My time at the UN

Hey,
Today is my last day at the UN, getting ready for Kampala, sun and chilling by the pool. One last 'pearl of wisdom': There exists a huge difference between expectations and reality here at the UN. I came in thinking I would do a lot of field related work (mainly on Burundi) and ended up mostly negotiating with member states and writing memos. Strangely enough, I have met Ban Ki Moon at least three times. (see above!)

Cannot complain however, time here has been really interesting, I would certainly encourage people to join this office.

Please let me know if you are in Kampala or Albania in the next few weeks!

Ledio

Cinema or Communal Living Room?

I went to the local cinema last night (a new and pretty modern cinema, mind you). As the movie ran its course, I couldn't help but notice all the noise and movement around me. Women had brought their infants or young kids (less than 5 yrs old) with them. Of course, they couldn't help crying or talking loudly through most of it. People kept receiving (and answering) phone calls (the silent option on the cell phone does not seem to exist for most Nicas). People in front and behind me held conversations in a regular speaking voice (I am yet to hear someone here whisper). People kept coming in, going out, shuffling around. No-one apart from me seemed to find this the slight bit out of the ordinary.

All in all, I felt like I was in someone's house watching a movie on an extremely big screen.

Hobos in Manila

A block from the embassy, there is an Australian hotel. The name is Swagman, an old Australian word for "hobo". I heard about Swagman from a military man with a southern accent who rode my shuttle home one evening. On that shuttle ride, my roommate and I were complaining about the fact that the embassy cafeteria had closed, leaving us one fewer option for lunch, supper, and every meal in between. Later, a reliable source informed me that there were cockroaches in the cafeteria kitchen, bringing an abrupt end to my complaining.

The military man leaned over and drawled, "Boys, there's a Australian hotel about a block from the embassy. Every Monday and Friday, they have a great buffet. You oughta check it out."

So we did. The next Friday, my roommate left the guarded walls of the US Embassy, sprinted across Roxas Boulevard, dodging cars, buses, jeepneys, and those frickin' pedicabs that drive the wrong way down the street, and walked a block to the Hotel Swagman.

On the wall facing the street, a sign read "Welcome to the Outback!" A kangaroo stood watch by the door. We walked inside to see a bar and a small seating area. A waitress quickly greeted us.

"Good morning sir!" She motioned us to a table and showed us the menu.
"No thanks," I said, putting the menu back on the table. "I'll just have the buffet."
"Oh, I'm sorry sir."
"Oh, you don't have a buffet?"
"Yes sir."

My roommate quickly explained. "Oh, umm, one of our friends just told us that you had a buffet every Monday and Friday."
"Yes sir."
"Wait..." He paused. "Isn't today Friday?"
"Yes sir."
"But there's no buffet?"
"Yes sir."

I looked up to see an 8 foot crocodile mounted on the wall above me. The food was quite good, especially the $12 steaks. We've eaten there half a dozen times since, bringing back more interns each time.

The last time we ate there, we paid our bill around 1:00 and stood up to leave. As we walked through the door and past the kangaroo, we were hit with a gust of wind and torrential rain. We stood there for a moment, watching the wind peel the aluminum off the construction site next door. The streets began to flood, and we retreated past the kangaroo.

As we stood inside the doorway, the power went out. The generators whirred to life, and we stood some more. Five minutes later, I turned around, walked through the small seating area, and stepped into the bar. I ordered a Red Horse and watched the US play the World in baseball on ESPN while the rest of the interns waited patiently by the door.

Around 1:45, the rest of the interns walked into the bar. The US was losing. A few of us agreed to pay some guy 100 pesos ($2) to drive us back through the remnant of wind and rain, through the flooded streets of Manila, at the southwestern edge of Typhoon Helen, to the guarded walls of the US Embassy.

Spirituality for Sale: Blasphemy or Worship?

My first warning sign should have been the sheer number of mzungu missionaries on my flight to Uganda.

Uganda is a highly religious place: Christianity (Catholicism and Evangelism) dominates, with a minority Muslim population and an infusion of witchcraft practices and cultish symbolism in the northern regions.

Uganda has a troubled history with religious extremism however. Idi Amin's violent reign, Joseph Kony's "Lord's Resistance Army (LRA)," the "Holy Spirit Movement of Alice Auma" and the "Movement for the Restoration of the Ten Commandments of God" (via mass suicide) were all spawned in the name of religion.

For this posting, however, I bring you the lighter side of religion in Uganda. The prevalence of religious business signage is as plentiful as the supply of warm Fanta and Coca-Cola products. From northern Uganda, the top ten "God-inspired" (if not divined) businesses for your dutiful observance:

10. "God's Mercy Restaurant" (the food alone begs for mercy)

9. "God Provides A. Guesthouse" (A is an initial, not a creative use of punctuation and syntax)

8. "God Blesses Us" Bus Transport (a welcome blessing on Ugandan roads)

7. "God's Oasis Accommodations"

6. "God Reads Bookshop" (naturally, it sells only office supplies and no books)

5. "God is Able Beauty Salon" (how able?)

4. "God Forgives Hotel & Bar" (so, drink up and repent afterwards?)

3. "God's Gift Pork Joint"

2. "God Loves Drugs Shop" (not making this up)

And, alas:

1. "God Delivers Hairdressers" (salon and vocational training center)

Amen.

Musc...er.. Mussels from Brussels?

Potholes and cream pastries

While yet another upsurge of political chaos brings my country one step closer to separation, I’m quite frankly content to find myself in the other hemisphere. It is comforting to know I have a safe place to seek asylum should things explode in Belgium. So let me introduce you to my potential foster home.

Maputo is a quaint little town, and strangely endearing. Not very large, not very lively, not very dangerous (though crime has picked up since the xenophobic attacks in South Africa that drove thousands of illegal Mozambican migrants back home). One descriptive adjective that is a perfect fit, though: very dilapidated.

Scattered around town, you’ll find disused tram rails that stopped leading somewhere a while ago, abandoned public mailboxes from which no letters were picked up since the country’s independence from Portugal in 1975, once-gorgeous Mediterranean-style villas in ruins and crumbling communist residential high-rises flanking Maputo’s bustling avenues, and sadly underfunded museums with rather awkward displays, as kindly demonstrated by Georgina.

But amidst these reminders of colonization and the infrastructural decay caused by the civil war that ended in 1992, Mozambicans muddle through. When the Portuguese bus company that ran public transport in the country went bankrupt a couple of years ago, a complex system of privately run mini-buses emerged in its place. At first, I was quite delighted with this smoothly running system. Until I got my foot stuck in a rust hole in the floor of the bus while it was driving, and on another occasion was charged double the government-fixed price.

‘Is it because I’m white?’ I find myself thinking angrily – and then I smile. Privilege, social handicap… things are not very clear-cut in Mozambique’s multiethnic society. There is a large presence of Indian and Arab traders, Chinese (whose presence dates back to the 1500s), South African investors, ‘white Africans’ (mostly Portuguese who stayed after 1975) and heaps of expats, so one more white girl goes largely unnoticed. Except perhaps in my traditional Mozambican dance class, where my unmistakably un-Mozambican muscles refuse to twitch in more elegant ways.

Other local delights include:

- all-you-can-eat seafood fresh from the source

- the most fabulous cream pastries

- good South African wines for really cheap

- shopping for African-print textiles (often manufactured in such un-African places as India, Pakistan, the UK and the Netherlands)

- relaxing on the beach (polluted around Maputo, gorgeous and pristine further up)

- making weekend excursions to South Africa and Swaziland.

The cute little kingdom of Swaziland is a story all by itself. HIV rates are the highest in the world (40%), courtesy of His Royal Highness, private-school educated in the UK and married to some 16 Swazi ladies, and the Queen Mother, who recently admitted to having been on antiretroviral treatment secretly for many years. From time to time, in a traditional ceremony the king picks another lucky Swazi virgin to join the royal family – though kidnapping is another, be it less ceremonial method if your next under-age bride of choice does not consent. To stop the alarming spread of HIV, the king announced a five-year ban on sex in the country, which of course only led to an increase in prostitution and abortions. Read more about how the king handled the HIV crisis here.

As to my work, I’m negotiating quotes with an express mail courier for driving and flying blood samples and HIV test results around one of the most remote provinces of the country, designing a poster to teach nurses and parents about HIV symptoms in children, and interviewing HIV+ kids on how they like using pillboxes to take their daily doses of antiretrovirals. From a certain perspective, the Clinton Foundation’s work here may seem quixotic. As I have been reminded by several locals, a life is cheap in this part of the world.

Especially a child’s.

Countryside Observations

Phnom Penh has treated me well, but after experiencing the dusty, colorful, and bucolic surroundings the Cambodian countryside has to offer, I'm glad to have a respite from city-living. The Embassy here is now in full election mode as the National Assembly Election draws near (July 27). I've been tasked to observe, advise, and talk to rural election committees throughout the country--it's quite refreshing (though you must be patient) to interact with Cambodian citizens that are actively engaged in the election process. In order to avoid many of the politically motivated crimes and irregularities that surfaced in the 2003 elections, many candidates preface their messages of policy, reform, and persuasion with an emotional charge of unity for all Khmer people. Illegal immigrants are subtly excluded from this charge, but we'll leave that for another post.

As I prepare for two more provincial trips next week, I try to remind myself that apart from my official tasks and responsibilities, I should strive to delve deeper into the workings of Cambodian society and politics through casual conversations. After all, each village and commune has its own interesting story and characters. So, with that said, I try to continually keep myself from being too predictable--the local foods help, well, with the urging of my accompanying translator and driver. Simply put, country-fried spiders are pretty tasty.

Oh, on the subject of food, I must say that I hope I bring honor and pride to the WWS as I un/fortunately won the title of "Hot Dog Eating Champ" at the 4th of July Embassy party. Tom Niblock suggested we put on a similar contest in the fall-I think I'll just be a judge.

Cheers!

Hello from Tanzania and Mozambique

My dearest classmates…

I hope you are all happy with your summer experiences- mine is far exceeding expectations as I end almost every day exhausted, but feeling fulfilled in ways that were seriously lacking at USAID and Princeton. I am working with WWF (wildlife, not wrestling) currently traveling around Tanzania after having spent several weeks traveling Mozambique. At every turn I meet individuals from private sector (and a few from government) who are beyond eager to find ways of engaging with WWF to change the developmental implications of their investments throughout this area. It is wonderful to engage with them and brainstorm on both a concrete and a big-picture systemic level about how we can together be instrumental in encouraging holistic development. If I hadn’t already been convinced of the importance of engaging the private sector (which I was), I would have been converted.

Traveling and staying in hotels (from 4 star to small shacks with three walls) is starting to take its toll and I miss home. It is also the first time traveling in the developing world where I am so far removed from the daily lives of people since my primary mode of engagement (with people I am not paying for services) is professional.

However, I have made a few friends with random folks that have led to – running with a friend around a small city in northern Moz and having kids point and laugh and run with us for a few feet trying to figure out what I was and what I was running from, jumping in a fishing boat with someone I met walking down a calm deserted beach at sunrise, helping a group of nuns plant manioc, helping a rural family put palms on their roof of their new home, ending up in the WRONG part of town and having fun finding my way back, and finally- being taken appallingly seriously by government ministers, the head of the Moz army, BP and Chiquita in an idea I had to change forestry practices throughout Mozambique… stay tuned…

On a more mundane note- I can’t wait to get back to Mozambique at the end of next week and see Saskia and Georgina again- we are going off to a beautiful game park to look for crazy wild animals (other than each other)!

If you are bored feel free to check out my somewhat out-of-date and less analytical personal blog at http://mshmoztanz.blogspot.com/

In case you've missed the NYT over the past few days...

This made me really happy. Make sure you have sound.

Then read about it here.

Very appropriate as we spend the summer scattered around the globe.

(And in case you were wondering, I've seen Scott dance, and he looks kinda like the dude in the video.)

Have It Your Way

Many friends and family have asked about the Philippines. The best illustration thus far has been my trip to Burger King.

Thursday at noon, four of us walked into a Burger King at a rest stop outside Manila. The manager, dressed in a black suit, opened the glass door and smiled. "Welcome to Burger King sir!" The newly-tiled floor was immaculate. Behind the spotless counter, nine employees stood ready to take my order. I paid about $3,50 for the biggest burger, fries, and drink on the menu.

About twenty minutes later, a woman wearing a white uniform walked up to our table and asked if we wanted a massage. Having been warned about certain sketchy variations, I quickly excused myself and walked to the comfort room. A comfort room is a like a bathroom, only with a more comforting name.

Inside the comfort room, I ran into a man wearing a spotless uniform from a different fast food joint. He was shaving.

I returned to my table to find that the woman in the white uniform was giving massages of the non-sketchy variety. We each tipped her before she left. I walked back up to the counter to order a caramel sundae. I pronounced it "carmel". The nine employees stood behind the counter with blank looks on their faces until I pointed to the picture on the menu in front of me.

I picked up my tray and began to walk toward the trash can. Halfway there, I was intercepted by one of the employees. She took the tray and smiled. "Thank you sir!"

On the way out, the manager opened the door for us again. She smiled. "Good-bye sir!" The thermometer on the side of the building said 30 degrees. I still have no idea what that means.

I looked across the highway from the rest-stop. There were flooded rice fields and broken tin foil houses. At the entrance to one of the houses, there was a worn Coca-Cola sign.

The Good News: Diane Is Alive. The Bad News: Diane Is Alive.

The following is a public service announcement from Diane:

Fellow Woos,

Greetings from Bukavu, DRC!! What fun to read all of your blog updates!! Just thought I'd throw in my two cents (or 11.2 francs congolais) about life in Bukavu, DRC, and work in children's radio programming at Search for Common Ground…

Fun things that have happened thus far:

1. Trekking through the mountains of Walungu, South Kivu to interview children working in gold mines.
2. Getting a crash course in journalism…(I can now talk about spots, jingles and reporting styles like a vrai journaliste!!).
3. Teaching 5 Congolese teenagers whose radio program I supervise to swim!
4. Living in a Belgian Colonial house on the beautiful Lake Kivu.
5. Finding the Pakistani shop (labeled PX shop) inside the MONUC compound and buying turmeric, cumin and chili powder.

Not-so-fun things that have happened thus far:

1. Finding out that the beautiful Lake Kivu is full of methane and carbon dioxide gas that could eventually escape and suffocate everyone for miles around.
2. Experiencing my first ever earthquake!!
3. Living next door to a mining company that flies its helicopter right past my window at 6:00am every morning!! (The neighbor on the other side is no better—he was a central banker in Mobutu's time, and reputedly stole huge amounts of the nation's wealth.).
4. Spending a month cooking under the stars on a single burner petrol camp stove from the 1960s before we FINALLY got a real gas stove.
5. The police shoot outs, bus breakdowns and malaria that keep the kids I work with from getting to work.
6. "Flushing" the Turkish toilet with the wrong lever my first day of work, and getting soaked from head to foot as a result! (They had to call the plumber to stop the gush of water and reattach the lever that I had pulled off the wall!!).

"Simply bizarre" category:

1. When the guards asked if I or anyone I knew would be interested in buying mercury or uranium from them.
2. Canned popcorn from Saudi Arabia.
3. Finding out that the powdered milk I buy at the ex-pat grocery store was intended as WFP rations for refugees…

Well, that's most of the excitement for now…Keep your stories coming!! Diane