navel-gazing

Tap tap

2011-04-03T13:08:00.000-07:00

A tap tap is called a tap tap because the worker at the back tap-taps the side or roof to communicate with the driver when someone wants to get off or when its okay to go. I had been reading about tap-taps as a cheap form of motorized transportation for the past year (they're an important factor to access to health care for poor, rural populations). Tap taps are something too see! Each one painted in bold, bright colors. The small flatbed trucks with a rounded cover on top and a long bench on either side for passengers to sit, facing one another.

When I first saw them in Cap - 20 people piled into one small tap tap with more hanging off the back - I was quite sure that I wouldn't be riding in one of those! But like with so many things in this type of work, such early anxieties quickly fade to the wayside in the face of necessity.

We were heading to the mountains of Leogane! Something I had been looking forward to since I started this work over a year ago. And we were going by tap tap and then moto to the town of Trouin, south of the city. We walked from CNP headquarters to the middle of town where the tap taps line up along the side of the road, pointed in the direction they're going. Eunid seemed irritated to find just an empty one. While a tap tap reasonable holds about 9, they don't leave until carrying about 20. And so you sit and wait. And wait. As more and more and more people climb in.

What wigged me out when I first saw the tap tap in Leogane was all of the people crammed into this hot, dusty space - hunched over in a truck with seemingly no air to breath and bodies all over. But its actually not that bad. The roof is lifted off a bit so there is air and daylight all along the edge. There are, however, bodies sprawled all over.

After about an hour we finally had enough passengers to go. Through the small crack in the roof there was a nice, cool breeze and I could look out in relative anonymity on all of the action - the markets, the landscape, the precipitous views - on the way up.

"Tap tap" and periodically someone would jump off the back and everyone would readjust just a little. "Tap tap" and we would slowly accelerate again up the mountain.

White people fighting with each other

2011-04-03T05:28:00.000-07:00

As I've spent the past 19 hours in the Miami airport trying to get home to St Louis, I feel that I'm still enough within my window of reflection period to write some more.

There were 3 "blans" on the flight into Cap-Haitien - me, a missionary-like guy also going to Haiti for the first time, and some rough-looking dude who didn't say a word to anyone until we got to Cap without immigration forms, whereupon he chased down the pilot on the tarmac for the forms and chastised the airport workers for their impudence. We were all three seated in the one and only exit row.

After my brief stint in Haiti I think that I understand this curmudgeon-y old guy. Haiti purportedly has the highest number of NGO's per capita. On this trip, I learned a lot about a lot of things but I learned the most, I think, about this world of NGOs that I now find myself. NGOs do really important work in Haiti and other places. And in the big picture, they do a lot of good. But on the ground level, it ain't all pretty.

At its worst, it can seem like a lot of white people fighting with each other and no organization - NO ORGANIZATION - is immune. Its only once you get into this field where you begin to hear the name UNICEF as a pejorative, not to mention Partners in Health. But then again, Haiti is a country where U.N. workers are accused of starting cholera and other, more ruthless crimes. Where a democratically elected president has been twice removed... by the U.S.. Things get topsy-turvey. And no doubt it doesn't take long for reasonable people to become curmudgeons.

A bit more democratically than the time before

2011-04-03T04:57:00.000-07:00

The difficult thing about working in "protracted crisis" countries, is that you can never predict what's going to happen. The good thing about working in "protracted crisis" countries, is that you can never predict what's going to happen. After making plans to come to Haiti this week after several delays, I was relieved to find that I had skirted the follow-up election. But when I arrived I learned that the election results weren't going to be announced until Thursday, March 31st, the day we were due to be in Port-au-Prince returning to Cap-Haitien.

I don't pretend to understand the Haitian electoral system, but I do know that the initial election resulted in a follow-up run-off between musician Sweet Mickey and a politician who's been around for a while, Mirlande Manigat. During our few days in Leogane we were trying to glean people's expectations for the results. Although French and Kreyol have many words in common, knowing French does very little to help you understand Kreyol radio. It seemed that people expect Sweet Mickey to win by vote count. But it also seems that people expect Manigat to be declared the winner.

We had a 12:00pm flight out. The election results were supposed to be announced on Thursday afternoon. CNP wanted to drop us off early to get their drivers back safe and sound. We were excited to be able to move our flight to 7:45am. And then the results got pushed back until Monday.

It seems like everyone, including Jamie and I, took a big sigh of relief. Friday election results meant that people would have all weekend to riot. And riots seem likely.

So I get to watch the fall-out from the safety of St Louis, and with a more personal connection than I had 9 days ago. Coincidentally, Nigerians also head to the polls this week in hopes of achieving just their second democratic hand-over of power, hopefully this time a bit more democratically than the time before.

Poor in money, not in spirit

2011-03-29T15:33:00.000-07:00

It takes a few days in a new country to be able to reflect on what you're seeing. Well that's my excuse anyway for taking so long to post. That, and that I've actually been really busy trying to take advantage of every opportunity I have to talk to people and see and understand more about Haiti.

So lets start at the beginning. When I first realized that I was coming to Haiti for real for real (the trip had been postponed a few times in the past several months) I of course was excited, but also thought that it would be no big deal. Its only one week. I already survived Nigeria. So I was surprised to find myself getting really, really nervous the week before I left. I think this anxiety will ease for me as I get more used to coming and going to developing countries. All I can say about that is that it really is like walking through a passage and arriving on another world on the other side of the world. The rules are different, life is different. Its nerve-wracking anticipating that transition, but once you're there you're golden.

And I've been golden since I arrived in Haiti. It really is a beautiful country and the people are so friendly and so hard-working. Haitians endure through perpetual crisis and they're anything but defeated. Sure there are USAID tents everywhere, long past the time when they should be used - but things here still function ...in surprising and inspiring ways. But I get ahead of myself.

I arrived in Cap-Haitien in northern Haiti on Friday morning. Cap is gorgeous and cool. The flight was flawless and right off the bat I got to use my French to explain that I hadn't received the immigration card I would need. Jamie and Colleen were there to meet me - I was very happy to see their beaming faces. We drove through Fort St Michel - the quote/unquote urban slum - before arriving at Breda, the compound that Jamie, Colleen and the rest of the MFK gang live at. The urban areas and markets around Haiti look much like urban areas and markets in any developing country. Well, at least like Nigeria which is all that I have to compare it to.

But Haiti feels very safe and friendly. I wasn't expecting that. There's a crazy mish-mosh of language - english, french, kreyol. I can communicate out, I have a harder time understanding in return. Jamie and Colleen have come a long way in their kreyol and communicate quite well.

Breda. Breda is just paradise. Its run by Harold and Harold is an amazing person - one of those people that always has something new up his sleeve. Lots of ideas. Lots of programs to try to improve knowledge and skill in his community. He runs a technical school and he just created a small farm at the Breda compound where he plans to start an ag school. In the morning at Breda you wake up to roosters ("cocks") and guinea fowl, and the songs and prayers of villagers on the hillside. You would think that a rural area is quiet but you'd be wrong. It gets raucous loud in the morning and in the evening.

I'll skip over a lot of the details, but I'm writing this evening from CNP headquarters in Léogâne. Léogâne being the epicenter of the 2010 earthquake. I've been doing research on this area - the household factors to child undernutrition - for the past year and a half so it has been so awesome to finally be here. CNP is located in the city of Léogâne, but today we had the chance to drive up to the mountains to meet with moms there who have participated in Ti Foye (CNP's PD/Hearth program, a food-based nutrition program to increase consumption of micronutrients). Just beautiful. The ride up was fun in and of itself. We took a tap tap most of the way. A tap tap is a group taxi. It doesn't go until its full. It seats about 8, but won't leave until it has about 12 occupants - ha! Anyway, its less miserable than I imagined it would be and it was great to travel the way that Haitians travel. Its one of the cheapest forms of transportation - only 50 gourdes, though more expensive than it used to be since the recent spike in fuel prices.

We drove the rest of the way by moto. The drivers were reprimanded by Eunid - she's really good at reprimanding - to drive slow and they did. Basically the trip was a drive up the hill whereupon the drivers then cut the engine and just coasted the rest of the way down. It was a short hike to the first household. The second household we wound up meeting with about 7 moms and their kiddos all at the same time. A relaxed and enjoyable conversation despite real dire, dire need. Its hard to walk away after just giving them a bar of soap, but even that they appreciate so much.

Wow, okay. I could go on and on. But I won't. Suffice it to say that I'm learning so much - even beyond what I anticipated. I'm so inspired by the people that I meet here - Haitians and expats alike. Just one last little story before I go. Over and over again what I hear from mom's is that their greatest need - before food and before shelter and before health care (though they desperately need this too) - is a job.

Haiti is poor in money, but not in spirit.

Finalement, Haiti!

2011-03-21T18:17:00.000-07:00

Bonsoir tout le monde! C'est moi, Andrea, et c'est le temps à recommencer ma blog... parce que vendredi je voyagerai à Haïti! Finalement! Et, vous voyez? Maintenant j’écris seulement en Français. J'ai besoin de pratiquer et... c'est amusant! J'ai passé le dernier semestre d'améliorant mes compétences en françaises. Comment est-que je suis fait?

De toute façon, je passerai quelques jours en Cap Haitien et quelques jours en Léogâne. En Léogâne je presenterai les résultats de recherche et aiderai avec nouvelle recherche de mon amie Jamie. En Cap Haitien, je commencerai nouvelle recherche sur l’utilisation des mobiles par les mères des enfant. Je suis très excite de mesurer les bébés et voir les programmes de Le Programme de Nutrition Des Enfants (CNP). Plus bientôt!

Data, Data, Data

2010-08-05T10:30:00.000-07:00

This last week has been spent slogging through data. A mostly solitary affair marked by periods of great productivity (mostly at night) and great procrastination (mostly during the day). Thank goodness for deadlines. The biggest driver is my exit date: August 12, one week from today. As much as I try not to, I find myself thinking ‘This is the last time I’ll buy pepe from this market… This is the last time I will buy an Etisalat charge card… This is the last time I’ll work from the gazebo… ”. All of these life skills that it took me so long to learn. I find myself thinking of what stuff I’m going to give away to whom. And trying to record their speech patterns in my head. You begin to detach – just a little – from the people you’ve grown to rely on for, well, just about everything.

Perhaps you can see why concentration has been hard fought. Of course there are also positive thoughts like ‘MTN sucks and seems to be getting worse but, hey, in one week I won’t have to worry about it anymore’ and ‘Oh my, if I have to scream “WHAT?!?” one more time in this phone call I’m going to off myself’ and ‘I wonder if he didn’t get my text message or if he’s just run out of credit and can’t text back’ and, finally, 'Oh hey there's another pebble in my rice - that was a terrible sound, I wonder if I chipped a tooth'.

Yeah, procrastination has afforded me ample opportunity to reflect on my time in Nigeria. And I’m beginning to believe that this three-month stint is a bit cruel. I’m finally beginning to feel at home in Jos. I met my downstairs neighbors yesterday. My next-door neighbors now wave at me. People in the neighborhood have begun to offer me rides (be it after blaring their horn from one foot behind me). I have a friend who is unrelated to my work at HKI. I’ve finally ventured into the residential part of Rayfield and discovered a whole new world, right in my backyard. I’ve learned how “to do” Terminus market, bought fabric, found a tailor and have had a few things made. I’ve found people to take me hiking into the gorgeous hills that surround Jos. I’ve found the Alliance Francaise, even. And I finally found a little shack right up the road that serves rice, beans, garri and soup every day for lunch! How did I not know about this until now?

Yeah, three months is just enough time to form a solid foundation, to begin to understand the culture, to start building solid friendships and working relationships, to start somewhat knowing what you’re doing. All of this in time to leave again.

The hardest part is the crummy heartache I feel. When I first arrived, there was the heartache for my friends and family and life back home. I won’t say that I ever totally got over that. I still cry – at least once - most weeks. But now I’m finally going home and here I am beset with heartache once again for my new friends and life. Because the truth is that I love everything about this work. Everything but the heartache, that is.

My friends with several years experience on me seem to feel that it’s just the downside of the gig… but that, over time, you get used to it. Or at least you learn to manage it. Or rather, either you manage it or it burns you out. The ones who stay learn to appreciate the time they have with the people they meet, which, I suppose is a good life skill no matter where you are.

But enough procrastination, back to the data…

Nongo

2010-07-28T11:49:00.000-07:00

I've worked my entire life for this one day.

So much happened in my two weeks in the field. Too much to write in retrospect. ... so for those in STL, I will relate stories in exchange for wine, cheese, chocolate and coffee in two weeks and one day. Suffice it to say that my time in the field made all of the frustrations and difficulties and emotional ups and downs - all of the wahala - over these past few months well worth it.

Training wrapped up on Saturday. On Sunday I went to church (a story for another post) in the morning, and then we met with the other two team leads at Oshimage's house to make final arrangements and hand-off the study materials. We had divided into three teams - each team to take on two communities, with the exception of my team which would visit three. We would next meet a week later after everyone returned from the three corners of Benue State, study complete. Driving away from Oshimage's that evening I had a strange feeling of... relief? The study was no longer in my control, not that it ever really was. But still. The people had been trained. They had been given everything they needed to complete the job. What happened from that point on would be the stuff of the "limitations" section of the final report.

After my little adventure collecting data sans HKI chaperone a few days prior, I had insisted on teaming up with James for the research portion of the project. This turned out to be a good decision for many reasons, not the least of which was the visit by the Nigerian SSS our last night in the field. But this too is a story for another post. On Monday morning we managed to leave the hotel in Makurdi by 7:01, Saleh, James, Abigail (a representative from our funding agency) and I. It was an hour and half drive to Katsina Ala where we would meet our team for our first community study.

I always start the morning out sick to my stomach thanks to the anti-malarial pill I'm on. The pattern is that I take it, a half-hour later I'm ill ill ill, and a half-hour after that I'm perfectly fine. But on this day of all days - the day I had been working towards for 2 months - I just never got better. Ugh! You know that feeling when you know you're in trouble? Yeah. That's the way it was.

Happily, everything goes slowly in Nigeria so I popped some Advil and had lots of time to see what would happen before I actually had to decide if I could make it out to the field or not. We started off at the Katsina Ala Ministry of Health where we reconvened with the team we had trained in Makurdi. There was lots of sitting and greeting and chatting ...and eating of groundnuts (unroasted peanuts)... while the team went off to procure a second vehicle. When they returned we went off in search of a hotel for the next two nights. It's "the field" so I was expecting something pretty rustic, but the hotel in Katsina Ala was one of the best I've stayed in Nigeria. I popped a few more Advil - I had decided that I was well enough to push through - and it was back to the Ministry of Health where we picked up the team and headed out to our destination: the hard-to-reach community of Nongo.

After a 45 minute drive, we arrived in the closest town to Nongo where we would pick up our motorbikes. But first, it turned out, we had to greet all of the chiefs in the area. We were invited into a circular hut filled with men wearing traditional robes and the black-and-white beads around their neck and wrist that identify them as zakis (chiefs) and elders. The hut is a mud wall enclosure with a steep grass roof. You have to bend very low to step inside. I was offered a seat and long introductions in Tiv were made, followed by a round of soft-drinks. I felt a little bad about wearing trousers, but had learned from my previous experience in New Nigeria to come prepared for rough conditions. James and our host left the hut to arrange for the motorbikes and I was left in awkwardness - sitting with a roomful of very important people with whom you do not share a language. There's nothing to do but smile and drink your coke. Though, actually, I was trying not to drink my coke because the more you drink, the more you pee and who knew where the next latrine would be?

The last time I was on a motorbike - the only other time in Nigeria - was when we went to pre-test our questionnaires in the village of New Nigeria. At that time there were only two bikes available and four of us so I had doubled up with James and the driver. This was probably hugely uncomfortable for James but felt comfortably safe to me. This time, however, there were plenty of bikes and it was clear that I was going to be on my own. I climbed on the back of my motorbike, grabbed on tight to the bar in the back and off we went. Seven motorbikes in a row into the bush... for about 40 kilometers, a.k.a. a really, really long way through bush and farmland and village after village. The beauty of the place is just indescribable. There are tall mountains of funny shapes in the distance, the red sand of the ever narrowing path, green green grass taller than your head, big humps of yam fields and dots of men, women and children toiling away. I noticed that my colleagues seemed quite comfortable to sit on their motorbike with their hands in their lap. For me, every bump we went over I felt air between my butt and the seat so I continued to hang on tight.

Into the bush we drove, all along the way the path getting more and more narrow. More and more closed in by tall grass that slashed your legs and arms and face. And then suddenly the way ahead opened up big. A river! The great river Yooyo lay before us, with the community of Nongo beyond. Now what?

There was a boat. A big canoe. It was across the river on the other bank. One of the men who was awaiting us disrobed, jumped into the river and began to swim. The current was strong and he wound up far down the bank on the other side. But he made it and he clamored over to the boat, climbed in and using a big pole he pushed himself to our side. The men then began to haul the motorbikes into the canoe, for Nongo was still a ways away once you got to the other side. Yes, we were truly at the end of the earth.

Five motorbikes went over. The boat came back. Two motorbikes and some people went over. The boat came back. Finally myself and the rest of the team climbed in the canoe and crossed the Yooyo river. There's a log that pokes its head through the surface in the middle of the river, a little up-shore of the bank on the other side. The boatmen seem to point the canoe to that direction and then upon reaching it let the canoe swing so as to be facing the other shore. The canoe is made of wood and so water seeps in along the way. In trying to dress for ruggedness, I had worn my running shoes. Clearly the "slippers" (flip-flops) that everyone else was wearing was a much better choice.

On reaching the other side we hopped out and waded through ankle-deep water. By this time I had removed my running shoes and I couldn't help but think about those travel books and hand-outs from the immunization clinics I went to warning me against open water in Nigeria. Oh well! We climbed up the muddy bank, slogging through thick black mud. Our motorbikes were waiting for us. I did the best I could to scrape off the mud and put my shoes back on.

After another 5 kilometer bike further into the bush we arrive - in Nongo - at the household of Zaki David Togo. Zaki Togo turns out to be a kind, kind man and an impressive leader (also a story for another post). We were at Nongo because the village is a "positive deviant". Clearly "hard to reach", the leaders of Nongo and the health workers responsible for it have managed to overcome extreme geographic obstacles in order to provide adequate basic health services to the community. Our job was to find out what they were doing right.

So after working with some village leaders to draw a map of the community, we split again into three groups, traveling by motorbike from household to household conducting questionnaires with caretakers about their access to health services, knowledge and perception of vitamin A. Four households took about four hours. My role was supposed to be to monitor the questioning, but the interviews were conducted in Tiv so my effectiveness was somewhat limited. But there's a lot that can be communicated outside of language. Every household we went to was welcoming. We sat under their grass hut. The interview was intended for an individual mother, but usually by the end all of the wives of the household and all of the children had gathered around. Word spreads amazingly quick for an area lacking any form of modern communication.

We met back at Zaki Togo's household. We were the last team to arrive and there were many people splayed out in chairs in a circle. As soon as we came, the food came out. Pounded yam, the soup who's name I forget and Star beer. There was also a strange fruit that looked something like a cross between a pinecone and a mango. It was tough to get into, the flesh was orange, the taste was bitter. Everyone was surprised to see that I knew how to eat pounded yam. As usual, I traded my meat for James' beer. A beautiful end to an amazing day.

...And then, a little woozy from my Star and all of the adventure, we crossed back over. Allllllll the way back from where we started.

The Endgame

2010-07-22T07:45:00.000-07:00

I like Sundays. From nine to noon to air fills with the sound of voices singing and hands clapping from the various surrounding churches. You don't need to be religious to feel uplifted. I open my windows wide.

We're back in Benue State to wrap up the Hard-to-Reach Communities study we began in June. The trip down from Jos was mildly adventurous. We got a (typically) late start, so it was my first time traveling at night. Things get a little hairier at night. We saw three trucks jack-knifed on the road and there was one eye-opening encounter at a police checkpoint when a van proceeded through the checkpoint after being told to stop. To demonstrate his displeasure, the police officer slid a large log in front of the back wheels of the van as it drove by.

We spent the first few days in Benue at the Pastoral Center - no a/c and somewhat rustic conditions but all-in-all pretty delightful. And the first place I've come across with a real shower. But there's a seminar going on there for the week so the past few days we've shacked up at a more modern hotel. Benue gets muggy and hot and I've spent the past three days in a constant sweat, so I'm happy for the a/c ...even if it is just at night when the generator provides power.

So this is it.
This is the crux of what I'm doing in Nigeria.
The Benue State Hard-to-Reach Communities study started for me on week 2 with very little information and an impossible timeline. It was deeply intertwined with the organizational upheaval that occurred midway through my time here, with the result being that after the Country Director moved on, so to speak, primary responsibility for the project was left firmly in my lap.

The purpose of the study is to understand the factors contributing to vastly fluctuating vitamin A supplementation (VAS) coverage rates in the state by talking to members at all levels in the hard-to-reach communities about the geographic, economic, social, cultural, structural, etc obstacles that impede their participation in these campaigns. There has been so much to learn and I'm more appreciative than ever of the opportunity to here, to really understand the challenges and constraints of doing research in the developing world where data is at best lacking and at worst so corrupted as to be useless, basic communication and transportation are unreliable, and resources of all sorts are extremely limited. You just don’t learn these types of research skills in the classroom.

We rolled into town on Wednesday night. On Thursday we broke into two teams to travel to six Local Government Areas (like counties in the U.S.) in order to gather VAS coverage data for 3 communities within that LGA. If this were in the U.S., you could've handled this via email. Actually, you probably could have found the data you need in publicly available online databases. But this isn't the U.S., so here you get in a truck and drive around for 8 hours from one LGA to the next telling them the information you need and waiting - if you're lucky - for them to gather it and give it to you. And by 'drive around' I mean on roads that are more pothole than road and sometimes just a dirt path.

We were, in fact, about 45 minutes out of Makurdi traveling at a pretty good clip when a really loud banging noise erupted from the front left of the truck. Something definitely went horribly wrong. So Saleh pulled over and we all hopped out for a look. There was fluid draining very quickly from the car. The event occurred right in front of a village and so villagers were beginning to gather for a look. As always, I looked to my colleagues' reactions to determine if we were in big BIG trouble, or just kinda big trouble. Saleh, our big sturdy driver, was looking pretty shaken and was feverishly trying to call James who was in the other truck heading in the opposite direction. 'Saleh - is that fuel coming out of the truck?' Happily it wasn't. He thought it was oil from the gearbox... or something. We finally got a hold of James. Everyone has a different phone network and strangely mine – which is typically quick to lose service – was the only one to have it. 'Sah James, we have a problem. We're not going to be able to move. You're going to have to come with a rope and tow us.' Oh boy, let me count the ways in which this was not good! By that time our trucks were two hours apart, we had built in this one single day to gather this data then which formed the crux of the study. It was one of those moments where you take a look at the situation before you and start narrowing down to absolute priorities. Quick.

But then something changed. Saleh took another look and decided that it was possible that the problem was the wheel propeller (???), not the gearbox at all. And apparently you don't need all propellers in order to go. So we gave it a try, there was no obnoxious noise or obvious problem. We canceled our towing order with James and continued on our way. Mary - my chaperon from the Ministry of Health for the day - uttered a 'thanks be to god' and I agreed.

There was other excitement that day too. This was the first time I had been out in the communities without an HKI chaperon. Saleh was there and Ahmed the Corper was there, but as soon became evident I was the HKI person "in charge". It was the end of the day, we had made it to four LGAs to get data. We were walking away with no data in hand, just the commitment from all of the LGAs to send it via text message that night or bring it in hard copy to training the following day. There were some close calls in terms of even getting the data. It was a Thursday and - despite having called them to tell them we were coming - by 2pm many of the LGAs seemed to be closing up. We had to steal away one of our contacts from the outdoor eatery where we happened up him when we pulled into town. And I had overruled both Saleh and Ahmed in insisting that we go to the fourth LGA - about an hour and a half away on a really, really terrible road - despite the possibility that like the others, they would have closed up shop by the time we arrived.

They hadn't, thankfully. But by the time we did what we came to do, I was anxious to get back on the road and off of before dark. So when our two hosts – state and LGA health officers - wanted to take us for "lunch" (mind you it was 5pm), I was a little torn. It’s true that in our haste to get to all of the LGAs, we hadn't really eaten all day. But we had a long drive on a terrible road with a truck missing one propeller (whatever that is) back to Makurdi and it was getting late. The ladies were half out of the truck, looking at me for approval. Neither Saleh nor Ahmed had budged. And that’s when it dawned on me that I was “in charge”.

‘Do you guys want to stop for lunch?’ They said no. After overruling them on the decision to even come here, I felt it was my job to get the back to Makurdi. So I said no to “lunch”. The LGA lady insisted. I declined. We had already planned, afterall, for dinner at the Pastoral Center. The State lady upped the ante with, ‘She wants to buy us lunch’. Unswayed and becoming both slightly irritated and culturally out to sea, I declined again. The LGA lady responded by taking a 500 Naira bill out of her purse and showing it to me. This wasn’t going to go well. Do I cut my losses and stay for lunch? Lunch in Nigeria can be a 5 minute stop on the side of the road for something wrapped in newspaper and a plastic bag… or it can be a multi-hour affair. I declined again. The LGA lady cried out ‘Don’t do this to me!’ as if I were performing some type of bodily injury. And at this point I was also beside myself, asking for assistance from Ahmed who offered none. The State lady finally caved, giving a final declination to the LGA lady and we were on our way back to Makurdi.

Ahmed later explained that in Nigeria when someone offers you something, you take it. They like you to take it. And you risk offending them if you don’t. I’ve found this to be true in other contexts… like when a seat is offered. I’m usually really excited to be standing I’ve found that it makes everyone else around me visibly uncomfortable. I tried declining the offered seat in the beginning – and sometimes I still do – but usually just sit down when invited because I know its just easier that way. Ahmed also said that it wasn’t a big deal. That she was really dramatic but, really, no one cares. I’ve also found the drama to be true in other contexts. People here speak with a lot more animation and emotion than I’m used to. I often find myself telling myself ‘Its not anger, its just emotional engagement’.

Friday was our first day of training. We had scheduled to start at 8am. I have since learned that there is the official time… and then there is the time that people actually plan for. And that this latter one is different for everyone. So me? I was ready to leave the Pastoral Center by 7:30 in order to be at the Ministry of Health by 8. Ha ha! Foolish girl. Nary a person was astir by 7:30am. I’m not sure what time we left, but we had some errands to do along the way and I think we arrived at the Ministry of Health at about 11am. Yep, that’s 3 hours after our own start time. Happily there just two (somewhat defeated-looking) people already there waiting. It seems like mostly everyone knows how this goes too. It’s kind of like “Ultimate time”. Everyone knows the meeting is not going to start on time, and so they intentionally don’t arrive on time. It’s this vicious cycle where the biggest losers are the ones who come on time.

In addition to starting WAY late, it also became clear that our objective was to get through the material as quickly as possible. Which meant that most of the information for day 2 – my day to train – would be rolled onto day 1. As usual, my anxiety about the training was overblown. I was worried that they wouldn’t understand me, worried that they would be offended at this young white American student coming to tell them – high level health workers at the LGA level – how to do their job, worried that the study wouldn’t pass muster. But it went well. Once again I think I was assisted by the color of my skin and my foreign accent, which seems to add gravitas (or “rigor” as someone said) to the situation.

Cooking Adventures cont'd

2010-07-12T10:28:00.000-07:00

Jollof Rice
I used a recipe that I found online for most of this, but let James take over towards the end when he started to get visibly distressed at my technique. Jollof Rice was high on my to-do list because, well, basically I've lived on it for two months. It starts with chopping an onion, green beans, tomatoes, sweet pepper and green pepper. I wanted to add carrot and peas but James wouldn't let me - it would be too much like Fried Rice, he said. Actually, it starts with cleaning and de-pebbling the rice. The second part is important. I assumed James was on it. He assumed that the rice didn't need de-pebbling. The result was some nasty sound effects and some nearly destroyed teeth.

So you saute the veggies in some oil. Then you add a few dollops of tomato paste. When James complains, you add some more oil. Once its all mixed together you add the uncooked rice, two Maggi bouillon cubes and some water. Then James comes over and adds a hell of a lot more oil. Then you just wait, stir and add more water as needed until the rice is the desired consistency.

Plantains ...revisited
The second time making the plantains - this time under supervision - James added a hell of a lot more oil. They were markedly better.

Best Laid Plans

2010-07-11T14:09:00.000-07:00

It irks me that after two months in the country - and 4 weeks more or less living in Jos - that the best I can say is that I *think* that I could point myself out on a map. Its not for lack of trying. Part of the problem is that there are no street signs on the roads in Jos. Another problem is that there are no street names on Google Maps for Jos. Some of the streets aren't even indicated, actually. Add to this that people here aren't so used to thinking in terms of a N/E/S/W map and are at pains to describe where one place is relative to another. An early attempt at a Jos map was made despite the hesitation that I'm often greeted with when asking seemingly nonsensical questions. If it were a caricature it would rightly be accompanied by a roll of the eyes, a heavy sigh and an utterance of 'silly American...'

Well the need to find myself became expedient this weekend when I was stood up. Again. For the last time. Its the worst kind of stood up. A stood up that you can't even be mad about... because its a culture thing. Just because a Nigerian tells you on Friday that you're going to meet at 2pm on Saturday, doesn't mean that you're going to meet at 2pm on Saturday. It may mean that you'll meet at 4pm. Or it may mean that you won't meet at all. So its only a silly American who will wait around. And then be mad about it. Well, lesson learned, for the last time.

But there's nothing like a little frustration to motivate me beyond my comfort zone. Determined NOT to spend another day toodling around the flat, I finally garnered the gumption to taxi to town. Really I shouldn't be so proud. Taking a taxi should be simple, right?

My destination was generally Ahmadu Bello Way, near Terminus and the main Jos Market. Specifically, I was planning to go to Net Cafe (a.k.a. AfriOne - an internet cafe) to get a little work done.

Taxis aren't so common in Rayfield - unlike okadas, but these are banned in Jos - so I had to walk out to the main road (Nameless, of course. See above.) for any chance to find one. Also, taxis in Jos typically cram as many people as possible inside. From a safety and comfort perspective, this is undesirable. So my plan was to walk along the main road until I happened upon a taxi that was empty. At best I would make my way to to Net Cafe, at worst I would have gone for a nice walk on a beautiful day.

I was passed by numerous honking okadas and a few very full taxis, and was beginning to lean more towards the 'nice walk' side of the bet when I passed by a few giggling girls. 'Good morning.' 'Good morning.' I think I have seen these girls before. A few weeks ago, when one of them said 'You're looking sweet today' and I didn't know how to take it. Thanks? Well I continued to walk, with an eye on the cars passing by, and the girls continued to walk and chat in Hausa behind me. 'Excuse me! Hello!' I stopped and turned around. 'We just want to be friends.' Well okay. I walked a little further on with Mary, Lami and Pat, talking about what I do here in Nigeria and where I stay. The girls are done with school and on their way to university. Lami wants to go into mass communication and acting. Pat is going into accounting. Mary... shoot, I forget what Mary is doing.

They want to know why they always see me walking down this road - surely I live in this direction? No. I just like to walk. And I go to the shops. You work at one of the shops? No, I buy things at the shops. There aren't shops by you? Yes, but I like to walk. And after the giggling dies down, I reveal my real objective for the day. I'm trying to get a taxi to Ahmadu Bello Way.

And the rest is classic Nigeria. The girls flag down a taxi for me, explain in Hausa that I want a "drop" (a one person taxi), negotiate a (mostly) fair price, tell the guy where I want to go, tell him when he needs to pick me up, give me their phone number and send me on my way. Sweet success!

I'm particularly excited to discover that I actually do know my way to where I'm going. After weeks of being carted around by the HKI drivers, this is the first time I've really been faced with navigating Jos by myself. And it turns out to be a good thing that the girls negotiated my plans for me, because I can't understand a word the taxi driver is saying. I even whip out the Hausa dictionary Amos made for me in Borno to remember how to ask what his name is (Me sunanki?). But you can get pretty far with pointing and ten minutes later he's dropping me off at the front of Net Cafe with the agreement to be there again in two hours time.

Net Cafe turns out to be a welcomed oasis. I have hummus and a real cappuccino for the first time in two months. I'm a little chagrined to see more white people than I've ever seen in Nigeria, as it dawns on me how stereotypical cafe culture is. Ah, but who cares. It feels great.

At two hours I go outside and try to call my taxi driver. The call doesn't go through. And determined not to repeat my earlier foolishness, after a few minutes waiting - wondering how I'm ever going to tell my green and yellow taxi from all of the other green and yellow taxis - I go in search of another (empty) green and yellow taxi to take me home. I'm quite pleased with myself again when, after asking the guy to take me to Rayfield I insist on knowing the price before I get in. 1,000, he says. Pfft! I say, and act to walk away. Okay, okay. How much? I say 600. He says, 700. I say, okay. ...and off I go.

There's one last little anxious hurdle as the taxi drives off in a direction I'm unfamiliar with, and the thought crosses my mind of what I would do if I knew the taxi was going somewhere I didn't want to go. Would I jump out of the car? No sooner does that thought cross my mind than I see some familiar sites. And meanwhile, my new friend Lami has called three times to ensure that I'm safely on my way home.

Cooking Adventures

2010-07-08T11:24:00.000-07:00

It was a particularly good day that started with my first successful completion of what I like to think of as 'the Hausa morning greeting litany'. Saleh, Iliya and Madame Chief have been working on me for weeks and I finally got it down.

I: Sannu!
A: Sannu!
I: Andrea, ina kwana?
A: Lafiya!
I: Ya ya, gagiya?
A: Ba gagiya! Ya ya?
I: Lafiya!

Iliya was so proud!

At midday I took a break from planning for the hard-to-reach study to go to the market, what was supposed to be a brief detour tacked on to Iliya's and James's errand. But its the rainy season. And when it rains, all of the marketers scurry for cover from the wet. So we drove past the market near James's house to the main market in Jos near terminus, hoping that the rain would stop by the time we got there. Well... it had rained a lot and drainage here ain't so good. So, nearly there, we suddenly found ourselves driving through a deluge. Water pouring down the road so heavy and strong that I feared for the little kids wading across. It was a mess. A river of water pouring down the road, people trying to wade from one side to other, the road in our direction was too flooded so cars took over the second lane in the other direction... but then a car got stuck so neither direction was going anywhere. And the water just kept coming.

But the rain had stopped and so we pull into a spot near the market. First up on my list are tomatoes and pumpkin greens and curry leaf and sweet peppers. As usual, I let James do the talking. At some point James utters a 'its about to rain'. And right after buying plantains, the skies open up. We run for cover under the eave of a bike shop. It pours, and pours, and pours. Our feet were already wet from trudging through the street river. Now everything else is wet too. No less than fifteen minutes later it finally lets up and the market is back in motion.

Just a moment to note that everyone here - my male colleagues in particular - seems really excited for me to cook for them. I don't really know what this is all about. Part of it, I think, is that their perception is that Americans eat nothing but tv dinners and food out of a can. So the idea that I might know what to do with a few raw ingredients and a stove is ...surprising? I don't know. Or maybe its just a woman thing? Its fine to be their colleague and all, but it would be really impressive if I could cook too? Their enthusiasm is only slightly dampened when I tell them that I don't eat nor cook meat.

Anyway, endlessly willing to humor me (...at least for the promise of home cooked food), we head out in search of carrots across another street river where I find not only carrots, but green beans and green peppers and peas. I'm so excited to see vegetables! But the amusement has worn thin for James who is quite keen to get back in the truck before the skies open again. Which they do shortly thereafter.

Rice & Beans
The cooking adventures began this weekend with the rice and beans I bought in Biu... for which I got a lot of cooking tips. But rice and beans are rice and beans. It ain't rocket science. That said, there is an extra step here of cleaning out the pebbles and twigs which I've never before had to do in the U.S. But for all that, the rice is particularly yummy - a nice grain size and consistency.

Fried Plantains
One of my favorite foods here in Nigeria. A quick note about plantains. In the U.S., bananas are big and plantains (usually really expensive at Whole Foods) are small. In Nigeria, bananas are small and plantains are big. With a few tips in hand, my first attempt was mostly a success. They cook quickly with the cover on, so they were a bit browner than I would have liked. But all in all, pretty tasty... especially in combination with Indomie Uche.

Indomie Uche
Indomie is the ubiquitous insta-food here. Its almost exactly like Ramen noodles, just a little thicker noodle, fortified with vitamin A and other essential nutrients, and they boil it down so its more like pasta and less like soup. 'Indomie Uche' is named after my friend and ex-colleague Uche who taught me how to make this particular version. The night she first made it for me was one of my worst nights in Nigeria ever. We had just arrived in Jos and I was super, super freaked to be here and the electricity in the flat wasn't on and ... yeah. I was a mess. We stayed at Uche's friend's house and Uche cooked up this version of indomie - it was the first "home cooked" meal I had had in Nigeria and it was cathartic. So "Indomie Uche" is just indomie made with a habanero pepper (burkurno) - preferably smashed with a mortal and pestle - and sardines.

There are many recipes on the list. And I have so many fresh ingredients in my kitchen that at the moment I almost don't even mind that we won't be making it to Benue State on time.

Judgment

2010-07-04T14:23:00.000-07:00

We invited Borno State Radio/Television to attend the VAS review meeting for the purpose of communication and advocacy. Two gentlemen arrived - a cameraman and a reporter. James gave them the high-level overview and as has become my custom at such events, I tried to be as under-the-radar as an oyibo can be. Which is, not very. Despite our efforts, we were seated at the front of the room along with other officials from WHO, UNICEF, the Borno State Ministry of Health. The room exploded in giggles when I introduced myself - I forget that to them, I have a funny accent too.

All of the officials gave some introductory remarks and comments of appreciation to the monitors who spent the past week overseeing VAS distribution and preparing summaries of what they observed. Does Andrea want to give some remarks? No she does not, thank you very much. I take a deep breath, grateful to have escaped and befuddled as to why everyone else fails to appreciate that I'm just a naive American student with only one year of Public Health under her belt.

But midway through the meeting the reporter approaches James and I at our perch at the front of the room, declaring that afterward he wants an interview. First with James, then with me. He says this while looking straight at me. I, in turn, look to James ...hoping that he'll say no, that I'm just an intern and a student. Instead he says 'okay'!

My perspective on my role as a Public Health student in a developing country for the first time is complex. I'm here first and foremost because of Helen Keller International - because they do really important and really good work around the world. So I'm here to sop up everything I can and to hopefully provide a little value and sweat equity in return. I'm also here to learn about Nigeria - her culture and her people and how these intersect with the public health issues that are so pervasive. My job as I've seen it, then, is to observe and to seek to understand. My job as I've seen it is NOT, then, to sit in judgment. When I left the U.S. I donned my "social scientist" hat ...and tossed off my environmentalist hat and my humanist hat and my left-leaning liberal hat and even, to some extent, my vegetarian hat.

So I was not keen for this interview and my hesitance was warranted. The reporter wanted to know how big the problem of malnutrition is and what I thought the federal government of Nigeria should do about it.

Who am I talking for anyway? Am I talking for me, Andrea? Am I talking as a student of Public Health? As a spokeswoman of Helen Keller International? Of Washington University in St Louis? Am I talking as an American? As a White? There's a tape that I'm both anxious - and not - to see, but I think that I blubbered something about being just a student and the importance of sustained interventions. I can only hope that they cut the tape in such a way that I don't sound like a complete ass. Because it was only later that I realized how offensive it could be for some young white student to come to this country and purport to know how to fix Nigeria's problems.

But since I'm now in the vane of judging, let's look at some glaring facts ...because the truth is that I spend a good deal of time trying to think about why Nigeria has the problems that she does. She has the second largest economy in Africa and is the 12th largest oil producer and 8th largest oil exporter in the world. There is money in Nigeria. But yet 42% of children under-5 are malnourished, 29.5% are vitamin A deficient and at 157 deaths per 1,000 births she has one of the worst under-5 child mortality rates in Sub-Saharan Africa.

And here's a few more statistics from the Nigeria Food Consumption and Nutrition Survey that I think put all of this in perspective. Of the population surveyed:
48.7% had no form of education
62% of households had no access to national electricity supply
Only 20% of households had pipe-borne water, most (37%) relied on wells
78% used "the bush" to dispose of refuse
Over 65% of households relied on pit latrines, only 5% had a water closet system
10% lived on less than $100/yr
And every way you look at it, most households suffered from severe food insecurity

But statistics are cold. So let me try to describe it. Because mostly what I write about here is all that I'm finding to love about Nigeria and Nigerians - their love of life, their kindness, their generosity, their curiosity, their spirituality. But this doesn't speak to the statistics. What underlies those numbers is the other side to Nigeria that I also see every day: children in the field when they should be in school, garbage everywhere you look, people shitting on the side of the road because they have nowhere else to shit, children caring for children, air pollution that chokes my lungs, people of all ages living on the street, begging for money. This isn't what I want to write about because its not pretty. But if you want to know what can be done to alleviate malnutrition, you don't have far to look and you don't need a foreigner to tell you.

Singing Out Loud

2010-07-03T04:29:00.000-07:00

People here sing out loud. Unabashedly. You'll be walking down the street and there's someone walking toward you just belting one out. I usually try to hold in my giggle until after I pass, but it never fails to make me smile.

I've been to northern Nigeria and back, to the city of Maiduguri in (Muslim) Borno State, six hours from Jos through a breath-taking landscape of plateau given way to foothills given way to endless stretches of fertile land ...which then gives way to the dry sahel of sandy earth and scratchy brush. Maiduguri is a bustling city. Its also the home of Boko Haram - which translates to Western education is a sin - a militant Islamist group seeking to impose Shariah law throughout Nigeria. Its also, I think, the most visibly impoverished city I've seen yet. I can only speculate about the causal chain between the two.

We were pleased to find the weather in Maiduguri temperate so after the first night in a hotel, we moved to the Christ Church compound which though substantially homier also lacks a/c. And plumbing. Full-time electricity, however, was an improvement from the last time the team was here six months ago. Here I was happy to have the chance to have to use my bed net and to live a little more authentically.

Because this is a blog mostly for my western friends and family who are as clueless as I am about such things, I'm going to go into detail about how you go about daily living sans running water. And I'll add that its not a little embarrassing to ask your male colleague how to flush the toilet. But I digress.

So its not entirely true to say that there was no plumbing. There was. There's a faucet that runs into the bathroom which sometimes works. I never figured out the pattern to when it did or did not run. Just that sometimes I would turn the faucet and water would come out, sometimes I would turn the faucet and no water would come out. But no fear! You do not rely on the faucet. Instead, there is a big barrel in the bathroom that you fill with water whenever the faucet is running. This barrel is the water that you rely on for everything and all bathroom activities depend on some more or less complex series of bucket maneuverings.

To take a shower you use a small bucket to ladle water from the big barrel to a medium size bucket. That medium size bucket is pretty much the amount of water that is needed for one adult shower. With your medium bucket full of water, you walk over to the shower area (with a showerhead and knob that don't function) and use the small bucket again to ladle water over your body until you're good and wet. Then you soap up. Then you use your small bucket to ladle water over your soapy body for a rinse. Note that there is no heater involved in this process. And oyibo ladies with long hair that needs to be washed every day will find themselves very envious of their darker shaded sisters.

When a flush is called for, you use the small bucket to once again ladle water from the big barrel to the commode. Once its filled to the line, you pull the little doohickey to make it flush.

But along with authentic bathroom life came other authenticities much more pleasurable. Well, I don't know if it was exactly pleasurable but the endless bleating of goats outside my windows were a constant amusement. And in the mornings they were joined by the roosters.

The day we arrived we were greeted by exclamations of "Udo! Udo!" for my colleague James who has been staying here every six months for five years at VAS time. The proprietor - Amos - took it upon himself to teach me Hausa. He bought me a little booklet where he wrote some words and phrases, doubling my Hausa vocabulary (if only I could commit it to memory). And then there were Amos's children. I love kids. As a group they're so predictable. All the boys in the compound (Amos's children plus the children of missionaries staying there) were playing football so I went out to watch. At first the children ogle you kind of warily. But after a while one or two of the brave ones waddle over. They test you out. Find out if you're safe, if you're friendly, if they trust you. And once you're in, you're golden. So I soon found myself with a bunch of new friends who taught me some songs and some dances. They were fascinated by freckles and confused when my hair didn't stay in place after they plaited it. We ate the best mangoes I've had in my life.

The fated heat did come, however, and so after the work was done we busted out of Maiduguri to the relatively cool town of Biu. Much like Jos, Biu sits at the top of a plateau. I was really, really excited to have hot running water.

But now I'm back in Jos which, assuming all goes as planned (which it never does), will probably be my "home base" for the remainder of my practicum. I'm no longer scared to be here and it feels really good to have a home-like home. With a stove. While in Biu I was particularly excited to buy rice and beans at the market knowing that I could come "home" and cook something other than Indo Mie and instant rice.

Uncloistered

2010-06-26T08:34:00.000-07:00

Substantial delay due to organizational "transition" and one more colleague lost not withstanding, I'm finally back out in the field again. This time we drove north 6 hours to Borno State to pick up at the tail end of VAS distribution here. Unfortunately we missed our opportunity to monitor, but hopefully I still have a chance for that before I leave in August. We dropped off Mectizan tablets - used for treating Onchoceriasis, donated for free by Merck - at the MOH upon arrival. On Monday we'll hand-off a check that pays for the VAS activities that took place last week and attend the VAS review meeting to listen to the experiences of the health workers in reaching their communities.

In the meantime, its the weekend and little work is being done. The big excitement yesterday was driving through a sand storm. That was a first for me in a summer full of firsts. There is a dry season and a wet season in Nigeria. Now is the start of the wet season. When those first heavy rains blow in they kick up a lot dry sand. We were driving along the highway and bearing down on big grey storm clouds in front of us. But as we got closer, the color began to change from grey to deep red - the color of the earth. The sand storm came quick. One minute we were approaching this red/grey wall, the next it was upon us and visibility went to nil. We pulled over on the side of the road. We had our lights on. There was a car behind us with its lights on too but very soon we could no longer see it for all the sand. And the wind was so strong, it felt like it could take up our big pick-up truck. I've taken to watching my colleagues reactions for indications of trouble. Both Iliya and James seemed a little... disconcerted. But after ten minutes huddling in the car in this weird red darkness, the sand storm gave way to rain storm. The rain tamped down the sand, visibility improved and we were back on the road. The storm apparently took villagers by surprise as well as I saw many soaked and scurrying for cover as we drove away.

We spent the first hour in Maiduguri - Borno's state capital - trying to find a hotel at the perfect nexus between luxury (ie air conditioning) and price. I think James and Iliya were doing the luxury thing for me. Today however we've moved camp to a church compound - a little less cushy (ie no a/c) but still lovely. And definitely more authentic. There are goats and roosters milling about. I might even get to use that bed net I've been carrying around for weeks! ... and James had to show me how maintain basic sanitation with no running water. Also under discussion was whether I had to cover or not. Borno is a Muslim state and though the boys insisted that I didn't have to cover, I noted that the vast majority of women covered their hair and shoulders. I opted for a compromise, using my scarf to cover my shoulders but leaving head free. Uncloistered - beautiful!

The Choice

2010-06-22T11:38:00.000-07:00

The choice is yours. You can sit on your ass all by yourself in your spacious flat bemoaning the fact that you have no food... or you can go do what you know how to do and get over it. I've definitely reached the stage where I'm less guest here and more long-term visitor. And by "here" I mean Jos. We're still in Jos. Not altogether surprising. Things just go wrong in Nigeria. That's what they do. Today's issues are about approvals and signatories, but really it doesn't matter. We're still in Jos and its not clear when we'll head to Borno. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe "next tomorrow".

Today I moved out of my overpriced cushy pink hotel with a restaurant... and into the cushy if somewhat barren flat owned by HKI. The same one we arrived at a month ago with no electricity. Now it has electricity and its actually pretty nice. I just need to learn how to live here and to get comfy with being on my own. And really, I have learned all of the basic life skills. I know how to take a bucket shower. I know to turn the key in the door twice. I know how to knock on the gate so the security guy will let me back in, and to trust that he'll recognize me when I do. I know to first ask 'how much' when I want something from the market stand at the corner. And that when she says "100" she means 100 Naira for all five oranges. And I know how to go to the little shack on the side of the road to get groceries, toiletries, everything. Though there is one vital Nigerian life skill that I seem to have failed to pick up - how to turn on the stove.

These are the skills that have nothing to do with public health but are still all part of the expat experience. Patience. Self-reliance. The ability to make yourself content no matter what the situation or environment. And how to not be lonely while you're totally utterly alone in the middle of Nigeria. All I can say about that is that I'm working on it.

Office Politics, God & Vitamin A

2010-06-21T12:13:00.000-07:00

Office politics is ubiquitous. But there was a good 24-hour period when I found myself embroiled in the middle of yet another mess where I began to wonder if I don’t bring it upon myself. All the way from STL to Nigeria. I felt a small twinge of validation, then, when my supervisor, the Country Director, was “terminated” last week. I won’t dwell on the details, but suffice it to say that a giant exhale could be heard from Jos when word spread on Friday.

I think that you can learn a lot about people and organizations when you see them going through tough times. How do they respond? Do they dig deep or bail out? Shut down or get right back up? Make excuses or make adjustments? Though I certainly wouldn’t have chosen to be dropped in the middle of this situation – dealing with tricky office politics on top of adjusting to a new culture – my respect for HKI and my colleagues here has only grown through this experience. What I’m most impressed with is the way that Nigerians – at least these Nigerians in particular – deal with conflict and leadership.

Today, the first work day under our interim CD, we sat around a table for an impromptu meeting. Everyone - the interim CD, the program manager, the office manager, the drivers, the security guys, the woman who cleans, the interns. At first it feels like any corporate restructuring meeting. Lord knows I’ve been through plenty of those at Monsanto. Peter (the interim CD) talks about a few change of plans and shifts of priority, but then things take a different turn. He talks about the importance of doing ‘the right thing’, the need to be sincere in our actions, how the now ex-CD is “still my boss”, by which he means that she will always be someone he will turn to for advice and insight. He talks about being “saddled” with the responsibility of carrying the team forward and the importance of everyone working together.

OK, so maybe it’s still not SO different from what you might hear in the U.S. …until everyone around that table takes their turn to congratulate Peter, to vow their allegiance, emphasize their commitment to the work that needs to get done and to assure him that god is with him. These aren’t forced speeches. They’re beautiful. Eloquent, with a rhythm that I'm beginning to identify as Nigerian. Most refer to some biblical parable. So earnest.

That religion is so prominent in the discourse is not unusual here. I think back to an article a read citing Nigeria’s president, Goodluck Jonathan, emphatically stating that Nigeria is not a secular country. God is very much present in Nigeria. His message is written on the backs of buses and even a report I read this morning began with thanks “to Almighty God for granting us the opportunity to conduct the vitamin A supplementation exercise”. I’ve never lived anywhere more in need of God’s presence than Nigeria. So the little me that usually cringes at such talk sits pretty quiet.

While plans have definitely changed, there’s new energy around the work before us. Indeed, tonight is my last night in Jos for a little while. I head north to the near desert of Borno State where apparently it’s 48 degrees Celsius. I don’t even want to know what that means in Fahrenheit. I just know that it’s damn hot. And its Muslim territory, so maybe I’ll even get to wear a scarf – ha!

Ah - but I’m excited. We’re going there to monitor the bi-annual vitamin A supplementation to children under-five that occurs in conjunction with Child Health Week. It’s the core of HKI’s work. I get to see a new part of the country. I couldn’t be happier.

Cloistered

2010-06-16T11:42:00.000-07:00

When I was preparing to come to Nigeria I was overwhelmed by the number of things to be scared about. The mosquitoes, the water, the food, the kidnappings, the violence, the fraud, the this, the that. So many things to be scared of. I'm happy to report that after the first two days of using DEET while in the office in Abuja (laughable, now) I have only used it once since (while traversing the bush in search of hard-to-reach communities). Same with the sunscreen. Haven't yet had any stomach upset - even despite a few unintentional instances of meat consumption and my recent exploration into using tap water to brush my teeth. And bottled water is, mercifully, plentiful. No kidnapping. No violence (with the exception of the angry-dude-in-a-suit, see post below). And the only fraud I've witnessed was the guy at the resort asking for 500 Naira for a print-out of their annual fees.

Here's where I count my blessings and knock on wood, I know. And feel really, really grateful to my hosts who have been so gracious and so kind.

But wow...
Five weeks in - five weeks without substantial exercise minus the pilates I try to do every day - and its getting frustrating to be so cloistered. Shuffled from place to place by private car. Always traveling in a pack. Especially when you're surrounded by such beauty. I swear that I heard the hills of Jos calling: "Hike me! You know you want to!"

Part of it is self-imposed, especially at the beginning. Some of it, rightly so, is imposed by those responsible for my welfare. And some of it is just cultural. Nigerians do not walk by choice. They'll walk by necessity, but not by choice. And when they do, they walk really slowly, which may play into their perception of distance. The twenty minute walk from my office to my hotel? Too far. So, so far. But even when I play football or frisbee with the boys - the kids that live at the house where I stay in Abuja - we play inside a walled fortress. On cement. In fact the only time I've been really "out there" since I got here, was in the hard-to-reach town of New Nigeria. Weekends are the hardest.

A lot of it is the result of not knowing which among the three impositions are at play. Is it because I feel unreasonably nervous? Is there real danger? Or is it perfectly fine, but just weird by Nigerian standards? Its hard to know and I'm at the mercy of my hosts. Though basically I've found that if they've plopped me down somewhere, its probably fine. They just don't take me anywhere there is real danger. I've even come to be convinced that Rayfield - the suburb of Jos where the HKI office is located and I "live" - is really quite safe.

Regardless, the result of all this cloistering is that I'm suffering a bad case of cabin fever. Probably - thankfully - the only fever I will experience over these three months.

Color

2010-06-14T10:03:00.001-07:00

I love the drive from Abuja to Jos. It starts off in a fog of exhaust, honking horns, dust, hawkers selling their goods, animals, shop after roadside shop and people everywhere. The first time I took this drive I saw poverty. This time I see commerce. After a few noxious miles, the commercial sprawl begins to give way to greenery. Luscious greenery as far as the eye can see. And deep earth. Either deep dark brown or rich red. Farmland. With little dots of vibrant yellow, red and blue of women stomping fields in their wraps, school kids in their uniforms and young boys donning the jersey of their favorite football team. And once in a while a herd of white cows or goats under the careful watch of their Fulani herdsman. Colors that remind me of the tubes of the super-saturated oil paint I once used with names like ‘burnt umber’ and ‘cadmium yellow’.

The fields are even more impressive when you consider that it is all done by hand. Everything is done by hand in Nigeria. Buildings are built by hand. Signs are painted by hand. Farms are plowed and planted and harvested by hand. Nigerians are very proud of their country and their people. Here, it’s not hard to see why.

The rich fields begin to give way to rocky outcroppings and suddenly the iconic boulders balanced one on top of the other appear on the horizon. Jos! High on the plateau, Jos is cooler than Abuja. And here the roadside markets sell a wide array of fruit and vegetables. The landscape is marred only by the military roadblocks, one every kilometer or so, with painted oil barrels – red, black and blue with yellow print – “no peace, no progress”. The only sign that something is awry.

Corner Shops: Check!

2010-06-13T13:11:00.000-07:00

I got up early Saturday morning and set off to finally, finally find the "Corner Shops" I've been looking for since I arrived. I knew that I knew the way now and I wasn't wrong. Except that there weren't so much shops as it was a big outdoor workout facility with a basketball courts, soccer fields, a track, a pool, nautilus machines and a room for aerobics classes (full of large people not really doing the exercises). Strangely, they also had a pool of crocodiles. Yeah. I don't get that part. It was especially confusing when the guy giving me the grand tour said that they were trying to be "like America".

The pool looked refreshing but that there was no one in the pool made me a little suspicious. And there were only men there in the entire facility. And they only offered annual rates... which I probably could have negotiated. But the deal was really sealed when they asked for 500 Naira ($3) for the print-out that listed the facilities offered and fees. I wasn't in the mood to be hustled, so for now I'll stick with private guest-chalet-pilates and morning walks around the neighborhood.

Three Words

2010-06-13T12:48:00.000-07:00

I burst out laughing while walking home from the Asokoro Mall. Here I am. In Nigeria. Making it work.

Kind of.

Most days, at least in Abuja, I feel pretty stuck. My enthusiasm for exploration ricochets in time with what I hear from my Nigerian colleagues and what I read about in the papers about the dangers - real or not - in Nigeria. I still have yet to take a taxi by myself. And I wasn't entirely disappointed to postpone my trip to Jos this week. Jos is a long story for another post, but suffice it to say for now that the queen of 'aw f*** it' is finally tempered here in Nigeria.

So I spent the weekend watching World Cup football on tv and reading Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie.

Its frustrating to be so cloistered. And I think about the stories of my classmates at Brown who have spent time working in Africa. I think they were in villages. The familiar-ish comforts of the city have been nice, but I suspect that I would feel more at home in a village. Where there are no walls or razor wire or taxis and the spectacle of oyibo-ness would surely wear off after a time.

Is this - Abuja - the real Nigeria? Well sure. Its the real Nigeria. No less real than New Nigeria. But the problems of Abuja are maybe closer akin to the problems of any city in the U.S. than they are to the problems of the village. They're close in proximity but a lifetime away. Urban dwellers in Abuja are like urban dwellers anywhere. Their fashion-sense puts me to shame. Seriously. They listen to the latest music. See the latest movies. There's a strange materialism that I haven't quite gotten a handle on. Such a crazy mix of developing world and first world.

The problems of rural Nigeria are simpler. Kind of. Simple problems but really, really difficult solutions. Difficult not due to the uncertainty of how to to solve them, but because of the scale of the intervention that's required.

For instance, I don't understand why an organization as big as UNICEF could only have 10% of the de-worming drugs required for the impoverished children of Benue State. I had no answer when the expat - an investigative journalist - asked what the scam was. I don't know. And I don't know if these things can be overcome. Funding is tough. But funding is just one part of the problem.

Can you really do anything to help? Its a fantastic and totally fair question. And the truth is... that there are a lot of truths. No bigger truth than that I've been here for four weeks and surely that's not enough time to really understand what I'm experiencing. Another truth is that maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe its good enough - for me anyway - to be working for the side of good. Using all the meager skill and knowledge I've accumulated over 31 years to push in the direction of life, peace, health and prosperity for all.

Another truth is that different cultures evolve different ways of solving their own problems.

Time for another analogy. I came here with so many things that I was scared to live three months without. Some have made more sense then others. The Luna and Cliff bars? Damn good idea. The 10 bottles of DEET - eh. Not so much. But there are other things, like Dove soap. I like Dove soap at home. Its moisturizing and good for my skin and smells good. But here in Nigeria - pfft. There's no dry skin in Nigeria. You sweat. Bucket-loads. And Dove soap does nothing to clean that off. It took me less than a week to switch from my beloved Dove to an antibacterial soap like Irish Spring or Dettol. And that first time I went grocery shopping with Martha at Amigos and looked for milk I was so unimpressed with the can of Peak powered milk she pointed me to. But now it makes sense. The power goes off so often in Nigeria that you really can't keep fragile foods in the fridge. So this week I was bemused to find myself buying a can of Peak.

All this is to say that its really hard to judge another culture from the outside. But millions of people don't make silly, irrational decisions. There's reason behind it. And you have to understand the context in order to work towards an effective solution.

There's a reason, for example, why in Nigeria you aren't "from" somewhere just because you've lived there for 10 years. I've been trying to understand the problems wracking Jos over the past 9 years that have led to the violent slaughter of thousands. And I keep trying to understand it in terms of American federalism. But this isn't America, James reminds me with a tinge of irritation. This is Nigeria. Where everyone can trace their lineage to a particular tribe in a particular nook. A nation of hundreds of tribes and languages brought together not so much by a common ideal as by a common history... of being ruled by Britain.

So is there hope? Well, there has to be. Because if there isn't hope then we're all lost. Maybe that's why I found myself going back to the Obama 'Yes we can' video this afternoon (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jjXyqcx-mYY). There's a line there that always makes me tear up no matter how many times I hear it: "In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope."

More Minutia

2010-06-09T17:05:00.000-07:00

This won’t be a terribly exciting post, but it’s been a couple of days and I know that a few readers get a little nervous when they haven’t heard from me in a while ☺ All is well. I’ve transitioned back to life in Abuja which takes on the routine of living anywhere. I get up in the morning, do the morning thing and go to work. Come home in the evening exhausted, nuke up some dinner, dink around and eventually get tired and sleep. Checking the time of this post you’ll perhaps note that some nights are better for sleeping than others.

Exhausted. I continue to have to listen really hard to people in order to understand them. Especially comments made out of context. Igbo and Hausa speakers are mostly okay. With Yoruba speakers I'm lost. I don't know if they're speaking Yoruba or English. And phone conversations are particularly tough when I can’t see the speaker’s lips. But I’m getting better and expanding my pidgin and Hausa vocabulary, much to the amusement of others. I’m endlessly amusing here with my constant confusion, endless questions and apparently hilarious statements that seem perfectly reasonable to me. Maybe this is why we perceive Nigerians to be the happiest people in the world – because they’re always laughing at us!

Seemingly simple things, though, continue to be unbelievably difficult. Take for instance today’s adventure. I needed to renew my subscription to a statistics software package. Problem number one is that I can’t use my credit card online here. Probably it would be okay, but it’s just not a chance you take. Okay, fine. So R uses my credit card to purchase the software license from the U.S.. Now I need to download it, a 250MB file. In the U.S., no shakey (pidgin: no problem)! … Except that here internet is really, really slow.

I try downloading it over wireless in the Jos office where it purportedly would take a mere 9 hours. Try downloading in the Abuja office over LAN and spent 6 hours to get 15% of the file… before it crashes. Try multiple times to download it over my MTN wireless doohickey – crashes every time after downloading less than 10% of the file. Ordinarily this wouldn’t stop me from trying, but I have a 3GB limit per month. If I exceed 3GB, no internet for me until the month is up. So each failed attempt at downloading chips away at my valuable MB. (I later learn that beyond the 3GB monthly cap, there’s a cap on file size for any single download. Good grief.)

Having fun yet, dear reader? So now – one week later and getting desperate - what to do? Its Nigeria, anything is possible, right?

The first option we consider is for R to download the file in the U.S., transfer it to a thumb drive then mail the thumb drive to me via FedEx…. at a cost of $200. Twice as much as the cost of the software itself.

The HKI IT guy suggests going to the British Council in Maitama where you can pay exorbitant amounts of money to get decent connection. Sounds great! Exorbitant amounts of money – I’m in! Whatever it takes. Off in the taxi we go across town to the British Council, talk to the guard – the internet library was closed last month. But ECOWAS (Economic Community Of West African States) has a library I can use!

Okay, no shakey. Back in the taxi to where we started. Get there, talk to the guard and its clear that we have no business being there… to use their internet, no less. But, guard takes pity on us and lets us in. Pass by a few more guards and finally get to the library where Maria tells them that I’m there to “do research”. I suspect my oyibo-ness is helping out in these interactions. Anyway, they set me up with the computer. Maria takes off to do her own errands.

Success? No! The internet is slower than any computer I’ve used yet. Seriously? Seriously. PLUS, I notice much too late, they have nice little signs saying that use of flash drives on the ECOWAS computers is strictly forbidden.

Strike two. Pack up my stuff. Dash the guard for his trouble and make the long, hot walk back to the office.

I have one more fight in me. We head to Nicon. I don’t know what Nicon is, but the travel book says that it has internet. Nicon, it turns out, is a mall with a Hilton … with a business center. Seven thousand Naira to use wireless for 24 hours. Note, I’m paying the same amount to download the dadblamed file that I paid to purchase the software. But at this point I’ve wasted an entire day, Maria’s entire day and already a few thousand Naira taxiing around town.

Three hours downloading at 25ish kb/sec and 7,000 Naira later, success is had. I guess you can call it success. I have the software anyway. And along the way there were some successes. I finally found Salamander Cafe and had my first non-Nigerian meal in a month - a little piece of heaven that was. I bought some more Adichie fiction to enjoy while waiting, which I'm bound to do at some point. And I now have a taxi driver that I know and trust to get me around town and return me safely to my guest chalet. Ooo - and I was very proud to have found my way from ECOWAS to the office without mistakes. And I got to experience, well, some really angry-looking dude in a suit slap the crap plus a few jabs out of some other dude in another car who was causing a traffic hold-up.

**
One moment for a brief side story, because this was truly Nigerian. We're trying to turn left into the Nicon parking lot. No one is moving. There's a traffic director but she seems to have lost all control of the situation. Some woman inside her car is screaming at some SUV. Everyone is blocking everyone. So so-said angry-looking-dude-in-a-suit gets out of the SUV and starts yelling at other cars. Goes to one car in particular, opens up the door and just starts wailing on the driver. Really?, you say. Really??? Yes. Then, better yet. After pummeling this guy a little, angry-looking-dude-in-a-suit gets into the middle of the road and starts directing traffic... really effectively. Thirty seconds later, everyone is on their way and the mess is cleared up. Probably the single weirdest event I've seen yet... but apparently totally normal. Interlude over.
**

So simple things are really, really hard in Nigeria. Imagine for a moment how difficult the hard stuff is… like getting Vitamin A capsules to children twice a year in villages only accessible by motorbike when the floodwaters are not too high. An expat I spoke with today (while waiting for my file to download) said that, after 5 years in Nigeria, Europe is too easy for her now - when she goes back for too long she misses the challenge.

I See You

2010-06-06T11:10:00.000-07:00

Weekends are a little lonely in Abuja without the bustle of work and workmates. Today was blissfully cool though, so I took a walk around Asokoro to get a little exercise and ease my restlessness. Still have yet to find the shopping center I've been seeking for three weeks, but now I know for certain where it is. No matter. The walk was nice and it felt good to be outside on my own without fear or worry.

The longer I'm here the more I see ...and the less I see. The things that stood out when I first arrived - the razor wire, the garbage, the men with guns - are beginning to fade into the background. The details - the symbols and activities that actually carry meaning - are finally beginning to pop.

After my mini tour of North Central Nigeria I can now pick out the signs of wealth in Asokoro. There are sidewalks, for instance. The bushes have been trimmed and the lawns are manicured. There are really fancy cars. And the building signs (be it standing in the middle of the sidewalk) indicate that the governors of each of Nigeria's 36 states reside here along with several foreign embassies. Asokoro has a least one "mall" and there are no roadside shops. Even the fact that there aren't very many people around is a sign of wealth. People in this neighborhood don't really walk, they drive.

I'm also beginning to internalize the advertising. Without having to read, I know that that sign over there is for a pharmacy. And I know that little stand on the corner sells mobile credit. Its a Sunday and so I know that the ladies in fancy hats - gele - are probably on their way to or from church. The taxis and the kai-kai are honking because they think that I don't want to be walking. They're wrong and so I just ignore them. There's a big storm passing through so its no surprise that the power goes out... and then comes back on once the rain has stopped. The banter of the women washing in the alley below my window is the day's constant companion. That the electricity goes out again when dusk begins to settle is mildly irritating but doesn't surprise me. It shouldn't be too long before they go back on and then I can nuke my dinner, charge my computer and turn the lights on so I can see what I'm doing.

New Nigeria

2010-06-05T04:00:00.000-07:00

Three weeks in and I've essentially faced all of the "known" fears I had about Nigeria. I've spent a week in Abuja, a week in Jos - where I never intended to go - and a week in Benue State. After traveling as a team of 5, its another adjustment to be back in the guest chalet. Quiet. Empty. Back to figuring out how to make a meal with a microwave and a kettle. Back to cursing the a/c for only being on for an hour before shutting off again.

Yesterday we got out to the field. Waaaaaaaaay out to the field. First of all, you must understand that there is a lot of waiting in Nigeria. Nothing is reliable. So you go about your day and when you hit an obstacle - which you will - you just... wait. So every day starts with waiting and yesterday was no exception. We began at the Ministry of Health in Makurdi, the capital of Benue State. We needed permission to go into the field and a guide to take us there; some unfortunate woman who's name I never found out and who had no intention of going into the field when she woke up that day.

Anyway, we fetched the guide - making six in the pickup truck, mind you - and sent out for Gwere West LGA. It took probably an hour. Mostly because the roads are so dreadful. Its what I imagine it is to drive on mars. HUGE huge huge potholes. Sometimes there's more dirt than road. And no lanes. They don't even bother to paint lanes on the roads. Cars just meander whichever way to get where they want to go. So on the open pock-marked road from Makurdi to Gwere West you drive double the miles weaving in and out from one lane and back again avoiding holes. It makes for a bumpy ride. Especially with six people in the car.

We arrive at the LGA Secretariat where we have to get permission to venture into the communities. Everyone comes out to see the oyibo. It should come as no surprise that the journey is going to be adventurous, we're researching "hard to reach" communities afterall. But the litany of 'first you take a motorbike, then a boat, then you walk, then you take another boat...' was a little daunting. I'm feeling happy to have worn capris and running shoes and to have my sunscreen and DEET. And toilet paper. I'm learning to come prepared for anything.

Back in the truck we stop off for some water and set off to find the motorbikes. At the first village we come to they tell us that the road to the HTR community is not accessible due to flooding. Back in the car to another village where they point down a dirt 'road' heading into the bush. This road makes the other one seem like a super highway. We drive and drive into the bush. Finally we come across a small village. James and the woman from the MOH get out to negotiate. A half hour later they return - only 4 can go. There are two motorbikes that can take two people each. Uche had made the unfortunate decision to wear a jean skirt that morning so she was the clear pick to stay behind with Sallie (the driver). I was pretty disconcerted about the motorbikes anyway, so I was somewhat relieved to hear that we would be doubling up. And since men in Nigeria (not unlike men everywhere) are pretty homophobic, clearly me and the MOH woman would be the ones sandwiched between the driver and whichever male - James or Ahmed - behind us.

So. On the motorbike and off in search of a hard to reach community to pre-test our surveys. It was pretty fun, actually. And James continuously cautions the driver to "be gentle" with the bike so as to not freak me out. About 6 kilometers in we come to a village with a clinic and our first chance to test the survey. The clinic is a small mud building. The clinician is an older man in shorts. No shirt, no shoes. Glasses. There are posters about the signs of polio on the wall and containers of liquid and medical devices (needles?) on the floor. We sit in his office as James conducts the survey.

But this village isn't technically hard to reach, so we hop back on the motorbikes for another 6km or more to find something a little further out. After a few mishaps - a nasty gash on the knee for Ahmed when the motorbikes ran into each other and some impressive looking scratches on my knee from the thorn bushes we drove through - we find the community of New Nigeria. Their clinic is a little more rough than the previous village, though they also have posters for common disease symptoms and even a stethoscope. We sit in chairs with a few of the clinicians to begin the survey and the whole village crowds around. There are sooooo many kids. We finish the health worker survey and start a household survey with a father. He doesn't know his exact age - no one knew their exact age. He has four wives and 15 children, 6 of whom are under the age of 5.

This will be the last time that I say this, because it can just be taken as a given from now on, but this was clearly the first time most of these villagers had seen a white person. I got up to take pictures and it was like the parting of the seas. Mostly I find this to be a frustrating distraction and again wish that I could blend in. Is it really possible for an oyibo to do effective research in these types of communities? Maybe as a Monitor, the type of work that HKI does, but not as the interviewer.

Anyway, the camera was a huge hit, as evidenced by the photos posted here. I would take a picture and then turn the camera around to show the kids. They would tussle and push for a chance to get in the picture and then to see themselves. After three surveys it was getting late and our motorbike drivers were anxious to leave. But this poor, poor, poor community brought out a bucket of soft drinks for us to enjoy before heading out. Malt drinks that taste to me like drinking liquid bread. I'm not a fan, but its an honor and its the respectful thing to do to show your appreciation and so I guzzle it down.

And that's it. That's the field. Jump back on the motorbikes and an hour later we're back at the truck, four hours after setting out. New Nigeria, my favorite day yet. As we head home I think about Dr I telling me that she loves going to Haiti (where she does her research) because she finds life there so peaceful. I'm beginning to understand.

Spectacle

2010-06-01T14:51:00.000-07:00

My typical modus operandi and general preference is to live life anonymously. I'm not big on attention. I'm a little bashful of the limelight.

Throw that out the window. In Nigeria I'm an oyibo - a White, and an automatic spectacle.

Today was the first day where I really felt like I'm here doing exactly what I came to do. We traveled out to various LGAs (Local Government Areas) to pick up forms that were dropped off months ago listing specific Wards within each LGA deemed 'hard to reach' for vitamin A supplementation... because its mountainous, prone to periodic flooding, riverine or there simply are no roads. We drove through miles of villages. Village after village. Young school children in their uniforms walking home from school. Men, women and children working their cassava farms. Village men sitting beneath a tree talking. Women and sometimes children making pounded yam. Women or young girls pumping water from the village pump. Boys playing futbol.

The village market was something special though. It was huge. It felt like surely the entire village was there. Women selling garri (dried cassava, I think), millet, beans, hot peppers, onions. Meat stands of fish, slabs of something large with lots of flies buzzing (I tried not to look) and skewers of frogs. Fabric, "slippers" (flip-flops), and other consumables. And cooked food. We had lunch of akra (a deep fried ball of dough-like beans) and pounded yam. Yummy.

I do wish I could experience it all anonymously. But everywhere I go people stare. Some give a half wave. Some give me peanuts - ha! Some want to touch my hair. Others beg for money.

What does a mother in a Nigerian village - no electricity, maybe a central pump for water, little opportunity for economic development - hope for her child? It seems wrong to assume that she should want to live in the modern world. But surely her children deserve basic services... like education, clean water and nutritious food.

Its hard not to make comparisons to the U.S. I'm reminded of Jeffrey Sach's 'The End of Poverty' where he mentions that extreme poverty doesn't really exist in the U.S. We have poor people for sure. But our base, our very lowest level still seems leagues away from what millions live with every day in Nigeria.

So why do we have the problems we do? Nigerians look at the U.S. and think that it is the most peaceful country in the world. It is an amazing country and I've never felt so fortunate in my life to be born an American. But we have our issues. I wonder if Nigeria's poverty doesn't in some ways provide protection from the social ills that afflict the U.S. There are no drugs, no single mothers, abandoned children, abandoned elders.

Nigerians admire the U.S., but I wonder if the U.S. doesn't have more to learn from Nigeria.

Coffee

2010-05-31T00:47:00.000-07:00

After my first good night's sleep in a long time (no roosters, no footsteps by my window, no Jos, LOTS of a/c), I was excited to wake up to the prospect of room service of familiar food. And coffee! On delivery I found a flask of hot water, a packet of powdered milk... and two little sachets of Nescafe. Nescafe. A FB friend recently asked, "What - no coffee???". I agree! Its Africa! They grow coffee here!

Well it is the case that most of the coffee is grown on the eastern side of the continent (Kenya, Ethiopia...) but there is coffee grown in northern Nigeria. What's more surprising is that when I asked my colleague at HKI about it, he had no idea what I was talking about. Whole bean coffee? That you grind up to make a drink? Huh.

Huh indeed. I can make a conjecture. Maybe coffee is SO valuable abroad that its WAY beyond the means of Africans themselves?

Anyway, what joy I lost in my Nescafe I gained back in sugar cubes. I love sugar cubes. Even more so that the most common brand here is 'St Louis' :)

Inshallah

2010-05-27T12:17:00.000-07:00

I spent a few semesters in beginning Arabic classes and the word inshallah - god willing - is about the only thing that has stuck with me. Its only in Nigeria that I've come to understand its power. I haven't heard the word used here, but it encompasses everything about the place. Life and what happens to you is very much left in the hands of god.

I spent the afternoon trying to pin down a project plan... a precise list of steps from point A to point B. I'm not even frustrated by how difficult the process was because it makes sense. You can't really rely on anything so what's the sense in making a plan? Go forth and deal with what comes! A control-freak's nightmare. Hm. Maybe that's why I'm finding it difficult to adjust. But along with inshallah is 'anything is possible'. Things have a way of working themselves out. Maybe not on your timeline, but eventually.

A small example? We were supposed to stay in the HKI apartment last night but when they dropped us off the electricity wasn't on. They said they would try to fix it. Inshallah. Apparently they didn't because when we got back from dinner all of the apartments had electricity but ours. It was 8pm and pitch black. Under some circumstances, maybe not a big deal. But my phone(s) and computer were all in dire need of charging. And I'm not sure if there were candles. But 'anything is possible'. And so we stayed at the house of a friend of Uche's who lives right up the street.

You see the craziest things in Nigeria. Its a surreal mix of modern world and old world. A goat herder in Adidas pants. Men in three piece suits on the back of a jollopy motorbike. Buildings of mud and dirt with the most fashionable patrons.

A country of irony, Nigeria.

We're preparing for this vitamin A supplement (VAS) survey. Its unclear whether we'll be in Benue State for 1 week or 3. Depends on when VAS distribution begins. Which we won't know until we get there on Monday. Have I mentioned how all business happens in person? I did most of the work on creating the survey and I'm using what I learned at HCRL in creation of the codebook so when we get to data analysis it should be pretty straight-forward. All of the information for this project has come REALLY piecemeal. And already I'm starting trouble in trying to get everyone on the same page. But Nigerians are very big on consensus and working as a team and we've wound up in a good place.

10 Days

2010-05-26T03:43:00.000-07:00

I've been in Nigeria for about ten days and now I'm traveling to the south, to Benue State, for the next ten. If I had my druthers I'd sit still for a bit longer, but alas there's work to do! Me and Uche will be conducting a survey in hard-to-reach areas to determine barriers to Vitamin A Supplementation distribution and possible ways to alleviate them. I've definitely be dropped into the deep end.

The good news? After much effort and a few melt-downs on my part, I finally have internet access! Its such a relief to be able to connect with family and friends whenever I want. All else is going well. I've gotten the basics down and life is beginning to become a little more routine. That said, I do seem to say the silliest things here. At least there is much, much laughter often at my expense. But that's alright. I'll take laughter. The people continue to be so kind and generous. Really, really generous.

I've managed to get pictures to Flickr but not yet to link them to the blog...
Baby steps.

Men with Guns

2010-05-21T08:53:00.000-07:00

At the risk of freaking family and friends, here's a conversation I had with my office mate Maria (who has so kindly brought me homemade lunch the past two days):
A: On my route to my place from here (HKI) there are two guys sitting in chairs in the middle of the sidewalk. They're guards, you know, with guns. Does that mean that I shouldn't walk on the sidewalk and should walk on the street instead?
M: Pfft! No! You walk right past them!

You are WELCOME to Nigeria! <--- phrase oft spoken to anyone who appears to be a foreigner

I'm finally convinced that Asokoro, where I live and work, is indeed the posh part of Abuja. But you can see why that may not, at first blush, be so apparent to a westerner. Besides the armed guards, all of the buildings are surrounded by walls with razor wire. Lots of razor wire. So on the question of Nigeria vs North City, my current thinking is that Nigeria may look scarier to the average passerby but North City actually is more threatening to the average passerby.

Anyway, my luggage arrived and it was splendid to open! Like a little piece of home arrived today. I was so happy that it was almost worth the 4 days without! So far, everything I packed seems to have arrived.

I also sat down with my supervisor today to talk about the work I'll be doing over the next several months. Maybe this weekend I'll write more about the health situation in Nigeria, but for now I'll leave it to say that there's a lot to do and little funding to do it. So it will be a busy summer afterall and I can't wait to jump in.

When English isn't English

2010-05-19T07:51:00.000-07:00

Day two and I've managed to accomplish a few things. First - I know where I am! Google Maps doesn't know addresses in Nigeria so while I've always known generally where I would be, I've found and tagged my guest chalet and HKI.

See how close my guest chalet is to work? That is a real blessing right now as I adjust to my new environment. Even though I speak English and everyone here speaks English, things just don't translate very well. And I'm already finding the reverse of what Muniru told me about adjusting to the U.S. - I've been told more than a few times already to 'have patience'. I thought I was being patient. Afterall, my luggage has yet to arrive but I'm happily making my way with my one skirt and two shirts that I packed in my carry-on. And I tried to be subtle about the a/c in the chalet that works for about an hour and then shuts off. And the microwave and kettle that are not there yet. Its no big deal, mind you. I'm making my way. I have a comfortable amount of bottled water and I have some food. There's a cafeteria (cantine) at work where everyone goes for lunch. Its really good and so far its all gone down well.

I've learned that people are often named the day of the week. So within my first 24 hours I met a Sunday and a Yesterday and a Monday.

Oops. The power just went off. That happens a lot here. The good news? They installed a/c units in the office yesterday and they just got turned on. Much better! I went for a brief walk this afternoon up and down Justice Sowemimo Street. Its really hot. I was dripping by the time I got back. And without my sunscreen (its in my luggage) I'm not so big on walking out in the sun - apparently my skin will be extra-sensitive to light while on the anti-malarials.

My supervisor's managers were here today so she was busy with that, but hopefully I'll get going on something soon. Things move slow in Africa, Omo told me. I just need to find a sneaky way to get her to work through the Brown ELA paperwork with me. Maria - Omo's assistant who has recently returned to Nigeria from England - is worried that I'll be bored. I think I'll be okay once I get the basics figured out... like getting an internet modem so I can access the internet from the chalet, figuring out how to use the taxis (it sounds stupid, I know, but it REALLY different here), maybe getting a membership to a gym (Maria recommends it, people don't just go running in this city), and figuring out how to fall asleep at night. You know, the basics.

One last thing, there are crazy colorful lizards here all over. Pictures of those and more when I get my camera dongle!

Good Morning from Abuja!

2010-05-18T02:15:00.000-07:00

After a brief delay (and much angst) due to Volcano Eyyyblahblahblah, I arrived in Abuja safe and sound! My bags, not so much. But word is that they'll come today. Or Wednesday. Or Thursday.

The guest chalet is lovely and I think will be quite comfortable once I get used to lack of a/c (there is a/c - its just sporadic) and bath with no shower head. I have plenty of bottled water. Haven't quite figured out the food thing yet, but I will soon. In the meantime I'm happy for the clif bars and almonds I shoved in my carry-on.

The HKI office is literally 3 buildings away from where I'm staying and I'm happy to be able to access the internet and catch up with goings on in the Lou. Everyone here has been very welcoming and nice. I'm pretty exhausted from the travel and all of the build-up to this adventure, but I'm looking forward to diving into work with HKI.

I'll try to post photos soon!

Nigeria v. North City

2010-05-05T16:18:00.000-07:00

The most common response I get from friends and family (and strangers too) upon hearing of my upcoming Nigerian adventure is fear for my safety. Most people's response is a hesitant 'eesh' sound with a slight upward eyebrow motion, though the doctor that gave me all of my immunizations was more forthright and said 'I'm concerned for you'. And my mom, bless her heart, recently referred to it as 'that place'. Well after spending the past several months touring around North City St Louis, I'm curious to learn which is more fearful.

Today I got to check the little 'Violent/angry actions' box on the audit sheet again. Funny, both times the violent/angry action was directed at me. The first was somewhat understandable. Dude stopped my partner on the street, partner cut him off assuming he was asking for money... dude just let loose. It ended with 'So just shut the fuck up or I'm going to come over there and beat your ass!'. It should be noted that we weren't saying anything except for maybe small silent prayers that the harangue would end soon.

Today it was a little less deserving. Three youth stopped me, one wanted to know what I was doing, in disbelief he asked to see the pictures of the "signs", I showed him, he wanted to see more, I kept walking and bid him a nice day, he shouted at my back that I couldn't take any more pictures in their neighborhood anymore or he would come and take my camera. I decided that the rest of the route was better done in pairs. Preferably in a car.

So besides all of the questions that this experience conjures (...like, What is the definition of violent/angry actions? Should pictures of public spaces really be an IRB exception? And am I just an idiot for thinking that I should be able to walk down a street in the middle of the day with people all around and not feel that my life is in danger?)

...yes, besides all of those questions, I'd like to know if Nigeria really feels less safe than North City? I have my own hypothesis...

Student's Guide to Nigeria

2010-05-04T14:47:00.001-07:00

Well the semester is wrapping up and I'm less than two weeks away from Nigeria. I'm all comfy-cozy with the exception of housing. HOUSING! I've come to terms with the safety and the health and the being away for 3 months and all of that... but my housing is still not squared away. Alas, a mild state of panic has ensued. I think the biggest gift I could give to future me's is to write a student's guide to Nigeria. It would start with importance of the Ex-Pat community - they've been a godsend and a vital source of information that you won't get from any book... not that there are books on Nigeria, but hey. This is the final hurdle, after this the only thing that stands between me and Naija is... SHOPPING! Oh yes, long skirts and iodine tablets, here I come!

Signs and the City Revisited

2010-05-02T21:52:00.001-07:00

Or maybe I've just got it wrong and this post (http://nvl-gzng.blogspot.com/2010/04/signs-and-city.html) is more about the white, upper-middle class experience than it is about the neighborhoods I've been working in. I just listened to the This American Life episode about tycoon Steve Poizner's controversial book on his brief teaching stint in a California high school (http://www.thisamericanlife.org/radio-archives/episode/406/true-urban-legends). Its got me thinking that maybe I just don't understand the neighborhoods I've been working in. Maybe the people living in those neighborhoods would feel equally violated by my accusations that they're unsafe. Afterall, aside from a few minor incidents nothing particularly bad happened after two months trekking around north city. The stress and exhaustion that I feel at the end of those days has a lot to do, I think, with the second-guessing of my own spidey-sense. Which maybe has more to do with the feeling of "different" rather than "unsafe". The same sense that African Americans and all minorities must experience every day of their life... an ever-present yet non-specific threat.

Back to the question at hand. The experience highlights the importance of the scientific method in assessing - relatively impartially - the difference between different neighborhoods. What are the critical criteria? What will the density of health-related signs reveal, if anything, about the neighborhoods I've trekked through?

Signs and the City

2010-04-28T14:37:00.000-07:00

The irony of it finally struck me. Family lore says that my older brother and sister taught me how to read and then regretted it when I insisted on reading every sign everywhere we went. Thirty years later I spend my Wednesdays and Fridays taking pictures of signs all over St Louis, one of the most segregated cities in America, to assess the information environment of different neighborhoods. The project has brought me to some of the sketchiest areas of north city. And walking streets from one neighborhood to the next for eight hours has given me ample time to think about what makes the difference between a sketchy area and a non-sketchy area. What is safe and what is not? And how do you know?

A few things are clear. In sketchy areas there are a lot more abandoned buildings. Sometimes they're even interspersed with perfectly well-kept beautiful buildings! In sketchy areas there is a lot more trash. Maybe people litter more. Maybe the city doesn't bring in maintenance crews to clean up. Maybe people eat more fast food and simply create more trash. In sketchy areas there are giant flower pots in the middle of the street to prevent cars from passing through. In sketchy areas people hang out in cars waiting for god knows what. In sketchy areas there are behemoth sized schools sitting empty on a school day. In sketchy areas it feels like the weekend mid-morning on a Wednesday. Why? Because no one is at work. Maybe they don't have jobs. Maybe they work at night. In sketchy areas you can have a pleasant conversation with a drug dealer. Or maybe he wasn't. I don't know. But he was standing on the corner with a white plastic bag and a cell phone. In sketchy areas the birds are chirping, the sun is out... but there's a tension you just can't shake. Your spidey-sense is ringing off the wall. Its exhausting. In sketchy areas everything is mostly fine... until its not.

What has struck me most, perhaps, is how the line between sketch and not sketch is so very rigid. One block its fine and the next block its not. And how stressful it is to walk by oneself, not a mile away from "home" but still in a completely different world. Imagine a lifetime of that stress.

The experience has challenged my idealism in uncomfortable ways and I'm quite sure that I'll never see St Louis the same again. I never understood the accusation that St Louis was highly segregated. I could see it on a map but it didn't fit my experience of the city. I live in a very diverse area. I see African Americans every day. We work together. We go to school together. We eat together. We hang out. There are multiracial couples everywhere. I'm used to thinking of segregation in terms of areas where Whites live and African Americans don't. Well, turn that on it's head and you've got north city. Vast swaths of the city where only African American people live. And because race and SES are so convoluted in this country, it smarts my idealism to admit that the line between not-sketch and sketch is WAY too highly correlated with the color of people's skin.

After the dread and the fear comes the jubilation

2010-03-30T16:59:00.000-07:00

I spent a week in dread-mode. Being sad about all the things I'm going to miss this summer. My favorite St Louis event - Shakespeare in the Park. The Clayton farmers market on Saturday mornings. Sand volleyball at Steinberg. Ultimate summer league. My friend's going-away party. My niece's first trip to see her family. And R. Mostly R.

Then there was the day reprieve... before the fear set in. I blame this one mostly on others. There are LOTS of people - smart people, mind you, but mostly whom have never been to Nigeria or anywhere in West Africa for that matter - who will tell you how dangerous it is. There's the mosquitoes. And the parasites. And the stray animals with their rabies. And the hospitals with their tainted blood and dirty needles. And the thugs. And the thieves. And the corruption. And the internet viruses. And the food. And the water. And the taxis. And the Muslims. And the Christians.

Yep. There's a lot to worry about when traveling to Nigeria. Where even the travel book calls Nigeria 'Africa for experienced travelers' (as opposed to Ghana, which is apparently Africa for beginners).

But many comforting conversations with Nigerians and Nigerian expats later (not to mention six immunizations), the tickets are bought, the Visa application is nearly out the door and jubilation has finally set in. Najja, here I come!

Public Health in St Louis

2010-03-29T18:42:00.000-07:00

I spend more time than I should besmirching the city of St Louis. We're one of the most segregated cities in the nation, we have some of the highest STD rates and the schools - oh the schools! - seem utterly hopeless. But with all of that, there are some incredible people doing some really inspiring work in this city. Here's a few:

Gateway Greening (http://www.gatewaygreening.org): Promotes urban neighborhood vitality and stability, healthy living and quality of life through community food projects, education and wellness programs, and civic greening.

Project ARK (http://projectark.wustl.edu/): Provides services for children, youth, young adults, women and families infected, affected and at risk for HIV disease through coordination of medical care, social support and prevention services.

the SPOT (http://thespot.wustl.edu/contact.html): Offers free STD screening, counseling and treatment to young adults in a supportive, youth positive environment.

Trailnet (http://www.trailnet.org/): Partners with communities in fostering healthy and active communities through innovative programs, planning, and policy that promote walking and bicycling throughout the St. Louis bi-state region.

Haiti... Nigeria!

2010-03-07T19:14:00.000-08:00

'Well if you're going to be working in global health, you might as well start with the most impoverished nation in the western hemisphere...' And that was BEFORE the devastating earthquake that struck Port-au-Prince on January 12, 2010. The opportunity to work with Dr Iannotti doing research in undernutrition seemed too good to pass up. The only blip in my enthusiasm came when Dr I intimated that, if I were to be based in Leogane (not far from the epicenter of the earthquake), it might be better to spend the summer in a tent rather than live in a building.

I was not altogether torn then, when I received the email from Helen Keller International (HKI) letting me know that a practicum opportunity was waiting for me in Nigeria. Which is not to say that Nigeria doesn't have its issues, it does. And personal safety is probably my number-one concern at this point. Aside from leaving my life behind for three months, that is.

I'll be based in either Abuja - the capital city and apparently one of the safest - or Jos. Jos has seen some strife. Its predominantly Muslim and there have been recent religious riots, if you believe some. Others say its the result of economic tensions. I'm working on learning what I can to keep myself safe and taking comfort in the fact that HKI is a large, highly reputably organization that has been around for a long time. Mostly I think that, with some precautions everything will be fine.

HKI's mission is to eradicate preventable blindness through vitamin A supplementation and agriculture programs to increase fruit and vegetable intake. I'm particularly keen on their Homestead Food Production Project which works with NGOs to run community gardens. Supplementation is necessary and good, but I'll always be inclined towards more sustainable and long-lasting solutions. Putting my concerns aside, I'm really excited for the opportunity to work for an extended period of time in a developing country in an area that I feel so passionate about. It was my goal from the start of this MPH program to do an international practicum and still somewhat astonishing that it all panned out.

I remember when I left South Africa, nearly 15 years ago, feeling like I would return to the continent someday. What a crazy turn life has taken!

Practicum cont'd

2010-01-02T12:52:00.000-08:00

Reading the NYT online this morning I thought to myself that its been years since I've felt so relaxed. An altogether different feeling from the unearned relaxation of the past several years. Though "undeserved" is perhaps... undeserved. It used to be that I would feverishly spend my "vacation" doing that which I wanted to be doing the rest of the year round. And racking my brain to figure out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life and how I could possibly do it from St Louis. The difference now is perhaps only in the alignment of my work and interests.

Well anyway, the super lazy morning has rolled into a productive afternoon of further practicum exploration. Today I begin preparing my application for Partners In Health. These essays are always more difficult to write than they should be. The forced introspection is worthwhile and a good exercise. If I didn't have to do it, I should it every quarter anyway.

For a little mid-essay pick-me-up I read the latest annual report from The Children's Nutrition Program of Haiti. Its fun to be in a place in life where I learn something new from everything I read. Today its the Hearth program, Positive Deviance Inquiries and the geography of Haiti.

Quartermaster

2010-01-01T10:49:00.000-08:00

With the first of four semesters under my belt, R has declared me a quartermaster. The gap between my last post (September 3) and this (January 1) is indicative of how the semester went. A deluge! Like drinking from a waterfall. To sum it up? Five classes, hoards of reading (that I was diligent about until mid-semester), lots of writing (and learning that I COULD write a 3-page paper in 4 hours... and how important an assignment calendar is), lots of group work (and practice in patience), a feverish determination to pursue personal areas of interest (with much success) while keeping up with class work and research. This voracious reader did not get through a single (pleasure) book the entire semester. And I'm quite certain there were weeks when my only exercise was biking to and from class. Which is to say, it was awesome!

I can reasonably find my way around SPSS to do rudimentary data analysis. I've conducted a research study. I'm fairly well-grounded in the general themes of public health. I've long-since pushed through the period of abject fear of leaving the corporate world. I'm beginning to form a picture of what - exactly - I wanted to be doing at the end of this program. I've gone on my first research trip to DC. I've written my first paltry attempt at (a portion of) a manuscript. And I've even had a little success along the way. The best part? No regrets. And the feeling, every day, of waking up and wanting to be doing nothing more than what I'm doing.

And did I mention that I bike to "work"? Happy new year, peace and comfort to all.

Getting Organized

2009-09-03T18:28:00.000-07:00

This week was all about getting organized.

Its not that I didn't work hard last weekend. But somehow I realized on Monday afternoon that I had about a zillion pages yet to read for each of my 6 classes. Oh yeah - and did I mention that it somehow failed to dawn on me that I had 6 classes (not 5)?

So that was Monday.

And then on Tuesday I was so proud of waking early to go for a run, and then biking to work, settling in for a good morning ... before realizing that I was supposed to be in my 8:30 class and not at work at all. It was 8:39. So I pedaled my arse as fast as I could back to campus. And then remembered that the room had been changed. To which room? I don't know. And I couldn't get to my saved email box to find out. Technology - why must you fail me when I need you the most?!?! So I wandered the halls until I found my class (thank goodness Brown isn't so big!). Only 20 minutes late. Its horribly, horribly embarrassing to walk in 20 minutes late to a lecture class. I considered not going at all, but figured that would probably be worse in the long run. And to the one class where the instructor knows me! Not to mention that he was just getting to the 'expectations for students' part of his slide deck which listed 'arrive on time' number one.

And then? Well I went back to work after class and at about 2 in the afternoon got an email from my Epidemiology instructor stating that I shouldn't be concerned if I hadn't received my graded homework in return yet. Um. Graded and returned? When did I hand it in?!?! Fuck, fuck, fuck!

_sigh_
I HATE messing up like this.

Well lucky for me I wasn't the only walking disaster this week and the instructor took pity on us. No lost points.

So now its Thursday and my classes are done for the week. I put the finishing touches on my Excel spreadsheet where I've manually compiled all of the assignments for all SIX of my classes for the rest of the semester, and I got a 3 inch binder for all of the slides and notes and papers, and a folder for all of the stuff I haven't yet read, divided by class and project.

Somewhere along the way I became Type-A.

A Kid in a Candy Store

2009-08-28T19:01:00.000-07:00

Today was my first day since June 24 that I felt strong. Giddy, even, with the rush of lots of cool, new ideas. Like a kid in a candy store. A day that ended with a run where Lance Armstrong told me (on my Nike+) that I ran my fastest mile yet.

And so ends one of the strangest periods of my 30 years.

There are a number of things to note about returning to school after a decade. Most were expected, but somehow feel surprising none-the-less. For one, the instructors are all your age. And they're nervous. And there's a lot of ego in grad school. A lot of energy expended worrying about whether or not to call someone 'Dr' So-and-so or just by their first name. And the PowerPoint presentations are really, really terrible. A usability practitioner's nightmare, to be honest. Red text everywhere. ALL CAPS. Clip-art graphics sprinkled throughout. And worse, clip-art graphics as background design. And coming from an IT world its strange to be among so many "users" - folks without any particular proclivity for technology. And I forgot how it feels to not be in charge of your own time-table.

There's lots of wonderful things too. Like how great it feels to move around during the day. And the honor-system coffee shop. And knowing that reading is working. That rush of discovering something new and exciting and the thrill of coming across a concept for the first time.

Working Hard Not to Forget

2009-08-22T16:46:00.000-07:00

One week has already passed since I threw off the golden handcuffs. Though not so much "threw" as... I don't know, begrudgingly relinquished? And what a whirlwind of a week its been. I have my books, I've met hordes of classmates, I've had lunch with the dean and I passed a biology exam (yay!).

I've also started my RA job (that's Research Assistant, not Residential Adviser) at the HCRL where I have a cube that will be my home for the next two years and much of my old desk detritus has survived the trip. On-boarding in the lab was a little bumpier than I remember it being at MON. Details like where the bathroom is, how to get proper badge access, how to connect to your email account... yeah, you're on your own. And it continues to be strange to be a newbie - not really sure what my role is or what value I bring. I'm perpetually afflicted with self-doubt. In my old world I carried a little weight. Sure, I had to build trust with every new project team but folks pretty much knew who I was and what I brought to the table. Here its all new. And its going to take a little time.

All that said, I spent most of the week in orientation. The fervor around this initial class of MPH students is palpable. With two days of orientation down and two to go I can already tell that the culture is very different from where I've been. There's a lot of sensitivity to feelings. There are a lot of women.

Its been fun to ride my bike every day. Though on Monday I biked home in the pouring rain. And this morning - in a flurry to get out the door for a hectic day - I discovered I had a flat. Boo.

I'm still in that weird place between my old world and the new. The new is most completely unknown but every day grows a little more familiar... a little more normal. The old? Its like when someone you love dies. And you're so scared that you're going to forget what their voice sounds like... what it felt to be near them. So you expend a lot of energy forcing yourself to remember. Because you don't quite trust that you don't have to work so hard. They're already a part of you. Even knowing this, its still hard to hang on to my past life and make the connections to what I'm doing now.

There is, afterall, so much newness. But uncomfortable as it may be in the short term, it is in fact what I came for and it feels good to be reminded that I'm pretty good at finding my way. I find myself trying to soak it all up. Knowing that two years is going to fly by.

Check!

2009-08-14T15:04:00.000-07:00

The page starts with "[GOALS for my 31st year]" and the last item listed is "Get out of corporate world". Check! I turned over my badge and my vehicle sticker. I'm no longer really welcome on campus. The place that has been my home for seven years seemed a little foreign as I drove past this afternoon. And I suspect that in a few months time it will seem strange that I ever wandered its halls.

But, for now, a big box of gifts and cards awaits me on my living room table. The remains of a really incredibly overwhelming day, filled with the people who have been my world for the past 7 years. For the most part I couldn't read the cards in front of everyone. Kept bursting into tears. What a sap! Who knew I was such a sap?!? But I look forward to looking at them now. At home. With a glass of wine. And a little privacy to bawl my eyes out if I want to.

All of those sweet sentiments. So hoaky but so meaningful at the same time. Just seeing everyone there was a truly humbling experience. And I cherished the opportunity to give just a little bit of thanks to the people who have stood like milestones along the way. Mark, Julie, Troy, Jennifer R, Leigh, Greg, Ben, Pat, Jayne, Jennifer L.

I'm not as good at gratitude as I wish I were.

Anyway, it was a special day and one that I won't forget any time soon. It reinforced to me that I'm doing the right thing. And it also taught me more about the type of person I want to be. (Thank you and lots of love to all of you.)

And now? Now I start a new journey. Got my school ID. Sat in on my first project meeting. Felt like some fucked up cross between a sea sponge and a deer in headlights. Its - so - friggin' - exciting!

And the best part? For the first time in over a month I began to feel... good. Really, really good.

Cheers!

2009-08-09T11:08:00.000-07:00

Oh the joys of Ultimate in the summer. A big fat mosquito bite in the back of my knee that itches like all get-out. Maybe that mosquito got a big mouthful of Celexa and spent the next few days cowering in a safe & dark grassy nook, struck with panic at the thought of venturing out for another kill. Ha! Serves you right, damn mosquito! You messed with the wrong anxiety-ridden playah!

The truth is that, after 6 panic-stricken days, I’m gleefully off of Celexa …though Nancy tells me it will take another week or two to completely leave my system. And thankfully little by little I seem to be feeling better every day. I’m back at work and, save for some fatigue a little tunnel vision and general restlessness, it feels good.

Which is good. Because with 8 days to go, the going-away par-teh invitations are out, my desk is mostly clean, I bought my first back-pack in 10 years and, well, I’ve finally concluded that there’s no going back now. If ever you’re feeling unloved or unappreciated at work, I recommend throwing a going-away party for yourself. You get the nicest notes! Of course you’d also have to suffer the consequences (i.e. no job, no salary, no healthcare…) but those last few days you feel like a queen!

A Death

2009-07-31T15:49:00.000-07:00

A month of headaches. And fog. And sluggishness. My first visit to psychologist as an adult. A trip to the ER. What's wrong with me?!

But today, while listening to a Radio Lab episode on the topic of life after death, it dawns on me. I'm experiencing this - this break from the job I've had for 7 years, a break, mind you, of my own making - as a death! A very slow and painful death! Shocking because its so unanticipated. For me, anyway. Julie seems to have known. She keeps telling me that every day will feel better and better and that a month from now I'll be just fine. (Oh Julie, what would I do without you?)

So I go through the motions. And I make to-do lists. Lots of to-do lists. And I try to keep busy. And I self-talk. A lot. And I hold tight to R, who's been with me all along. And I decide that seeing a psychologist might be a really good idea. And in the meantime I learn that so many others, friends and family members, have been through their own similar "bumps" somewhere along the way. You never learn these things... until you have to.

A death!

Strange that something I worked so hard for, something I deliberated on for so long, could suddenly feel so devastating. Like a snake that slithered in sometime in the night. So silent that I didn't even know it was there. Seething.

They don't tell you this when you register for the GRE, when they send you your acceptance letter, when you announce your imminent departure. But be warned all 1/3-life-career-changers: get a therapist and hold tight.

Best Place to Live?

2009-07-18T13:17:00.000-07:00

I got caught being a liberal ass. CNNMoney.com released the 2009 ‘Best Places to Live’ list this week and I was stunned to find Lake St Louis, MO at #9. And I said so on Facebook, along with some belligerent comment about how it might be the best place to live for rich, white folk who fear diversity.

And then? Well then a friend commented that he’s in the midst of building a house there. Doh!

It is a nice town, in some definition of "nice", I suppose. One of those communities built out in the middle of nowhere, surrounding a man-made lake, where everyone has manicured lawns and tastefully painted exterior (as is probably mandated by the community association). A little too much like Pleasantville though, if you know what I mean. Just a little too insular. Like the whole community (who had the means) gave up on the rest of St Louis – with its education woes and governmental corruption - and just relocated 50 miles west. Fine – we’ll start our own game! And we’re taking our marbles with us!

Liberal muckraking aside, is there any truth to my suspicion? Well, below are the results of a highly unscientific study where I define “diversity” as the percent of each city that is African American or, in the inverse, the percent that is white. Keep in mind that the U.S. average %Black is 12.3 and the U.S. Average %White is 75.1. All of the Top-10 cities have lower (most significantly lower) than the U.S. average %Black. And all but one of the Top-10 cities have higher (most significantly higher) than the U.S. average %White. I guess it could have been worse, the study apparently excludes from consideration towns over 95% white.

"Best Place"	%Black	%White	Source
Louisville, CO	1	91.2	http://www.localcensus.com/city/Louisville/Colorado
Chanhassen, MN	3	91.7	http://www.muninetguide.com/states/minnesota/municipality/Chanhassen.php
Papillion, NE	2.5	93	http://www.americantowns.com/ne/papillion-information#data
Middleton, WI	2	90.7	http://www.muninetguide.com/states/wisconsin/municipality/Middleton.php
Milton, MA	10.2	84.4	http://www.muninetguide.com/states/massachusetts/municipality/Milton.php
Warren, NJ	1.26	86.28	http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Warren_Township,_New_Jersey#Demographics
Keller, TX	1.4	93.7	http://quickfacts.census.gov/qfd/states/48/4838632.html
Peachtree City, GA	6.1	87.7	http://quickfacts.census.gov/qfd/states/13/1359724.html
Lake St Louis, MO	1.8	94.8	http://www.muninetguide.com/states/missouri/municipality/Lake_St___Louis.php
Mukilteo, WA	5.7	63.9	http://www.muninetguide.com/states/washington/municipality/Mukilteo.php

Trading in the Golden Hand-cuffs for the Ivory Tower

2009-06-29T16:19:00.000-07:00

And then there are the rare times when your dreams DO come true. When you work hard for something and you DO get it. All of it.

Announcing my resignation from the place I've worked for six years didn't feel as gloriously liberating as I had imagined it would be all those times, driving home with a death-grip on the wheel after a long and frustrating day spent fighting the good fight and losing more battles than I had won, stewing in my disbelief at the latest display of idiocy and shortsightedness, dreaming of exclaiming 'I QUIT!' at the next developer who balked at having to code a Cancel button.

The satisfaction in that daydream comes from the spontaneity of it all. While, this... this was quite deliberate and sllllloooooooowwwwwwwwwww to unfold. 9 months, in fact, its taken to birth this child.

The date of conception was on one of those days though. Sometime in late fall I updated the page in my moleskine entitled '[GOALS for my 31st year]' with the following: 'Get out of corporate world'. In truth it began much earlier, but that day anyway is when I started taking tangible steps.

There was the Statistics class and the day it dawned on me that, not only was Public Health possibly the perfect field for me but Wash U was just kicking off their new program (as part of the renowned George Warren Brown School of Social Work). Then there was the GRE. Again. I had taken it 5 years before and it hadn't gone so well. No one would hear a word of this plan until I passed. 12 weeks of studying plus 3 weeks of anxious waiting for the mail later: check! Done. Then there was the application. The essays. The letters of recommendation - oh how humbling. My first "public" confession of my plan. What would they think? Another 6 six weeks of anxious waiting for the mail: check! Done. Then there comes the financials... and that's when things begin to get real. Real real. And scary. Who knew that health care and a salary were so habit-forming? Well alas, all that's left now is the signing of the down-payment check. And then off I go in pursuit of an MPH!

Amid all of the change its easy to forget what its all for. So these days I spend a lot of time reading, in an attempt to bone-up before classes (!!!) start. I've found citeulike which I do. Like, that is. Helps me keep track of all of those articles. And then there are the months worth of Communications of the ACM issues to catch up on. One whole year in just a few weeks. Great publication, actually. I get particularly giddy when I run across an article about mobile devices being used in rural and developing areas. How could I use that technology to provide access to public health information?

The hardest part for me is telling people the news. And the response I get is two-pronged. For those who know me - who really know me - it all makes sense. For those who know me by my work, they're befuddled at why someone would throw their career away. 'Well that's a change' they say.

Yes. Yes it is. Change we can believe in, so to speak.

2008-11-23T19:07:00.000-08:00

Je passe le jour très grincheux. Je suis agite. Je crois que nous avons seulement un petit quantité du tempe sur cette monde. Je veux faire quelque chose importante. Je besoin du projet. En réalité j'ai beaucoup projets. J'apprends a parler française maintenant et j'ai commence a tricoter cet an. Je cours, je jardinie et je cuis. Je lis beaucoup.

Mais je fais rien.

Ego-Surfing Surfaces Old News

2008-10-03T10:00:00.001-07:00

I'm not ashamed. I do it. I'm not even embarrassed about it. It gives me the chance to monitor my public persona, to make sure that information that is "out there" about me is (1) accurate and (2) unlikely to have a detrimental affect on my capacity for future gainful employment.

BUT CHECK THIS OUT!!!: http://www.newspaperarchive.com/LandingPage.aspx?type=glp&search=andrea%20spray&img=\\na0031\6770329\26276296_clean.html

A new service (well new to me anyway) that provides access to old newspapers articles about yourself - or any topic you're interested in, I suppose. This article turned up today in my latest surfing expedition. Its kind of... creepy! True, the article is about me (though I forgot that I had once been on the Lady Patriots All-Start basketball team - note to self, add this to my resume!). But its also a reminder of how looooooooong of a memory the internet has. Especially so when you mash up "new" internet tools with old data repositories like newspapers. Seriously, now. This article about a middle school kid making it onto her neighborhood all-start basketball team IS 15 YEARS OLD!

What's frustrating is that I can't get access to it unless I pay. Harumph.

The same article is available directly from The Daily Herald's website. I really SHOULD be granted free access to news about myself, no? The newspaper, in a sense, made money off of me. My parents subscribed to that paper for six years - sure partly as their primary news source - but also partly because of their local news and sports section. The hope of seeing their budding super-star in the press! All I ask in return is that I get to access these articles - for free - now.

OLPC ... and one for me

2008-01-13T13:20:00.000-08:00

R got his right before winter break and I've had great fun conducting informal usability labs since. We take it everywhere - the local coffee shop(s), the airport, on vacation, to holiday parties and work. I'm curious whether Negroponte et al conducted usability labs on it prior to launch, because there are some really quirky things about it. For starters, it takes most adults over 5 minutes to figure out how to open it. No kidding. And that's a group, collaborative experience. Of course, its not really intended for adults and I should add that my 4 year old nephew managed to crack into it in seconds.

My "labs" have by no means been comprehensive, but here's what I've learned so far...

Kids immediately know this is a "toy" for them: Maybe its the bright green plastic, the handle or the friendly icon on top.
Adults struggle to open it: They're often mislead by the handle, the latch, and the battery chamber. It is not for lack of trying.
The OS is quirky: And its not because its not Windows or a Mac, its just quirky. It took us several weeks to figure out how to Save and we still don't know where, exactly, it saves to.
Kiddos struggle with the touchpad: Only the middle square of the rectangular touchpad area is the touchpad. The difference between what is an actionable space and what isn't is subtle. Kiddos don't have great dexterity to begin with and get quickly frustrated when they're moving their little figures and the computer doesn't respond. This is related to...
Kiddos struggle with touchpads period: They have very little fingers, so my 4 year old nephew had to use this two-hand technique where he would scroll with the pointer finger of his right hand and click with the pointer finger of his left hand. That takes a lot of coordination!
It's slow: Mostly a problem when you have many applications open at the same time.
It crashes: See above.
Kiddos love the swivel screen and just "get it": 'nough said.
Modal window management is twitchy: Poor nephew kept inadvertently moving his mouse to the side of the screen which changes the mode to a 'desktop' perspective. You have to move your mouse back to the application to continue working. He didn't understand why he kept losing control of his screen. Adults get frustrated at how sensitive this feature is and how frequently they accidentally exit their local application.
Failure to provide feedback on system status: There are several places where you're left hanging... I've pressed this button...is it working? What's it doing? Am I connected or...?
(American) Kiddos intuitively understand the application icons: Nephew knew immediately that the drum icon was some sort of music application (its the first place he wanted to go), the pencil and paper was a typing application (second place he wanted to go), and the hand icon was 'stop' (actually, this one we haven't confirmed because we haven't yet found a place where pressing the hand icon has done anything). I'm curious to know if those icons translate to other cultures.
Everyone loves to see themselves: The built-in camera is a big hit.

There is another which is more about kiddos in general than OLPC, a reminder of why usability testing with your target audience is SO important. My nephew is learning his letters. He knows how to spell his name... in caps. After playing with the OLPC music application, the next thing he wanted to do was type. The first thing he wanted to type was his name. He hit 'R', 'E', 'I', 'D'... "it's not working!". It took me a minute to figure out what the problem was. Reid only knows capital letters. The keyboard keys were in caps, but the screen was displaying lower case. He doesn't know lower case. To Reid, "reid" could have just as soon spelled out "bob the builder" or "thomas the train". What's worse is that the OLPC keyboard lacks a 'caps lock' button. I surreptitiously held down the 'shift' button so the display matched his mental model.

Found! And many others too...

2008-01-01T17:58:00.000-08:00

MySpace, Facebook, LinkedIn: "I'm too old for all that" I often hear my lab participants say. And honestly before a few months ago I would've agreed. It started with LinkedIn. I got so many requests to join that it became easier to do so than to delete, delete, delete. Since, I've joined the hordes, sending requests to colleagues, friends, family to get 'linked in'. And I now check the site with some frequency. Yet if someone were to ask me what, exactly, I use LinkedIn for... I would really struggle to say. I like to look at who's been looking at me. Vain, eh? And I like to see which of my 'buddies' have become 'linked in' with other people I might know. Voyeuristic, I know.

And I try to find old friends and classmates.

Maybe timing is a relevant factor. This year was my 10 year high school reunion Anniversaries get you thinking about where you're at in life and what happened to all those people who were once such an important part of it. I found a few in my LinkedIn extended network (its a little hard to tell when all you have is a name and a location) but to find out for certain would've required me to send a note through someone else. Sure, that's not awkward ("Uh this person who you seem to be 'linked' to *might* be someone who I once went to school with...").

And then an old, old friend invited me to Facebook. Ugh, I thought. I had a profile because another old, old friend had invited me long ago. Luckily she still had a working email address for me. Our connections are really so fragile, without an e-presence you can be lost to all who want to find you.

... Or can you?

I never went to Facebook then. But the new invitation got me curious. I started looking for those old buddies. And I found them. LOTS of them. (I checked MySpace too but it hurt my eyes.) It's been a year and a half since I first made a concerted effort to find Stephanie Dreiling: http://nvl-gzng.blogspot.com/2007/10/message-in-bottle-where-in-world-is.html
While Stephanie isn't (yet) a member of Facebook, happily for me, her sister is!

Shot In the Back

2007-07-01T16:11:00.000-07:00

Cresting the hill, relieved. It's all downhill from there. One, two, three, four; One, two, three, four. Up ahead are three kids playing together on the sidewalk. I think about how unfortunate it is that they play on a sidewalk so close to a busy street. One, two, three, four; One, two, three, four. I wonder if their mother instilled the fear of running into the street. How did she do it?

As I get closer, (One, Two, Three Four; One, Two, Three, Four.) I think about how I would do it. Tell them in a strict tone of voice that there is no thing for which they are allowed to enter the street. No ball, no bucket, no doll, no nothing. One, Two, Three, Four;

Even closer (One, Two, Three, Four) and I wonder what they're playing, all in a circle. Sidewalk chalk, I think. (One, Two, Three, Four)

And finally I'm there. Three little white faces turn my way as I peer into their circle to see two small, shiny guns. The oldest, a girl, feverishly adjusting one while two smaller boys look on. How strange, I think, with disappointment. My little bubble of pleasantry now quite burst. What parent in this age of school shootings and random gun violence gives their kids guns to play with? These white kids in such an affluent area. And since when did girls like guns?

One. Two. Three. Four. It took me a few seconds to figure it out, that the rythmic noise was coming from the three behind me. I didn't have to look back to know, that they were shooting at me.

Disappointing People

2007-06-10T21:18:00.000-07:00

He seemed disappointed and a little sad when he said "where are you goin?" I wasn't so certain it was actually him. I had only met him briefly. I - oddly - felt guilty about escaping to the Hilton. Maybe guilty about being happy to escape to the Hilton. It wasnt a bad stay, the little Bed & Refreigerator. 'Refrigerator' because, well, it's not for those who are high maintenance. Moreover, I was unduly proud that I had made it through 2 days on public transportation.

I hate disappointing people. But he should've known, really. The reservation was for 2 nights. Maybe he was mistaking me for someone else. Maybe I should stop feeling guilty about disappointing the B&B owner.

Austin, Texas

2007-06-10T21:16:00.000-07:00

It's easy to say why a city is really great. It's harder to say why a town - like Austin - is loved. Is it really great? What makes it so? Maybe it's just so, relative to the rest of Texas.

Three important words for a traveling vegetarian

2007-02-17T15:56:00.000-08:00

One of my greatest fears when eating strange food is the unintentional ingestion of meat. Ick. I learn the phrase 'I'm a vegetarian' in the local language of every country I travel to:

• Dutch: Ik ben een vegetarier (ik ben ayn fech-e-tah-reer ?)
• English: I'm a vegetarian
• French: Je suis un végétarienne (je sweez an vege-e-teari-en)
• Spanish: Yo soy vegetariana (yo soy vej-e-tah-ree-ah-nah)

More vegetarian phrases can be found at: http://www.hedweb.com/animals/vegphrase.htm

The Plant

2006-09-06T19:35:00.000-07:00

Hoaky, I know. But plants have played important roles in my own journey through suffering. Flipping through old journals you'd find pages and pages of heartfelt musings with dried flowers and leaves squished in the bindings.

I don't meditate, but I believe in small acts of meditation. One plant only lives today because I decided to focus my energy on keeping it alive rather than fretting over things I couldn't change. Every time I look at that plant - thriving now - it reminds me of the fragility of life (... love, whatever).

I also don't pray. But I have a favorite prayer (Don't tell!). Perhaps you've heard it:
Grant me the Serenity to accept the things I cannot change, Courage to change the things I can, and the Wisdom to know the difference.

I don't have much advice to give you. I can't make things better. But I have two ears and I'm happy to listen any time you need to talk.

Oh - and one more that I love:
The mark of your ignorance is the depth of your belief in injustice and tragedy. What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly.

Thank you for reminding me.

Efficiency to Design Spectrum

2006-08-13T15:46:00.000-07:00

All software applications benefit from a healthy dose of UX design and visual design. To what extent depends on the purpose, audience and goals of the application. For instance, imagine a spectrum from design to efficiency. Its possible to look at a software application – and by software application I mean anything from the most complex data entry tool to the most artsiest fartsiest website you’ve ever seen - and judge whether there is more emphasis placed on design or efficiency. How would you plot Teddies In Space (http://www.teddiesinspace.com/) on a graph where the x axis is design and the y axis is efficiency? How would you plot ITunes on the same graph? Microsoft Word? I propose that the greater the x-value (design), the less critical are conventional usability factors and conversely the greater the y-value (application), the less critical visual design. I would also suggest that the applications in the top right quadrant are both the area of greatest opportunity and also the area of greatest difficulty. (see attached graphic)

So … so what?
As someone who comes from a design background, I sometimes feel constrained by the hard *rules* of usability. But I also realize that there is a time and place for designerly flourishes. Well I think that taking these factors into consideration impacts how we approach projects and predict tolerance for ingenuity.

So what are some of the most artsiest fartsiest websites you know of? How does usabilit play a role in these sites? What do you do differently for a design-heavy site than you do for an application-heavy site?

For more on this topic, please visit the Design + Usability Y! Group at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/DesignandUsability/

Sleepless in (Midway/O'Hare) Chicago

2006-07-28T04:32:00.000-07:00

In the past month I've had the opportunity to spend a night at both O'Hare and Midway airport. Now, they both suffer from a severe temperature control issue (its freezing!) but I think - if forced to do so - you would prefer to be stranded at Midway. Though a far cry from a cozy-night's sleep, Midway did provide cots with blankets and pillows. Unfortunately the cot was little more than a cloth strung bench that crunched and whined when you turned, the pillow more useful to block the eyes from light than to cushion the head and the blanket hardly enough to provide shelter again the
frigid conditions. If given the choice betwixt a cot and a slightly warmer piece of floorspace, I'll take the floor every time.

Everyone Else Seems to 'Get It', Why Can't You?

2006-05-21T20:01:00.000-07:00

I can't wait for the day when you don't cringe at the mere insinuation of 'commitment'. When you realize that that lifestyle you're so fearful of? Yea, we're really most of the way there. It's really all over but the movin'. That commitment or not, two and a half years comes with some 'should's.

I really can't wait.
But... I will.

Soft and Sacred Sounds

2006-05-17T06:16:00.000-07:00

I don't even like the word 'sacred'. It connotates a religiousity that feels contrived spilling out of my mouth. But this morning I heard my cat munching on Iams cat food and thats what I thought, 'That sound is sacred'.

Sacred sounds are so soft, so subtle that you could almost miss them above the din of everyday life. You hear them without noticing them, until one day they go away. The sound of the trains that used to roll by my house at night. The sound of R's footsteps on the stairs the one day we broke up. The sound of my cat munching on one little-brown-ball-y, the name we use to refer to her dry food.

Autumn stopped eating last week. Taken completely by surprise, I was not prepared to deal with the decision that I felt certain was near. She's barely five years old and though I understand that all living things must someday die, I had tucked any notion of that day far, far away. It sounds silly seeing as though she's just a cat, but all of my regrets came rolling in. 'Just' a cat, she's still my most dearest and truest companion. And so, guilt-ridden, I thought of all the time I didn't spend with her, the nights I spent away, the times I was irritated when she wanted to sit (and slobber) on me. Thinking 'I am the worst cat-mom in the world'.

She endured all sorts of indecencies at the vet. And then I spent 2 days trying to coax her - hour to by hour - to eat just a few. I became very attuned to the sound of chomping. Counting each one. In those first few days, I would wake up early in the morning to hear her munching just a few and be able to sleep easier for another few hours.

Though she's back to gobbling bowlfuls by the moment, I haven't lost that hyper-sensitivity to that sacred crunching sound. It makes me smile. It reminds me to cherish that little fuzzy thing, all special things really. And it reminds me that hope doesn't have to be just a crutch.

Cinco de Mayo

2006-05-06T18:57:00.000-07:00

'Her parents just now had to decide whether to pull the plug or not. Its pretty fucked up.' And then as he examines his phone, noticing where the front and back have come apart at the seam, 'You know, yesterday this phone was brand new?'

I didn't know. I knew nothing about Brett, in his red polo and khakis. Though I did know more about his past 24 hours that I would have liked.

'Yea, we were all partyin' down on Rock Hill last night. You know, Cinco de Mayo an all. Both of our girlfriends got mad at us and took off. One just as drunk as the other.'

We were driving north on Kingshighway, heading to breakfast and to get a little work done at Oasis. My cat had been sick all week, things were looking up and getting out for a few hours seemed like a good idea.

A few hours later we were thinking that we should've just left it there, but seeing the cell phone in the middle of the road, R opened his door while stopped for the light and scooped it up. Now what? I thought about what I would do. I would call my own phone and leave a voicemail for myself. As luck would have it, there were two messages. Its amazing how all cell phones all pretty much work the same.

'Hey, I'm at the hospital. She's got a broken arm and a brain injury. They don't know...' I quickly hung up. Good deed had just taken on a new dimension. There had obvsiously been some sort of accident, which perhaps explained why the phone was in the midle of the road to begin with. The person who was supposed to be receving this call either had someone she cared for in trouble, or she herself was in trouble. I don't know why, but I assumed it was a she.

It wasn't. I started with the person named 'Mom'. No answer. The I tried 'Dad' and left a voicemail. It felt pretty intrusive to be using someone else's phone. But here I was, suddenly plopped in the middle of this person's world. The phone rang. It was 'Dad'. I decided to answer. I tried to explain the situation as best I could. We found this phone in the middle of the road and I'm trying to find the owner. 'Oh, thats my son. Well I don't know his address. I know that he lives off of Manchester'. OK. I gave 'Dad' my number and figured that he would get back to me.

The phone rang again. 'Holly'. I didn't answer it this time. Until she called a second time. The first thing I said was that 'this is going to sound strange'. She said 'this is a very strange situation' and I didn't know if she was talking about the call or something else. Apparently Brett's - who I came to understand was the owner of the phone - girlfriend was in an accident last night and no one had been able to get in contact with him since. I gave Holly my number. She called back to say that she couldn't come pick up the phone, but in the mean time I should just keep answering it.

I later sifted through the incoming and outgoing calls trying to put the timeline together and wondering what could've happened to Brett. How did the phone come to be in the middle of the road anyway? There were a few calls between midnight and 2. A few more around 5. And maybe a few before 10. 'Hey, I'm at the hospital. She's got a broken arm and a brain injury. They don't know how bad. She's losing a lot of blood but they can't figure out where its coming from.'

It was several hours later when 'Mike' called. This was the guy who had left the first voicemail. Then he called again. And again. And again. I finally picked up. 'You're probably looking for Brett.' 'No, I am Brett.'

I met him outside of the emergency room. He seemed like he wanted to talk. 'Where're you headed?' 'Home', I said. And it was true. He wanted my number in order to thank me later, I said it was no big deal and that I hoped that things would improve. Shook his hand and took the long way back to the car thinking about how fragile life is and envisioning the crazy path the phone took that day.

Message In a Bottle: Where in the World is Stephanie Dreiling?

2006-04-30T11:07:00.000-07:00

Its unfathomable that in this era of hyper communication it would be possible to lose an old friend. I've checked old phone numbers, old email addresses, tried the CU, DU and Colorado State University student catalogs, tried whitepages.com and google. I googled Stephanie. I googled Stephanie's sister, Lisa. Surely there aren't so many Lisa Dreilings who were involved with FFA in Fort Lupton, Colorado. She specialized in measuring bull scrotums. Thats the kind of thing you would think would surface on google, no?

Well Stephanie Dreiling - wherever you are - I send you this message, a bottle afloat the vast internet sea.

Life on the 'F*kc It' Plan

2006-04-25T20:38:00.000-07:00

It took me longer than it should have to get out the door. It always does. I'm not ready to do anything when I get home from work. I marvel at how working moms do it. By the time I had my running shoes on, the sky to the west looked grey and ominous. A few minutes hesitation. And then, 'F*kc it'. Off I went. I had a great little run and in the end I was pretty glad that I sucked it up and braved the storm.

This is life on the'F*kc it' plan. Though admittedly it hasn't always worked out in my favor, I can chock up some of my proudest life moments to the FIP. 'F*kc it' and 4 months later I was running a marathon. As a matter of fact, I think that I've started every race I've ever run that way. On the FIP, I've taken jobs that both scared the shit out of me and that kept me a float. On the FIP I've walked away. On the FIP I've opened up and let in.

I'm about 50/50 for 'f*kc it' in the realm of relationships. I have stung not a few dear friends when I opted to 'f*kc it' instead of laboring over the perfect way to phrase a token judgement. Yet, we'd probably still not know that truth of my parent's divorce had it not been for 'f*kc it'.

It's not quite as irresponsible as it may sound. At least, not now. I've learned the danger of 'f*kc it'. 'F*kc it' lead to my - perceived - near-death experience. These days it is moderated by these not so positive experiences. But there is a point I get to after deliberating over a decision where - if it is so ambivalent between to do or not to do, 'f*kc it' often isn't such a bad answer. Keeps things interesting and can often bring surprising results.

Safe is boring.

A User Is a User Except ... When It Matters

2006-04-10T17:56:00.000-07:00

Today I find myself on a strange side of the usability debate. The roles are all flip-floppy. Apparently, my client picked up a copy of 'Don’t Make Me Think' on vacation and is now on the verge of single-handedly sinking our usability strategy with a few quotes from the book. Steve Krug says the more testing the better. Steve Krug says that a user is a user is a user. Steve Krug says that you can do "usability testing on 10 cents a day". Steve Krug says that she doesn't need that "big honking report" anyway. My client is pushing usability labs and I'm somehow suddenly defending myself AGAINST Steve Krug.

Did Krug really say THAT? I remember emphatically nodding my head the last time I read this. Perhaps I need to reacquaint myself with DMMT. I take off my corporate-colored glasses and dig in.

Usability testing - observing real people using real applications - is the most effective technique in the usability specialists' toolkit. The biggest hurdle for many project teams, however, is the financial cost of doing it. While Krug allows (in italics) "If you can afford to hire a professional to do your testing, by all means do it!", in fact there is so much value in lab testing that he suggests it is worth cutting some corners in order to make it happen. The question then is not whether testing is valuable or not, but whether usability on the cheap is a viable option. For some circumstances, his recommendation is a little oversold. The real cost of usability on the cheap is unbiased evaluators, credible data and holistic analysis.

I work for a multinational corporation where there are other factors to consider which may surpass the financial cost of doing usability right. The biggest of these is politics. Not to besmirch corporations, but most decisions are ultimately made with an eye to the bottom line. Usability fits into this model because if your applications are more usable, people will buy more of your product and will need help desk support less frequently, saving the corporation money at the end of the day. Without a doubt there is a significant financial commitment that comes with formal usability testing. Fact is, it takes a lot of work. While some of that money goes into recruiting and lab fees, the vast majority goes into planning, executing and analysis.

Krug seems to find most potential cost savings in the first category. Granted, you don't need a fancy lab to get value out of usability testing. Granted, a user is a user is a user. True, as long as the only people paying attention are you, a client or two and the development team all of which are already sold on the value of usability testing. Indeed, a user is a user is a user - except when it really matters.

But what happens when one of the executive stakeholders asks, "And who were your usability test evaluators"? Oh - your daughter! The PM's brother! And the designer's next-door neighbor's Dad! After all the work of completing a lab test, it would be unfortunate to have someone question the validity of the results because the evaluators were friends and family instead of unbiased, representative users.

And what happens when it becomes expedient for the project team to convince executive stakeholders, management, and other members of the project team - who may not have been at any of the lab sessions - that (1) the cost was worthwhile and (2) the problems identified were true issues. Let's chock the lab and the representative users up to the fact that, in a corporate environment, you are not necessarily preaching to the chorus. There is some amount of convincing that you may be asked to do and that may make all the difference in the world.

I should note that another contributing factor to my resistance against wholehearted support of more testing at any cost, is that in a formal usability environment with a dedicated team of designers, a lot of usability is already baked in to the designs. No doubt that we are going to learn new and surprising things from every lab we do, but pound for pound, we're going to come closer to hitting the usable mark straight out of the design stage than an application that has not been developed with an eye towards design and usability. We've designed for those big usability issues that numerous, iterative small tests may have otherwise uncovered. What we haven't done is test with REAL users. I'm not saying that Krug is wrong. I'm just saying that there is a context to his recommendation.

A Moral Victory

2006-04-09T21:09:00.000-07:00

I ran a 2.08 half marathon today. It was a moral victory.

A victory over chronic illness. Its amazing how fast your world can change. One day, life as normal. The next - suddenly humanity seems so frail, you understand how much you took for granted. Good health. Good job. A day without pain. Living life in chronic pain is harder than you can imagine.

Even when you feel better, there's the shadow pain that will always be there. But slowly, slowly, the pain seeps from your memory.

Oh yeah, and its really really hard to run below 175 hr.

Out of the Woodwork

2006-04-08T12:21:00.000-07:00

She's leaving. I'm trying to be a good friend, though if pushed I would say that I'm more excited about the move itself than I am about her reasons for doing so. I opted early on not to say a thing - she's a big girl. I spent weeks watching it all unfold in slow motion, until the day came and I suddenly realized that she wouldn't be here anymore. Nine days.

She came in like a spring storm. Suddenly here there everywhere and needing more from me than I was really willing to give. This big presence for the past nine months - poof! - gone. Once she's gone it will be a little strange. Then a little while longer and life will return to a semblance of normal and -poof!- as if she had never been there at all. Her big presence minimized to a poof. I've been through this many times before. Though in the past it was more often that I was the one moving on. Over the past six years it seems this flutterby has grown roots.

Dave, Hilary, Eve, Amanda, John. All have popped back into my life this week. Why this week, of all weeks? Shae leaves and all the ghost-friends from Andrea's past show up. Poof! It makes me wonder, though, How did I lose them all?

Dave is the same Dave. Miserable & melancholic. I remember hoping that he would find happy. I remember thinking that I could help him find it. I remember when I hurt him and he stopped calling. I have no recollection of the conversation, only that it went something like 'no, but thank you'. I know that I didn't want for him to go away entirely. He stopped calling, and I stopped playing guitar.

Hilary was of the same period. Thinking back on it makes me realize that six years is a long time to be living in a town. I could call it my 'Digging Deep Period'. I had survived my split with my ex, had survived my parent's split, was enduring the post dot-com bubble burst bartending and freelancing when I could. Ecking out a living and trying to build a meaningful life for myself. Anyway, I found Hilary in the midst of all of that. She was happier then. Last time I saw her she was really wanting children and had temporarily satisfied herself with a weiner dog. Waiting waiting waiting her life away, at home, for her husband to return from work. Lonely. Unsatisfied. But unable - yet - to make a change. I had no idea how to help and got tired of trying so hard to make a friendship. I could drop the rope, but I couldn't make her grab it.

Eve. Eve is one of those friends that I could find 5 years later and it would feel like we hadn't lost a beat. She called last week, her voice sounding at once familiar and foreign. We keep track of each other's lives through our mutual blogs, but there's still something missing when you only read the conclusion of life events instead of participating in them. Eve I haven't lost. She's just far away.

John is in LA - just happened upon my email. We entertained each other through many CS classes at IU. Very close to the Taiwanese student community in Bloomington, he was one of the few friends who I was never able to penetrate past the surface level. He wrote me a 3-liner. I wrote him back. Haven't heard anything since. That's the way of our e-world. He's somewhere out there, I guess. Hey John!

And Amanda. My college neighbor is moving to St Louis next month. We spent many teary evenings together. She was a big presence. She's been lost for the past 6 years. She's coming back. One big presence lost. One big presence gained.

More On Ugly Design: A Reply to Mark Daoust

2006-03-22T22:16:00.000-08:00

The Surprising Truth About Ugly Websites

Though I agree that some of the best designed sites - from a Usability perspective - are also some of the most ugly, I disagree that the ugliness of a site has any positive impact on its popularity. These sites are no more winning users' trust due to their homemade feel than my local car dealer is winning my trust for his homemade commercials. Daoust seems to imply that if these sites were more visually appealing they would be less effective. I believe that they would be even MORE successful given a more sophisticated look n' feel and here's why.

If I had a limited budget for a utilitarian site of which I was uncertain of it's ultimate success, and I had to make the choice between spending my money on either design or usability, I would hedge more towards usability too. Armored with a list of usability guidelines, a developer can 'do usability' in a way that he could not 'do design'. Usability can be boiled down to a list of 150 dos and don'ts. There is no such checklist for innovative design. Usability can be cheap. Design rarely is.

However.

If I had a limited budget for a website in which I was trying to capture the heart and minds of my audience, I'm going to hedge more towards design.

There has to be room for nuance in the usability-to-design spectrum. When design and usability get together, the plausible u-to-d spectrum compresses. If done right - with a healthy dose of usability + a healthy dose of design - no website should suffer homeliness or lack usability.

Given the success of EBay, CraigsList and Plenty of Fish (whatever that is), perhaps its time they pick up (design) where they left off (usability).

The One

2006-03-15T19:32:00.000-08:00

I had been there only a few minutes when 'Bernie' walked in the door. I knew because I was keeping close track of time. How long would he leave me waiting?

Less than 5, it turns out. 'Hi Andrea, I'm Bernie Shore. This is the first time we've met?' I said that it was and he said that I looked familiar. 'You a runner?' 'Forest Park?' It was right then that I knew he was The One. And it only got better from there.

I've been putting up with crappy doctor service for a long time, not knowing that there was someone better out there for me. I felt stupid asking questions. My ex just didn't relate to me anymore. In response to my question about nutrition for marathon runners, he told me to eat more lentils.

There was no managing of my care. Just kept refilling my chronic prescriptions and ordering vicodin for every ache. Vicodin prescriptions that I never filled. To all doctors out there: When I tell you that my rib hurts, I'm not secretly asking for vicodin. I'm telling you that the problem has exceeded my capacity to cope and I would now like your help in fixing it. No no - 3 vicodin a day for you! Theres a pill problem in this country and if all doctors are like my ex, I suspect that they are the primary perpetrators. Perhaps second only to the baby boomers who prefer a pill over an hour of excercise.

Despite that I (in the universal sense) am the reason he (in the universal sense) exists, my ex-doctor seemed to prefer that i just went away. So I fired him. Yes, I fired my doctor and went out in search of another.

'So we're just talking today? Great!', Bernie said. Lovely!

It feels good to be cared for.

If Not Usability, Then What? re: The Inmates Are Running the Asylum

2006-03-05T19:44:00.000-08:00

cooper dismisses all that ive been learning for the past 3 weeks
usability is only half the equation
cooper right in that usability can only test, can on ly bridge the gap and whats missing is the ability to envision/create new innovative products
lou was right in saying that it all still has to start with design
way we're doing design today is very different from what cooper envisions
explains some of my discomfort.
in waltzs usability, leaves very little meaningful left for design but pretty pictures
we've always known that there was more, but until now have had to face it
the role of the 'interaction designer' - cooper leaves a big hole on outlining how exactly this should work. in fact, that seems to be the challenge he sticks out there. go figure it out. he has this persona thing which at first glance seems to make a usability specialist cringe. given more thought, though, i think i understand where he's going.

An Uncomfortable Union: Where Usability Intersects Design

2006-03-05T19:42:00.000-08:00

Usability is a backward looking science. To each new system, users bring with them all of the baggage from their past. Usability acts as the cumulative record of that history. Working within the confines of historical convention, however, Usability provides limited means for the creation of anything truly new. Innovation is the purview of Design.

In projects where innovation is a requirement, the fault line where Usability begins to encroach upon Design is accutely painful and increasingly polarizing. Design is push push pushing ahead while Usability is hanging on to the coattails with the brakes on. How do you get the two competencies - Design & Usability - to play nice together?

Without a doubt there are synergies between the two, but it can be an uncomfortable union. The 'best' of each sometimes reveals the shortcomings in the other. A compromise between the two can be the very worst.

Like Usability, most web 'Design' tends to institutionalize designs that work well. Even professional Designers begin new projects by surfing the web looking for ideas they can pilfer from other sites. Mostly progress is made one small modification at a time and the path of least resistance is to copy what has been done before. Its how web conventions become web conventions. It is rare that something truly innovative emerges.

Still, in the desire to keep with current trends, the historical horizon of a Designer is about 6 months while that of the Usability Specialist seems to be a painful 6 years. Are these conventions truly the most objectively usable designs or are they, as I suspect, merely the ones that users are most familiar? If we were to jump back to the mid 1990s when the web was beginning to take popular hold and watch over the shoulder of the first Web Designers, I suspect that we would have very different conventions than those we have today.

Wild and wacky experimental designs are not in the scope of this conversation. I'm talking about the mundane stuff here. Tabs, 'Home' links, brightly contrasted color schemes and the ubiquitous overtly L-shaped layout. Many of the websites touted for their user-friendliness are just dad-blamed ugly. Design moderated by Usability is at the whim of arbitrary evolutionary constraints.

Where Usability runs amok, Design gets stifled. When Designers are forced to comply with ten year old conventions, innovation suffers. When sites fulfill solely utilitarian goals at the expense of exploration, the user experience degrades.

An accurate measure of the degree of impact - the severity - of one design choice over another would help mitigate the most straight forward issues. While these would be simple to resolve if such quantitative data were within the scope of Usability, its the issues of broader Design impact that are even more problematic. It would be inconceivable to wait ten years for users to become familiar with a new - though objectively highly usable - interface before we could safely change our old Design standard. And we will certainly never get there if overreaching Usability concerns prevent innovative ideas from surfacing at all.

Holding Up the Mirror

2006-03-05T11:50:00.000-08:00

The unspoken raison d'etat of the WST has been to provide cheap options for getting projects done quickly. Not done right. Not necessarily done well. Certainly not done acccording to any institutional standards. Usability, then, is a bit of an awkward fit.

Usability is all about doing things right. Doing things right takes time and takes money. Offering Usability as a core competency, then, has meant that our project estimates have in many cases doubled, sometimes tripled. You would think that our clients would balk. In fact, many people on our team said exactly that (myself included). We're going to lose the project if they see a number like that! The first project where we proposed Usability deliverables, we decided to do in person so that we could give the Usability schpiel. Client's reaction? 'This is a pitance' relative to the overall cost of the project. Another client that we've had for 2.5 years - I was worried because we were proposing a huge chunk of cash for doing a usabiilty test. She said, in essence, 'I'll take two'.
What seems to be happening, then, is that WST is putting up bigger barriers than the end client is. Which leads me to wonder who has the bigger problem with these estimates? Its not our clients. Its us. We've been so trained to think of our own services as inexpensive - as the affordable alternative. But we've reached a point where we have gained the trust of our clients so much so that we not longer need to be JUST the cheap alternative. Clients are used to paying big for big systems to be done right. Why have I always felt the pressure to do the best I can with limited resources? Why have I always felt that it was better to do the job quickly than right?
When I got the design team, I stopped doing this. I started planning the 'right' way to do design and it included lots of whitespace and lots of interactivity. I started to see my own estimates increase. People are so unfamiliar with our processes that they didnt even know to balk.

self-imposed
mimicry
march in with confidence and they wont know the difference

Stepping In, Letting Go

2006-02-26T18:33:00.000-08:00

He seems to be on the brink of making a very bad decision. Or maybe its the right decision, but the reasons are all wrong. Or maybe the decision is right. And the reasons are right. But the approach just seems ill-fated.

Since I've known him, his relationships have been very intense, but very quick to fade. He is liberal minded yet deeply rooted in christian conservativism. In short, he is looking for a mate who is at once independent in thought and dutiful in action. To Him and to him.

His last infatuation seemed more undeniably dooomed. She a philosopher, a fervent atheist who didn't believe in marriage. Secretly he thought she might change her mind. It all ended abruptly when she removed her hand from his grasp. He was hurt. She got adament. It was over.

I knew this one was serious when he hadn't called for 3 months. He used to call every once in while under the premise of saying hello. I think he was actually calling to see if R and I were still together. I made a bet with Shae that he would be married within 6 months. It wasn't much later that I heard he was shopping for a ring. Not much later still that they were engaged.

She's from eastern Europe and lives with his pastor. He had curtailed his attention a few months before because she was overwhelmed with the intensity of his affection. Now he had taken a different tact, took things more slowly. He was madly in love.

Now they - he had become undeniably a 'they' - were busy 'looking inward'. I don't even know what 'looking inward' means but if I hear him say it again I think I'll puke. No, they can't come out, thanks for calling, they're looking inward but sometime soon they'll be looking to ... you know... get together with other people again.

The wedding was going to be sometime in the summer. Summer could be May or June, in which case I win the bet. Or it could be July or August, in which case I lose. A cake - buttercream if i win, coolwhip icing if Shae wins - is at stake.

I have carried with me, buried deep down below, a sense of dismay that at a time in my life when I was veering very wrong, my parents, my family, the only people who could've done something... did not say a thing. Granted, like most teens, I had them stonewalled. I guess I've always thought, though, that they should have at least tried.

As it was, I spent several tough years riding someone else's emotional rollercoaster before spending another several years dealing with it's loss. Though I can see how it could have gone either way, on the other side, I am all the stronger for the experience. Maybe they knew. Maybe I knew. This was one of those things that I had to figure out for myself.

So many years later I finally understand how they could stand by and do nothing. Nothing is not nothing. Nothing is knowing that every option has its own risks as equally painful as the current path. Nothing is the acknowledgement that each person is master of her own demise. Nothing is letting go.

Running for HR

2006-02-25T22:11:00.000-08:00

I stumbled into running several years ago, living in a city with a number of large urban parks, on very limited funds. A pair of running shoes was all I needed. It was a cheap way to stay in shape and I remember when 3 miles was a very tough run. It was some guy I dated for a very short period of time who was the catalyst for me to turn to running more seriously. It was a very short not very meaningful stint. He trained all summer long and then left in late September to do Alaska's midnight marathon. I never saw him again, but I was inspired and motivated. You know what they say about a woman scorned.

I began to run more seriously and by the next year I was casually running 6 milers. It was the following year that I decided to do my first marathon. I remember submiting my entry form not entirely believing that I would follow-through. My first marathon was amazing and I've been an avid student of long-distance running ever since.

After last year's disaster at the Chicago Marathon, I've taken (a lot of) time off. I've bought a Garmin Forerunner to help me train and to set more realistic expectations. I discovered that I was spending most of my runs in Zone 5 . Ideally, you want to be in Zones 3 and 4. Maybe my Chicago crash was that, running in Zone 5 for months on end, my body never had the chance to recover.

This year I need to focus on the mental. To forget the books. Mix it up with other sports. Keep it fun. Most of all I need to get honest. And I need to take the focus off of time.

Today I ran with goal of keeping my heart rate below 175. Though not at all 'by the book', the approach is not entirely without merit. There's a myriad of articles and books claiming a benefit to training at less intensity. It takes a lot of effort to run slowly but I'm considering running the St Louis Half-Marathon in April similarly. The goal, aside from running 13.1 miles, will be to run those 13.1 below 175HR. There's a world a difference between going out trying to run a 3:45 marathon and going out to run 26.2 miles below a 175 heartrate.

Footprints

2006-02-08T20:31:00.000-08:00

It snowed this morning and I made a trail of footprints from his bed to mine.

sitting still

2006-02-06T20:29:00.000-08:00

My job changed the minute she walked into the office. It's neither good nor bad... but undeniably so. She kept referring to me as a designer - she knows 'exactly the niche' that I'll fill. See all this structure? I built that. The documentation we've begun to put together, the gaps we've identified, the rudimentary list of project activities - I did that. Five months of hard tent-building? Made mute.

It's like the first day of school. Just all around feels bad. But you suck it up. Its good for you in the long run. And afterall, you don't really have a choice. Surely after a week it will all feel routine.

Today Stephanie Klein (aka Greek Tragedy, http://www.stephanieklein.blogs.com/) blogged: '6. Taking a job outside my comfort level to see what I learn about myself and the world around me.' I've always been pushed to do more. I've always surpassed even those high expectations (see all the pieces of glass with my name on them?) but its been at the expense of piece of mind. Maybe not trying to take on the world by 30 isn't such a bad thing. Maybe sucking it up and sitting still will be just fine.

On Intelligent Design circa 1850

2006-01-16T00:00:00.000-08:00

We may answer that the matter of which materialists speak, matter spontaneously and eternally mobile, active, productive, matter chemically or organically determined and manifested by the properties or forces, mechanical, physical, animal, and intelligent, which necessarily belong to it-that this matter has nothing in common with the vile matter of the idealists. The latter, a product of their false abstraction, is indeed a stupid, inanimate, immobile thing, incapable of giving birth to the smallest product, a caput mortuum, an ugly fancy in contrast to the beautiful fancy which they call God; as the opposite of this supreme being, matter, their matter, stripped by that constitutes its real nature, necessarily represents supreme nothingness. They have taken away intelligence, life, all its determining qualities, active relations or forces, motion itself, without which matter would not even have weight, leaving it nothing but impenetrability and absolute immobility in space; they have attributed all these natural forces, properties, and manifestations to the imaginary being created by their abstract fancy; then, interchanging r√¥les, they have called this product of their imagination, this phantom, this God who is nothing, "supreme Being" and, as a necessary consequence, have declared that the real being, matter, the world, is nothing. After which they gravely tell us that this matter is incapable of producing anything, not even of setting itself in motion, and consequently must have been created by their God.

Its as clear and clairvoyant as any contemporary argument against Intelligent Design, but was written in about 1850 by the father of Anarchism, Micheal Bakunin.

The Usability Lady

2005-11-06T00:00:00.000-08:00

Last week ended with my manager spending much time & energy convincing me that I am doing exactly the right things, that I don't need to figure it all out yesterday and in fact that largely these big initiatives just work themselves out over time. The old elephant and a spoon adage. Afterall, we are only focusing on providing usability for our own team and never has anyone said that we were trying to solve usability for the broader IT organization. Chin up, tiger.

This week began with a discuss about how my D&U team might be able to ramp up in time to provide usability testing of a b2b application, development due to begin in a month.

So much for what 'anyone said'. We'll have a functioning usabilty practice within 6 months.

Usability - Reaching the Tipping Point

2005-10-30T00:00:00.000-07:00

Happening inside M is a confluence of people throughout the organization who have been experiencing pain for which usability testing has suddenly emerged as the salve. There are those on the bleeding edge who have been involved with usability for almost 10 years and those - both IT and business - who are only just now trying to figure out what it is all about. Like deer grazing in a field suddenly raising their heads in alarm before darting off in the same direction.

I suspect that this Gladwell-ian experience is being shared over and over again throughout the IT industry. Its hard to tell where exactly it began or when exactly it began to gain momentum. And though there are those at M who have been working hard to push usability for a while, its unclear why it has suddenly let loose now. I came into this role just prior to the turning.

I had been at M for almost two years. Here it is typical for employees to have a significant role change every two to three years. In my time at M, I had evolved from being a contract designer/developer to an employed Project Manager. In corporate terms - from an 'individual contributor' to leading small teams of employees and contractors in the development of web applications. As I had only been doing Project Management for a year, it occurred to me that perhaps the evolution from designer to PM was enough. If it was not change enough, then I wondered how these role changes occur?

And then it did.

'Over vacation I only want you to think about one thing work-related - What would you like to be asked to do'? It all moved very fast from there. My obvious choices were to stay in Project Management or to move into the new design team then being proposed to upper management. I chose to be involved with the design team in some capacity. 'Andrea, now is not the time for being meek. If you would like to lead the design practice you need to let me know'.

And then suddenly I was.

Chicago Marathon: What went wrong & What To Do... What To Do?

2005-10-10T00:00:00.000-07:00

A man is relieved and gay when he has put his heart into his work and done his best; but what he has said or done otherwise, shall give him no peace.

There were many signs over the past few months that - had I been really paying attention - would've forewarned me that this year's marathon was not going to be good. I tapered well for the half marathon in August and that run was a huge success. Felt great and my time was really encouraging. Building back up after the half was tough and I haven't really felt good running since. The weeks leading up to Chicago were not encouraging - I was tired, un-motivated, and injured. I panicked after calculating several routes on GMap that I realized I was not at all on pace. My half-marathon run in St Charles was also a HUGE mistake. Went out too hard for the stage (peak training) I was in, but too slow to feel good about the time.

Chicago was a disaster.

Started out well, though possibly too strong. My first two miles were 8:45-ish, but I blame this on the crowds. The next several miles were each under 8:30. I was elated! My taper worked! I was running 8:30s and it felt great! And then somewhere between mile six & seven things began to change. Maybe it started with the rock in my shoe. One of the last things I remember reading in Runner's World before the run was that if you get a rock in your shoe, you should stop and remove it sooner rather than later. I didn't. And then I had to pee. I had to pee at the start, but the lines were long and I figured that the feeling would go away once I started running. It didn't. And then I just started to feel bad. The cheering crowds that were so motivating last year, this year were an undesirable distraction. Didn't want to take in liquids. The thought of taking in GU was sickening enough. I ran into a wall before even hitting half-way and just couldn't get out of it. I started slipping. 8:30s to 8:45s to 9:45s to a 10:45 ...

20 weeks of training and at mile 13.1 I was done.
I ran more often, harder, and longer this year than last - what went wrong & what do I do now?

The Return of the Co-Eds

2005-08-27T00:00:00.000-07:00

Life used to have cycles and every year at the end of August was the beginning of something new. The start of the new school year and all possibilities were open. The books seemed exciting. The classes too. They come into town with bright eyes and new clothes. Their parents so proud. Scanning scanning as if their college age children were back in diapers at the poolside and they had to look out for all of the hazards.

They also have the excited look that they've provided for their children a wonderous opportunity to enjoy the life they never had. They say 'you're here to go to school' but secretly they want their child to enjoy all of the crazy opportunities that college provides including the drinking, the loves that pass in and so quickly out again, the comraderie of good friends, the fear of papers due in less than 12 hours. Where did all of this go and why does it sound so nice from afar?

Kids today seem to have much healthier relationships with their parents than I did. They talk about dating. The talk about lesbian relationships. They talk about drinking. Shit, they talk about pot! Their parent's enjoy them freely without a leash. Especially the girls with their fathers. The girls are all so self-confident and assertive. I wish I had that.

The cycles these days are mostly internal. They are biological cycles. Or they are project cycles. Some are ovals more wide than high. Others more high than wide. Cycles within cycles. One aspect of life speeding up while the other is slowing down or sometimes all cycles are on full go or full no-go.

teeny. tiny. unnoticably. small.

2005-06-23T00:00:00.000-07:00

I look around my beige cubicle whose blah-ness is barely disguised by the map of the world displaying all of the areas of unrest in the world and my books on geneticly modified food and I think that, hey, this is pretty cool. here i am a vegetarian art major with leftist politics and a nose ring successfully navigating the corporate maze ... and sometimes even winning small victories where she can. but nope nope...
nope.

the corporate world is still a place where an african american male feels like he has to keep his mouth shut in order to get by. where being a tall black man with a bald head means that he fears being accused of intimidation, of not having the right politics. i understand the fear of speaking out of turn. of saying the wrong thing. of making yourself too big. i tremble at the things i have to do every day... managing people 10 years my senior, doing the bidding of people who remind me so much of my father. being disciplinarian. seeking out the problems. doing something about them. so is it really true that a black man has more to fear than i?

is there no other out than to quash all that is individual about yourself just to get through a day? if you are hiding yourself, then you are cheating everyone around you. there is value in YOU. your thoughts and ideas are precious. we live in a WORLD of apathy - damnit, if you have an opinion - speak out!

what kind of lesson is it to shut yourself up in a hole. how can you tell those kids to be their all when you hide yourself away for half your life worried that you are going to piss someone off? 8 hours a day of your life that you are trying to make yourself as small as possible. teeny. tiny. unnoticably. small.

C'est dificil etre une petite ami moderne

2005-06-04T00:00:00.000-07:00

A year & a half in and life is good, though it took some pain to get here. Last week was a small blip in the sunshine. R ran into that c-wall again. commitment. _sigh_ ...and suddenly, like many times before, i found myself swirling swirling swirling down the black hole of love panic. followed by love-panic guilt. then the love-panic-guilt-ishegoingtosayfuckit-panic.

And then while trying to assuage my own fear that R will up & leave, it dawned on me that R doesn't seem particularly anxious to go. sure he went that one time. valid point. but i think that im a zillion times more often to think 'is this worth it?' when things get tough. R doesn't want to go on vacation - is this worth it? R doesnt want to move in together - is this worth it? classic projection.

so i decided that i am going to think about R & I as if we will be together for forever (how non modern). the rest is just a matter of time.

Corporation Chronicles 1: What does a member of corporate america look like?

2005-06-01T00:00:00.000-07:00

i would never have imagined myself in the corporate world. i don't look like a member of corporate america. at least, it feels really good when someone asks me 'are you a student'? whats more alarming still is that sometimes... many times... many even most times (this month) i even like the corporate world. i think that its good for me. in all the ways that going to pep rallies and prom and trying to be involved in high school was, in retrospect, really good for you. but me... i hated high school. i found out my senior year that if i called myself out, the school office didn't actually call my mom to confirm my absense. but in dismissing all that high school stood for, the lessons that i learned were not really conducive to happy living.

i learned that i didnt have to communicate. i learned that being mysterious and complex was cool. in the real world, no one cares. in the real world its really easy to acheive reclusion. after a while, people stop calling.

so in the corporate world the biggest challenge for me has simply been communication. not good communication or communicating project status or communicating bad news. no, just communicating. speaking.

on navel gazing...

2005-05-30T00:00:00.001-07:00

i stopped 'doing' art. i had become disenchanted with it even before then. disenchanted while making it. i knew my work was trite. i knew i was cutting corners. i knew that it was about as deep as a two short Planks. yet my work was heralded by the local masses. one or two. and then one night in the midst of an extended public video project, my brother asked me the tough questions. and i was forced to face my own fear head-on - i was a sham. only picked up a paintbrush, charcoal, or pencil a few times since. tore up all of my high school work. still have a few paintings.

it was 2001 and 9/11 had just happened and i was working on projects that meant nothing to me. whats the point? how does this help the world? it doesn't say anything. indefensible. i had spent the past three years creating work about my own life. the miseries of being the child of a broken home...
what's it all worth?

so i stopped.

but i still long for the passion. i have the passion... just not the medium. and then theres the start-up energy. but if you know something is going to suck before you begin, why begin?

but then i look at my real world. im not REALLY helping the world by managing projects in IT either. so what's the difference between creating video art and project management? project management at least i know that i've worked hard. i have a goal that i can work towards. i know what the metrics are. i know when ive done good. i know when i've done bad.

art.

its this... murky thing.

Does Reading Count as Doing Something?

2005-05-30T00:00:00.000-07:00

Sitting at Kaldis with Flatterland & Alan told me that he was impressed that R & I read so much. I fear that for me reading is often an escape from actually DOING something. Sure its more active, engaging, wholesome, educational blah blah than watching tv...
... but I don't know that it replaces DOING.

Tuesday's attack

2001-09-15T19:56:00.000-07:00

American flags are everywhere in my city. Draped out of windows. Planted beside mailboxes. Hung off of construction cranes. Taped to car antennas. Neighborhoods have been transformed in a matter of days. As have people’s wardrobes. Red, white, and blue proliferates. I recognize this war-time fervor from the Gulf War and its both comforting and disconcerting. Its affinity to a Normal Rockwell painting bespeaks this duality.

My own surge of patriotism in the wake of Tuesday’s attack was soon tempered by Bush’s proclamation of retribution. It was a rally cry from our nation’s top cheerleader. And like high school pep rallies, this one strikes me as contrived and leaves me feeling both unmoved and alienated from the growing fervor. There is motivation behind those rally cries and the subtle manipulation stops me cold. I am dismayed by the willing gullibility of the American public and the government’s unabashed appeal to it. Rhetoric. The sugar coating is too sweet, the smoke is choking me, and I am blinded by the mirrors. What a great nation this would be if the people in charge could forgo the propaganda and give the public our due respect. What a great nation this would be if there were no need to retrofit American actions to our promulgated ideals. Please do not insult my intelligence, Mr. President.

For I am 23. And this is the first war for which I am eligible to defend my country. It would be a solemn decision. I do not jump at the chance to kill people. I do not look favorably towards war. But I also know that the My generation has been an apathetic one. Apathy is our inheritance from those who came before us. They gave their lives so we might not have to. The privilege of freedom and security in turn breeds apathy and frivolousness. Until apathy and frivolousness again breeds war. Indeed, a society without threat offers me the privilege to self-righteously proclaim that I am above the baseness of war. And yet it has never come down to fighting for my ideals. The thought of irresponsible retribution frightens me. The thought of achieving any honorable aim by murder is absurd. When is military retaliation warranted? And is there a point at which to not pursue military action a greater threat to democracy than to pursue it?

I believe in democracy and I believe in liberty and the right to self-determination. But Mr. President, we are funding and arming and sustaining an occupying country. And Mr. President, do we not plead with these countries to remain calm when their children suffer under similar terrorist acts? And Mr. President, we have not forgotten that it is us who trained those terrorists. And Mr. President, while we are crusading against terrorism, lets not forget that we too use terrorism when it is convenient for us to do so. Oh Mr. President, this country mourns at the loss of its children. How can one think of promulgating such pain on others. Oh Mr. President, I must admit I’m rather surprised to see you so fervently conscripting the aid of other countries considering you have been so determined to disregard their opinions before. We line up like teams on an athletic field and we toss back and forth inflammatory diatribes from our subsequent dugouts. . Our willingness to allow self-determination to other peoples seems to only be true when the goal to which they are determined does not conflict with ours. Such irresponsible escalation covers over the fact that what we are talking about is people’s lives. And suddenly we have stooped to juvenile recklessness that we so detest in other country’s conflicts. We preach against racial profiling and unbased assumptions, yet we are so quick to point to the Middle East. Have we forgotten that America has nurtured its own terrorists? We proclaim ourselves to be the leader of the free world. And this is the role model we establish. Oh Apathy, you have gotten us to this point and you, together with grief, will let us be steamrolled into this conflict. We will wake one day from our mourning and wonder how we got here.

I foresee this society dividing. And I see myself being increasingly marginalized. And I don’t see much of a middle ground. What is there to do? How does one support one’s country and its ideals, yet at the same time dissent from its actions. Oh Mr. President, I would love to offer my life for my ideals; democracy, liberty and self-determination – if only there were a country that stood for them.

Dear Mr. President, I am concerned.

2001-09-11T20:06:00.000-07:00

9/11/2001
Dear Mr. President, I am concerned.

When members of your congress suggest that all terrorist training camps need to be destroyed, does he include American terrorist training camps? We trained Osama Bin Laden in one such training camp. Does he know that America has committed terrorist attacks upon other countries? Is that member of congress unknowledgeable…or just lying?

I am appalled that you can stand in a house of god and declare your determination to seek revenge.

I am concerned that this pending war is a convenient excuse for recharging our economy.

I am concerned that your adamant and cursory declaration of war hours after the attack risk pigeon holing the U.S. into war. If you threaten retaliation, you are forced to retaliate else open yourself to ridicule.

I am disgusted by the image of you cheerleading atop 220 floors and 4700 bodies like a big ten pep rally.
This country was splintering since your inauguration. Jeffords defected, you lost control of congress, and you were losing the backing of moderate republicans due to your theocracy. War is a uniting force. Like siblings who bicker. Until an outsider makes the mistake of attacking one. Mr. president, I hate to think it. But this terrorist attack has done your work for you.

We must think not only about immediate revenge but to carry out that thought thread to the end – our retaliation will not be the end. Retaliation will only serve to escalate. And what is at the end of that escalation? World War III? The mid east is in a very fragile state. We are searching for who’s on ‘sides’. And by the carrot and the stick, we are forcing them to our side.
With NATO’s 5th Article, an attack on one is an attack on all. And those who are not with us are against us. Obliging the rest of the world to enter into this conflict. Lets envision the long lasting consequences. It could only mean widespread war and destruction.

I am concerned that we are stooping to the level of the terrorists instead of rising above it and leading by example.

Osama Bin Laden warns of Jihad. Escalation is what he wants. It is a trap. And we are walking right in.

It wasn’t long after the attack on Tuesday that the notion of Middle Eastern terrorists as the root started popping up. And it was only a small wink and nudge from that to Osama Bin Laden. Osama Bin Laden claims to not have been involved. Can Americans bear to think/comprehend that there are many independent groups who feel as adamantly anti-American as OBL? Perhaps it comforts us to think that there is just one person. OBL is easy to hate. Many many many independent groups, both in the middle east and American, who all hate America and are capable of pulling up such an event is just – horrific.

I find it ironic that this attack caught us as we becoming increasingly isolationist. And appallingly alienated from the rest of the world.

Americans pride ourselves on our democratic ideals, our rationalism, our fairness. We tell Middle Eastern countries when the blood of their citizens are shorn to remain calm and refrain from idle retribution. Hours after a terrorist attack on our soil, before any source is known with surety, you declare it an act of war. You decry retribution. You promise revenge. How irresponsible. If we want to be a role model, we must act like one. If we want to be hypocritical, we must expect the pattern of anti-American sentiment to germinate generation after generation.

I am concerned that there must be a question of ‘when is it okay to take military action?’. Is there a time when more harm would be done by not taking action, than would be done by a bloody war? Can pacifism be a declaration of war on oneself?

I am concerned that whatever action we take must be as lawful as possible. Else we are no better than the terrorists who struck that fateful morning.

Selling Beer

2001-09-10T19:43:00.000-07:00

If you've ever found yourself staring at an ad depicting a buxom beauty holding a bottle of cheap beer and spouting some sexually explicit double-speak that no female with half an ounce of dignity - or at least a sense of humor - would ever say, and thinking to yourself that it was probably the climactic vision of 3 thirty-something guys chuckling like prepubscents around the water cooler - I assure you that you are, indeed, cor-rect.

Puzzle Pieces

2001-07-30T19:51:00.000-07:00

Three days of designing beer ads and Ive resolved that Im looking in the wrong area for that elusive 'happy' factor. Im just so NOT a corporate person. It pays well, but its not creative. Its not inspiring. It aint innovative. Not intellectually stimulating. Its more akin to being a 21st century version of an industrial revolution age factory worker than a visionary artIst. It uses bad fonts with bad graphics to make bad blinking things on your computer screen. Yes indeed, frequent blasfemme reader, the same blinking, migrain inducing ads that I complained about in a recent rant. Its cutting edge only insofar as the tools are cutting edge. Same industry. Different tools. But the brief experience was worthwhile. In the long term sense of the word. Sure its been seven months since G-day, but piece by piece Im beginning to develop a picture of where Im going. What it is that Im doing. Whats driving me. And as I feverishly pine away at my 'next bold move'(a la ani D), every day little bits of pieces coalesce.
...like bringing a microscope into focus...
Ive had this crazy notion for the past few weeks of going to Boston. Boston. Why? Ihavenoidea. I dont even remember why I first considered it as a destination. I just know that, in the endless cycles of my circular reasoning, I keep coming back to it. And after all that musing, the best I can come up with is that I love old cities, I love water, and I dont want to be in the middle anymore. Of the country, that is. Boston is about as old as you get in America and its got only the Atlantic for an eastern neighbor. And oh, I hate hot.
As those close to me will attest to (ie those unfortunate enough to have to listen to my latest daily (sometimes hourly) 'gameplan'), in times of extreme frustration I've been known to falsely, though adamantly, proclaim my resolution to 'take off' to Boston. Ive spouted similar declaratives about Chicago and Bloomington. As adamantly. Frankly, Im surprised anyone takes me seriously anymore. But moving just to feel myself in motion wont really solve the root issue: this nagging sense of a lack of dIrection.
I don't have any of the usual geographically altering excuses. No significant other. No centralized family. No centralized friends either. No job. Sometimes the excess of freedom is a bit destabilizing. What I have is a mental image of what I want my life to look like. And a laundry list of what I don't. So knowing the final destination and the obstacles to avoid, the question becomes which path do I take to get there?
Forced unemployment and the countless hours where I found myself suddenly having nothing in particular to do except my own 'projects' has been invaluable. Minus these projects, life has been a succession of fulfilled expectations. Hurdles, no doubt. But evenly spaced and clearly visible. But for as debilitating as floating out in unemployement space has been, its better than having gotten on some track going really fast towards somewhere I dont want to be.
From the 'departing' side of the train monitor, a lifetime lived deliberately is worth the seven months of struggle. I sit in my terminal browsing the monitors and alternatingly jump headlong onto trains going in diametric directions before predictably deboarding and exchanging my ticket for another. Going nowhere but making headway, nonetheless.

not my crowd

2001-07-30T19:41:00.000-07:00

Im always somewhat dismayed to find that the 'art' crowd - to which I typically consider myself a part of - is really not my crowd either. So much time and effort and money is put into looking a certain way and acting a certain way that, to me, would much better be spent doing something productive. Instead of talking, doing. Im always really glad to get back home to my books and my computer and my to-do lists and my myriad of
projects 'in the works'...my npr and my cup of hot herbal tea.

Ode to the 9 to 5

2001-07-28T19:40:00.000-07:00

Ode to the 9 to 5: I write this while laying on my stomach on the floor in hopes that I can prevent my ass from molding to the shape of my chair.

Ambiguousness

2001-07-27T19:39:00.000-07:00

Ambiguousness is the great big safety-net in the sky, from who's perch you can puppeteer life's possibilities.

Jill of All Trades

2001-07-22T20:10:00.000-07:00

I’m zoomed in to 500%, pixel by pixel meticulously deciphering the black black square from the kinda black one. The logical organization of three dimensionality as represented by shadow and highlight recedes into a sea of abstract hue. A pen clip rendered an indecipherable mosaic of squares spanning 256 colors. Each unit one block of solid color. I strip away that color block by block, degree by degree. I return to 100% and the little squares suddenly reconglomerize into that damn pen clip. Photo retouching is a subtractive process and my newly rendered pen clip is as much a product of my imagination as it is a physical entity. I begin to have an appreciation for what people mean when they say that the beautiful face gracing the cover of this month’s fashion mag doesn’t really look like that. My heart rate quickens – a sure sign that I sense the potential for an interesting tangent. I consider the notion of what is “real” and whether photography is “real” and whether I have the authority to alter that “reality” while presenting it as such. And I wonder if it would be so easy to create such a realistic pen clip if you worked in an additive process instead of subtractive. Adding little colored square to little colored square. I am carried away by thoughts of future projects involving abstract squares of color.

All of which is beside the point. The point being, that here again I find myself doing something I never knew that I knew how to do. Or as I lovingly describe it, ‘making shit up as I go along’. This is the world of the digital media artist. Read: multimedia developer, electronic magician, new media designer; the Jill of all trades. And whether it’s a web site design, and programming bug, or pen clip that you need to detach from it’s pen – digital media is all about problem solving.

Being involved with digital media is not so much being an ‘ist’ or even an ‘er’ (as in ‘computer scientist’ and ‘web designer’) as it is a collection of skill sets & expertise gained as the fortunate repercussion of being forced to figure it out yourself. I didn’t realize the extent to which this was true until I was suddenly spit out the rear end of the secondary educational machine and floundering for a means of economic gain that fit my qualifications. I had a hard time retaining people’s attention long enough to explain the degree that I had just spent the last 3.5 years earning, much less needling it down to a one-line resume ‘objective’. My attempts are often followed by a tangible air of mutual discomfort. I found it was possible to circumvent that glassed over look in people’s eyes when I tried to describe my work by boxing it up into a pleasantly ambiguous tag line; Multimedia Development. Its descriptive enough to place me somewhere in the realm of technological pursuit, yet oddly non-threatening enough that most people conclusively accept it with a nod of the head. Erstwhile having no more idea about what I do than before they asked.

Technology is a frighteningly elusive area to the majority of the population who aren’t directly immersed in computer culture. The great schism between those who are immersed in technology as a way of life, and those who aren’t is reflected by the ubiquitous ‘us and them’ mentality in any technology sphere. I say it as someone who has spent the past 2 years making that great leap.

I have found that even people who are immersed in technology still don’t know what to do with me. I have found that, in regards to gainful employment, it is best to surrender to the idea that I must be satisfied to seek out valuable experience in the job your doing instead of finding THE job that fits your qualifications. Even in school as a digital media student we weren’t so much taught software programs as we were given a project and software tool in which to accomplish it and a deadline by which it was due. There is no rich history of atelier-style understudy as in painting or even photography. For better or for worse, there are no rules. Which is greatly why I, in particular, am so drawn to it. Digital media artists are closer akin to aesthetic hackers than well trained artists.

Its not so long ago that I was endlessly frusterated by my own family’s inability to comprehend what it is that I do. I am a double agent, the opposite of stylishly dressed in cut-off shorts, a men’s v-neck undershirt shirt two sizes too big, a flannel three sizes too big, and somewhat hip open-toed shoes – with socks. And I am a web designer responsible for international corporations and sitting at Borders flipping through Black Book and Vogue. I am a double agent with my copy of Vogue and my copy of Bitch. I look at the pictures in Vogue, read the articles in Bitch.

Design is about idea propagation. And not even good ideas. Just lots of them. Different variations of the same. Each design is just a portal to 10 more variations. And each of those a portal to 10 more. It has the crystalline structure of a snowflake or a fractal. The END is not so much a conclusive state of doneness, completeness, or total expression of an idea as it is an arbitrary decision to stop the exponential growth of possibilities.

Computer Geek for a Logical America: Is this the Best Solution We Can Come Up With?

2001-06-03T20:21:00.000-07:00

Where did we come up with the idea? To sit someone in a chair, strap him down, attach him to electrodes and jolt his body with a bolt of electricity such that his body cannot withstand the force. Sounds like something right out of medieval folklore. Or at least a tool of torture used by a primitive society. Certainly it is not a civilized mechanism applauded by a country whose greatest credo is individual freedom.

A group of about 10 computer scientists locked themselves in a secret room with a problem to solve. Eighteen months later they emerged with a new language that would soon turn the computing world on it’s head. And now nine years later, Java is greatly responsible for the Internet boom and has changed the way we think about programming for forever. But what’s most invigorating is that the answer they came up with, Java, is entirely reflective of the beauty of the system in which is was developed and innately reflective of the values of the people who created it. It is elegant, sophisticated, logical, community oriented. And in this present state when the **leaders** of America are subjecting our society to such infantile games as with china. These are the types of power plays you would see in an elementary playground. And when you compare that to project green – you have to wonder whether the future of American ideals is in the right hands. Its reason verses emotion. Proactive problem solving verses a type of cat and mouse game that has no winners no losers and most importantly no end.
Now lets look at the death penalty. Why is the supposed leader of the free world one of the last remaining countries in the free world to allow capital punishment? And is this REALLY the best solution we can come up with?

If handed a gun, or a spoon, would you have gumption to kill someone? To take the one thing we are given when brought into this world? Life. And who are you to consider it your right to be able to take that away from someone else? And does it make ANY difference – is it any more HUMANE – how many automated switches we attach to the act? And why do you think we try to automate the process? Doesn’t that imply that something is WRONG? Is ILLOGICAL? Is morally WRONG? If no specific person wants to take credit for the act…does it make it any better to commit the act as a collective whole. As the sweeping blow of JUSTICE? Its cowardly. Though I would say with good reason. Because the process of capital punishment is so misaligned with modern values that the only way to face it is to turn our head and pull the switch. Which is just wrong.

I would harbor a bet that if 10 thoughtful people with as much energy and optimism to solve the problem of capital punishment as the green project participants had to solve the problem of technology, that we could surely come up with a solution far more sophisticated, elegant, proactive, logical, and aligned with American ideals than execution. More over, it saddens me to realize that as a society we would put so much care into the promotion of technology and relatively blatant disregard for human life. Surely our values are skewed.

Just for fun lets make a list of all the things that Java is and capital punishment isn’t:
1. Elegant
2. Pro-active (in regards to problem solving)
3. Aligned with American ideals – as an open source project it is community oriented and empowering
4. Sophisticated
5. Logical
6. Has become widely accepted BECAUSE of these reasons, not despite them. And certainly not because they were forced upon anyone. Read the story of java. And how it caught on. Good ideas need no propaganda. Logical reasoning resonates with clarity.
7. Forward looking though makes use of the lessons from the past
8. Answers today’s problems and the ability to be modified to solve tomorrow’s problems is innate and it therefore acknowledges that tomorrow’s problems may be entirely different from today’s. But the means of modification further solidify the structure itself. The structure stays intact because the structure is solid.
9. Encourages debate and promotes further thought rather than feeling obliged to stifle it for fear of holes appearing – it challenges the community to find it’s holes because the creators knew that the more holes that could be found a fixed the more confidence the community would have in the entire structure. The system works. It is alive and self-adjusting ever changing. Trusts breeds trust.
10. The source code is accessible to anyone who desires to look which in turn breeds confidence.

To Be Soft & Chewy, Or Why I dislike being deemed a tough cookie

2001-04-29T20:25:00.000-07:00

Its not that I feel I’m being erroneously accused of being something which I am not. I am a tough cookie. Kind of. Maybe its more the disappointment of realizing that the people who are closest to us cant see through the guises that we secretly wish they would see through. Looks like I’ve been successful and the one thing I wish I weren’t successful at. The ol’ wall. The protective gear. I keep remembering that line in ‘Girl Interrupted’ when Angelina Jolie asks desperately, with a poky needle in her hand, why no one ever pushes her buttons. Why no one ever cares enough to try to find her soft spots. Why no one cares enough to try to reach beyond the façade.
I can relate to that.
Its not that I’m not a tough cookie. I am. But there’s this part of me that wants people to know why. Or to know that there is a why.
Or maybe I was a tough cookie before I had the reasons. Self-fulfilling prophecy of sorts.
And what are my reasons? And how am I a tough cookie?
Do I have more of a chip on my shoulder than anyone else? Do I not cry when I’m supposed to? Is it my mouth? Is it that I don’t allow people to push me around? Is it that I speak up for myself? And I speak my mind? Is it really that? That I represent myself as a complete person to the world? Do I evoke unwieldy confidence? Do I act as if I know where I’m going and how I got to where I am? ‘Cause I don’t. Know either, that is. Is it because I act as if I don’t need anyone? Have you thought that maybe its because I’ve never had anyone to rely on? Is it because I don’t shrivel away at your pokes and prods? Have you thought that perhaps its because your pokes and prods are nothing compared to the wounds I have suffered. They’re so nothing that I’m not too sure if you’re touching me at all. I’m numb.
Numb.
Cold.
Fish.
Tough.
Cookie.
Wantless.
Expectationless.
Nothingness.
Numb.
And I guess I just don’t deem that worthy of admiration. I feel nothing.
Except the need to push away. I feel that. And then must laugh at myself for being disappointed in my own success. Life is full of such crazy contradictions.
And this tough cookie hurts so much…that one more or one taken away is nothing. Natalie merchant. Sings of one more tear in the salty sea. That salted sea is me.
I’m always strong. So many people have told me that I am so strong. Because I help them. To feel strong too. Amanda. Sandhya. Stephanie. Joe. Dave. Ryan. Rick. But if I’m so strong, why am I so alone? And why do I radiate this strength that I don’t feel? Like it all gets radiated outward and I just get to see it reflected off of other people.

begin with me and go from there

2001-01-01T19:47:00.000-08:00

So last week Eve suggested that I try to write one page (what font size? Does it have to be single spaced?) a day as a way to help me develop ideas. That same week – perhaps even the same day – Rick suggested that perhaps I need to harness my laziness. And something about finishing what you start. Now icq-bytes are so amorphous he could’ve been referring to anything (and Im quite sure he was just egging me on) but, amid other fitting examples, I thought of blasFemme. My dear forsaken blasFemme.

So blasFemme has been sitting here for a good two months now. Looking all dazzling with nothing to offer but an animated gif whimpering women’s rights. A pillar of dissent and an urging to come to action resounding in an empty hall. Pathetic start. Hell, I didn’t even write the <a href code. And, strapped for cash, nor did I make it to D.C. myself. Though I did write my congressman. The conservative white men who are my representatives. I am ashamed to claim them. Ashcroft and Akin. That alone makes me realize that I need to start voiting more. But there’ll be more. Protests, that is. The push and pull of women’s rights is an endless tug o’ war. What did Clinton say today? That democracy is always a work in progress. Women’s rights is more a work in flux. Depends on the administration. And whether there is an escalating circumstances pending a state of war with China (in true cold war fashion) to take our attention off of legislating women’s reproductive lives.

And so. I decided to write. A page every day (font size and spacing will depend on how clairvoyant I am that day, thankyouverymuch). Because writing helps you think through your ideas. And because I have so many things to say (and its so hard to find someone who wants to listen to my tirades). And it takes a lot of gumptia to publish your convictions. Because it opens you up for criticism. And forces you to defend or to rethink. Which makes your thoughts more precise. And encourages you to take active interest in the world around you. Because if you don’t, life can become quite dull. And so many people live such dull lives. They come and they go and their thoughts are never recorded and their convictions are never tested and when they’re gone their whole life history leaves with them. Leaving future generations nothing by which to understand themselves except a big historical timeline filled mostly with grey inpenetrable bleh and only a few poignet clues as to how we got where we are. And historically, those clues come from famous people. Er, powerful people. Er, rich white men. Er. And theres so much more out there than rich white men. Theres so many other voices to be heard. And so many other voices of dissent. Dissent from the pre-packaged, manufactured, mass produced, mass exported, linear, one-dimensional, made for tv movie storyline HISTORY. Which is. our history.

And so blasFemme will exist to promote the *capturing of thought. And Ill begin with me and go from there.