I me mine

Having perspective and having a perspective are two different things.

* * *

All thru' the day I me mine, I me mine, I me mine.
All thru' the night I me mine, I me mine, I me mine.

* * *

Last night, the BBC criticized the UN's coordination of the humanitarian response to cholera outbreak in Haiti. I told my dad, that was my job.  I am not a defensive person, I didn't take it personally (I am a small person in a big machine), I know we worked our asses off. I have my criticisms too.

* * *

Now they're frightened of leaving it
Ev'ryone's weaving it,
Coming on strong all the time,
All thru' the day I me mine.

I, I, Me, Me, Mine

I, I, Me, Me, Mine

I, I, Me, Me, Mine
    I, I, Me, Me, Mine    

* * *

George was the genius. Taking us deftly from a sweet waltz to hard riffs and screaming, imposing his rock upon the listener.
Just to make his point.
It's his song.

* * *

All I can hear I me mine, I me mine, I me mine.
Even those tears I me mine, I me mine, I me mine.

* * * 

When I returned from Haiti, I sat in the Maimi airport thinking of how selfish everyone else in the world was. Wanting to see Haiti still on the news, more than  the same false numbers updating on the CNN ticker. I wanted everyone around me to care. To know the lack of dignity that is cholera. The lack of shit pits. The lack of body bags. I wanted them all to care. And they didn't.
And I become a cliche bleeding heart aid worker who lost perspective. And I went from tears to giggles, regaining a little perspective upon my own selfishness.

* * *

No-one's frightened of playing it
Ev'ryone's saying it,
Flowing more freely than wine,
All thru' your life I me mine.

* * *

My job in Haiti was coordination... meetings, meetings, meetings. Each person in each coordination meeting had their agenda. Their message. They become characters in a sitcom.  Each had their role to play. The roles developed.
Rooms of strangers became strangely predictable.
Me too, just like everyone. I, sometimes deftly, sometimes clumsily, eventually sounded like a broken record.

* * *

I, I, Me, Me, Mine

I, I, Me, Me, Mine

I, I, Me, Me, Mine

I, I, Me, Me, Mine    

* * *

My perspective ain't no better than yours, unless I am right and you are wrong, which seems to be the case, from my perspective.

And that is precisely why a perspective is useless, but perspective is invaluable.

How many days?

I was taking time to comment on writing, on water.
On rubble and iron bar.
On this country.
Today,
I can't tell you what is happening anymore
because it changes too quickly
because I don't have enough perspective
because anything I say will come out as
sentimental
sinical
or
desperate.

* * *

You know my thoughts on data and numbers and indicators.
Read the papers about the cholera in Haiti, but remember bias and Heisenberg.

* * *

Context is everything.

I was enjoying the sourth in Leogane in Peitit Goave, under the mango tree. Getting the maps in order. Staying out of Port au Prince. During a completely failed meeting I was chairing, I got a call and left within two hours and was in the Artibonite region to respond to the cholera outbreak. Not a warm welcome.

Cholera is not a nice thing. You have to be ahead of the curve. Especially when it's unknown.

Final report

Alright then. Fine. Contest #6 was invented by me, therefore the results come quickly.

The short answer: I lost.
After a project is implemented, a final report is written. That will be the long answer.

Total contest tally: 0/5, awaiting the results of submission #5.

* * *

Final Report

Project Title:  Emergency support to vulnerable egos affected by the writing contest drought

Trayle, 17 October 2010

Overall Purpose: To contribute to my own happiness by having some fun writing

Achievements: Significant improvements in happiness and fun are evident within the target population. Ongoing, qualitative and quantitative monitoring and evaluation exercises continue to demonstrate an improved level of autonomy, ego-satisfaction and humor. The style of the blog in question has improved and focused, comments are increasing and the audience is becoming wider. The Technorati Authority of this blog has increased from 1 to 110, although the Google rating remains at 0. This shows minor improvements, but is also evidence that long term investment is needed to have an impact upon the overall purpose.

Specific Objective: To "win" at least one of these damn "contests"

Achievements: Although the specific objective for the current project was not yet achieved (see discussion on indicators), it is part of a wider, integrated approach of 10 coordinated efforts from various sources. The 15th of October 2010 indeed had the highest number of visitors in the history of the blog (59 total).

Objectively Verifiable Indicator: The number of visits to this blog on Blog Action Day (October 15, 2010) will be twice the maximum number of visits on any other day (baseline value: 45 visits).

Means of Verification: Google Analytics

Achievements: Google Analytics showed 59 visits during the project implementation period, an improvement of 31% from the baseline, and the highest number of visitors ever in one day. It is hypothesized that seasonal effects impacted baseline value of the indicator (see graph for long term seasonal variations). It should be noted that the baseline measurement was made on 7th of September, after two significant changes in status of the direct beneficiary population (moved to Haiti and got a new domain name) and thus the baseline value is artificially high (high interest season, new domain testing hits). Long term averages show about 9 visits per day, and thus 59 visits in one day is an excellent improvement (555% above the long term average).

The Tao of Water

I am an amateur blogger. 
I am a professional humanitarian aid worker in the water sector.
I am thus obliged to participate in this here incredible extravaganza called “Blog Action Day 2010 Water.” 

But don’t think I do so begrudgingly.  To save the world, you have to focus and today that focus fits me pretty well.

* * *

Water is simple: three atoms, two elements, one small molecule.

Add another molecule and those tricky little hydrogen bonds start complicating things. Water doesn’t behave the way it should. Water is subversive. Little rascal. And that is precisely what makes it important.

Add solutes, energy, people and the rest of the world and water gets complicated. Very complicated. Very quickly. And very important.

* * *

A link poem
(But don’t let the links distract you just yet…)

Water is or is not
accessible, distributed, shared,
contaminated, cleaned, protected,
managed, exploited, recycled,
used.

Water creates or controls
diarrhea, malaria, malnutrition, 
HIV, health, bodies,
food, animals, products, energy,
productivity, livelihoods, economics,
life.

Water detains or develops
women’s choices, education, social structures,
religion, land issues, conflicts, wars,
politics, corruption, human rights,
history.

Water is oceans, tsunamis, floods and droughts, climate change.

Water is simply
part of a complex
violent, calm, deplorable, luxurious
system of which we are
a small part.

 
*  *  *

Words on a blog are linear. Water is not linear.

If you spread out all those words in a circle on the floor, take colored string or paint or sand, and started connecting each idea to all those others with which it has a relationship, you would end up with incredible art, perhaps a mandala, about water. One day I will do this.

* * *

Today, I will let others take you on the journey through those ideas. Although I am qualified, I will let others explain and expand on that simple list of words. I will let others cite numbers and statistics.

Get out of your pool (so you don't ruin the computer), sit in the shade (so you can see the screen) and follow links and learn about water and the world in which we live.

Trust me, water shapes your world and a world bigger than yours. Those iron-sheeting shacks, those mud-pressed-in-sticks huts, those billion slum/desert/jungle dwelling worlds aren’t so far from yours.

(But please, please, I beg you… remember two things: Hiesenberg and Bias).

* * *

Today, my contribution will be an introduction to the Tao of Water.

You have probably heard of the Tao Te Chieng. It is a series of 81 chapters of (sometimes cryptic, always relevant) Chinese wisdom compiled around 500 B.C. in which water is a reoccurring theme (my bias).

In chapters 8, 15, 32, 36, 39, 43, 61, 66 and 78, water or its properties are mentioned.

8:
Higher good is like water: the good in water benefits all, and does so without contention. It rests where people dislike to be, so it is close to the Way.
Where it dwells becomes good ground;

15:
…their relaxation was as that of ice at the melting point. Simple as uncarved wood, open as valleys, they were inscrutable as murky water.
Who can, in turbidity,
use the gradual clarification of stillness?

32:

Heaven and earth combine, thus showering sweet dew. No humans command it; it is even by nature.
The Way is to the world as rivers and oceans to valley streams.

36:
This is called subtle illumination. Flexible and yielding overcome adamant coerciveness.

39:
When unity was attained of old, heaven became clear by attaining unity
valley streams were filled by attaining unity…
What brought this about was unity:
without means of clarity, heaven may burst; without means of steadiness, earth may erupt; without means of quickening, spirit may be exhausted; without means of filling,
valley streams may dry up,

43:
What is softest in the world drives what is hardest in the world.

61:
A great nation flows downward into intercourse with the world.

66:
The reason why rivers and seas can be lords of the hundred valleys is that they lower themselves to them all;

78:
Nothing in the world is more flexible and yielding than water. Yet when it attacks the firm and the strong, none can withstand it, because they have no way to change it.

(Translations used without permission, although I have indeed purchased the book from which they came and recommend it as a nice translation. From THE ESSENTIAL TAO - Translated and presented by Thomas Cleary)

* * *

Words to live by. Literally.

I hope you enjoy Blog Action Day about water. I hope you let the links destract you.

I hope you stick around and check out my adventures and adventrues.

I hope you leave a comment. Do you have a link that might fit in my poem? Did I miss a water reference in the Tao?

* * *

End note 1

In doing what I do, I work in a broader field than just water. We have a nifty acronym: WASH. This stands for water, sanitation and hygiene (though I try as much as I can to get even boarder than that). As a wild WASH woman, it is my duty to also share with you some related news about today, October 15, 2010:

Today is also Global Handwashing Day.

Handwashing is important. It the most cost effective way to prevent diarrhea (Lancet). More so than clean water. Admittably, water helps in washing hands… (although when you are in the dessert, rubbing your hands with dirt and sand can also clean them), but don’t get me started on handwashing, just check out some of the interesting stuff online. (Just remember Hiesenberg and bias as you read.)

* * *

End note 2

“I am an expert.”  (hits television…)

I have asked you readers to trust my qualifications, to trust that I know what I am talking about, to trust I have some authority to blog about water and that maybe my links here are “good” ones. In fact, I do.
I don’t mean to sound egotisitical (although sometimes I play that game here in blog-land), and in fact I am quite humble and insecure.

“…and thorough.”

My point is not my personality, but rather if you don’t trust me (and why should you?), drop a comment and I’ll send you my CV (especially if you want to hire me).

Everywhere there's signs...

Shameless editorial note: Please come back the 15th of October to help me win contest #6.

* * *

Don't get the wrong idea from this post. Haiti is not getting back to normal.

It is not being reconstructed. Or deconstructed. Or inducted.
But people live here. And they are living. And to do that, things are constructed.
As this happens, the landscape changes. Shapes of slumped buildings adjust themselves, they become lighter, they become transparent.
Their pieces are laid in neat piles.
It is like wind is blowing around the rubble, the iron bar, the cement.
Shifting desert sands and dust, but a thousand times heavier.

* * *

I was in a certain meeting the other day. It lasted two days. It was many things... Many things were said and said again. And again. Somethings were said only once. Some things were brushed aside.

Discussing aspects of worst case scenarios, someone said "...if people build without control."

Life happens, my friend, and it is not controlled.

Walls and roofs and floors are no longer separated. They are being broken up. Piled up. Recycled. They are being built back from blocks that fell.

* * * 

I am not a bleeding heart aid worker. I am not naive (though my father may argue otherwise). I am not one who instantly identifies with a suffering population, believing I can solve their problems because I mistakenly think I understand them and feel their pain.

But I do think it is important to take off those damn yellow glasses and try to see something from another point of view than your own. Forget your own priorities for a second. Just one second, then go back. That's how we might start to get a realistic view of whatever it is we are looking at. It's not that we can ever be inside, really inside, something else; we are outside and will remain so (and there is value in that). But just a quick flip of perspective, upside down, once in a while is good. Question it. Then go back to where you were perched before, with a little clearer view.

Living. Eating. Bathing. Gambling. Carrying on after. Of course people are picking up old blocks and putting them back together. People aren't waiting for the engineers to come. They are not waiting for development projects with seismic retro fitting. They are not waiting for our project frameworks. They are living. And they will continue to do so.

Everyone has an agenda and a bias. I tried to loose my own, but maybe it is easier for me because I do not claim to be an expert on Haiti or reconstruction or normal.

* * * 

Messages are passed, as in other parts of the world, by taxis - or tap taps.

Many have heartfelt messages of faith (though most are french or creole, here is an english one).

Some are less deep and less meaningful. Most are spelled wrong.

This is my favorite. It is in creole. The driver translated for me (and did some awesome driving so I could catch a photo of it). I understood that it says roughly: "I would be ashamed if I were you."
With Rambo below.
Classic.
Excellent.

"God directs my affairs

fizzy drinks."

And if three people do it...

There is a fun treat at the end, after the business.

* * *

So, the contests continue, although I seem to be cheating a lot. But I make the rules, and no one seems to be objecting. (Uh, maybe that's cause no one is reading.) It's gone from contests to competitions, to submissions... to this. In my defense, the process has been transparent, I am not trying to manipulate the data, just have some fun.

To the right you will see a little widget for Blog Action Day. I normally won't put any advertising or such on my blog, but this is to fully participate in the endevour. You can read about the event or sign their petition to save the world.

Contest #6:  In terms of my contest rules, this is not a contest. So I will make it a contest with myself.

I previously discussed indicators. In aid work, these indicators demonstrate that you have achieved your objectives at/to various levels - in other words, show if you have "won" or not.
In my line of work, indicators must be SMART:
- S - Specific
- M - Measurable
- A - Achievable
- R - Relevant
- T - Time-bound
(Not as easy as you think.)

So in order for this to be a real contest with myself I have devised a contest FRAMEWORK, which includes a smart INDICATOR to measure the success of my OBJECTIVE. (Which is how it works in my world, but I won't give you a lessson of aid project frameworks today. For those of you in my line of work enjoy the following...)

* * *

Project Title:  Emergency support to vulnerable egos affected by the writing contest drought

Overall Purpose: To contribute to my own happiness by having some fun writing

Specific Objective: To "win" at least one of these damn "contests"

Objectively Verifiable Indicator: The number of visits to this blog on Blog Action Day (October 15, 2010) will be twice the maximum number of visits on any other day (baseline value: 45 visits).

Means of Verification: Google Analytics

* * *

There you have it. Spread the word. I will make a lot of noise to remind you on the 15th.
I promise I'll make it "good" - though what's good for me, may not be good for you...

* * *

"You know, if one person, just one person does it
they may think he's really sick and they won't take him. 
And if two people, two people do it,
in harmony,
they may think they're both faggots and they won't take either of them.
And three people do it,
three, can you imagine,
three people walking in singin a bar of Alice's Restaurant and walking out.
They may think it's an organization. 
And can you, can you imagine fifty people a day,
I said fifty people a day walking in singin a bar of Alice's Restaurant and walking out. 
And friends they may thinks it's a movement.

And that's what it is, the Alice's Restaurant Anti-Massacre Movement, and all you got to do to join is sing it the next time it come's around on the guitar.

With feeling. 

So we'll wait for it to come around on the guitar, here and sing it when it does.  Here it comes."

-The younger Guthrie man

Follow down

I felt I needed to follow up on a few things. So in all ernestness, I try to satisfy that subversive dark side and hence I will follow down.

* * *

Writing adventure:

With all my ranting about numbers, you'd've thunk I'd get them right myself, or at least use some consistant reporting format. Last time I mentioned my progress, well I screwed it all up. So, in fact I am 0/4, awaiting results on 1 submission. Some time back I wrote 4/5, which doesn't even make sense. (Even less than the double contraction in the phrase "you'd've thunk.")

To those of you who are new, that means I have entered 5 writing contests or competitions of somesort, I have not won any of them and I am awaiting the results of 1.

The sixth event is in view. It is not a contest at all I don't think, so maybe I won't count it in the tally, but it is a writing event in which I will participate. Stay tuned for mid-October. (Thanks for the tip, Sophie.)

Not very good results, but half way through my adventure, I think it is really hard to win these things. Who knows what "they" are looking for. Who knows who I am competing against. But I do know one thing, I am having fun and it is making me write more.

As for my ego, it is happily enjoying trying to make my blog better.

* * *

Life adventure:

Maybe the events of the past few weeks is why I feel the need to follow down, rather than up. Earthquake. Floods. Mouse in the office.

There was no major damage from the earthquake (a few things fell down that were already falling, I thought that someone was kicking my bed). More significant was the way it made people feel.

Summary Data: Magnitude 4.4, 3 minutes to verify it by a USGS siesmologist, 3 more minutes to get my own GPS point from my phone, download the KML file from USGS, plot the points in GoogleEarth and make the following map. 19.2 miles from me (as the crow flies). I love it. How cool is that!

The bias is clear. How me-centered is all that data? Hiesenberg... not sure how he fits in, but he must. By making the map did I affect anything? I spent a few minutes with the gaurds showing them the map. They may have thought I was nuts, but they seemed to enjoy the company.

And then the floods and winds came down from heaven with great wrath, and many of the 8 (9?) month old ramshackle tents and tarps got blown to shit. Billboards flew around among the power lines. People died. And how did it affect me? The office went into overdrive. Very exciting and good learning from some talented folks.

But the mouse in the office was the real emergency, and like all big storms, he got a name. Murphy the WASH Cluster mascot mouse.

Oh boy do I sound... jaded? tired? twisted? I assure you, I am all of those things.

* * *

For you folks at home, I do not live in a tent anymore. When I am not in Port au Prince, I live in a 2x3m room in a metal shipping container. Quite safe in an earthquake and in a storm. When I am in Port au Prince, I live on my friends' floors. Still a hobo singin' that lullaby.

Indicators

The answer is 42.
But what does 42 mean, really?

Remember two things: Heisenberg and Bias.

* * *

Dirty old Heisenberg

If you look my way
I might smile or scowl
or curse
depending
on who you might be
friend or foe
or dirty old man.
Even when I seem
to do nothing
know that ignoring you
is a calculated reaction.

* * *

Inherent Bias

We wear yellow glasses. We are looking at a blue world. We see a green world. If we know our glasses are yellow, then hopefully we will remember that the green world we are looking at is actually bluer than that which we see as green.

* * *

The problem of measurement or observation or knowing is not new. Heisenberg was mentioned and there is Schrödinger and his poor cat or the quantum suicide scenario, which are more obtuse discussions about observers and the observed, whose practicality is questionable.  I am a scientist and aid worker, so that’s what’s practical to me.

An interesting and practical discussion about the perspective of being outsider on the Tales From The Hood blog rung true with me in certain situations, but he left something out.  He is right, sometimes an outsider can filter out a local bias, but sometimes an outsider can exaggerate a local bias as well. The important thing is to be aware of one’s effect and one’s biases and the situation and the complex interactions therein. We can never eliminate these things, but we can at least be aware of them.

* * *

Intelligent scientists and aid workers alike know that by measuring something you do indeed affect it. We also know, despite not being quantum physicists, that we will never know the exact value or position or whatever. Whether numbers or simple observations, we are careful to minimize these things by triangulation, awareness and thoughtful measurement methods.

An example: Hydrogeologists poke holes (i.e. dig wells) into aquifers and in doing so disrupt what was once, and in being aware of that, we accept it because it is good enough to understand the system. It is that, in fact, our goal in observing anything: to understand what is going on. 

When we do science in aid work, we are still scientists and indeed report a range of values or other interpretations that reflect uncertainty. The methodology (how these numbers are arrived at) is rigorous and has been peer reviewed, published and duplicated by experts. The documentation of such methodology is available, transparent and clear, even to someone outside the relevant technical field who has basic mathematics background, some curiosity and half a brain.

An example: We measure a certain number of randomly sampled children to represent a greater population which is very specifically defined and say, for example, that for this defined population there is an 80% chance that we are beyond the emergency threshold of global acute malnutrition or that the level of X problem is Y% with a 90% confidence interval of +/-Z.

* * *

On NOT understanding Heisenberg: The danger in science and in aid work is when people do not take the time to understand what a number or observation means: how it was measured, the constraints and limitation inherent in it, some people don’t even know the units associated with that number (e.g. 42). Without some knowledge about the mechanics of the observation, you will never know what anything actually says about the system or population or, really, about anything.

On NOT understanding Bias: This can be your bias (your yellow glasses), as well as the bias of the presentation. The most dangerous and common thing of all is to talk about a number or to compare two numbers that are not related at all and then draw some wide-sweeping conclusions from them. There are many particularly worrying examples of this. Some examples of this are well intentioned but careless, and some straight-up-dirty manipulation of data.

Back to practicality. We make observations to come to conclusions. I hate conclusions. They are usually wrong because they depend on a complexity of things. But alas, conclusions are a necessary evil.

Understanding Heisenberg + Bias = better conclusions. Knowing what the number or observation means helps filter some bias, but can’t get it all. By being aware of bias, and especially the bias of the audience, and by trying to take off or lighten the yellow glasses makes the conclusion stronger, more realistic and inherently better.

* * *

One problem with my argument is that it is too idealistic and simple. Bad science, bad measurements and bad observations are rampent. Which makes pretty much any view of them moot. (But can you expect me to address everything in a single blog post? Really?) And the point is, by using the noggin a little and not just accepting what you read, you can identify this "badness."

Another problem with my argument is that I am guilty too, I sometimes draw conclusions too fast, I have biases, I have a sick sense of humor that gets the best of my biases. But sheesh, I am human. The point is not that I know best, it is that I am thinking about it and you should too.

* * *

Did I bore you? Confuse you?
If so, read it again.
If not, enjoy lighter side of indicators.

* * *

In every niche there are standard, quantifiable indicators. For me professionally, this often boils down to things like the prevalence of WASH related diseases, number of people per latrine, liters of water per person per day, fecal coliforms per sample etc. We also have qualitative indicators which may give another, less number-full view of the situation, but equally valuable.

I have come up with a few indicators of my own, which mean nothing, are not scientific and are most undoubtedly influenced by my sick sense of humor and biases. The ones I will present here relate to the level of development of a place, mostly the economic development of that place.

I hoped I didn’t have to say this, but I guess I need a disclaimer: In all seriousness, these are really complicated subjects. Please realize that by presenting these ridiculous indicators, that I am demonstrating exactly the danger of this entire discussion. My apparent hypocrisy is intentional. I am a sarcastic person and I intend to remain that way.

* * *

Fire: And god said let there be light, and it was good. And man discovered fire and flint. And then matches were available on the local market. And then lighters. And then lighters with flashing lights inside. And then lighters with flashing light and a button to make those flashing disco lights be projected onto a close wall or floor.

Beer for your buck: The bigger and cheaper the beer, the more dire the economic situation of the country.  Can the average cost per swig of beer be positively correlated to the average income of a household or somehow be an inverse proxy indicator for GDP? You find big, cheap beers in Congo and Guinea; smaller, expensive beers exported from Europe. Do note that Budweiser has a pretty cheap, twenty-two ounce beer. America is going to shit.

McDonalds for peace: Some people claim that there are fewer wars and less strife in countries with McDonalds. Clearly a chicken-vs-egg argument should ensue, but in my recent history I have lived in countries with relatively high levels of strife and not one had a McDonalds. (Not my own idea, just one I thought was worth sharing.)

Gambling as an indicator of early recovery after displacement:

I see Haiti eight months after the earthquake. Life is not normal here and won’t be for a long time, but it is transitioning back slowly. With this bias, I look for signs of normalcy. I search them out. And I found one. The lottery is up and running, people are gambling again, so one can conclude that this place is getting back to normal.

The lottery kiosks or shacks or buildings are newly painted. They say “BANK – LOTTO- CHEZ TITI.” Other types of kiosks haven’t been repainted, even if they are starting to reopen. Not the water sellers. Not the pharmacies. But indeed the lottery bosses are back in business. Folks are crowded around the blackboards on the walls and doors which are updated twice a day with the winning numbers. A clear early warning indicator of recovery.

So my boss asks, can you assess Maya Camp, where people are re-settling?  How is it there? I visit. I don’t even have to get out of my air-conditioned, white Land Cruiser to draw my conclusion. I see that a Chez Titi kiosk is up and running within the camp and I know that these people are ready to get back to normal. They are doing fine.

* * *

Perhaps I can solicit Paul Collier and his army of ingenious grad students to run an in depth retro-analysis on existing data to check the validity of my new-fangled-sarcastic indicators.

* * *

On inspiration: This post was gourbled out of my head, somewhat, by checking out the aforementioned blog, and in particular his post about Skynard and simplicity, actually many of his posts. Clearly I dig this dude’s style and outlook on aid work. Take some time to check out his posts.

Editorial note added afterwords: Hey number-geeks and aid-workers, here is some interesting questions posed by statiscians dealing with the MGDS. It's a start. (Thanks Trish, for pointing this out to me.)

Geology rocks

I admit that I sometimes mock tourists, but today hypocrisy bit me in the ass: I couldn't help myself and so I took fifteen minutes to be a tourist. To my credit, I was a geologist-wanna-be tourist, which is way cooler than obnoxious Americans or teenagers of any nationality.

I stopped at my new favorite place - where the biggest fissures I have seen are. Every so often we have to slow down because there are dips or drops in the road. All from the earthquake. But this point just blows me away. The driver laughed when I tried to explain how impressed I was. It's a little hard to explain, even here, in English.

I am such a geek. I dare not show my lack of actual geology knowledge, despite my degree (I studied the water in the rocks, not so much the rocks). Of course I studied basic geology too, and saw photos and learned about faults and earthquakes and the wrath of plate tectonics. I lived in California where you have the San Andres, but the signs of creep I saw there are nothing, I tell you nothing, compared to this.

Geologist friends, please enlighten us.

Holy shit. (Expletives! YAY!) There is nothing else to say. I mean really? This happened in seconds. Imagine.

On the left you see the driver looking into the crack that opened up. This is close up, but the fissure goes on forever. See the photo on the right is only about half of it. (And yes, it is full of trash... we are eight months after.)               

These two are looking the other way up the road. The crack on the right side of the pavement is the same fissure as above, from the other direction. But that is not what I am trying to show here: you see how it is wavy. This used to be flat. Flat. Flat. And now, it's wavy. Awesome.

I am reminded of an ironic geology bumper sticker that encourages us all to "Stop Plate Tectonics!"

Pissed off

This may be my most explicit post. I do hold back and usually keep it pretty clean. But not this time. It's not that I am having a bad day, it is just that today I will share my judgment and rancor.

* * *

Looking up, the remnants of tropical storm Gaston makes the clouds churn, black and full of rain over the mountains, while towards the bay is white and puffy. Not unique, simply a beautiful, complex sky.

Looking down, the steep street is dirty and the smell of urine flows uphill. Urine in the street is ubiquitous, not unique to Port au Prince (see posts about Kabul and Kenya), and today is no different than any other, except that I have to blame someone.

I blame the men around the world who whip it out and piss along the concrete walk.

I drove about an hour to a meeting and (just like any other day) along the way I saw at least seven men pissing in the open. Not behind a tree, not tucked away somewhere, not in the woods. Along the street. I could see the streams of their piss sparkle in the sun.

They disgust me.

* * *

The bitch with black spots,

her white coat brown, rough and crusted,

mangy red teets swing, panting

while she squats

over discarded plastic,

rotting fruits and a flat styrofoam box.

The man with oil stained jeans,

has no coat, steps over that same debris,

and shields just his cock, pausing

while he pees

upright, upon a busy street

exposing his sequined stream.

* * *

One could attack me as a hypocrite. And that is fine, perhaps I am. But an honest one.

I grew up peeing in the woods, I pee in the bush on a long car ride, I am an expert and rarely wet my feet. I also have no aversion to excreta (that's my job) or even to the smell of urine (which is in fact sterile). But there is something disturbing about city-scape, concrete laden, public man-pissing. Some of what bothers me deeply, perhaps, is seeing the pee raining down without regard to the throngs of strangers who are forced to watch this display. Forgive my sexist tendency, but no woman anywhere in the world would take a piss on a busy street. (Yes okay, indeed if she is ill or completely wasted.) There is something to be said for respect and dignity.

Double rubble trouble

Writing contest update:  nothing to report. still 0/5, awaiting 1.
The adventure is neither gone, nor forgotten. 

* * *

Ego update: How do you like my new domain name? Pretty cool, eh? Pretty egotistical, if you ask me, but still pretty cool. I will be fixing some of the formatting and making it better, slowly by slowly. Feedback is welcome.  In other ego-news, I was featured in a "local do-gooder" story from the newspaper where I went to high school.

 * * * 

Today's front page.

Not all the graffiti is artistic, though it all seems to be idealistic.

On the walls that stand or slump, amongst the graffiti, there are stenciled and spray painted signs in green, yellow or red. They read "MTPTC" and then a number. MTPTC means "Ministère des Travaux Publics, Transport et Communications." The number, I assume, relates to an inspector or zone. The color indicates if the building is safe, needs repairs or is unable to be repaired. I can't wait to see the final maps. An utterly fascinating and impressive endeavor.

Today driving to meetings, we passed teams of people in yellow t-shirts with Haitian flags upon them. The people each had a bucket. Some were lined up passing one bucket to the next up a narrow hill. In the bucket was rubble.You can't get machines in to many places, but you can get buckets.

Up to 20 million cubic yards of rubble is a lot. If each bucket contains half a cubic foot (only filled a little so they can be lifted), that makes over a billion buckets (hope my math is right, it is a little late). Of course some of that will be moved with machines, but still, that's a hell of a lot of rubble.

Men climb the skeletons and crimped bodies of buildings with pick axes. They slam and crack, little by little, separating the concrete from the re-bar. The concrete adds to the rubble. The re-bar is sold and recycled. They are strategizing on how to use the rubble. Inventors bring in hand powered machines to break it up, sort it by size, make ballast, aggregate for new concrete mixes and new houses. The rubble fascinates me almost as much as the fissures.

As usual, to save the world you have to focus.

* * * 

People sometimes ask if I live in a tent. For the past two weeks, yes. Military style tents within tents. Hot water with pressure that will take your skin off. This place is Camp Charlie and, like fissures and spray paint, is fascinating.

* * * 

For a more informative view of this situation, check out Jesse's blog that I linked to in the last post. He has an interesting perspective and is much more factual than I.

What was once

What was once upright
rigid brightly painted or gray
is resting
tired
from a violence
absent of aggression

* * *

I can not claim to know what was once. Here.

From one perspective, I gape at walls and floors and ceilings draped over one another. I stand upon, step over fissures in the road. I listen to stories and gasp, knowing that I am only an observer, but not the only observer.  My own perspective quite the same as many, except that I am probably more intent than most on getting a good picture of the fissures in the road to impress my geologist friends.

From another perspective, this event has been measured by standard metrics: Richter, deaths, displacement of people or earth, monetary value of infrastructure destroyed.
 
Heisenberg was right. Absorbing light off the white rubble changes its direction, phase, superposition, tint, interpretation. Putting a number on this scene affects it.

* * *

I have seen the palace and the jail, the cathedral and the bridge. Each of them have split in half and what was once proud is crass.
I did not enter convinced by ghosts and twisted iron bar that locks inside some stories that only come from far.

Secondhand stories

I had another enjoyable day chatting in traffic with the driver. Today it was not the banalities of life, but rather the turning upside down of a regular day.

I heard stories about the earthquake.

I do not mean this post to be sentimental. Or sad. Or exploitative. Just simple. I mean to tell these stories as he told them.

* * *

"Everyone knows someone, near or far, who died in the earthquake."

* * *

Sometimes the ground vibrates. This time it did not vibrate, it rolled and rolled. My house rocked back and forth, back and forth. He showed me with his hands, tilting his vertical palm to and fro. A friend of mine was sitting in her car in traffic when the quake happened. She said that the earth looked like the giant snake in the movie Anaconda when it was under the soil.

* * *

This driver is often the driver of the big boss. He told me of the man who used to wash his windows everyday. He worked hard washing, quickly rubbing, clearing the glass for the boss and VIPs who visited. He fed his family this way. He eventually bought a motorbike. He kept on washing windows. The day of the quake, he went out to buy some food on his motorbike and never came back.

* * *

There was a man and a woman who had moved to the states from Haiti. They had 3 children there and made a good life. When it came to retirement age and their children were grown, they decided to return and enjoy their retirement here. They returned, all their children with them to help with the move. The day of the quake they were having a big party. All the neighbors and cousins and aunts enjoying and celebrating the retirement and the return of the family. They ran out of ice and so the father went out to get some. He returned to find them all dead. The old man walks the streets talking to his family who are all dead. It made him loose his mind.

Hobo's Lullaby

I am officially a hobo. I have spent about two months living out of my bag in the US, and have embarked on three more of the same in Haiti. I live on about thirty kilos (including my computer), and that is still too much stuff. 

* * *

The Van. Oh the van. I had so much fun and a great learning experience. Here I am, dressed up for a wedding.

At first I was a little apprehensive or nervous about living out of the van. It was a little claustrophobic. It is a little tricky to park over night. The radiator leaked. The solar system wasn't working perfectly. But there was water, shower, stove, toilet and a lot of dust.

So first I cleaned. I scrubbed. I used bleach.
Then I got three gallon jugs,  ready and waiting to add to the radiator at any moment. I got into a rhythm and knew how long I could go before needing a refill, and never even overheated.
Then I figured out that my old campus during the summer is a great, safe place to park over night where no one bothers you and you can pick up a great wireless signal.
Then I went camping on the coast. Parking was not as easy as on campus, and I ended up paying to camp in Butano state park - which is five minutes from the beach and five minutes from Duartes restaurant and the San Gregorio country store (with music in the mornings), and which facilitated the burning of my leftover firewood from my northern escapade.

Then I listened to my dad's advice.
I enjoyed days with the doors wide open in the Baylands nature area and my new set of binoculars and the birds. Cleared up that claustrophobia and made for good hikes.
I cooked. I visted with my dad. Two of us in our little RVs parked, in his cause it is bigger and has the satellite TV. We watched the news and old school sci-fi where Leonard Nemoi was an alien from the Stratosphere.
He showed me how to maintain the toilet (and I thought I was a toilet expert).
When I tripped the inverter on the solar panels, he guided me by phone to reset the panel controls (involved wires) and then I figured out how to reset the inverter on my own.

I told my dad that I wanted to paint the inside. He agreed that it needs a coat. I suggested flowers and some artsy stuff. He laughed and thought that might make it look like a closet homosexual case: blue and manly on the outside and all flaming girly on the inside. Sounds good to me.

Totally sweet.
Totally free.
Dug it.
Will do it again.

* * *

I had a window seat from Miami to Port au Prince. I have seen the photos and knew what to expect: rubble, tents and a city made of plastic sheeting, but - maybe because it is more impressive in real life or maybe because I am getting better at not having expectations - the view surprised me. It wasn't much more than the rubble, tents and cities of plastic sheeting... but there were people too. People who I can't describe yet, people who I have not met, people just the same.

The office is a bunch of air conditioned, pre-fabricated, plastic containers. I spent my first day bursting in and out of cold, dark offices into blinding sunshine on white rocks and back again. I visited each of the following departments more than once, usually 3 times: movement coordination, human resources, security, planning, finance, ICT (forget what that stands for, but it is the dudes who give you a phone, a radio and a computer, but no mouse) and of course my new boss. I didn't get too lost, thanks to the friendly people.

My role is to support the Government in the coordination of all things WASH, but I don't work for the government. Right now in Haiti is an interesting time of transition from the initial emergency phase of the response to the earthquake to more long term, stable and sustainable interventions.

Originally I was destined to support the regions south of the capital, but since we are under staffed, I will also liaise with several of the municipalities in the capital. That should be interesting because I will get to interact with other sectors. That should also be a little overwhelming because it used to be (and maybe soon in the future) one and a half or two people. I should also put the disclaimer that it is my second day, and all that may change or I may have misunderstood the expectations of my boss...

Today I needed a mouse. I mean needed one, bad. I can not deal with the little touch button thingy on the IBM laptop they have given me. So, I tagged along in a car to find one. I found a mouse, but driving around was better than the mouse itself.

Graffiti: The shape is a map of Haiti, not a penis.
The artist, "Jerry" apearently, has done many of the best.

We went up high, low, through tiny streets with more potholes than concrete. The roads are lined with rubble. Tent cities are on every corner and open space, save the cemeteries. The graffiti is the best part. There are simple messages "votez pour" X candidate for Y post, and, in a country known for its artists, there are fabulous caricatures of Haitian faces: children, women and old men. Some hold signs that say "I (heart) Haiti." And there are other signs as well, in sloppy hand writing and not as optimistic: "We need help. Food. Water. Doctors."

I chatted with the driver, always a good source of information on the banalities of life in the place you are. Where to buy what, the hours what kind of shops are open, why those hours, how to get the cheap charges for international phone calls. I learned a lot in a few hours.

I am a little timid to take photos yet, but stay tuned.

Pretty sweet so far.
Although not free in any sense of the word.
Whether I dig this or do it again needs more than two days to figure out.

* * * 

Also, my friend Jesse from Peace Corps is here in Haiti and he has a blog too. It is quite cool. It gives an interesting first impression of the country from his perspective.

* * *

*This blog is only an expression of me and in no way represents any other agency mentioned herein.

Shifting stances

I'll try to keep it short, but the stream is moving and I am going with it.

* * * 

Business first.

So on the contest front, I was 3/5, awaiting the results of two contests. Now I am 4/5, awaiting 1.
Contest #3 results are in and, as I predicted, I didn't win. This does not break my heart because this was a high level competition. Students in professional writing programs are nominated. You can't see the poems on the site yet, but I am sure one or two of the poems will blow my (your) mind.

During my off-time I have gotten to see so many old friends, and with some I have had the pleasure of chatting about this adventure in writing contests or writing in general. I am blessed to be friends with poets, editors, dreamers like me and my mom. I was hesitant in all this. Professionals confirm it is hella competitive. Friends are honest.  Moms are always encouraging.

I said: I don't want to say my goal is to write a book, because - what if I don't or I can't?
Friend: But by saying it, you might be more motivated. And your friends will care and encourage you.
Mom: And if you don't that's okay too, just do what god makes/lets/encourages you to do. 

That's pretty paraphrased, but I kind of agree with all of that.

* * * 

Breathe out.
I am headed out.
New country.
New adventure. New organisation. New role.
Same me.
How will it all combine and entwine and rewind?
To become my life?

* * *

More to come about the past two weeks which have indeed been learning for me in a small van, with fog, with sunshine, with micro climates and with...

All I ever wanted

Adventure: a new and exciting experience.

Adventrue: a known and exciting experience.

My vacation is ending and a new adventure will begin (stay tuned). I am lucky. I have had many adventrues, but none so sweet as getting back. And within that adventrue are many. The poem in my last post came from home, an island and its memories. Here are some new ones mixed with old, because you can’t really separate them.

* * *

the incredibility of tidal standing waves washes over

cradled kelp heads green pink anemones speckled seals

these sound straight channels are never full never empty

twice a day they still rise fall whip around steady rocks

discreet violence that harbors flotsam memories

* * *

* * *

I am still seven inside and slept only three hours the night before, excited for the journey. But things do change. I am not seven, but seven times five; and while the child was eager to go, I am eager to come home.

Welded steel rattles, strains and pushes its mass against cormorant laden pilings and the rocky mainland; the same old rusty ferry sliding deep into the early mist caught between the islands. Breathe deep, exhale and let the salt spray drizzle muck up your glasses or you won’t make the transition in smoothly.

Sleepy legs under heavy bags push up the tarpaper boardwalk and find a spot for me to wait; the cold stone wall where I lean back on my warmed pack above the fuel stained creosote dock. I take in the busy view. I know the boat when it rounds the point. I rest, watching her come in.

I am the only passenger back. After hellos, we settle into comfortable silence and skirt the shores before crossing the channel. The waves are small, constant and graceful; dancing with bull kelp among familiar carved conglomerate; lifting then dropping sea birds just a foot; slapping the metal bow just hard enough that my knees bend and straighten in time.

But things do change. The dock is taller but the dockhouse is the same, although shifted to where you can not leap, and so the resulting difference in jumping height is similar. The water seems colder and trees seem smaller, although they’ve grown. Cell phones work, making logistics simpler, but not simple.

By three boats I landed on three islands, each dock smaller until none, just a gravel beach in a protected rocky bay. The second run brings friends, flowers and spiced beans; the beginning of festivities no one can dispute. I smile, breathe, exhale and clean my glasses.

* * *

I am alone and quiet, snuggled into the orchard, thankful for the clearing. Cassiopeia rises, her W matching the jagged tree line. Breathe, exhale, my glasses were already off so I stretch and lay back. I spy a shooting star and watch its long fall. It burned, lit and then exploded in the atmosphere. Alone in the silence I whoop, hands up in appreciation, and wonder who else saw it.

* * *

Many good hugs hello don’t make up for one goodbye.

2 to 2

Contest #2) So, not really any news cause I didn't win the contest, but they finally put up the poems for the public to see, so I thought I would provide a link here so you can check it out. None of the judges put any comments, which I was bummed about, but that is okay. This poem I had shared with a friend and my mom, neither loved it.


To A Poet Laureate

Dear Sam,
I once wrote eight page
letters to your son, quickly
placed inside the cedar shake box
punctuating
your driveway lined with alder saplings.
I pumped my bike up one, two, three
straight hills to Sawmill Corner
hoping you and Sally
never knew that it was me.

A round faced nine, ten, eleven
year old, I once bound blank
diaries during art, which you
the printer, must have taught.
Boring holes through stacked sheets with
needles, the blunt end cut my finger
making it hard to tie thin thread.
Somehow three small bundles became a single
tome, glue beaten with a wide stubby brush
into paper we must have made
from fresh pulp.

Inside, I once wrote eight line
poems, invented words in colored
pen, punctuation
revised with wild insects flying round
kerosene lamps, flashlights and blue
computer screens.
I completed only one, quickly
placed inside the cedar shake box
hoping you and Sally
might think that it was me.

Back to backsides

And so the tally stands as is. 0/3, waiting on 1/1 and not so optimistic (I aimed a little high).

Contest #5) Is not a contest, but is competitive. The goal in this is to motivate me to just see what's out there, not winning, but exploring. So cause I found something I thought was a pretty interesting idea, I thought I'd include it. Cause I can. I submitted a poem to "IsReads" an outdoor journal: "The concept of the outdoor journal is to put short poems in unusual places, like on abandoned buildings and in shopping carts."

Regarding contest #1) Helium. I find it depressing and poor today. The one reason I liked it at first was that it seemed open and democratic, but I found that to be its weakness. The content of some articles against which mine compete are just wrong. Maybe it's me not being open enough. Who knows. I will continue until I have made 25 dollars. Fine. Currently still have the two stars, which is good, but my poems fell to having only a bronze medal from silver.

* * *

And my vacation will continue.

Stateside besides

Don't let it fool you. Negativity isn't negative. 

It is simply down. It is a valley. Drainage.

* * *

California business: Threw out 15 years of bank statements and nice skirts that will never fit me. Dug out my high school writing which led to some rare, fictional fun (that's the teaser...).

California fun: Joined my dad and his cat in Big Sur. We passed Bixbey Bridge and watched sunsets from the best lookout along the coast. Wildfires 2 years past could not stop the beauty here. If not for fog, one could see 180 degrees from San Francisco to LA. (As a science geek I have to admit that the curvature of the earth may hinder more than the fog.) I climbed to Cone Peak Lookout and could see 360. If I were a lizard I could enjoy this view each day.



After two weeks, it was time to head north.  Golden rolling hills become cooler and greener. Fewer grasses, more bushes and trees. The ones I remember picking... ferns, mustard, thimble berries, salal, douglas fir. The hills become steeper up, the bays become wider across, the sky becomes gray. Today I arrived in Washington. When Luis and Clark arrived here in 1805, it was overcast too and December (not July). They too could not see across the Columbia in this dank drizzle that defines the Pacific Northwest. Ah.

* * *

I must have written this around 1992 as a high school creative writing assignment. It is a fable and it made me laugh.

The Lions

Far, far away there was a huge forest that was ruled by a great, beautiful, old lion. He had a great golden mane and a beautiful roar that filled the forest like the wind when he spoke. He was charismatic as any leader of the free world, yet he had little wisdom. But being a good lion at heart, not hungry for power, he left the general ruling of the forest to his Royal Council of Owls. 

One day the old lion fell extremely ill. His mane looked dull and his voice was soft. Seeing this the Royal Council of Owls decided to send word throughout the forest to summon all of the old King's many sons. (For in his more vivacious years head been quite the ladies lion fathering many children.)

The first of his sons to arrive had the greatest, most golden mane any lion had ever seen. When the sun fell upon it, golden reflections scattered about. As he reached the entrance to the Royal Lair, the guard dogs stared at his great, golden mane and bowed their heads as he walked through the door.

The Owls complemented his mane, and asked him a riddle:
"What is beautiful, but not conceited?"
"What is wise, but not arrogant?"
"What is compassionate, but not lenient?"
The young lion shook his mane, almost blinding the night-loving owls.
"His current King, His majesty." He said, trying to gain points.

The second son to arrive could roar so beautifully that when he sang, every animal sopped what he was doing to listen. When he reached the entrance to the Lair, he roared loudly as if to prove his relation to the dying King. The guards lowered their heads as he passed.

When he was asked the same riddle, he cleared his throat showing off the strength of his voice.  But his response was the same, he too trying to gain popularity with the owls.

When the last son arrived, the guards barely noticed him. He was handsome, with a sweet voice, but he did not flaunt his royal lines. The owls were tired of the parade of lions, but asked him the riddle:
"What is beautiful, but not conceited?"
"What is wise, but not arrogant?"
"What is compassionate, but not lenient?"
"That is what I wish to be," the last son answered quickly.

The last son was crowned King by his dying father and they all lived happily ever after in a well-run forest. Except the old King of course, who was dying and did not live very long. The first son found happiness as a successful model and the second son launched a singing career.

The wallow

Today is loser day, in which I will wallow. I try not to let that damn Super Ego get in the way, but sometimes you just gotta give him his time to say his piece. He is embodied by the neighbors to my office window who are beating their dog.

In response to that damn Super Ego, my Ego has been procrastinating this entry by doing my actual job, by telling myself I am so busy and generally ignoring the fact that I am 0 for 3 in my contest endeavour. I admit I should have updated this about a week ago when I got the results, but I was feeling a little down with my lack of success. I am still feeling silly in this 10 contest adventure - simply because I am sucking.

* * *

Contest #1) Essay. Didn't win. Totally tanked, in fact.
Contest #2) Poem. Didn't win. I guess the cyber democracy populous didn't dig my style. Don't really have any indication of the level of my sucking.
Contest #3) Poem. Awaiting results. I stick by my odds in the last post.
Contest #4) Article. Not purchased. Didn't win.

* * *

Art. From 2002.

(Thanks for scanning this, Don and Kathy.)

* * *

In other news, I will be jobless in about a week. This is by choice and I feel blessed to be able to make that choice and I am looking forward to it. Although it may not last. I will take some time (after this excercise in self-pity today) to enter more contests, to get back my positivity on this writing thing and to revel.

One must take time to revel.

For the Id.