Tuesday, May 27, 2008

I Am Because We Are

Finally,

A movie that might be worth watching, (not that Narnia and Iron Man were awful :)


Madonnas new movie "I am Because We Are", is a movie directed by Madonna that addresses the concern over the millions of orphans in the African country of Malawi who have lost their families to AIDS. The film also touches on Madonna's charity organization "Raising Malawi"

Madonna said about the film: "To say that this film is a labor of love is trivial. It's also the journey of a lifetime. I hope you all are as inspired watching it as I was making it." [4]

The film is scheduled to be released in 2008 and the title is quoted by Wikipedia as being derived "from Desmond Tutu’s (famous Archbishop from Cape Town, South Africa) words. “Ubuntu” is an idea present in African spirituality that says “I am because we are” - or we are all connected, we cannot be ourselves without community, health and faith are always lived out among others, an individual’s well being is caught up in the well being of others."(Wikipedia)



I will be posting a review as soon as I see it, so I'll keep you posted.

Sunday, May 18, 2008

AGE Scholarsahip Fund helps girls in Malawi

The AGE Scholarship Fund is a program begun by Xanthe Scharff and Ulemu Chiluzi. According to their web site www.ageafrica.org their program "sponsors 17 disadvantaged, orphaned and HIV/AIDS-affected girls in grades 9 12, seven of whom are from the Bowa village, where AGE first started operations.

Ten girls are from the southern region of Malawi, where poverty and famine are most acute. 12 of the girls attend a private boarding school, while the other five are placed at government-select schools based on their academic merit.

AGE pays for all of the scholars' expenses, including boarding fees, so the girls can live at school and optimize their study time. In order to help the scholars succeed, AGE provides mentoring and leadership training and works with communities to build support for girls education.

Each year, AGE sends a team to Malawi to evaluate the implementation of the program. During this time, AGE talks with the scholars and their communities and teachers to learn about the challenges that students face."


I think this program has a lot of merit. Educating girls is a perfect way to enact change. African women are primarily responsible for collecting firewood, water and food as well as raising children and running the home.

Providing them with an education will help them learn sustainable farming techniques, support themselves without having to rely on a husband or relatives, they will learn ways to protect themselves from AIDS and other communicable diseases and they will pass all that they learn on to their children. This will be a catalyst for change in a country that is in dire need of a new path.

Please take a moment to go to www.ageafrica.org
see what their all about and give them your support or join their group on Facebook.

Sunday, May 11, 2008

Helping Africa go solar

The African continent is rapidly becoming one of the poorest in the world. It's ecology has been decimated by years of colonization and now massive desertification and deforestation are turning once lush jungles into forbidding deserts.
Solar power is rapidly looking like the only solution to many of the African peoples cooking and power needs. I recently went looking for low cost alternatives to using wood for heat and cooking as well as alternatives to petrol for energy and I found two unique solutions that have been tried, tested and proven true.

The first is the solar generator designed by Matthew Orosz, an MIT graduate student. He noticed that that reflective parabolic troughs can bake bread. Now he plans to use these same contraptions to bring power to Africa . His solar generators, made from auto parts and plumbing supplies, can easily be built in a backyard.
The link to his site is
http://www.technologyreview.com/read_article.aspx?ch=specialsections&sc=solar&id=17169&a=

The second solution is a unique solar cooker that is light weight, folds up and is very inexpensive. It's called the Cookit solar cooker, http://solarcooking.wikia.com/wiki/CooKit
It weights half a kilo, folds to the size of a book and costs roughly $5.00 to make.

My idea on the subject of Africa's growing deserts, shrinking forests and dire need for clean affordable water and energy is to use the aforementioned solar generators not only as solar power but as wind blocks along the edge of the remaining forests in order to regrow them.

In many African countries their are numerous displaced or nomadic peoples who are in dire need of income, community, education and a safe place to raise their children. Who better to hire to maintain solar generators and re grow trees. They could be hired with the promise that in return for taking classes to learn how to make and maintain the generators, they would work in an apprenticeship for two years for a stipend and then take over management of the solar array.

The other perk could be allowing them to use the electricity produced and even sell excess to others by charging the portable batteries many Africans use to power their homes.
By doing so they will be able to make a home for themselves, have a career as they learn the ways of making the solar devices and with that a future for themselves and their children. Also the nomadic peoples would essentially be able to continue their nomadic lifestyle as their town will constantly be moving with the regrowing forests.

Now maybe this is a nutty idea that can't possibly work so by all means speak your mind and let me know. Also if this is being tried or has been done somewhere I would love to hear about it.

The video is of a typical drive through Mauritania...


West Africa to the untrained eye


Africa Beauty and Beast

One of these days I'm going to put my memories about Africa down on paper. I could write a sad story just on the donkeys, or as we called them, Mauritanian zebras, the most abused animal in all Africa. I wonder if that’s what happens to bad people when they die....they come back as Mauritanian donkeys. I can truly think of no worse fate than being a donkey in Africa. It's hard to decide what point of view to take on Africa. I had a good time on the trip and met a lot of nice friendly happy families. They were just regular people, living their regular lives.

Meals were a bit of an adjustment. Eating with only the right hand is unusual - if you’re not used to it however, it’s not culturally shocking. The eating ritual is actually very normal considering that the left hand is used for wiping feces from the butt, assisted by a pail of water. We ate seated on matelas on the ground after the traditional, ceremonial hand washing where the host holds a teapot of water over a basin while the first person on his right washes his hands. Then the pot is passed around the circle each person holding the pot for the next until everyone is washed. Then the left hand is no longer used for anything and all eating and sharing is done with only the right hand.

Learning about new traditions and cultures and memorizing lengthy greetings is hard, especially on short notice, but it’s still not shocking. Not being able to drive, make eye contact, eat with the men, expose sexy elbows, ankles or wrists in 100-degree weather is annoying (hatefully so) but still not shocking. Would I go back? YES. Would I do it all again? YES! I would go to Atar and eat another camel kafta sandwich, the kind that gave granny the explosive sh*ts and almost killed her (She lost control to such a degree they just dug a hole in the sand for her to sit over until the antibiotic Cipro kicked in.) YES! I'd do it all again except I’d do it better. I would remember to say the greeting correctly. I would go more places, see more sights, and take more chances.

Is this how I’ll write about it? From a wishful point of view full of unfulfilled expectations? Or perhaps I’ll write about it from the family style point of view: A comic tale of a wacky family on vacation and their bizarre and hilarious high jinks. (I think it’s been done already, lampoon something or other.) Ok, I could write from a gourmet’s point of view, comparing the countries and cultures to the wonderful meals we shared. Or perhaps I could write about the trials and strife we experienced, (especially the goat butter incident, sorry Aunt Kat) turns out goat butter isn’t made from goat milk and if you have a sensitive stomach it’s potentially lethal, or explosive... I could also write about the trip from a normal point of view. I was surprised how normal everyone was. I guess after going all the way around the world I was expecting a more exotic experience but everything for the most part seemed so normal - different, but normal.

Some typical days for me in Africa were like the following: This morning I woke up refreshed (despite sawing logs all night!) and went with Chris and Jess to pick up breakfast; we went to a small shop that made fresh crepes and coffee and then to a French Patisserie for chocolate and fromage croissants. Breakfast eaten on the terrace top of the hotel with the family, the perfect beginning to the perfect day.

After breakfast…Shopping! OOOOOOOH such smells and sights. Sweat, sewer, incense, food, cigarettes, horse, herbs and spices all assault the senses. You have to be careful not to make eye contact or people try to grab you and pull you into their store. We had stopped by the government-regulated store yesterday to price check and see what was available so Kat at least knew what she wanted. I’m still so overwhelmed; I only bought a few slippers and scarves and am waiting till tomorrow to decide what else to buy here. I’m trying to keep in mind that I will have to carry it all in my backpack. I miss my boyfriend Jason, but it’s fun to shop for him. I really wish we had brought a video camera to watch and listen to Jessica bargain mercilessly with the rug sellers; she was absolutely amazing!

About our shopping trip, it had been and still is raining hard; so naturally the air is less blue and choking from smog but the rain made all the sewer water run through the streets. You can’t avoid it, but at first you have to try so you pick your steps carefully and try to avoid being splashed or run over by passing motorbikes, donkey carts, pull carts, bicycles etc. However, the streets are so narrow there is just enough room for four normal people to walk abreast; so you can imagine that avoiding getting splashed is next to impossible and you have to react so quickly to avoid being run over that squishing through brown puddles is inevitable. And of course the wood slats, sticks, plastic sheeting and whatever else makes up the roof does little to stop the rain so after an hour or so, you’re wet and you just don’t care anymore. Shopping in the souks is such a crazy experience, the first smells that hit you are a combination of sweat, incense, horse dung, herbs, fresh baked bread and human poop. Sometimes you smell it all at once, a mildly unpleasant smell but you get used to it; but as you wander the souks you sometimes get a whiff of the pure, unadulterated scent of just one individual smell…it’s always a gamble, sometimes it’s fresh baked bread….sometimes it’s shit….usually it’s shit.

So you have the smells, now add the sounds. People are chatting in French, people are chatting in Arabic, kids are yelling in either language and the vendors are in eight-foot by four-foot stalls all squashed together. Consequently, you have in one block about 30 vendors all yelling at you in French or Arabic or “franglish” or “arabiclish” PLUS, the noisemakers from the market and music from the occasional boom box, (how great it was to be sloshing through the souks saying automatically “No Merci, No Merci” then to turn the corner and hear Will Smiths latest hit “Switch”.)

This was day two at the market and I was actually able to pick out a word or two here and there. I could ask combién or “how much” in French ...then I’d run for Jessica to do my bargaining. I’d say “I have to get my sister, ma soeur”. She dropped the price of my bracelet from $90 to $20. The vendors were starting to cringe when they saw her coming, they called her “The Lawyer”. I felt bad asking Jess to do all my bargaining. It’s so tiring, each shop where you want to purchase something, you first have to decide how much you want to pay for something; so either you know how much something is worth i.e. how much it costs at home or how much it costs to make, or you have to decide how much it’s worth to you or how badly you want it. Then you start bargaining, now as I don’t speak either French or Arabic the bargaining process is pretty much a mystery but it seems to involve a lot of tsk-tsking, finger shaking, no-no-no’ing and other such conventions. Jessie kicks ass at all this which is all the more amazing because she is a female in an Islamic world, a man’s world.

Well this evening we had another wonderful family chat, yup the topic was bodily functions again! From successful pooping in the hole-in-the-ground toilet, (extra points for flawless bull’s-eyes), to dirty Sanchez’s and pussy boogers (don’t ask, please, please, please!) Let my Ambien cause amnesia my aunt, brother and sister-in-law are definitely insane! We ate at Le Marrakchi, by far the most amazing restaurant yet. Again it was a French restaurant but that is where the likeness ends. There was a doorman to keep the riff-raff out, there were wrought iron candle holders with candles lighting the staircase up to the terrace, there were rose petals strewn about the stairs and across the candle lit tables. We had a wonderful four course meal. I had the poulete de prunnea, the couscous de l, agneau, des onios ah raisen and the first course was lamb in fillo dough with cinnamon and honey called pastille Sweet and savory…. You would think that an odd combination but it was sooooo incredibly good! Then came the lamb and prunes AWESOME! Then the couscous with meat and veggies, very good (Oh and did I mention that we went through 4 bottles of wine before dessert! This probably contributed to our “ahem” creative conversations as well as to the mortification of those around us.)

Norton[1] danced with a belly dancer and we got great pictures, then we went to visit Chris and Jessica’s favorite tea guy for spicy tea and cake. The tea is very spicy and the cake is reminiscent of uncooked ginger snap dough. Not good by itself but trés bōn with the thé. Jess and I also went herb shopping. I got indigo, jasmine and saffron and due to Jessica’s merciless bargaining they threw in rosewater and sugar candy for free. (I forgot about the sugar candy in my pockets and the rain turned it into syrup and glued my pockets shut.) Jess bargained so long and hard at the herb shop they sent away for pots of tea for us! Twice!

Finally, after the last bargain was made we went to dinner at an all you can eat buffet. I asked Jess to pick out my meal and to surprise me. So first, she came back with a soup with meatballs. I could taste a lot of cilantro in it but it was good anyway. For dinner Jess picked out a curry rice dish with some kind of bone in it, (chunks of chicken vertebrate most likely) good as long as you’re careful not to chip a tooth. The highlight of my plate was the couscous with lamb, onion, chickpeas, and currents. Dessert was fruit and biscuits.

The best part of dinner of course was, as always, the conversations. Chris and Jess taught us a new game. If something needs doing and you don’t want to do it, you surreptitiously put your finger beside your nose. The last person to put their finger by their nose has to perform the undesirable chore. But you have to make sure that you don’t announce what you’re doing or be obvious with the gesture. It’s hilarious! After dinner we went to see the tea guy again and had tea and cake. A pair of foreign tourists walked by and asked about the tea. We told them it was very good but spicy and I explained about how to take a bite of cake and a swig of tea, the combination is awesome. After tea we went back to the hotel, a shower to wash off the poop and then a powwow in Kat’s room watching the American TV show Alias in French while eating wasabi peas.

The next morning we took a horse and carriage to and from the garden in Marrakech (Le Jardin Majorelle). I enjoy traveling by animal except for having to breathe the pollution. That evening for dinner we braved the medina, there were SO many people there it was unbelievable, the smoke from the cook fires permeated the whole square. The street performers were out in droves, the water carriers, the head twirlers, the story tellers, musicians, snake charmers, the little crazy girl and troops of child beggars, there was even a snag the bottle game going on, it involved full soda bottles and fishing poles.

We wandered down the aisles of food carts looking at breads, pastilles, fish and goats’ heads. Mom and Kat critiqued the cleanliness of the carts, the guy picking his nose of course was eliminated. Chris and Jess and I got our favorite soup Harira, or “Har-ree-rah”; Mom and Kat just watched as they were still too afraid to try the local fare. Then we all went off searching for Chris and Jessie’s favorite pastille booth. On the way some guy grabbed my butt. I almost socked him but he moved pretty fast, then he came back and snapped a picture. Poor Kat and mom got their butts grabbed a lot too, Moroccans apparently like big butts…. other then that we had a great night, we even had a chance to make our Where’s Waldo photo.

We all went to bed early as we had to get up at 4:00am to catch the 5:00am train to Casablanca. In Casa, we only stayed for a few hours, just long enough to tour the Hussein II mosque, and then we were off to the airport to catch our flight. Our airline was the illustrious Air Mauritania. Chris and Jess later told us that due to safety regulations air Mauritania is banned from flying in America and Europe except for France (comforting, no?) The flight was more or less like any other flight with the notable exception that Kat and I had to move because we had chosen seats by the emergency exits and women aren’t allowed to sit there because they’re not strong enough to open the doors, which was actually hilarious because the laminate sheet detailing all the emergency instructions clearly shows a woman operating the emergency exits!

Customs in Mauritania is pretty strict as well. We spent almost an hour just waiting for a cranky soldier to read and transcribe (by hand) our passports. There were armed soldiers everywhere, we got our bags, Jessica hailed a taxi and we all went to Chris and Jessica’s house. We quickly showered and then left for Chris and Jessie’s friend James’s house. Now first off, catching a taxi in Mauritania apparently involves putting one’s hand out to the side, waggling one’s fingers and periodically yelling “Taxi” at random vehicles. Eventually a taxi will stop by, they usually have a taxi sign on top but not always (hence the yelling at random vehicles.) Then you negotiate a price; there’s actually a set price for cabs in Mauritania, 200 ouguiya, but when cabbies see “whitey” or “Toubab” as they say there, they usually try to get more. We followed Chris and Jess like a row of pale ducklings and stayed out of the way as they negotiated a cab. The ride was uneventful if slightly odiferous.

We arrived at James’s house and knocked and knocked and then knocked some more. As it turns out James’s guard, who was supposed to be there guarding the compound was elsewhere, so Chris finally called James on the cell phone and James came out and let us in. His house is amazing. For $500 a month he has a marble mansion, with a cleaning lady, guard, marble staircase and theater room in progress painted in the most amazing shade of indigo blue. We chatted with James as Chris diligently turned our white clothes various shades of pink and blue….whoever nominated him to do laundry should be garroted.

The next day we got up and went to the beach. WOW I’ve never seen so much garbage in all my life! It’s everywhere! They just throw it out of the family compound and forget about it. The ocean however, was beautiful and there were hundreds of boats on shore or moored just off the shore. Chris and I went to sit down at his favorite coffee shop. Mom and Kat froze like horrified deer in the headlights and just cringed! Chris’s favorite coffee shop is a shack filled to the brim with flies, the coffee was dipped out of a small metal garbage/diaper pail by a guy with cut fingers wrapped in dirty cloth and electrical tape and yes I tried it. It was good, kinda spicy! After coffee, pictures and walking on garbage and fish heads we left to go to one of Chris’s favorite places to eat called The Prince. We all had the same kefta sandwichs except Kats was sans egg and mustard (the food was excellent). On the other hand, the toilet there was yicky. It was a filthy sit down toilet with a lid just precariously placed on top of it. I’m getting pretty good at the hover and am beginning to see the allure of a hole in the ground toilet!

We got up bright and early the next morning to leave for Oudane. We stopped in Atar for camel omelet sandwiches and tea. (Chris neglected to warn us about what happened to poor granny until after I had eaten two sandwiches; my dear brother was convinced that we needed to have an authentic African experience and in his mind this meant 130 degree weather and amoebic dysentery.) There were two boys sitting by the entrance of the food shop. One had his head fully wrapped in a turban so only one eye peeked out and was dressed in traditional West African robes, the other was in jeans and a tee shirt listening to an iPod. The contrast was fascinating.

In Oudane we stayed at Chez Zaida. Zaida was a very sweet, wonderful woman. I really liked staying there. We stayed in a mud hut, toured an ancient city and drove out to an oasis for Pepsi and chips and shared a Hershey bar. We found sand roses[2] and watched the sun go down. Then we went to Rajel’s, his common name is Hai. He was a very traditional Mauritanian man. His wife ate dinner away from us, we did not shake his hand, we washed and ate a meat, potato and onion dish (with our right hand) followed by a couscous dish. The couscous dinner had goat butter which is rendered goat lard not milk; it was kinda herby tasting. We all for the most part remembered our greetings and the only faux pas was Kat’s farting at dinner. (Kat’s discomfort it turns out was due to the goat “butter” and was just a prelude to the explosions to come!)

I still haven’t had any tummy trouble, you would think that that was a good thing considering the places I’ve been eating like the fly encrusted coffee shack, but on the other hand the fact that I have an iron stomach doesn’t say much for my cooking now does it…..

The next day, we arrived in Terjit after passing through the mandatory gendarme check points. Wow it’s soooo beautiful here, it’s like paradise. High cliffs, a creek of clear water, water dripping from the cliff walls, bird song, and so many date palms. The air is cool and humid and the sand is cool under the feet. All around me I hear people speaking Arabic. Mom, Kat and Chris and the driver are all asleep I’m just soaking up the ambience. The drive here was very nice lots of twists and turns, we passed through an area of about three square miles of these amazing blue rocks. They were exactly the color of the sky as if they had been painted. If not for the occasional tree you wouldn’t be able to tell where the earth stopped and the sky began. I wish I had picked up one of those rocks. It’s been great staying here in the mud huts, the grass shacks and now the big tent. I’ve slept well. I haven’t woken up sore aside from Mom’s snoring (It’s amazing to experience Normandy first hand every night). Here in Tergit we wash in the creek (its awesome here, so clean and natural.)

I’m trying to think of my favorite things about Africa while the others snooze. So far I think that they are the sad donkey faces, the beautiful mulahfas that the women wear, the food, the weather, (sorry Chris and Jessica, I know you were so hoping for the typical 130 degree weather to give us a true African experience) the fun transportation, the food, and the sheer inventiveness of the people who live here. The women’s cooperative that turns trash into tourist goodies, the creative chairs, the houses, everything. And definitely the food! I love pastilles, tajienes and “cheb-u-jen” (tiebou-diene)! Haven’t had a chance to try warm camels’ milk yet.

On a side note, it’s sad how people treat donkeys here. They beat them until they have huge festering welts and then they beat them some more, they work them to death. Donkeys are the only animal I have seen in Africa that will walk out in the middle of the road, stand there and face down oncoming traffic without batting an eye. Camels, goats, dogs, they all run when they hear or see a car coming but not donkeys. Donkeys we decided are suicidal and it truly seems to be so. They seem to want to die, even their mournful braying at night sounds like (kill me, kill me, kill me) (ooooooh let me die) it’s very sad.

Well Chris found a pool and like obedient little duckies we followed him to it and it was amazing. The water was a foot and a half deep, bathwater warm and there was a giant frog and a few baby fish. Chris and I sat in the water, Kat waded and mom watched. We turned off the lights and looked around and there were fireflies everywhere! They were all along the banks and in the air. With the moon glistening off the water, bats swooping after bugs, and the moon peeking through the date palms. it was the most magical sight I’ve ever seen. After relaxing for a few we all went to use the bathroom and change clothes respectively.

I borrowed Chris’s headlamp and went in a shower stall to change, the shower smelled like crap, there were wasp’s nests all over the wall. So there I was trying to take my wet clothes off and put dry clothes on without letting anything other then the soles of my sandals touch the floor and without touching the wasp’s nests or walls. I think that this experience sums up Africa in a nut shell, equally beautiful and beastly.

Endnotes



[1] Norton is actually my brother Chris. My aunt Kat renamed us. She named Chris “Norton” and me “Betty” (short for “Sweaty Betty” but I’ll deny it if asked) In retrospect we were all renamed during the trip because when we went to the town of Imlil in Morocco our host couldn’t pronounce our names so he promptly renamed us. I became “Aisha”, Aunt Kat became “Padma”, mom was “Fatima” and he tried to rename Jess to “Fornica” but for obvious reasons she declined and used her Mauritanian name “Miriam” while Chris used his Mauritanian name “Sidi Mohammad.”

[2] (A sand rose is made of gypsum crystals and sand that crystallize in a unique rosette growth Pattern)