http://LeviG.tigblog.org/ What's on the minds of young leaders from around the globe? en-us http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/37857 Ah, over a year and a half in Africa. I do have some small sense of accomplishment. The trouble is that it is not enough. In a world where 800 million people woke up hungry today a few little victories of empowerment for a young man in Mali seem somehow not good enough. Not good enough. For better or worse I’ve come to focus on this. Canadians think we are doing good enough in the fight against poverty and powerlessness. “I give $50 to Oxfam, oh and I recycle. I’m doing enough.” The burden of increasing freedom is weighing heavy on the backs of the world’s poor and it is their responsibility to cast it off. However, we are all people, divided only by fictitious constructs we use to convince ourselves we are different from our brothers and sisters around the world. We are not doing good enough. I’ve seen what we’re doing (or not doing) and it’s shameful. Knowledgably not taking action is in fact an action. I don’t like to focus on problems but as with my whole experience I am ripped in different directions of problems and opportunities.
One day during Ramadan I was coming back from a village where we had just installed a water pump and at sundown we stopped in a little community on the road to break the fast. All there was to eat was fried fish. So hungry and thirsty after a day of work in the sun without eating or drinking we swarmed the fish vendor. Me and colleagues all dug into water and fish and as the muzzin sounded the setting of the sun and the end of the fast for the day. In Mali you chew the bones of the fish and eat what you can spitting the rest of the chewed up bones on the ground. Slowly a small collection of chewed up and spit out fish bones begins to pile up in the sand in front of us as we chat. As soon as the last fish bone hits the dirt the garibous (little boys in Koranic school who beg for food) rush over in a fury and start picking our fish bones out of the sand. They fill their little buckets and huddle a few meters away liking the dusty chewed up bones as my colleagues try to chase them away. I don’t know if I’ll ever forget that. The reality we created has children eating chewed up fish bones that were spit in the dirt.
My love hate relationship continues. Mali is young. About half the population under 18 years old. A country of children. This gives me so much hope. Everything can be turned around so fast. I am convinced that despite the importance of technical issues in poverty (climate, rains, access to infrastructure etc.) it is the social that is more important. It is about power and empowerment. It is attitude. Everything can turn around in twenty years. I see so much raw potential in the youth of Mali. So much joy, tenacity and conviction. Twenty year olds sitting in grade 9 with people much younger because they want to learn and their parents kept pulling them out of school.
A friend in a small village named Sero showed me the reality of someone doing everything with great joy to make her life better. She is adventurous trying new things like when we had an opportunity for the village to try out a new method for shea butter processing she was first in line. Sparkling eyes waiting for anything that can help her do better. Her community collects seeds for a plant called jatropha that isn’t owned by anyone but shared by everyone. She collected 35 kg of seeds this year, the second most in her village was 10 kg. She is motivated. She does it all with a laugh and smile. Everything for her and her family will be alright. She gives me hope and encouragement.
Really I leave with a smile. I have hope and have been humbled by the Malians I meet on a daily basis. They work so hard to make things better. Convinced that a better world is just around the corner. I can’t explain it but for all the ups and downs I leave on a huge up. My heart beats as my lips curl into a smile I can’t explain.
I’m certain I will come back. Maybe not to Mali but to Africa. There is so much to do, so much raw potential. The barriers to empowerment are much higher than in Canada but I’m learning how to removing them and allow people to move forward.
I wish I had great words of wisdom on the eve of my departure that I could share with you all. I don’t. Just questions. About power and why it’s at the root of so much? About why Canadians don’t feel connected to each other or our neighbours around the world? About how we are able to create a world of security for some while other have their human rights violated on a daily basis. I have trouble sharing my experience. I think it is valuable for others but it so difficult to disentangle a multitude of experiences and ideas into understandable chunks. It is hard to really think about real base lessons I’ve learned and to share them. Anyone who knows me feel free to prod, I’m sure I have something to share if you ask a little and are patient with me. I can’t let all that has happened stay in my head alone, knowledge is meant to be shared.
As I stand on what feels like the edge of precipice ready to jump back into an old reality deep down I’m happy. Mali will be okay. The children will make sure of it. There is so much spirit and life here that for most people things already are okay. Mali has a soul, a rhythm that is very alive. I carry a little piece of that with me now.
Be the change, do it for the kids, make a break for the sunshine and see you in Canada.
]]> Sat, 22 Apr 2006 17:58:00 EDT http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/37857 14.5333333 -4.1 14.5333333 -4.1 http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/36933 Last week Mike and I led two and half days of workshops. We were facilitating the group to analyse the organization and our development approach. It was the most challenging facilitation gig I’ve ever done. From the big boss not liking the results we were getting, to certain members who insist on yelling all the time, to people who want a two day workshop to take a week because they think it is important we were balancing people’s wants. I have learned millions of things about my office and our staff. I think I’ve got almost everyone’s Myers Briggs personality type down and I’m working on figuring out people’s learning styles but that is tougher.
I am learning more and more the cultural differences between the West and Mali. It is something that could take years. I am trying to make sure that I find the happy medium taking the good work methods and ideas from each culture and fusioning them together. Doing everything Canadian style just doesn’t work, it’s like trying to put square pegs into triangular holes. However, our normal work methods need a lot of improvement, so I introduce a little Canadian flavour when I think it’ll help. I hope that as time goes on and cultural exchange continues the world is able to appreciate the positive things that other communities and countries do.
I was actually very tired last week. Trying to work with a big rowdy group and achieve objectives isn’t the easiest. Now we are still in a big group but it is no longer me and Mike that are the focal point of the work. We’re still pretty involved but not ultimately responsible. I found something that showed to me how challenging Mali is. Looking at the study we did in a village before installing an MFP it was found that there were 12 000 inhabitants of whom 8 men and 5 women had gone to school and a total of 14 adults that could read. Can you imagine trying to work in a community where 14 of 12 000 people can read? Actually it’s more like 14 of 6 000 people because half the population is children. A country where about a third of the population can read and most are waiting for their 18th birthday. This puts all the pressure on the illiterate adults to provide sustenance and opportunities for all the children.
Last weekend we needed a little adventure so after work we (Mike, Louis and I) made a break for the Main de Fatima, the best rock climbing spot in west Africa. Armed with shoes, shorts and the button up shirts we wore to work on Friday we made jumped on a bus heading north. Dreams of summiting in our hearts and the reality of no ropes, no skills, and debilitating heat in our heads we looked out of the bus at the near desert lit by the full moon. We arrived at the small village of Diarra at the foot of the cliffs around midnight. A little campement has been set up for climbers and tourists. Mariam greeted us and we soon found out she may be the only Peul woman living in a small village who speaks fluent Spanish. She’s married to a rock climber named Salvador Campillo who has lived on and off in the area for almost 20 years setting dozens of routes up and speaking Spanish with his wife. She is soon off to Spain as the hot season is coming on and no one wants to be in Mali.
We tried to climb the middle, and smallest, finger in the morning (see picture). We made it pretty close but got to a point where it wasn’t safe to continue. Of course we got pretty dehydrated because we are stubborn and brought one litre of water for three people for a four hour hike that ended at around 1 pm under the full force of the Malian sun and over 40 degree heat. Ever since Ramadan I am very disciplined when it comes to things like water and food. I can go a long time without drinking, even in extreme heat. Of course there is an element of physical conditioning but it is really more of the choo choo train mentality. I think I can, I think I can…I have to think I can or I’ll pass out. I got to wondering how long you can live in the desert without any water. Would you be floating to another dimension after a day? Two? I have no idea. Mike especially was feeling the dehydration effects and sent all the water he drank when we got back to camp back where it came from in violent fashion. I guess Mr. Sunshine isn’t always friendly, sometimes he can try to give a little too much loving and you have to hide out under a tree.
The afternoon involved a little less climbing rocks in button up shirts with no water and more sitting in the shade reading books on leadership. I got to flex my almost non existent Spanish muscles with Mariam, which only added to the insult of my discovery that all my climbing muscles were also non existent. First two things to do once I get back to Canada are get back in the Spanish groove and start climbing again!
The next day was pretty much the same only we upped the water to 1,5 litres for the three people over 4 hours, and I switched out of the button up shirt. All in all it was a fantastic weekend of feeling alive. Sometimes you just need to remind yourself that you are young (at least at heart) and you’ve got a little spirit.
]]> Fri, 24 Mar 2006 14:04:00 EST http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/36933 14.5333333 -4.1 14.5333333 -4.1 http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/36371 The last few months we have done a lot of work together. We have been writing reports based on the big evaluation we did and trying to plan the next steps of the work we’ll do. This has taken us past Monday to Friday nine to five. Almost every Saturday we go to his little NGO’s office and get down to work. We’ve written reports together. Made the most complicated excel spreadsheets we are capable of doing. I’ve translated things from French to English for him and he’s translated my French into French for me. Last week he fixed my cell phone which apparently had eating a little too much dust and needed a little cleaning. He’s always messing around with some new computer gadget like turning his laptop into a television. It’s good to work with someone curious to try and figure things out together.
I really prefer working on Saturdays to well, not working. Actually working on Saturdays sucks but working with someone you like is always nice. I feel that I am able to do what I really want on Saturday with Togo. I want to build relationships. At the same time I want to work with people here to help them solve their problems. I want to empower people. I feel that Togo and I are able to empower each other, which is a pretty good deal.
]]> Wed, 08 Mar 2006 15:47:00 EST http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/36371 14.5333333 -4.1 14.5333333 -4.1 http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/35492 Saturday morning we set off. Our voyage began with a little trip to the market to stock up on food since we would be alone with the labourers beside the rice field. While I was buying some dates a fight broke out right beside us between a grown man and a boy. This was definitely not fair so I decided to jump in and try to break things up. While I’m trying to break up the fight Jean-Luc and Veronique are starting to feel a little ill at ease in the market. Unfortunately a mentally disturbed man grabbed Jean-Luc by the neck while I was in the middle of the melee. This led made them both a little uncomfortable for the next while. Apparently the fight was over some problem of 25 CFA or about 5 cents. After things had settled down we got the rest of our supplies and left the market, which was the best part for my new colleagues.
We arrived at the field which is on the banks of the Niger river at about 11 am. Of course the work was to start during the hottest time of day. After a tour of all the canals that were hand dug to irrigate the rice in the dry season we went to start watering with the motor pump. The motor was not very happy. It is an old German diesel motor that you need to crank really hard before it’ll start. About four of us just kept taking turns cranking the motor in the hot sun for about 20 minutes before we decided it was time to start taking things apart and seeing what was wrong. At this point I usually let the Malians make their miracles happens since I’m not that great at taking apart motors, figuring out what is wrong and putting them together again in working order. The next four hours were a series of adjustments to the injector and failed attempts to crank the motor into gear. I got it going a couple times and we slowly watched the water get pumped up the hose towards the rice field only to have the water stop just before it made it. I don’t think the motor was saying “I think I can, I think I can” and for all our sweat and tears we didn’t get anything done the whole day. Really this was par for the course and in the late afternoon we hung around and drank tea as a chameleon hung out in our shade tree.
After the tea it was time for my friend Youssouf to set out some traps for the “little carnivors” that run around. Youssouf is maybe 20 years old and is a real man of the wild. He can cultivate 4 hectares of rice alone by hand. When he was living in the city he used to run 30 km a day. I’ve always wondered how a football or wrestling team of Malians would fare if they showed up at the Saskatchewan championships. I think they would demolish everyone. Youssouf was full of good information. He is especially interested in magic and told me how to a great number of things. He and I set out to lay some traps in the bush. I was feeling like an expert from my one afternoon of beaver trapping in Canada. After some thorough searching we found two different hole to set up our traps beside. We put down a little dried fish and some papaya and hoped for the best. Youssouf was hoping he’d get some meat to eat. People in Mali used to hunt and trap a lot but now the wild animals are disappearing. This is making life difficult for many whose livelihood partly depending on hunting. At night we all slept in a nice little hut beside the water after eating a giant portion of rice.
In the morning I slept in a little hoping my sunburn from the day before would go away. When I woke up I saw Youssouf walking towards the hut from the direction of our traps. I soon saw that we had caught something but I noticed it was really long. He put down the trap in front of me and there in it’s clutches was a 2 meter black cobra. When Youssouf found the trap in the morning the cobra wasn’t dead so he had to go find a long stick and kill it. He can definitely take care of himself. Everyone was very excited about the snake. They are sacred to many ethnicities in Mali. I was told how if you cut off the head of a cobra and plant it in the ground the body of the snake will grow back. At the right time you can pull the whole snake out of the ground and as soon as you throw it into the air it will come alive.
We also caught two mice in traps beside the hut so it was a good haul but nothing that Youssouf was going to eat. He cooked us all some rice porridge. We walked for a couple hours to visit a nearby village, Trimou, that has come together to make an 11 hectare irrigated rice field. It took 100 men three months to do all the preparation. All the canals and tilling are done by hand out in the dry merciless sun. The men of Trimou were very happy with their new fields. Each person was given an eighth of a hectare which could provide over a tonne of rice. At one pm we realized we were again not being very smart in that we had spent the hottest part of the day out in the sun.
When the other workers got back we were told that they were going to buy a new motor. This left us with another afternoon to sit back and drink tea with the chameleon.
I think Jean-Luc and Veronique were on overload but I think everything went well and I’m glad to have met the seemingly all powerful Youssouf. I am now even more optimistic about the success of the cooperative and the good things it can bring for rural Mali. I see the potential for participation and solidarity as a means to putting food in people’s stomachs and money in their pockets.
]]> Tue, 14 Feb 2006 15:22:00 EST http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/35492 14.5333333 -4.1 14.5333333 -4.1 http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/35491 I have mingled with the people you only hear about from time to time in Canada. Those who live in a parallel universe far from home. The cousin whose been in Asia for the last 10 years and sends home Christmas cards. Everyone has some long lost friend far away existing in another universe attached only by a little internet cable. There is a whole community of people wandering the earth living in place far the rest of their initial support group and peers.
The arrival of the three new EWB volunteers is good for me. It keeps me closer to my other life in Canada. Gives me people with whom I easily identify and can turn to for support. I think I can be a big help to them as well since I’ve been jumping over the hurdles they are seeing for the first time for a while now.
They also brought the wonderful information that all the sores I’m getting on the inside of my mouth are ulcers. I feel as though I’ve joined some exclusive club of ulcerous people. Apparently I’m deficient in numerous vitamins. So much for my attempts to up my food budget and engage in the increased caloric intake program. This is common for people in Africa. Canadian flour is usually fortified with vitamins from the B complex as well as iron, zinc and beta-carotene. Our salt is iodized. My soy milk is fortified with vitamin B12. These does not happen in Mali. My work is actually working for add vitamins to the flour ground at the mills we support. The World Food Program and UNICEF are working hard to iodize salt in Mali as a lack of iodine, especially when young, can create sickness and insufficient mental development. Every day that I gain more hope for the world I see more obstacles to overcome, even they are technically simple like iodizing salt to help children become fully developed adults. Every day that I become more optimistic I paradoxically become more disappointed. I see so much global potential yet so much apathy. We are merely scratching the surface of human potential. We convince ourselves that what we are doing is good enough. We have the knowledge and resources to turn ill being and poverty into well being and wealth. We don’t follow through on conviction or effort. When we do it is often in a paternal way where we feel “we” are the solution and “they” are the problem. I great man, and new role model of mine, named Robert Chambers says that “we” are the problem and “they” are the solution. We need to release the human potential of the poor so they can become empowered to control their own lives.
I’ve been meaning to write a 37 page blog entry to chastise humanity (especially those in rich countries) for their lack of compassion, solidarity and motivation but I like to stay positive. Maybe I will dangerously permit myself to say that about 1 in 8 people on our planet (800 million) will go to bed hungry tonight and fight all day tomorrow to be well nourished. What are the rest of us doing to support them?
Peace, love and soul
Levi
]]> Tue, 14 Feb 2006 15:22:00 EST http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/35491 14.5333333 -4.1 14.5333333 -4.1 http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/34788 At my compound there was a little excitement recently. Before going on a trip I did a little house cleaning and as per usual put my garbage in our little bin. This leads to a wonderful event where all the kids in the compound rush to see what I’ve thrown out. This time I threw out my garbage as I was going out the door so I wasn’t around for their little game. Lucien, Luc’s 4 year old grand son, found himself a matchbox and a couple matches. Being a good curious four year he decided to light a match and throw it into the donkey’s hay pile. This started a wonderful fire that burnt all our peanut leaves and hay. It apparently attracted the whole neighbourhood and took the efforts of everyone around to put out the flames. I’m sure the donkey nearly had a heart attack. No one was hurt and Luc now thinks the whole fiasco is pretty funny.
Our new donkey, the one who probably had a heart attack, got traded in. He made too much noise. You know that terrible donkey yelping noise? I asked around and apparently the donkeys make the noise to tell the world they are feeling comfortable and great. They make it especially when no one is bothering them and they’re just hanging out eating some hay. In French I was told « Ah! Ils font ce bruit parce que ils sont a laisse. Personne les derangent, ils ont de l’herbe, ils sont dans l’hombre, vraiment il se sent cinq cinq. »
Mamu my neighbour, who I wrote about earlier, has got a little money thanks to all her hard work. She has hired a bonne (maid). In Mali a bonne doesn’t cost much money. They are usually young girls from the rural areas who come to the city trying to earn enough money to pay for some clothes or to go to school. They eat and sleep with the family and then will get an extra $10-15 per month. Mamu’s bonne is about 10 years old and has come from 150 km away. I’m not too excited about the new change. Her children no longer have to cook and work so hard, letting them play more and be what Canadians would call normal kids. However it feels very evil step sisteresque with this new child bearing the all the burden. Not only does she work hard all day, last night she was talking beans to the mill at nine pm, but she is very young and so far from her family. I wait for the day her fairy god mother arrives, but I think it may take a generation or two.
I personally don’t have much to report. I’ve been told I’m skinnier than usual so I’m making an effort to eat a little higher class. Since I’ve been on an unsuccessful weight gain program for the last 8 years I doubt I’ll have any success. My knee is in a wavering state of non functionality making me pretty physically inactive. I’m still in the running for the Guinness book of world records for longest time spent without going on a date. Lawn chairs and the African Cup of Nations football matches on a black and white TV fill my evenings. Go Ghana! Via the wonder of books I also spend time hanging out with Adam Smith.
Work has just slowed down a bit after a couple month flurry of action with long days and no weekends. There is still work to do it’s just that there is so much that we appear to be having trouble getting organized.
I’ve been spending a lot of time at home lately. I mostly sit and chat with Luc or the two teachers in my compound Diallo and Kone. We have rowdy debates about Mali’s path of development and how to make agriculture work. The evolution of emotions and feelings keeps on going. I’ve spent enough time in Sevare that it feels like home, actually I’ve spent more time here than any other city in the last four years. On the note of feeling at home I’ll wish you all a happy and healthy home until I write again.
Keep doing it for Dorothy.
levi]]> Tue, 31 Jan 2006 13:30:00 EST http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/34788 14.5333333 -4.1 14.5333333 -4.1 http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/33264 I took a night bus yesterday to get into the office to do some work this morning ahead of my colleagues. Every time I’m on the road at night in Mali I’m pretty certain I’m going to die as the highway is too narrow with too many curves and drivers that think they are Canadian teenagers on a Saturday night. Every time our bus would pass a truck one of the vehicles would have to go onto the shoulder so there was enough room for both to go by. Of course half the ride amazing Malian blues music was blaring at a way to loud volume and the rest of the time it was Celine Dion making it tough to sleep. Yes, no matter where you go in the world you cannot escape her and I find big African macho men who will express their love for Celine Dion when they find out your are Canadian.

I was in a hurry to get back to Sevare to do a little work in the office. I’ve been in the field for almost a month doing an evaluation of the last phase of the project EWB is supporting. We are visiting all the multifunctional platforms in the country and meeting with the women’s groups that are running them. So far I’ve met with 87 different villages. I’ve been working 12-18 hours a day for the past few weeks which shows you that things aren’t always slow in Africa. I’m up at 5 or 5:30 and have a little bit of stale bread and some peanut butter I got from some friendly women who were grinding it when I arrived. The mornings are actually chilly and I can see my breath as I step out of the little room I am given every night by a different village chief.
After breakfast we drive on bumpy roads that make me think a hummer may not be the most useless vehicles around and make me realize that sending anything to market is very difficult. When we get to the first village of the day we check in with the chief and get as many women as possible to come to meet with us. We spend about an hour and half asking and answering questions. We are trying to figure out what worked and what didn’t over the last few years and solve any problems the women are having. If we’re unlucky we fall on a village that is having some troubles and we try to get everything settled. Usually the problems revolve around the fact that the MFP is for the community and everyone has to be happy with how it is being run. Imagine if your whole neighbourhood had to meet together to communally run a business and decide what to do with the profits, it’s tough to find consensus. Despite all the challenges about 75% of the platforms we visited are still running a few years after installation showing that community ownership by uneducated rural women is possible. At the end of the first meeting with give our formal thank yous and goodbye and hop back on the rocky road to our next stop.
If we are lucky somewhere during the day we’ll get some rice cooked for us. If not we are in orange and papaya season and we buy 80 oranges at a time for one dollar and keep getting papayas as gifts. There was a point in time where I was ridding in the back seat with 12 chickens that had been given to us. It is often true that the poorest are the most generous. Although the days we don’t find food my colleagues love to eat canned corned beef, and well I’m forced to chose between not eating and eating corned beef. I’m still convinced it is healthier to eat nothing but it’s pretty tough to leave a stomach empty.

Usually we meet with 4-5 villages a day, leaving us with 4-5 reports to write per day. Each meeting is a different challenge and shows us new things. With all the travel we are usually meeting, reporting and driving until 10 pm. Once it gets dark we agree to go to one more village to have a last meeting and sleep. We pull out lanterns or my head lamp so we can write as we chat in the dark under the stars. I’ve realized that a full moon and no clouds gives enough light for me to write without a lamp. Actually about nine pm is a great time to have a meeting because finally the women have no other work they are busy with!

All these meetings are done in bambara and I’ve become a lot better at understanding it really fast. I still can’t speak it very well but now I can follow what is going on. Most of the time I am working in French and don’t actually use my bambara but this month in the field has really shown me the importance of understanding it. You see very quickly the difference between the city and the country. In the city most people can get by in French, except older women who have never been to school. In the rural areas you can find whole villages where not one person has gone past grade six and no one speaks French.
Lots of women’s groups are being lead by one or two women who have been to school for a few years. They are often the only ones who know how to read or write and they always seem to be the most dynamic and forward thinking. I’m not sure if this is due to the fact they are natural leaders and thinkers or if the few years of school they took helped them so much. Although we often think of school as something you do to get a job or gain some skill I think it is more important just to open your mind and learn how to think. Seeing how important those educated women are to their community gives me hope for the future because more and more children in Mali are going to school. I think in ten years things will change a lot as the literacy rate of around 30% will shoot up. One challenge is that all the people who go to school don’t find jobs. This discourages everyone else from finishing school because why would you go if it doesn’t get you a job and money? People don’t see that education helps you in all aspects of life giving you the tools to solve problems and see the broader world. The trouble is good problem solving skills and a creative open mind don’t always put food on the table in Mali.

I meet pretty incredible people everyday. Madame Diallo is the President of the women’s group in Barila near the border with Guinee in the south of Mali where oranges and maize are plentiful and the men get some cash growing cotton. Her team is doing a great job of managing their MFP. They’ve added new services like a shea nut grinder so making shea butter is easier. Madame Diallo used to be the only woman who could write in her community but the project taught a few others and now she is teaching still more women so they can keep good accounting records. We hit it off great because since arriving I have been given the name Amadji Diallo which is what most people know me as here. That means that me and Madame Diallo are family. Our introduction lead to a frantic series of questions and laughter as she asked about my family with a giant wrinkly smile. After the greeting she sent some children to bring me some milk. Diallo’s are Fulani, or Peul, people and traditionally herders. I’ve met Fulani families who spend 8 months a year nomadic wandering with their herd of cattle and then come back to a home base in the north near the Niger river during the rainy season. They often subsist on milk and a little meat, often drinking water from open sloughs with their cattle. So of course another Diallo would offer me milk. But it didn’t stop at milk, after came bananas, then sugar and finally some tea. During the whole meeting she let the other women respond to the questions I asked. Usually one person tries to monopolize the discussion and I’m forced to facilitate things so that every speaks which is very difficult when the norm is to be quite and let your superior answer. She was warm with her friends and colleagues putting everyone at ease. She even took responsibility for a part of their bookkeeping that was poorly done rather than putting the blame on someone else. At the end of the meeting I told everyone I was very happy with how things were going but wanted to know why everything was working so well. Madame Diallo simply said “I make sure everyone gets along.” Simple as that, the wonders of cooperation.

I have seen lots of people creatively finding ways to cope with their challenges. Women who have taken over $1000 of debt to get an MFP because they knew the investment would pay off. Groups who accept cereals as a form of payment because some people have no cash and then they can keep the cereals and sell them at the time of year when they are more expensive. Despite what many people think the poor are capable and able to move themselves forward. I have truly seen how when given the tools they are able to build a better future. Like everyone they do not like to be told what to do but given the opportunity and the freedom to control their future. To me that is development.

Usually by the fifth village at 10 pm I’m pretty tired from working in bambara and being on the move since early morning. Not to mention I’ve gained five pounds from the red dust that is now covering my whole body. But this is the time when the work really starts. Me and my colleague sit down and start drawing out the lessons we’ve learned from the day. We take our observations and make them into recommendations for the next phase so we can do an even better job of helping and supporting the women. Usually this lasts for about an hour before our brains quit working and we are ready to go to bed. I always enjoy my bucket shower staring up at the sky. It is my moment to myself to think about the day and how lucky I am to be here. Then I’m recharged and ready to get up in five hours to do it all over again.

]]> Tue, 20 Dec 2005 06:01:00 EST http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/33264 14.5333333 -4.1 14.5333333 -4.1 http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/32182
The fasting for Ramadan is over and I’ve gained back the weight I lost and no longer suffer from what I self diagnosed as chronic dehydration. The fasting got me a lot of respect. For my willingness to have an open mind and participate respectfully in something people thought I would pass up. Also there is the physically challenge factor. Men here are often very macho and well, I’m not. My chance is that I have a lot of tolerance, a strong will and low needs. My coworkers were very worried about my ability to do field work because of the physical difficult and conditions you live in. I remember them telling me I wouldn’t be able to handle it and they would have bring extra supplies on every trip so I would be okay. It took about three trips where I slept on the ground and ate sardines and bread, while my colleagues brought collapsible beds, comforters, potato chips, pillows and many changes of clothes for them to realize I was more suited for village life than they were. Now when I arrive for a field trip with my tiny bag everyone just laughs at me asking where the rest of my stuff is.

My landlord and friend Luc has declared war on the mice in our compound. Poison was spread around everywhere. He claims he is just feed up with them being around but I think he’s worried about our peanuts. Almost everyday for the last week I’ve found a dead mouse lying on the floor of my room. At least they’re not running around on my roof giving me a dirt shower all night long like before. I wanted the biodiverse solution of bringing in something that would eat the mice likes snakes, or maybe cats would be a better idea.

I’ve spent a lot of time doing field work lately which always makes me happy. I am scheduled to visit 109 different villages in the next few weeks as part of an evaluation of the project EWB is helping support. Should be incredible and exhausting. I got to visit some EWB friends in Ghana a couple weeks ago which was great. It showed me that I am in fact a bit lonely alone in Mali. I don’t ever talk to anyone who isn’t Malian and I guess it has started to take it’s toll. I have yet to be able to forge the same friendship with Malians as I have with my Canadian friends. We just have so little in common and very different world views making it tough to connect on a deeper level. Part of it to is that my good friends have become my good friends over years. I have met thousands of people and chosen a few to become close friends. You can’t expect to arrive in a new country and become best buddies with the first 10 people you meet.

I am maturing as a development worker. I am becoming more confident and well adjusted. I used to have an attitude that was sort of integrate at all costs, do everything the way a local poor person would do it. Over time I have realized how to stay true to respecting Malian culture, living in solidarity with my neighbours and still being me. It can take time to find yourself in a new place. I am also realizing that I do understand how to do good development. I can sit and argue with other professional development workers about approaches, ideas and even ways to realistically make it happen. I can even get caught up in my office’s 10 person shouting matches we refer to as meetings.

For the first time I did something here that instantly made me feel happy. In a place called Niagassadiou there was a water tower attached to an MFP that had never become operational. The village’s water is 80 m down and women spend a lot of energy pulling it from the well. They wash clothes in a dirty slough where cows and sheep cool off and drink. How would you like to share your bath tub with a herd of cattle? It sure doesn’t help public health. There is essentially a water crisis in the village. We came to work with a local mechanic to get their water system running. It only took us about 12 hours and a lot of rewiring an immerged pump but just after dusk under a full moon we got the water running. It was heart warming to see the look on the faces of children as they saw the water flowing out of the taps for the first time in their lives. I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. You see usually the things I do aren’t feel good things. I don’t give anything away or do things for other people. I support and help, essentially trying to create the environment where people can have more freedom but it’s the beneficiaries themselves who end up doing the tough work over the long haul. There are no instant results to feel happy about, just investments in people that I am sure will pay off in the long run. Although seeing that water flow was pretty special.

I’ve also restarted attempts at ridiculous behaviour. I’ve been turning on the silly switch a little more often. A friend Louis and I held the first ever official event of OEFID (Outdoor Enthusiasts For International Development). We went jogging, biked to do a field visit, went searching in the hills for alpine cows and their Fulani shepherds and ended things off by cutting off all our hair. The locals all want to know who my barber is because they think the scars on my head we just some incredible styling he put together. After one brain surgery and being run over by a volkswagon beetle, my head, when you get rid of al my hair, looks like a bird was drawn on it. People think it looks fantastic. So many things are cultural, I’m sure in Canada people would say my scars just look ugly.

With any luck as I go to visit 109 villages some good stories will come out that I can share an upbeat adventurous post.
]]> Mon, 21 Nov 2005 16:00:00 EST http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/32182 14.5333333 -4.1 14.5333333 -4.1 http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/31476 Now it is my third time here. I am literate in Ouaga. I know where to sleep, how much a taxi should cost and where to get good mangos. I even know the corner where they sell National Geographic magazines and if you bargain you can get them for half the cover price. I have my favorite street vendor who sells me beans in the morning and couscous at lunch and I know that the Burkinabe eat almost everything with their hands so don't ask for a spoon. Somehow I have developed this travelling literacy for a lot of cities in a lot of countries. I'm not sure this knowledge will ever help me other than to be comfortable in a new place. I know how to get information and deal with problems in seemingly strange locations.
I met some kiwi travellers at my guesthouse who had just spent a month in Mali and really didn't like it. I could tell they saw travelling as a contest, us versus them. They wanted to keep their own rhythm rather than adapt to the local one. People often get task oriented, find a hotel, get food, see cool stuff. They forget, especially in a place like West Africa, that it's all about people. It's not about economic transactions or completing tasks but about relationships and personal connections. I learned how to navigate Ouaga not because of my own insights but because I know how to interact with people and reach out for help while giving something back. These travellers were having a tough time because they couldn't connect with the locals. They were trying to dance hip hop but the locals were playing country music.
Ouaga has a fantastic downtown that is slow and fast at the same time. Everyone is relaxed and lots of artists and artisans are hanging out or selling their wares. At the same time hundreds of bikes, motos and pousse pousse's are going in every direction as the heat and smoke rise into your lungs. Honking, yelling, pushing, jumping over open sewers and flip flop venders. I really like Ouaga. There are great theaters where yesterday I watched a bollywood movie with english subtitles and the movie was half based in Canada. That's an experience in and of itself, as I excitedly told the guy beside me that's Toronto my boss lives two blocks from there! The burkinabe understood none of the dialogue but cheered for the hero with all their might making the theater sort of like a carnival. People yelling at the screen, cell phones going off and the woman beside me constantly telling her son she'll hit him if he doesn't stop kicking me.
There is also lots of cultural events like the puppet and theater festival I also went to last night. I learned through a Cote d'Ivoire play the legend of where white people come from. Unfortunetely I won't see any of the Tour du Faso that is going on right now. Maybe I could join the race with my one speed peasant bike.
There are of course a lot of harsh realities here as well. Many people are poor. I have listened to the story of many men who are homeless and stranded. They came in from the village seeking money they never found and now they can't get out. Two have broken into tears telling me their story and asking for my help. Both said I was the first person in over a week to even listen to them. It is sad that we often don't take the time to listen to one another. These men had no one to validate their feelings and no support. I think that is harder for them than the fact they suffer from material poverty. I have seen the same thing in place like Rio de Janiero where the street people seem to live in another universe disconnected from everyone else. They are socially outcast as people quit treating them like human beings. In turn they also become vicious and ugly. I remember seeing a man passed out on the sidewalk as pigeons picked at him and right beside people in suits walked by without even noticing.
Samata Dioubbalo is a Malien who has been here for 14 days living on the streets. He was working in Niger until he got accused of stealing and fired. Soon his money ran out and now he is en route to his home village. A few days ago he found an abandoned house to sleep in only to find out a group of homeless children already laid claim to the house. They stole his backpack and kicked him out. After listening to him for a few minutes I decided we should eat supper together. It was Ramadan and during an important festival no one should eat alone, or not eat at all. After some time we found a baguette and a can of sardines to share. After we had dug in he smiled at me and said Wow we are eating luxury style tonight. Meeting people like Samata always gives me an emotional reaction. It is almost terrifying. I find this for two reasons. One I have the power the alleviate some of the symptoms of his poverty. I can ensure he is not hungry today or has a place to sleep just because of my financial means. In a way I have so much power and opportunity which brings responsibility. I can do things for him he cannot easily do for himself. The second reason is that I can do very little to reduce his vulnerability. Sure I can get him to Mali and make sure he has food to eat today but it is very difficult for him to become empowered and capable to take control of his own life and achieve a secure situation. That is where in reality he has the power, long term vulnerability is something I have little influence over.
I think the so called charitable or helping professions usually only deal with the first reaction. Relieve the symptom. You'll feel really good about yourself when you see a hungry person eating. However we usually don't have the wherewithal to work towards a long term solution. It's hard and usually doesn't make you feel good. Also no one will push you to do it. Who would question a volunteer working to alleviate poverty? Almost no one, we say it is enough just to try. I don't think it is enough to try. We need to work in a cooperative way with people like Samata over a long term to help him reduce his own vulnerability. Charities need to be looked at critical as do any so called charitable acts. What is the impact you are really having. Just because you feel good doesn't mean what you are doing is appropriate.
Travelling is a beautiful thing, although I prefer living in foreign lands. People are what really matter and understanding them and being in tune with them can take time but it is worth it. For those travelling remember it is not a conquest of doing things and completing tasks. Travelling should be an enriching experience where you learn from and contribute to the culture in which you find yourself. After any travels you should be a better person.
That's all from me in Ouaga as I think about cooperation, awesome bollywood dancing and real solutions to poverty. ]]> Fri, 04 Nov 2005 05:59:00 EST http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/31476 14.5333333 -4.1 14.5333333 -4.1 http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/31022 The morning went well I got everything done that I needed to. We even cranked out a few kilos jatropha oil and I saw that everyone had learned well from the training I gave them three months earlier. At one o’clock it was time to hit the road for home. Due to a funding squeeze I had to come back from the field by bicycle. Job decided to take pity on me and show me a short cut so at 1pm we hit the road. The roads in rural Mali are pretty fun, if they were a little less sandy and a little more hilly they could be mountain bike paths. Now just before leaving I filled up my water bottle with some well water because well a small chance of giardia is better than death by dehydration. And really it’s not like it would be the first time my intestine came to be the home of uninvited creatures, but I didn’t want to break my fast.

Well after and hour of beautiful riding my lips are parched and my throat is throbbing. My head is aching. Nothing in the body seems to work without water. This last month I’ve been pretty thirsty many days but this was the worst and I was getting worried I would pass out. At this point I decided to declare household war on the mice as I blamed them for my problem, which is always a good tactic blame others. Why are we afraid to take responsibility ourselves? I told Job to stop and we drank my water. I had given in on the fast. Don’t worry the Koran says anyone on a journey or in sickness doesn’t have to fast for Ramadan. I think that the travelling I was doing qualified as a journey and made me less resolute in continuing. Which is a funny justification for me as it is the first time I’ve used the Koran as a justification or motivation for anything. Anyway after two hours of biking we hit the big dirt road and from there we were flying, wind at our backs to the market in Yasso. From there I am sure to find transport to the highway where it is easy to get back to Sevare. Upon arrival in Yasso I’m still incredibly thirsty as one cup of water over the last 16 hours just didn’t do it for me. Luckily there children wandering around selling little plastic bags of tap water they claim to be chilled but really they were chilled a few hours ago when they were in a fridge kilomoters away. Temperature is of no importance when you’re really thirsty. The market is quite a beautiful place. Smells of all descriptions and a rainbow of colours as the sounds of bargaining fill the air. Everything is so alive and so raw. Real like the world always is until you try to sterilize and homogonize it in overwrapped packages crammed together and perfectly aligned parallel shelves over a smooth white floor and under smooth phosphorescent light. Whatever grocery stores aren’t that bad, although I have a friend who calls them food jails, I wonder what he’d call the market.

After a little haggling I get in an old mini bus with about 25 women who have loaded up on cheap peanuts in the village they will bring back to the city. You quickly see which gender is more into commerce as me and the driver are the only men around. It takes us about 45 minutes to navigate the 20 km of road left as we pass horse drawn carriages carrying dozens of 100 kg bags of peanuts stacked 15 feet high.

At the highway I sit down and pull out a book. After an hour no bus. Another thirty minutes, no bus but children. Hundreds of them. School must be out. One by one they pass slowly staring at me until one stops. Then another, and another until there are about 40 standing staring at me spell bound. I try to do my best to look friendly and smile but their expression is changeless. They have that glazed over confused look that kids have when they watch tv. No response to my call outs in French, I guess they don’t learn much in school. I try Bambara, a couple start to giggle. I remember I’m still in Bobo country and I bust out all of my four Bobo words. More giggles. Two girls come up to me but then turn and run away. Finally one boy makes the five meter voyage from where he and his gaggle of friends are staring to shake my hand. After the others see he hasn’t been eaten or beaten they run up and I’m more popular than George Bush at a Texas oil convention. I’m the new town rock star. Everyone wants to shake my hand and “Ca va?” After being asked 40 times “ca va?” and answering “oui est toi” I am left with a dirty hand and a circle of 40 children totally surrounding me as I continue to sit. They all stare in silence, nothing to say I guess. It’s really odd to have this type of experience where people just sit looking at you, maybe I know what it’s like to be in a zoo without the cages.
I start asking for names and that breaks the ice. After some small talk I suddenly hear the blasting horn of a bus. I need to see which way it’s going because I’ve been waiting a long time and don’t want to miss it. I stand up to see and as I do all 40 children spontaneously start screaming and running in all directions that are away from me. It’s as if the boogie man has just appeared from under their beds. Maybe I’m an ogre and didn’t even know it. The bus was going the wrong way which was good because in their panic the kids had ran onto the highway where a bus going my way would have been. I wonder what they’ve been told about white people to make them so scared of me. Maybe it’s just something new, or maybe I’m really mean looking. Now the mood has changed and everyone pensively continued to stare but from a distance. After another five minutes they got bored as I continued to sit and read. I would have been happy at chat but they were so shocked that they couldn’t even return my smiles or answer my questions even when they did understand.

Finally my bus came by and three hours later I was home. I made friends with a military guy on the ride who was proud to tell me he protect American citizens during the Tuareg rebellion in 94. I got myself a nice fried egg sandwich and a cup of tea and went to bed setting the alarm for four am. I’m not sure how many dinner conversations I caused that day but I hope no one had a delayed heart attack.
Since then I’ve been back on the fasting bandwagon. I think I’ve actually made it over the worst of it. Now I feel good. I can deal with the fast and I’m feeling the groove. We’re 20 days in with maybe 9 more to go depending on when we see the new moon.
]]> Mon, 24 Oct 2005 12:54:00 EDT http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/31022 14.5333333 -4.1 14.5333333 -4.1 http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/30775 The boat ride was pretty exciting with about 100 people crammed onto a boat that was completely overloaded with motor bikes and World Food Program boxes of rapeseed oil. We had prime seating on some bananas right next to the motor which was insanely loud. Half way through the night I realized my neighbour the sheep had the best spot in town with a nice bed of straw and all the room in the world.

It is the holy month of Ramadan and I am fasting with millions of Muslims and Malians around the world. I’m noticeably thinner after the first two weeks and wondering if I’ll disappear before the month is over. Ramadan appears to have different meaning to each individual but by and large it is about purification, repentance and increasing spiritual connections. I’ve been reading the Koran to get my head around things. In part I am doing it to culturally integrate and try to understand the struggles of the hungry and thirsty. Although it is good to take time for spiritual things and remember to do my own version of praying. Not eating from sun up to sun down has not been too difficult but not drinking can be very difficult in the heat. Last week I had to visit a village called Fatoma and went by bike 9 km. Then I spent the better part of the day visiting different partners working out little problems. In the early afternoon I biked the 9 km back with the intense Sahelian sun beating down on me. I thought I was going to pass out. My thought process stopped and all that mattered was getting some water. I spent the next couple hours sitting staring at my watch waiting with increasing impatience for sundown and “se preparer a couper.” It is no wonder the hungry have trouble planning for the future.

Breaking the fast has been my favourite part of the day everyday for the last two weeks. There is a sense of community and solidarity. Wherever you happen to be at sundown you sit with others who have been preparing ginger juice, tea and dates. People sitting on little chairs and benches circled around a tea pot laughing as the sky lights up with hues of pink as the sun bids us farewell. Usually everyone brings something in addition to the tea so a picnic breaks out. It’s watermelon season so there’s always at least ten kilograms of juicy pink watermelon for sharing within a one minute walk. Then again around 4:30 am I sit in my concession with two high school teachers sipping water and munching on bread. It provides a nice rhythm to the day.

I love seeing everyone come together to pray after breaking the fast. It is truly a show of community. This has left me feeling renewed and energized. I feel like I am truly moving to the funky beat of the world’s drummer and in tune with everything around me. Makes a guy pretty happy.

The peanuts have all been harvested and are being dried and put into bags in the concession. Looks like I should have about a tonne. Now the question is what I’m going to do with them. The house has been buzzing with women ripping the peanuts off the plants for the last two weeks. Late at night I’ll sit and work with them as we all make fun of my Barbara and listen to the radio.

I am feeling the challenges of trying to be many things at once. Here I am known as Levy, Hamadji Diallo and sometime Kwesi Piecie depending on who I am hanging out with. I am trying to work at a high level influencing strategy of a large development project but living with the Malian everyman. Working within systems of hierarchy and trying to bring them down at the same time. In social life the same people I am trying to work with as equals are my “big brothers” and culturally superior to me. I guess in life we all play many roles as mothers are also children and bosses also friends. It provides a kind of richness. I find the extreme diversity of my world beautiful and overwhelming at the same time. Some days I am able to sit with the head of the UNDP in Mali others with villagers who have never been 10 km away from home. I usually eat rice with my hands from a communal pot with Luc or other neighbours while a month ago I was eating sushi in Yorkville in Toronto. The world truly is vast and I am trying to take pieces from everyone I’ve met and create my own little patchwork quilt of wisdom that hopefully comes together to be something whole.
Here is a quote that I have been thinking about lately “At the deepest level, we help by what we are, not what we know or even what we do.” Jump in a pile of golden fall leaves for me and I’ll stare at the full moon for you.
]]> Sun, 16 Oct 2005 08:18:00 EDT http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/30775 14.5333333 -4.1 14.5333333 -4.1 http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/30774 Sun, 16 Oct 2005 08:17:00 EDT http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/30774 14.5333333 -4.1 14.5333333 -4.1 http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/30291
I have trouble believing I am only kilometres away from the Sahara. The heat is down to a bearable level. I no longer feel as though the air itself is attacking me. My home has become a haven of mice and dust in my absence, although I was happy to find a nice new table sitting the corner.

I do the same things I used to but now it is different. I eat the same bowl of beans and couscous but it now tastes different, more earthy and bland. I notice the crunch of little rocks. It’s amazing how much you influence how you experience the world. My home here that used to seem nice to me know feels a little dirty and unfriendly. The mice who used to be my roommates are now just pests. Everything feels slower. At first I thought the pace of life in Mali must have changed because it is the end of the rainy season. Then I realized it wasn’t Mali that had changed but my perceptions.

As always life here is emotional. The first few days provided a total change every six hours from bouncing off the walls happy to banging my head on the walls. When I first arrived I felt utterly alone. After stepping off the plane I had tasks to keep my mind busy, get a taxi, go to hotel, get money from the bank, extend my visa, get on the bus to Sevare. Then I was left alone with my thoughts. My whole support network was now attached to me only through an internet umbilical cord floating somewhere in cyberspace. Here I am not quite able to fit in with the manly men who want to be seen as powerful so they put others down. Nor do I fit in with the women with whom I have very little in common. That’s looking at things pessimisticly though. I have some good friends here who make me happy. I can meet people on the street. There are people in the street. Life is lived in public here. Children are often referred to as a “jeune du cartier” or a child of the neighbourhood. Brought up mostly by their parents but in part by everyone else. A woman here can set a child who she’s never seen before straight if they are misbehaving. In Canada you would probably get prosecuted for trying to parent someone else’s child. I have started to lose my feeling of loneliness and am feeling at home again.

I am reenergized. I realized that my whole life I living off of borrowed energy from others. In Mali that wasn’t the case. On a slow day I am probably the third most energetic person within a 200 km radius. I was putting out but getting nothing back and soon not putting out as much. Spending a lot of time overseas makes you reorganize your life. Are you going to have a support network back in Canada or in Mali or both? You don’t know where your home is? Is Sevare my home or just some place I am working. Anyway it was good to consolidate and take stock. Look back on a year of learning and loving. Figure out where I am headed and how I’m going to get there. For now I’m headed to check out my peanut farm and I’m going by bike.

So I have decided to make my blog a priority. I have also decided to change it up. Rather than just logistical type updates I’m going to have some postings that are a little more journalesque. I want to do this for two reasons. Those who are keen enough to actually read this far are probably my friends, you may be interested in how I’m doing and feeling. This will keep you more up to date with my joys and sorrows. The other is for people who want to know what it is like living far from home in a place that to you feels strange. Of course my experience is just that of one person but I feel it will show people what goes through your mind. Anyway this means I’ll have to actually post on a regular basis. Don’t be shy to reply. Usually a post will net me about two replies so it’s not like I’m inundated with emails.
See you all.
]]> Fri, 30 Sep 2005 13:38:00 EDT http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/30291 14.5333333 -4.1 14.5333333 -4.1 http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/29700
She moved to Maourolo from a near by village and teaches 50 7-8 year olds in the cement one room school house. She has a beautiful young daughter who is always with her checking out the world from her wrapped up position on mom’s back. Noelli moved from Sanekui a few kilometers away when she finished grade nine. She says she would like to continue her schooling but she can't afford to live in the city where there is a high school. She’s on her rainy season vacation now as school is out and the children are working the fields. She’s got her own field in village which was a part of the deal for her to come there. Slyly she tells me that she agreed to come to the community founded school only if they gave her some land. She’s a forward thinker always making plans for the future so she can provide for her family. The government has no school in town so the parents got together and hired Noelli, although they are not able to pay her. Now as her back up plan she’s growing a fantastic peanut crop.

She appears to have infinite patience as I ask her about two million questions from how to make sauce with baobab leaves to why she didn’t go on in school to what it’s like being away from her home. Maybe she gets it from having a class of 50 seven year olds screaming all the time. On my second visit I needed an animatrice to do an activity with a bunch of different women in the village. She volunteered immediately and was a very diligent worker. Once again her patience helped as we went house to house on what seemed like a never ending voyage asking every woman the same questions. Although she is young you could tell she is respected. All the women felt at home with her. She excitedly explained to me all the things the other women of the village were doing. After the money comes in from her field she’s going to start what she calls “petit commerce” at the nearest market on Wednesdays. Her eyes tell me that she’ll succeed.

At lunch we would come back to her quaint little home so she can make me some toh, a type of millet paste you grab with your hand and dip in a gluey okra sauce. She laughs as she tells me she makes the best toh around. I’m sceptical but don’t let on. She continues to run ideas past me about what she wants to do. She is very interested in baobabs and the way they give you leaves for sauce but take almost no energy to keep up. She needs to be doing this because the 8 dollars a year per student the parents are supposed to pay doesn’t come in. If you do the math that means she doesn’t make the $400 a year she should. She does get about a tonne of millet meaning her and her daughter Sarah won’t go hungry. Her face turns sad and eyes sink as she tells me this. After a minute she gives a soft smile and says that it’s okay because she knows the parents simply cannot pay. She’s very young, early 20’s at most, and it is incredible that she is willing to sacrifice for her new neighbours. Usually security comes at an older age when you have built up assets. She’s a woman a bit ahead of her time. She is blazing a trail that other young girls will follow although she hasn’t noticed that she’s a role model to the girls of the village.
]]> Tue, 13 Sep 2005 18:34:00 EDT http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/29700 14.5333333 -4.1 14.5333333 -4.1 http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/25370 Work is going well. I spent almost two weeks in Maourolo, a village of 227 inhabitants. We are going to install a press there for jatropha oil extraction. The village already harvests the seeds from the 2621 meters of jatropha hedges around town and uses them to make soap and sometimes oil. I know it is 2621 meters because I counted. The counting was combined with what I thought I first was sun tanning, then I realized it was sun burning and maybe in 10 years I will find out that it was just me getting skin cancer. I am very excited about our work there. Essentially they are going to take something they already do only do it better and on a large scale. I feel especially good because we are responding to a requested need of the village.
It took me about three days in the village before I started to think the village is poor. I am no longer fooled by dirty clothes, naked children and mud houses as signs of poverty. The exterior can be deceiving. The community was so happy and seemed so free that I could not imagine they were poor. They laughed in the shade and drank a lot of tea. There were no deadlines and everyone is his own boss (unless you are a woman; then your husband is your boss). However poverty has many dimensions. The people were truly happy and united but many of them ate only once a day, an observation that takes a while to make. They have almost no opportunities other than farming four months a year. There many more children under 5 than between 5 and 10, which is a quiet yet unsettling and scary observation. They are free to relax under a shady tree but they are not free to travel to Canada or work as an engineer. They have little way to cope with shocks, such as a poor harvest, since agriculture is essentially their only livelihood option. I have a lot of hope for the village because they are motivated and understand that they can help themselves change their situation. With our partnership they have diversified ways to earn an income and be self sufficient in fuel, controlling their own energy supply. Working with bio-diesel is my own little way of giving big oil companies the finger. Anyone out there who thinks prices at the pump are high in Canada try paying $1.50 CAD for a litre when you make $2 a day.
My favorite part of my time there was a dance party under the moonlight. A tape player powered by a 12 V battery blared out Ivorian dance music. I danced with five year old girls and 60 year old men who each have more spirit than a Texas cheerleading squad. It was a beautiful, spiritual evening. I think it was the purity and rawness of it all that I loved. Things were not complicated with superfluous crap, it was an evening that was about people, connections, and community.
Everyone here is waiting for the rainy season to start. In the south of Mali it has been raining for a while already. After my time in Maourolo I finally have internalized why people pray for rain. You can be told something a hundred times but seeing once will make you understand. Seeing and talking with people whose lives are so dependant on rain, which is completely out of their control, showed me how you could simply turn to God. If seeing something is better than hearing I figure doing is going one further. In the name of learning about African agriculture I have become a peanut farmer. I am sharing a little over 1 hectare of land with my 72 year old landlord Luc. He’s the brains of the operation and I’m just around for comic relief. I have 50 kg sack of peanut seed sharing my bedroom, although it’s not the best cuddling companion. I’m pretty pumped about the possibility of peanut butter self sufficiency by October. In fact, my house should be a net peanut butter exporter.
There are now four other EWB volunteers in Mali and we all met up a couple weeks ago. My neighbors are the local suppliers of chapalo (millet beer). You can often find them through the darkness by following the beautiful sound of their balafon, a local instrument like a xylophone. At night their dark courtyard often has a few non Muslims sitting on wooden benches drinking calabashes full of beer taken from a giant communal pot. We decided it was within our budgets to pay $1.80 for three litres. Amazingly none of us got sick, although we did make a friend Adama drink about half of our stock.
I had my first motorbike accident recently. There I was driving on dirt paths past fields dotted with giant baobabs staring at a bleak saheling landscape as women passed every now and again carrying wood on their heads. I felt like a real African development worker. I would have made a great promotional video with my hair blowing in the wind, looking like a dead sexy hard core wannabe African. Then the dirt turned to sand. I got through a couple patches and had my confidence grow. Then I tried to combine turning and driving through sand at the same time which soon left me lying on my side asking my companion if she was okay.
Through the beauty of short wave radio I found out quickly about the G8’s decision to forgive the debt of 18 countries, 14 in Africa including Mali. This will do wonders for the people here. People are ecstatic. I feel this shows the power of campaigns like Make Poverty History (www.makepovertyhistory.ca) and public voice. For those in Canada please keep the pressure on our government and corporations to act responsibly.]]> Sun, 19 Jun 2005 10:41:00 EDT http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/25370 14.5333333 -4.1 14.5333333 -4.1 http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/25310
Mamu is the most cheerful lady in my compound. Even though we cannot communicate well with words we understand each other and she is part of my motivation in learning Bambara. She is creative and always doing little activities to make some money. Although her family is the poorest in my concession in material possessions, and one of the only ones without electricity, I think they are richer than others in their happiness and unity. Her husband does not work. He was in the Malian army and fought in the war with the Tuaregs in the nineties. When he came back he was unable to work. No one knows what is wrong with him but he has a mental problem that occurred during or after his time at war. He sits in a lawn chair all day beside the road and never talks to anyone. In Mali it is tough to get a medical diagnosis for problems like his. Maybe he has post traumatic stress syndrome but even if we knew what he had there where would we learn how to improve the situation. The shock of the main income earner ceasing to earn an income can be devastating. This means Mamu is left with four children and a husband to support when she has no job experience or education as is the norm for most women her age. She has to use the small amount of assets she has. I think her greatest assets are good humour and determination. She doesn’t complain or wait for others to help she simply does what she needs to do and with a smile. She always brightens my day. I see her as a role model for women in Mali. She is empowered and finding creative solutions to poverty.]]> Thu, 16 Jun 2005 23:42:00 EDT http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/25310 14.5333333 -4.1 14.5333333 -4.1 http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/25309
Last night I had the best conversation of my whole placement. I sat down at the dark table of the boiled manioc lady and started eating 12 cents worth of supper. A guy whose face I couldn’t even really see sat down in front of me. After I’d finished eating he asked me if we could chat. I said yes, since I hadn’t had many good random conversations lately. He took about 4 more minutes eating before we started.

It started slow with how’s it going, and the family and the job. Soon I realized this was not a normal Beninese guy. In fact he was from Chad, N’Djamena to be exact. He asked me tough questions about what I liked in Benin, always making me explain my answers. He knew of Canada’s bilingualism and where to find Quebec. He told me he also spoke English because he’d studied computers in Ghana. We began chatting about Ghana. I sat spell bound while he weaved stories about gold and buses and religion into a beautiful tapestry that made me feel like I had already been wrapped up in the country. I was like a child listening to his father tell stories of a far of land that I could only imagine. He had great insights into the role Christianity played in making Ghanaians so friendly. He lived in a hostel there with people from many countries because it was cheapest and you could use as much water and electricity as you want. Ghana sounds like the Promised Land to a guy sitting in Benin.

He is going back when he can get organized. In Cotonou he makes 25 000 CFA ($62 CAD) a month which is less than my volunteer stipend gives me. It became apparent he was both smart and wiser than me although his options are more limited. He has friends in Accra and will go back to continue working where he can save money and enjoy a higher quality of life.

We spoke of travel and the richness it brings the traveler. He felt he had gained great wealth because he had traveled to Sudan, Niger, Burkina, Ghana, Togo and Benin. His Anglophone friends tell him he speaks English but thinks like someone who speaks French. I told him that the difference might come from the education systems of each colonial power. We agreed it made one a better person by viewing how others live and trying to think like they do. He will travel for a lot longer. His year in Benin will soon come to a close. Although he loves Ghana he won’t stay. He wants to see the whole world. Normally I would have been sad for him. Sad because he cannot see the whole world because he doesn’t have the money or the right citizenship. I have both. It isn’t fair. Instead I was happy because he was a man following his heart. He was upbeat and positive. Gaining everything he could wherever he was. He didn’t concentrate on what he didn’t have but what he did have. That’s what was important to him. It wasn’t that he wasn’t able to go to Quebec it was that he could and would go to Cote d’Ivoire and take the most out of it.

I feel very lucky to have met him. Only after we finished did I learn his name is Lucius. Maybe we’ll meet again in Ghana in a month. He taught me a few things and further solidified my opinion that true richness is not in the material realm. He is much richer than many people I know with thousands of dollars.

As a follow up I saw him again a couple days later. We hung out at his friends tailor shop and chatted for a few hours the day before I left for Ghana. It’s too bad we didn’t meet sooner; I would have loved to have spent more time together.]]> Thu, 16 Jun 2005 23:41:00 EDT http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/25309 14.5333333 -4.1 14.5333333 -4.1 http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/24809 Women in rural Mali will spend many hours a day on tasks such as food preparation. This usually involves a lot of pounding cereals like millet, fetching water or processing rice. These tasks take a lot of time and physical energy. The MFP replaces the human energy exerted with mechanical energy. This gives the women more time which they usually use for other income generating activities. It can also free time of young girls who often help their mothers with the household tasks; this allows more girls to enrol in school.
The platform is run by the community’s women’s association. If your community has no women’s association you will get no platform. The project does not propose the idea to villages, we respond only to a village that requests a platform or information on a platform. This is mostly because people who are motivated will make things work. If you have taken initiative and are willing to put time, money and energy into something you are likely to succeed. If we showed up in a village and said “Hey, do you ladies want an MFP?” They would all say yes even if they didn’t. The village also has to pay a part of the money for the platform. The village then has vested interest in the success of the platform and has demonstrated they are serious. The women’s group will run it like a business. Some villages have over 300 customers who come to grind millet or press shea butter on a regular basis. These customers save on average about two hours a day.
The project is ultimately run by the UNDP, although in Mali we are autonomous. It is going on in Senegal, Burkina Faso, Ghana and Guinea and may be expanding further to Niger, Benin and other countries. Mali has been working for over 8 years on the MFP concept while countries like Ghana have been doing it for only a little over a year. EWB is involved in Ghana and Mali and will soon be in Burkina.
So what do I have to do with all this? Well my main job is to expand the use of presses and introduce jatropha oil as fuel for the platforms. Jatropha is a plant that grows in the south of Mali and is used mostly as fencing for gardens or to keep animals away. The seeds can be pressed to make oil that is a substitute for diesel fuel which costs $1.25 CAD here (rural people will make from $2-4 for a day’s labour). Processing the oil also gives you by-products that can be used to make soap, candles, fertilizer and insecticide. The plant is also used for medicinal purposes. The potential is huge. A village could supply itself with fuel and create a variety of products, jobs and money. This goes a long way for allowing the village to control its own future. They become less reliant on the outside and fluctuating oil prices. The use of bio-fuels is also carbon neutral and enviro friendly. The challenge is that we have a great idea but in reality nothing yet on the ground. At present very few people do anything with jatropha seeds. The creation of a whole “Jatropha System” is necessary for things to succeed. A community will have to mobilize a lot of people to make things work. The cost of the press is high making it an investment not everyone can afford. The concept of using vegetable oil as fuel is pretty foreign and people will have to accept it. The women are the ones who process the jatropha seeds but if they start to make a lot of money from it the men will become interested and gender tensions may arise.
I am very excited about my work. We are very conscious of the things I feel are most important. These are issues of community ownership and participation in the decision making process. We do literacy and management training and focus on improving human resources rather than just throwing people in a sink or swim situation. We train local artisans to do maintenance to ensure things keep running after we’re gone. There is a real push for decentralisation and development for and by rural people. This is not all roses our share of complications and challenges arise. My coworkers are great and understand development better than almost everyone I’ve ran across in Africa so far which makes this a great learning environment.
If you are excited about the MFP visit www.ptfm.net. I would gladly answer any questions anyone has. If you read this far you must be interested so drop me a line.
The future is freedom.
Levi]]> Sat, 21 May 2005 21:00:00 EDT http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/24809 14.5333333 -4.1 14.5333333 -4.1 http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/24808 I have a light bulb in each room but no electrical outlet as my landlord has said it will use too much electricity. This means I have no fan and the forty degree heat causes me to sweat about three litres a night. I have recently done some good shopping to equip my bachelor pad with a mat, two lawn chairs, a broom and some buckets. The 22 of us in the concession share one hole in the ground which doubles as a secondary shower. This is not a design feature I would have thought up on my own, although it does help keep the latrine clean.
It is nice to share a common space with a lot of people. There are nine goats who are fun to watch as they run around and try to eat what the ladies are cooking when they turn their backs. There are a few bachelors who play good music and are always making tea. Everyone watches tv together outside especially if there is a football match. Before coming to Africa the thought of someone owning a tv and DVD player but living in a mud walled house seemed an impossibility, now I realize it is quite normal. I sit outside and read, write or chat quite often. Some nights me and my 70 year old landlord Luc sit and listen to RFI or he tells me stories about the good old days.
I am learning a lot about gender roles and family life. You really see how much time is needed for domestic activities. The dirt construction means cleaning must occur often. Cooking is done with charcoal and food is prepared completely from scratch. Almost 100% of the work in the home is done by women, who all seem to be named either Fatima or Mamu. Every man, but only one woman, in my concession speaks French. This helps me learn bambana but makes it tough for them to get a job, although I don’t know where they would find the time to add an extra paying job outside the home. Each lady does some “petit commerce.” This is usually selling snacks they make on the street to get some money. When the children get home from school the girls are sometimes put to work until after dark. This makes it clear how they are at a disadvantage at school as the boys are free to play or study as they like.
When you take a home, a job, a friend or anything you have to accept the good with the bad. Beating children is a regular occurrence at my home. I am not talking about wooden spoon on the bum kind of discipline but serious beating. I don’t know what to do about this. I could physically intervene knowing that will change my relationship with the families for ever, children are essentially property of their parents and I as an outsider should have no role. This would do nothing for stopping the activity when I am not there. In order to stop this I would have to convince the parents that beating a child is wrong or that there is a more effective way to get children to behave well. The trouble is the children are conditioned to only do things based on a fear of violence. It is extremely difficult, if not impossible, to get a child to listen to you without a credible threat of violence. Any advice on how to improve this situation would be appreciated. Any historical examples of societies that moved from accepting to condemning child beating?
If you are ever in the neighbourhood go to Sevare III, Rue 70, Porte 448. Guests are always welcome.
Do it for the kids.
]]> Sat, 21 May 2005 20:58:00 EDT http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/24808 14.5333333 -4.1 14.5333333 -4.1 http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/24429
How many north Americans own SUVs that never leave the paved road of the city. What a waste of money, never mind the environmental impact. My mother considers me a radical so maybe my opinion on this is malaligned but I cannot see any logical reason to buy an SUV if it will be driven only on paved roads. It costs more than a van or car and uses more gasoline. It adds no functionality and even most are not that good in real off road situations.

In general people will seek material possessions they don’t need for reasons sometimes even they themselves cannot justify. To all the urban SUVers out there why do you have such a thing? Please email me the reason because I fail to understand. Vehicles are not the only thing. How many people have a house with one remote control? Now the home entertainment system must have a tv with at least 50 channels so it takes you thirty minutes to realize there is nothing on. Then you have to add a DVD player, stereo, internet on the tv and a Nintendo. Each with their own controller such that a guest could never figure out how to watch the news without calling your 10 year old child for technical assistance. All this to entertain ourselves are we any more entertained than people were 50 years ago? I’m happy with a short wave radio, an empty field and frisbee and friends near by. If we’re going to complicated we’ll bust out a guitar or some drums.

I fight the same small personal battles here in Africa I do in Canada. People always want to know why I don’t have a tv. Is it a problem with money? No. Then why don’t you buy one. It is a foreign concept to have the financial means to do something yet choose not to do it. In Canada people will understand your logic but choose to act otherwise, while in Africa they cannot even understand. I guess they are working so hard to be able to get a TV they can’t imagine being able to but saying no. Then what would they have worked for? It is much easier to refuse something you can obtain as a matter of choice than to not have something because you lack the means.

The most recent thing I rejected for simplification purposes was my Gillette Mach 3 razor. While I was in Accra my last blade that I brought from Canada six months previous was wearing out. Amazingly you can get refill blades even in Ghana or Benin. I went into what we call an Obruni Mart (Obruni means white man). There are a few of these fancy western style supermarkets in Cotonou and more in Accra although I haven’t seen any in Mali yet. Walking into a little piece of Europe with cheeses and packaged imported food I made a break for the cosmetics section. I found the razor blades I wanted. Each blade was about the same price as my daily budget. I stood staring at the blades. I turned and looked at all the people in the Obruni Mart. Western culture, consumption and complications were rejected and I went home. Tom uses a straight one blade safety razor to shave. Replacement blades are a few cents and available all over the world. For a $1.25 I got the holder and five blades. The shave is the same just a simpler, cheaper apparatus.

Saving money by simplifying my life increases my freedoms. Every Gillette razor blade I don’t buy is one extra day in Africa. At night I am not free to watch female mud wresting on channel 97 but I am free to work for a small living allowance in Mali. Before I went traveling in South America a friend told me he would love to do the same thing but didn’t have the money. He did have a car and a motorcycle though. Selling the car would have given him enough money to travel with me for months. His material possessions were restricting his freedoms. He thought they were increasing but in the case of his vehicles I was just as free to move without the cumbersome costs. Often we chose possession over experience, or buy into a system that keeps us in the system rather than stay out and free.]]> Tue, 03 May 2005 15:02:00 EDT http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/24429 14.5333333 -4.1 14.5333333 -4.1 http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/24428
I am still thinking about the two Liberian guys, Emmanuel and James, I met yesterday. They were students, just like me. They could have been me. In late 2003 they were forced out of their country due to violence and threats to their personal safety. James told me about being beaten and showed me his scared and discoloured back. He said it was difficult to talk about because it made him think back to how he felt when the beatings were happening. They fled from Liberia to Guinea. They left their studies, home, family and everything they owned. After some time in Guinea they were forced to leave for reasons I couldn’t quite understand. Something about militias and more violence that made their stay in Guinea not safe. They eventually ended up in Burkina over a year after they left Liberia. Their goal was to find the UN commission for refugees. Apparently there is no help for Liberian refugees in Burkina, however there is in Ghana. So they were trying to get to Ghana.

They found work here and there but since they did not speak French it was very difficult. In their last job doing construction Emmanuel injured his hand. It was very swollen and he could have used some ibuprofen and wanted pain killer. Finding a manual labour job with only one good hand is pretty tough and he could not work any more. Small surprise he hurt himself due to poor safety precautions and the fact he is more used to studying out of a book than physically sweating on a construction site. They had convinced a lorry driver to take them to Accra, where they have been told the UN could help them out. It is possible they will get sent home on a boat from Accra and given some money to get themselves started again. The problem is that they needed 500 FCFA ($1.25 CAD) to get stamped out of Burkina and food for the three day trip. They planned on eating gari and water, another 1000 FCFA. Usually I don’t give people money. A lot of people ask me for money and am mad at myself for saying no and even more mad if I say yes and create dependence. I do give to those such as the blind, elderly and disabled. They should be taken care of but their governments cannot do it so they survive on the generosity of strangers. I believed these guys. They could have easily been me. You always feel as if you are immune to these problems. Or you self righteously claim that if you were in the same situation you would find a way to make things work. Well if I was in the same situation I would have been in big trouble, stuck in a country where you don’t speak the language with no money or possessions and the mental scarring of attacks. I told them that I would give them the money for their stamping and go to the market to buy gari with them. The condition was that this money was a loan. They would have to pass on what I had given them to someone else in need some day. As they go back to become the new leaders trying to rebuild their country I know they will help many people. I don’t believe my giving them the money was wrong. They were focused on a goal and were not going to waste the money. Emmanuel wanted pain killers but understood that the money is better spent on a ride to Accra in pain, than another night on the street without hurt. When buying the gari the lady tried to oversell. She started at over double the real price. This angered us all as she saw they were in a desperate situation and vulnerable.

They were going to spend three days eating gari and water because that’s what they had to do to solve their problem. Other people would not have tolerated such meager rations. I really hope things work out. Their problems are my problems. It hurts me to see them struggle. It is chance that they had to ask me for help, maybe tomorrow I’ll have to ask them for help. It is too bad that we often only help those we identify with. Would I have helped them if they were not young male students? If I did not see myself in them would I have cared? I think these are really important questions. It was crazy to talk to a peer who has the same education and thought process only he is in a totally different situation. Every day I realize more things that I take for granted.

Maybe tomorrow they’ll help me without my even knowing it. Maybe these students will go on to discover a cure to HIV or how to make Liberian blood diamonds help rather than hurt people. It is likely some of their brothers and sisters are still fighting to get back to Liberia. They could be anywhere in West Africa. Doctors trying to sweep streets to get enough money to get to the capital and plead their case before someone at a UN office. Just like PHD holding taxi drivers in Canada try to get enough money to bring their children over.]]> Tue, 03 May 2005 14:57:00 EDT http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/24428 14.5333333 -4.1 14.5333333 -4.1 http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/24171
I eat rice, beans and local couscous on the street for about 50 cents a meal. I’ve got my bike that I cruise around town and to work in. Slowly I’m learning bambara, the main local language. I’m trying my best to integrate and understand the culture. For a while I thought I was doing a good job.

I have realized that the poverty in Mali is so severe that I am not doing what the locals do. I spend fifty cents on a meal while others spend hours pounding millet and cooking over a charcoal stove to make a meal for under 50 cents. My $2.00 daily food budget already makes my life much easier than the majority of Malians. I don’t ever walk away from a meal wondering when my next one will come. We are getting into what people call the hunger gap. It has been many months since the harvest and farmers are preparing the fields for the upcoming rainy season. People are nearing or have already surpassed the end of their food stock. Last year was bad for millet which means that right now many people don’t have enough to eat. Even the Peul (Fulani) herders have been selling more cattle than usual to pay for food. Others are selling whatever they have because short term hunger is more important than long term possessions.

I live in a house like almost everyone else accept I have two small rooms for one person. Some of my friends have four people in the same type of accommodation. I have two light bulbs which gives me more electricity than about 80% of the people in town. A street nearby has hundreds of people reading the Koran and studying every night because it is the only place the public has access to light. I love seeing groups of students with a chalkboard sitting on the small boulevard under the orange street light.

A lot of the things in my town are very romantic. The mud houses, donkey carts, women doing laundry at a public tap and calls from the mosque at times of prayer are things I see and can easily romanticize. The Peul women carrying fresh milk on their heads, with gorgeous colourful clothing makes me thing of “the good old days” when you bought your milk from the person who milked the cow. The wonderful simple life without worries of cell phone calls, declining stocks or getting the kids from the suburbs to soccer on time. But life isn’t that simple. If that woman doesn’t sell her milk today she’ll have no money. She’ll walk kilometers in the sun to find buyers for her milk. When the rains come poorly constructed mud buildings start to fall apart. No lights let you see the stars but make it really tough to study for school.

I am a part of all this just like everyone else but all of my actions are by choice. I choose to eat meals of rice and onions, ride a bike and live with enough electricity to be comfortable. My neighbors didn’t choose. It may look pretty to see 10 women washing laundry by hand in public but don’t think they had a choice in the matter. I can sit down beside them and do the same thing but I am free not to. I do the same things but don’t have the same experience. My citizenship and one week of income at home gives me more freedom than most people here.

I try to live in solidarity with my neighbors and want to understand the struggles they face. I am learning what they define as poverty. I may think the herders are poor because they are nomadic and have no settled home. They may think they are rich because they have many cattle and that I am poor because I am 24 and do not yet have a wife. I can try to go local but will never really do it. I can live in material poverty but I will never experience poverty in terms of opportunities or worry. I have security and peace of mind, many of my friends do not. I will not fully experience the lives of people here because I will only stay for about two years. My situation is temporary and by choice my neighbors is not.

The Malians living in poverty have a strength that I do not possess. I will continue to live, learn, love and share with my friends here, doing my best to live the same way they do. Hopefully we can create connections and have exchanges that are truly meaningful and move our global community in a positive direction. Solidarity is important but it will take more allow people to chose a live they value.]]> Sat, 23 Apr 2005 11:18:00 EDT http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/24171 14.5333333 -4.1 14.5333333 -4.1 http://LeviG.tigblog.org/post/24164
I take off from Mopti to do the 12 km trip to Sevare and am ready to feel that freedom a bike brings. About half a kilometer out of town I hear something and pedaling instantly gets a whole lot easier. Easy like there is no resistance, easy like my chain is off, easy like my chain is broken and lying like a snake on the road behind me. After 30 meters of braking at full intensity I come to a stop. There lies the remnants of my chain. I pick it up and stand for a while examining it. It’s not that bad just one broken link. This is one reason why things in Africa aren’t as reliable and efficient. Inefficiency breeds inefficiency.

As my bike always breaks down I can’t be on time and most people don’t have the financial freedom to buy something that won’t break down. They are stuck buying cheap things that break to buy more cheap things that break. As I ponder all this holding my broken chain in my now greasy hands, sweating in the afternoon soon what do I see coming at me. A kid speeding down the road on an old white Peugeot 10 speed road bike. He flies by me as I look on stunned, nothing moving but my rubber neck as if a supermodel just walked past. I pick my jaw up off the floor, wipe the drool off my chin and start walking back. How’s that for a stomp on the old toes. If I’m able to save money maybe I can move on up to a 10 speed in a few months. A 10 year old boy fixes my chain with spare links, a hammer, a screw and hunk of steel as a pounding plate in about three minutes. I give him enough to buy some rice, which is probably more than I should have gi