Foreign Aid-A Debate With the Doctor

OK, I didn't actually debate my doctor. There was no time. However, while vaccinating me, he noticed my copy of William Easterly's The White Man's Burden: Why the West's Efforts to Aid the Rest Have Done So Much Ill and So Little Good. I read this book for my International Development class, alongside Jeffrey Sachs' The End of Poverty: Economic Possibilities for Our Time, and found Easterly's arguments more compelling. He argues that, while foreign aid is a necessity, the West has been donating so much on an agenda that hasn't really proven beneficial to most of the developing world and has prevented a participatory approach for countries to solve their own problems.

Yet, a glance at the title prompted my doctor to ask me the following question.

"What burden?"

"Oh, just a critique on failures with foreign aid."

"You mean, the burden of saving people?"

His question gave me a moment of pause. Though my visit was quick and my doctor was all business, I got the sense that he was a deeply compassionate man who cared enough to make a difference. That's probably what prompted him to enter medical school and make health care his life. Yet I notice the argument constantly, that we need more aid, that we can save so many people from poverty if we just give more, that it's our nation's duty to give more in aid.

That's not Easterly's argument at all. While he is not against foreign aid in general (and, when asked, said he absolutely supported emergency aid to Haiti and other countries), he's finding that our policies with aid have pushed nations deeper into a cycle of poverty and dependence. For example, one policy the U.S. holds is that governments must use aid vouchers to purchase supplies from U.S. companies. While it may provide technology and food in the short run, this prevents countries from developing industries in those areas and keeps them dependent on coupons. Another example is the free bed nets for malaria. He said that what usually happened was they ended up on the black market or used as fishing nets and wedding veils. However, when sold at health clinics for modest prices in small villages and more expensive prices for richer folks in the cities, it assured that they would not only be used properly, but that they'd be in stock and that people could generate income for other needs. He said that we need to invest in A) simple, cheap preventative measures against widespread diseases, B) participatory measures that allow communities to prioritize needs, and C) investments in countries' markets rather than keeping them and their governments (benevolent and not) in a cycle of dependency reminiscent of colonialism.

I find myself agreeing with Easterly's premise, simply because it allows people to have a hand in their own destinies. I shouldn't be telling another country, "You have to spend money on this," rather, if a country asks for assistance, we should be asking, "What are the needs here?", "What do the people want?", "What actually works?" We need to keep in mind that money does not necessarily solve problems, that their are political, cultural, and historical contexts we need to keep in mind. Finally, we should not go in with the attempt to save people, building on a Messiah complex that has plagued the aid industry for so long. We should work on helping each other to build our own societies and design our destinies. Will it be a quick fix? Absolutely not. Will it be difficult? Yes. Will failures and mistakes happen? Yes, but we're all human and we learn through trial and error. All I know is that the parent-child model of foreign aid has to stop if we hope to make any progress. To me, that's development.

I do wonder how Kenya will impact my views on this. What does "development" look like? What does aid look like? How does it help or hinder the country's progress? Where do I fit in among this debate?

Adventures to the Travel Clinic

I am pleased to announce that, as of today, I am vaccinated against yellow fever and polio and will be completely vaccinated against typhoid fever by the end of next week (oral vaccine, which is currently hanging out in my refrigerator). In addition, I received the second shot in a chicken pox series, the first in a Hep A series, and a DPT booster a couple weeks ago and picked up prescriptions for Cipro (antibiotic for traveler's diarrhea) and Malarone (anti-malarial prophylaxis).

It was a quick visit, just a brief consultation in the doctor's office where he looked up requirements and administered the vaccines. He gave me basic precautions and prescriptions, told me what to look out for, and affirmed my desire to travel (he emigrated to America at a time when young people had no idea about the rest of the world).

I'm so stoked. It's even more real, more than the ticket. $350 for shots and preventative medications. $350 toward an investment for the rest of my life. It's crazy.

Interfaith Issues in Kenya

As a practicing Catholic, I found it interesting that Kenya had as high a percentage of Catholics as it does. According to CIA World Factbook, 33% of the people are Catholic, eight percent higher than in the U.S. In addition, 45% of people identify as Protestant (mostly Anglican, due to British influence), leading to an overwhelming Christian majority. CIA World Factbook also mentions a 10% Muslim minority, with a disclaimer that these numbers can be disputed. I didn't think much about that last statistic until I read this article here.

The article in question talks about a proposition that would ban sharia courts from Kenya. For those who do not know, sharia is the legal system adherents of Islam follow. When implemented within a national framework, Muslims will handle legal disputes within their own communities rather than through a secular court system (unless, of course, the secular courts are under sharia law). In Kenya, these courts are protected by the constitution and only apply to the Muslim communities. However, this vote would overturn that ruling, stating that sharia law has no place in a secular nation like Kenya. This proposition is backed by many Christian groups in both Kenya and the U.S., groups that see Islam as a violent faith in opposition to their own.

While I believe religious courts of any kind should be accountable to the State in order to ensure basic human rights protections, I also find it appalling that self-proclaimed Christians would use this as an excuse to persecute people for believing differently. For a religion founded specifically to stand for the rights of the poor and oppressed (of which Muslims in Kenya are), this is astounding. In addition, as someone who supports human rights, I believe people should have the right to choose how to run their own communities, how to resolve disputes between members of these communities, and how to implement practice of their faith in their lives. In my opinion, with regard to certain aspects of sharia law (Muslim marriage, divorce, etc), the Kenyan government, as a secular nation, has no business interfering.

It also enrages me that Christian groups in the U.S. have been fueling the fire of persecution in African politics (such as Uganda's homosexuality ruling or this recent tension in Kenya). To me, this is another facet of Western imperialism, just like our aid politics, our trade decisions, and our governmental inference. Rather than showing genuine Christian concern for the plight of different peoples (domestic and international), these groups are using Jesus as a puppet to spew their own personal agenda, one of domination and subjugation. The fact that someone twists the God I claim to follow, one who teaches compassion, mercy, and equality, makes me hurt for the people affected by this.

I hope and pray these disputes are resolved in a peaceful manner. I pray that the tension is reversed and that people can learn to live peacefully, Christian and Muslim. I also hope that people can realize the impact of their actions, whether globally, politically, or economically. To me, this is proof that we have a much larger impact than we realize. Let it be a good one.

Embracing the Unexpected

Six months ago (nearly to the day), I was with a group of dear friends, about to ring in the new year in New York City. I had a wonderful time, sipping sangria and tasting tapas with these amazing people, at a Spanish restaurant on 10th Avenue. We spent the night at one of their houses and went back into the city the next morning. During the drive back, everyone was talking about their trips to Africa (they all did the program I am doing and two ended up returning to the continent). I commented that I was the only one in our group who had not been and had no plans to be there any time soon.

Ha. Ha. HA! Yes, that was God laughing. What was it? Man plans, God laughs?

I did not expect to be planning a trip to Kenya a mere three weeks later.

To be perfectly honest, Kenya tugged at my heart for six months before I truly began to listen. However, I didn't because it didn't fit with The Plan. I planned to be done with school by this coming December. I planned to go to Mexico for the summer, to take advanced Spanish classes and immerse myself in Mexican culture. My academic career had not even included Africa. I had taken classes on Latin America, Europe, Spanish, and Italian. The closest class I had taken was a class on Islam (which is like taking a class on Catholicism to count for studying the Philippines). I also had finances to consider. After all, in addition to keeping me in school for a semester longer, I had program fees, a plane ticket, expensive shots and medications, and food to consider.

Yet, when I started school again, Kenya became more insistent. It just kept coming up, in classes, in conversations, in readings, in prayer, and in thoughts. I felt pursued, captured, sucked in, as if I had seen a beautiful person and needed to find why they captivated me so. Three weeks later, in a conversation with a fellow student, she mentioned how she intended to study in Nairobi. She was the one who gave me the final push (not to be confused with Sachs' Big Push, for all the ID geeks reading this ;-)), the push to not only acknowledge my burning desire, but to do something about it. A conversation with my mother encouraged me to take the plunge.

Throughout this process, I've learned to embrace the unexpected. I never thought I'd have the opportunity to go to Africa before I finished college. At the same time, I never expected to find such determination inside of myself, the willingness to sacrifice so much for an adventure. I also never expected to have so many people support me, for no other reason than they truly wanted me to go. I never thought I'd be standing, on the brink of womanhood, on the edge of my academic career, with an adventure in Africa to look forward to. Nor did I expect to be as humbled as I am already, with so many turning out, ready to help me make this a possibility.

To be quite frank, I have no clue what to expect in Kenya. Yes, I know what classes I'll be taking. I know the basic facts, thanks to State Department, the CIA and the CDC. I've heard countless stories, from these same friends and others. I know people from Kenya who give their own encouragement and stories. I know what my program offers. At the same time, I really don't know anything. I don't know how this experience will change me. I don't know how my perceptions of Kenya will change. I don't know how my path will change, how my thoughts on my field work will change. I don't know how my relationships with other people (including these three) will change. I don't know how my thoughts on my own culture, country and national/ethnic identities will change. I don't know how my faith will change.

At the same time, I see this as a chance to plunge into the unknown, to tear down my ego and need for control so that I can enjoy the spontaneous adventures. I see this as the opportunity to allow my brain to learn something new and be receptive to loving people in a different way. I see this as the path that leads me to new paths, to new ways of life and new forms of thought. I see this as the chance to truly grow in ways only an African adventure can allow you to grow. Finally, I see this as the chance for my soul to finally breathe.

Life's challenges are about embracing the unexpected. This entire process has helped me to do just that.

It's Official

I got the ticket. I fly out of JFK at the end of August.

I'M GOING!!!!!!

Ethnic Identity

Another issue that's been coming up in my Kenya studies is ethnic identity. Funny, we've embraced the idea of the "nation-state" (the idea that a governing, geopolitical boundary (the state) encompasses one single people with a common heritage, history, and destiny (the nation)) so much, we've made assumptions about the people. The truth is, Kenya is a State that houses many nations. With forty different groups, languages, and ways of life, as well as the outside influence of colonialism and global society, there is no one way to be Kenyan. What's interesting is that we can say the same about America.

I've been finding this to be true for me. Ethnic and cultural studies have always fascinated me because, in some ways, I'm searching for my own culture. I've identified as Italian-American since I knew I had Italian ancestry, but I had no idea what that meant at the age of eight. All I knew was that A) my paternal grandfather was a Florentine and B) I liked pizza. Unlike most of my Italian-American friends, I didn't grow up with it. Like my Catholicism, it was something I grew up around but chose to identify with as an adult, especially when I moved away for school and felt the need to figure out who I was, outside of my old neighborhood. I've gotten some strange reactions because I'm not full blooded Italian, not even half blooded. I'm a quarter and, while that may be enough for the Sons of Italy, it's had people raise eyebrows. I've also gotten the, "Well, you're American! No need to hyphenate!" and, "Why does searching for your roots matter so much?"

Searching for your roots matters because there's no more ancient identification than the bloodline. In Somalia, children know theirs by heart, tracing back through generations of their paternal lines. That was what told you (and those around you) what kind of family you came from, what traditions you practiced, what trades, talents, and personalities you were known for. Yet, sadly, for many of us in America, many of those stories and traditions were lost, whether due to colonization, assimilation, "sea changes" or other factors. Even today, we struggle with culture, as evidenced by the insistence of Anglo ways over Latino ways, the "necessity" for immigrants to "become American" by forgetting their traditions and choosing the dominant culture. From the Native Americans, to the Africans brought over as slaves, to the Southern and Eastern Europeans who came for opportunity, this expectation has remained. At the same time, there are countless people searching through genealogies, resurrecting stories/rituals/recipes, reclaiming old family names, wondering, "What does this mean to me?" "What is it, to be Irish-American/Lakota/African-American/Chinese-American?" "Which do I keep and which do I lose?"

What does it mean to be Kenyan? What does it mean to be Kenyan and Kikuyu? Luo? Masai? Luyha? Do they deal with these same issues? How do they resolve ethnic tensions? How is there situation different? How is it similar? How does it impact daily life? Finally, how does it impact the way we, as humans, as family members, and as participants in culture, see ourselves and each other?

I search for my roots as I go the continent that houses the roots of humanity............

Music in Kenya

My friends will say that I am a musical person. I remember being three and able to identify the Chili Peppers on the radio. Or seven and being entranced by "Thunder Road" and turning on the radio late at night, just so I could listen to the Eagles (I want Hotel California, Hell Freezes Over edition, at my wedding reception. Just sayin'). When I was old enough for music lessons, I was always playing something. From sixth grade to college, I sang in my school chorus, church choirs, and, for my last two years of high school, I took voice lessons. In addition, I'm always listening to something and, when a song comes on the radio, I try and match rhythm with the correct time signature (is it 4/4 or 6/8?). My computer, cheekbones, wrists, and hips have all served as drums and metronomes and I can identify my favorite songs within the first bar.

Yet I never really allowed myself to become good at it. Every instrument I played, I never played longer than two years. At church, people always tell me I have such a beautiful voice and, when going to weddings and first communions at other parishes, someone will try and recruit me for their choir (luckily, my own parish won me over in that regard). At the same time, I've always let my fear get the best of me and thus never made Regionals or anything like that. I've also been very inconsistent with practice, something necessary. It wasn't until I inherited my brother's small guitar and went to a music room to find that I forgot every vocal warm up I'd ever learned that I realized I needed to change. So I signed myself up for music lessons this semester, as elective credits.

OK, Katie, you're addicted to music. What the hell does any of this have to do with Kenya?

It's through exploring my love for music, both creating and appreciating, that I've realized how universal music is. Every culture has their own musical tradition, their songs, their dances, their instruments, their musical structure, their chants and their rhythms. People relate to it and bond over it. Like any other work of beauty, it's something that channels through the soul and helps people overcome boundaries (yet can also be used to create them). Music evokes emotions, tells stories, and allows the expression of ideas in ways that words cannot begin to suffice. Most teens will tell you it is their companion, even when it feels like no one else is.

Music can also be used in IR. A friend of mine, studying in Cairo, is a music major with an interest in the Middle East and peace and conflict. I can see her hosting a music camp for Israeli and Palestinian children, teaching them how to work together to create something beautiful. U2 uses their music to make others aware of social injustices. In The Sex Lives of Cannibals, the author talks about how his girlfriend taught women in Kiribati environmentally friendly agriculture techniques via their own song and dance. Encouraging musicians from different cultures and styles to share their creations could be a way to draw in tourism, educate others, bolster economies, and enable groups to preserve their traditions.

I want to learn of the music in Kenya. I want to learn not only who's popular, what instruments are used, what songs, but how it's used, what kinds for which times, how it's composed. I want to learn what the Kenyans have to teach me about music, how we're united by it, even as we're divided by it. Finally, I want to learn how to channel this medium, this hobby, this gift of mine, in a practical way to fulfilling my duty to this planet.