The true NGO worker
When we speak of NGO workers, it is first essential to understand what an NGO is. It stands for Non Governmental Organization. They call such entities by different names in the US such as "charity" or "non-profit". You get the idea.
There are many people who work for international NGOs such as CARE, OXFAM, US Peace Corps, Doctors without Borders, Save the Children , Mercy Corps and a host of other charities that are working to create a fair world in which 100% of the world shares equally 100% of the wealth - I will go into this thought process and the inherent hypocrisy that lies in it in great detail at a later date.
Don't get me wrong. These organizations are doing a lot of good work. Some of them are engaging in possibly one of the most important tasks in the information era: advocacy. In the myopic, community focused neighborhoods of the developed world, it is essential to bring up problems faced by the far away third world on a regular basis. If this does not happen, then people in the poorest of the poor countries do not stand a chance.
There are others who are focused on working in poor communities where access to vital services such as healthcare, educations, food, water, etc. are not available. On the field, the staff is comprised of a mix of locals and expatriates from the Western World.
What is the motivation for a man or a woman from a USA or England to work in countries where the conditions are subhuman to say the least? A sense of sadness at the existing injustice might induce somebody to sign up. Compassion might be another factor at play. In many cases, it is the excitement of travel, an anticipation of meeting a situation so different that it will eliminate completely any chance of routine in your daily life could be the deciding factor. Whatever be the reason, after a while the worker finds out that there is little possibility of any long term change. He or she is not really making the all important “difference”. S/he soon realizes that the very best his organization is like one application of Vicks Vaporub: all they can do is temporarily alleviate the cold.
The truth of the matter is that the field workers live in conditions far different from the locals. Here is an excerpt from the blog of a very honest field worker in D.R. Congo (his blog can be found at http://andymckennsa.blogspot.com):
this place is crazy. I'm just trying to find my feet. the people i've met are really nice, my appartment is cool and there's a good swimming pool and squash courts. the poverty is shocking. people walking the streets with nothing, shacks line the road sides and dodgy markets.
Even after the citizen of the developed world moves to a developing country, the differences in the standard of living remain. There is nothing wrong in this. A field worker should enjoy the experience of a foreign culture. S/he should not sermonize or get too worked up about the impact he or she is having. If however, the obsession to make a difference becomes manic in nature then there is a solution. All s/he has to do is tear up the return ticket, cancel the passport of the developed country, apply for citizenship of the third world country in question and only then carry out social work.
If African countries had a big group of expatriates working to create opportunity and not merely distribute aid, there is no telling what might happen. The comfort provided by a return ticket should never be underestimated.
When we speak of NGO workers, it is first essential to understand what an NGO is. It stands for Non Governmental Organization. They call such entities by different names in the US such as "charity" or "non-profit". You get the idea.
There are many people who work for international NGOs such as CARE, OXFAM, US Peace Corps, Doctors without Borders, Save the Children , Mercy Corps and a host of other charities that are working to create a fair world in which 100% of the world shares equally 100% of the wealth - I will go into this thought process and the inherent hypocrisy that lies in it in great detail at a later date.
Don't get me wrong. These organizations are doing a lot of good work. Some of them are engaging in possibly one of the most important tasks in the information era: advocacy. In the myopic, community focused neighborhoods of the developed world, it is essential to bring up problems faced by the far away third world on a regular basis. If this does not happen, then people in the poorest of the poor countries do not stand a chance.
There are others who are focused on working in poor communities where access to vital services such as healthcare, educations, food, water, etc. are not available. On the field, the staff is comprised of a mix of locals and expatriates from the Western World.
What is the motivation for a man or a woman from a USA or England to work in countries where the conditions are subhuman to say the least? A sense of sadness at the existing injustice might induce somebody to sign up. Compassion might be another factor at play. In many cases, it is the excitement of travel, an anticipation of meeting a situation so different that it will eliminate completely any chance of routine in your daily life could be the deciding factor. Whatever be the reason, after a while the worker finds out that there is little possibility of any long term change. He or she is not really making the all important “difference”. S/he soon realizes that the very best his organization is like one application of Vicks Vaporub: all they can do is temporarily alleviate the cold.
The truth of the matter is that the field workers live in conditions far different from the locals. Here is an excerpt from the blog of a very honest field worker in D.R. Congo (his blog can be found at http://andymckennsa.blogspot.com):
this place is crazy. I'm just trying to find my feet. the people i've met are really nice, my appartment is cool and there's a good swimming pool and squash courts. the poverty is shocking. people walking the streets with nothing, shacks line the road sides and dodgy markets.
Even after the citizen of the developed world moves to a developing country, the differences in the standard of living remain. There is nothing wrong in this. A field worker should enjoy the experience of a foreign culture. S/he should not sermonize or get too worked up about the impact he or she is having. If however, the obsession to make a difference becomes manic in nature then there is a solution. All s/he has to do is tear up the return ticket, cancel the passport of the developed country, apply for citizenship of the third world country in question and only then carry out social work.
If African countries had a big group of expatriates working to create opportunity and not merely distribute aid, there is no telling what might happen. The comfort provided by a return ticket should never be underestimated.
Adobe Photoshop
First you have to imagine,
Then you begin work
Click, click, click, click.
Oh Gandhi, what the hell is this?
Then you put your face down
And remember what you had once imagined
Go to the attic in your mind
And pull out an old hammer and some rusty nails
Tap, tap, tap, tap
You pin the vision down
Without hurting your finger (or thumb).
There are many tools,
A paintbrush, a pencil and if you are grown up
Even a pen. Not to forget the airbrush and the gradient
Which shows you how life's colors are always changing
Without necessarily having to look for the time of the day
Or the seasons.
If there is a lot you can do, rest assured
There is plenty more that can be done.
In this manner you work away
One hand on the Undo command and the other grasping on to that vision
When you achieve it, you forget that you ever learnt
Anything of consequence and with one hand on the mouse
You begin to converse in a new language
Of which you only you know the vowels
The future perfect and the past
tense at one time seems
Worthwhile.
First you have to imagine,
Then you begin work
Click, click, click, click.
Oh Gandhi, what the hell is this?
Then you put your face down
And remember what you had once imagined
Go to the attic in your mind
And pull out an old hammer and some rusty nails
Tap, tap, tap, tap
You pin the vision down
Without hurting your finger (or thumb).
There are many tools,
A paintbrush, a pencil and if you are grown up
Even a pen. Not to forget the airbrush and the gradient
Which shows you how life's colors are always changing
Without necessarily having to look for the time of the day
Or the seasons.
If there is a lot you can do, rest assured
There is plenty more that can be done.
In this manner you work away
One hand on the Undo command and the other grasping on to that vision
When you achieve it, you forget that you ever learnt
Anything of consequence and with one hand on the mouse
You begin to converse in a new language
Of which you only you know the vowels
The future perfect and the past
tense at one time seems
Worthwhile.
A great song
I have to issue a tender of gratitude towards President Bush and all those in power. Their policies enabled me to talk at a macroscopic level and turn a blind eye towards my experiments with non violence which have ended in relative failure for the most part.
This morning on the subway, I was in a dark mood. I was thinking bitterly of an old woman who stood before me even though there might have been other empty seats in the compartment. I didn't want to get up, offer my seat and stand: it was really early in the morning. By standing in a fragile manner in front of me for 12 stops, she made me feel very guilty. This guilt soon took the form of anger and it was only fitting that the grey skies were venting forth their grief too, when I exited the subway.
However while in the subway I was listening to a Haitian CD called RAM III: Kite Yo Pale. All the songs were in Creole or French, one of the two (my knowledge of Creole is so limited that it does not give me the capability to distinguish it from French.) Suddenly there was a song in English called Government Rock. If a person truly wants to feel the pain of the oppressed citizen then s/he can do no better than listening to reggae, rap or native country music. Often the music is angry and can get tiresome or evoke pity. Sometimes however, when humor is utilized (only the truly great can pull it off in this context), it makes you want to become that agent of change everyone is always talking about. I shall say no more. Below are the lyrics to the song, which I have heard repeatedly since the first listen - at first making excuses such as "the passing train is so loud that it obliterates the sound completely. I have to skip back to the beginning". Now I listen to it because I have admitted to myself that I like it very much. Allow me to quote (it is a folk rhythm):
Government Rock
Music from the government, food from the state
Who could ever think this is a mistake
Put me in a heat line gimme what I need
Let’s create a place where greed won't hurt.
Government rock, government rock (Chorus: It keeps me rolling)
Government rock, government rock (guitar melody to tune of chorus)
Vote for an answer, vote for a war
Think about the whole world, think about the poor
Put me in a heat line gimme what I need
Let’s create a place where greed won't hurt.
Government rock, government rock (Chorus: It keeps me rolling)
Government rock, government rock (guitar melody to tune of chorus)
(Repeat first verse till fade out.)
True.
I have to issue a tender of gratitude towards President Bush and all those in power. Their policies enabled me to talk at a macroscopic level and turn a blind eye towards my experiments with non violence which have ended in relative failure for the most part.
This morning on the subway, I was in a dark mood. I was thinking bitterly of an old woman who stood before me even though there might have been other empty seats in the compartment. I didn't want to get up, offer my seat and stand: it was really early in the morning. By standing in a fragile manner in front of me for 12 stops, she made me feel very guilty. This guilt soon took the form of anger and it was only fitting that the grey skies were venting forth their grief too, when I exited the subway.
However while in the subway I was listening to a Haitian CD called RAM III: Kite Yo Pale. All the songs were in Creole or French, one of the two (my knowledge of Creole is so limited that it does not give me the capability to distinguish it from French.) Suddenly there was a song in English called Government Rock. If a person truly wants to feel the pain of the oppressed citizen then s/he can do no better than listening to reggae, rap or native country music. Often the music is angry and can get tiresome or evoke pity. Sometimes however, when humor is utilized (only the truly great can pull it off in this context), it makes you want to become that agent of change everyone is always talking about. I shall say no more. Below are the lyrics to the song, which I have heard repeatedly since the first listen - at first making excuses such as "the passing train is so loud that it obliterates the sound completely. I have to skip back to the beginning". Now I listen to it because I have admitted to myself that I like it very much. Allow me to quote (it is a folk rhythm):
Government Rock
Music from the government, food from the state
Who could ever think this is a mistake
Put me in a heat line gimme what I need
Let’s create a place where greed won't hurt.
Government rock, government rock (Chorus: It keeps me rolling)
Government rock, government rock (guitar melody to tune of chorus)
Vote for an answer, vote for a war
Think about the whole world, think about the poor
Put me in a heat line gimme what I need
Let’s create a place where greed won't hurt.
Government rock, government rock (Chorus: It keeps me rolling)
Government rock, government rock (guitar melody to tune of chorus)
(Repeat first verse till fade out.)
True.
Cities
Long long ago
200 years back in time
(Actually a hundred and ninety nine)
A nation of blacks became the first
To overthrow colonial rule
Haiti.
I visited this land
Last week, expecting to see a land of gloom
As described by the world
What I saw was a people determined to do better
Without knowing how
And blamelessly attached to blind faith.
I asked a NGO worker as to how the crops were
He shook his head in morbid grief
I then asked a peasant’s wife as to the health of their harvest
She beamed happily, the smile of a mother who knows
That her children will not sleep hungry tonight
I believed her more than I did
The noble expatriate who switched on his air conditioner
And read a newspaper.
Port Au Prince, a first rate city
In a third world country
With roads, slums, dish antennas and street fairs
True, some people were on donkeys, but it only showed
That they were in a hurry to go somewhere,
A sign of industry in the best interests of
The spirit of modern commerce.
Things could have been better no doubt,
Such as in the slums of St. Martin
Where the toilets were full and the children’s
Eyes were as vacant as the small rooms were full.
It is not St. Martin that is ill though
The doctor has to look elsewhere for the cure,
If he looks in the city it would be futile,
Her/his time is better spent
In the rural province of Saut D’Eau
For if there was food, modern farming, water harvesting and
Schools, hospitals and paved roads there
Why would anyone leave the lush green mountains
And the grassy knolls with silent brooks
Beside coconut trees and smiling eyes
Where there is no need to get ahead and no place to get to
Where the clocks are in the heavens for all to see
Why would anyone then leave such a place
To go to a city of all places?
To view pictures of Haiti, please click here:
Ofoto Browse Photos
Long long ago
200 years back in time
(Actually a hundred and ninety nine)
A nation of blacks became the first
To overthrow colonial rule
Haiti.
I visited this land
Last week, expecting to see a land of gloom
As described by the world
What I saw was a people determined to do better
Without knowing how
And blamelessly attached to blind faith.
I asked a NGO worker as to how the crops were
He shook his head in morbid grief
I then asked a peasant’s wife as to the health of their harvest
She beamed happily, the smile of a mother who knows
That her children will not sleep hungry tonight
I believed her more than I did
The noble expatriate who switched on his air conditioner
And read a newspaper.
Port Au Prince, a first rate city
In a third world country
With roads, slums, dish antennas and street fairs
True, some people were on donkeys, but it only showed
That they were in a hurry to go somewhere,
A sign of industry in the best interests of
The spirit of modern commerce.
Things could have been better no doubt,
Such as in the slums of St. Martin
Where the toilets were full and the children’s
Eyes were as vacant as the small rooms were full.
It is not St. Martin that is ill though
The doctor has to look elsewhere for the cure,
If he looks in the city it would be futile,
Her/his time is better spent
In the rural province of Saut D’Eau
For if there was food, modern farming, water harvesting and
Schools, hospitals and paved roads there
Why would anyone leave the lush green mountains
And the grassy knolls with silent brooks
Beside coconut trees and smiling eyes
Where there is no need to get ahead and no place to get to
Where the clocks are in the heavens for all to see
Why would anyone then leave such a place
To go to a city of all places?
To view pictures of Haiti, please click here:
Ofoto Browse Photos
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