The most amazing people in the world

I'm pretty sure that this article talks about the most amazing people in the world.
They're all around my age, all women, all doing small, beautiful, compassionate projects in the developing world that are making a huge difference. I am so in awe after reading this. These women are heroes. Please take a moment to be inspired by them. 

Click here: NY Times article about DIY aid work

The author if this article, Nicholas Kristof, wrote a follow-up article about what we can do to make a difference. That presents some great options. I'm particualry fond of KIVA, but there are a lot of options out there. Just remember that small is beautiful.

Who's afraid of the big bad snake?

ME.
I am afraid of the big, bad snake.
Very, very, very afraid.  Imagine my horror, after another session of hiding from the swarms of termites, under my mosquito, in the dark, I hear a loud, "Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!"[1][1]  And cries of, "Kill it! GET IT AGAIN! Hit it! Oh no! It’s still moving! Go!Go!Go!"
Stupidly not able to resist such a melee, I jumped out of bed and tried to get to the scene.


I did not take this picture, I also did encounter a toad this big...
though in the heat of the moment, I might have thought it was that big.

 However, I was waylaid by a large[2][2] toad sitting on my doorstep.
I let out a rather embarrassing screech.





I am fairly certain that the last time such a sound passed my lips was when I was 5 and a nasty little boy was chasing me around the playground with something icky. It was one of those stereotypically girly, high-pitched, slightly hysterical and totally helpless numbers-- Four qualities that I do not prize in myself or in anyone else…
Of course, given the snake killing ruckus happening near the kitchen, my screaming is interpreted as a call to arms by my neighbors; who are now calling out to make sure I am OK. My response went something like this,

“Yes, I’m fine, it was just a—AH! (loud screech) – Sorry it moved… it’s just a-- OH MY GOD! F***ing HELL!—Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to say that. It’s just a frog, I’ll be fine. No, I think it might be dead… How do I get rid of it, it’s in my way… Um, can someone come over here and remove this frog for me? Wait, never mind, I’ve got it. (pause) I think its dead anyway. (some poking at the frog with a shoe) AH! (another loud screech) S*** it moved! It’s not dead! (announced rather loudly as though everyone was interested) AH! It hopped. Oh! Where did it go? Oh crap, I hope it’s not in my room!”

All this time the snake killers (i.e. our IT guy and one of our project officers) are decimating this snake using various methods including stoning, bludgeoning with a stick, hacking at it with a machete and yelling at it. (I think that the last was the least effective, but the technique that they had the most fun with) Of course, their heroics (?) make my plight with the frog seem all the more pathetic. Grasping my ridiculousness, and now thouroughly embarrassed, I tried to accomplish my original mission, going over to see the snake, with some dignity.
I looked down one last time to see if my hoppy friend was still around when the second wildlife encounter of the night happened.

When termites swarm, they fly around, get into everything, and then their wings fall off and they start to crawl. Consequently, as I was looking for the frog, there were THOUSANDS of little transparent wings all over the ground in front of my door. A carpet of translucent insect appendages awaited me. Trudging through this disgusting shimmer were hundreds of other bugs feasting on the remains. The kings of the carnage were the four lizards crunching all those creatures unlucky enough to be lower on the food chain. I think that one of Dante’s circles of hell looked just like this.
I could not step in the middle of this in my flip-flops. So, I reached for the bug spray. I’m certain that this Sudanese bug spray is of a grade and quality that means it could never be sold in the US or Europe legally. Long story short, the wings and the wing-eaters are history. (The eaters of the wing-eaters ran away.)



St George and the dragon

 Having shooed, chased away or murdered all the obstacles in my path, I made my way to the snake battle. (which was still ongoing) I don’t know why I went over there in the first place. I really hate snakes. A lot. The end of the killings was our IT guy channelling St. George as he vanquished the serpent, with a stone raised ready to smush snake into smitherines. Frankly, watching this one writhe has made me twitchy.

As I’ve been typing this I have jumped 3 times because I thought my computer cable was a serpent. I feel like such a coward.

For the better part of the last decade I have traveled to over 2 dozen countries on 4 continents all by myself. I have talked to thieves, crooked officials, and recently lots of scary men with guns. I have not been afraid.

I’m living in the equatorial jungle where I am exposed to diseases most people have never even heard of. I’m not anxious.

I have ridden wild horses, stroked a cheetah, dated an Irishman, and once, was chased by a camel. Though challenging, these were fun times.

Before tonight, I did not think of myself as a wuss. I was wrong. Throw some harmless reptiles and a few insects that can’t hurt me into the ring and I’m mush. So, so embarrassing.



 Writing with shame and vulnerability from under my mosquito net,
J

---

[1][1] please imagine you own version of the sound of a man bludgeoning a snake in the mud with a stick

[2][2] OK, fine maybe it was only about 3 inches big

Balancing act

I have a goal while I am in Sudan.

I want to learn to carry things on my head.

Seriously.

I’m not kidding. I’ve been practicing. I can balance a water bottle on my head for about 4 or 5 minutes before it falls. I’m not yet brave enough to progress to something heavier, but give me time…

I’ve been inspired to do this by the ever-amazing women of Sudan. In Africa, this is a very practical mode of transporting objects. If you’ve got a child on your back and maybe another one to look after, carting your market purchases around on your head is a hands-free way to deal. Its so normal here that so my colleagues think its funny that every time a woman walks by with a sack of grain on her head I get really excited and whip out my camera.

Consequently, I have lots of photos to share…

This was taken in Yambio, near the market, about a 10 minute walk from my office. The banner in the background is celebrating the recent separation referendum and its success.

I don't know what is in these bags, but they sure looked heavy! This was taken on the road to Tambura, those plants on the side of the road are not naturally orange, they are just covered in dust.

This was at a food distribution in Tambura. Beneficiaries receive grains, pulses and some oil. This food is donated by the US government (sometimes others), the UN's World Food Program, and then NGO's are contracted to do the actual distribution. Look at this amazing woman carrying an entire box of food on her head!

These basins are used to carry/ store just about everything.

Everyone in South Sudan has one of these T-shirts, they were distributed before the referendum, I'm trying to get my hands on one.

It's not only women who carry things on their heads. I'm pretty sure that this barrel was empty...

More donations from the USA... how does she keep that box balanced?

it starts early...

I loved this photo. On the left is a woman carrying the day's firewood on her head. Next to her is a bicycle loaded with grasses that will eventually become someone's roof. On the right, are some boys hanging out after school.

That yellow container is FULL of water. It must have weighted 20 pounds. If you look closely, you see that the women roll some cloth to put on top of their heads as a kind of padding. I saw this woman fill the jerry can at the hand pump, lift it onto her head, realize she'd forgetton the cloth, bend down, roll it, and slide it under the container... all without spilling and while making it look easy!

carrying cassava flour to the market

Street scene from a typical South Sudanese village... it still reminds me of the wild west.

50kg's of grain, not even breaking a sweat.. and I'm sure she has to walk miles to get that home. Amazing.

another incredibly strong woman

women on the roadside

The coolest sight of the day...

There she is again, sorry for the glare, this was taken from the car.

see... told you I was practicing!

Sudan is no longer dusty...

Today it started raining in my office... OK, maybe it started raining outside first, but within a few minutes, the water was trickling down my neck and onto my keyboard. I moved my desk, I moved my chair, I moved my computer... but when the water is coming through the wall and splashing upwards, and when it comes sideways through the window, and when it inexplicably rains diagonally through the doorway, there's not much to be done.

I thought that the advantage of having an office that was once a shipping container would be that it was water tight... apparently this is not the case.

I just went outside and checked the rain gauge (betcha didn't know that part of my job was to collect rainfall data) it has rained, with no warning, 35mm in the last hour. That's about 1.3 inches. As a point of comparison, this past December a rainfall record was set for LAX. It rained 1.6 inches in 24 hours. 

I should also note that this is not yet the rainy season.

Speaking of my office...

I wouldn't want anyone to get the wrong idea, this is no "Mad Men-esque" spacious executive suite with a gleaming mahogany desk, floor-to-ceiling windows and a wet bar in the corner. Firstly, my wet bar is in my bedroom closet, and consists of a bottle of martini bought at the duty free and some tiny airplane sized bottles of gin. Secondly, my office was, as aforementioned, a shipping container, cemented to a concrete cube, cemented to another shipping container. This 15x20space is shared by 4 of us-- our office administrator, the radio operator, the chief mechanic and I.  This means that there is a continuous stream of vendors, employees, beneficiaries, security guards, drivers and men smelling vaguely of motor oil using the corner of my desk as a place to fill in paperwork and perch while waiting their turn with admin. There is also a cacophonous squawking from the radio of drivers reporting their locations throughout the day. Adding to the hustle and bustle is that fact that as this “building” isn’t attached to the main office, the internet signal isn’t really strong enough to send and receive emails, so every 90 minutes or so, my laptop and I make the trek across the compound the perch on someone else’s desk so that I can “replicate”. (The term for sending and receiving emails that our email client uses)

As you can imagine, it is sometimes difficult to concentrate. Which means, that in the evening when the radio is silent and everyone has gone home, I often sit in the office to get some more work done… when my evening-time officemates join me-- mosquitoes and bats.

Signing off for the day from my leaky, noisy, distracting and vector-filled work space.  

Sudan is dusty

Zanzibar: Red Colobus Monkeys

Some pictures of the Zanzibar Red Colobus Monkeys from the Jozani Forest in Zanzibar. These little monkeys were so brave, I was within a few feet of them the whole time. 

They are an endangered species. To read more see the Wikipedia article or an entry in the African Wildlife Fund website.

Fun fact: Their name means "mutilated one" because, unlike other monkeys they don't have thumbs.

Really cool stuff

My friend Jyn just posted this really awesome link. So cool... can someone please get me miracle berries for my birthday? neat.

http://dvice.com/archives/2010/12/11-cheap-gifts.php

Zanzibar: Swahili cooking

Last but certainly not least, was the food of Zanzibar. If you know me, you know I love a good meal. I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to take a Swahili cooking class.

We made fish in coconut sauce. Yum-O. 

A typical small shop in Stone town.

Veggie seller.

All fresh, local, organic, cheap.

The fish market. Stinky and neat.

The guy who cut the fish that we cooked and ate.

This is a chair that one sits in when grating coconut. Basically, its low to the ground, and you sit on it sideways. The coconut halves are grated against the rounded knife on the end and the coconut falls into the bowl. Once you have the coconut shavings, you add some water and squeeze it. What comes out is the coconut milk. And yes, I bought myself one of these. If I ever want to recreate this recipe, I'll have the proper equipment... or just something cool to hang in my kitchen. Either way, I'm prepared.

Making sesame bread with my teacher. 

This is a traditional African stove. Its made of metal and one puts charcoal inside to heat food. Think of it like a hibachi. This is also the same kind of stove that we use in Yambio.

A feast! Freshly made sesame bread, fish in coconut sauce, fresh mango and bananas.

My cooking teacher's daughter did henna tattoos. A traditional art in the Middle East and East Africa. Here she is painting my hands...

...and my feet. don't worry Mama and Papa, it fades away in a few weeks.

Zanzibar: Beach lazing

Tropical, white sandy beaches.

Turquoise waters.

Cabanas fanned by ocean breezes.

Attentive staff bringing you fruity drinks.

10 hours of lounging/ napping on a chaise, reading silly romance novels and not thinking about work.

This was a perfect day in Kendwa, a village at the northern end of Zanzibar’s main island. 

(and yes, I know how lucky I am)

beach cabanas.

This face says: satisfaction with life.

the view from my chaise.

yes, this really happened.
this is the incongruity of Africa, decadence and modernity side-by-side with tradition and poverty. (and yes, I am fully aware and not terribly proud of the neo-colonialism that oozed out of my very pores during this vacation... more on that in a blog post to come)

this is just pretty.