A reminder

I just had a very heartfelt talk with my mom.

She had finished watching a long-running Hong Kong TV show which focuses on stories of Chinese people who live around the world in unexpected places or professions. Usually the stories are of the tear-jerking variety about the hardships of living abroad in developing countries.

This particular episode featured a mom who moved to Costa Rica from a normal life in Hong Kong to help her daughter run a restaurant business and take care of her young grandchildren. The mother-daughter relationship ultimately turned sour. Apparently, after 30 years of helping her daughter, the daughter abandoned her 80 year old mom to fend for herself in this foreign country. The mother, full of tears, told the camera crew that she is only waiting to die, although her ultimate wish is to head back to Hong Kong to live in an old person’s home.

The other story was of a young man who moved to another developing country due to poverty in Hong Kong at 10 years old. He lost his finger while working on a farm and soon lost his legs in a factory accident at 18. His mother went to that country to take care of him. Once he recovered, he managed to find an office position, despite to his disability. He saved up for decades, barely spending an extra dime, with his mother to finally own a house of their own. His mother, at the end of the dark tunnel, fell ill and passed away. The man told the interviewer that he felt like his whole life he had been without fortune. His ultimate regret was that he could not provide a better life for his mother.

This led to a discussion of those unfortunate around us. I shared my story about the Malawian young woman I met in Dar es Salaam, who had left her country to one where she couldn’t speak the language to earn $20 USD for school. I shared stories about people I have only met through words on a page who grew up in refugee camps. About infants who die from something as simple as diarrhea because the hospital was too far away or didn’t have enough medicine. About how I recently saw this:

Mom and I both reflected on how fortunate us, and everyone around us, were to be born in a place where not only were we assured of a basic living standard but to have a safe rule of law. To be able to live “normal lives.”

I felt a sense of shame after our talk. Shame at how I had temporarily forgotten my place and responsibilities in this world due to the recent emotional tumult and career confusion. Shame at how self-centred I had become due to a slight blip in my extremely fortunate life. Shame that I can’t shake off.

Nevertheless, shame never helped improve anything in the world. Shame must be turned into positive energy and the only converter is my mental state. Fortunately, for it is something I can control.

Lastly, I leave myself with this from the Gandhi Museum in New Delhi.

With renewed motivation, hello world!


Immigration experience and public space

I was reading a short, interesting article about Filipina Immigrant Girls’ Lived Experience in Japan. Then I realised I was most interested in the mentioning of (emphasis mine):

“Most scholars focus on how immigrant youth are victimized by an assimilationist-oriented education system…But this focus allows only a small glimpse of their lived experience.

Yes, these teenage Filipino youth often struggle in their new homes and schools. Yet, a broader view of their experience reveals their human agency, possibilities, and how they personally navigate difficult and unequal structures. For example, Filipina teenage girls often gather at places such as Internet cafes, fast food restaurants, malls, Karaoke bars, or streets and use hybrid languages – a mix of Tagalog/English/Japanese… Activities in these spaces, which are themselves informally created by and for these Filipina youth, reveal their ability to navigate structural inequalities and to create a sense of belonging in a foreign environment.

Since the 1970s, educators, policy makers, and administrators in Japan have struggled to provide adequate support to help immigrant students thrive. But the kind of support that immigrant students themselves seek is most visible beyond the school and education system. Learning from these unstructured public spaces that are meaningful to youth would allow us to explore their potential as agents of social change and to expand the discourse about immigrant youth in Japan.”

Unstructured public spaces are essential in any living environment, whether it’s for the meetings held under large trees in the villages of Uganda or socializing on the pedestrian area near the harbour in Hong Kong. These spaces provide a sense of community to anybody who joins. It is the structure of the environment that facilitates these interactions. Sure, if there were no good public spaces, people would still meet because they need to, but it would not be the same experience. If you’ve ever compared a class discussion in a room where everyone had to face forward versus facing each other in a circle, you would understand how important space and orientation is for facilitating interaction. If there were no good public spaces, such meetings would be exclusive (you can’t join unless you knew the low down), out of sight (and therefore doesn’t exist), and out of mind (you never knew or cared about specific groups of people meeting).

Reflecting on a blog post on the perception of space in Dar es Salaam I wrote for Sustainable Cities International, I’m again reminded about how important public spaces are, especially multipurpose, inclusive, pedestrian-oriented spaces. It also saddens me that meeting people in public spaces isn’t really acceptable in the cultural norm of Hong Kong. Strangers rarely talk to each other if they are not introduced by a common acquaintance. Some Hong Kong residents I know actually dislike that the immigrant population (usually Filipina or Indonesian) “occupy” certain public spaces on the weekends for very large gatherings. The local Hong Kongers sometimes feel that the music is loud, the dancing strange, and are probably unconsciously uncomfortable about so many people speaking in languages which they don’t understand.

I’m happy these places are central and visible. I’m happy these places provide an informal support network that can’t be replaced, especially when you’re living abroad.


Life lessons #524

You know how sometimes you’ve been told a certain teaching or experience, yet you don’t really understand until one day you were put into a similar situation? Or sometimes you thought you understood something intellectually or ‘rationally,’ yet it doesn’t really resonate within you until you’ve actually experienced it? I think those are called life lessons.

No matter how much you are willing to try to listen or to rationalize or to emphasize, you have to be in someone’s shoes (a few sizes smaller or bigger) to truly understand.

At the same time, the ability to imagine, and thus identify with, is truly invaluable and irreplaceable. As J.K. Rowling eloquently explained in this lecture.

I want to develop both of these abilities: to Understand and to Imagine.

***

One small, but powerful, lesson I am learning over the short time I’ve spent abroad is that people are people.

From the surface, it seems simple. We all (generally) have features that we identify as humans – a brain, our DNA, emotions, or tendencies to socialize.

Yet, it’s surprisingly easy to forget this simple truth when faced with unfamiliar cultures or situations. It’s surprisingly easy to lump everyone different into categories and then stereotype them as “irrational” or “unable to understand.” At least it takes less effort than digging deep into their stories, their worldview, and our own hypocrisies.

It takes significantly more will power to remember that people are people, and will always behave according to our basic ‘human-ness’ and how our surroundings – the environment, the systems – shape us. Of course, there are outliers who behave differently despite of circumstance. In general, however, chanting the people are people mantra, and refusing to buy into the “irrationality of the other,” will help us communicate better with the world. (After all, we’re all irrational at one time or another.)

Navigating the world as if everything is new and yet un-categorized will take a lot more energy. It’s worth it, though, in my humble opinion.


Here’s a pick-me-up post:

Reminder why I want to work in something meaningful, big or small:

http://blogs.landfood.ubc.ca/tiffanyt/2011/05/08/706/

And something a friend mentioned recently:

“Things are going tough, but I’m tougher.”

It’s good to look back at what I’ve posted in the past to remind myself why I chose the way I live.


I can’t believe it’s been a month since I’ve blogged here. It’s been so busy at work the last month that my days are basically work, eat, sleep. Rinse and repeat. I’m also spending a lot of time looking into scholarships to apply, since I’m thinking of going to grad school next year or maybe the year after that.

I’m a bit ashamed that I haven’t been able to write down what I’ve learned at work (and in life) this past month. But try as I might, it was hard to kick my brain back to thinking mode once I got home after over 12 hours at work.

It really doesn’t feel like I’ve been here for 5 months only. It feels like years already; that’s how busy I’ve been. I think if my work paid over time, I would have three times my salary. But it’s worth the lessons I’ve learnt. As my parents’ say, working in a challenging job is like having someone pay you to learn.

And learning needs reflection.

Basically, this was a post to motivate myself to start writing regularly again…


In a place where the law doesn’t work, it’s always those who are powerless who are affected.

***

I remember my last night in Dar es Salaam. I was out at a pub with a few friends, enjoying my last Tanzanian beer. Somehow, in my semi-tipsy state, I got into an argument with a Tanzanian guy whose family runs big business up in the north. He was a typical libertarian – everyone for themselves. Only difference was that he didn’t even believe the state can provide security from violence and enforcement of personal property; that’s where the money under the table to the powerful come in. Who cares about the weak guys? They’re only useful to step on top of to get even higher up the social ladder.

Predictably, I was trying to convince him that if people didn’t support a society driven by the fairness of the law, in the end, it would be yourself losing out. You may think the small guys are irrelevant, but if the law doesn’t apply equally to everyone, one day, you or your loved ones will fall out of favour of the powerful and end up as one of the weak. Or else you’ll live in constant fear of violence from the weak. This point was especially relevant personally as I had just come back from a visit to South Africa. Violence perpetuated by inequality. If you had to live in constant fear, why not just support a fair and just law. Why is it so hard? Why are people driven to strive for inequality?

***

Tonight, one of my staff told me that one of the districts we work in is corrupted from the inside out. Farmers were stolen from, beaten up, and silenced. They are continually squeezed because the leaders are earning a very handsome profit. Involved in all this, implicitly or explicitly, is probably one of my most important field staff. We cannot prove he’s guilty, neither can we prove he’s innocent. Suspicions either way. It’s not the first time I’ve heard of this, the headache is still the same.

The small farmers are scared now, because they have finally understood the extent of their loans. Pressured from all sides, they may now finally stand up and become witnesses. In the end though, the repercussions in this small community ruled by the iron-fist of an evil old woman may be too much for the small farmers to risk. In the end, even if some small farmers are willing to stand up against those powerful, the law will still probably not be on their side.

***

How do you work in a place where the law doesn’t apply, criminals walk free, innocent people are frightened into silence, the poorest squeezed to stuff the pockets of the rich, and your staff probably was involved in the largest fertilizer theft case in the history of the region? You don’t. You just almost want to give up. But I think we have no choice but to go on.


Power outages every day in Kampala and Tororo. Strangely enough, it’s a similar cause as the ones in Tanzania – ‘budget shortage.’ Here it’s because all the budget for electricity was spent on President Museveni’s re-election campaign.

Tonight, I was drinking tea and chatting with my colleage/room mate because both our computers had ran out of batteries. Good does come out of seemingly bad happenings. The concept of “opportunity costs” pops up in the most unexpected places. In this case, I learnt way more due to having no electricity; opportunity costs can’t always be calculated beforehand.

My colleague has worked with many youth NGOs in Uganda before she joined us. Mostly it was with HIV/AIDs or marginalized youth (e.g. street children). There were projects that gave scholarships and those that gave chickens, goats, or seeds.

“Youth are funny,” she summed up her work in one sentence.

“There were really good, smart, and hardworking kids that you’ve sponsored for years. Then suddenly one day the kid would come in and tell you that they’re tired. They want to drop out of one of the best high schools in Uganda and give up a free full scholarship to the best university.”

Shaking her head with disbelief, she continued, “I found one of these drop-out kids working as a cashier in a small supermarket two years later. The kid admitted that she had made some bad choices, but life was OK as a cashier. This kid was one of the students with the most potential – smart, sweet, and trustworthy, or so we thought. Her sponsor would have given her all the money she needed to get the best education, but she gave up, with no apparent reason.”

“It was the same with the small entrepreneurship projects. Most of the youth would sell the seeds or slaughter the chicken or goat, immediately after you train them about growing their business so they can have a better future. They either saw no point in saving for the future or wanted to drink waragi (a local gin). Solve only the problem right in front of you seemed to be the common thinking.”

Baffled, I asked if she, after working with these youth for so long, could tell  which ones would be the successful ones from the start.

“No,” she answered without hesitation. “We tried every method in and out of the book. There’s no way you can tell, not even after training. You will only find out once you give them the inputs or sponsorship.”

If only we could unlock that secret. Then at least we can help those that want to be helped.


Health is always more important than work.

Family is always more important than work.

I’ve always understood it intellectually.

Today it really hit home.

My father has all the pre-cursor indicators of  liver cancer, unless the treatment for hepatitis C, which has a 50% success rate, works. He’s probably going to go through with the treatment –  a year of weekly injections that is going to make him feel sick all the time. We had a long internet chat today. I want to be home. Really. But my parents said that there’s not much I can do right now even if I go back. My dad’s not in any real danger, at least right now, since they caught the sickness in the earlier stages. But I still want to be with them.


Side-selling

Someone should do a study on why farmers are side-selling in our scheme (and probably other schemes).

Please. I would help fund your research to lessen my every day growing headache.

(I’ll write more about what is happening soon.)


Super hungry, no time for breakfast, what to do?

Find grilled maize of course. (Or grilled cassava, or African chapati, or cow pea samosas, or…)

“400 shillings for that small maize?! I can get twice the size of that normally…” first thing in the morning, mzungu prices. It’s going to be a long day.

Munching on my small grilled maize (finally for a price of 300 shillings) on the back of a bodaboda, it suddenly struck me that this maize was probably organic. The big ones might have been fed artificial fertilizers. At home, I would be paying way more than 100 shillings for organic maize.

Suddenly my day seemed somehow better.


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