Warning...soapbox ahead

There is something terribly embarrassing about being in a foreign country, particularly in a place with conservative values, when Miley Cyrus’s “Wrecking Ball” video starts playing on the big screen tv.  For those of you who don’t know, it features the dubiously talented Miley Cyrus naked, riding a wrecking ball as it crashes into a wall, with obvious physical enjoyment.  And just in case that is too subtle, she also grabs a metal pipe and performs some suggestive oral actions.  But why is that embarrassing for me?  Its not like I would ever do that and maybe I shouldn’t be so prudish.  Except that when I am in a place where every white person is lumped together under the dubious category of forenge (foreigner), I might as well go out to find a building site because to most people Miley Cyrus and I are virtually indistinguishable.

We live in a world where the majority of people learn about America through its popular media.  Is it any wonder that when the image we peddle across the airwaves is a young naked girl dry-humping construction equipment, conservative leaders in other places can convince people that Americans are morally bankrupt, more concerned with sex, money, and consumption than thoughtful, deliberate living?  And that in times of economic and social instability, it is much easier to unite people under a banner of “us” against “them” than offer constructive solutions, especially when “them” seems to be a society that celebrates debauchery and turpitude?   Should we truly be surprised that there are some people out there who despise our culture?  Should I be truly surprised when men in other countries assume that all American women have loose sexual mores?  What else should they think based on what they see and hear?

I am not saying that this view is correct, nor am I saying that the exploration and acceptance of sexuality without shame is equivalent to immorality.  I think on the whole, most Americans are genuinely caring, earnest, and kind people, if somewhat naïve about the effect our economic and political processes have on the rest of the world.  I think that the ability to have open and honest conversations about sex, gender, and the celebration of pleasure are all incredibly important, and positive, aspects of American culture .  If anything, we should do more to lessen the restrictive morality around sex (hello, abstinence only education) within our country. 

But I don’t think that packaging up nude, nubile pop-starlets for mass consumption and shipping it overseas is really an effort to engage in that conversation.  Nor is it an attempt to show the rest of the world the good parts of America; that women are allowed to be the equals, if not superiors, of men; that we are becoming increasingly intolerant of racism and homophobia (at least I hope we are), that we are a culture that is made up of every country, allowing us to learn a little about the world just by talking to someone who grew up somewhere else.   But what I see when I am overseas is consumption, sexual gratification, and political ineptitude.  These are, tragically, as much a part of America as civil rights, social safety nets and religious tolerance, but we do ourselves a disservice by not insisting on not only portraying ourselves better, but also being better (apologies for all the double negatives).

Do I blame Miley Cyrus?  Of course not.  She is a victim of our obsession with pushing boundaries to raise advertising revenue, not an ingenious social commentator.  But maybe instead of celebrating the newest pop-tart’s sexual exploitation, we could just take a second and think about whether that is really the image we want for America?  Whether we want people to associate the USA with freedom, independence, open dialogue and equality or with sexually suggestive music videos and inept governments?  Because from where I am sitting, all I see is a lot of twerking and political grandstanding.  And it’s hard to prove that there is much else. 

I don’t have any sort of recipe about how to change things, but I think that it probably starts somewhere around trying to be better people instead of just trying to consume and exploit.  And maybe with electing leaders and not wing-nuts.  Instead of taking every criticism as a threat and every suggestion as an insult, maybe we could celebrate what is truly good about our country, while thinking critically about what we can do to improve it and ourselves.

I think I may have gotten off track somewhere so I am going to get off my soapbox now and be grateful there aren’t any construction sites around.

Back to the topic of resilience

***************Notice**************
There will be many days when the internet does not work.  I mean, aren't we all a little surprised I have internet at all?  I know I am.  Somedays the internet doesn't work and some days, surprise! It does.  So in the spirit of surprise, some days you won't have any updates from me, some days you will have more than one.  It will be a surprise for us all!  So with that in mind, here is post number two for today.

*****************************

Back to the topic of resilience, it is amazing how quickly people can get used to things.  I am of course basing this only on my own experience, but I think resilience is pretty universal so I am going to go ahead and assume that my experiences speak for everyone else’s.  Let’s just roll with that assumption, shall we? 

When I drove into the IMC compound (or as those of you who read the posts in correct order would know, I more rode into the IMC compound as a melted puddle of sweat), I was pretty taken aback.  I mean I wasn't expecting the Hilton or anything, but still, I was pretty taken back.  Even in Afghanistan and near the IDP camps in Uganda, I stayed in guest-houses that had running water and toilets. And walls.  And even trees.  Not really the case here.  Instead of a guesthouse, there are rows of tin shacks.  The floors are covered with peeling linoleum, although I suppose that that is actually a luxury.  There are hardly any trees and there is dust everywhere.  I suppose that not even an NGO can control the weather and make itself a little Garden of Eden, but still it was just surprising.  And the pit latrines… Well, is there anything else I need to say?  Pit.  Latrines.

But two days later, everything feels pretty normal.  I know which room is mine and have become pretty comfortable in it.  I kind of enjoy the outdoor showers.  The food is basic but I like that everyone gathers around the giant flat screen tv to watch football at meals (Yes, there is a flat screen tv and sports night.  Even here.  Dudes.).  The mornings are beautiful.  The compound is perched on a cliff and this morning the program manager showed me “the tower” which is basically just a tin shack up a little higher, but if you climb up and look across the cliff, you can see for miles across savannah.  With the rain coming, everyone swears that in just a few days everything will transform from red and dusty to green and I can only imagine what the view will be.  I have even gotten used to the pigeons scrabbling around on the tin roof in the morning.

I haven’t gone out into the camps yet, that happens tomorrow. Once I do, I am sure that I will be jolted back out of my comfort zone again.  There is a limit to how far my comfort zone can stretch and I imagine that the boundary is just a little bit passed where I am now and does not include real, true poverty.  No one’s comfort zone should have to include that.  I think it is safe to say that if life was a little bit fair and people cared a little bit more for each other and a little bit less about their possessions, maybe no one's comfort zone would have to include poverty.  Maybe we could all agree that no one’s comfort zone really needs too include much more than the basics.  Except for maybe the latrines.  Maybe we could agree on some slightly nicer latrines.

I am a delicate flower

Most days, if you said to me "Linnea, you are a delicate flower", I would probably give you the look I give people when they say something stupid (if you know me, you know this look) and say something that would be very unladylike and not delicate.  I am perhaps too proud of my sense of independence and adventure.  I don't mind when the power goes out or when I don't get to shower for a couple days (let's be real, even when I have the choice, I don't shower every day).  I love being outdoors, hiking, and camping and generally not being inside, doing embroidery or whatever well-bred ladies do.  But that said, coming here, to the Somali region of Ethiopia, makes me feel like a delicate flower.  And not just a delicate flower, but the kind of flower that needs to be raised in a conservatory and handled with gloves made of calfskin.  The kind that will shrivel up and fall apart if its put in too much sun.  The kind of flower that would not make it here.  This place is, in a word, rough.  Not to say that it is terrible or awful or unworthy of seeing, just that it is rugged, hot, dusty, hot, remote, and did I say hot?  

I have been to a place or two that has amazed me, but driving for two hours in mid-day through the Somali landscape was mind-blowing.  Everything is baked in the sun and covered in dust.  You can see for miles through the scrub because the bushes are so small and generally without leaves.  There is no evidence of water anywhere, except that every once in a while you will see a tree that has a few green leaves amongst the yellow. It goes months without rain and you can see the evidence of where riverbeds were (especially since you are usually driving in them) but they are completely dry and cracked.  When we were driving I thought that I saw fires in the distance because I kept seeing columns of red smoke.  Not smoke at all, but dust that is lifted in the air like a tornado.  And then eventually not just one tornado but a whole sky full of dust as we drove through a giant sandstorm.  

All that is pretty amazing already but what is mind-blowing is that people LIVE here.  Not that they visit for a few days a year, throw up a tent city and party to trance music and alternative art, but that they live here every day, year round.  And yes, of course, many of them do live in tent cities (although I didn't see any alternative art, natch) and the poverty is pretty extreme, but I still saw most of the same things that define our lives.  I saw kids playing, kids going to school, I saw young guys sitting around drinking coffee and listening to Bob Marley, I saw clothiers selling Arsenal and Man U shirts, and saw people at work.  And not just sitting at a computer work.  Hard manual labor work, digging holes, laying concrete, herding goats, washing dishes and cooking over fires.  Real work.  Sweaty work.

And the whole time I was seeing this, I had two of the truck's air conditioners pointed right at me, and was drinking out of a giant water bottle that someone had to buy for me because I lost my wallet (found it FYI), I had my scarf wrapped around my head like a turban to keep my hair off my neck, was sweating through my shirt and pants, and felt like I was going to pass out.  I'm sure I was bright red too but since I refused to look at my reflection, I will assume that I was the picture of glamour.  Other than the sweat stains.  And the floppy turban.

So the point of this rambling story is that if you ever need to reaffirm your faith in human resilience, come to Dolo Ado.  Then drive two hours away.  You might not have much faith in your resilience, but I bet you will be pretty impressed by everyone else's.  

Apparently people STILL read this...

I had no idea anyone still read this but according to my stats, people have looked at this seven times in the last week.  By most standards, thats probably pretty pathetic, but since I hardly remember that I have this blog, I think that is pretty good.  I have so much respect for the bloggers out there who manage to do this every day.  Or multiple times a day.  Or who manage to make money at this.  Hats off, ladies and gents.

Anyhoo, I am back in l'Afrique, this time in Ethiopia.  I will be in Addis for two days and then am going to Kobe refugee camp, closer to Somalia.  I am working on a project with Women's Refugee Commission (WRC) and International Medical Corps (IMC) that is researching the existing programs (there are few) and the existing gaps (there are many) in reproductive health programming for adolescents in the camps.  I am really just doing the training for our interviewers and then flying back in two weeks.  It would be great to actually stay longer.  It seems that now most of my time is spent flying back and forth.  Fly in, do a training, fly back.  I miss just staying in one place.  Don't get me wrong, living abroad can be pretty rough since its far away from family and friends.  But as I am sitting in the office here in Addis, I am envious of the expats who are living and working here.  It is such a unique experience to get to live in a completely new environment. After awhile, feeling like you dont fit in gets old, but for a year or two, its great to have new adventures.  Lately, I have been thinking that maybe I am ready to settle down in one place in the US (and by that I mean Seattle), but now that I am back in the field, that desire is slipping away.  When you wake up to parrots and palm trees and Ethiopian coffee, it is pretty easy to imagine living here for a while.  But until I finish my darn dissertation, living anywhere but Baltimore seems pretty improbable.  So with that in mind, maybe I will take advantage of my half day here before leaving tomorrow and get to work on that...