TIA demystified

Taking a slight departure from regular travel and work updates, I want to talk about a subject that has been bugging me for a while now. TIA is a term that most Africans are well versed with and probably use on a regular basis. For those of you not in the know, TIA is an acronym, which means: This Is Africa! Within moments of setting foot on African soil, one is bound to encounter and/or experience a TIA moment and hence be introduced to the term. Admittedly, it is usually used in jest but it actually highlights fundamental problems with life in Africa. But before I delve into my rant, allow me to site some examples of TIA moments
• You are in transit in an African airport and en route to your next flight, your hand luggage [which happens to include some alcohol that you bought in the duty free shopping area in the airport of the country you just left] is scanned. The officer says you have to pay an amount to the authorities, but if you pay him half that amount [yes, as in bribe him], he’ll let you through with no hassle – TIA
• Blackouts [as in no power/electricity], water rationing, very clogged drainage systems – TIA. The water source is at low levels or dried up and there is no backup plan!
• Heaps of rubbish in random spots in cities and townships. This rubbish will often be seen being burnt in various parts…meanwhile a few metres away a youngling is squatting, doing a No. 2 – TIA
• Public bus drivers taking liberties on the road and driving around like maniacs; like they own the town – TIA
• Dirt roads or tarred ones with massive potholes, women practically need sports bras to come anywhere close to comfortable while sat in a car driving on said roads – TIA. The government built half the road then realized part of the road was private property so they tarred half of it and left the rest. In some cases, the government didn’t even plan a road, the residents just created one!
• Formal functions and events commence 2 – 3 hours later than the scheduled time with no apologies or advance notice – TIA, in fact we are working on African time here, hello? What world do YOU live in? Have you not heard of African time? No? Well, now you know…TIA!
• You walk into a restaurant and order food which only arrives 3 hours later – TIA, it could be worse you know!
• Children get flogged in schools for disobeying rules or doing badly in tests – TIA
The list is potentially very long but you should now have a sense of what TIA moments are all about

What I find most disturbing about TIA is the ease with which we all accept it, and in fact, laugh over it. I say “we” because I am very guilty of this charge too. But being back here and working alongside Africans and non-Africans alike, while witnessing TIA in action, I have had to question the sense in doing so. If a function starts later than scheduled without apologies, why don’t we protest or hold someone accountable? Why do we accept it or laugh it off as just a TIA thing? It’s ironic, because tardiness is very disrespectful (being late just screams: “I don’t respect your time”) but from our early days we are taught to show respect for our elders and society at large [but maybe that is the problem: we “show” respect without necessarily “having” it]. When the police stop us for no apparent reason and we soon find out that they want a bribe, why don’t we make that individual accountable for their actions? Understandably, sometimes there are extenuating circumstances surrounding these scenarios I’ve just laid out and we can see what is driving people’s behaviour, but even that fails to make it right. These situations are understandable BUT NOT justifiable. The truth of the matter is that by not saying anything to reprimand friends, family, work colleagues, people we meet on a daily basis for acting ignorant; by laughing at and with them and dismissing these situations as TIA moments, we are compounding an already formidable heap of problems

I also wonder why we can perpetuate [and applaud, I dare say] such negative aspects of the African way of life but don’t tout the positive aspects of it with the same enthusiasm. I mean things like:
• Africa is a beautiful continent and each country has its unique [and outstanding] features to offer. They don’t even tell us that at school!
• Its children, though victims of poor leadership, war, poverty, abuse, deprivation, still find the courage to smile and stay positive about life
• That while most of our cultures may seem archaic and extinct, they teach the essence of humanity - to love and care for one another and look for the interests of communities rather than individuals
• That quintessential African hospitality stands the test of time. Most Africans are very happy to welcome strangers into their homes and treat them like family. I always thought this was true only in Ghana and Liberia but my travels have proved it to be a pretty pervasive phenomenon
• That art has always and continues to be a hallmark of our identity. That in the depths of the dirtiest slum, a ragged-looking chum is hard at work on his canvas producing a masterpiece, inspired by God-knows-what. That even though it is not widely known, some of the best artists through history e.g. Picasso, were inspired by such works of art, hopefully produced under less morbid conditions
• That a zillion pounds cannot buy the feeling one gets when somebody beats the drum well and another bells out a tune simultaneously and we all join in dancing and enjoy that feeling of togetherness; we all know that singing, drumming and dancing is an important part of the African way of life but how often do we acknowledge or applaud it?
I just want to know why we don’t talk about some of these things when we consider piping out TIA

By suggesting this, I am not saying we should ignore the negative things that happen around us, brush them under the carpet and focus only on the positives. Africa’s problems are mammoth by any measure and simply cannot and should not be ignored; certainly not by its own. What I am saying is that we should try to fix the negative things around us by starting with the little things that we CAN change – turn up on time for events; organize ourselves in our communities to deal with environmental pollution and appropriate disposal of waste; educate ourselves about issues that affect people in our villages, towns, cities, countries. And while we are at it, let us promote and/or educate others about the positive aspects of our way of life. I see no reason why we can’t turn TIA on its head and make it something that has positive connotations. I long to see the day that happens! But then again, it might not happen in my lifetime, after all…TIA!!!

Spare the rod and spoil the child?

“Spare the rod and spoil the child”, I’ve heard it said many times, usually as ample justification for disciplining [read: hitting, slapping, flogging, etc] a child or teaching them the straight ways of the world. I never adhered to this school of thought, at least not in the literal sense, and being back on the continent, where the idea seems to be fairly pervasive, I find myself asking, yet again, if it really is a good justification. Now I’ve had a fair share of floggings in my time and I’m sure many an African [black person, I dare say] of my age group would confess to suffering the same woe at some stage in their upbringing. I never did accept it and being one of those people who passionately abhor violence, never understood any of the justifications put forward by its proponents. I wanted to share my thoughts on the reasons why I hold steadfastly to this view and perhaps those who think otherwise can take a shot at convincing me

First and foremost, in my experience and as far as I’ve witnessed, adults who hit children tend to do so in a state of anger or frustration [plus, surely it takes that to raise your hand at someone]. Children will always be children, up to some trick or the other and will even sometimes be found doing things they have been categorically warned against. And while I understand the frustration and/or anger that this may sometimes inspire, I’m not so understanding of how that translates into whipping out the old belt or stick to “teach them a lesson”. Hitting someone when you are angry is wrong, period. It doesn’t matter if they are an adult or a child. It’s also ironically, incredibly childish and just the sort of behaviour that mature people do not display. The idea of resorting to violence [cause lets face it, that is really what it is] as a deterrent or solution to any problem is to my mind counter-productive. It also sends children very wrong signals: that it’s okay to hit someone to prove a point…and we don’t understand why people pick up machetes and slaughter each other when there is a disagreement of sorts. We are breeding a society of vigilantes without even seeing the wrong in it. I say this particularly in reference to the post elections violence here in Kenya (Liberia, Sierra Leone and Rwanda popped to mind as well, incidentally) and people expressing surprise at how easy it was for a seemingly peaceful country to break into complete and utter mayhem!

I had an experience with one of the teachers at the school the other day, where one of the kids, after being repeatedly scolded for distracting her classmates and just being annoyingly disruptive, she (the teacher) proceeded to scream at the child, dragged her to the back of the class, instructed her to kneel down and was about to do God-knows-what to the poor kid, when she saw my have-you-lost-your-mind? look. Her question to me then was “what do you do with a child like this?”. “You say you don’t hit children Nana, but how do you deal with this child? Tell me!” she beseeched. The reality was that singling out the child in front of her friends had embarrassed her so much that she had already burst out crying and sobbing uncontrollably. I ignored the teacher, calmed the child down and soon got her to get on with her work. It took a lot of composure to explain to this lady, a while later, that embarrassing the child in front of her friends was more than enough punishment and that hitting her would not have proved her point any more or less. This situation highlights my second issue with hitting children: that people refuse to think of alternative ways of disciplining children and it’s just unforgivable. How about we adopt an approach where hitting the child is not an option? Think, pursue all other avenues of discipline and tell me if you find absolutely nothing that works. Another incident that springs to mind is one that a housemate of mine witnessed at the orphanage/school that she works at. She happened upon one of the teachers mercilessly slapping and pulling the ears of a five year old. She actually walked out of the room because it was getting to ridiculous proportions. She later found out that the child in question was HIV positive, something he was fully aware of, and had bitten one of the other children in a fight. Somehow kicking (apparently another male teacher joined in with that act) and slapping the living daylights out of the child would deter him from ever doing that again. Did they ever consider that this was just an angry child who needed psychological help perhaps? Or even start by understanding what motivated him to do that…no, none of that, lets beat him silly and he’ll know better next time! A blatant display of intolerance for using brain cells and adults just being very lazy at dealing with the challenges that working with or raising kids present. I could give more examples but I think I’ve made my point here

There also seems to be an obsession with “putting the fear of God” in children. Smacking them silly will make them know what is acceptable and what is not. They will know not to repeat their heinous crimes if they get a good beating. While this is true, it also comes with various psychoses; I’ve seen a few of the children flinch when you come close to them and make a gesture any where near raising your hands at them. You instill fear all right, but in some cases these children become scared of their own shadows. They become timid and develop all kinds of complexes. Surely there are better ways to teach a child not to do something. Heck, sometimes they just have to learn from experience!

I’ve been told, in relation to this topic, that someday if I have kids, I’ll spoil them rotten. Well if choosing to not hit them equates to that, then so be it. Working with the children I’ve encountered so far on this trip, just strengthened my resolve to not resort to disciplining children in the “traditional” African way. So “Spare the rod and spoil the child?”, “Yup, guilty as charged!”

Unsung heroes

Morbid circumstances can be found aplenty, working in and around Kibera such that you almost get used to it, almost. But nothing quite prepared me for what I was exposed to during a visit to campsites for internally displaced people (IDPs), with some fellow volunteers last Friday.

By way of background, for those of you that can remember, in December 2007, elections held in Kenya were contested along tribal lines and soon broke down into violence with people being slaughtered with machetes, homes and property being burned down and people being forced to run away to seek refuge in other parts of the country. International bodies like the UN and Red Cross came to the rescue providing temporary camps, food and medical supplies for the refugees and displaced persons. Of course, they did not come to stay forever, so when the mayhem ended, tempers were cooled down and a new government was in place, these organisations left. Promises were made regarding these IDPs; a measly circa USD400 was given to each family as compensation from the Kenyan government for the woes that the elections brought and to this day most of these people still live in UN donated tents and in the case of the really lucky ones, partially completed houses that were first put up by the government as part of said promises. These people were mostly uneducated farmers that had their land stolen, properties burned down and were chased away from their homes without a cent to their name. The IDP camps are mostly located in remote areas where there is hardly any electricity; one has to walk at least 2km or so to BUY water from boreholes; children have to walk for hours to get to and from school, in most cases barefooted as their parents really don’t rate shoes high enough on the priority list; they are essentially a luxury and these areas are so, so dusty that you only have to walk a foot or so to get covered in dust; a gust of wind just spoils the matter completely; needless to say majority of the children have blocked noses and nasty coughs. There are so many children under the age of 4 in these camps. As one can imagine, uneducated farmers left in the middle of nowhere to fend for themselves soon run out of recreational activities so procreation becomes the new form of recreation. The average family has four to five kids. They cannot afford contraception even if it were accessible, which is really sad for how much more expensive is it to raise a child? It doesn’t exactly help that it’s the dry season so everything they plant just withers; as previously mentioned, water is another luxury so God-given rain is all they can rely on to cultivate their crops. With no education and limited skills, no one is rooting to give them jobs, which then gives them more time and energy to procreate. I was mortified as I listened to one story after another whilst we visited a few homes in the two camps we donated food to. They rely on donations from organisations like the one I work with for livelihood. The government shows up once a quarter with bags of maize and yet another litany of promises; promises that they are so tired of hearing that they are just grateful for the food they receive. The UN donated tents are falling apart in some cases so it’s not rare to see parts of the tents being held precariously together with maize sacks and such. You can only imagine how they cope when it rains and gets cold. Even in the cases where the families have brick houses provided by the government, furnishings are limited to a bed; yes, a family of as many as seven share a bed; there is a kitchen with a few utensils and they’ve been kindly provided with water cans that once-upon-a-time stored sulphuric acid, as indicated by the bold writing on said cans

Now, being an overt worrier, I’m prone to classify circumstances in my life as problems with the least provocation. My so-called problems however, usually have solutions; real ones that stare me in the face. Some of these solutions are a decision, phone call, email, text or conversation away. These “problems” I speak of are borne of inaction more than anything else. Then I hear the stories some of these families have to tell and I’m even ashamed to think I have any problems at all. I mean what do you do, when you are chased away from your farmland and home with machetes; you, your husband and your six children; you find one of these IDP camps and call it home; you soon find out you have HIV and so does your second to last born; your husband leaves on account of that saying he wants nothing to do with you; you have no education and no one will employ you; you have all of 3 sets of clothes, its none the better for each of your children who have to walk barefooted to and from school and to fetch water each day? How do you find the courage to wake up each day and face this life? How do you comfort your children and tell them all will be well? You pray that you have at least one more day to live just so they have someone with them. You wake up with a smile on your face cause you know you have to be strong for them regardless of the despair you face. You cook whatever food you have, make sure they are as full as can be before you tend to yourself. You kiss their tears away and try to indulge them with a few jokes and hugs for really what else can you do? That is just one story. There are so many others; there are presently thousands of IDPs all over Kenya who literally have no hope. Where is the government whose election brought them to this place in the first instance? Now that they have what they want, these people have been forgotten, their interests relegated very far to the background. “Where is the justice in that?”, I ask.

So tonight, before I allow another hot tear to stain my pillow as I muse about my “problems”, I will remember these IDPs, these unsung heroes who dare to live under circumstances that I know would leave me suicidal

The Others

I think I’ve made mention in my last few posts about the divas that joined the volunteer project about a week or so ago. Thought I’d do a full piece on them cause frankly, they are that insufferable!

Just go give a bit more colour on the characters in question: they are Persian, obviously very wealthy (as in more money than sense, as one of the other volunteers put it) and its difficult to see how they were taught anything about courtesy and good manners. They are studying in London at the moment (university level) and for some reason (more on that later) they decided to spend 3 weeks out of their summer holidays volunteering (read: holidaying) in Zanzibar

Their attitude has just been appalling: they turn up to work if and when they feel like it; take part in lesson preparation if they feel so inclined; spend more time taking “me and the African kids” photos than actually teaching them anything; complain incessantly about everything (hello, which part of volunteering in Africa has 5 star treatment plastered all over it?); think our Swahili lessons are the best time to get on their blackberries; think its okay to get drunk and consequently turn up to activities late even though its been made explicitly clear that our attitude as volunteers is watched closely by the villagers (who incidentally are staunchly Muslim) and impacts the way AI is perceived and ultimately affects the work it does around here; would rather spend time tanning, listening to their music loudly, talking (well more like bragging) about their outrageously expensive lifestyles to each other than doing anything else

I do not have a problem with what they do with themselves cause I honestly could not give a hoot about it, but once their attitude starts to affect the whole volunteer project and acts as a demotivator to those of us that actually want to be here and do the work, then I think it becomes a problem, a big one I might add

All of this of course begs the question: why are they here? They are wealthy enough to book a swanky holiday to Zanzibar and do whatever the hell they please, so why would they sign up to a volunteer project? As I understand it, it was this over an internship in London. So they’ve kind of been forced to be here which defeats the purpose of the whole idea of volunteering in the first place.

The second question one might ask is: what is being done to put them in their place? We (the other volunteers who actually want to be here and are dedicated to the work) have been told that they receive a strong warning and if they mess up one more time after that, they will be chucked off the program. My sincere wish is that it comes to that

The sad thing is that having them here means that they’ve taken the spots of people who could have been more committed to the program, cared more about the work that was being done here and actually wanted to make a difference. Thinking about that really infuriates me!

Is it just me or...?

I think I’ve settled in well but I must say that I can’t help but notice something about the way the locals interact with me. First off, I should reiterate that the other volunteers are all Europeans or Caucasian Americans and we were joined by some Iranian divas yesterday (more on that later). All the locals call out to us volunteers (mostly to say hi, what’s up, that sort of thing) as we cycle to through the town on our daily rounds or as we stroll round in the evenings or hang out on the beach. In most cases they reel out words in Swahili to me, most of which I do not understand, something they seem somewhat taken aback by. One crazy old lady in the township actually had a go at me (or at least so it seemed); I could not understand a word she was saying but her look was disapproving, she gestured accusingly and kept repeating the word mzungu (which translates as white person)…so the conclusion I’ve come to is that obviously not that many black people (if any at all) engage in volunteer work in this village. The villagers must wonder who this crazy black woman is who wears her hair in dreads (a few of them call me rasta already), obviously can’t ride a bike well (there have been a few incidents of me flying by on the bike with the wind in my hair, followed swiftly by dubious dodging of rocks and potholes and dare I say, a few falls), dresses like an mzungu and can’t speak Swahili (I think this aspect of my weirdness actually dilutes my blackness in their eyes). As I learn more Swahili and hopefully am able to communicate well, I’ll try to validate some of these impressions

Last weekend was spent at the lovely north coast of the island in a village called Nungwi. I thought the beaches in Jambiani were pretty awesome but the ones in Nungwi are just breathtakingly beautiful. I need to upload photos but the internet on the island is a bit slow and i'm being abit lazy about it, but soon, I promise

Anyway, talking about Nungwi’s picturesque features was a digression from the issue I wanted to discuss. I did the trip with a few fellow volunteers (one of whom is a Swiss girl who is not part of our programme but is volunteering in the village for 3 months, trying to set up a school in the middle of the Jozani forest; a Brit girl; an American girl and a Brit boy. We had the distinct pleasure of meeting and acquainting with another group of English girls who had been in Nungwi for a while. They were aged about 19 and were on a gap year before going on to university. They happened to be friends with the guy in our group, who incidentally seemed quite taken by them. The other girls in my group (who are cool and I get on well with) and I were there to enjoy the beach, go snorkelling and attend a full moon party in a nearby town called Kendwa. These ladies on the other hand wanted to get good tans, meet some men (black men specifically) and partaay (read: get drunk and high). In short, we did not want to hang out with these girls but because of our mutual “friend” we ended up going to places with them (granted, it worked out a lot cheaper that way). But I could not help but wonder if this was what gap years was all about. I overheard one of them saying to someone that she was going to Oxford to study theology because she was fairly religious (really??!). I didn’t take a gap year myself and I’ve understood it to be a time to travel, mature and experience independence. None of that seemed to apply to this group…but maybe it’s just me

It’s also worth mentioning that the full moon party was slightly anti-climatic; it was basically a rave filled with drunken tourists and far too many local men on a groping spree. The other girls and I ended up strolling the beach, which was awesome in the moonlight and chatting around the bonfire. We missed the acrobat acts cause we got there a bit late but I’m sure that would have been fun to watch

The recent additions to the house seem to be an interesting lot. Amongst their first questions were: is it okay to smoke weed on the beach? They don’t seem too keen on the food either (frankly neither am I but I eat it anyway; and they are 10x skinnier). They came fully equipped with loud speakers, so the house is now like a disco when they are around and they don’t seem eager to make friends with the rest of us (save said “friend” mentioned earlier who instantly bonded with them). But its just first impressions, things might change; I’m keeping an open mind

Ps. Last week, our programme coordinator asked if we would like to paint the toilet at the local high school; we are in the process of painting the whole school at the moment. Now the toilet at this school is of the pit latrine kind and having a full appreciation of what pit latrines are all about, I politely declined….well, my negativity may have influenced a couple of the other volunteers to say no too BUT the coordinator made it clear that we were under no obligation whatsoever and after checking out the latrines themselves, they saw where I was coming from. So, our new diva friends were given this kind offer too and they’ve agreed to complete the task. Not sure they fully appreciate they are in for but it will be interesting to see how they cope. More on that next time :D