Misha and Me

Jason and I finally got a chance to visit the Black Sea last week—we still had to work, but we had the weekend off to enjoy the beach side resort of Batumi. We have been really working like crazy people to help get a plan ready; for the uninitiated, this helps NGOs (and private businesses as well) prepare for the Request for Applications that is published by USAID. Very large sums of money are at stake, and the competition can be fierce. Often a proposal writer has an advantage if she can get agreement that her ideas will be supported by the government in question.

Thinking this through, I decided that the very best prospect for support for an RFP would be the President himself. President Mikheil Saakashvili, that is. I knew I had to start small, though, so started out by meeting with my neighborhood green grocer. She didn't speak English, so I moved on.

Next I started interviewing dozens of small NGOs to find out how to get in to talk with Misha. They were not very encouraging. I refused to give up, so I asked myself who else I should ask, and I thought maybe, just maybe, Misha hangs out with the Big International NGOs. I went to each and every one of them in Tbilisi, and if you know anything about this city, you know that it is a testimony to both my determination and my street smarts. But still, no one could tell me how to find the Big Guy. So I moved on.

I thought to myself, perhaps I am approaching this the wrong way. I went to the local expat watering hole, which happens to be a very snappy hotel bar, and walked up to the first person I saw. He turned out to be some sort of consultant for USAID. I was elated! The U.S. has given Misha literally millions upon millions of dollars to turn Georgia into a democracy, with a transparent government and fair elections. Surely this guy could get me in.

I was thwarted again. As it turns out, our friend Misha had other things in mind for all of that money, and now USAID is back in Georgia to fund projects that are meant to help the people get a hold of that slippery democracy thing, and they weren't exactly big on Misha. Alas, it was time to move on.

Rethinking the entire project yet one more time, I wondered if I went and spoke with the permanent protesters who have “cells” that are blocking access to the parliament building and the Executive offices, they might have a better idea of how to get to the Pres. Then I watched on the opposition party news channel (that only reaches about 25% of Tbilisi—and none of the rest of Georgia), about how some folks over there at the cells were getting beaten and kidnapped by mysterious assailants. I moved on.

The light bulb went on! I would go try to see a governor—Misha appoints them because the people aren't as smart as he is—and I finally felt the first thrill of success. I didn't get the governor, but I did get the deputy governor of youth and sport. I figured everyone likes youth and sport. Surely she knows Misha and would give him a call for me. Not only that, but in the first five minutes of our meeting, she explained how the entire government of Georgia is so concerned about its citizens and there rights, they have a total open door policy! All I had to do was find Misha's door! I moved on.

All of my excitement faded when I realized that my time here in Georgia was short, and absolutely no one seemed to know where to find Misha's door. The vacation weekend to Batumi seemed the only way to recharge myself so that I could carry on until my last moment in Georgia, to find Misha's open door.

When I got to my little hotel, I noticed that there seemed to be a big hubbub going on. Police cars shouting through loud speakers, guys walking around with batons, streets blocked off, and all right next door to where I was staying. The focus of this display was surrounding the nicest, newest, most expensive hotel in Georgia, in the best resort city.

I felt a funny feeling in my stomach. I asked my interpreter what was up with all that fire power, and she said, “Oh that's just Misha—he comes here all the time to hang out at the beach.” His door! I ran out to the street and headed for the huge hotel. Several police cars suddenly appeared in front of me, and started shouting in Georgian on their loud speakers. I asked my interpreter what they were saying to me. She said,” they are shouting that you had better move on.”

It seemed I had learned a very important lesson: sometimes we just need to do the real work, and have faith that the right door will always open.

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Gender Roles: Differences between the US and Indonesia

With my time in Indonesia coming to a close I have been thinking about my return to the United States and all of the things I will and will not miss about Indonesia. When I arrive back in the US I am not sure how I will respond to lunches that cost more than $3; I have grown quite accustom to the rice, noodles, fish and fried chicken all with so much flavor at such a small cost. I will also miss the Muslim call to prayer that is blasted through the still hours of the morning and evening. Though I do not understand a word of this call to prayer, and it occasionally wakes me at 4am, it has been a faithful reminder for me to thank the creator for all of the wonderful gifts and graces I have in my life. And of course I will miss all of the people I have come to know and love; in offices and cities all over Indonesia I can confidently say I not only have colleagues but also friends.

Though my time in Indonesia has been great there are a few amenities and luxuries that I am certainly looking forward to upon my return to the States. For starters I can’t wait to wash and dry my clothes. For the past two months my clothes have been hand washed and line dried, oh to wear clothes that are still warm from the dryer! I am also looking forward to driving my jeep; I have enjoyed being driven around while in Indonesia and have felt somewhat like a celebrity, but having the freedom to go wherever and whenever I want will be nice. I am also looking forward to air-popped popcorn, a staple in my diet that I have not had for 9 weeks. I also have a new found appreciation for restrooms which come stocked with paper, soap and running water, sadly I will not miss the mandi squat toilet, or the pail of water supplied to wash my hands.

In addition to my reflection about the differences of food, customs and amenities, I am sure that once I return to the US and step back from this immersion experience I will begin to make several other observations about these two countries, including ideas about family, community and religion. There are several observations that already stand out, one of which is gender roles. The following are a few my observations and comments about how gender roles seem to differ from the roles to which I am accustomed.

Men are always holding babies. Whether it is in the street or on their front porch when families are together, dads and grandpas seem to be in charge of holding, cuddling and entertaining babies.

On the Indonesian domestic flights, women are not allowed to sit in the exit rows until they prove that they are big enough and strong enough to open the door.

At concerts in Indonesia it is the young men and boys, who on the verge of hysteria, scream, wave and sing along with the artists.

Pink is not just for little girl’s clothes and popped collared polo shirts, but also sported by men and women alike with pink cell phones, cameras and motorcycle helmets.

In Indonesia women who to receive a degree in architecture are very rare, maybe 1 in 50. From my experience in architecture school the number of women was closer to 15 or 20 out of 50.

Indonesia has already had a female president, and though she did not win this same woman ran again in the past election.

To me it is really interesting how different countries ideas about gender and gender roles change and develop in different ways. As we work on relief and development projects all over the world it is imperative that we understand not only our own perspective on the world, but also take the time to understand the context in which we work.

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Good Intentions...

Before I left IRD Headquarters for my journey to Indonesia, I was given the plans for latrines to be constructed through the IRD Watsan project in Yogyakarta. The project is part of a larger regional effort for which IRD is serving as a subcontractor responsible for several sub-villages south of Yogya. Each sub-village was to work with IRD to construct their four mandi (traditional Indonesia squat toilet) latrines and exterior water supply valves to serve the sub-village’s water needs.

Having already seen detailed designs, it was exciting to finally arrive in Yogya during my sixth week in Indonesia; however, when I arrived I learned that the design for the latrines had been altered due to several new issues. The first problem was the unexpectedly high cost of drilling wells for the water supply systems. Although it was known that the village’s existing wells needed to be replaced, no one expected that the new wells would need to be nearly four times as deep as the existing ones. This additional depth, in combination with the type of rock discovered, significantly increased the cost of the project. These water supply systems were given priority, so something else had to go.

That something else was the latrines. Some villages lost their latrines all together and the rest were reduced to half of their original size. Now, if it would build a latrine at all, each village would only have two mandi. The reduction in number was a problem in itself, but the sponsor of this particular project made an additional change; it required that for every mandi installed there must also be a toilet installed for the disabled. On paper, this seems to be a perfectly reasonable requirement, and to a Western eye the sit-down toilet and shower look to be a marked improvement to a mandi; however, a visit to the village gives a different perception.

I was able to visit Jambon sub-village for a negotiation meeting over its water supply system. The drive to Jambon sub-village begins with a drive of about half an hour from Yogya on large well paved roads. At that point, a turn between two small buildings reveals a small and unmarked road. The single track dirt road winds through several sub-villages and uphill for a few kilometers or so. This road is littered with the remains of past development projects which stand unused and in disrepair. Latrines with rotting wooden support and tattered blue tarp walls dominate the picture. Jambon sits above and behind these previous projects and displays a striking absence of development help. The negotiation meeting I attended with Jambon sub-village was required due to the extremely high cost of drilling new wells; the budget appointed for the project was no longer sufficient to supply water to the entire village, so IRD was asking the village to come up with money or in kind contributions to make up the difference. Although village participation is a part of IRD projects, this isn’t the way it typically works.

The sub-villages chosen for this project are all similar to Jambon in that they were selected because they have not received previous help with their infrastructure from outside agencies. They have not received this help because they are some of the more difficult villages to reach and therefore in which to work. Jambon is located on the side of three different large hills, and once one leaves the main single track dirt road, the paths around the sub-village are wide enough only to accommodate motorcycles. Many of these small paths are built on a grade of no less than 20%. Although this doesn’t cause significant problems when driving a motorcycle or walking around the village, it would cause significant problems for anyone who is disabled; transportation around the village for them would be nearly impossible. Luckily, none of these sub-villages have individuals with physical disabilities that prevent them from getting around or from using a mandi. This means that these villages will be receiving a toilet intended for people who don’t currently exist in that setting, but of course it could help someone in the future. However, under the current conditions a toilet stall designed for a disabled individual may not have such positive benefits. The villagers are skeptical of the western style toilet in the disabled stall and voice significant opposition to the idea; therefore, this modern addition practically reduces the number of new latrines installed to one. However, although the villager’s input was considered in many aspects of the project, the sponsor was unwilling to yield in this case. The stalls intended for the disabled were non-negotiable. Therefore, each village will only have one mandi and one toilet for the disabled.

As wonderful as the disabled toilet looked on paper, and as impractical as it initially looked on the ground, there are convincing arguments for both sides. At some point, someone introduced the mandi to Indonesia replacing muddy holes and city sewers as the bathrooms of choice. Introducing new hygienic ideas to traditional cultures can be a wonderful idea. But at some point, I wonder, if new introductions stop helping to improve hygiene, or quality of life, and simply begin to try to impose a Western way of life. Is this one of those examples? I don’t know. If some members of these communities begin to use the disabled toilet, it could significantly improve the quality of life for those with disabilities or those infirmed by old age; however, if the communities maintain their current skepticism and disapproval they are instead left with a single latrine for the entire sub-village.

The IRD team actively worked to make the best of the situation, but budget constraints and imposed restrictions tied their hands in many ways. They could decrease the quality of the latrines to more reflect those falling apart in the sub-villages neighboring Jambon, they could shorten the water supply lines and leave some houses out of the project, or they could look for other options that save money but sacrifice quality or quantity. Is quantity the only measure of success? Is one latrine better than none? Is one usable latrine that lasts, better than four that fall apart? Does using Western ideas and building codes make sense in a non-Western society? I don’t have answers to any of these questions, but over the last few weeks I’ve become more aware of how important they are to the development world and how the answers to these questions are one of the key differences in the way that different NGOs conduct business.

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