are, the clinic had no cannulas and could therefore not put a line in the baby’s arm.  The clinical officer showed up at our clinic with alcohol on his breath and two babies in his vehicle.  He asked us for cannulas.  When my pharmacist and I inquired as to where the other drugs and supplies from the county were, we were told many had been taken and sold, or they were in Bor, or this person had no idea where they were. 

As this baby thrashed around in his mother’s arms our clinical officer continued to prick him, trying his best to guess where the vein must be.  The child had screamed himself hoarse yet, while he wailed, his face was dry.  His dehydration meant his body could not even spare fluid for tears.  He frantically gulped down water that his father had put in a small cup for him to drink.  My clinical officer looked at me and told me he was tired.  He had worked from 8 this morning.  It’s 9 pm and was 37 °C today.  He is fed up too.  He said to me, “imagine how this baby would have been had he received fluids when he was supposed to. “ After we stood for another 20 minutes as I tried desperately to put my light as close as possible to find that elusive vein, it was decided the baby would be admitted and given oral rehydration salts until the morning.   My clinical officer told me it was the first time he had not been able to get a line in someone, his reasoning, “maybe because I’m tired.” 

When I stand back and look at this situation, my brain tries to work out why.  Locally, it is because there are no cannulas at this clinic 15km away.  This is because medicines are being mismanaged and there are not enough of them.  This is due to corruption, people trying to sell medicine to benefit themselves, and the government not having enough money to buy appropriate numbers of drugs.  The government doesn’t have enough money because they shut off their oil exports to Sudan because of a disagreement over transfer fees.  The north says the oil will not be turned back on until the border dispute is figured out between the two countries.  They also add that the border will not be finalized until they determine to which country the small oil rich area of Abyei belongs.  This will not be decided until the two countries can agree if pastoralists that come to the area for half the year should be able to vote in a referendum.  The South says no, the North says yes.  A solution to this stalemate will certainly not be simple.

In the meantime, the government is trying.  Everyone says the right things about corruption and the NGO’s try to fill in the enormous gaps left in the health, education, policing, financial, sanitation, and transportation sectors.  The NGO’s try to work in a culturally sensitive manner, while working with local actors, and try not to ostracize themselves by questioning too much a lack of capabilities or transparency.  Or worse they work around local groups and institutions, so that the solutions being implemented are only going to work as long as external funding continues.  The corruption is something that is much more complicated and not something I am going to deal with here.  The people that commit it are simply selfish, and I am sure they have many creative ways justify their actions to themselves.  However, if the people who believe in a strong and independent South Sudan are not careful, it will eat this country from the inside out.  

While people in government and other serving institutions figure out how to be honest, and NGO’s figure out how to innovative and speak out against injustice, and committed South Sudanese find a way to make their voices heard, the parents in our observation room wait while their baby sheds no tears.  I am usually respectful and understanding of doing things in a way that is sensitive to local attitudes, which sometimes includes being quiet about certain irregularities, but I think it is time to make some noise.  While this baby may no longer have a voice, I still do, and I’m going to use it.

[anabstrusereality]

A New Normal

A few days ago two people came to the clinic with gunshot wounds.  There had been a cattle raid in a village about an hour away and these men had organized to go and retrieve the cattle.  Once they started their journey they were ambushed by cattle raiders who were waiting for anyone trying to follow them.  Seven of them were killed and these two young men were injured, one in the hip and one in the arm.  One of these wounded men was a brother to an employee here at the clinic.  There were many faces of concern and anguish around the compound as the clinical officers worked to stabilize the young men.  This initial anguish on the face of the brother slowly bloomed into silent seething anger.

I have learned a lot about cattle raids since arriving in Jonglei State.  They usually occur in the evening to give raiders the chance to get away using the cover of nightfall.  The raiders are usually armed and usually take only cows and let people be, unless they resist or pursue. The loss of multiple heads of cattle is extremely important as most of the wealth in the community lies within the cows.  As few as 20 or as many as 3000 heads can be stolen at one time, depending on the amount of raiders.  There are many different reasons they take place, including a poorly executed disarmament campaign that largely disarmed only one side of the incidents, people that are now being targeted because they are defenceless.  There are many different euphemisms for cattle raiding including, skirmishes, insecurity, incidents, communal clashes, ethnic tensions, and, my personal favorite, aggressive actions taken by non-state actors.

In Jonglei many claim that the Murle people, one of the ethnic groups in Jonglei, are responsible for most of the cattle raiding.  We recently held an eye campaign at the clinic three weeks ago and invited some people from this community.  Part of the campaign included bringing together people from different communities to promote peace.  As space in our compound became tight the Murle translator that came along had no place to sleep, so we put an extra bed in my tent and we shared the space for about a week.  After talking to him for some time about the raids I asked him why they happened.  He said it was quite simple; those who stole cows are thieves and should be punished.  He realized that it was mostly people from the area where he lived, but he said that the army should be involved and should protect the people.  Although this answer seems logical in theory, in practice it would prove very challenging to implement without one community feeling they were being targeted and ensuring that the armed forces were disciplined enough to ensure innocent civilians were not targeted.

This afternoon two more people were killed about an hour away.  Although the details are unclear, the effects are the same.  One of the men was the brother to someone that we have worked closely with here.  When people mention it amongst one another, they shake their heads and say it is terrible.  Then we go on with the things we have to do here.   This complex situation has become the norm in certain parts of Jonglei state in the past few years.  Cattle are stolen, people are killed, some retaliate, and the rest keep living their lives.  Unfortunately, as it continues, the groups losing their cattle are also losing their patience.  The communities will only take so much before they find a way to retaliate or retrieve cattle in an organized manner.  Stopping the cattle raiding all together would be the goal of many.  This is an even more complex endeavor as the importance of cattle in the communities in Jonglei is indisputable.  Any attempts to limit the means some communities have used to gain more cows will be met with great resistance from many.  The proliferation of small arms in the country and the suspicion that Khartoum continues to supply arms to communities looking to destabilize Jonglei also aids to the instability.  One certainty remains though, without peace within these communities there will be no sustainable development.  People will not invest their time or interest in building a future in a community that is constantly at risk.     

[anabstrusereality]

I Used To Be Canadian

I have always been proud to be Canadian.  Not in a blindly nationalistic sort of way, but more for what Canada represents as a nation.  To me Canada represents a different way.  In theory it is a place where people from all over the world live, and everyone is equal and protected by the law.  Of course there are challenges to this ideal, and things certainly do not always work the way they are supposed to, but really it should not work at all.  People all over the world find reasons to fight with each other every day.  In Canada we have many of the same groups of people living together with limited animosity.  Somehow in Canada it works.  People are still scared of differences, fear change, and constantly debate what it means to be Canadian, but it still seems to work.

Living abroad, traveling, and talking to many different kinds of people I often find myself explaining Canada.  People are often confused as to how it is different from the United States or Great Britain.  For me, this is a constant exploration into what the country is and what it means to be Canadian.  The questions that I enjoy most are those that usually begin with, “do you have…”  and are usually finished with certain groups of people, “Muslims, gays, Indians, Chinese, Africans, Catholics ……. in Canada?”  My stock answer is, we have everyone in Canada; every religion, every nationality, aboriginal people, a small group that wants to separate, and everything in between.  All of these groups live in a way that creates a constant negotiation with each other and with what it means to be Canadian. 

A large part of my own identity as a Canadian is wrapped into how we act as a nation around the world.  For many years Canada “punched above its weight.”  It contributed to global affairs in a way that was greater than most expected given its population.  From the First World War, to the Suez crisis, to opening relations with China, to trying to get the world to pay attention in Rwanda, to not participating in the war in Iraq, to an even hand on the Israel Palestine conflict, Canada led.  As a country it stood on its own and provided the world with other options, choices, and alternative means to solve disputes and organize people and nations in new ways.  This is not to say that there were not mistakes made, but more often than not Canada served as a calming and even handed voice in international relations. 

It is from this standpoint that we used to be able to approach the international community.  Canada was a country where the world gathered to figure out if we can live together as human beings, while at the same time playing a role in brokering peace and promoting reconciliation in other places.  This is changing.  From the closing of our embassy in Iran, to the staunch opposition towards the Palestinian bid for member observer status at the UN, to the senate crushing a bill that would have allowed Canada to provide drugs at a reasonable cost for those most in need around the world.  Canada is no longer leading.  Instead it is siding with power and proving not to be the mediator, but the provocateur.  Instead of offering a new way, or a method to negotiate under shifting circumstances, we are fueling the fire of hate and polarization.  Our responses are becoming predictable and our actions equivalent to a child who says to his playmates, “I’m taking my ball and going home,” when things don’t go their way. 

Some people may say who cares if Canada leads in the world.  It is merely high politics that don’t affect people either here or in other countries.  This is larger than that.  Canada used to stand for something.  From John Peters Humphrey drafting the Universal Declaration of Human Rights in 1948, to Romeo Dallaire questioning the world’s conscience in 1994, Canada was there to push people forward.  To challenge the world to be better.  To stand up for those that did not have a voice and ensure that the world was moving in a more equitable direction.  It was these outward ideals that shaped us inwardly.  From this approach to the world we formed a country that stood to protect differences while fostering a respect for human rights and equality.

What do we stand for now?  To me this is muddled and confused.  I am not sure about where our foreign policy is headed, as it seems driven increasingly more by economic interests than humanitarian ones.  I’m not naïve enough to believe that foreign policy isn’t affected by a countries own interests, but are those interests changing while most Canadians sleep?  Do we still care about human rights or working to make the world a better place?

I’m not ready to turn in my Canadian passport just yet.  I still tell people I am Canadian with a sense of pride.  However, that pride is waning.  If Canada no longer stands for improving human rights around the world, if it has lost its authority to speak out about abuses and inequalities, soon that passport may lose the uniqueness that had set it apart from any other.  I hope that sooner rather than later Canada regains its ability to share the ball, and be the leader it once was in the world.  

[anabstrusereality]

Malariaed

Last week I finally got malaria. I did pretty well avoiding it, spending over a year in total in East Africa and not catching it. The people I live with here are convinced that is was a long walk that I took from a nearby village of Poktop to Duk Payuel that did me in. The walk was pretty gruelling. I was told it would take three hours, it took us four and a half. About four hours was through knee deep water with slippery sticky mud underneath it. So when we finally arrived at the clinic to a joyous welcome I was ready for a nice cup of tea and some rest. The next day I was ok, we had a visitor from Juba come for about an hour and I worked with him to get some financial things in order at the clinic. My back and legs hurt from the walking and carrying my bag, but other than that I didn’t feel too bad. That night I woke up at about 3 AM shivering, always a bad sign in the South Sudanese heat.

The next day I didn’t feel so great but had a shower and did some work, I had planned to do some things, get tested for malaria, and then take it easy for the day. After some tea in my office, as I was walking outside, I had an all too familiar feeling of the world slowly turning itself on its head. I knew that if I lay down the dizzy spell may subside, so I put my cup down and laid under a tree in the shade. I woke up with one of our cooks, Akuol, looking over me saying, “are you ok!?” My thought process went like this, “what the hell, who the hell is this, where am I, why am I being carried, this feels nice, oh…….the clinic, South Sudan, deep breath, smile.” The worried faces around me were eased as I began to laugh at how funny I must have looked taking a small nap under the tree. A line was put in my hand, blood was taken, glucose was given, and the blood was tested. People looked in and many wondered why I had “collapsed,” even though I kept insisting I had lain down. They were even more confused when they were told I only had malaria. I was moved to a tent and the doctors and nurses worked to keep my fever down. Malaria was positive so I was given quinine through the line in my hand. This involves three four hour treatments, every eight hours. The quinine takes away your appetite while at the same time reducing your glucose levels, meaning you need to eat. It also produces a wonderful ringing in your ears that makes you not want to talk or listen to anyone. As I lay in someone else’s tent, everyone came by to see how I was and tell me I would be ok. While this was extremely nice, for me, someone that likes to suffer in silence and no fuss to be made, it was not my ideal situation.

Not able to move from your bed for twelve hours out of twenty four also gives one time to think. I thought about how lucky I was to have the things that I was being provided. I was given someone else’s tent for the day because the sun sits on mine until the evening. I was given a soda, a very rare commodity in Duk Payuel at this time of year, to help bring my glucose level up and hydrate me. I had three nurses and two clinical officers looking after me and constantly checking my patient card, and making sure they could do everything to make me comfortable. I had people bring food to me in my tent and tell me to eat when I felt like doing anything else. I couldn’t help but think about the patients that come with no one. Most of our patients here come with a caregiver, but not all. For many different reasons some come alone. Some come with no food. We try and feed the ones we can but cannot feed everyone. How would I have felt to be by myself, feeling terrible, and hungry? I also got many well wishes from Canada as well as chastised for not taking an anti-malarial drug. I am now fully recovered and feeling great, although my own sickness has given me a new perspective of what the patients here go through, and a new empathy of the struggles they face.

[anabstrusereality]

Life is A Bumpy Highway

“Kris are you awake?”  Joh, my clinic manager, is outside the door of my small room at a guest house in Juba.  It is early.  The sun is up, but the city is just awakening.  Joh and I were in Juba and we needed to get to Bor.  Traveling within South Sudan is quite challenging.  We made our way to the market in Juba and waded through the different vehicles looking for passengers.  There were mostly Land Crusiers and some ambitious small Vans.  We were lucky to find a government vehicle already on the way to Bor and looking to make some extra money.  We paid the driver, got in the back, and were off.

The journey from Juba to Bor consists of about 10 minutes of racing thorough the paved roads of Juba, and six and a half hours of bouncing along an unpaved heavily eroded road.  It is comparable to sitting on top of a paint mixer for the entire morning.  As we bounded through the South Sudanese country side I witnessed the many soldiers left over by the conflict between Sudan and South Sudan.  The checkpoints didn’t cause us too much trouble, due mostly to our government plates.  Our driver looked as though he belonged in the South Sudanese Secret Service.  His strong jaw and expressionless face only cracked when he leaned out to yell in Arabic at another vehicle blocking the only dry section through a part of the road that had been engulfed in mud.  He stops at every chance possible to check the car and have a cigarette.  When we suggest he come live in Duk, he tells us there is no way he could.  After his yelling he smiles, showing the tough demeanour all might be a big show.

We stop for tea.  There are children who yell “cawaja!” but as I bend to greet them and ask them what they would like from me, most run away laughing or screaming.  I practiced my very limited Dinka to the delight and amusement of the elderly Dinka people we came across.  As we reluctantly continue our journey we pass a tank, not quite as rusted as one would like to see, a reminder of how recent the conflict in this area of the country was.  We stop to pick up some soldiers, we leave others behind.  We don’t want to end up with a vehicle full of AK-47’s.  We pass fifty people standing on the side of the road dressed in their Sunday best, and ahead see their bus stuck in the mud this road is infamous for.

As we wound our way ahead I began to think about all of these soldiers.  What do you do with them now that the conflict is over?  How do you pay them?  How do you transfer their skills?  The road we are on is closed every evening at six.  The soldiers controlling the road go to the nearby barracks and the next morning return again to monitor their posts.  Without conflict, their presence becomes increasingly redundant.  Of course there are still tensions on the border areas and some cattle raiding in Jonglei, but the country and the region is hoping for peace in South Sudan.  What is the place of soldiers in peace time in a country that is struggling to provide basic services to its citizens?

As we roll into Bor in early afternoon we are welcomed by roads that are a little less bumpy, ditches that have caught some of the water, and many boda bodas making their way through the streets.  I get a smile from our driver as I thank him for the massage and we jump on motorcycles to try and catch workers at the local offices in Bor before they head home for Friday afternoon.  Later as I lay in my bed, the generator is turned off, the room goes dark, I close my eyes and feel that I am still rumbling along the wondrous road from Juba to Bor.       

[anabstrusereality]

Fishing for Capability

Children Fishing in Flood Waters Duk Payuel South Sudan

“Give a man a fish and he eats for a day.  Teach a man to fish and he eats for life.”  I have heard this adage so often that when it is repeated to me these days, I usually smile and nod politely.  It is often applied to development work as the way programs and policies should be enacted.  It is true that this is a wonderful approach.  Although it may be regarded as somewhat paternalistic in a development context, looking past that, it is very applicable.  In any facet of life, it is much better to show someone else how to do something until they are capable of doing it well, than doing it for them.  Unfortunately, in development work it does not usually take place in any meaningful way.  

As I increasingly reflect about both the projects I am working on and others around me, I cannot help but wonder when they will end.  Not necessarily when the projects will cease to exist, either through a lack of funding or necessity.  Instead I ponder when they will be taken over by the state, and how realistic this goal is.  Projects I have worked on have addressed gaps in education, healthcare, child protection services, and agricultural improvement.  In most societies around the world all of these are either provided or regulated by the state.  However, when the institutions within a country are so weak they are unable to provide such services, often well intentioned NGO’s pick up the slack.  In many ways this is fantastic.  It provides people with the healthcare, education, or access to financial services that can make a grave difference in their lives.  Many NGO’s promote capacity building in their programming and propagate sustainability as a major goal.  However, the degree to which capacity is built is often blurred and, more importantly, the effectiveness of capacity building is almost never measured.  

What many NGO’s succeed in doing is creating parallel institutions that are either not designed in the proper manner for a specific nation, or of such a standard that they cannot realistically be maintained by the state.  I have heard many people argue that citizens in developing countries deserve the same standard of care as any other human being.  While I agree, I also argue that they deserve to have a mechanism to hold those running these institutions accountable.  With international actors, such a mechanism does not exist.  If people are unhappy with a service, or one is not being provided, they are left at the will of the benevolent foreigners that feel they should do something to help.  If this interest wanes or is not directed into the proper areas, the people lose out.  By filling the very real gaps that often exist in state services, this approach allows governments to rule with impunity, fearing no one and providing very little.  

The best piece I have read about this, and about development as a whole, in a long time is one by Lant Pritchett, Capability Traps? The Mechanisms of Persistent Implementation Failure.  Among other things, this article addresses “isomorphic mimicry,” the practice of copying successful institutions from one setting to another.  The mimicry is seen when these institutions appear as if they are performing the tasks they are prescribed to perform, yet upon closer scrutiny they are not performing them well, or sometimes at all.

A great example I just read of this was in Uganda’s Universal Primary Education (UPE).  In Uganda every child is supposed to have access to a primary education.  In reality there are many students enrolled, too few qualified dedicated teachers, and an overall low standard of learning.  Furthermore, the ministry actually has an automatic promotion policy that pushes the students through the classes.   Many children are being pushed ahead even if they cannot pass the previous year’s examinations.  More interestingly, in a recent report the government responded by saying, “funds have been wasted on children who repeat classes. The commission recommends that the ministry enforces the policy to minimize wastage.”  In this case the government does not seem concerned about the quality of the education, but instead on the appearance that more children are progressing through the UPE system.  

What is occurring here is a system that seems to be addressing a vital need in society, when in reality it is not.  Where NGO’s play a role is they often fill in these gaps to keep education, healthcare, or food insecurity levels above catastrophic levels.  This of course is also part of the argument against international aid.  The argument goes that without aid citizens would hold their governments accountable and appropriate institutions would develop.  I tend to believe the reality would be closer to more governments responding with fear and force in order to hold onto the power they have accumulated.   Needless to say, NGO’s do play a role in hampering the capabilities of many state institutions.  Many have attempted to address this gap in successful capacity building through results based management programs.  However, often the measurements are based on how many individuals were trained, not if they actually learned anything, or more importantly if they are actually applying it after six months, or five years.  

Many NGO’s have realized this lack of success of capacity building and are attempting to address it.  Most do not do it very well.  While they have capability courses, few follow through with how these institutions actually perform, or obstacles they face.  Of course this is often due to length of mandates in a country or community and funding restraints.  It also comes from not truly working in conjunction with government ministries.  Although many development programs have such relationships set up, often because NGO’s become frustrated with the state actors they are dealing with, they either ignore them or step over them to get the job at hand done.  This frustration is not misdirected; often the incompetence or negligence of government ministers is infuriating, even more so when they seem to be indifferent to the populations they are supposed to represent.  However, as NGO’s continue to promote self-sufficiency and capacity development, while not addressing these problems within state institutions, nothing will change.

This is where the major challenge lies.  How do you address issues such as corruption, healthcare, education, and the judiciary and truly strengthen them?  More importantly for international actors, do you have and legitimacy in taking up these endeavors.  I struggle with this myself, especially when there are real injustices taking place in a country and I feel that my outrage does not hold the same weight as that of someone who is directly affected by the decisions or incompetence.  In all of its incarnations, capacity building is long, arduous, and often fails.  This requires the dedication of national and international actors to truly building capability of institutions and individuals.         

How to address this trap NGO’s often find themselves in is complicated.  The solution I see as viable is supporting civil society organizations within the countries that have them.  In a country like Uganda there are some that are very active.  They work to hold the government accountable and teach others about democracy and their rights.  They were sprayed very colourful water cannons during the walk to work protests earlier in the year.   If more organizations helped these passionate change makers in their own societies to try and work towards holding their governments accountable, maybe the ludicrous existence of these institutions that only mimic functional ones, will begin to erode.  In South Sudan, these types of groups do not exist.  The South Sudanese I live with chuckle at the notion, the army takes care of people like that in South Sudan they tell me.  At the same time, these same people show frustration and anger at the level of corruption and disregard for the institutions and rule of law in the country.  Here international actors could play a very large role.  Instead of applauding the president Salva Kiir for not going to war with Sudan, they could watch him closely, denounce actions that do not comply with building strong competent institutions, and work to ensure this country that sits on a precipice does not fall into the abyss.  

While South Sudan may be teetering on the edge, I see it also as an incredible opportunity to slowly and surely build strong well-functioning institutions.  However, until these very fundamental capability issues are recognized and seriously addressed, governments will go on pretending to be doing something, while doing nothing at all.  I believe the only people that can address these concerns with any legitimacy are the citizens of the countries where corruption, incompetence, and impropriety reign supreme.  The work of national actors needs to be coupled with education about how a democracy is meant to function, and how the true power is meant to lie with the electorate, not the elected.  By truly holding governments accountable to have strong, functioning, and independent institutions, and following up on the capacity of those they train, NGO’s may be able to help provide some fishing lessons.     

[anabstrusereality]

International Day of The......

With the announcement of the official International Day of the Girl this past week, it made me reflect about these distinctions.  This particular day was due in large part to Plan Canada and their focus on empowering women and young girls.  The organization’s Because I am A Girl campaign has undoubtedly raised the awareness of many people in Canada about the benefit of focusing on girl’s within international development.  However, for me there are two concerns about these types of distinctions.  Firstly there are so many of them.  As I write this it is world food day.  Issues surrounding food security and the growing prevalence of land grabbing and speculation of commodity prices are extremely relevant in addressing poverty and security issues around the world.  Today the World Food Program is trying to get 50,000 children fed through an innovative online interactive video, which I can’t watch because of the internet speed here, but I assume it is quite compelling.  But what about tomorrow?  The issue of food is massive and certainly deserves more than one day.  

Oxfam International has organized their GROW week around world food day to bring even more attention to the issue.  They are holding creative demonstrations around the country to highlight the complex issues that are facing the world in regards to food regulation and scarcity.  Does this solve the problem though?  Evoking an entire week to raise awareness of an issue?  If everyone does this, we will have very many weeks, which would become confusing very quickly.  Most importantly, with everyone focusing on food this week, what about the girls?

  There are 113 official international days recognized by the United Nations. Obviously some of the days garner more media attention than others.  There are also other movements like Oxfam’s GROW week, that try to promote themselves in a way to make people stop and think.  They do this by creating a belief that there is something special about a certain day, week, or month.  Sometimes I think that I may just be inundated with things like this because I am fairly connected to development news streams, yet with the new Day of the Girl this year it seemed different.  So the question really remains, is having a day for an issue better or worse?  It raises awareness of the issue but at the same time adds another thing that people should be concerned about in their lives.  Anyone who has talked to me knows that I think people could always pay more attention to pressing world issues, but if they turn off completely this does not benefit anyone.  Similarly, does choosing a day and giving people something to do simplify the issue too much?  By creating ways to participate such as wearing a pink shirt, green ribbon, or blue button, retweeting or liking something on Facebook, do people believe they have taken part in a movement or understood an issue?  Or oppositely, does it allow more people to come into contact with an issue and engage it in a way that they had not previously?  Obviously organizers and campaigners hope for the latter.  When I have seen this type of distinction make a difference is when newspapers and major news outlets do something to change their normal broadcasting.  Usually they say “in honour of international …… week/day” followed by a news piece or print layout about a certain issue.  This type of more in depth coverage is encouraging, but it will mean that some issues will be left out in the cold.

These days do not only affect people in the developed world, somewhere in the mix of last week there was also the International Day of Hand-washing   While it seems like a simple thing, washing ones hands is often the first line of defense against major outbreaks and keeping people generally healthy.   Some organizations here used the opportunity to teach people the importance of washing hands.  In the state where I am working, the event was aimed at helping more children reach their fifth birthday.  This is definitely a useful platform to teach and help people understand the importance of such issues.  However, usually people here understand the issues very well because they are first and foremost in their lives.

I hope that the International Day of the Girl does bring more attention to the plight of girls and young women around the world.  I also hope that this type of commemoration can lead to more in depth conversation and analysis of issues that many people care deeply about.  Without this, we will be left perpetually asking, “…and what am I supposed to care about tomorrow?”      

[anabstrusereality]

A New Friend

Today I met Nyajima.  Well actually I met her yesterday, but I saw her true personality today. Yesterday she had just had a small seizure in the hallway of the clinic, while her worried mother held her in her arms.  Korir, the doctor who examined her, guessed her age to be about seven or eight.  Her mom didn’t really have an idea, and with no birth certificates in South Sudan exact age takes on a different importance.  Nyajima was quite docile and weak as she melted into her mother’s arms while Korir diagnosed her.  Today she was the exact opposite.

Have you ever met someone that exudes joy?  Not someone who is just happy, but someone who instantly makes others around them feel happy too, someone who makes it impossible for your face not to crack into a grin.  This is Nyajima.  With her infectious smile this little girl started talking to me a mile a minute in the Nuer language.  The Nuer people are another ethnic group that live beside the Dinka in Jonglei.  Their area is not nearby.  Nyajima and her mom came from Ayod County, the neighboring county to where our clinic is located in Duk County.  Ayod is about a five day walk from Duk.  Nyajima’s mom had brought her daughter on that long trek to ensure she would receive proper care.   Her mom now smiled as she watched her daughter show her true colours and let everyone meet the dynamic little girl that she is.  Nyajima encouraged me to take pictures by smiling and laughing historically every time the shutter clicked.  When I showed her which button was pressed to take pictures, she took about fifty.  I couldn’t understand a word of what she was saying, but that certainly didn’t slow her down as she laughed and played while I spoke to the nurse. 

Two months ago Nyajima started suffering from seizures.  She has a small wound on her head caused by falling due to this condition.  This is what prompted the five day walk to Duk and the clinic.  Her mother was confused and worried and had nowhere else to turn.  Upon arriving at the clinic Nyajima was diagnosed with epilepsy and malaria.  As we stood and talked to the nurse and he translated some of the story to me, Nyajima stayed glued to my arm anxious to find a new game to play.  She was admitted into the inpatient ward yesterday in order to gain some strength and start her medication. She was leaving today.  Her mother was given drugs for her daughter’s epilepsy and malaria and they were told to return in thirty days.  If they have any friends or relatives near the clinic they will most likely stay with them, instead of making the five day walk back.

While working in the different places I have, I find myself sometimes trying to steel myself against individual stories of hardship and difficulty.  Too often there are children or families that have such heart wrenching stories to tell that to absorb them all is difficult.  My mind works to figure out how systems can be improved in order to alleviate the difficulties so many individuals face.  In a similar vein, I often try and avoid becoming connected to individuals in the places where I work, especially children.  Part of this is my idea that in this type of work it is inevitable that I will move around.  I see the essential goal of development as aiming to put oneself out of a job.  Sometimes counter intuitive to my own personal interests, but the goal nonetheless.  I remain at a distance in order not to disappoint the children or myself when I inevitably leave.  Nyajima didn’t let me do this.  Her warm smile and excited laugh definitely melted the steel that normally serves me so well.  Now I wait until she returns, hopefully less affected by her seizures and with that same extraordinary smile.

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