Monday, July 14, 2008
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Children's Parliament
I thought I might share a bit about work during the latter part of last week. The best way to relay the whole exhausting marathon is in simple chronological order.
Day 1: We arrive on the premises of a shady, state-run orphanage for street children. The Social Ministry had apparently decided to change venues at the last minute from downtown Ouaga to scrimp on costs for the 142 kids invited to participate in a Burkinabe children's parliament (not to mention a children's delegation from Benin).
The ministry planned to hold the 3-day event in one musty, mud-smeared, unventilated room. The kids complained of not being fed well nor on time. No malaria nets. Poor hygiene. Benches without desks to sit in for hours on end.
The hotshot NGO donors were not pleased. After a sound berating, the ministry finally agreed to clean up its act.
So they moved quarters and decided on the Social Ministry's conference room. While the drab decor didn't offer much to the imagination, thank God for the air conditioning and cushy seats.
Day 2: The Parliment convenes. Burkina has only been a democracy since 1991. The preliminary elections were meant to impart a lesson about democracy and fair electoral procedures, with the spectre of Zimbabwe lurking in the shadows: "A true parliamentarian doesn't cheat."
But I found the repetition (a total of 15 posts) quite mind-numbing -- can you imagine all 140 odd votes were counted aloud for each position? That dragged on for several hours. And while it was certainly instructive and engaging at first, I had expected more to it than endless elections and short stump speeches - perhaps debate on social issues or child rights laws?
Anyhow, planning for the gala fundraiser commenced the following evening. I got the sense that all this was being pulled together at the last minute: just one day before showtime. Below is the pool of the Hotel Independence, where the gala was held.
Minor scandal -- before the visit to the National Assembly, the chaperones for the kids demanded their per diem pay. Unfortunately, due to the costs of the venue change, the money was frozen up somewhere. So after the elections, the "encadreurs" held the children hostage until they were paid. That meant that the Minister herself stood and lectured those people -- what sort of lesson were they imparting on the children? Holding them hostage for 5.000 CFA (about $12 USD)?
Big ruckus. When the children were finally snuck out and bussed to the National Assembly, the President of the National Assembly had blown a hissy fit and left after waiting for an hour. He and Madame Chantal were also absent from the gala dinner -- that means a lot of money failed to flow into the hands of the inept state ministry.
Day 3: The gala dinner. Nice speech from the first ever female president of the Children's Parliament. The African Hilary, if you will. Numerous musical acts and dance troups, and an invigorating auction of a Burkina Faso sports jersey. The event concluded around midnight.
Day 1: We arrive on the premises of a shady, state-run orphanage for street children. The Social Ministry had apparently decided to change venues at the last minute from downtown Ouaga to scrimp on costs for the 142 kids invited to participate in a Burkinabe children's parliament (not to mention a children's delegation from Benin).
The ministry planned to hold the 3-day event in one musty, mud-smeared, unventilated room. The kids complained of not being fed well nor on time. No malaria nets. Poor hygiene. Benches without desks to sit in for hours on end.
The hotshot NGO donors were not pleased. After a sound berating, the ministry finally agreed to clean up its act.
So they moved quarters and decided on the Social Ministry's conference room. While the drab decor didn't offer much to the imagination, thank God for the air conditioning and cushy seats.
Day 2: The Parliment convenes. Burkina has only been a democracy since 1991. The preliminary elections were meant to impart a lesson about democracy and fair electoral procedures, with the spectre of Zimbabwe lurking in the shadows: "A true parliamentarian doesn't cheat."
But I found the repetition (a total of 15 posts) quite mind-numbing -- can you imagine all 140 odd votes were counted aloud for each position? That dragged on for several hours. And while it was certainly instructive and engaging at first, I had expected more to it than endless elections and short stump speeches - perhaps debate on social issues or child rights laws?
Anyhow, planning for the gala fundraiser commenced the following evening. I got the sense that all this was being pulled together at the last minute: just one day before showtime. Below is the pool of the Hotel Independence, where the gala was held.
Minor scandal -- before the visit to the National Assembly, the chaperones for the kids demanded their per diem pay. Unfortunately, due to the costs of the venue change, the money was frozen up somewhere. So after the elections, the "encadreurs" held the children hostage until they were paid. That meant that the Minister herself stood and lectured those people -- what sort of lesson were they imparting on the children? Holding them hostage for 5.000 CFA (about $12 USD)?
Big ruckus. When the children were finally snuck out and bussed to the National Assembly, the President of the National Assembly had blown a hissy fit and left after waiting for an hour. He and Madame Chantal were also absent from the gala dinner -- that means a lot of money failed to flow into the hands of the inept state ministry.
Day 3: The gala dinner. Nice speech from the first ever female president of the Children's Parliament. The African Hilary, if you will. Numerous musical acts and dance troups, and an invigorating auction of a Burkina Faso sports jersey. The event concluded around midnight.
Ouaga 2000
A photo montage by bike.
But first, the view from my office window in Patte d'Oie (literally, "foot of the goose"), a neighborhood just across the bridge from the upscale and uberchic Ouaga 2000 district.) Often in the evenings, Ouagalais schoolboys gather and play soccer in the red clay field.
On the dusty avenue towards Ouaga 2000.
That modern turnabout thingy below -- I think it's a conference center of some sort.
The contemporary stucco houses.
The Sunset Boulevard palm fronds. Funnily enough, this place still isn't too chic to avoid the ubiquitous donkey carts or oxen ambling by.
Really, quite a sterile, loveless place. Half of the houses I passed were in the middle of being constructed -- large hulks of concrete and steel set at chic anges, electrical wires poking out.
The Sofitel (popularly known as Hotel Libya). I stepped inside, browsed the bookshop, and bypassed the French manicure salon. Nice, but it has all the makings of a terribly ugly and utiliarian structure on the outside.
The road I took leading to the turnabout was aptly named Muammar Quadaffi Boulevard. Burkina, it seems, maintains political ties with a number of supposedly rogue governments like Libya. Many countries will offer generous foreign aid in return for political recognition.
Burkina Faso is also one of the few remaining African countries to recognize Taiwan and not P.R. China, which is nonetheless attempting to lure Burkina into its camp through generous cotton subsidies. For the curious, the rest of pro-Taiwan Africa includes the relatively obscure and economically peripheral nations of the Gambia, Malawi, Swaziland, and Sao Tome & Principe.
Word on the street is that my district Zone du Bois was the Ouaga 2000 of old. Personally, I think it's much homier. For one, there's no outrageous presidential manson. I turn the corner and see roast chicken and goat brochette stands on the corners; tin-roofed convenience stores selling powered milk and Lucky Strike cigarettes; and brightly-clothed market women balancing enormous bowls of mangoes on their heads. People still say hello in passing. It's what I would call a neighborhood.
But first, the view from my office window in Patte d'Oie (literally, "foot of the goose"), a neighborhood just across the bridge from the upscale and uberchic Ouaga 2000 district.) Often in the evenings, Ouagalais schoolboys gather and play soccer in the red clay field.
On the dusty avenue towards Ouaga 2000.
That modern turnabout thingy below -- I think it's a conference center of some sort.
The contemporary stucco houses.
The Sunset Boulevard palm fronds. Funnily enough, this place still isn't too chic to avoid the ubiquitous donkey carts or oxen ambling by.
Really, quite a sterile, loveless place. Half of the houses I passed were in the middle of being constructed -- large hulks of concrete and steel set at chic anges, electrical wires poking out.
The Sofitel (popularly known as Hotel Libya). I stepped inside, browsed the bookshop, and bypassed the French manicure salon. Nice, but it has all the makings of a terribly ugly and utiliarian structure on the outside.
The road I took leading to the turnabout was aptly named Muammar Quadaffi Boulevard. Burkina, it seems, maintains political ties with a number of supposedly rogue governments like Libya. Many countries will offer generous foreign aid in return for political recognition.
Burkina Faso is also one of the few remaining African countries to recognize Taiwan and not P.R. China, which is nonetheless attempting to lure Burkina into its camp through generous cotton subsidies. For the curious, the rest of pro-Taiwan Africa includes the relatively obscure and economically peripheral nations of the Gambia, Malawi, Swaziland, and Sao Tome & Principe.
Word on the street is that my district Zone du Bois was the Ouaga 2000 of old. Personally, I think it's much homier. For one, there's no outrageous presidential manson. I turn the corner and see roast chicken and goat brochette stands on the corners; tin-roofed convenience stores selling powered milk and Lucky Strike cigarettes; and brightly-clothed market women balancing enormous bowls of mangoes on their heads. People still say hello in passing. It's what I would call a neighborhood.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Riots
Burkina is abuzz with the latest university riots. Here's the warden message I received from the U.S. Embassy last week:
Why riot? In addition to the usual complaints of rising tuition, overpacked classes, and dilapidated facilities, the University has cancelled the second batch of exams for the fall -- meaning that everyone has to take them in June, no second chances.
Now, it appears the University is on lockdown. Today, my friend couldn't even get through the blockade for research. Some have also confided to me that a student has died as a result of the gun wounds she received, adding impetus to today's cancelled protest march. Despite Burkina's claim to a democractic government, it remains a bit of a police state (doubtless a reminder of the violent coup staged by now President Blaise Compaore to murder his predecessor Thomas Sankara -- shown below and the popularly proclaimed Che Guevara of West Africa.)
While protests are not uncommon (just yesterday, the doctors in the public hospital went on strike to protest working conditions), this is one the most violent in the past several years -- replete with guards wielding teargas and firing bullets to disperse the crowds.
The U.S. Embassy is issuing this Warden Message to alert American citizens to reports of violent demonstrations on the campus of the University of Ouagadougou.Good advice, as the all the hubbub hasn't calmed down just yet. Today, the students' planned demonstrations were halted by a massive armed police force stationed on the periphery of the University (just a few blocks down the road from my cozy abode in Zone du Bois).
Various sources have informed the U.S. Embassy that the police have used teargas to disperse the crowd and blocked all traffic on Avenue Charles de Gaulle.
The cause of the disturbance is unclear at this time.
The Embassy urges U.S. citizens to exercise extreme caution in the vicinity of any protest, and if at all possible to avoid crowds, political gatherings, and street demonstrations, even if they appear to be peaceful.
Why riot? In addition to the usual complaints of rising tuition, overpacked classes, and dilapidated facilities, the University has cancelled the second batch of exams for the fall -- meaning that everyone has to take them in June, no second chances.
Now, it appears the University is on lockdown. Today, my friend couldn't even get through the blockade for research. Some have also confided to me that a student has died as a result of the gun wounds she received, adding impetus to today's cancelled protest march. Despite Burkina's claim to a democractic government, it remains a bit of a police state (doubtless a reminder of the violent coup staged by now President Blaise Compaore to murder his predecessor Thomas Sankara -- shown below and the popularly proclaimed Che Guevara of West Africa.)
While protests are not uncommon (just yesterday, the doctors in the public hospital went on strike to protest working conditions), this is one the most violent in the past several years -- replete with guards wielding teargas and firing bullets to disperse the crowds.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
O Gutmann
I interrupt my weekly Ouaga musings with an important news alert.
http://media.www.dailypennsylvanian.com/media/storage/paper882/news/2008/06/19/News/Gutmann.Pay.Increases.By.40.Percent-3383542-page2.shtml
After her 41% pay raise, Penn President Amy Gutmann racks in $1,155,634. We've shackled her in with golden handcuffs, indeed.
$66K expense account? That's like someone's salary.
As if this wasn't enough, the president of the med school earns three times that amount. And that figure doesn't even include pharmaceutical kickbacks.
It makes me fume to think that this is partially where my tuition dollars are going. Or that, most people here in Burkina live on $2 a day.
Burkina comes in as # 176, second to last on the UN's Human Development Index http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_countries_by_Human_Development_Index. That just barely inches it ahead of Sierra Leone, which is recovering from a terrible civil war.
Of course, the cost of living is also much, much lower than in the developed world. (I buy large, fleshy mangoes for 20 cents and oil is nowhere the $4/gal you'll find in the states.) In fact, I eat for about $2/3 bucks a day.
Yet what a vast income disparity nonetheless. When I contextualize it, the more appalling this news seems.
http://media.www.dailypennsylvanian.com/media/storage/paper882/news/2008/06/19/News/Gutmann.Pay.Increases.By.40.Percent-3383542-page2.shtml
After her 41% pay raise, Penn President Amy Gutmann racks in $1,155,634. We've shackled her in with golden handcuffs, indeed.
$66K expense account? That's like someone's salary.
As if this wasn't enough, the president of the med school earns three times that amount. And that figure doesn't even include pharmaceutical kickbacks.
It makes me fume to think that this is partially where my tuition dollars are going. Or that, most people here in Burkina live on $2 a day.
Burkina comes in as # 176, second to last on the UN's Human Development Index http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_countries_by_Human_Development_Index. That just barely inches it ahead of Sierra Leone, which is recovering from a terrible civil war.
Of course, the cost of living is also much, much lower than in the developed world. (I buy large, fleshy mangoes for 20 cents and oil is nowhere the $4/gal you'll find in the states.) In fact, I eat for about $2/3 bucks a day.
Yet what a vast income disparity nonetheless. When I contextualize it, the more appalling this news seems.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Zorgho
My first day at work, we made the trek to Zorgho, host of the national ceremonies for la Journée de l'Enfant Africain -- African Child Day.
And boy was it hot! Most of the children attending stood in the direct sun for hours on end, barefooted and eager-eyed.
The celebration was a marvellous affair, hosted by Madame Chantal Compaoré -- wife of the president and the closest thing to Burkinabé royalty. She presided over a program replete with singing troups, dancers, countless speeches, a pair of midgets, and a sacrifical ram. Alongside the magnificently bedizened women and well-heeled dignitaries was a boatload of local children and a swarm of media men.To express their appreciation, the women in the crowd would occasionally make -- I can't exactly describe the noise -- a beautifully high modulation in their throats.
There goes the president of UNICEF in Burkina, after reading a wonderfully pompous document in impeccable French. Half of the ceremony was conducted in the local tongue Mooré (often the livelier, more risqué segments) and the rest in stilted French.
After the festivites and before the banquet, we ambled around and browsed exhibitions showcasing the work of local NGOs in Burkina.
Below is pictue of the scene behind me, where the local children and townsfolk stood witnessing the festivities. The large police presence seemed rather silly, with their long-barreled rifles.
To be honest, given that the event was about children, more could have been done to accomodate them, feed them, or even give them a tent to stand under. A bunch, unflinching in the 100 degree heat, stood in one corner under the banner.
Taken pessimistically, the theme of this year's celebration -- rather than children as actors in the promotion of their rights -- could be interpreted as, "Children, go help yourselves."
Way too much money was spent on local security and the plush banquet that followed.
And there goes Madame herself -- that white blob dotted with orange and fringed with yellow in the center right. Here was her routine: after the children had danced their hearts out, she would go and paste money on their sweaty foreheads or slot it in their mouths. (You can see this in detail if you click on the pic). She, along with the other VIP government wives, did this like at least half a dozen times.
Unfortunately, they didn't toss money at all of the children. I seriously hope each one got well-paid. After a while, it seemed a bit condescending and exploitative -- but I was looking at this through my own dark-tinted, UV-proof lenses.
And there goes the media blitz that follows her. Seriously, she must have gotten cataracts from all those the flashes by now.
Several local schoolchildren read addresses in praise of the first lady, and one girl had the misfortunate accident of calling Madame a Mademoisselle (not once but three times in succession). The camera men were all over here in a split second. 
Of course, the festivites were mostly symbolic. Yet they did serve publicize the host of children's programs in operation. The problem is that many define "child" as any individual under 18. That excludes the numerous girls who live with their families, and essentially fall under the domain of their parents, until past the age of legal maturity.
A bunch of local agencies have been trying to encourage parents to give their children birth certificates so they can actually begin to exist in the eyes of the state, vote, marry, and lay claim to all their legal rights in this 3/4 democracy and 1/4 Compaore military dictatorship. Unfortunately, both the fees and the paperwork are insane.
The legal hurdles one must jump over to prove that one exists!
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Casablanca
You may have been wondering what I did during that eleven hour layway in Morocco.
Here's picture evidence:
Here's picture evidence:
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Flying into Africa
By plane, Africa is so dark at night. A giant blot from the air fringed every so often with dabbles of light. This Friday, the 13th of June, I landed on a giant ink spot of a runway in Ouaga and ventured into the predawn darkness.
Here was my flight trajectory:
11:10 PM Depart from JFK in New York
10: 30 AM Arrive in Casablanca, Morocco
(11 hour layaway)
9:30 PM Depart for Niamey, Niger en route to Ouaga
3:45 AM Touchdown in Ouaga
On the dimly-lit drive, I saw my first view of Ouaga -- blue-lighted concession stands and lanky men lounging on their motobikes. As before a rain, the air was heavy and tenebrous.
The house in the Zone du Bois/Zogona district was as charming and quiet as I could wish for, save for the cries of the goats in the courtyard and the saturation of the air. After reading a few final chapters of Milan Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being, I showered and slept soundly.
Here was my flight trajectory:
11:10 PM Depart from JFK in New York
10: 30 AM Arrive in Casablanca, Morocco
(11 hour layaway)
9:30 PM Depart for Niamey, Niger en route to Ouaga
3:45 AM Touchdown in Ouaga
On the dimly-lit drive, I saw my first view of Ouaga -- blue-lighted concession stands and lanky men lounging on their motobikes. As before a rain, the air was heavy and tenebrous.
The house in the Zone du Bois/Zogona district was as charming and quiet as I could wish for, save for the cries of the goats in the courtyard and the saturation of the air. After reading a few final chapters of Milan Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being, I showered and slept soundly.
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