Last week found me in Concord MA, where Petra’s parents Dean and Vivienne live. I’ve seen them more recently than most of those I’m visiting, since they came to visit us in Australia last year, so in a way it felt like I’d never left. It’s always a treat to see them, and to stay in their gracious home and eat Vivienne’s deeeeeeelicious food. :)
Their home is also the resting place of the pile of Petra and my worldly possessions, so opening the closet and apprehensively staring at the basement pile was like Christmas: ooh, just the sweatshirt I'd been wishing for! What a perfect sweater! (Shouldn't have been a surprise, as they were mine from 3 years ago.) Shocking, though, the extent of our possessions: we are so lucky to have so much.
On another note: I was surprised to be reminded of the loveliness of the ancient suburbs, with their hunched creaking white houses and grey leafless trees and dry grasses and muddy brooks and cold stone walls. Is this a vista that only a daughter could love, though, grey, grey, grim, dim, tight, delicate, wet, rotting, or would others think it as beautiful as I do?
Our wander through the burbs was presaged by a search for multitudes of apples, which as it turned out were no longer on the trees (early season!) but were solicitously and nose-temptingly piled into baskets for our immediate gratification. The smell of the apple barn (old wood, sweet musky apple skins, tangy spoiled apple juices, dry dirt, lingering old hay) inspired pangs of New England patriotism and hubris and sheer love that almost collapsed me. I decided on the spot to be an apple farmer for all time. (I later rationally decided there were better uses for my skills.) The variety of apple types new and heirloom that were unfamiliar to me was exciting as well, as it means I have a lot of apple tasting to do when I get back.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Thursday, November 12, 2009
erika in the USA: doppelgangers in Maine
Next on my itinerary was visiting in Limestone Maine, where my brother, his wife, and their twin 18-month-old boys Matthew and Thomas live. Since I’ve been away so long, I hadn’t yet met the bosy, so it was very exciting for me to meet these first members of the next generation of our immediate family. Matthew and Thomas are, of course, the sweetest, smartest, most handsome and charming children ever to exist (says she who is not biased at all).
And saying so, it’s of course not at all narcissistic to say that the two of them are remarkably similar to me and my twin sister when we were their age. :) Truly, though, the resemblances between Matthew and I, and Thomas and Lisa, are astounding: not just physical resemblance, but also similar personalities and preferences. Unsurprisingly, Matthew and I got on famously. Top activities: Legos (construction and destruction), dropping things and picking them up, throwing things, hiding, climbing up and down the mountain of soft things, and dancing. See photos for dance sequence: the little guy’s got moves! :)
It was of course also great to see my wonderful big brother Reed and his wife Sue, who are settling back into life in northern Maine after a many-years hiatus in North Carolina. Reed’s teaching criminal justice and doing police work both part time, and Sue’s kept her accounting job from North Carolina, working online. They’re both of course tired by new-parenting, but are doing well.
Reed and I got to have a day off from kid-watching and took the opportunity to ride some ATVs (four-wheelers) around in the woods and trails along the Maine/Canadian border (less than a mile from their house). I’d forgotten they’re SUCH fun, like really fast mountain biking with vroom-vroom motors. :) Of course my visit was too short, but I look forward to going back in the spring when we move back to the States for real.
And saying so, it’s of course not at all narcissistic to say that the two of them are remarkably similar to me and my twin sister when we were their age. :) Truly, though, the resemblances between Matthew and I, and Thomas and Lisa, are astounding: not just physical resemblance, but also similar personalities and preferences. Unsurprisingly, Matthew and I got on famously. Top activities: Legos (construction and destruction), dropping things and picking them up, throwing things, hiding, climbing up and down the mountain of soft things, and dancing. See photos for dance sequence: the little guy’s got moves! :)
It was of course also great to see my wonderful big brother Reed and his wife Sue, who are settling back into life in northern Maine after a many-years hiatus in North Carolina. Reed’s teaching criminal justice and doing police work both part time, and Sue’s kept her accounting job from North Carolina, working online. They’re both of course tired by new-parenting, but are doing well.
Reed and I got to have a day off from kid-watching and took the opportunity to ride some ATVs (four-wheelers) around in the woods and trails along the Maine/Canadian border (less than a mile from their house). I’d forgotten they’re SUCH fun, like really fast mountain biking with vroom-vroom motors. :) Of course my visit was too short, but I look forward to going back in the spring when we move back to the States for real.
erika in the USA: sister!
The second stop on my American adventure was to Chicago to visit my twin sister Lisa.
Chicago is a very new city, grid crazy. It’s cold and windy. The architecture is not all it’s cracked up to be. People wear fedoras and trenchcoats for real, and art school hipsters are like hipsterdom squared. I visited many museums: my favourite was the Chicago History Musuem. We drove to Wisconsin, which (who knew?) is very close to Chicago, and visited the Mars Cheese Castle. On the way back to the city, we stopped by the rural shore of Lake Michigan, which was even more ocean-like than its city shore.
The second-best thing about my visit to Chicago was getting to hang out with my sister’s friends from her college days at Mt. Holyoke. I hadn’t seen many of them since we graduated, and it was a delight to spend time with such intelligent and silly women. I had missed that kind of low-brow high-quality company. :)
The first best thing about my visit was of course seeing my sister, who I adore and who should never ever live so far away (says the pot calling the kettle black). Watching stupid movies, eating really good food (deep dish pizza! fresh tamales! pumpkin pie!), wandering around the city, helping with her art projects, all were infinitely more fun with her than such activities can ever be without the best of company.
Random thoughts while in Chicago: Being in America having been away helps me see how strangely messed up aspects of our culture are: nothing new, but strange reminders nonetheless. Fatness, for instance: one of my first thoughts off the plane was how fat Americans are. Really, inexcusably overweight. The food with so many chemicals, so much falseness, so many calories, sad to be thinking about limiting caloric intake when at my school we worry about the kids having enough calories… And people have so many possessions! It’s ridiculous! And the fanatical conservatives: so sadly brainwashed, so frustratingly ignorant, so blatantly untruthful! I’d pity them if they weren’t so frightening. Also, bad smells: why do American public bathrooms smell so bad? I can authoritatively say that many third-world infested sewage ditches and truck-stop piss canals smell better; similarly, reeking pee in doorways and streetcorners, and the smell of homeless people: so gross, so unnecessary! Come on, America, we can do better.
Chicago is a very new city, grid crazy. It’s cold and windy. The architecture is not all it’s cracked up to be. People wear fedoras and trenchcoats for real, and art school hipsters are like hipsterdom squared. I visited many museums: my favourite was the Chicago History Musuem. We drove to Wisconsin, which (who knew?) is very close to Chicago, and visited the Mars Cheese Castle. On the way back to the city, we stopped by the rural shore of Lake Michigan, which was even more ocean-like than its city shore.
The second-best thing about my visit to Chicago was getting to hang out with my sister’s friends from her college days at Mt. Holyoke. I hadn’t seen many of them since we graduated, and it was a delight to spend time with such intelligent and silly women. I had missed that kind of low-brow high-quality company. :)
The first best thing about my visit was of course seeing my sister, who I adore and who should never ever live so far away (says the pot calling the kettle black). Watching stupid movies, eating really good food (deep dish pizza! fresh tamales! pumpkin pie!), wandering around the city, helping with her art projects, all were infinitely more fun with her than such activities can ever be without the best of company.
Random thoughts while in Chicago: Being in America having been away helps me see how strangely messed up aspects of our culture are: nothing new, but strange reminders nonetheless. Fatness, for instance: one of my first thoughts off the plane was how fat Americans are. Really, inexcusably overweight. The food with so many chemicals, so much falseness, so many calories, sad to be thinking about limiting caloric intake when at my school we worry about the kids having enough calories… And people have so many possessions! It’s ridiculous! And the fanatical conservatives: so sadly brainwashed, so frustratingly ignorant, so blatantly untruthful! I’d pity them if they weren’t so frightening. Also, bad smells: why do American public bathrooms smell so bad? I can authoritatively say that many third-world infested sewage ditches and truck-stop piss canals smell better; similarly, reeking pee in doorways and streetcorners, and the smell of homeless people: so gross, so unnecessary! Come on, America, we can do better.
erika in the USA: home at last
At long last, I am visiting at home in the great old US of A. It’s strange to be a visitor in my own country: to be here temporarily, to not be able to have one house, city, state, have more of a pull on me than another, to not be able to accumulate anything since all I have for space is my suitcase, to act as a tourist, to have no place of my own to retreat.
But oh, oh, oh, is it good to be home. I LOVE this country. It is glorious and tremblingly lovely and HUGE and full of such spirit and creativity. It (generally) smells good: I practically hyperventilated sniffing at the wooded parking lot on Rt 6 on the way from Boston to CT as the smells of the fallen leaves and adjacent brook and snow in the air and wet dirt filled my hungry soul-belly.
Of course the best thing about this country is that it’s full of people I love. Firstly, my mother, who picked me up at the airport and brought me to the house in Connecticut which has been my home since I was 12. It was so good to be with her again: she’s so practical, so loving, so appreciative of the joys in life, one of my best friends.
After a day of recovering from my 50 hour trip from Bangkok and gorging myself on the delights in her fridge (chevre! cranberries! cider! bitty toasting bread!) we were joined by two of my other favourite people: two of my mother’s siblings, my aunt Pippy and uncle Ross, come in from Berlin and Ohio respectively. Together we spent the next week sorting through the possessions of my grandfather, who passed away last Christmas. We made great progress, and the family talking and stories and pictures and bad jokes and reminiscences and support and shared grief and loving not just for my grandfather but also my long-deceased grandmother and other ancestors was a real blessing. I wish we could have all stayed longer, since we are so rarely together, and so rarely step beyond the barriers of holiday rituals and entertainment and niceties to talk about these precious things and really lean back on the family bonds. I’m not being eloquent enough to do the days justice…
But oh, oh, oh, is it good to be home. I LOVE this country. It is glorious and tremblingly lovely and HUGE and full of such spirit and creativity. It (generally) smells good: I practically hyperventilated sniffing at the wooded parking lot on Rt 6 on the way from Boston to CT as the smells of the fallen leaves and adjacent brook and snow in the air and wet dirt filled my hungry soul-belly.
Of course the best thing about this country is that it’s full of people I love. Firstly, my mother, who picked me up at the airport and brought me to the house in Connecticut which has been my home since I was 12. It was so good to be with her again: she’s so practical, so loving, so appreciative of the joys in life, one of my best friends.
After a day of recovering from my 50 hour trip from Bangkok and gorging myself on the delights in her fridge (chevre! cranberries! cider! bitty toasting bread!) we were joined by two of my other favourite people: two of my mother’s siblings, my aunt Pippy and uncle Ross, come in from Berlin and Ohio respectively. Together we spent the next week sorting through the possessions of my grandfather, who passed away last Christmas. We made great progress, and the family talking and stories and pictures and bad jokes and reminiscences and support and shared grief and loving not just for my grandfather but also my long-deceased grandmother and other ancestors was a real blessing. I wish we could have all stayed longer, since we are so rarely together, and so rarely step beyond the barriers of holiday rituals and entertainment and niceties to talk about these precious things and really lean back on the family bonds. I’m not being eloquent enough to do the days justice…
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Loy Krathong ลอยกระทง
This past Monday was Loy Krathong, which is – I’d heard – one of the most beautiful and photogenic holidays in the Thai calendar. Loy Krathong – the Thai festival of lights – is held every year at the first full moon in November. People release beautiful lanterns into the air and onto the water where, in floating away, they carry away bad luck, bad experiences, and other attachments of which their releasers wish to be free.*
These lanterns dot the sky and drift in luminous processions down rivers and canals throughout the country and even (in Bangkok) across apartment swimming pools. The floating lanterns – called krathong – are beautifully made to evoke lotus flowers and, inexplicably, turtles (possibly in reference to a popular incarnation of Vishnu, possibly a modern innovation - possibly just another example of the inexhaustible popularity of all things cute). They are all brightly-coloured and circular, and come in a variety of sizes and degrees of embellishment: some are the size of your fist, others enormous and as elaborately tiered as a classic western wedding cake. They carry candles, fresh flowers, and sticks of incense. Krathong are traditionally made of banana leaves or a special kind of bread. In today’s ecologically conscious climate, they are often made of styrofoam (sigh).
I was very excited for this festival. I even remembered to take a tripod with me when I went out, to be as prepared as possible for breathtaking nighttime photo opportunities. In vain.
Sadly, Loy Krathong was a bit of a bust for me: I went to the wrong neighborhood. I went out with friends, and it was absolutely lovely to see them, and we ate absolutely delicious vegetarian food. The gathering along on the banks of the Chao Phraya River in Banglampoo, however, was noisy, tacky, and basically boring. To top it all off, I forgot to bring that one little essential screw that attaches the camera to the tripod, so I couldn’t even use it.
It was fun to see the krathong, and even more interesting to see the amazing cottage industries that spring up around them: hundreds of street stalls selling them of course, but also whole families sitting on the street surrounded by piles of banana leaves, Styrofoam plates, flowers, and incense – making krathong as fast as they can sell them. Industrious entrepreneurs also provided a variety services to assist people in releasing their krathong. From the sculpted avenues at the top of the park, your krathong can be gently lowered into the waves with a pulley or a specially designed long-handled basket. For the budget option, you can go around the corner and one of the street kids will hop in an inner tub and paddle your krathong through the stagnant inlet out to the main river.**
It was also fun to be in the midst of throngs of people all enjoying the night out: adoring parents taking hundreds of pictures of their little angel floating his/her very first lantern, teenagers chasing each other with sparklers . . . and crowds of stolid looking firemen and emergency response people keeping an eye on everyone. At one point a boat went down the river by carrying an enormous float modeled after an unfolding lotus blossom. The flower alone was the size of a small house, brilliantly lit up and glowing an eye-blinding shade of hot pink. I took some pictures despite my lack of tripod, and here they are, but if you’re really interested in Loy Krathon I’m sure you’re better off with a Google Image search. Better luck next festival, hey?
*“Loy” is “float,” and “krathong” is what the lanterns are called: hence the name of the holiday.
** yeah, I know – kids swimming in the Chao Pharay river in Bangkok.
These lanterns dot the sky and drift in luminous processions down rivers and canals throughout the country and even (in Bangkok) across apartment swimming pools. The floating lanterns – called krathong – are beautifully made to evoke lotus flowers and, inexplicably, turtles (possibly in reference to a popular incarnation of Vishnu, possibly a modern innovation - possibly just another example of the inexhaustible popularity of all things cute). They are all brightly-coloured and circular, and come in a variety of sizes and degrees of embellishment: some are the size of your fist, others enormous and as elaborately tiered as a classic western wedding cake. They carry candles, fresh flowers, and sticks of incense. Krathong are traditionally made of banana leaves or a special kind of bread. In today’s ecologically conscious climate, they are often made of styrofoam (sigh).
I was very excited for this festival. I even remembered to take a tripod with me when I went out, to be as prepared as possible for breathtaking nighttime photo opportunities. In vain.
Sadly, Loy Krathong was a bit of a bust for me: I went to the wrong neighborhood. I went out with friends, and it was absolutely lovely to see them, and we ate absolutely delicious vegetarian food. The gathering along on the banks of the Chao Phraya River in Banglampoo, however, was noisy, tacky, and basically boring. To top it all off, I forgot to bring that one little essential screw that attaches the camera to the tripod, so I couldn’t even use it.
It was fun to see the krathong, and even more interesting to see the amazing cottage industries that spring up around them: hundreds of street stalls selling them of course, but also whole families sitting on the street surrounded by piles of banana leaves, Styrofoam plates, flowers, and incense – making krathong as fast as they can sell them. Industrious entrepreneurs also provided a variety services to assist people in releasing their krathong. From the sculpted avenues at the top of the park, your krathong can be gently lowered into the waves with a pulley or a specially designed long-handled basket. For the budget option, you can go around the corner and one of the street kids will hop in an inner tub and paddle your krathong through the stagnant inlet out to the main river.**
It was also fun to be in the midst of throngs of people all enjoying the night out: adoring parents taking hundreds of pictures of their little angel floating his/her very first lantern, teenagers chasing each other with sparklers . . . and crowds of stolid looking firemen and emergency response people keeping an eye on everyone. At one point a boat went down the river by carrying an enormous float modeled after an unfolding lotus blossom. The flower alone was the size of a small house, brilliantly lit up and glowing an eye-blinding shade of hot pink. I took some pictures despite my lack of tripod, and here they are, but if you’re really interested in Loy Krathon I’m sure you’re better off with a Google Image search. Better luck next festival, hey?
*“Loy” is “float,” and “krathong” is what the lanterns are called: hence the name of the holiday.
** yeah, I know – kids swimming in the Chao Pharay river in Bangkok.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
petra at work part two: challenges and rewards
My work is very challenging, of course, and the challenges tend to fall into one of several categories. The first is ordinary work-related stresses that everyone is a familiar with – tight deadlines, lots of projects, way too many emails, etc. Next come the challenges of working in a culture and language to which I am not native. World Vision Thailand has about one thousand staff in all, three of which are white foreigners. I intimidate most people. The office politics are intense and my unfamiliarity with Thai culture makes it harder for me to recognise what would otherwise be familiar drama, and harder to respond appropriately. It took me five months to figure out the scan-to-share-drive function on the office photocopier because I kept forgetting to ask my English-speaking colleagues when they were around, and I didn’t know how to ask the question in Thai (or understand the answer, for that matter). I don’t have a personal translator, nor would it be reasonable to want one, and while my colleagues can usually translate for me in meetings etc, sometimes it’s just not convenient. That can be lonely and frustrating. Management practices are unfamiliar. In taking care to avoid a cultural misstep in the workplace, I get into a habit of uncertainty that is difficult to break. I sometimes struggle to feel confident and sure of myself even when I do know exactly what to do next and how to do it. Working through these dynamics is a continuing struggle. Fortunately, it doesn’t seem to be an unending one. It has gotten easier since I arrived.
There are also challenges of working in a developing country. I actually have better workplace resources and conveniences than I anticipated (a laptop, photocopier, wireless most places, most of the supplies I want), especially when compared to the majority of humanitarian workers in the world. For example, I have yet to be without electricity at work when I needed it. That said, most power outlets are frankly scary – always buzzing and sparking – and power strips are universally sub-par. This is a big deal when you work on the road with a laptop, and often need to power LCD projectors (but note, too – I have regular access to an LCD projector.)
I also develop exciting and novel health problems here. I struggled to participate effectively in a week-long conference not long ago, because I had Giardia from a bad fish dish and had to keep dashing to the bathroom to puke or to go through the equivalent process on the other end of the digestive track. It’s too hot outside, and too cold inside because the air conditioning everywhere is perpetually set to 18 degrees.
People are in general shockingly, infuriatingly ignorant of good environmental – even sanitary – practices.* Toxic paint, sewage, batteries, bleach, it all goes right down the storm drains and into the canals where poor kids swim and people fish for food, and from there into the ocean and into the groundwater, poisoning the planet. Over-consumption of cheap plastic crap is endemic even among NGO's. Giving gifts is an essential part of hospitality here. Combine that with the easy availability of every kind of stuff you can imagine(there are a TON of factories in Thailand). You get the picture. Everything has a ton of plastic packaging, which ends up in the street, in the poor neighbourhoods, and probably in the ocean as well. My colleagues are all conscientious about turning off lights and air conditioning in the office, but in some places (especially large businesses) it's standard practice to leave doors and windows open with air-conditioning on. Workplace recycling is existent but minimal - and in a country famous for illegal logging in protected forests! Meanwhile everyone – NGO’s, businesses, socialites, hipsters - pays lip service and less to environmentalism, because slogans like “love earth save earth” and “green earth” etc. are trendy and Western. Such waste is hard to see, and harder to change. The infrastructure for good environmental practices is weak to non-existent and the bad habits are well ingrained.
Another challenge is, honestly, boredom. It can be really boring to sit all day in the back of a room listening to a meeting conducted in Thai that I can’t understand but that isn’t crucial or related directly-enough to my work for it to be worth asking someone to translate. And I know that the networking meetings, especially the government events – are very important and effective in our long-term advocacy strategy, but the pace of such meetings can feel frustratingly slow. My Bangkok colleagues and I get very bored of each other at times. I had one trip that lasted two weeks. I spent a full two weeks – most meals, all meetings, 54 hours in the van all told, even sleeping because we share hotel rooms to cut costs – with the same five co-workers. I laugh about it now, and it was a great experience overall, but at the time we were so sick of each other!
Beyond all that are the emotional challenges of my work. The fact that I anticipated seeing difficult things when I started this role has not made seeing them appreciably easier. Nothing really prepares you for the reality of seeing malnourished naked children wading barefoot through raw sewage (by which I mean a shiny, mucky mixture of parasite-infected human and animal excrement, plus kerosene, stagnant rain water, rotting food, rotting . . . other things, engine oil, blood, you name it. The smell is indescribable), or visiting a market where people sit in stinky mud for twelve hours a day pulling the wings off of grasshoppers, for which they can earn up to the princely salary of 60 THB a day. For context, 60 THB is $1.76 US, and one regular serving of basic street noodles costs about 30 THB. More difficult still is realizing that, as hard as these people have it, there are people all over the region – all over the world – in even more desperate situations.
There are challenges because the stuff of my work – poverty, exploitation – is painful in itself, and sometimes further challenges simply working in this part of the world. Not long ago I spent a week in Cambodia, attending a regional training in anti-human trafficking advocacy. Participants came from five of the countries in the Mekong region. As we compared the advocacy climate and policy formation processes in our different countries, the diversity of context engendered some memorable exchanges. For example,
Lead Trainer: “Let's talk about community mobilisation. If you were planning to organise a march, rally or a protest in your town - in your country, what would you do first?”
Delegate from large communist country to the north (chuckling): “Reconsider.”
Or later,
Lead Trainer: “I’m now handing out flow-chart diagrams of the legislative process in each of your various countries, so you can analyse them...well, almost all of your countries... You folks, I'm so sorry, I looked all over the internet and couldn't find anything outlining the structure of your government...”
Delegates from totalitarian military state (laughing heartily): “Don't worry, there isn’t one! It's so simple we don't need a diagram. Our law is whatever the Senior General decides is a good idea.”
At moments like these we all laughed, because it was funny and because really, what else can you do? Here is some more development-speak for you: “Advocacy in Restricted Contexts.” That my colleagues in these neighbouring countries face extreme difficulties goes without saying, and the pain beneath the humour is heartbreaking.
So it goes without saying that my work here is difficult, but it’s also incredibly rewarding. I’m so happy to have the opportunity to be doing what I’m doing. I know that what I’m doing is worthwhile and is changing people’s lives. In fact since my main professional focus is program monitoring and evaluation – designing and implementing ways to measure and communicate the impact of our projects – I can say that with greater surety than many development workers: It’s actually a big part of my job to figure out whether what we’re doing is working and, if it isn’t, how it can be fixed. So far, the evidence seems to say that we’re doing a good job.
*I’m not talking here about abjectly poor people, refugees, etc who, generally speaking, have more immediate concerns. I’m talking about average, comparatively middle-class Bangkokians: my peers and colleagues.
There are also challenges of working in a developing country. I actually have better workplace resources and conveniences than I anticipated (a laptop, photocopier, wireless most places, most of the supplies I want), especially when compared to the majority of humanitarian workers in the world. For example, I have yet to be without electricity at work when I needed it. That said, most power outlets are frankly scary – always buzzing and sparking – and power strips are universally sub-par. This is a big deal when you work on the road with a laptop, and often need to power LCD projectors (but note, too – I have regular access to an LCD projector.)
I also develop exciting and novel health problems here. I struggled to participate effectively in a week-long conference not long ago, because I had Giardia from a bad fish dish and had to keep dashing to the bathroom to puke or to go through the equivalent process on the other end of the digestive track. It’s too hot outside, and too cold inside because the air conditioning everywhere is perpetually set to 18 degrees.
People are in general shockingly, infuriatingly ignorant of good environmental – even sanitary – practices.* Toxic paint, sewage, batteries, bleach, it all goes right down the storm drains and into the canals where poor kids swim and people fish for food, and from there into the ocean and into the groundwater, poisoning the planet. Over-consumption of cheap plastic crap is endemic even among NGO's. Giving gifts is an essential part of hospitality here. Combine that with the easy availability of every kind of stuff you can imagine(there are a TON of factories in Thailand). You get the picture. Everything has a ton of plastic packaging, which ends up in the street, in the poor neighbourhoods, and probably in the ocean as well. My colleagues are all conscientious about turning off lights and air conditioning in the office, but in some places (especially large businesses) it's standard practice to leave doors and windows open with air-conditioning on. Workplace recycling is existent but minimal - and in a country famous for illegal logging in protected forests! Meanwhile everyone – NGO’s, businesses, socialites, hipsters - pays lip service and less to environmentalism, because slogans like “love earth save earth” and “green earth” etc. are trendy and Western. Such waste is hard to see, and harder to change. The infrastructure for good environmental practices is weak to non-existent and the bad habits are well ingrained.
Another challenge is, honestly, boredom. It can be really boring to sit all day in the back of a room listening to a meeting conducted in Thai that I can’t understand but that isn’t crucial or related directly-enough to my work for it to be worth asking someone to translate. And I know that the networking meetings, especially the government events – are very important and effective in our long-term advocacy strategy, but the pace of such meetings can feel frustratingly slow. My Bangkok colleagues and I get very bored of each other at times. I had one trip that lasted two weeks. I spent a full two weeks – most meals, all meetings, 54 hours in the van all told, even sleeping because we share hotel rooms to cut costs – with the same five co-workers. I laugh about it now, and it was a great experience overall, but at the time we were so sick of each other!
Beyond all that are the emotional challenges of my work. The fact that I anticipated seeing difficult things when I started this role has not made seeing them appreciably easier. Nothing really prepares you for the reality of seeing malnourished naked children wading barefoot through raw sewage (by which I mean a shiny, mucky mixture of parasite-infected human and animal excrement, plus kerosene, stagnant rain water, rotting food, rotting . . . other things, engine oil, blood, you name it. The smell is indescribable), or visiting a market where people sit in stinky mud for twelve hours a day pulling the wings off of grasshoppers, for which they can earn up to the princely salary of 60 THB a day. For context, 60 THB is $1.76 US, and one regular serving of basic street noodles costs about 30 THB. More difficult still is realizing that, as hard as these people have it, there are people all over the region – all over the world – in even more desperate situations.
There are challenges because the stuff of my work – poverty, exploitation – is painful in itself, and sometimes further challenges simply working in this part of the world. Not long ago I spent a week in Cambodia, attending a regional training in anti-human trafficking advocacy. Participants came from five of the countries in the Mekong region. As we compared the advocacy climate and policy formation processes in our different countries, the diversity of context engendered some memorable exchanges. For example,
Lead Trainer: “Let's talk about community mobilisation. If you were planning to organise a march, rally or a protest in your town - in your country, what would you do first?”
Delegate from large communist country to the north (chuckling): “Reconsider.”
Or later,
Lead Trainer: “I’m now handing out flow-chart diagrams of the legislative process in each of your various countries, so you can analyse them...well, almost all of your countries... You folks, I'm so sorry, I looked all over the internet and couldn't find anything outlining the structure of your government...”
Delegates from totalitarian military state (laughing heartily): “Don't worry, there isn’t one! It's so simple we don't need a diagram. Our law is whatever the Senior General decides is a good idea.”
At moments like these we all laughed, because it was funny and because really, what else can you do? Here is some more development-speak for you: “Advocacy in Restricted Contexts.” That my colleagues in these neighbouring countries face extreme difficulties goes without saying, and the pain beneath the humour is heartbreaking.
So it goes without saying that my work here is difficult, but it’s also incredibly rewarding. I’m so happy to have the opportunity to be doing what I’m doing. I know that what I’m doing is worthwhile and is changing people’s lives. In fact since my main professional focus is program monitoring and evaluation – designing and implementing ways to measure and communicate the impact of our projects – I can say that with greater surety than many development workers: It’s actually a big part of my job to figure out whether what we’re doing is working and, if it isn’t, how it can be fixed. So far, the evidence seems to say that we’re doing a good job.
*I’m not talking here about abjectly poor people, refugees, etc who, generally speaking, have more immediate concerns. I’m talking about average, comparatively middle-class Bangkokians: my peers and colleagues.
petra at work part one: what I do
We’ve now been in Thailand for almost half of our planned stay, and I feel pretty well at home. Professionally I’m very happy indeed, as my work is engaging, challenging, full of variety, contributing to a more just world, and using my skills and abilities to an extent to which I can feel proud. It is, as we say in the Bay State, wicked.
My official title is Anti-Human Trafficking and Advocacy Program Officer – e.g. I am an Officer of the World Vision Foundation of Thailand Anti-Human Trafficking and Advocacy Program. On the local level, we work with communities to 1) raise awareness about human trafficking, labour exploitation, and how to protect oneself from both, and 2) fix other problems that make people vulnerable to human traffickers (in development-speak, this is “increasing community resilience” and “decreasing vulnerabilities”). We also advocate nationally and regionally for the adoption and effective implementation of policies, laws, Standard Operating Procedures, Memorandums of Understanding, etc. to combat human trafficking and assist trafficking victims.*
My work is a lively mixture of writing, reading, thinking, planning, travelling, talking, teaching, and organising. I spend about 35% of my time at my desk in a crowded Bangkok office. I plan trainings and develop curricula for them, write reports on recent trainings I’ve lead or trips I’ve taken, read periodic reports from our project locations, and write reports to send back to the World Vision offices that fund World Vision projects in Thailand (primarily the US, Australia, and Canada, but also Japan and Hong Kong). I develop presentations about the program to share with partner organizations, and write the content for communications materials like fact sheets, flyers, issue briefs, etc. I keep up-to-date with the latest research and information about human trafficking – especially materials published in English. Recently I’ve been working closely with one of my colleagues to develop and finalise our anti-human trafficking advocacy plan for the next six month.
I spend another 15% of my time elsewhere in Bangkok. Just about every international NGO that does any work in Asia has an office in Bangkok, and there are always events and meetings with government agencies, UN agencies, and NGOs to attend. Most are opportunities to network, promote World Vision and our work, establish contacts and credibility, and find out what everyone else is working on at the moment. We exchange information and research, and maintain the government connections that allow us to advocate effectively.
The rest of the time, I’m travelling around Thailand to visit our project locations. Most of these are in the border regions of Thailand, where Thailand touches Laos, Myanmar (Burma), and Cambodia.** Visiting project locations is called going to “the field.” Calling the poor communities where we run our programs “the field” actually bothers me (I mean, what we’re calling “the field” is somebody’s home, not just some strange “other” place where NGOs go to meet and study and run programs. If it weren’t somebody’s home we wouldn’t be there studying and working!). But, “the field” is the standard term throughout all the NGOs, and maintaining consistency is much more important than making sure the English term we use sounds PC to a native English speaker, especially since English is everyone else’s second or third language and most of the people who live in “the field” don’t speak English at all.
I usually go on these field trips in a group of three to five of my colleagues from the Bangkok office. I observe our projects being implemented and help to maintain World Vision’s local NGO and government network. On a typical trip I might visit a World Vision community centre to meet with local staff for an update, then go with them to the home of a local village leader to see World Vision volunteers run an information session about safe migration. I might accompany a World Vision youth group to their school to run an assembly on human trafficking and health, visit a few families that World Vision has helped to start helpful projects in the home (ex. raising frogs or mushrooms to eat and sell), and attend a cross-border meeting among local government and NGO representatives trying to coordinate their services to human trafficking victims. I will also train local staff in advocacy, human trafficking, and project monitoring, and especially in World Visions approach to these. I train through an interpreter, and it works like this:
1) I develop all training materials (powerpoints, handouts, etc) in English.
2) I send them to a translator, who creates Thai language versions.
3) On the day of the training, we project the Thai presentation for the participants. I present from a printout of my original English materials.
4) I speak in English and the interpreter translates for participants. The interpreter also translates comments and questions from participants so I can address them.
It’s a bit cumbersome, but it seems to work pretty well. My colleague’s work with migrant communities, after all, so they’re used to language differences and interpreters. Many are bilingual in Thai and the language of their next nearest country (Burmese, Lao, or Khmer), and most speak a least a little English as well (though they’re often too shy to use it much with me). We often bring guests – consultants or colleagues from partner organizations – to visit our projects. About a month ago I was travelling with a colleague from World Vision Australia to Ranong in Southern Thailand. She interviewed a migrant Burmese fisherman who comes regularly to the World Vision centre there. Every question and answer went through the following translation chain:
Question: Anna (English) → P’Ling (English >Thai) → P’Doh (Thai >Burmese)
Answer: K’Poi (Burmese) → P’Doh (Burmese>Thai) → P’Ling (Thai>English)
When we travel its usually by van or bus. The trips are usually long. Starting in Bangkok, it takes four hours to get to our closest project site. Our farthest are twelve and fourteen hours away depending on weather, traffic, and other factors. I have been to more roadside 7-11’s than I thought existed in Thailand. I have spent hours this year gazing at rice fields through the small filmy windows of mass-transport vehicles. Occasionally the scenery changes slightly, and I see rice fields from a different angle, or rice fields growing on mountains. It’s a good thing rice fields are generally quite lovely.
Upon returning to Bangkok, there are reports to write, emails that need a response, and issues from the trip to resolve or follow up. Then I start the next round of reading, writing, networking, research . . . and planning for the next trip out.
* And for all our much-beloved, super-progressive, sensitive, and linguistically-aware friends in the US, if you are concerned about my use of the word “victim” where you would probably have chosen “survivor,” let me assure you there’s a very good reason for this choice and I’m happy to chat with you about it any time.
** Thailand also touches Malaysia in the south, but we don’t go down there because we’d probably get blown up.
My official title is Anti-Human Trafficking and Advocacy Program Officer – e.g. I am an Officer of the World Vision Foundation of Thailand Anti-Human Trafficking and Advocacy Program. On the local level, we work with communities to 1) raise awareness about human trafficking, labour exploitation, and how to protect oneself from both, and 2) fix other problems that make people vulnerable to human traffickers (in development-speak, this is “increasing community resilience” and “decreasing vulnerabilities”). We also advocate nationally and regionally for the adoption and effective implementation of policies, laws, Standard Operating Procedures, Memorandums of Understanding, etc. to combat human trafficking and assist trafficking victims.*
My work is a lively mixture of writing, reading, thinking, planning, travelling, talking, teaching, and organising. I spend about 35% of my time at my desk in a crowded Bangkok office. I plan trainings and develop curricula for them, write reports on recent trainings I’ve lead or trips I’ve taken, read periodic reports from our project locations, and write reports to send back to the World Vision offices that fund World Vision projects in Thailand (primarily the US, Australia, and Canada, but also Japan and Hong Kong). I develop presentations about the program to share with partner organizations, and write the content for communications materials like fact sheets, flyers, issue briefs, etc. I keep up-to-date with the latest research and information about human trafficking – especially materials published in English. Recently I’ve been working closely with one of my colleagues to develop and finalise our anti-human trafficking advocacy plan for the next six month.
I spend another 15% of my time elsewhere in Bangkok. Just about every international NGO that does any work in Asia has an office in Bangkok, and there are always events and meetings with government agencies, UN agencies, and NGOs to attend. Most are opportunities to network, promote World Vision and our work, establish contacts and credibility, and find out what everyone else is working on at the moment. We exchange information and research, and maintain the government connections that allow us to advocate effectively.
The rest of the time, I’m travelling around Thailand to visit our project locations. Most of these are in the border regions of Thailand, where Thailand touches Laos, Myanmar (Burma), and Cambodia.** Visiting project locations is called going to “the field.” Calling the poor communities where we run our programs “the field” actually bothers me (I mean, what we’re calling “the field” is somebody’s home, not just some strange “other” place where NGOs go to meet and study and run programs. If it weren’t somebody’s home we wouldn’t be there studying and working!). But, “the field” is the standard term throughout all the NGOs, and maintaining consistency is much more important than making sure the English term we use sounds PC to a native English speaker, especially since English is everyone else’s second or third language and most of the people who live in “the field” don’t speak English at all.
I usually go on these field trips in a group of three to five of my colleagues from the Bangkok office. I observe our projects being implemented and help to maintain World Vision’s local NGO and government network. On a typical trip I might visit a World Vision community centre to meet with local staff for an update, then go with them to the home of a local village leader to see World Vision volunteers run an information session about safe migration. I might accompany a World Vision youth group to their school to run an assembly on human trafficking and health, visit a few families that World Vision has helped to start helpful projects in the home (ex. raising frogs or mushrooms to eat and sell), and attend a cross-border meeting among local government and NGO representatives trying to coordinate their services to human trafficking victims. I will also train local staff in advocacy, human trafficking, and project monitoring, and especially in World Visions approach to these. I train through an interpreter, and it works like this:
1) I develop all training materials (powerpoints, handouts, etc) in English.
2) I send them to a translator, who creates Thai language versions.
3) On the day of the training, we project the Thai presentation for the participants. I present from a printout of my original English materials.
4) I speak in English and the interpreter translates for participants. The interpreter also translates comments and questions from participants so I can address them.
It’s a bit cumbersome, but it seems to work pretty well. My colleague’s work with migrant communities, after all, so they’re used to language differences and interpreters. Many are bilingual in Thai and the language of their next nearest country (Burmese, Lao, or Khmer), and most speak a least a little English as well (though they’re often too shy to use it much with me). We often bring guests – consultants or colleagues from partner organizations – to visit our projects. About a month ago I was travelling with a colleague from World Vision Australia to Ranong in Southern Thailand. She interviewed a migrant Burmese fisherman who comes regularly to the World Vision centre there. Every question and answer went through the following translation chain:
Question: Anna (English) → P’Ling (English >Thai) → P’Doh (Thai >Burmese)
Answer: K’Poi (Burmese) → P’Doh (Burmese>Thai) → P’Ling (Thai>English)
When we travel its usually by van or bus. The trips are usually long. Starting in Bangkok, it takes four hours to get to our closest project site. Our farthest are twelve and fourteen hours away depending on weather, traffic, and other factors. I have been to more roadside 7-11’s than I thought existed in Thailand. I have spent hours this year gazing at rice fields through the small filmy windows of mass-transport vehicles. Occasionally the scenery changes slightly, and I see rice fields from a different angle, or rice fields growing on mountains. It’s a good thing rice fields are generally quite lovely.
Upon returning to Bangkok, there are reports to write, emails that need a response, and issues from the trip to resolve or follow up. Then I start the next round of reading, writing, networking, research . . . and planning for the next trip out.
* And for all our much-beloved, super-progressive, sensitive, and linguistically-aware friends in the US, if you are concerned about my use of the word “victim” where you would probably have chosen “survivor,” let me assure you there’s a very good reason for this choice and I’m happy to chat with you about it any time.
** Thailand also touches Malaysia in the south, but we don’t go down there because we’d probably get blown up.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
fun weekend
We had a busy and excellent few days this past weekend. We greeted Saturday morning bright and early with the scrumptious treat of home-made pancakes, and then trundled off to the refugee center for a day of hard labor. Next weekend we're painting the classrooms, thanks to a donation from a local prep school. But before we can paint, there's a lot of mold-removal, scraping, sanding, roof-patching, window-fixing, bug-exterminating, and general cleaning that needs to happen. Hence Saturday found us attacking the classrooms with bleach solution and elbow grease, along with a handful of other young adults we managed to press-gang. It was satisfying work, especially for the desk-job crowd, who aren't used to immediate gratification from their labors. I had special fun ferreting out all the ant colonies (behind wainscotting, under floor, in ceiling tiles, behind air conditioner, in piano...) and forcefully encouraging them to relocate. An enterprising baby gecko gleefully stationed itself in the midst of one of the streams of fleeing ants and just sat there with its mouth open until it couldn't eat any more: truly hilarious to watch it waddle off. Tearing up the rotten floor of one classroom was also great fun. Not fun was realizing the astoundingly unhygienic and unsafe state that the classrooms had been in for years, and thinking what a toll that has probably taken on the health of the students.
After going home for a much-needed shower and nap, we went off to a young Australian's flat for the hip party of the month, celebrating Thai street fashion. The taxi ride over there was very eventful, as the city was deluged by a rainstorm severe even by monsoon standards. Many neighborhoods were flooded three feet deep or more. The taxi took a well-considered circuitous route to avoid most low-lying areas, but still often drove through water well over the doors' transoms, probably knee-deep or so. It was a testament to whatever modifications they do on those Corollas that the engine didn't so much as cough once, and our feet stayed dry despite feeling the impact of the waves on the floor and seeing the roof-high wake we were kicking up. The city barely slowed down: no mere water can flummox Bangkokians. (Oh, and the party was fun, too, despite the fact that Australians apparently think Thai street fashion is akin to clown costumes, and we were tired so left early.)
Sunday we, surprise surprise, went biking in the Bangkok jungle, Bang Kra Jao, again. This time we went with Australians Katie and Milena (who's also Columbian), both of whom really enjoyed the scenery and winding tiny 'roads'. We spotted a gorgeous bird like a bright blue kingfisher, as well as some kind of marsh hen thing, two giant monitor lizards, a neat roadrunner-ish lizard, some truely lovely butterflies, and a million cool plants. The community's weekly floating market was again hopping with ethnic Mon foods and... more food. I enjoyed my favorite fried tofu, corn, and taro fritters, while Petra delighted in her favorite rice noodles with soupy curry sauce. (Unfortunately, the later seems to have been off, since she spent the next two days violently puking, but is better now.) The highlight of the day was when, while hanging out at a forest temple after lunch, Petra started chatting in Thai with some local passers-by, and we were forthwith invited to her friends' nearby house, where we were led into their jungle backyard and fed delicious young coconuts straight from the tree by the delighted old ladies who lived there.
No wonder we are so tired this week!
After going home for a much-needed shower and nap, we went off to a young Australian's flat for the hip party of the month, celebrating Thai street fashion. The taxi ride over there was very eventful, as the city was deluged by a rainstorm severe even by monsoon standards. Many neighborhoods were flooded three feet deep or more. The taxi took a well-considered circuitous route to avoid most low-lying areas, but still often drove through water well over the doors' transoms, probably knee-deep or so. It was a testament to whatever modifications they do on those Corollas that the engine didn't so much as cough once, and our feet stayed dry despite feeling the impact of the waves on the floor and seeing the roof-high wake we were kicking up. The city barely slowed down: no mere water can flummox Bangkokians. (Oh, and the party was fun, too, despite the fact that Australians apparently think Thai street fashion is akin to clown costumes, and we were tired so left early.)
Sunday we, surprise surprise, went biking in the Bangkok jungle, Bang Kra Jao, again. This time we went with Australians Katie and Milena (who's also Columbian), both of whom really enjoyed the scenery and winding tiny 'roads'. We spotted a gorgeous bird like a bright blue kingfisher, as well as some kind of marsh hen thing, two giant monitor lizards, a neat roadrunner-ish lizard, some truely lovely butterflies, and a million cool plants. The community's weekly floating market was again hopping with ethnic Mon foods and... more food. I enjoyed my favorite fried tofu, corn, and taro fritters, while Petra delighted in her favorite rice noodles with soupy curry sauce. (Unfortunately, the later seems to have been off, since she spent the next two days violently puking, but is better now.) The highlight of the day was when, while hanging out at a forest temple after lunch, Petra started chatting in Thai with some local passers-by, and we were forthwith invited to her friends' nearby house, where we were led into their jungle backyard and fed delicious young coconuts straight from the tree by the delighted old ladies who lived there.
No wonder we are so tired this week!
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
my new job: teaching refugees
Scene: a tiny room full to the brim with about 30 7ish-year-olds, in relative chaos. Teacher (‘T’, i.e. me): “English! Write your name in English!” S: “My father’s name, or my name?” T: “Your name, not your father’s name: your first name.” S: “What’s a first name?” T: “Your short name.” S: “But my short name is my number two name, my first name is my father’s name.” T: “Whatever name you want me to call you… Lor! Why do you have a knife?” Lor: “To sharpen my pencil.” T (pondering): “Ok.” S: “Teacher, I have no paper.” T: “Ok, write on the back of last week’s worksheet.” S: “Teacher, I’m hot. Can I go get water?” T: “If you’re hot, take off your sweater.” S: But it is my only shirt.” T: “Ok, then sit in front of the fan.” T: “Where is Jon? Why is his seat empty?” S: “Oh, he left.” T runs outside, calls for Jon, doesn’t find him, returns to the classroom before other students can disappear. (Jon appears inexplicably 30 min. later, soaking wet and grinning.) All that just today, just to get the students to write their name on their paper…
Last month I started my new job teaching at the Bangkok Refugee Center (BRC). The BRC is part of the United Nations High Commission on Refugees (UNHCR) of Angelina Jolie fame. While most of the UNHCR’s work focuses on residential refugee camps in rural areas like those you see in the news, they have a few sites like the BRC that a) aren’t residential, i.e. the refugees don’t live at the Center but in housing throughout the community, and b) serve urban refugees, i.e. not ones relegated to a barren wasteland somewhere.
In addition to the school at which I teach, the Center has a medical clinic; a resource center for staples like food, clothing, etc.; social workers and psychological help; and vocational training (computer and business-environment skills, cooking and restaurant management, hair salon skills). The Center is located on a side-street in a fairly busy residential neighbourhood on the edge of the city’s densest area, and is comprised of a scattered hodge-podge of cement and corrugated tin buildings with tiny alleys and cement courtyards. Shockingly, all the main rooms are usually air conditioned, though many have serious mold problems. In general, resources are very very scarce, with occasional notable exceptions that occur through specific donations (i.e. pens and paper are short, but there’s a new Yamaha keyboard).
The refugees are of all ages and walks of life, from something like 40 different countries. Predominately represented are Sri Lanka, Cambodia, Laos, China, Pakistan, Iraq, Somolia, and the D.R. Congo. Yup, that’s right: the ones from countries that the US and Australia don’t like get dumped here in Thailand, who’ll take anyone short-term. Thailand’s not a place where the Thai government or the UN will let refugees stay forever, though: they’re supposed to be placed permanently in a country that actually has the resources to take care of them, mainly the US, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, and the western European countries. The refugees’ ‘temporary’ stay in Thailand usually lasts 10 years, thanks to shocking red tape.
The refugees aren’t allowed to hold jobs, and most don’t speak Thai, so their options are limited. So they keep themselves busy, usually at the BRC. Any day will find the Center teaming with life: not only do you find the refugees and asylum seekers who are there to utilize the resources, but usually also their entire families. They come to meet up with friends, let their kids run around in a safe place, speak in their native languages, eat the cheap and delicious food cooked by the restaurant students, pick up some extra language skills and knowledge from the other visitors, and generally feel welcomed and at home. I love that it’s such a wonderful place that people just want to be there for no reason. And they don’t want to leave: it’s hard to enforce the evening closing time, as they want to stay reading in the library, chatting in the courtyard, playing on the playground.
I teach English and Music to a total of about 125 students. Most of my students are adults, with the memorable exception of two classes of 6-14 year-olds. In addition to my English and Music classes, the kids get a second English class, as well as Math, Thai, French, and Art (sometimes). The adults just take English, Computers, and some vocational classes.
There is such a range of ages in the kids’ classes because they are graded not by age but by ability. As many of the refugees have never been formally schooled before, they have to start at the very beginning. So, until I had them join my adult classes, there were 19-year-olds sitting in class with the 6-year-olds, all learning something like a first grade curricula. The differences between the 6-year-olds and the 14-year-olds are obviously drastic, though not as bad as you’d think. They’re amazingly energetic (considering most of them are malnourished), and extremely boisterous (not letting their lack of shared common languages stop them). A disproportionate number of them are very bright. They are also all, to a one, very mischievous.
The adults are another handful all together. Though less chaotic, their desperate eagerness to learn English and make good use of their time with me makes them VERY demanding. They are also understandably very keen to show their intelligence, to be understood as people worthy of respect rather than “Refugees”, making class discussions rather catty at times: imagine an entire class of teachers’ pets. An additional challenge is that though some of them have considerable schooling (i.e. Masters degrees), others have no schooling, and all have been out of school for a long time: they don’t really remember how to be students, and certainly have no precedence for how to be an adult student with a teacher in most cases younger than they are. It is hard to politely correct them, point out their mistakes, remind them that learning starts when you acknowledge what you don’t yet know, and encourage non-competitive and non-judgemental class discussion practices with these dynamics.
The kids and the adults alike are, of course, very stressed: most have undergone horrific events before reaching the relative safety of Thailand, almost all have PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder), all are seriously financially strapped and malnourished, most live in very inadequate housing, all travel long distances on the most awful forms of transportation to get to the Center every day. This, of course, adds to the level of insanity in the classroom.
There is no curricula, so I make up each class entirely out of thin air. It takes a shockingly long time to plan a lesson to accommodate the significant range of ages and abilities, hold the attention of the wigged-out students, be do-able with absolutely no resources, as well as be understandable with minimum lecturing. Of course, I also try to make the content culturally and biographically appropriate, which is hard when juggling 40-odd cultures at once. And then I invariably have to change the lesson in some way at least five times an hour due to split-second feedback and observation of its reception.
Despite the above challenges, the classes have been going very well. I’m just finishing up my fourth week of teaching, and I’m seeing remarkable improvement in the students, especially the adults’ writing and the kids’ singing. The adults are starting to relax a bit, and I have high hopes for the rest of the semester.
I’ve been especially enjoying writing the music curricula, as well as teaching reading music and basic music theory to the music teacher, Kwang, and to the computer teacher, James, who has considerable musical talent and is happy to learn how to teach another subject. Some of my favourite hours at the BRC have been spent belting out Carpenters or Peter Paul and Mary hits with Kwang at the keyboard and me on guitar, teaching chord progressions and pop song formats, or both of us on hand drums for note-reading rhythm lessons. Capacity-building has never been so much fun. :)
Last month I started my new job teaching at the Bangkok Refugee Center (BRC). The BRC is part of the United Nations High Commission on Refugees (UNHCR) of Angelina Jolie fame. While most of the UNHCR’s work focuses on residential refugee camps in rural areas like those you see in the news, they have a few sites like the BRC that a) aren’t residential, i.e. the refugees don’t live at the Center but in housing throughout the community, and b) serve urban refugees, i.e. not ones relegated to a barren wasteland somewhere.
In addition to the school at which I teach, the Center has a medical clinic; a resource center for staples like food, clothing, etc.; social workers and psychological help; and vocational training (computer and business-environment skills, cooking and restaurant management, hair salon skills). The Center is located on a side-street in a fairly busy residential neighbourhood on the edge of the city’s densest area, and is comprised of a scattered hodge-podge of cement and corrugated tin buildings with tiny alleys and cement courtyards. Shockingly, all the main rooms are usually air conditioned, though many have serious mold problems. In general, resources are very very scarce, with occasional notable exceptions that occur through specific donations (i.e. pens and paper are short, but there’s a new Yamaha keyboard).
The refugees are of all ages and walks of life, from something like 40 different countries. Predominately represented are Sri Lanka, Cambodia, Laos, China, Pakistan, Iraq, Somolia, and the D.R. Congo. Yup, that’s right: the ones from countries that the US and Australia don’t like get dumped here in Thailand, who’ll take anyone short-term. Thailand’s not a place where the Thai government or the UN will let refugees stay forever, though: they’re supposed to be placed permanently in a country that actually has the resources to take care of them, mainly the US, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, and the western European countries. The refugees’ ‘temporary’ stay in Thailand usually lasts 10 years, thanks to shocking red tape.
The refugees aren’t allowed to hold jobs, and most don’t speak Thai, so their options are limited. So they keep themselves busy, usually at the BRC. Any day will find the Center teaming with life: not only do you find the refugees and asylum seekers who are there to utilize the resources, but usually also their entire families. They come to meet up with friends, let their kids run around in a safe place, speak in their native languages, eat the cheap and delicious food cooked by the restaurant students, pick up some extra language skills and knowledge from the other visitors, and generally feel welcomed and at home. I love that it’s such a wonderful place that people just want to be there for no reason. And they don’t want to leave: it’s hard to enforce the evening closing time, as they want to stay reading in the library, chatting in the courtyard, playing on the playground.
I teach English and Music to a total of about 125 students. Most of my students are adults, with the memorable exception of two classes of 6-14 year-olds. In addition to my English and Music classes, the kids get a second English class, as well as Math, Thai, French, and Art (sometimes). The adults just take English, Computers, and some vocational classes.
There is such a range of ages in the kids’ classes because they are graded not by age but by ability. As many of the refugees have never been formally schooled before, they have to start at the very beginning. So, until I had them join my adult classes, there were 19-year-olds sitting in class with the 6-year-olds, all learning something like a first grade curricula. The differences between the 6-year-olds and the 14-year-olds are obviously drastic, though not as bad as you’d think. They’re amazingly energetic (considering most of them are malnourished), and extremely boisterous (not letting their lack of shared common languages stop them). A disproportionate number of them are very bright. They are also all, to a one, very mischievous.
The adults are another handful all together. Though less chaotic, their desperate eagerness to learn English and make good use of their time with me makes them VERY demanding. They are also understandably very keen to show their intelligence, to be understood as people worthy of respect rather than “Refugees”, making class discussions rather catty at times: imagine an entire class of teachers’ pets. An additional challenge is that though some of them have considerable schooling (i.e. Masters degrees), others have no schooling, and all have been out of school for a long time: they don’t really remember how to be students, and certainly have no precedence for how to be an adult student with a teacher in most cases younger than they are. It is hard to politely correct them, point out their mistakes, remind them that learning starts when you acknowledge what you don’t yet know, and encourage non-competitive and non-judgemental class discussion practices with these dynamics.
The kids and the adults alike are, of course, very stressed: most have undergone horrific events before reaching the relative safety of Thailand, almost all have PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder), all are seriously financially strapped and malnourished, most live in very inadequate housing, all travel long distances on the most awful forms of transportation to get to the Center every day. This, of course, adds to the level of insanity in the classroom.
There is no curricula, so I make up each class entirely out of thin air. It takes a shockingly long time to plan a lesson to accommodate the significant range of ages and abilities, hold the attention of the wigged-out students, be do-able with absolutely no resources, as well as be understandable with minimum lecturing. Of course, I also try to make the content culturally and biographically appropriate, which is hard when juggling 40-odd cultures at once. And then I invariably have to change the lesson in some way at least five times an hour due to split-second feedback and observation of its reception.
Despite the above challenges, the classes have been going very well. I’m just finishing up my fourth week of teaching, and I’m seeing remarkable improvement in the students, especially the adults’ writing and the kids’ singing. The adults are starting to relax a bit, and I have high hopes for the rest of the semester.
I’ve been especially enjoying writing the music curricula, as well as teaching reading music and basic music theory to the music teacher, Kwang, and to the computer teacher, James, who has considerable musical talent and is happy to learn how to teach another subject. Some of my favourite hours at the BRC have been spent belting out Carpenters or Peter Paul and Mary hits with Kwang at the keyboard and me on guitar, teaching chord progressions and pop song formats, or both of us on hand drums for note-reading rhythm lessons. Capacity-building has never been so much fun. :)
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
unfortunately aquainted with local fauna
Sorry for being so slow with posting. I have a great but exhausting new job (more on that soon) and Petra's been traveling nearly constantly for work.
On top of that, I've made a rather unfortunate recent acquaintance with the delightful local fauna 'giardia lamblia', which had me wracked for almost two weeks with such horrid fevers and ...other violent disturbances of the body that the hospital was, in succession, convinced I had 1) swine flu, 2) dengue fever, 3) malaria, and then when tests showed I had none of these, 4) a mysterious virus from which they wished me the best in recovering from on my own and sent me home. Of course, it was not a virus, but was eventually accurately diagnosed by Dr. Petra as good old giardia, which I could have just as easily got in my backyard in Connecticut, and was swiftly cured with a blitz of giardia-intended antibiotics. I'm now trying to build up my strength again and recover from the antibiotics. Ironic, really, that the doctors got it so wrong, since the usual modus operandi at hospitals here is to just give everyone massive does of antibiotics regardless, assuming it will help with something even if not your main complaint. The one time they don't do that is the one time it would have really helped. Petra has been an absolutely angelic nurse, waking me up every three hours (nighttime included) to make sure I drink enough water and have something in my belly, and has read me more than 1000 pages of 17th century British philosophical and political intrigues.
Perhaps not particularly exciting to recount, here, but from the point of view of my poor body it's been a quite dramatic few weeks.
On top of that, I've made a rather unfortunate recent acquaintance with the delightful local fauna 'giardia lamblia', which had me wracked for almost two weeks with such horrid fevers and ...other violent disturbances of the body that the hospital was, in succession, convinced I had 1) swine flu, 2) dengue fever, 3) malaria, and then when tests showed I had none of these, 4) a mysterious virus from which they wished me the best in recovering from on my own and sent me home. Of course, it was not a virus, but was eventually accurately diagnosed by Dr. Petra as good old giardia, which I could have just as easily got in my backyard in Connecticut, and was swiftly cured with a blitz of giardia-intended antibiotics. I'm now trying to build up my strength again and recover from the antibiotics. Ironic, really, that the doctors got it so wrong, since the usual modus operandi at hospitals here is to just give everyone massive does of antibiotics regardless, assuming it will help with something even if not your main complaint. The one time they don't do that is the one time it would have really helped. Petra has been an absolutely angelic nurse, waking me up every three hours (nighttime included) to make sure I drink enough water and have something in my belly, and has read me more than 1000 pages of 17th century British philosophical and political intrigues.
Perhaps not particularly exciting to recount, here, but from the point of view of my poor body it's been a quite dramatic few weeks.
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