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.