A post-MIA Thought

FRIENDS!

It’s been a long while since I last visited this space. I’ve found it difficult to just sit down and write about the work, the changes, the ups and the downs. But here goes an attempt to change that around –

I recently had the opportunity of stepping outside of my usual routine to support an independent review of a multi-donor budgetary support mechanism called the District Development Facility that represents over $200 million being dispersed to local District Assemblies throughout the country. The evaluation was exciting in many ways – it was something new and pushed me to work just a little harder to bring value to the extremely experienced team I joined. It also gave me an opportunity to broaden my understanding of Ghana’s decentralization process across regions and levels ranging from the local to the national.

Here are two things that stood out to me during the process that I believe have relevance outside of public sector governance:

The right idea at the wrong time is still the wrong idea

Timing is everything, isn’t it? Work and life, it seems the same deal. Ghana’s process of decentralization has all the “big picture” ideas/institutions in place but the devil is always in the details. A lot of the implications of the policy process simply haven’t been thought through or confronted along the line from central to local government and thus hinder the potential for impact. The net result? Confusion is ubiquitous with a system constantly in flux. It’s all the right ideas but not at all the right times.

Diplomacy takes discipline

There is maturity and patience in being able to restrain a personal opinion. And there is tact and wisdom in knowing when this holding back is necessary. What’s important in this process is the ability to recognize and be intentional about the “tensions” we want to create. Shout out to my team leader for bringing this to light in practice!

Until next time,
T

What does it take?

When meetings, conferences, or workshops begin, the facilitator requests a volunteer to commence the program with a prayer. If we start the day with a Muslim prayer, we are sure to close it with a Christian one.

Walking through town, I will often hear a mixture of Dagbani, Twi, English, and probably a whole host of other dialects that are beyond my knowledge and therefore, recognition.

To me, these are small, simple expressions of peaceful co-existence. And I believe they speak to a broader narrative and greater success – tolerance in society. But of course, there are misgivings on occasion and these are confronted with callous words and maybe even aggression to some degree. At other times, it comes with a more subtle, persistent, and complex “othering” – for example, through the common misconceptions that Northerner’s are rural, uneducated, lacking poise and decorum; their Twi not carrying the same cadence and confidence as one from the South. These are very real expressions of stratification in Ghanaian society and are reflected and reinforced through the discrepancies in access to opportunities. The common grievance – “everything is in Accra” – speaks to the challenge of achieving broad-based and inclusive growth.

These are not socio-political and economic challenges unique to Ghana. In fact, Ghana looks like a dream compared to Sri Lanka. Today, 30 years ago, my very own country fell into unimaginable turmoil and has since failed to acknowledge and uphold minority populations as more than just second class citizens. And again, here, economic status intersects with ethnic and religions divisions to further complicate the gradient of belonging, power, and privilege.

In Canada, we celebrate the “mosaic” but are compelled to face the bitter reality that practicing multiculturalism is in no way a substitute for diversity. We exist in ethnic enclaves and hold to cultural stereotypes that limit sincere interactions outside of race, colour, and creed. (I think university is a special place because here, sometimes, we are able to transcend these constructed barriers). Or, we make efforts by way of policies and programs to support immigrants and refugees, but fail to offer the same courtesies and privileges to the indigenous of our land.

So, today, I’m left wondering – is it truly beyond our moral and political imagination to build the policies, legal frameworks, and institutions that can enable a diversity of people to thrive?
Can we distinguish between competing perspectives on governance and build systems that are resonant with the people? Or is a specific pattern of legalism, policy, and governance so entrenched in our cognitive psyche that we cannot imagine an alternate system and way of being?

Forever with more questions than answers and often on the verge of an existential crises…

Call it for what it is

Here’s to an issue that has no geographical boundaries or racial preferences –
__________________________________________________________

My legs will stretch out from underneath my dress with no apology.

My hips will curve out like a neat bottle of cola and exist with no apology.

Mascara may sometimes decorate my lashes and my eyes will occasionally dress up. But they will appear with no apology.

My hair will carelessly fall over my shoulders, be whipped back into a bun, be twirled into a twist at the nape of my neck. My hair will be what it wants to be without any apology.

When I stepped into your office, I was welcomed by the usual cheer of both you and your colleagues. But something quickly changed. You, and him, and him, were examining me with a string of thoughts; a brief wondering about the ways, tastes, and textures of foreign flesh. I could read it in your eyes and the way your lips turned upward in that halfway smile. I wasn’t born yesterday, you know. I have an intuition; a sense you will never know about. And I have met many like you before.

You offered up the usual harmless banter about the need for me to get a husband and then shifted to a slightly less appreciated conversation around my refusal to sleep with you – a conversation laced with an air of humour and gentle teasing and muddled with clear signs of your serious questioning.

But when you told me I should “penetrate a man”, you crossed that fine line.

And you crossed it again, and again, and again.

You crossed it when you held my arm too tightly, despite feeling me writhing beneath your firm grip.

You crossed it when you told me that I’ve gained weight and that my bigger breasts are the sign of it. You crossed it when you crudely suggested they are being hugged together in a way…

And I walked out.

I laugh, dismiss, shake my head, and continue with the carefree ease that has come to be my signature at the office.

You are able to say what you want to say because I have allowed you to. I did not care enough about you to waste my energy on you. I found it less stressful and less emotionally exhaustive to ignore you than to engage with you about that place – the insecure, low, and objectifying place – from which those comments emanate. You’re not a bad person, really. But somehow, you’ve not lived in the true strength of manhood. You have existed in its shadows, in its false pretenses, and in its vain attempts. And since you have bound your sense of self so intimately with me – your manhood with women – I beg to say that you have not been privileged to experience a woman for what she truly is.

For you look at your women but you do not see them. You listen to your women but you do not hear them. You touch your women but you often do not feel them.

So from now on, I will call it for what it is. Because otherwise, you will continue with your ways – from me to her. And suppose she spoke out to you? You would attribute it to a difference in personality. You would suggest that I am cool and calm, fun and easy going. And you will think of her as too serious, no fun, and too up-tight.

But it isn’t about personality. Because when you shoot, we both fall, for I am her and she is me.

So from now on, I will call it for what it is. I will invite you to conversations and endeavour to elegantly deconstruct the patriarchy and false manhood that has defined your vernacular and your very being.

And you should know – you have not battered or broken me. Not by any means. But I have robbed you of an opportunity to grow and to change – to be the type of man that I could respect and admire.

So I will continue to be brilliant and bold and beautiful. And I will exist without apology, without excuses, without reserve. But I will no longer walk away from calling it what it is. Harassment.

An Empathy Walk – Trying to Make it Work

“Only eight rupees to the tailor, only twenty-two cents!” they would say, triumphantly translating everything into American currency; and while the shopping was converted into dollars, tips to the servants could be calculated in local currency: “fifteen hundred rupees, is he mad? Give him one hundred, even that’s too much”

“They are so scared they’ll get taken advantage of because of their wealth, they try and bargain down on the cheapest room”

From Kiran Desai’s “The Inheritance of Loss”

That was me. Foreign exchange rates – once at the recesses of my mind – now at the very forefront and a seeming second voice evaluating every transaction. But it wasn’t the price of the room in the guesthouse I had an issue with. Bargaining with taxi drivers – this was my battleground.

You say 8 cedis (approximately CAD 4)? I say 4.

This foreigner is not about to take a hit…

And the debate begins.

I didn’t often see taxi drivers beyond the single dimension of their occupation. The grounds for our interaction were limited solely to when I needed to venture from A to B.

So when our Acumen course encouraged an exploration of empathy, I took it as my opportunity to redefine my ‘battleground’.

Let me tell you a bit about Ibrahim.

He wears a mischievous grin, slender and poised, with a beard he always makes a point to joke about – he calls himself mini-Osama (I’m not about to get into the politics of his humour!).

I had hopped into his car on more than one occasion. And with time, our interactions grew more amicable and easy. As casual banter, greetings in the morning, and a joke or two here and there came to define our relationship, I no longer fixated or debated the three or four cedis he sought when dropping me. It’s funny what a little bit of familiarity can do.

But really, I still didn’t know anything about this man’s life or any of the other taxi drivers I passed by on a daily basis. I had often wondered how they managed to make it work. Especially in a comparatively small town like Yendi, where most people walk, take bicycles, or ride along on motos, I couldn’t imagine a reliable revenue stream. Along with my questions were a series of assumptions and misconceptions. Often times, I would see them sitting around, chatting with each other. And my mind would say…what the heck are you doing? Why are you just sitting there? Do something! Be productive! (Of course, I had no idea what I expected them to do or what I had imagined as an image of productivity…)

Thankfully, I’ve had an opportunity to clarify some of my perspectives and learn a few lessons in the process.

Here’s what I didn’t know:

Ibrahim is a farmer. Before my eyes have even opened for the day, he has spent hours working the land. Yams are his speciality.

He has 5 daughters, all of whom he is putting through school. It isn’t easy but he firmly believes it is only by God’s grace and provision that he survives.

Every week, he pays 70 GHC to the owner of the taxi. That means, each day, he is should be making 10 GHC. Some days are good, others are not – market days are usually the best. Each day, he will save if he can. And like many others in his taxi rink, he will endeavour to deposit savings at the local banks.

Sometimes, they get together and take part in what they called, adashi. That is, at the end of a given time frame (be it weekly or monthly), everybody in the group puts forward the decided amount into a pool. That pool of money goes to one person and the collection switches hands each round.

Clearly, being a “taxi driver” was just a small part of the story.

Today, I met enterprising, intelligent men. Men who worked hard to make ends meet but slowed down to just be – to live each day with the confidence that their efforts would be enough; God was on their side.

Today, I met men who held their dignity in their ability to somehow, make it work.

Today, I met men who exemplified the grace to give a cedi or two when it was needed and who had the humility to ask when their own needs arose.

Today, I was presented (yet again) with a teaching of reciprocity.

Today, I was reminded of the importance of just getting up, dressing up, and showing up – no matter what it is we are called to do in this life of ours.

Today, I was reminded that it wasn’t easy.

My battleground was re-defined. I will never know or fully understand the realities of Ibrahim’s life or the trials that may mark his every day. But I can share a small part of his daily walk.

And that’s a lesson in empathy.

I’m not about to go along with every absurd price put my way, but I am more inclined to step back, chuckle, reflect, and re-evaluate my response. One thing is for sure – I definitely don’t think the average taxi driver is out to get me – they’re likely just trying to make things work.

Every once in a while, we can endeavour to step outside our own skin. I ask you, how can empathy inform your own opinions and interactions?

Xox,

T

P.S. Kiran Desai explores some of the deepest contradictions of the human heart and puts words, feelings, and a semblance of sense into the complex queries of identity politics with a clarity I still can’t get over. If you haven’t already read “The Inheritance of Loss”, it’s definitely a book worth picking up!

When the White (but forever chocolate) Lady met Charity

“Sulaminga!”

When I first found out what the word meant, I was slightly baffled and even more than slightly disturbed that this was a reference for me. Umm, hello, whatever happened to an appreciation for a spectrum of colour? How do we just hop over the prevalence of brown and simply jump between black and white?

See? The spectrum exists

Sulaminga. White person. Or more accurately, Sulaminpa – white lady.

I quickly realized that there was no harm meant in the word; it was simply an easy articulation to identify and address a foreigner, sometimes even expressed with a sincere hint of camaraderie. While the history of this naming traces centuries ago and is imbued with contention, here in Northern Ghana, it somehow didn’t seem to carry all the politics of race that are often catapulted forward if and when such stark racial classifications are voiced in the North American context. Nevertheless, a part of me cried out with the clarifying facts, namely, I’m brown. It was undoubtedly a good time to start really appreciating and empathizing with those who, the world over, are stereotyped, generalized, and stuffed into neat boxes of infuriating falsehood.

But I knew in my heart, there was something more in it for me. I had to understand for myself what aspects of this homogenous “white lady” image I was running from. There were a number of things that came to mind, but let me just share two points here with you.

1) “White” carries all sorts of privilege. It bothers me when I’m given priority over a local in the queue at the clinic. It bothers me that simply by looking at me and my “difference” you feel I deserve better.

2) And somehow, it bothered me that I was expected to give more, as though I were a reserve of excess cash.

And here’s where this white (but forever chocolate) lady met Charity, along with a side of humble pie.

I’ve always struggled to respond when people have asked me for money. Or when somebody voices a grievance and leaves the solution hanging in the air. The unspoken words are loud and clear – “you can carry me from problem to solution if you just open up your wallet” – leaving me anxious, uncomfortable, and forever questioning what the right reaction ought to be. And more often than not, I also feel like a horrible human being. After all, this request is made from a place of trust. Strangers don’t ask me for money. Only friends and acquaintances do.

So why all these jumbled up emotions?

Firstly, I was afraid of perpetuating a stereotype, reinforcing a sometimes problematic image. What would it do to inform future interactions of these people with other foreigners if I opened up my wallet every time?

And secondly, I was always conflicted with the end of development and the beginning of charity (or alternatively, the end of charity and the beginning of development). In my mind, they operate on two different models. Charity responds to immediate and often clearly visible needs. It tends to be a short-term response extended in an effort to better the circumstances of another. Development on the other hand, strikes me as a long-term investment in a given area that aims to address the institutional and systemic barriers that prevent a reconfiguring of the “the way it is” and the paradigms informing that reality. I’ve always been personally in favour of development although in and of itself it is hugely problematic. I like the fact that it requires commitment and a far deeper appreciation and understanding of the root causes of certain problems in our world today. Given this, I knew that my doling out 15 Ghana Cedis to help cover an individual’s much needed health insurance would not be solving anything at a systemic level. It’s a one-time, band-aid solution. There is no scalability and it screams a perpetuating cycle of dependence. And to add to the misery, that nagging voice would come out and say “you don’t even know if she actually needs it for health insurance or if she’s trying to cheat you”. And immediately after thinking that thought, I’m ashamed of myself. And I’m equally ashamed of using my passion for systemic change as a way out of charity.

Having pushed myself to think through some of the bigger questions, I am left with a few thoughts.

1) Charity and development, even if I believe they operate on two different models, don’t need to be mutually exclusive. They’re equally important and can be practiced simultaneously. And undoubtedly, charity is a good thing. It teaches and instills a spirit of giving; it brings new relevance to the notion of ‘living simply that others may simply live’. And people do have immediate needs that cannot be left aside. One would think I was never listening for the past 22 years of attending church. #fail.

2) As for perpetuating a stereotype of the rich white person. Well, comparatively and materially speaking, I sometimes do have more (mainly here in Northern Ghana). If somebody is trying to cheat me, it’s not on my conscience. A part of me thinks this is why so many rural farmers and others here find it difficult to save. As soon as they have just a little bit more than subsistence, a range of worthy requests are at the doorstep. The pros and cons of the collective spirit I suppose but regardless, a spirit of giving prevails.

As a matter of fact, all of this applies to life in Vancouver as well. A walk through the Downtown Eastside would warrant an equally generous, charitable, and open heart.

So, if I have, I’ll give. Maybe it doesn’t have to be as complicated as my mind once led me to believe. I do carry, reflect, and represent many aspects of the “white experience” so perhaps this is an opportunity to put my faith in action and to turn that “white privilege” around for the better. It is my privilege to give more. To give until I simply cannot give anymore.

Lovingly,

Your white (but forever chocolate) lady.

Food for Thought

If you’re looking for clarity in my post, gah, sorry my dear, you’re not going to find it.  I’m a mess of questions and scattered thoughts.  Be warned.

Thought #1: The distinction between government and politics

So as you may or may not know, I work at the Client Service Unit, which is a new unit at the Yendi Municipal Assembly.  The objective of the unit is to serve as a communication link for the Assembly members (comprising of elected and appointed members who would be the equivalent of the House of Commons in Canada) as well as between the Municipal Assembly and the public at large.  It’s easy to see the theoretical link between something like a CSU and the commitment to democracy, as the unit is focused on improving the peoples’ access to the government.  Further to this, the unit is intended to ameliorate citizen voice in informing government decisions and planning processes.

So we have the unit down in theory.  The fun part (my job) is to support putting all these good ideas into practice.

In delving into operationalizing this new unit, I’ve had the opportunity of learning from various officers ranging from the Planner to the Finance Officer to the Engineer.  By sitting in on meetings and engaging with gurus of the current systems, I’ve come to realize that there is really no distinction made between government and politics on the part of the people. This is understandable given the fact that every District/Municipal/Metropolitan Assembly has its highest official as a government appointee and represents the political party in power.

At first, this did not seem problematic.  But wait a minute. It kind of is.  Isn’t it?

If you felt as though everything the government provided was a political maneuver, how would that change your perspective? How would it change or impact your expectations for service delivery? What would it do to your level of apathy?

I had never viewed the provision of my basic services as a political enterprise but rather the responsibility of civil servants to deliver.  After all, political affairs shift and turn with election cycles, and while national policies and priorities undoubtedly affect us, civil servants and non-partisan entities are intended to serve as the constant amidst the change. Perhaps it’s a fine line that divides the two but I think it’s an important distinction nonetheless.  In places like Yendi where there are already polarized views on political affairs, having the two – government and politics – entwined together, simply exacerbates the lack of trust in the government.

Working to understand different perceptions of the government led me to another realization.  Often times, people view NGOs as more reliable service delivery entities than the government.

This is no good. I don’t mean no good in the sense that I don’t believe in NGOs. I do.  But when rural communities are hoping for an NGO to come in and put in the next borehole they have been waiting for years to receive…we have a problem.  The government should play a key role in these public services.

However, they are often constrained in terms of funding.  Districts are constantly waiting for money to come in from Accra.  The money often does not come in on time, nor does the original allocation come in full.  Funding is a huge constraint.

So how do you effectively balance responding to immediate priorities (getting the NGO in to get your water), and systemic change (building the capacity of the government to be able to deliver on such services)? Where is the trade-off? Is there a trade-off?

Thought #2: The distinction between income generation and wealth creation

Not too long ago, I spent 2 days with Emmanuel and his family in an effort to understand more about service delivery from a local citizen’s perspective.  Emmanuel owns a pretty impressive and productive poultry farm and raises maize, pepe (hot red pepper type thing), and cabbage on the side for subsistence purposes.  We spoke about his farm and how he made the switch to poultry to allow for less fluctuation in consumer demand.  We spoke about education and the fact that there were various community schools coming up left right and centre with no quality teachers to deliver the curriculum.  We spoke about the need to shift the attitude of the people to one that validates agriculture and farming livelihoods versus consistently viewing it as beneath a white-collar job.

We also ventured to visit the various projects run by NGOs in his community.

When I first arrived at his doorstep, I commented on the numerous NGO project signs I had encountered in getting to his place.  Mind you, it was not a long walk from the roadside junction I had been dropped off at.  And so I was eager to understand more about what they were all doing.  A number of them were focused on women’s collectives and Shea butter processing.

So.

What happens when all the women are using the same Shea nut grinding mill to produce the same end product and saturate the same end market?  Further to this, what happens when the women at the market reflect a similar demographic/rural context as the woman supplying Shea butter? Is income not simply transferring hands?

While income generation is positive and much needed, particularly in rural areas where every cedi counts, how do we make the shift to wealth creation? Where should the government fit into this picture?

I apologize for all the questions. But I hope you can either challenge my perspective or throw resources my way that can help me ask better questions or start answering big questions.

In the next while, I’m hoping to understand more about Ghana’s national monetary and fiscal policies.  I want to know how and in what ways these policies translate to impact the livelihood of common citizens.

I’m hoping to learn more about mediums for information dissemination that the CSU can employ to start informing public opinion and influencing public perception on various issues

I’m hoping to further my understanding of how my Municipality makes project decisions for when the money does come in. What tools can we use to facilitate information flow? How can these tools allow us to prioritize decisions/projects in a more transparent and consistent process?

I promise you, I still have faith in the public sector. I trust there are answers to be found in this sphere.

#foreveramess,

T

A New Chapter

Amigos!

I’m writing to you from one of my fave cities everrr – Toronto! The hustle and bustle of this place just does me wonders.  I’ve spent the past month in training, preparing for my first ever full-time job post grad (YAY!) with Engineers Without Borders (EWB).  I’ll soon be making my home in Ghana and working for EWB’s Governance and Rural Infrastructure team.

As opposed to getting into the details of what I will be doing (my way of making you re-visit this space hehe) I want to share with you why I am doing what I am doing.

They say the best things come in three’s, so here we go:

1.   “The world you were a child in stays with you all the days of your life.  Its light is the light you see by and its dark colours all your days” – Margaret Laurence

Growing up in Sri Lanka, I learned the fragility of life.  It instilled in me the belief that a truly dignified life is one lived for others.  (And no, I’m not talking about the kind of “live your life for others” that involves being enslaved to the opinions of others but rather, the “live your life for others” that acknowledges individual well-being as tied to the well-being of others regardless of race, ethnicity, class etc).  Funnily, it was not until I actually left Sri Lanka that I realized to what extent my childhood and subsequent visits back home shaped my values and beliefs.  But today, I know that my passion for service and international development is deeply rooted in my memories of home.

When my family later immigrated to Canada, the second seed was planted.  I knew I was inheriting opportunity through the sacrifices of those around me and I knew this came with a responsibility to pay my privilege forward.  Moving through the western education system, I learnt what it meant to approach nearly everything from a critical and curious perspective.  Indeed, it was not always about the right answers but the ability to ask better questions.  I also learnt about what it meant to be a minority within a system – a reality which further fueled my desire to enhance the vibrant voices of the “periphery” from both a local and global context.

2.   “Ask not what the world needs.  Ask instead what makes you come alive, and then go do it.  Because what the world needs is people who have come alive”. – Howard Thurman 

If you are reading this blog, it is likely that you have the privilege of exploring, discovering, asking big questions, and dreaming big dreams.  While perhaps it is unsettling that our world today does not extend this type of luxury to all people, I venture to say that guilt is not constructive.  And so, I ask.  I relentlessly ask of myself – what matters? What is it that truly ignites my heart and mind? How can I give of myself to the people, the communities, and the world around me in a manner that makes me come ALIVE?

I’m nowhere near defining my hedgehog, but for now, my heart knows where it needs to be.

3.   “Who I am is God’s gift to me; what I become is my gift to God” – Unknown

I remember looking up at these words from where I sat at my desk, each and every day from the time I was about 8 years old (posted there courtesy of the greatest papa dearest ever).  It continues to remind me that I am here on this earth for a purpose and I’ve got me some work to do for the glory of the Man upstairs.  And so, head up and heart open, my journey continues.

As the months progress, I hope to use this space to share with you some of my thoughts and questions pertaining to the complex, contested, and uncertain world of development and particularly, my work in Ghana.  Fire away your questions, comments, and thoughts in return – I’d love to learn from you.  I’ll also be posting them tidbits of excitement that come from happenings in Vancouver – the ones that have no relevance whatsoever to development.  Organized chaos. That’s what this is all about.

Much love,

T