Aside from the boat trip (see the last post), I've been working quite a lot and haven't yet done much exploring. But the little that has been done always makes me smile.
My home during my time in Mali is The Sleeping Camel, a backpacker hotel that’s retained half that identity and added in clientele from the UN mission (MINUSMA) and various affiliated UN agencies; with the decline of the tourist crowd because of the Northern Malian conflict, UN numbers swelled.
Here, I’ve developed an eclectic group of friends, some from the former travel crowd and some from the new security-minded crowd, most on the anglophone track, but only a few Americans.
The Camel also has a boat that it uses to cruise on the Niger river and is often rented for relaxing half-day trips by all kinds of groups. One Saturday, a couple of the Camel’s owners invited friends out for a day trip on the boat. Food and alcohol were largely provided, but after I said that I made killer brownies, it was requested that I make brownies on the boat.
There was a tiny oven with uncertain temperature and definitely no measuring cups, but the brownies with M&M’s were a success! No photos of the brownies exist because this was toward the end of day that was supported by coolers of beer and a bowl of sangria, but below are photos from the trip.
I reckon these were the first brownies ever made while cruising down the Niger River.
The day that Angelina Jolie was appointed to LSE as a visiting professor at the Centre for Women, Peace and Security, it was all over my social media accounts, and several friends sent me messages asking if I had seen it. Even though I was in the middle of a few days of intense fieldwork, I knew I had things to say about this:
In the few days that have passed, several people on Twitter have given their takes, many of those thoughts well-considered.
I’m truly ambivalent about her appointment. I recognize that LSE has a status and a brand to maintain, and the university’s Centre for Women, Peace and Security and its MSc program will benefit from the exposure that Jolie brings. (I’ve participated in an LSE WPS Centre-sponsored workshop and hope to more in the future, but that is not censoring my thoughts here. I am also not addressing the lack of uproar over relative qualifications of former UK foreign secretary William Hague, a gendered response for sure.) These sorts of appointments happen often, especially from people who have been involved in policy practice. And it could have been worse:
My problems with her appointment come more from what work her celebrity activist position does in the WPS agenda, how it distorts priorities and politics already in the WPS resolutions.
Celebrities reinforce stratification and hierarchy that was present before. When UN Security Council Resolution 2106, which focused on sexual violence, was passed in June 2013, Jolie addressed the Security Council in the debate preceding the resolution. By contrast, the speaker who addressed the Security Council for Resolution 2122—which focuses on including women at all phases of conflict prevention, conflict resolution, and peacebuilding—in October 2013 was Brigitte Balipou, a lawyer and member of the Constitutional Court of Central African Republic. Balipou is prominent in international legal circles but is certainly no celebrity. In October 2015, Resolution 2242 was passed, also a broader discussion of gender in peace and security as well as countering violent extremism; the prior debate saw remarks from high-level policymakers and advocates but no celebrity activists.
The effect of using celebrity activism in urging the Security Council to pass a resolution addressing sexualized violence lends legitimacy to this resolution and its focus on sexualized violence as an issue that those who might not otherwise pay attention to the United Nations should care about, the “fetishization of sexual violence,” as Sara Meger has written. The discrepancy in the advocacy between these resolutions illustrates that enlisting a celebrity for policy work lends legitimacy as well as spurs donors, casual observers who might become involved in advocacy work, and governments to devote attention to the issue. In essence, because of Jolie’s advocacy, there is likely an unintended consequence of attempting to address sexual violence in conflict without addressing the underlying political and economic factors that contribute to it, both during conflict and before and after.
While there is, perhaps, some “academic snobbery” in criticizing Jolie’s new appointment, neither is her presence an unalloyed good. As Lauren Wolfe points out in a defense of Jolie from two years ago, “the attention economy for truly caring about suffering is tiny.” Yet it is this, allowing suffering to become part of an “economy” – making it a political problem to be debated, toward which to allocate resources that can be taken away in the next moment, that addressing suffering of any type is vulnerable to market forces is what is the problem with her attention.
Wolfe goes on: “Now we just need governments to take on the complex problems that lead to rape in war and the needs of survivors after the fact.” Herein lies the problem. This sentence is essentially an afterthought in her post, but it is the crux of remedying gender inequality and gender-based violence in both conflict and peacetime. Having policies on women’s issues (and broader gender issues) rest on activism, whether that is celebrity or grassroots, instead of spurring government action means that these issues will never receive sustained attention.
As one of my research participants told me recently, “Activism is exhausting, but we must keep doing it, or people will stop paying attention.” With policies for women relying on women’s activism, governments and policymakers can continue to use women as a tool when it is politically expedient.
Truly, Jolie’s attention to the rights of women, especially to combatting sexual violence in conflict, is genuine. But universities, especially centers devoted to the WPS agenda (and the career academics that are part of this center, who I know to be invested in women’s security and rights as a holistic endeavor), should be cautious about involving celebrities, even when it brings much-needed attention.
Though I had flown on a UNHAS flight from Conakry to Freetown, I returned by road, about a 5-hour drive. When we crossed the border, I expected to pull out my passport, but we just honked our way until a series of ropes dropped across the road. I barely paid attention when my French-speaking driver for the first half said, “Okay, now we’re in Guinea,” because I expected that someone would ask for our identification, even if we weren’t interrogated. When I turned to him a minute later and said, “Wait, now it’s Guinea? Why didn’t I have to show my passport?” he replied, “It’s because we’re in a diplomatic vehicle.” This was true – my driver was from another West African country’s mission based in Freetown, but I’m not a diplomat, especially one from West Africa, and it didn’t look like the border control was any stronger for any of the other cars going through.
Just over the border, I switched cars to make the trip through Guinea. This driver was one I had met before in Conakry, and he was a military officer who does something like diplomatic security. Because fuel prices are so much less expensive in Sierra Leone than in Guinea, we drove back across the border – where he had to surrender his gun that he had stowed in the center console of the car – got gas, then drove back across the border, where he retrieved his weapon, and we were on our way.
Funnily enough, neither driver spoke English, though they were both able to cope in Sierra Leone enough to get gas. I actually don’t think there was much of a shared language at all, even a local one, but this is more about the attitudes of West Africans to help facilitate basic communication, a big contrast with many Americans and Western Europeans, who are much more rigid about the level of language skill. There was a problem with payment, and I considered offering to translate, but it was quickly cleared up and we were on our way.
On the Sierra Leone side, this highway was fairly newly paved, with occasional signs that it was by the assistance of the European Union. Once into Guinea, however, the road was full of potholes and our journey was much slower. The better to see the landscape and villages and find a clean cooking pot from which we could have our lunch!
The night before I left Freetown, I had dinner with another friend of a friend who works in justice promotion as part of the larger development industry in Sierra Leone. We had a long discussion about whether development money is good for a country. I noted that there was public education for social issues, that Ebola had been at least acknowledged by the government, that there were paved roads with minimal potholes and about a quarter of the amount of trash on the streets as there is in Conakry. His point was that despite these modest improvements, there was still no economy to speak of and that all the development money was making people dependent on it so that when the money starts to go away (which it perhaps is nearly 15 years after the end of the civil war and about a year after the end of Ebola), the country will be in big, big trouble. The corrupt government can barely function on its own.
I don’t know what I think. Certainly I want the economies to grow on their own in their own way; however, smooth roads facilitate trade, even within a country or region. A population’s or government’s dependency on foreign skills and money will likely not contribute to any lasting “progress” or “development”; however, when basic services are nonexistent, it seems that it’s necessary to provide for them in some way.
This weekend I took a break from nonstop interviewing and did a bit of tourism with friends of friends.
Saturday, I went with a group to a chimpanzee park just outside of Freetown. In a national park with an incredibly beautiful virgin forest, the park protects rescued, orphaned, and abandoned chimpanzees and rehabilitates them to live in a chimpanzee society (though not outside the sanctuary because of their history of abuse and human contact). With my fear of the uncanny valley between animals and humans where monkeys and chimpanzees reside (and yes, I know they’re not the same thing), I was wary of the rock-throwing primates, though it was super interesting to see them play on the ropes and poles and with tires and doing their chimp thing.
Later that day, we hunted for a good beach and ended up at Bureh Beach, in the far east of the peninsula. It was breathtakingly gorgeous, with rain forest mountains that seem to come just to the beach. When swimming, instead of watching the waves that were coming in, I instead stared at the landscape, getting bowled over several times.
The following day I went with another group to River Number 2 Beach and then Sussex Beach. The former was somewhat more popular, but by no means crowded, and there was a current that was insistent on sweeping me away. Sussex Beach had an interesting sandbar formation, where low tide meant 500 meters of “dry” river before you got to the actual beach, and high tide meant that the water came up to the concrete edge of the restaurant where we were eating. I lost most of my photos from Sunday because of a technology malfunction, but this was my first time seeing mangrove forests in person, which was just thrilling.
Yes, it seems as if I go to the beach a good bit in West Africa, but there’s not a whole lot to do otherwise in the tourist or cultural sense in many of the cities where I work.
One of my interviewees in Guinea offered me an opportunity to travel to Freetown, Sierra Leone, to conduct research there; she said that the women’s activism there was quite strong compared to Guinea and that I might be interested in seeing what they had to say. So with her facilitation, I left Conakry for a week to Freetown.
What a difference in the two capital cities. While certainly poor, Freetown is swarming with development money – signs for NGOs big and small, international and local are everywhere, and so many white 4x4wd vehicles roam the streets. This is in stark contrast to Conakry, which has a few evident foreigners but not the mass of NGO-as-a-business as Freetown (or business-as-business like Abidjan).
Also remarkable was the number of public-service signs around the city – old billboards and murals educating about Ebola prevention and access to treatment, new posters urging girls to wait until they’re older to have babies, alongside others that calls violence against women a crime against state security. I have never seen such an amount of educational advertising as I did in the one week there. I’m supposing this is a positive thing, but it is just another sign of the amount of money pouring into projects there and makes me wonder to what extent it is having an effect.
I feel like I have so much more to say about Freetown than I do about Conakry, but I think it’s because I’m putting Guinea in context. So many people dislike Conakry that I’m disposed to like the place just to be contrary. But Freetown is seducing me with its cleanliness – not to mention its widespread English.
I am decidedly not a beach person – too much sun, too much sand, and too much ocean that I never learned how to swim in. But I was invited to visit the Los Islands yesterday, so I went. Islands! A boat ride! Out of the city!
You hop on a pirogue (a long, narrow boat) that has a small motor. The sea was choppy, and we got hit several times in the face by small waves, making my heavily applied sunscreen run into my eyes. I wish I could have taken more pictures from the boat, but I didn't want to lose my phone.
When there, there's some ruins, but we really just laid around (me in the shade mostly) and enjoyed the quiet and the cleanliness of the beaches. Boat ride and lunch together cost me about $20.
The trip home by taxi is a different story. I dropped off my friend and continued to a roundabout just outside of the city center. From there, it's down the same road about 12 miles (20 km), so I take a shared taxi to save money – and because otherwise would save very little time. There aren't technically any private taxis in Conakry; you just pay "déplacement," or buying out all of the seats of the taxi to make it private.
I didn't know the hand signal to stop a taxi headed in my direction, so a 20-ish-year-old guy showed me how to wag my index finger like I'm pointing outward. He said he was also going that way, so when the next taxi came by, we both shoved in the front passenger seat – four women and a baby were already in the back – and went on our way. After a minute, this guy pulled a tuber from his backpack and asked if I wanted to try the manioc, or cassava. No, thank you, I've already tried it. You could take it for later, he suggested. I prefer my manioc processed and fermented in atteike, but thank you for the offer. The tuber was tucked away.
A few minutes later, a police officer on a motobike stopped the taxi in a large roundabout that has an informal market at the center. A woman in the back seat patted my shoulder and told me to stay calm, which I totally still was from my day at the beach. People stopped to both see what the argument was about and to wonder at the white woman in the shared taxi.
After a few minutes, I gathered that having two people in the front passenger seat is illegal, though many drivers do it on Sundays especially because police aren't working. So for the police to stop us means that he just wants money. He was telling the taxi driver, but in a way to make sure that I heard, that he knows people in Italy and in France, and they definitely don’t do things like this, that this is not European behavior. I said to the woman behind me that trying to get a bribe is also not European behavior, and everyone in the back, including the baby, just nodded wearily. The young man sitting next to me kept making sure I was okay, not scared.
Eventually, the taxi driver leaned in and pulled 10,000 Guinean francs (about $1.25) from his wad of bills, and after a little more yelling (and presumably an exchange of the money), we were on our way.
More than when I went to Senegal, my first time in West Africa, or when I went to Côte dʼIvoire, where I was to live for nearly a year, I felt like I more or less knew what to expect in Guinea. I was used to the food and regional culture, my language skills were far improved, and I had a place to stay for the first few days. This was all true.
Yet what really surprised me was how the level of development is so much lower than other countries I have visited in the region. Friends in Abidjan had warned me of the trash situation; I thought that was because they had been there for a week or so, only in the city center, while I would be staying in a somewhat well-off area on the outskirts. Oh no. Trash is everywhere.
My water comes from a cistern that has been recently dug and then goes into a tank next to the house. I don't think we've had consistent electricity for 24 hours, often going out for hours during the middle of the day, though we do have a generator when necessary (mostly to watch the end of a Real Madrid match).
But aside from a real lack of infrastructure, Conakry and Guineans have been lovely. Because the city's on a peninsula, the hot afternoons are relieved by a decent breeze. West African good humor is evident, especially directed toward me, and people have been incredibly kind both personally and in my research work.
I guess I pride myself on finding fun or joy or interest in the little things when some of the big things (electricity, tacos) are lacking. Evidence:
This post was previously published on The CIHA Blog, where I am an editorial assistant.
In October 2015, The New York Times published an article titled “The Chains of Mental Illness in West Africa.” The author, Benedict Carey, provides insight into prayer camps in Togo, which were established for families with few other resources to house and ostensibly treat those with mental illness (and possibly intellectual or developmental disabilities).
While Carey does write that “Every society struggles to care for people with mental illness” and acknowledges that people with mental illness are bound in the United States and other places as well, he solely focuses on what he sees as the barbarity of the practice in West Africa. The article sets up a dichotomy between “real” approaches to alleviating or ameliorating mental illness and non-proven practices like prayer and traditional healing.
What is missing from his article is that both restraint and non-medical approaches to mental illness are also prevalent in the United States and that the differences in approach between Togo and the United States is one of magnitude, not of kind, likely attributable to the money allocated to mental illness in each country.
In the United States, patients with mental illness or other behavioral issues are not technically chained but are instead restrained – at times forcibly so with straps or sedating chemicals – in psychiatric institutions or in prisons, the latter of which was never intended to help those with mental illness. The U.S. criminal justice system has become the de facto method of dealing with mental illness in face of the lack of social structures to help. About 15 percent of state prisoners and 24 percent of jail inmates report symptoms that meet the criteria for a psychiatric disorder, according to the U.S. Department of Justice, and more than 10 times the number of mentally ill patients are in prisons and jails than in state psychiatric hospitals, according to the Treatment Advocacy Center.
Carey’s article reports that “most countries in Africa, if they have a dedicated budget for mental health care at all, devote an average of less than 1 percent of their health spending to the problem, compared with 6 to 12 percent in the wealthy countries of the West.” In fact, the United States is on the low end, spending about 5.6 percent of its national health-care budget on mental health treatment, more than a quarter of which goes toward prescription drugs.
In any culture, mental illness is difficult for families, with the tension between the dignity and autonomy of the individual while families attend to their medical care and protecting them from themselves and others. An article from IRIN News points out that victims, former combatants, and their families in the Democratic Republic of Congo are allocated few provisions for mental health in North Kivu but that private clinics are working together with NGOs and communities to train mental health professionals, as well as pastors and traditional healers. They spread messages on the radio, in churches, and among state authorities to educate about mental illness and the available treatments, even if those treatments remain limited.
By only focusing on one aspect of mental health treatment in a foreign place while neglecting to mention how the United States similarly treats much of its population or that many of the treatments described are part of a larger treatment effort, The New York Times piece sadly overlooks the holistic approach that is vital to treating mental health issues – including mental, physical, and spiritual aspects.
This post was previously published on The CIHA Blog, where I am an editorial assistant.
For a number of years, reports of corruption in Liberia’s education system, reaching all the way to the Ministry of Education, have been numerous, and the country’s president, Ellen Johnson Sirleaf, has called for a reform of the education system.
But now, the Liberian government has decided to outsource its entire primary and early childhood education programs to a private company, Bridge Academies, which has been backed by Mark Zuckerberg and Bill Gates. As reported in The News of Liberia, Kishore Singh, the UN’s Special Rapporteur on the right to education, stated, “This is unprecedented at the scale currently being proposed and violates Liberia’s legal and moral obligations."
The company already runs education projects in Kenya and Uganda, where lessons are provided on mobile phones, reports Front Page Africa, so that “the teacher does not have to be sophisticated to teach.” Following on previous posts on The CIHA Blog discussing “effective altruism,” paternalistic interventions in education, and attempts to innovate out of poverty, this is yet another example of how problems on the local and national levels in many African countries can set the stage for philanthrocapitalist innovations/interventions that do not address the root causes of the problems.
“Don’t Outsource Primary Education System”
The News of Liberia
“Education Minister Negotiates Public–Private Partnership Deal”
Front Page Africa
“An Africa first! Liberia outsources entire education system to a private American firm. Why all should pay attention”
by Christine Mungai for Mail & Guardian Africa
Travel and research notes
Fieldwork and travel in Côte d'Ivoire, Senegal, Guinea, Sierra Leone, and Mali, as well as Burkina Faso, Morocco, Tanzania, South Africa, and wherever else I end up. Plus occasional research-related thoughts. And now ... Teaching!