election update

A week after the elctions, the results have all been announced. Some of the opposition parties managed to get parliament positions in the major cities, such as Dar and Arusha. The presidential race wasnt announced until last night in Dar, echoed by gunshots in Arusha. The incumbent Kikwete took 60% of the votes and was pronounced victorious. However, his main rival Dr. Slaa does not accept the victory as legitimate, purporting that the election has been rigged. Talking to some folks here in Arusha, its clear people are really excited about the shift in power within parliament. And yet, at least in Arusha, people seem pretty resigned to the status quo of the current president. Lets see if Dr. Slaa has anything up his sleeve.

From a New Vantage Point: the ACCUSED

Callixte Kalimanzira was read his second, and final judgment last week at the ICTR. Take a second to consider the accusations against this man. In 2008 he was sentenced to 30 years in prison for charges of genocide and public incitement to genocide. What could a man like this look like?? I ask you to imagine someone's grandfather, with a polite smile on his face and a hearty laugh when the defense team (including two people I greatly admire) greets him. I watched from the public viewing room as they embraced like old friends. Looking behind me, I see his family waiting anxiously to hear the verdict. They sat through this process once two years ago, the wife already looks traumatized enough. Now they wait for his last chance at a fair hearing.

There had been rumors circulating that his sentence would be greatly reduced this second and final time around, based on the errors found in the law of his previous judgment. So we sat to hear the decision of the appeals judges. In the chair next to me sat a man who is known as one of the engineers of the genocide. He recently sat in the same seat as Kalimanzira, and was freed based on his appeal. He, no doubt, was waiting to celebrate with his friend after the judgment.

For about thirty minutes a judge from Israel read us the findings of the appeals chamber. They granted many of the motions to appeal (things like insufficient evidence, unreliable witness, etc.) and dismissed the motions from prosecution to extend the sentence to life. (Mind you, this judge from Israel is a survivor of a Holocaust work camp, and he is now leading a jury to consider acquitting (setting free) a man accused of genocide.)

They come to the end of the judgment, Kalimanzira's face is solemn as the judge says something to the extent of, based on the granting of several of your appeal motions, we will substantially lower your sentence. Everyone takes a deep breath. From 30 years to 25.

I felt the weight of this mans burden, and his family's burden in the room. Heavy. Suffocating. But then it was time for lunch.

Can you imagine, now, the importance of a fair trial? If this was you and your family waiting, anticipating your last chance for freedom and vindication, how would you feel about the priceless and yet sometimes trite principal of "innocent until proven guilty?"

[a note: genocide is a very serious crime. proving that someone has partaken in such a horrific thing is likewise a very serious task. I hope that no one will ever take these things lightly. But what is the difference between the man in the chair next to me who was released, and the man that will now serve 25 years in a third world prison? A better lawyer? Does it matter that the man who was released is rumored to have committed worse crimes? watching the practice of law from the side of the defense was quite unsettling. At the very least it reminded me that law is a practice. And law might rarely equal justice.]

as the elections draw closer

The Tanzanian presidential elections are set to take place October 31. In preparation, there are party flags everywhere, on the back of cars and bicycles, on the roadside, on restaurants. Lately I have seen several people wearing flags, genius idea really, as a flag becomes a jogging jacket. Along with the flags there are political events everywhere, from roadside cafes to the corners of villages, even the chairs boast the colors of the party. But the best advertising tool seems to be the "party truck". It drives up and down every street in Arusha all day long, blasting music and showcasing dancers to promote the candidate. The idea seems to be that the loudest campaign wins, which is easy for Kikwete- the current president to pull off. He is the head of the party which has essentially held power, and therefore money, in Tanzania since the country's independence. Despite the annoyance of the lack of noise regulation regarding the campaign, I am really impressed with one thing: the general peace that comes with it.

To give you an example, Johann and I were driving through a village the other day when we got stuck between a demonstration of the opposing parties. Demonstrating the financial disparity, Kikwete's supporters were on our right side driving and honking a little ditty to cheer the president on, while the opposition group was on foot to our left giving an old-fashioned thumbs-down and a few boos here and there. It struck me how much it was like being outside a stadium before a college ball game. Many other places in Africa, or in the developing world over, political dissent results in violence. Those who are against us are dead. And yet here I am, in a country where the freedom of elections is arguable and people are peaceably demonstrating their views. Kudos to Tanzania. Seriously. Big kudos.

Meanwhile, the US general elections draw closer. Despite the strangeness of receiving and sending my ballot by fax, I have to say that I am quite glad to be missing out on the dirty campaign going on in the states. Its a sad election when you must campaign on the failures of your opponent. In the midst of all our chaos and current problems, the US could stand to learn something from Tanzania in this sense. Lets put some music on (though perhaps respecting the noise ordinances) and remember the joys of life.

from doctor visit to animal sightings

After being sick for about three weeks I sucked it up and went to see Dr. Mohammed. I took a taxi to the office, a little nervous at the prospect of seeing ANY doctor, let alone one in Tanzania. What would this be like??? At first I was both relieved and appalled that I was ushered into a private waiting room ahead of about 30 coughing Tanzanians. (Perhaps it was because I called the doctors cell phone the day before for an appointment? can you imagine having your doctors cell phone number?) Next I was ushered into the doctors room. It was split in half with a white hanging sheet, on one side I sat while a nurse took my blood pressure, on the other side the doctor was sitting with a family and a coughing, crying child. I couldn't understand the conversation, as it was entirely in kiswahili. When it was my turn, he looked in my eyes, nose, throat and ears. Listened to me cough. Then said you probably have the flu, avoid dust (good luck with that here) and take the following medicines. huh.

I learned later that the system is designed to charge foreigners a bit more for the doctor consult, so the Tanzanians can go for almost free. Mind you, I only paid 20 US dollars for the consult AND four cold remedy medicines.

I saw a beautiful blue heron yesterday. And a car-flattened hedgehog. The hedgehog actually looked like someone had squished the koosh out of a koosh ball: still totally round but flat.

Other highlights of the week include: a run through a field of wheat and acacia trees, consulting with friends about the beginning of an orphanage in Arusha over sodas, a benefit theater production put on at the Arusha Hotel about bouncers in UK night clubs, and soccer training for Arusha kids with my buddy Alfred.

Okay, enough procrastinating. Back to research!

the job search and fever dreams

Here I find myself two and a half weeks in to my Arusha return. In this short amount of time I am now on my second bout of flu/cold. (Apparently the three day process of my journey itself has weakened my immune system a tad, and my respiratory system finds the conditions of increased pollution, the European cheek kissing greeting style, dust swirled air conditioning systems, and cigarette and garbage-burning smoke a little difficult to deal with in this weakened state. Lame.) That said, bear with me if my writing is a little loopy :0)

Despite my obnoxious symptoms, however, I have also found a couple productive things to fill my time with. I am continuing research on piracy in East Africa (focus on Somalia of course) and writing a proposal for a future conference on this issue. Roland, our former professor at the university in Arusha, last week gave me the title "researcher" for the Nyerere Center for Peace Research. Though the title might be rather arbitrary, I can't tell you how nice it is to have an easy answer when someone asks, "what is your job?" You have to start somewhere, right? For the moment I feel so happy to be doing research on a topic that I love, and to some possible end even.

Besides this I am taking french classes at Alliance Francais. I tried two different beginning level classes, it seems the programs have lapsed a bit to cater to slower students, point being that there is a very large gap between the first level and the second level and not a clear spot for me. Both of my classes were made up of entirely Tanzanian students, and therefore taught in equal parts English, Kiswahili and French. Of course there are some cultural differences in learning languages that had to be addressed. It was kind of humorous when we spent twenty minutes on the issue of a last/family name. "No it is not the first name of your father or grandfather, but of your tribe or region". In the moment it was actually kind of embarrassing that I had no problem with this concept. So much for solidarity with my fellow classmates.

Last week I participated in a two-day conference put on by Arcadia University, on the rule of law within the UN. Not only was it at the Arusha Hotel, the only "5" star hotel in Arusha, it was an entirely fascinating group of people who gathered. We met with two judges of the year-old UN Dispute Tribunal in Nairobi. The registrar of this establishment, Jean-Pele Fomete, was also in attendance. It was a wonderful exchange of ideas, as we considered the aspirations and setbacks of this new tribunal, designed as an independent jury to ensure that staff of the UN have an avenue to seek justice for issues with their management. This is necessary because since the UN is not governed by any higher body, no court system is above it. And while the organization as a whole moves to promote an increase in rule of law, the same ideals must be upheld within the organization itself.

In sum, though I'm still technically "unemployed", I am definitely not lacking in opportunities. Last week at a big dinner with a random assortment of Arusha folk, a table discussion ensued about the current predicament of a man in attendance. The gist of his story is that his combination of ethnicity and passport often puts him on terrorist watch by countries like the UK and US. He is a doctor, and came to work for a hospital in Tanzania. However, the story goes that he ended up receiving way less than half of his pay from the Republic of Tanzania. He is looking for alternatives, but his passport is about to expire and he can't go home (others in his situation are often held and arrested in his home country upon returning- simply for being his ethnicity.) Hearing the details of his story I was completely amazed. I thought it was hard for ME to find a job. I'm grateful for that humble reminder.

A New Route

About this time last year I described the walk between my home and school in Arusha. So I thought it might be a fair (re)orientation to start here once again, as I have a new walking route. This time, my path is between my french class and my apartment. It is a very short distance, in fact, much too short to bother with taxis. By the time I call a taxi and it arrives to pick me up, I could have already arrived at my destination twice by walking.

I exit the Alliance Francais compound, and cut through a beautiful open field with deeply etched ruts from foot and car traffic over the years. There are hills covered with light green trees behind and in front of me. I follow the path that connects to the main road where I continue on. Here there is a variety of traffic on a small two lane road: motor bike taxis, semi trucks, passenger cars, bicycles, and pedestrians. I pass a shop where there are often people sitting outside around tables (I havent figured out why yet- might be just for a soda break). After passing a preschool, I walk along a lovely roadside plant nursery boasting beautiful flowering plants in neat rows, their roots contained in plastic sacks. To my other side is a gas station and grocery store. I turn here, and on my left is a giant display of dirty stuffed animals for sale. Some of the zebras and frogs and rabbits and bears lay arranged on a tarp stretched out over the earth, while others hang from their ears from a clothes line above. Smart business placement, as there is a primary school only a few doors ahead which I will pass next. Then, a small house deemed "this and that", a gift and sandwich shop extraordinaire. This is where I take a toasted sandwich for just a few dollars after class. Next stop, the gate on the left, a complex of apartments, nail and hair salons, small grocery shop, and night club. This complex is genially referred to sometimes as one of Arusha's UN ghettos- its sister complex, in a rougher part of town, is ringed by high wall and barbed wire, stamped in block letters PPF NORTHERN ZONE. Of course, ghetto in this sense is reflective of grouping one type of people together as one done to the Jews in WW2, rather than the lack of socioeconomic status that lately defines the word.

This route is not drastically different than the one I walked before, just some of the details are different. A new school here, a new shop there. Its the same when people ask, "how are you liking Arusha the second time around??" There is a new experience here and a new friend there, but it is not so drastically different. I eat better now, I even enjoy cooking a little bit. I have internet in my apartment and a wicker chair on a terrace that overlooks a field and a small mountain and a hill with a dozen cell towers. I have access to a car sometimes, and a lot more time to myself. I realize, Arusha might seem the same for everyone here except me. As a broke student with connections, I have had the unique privilege of being somewhat socially mobile while most expats, and locals alike, do not get this experience. Its an interesting view from here, on the next path over.

are you getting somewhere?

I have flown through Amsterdam 3 times, attempted to plan a city visit 3 times. And it finally worked! Good thing, since I was about to give up on Amsterdam entirely. Either the public transportation system is not as easy to navigate as they claim, or it is just that to be worthy to use the system you first have to endure a vigorous usage test. To be honest, I’m not sure that I passed with flying colors. I managed to get on the wrong train right off the bat (But the lady at the desk told me to get on the 9:41 am at spoor 1 or 2, which I DID.)

I met a funny girl from Glasgow in the chaos of navigating the trains. And for some reason all the people who spoke Spanish came to me for directions. That worked out REALLY well for them. Once we had managed to communicate that, yes indeed this was the train to central Amsterdam, some magic hand switched the electronic signs for the platform and all the passengers standing on one side migrated to the other. The Spanish speaking guy thought this was really funny.

Of course, I had managed to leave my raincoat in my checked bags, and the rain was coming down hard enough that I could hear it on the roof of the train station attached to the airport. No matter, Schippol international airport says, look we have an H & M full of umbrellas to purchase before you go out in that nasty weather! Funny, it was dry 30 minutes later when I walked out of the airport.

I walked through the different areas of the old town, more afraid of the millions of bicyclists than the piddly cars. I went through the old romanticized working class district- Jordaan; and the red light district. I found the Anne Frank house, but the line was around the block, so I put it on my “to do on next trip,” along with buy dutch tulips and cheese. I can’t believe how well I was able to get around for having only a map with five major street names. Granted I used the old-fashioned GPS system too; it takes about the same number of pointed index fingers to get to a place as it does steps on a new-fangled thing. I actually stumbled across the place I had planned to eat lunch because it was the most interesting building on a street. I felt like it was a bonus. Such a great old building, and inside I got to eat genuine Dutch farm cheese. MMM.

Last stop of the day: a canal tour. Learned a lot about the city while chatting with two women from Belfast. We peered into the windows of some of the city’s 2500 houseboats. We saw a diamond factory, a house that is only 1 and 1/2 meters wide, and house that were tipping and listing this way and that from their foundations sinking into the canals.

The town smells a lot like coffee, pancakes and cannabis. And everyone says hello first in Dutch, but when you respond with an ignorant “hi” they continue with you in English quite kindly. There are bikes EVERYWHERE. I didn’t see any car parking structures, but instead the two-story parking structures are for bikes. So advanced for people who give medieval brooms made of branches to their street sweepers.

and why not?

It was pointed out to me over a wonderful dinner with a best friends' family that I have been slacking in the blog department.

Here is the quick update that I hope will suffice as my catch up, and spur me on to writing once again. My apologies for the trivial and possibly uninteresting details.

I spent a wonderfully fantastic month in France. I started to write some musings on my blog, tidbits about Paris, our jaunts to the coast, and the uncanny dining abilities of the French, but was entirely too distracted by said things. Thus, here I am, already returned from France, albeit a little plumper than before.

Back in Oregon I am reveling in a few things: the proximity of my family and friends, the abrupt transition to autumn weather, and the prospect of the next wondrous opportunity.

Next week I will take a plane from Portland (with a 12 hour layover in Amsterdam- my third attempt to see the city insh'allah will be the charm...) to Nairobi, where Johann will meet and escort me back to Tanzania. There are a handful of job and internship opportunities in good old Arusha that I am trying to pursue through various connections. I am very eager to get some experience in the field, as I have recently been learning through interviews and published reports, that a graduate degree in peace and conflict areas does not adequately prepare one for the job market. Im curious where that report was hiding when I signed up for school. Anyway, I digress.

An old friend of mine recently posted on her blog the following Mark Twain quote (apparently it is making its rounds inspiring various people, and I am the most recently effected):

[Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.]

I'm fortunate enough to have the opportunity to take him literally. So here goes. Wish me luck.

fulfilling my wanderlust

Leaving for Paris in just a few short days! Ill arrive just in time to celebrate a very special birthday. Almost done packing (not that I am eager or anything). I will spend most of my remaining time in Salem cramming french grammar (its like a 4-week long test coming up) and soaking up the first glorious days of summer.

I see freedom and opportunity

The last week of graduate school... After 18 straight years of education, I should be worth something to the world, no? Ironically, I am finishing up my thesis on Somalia, which has been "governmentless" for as long as I have been in school, and "less than worthless" to the world with its glorious contribution to piracy and general lawlessness.

Thats really something to think about.

As I look forward to my freedom from this long, and at times difficult process, I wonder when Somali's will be free and considered valuable to the world. And when for Afghans and Iraqis? For Burmese and Thai?

Im Humbly Reminded

While we were concerned with all the busyness of humans, the crocuses and daffodils and tulips bloomed, and the deciduous trees budded and blossomed. Overnight there was given magnificent color to our lives again, whether we consciously observed it or not.

And now the day appeals to us on behalf of the earth, imploring us silently by offering a moment more of itself every time we meet, patiently hoping we might notice what beautiful new shades of life it unveils.

a brief note before my thesis consumes my life again

What a glorious feeling. To come home to my bed after seeing the world.

I spent two weeks in Spain with my dear friends, Tiffany, Laura and Grace. Perhaps you would like to take a look at our group musings. We powered through six cities in 12 days. Spain was more beautiful than I had imagined.


These were a few of my favorite Spanish things:

[The Alhambra] the gorgeously detailed 14th century Moorish fortress. This impressed me more than any castle or cathedral I have seen. Every room was splashed with beautiful colored tiles and flowing patterns of carvings and arabic script. Absolutely incredible.

[Stuttgart v. Barcelona Championship soccer match] Within this crowd of 98,000 singing fans, my friends and I were embraced by radiant energy and kisses with each of the four goals scored. As if the stadium was electrified, and we were all attached to the same wires, we moved with one voice and one body in celebration of Futbol Club Barcelona.

We also delighted in the powerful expressions of traditional Flamenco. We sampled tasty paella, tapas, sangria and chocolate churros. We marveled at the paintings of Dali and Picasso (Guernica was unimaginable.) We frolicked through alcazars and catedrals, alley ways and Roman aquaducts. We touched the Mediterranean!

Upon my return back to the states I spent a week sightseeing in my own country, in New York City and DC, with Johann and a few of his friends. I cant begin to tell you what wonderful perspectives you can achieve when observing America through European lenses :)

ode to playing in the sun

Today was the kind where the blue sky beckons you open the window, even though its bitter cold.
The emerald grass lures you to tromp in it though it is filled with sticky mud.

The orange glow of the sunset, the fog over the water and the colorfully shaded leaves on the ground confuse you. What season is it? Fall with winters' impending bitterness? Or spring with hope of balmy weather?

"hooray!", you exclaim upon your realization, "there will be many more days like this!"

my inspiration for a rainy first of february

Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires,
let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that
sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
and to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for
another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart
and a song of praise upon your lips.

Kahlil Gibran

leaving home to come home

Should be enough said. But for fear that I might be misunderstood, this transition has been simultaneously the most difficult and the easiest of my life.

I miss the thunderstorms, the strength and diligence of the equatorial sun, and my dear friends from the world over that captured bits of my admiration and pieces of my heart.

The place I have come back to is more beautiful than I remembered. To experience again the rare day during an Oregon winter when the sky becomes so clear and bright that to look at it takes your breath away. Or to see again the way the forests here at the bottom of the mountains defy all logic by staying green and lush under piles of cold white snow. And to remember the height of the waves of the Pacific, waves that demand your awe and respect as they pummel their history into the sands.

As if this wasn't enough, for every wonderful person I left in Tanzania, I had one wonderful person here waiting with open arms.

So this is how it goes when you leave home to come home.