The Blog Has Moved

Please head on over to the new blog (well, old blog new site), which I've migrated to www.alishagoeseverywhere.wordpress.com for greater functionality and editing ability on slow internet connections overseas. Thanks!

It's the Small Things

I spent a very comfortable first night here in Port-au-Prince last night, which reminded me once again about the value of small comforts and little victories while traveling abroad. One always goes to developing countries expecting a little bit (or a lot) of discomfort of various sorts. Foremost, perhaps, is that there's always a big question mark until you get to your hotel and figure out where you're going to be sleeping.

But before the hotel, airports are the first set of hoops to jump through. Getting through immigration can sometimes present challenges (ask me about my arrival in Niger, for example) but once you've located your bags, fended off aggressive baggage attendants grabbing your suitcase handle out of your hands, hoping to make a buck by providing the unnecessary service of rolling it to your car, and passed through customs, there's always the few minutes of unease as you try to locate whomever is picking you up. For me, it's usually a driver I've never met outside of an airport I'm unfamiliar with, so there are normally several minutes of scanning people holding signs desperately looking for one with your name on it while bombarded by taxi drivers looking for a fare ... because chances are your mobile phone doesn't work wherever you are, and you haven't had a chance to exchange money into local currency, and all your cash may or may not be in large US bills, and it may or may not be the middle of the night when your office is closed - all factors which make getting out of there a challenge if your ride does not await. After a few minutes of idle wandering to possible locations where someone may or may not be waiting for you, ideally you locate your driver and off you go. Fortunately this went smoothly yesterday, but I've had instances where it didn't, and that's really not an enjoyable experience.

And then there's the hotel. Having stayed in more terrible hotels than decent ones, I usually arrive at hotels with a sense of trepidation, despite the fact that I've gotten very good at sleeping in uncomfortable places. Will the sheets be clean? Will the pillows be filled with some disturbingly vague and lumpy substance? Will everything in the bathroom work? Will there be even a few minutes of hot water? Will there be a mosquito net? Will the room be well sealed or will there be cracks around doors and windows to let in all manner of nighttime critters that bite, skitter and slither? How many cockroaches will I have to kill before I go to bed? And above all else, will there be air conditioning that stays on when you are trying to sleep in 90-110 degree temperatures? Favorable answers to most of those are really a pretty good situation. As such, happy to report that I slept well in a clean and decent bed with reliable air conditioning and an insect-free night. Only 30 seconds of hot water for a shower, but all in all, this is more comfortable than most of my digs over the past few years. Haiti wins again!

The next big-little thing: coffee. I've been in so many places where actual, real coffee is not the norm and no matter how long you drink it, instant coffee (everywhere: Nescafe) just never quite cuts it. Coffee-growing countries like Ethiopia and Guatemala have been a solid A+ in that arena, but it's always a little daunting pouring that first cup in the morning at the hotel's breakfast buffet. Being rewarded with the taste of real coffee earns a sigh of relief morning after morning.

Other notable things that add some cheer are, yes, usually food-related. Good local beer available for a couple of dollars is always a welcome source of relaxation at the end of a hot day. When you get tired of the local beer, getting creative with your drinks can be fun, too: Team Ethiopia eventually became so sick of St. George Beer that we concocted a mixture of sweet(ish) local red wine, Sprite, and lemons and oranges. Kind of like the worst sangria you've ever had, but surprisingly refreshing. Abundant tropical fruits are also a delight; it's nice when mangoes, pineapples, dates and avocados cost just pennies for a change, and taste truly sun-ripened and sweeter or richer than ever available in the US. Certain post-colonial spots are also guaranteed to have good bread, from the briefly Italian-colonized Ethiopia's version of focaccia to excellent baguettes found in the middle of nowhere in Francophone West Africa. And finally, nothing quite hits the spot after a long, hot, dusty day in the field than a Coke in a glass bottle, made with real sugar. So this morning, I sat by the pool in the sunshine, watching long-tailed green geckos sun themselves while enjoying a cup of real coffee and a plate full of ripe pineapple and watermelon, and toast with local honey and - rarity of rarities and development worker favorite - peanut butter. Life was good.

Traveling in tough places, there are many, many sources of discomfort. One quickly learns to fully and acutely appreciate the brief enjoyment that comes from small sources of pleasure, because with those, for a moment, you're able to say, "Hey, it's not so bad here."

On The Road Again

I know, I know. I've been awful at keeping this blog up during the last year of travels, but it's been nice to have so many of you chiding me for it. So yes, I apologize that you've missed out on Niger, Mauritania and Guatemala - and some fun vacation travel around Mexico and Hawaii, too. I've been chipping away at a travel memoir so maybe eventually I'll put together something cohesive and share some of those experiences.

But for now, you get Haiti.

Traveling to Haiti feels like checking an important box. It's development work central - has been for years, but especially in the post-earthquake years, so along with Ethiopia, this feels like earning a humanitarian aid badge of sorts. (Now all I need are Afghanistan and Sudan, right Mom?)

I'm here doing assessment and design work for a nutrition and agriculture program, subjects which I've done a pretty good job of carving out as a technical niche. Many of you have heard me lament my lack of technical specialization over the years, but I'm still fully enjoying being a "food security person".

Haiti, stunning island that she is, is an entirely different cultural context from anywhere I've worked before. Parts of Africa and the Middle East feel like second nature at this point, but Guatemala and now here are interesting learning experiences for me given how different they are from where I've been before. Yet the big pieces are the same where things like nutrition, maternal and child health, and agriculture are concerned ... the trends are strikingly consistent wherever you go, although discovering the nuances and variations below the surface is sociologically and anthropologically fascinating, to say the least. Digging deep into the subtleties is really the most fun.

I'll be here for just ten days - a few days in the capital of Port-au-Prince on the front and back ends, with a few days up in the north in and around the city of Cap-Haitien in the middle. Ten days is just enough to begin feeling like you're starting to understand things, but I think the mix of recurrent disaster, decades of political instability and classic multidimensional poverty make for a complicated mix to grapple with as one tries to make sense of things.

In the immediate sense, however, it's just nice to be back in the field. I've been "stuck" in the US for almost five months, and that feels like ages without traveling. The crush of a small, dilapidated airport ... throngs of taxi drivers scrambling for your attention ... heat, sweat and diesel fumes ... all such familiar sensations that make me feel like I'm home again despite being in an entirely new and foreign place. I sat outside after dark, amidst potted plants near the hotel pool, and enjoyed dinner (simple slow-fried pork with onions, peppers and plantains) and a few local beers. The idle hum of a generator, punctuated by the chirps of geckos and nearby conversations in English, French, Spanish and Haitian Kreyol, provided a comforting soundtrack that greeted me like the voice of a dear old friend. The acrid smell of burning garbage and the sudden stinging itch of mosquito bites on the thin skin of the tops of my feet were even welcoming in their familiarity. French with hotel staff flowed like I'd never missed a day in speaking it, and the renewed feelings of independence and newness made me feel freer than I have in months. It is lovely to be adrift in the world again.

The Challenging Nature of Field Evaluations

This summer has been an interesting learning experience as my work has been focused on program evaluation. I've done evaluation work before, but mostly from a desk. In Iraq we had local monitoring and evaluation (M&E) staff who were responsible for site visits and data collection, and hired local consultants for larger-scale evaluations that included lots of surveys and focus group discussions. This time around I'm actually doing it myself - this is mostly nice, as you have control over the data being collected, but also showed me how much work field evaluations are, and how much I probably don't want to go further down the path of being an M&E expert!

Developing surveys and focus group questions in a new cultural context is tough - particularly if you don't speak the language. The resources at our disposal during the development of our evaluation tools was limited - not much support or review from USAID, or assistance from local staff. Having local staff tell you how your questions are likely to be translated and received is a big help. On the whole, I thought this went well, but sometimes found myself lamenting at the lack of opportunity to pilot our tools.

Let me also say that getting ALL THE WAY OUT to the communities we visited - poor rural farmers tend to live out in the middle of nowhere - was exhausting. We traveled 40-100 km down two-lane or gravel roads, over mountain passes with lots of hairpin turns and no guard rails, dodged giant trucks barreling down the opposite lane, and avoided hundreds and hundreds of pedestrians carrying firewood, sheep, goats, cattle, oxen and many, many miniature donkeys - not to mention the odd baboon, Ethiopian fox, hyena or hornbill.

Once you arrive, sit anywhere you can find (rickety chair, on a rock, on a step outside a crumbling building) and become the center of attention for a few hours. Talking with Ethiopians is a pleasant experience - they are direct and effusive and happy to share their stories with you. It's tough to watch an emaciated mother of five with a baby strapped to her back walk away from an interview in mud-covered plastic sandals and threadbare skirts, after having just told you how her family's monthly food supplies only last for a week. Solace comes in knowing that hopefully your presence in her village will yield some additional help for her and her family.

Ethiopians have been receiving humanitarian aid for decades. For many, our visit is not their first meeting with foreign aid workers and many of them are exceptionally savvy to the nature of the aid their communities receive. We've had very specific requests for microfinance projects or agricultural collectives from the beneficiaries we've met. When you enter a community skeptical about certain program elements and are repeatedly told that everything's generally being done as it should be, you wonder how accurate your results are - and whether you, as an outsider, are even capable of getting accurate information. At the end of the day, you trust the people you're speaking with and hope the stories they tell are true.

Now that we've completed our evaluation we will share our stories and go, and maybe hear something about the impact it's made on the program or future ones. The findings are interesting and hopefully not just relegated to email inboxes or computer file folders. I plan to follow the results closely in hopes of learning if our findings have made a difference in the aid that's provided to millions of hungry Ethiopians. I hope they do.

So what are you doing over there, anyway?

Lest anyone think we are having a sightseeing and rock-climbing vacation over here, I thought I'd share a little bit about the work our team is doing in Ethiopia.

For the past several years, USAID has funded an emergency food assistance program in Ethiopia. Food security is a big issue here - there are millions of people in this country who have been identified as chronically food insecure - meaning they never have enough to eat. With 85% of the country's population of 80+ million people living in rural areas, most people rely on agricultural or pastoralist activities for subsistence and, if they're lucky, moderate income. People in the western part of the country enjoy greater food security due to more stable and productive crops, rainfall and natural resources. In the central and eastern parts of the country, however, the majority of the population outside of (and even within) major cities ekes out a living by whatever means they can - normally farming about one hectare of land and raising small herds of goats, sheep or cattle.

Farming is tough work here - people still use a pair of oxen and a crude wood and metal plow to till the earth. The land is unforgiving - in most parts, rocky and dry and relatively inhospitable. Ethiopia's topography does nothing to help - everywhere we visit is characterized by massive hillsides, challenging to farm and subject to major flooding and erosion. Every year, families struggle with the weather and the degraded quality of small tracts of land they don't even own. Overfarming, poor natural resource management, poor quality and lack of availability of seeds and other vital farming inputs mean that many of Ethiopia's rural farmers struggle to produce sufficient quantities of food to meet their family's food needs for the entire year. As the months from harvest time stretch on - and the shocks of flood or drought compromise yet another harvest - families find themselves without resources to provide for the most basic of needs.

Relying on the Government of Ethiopia's crop and livestock surveillance systems, USAID provides emergency food to acutely food insecure families - those who need some extra help for 3-9 months out of the year. A typical food ration per person per month includes 15 kilos of cereals (wheat or sorghum), 1.5 kilos of pulses (usually yellow split peas), and 0.5 liter of vegetable oil. 35% of beneficiaries also receive 4.5 kilos of corn-soy blend, a fortified food product directed at children under five and pregnant/lactating women, the most nutritionally vulnerable groups.

With this system in mind - providing assistance to more than 1.6 million beneficiaries per year - we are aiming to answer the following questions:
1. What is the system for targeting food aid beneficiaries? How are they selected? Are they getting enough food to meet their needs?
2. How are families and communities utilizing the food they receive? Are they sharing it? Selling it?
3. How are selected individuals targeted for corn-soy blend?
4. What do individuals and communities know about what corn-soy blend is, who it's for, and how it should be used? How are they using it? Are they sharing it? Selling it? Do they need more information about it?
5. Are people being required to work in exchange for the food rations they receive? What is the system?

To answer these questions, we're visiting 6 different areas throughout the country - two communities in each area. There, we conduct interviews and hold focus group discussions to learn about local attitudes and practices, as well as meeting with local government officials to get their impressions of the situation. We're meeting with about 120 people every week to talk about the above issues. At the end, we've been told by our USAID supervisor, we'll be "the US government's best informed people on food aid in Ethiopia."

We're finding a lot. Due to some sensitivities around food security issues in the country I'll wait to share those until I get back to the US. Ultimately, the food USAID distributes is doing a lot of good for a lot of people. Initiatives like the US government Feed The Future program - which focuses on increasing the capacity of local agricultural systems to provide local solutions to food insecurity - have incredible promise for long-term solutions to these problems. As we can see in the current crisis in this region, ensuring that local systems are in place to deal with natural disasters and shocks like droughts and floods, and to provide emergency food aid when needed, help to keep people alive. The Ethiopian Government has a pretty strong system in place to meet these needs when they arise - keeping them more resilient to the country's famines of the 1980s and 90s and the current crisis in Somalia, now bleeding over into Kenya and Ethiopia. They have done a lot to avoid these situations and learned from past tragedies. Hopefully the international community can help to strengthen these mechanisms in Ethiopia's neighbors.

Hike to the Hole-in-the-Wall Church

When the team and I first arrived in Mekele, capital city of Ethiopia's northern Tigray region, we had a day off. Lacking the inevitable travel fatigue this early into our journey, we decided to use our free time for some sightseeing. We stopped in at the tour office next to our hotel and were advised to take a trip to visit some of the region's rock-hewn churches. As Ethiopia is famous for its ancient Christian churches carved out of rock in myriad ways, we thought this sounded like a good cultural activity.

The highlight, said our guide before departure, would be the Abuna Yemata church, carved out of a cliff on the side of a giant monolith. Skeptically, we asked about the extent of the trek to the church. "Don't worry, anybody can do it," he said.

We drove out of the city in a minibus, down gravel roads winding through the highland plateaus of Tigray. The scenery was beautiful - huge rock ridges and sweeping valleys rich with dark soil and golden stone. This photo, taken from the road, is a typical view in the Tigrayan highlands:



We arrived at the site and met a few more guides ... guides-cum-militia, apparently, as one carried a dull, old axe for protection as he walked along with us, and another stood stationed outside our vehicle to make sure nothing was stolen or bothered. Good, sturdy Ethiopians, these two:



While they looked up for the climb, I'm not entirely sure the rest of us were. Having arrived a week or two prior in Ethiopia, our poor sea-level lungs were still not used to the elevation - 7000' or higher up in these highlands. It's a pretty serious change in altitude when you're not used to it - and that's just when you're standing still. Suffice it to say that looking at the following task in front of us was no joke:



Learning that we were climbing about halfway up the largest rock to reach the church (I know, "What church?!") didn't stop us. Our guides moved among the rocky terrain like mountain goats and we did our best to stumble along behind on the rough paths. As we climbed higher, we were treated to sweeping views of the valley - truly breathtaking (or was the breathtaking from the altitude and the hiking?).



After gaining about 1500 feet, we reached the end of the path - and looked up to a sheer, creviced rock wall. I wish I had thought to take out my camera - and I would've had I known what I was getting into. With the help of our nimble and experienced guides, up we went, hand over foot by the small holds in the rock, up one cliff and then another, until we were perched on the side of a giant rock monolith. Here is a break before the last scramble - you can just about see the church entrance up above the bushes:



After our final ascent, we tiptoed around a 2" wide ledge around the side of the cliff to reach the entrance to Abuna Yemata church - basically a small cave carved out of the side of a mountain 1500 feet in the air. The priest awaited us.




Inside the church we found original 4th century frescoes, telling the story of the original nine Syrian apostles and an Ethiopian prophet who delivered Christianity to Ethiopia. Persecuted by Muslim rulers in the 4th century, the first Ethiopian Christians carved hidden churches out of rock and mountain, creating a small and hidden faith that grew suddenly with the rise of the Axumite kings. The bible pictured below is written in the ancient Ge'ez language.




Despite the grueling and dangerous climb, the trip was fantastic. Between the views and the glimpse into Ethiopian history, it was one of the more unforgettable parts of my Ethiopia experience.

No blogging in Ethiopia ... or is there?

"Hello after a long hiatus" seems to be a common theme of this blog, no? When I arrived in Ethiopia I found that Blogspot was blocked. The Ethiopian Government is, shall we say, quite involved in internet communications in country - so some websites are limited. However, after a month and a half, it now seems that I can access my blog - so here we go with another catch up!

I've been in country for six weeks now and it has been a great experience thus far. We spent our first week at the US Embassy learning about US Government operations here, particularly an overview of USAID but also information about the State Department and some other key agencies. I'm part of a group of 18 interns (17 still standing, with one gone home due to some combination of altitude sickness, heart problems and schistosomiasis), mostly grad students, mostly in international development programs but with other fields represented including public health, business, communications, public administration, etc. It's a great group and we're having a lot of fun.

I'm part of a team of four working on an evaluation of a USAID emergency food assistance program. Emily (masters in Foreign Service from Georgetown), Mary (masters in International Development from Johns Hopkins) and Rocco (masters in Public Administration from University of Vermont) are fantastic teammates - I'm lucky to be paired up with them and really enjoying having such a talented team.

Our first week also included development of an evaluation methodology and data collection tools (surveys, focus group discussion guides, etc.) to prep for our weeks of fieldwork. It also involved a crash course in the program we're evaluating, food aid in Ethiopia, and USAID's strategy for food assistance programming ... and meetings with five NGO partners who implement the program (CARE International, Save the Children UK, Catholic Relief Services, Food For The Hungry and the Relief Society of Tigray) to prepare for our visits to each organization's sites. Suffice it to say that we had very full brains after week one!

In late June we headed out for a month of fieldwork. We started in Ethiopia's Tigray region, in the north of the country. After a week's work around Mekele city, we headed south for a week in the town of Woldiya (a glorified truck stop) and continued on to the city of Lalibela, home of Ethiopia's famous rock-hewn churches. After an extra week in Lalibela to do some initial data management and report writing, we headed back to Addis Ababa for a week at the Embassy for briefings.

Saturday, we head off for another three weeks in the field, doing additional site visits and data collection in the Oromiya region, Dire Dawa municipality, and the Southern Nations, Nationalities & People's Region (SNNPR) in the south of the country.

It has been fantastic to travel throughout the country, meeting emergency food aid beneficiaries and learning about the way the program is helping them. Ethiopia has been well known for its food insecurity in past years, and the recurrence of bad weather and persistent spikes in global food prices continue to take their toll on poor farming communities. The food USAID is providing helps people to survive times of severe food shortage, and we are learning a great deal about how the program works and how beneficiaries are using the food they receive.

That's it as a brief overview - I'll do my best to play catch-up on the details of the past few weeks as long as I maintain blog access!

Leftovers of Insecurity

It was only my second day in Nigeria when I recognized a feeling long forgotten: the feeling of being unsafe. Walking down the aisles of a Lagos supermarket, despite the fact that I was surrounded by a swirl of ethnicities that included Nigerians, Chinese, South Africans, Indians and others, I couldn't shake the familiar feeling that I was under threat, being watched and needed to conclude my business and get to safety as quickly as possible. It was a clear carryover from Iraq, where short outings to the market or a local school truly were dangerous undertakings; I had to remind myself that while, as a large African mega-city Lagos is not without a need for street smarts, it is a free and safe society and I had nothing to worry about in a crowded shopping center.

The landscape here, in many ways, is not too different from Basra. The construction is the same both in style and its varying stages of completion; at first glance, haphazard, quick-fix methods with scarce resources seems to be the norm, and it does impact the outcome. Lagos has more greenery - slightly - but the dirt side roads and crush of vehicles feels familiar, as do the impromptu roadside stands selling whatever produce is in season, and the young men and boys rushing to car windows to sell bootleg DVDs, tissue boxes, fresh fruit or a window wash. In these instances, too, I have to remind myself that it is okay to be seen, that getting stuck in the traffic isn't putting me at risk, and that the only risk posed by roadside police stands is the demand for a bribe before you pass, and nothing more sinister.

The unwinding from a place like Iraq is a slow and subtle process; in some ways I have consciously felt it happen as habits disappear and walls begin to come down. In other instances it is striking when I realize it is taking place, as I see clearly what has evolved within me, and identify what I am letting go of. The conscious understanding of yet another way it has affected my thoughts and actions never fails to startle me, and while I know the process will continue, I also recognize there will be some ways in which it has changed me forever.

This is humbling in light of those who saw and suffered far more than I did. I experienced my share of risk and danger, was awakened many nights to alarms and explosions, and saw morale drop heavily among those around me in the wake of a soldier's or security contractor's death. For those who encountered harm and death head on, I wonder about their habits and walls compared to my own. No amount of training or strength of purpose prepares you for an experience like this, and I fear we are doing too little to care for those who have been deeply affected by this conflict, many of them just kids who seemed, in passing, so much younger and more immature than I. As I see and feel myself unwinding from my relatively easy experience, I wonder if they ever will.

Hello Again!

At long last, the blog has been resurrected. Thanks to all who followed my last journey - having friends and family along for the ride was great support and I appreciate all the calls for a return to blog posts! I hope to be more consistent on the current journey.

So, what's happened in the last year?

After a year and a half in Iraq, I left the program - and Mercy Corps - in November 2010. Oliver (the aforementioned boyfriend, who most of you have heard about at great length) and I spent six weeks traveling, with nearly a month in Thailand and Cambodia followed by spending the holidays in the UK with his family. It was great to check a few places off the must-visit list and dodge US taxes in the process!

I headed back to Portland in January to finish the last two terms of my masters coursework - which I completed last week! It's great to have the MPH [almost] completed - I will sit for my final exam in September.

In the meanwhile, I will be starting a 10-week internship with USAID, the US Agency for International Development, in Ethiopia in two weeks. I will be evaluating an emergency food distribution of a corn-soy blend food product, targeting pregnant/nursing women and children under five. I will be traveling to the cities of Mekele, Sekota, Lalibela and Dire Dawa, with an additional three weeks at the Embassy in Addis Ababa. It should be a great experience and I can't wait to get there.

Until then, I am hanging out in Lagos, Nigeria with Oliver, where he will be working until September on a technical/vocational training program. It's great to spend some time with him after nearly two months apart. (For those who were wondering, its now been a year and a half together - can't believe how quickly it's gone!) Lagos is a sprawling, overwhelming African mega-city - a stark contrast from the quiet of rural Ethiopia.

Many people have asked me if, knowing what I know now, I would take my job in Iraq again. My answer is overwhelmingly, yes. It was a fantastic learning experience - challenging, fascinating and career-changing. I've developed such confidence in my ability to travel, work and live abroad, to handle difficult and dangerous situations overseas, and to excel in development work. With conflict and insecurity under my belt, I have yet to hack it in the giant bugs/tents/pit latrines scenario - but I'm now more confident in my ability to navigate that with [relative] ease as well.

Thanks to all who are embarking on this new adventure with me - let the journey begin!

Fondly,
Alisha

Relocation ... x2

I've heard rumblings of some complaints about infrequent blogging lately, and truth be told, it's time for an update.

Remember how, when I took this job, I thought I was going to be living on the Basrah military base? Well, after seven months, guess where I've moved to? We decided we needed someone based here - really the hub of all things humanitarian aid and oil company in South Iraq - for donor relations and fundraising. Turns out that someone gets to be me, which suits me just fine ...

... why, you might ask? Well, I guess it's time to fess up that I have a boyfriend down here. And have had, for four months. I found him (well, technically he found me) on Thanksgiving at a party back when a few of us were on the base for a week. After a few months of seeing each other when we were able, it's pretty nice to be in the same neighborhood. He's British, an international development consultant running a youth employment program in Basrah for the British equivalent of USAID, and pretty great. So great, in fact, that we're off on leave to Malaysia together for a week, starting Friday. More on that in a minute.

So, life on the military base. It's quite a trip. I think there are about 5,000 troops stationed here and it's pretty interesting to be in the middle of an operation like this. The base is all dust and dirt and concrete and metal buildings. I live in a trailer in a compound that houses mostly private security companies, with a few other NGO workers and some oil company folks. I think there are maybe 75 people who live in the compound and I think about four are women. Good times. My trailer is pretty simple - desk, double bed, wardrobe, small fridge, couple of chairs and - the one great addition - a 32" flat-panel TV. It has its own little bathroom and, all in all, isn't too bad. The compound has a small gym and a communal dining hall. I haven't made too many friends in here yet, so end up spending most of my meals sitting alone with people staring, or trying not to stare. Getting used to that part.

It's nice to be able to run outdoors - for the time being, anyway, while it cools down to 80 degrees or so by 6pm. Yep, it's early April and the weather has already hit 100 a few times in the past couple of weeks. I barely notice anymore. On the odd weather front, we had quite a sandstorm this morning, and the heavy winds rattled my trailer like crazy - thought I was about to have a "Wizard of Oz" moment a few times. When the sand kicks up the insurgents usually start firing off rockets at the base, so the morning was filled with alarms and loudspeaker announcements - fortunately my trailer is under a foot and a half of reinforced concrete. Everyone else gets 30 seconds to run to a sandbag bunker.

Besides working and working out, hanging out at the British Consulate isn't a bad gig. The folks over there are all pretty great - so is the bar, coveted by many and frequented by few. It's nice to be part of a community around here as opposed to being sequestered in the house - I've made friends from the UK, France, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, Serbia, Jamaica, Lebanon and India - kind of feels like what this line of work is supposed to be about. Seven months in the house really started to take its toll, and the improvements to my lifestyle are feeling slightly recuperative ... emphasis on slightly.

Right, so in addition to relocation #1, temporary relocation #2 takes place on Friday. I extended my leave by four weeks (yep, that's 12 weeks in country, which is mildly insane but I've somehow managed not to hit the wall) so the boyfriend and I could take a little vacation together. We'll go from Kuwait to Kuala Lumpur (via Abu Dhabi), spend two nights there at this fabulous hotel and then hop on a one hour flight to this resort for six nights. Don't worry, there will be lots of photos of white sand, blue water, brightly colored fish, fabulous bars and restaurants, etc.

Not that anybody was wondering about work, but ... work is work. Nothing much to report. And I think that sums up my feelings about work as well.

You Portlanders can start getting excited for the fact that I am planning to be home around 15 July. With Brit in tow. To the Bay Area Californians, I'll be down in Healdsburg and environs around the 24th for a wedding and look forward to a few get-togethers. That's about it for now - lots of love to all.

A Face of the Conflict

One of the more special projects I've been working on lately is one to provide medical assistance for a boy from Basrah who was wounded during a rocket that hit his home during fighting between Coalition forces and insurgents several years ago. Four-year-old Mehdi suffered injuries to his head during the blast - doctors at a Basrah hospital removed one of his eyes after it was badly damaged by shrapnel. He still has two pieces of shrapnel in his body which they were unable to remove - one behind his scapula and one in his brain. The piece in his brain is of particular concern as he continues to grow - it's located in his occipital lobe and poses a serious risk of brain defects or death as his brain grows around it.

Mehdi and his father Saleh came to the gate of the Basrah military base one day in hopes of seeking medical care for him that they couldn't receive at local hospitals. They happened to catch someone who was able to ask around until the case was referred to us. As part of our grant, we have special funds for projects benefiting civilian victims of conflict - normally, these projects focus on providing wheelchairs or prosthetics for local clinics or rebuilding major infrastructure damaged during coalition/insurgent fighting. However, we're always eager to help with these kinds of cases when we can.

We worked with the Medical Unit here on the Basrah base to identify a children's hospital in Germany that can provide Mehdi with the surgeries he needs to remove the shrapnel in his brain and back, and provide him with a prosthetic eye for the one he is missing. I have been working on coordination with the Germany Embassy in Baghdad to prepare all the necessary elements of their visa application and handle many of the logistics for their trip.

I finally got to meet Mehdi today, when he and his father came to meet with us to complete some paperwork and have a briefing on their visa interviews and upcoming travel. He's adorable and shy. He has occasional bursts of random tears where he's barely able to tell his father what has upset him - an occurrence his father says has been common since Mehdi was injured. But it doesn't take too long before a piece of candy or a soccer ball distracts him from his tears.

Mehdi goofing off:


So much of the work we do is focused on governance and community building that it's easy to forget the many victims of Iraq's recent and longer history. With thirty years of conflict behind them, there are many injured and disabled people, many widows and orphans. Having the opportunity to help heal the wounds of one has felt like a blessing.

Back in Basrah

I'm back in Basrah after three weeks in Portland. It was great to get home and back to my favorite city. After the holidays - which were filled with lots of family time and a surprise visit from my aunt and uncle from Australia (love you guys!) - I got to spend a week working out of Mercy Corps HQ. It was my first visit to the new building that I spent two and a half years working on, and I was thoroughly delighted. For all of you in Portland who haven't gone down to visit, I highly recommend a trip through the Mercy Corps Action Center on the ground floor. They're also currently featuring an exhibition of Design For The Other 90%, which showcases fantastic, innovative inventions for the proverbial bottom billion on the planet.

This has made it around the grapevine pretty quickly, but I was ambushed by a request to do a live interview on KGW talking about working in Iraq and, specifically, the Women's Awareness and Inclusion program. A little bit nerve-wracking, but fortunately not too disastrous in spite of having no room for error and little idea what questions I'd be asked. You can check out the clip here: Live on The Square @ 7: Mercy Corps Teaches Women in Iraq

I received a lot of positive feedback on the blog while at home (thanks to all!) and requests for more posts ... I promise that I do so diligently when there's something to write about, but with the very limited mobility and lack of interaction with beneficiaries and community members, I'm often lacking in subject matter. Security around here will be very tight through the elections (scheduled for March) so we're being especially careful to stay in the house and under the radar. Wish I had more to say, but that's how it goes!

Happy new year to all ... until next time ...

Teaching Governance in Iraq

Much of my professional energies over the past several months have been focused on designing and implementing some updates to our Women's Inclusion and Awareness (WAI) program. These will be implemented in four provinces in south Iraq (my area of responsibility) but also in our programs in the North and around Baghdad.

Since the program's inception in 2006, we've not only been teaching literacy in our centers, but also providing education on key social awareness topics. To date, we've educated approximately 18,000 women. Earlier in the Fall, we identified a need to review the topics and standardize the curriculum that's being delivered. Not only does this maintain the quality of our programming, but also ensures the safety of our program, our staff, and the women we're teaching.

With national elections coming up - originally scheduled for mid-January but now postponed until later in the Spring - we decided that our first social awareness module would be focused on democracy, governance and elections - in part, to promote women's independent participation in the upcoming elections. After receiving an inadequate first draft, it was clear that the job I wanted done would have to be done myself. And so I set out to write a curriculum.

It was an interesting thing, and a powerful one, trying to figure out what to teach 8,800 illiterate or semi-literate women about democracy and governance. Many would have limited and inaccurate knowledge about these basic subjects. Others would have next to no information about them at all. Each and every one of them is marginalized and overlooked in Iraqi political society. Their voices and their needs are regularly ignored in political decisions and activities, they lack advocates and role models in political spheres, and they are secondary actors in their communities. Overcoming those obstacles are exactly what we hope to achieve through the WAI program, and the curriculum I needed to design was the first step in helping to provide them with the tools to change the status quo.

In addition to the task of providing them with this vital and valuable information, there was a responsibility for their safety, and for mine. Mercy Corps' operations, and the WAI program, are high-profile and high-visibility in the communities where we work. We operate 205 WAI centers in south Iraq alone: this information was going to touch a lot of people. I needed to make sure that the information we were providing was not going to cause problems for students, teachers, and our program staff as it was disseminated into the community. There are no rules for this, only a sense of good judgement and a feeling for the state of things on the ground; understanding what's acceptable and what's objectionable, what's safe and what's too risky.

I think my high school teachers would've been proud at the finished product. In addition to the well-ingrained basics, I got an interesting crash course in the Iraqi government system, from constitution to parliament to judicial system. Interesting also was the fact that there were some elements that I couldn't fully describe - like the structure and function of the Council of Union, the second house of Iraq's relatively-new bicameral legislative system - as they remain so nascent that they're still not formed.

What the curriculum did include was a basic overview of democracy, the fundamental structure of the new Iraqi government, the rights and services guaranteed to Iraqi citizens under its constitution, the process of voting and voters' rights and responsibilities, women's role in government, and practical ways our students - illiterate, impoverished and marginalized - can begin to get involved in their communities and the governance process. It's barely a 100-level course, but it gives them initial information, and something to think about.

We held a series of Training of Trainers sessions for the trainers who would be delivering the lectures in our 205 centers. They were all women with university degrees, each with professional experience. Feedback from my staff was that none of them even knew all this information. With all the new changes and constant shifts in the structure and function of the Iraqi government since 2005, it's no wonder that political literacy in this country is incredibly low.

Our lecture series kicked off in WAI centers today, and I can't wait to see how it goes. My staff will be out monitoring activities from now through the end of January, and we're gearing up for a series of beneficiary surveys to test the womens' knowledge before and after the lectures. I'm eager to discover what knowledge they started with, and how much they learn. For me personally, it was an awesome experience to be providing thousands of oppressed Iraqi women with a seed of knowledge and a spark of hope that their voices and their actions do matter to this country's future.

Thanksgiving, Military Style

American Thanksgiving this year coincided with the Muslim holiday of Eid Al-Adha, the celebration of Ibrahim's (Abraham's) willingness to sacrifice his son Isma'el (Ishmael) to God. Our Iraqi staff had a four-day holiday (plus weekend days, making a full week), so the Basra expat staff decided to vacate the guesthouse and spend the week on the Basra military base.

For me, this meant getting a proper Thanksgiving dinner. Not by Mom's standards, of course, but at least the basics were covered. I ate in one of the big military DFACs (cafeterias) with my colleague Tiana and two of her friends, female Majors in the Army Reserve, from Colorado and Minnesota, respectively. I expected dry, overcooked turkey, but to my surprise, it was quite good. The rest was rather take-it-or-leave-it. Our meal concluded with a guest appearance by the New England Patriots cheerleaders. No photos, unfortunately, but you're basically looking at a bunch of high school girls in shiny red tracksuits.

Following dinner, we headed to a party hosted by the Basra Provincial Reconstruction Team (PRT). Fun to be in a non-work social setting for the second time in four months (the other being a concert and barhopping in Paris with a couple of delightful French strangers). It was also FANTASTIC to have a brief return to beer and wine. Having to hand-carry booze into Basrah - which is legal, just hasn't been available for purchase* - meant that hard liquor was the only economical option during comings and goings from Baghdad, Amman, etc. Vodka and bourbon have been delightful companions a few nights a week, but each and every one of you know me as a tiny bit of a wine and beer snob. That said, even Budweiser and too-green Jacob's Creek shiraz-cab managed to hit the spot in a serious way.

Made some fabulous new friends over the course of the week, most of them at the British Consulate located on the base. Conveniently, the Consulate has a bar and is the only legitimate place to procure alcoholic beverages on the base. But, then again, history suggests I do kind of have a knack for knowing the right people ...

Another highlight was scoring some pork. (No, those of you with dirty minds, that wasn't what I meant ... Angela Owen, this means you) The PX on base had a well-stocked freezer section with pork chops and Italian sausage. Amazing!

It was pretty interesting to be inside a working military base for a week. The infrastructure and logistics are incredible, and I only got a glimpse. Basrah is a pretty quiet place these days, but there's still a lot of hustle and bustle. I'm not quite sure for what purpose, as troops are pulled back to US bases, but there are still a lot of guns running around. It looked like seventy-five percent of the soldiers are running around with enormous guns strapped to their backs at all times, although between the lots of perimeter razor wire, concrete walls, massively-armed checkpoints, and myriad other defenses of which I'm completely unaware, not sure who's coming in to need shooting. I've become amazingly desensitized to the presence of sidearms, sniper rifles, Humvee convoys and tanks - pretty much an everyday occurrence, both on base (American) and out in Basrah (Iraqi).

After a nice week's respite from the confines of the Basrah guesthouse - I hadn't left the house once in over a month before we headed to the base - we're back in town again. Now that I've gotten rid of my cabin fever, only two more weeks 'til I'm Portland-bound for the holidays.


* Alhamdullilah! (Thanks be to God) ... the ban on alcohol sales effected in Basrah in August has now been overturned. Seems it was unconstitutional to prevent people from imbibing. Let the soft liquor flow once more.

Best Meal in Iraq

After a workout and dinner tonight, I was out creeping around the yard hunting kittens (one of my favorite pastimes, and one that has our entire staff pretty amused). It was about 8:30, and the evening security shift was just about to sit down for dinner. They asked me to join them and of course, I couldn't refuse.

Seven of us sat around a table in the small guard house. They had brought out three large plates of Arabic flatbread topped with large brown beans, a bit of scrambled egg, and delicious fried onions. One of the guards, Abu-Ahmed, had prepared the meal in our kitchen nextdoor. They politely put spoons around, but my colleague Mahmood told me they usually eat with their hands and that I was welcome to do either. "If you eat with your hands, so do I." I told him.

As we ate, they all took turns asking me questions. Forever wishing my Arabic was better, I mostly relied on Mahmood to translate. The guys asked about where I was from, my family, how old I am, what I miss most about home. Finally, they asked if I was married, to which I (obviously) responded that I wasn't. "Why?" they asked. "Well, I'm too young," I started. "And besides, I have to come live here in Iraq first." One of them replied that he has a daughter who is fourteen - she was recently married, and so I don't seem too young at all. I told them that for me it is important to focus on my work and start my career before I get married, and that I will get married when I find the right person. It was hard to know how foreign that concept may or may not have seemed, when many of them are only in their early 30s and have four or five children. Indeed, they found it odd that I only have one sister, and that two to three children is the average in America. I told them that for many families, their goal is to have their children graduate from university, and that in America that is very expensive. So they have fewer children in order to make sure they can provide for them. Such a different thing for Iraqis, who rely on their children to take care of them financially and domestically. More is usually better.

We continued to eat and chat - I promised them an American meal in return, and they looked pretty skeptical. So much so that they asked if I knew how to cook. Don't worry ... as many of you know, I'll show them. Not quite sure what that will be, but I'm thinking good steaks are involved (if only I can find someone on our staff who knows a decent butcher and knows how to ask him to how cut good steaks).

They asked me how I like Iraq and living in Basrah. I told them I like it very much - and that my favorite part is all my new Iraqi friends - but that I wish I could get out into the city to really experience it, and that inshallah that would be different someday. They said they wished they could take me to meet their families and go out in and around Basra, to show me what it's really like. They said they wished the security situation was not how it is, that it was safer for us to do things like that. I told them that, while it may not be better while I am in Iraq now, I knew that they would all be part of bringing about that change, and that I would be back to visit when it has happened.

They all expressed, many times, their pleasure and honor at my sharing a meal with them. They said they were surprised that I had accepted the invitation, and that they wished all the expats would do that. I told them that it was an honor for me to share their hospitality. One asked if I would write in my diary about our meal together (maybe they think all Americans do this?) ... but I told them that I do, in fact, have a diary of sorts. It's a diary on the internet, and I share it with many family members and friends back home. I share with these family and friends my experiences in Iraq, because they appreciate me being able to tell these stories. And that yes, of course, I would share the story of our meal together, and that I was sure my family and friends would love to hear it.

As long as their wives don't kill them for having dinner with a young American woman, as they joked, this was one of my favorite experiences here so far. Sharing different elements of culture and perspective is always enlightening and, as many of you know, the substance that brings us together. For me, living in a culture that can be hostile towards westerners and Americans in particular, these moments are especially meaningful. They show me that there is goodwill between us in spite of what we're trained to think by the media and by extreme perspectives on both sides. These brief interactions help to foster that goodwill, and to me that's just as important as the aid dollars we spend and the work that we do here. Taking those opportunities to become better friends with our security staff is why they protect us unarmed and I still feel secure - I care about them and they about me, and I know they'll work harder to keep me safe. Beyond the programmatic achievements and the additions to my resume, nights like this are the reason why I'm here.

Don't Worry ... I'm Still Alive

Been a while since my last post! Had a great first R&R in France with Mom and Dad in mid-October, and have been going full steam since I got back.

France was fantastic. After having studied French for six years, it was wonderful to finally get there and see it. We spent four days in the Cotes du Rhone area (wine region in southern France) and four days in Paris. In Cotes du Rhone, we stayed at Domaine de Cabasse - an excellent working vineyard and B&B. Most importantly, I got my fix of lots of good wine ... something I've been missing very much!

In Paris, we rented an apartment in the 7th Arrondisement - what a luxury. We ate in all but one night, and it was delightful to be back in the kitchen with Mom again. Our one meal out in Paris was by far one of the best I've ever had. All in all, a very memorable trip. Pictures in the links below:

Rhone Photos
Paris Photos

Now that I'm back in Basra, work has been a bit of a whirlwind. I've been handed oversight of our Women's Awareness and Inclusion Program (along with a new title and a direct report - yikes), and this has entailed a lot of activity! The time already flies, but now it's feeling warp-speed. No complaints.

I will be back in Portland for R&R #2 on December 21st. So looking forward to spending the holidays at home with my family, and catching up with all my Portland friends! Will be in town until the 6th or so, so hope to see many of you when I'm there!

Basrah is Beautiful at Night

I got out of the house late this afternoon to do a little shopping. First we stopped by the grocery store, which we apparently caught at a well-stocked moment. Excellent scores, including barbecue sauce (anyone who knows me knows how important a fixture this is in my life ... I'd been contemplating making it upon acquisition of brown sugar), chutney, Thai chili sauce, powdered coconut milk (we'll see how that goes), paprika and chili powder (I'm Mexican again!), and cinnamon.

As we emerged from the store, dusk had fallen. The sky was hazy purple, the yellow moon high and only a few days from full. The call to prayer had just begun, and the domed roofs and minaret of the mosque a few blocks away were beautifully lit. The Arab world comes alive at night, when work is done and the heat has subsided, and the streets were full of vendors selling shoes, dishes, bootleg DVDs, rotisserie chickens, faux leather jackets, popcorn, cigarettes, and more. Steady streams of pedestrians passed: men in hip, European-style jeans and t-shirts; old women in full black abayas; young women in hijabs, tunics, skinny jeans and ballet flats. For a moment, Basrah was just a normal Middle Eastern city.

We stopped at my favorite fruit stand and discovered fresh corn, cabbage, zucchini, green beans and - thank you, Allah! - hot peppers. What a great haul. From there, we went around the block to a small hole-in-the-wall bakery where several young men were making khoubz, Arabic flatbread similar to a pita but lighter, larger, more stretchy and with wonderful airy bubbles and charred spots. I soon discovered how this comes about - it's baked in large, domed brick ovens. One person makes baseball-sized balls of dough, and another quickly pounds and twirls them into 8" rounds. The rounds are placed over a basketball-sized half-circular mold covered in cloth. Another baker takes the mold, reaches his arm in the oven, and uses it to stick the now-flat round of dough directly onto the top of the domed oven. It adheres instantly, and hangs on while it bakes over a roaring fire. It's removed with huge iron tongs, beautifully golden and warm. We bought a few special ones with green onions, parsley and a little bit of ground lamb mixed into the dough - amazing. I wish I'd had my camera.

This little excursion made me wistful about the security situation being what it is, that it's enough of a risk for me to go out that I can't enjoy the city except for small outings. Under a different set of circumstances, Basrah would be a wonderful place ... for just two hours this evening, I could feel it.

A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Airport

I'm back safe and sound in my home sweet crappy home in Basra ... "the 'Rah" if you're talking to my friend Rinn from our Seattle office, or as it was recently christened by my housemate Ali, the Sawlty Tower (you know ... because of the water).

Boy is it a trip to fly out of Baghdad. Or just to get to the airport to fly out of Baghdad. At least they're doing their due diligence where security's concerned. The trek goes a little something like this:

1. Depending on the time of your departure, fight traffic to get to the airport.
2. Go through three ID checkpoints manned by heavily armed Iraqi soldiers.
3. Stop in a line of cars. Get out, open all the doors, the trunk, and pop the hood. Stand aside while a security guard walks a dog around to sniff for explosives.
4. Get back in the car. Stop at a set of trailers (one for men, one for women) where your luggage is searched. Get back in the car.
5. Drive up to the departure terminal. Go for a long walk to a big cement tunnel and follow the instructions of two security guards to drop all your belongings on the ground with a bunch of other people's belongings.
6. Leave your belongings out of your sight and exit the tunnel to get a pat-down. If you're a man, stand out in the open for your search; if you're a woman, go into a tiny cloistered room.
7. When you get the go ahead, follow the throng of 40 people back to the cement tunnel and everybody scramble to grab their stuff at the same time.
8. Take another long walk to the Iraqi Airways ticket counter and get your handwritten, carbon-paper ticket stamped. What does that stamp mean? I don't know.
9. Walk through a checkpoint manned by Iraqi customs officials. Have your bag scanned. Get asked if you're Iraqi.
10. Get your handwritten boarding pass from the check-in counter. Pity the people next to you going to Tehran ... except you're going to Basra, so pity yourself equally, if not more.
11. Walk through a checkpoint manned by security staff. Get asked if you're Iraqi. Insist that the visa in your passport is sufficient to get you on a plane, and that no, you do not need to flash them your Department of Defense ID.
12. Flash DoD ID anyway.
13. Have your bag scanned.
14. Have your bag scanned.
15. Wait at the gate til they call your flight. Hope they didn't change the gate without telling anyone. Hope they actually call your flight. Out loud.
16. Have your bag scanned. Get asked if you're Iraqi.
17. Tell the guy behind the computer that no, that's not a bottle of wine in your bag ... it's bourbon. Take the bourbon out of your bag. Allow another guy to escort your booze onto the plane with you. Believe him when he says you can pick it up when you get to Basra.
18. Note that, aside from the flight attendants, you're the only woman on the plane. Also note that you're the only woman wearing a hijab, and you're not even Muslim.
19. Arrive in Basra. Deplane, return bottle of bourbon surreptitiously to your bag, and find the doors to the arrival terminal locked. Wait for someone to unlock them.
20. Be incredibly surprised that you're standing outside on a tarmac and you're not sweating. When did this happen?
21. Get in the building and fill out a health card. Circle "no" to everything so nobody thinks you have Swine Flu.
22. Do "Are you Iraqi?"/passport scan/visa/DoD routine with immigration guy.
23. Show passport to some guy who writes your name down on a sheet. Because apparently it didn't go in the computer during Step 22.
24. Get your bag scanned, and cross your fingers that you don't get hassled about the bourbon.
25. Thank yourself for wearing a hijab, because that surely helped with the bourbon.
26. Get home, take off your hijab, and pour yourself a double bourbon.

Blogging From Baghdad

It's been a while since my last post, so I figured it was time for an update (at least so everyone knows I'm still among the living). Things have been relatively quiet. I'm currently blogging from our Baghdad office, where I've been for the past ten days. It's been nice to get out of Basrah and have a change of scenery. The office here is run by four thirty-something female expats, and it's been great to have more estrogen in my surroundings ... and to watch them all at work, amazing and talented women running an operation in one of the world's most difficult and dangerous places.

I don't have photos to share since we have even less mobility here in Baghdad. The compound is lovely, with lush gardens and lots of classic, tall palms. I've enjoyed evenings spent sipping cocktails, enjoying a few beers over a game of Scrabble on the main house porch, a few rousing games of badminton, and cooking dinners with my colleagues (peach cobbler, anyone?).

The rest of the experience shall not be posted here, as it contains details of the variety you never tell your mother.

My work time has been spent developing some adjustments to our literacy program in the south, the daily operations of which I will now be in charge of managing. I'm looking forward to implementing some valuable changes and helping to strengthen the program.

That's it for now. Tickets to France on the 9th have been procured, where I'll be meeting Mom and Dad for a lot of wine and sightseeing.

Thank You!

I wanted to take a quick minute to thank the many family members and friends who have sent emails, Skyped, left blog comments, Facebooked or IM'ed since I've been here. It's always wonderful to hear from you, and helps me feel connected to home. I so appreciate the kind words, photos, responses to postings, and general shows of support. I'm glad to be here to show you Iraq through my eyes, and I'm lucky to have you all on the journey with me!

Love to all,
Alisha