la gente unida jamás será vencida

as i said in my last post, there were giant protests across the country last week against proposed education reforms.   i was strongly advised not to go.  i debated with myself for a while, but finally i just thought, screw it.  if i followed every state department warning, i'd spend my whole life locked in a pupi little apartment in the north, with a private security guard holding a machine gun at the gate.  and that's no way to live.  or experience colombia.  that's not why i'm here.  if i always did what they said, i'd probably not even be here in the first place.  and anyway, this is an issue that's pretty important to me.  and that i'm kind of invested in, as a teacher in colombia.  so i went.  i haven't been to a protest in months, and i've never been to a protest like this.

 

there were rumors that it might turn violent.  warnings that the FARC and ELN rebels might infiltrate the protests and incite violence to stick it to the government.  apparently they've done this before at protests.  but these rumors seemed to me absolute poppycock, even (and maybe especially) because they came from the government's intelligence agency.  the government tends to take the convenient witch-hunt approach of accusing anyone who disagrees with them of being rebels.  it's so handy for suppressing popular dissent.

there were also some worries because at some student protests the week before, they chucked homemade explosives about.  not good, guys.  protests are great, but violent ones, not so much.  plus it totally degrades your legitimacy.  but i didn't think this one would turn violent--the organizers and student leaders had promised a peaceful protest, and this one was so big and well organized and observed that i trusted they'd stick to it.

i was a little torn at first, because in some ways, this wasn't my fight.  but in other ways, it was.  i am a teacher in colombia--i have a responsibility to stand up for the rights of other teachers and work to improve their working conditions, even if i won't get those benefits myself.  but mostly, it was because of my kiddos.  i love those little tykes, even and especially the troublesome ones.  and having the opportunity of higher education--whether or not they wind up going to college or technical school--makes a huge difference in their motivation during primary education, and even in their outlook on life. but if little alejandra knows that she has no opportunities in life other than running a hair clip stall in the market like her parents, what's her incentive to put effort into studying english?  or to anything in school, for that matter, beyond maybe basic arithmetic.  that's bad news for me and for her.

it was a teacher work day, so there were no classes--i think that's why they scheduled the protest when they did.  at around 7 am, i was grading some papers when i heard loud shouts, chanting, and horns blaring on the street.  i rushed outside half-dressed to see what the commotion was, but people were too distracted to notice my pjs.  a crowd of students bearing banners was marching and shouting and running through the street.  they took up the whole 4-lane highway, much to the dismay of commuters.  hordes of police officers on motorcycles followed them.  "not nearly as many as the last one..." commented my host brother, who'd come out to see the fuss too.

i headed down for the central square, the plaza de simon bolivar.  it was pretty packed, with a big stage at one end where union and advocacy leaders were giving speeches.  they were pretty interesting, too--i learned a lot more about the issues with the education system in colombia.  and it was inspiring to see such passion from so many people.

the plaza was also packed with street vendors, which seemed a bit odd at first but i suppose was quite economically logical.  mixing with the shouts of support to the speakers and chanted political slogans were calls of "fresh orange juice--just 400 pesos!  chicharones!  papas fritas! gaseosas y agua frío!"  people pushed carts filled with barrels of fresh-squeezed juice, tart salted mangoes drenched in lime juice, sizzling skewers of dubious-looking meat, crispy empañadas and arepas, trays of deep-fried pork rind, and churros glistening with sugar and hot oil.  i think brown student groups could take a leaf from colombia's book--put all that on the main green and you're sure to get a bunch more people at your protest--one thing's for certain, college students are always up for good (and preferably free) food.

after a while, i went to check out the marches.  there were 5 coming from various parts of the city, all converging on the plaza.  some of them had been blocked by the police (bad form, guys).  but others had made it through.  there were so many people! they just kept coming and coming down the street with their signs and flags and banners.  people lined the streets cheering them on, joining in the chants.  some people from the top floor of an office building came to the window, waved and shouted their support, and started throwing confetti out the window like it was a parade.

it started to rain, but they remained unfazed.  "¡abajo, abajo, abajo a la privatización!"  i joined in with their chant, smiling wryly as i remembered learning that word in spanish class almost 10 years ago with that infantile rhyme: "izquierda, derecha, delante detrás. cerca de lejos de, y algo más. ABAJO, arriba, enfrente, encima. y ahora, muchachos, se acaba la rima!" who knew that one day i'd be putting that knowledge to this use? ¡la gente unida jamás será vencida!" that has a much nicer ring to it in spanish than in english.

we continued along the road towards the museo del oro and the national bank.  these were bigger streets now, and they were thickly lined with police in full riot gear--big shields, bullet-proof vests, stern helmets, guns, batons, bandoliers of teargas.  private security guards stood in front of the bigger shops and building.  at the smaller shops, people pulled down their metal gratings and peered nervously out at the scene. some students went up to empty walls and started graffitiing political slogans and opposition messages against the reforms.  a bit further down the road a few teenage boys got into an argument with the police.  as the argument got more heated, the crowd got more nervous.  then the boys started waving machetes at the police.  yikes.

i am pretty terrified of machetes.  perhaps it's because the LRA rebels, who have been on my mind a lot over the past 5 years, are known as the tong tong (chop chop) after the machetes they use.  i remember when i was in rwanda, heading towards kigali from the ugandan border, i saw a group of teenage fellows on their way to work in the tea fields, holding machetes.  it's been almost ten years, but it still sent shivers down my spine.  and i did not feel much better now.

deciding this might be a good time to peace, i went down a side street to the broad boulevard near the museum.  it's a lovely little place, full of cafes and restaurants and shops--a nice place to hang out.  but it had a somewhat sinister feel today--imposing black tanks with dark windows and bullet proof plating were parked in front of the church, a few meters from the marchers.  they had those triangular plough shaped things at the front like trains have for knocking aside cattle.  except these were for knocking aside people.  the street was packed with police, all geared up and looking ready for battle.

a handful of protesters turned down a side street and advanced with their banner, painted on an old bed sheet.  almost immediately, a phalanx of police converged and started towards them.  they made for quite an intimidating sight, marching sternly towards the students.  they were in even more riot gear and armor than the other police, and looked rather like stormtroopers--and not the sort of goofy ones in episode 4, the super creepy ones in episode 3 all dressed in black and ready to do darth veder's bidding.  the students held their ground, and the crowd murmured nervously.  this might turn into a showdown, and it could get ugly.  however, as the stormtroopers neared, the students slowly backed away and dissolved into the crowd.

then suddenly we heard shots fired and an explosion, there were screams, and we ran.  out of the corner of my eye i saw a plume of white smoke rising up from the crowd of protesters not far away.  you always see that in movies--a BOOM and then everyone scatters, but this was the first time i'd ever experienced it.  it's the most instinctual thing in the world--you hear the shot and you're halfway down the street before your mind even realizes what your body is doing.  i sprinted past a group of police and security guards--they were running away and barricading themselves in the bus station, pulling down the metal grating to block the door.  oh great, thanks for protecting the people.

eventually, we slowed down and paused, listened.  silence.  i had no idea what had just happened.  no one did.  who had fired the shots?  was it even gunfire?  it sounded almost like a cannon, but what is this, 1812?  were people hurt?--dead?  what had catalyzed the situation from an uneasy stalemate to all-out explosions?  slowly, the chanting started up again.  we looked at each other, made a decision. "you're an idiot.  and such an adrenaline junkie," i told myself as i crept back towards the main road.

there were a few more explosions, all further off in the crowd.  we fled and returned like waves crashing and receding along the shore.  i found out later that police had fired into the crowd something called "debilitating grenades" (that's the best translation i could come up with)--apparently some kind of explosives filled with a temporarily stunning gas.  it sounds rather like tear gas.  6 people were injured--not too severely, but still.  there were similar incidents in other cities, a girl was beaten by police in medellín, etc.  but by all accounts, it was a relatively calm protest--at least as calm as a protest can be in colombia.  which was an interesting culture shock.  i've been to a lot of protests, but i'm so accustomed to the right to protest, the assurance that everything will be fine.  it was interesting to experience a protest where people were actually risking something, and coming forward anyway because they felt so strongly about the issue.

education reforms

there was a giant protest in bogotá last week with the teachers, university students, and education administrators. hundreds of thousands of people protested in various cities around the country.  now i'm no expert on the issue, i've only had it explained to me or read about it in spanish, but as i understand it, this is the problem:

government is instituting a package of education reforms, which seems to be designed mostly to help with the budget.  of course everyone's tightening their belts these days, but in my opinion this is the wrong way to go about it.  as often happens when governments try to save money (ahem republicans in washington), they cut social services first, and this falls hardest on those who can least afford it--the poor.  so they're privatizing a large fraction of the community colleges and public universities.

now privatization is often good for development, and can lead to greater efficiency. but in this case the result is this: the poor are going to lose almost all access to tertiary education.  what's the result?  quality education will continue to become increasingly concentrated in the hands of the wealthy.  colombia's already heavily unequal society will become even more divided.  the rich will get richer, the poor will get poorer. not good.  it is also thought that with privatization, the universities will loose their focus on public service and the common good--community colleges in colombia have traditionally focused on research, curricula, and projects that will help improve the lot of the common people in colombia, not just earn more cash for the school.  all that could change soon.

the protests are also calling for better conditions for teachers in public schools.  teacher salaries are low in colombia (just like in the US) and there's a gignormous gap between the salaries at public and private schools.  there's a huge problem with retention of good teachers in public schools--they can make so much more money at private schools, and the conditions and resources are so much better, most teachers light out of the public school system as quick as they can.  so you wind up with the least trained, least effective, and least motivated teachers teaching in the roughest schools, the worst neighborhoods, with the fewest resources, for the poorest and most troubled kids in the city.

"Health is a right--it's not negotiable"

the protests are also calling for better healthcare and more union rights for teachers.  lousy conditions on these fronts just further hurt teacher motivation.  and they're calling for better funding for preschool education--which is especially important for children from poor families who aren't exposed to the supplemental education and early childhood development opportunities their wealthier peers are.

 the proposed education reforms will likely most hurt two vulnerable groups in society because of their low economic status: the Displaced people who fled their land because of the war, and the indigenous people and ethnic minorities.  this will further degrade their already low economic and also social status. 

like in the united states, in colombia education often gets the short end of the stick.  whenever something needs to be cut, there's a shortfall somewhere and resources need to be diverted, or something unexpected comes up, you can bet that the education pot is the first one they'll dip into.  like this winter with the floods--of course it was an emergency and the spending was necessary, but a lot of the money came from the education budget.  [incidentally, what is one of the biggest problem faced now by the displaced victims of the floods?  oh, yeah, lack of education infrastructure, and access to quality education...]

anyway, the education budget gradually gets chipped away and doesn't get replenished.  and the tricky thing about cuts to education spending is that it takes a long time to really feel their effects.  it's not like the kiddos are going to vote against you, they're too young, their parents often have other, more immediate problems on their mind.  the real blow won't be felt until maybe a decade later, when the kids graduate with substandard educational background and hurt the economy.  by that time you're well past your term of office.  bloody election cycle.  and it's all compounded by high levels of corruption in government anyway.  congratulations,  you got re-elected by wiggling the budget to favor short-term gains over long term economic and social growth.  you win, but your country loses.

9133 shoes

monday was the international day for landmine awareness and action.  there was a demonstration to mark the day in the main plaza in bogotá (plaza de simon bolivar, where most of the protests happen, and where the state department says i should often avoid).  i didn't realize this until i was reading about it in the paper, but there are more landmine victims in colombia than in any other country in the world besides afghanistan. landmines were banned by the mine ban treaty in 1997, but they continue to affect colombians, particularly in rural areas where the FARC and paramiliaries have been active.

the 9133 shoes displayed in the plaza represent
recorded victims of landmines in colombia since 1990. 870 of them are children's shoes--landmines disproportionately affect children, because they haven't been educated about them, or because they tend to play in areas where adults don't go. this is becoming an even bigger problem as people displaced by the war are finally starting to return to the homes they left.  the fighting may have shifted, but the danger is still there. landmines kill someone every other day in colombia, and since i got here in january, 72 people have been killed.  pretty chilling statistics.

i remember in south sudan seeing the red signs along the main road leading up from the border checkpoint to the market in nimule "danger: landmnes.  do not leave the road."  it was scary to think that just by straying from the path we could, potentially, die.  we passed huts and fields, where people were obviously living off of the main road.  little kids waved at us and screamed "muna!" (white girl).  they lived and played on this potentially mine-riddled land.

the schools where i was researching had NGO posters on the wall describing different types of mines, and how to recognize and avoid them.  i couldn't read them, but i studied them during breaks, just in case.  but the thing is, it's hard to be on your guard like that all the time.  one night my friend and i were perched  on the back of a motorcycle, heading off to a bar on the edge of town where the expats and aid workers hang out, when the driver said "we must take another route." he was a little evasive when we asked why, but eventually said, "the road right by your house, it has been closed off.  they think they have found a landmine and are trying to disable it."  it turned out to be a false alarm, but was still pretty scary.

the first time i heard about landmines, i was in first grade and saw a picture of princess diana with some girls in west africa.  i asked "mommy, why do those girls only have one leg?" and she said it was because of landmines, but i didn't quite get it. i wondered what they did with their extra one when they bought new shoes. the first time i was really exposed to the issue was when i was about 12 and reading this series of  books about afghanistan by deborah ellis. they're pretty great books, especially at presenting the issues to kids--showing children how war impacts children. in the story, the girl's brother has been killed by a landmine.  a girl in the story makes a living crossing minefields, and a boy in the book lost his leg to a mine.


these stories really impacted me.  they were just kids' books, but based on interviews in refugee camps in pakistan.  the idea that kids my age and even younger had to live with the reality that they might just be walking along one day, even well after a war had ended, and then suddenly, BOOM--they'd be dead or terribly maimed... it was frankly terrifying.  this is one of the worst weapons of war--long lasting, deadly, and almost target civilians and children with their indiscriminate destruction.

it was while reading these books that i decided i wanted to be an aid worker.  specifically, that i wanted to work on emergency education for war-affected children.  i remember quite clearly one night i'd stayed up until like 3 am to find out what happened to shauzia and her buddies in the story. and i got this vivid mental picture of myself standing outside a school tent in a refugee camp in pakistan. it was hot and dusty and i was watching the sun set, lost in thought about what had happened that day, and how we would move forward educating these children.  and i was entirely satisfied with what i was doing with my life.  and... well one thing led to another from there. i guess i've always vaguely kept that image in the back of my mind.  it's a good thing my sister had to read this for her book report and recommended it to me, or my life might be very different! but then again, i guess we all have a number of turning points in life, and we all eventually wind up where we're supposed to be.

P.S.  the US has not signed the 1997 international mine ban treaty. big surprise!  the US kind of sucks at signing on to international human rights legislation.  they also haven't ratified the UN convention on the rights of the child (just chillin' like a villain with somalia on the "only countries in the world that have not ratified" list), or the rome statute to join the international criminal court, and they take a sort of "maybe if we feel like it" approach to not funding armies that use child soldiers. but i digress.  there seems to be opposition to the treaty from the military, which tends to oppose anything that might potentially impact what they can and can't do (see: the international criminal court).  obama mentioned over a year ago that maybe we should look into signing the mine ban treaty, but it doesn't seem like a lot of progress has been made on that front.  if you want to do something about that, go HERE to sign a petition or write a letter to your member of congress about it.  thanks, you rock!

picture above: sign in a bus in colombia urging people to respect those with disabilities.  wheelchair, leg blown off by landmine, just your average disabilities.  toto, i've go a feeling we're not in kansas anymore) 

baking in bogotá

baking has become one of my favorite pastimes here.  i've always liked cooking, and it feels strange to have someone else always cooking for me--whenever i ask my host mom if i can help in the kitchen she's like no, no, i've got it, and you don't know what you're doing anyway.  which is true.  i'm not used to cooking from the scratchiest bit of scratch, and there's not a lot i can make from the top of my head without a recipe or directions of any kind.  but, i'm getting a little tired of my rice-and-potato diet--variety is the spice of life, but the traditional colombian diet seems to be both literally and metaphorically devoid of spice.  and the whole one-meal-a-day thing tends to leave me hungry round about nightfall when i'm just sitting down to grade my mountains of papers.  for all these reasons, i decided that i wanted to start baking more. 

of course i didn't have room for cookbooks in my suitcase, so i turned to the magic of the internet.  my mind immediately fell on my dear friend sarah rosenthal, who writes an awesome baking blog with her sisters, aptly named The Baking Sisters.  it is full of delicious recipes, pretty pictures of baked goodies, and amusing anecdotes and you should all check it out!  sarah is an amazing cook--she always brought the best treats to cast parties and her roommates were the envy of all for their constant exposure to delicious smells and free food.  one snowy shabbat a few years ago i had the pleasure of cooking with her, which was great fun, and i was wicked impressed with her skills.  but i'd always been a bit too intimidated to actually try one of her recipes.  until now--there's a first time for everything!

the first attempt was chocolate chip cookies--specifically, chocolate chip cookies for kids with no teeth.  chocolate chip cookies--sounds pretty simple and foolproof, right?  but oh, just you wait... i first read through the ingredients list, carefully translated it, and went over the list with my host mami to see if we had the ingredients.  apparently she doesn't bake much, as the only things we had were flour and eggs.  so i jumped on the bus and went in search of ingredients.

 the first challenge was that chocolate chips do not appear to exist in colombia.  i went to several different stores and searched everywhere, but they were nowhere to be found.  eventually i found some M&Ms, and figured that those were vaguely similar to chocolate chips.  but they were expensive and imported, so i grabbed two baggies, hoping that would be enough.  they also did not have real brown sugar, but this brownish kind of granulated sugar that resembled sugar in the raw and wouldn't pack at all.  it was worth a try, though.  after a long search i found baking powder and vanilla.  i also remembered that we had some "buttery spread" at home, so decided to use that instead of buying real butter, as this was getting expensive.

My tragic first attempt at chocolate chip cookies

when i returned home  i started skyping with my friend from home who was also baking the cookies.  i couldn't find the flour, though, and had to go find my host mama to locate it.  "here it is," she said, handing me a sack of cornmeal.  oh dear.  i'd forgotten that people don't really use wheat flour here--arepas and empañadas and such are all made with corn flour.  so harina is assumed to mean corn flour... i should have been more specific.  but all the stores were closed so i decided to try it anyway.  i tasted the batter.  bleh!  it was like cornbread with chocolate on it--and not the sweet kind of cornbread you get at fresh fields, a bland salty home-on-the-range cornbread.  to cover up the cornmeal flavor, i added a bunch more sugar--that weird crystallized "brown sugar."  soon it got too dry, so i had to add water and some more vanilla, just for good measure.  in the absence of a whisk or electric mixer, i stirred it around with a fork and my hands.

when i opened the bag of M&Ms, i realized i was still a cup short on chocolateyness.  so i went for my box of bribes--the little candies i use to try to get the little estudiantes to actually do their homework and such.  it occasionally works.  i had a few little pieces of white chocolate, a candy bar i'd gotten free with a set of colored pencils, some malt balls...but i was still short.  searching the cupboards, i came upon the giant brick of chocolate we use to make hot chocolate in the morning.  it is cinnamoney, none too sweet, and nearly impossible to break bits off of.  after much hacking with a giant knife i was able to get a few chunks to throw in the mix. 

we didn't have a pan, but i found this metal sheet that was part of a grill.  it wasn't especially flat, which led to problems down the road, but it was the best i could do.  also, my host mama informed me that i couldn't use the oven--apparently it doesn't work very well, i have never seen it in use, and we use it as a cupboard.  so i had to use a toaster oven.  it ended poorly.  the fake-butter and all the excess not-brown sugar sort of melted into puddles while the lumps of cornmeal with their eclectic mixes of candy slid down the sloped sides of the scrap of metal and coagulated in the corners.  when i tried to scrape them off the metal, they simply disintegrated into an unnervingly rainbow-colored pile of mush.  delicious!

my later creations have been substantially more successful.  sunday has become my baking day, because everything closes up early, and even the bus routes shut down, so there isn't much to do in the evenings.  last sunday, i tried another of sarah's chocolate chip cookie recipes.  i decided to try again at finding chocolate chips, as they are somewhat integral to the recipe.  i have been warned never to go to Exito--the colombian equivalent of target, walmart, the grocery store, an insurance company, nursery, travel agent, and food court all in one--on a sunday, as it can get quite crazy.  but this quest for chocolate chips had led me to exito on a sunday almost every sunday this month.

there's a lot of resentment towards exito in bogotá.  the arguments are similar to those leveled against walmart--that it's pushing out local businesses, taking over all the industries in an area, and no one can compete with it.  but at the same time, it gives people--especially in poorer, more remote areas--access to things they wouldn't otherwise have access to, like books and electronics.  and lots of people really depend on their inexpensive staples, like their $10 weekly staple sack--some of the cheapest calories you can find in the country, but critical for many, like my students.  i'm not sure about their labor policies, and i'm sure their products aren't exactly fair trade, but then again look at labor conditions in other parts of colombia.  but actually, one of the biggest reasons for bogoteños' resentment of exito is that it's a chain from medellín, and they feel like it's invading their part of the country.  ah regional resentment.  i guess bogotá doesn't like admitting its not the only player in the game of the colombian economy.

anyway.  i didn't know the spanish word for chocolate chips, or even if there was one. "¿se vende chocolate chips aquí?"  i asked hopefully.   the girl restocking the shelves looked at me confusedly.  i hadn't really expected that to work.  i tried again, as i had at the other stores, to explain what they were "do you sell bags of very very small pieces of chocolate, which are used for baking cookies and deserts?"  but this time, my roundabout explanation worked.  

¡oh, chips de chocolate! she said.  of course, why didn't i think of that? anyway, she led me to an unexpected back aisle where i found a few bags of mini chocolate chips, kind of shoved up between some spices.  it would do, though.  i stocked up and headed home.

My second attempt at making cookies.

while i was baking, our adorable 2-year-old neighbor, pakeri, came by to visit.  she was quite fascinated with what i was doing, so i asked her to "help me."  this led to an unfortunate incident in which 2 cups of chocolate chips were added, rather than 1/2 cup.  but you can never have too much chocolate.  she liked playing with the dough, and rolled a bunch of miniscule balls of batter (which i surreptitiously augmented).  i still didn't have a cookie sheet, though, and had to make do with an assortment of casserole dishes, the sheet of metal from the grill, a glass platter, and a ceramic bowl.  nevertheless, they turned out pretty well, especially in comparison to my first attempt.  a little hard and extremely chocolatey, but delicious nonetheless.  and they sure beat rice and potatoes in flavor.

yesterday i made some raspberry crumble bars.  i was drawn to the recipe because in the baking sister's blog they were originally made for an AJWS bake sale, and i'm a big fan of that ngo.  they were a lot easier than the cookies and smelled awesome.  it was tricky to tell when they were done, though.  the fire kept going out in the stove, and because of the ridiculously high altitude i have to bake everything longer and hotter, but i'm not sure exactly how much.  also, i still don't have measuring spoons, so i'm using actual teaspoons and table spoons, hoping they're vaguely the right size, and estimating for the fractional amounts.  it's a very inexact science, and probably will lead to dessert disaster at some point.  but ah well.

this morning i noticed a corner was missing from the bars.  my host papi came downstairs and said in english "mmm, they were rich"  i smiled at the  slightly awkward translation of the spanish word rico-- which means wealthy, great, delicious, or sweet, depending on the context--and at the fact that my creation had his seal of approval.  huzzah, this is indeed improving relations with my host family!

p.s.: HAPPY BIRTHDAY SARAH!!!!

it only hurts when i breathe [or, of course you're sick! you're vegetarian!]

last week we had quite a fright.  i had just arrived to teach my first class of the morning when there was a bit of a commotion.  the kids were all running around the classroom, and rumors were flying about what had happened to their classmate who had just been sent to the infirmary.  this didn't seem too out of the ordinary--kids in general get sick a lot, which is compounded by lack of access to good sanitation in the area.  add to that how often these kids fight, and you get a lot of sick and hurt kiddos.

but it soon became apparent that this was no ordinary scuffle or sniffle.  ten minutes into the lesson, we heard sirens, and an ambulance came driving straight into the schoolyard as the guards unchained and unbolted the huge metal gates.  it was like watching a portcullis being lifted, i'd never seen the door actually opened, just a tiny peephole to which i have to defend my reason for being there every morning and a little slit of a mini-door where the stern guards let me through.  i tried to keep the students calm and somewhat focused on the lesson--they were shouting and standing on their desks trying to get a better view--but i was just as confused and curious as they were.

their regular teacher came running back to the classroom and grabbed her purse.  "i've got to go with him to the hospital.  you take the class for the day."  there was a flurry of "what happened to him? where are they going? is he going to be ok?  what's wrong with him?"s and i tried to pretend to be calm and said "don't worry, i'm sure the doctors are taking good care of him.  sra. inez is going with him to the hospital, i'm sure we'll all know more soon..." my numbers-greater-than-10 worksheet suddenly didn't seem so important anymore.

as substitute teachers don't really exist in colombia, i wasn't sure what to do when i was supposed to switch classes. i had 80 more students waiting, but i didn't want to leave these ones alone.  i eventually did some juggling with the other teachers, took over one of their classes, and somehow it all got sorted.  the next day in the teacher's lounge i saw profesora inez, and asked her what on earth had happened.

Displaced children in a South Bogotá slum waiting for food (NYT)

"well, i think he's going to be o.k., but he'll be in the hospital for a while.  he has a severe lung infection.  oh, that poor boy--he's had a lot of health problems.  he lives up in the mountains in the slums for the Displaced with his brothers and mother.  they get up at 3 or 4 in the morning every day and walk miles and miles to get to school here.  and back.  their mama is very passionate about education, she wants to make sure they get the best schooling they can so they can have more opportunities.  there are schools up in the mountains, but they're not as good as this one, and they're a lot more violent--it's just not a good environment for learning.  but i'm sure you can imagine, what with the poor sanitation in the slums, bathing in that cold water, and walking that far every day through the bad air, the dust and pollution.  he caught a gripe* last year and never really got medical treatment for it, so it just got worse and worse." 

wow.  my first touch of the war hitting home.

i'm kind of frustrated by the lack of medical attention in the school in general.  the school has over 3000 students, and they spill over into three different buildings, one of which is a mile away from the main campus.  and one nurse.  in one of the buildings.  a number of my students have had fighting-related injuries (not from fighting in my class, thankfully, but the aftermath from previous classes or recess).  and if they're unlucky enough to be in two of the three buildings that have no infirmary, the best we can do is send them home.  i'm afraid this one poor fellow had a concussion, i found him in the back of the classroom crying and holding his head.  i stupidly, automatically, said "do you want to go to the nurse?" and he said dazedly "what nurse?"  it was decided that he should sit outside by the gate and wait for his parents.  his papi arrived an hour later, on a bicycle, popped the boy on the back, and went off.  i do hope he's o.k.

two girls came up to me crying the other day after recess with skinned knees and bloody stockings.  ---"she hit me!"----  "NO, she hit me first!" ---"girls, why are you fighting again?  violence has no place in a school!"  i probably mucked up the grammar on that, but i think they got the idea.  "now let's see... uuf that looks bad, do you want to go to the nur--i mean... bathroom to wash it?" i finished lamely.  the bathrooms have no paper towels or toilet paper or even soap (which is a health issue of its own), and are usually locked up, so that wasn't going to be especially helpful to the girls, but it was the best i could do.  perhaps they could splash some water at the wounds to get some of the dirt out.  "i don't even think we have a first aid kit here," i thought exasperatedly.

this is probably coincidental, but on the subject of illness, the day after the ambulance incident a gripe hit me hard, like a kick to the back of the knees, and knocked me out for a good week or so.  i'm still not in tip-top condition.  i couldn't even get out of bed for several days. not fun.  my host mami took me to the doctor, which was an adventure.  after waiting for several hours, he saw me and asked what was up.  i asked if he spoke english, because i really wanted to avoid miscommunication, and when he nodded i gratefully explained my symptoms in english.  he did not react in the slightest and then said "now tell me in spanish.  um... it'll be good practice for you,"  it was obvious that he did not, in fact, speak any english.  i sighed and went at it again.  he stopped me and corrected my every grammatical error.  i was not in the mood for a spanish lesson.

finally he said, "well, of course you're sick--you're vegetarian!!!"
"um... i don't think that's it.  i'm pretty sure it's the flu.  and altitude sickness."
"you at least eat chicken and fish, right?" he asked.  when i said no, he shook his head as if to say 'what am i going to do with you?'  he continued, "but how do you expect to to be healthy and have energy if you don't eat meat?"
"um... i eat other things?  it's never been a problem before.  so about the flu..."
"but it's just not natural!  God made man to eat meat.  yes, you can survive without it, but you're going to pay a very high price health-wise."

after a long lecture on how i was disrupting the natural order of the universe by not eating animals, he prescribed me some cough syrup and unmarked black pills for congestion.  when he noticed that i looked like i had chicken pox, i was so covered in bedbug bites, he prescribed me an orally-ingested bug spray.  (i was a little wary about eating bug spray.  and i think that's kind of sidestepping the root of the problem, that my bed is infested with bugs)  as for the rest of the symptoms, he prescribed... sugar water.  yes, sugar water.  isn't that the classic placebo?  he said it would give me strength.  i was not impressed.

here are some reasons why bogotá is a bad place to be if your lungs are not happy:

• it is almost 3000 meters above sea level.  meaning the air is wicked thin.  so it's hard to breathe normally, you never feel like you've got quite enough oxygen, and being sick makes it doubly so.
• because of the high altitude, and also kind of lax environmental regulations, there's tons of pollution in the air, which makes it harder to breathe.  and easy to get sick again.
• the weather here is kind of london.  it's wicked cold and grey and damp and rains every day, which isn't exactly ideal for boosting the immune system.
• sanitation isn't great, particularly in poorer parts of the city, and soap is not too common--not just in the schools, but everywhere.  pack in a population of almost 9 million people, and you've got a little fandango of germs on the loose.
• because it's built on a mountain, everything's all up and down, just like providence or san francisco.  so there's no just going for a gentle stroll or running an errand.  going out requires climbing a mountain.

when i wasn't passed out, i spent a lot of time while i was sick watching pirated glee episodes.  thus, i post this ironic tribute to bogotá:

"it's so hard for me to breathe!  tell me how i'm supposed to breathe with no air?  living without you [in bogotá] is like living in a world with no air."

*gripe literally means flu, but it is used pretty vaguely to describe lots of different ailments--everything from sneeze or a stomach bug to lethal pneumonia.  which probably tells you something about the medical system here.  respiratory infections are common and dangerous, particularly for children--they're one of the leading causes of death for kids under 5 here.

also, on this subject, i saw this statistic that blew my mind.  it was from a world health organization report from a few years back, but still shocking.  the leading, number one cause of death in colombia is violence.  that includes violence from the war, narcotrafficking and gang violence (where's the line, often?), crime, and domestic violence.  together they comprise 16% of all deaths in the country.  and over a quarter of all the years of life lost in the country are due to violence.  which means that if you're gonna die in colombia, there's a pretty good chance that you'll die young and violently.  now there's a cheery thought.

the boy who lived

this has nothing to do with colombia, but i saw an article about this famous photograph in the (colombian) paper yesterday and i wanted to say some things about it.  it's on a poster hanging in my school, something about counting your blessings.  the pictures on it are problematic, but i like the sentiment.

ah, this photo.  this controversial, pultizer-prize-winning, world changing photo.  this is the stereotypical, iconic image of a starving african baby.  (in fact, if you google "starving african baby," this is the first hit.)  we studied this picture in several development studies classes.  it is a highly problematic photo, because a lot of people think, well, TIA--this is africa, the land of starving babies.  and that's a highly inaccurate generalization.  but that doesn't diminish the fact that this was, in fact, a very real situation and experience for one african baby.  it's a grittily, disturbingly true image.

and now, the story behind it: the photo was taken during the 1993 famine during the sudanese civil war by kevin carter, a white south african photojournalist.  it was published on the front page of the new york times, and won the pulitzer prize.  however, it also generated a lot of controversy and criticism.  there was a bit of a global uproar about the photo, and carter's winning the pulitzer for it--cries from all around of "why didn't you save her?" "how dare you capitalize on her suffering?" "you're the real vulture here!" and such from the media, the public, etc.  a few weeks after winning the pulitzer, amid the controversy, he killed himself, largely because he couldn't save her.  "I am haunted by the vivid memories of killings and corpses and anger and pain ... of starving or wounded children," he wrote in his suicide note.

 

but the new news is that the baby boy (yes, it was actually a boy, named kong nyong) didn't die--he actually survived the famine and lived another 14 years, reported a spanish paper monday. however, three years ago he died of fever--more than a decade after the photographer's suicide.

now some of the backstory behind the photo:  kevin carter, far from being some sort of war profiteer or disaster pornographer, was in fact a dedicated advocate of human rights.  he became a photojournalist with the goal of exposing the evils of apartheid in his native south africa, and even literally took a beating for standing up for his oppressed countrymen.  he took some groundbreaking photographs at a brutal public execution, about which he said, "I was appalled at what they were doing.   I was appalled at what I was doing. But then people started talking about those pictures... then I felt that maybe my actions hadn't been at all bad. Being a witness to something this horrible wasn't necessarily such a bad thing to do."  which kind of applies to his other photographs, too.  he flew on his own dime to sudan because he felt that the civil war and famine were being ignored by the world and he wanted to expose them.

kong nyong's dad

the criticisms that he was profiting from the boy's suffering are a little ungrounded too.  one of the reasons he killed himself, as explained in his suicide note, was because he was broke and heavily in debt, and couldn't afford to take care of his own children--so not exactly rolling in dough at the african child's expense.  the criticisms actually surprisingly reminiscent of some i have heard thrown at myself.  following the passage of the LRA disarmament and northern uganda recovery act, we got a lot of heat.  let me see if i can remember the wording of this one correctly... "the people at resolve are goons feasting on the riches of exploited african children."  i'm not sure what riches or feasts they were referring to, as the hardly-paid interns ate peanut butter off a spoon for supper...  another interesting fact: the photo was taken in south sudan, and the boy's name, kong nyong, sounds very acholi.  thus, it could be that we were both accused of exploiting the same african children.  but anyway...

more on the actual photo--if you zoom in really far, you can see that he's wearing a wristband, which indicates that he had already been seen by the UN and was about to be treated for acute malnutrition.  i don't know if carter knew that at the time, but there it is.  there are a number of reasons why the photographer didn't sweep up the baby and carry him off to safety like a white knight in shining armor.  (not saying they're all legitimate, but there were reasons)  he'd been instructed not to touch the famine victims because of the danger of spreading disease.  he was only in the area for a few minutes before the UN plane he'd been traveling on, which had come to deliver food, would fly off.  this was the first time he'd ever seen a famine, and was in shock.  he did actually chase the vulture away.  etc.

this blog (the borgen project, an interesting organization focused on ending global poverty) has some interesting things to say about the issue.  they take a rather sunnier view on it than i do though.  they basically say it's a story of hope because despite the hopelessness conveyed in the picture, the boy survived... i think this story reminds us that we shouldn't ignore the mundane causes of death and suffering in the world, like the fever that eventually killed the boy who survived the famine.  aids and famines are sexy things to get riled up about; they make for good celebrity photo shoots.  but diarrhea and pneumonia are by far the biggest killers of children under 5 around the world. not sexy at all, but true.

but i think the main question is: why was everyone asking "why didn't he help the baby?"  why weren't they saying "why didn't someone help the baby?"  or "why didn't the government/UN/church/international community help the baby?"  or, perhaps, "why didn't you or i do something to help the baby?"  or, more broadly speaking: "why didn't someone step in to prevent this situation from happening in the first place?"  we read this book, famine crimes, in the DS class where we studied the photo.  it goes into some interesting discussions about the root causes of famine.  there is enough food in the world; famine is always, always due to a failure of political systems.

when someone sees this photograph, when someone hears about a famine, they feel horror and revulsion, and instantly look for someone to blame.  you need a bad guy, otherwise you'll have to admit you live in a world full of passive neglect and unjust systems that allow this sort of atrocity to occur.  but don't shoot the messenger.  and that's pretty much exactly what happened in this case.

in the end, what impact did that photo have?  it's really hard to measure, but it definitely brought a lot more public attention to the war and famine, may have even helped in getting the international community to push for a peace deal.  front page of the new york times and the pulitzer aren't small potatoes, pardon the tasteless metaphor.  i'm sure we've all seen this photo at some point--it's sort of etched into our collective memory.

it was definitely, at least vaguely, in the back of my mind as a child whenever someone scolded me "eat your vegetables!  there are starving children in africa!"  or when i brought my pennies to the children's charity donation box at the korean dry cleaners.  i'm sure it's in the back of a lot of people's minds, again at least vaguely, when they write out their checks to whatever charity they choose, build up their karma by giving at the office.  even if the boy had died, which he didn't, could the picture have saved more people than it hurt?  it's quite likely.  again, he could say: "I was appalled at what I was doing. But then people started talking about those pictures... then I felt that maybe my actions hadn't been at all bad."

so i guess my moral of the story would be: dear the media and the public: lay off people who are doing their best to help.  who are devoting their lives to this, who are doing whatever they do best to try to change the situation, to make a difference, to stop this suffering and make life better for people.  i read this interesting twist on a biblical passage somewhere: "let he who gives all his money to help the needy cast the first stone."  touché.

In Santa Lucia, a town on the Atlantic coast devastated by last winter's floods, 130 children are receiving classes outside under trees
 

SANTA LUCIA, 19 FEB--Freddy Villa, an unemployed professor who was impacted by the floods in the south, feels that in the midst of the solitude and poverty left in the wake of the flood waters of the Magdalena river, life has given him an opportunity about which he's always dreamed: to be a teacher in his native Santa Lucía.

The natural sciences professor from the University of Pamplona is leading a program in which 130 children of families hurt by the floods receive classes under trees which withstood the winter onslaught.

"It gives me great pleasure to be able to help my people out here," says the teacher, who along with two preschool assistants and a recent graduate, all victims of the winter floods, have now been teaching classes for three weeks, Monday through Friday, from 7:30 to 11:00 am.

The initiative has the backing of a group of businesses in downtown Barranquilla which send school supplies, blackboards, and a salary of 50 thousand pesos a week [$25; fun fact: that's about how much i make a week] to Freddy and his three companions.