A Year in Nica

My dear friend Ronan is chronicling his year in Nicaragua in blog form as well, so if you're into following self-righteous 20-something do-gooders I highly suggest reading his blog: A year out: A year in Nica.  As a student of medicine he's likely to be far more prompt, perceptive, and attuned to his audience than I.

Effective Institutions (Or Lack Thereof)

For those of you who drive (and considering most of you are American I suspect that is most of you) you surely have had the distinct pleasure of visiting an office of the Department/Bureau of Motor Vehicles.  The trials and tribulations of such a visit are well known and documented.  The hardships are initiated when one realizes they've selected the wrong form for submission, brought insufficient supporting documentation, or worst of all, stood for an hour in the wrong cue and must move to the end of the proper one.  (Stephen Hawking would do well to explore the nature and curvature of the space-time continuum within these offices; I suspect some small black hole is kept in a locked closet or behind the desk, dragging time to a standstill).  As if the institutional processes weren't enough to instill hopelessness and despair (did Camus write anything about French DMV's?), one finally encounters the cheery employees.  These individuals possess a unique combination of hubris and misery.  They, the chosen few, have been ordained with the noble task of paper-pushing that they may spare us such intensive labors.  Only they have the mental (these people are mental) faculties to select proper forms and forward them to their proper inboxes.  Only they have digits sufficiently nimble to enter a person's name and DOB into an outdated DOS-based database (alright that's harsh, they're probably on Windows '95 by now).  Thankfully we have these honorable intermediaries to guide us ignoramuses through the web of paperwork.  Yet while exuding their knowledge and power when interacting with the drooling imbecile public, they plainly make evident under their breath and to their peers that this position is more burden than blessing.  A cross that they must bear.  If they weren't shepherding the masses through the system they'd be rich beyond their wildest dreams, sipping pina coladas poolside, basking in the riches they made off a back-scratcher or cat toy they invented.  


You'd be wrong in assuming this is as bad as bureaucracies get.  Mine eyes have seen the glory of the Tanzanian Immigration Department.  Say what you will about the DMV employees (as I just have), they indeed have a handle on what forms you must fill out and processes you must execute (and they make clear that they know and you do not know).  This is very much NOT the case with Tanzanian Immigration.  I give you Exhibit A, the Tanzanian embassy website, accessed Tuesday, August 16, 2011.  This was my guiding document before my travels began (early July) and I adhered to the directions.  Note how it distinguishes between types of visa, establishing procedures unique to each type.  Note especially those for the "business visa."


On accumulating the appropriate documentation and monies I graced the Tanzanian embassy in New York with my presence.  I indicated on my form and verbally indicated to the secretary that I'd be in need of a business visa.  Indeed, my predecessors in Tanzania for SharedSolar had only a tourist visa, were the recipients of (albeit mild) harassment from the local immigration office on notification of their presence, and prematurely exited the country on Easter weekend.  I had been urged by all members of my team, "make sure you get a business visa!"  A business visa I shall get.  I shall get a business visa.  I will make sure my form indicates such.  I will tell the embassy such.  I am going to Tanzania on "business."  (It really isn't business - it's research.  I'm not selling goods, purchasing goods for resale in the States, nor am I being paid by any organization having its bank account or headquarters within Tanzanian jurisdiction.  Such a logical argument would be lost in translation or summarily ignored, ergo, business visa.)  I paid a $100 visa fee where the tourist visa is typically $50.  I foolishly assumed that my adherence to the rules for obtaining a business visa meant that I had received a business visa (see: David Hume on causality).


On my arrival in Dar es Salaam, I indicated on my small blue entry form that I was, among other things, here on business.  Along with my passport and entry form I was in possession of letters indicating the purpose of my visitation from both my advisor, a director at The Earth Institute at Columbia, and the team leader for the Millennium Villages Project office in Tanzania out of which I would be working.  The immigration officer at the airport (also cheery employees) took a brief look at my passport and entry card and stamped my passport next to my "business visa" and allowed me to pass.


Regardless of the "business" visa, I was in possession of a visa and was now in the country.  In every other country I've been to this is the end of the process until you leave.  As it should be; I gave proof that I wasn't dangerous, explained my intent, provided proper evidence, and had entered the country.  Game, set, match.  Not so in Tanzania.  In Tanzania, you're "required" to check in with local immigration offices each time you move around.  ("Required" in quotes because if you don't bother checking in how will they know?)  I wasn't made aware of this until several days after I had arrived at the MVP office.  The office took several more days to draft another letter from the team leader and have it signed, so it was two weeks before I went to the immigration office.


On arriving at the local immigration office, I was told that my visa was insufficient, that there was no longer such a thing as a business visa (all evidence to the contrary), and that I would need to purchase a CTA (Carrying on Temporary Assignment) visa from the local office.  I would need to fill out another brief form (the heading of which said "tourist visa" rather than "CTA") and pay another $200.  I was told that since they didn't have the right form, they would cross out the word "tourist" and write "CTA."  In one of the more sketchy maneuvers I've seen from a public official in any context, an immigration officer grabbed on of my copies of my passport (as if it were a scrap piece of paper) and scribbled a bank account number into which I was to deposit said $200.  Jaw, meet floor.  This is how a national immigration office conducts itself.


This was a Thursday.  I didn't feel like dealing with this run-around Friday or Monday.  Tuesday, while I was out in Mbola, apparently the immigration officers showed up at the MVP office asking about me.  Shame I missed them.  On Wednesday I decided I should sort out this nonsense, so I spent an hour at the bank trying to deposit money (they really must not want it), obtained a receipt, and went back to the immigration office.  This time, I was told that I had filled out the wrong form (imagine that) and was asked where my two passport photos were.   You know, the ones they never told me I needed.  Back out the door I went to find a shop that provided passport photo service (a dude with a digital camera who had to hop on his motorbike to run off and print them somewhere).  When I came back and sat down in the office, I was told by the officer that I would need to sit there and wait two to three hours for his manager to get out of a meeting and approve my application.  I said no, threw a piece of paper at him with my cell phone number on it, and told him to call me when his boss got out of his stupid meeting.


Unfortunately this story is part of a much broader picture here.  It's easily perceptible what ineffective governments and institutions do to a society (and conversely, the positive effect of strong governments in the developed world).  Weak institutions can mean not just inefficiency and delays, but outright failure.  In the developed world strong institutions like governments (and even stronger, corporations) have the ability to effectively (relatively) run schools, health care (in sensible countries that's the government), military, and the like.  The government provides a network of institutions that support its citizens based on how citizens believe their government should support them.  Here, decades of corruption and crippling debt have rendered the government ineffective and incompetent.  Aid and relief monies that go through the government are piddled away.  Hospital systems (supposedly state-run) lack basic supplies.  Energy infrastructure decays and fuel prices are set by an incompetent organization.  While pipes and sinks are installed in homes there is no or sporadic running water; in rural settings, the Ministry of Water establishes constructs shared water points but then expects the community to organize a water committee and pay for upkeep.


Long story short, be thankful for your efficient, organized state department of motor vehicles.

Photos

I've finally posted pictures to my Picasa site.  Check 'em out.

Modi Research Lab Paper on MVP Energy Infrastructure

My lab at Columbia just released a 5-year summary of energy infrastructure research and interventions in the Millennium Villages Project.  I highly suggest a perusal.


Infrastructure from the Bottom Up: An overview and assessment of the Millennium Village Project Energy and Infrastructure Sector after five years

Dad in Pelotonia

Using the blog to get the word out.  In a few days my dad will be riding in Pelotonia from Columbus to Athens, Ohio (a century ride, about 100 miles).  This is a fundraiser ride for the excellent James Cancer Center at Ohio State University, where my late grandmother and cousin were treated.  Cancer research funding (research funding on the whole) has flatlined over the last few years so it's as important as ever to find new means for funding generation.  All the operational costs of Pelotonia are covered by corporate sponsors so anything you contribute will go directly to the James Cancer Center.  Thank you in advance for your support!  Here's a link to my dad's profile.

Kick

My most prized possession in Tanzania thus far has been my footie boots.  I brought them on recommendation from the previous SharedSolar consultant after I asked if I'd be able to get in on some kick.  As it turns out I've joined a team here.  Been training every day around 5:30, Saturday is match day around the same time.  Won the match this past Saturday, 3-1.  Been alternating between a holding midfield role and striker.  While my team has gotten used to my whiteness (and even ask why I've missed a practice or two) the opposing squads are still hesitant about a mzungu's ability to play kick.  Allow me to boast that my demonstrations on the pitch shatter their expectations.  Last night at training I lost my mark with a dash to the near post and headed in a corner upper 90.  Sick.  Still need to figure out the right Swahili words to organize the back four; they're a hot mess.  I'll try and get some better photos soon.

The boots.

The pitch.

Even acknowledging his clunky lack of athleticism Abdul failed to stick this one in for reasons passing understanding.  Note positions of ball, keeper, and Abdul (Barca jersey in front of goal).

One of these ballers is not like the other...

Tabora, Tanzania

I suppose I never properly introduced my location or project.  We'll start with Tabora.  Tabora is in western Tanzania; I've heard it described as "the end of the earth" because it's impossible to travel to or from Tabora in any direction in any reasonable temporal quantum.  Tourism is non-existent so the only "mzungu" here are working for the tobacco industry or the Millennium Village Project in Mbola.  The Orion Tabora Hotel is the decent hotel in town and we're there around three times a week for food (which takes no less than two hours due to an inoperable oven and the omnipresent "swahili time") and drink.  John Legend stayed here a couple years ago to check out the MVP in Mbola so it's kind of a big deal.  

Tabora seems to be a pretty standard (and sparse) low-income town.  Plenty of goods being traded and sold including some food imports from Britain (the usual crackers and such).  Fruit is always delicious, particularly bananas (I eat at least one a day, if not 2 or 3) and pineapples.  Mango season is in summer (November/December) so I'm missing out on that.  The typical meal for me consists of beans, rice, and some sort of cooked spinach/collared green) - usually costs around $1.  Breakfast and snacks are usually some sort of fried dough - chipati (the cross-cultural round flat disc of dough fried, like tortillas, pancakes, crepes, etc.), mandaazi (donut without a hole), and kitumbua (made from rice and also fried).  There's also the Indian influence that you can find throughout East Africa.  I can get paneer and other Indian staples at a few hotel restaurants here.  For transport, I can get a ride on the back of a pikipiki (motorbike) across town for 2,000 TZSs which is about $1.30 USD.  


"Showers" here consist of dousing yourself with cold water from a large pail that gets refilled from a well every day.  Faucets and showers are installed in a lot of places but I'm unclear on why running water is lacking.  Electricity in Tanzania is controlled by the government organization Tanesco.  Of the 


Next time your in a book store, take a look at the Lonely Planet guide for Tanzania and turn to the western Tanzania section (or lack thereof).  Feast your eyes on the breadth and depth of cultural, scenic, and tourist opportunities with which Tabora is laden.

Goat.

Today started as any other weekend morning, with the exception that Marc and Amos, my roommates, were making arrangements for a goat slaughter at our place in celebration of their completion at Mbola.  They've been taking surveys of people with blindness, finding those who have cataracts and lining them up for surgeries in a couple weeks.  The procedure can be done for a couple hundred dollars, and even as low as twenty dollars each eye in India.  Marc is asking questions for socio-economic indicators for later follow-up to measure the economic impact of restored sight.  

Anyways, goat slaughter.  Marc, Amos, and I hopped in the Nissan Land Cruiser with one of their enumerators (they administer the surveys).  First stop was to check out an outdoor patio/bar at which we were considering holding the event.  Decided against that, so we were off to meet another enumerator at his house.  Borrowed his large grill (strapped it to the roof), knives, and grabbed banana leaves on which we could prepare the feast.  He jumped in the car with us.  We stopped at the market to get the knives sharpened; this is accomplished with a bicycle setup where pedaling turns a bike wheel that uses a belt drive to turn a small grinding wheel.  Thomas Edison, eat your heart out.  After that we stopped at a soccer shop that one of the guy's brother owns to check out some jerseys.  Everything here is too small for a Midwest-grown mzungu.

Next we picked up two more guys, so now we were two mzungu, four Tanzanians, and a Kenyan in a Land Cruiser with three large, sharp knives, banana leaves, and a grill strapped to the roof.  We set out on the quest for the goat.

After slowing down and shouting out the window at a guy who happened to be walking a few small goats (and didn't want to sell) we headed north out of town, past a prison, past a military base, and well into the sticks on a rough dirt road (standard) where we inquired a random villager about buying a goat.  We parked the car and went on a ten minute walk away from the road to arrive at a home.  We were told to wait, and wait we did - probably 45 minutes to an hour.  A couple of us passed the time by climbing some mango trees with a few kids.  Finally, a farmer approached with a herd of fifteen or so goats.  One was selected (on what basis, I know not) and paid for (equivalent of $20 USD or so) and we haul it off to the Land Cruiser.  The pitch and timber of a goat's cry are truly unfortunate for someone who already sympathizes with animals; it's eerily similar to a small child crying.  Its legs were bound and it was placed in the back of the vehicle.   On sporadic occasion during the rough drive back to our house the goat would let out a cry and the whole lot of us would respond with gasps and laughter.  I know, not the PC response for a vegetarian.

We dropped the grill and goat off at the house and we headed back to town to the market.  We collected loads of fruit, veggies, and beer, and Marc was determined to find duck in addition to the goat.  Upon arrival at a small market to retrieve charcoal for the grill we talked to a man who said he could get us a goat.  So he hops in the car with us and we drive up to the top of a hill (with a great view) to his house.  He tells us to wait and he runs off.  After waiting 15 minutes or so, the guys realize he just scammed us out of a ride to his house at the top of the hill so he could take a nap.  We walked back to the car laughing hysterically and sans duck.

Having retrieved all our necessary accoutrement, we returned to the house where we prepared pineapple, guacamole, and watermelon while the other guys dealt with the goat.  If I had realized when they started I would have been present from the start, but I got to the scene a few minutes after the initial kill.  This was really only the first or second goat slaughter most of the Tanzanian guys had been to (needless to say, my first), though they had no trouble knowing what to do.  The night continued with plenty of beer and probably not enough food for the number of people that showed.  We never ended up cooking the rice so I was fairly unsatisfied and inebriated as a result.  I will admit that I tried the goat.  It was a once in a lifetime (hopefully) occasion and I felt that, socially and culturally, I'd be missing something by not participating (what I wasn't sure).

On the whole, it seems to me that the general disregard of animals' capacity for pain and suffering is universal.  I don't think the attitudes here towards animals are much different than those in the States.  I think some American carnivores would have had no problem witnessing or participating in the goat slaughter.  But it also seems to me that a lot of people who eat meat and would indeed eat goat would be uncomfortable with witnessing or participating in the slaughter; this speaks to the disconnect between us and our food sources - physical and cognitive.  If you wouldn't personally kill an animal for your own consumption, how is it justifiable to eat meat?  Definitely interested to hear any takes on this; vegetarians are usually the ones asked to defend their position.  I have a whole host of thoughts on vegetarianism (and had started to draft a lot of them for this post) but I figured this question was the most relevant to the aforementioned experience and this isn't really the blog for expounding on said thoughts.

Pictures from Tabora

Here are just a handful of pictures from Tabora to show you what life has been like. 

Robert, Alfred, and me at Orion Tabora Hotel (the usual). Robert is my partner-in-crime for SharedSolar at the MVP Mbola office.

About to put in some work on rice and beans at the hut across from the office.

Robert and Kat.  Kat's a physio from the UK.

Grace, Daniel, and me at Club Royal.

Laura and Hannah helping paint a school.

It can't possibly get more cliche: helping paint a primary school in Africa.  I went home and put on my Toms.

First Trip to Mpenge

Woke up in the middle of the night to some stomach problems that would persist the rest of the day.  This is pertinent for two reasons: first, it made for interesting transit over the rough dirt roads to Mbola, the Millennium Village.  Second, it prompted me to ingest one of the Ciprofloxacin pills the nurse at Columbia had prescribed for such occasions.  This lead to freezing cold uncontrollable shaking (think cartoon alarm clock) and substantial nausea in the middle night.  I fully expected the typical traveler’s stomach bug but didn’t expect to be rid it so quickly (by morning) thanks to that pill.  Unfortunate side effects though.


Like I mentioned, we made our first trip to Mbola to visit the Mpenge cluster.  Our predecessors had narrowed the potential first sites for SharedSolar installations to three and I wanted to get a picture of what they were like.  We met Pilijumanne, one of the village council members, and were shown around to all of the homes that would potentially be connected to our system.  I took a handheld GPS unit to collect points at the potential shed sites and all the homes.  SharedSolar has been stalled in Mbola up until now, and we’ve heard that the people have asked quite a lot about us and when we’ll be coming to connect them.  Our next objective for site preparation will be survey work to determine who is able and willing to pay our connection fee ($60 USD) and for their consumption.  The connection fee covers a very small part of the installation costs and serves to instill a sense of ownership of SharedSolar in the community.

Getting to Tabora

I arrived at Shinyanga “airport” this morning.  It consisted of a one room building and a dirt landing strip.  No security delays there.

It’s about a three hour drive from Shinyanga airport to Tabora, and only the first hour is on a well-paved road.  Whether paved or dirt, the driver is cruising at a comfortable 45 to 60 miles per hour with hoards of bicyclists just inches from the truck.  The dirt road that is the last two hours of the trek is mostly straight but the dirt is dry, loose, and lets the truck shift its weight around like a killer whale on a slip-and-slide.  Saw some monkeys crossing the road at one point.  

Within my first 24 hours on this continent and half way through the trek from Shinyanga to Tabora we had a flat tire.  "Standard," my British friends would say.  The driver deemed it acceptable to support the weight of the vehicle on the jack precisely on the edge of a hex nut.  Seeing this and deeming it perhaps a tad precarious, he decided instead to reposition on the bent flange of a chassis member immediately adjacent to the bolt.  I tried to warn him that perhaps this was equally as dangerous but I suppose my advice was lost in translation.  As we jacked the car up the jack began to lean, waiting for the next rush of a passing car for the jack to kick out and the car to land on one of us.  I braced the truck as best I could while he replaced the wheel.  The job got done but we were practically begging for bodily harm.


You can read all you want about Africa and poverty, but it is still profoundly striking seeing it first hand and my mind was racing the entire drive to Tabora.  I immediately realized the irrelevance of my formal education and that if I wish to continue in economic development, this was just the beginning of my education.  Both the depth and breadth of development issues are overwhelming and have been so for decades (since aid programs spawned out of the Marshall Plan) but your mind desperately tries to sort them all out within the first footsteps into field work.  

Diesel Generator in Dar es Salaam

Within just the first 10 minutes or so of my brief walkabout in Dar I bumped into the Ministry of Energy and Minerals. In front of the building was the first diesel generator installed in Tanzania. It had been built in Britain, was in use from 1932 to 1967, and was rated for about 80 kilowatts.  By comparison, modern Tanzania's largest diesel generator is on the order of 6 megawatts (6,000 kilowatts).

On The Space Shuttle Program

This is one of my favorite rants from The West Wing and it is exactly the right way to start this blog.  "There are a lot of hungry people in the world and none of them are hungry because we went to the moon."

I’m sure it’s a coincidence that the last space shuttle flight launched on the eve of my trip to Tanzania, but I can’t help but try and attach some meaning to it. The space shuttle program is what inspired me to become a mechanical engineer; it is the pinnacle of both technical excellence and human aspirations. We looked up and said “let’s go there,” and so two generations of American engineers spent their careers first putting us on the moon and then guaranteeing human presence in space for another thirty years with a reusable spacecraft.


Given current dilemmas both domestic and international, the question is often asked what service human space flight provides. Stephen Hawking argues we must colonize space to ensure the proliferation of the human species and while he makes a convincing argument, it’s not the only one. I needn’t list the ubiquitous technologies derived from the space program (I’m sure you’ll agree Velcro alone has justified the space program). I think the best argument for continued human presence in space is that it is simply what we do. In the 15th century we set out for a new world, in the 19th century we turned westward across our new continent (with sad consequences of which none of us are proud). The pursuit of new knowledge and new worlds is a wholly human endeavor; questions lead to both answers and new questions, and to stop asking the questions is to abdicate an important part of our nature.


Of course, human space flight is not coming to an end. Russian cosmonauts continue their program and a multitude of private ventures will soon dart from the earth. But governments must reflect the will and character of the people; when the United States loses its ability to launch humans into space it reflects a lack of interest in this pursuit amongst its citizens. President Obama has tasked the National Aeronautics and Space Administration with a keener focus on atmospheric and earth sciences and given the staggering potential disaster looming resulting from anthropogenic climate change this could not be more welcome. But we can and must continue sending our brethren from our “pale blue dot” because it is what we do. We ask questions and without blinking, without hesitation, and with all the will and fury of a speeding freight train we race towards the answers. Why do we need the answers? Because we asked the question. Why did we ask the question? Because we’re human.


Speaking of being human, I’m headed to Tanzania to hopefully help some fellow humans out. Why? Because it’s simply what we do.