For me, the beginning of August is usually a time for trite musings about the impending end of summer. I get very nostalgic about June and July, referring to the past several weeks as though they were lost like shipwrecked memorabilia. It’s all very sad and depressing. Yet, I always looked forward to these gloomy dog days of summer because of their role as a transition phase: The Wistfulness is the short period that precedes the sheer panic that accompanies the new round of the academic grind.
Regrettably, I don’t think that I’ll be able to enjoy the transition period this year, because I’ll only be home for a meager ten days before returning to sunny New Haven. It would be regrettable to squander my short time at home, clutching my Kampala city map to my chest and whimpering over pictures of the Nile. Instead I’ve transitioned into a new phase of Delaying The Panic, which has an indefinite endpoint. I’m convinced that this is a winning idea. Hopefully, I can seamlessly enter the new school year and magically have every pre-school task completed before getting to New Haven. After that, I plan on walking on water.
While I only have four days left in Kampala, I’m coming home with enough work to last at least another year. I’ve spent the past two weeks interviewing Parliamentarians about their opinions and attitudes on sexual/reproductive health (SRH) and rights. So far, the experience has been as fascinating as it’s been frustrating. As a whole, Uganda can boast a profound decrease in its HIV/AIDS percentages since the 1980s. However, I’ve been told that it’s uncertain whether the decrease can be attributed to an absurdly-high death rate in HIV/AIDS patients, or to successful HIV testing, treatment and education programs. It seems that while the SRH programs conducted by the government have been broadly received by constituencies throughout the country, I’m inclined to think that they were tailored toward spreading a common rhetoric instead of an actual plan for action. Already, my preliminary survey results are indicating that politicians tend to use the same lip service with their respective constituencies, but their actual legislative decisions rarely reflect their words. If I read one more response that uses (but fails to properly define) the terms, “mobilization”, “sensitization”, or “infrastructure”, I may lose my damn mind. I suppose I’m slowly learning the universal logic of politicians everywhere.
I hope that my results allow me to construct a rudimentary baseline for what political leaders claim to believe about reproductive health and the accorded rights. In a way, I think this is a substantial part of the battle for effecting any change within a political system: if we don’t know where our leaders are starting in regards to their beliefs, it’s impossible to move the masses anywhere. At least this is what I’m keeping in mind as I try to get this survey completed in three days. Part of me feels incredible angst toward my organization for trusting me with such a massive proposal on such a short timeframe (I’m attempting to survey 300 Parliamentarians in two weeks); but, I still count myself lucky to be involved in such a potentially valuable and wicked interesting project.
As of recent days, I’ve had a number of notable experiences and conversations regarding race. While growing up in a predominantly Caucasian town and attending a largely Caucasian university, I’ve managed to handle issues of race rather cleanly. Yet, recently I’ve been in more than one circumstance where I’ve felt that my race has counted against me, and subsequently I wasn’t treated according to the same standard as those around me. I’ve tried to be someone who doesn’t read racism into every situation in which I’ve felt unfairly treated (especially in the generation of Obama), but I had quite a bit of trouble getting around it this time.
Situational details are irrelevant here, if purely for the sake of having a constructive discussion about race. While it’s nothing novel for someone to have been treated unfairly for a melanin-based reason, my experience prompted an interesting household discussion about the use of the word, “racism” as opposed to, “discrimination.” One of my housemates referred to my experience as “reverse racism,” which didn’t seem right to me at all: to imply that racism has a customary application is of a decidedly defeatist mentality, though it’s undeniable that we tend to think of one direction of racism more than another. Another friend defined “racism” as the belief that one’s race is superior to another. But which side feels the superiority? If this is how I use the term in situations where I've felt I was treated unjustly, then do I presuppose that the unequal treatment is directly attributed to a feeling of their superiority, or my inferiority? I’ve spoken to a number of South Asians in Uganda, who feel that they are often scorned by the majority because of their power as a business class. Does that mean that the racist sentiments are derived from viewing the South Asian community as superior, if only through an economic lens? And if so, doesn’t that invert the previous definition? I think the only conclusion I arrived at by the end of this discussion was that “discrimination” can be a result of “racism”. I recognize that this really isn’t an earth-shatteringly astute conclusion. It was just very difficult to draw any other concrete inferences from such liquid interactions between people.
I suppose it’s impossible to incontrovertibly define such a malleable term—especially one which already tends to fit whatever definition is dictated by circumstance. As someone almost incessantly governed by reason, I know it’s nearly impossible to forget the powerlessness of feeling discriminated against and how such emotion can consume you and your judgment. Silver lining of the entire experience: I have a much deeper appreciation for thinkers and actors who manage to put their anger aside in order to harness the power of a constructive discussion.
How’s that for some presumptuous wisdom? Look at me, going to Africa and thinking that I can explain racism now—I promise that my intent was only to incite conversation. No more, no less.
In closing, an abridged list of things I will do when I have a 4-hour layover in JFK, en route to Raleigh, on Sunday:
- Rejoice in returning to home soil after getting through customs, though I won’t kiss the ground
- Appreciate the prevalence of indoor plumbing
- Satisfy my craving for an iced vanilla chai at one of the eight-thousand soul-sapping Starbucks
- Catch up on the electoral drivel provided by CNN
- Check my voicemail, and answer emails that I’ve failed to access/respond to in the past several weeks. Promise.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
in retrospect...
...it may not have been the best idea to go on a four-day hike up a volcano a week after being diagnosed with dysentery. However, hindsight is always 20-20.
I just came back from an incredible trip to Mount Elgon, an extinct volcano located in Eastern Uganda near the Kenyan border. We left from Kampala on a five-hour bus ride to the town of Mbale, where we boarded another small bus to Budadiri, a village nestled in the base of the mountain. The climbing was not of carabiner-intensity, but it was strenuous nonetheless: within the first hour I felt incredibly short of breath and almost turned back due to the seemingly unbearable altitude sickness. Luckily, I was in the company of two amazing friends who provided the energy and laughter to keep me going until the summit.
For me, the most memorable part of our hike may have been the Saturday afternoon downpour that interrupted our 37-km trek. All I can remember is a blur of the three of us, tearing through the tropical forest of Elgon when we noticed that it had started hailing. I was holding up the caboose of our train of mazungus (as expected) when I realized that we had lost our guide, Moses. We apparently thought it was a brilliant idea to keep going, and so we continued blazing through the sodden forest until we were out of breath and desperately needed to take cover under the branches of a contorted tree. I most vividly remember the heaviness in my lungs, the buckling of my knees, and the hail getting caught in my hair and eyes. In spite of being with two other people, I remember feeling strangely alone at that moment--so much so that if something had happened to any one of us, I didn't think anyone would be able to help. Then, seemingly out of nowhere I heard footsteps shake the forest floor and from out of trees came Moses, sporting a black poncho and fully resembling Batman, and I once again felt strangely safe in the middle of nowhere.
Perhaps the most rejuvenating part of our journey was getting out of Kampala for a couple of days. Living in the city is definitely an exciting experience, but I was beginning to feel that it was an experience that needed to be missed before it could be appreciated again. I'm back in the city now, a little weaker than I was before I left, but much happier to be here than camping in the rain. But, if Elgon were to call again, I wouldn't shy away from another visit.
Work has picked up quite a bit over the past few weeks, ever since I was given another project. A few years ago, RHU conducted a survey of Ugandan Parliament members, regarding their knowledge of sexual/reproductive health services and rights. While the survey was conducted very swiftly, it suffered from a high rate of nonresponse and its questions were strongly directed (example: "Would you agree with the statement that family planning helps individuals to live a healthy and useful life?"). My boss approached me a week ago and asked me to perform a similar study, but with more useful questions and more quantifiable data. He wondered if I could get nearly all 360 Parliament members to respond to the survey. He also asked me if it if would be possible to publish my work in order to help RHU garner more funding for future projects.
Oh, P.S., I have less than three weeks left in Kampala.
To quote one of my friends, "you're working with some pretty sexy data," and publishing papers is a relatively distant concept for many organizations here. If it's possible, I think it would be insanely useful to at least pass on the knowledge of the process of submitting to a journal, but it seems more than foolish to anticipate salience in the data, regardless of how "sexy*" it may seem.
(*strange, yet useful, adjective to describe data, though I apologize for using it more than once)
As a result, I've found myself buried in this very interesting project. Parliament members have the potential to be incredible forces for grassroots change, particularly in family planning and health advocacy issues. But for many reasons, a substantial number of MPs remain reluctant when it comes to being actively engaged in legislation regarding reproductive health, and I'm hoping to find out why. While working on this Parliament project, I'm still in the process of handing over data collection and analysis of the quality assessments of community health outreaches to other staff members. It's a balancing act that I have yet to perfect, but I've always considered it better to be too busy than to be bored. Wait, I'm on summer vacation?
Like many of my friends, I'm perturbed by how quickly summer is passing, especially given that I consider it to be my last summer of goofing off before I succumb to being a grown-up. Granted, being a grown-up isn't the worst realization in the world, I'm still trying to put it off for as long as possible (which probably doesn't bode well for the psyche of my grown-up self). Being on a mountain for four days almost compels you to be introspective, which I suppose is healthy in small-enough doses.
While it's great to be a temporary vagabond, I'm excited to come home soon, even if it's just for a little while. Traveling is always exciting and adventurous, but I've learned to never overestimate the tranquility of being home.
I just came back from an incredible trip to Mount Elgon, an extinct volcano located in Eastern Uganda near the Kenyan border. We left from Kampala on a five-hour bus ride to the town of Mbale, where we boarded another small bus to Budadiri, a village nestled in the base of the mountain. The climbing was not of carabiner-intensity, but it was strenuous nonetheless: within the first hour I felt incredibly short of breath and almost turned back due to the seemingly unbearable altitude sickness. Luckily, I was in the company of two amazing friends who provided the energy and laughter to keep me going until the summit.
For me, the most memorable part of our hike may have been the Saturday afternoon downpour that interrupted our 37-km trek. All I can remember is a blur of the three of us, tearing through the tropical forest of Elgon when we noticed that it had started hailing. I was holding up the caboose of our train of mazungus (as expected) when I realized that we had lost our guide, Moses. We apparently thought it was a brilliant idea to keep going, and so we continued blazing through the sodden forest until we were out of breath and desperately needed to take cover under the branches of a contorted tree. I most vividly remember the heaviness in my lungs, the buckling of my knees, and the hail getting caught in my hair and eyes. In spite of being with two other people, I remember feeling strangely alone at that moment--so much so that if something had happened to any one of us, I didn't think anyone would be able to help. Then, seemingly out of nowhere I heard footsteps shake the forest floor and from out of trees came Moses, sporting a black poncho and fully resembling Batman, and I once again felt strangely safe in the middle of nowhere.
Perhaps the most rejuvenating part of our journey was getting out of Kampala for a couple of days. Living in the city is definitely an exciting experience, but I was beginning to feel that it was an experience that needed to be missed before it could be appreciated again. I'm back in the city now, a little weaker than I was before I left, but much happier to be here than camping in the rain. But, if Elgon were to call again, I wouldn't shy away from another visit.
Work has picked up quite a bit over the past few weeks, ever since I was given another project. A few years ago, RHU conducted a survey of Ugandan Parliament members, regarding their knowledge of sexual/reproductive health services and rights. While the survey was conducted very swiftly, it suffered from a high rate of nonresponse and its questions were strongly directed (example: "Would you agree with the statement that family planning helps individuals to live a healthy and useful life?"). My boss approached me a week ago and asked me to perform a similar study, but with more useful questions and more quantifiable data. He wondered if I could get nearly all 360 Parliament members to respond to the survey. He also asked me if it if would be possible to publish my work in order to help RHU garner more funding for future projects.
Oh, P.S., I have less than three weeks left in Kampala.
To quote one of my friends, "you're working with some pretty sexy data," and publishing papers is a relatively distant concept for many organizations here. If it's possible, I think it would be insanely useful to at least pass on the knowledge of the process of submitting to a journal, but it seems more than foolish to anticipate salience in the data, regardless of how "sexy*" it may seem.
(*strange, yet useful, adjective to describe data, though I apologize for using it more than once)
As a result, I've found myself buried in this very interesting project. Parliament members have the potential to be incredible forces for grassroots change, particularly in family planning and health advocacy issues. But for many reasons, a substantial number of MPs remain reluctant when it comes to being actively engaged in legislation regarding reproductive health, and I'm hoping to find out why. While working on this Parliament project, I'm still in the process of handing over data collection and analysis of the quality assessments of community health outreaches to other staff members. It's a balancing act that I have yet to perfect, but I've always considered it better to be too busy than to be bored. Wait, I'm on summer vacation?
Like many of my friends, I'm perturbed by how quickly summer is passing, especially given that I consider it to be my last summer of goofing off before I succumb to being a grown-up. Granted, being a grown-up isn't the worst realization in the world, I'm still trying to put it off for as long as possible (which probably doesn't bode well for the psyche of my grown-up self). Being on a mountain for four days almost compels you to be introspective, which I suppose is healthy in small-enough doses.
While it's great to be a temporary vagabond, I'm excited to come home soon, even if it's just for a little while. Traveling is always exciting and adventurous, but I've learned to never overestimate the tranquility of being home.
Friday, July 4, 2008
verba volant, scripta manet
Sorry for the lack of updates in the past week--dysentery can really take a girl out of action for awhile. I feel a little like I’m living the game of The Oregon Trail. While I'm not entirely certain, my suspicion is that my stomach bug came in the form of undercooked eggs in a Rolex (not the luxury watch, but a type of Ugandan street food consisting of a fried egg rolled into a chapatti. Yes, it’s as good as it sounds…I’m considering opening a Rolex stand near the New Haven Green if this whole healthcare stint doesn’t work out). I suppose that if you’re going to fall ill while abroad, it might as well be with something exotic. Sadly, dysentery is only so glamorous; I would’ve preferred to say that I survived a bout of cholera or dengue fever, but apparently, choosiness is not recommended. Having taken some non-FDA approved antibiotics for the past few days, I’m almost back to my normal self. Now if only I could decide whether to take the ferry or ford my wagon across the river…
I’ve been back to work for a couple of days and things are progressing fairly well. We're currently coding the responses to the quality surveys, having conducted a very brief pilot. As I’m sorting through the logistics of this survey, I’ve developed a deeper appreciation for the nuances of speech and language: for the first day of the pilot, I observed my friend (and translator) conduct the questionnaire in order to ensure that it could be completed in a realistic span of time, and that my questions were clear and relevant to my target population. My friend was kind enough to translate the patients’ answers into English for me throughout the pilot. However, I found it incredibly frustrating to hear a patient’s five-minute answer in Luganda translated to and recorded as, “It’s fine,” in English. As the interviews were being conducted, I noticed so much going on in the client’s body language and facial expressions; it killed me to find it all distilled down into two fairly meaningless words. It’s slightly disconcerting to imagine how much crucial data and testimony is lost in translation.
I could ask my friend to translate the answers sentence-by-sentence, but it would be blatantly disruptive to the flow of conversation--it wouldn’t be worth satisfying my curiosity at the expense of conducting an effective survey. I may use a voice recorder at the interviews, but many people (especially those from more vulnerable populations) become incredibly nervous and skeptical of my intentions when they see the recording device. It also seems that my physical presence may be detracting from a patient’s willingness to answer honestly: I feel that I’m an unfortunate (and confounding) distraction for many of the clients. As such, I'd like to train some local university students and RHU volunteers about the basics of conducting a survey. This way, RHU can hold onto this skill long after I leave. It would be really wonderful if the same people who conduct the survey also learn how to analyze the data. I have all these big plans (and more!) for the next month—we’ll just have to see how many of my goals are realistic and useful.
Recently, I’ve been craving some independent exploration of Uganda. While it’s wonderful to be traveling with passionate, driven, interesting people, I think I have a strange appreciation for getting lost and wandering on my own in an unfamiliar place. I’ve come to understand that being able to travel alone is an incredibly useful skill and I would hope it’s something that can be cultivated in anyone who has the opportunity to travel. In addition to being immensely empowering, independent travel also forces you to address your experience, how you feel about it, and how you will change from it in a very immediate way. My father traveled throughout all of India when he was 16 years old, and he still remembers it as a time of intense introspection, fierce independence, stupid freedom, and a rare form of happiness. I get pangs of these sentiments, though I imagine that they come out in full force after extended periods of solitary travel. Perhaps I have the makings of my plans for summer 2009, or maybe it’s just the dysentery causing such rumination. The side effects are strange here, I tell you.
My apologies for the (potentially toolish) Latin title, but I’ve found myself surrounded by a lot of Latin recently. Clearly, I’m reverting back to high school when Latin was the cool thing to do (wait, that was never true?!). Loosely translated, it means, “Words fly away, but the letter remains.” This used to be one of my favorite quotes from my Latin teacher, but I think I read it with a grain of salt these days, especially given my recent tumultuous relationship with language and speech. You’re welcome to take it or leave it.
Hope you’re enjoying the 4th of July, wherever you are in the world. I’m back in the States in a month. My goal is to stay healthy until then.
I’ve been back to work for a couple of days and things are progressing fairly well. We're currently coding the responses to the quality surveys, having conducted a very brief pilot. As I’m sorting through the logistics of this survey, I’ve developed a deeper appreciation for the nuances of speech and language: for the first day of the pilot, I observed my friend (and translator) conduct the questionnaire in order to ensure that it could be completed in a realistic span of time, and that my questions were clear and relevant to my target population. My friend was kind enough to translate the patients’ answers into English for me throughout the pilot. However, I found it incredibly frustrating to hear a patient’s five-minute answer in Luganda translated to and recorded as, “It’s fine,” in English. As the interviews were being conducted, I noticed so much going on in the client’s body language and facial expressions; it killed me to find it all distilled down into two fairly meaningless words. It’s slightly disconcerting to imagine how much crucial data and testimony is lost in translation.
I could ask my friend to translate the answers sentence-by-sentence, but it would be blatantly disruptive to the flow of conversation--it wouldn’t be worth satisfying my curiosity at the expense of conducting an effective survey. I may use a voice recorder at the interviews, but many people (especially those from more vulnerable populations) become incredibly nervous and skeptical of my intentions when they see the recording device. It also seems that my physical presence may be detracting from a patient’s willingness to answer honestly: I feel that I’m an unfortunate (and confounding) distraction for many of the clients. As such, I'd like to train some local university students and RHU volunteers about the basics of conducting a survey. This way, RHU can hold onto this skill long after I leave. It would be really wonderful if the same people who conduct the survey also learn how to analyze the data. I have all these big plans (and more!) for the next month—we’ll just have to see how many of my goals are realistic and useful.
Recently, I’ve been craving some independent exploration of Uganda. While it’s wonderful to be traveling with passionate, driven, interesting people, I think I have a strange appreciation for getting lost and wandering on my own in an unfamiliar place. I’ve come to understand that being able to travel alone is an incredibly useful skill and I would hope it’s something that can be cultivated in anyone who has the opportunity to travel. In addition to being immensely empowering, independent travel also forces you to address your experience, how you feel about it, and how you will change from it in a very immediate way. My father traveled throughout all of India when he was 16 years old, and he still remembers it as a time of intense introspection, fierce independence, stupid freedom, and a rare form of happiness. I get pangs of these sentiments, though I imagine that they come out in full force after extended periods of solitary travel. Perhaps I have the makings of my plans for summer 2009, or maybe it’s just the dysentery causing such rumination. The side effects are strange here, I tell you.
My apologies for the (potentially toolish) Latin title, but I’ve found myself surrounded by a lot of Latin recently. Clearly, I’m reverting back to high school when Latin was the cool thing to do (wait, that was never true?!). Loosely translated, it means, “Words fly away, but the letter remains.” This used to be one of my favorite quotes from my Latin teacher, but I think I read it with a grain of salt these days, especially given my recent tumultuous relationship with language and speech. You’re welcome to take it or leave it.
Hope you’re enjoying the 4th of July, wherever you are in the world. I’m back in the States in a month. My goal is to stay healthy until then.
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