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.)

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.

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.

Good bye to Africa... at least for a while.

A fitting farewell to Africa. Here is Dinner (shown at left), a dear gift from the Chief of Garbakoley in Mandera Kenya. He was the favorite Chief of most of us; educated, spoke great English, loved to debate politics and religion and was very helpful in implementation of the project.

We had a lovely staff party. One of my staff sang to me a goodbye song that almost made me cry. I received some thoughtful gifts (a headscarf for Kabul). We saw the honorary "Camle Dance." Speeches were made; the best again being from the Chief of Garbakoley who says "In Muslim culture women stay in the kitchen, but I guess that is up to Mario. I have some advice for Kabul, be patient and do not dress like an American, dress like a Muslim lady." The first part was a joke and the second pretty good advice.

I'll miss the continant that I had grown used to... all the chaos that works, the stinky, the green, the beautiful, the corruption, the comfort, the knowledge that there is always a solution. But we will be back I am sure...

And I do suppose I should explain who "we" are... For those of you who don't know, Mario is a lovely man I met in DRCongo, who also works for ACF, and to whom I have just gotten engaged. We won't be married until after our mission in Afghanistan is through, i.e. 2008. I am so happy to have found someone who I can work and travel with, who is smart and interesting, who has a cool background (he is French, but is of Syrian origin), who I can put up with and who can put up with me.

So here I go out on the next part of the adventure. Some of it staying the same and some of it getting better: I will still work in Water and Sanitation for Action Against Hunger, but this time as a coordinator (more mangaging, less cement). I hope that this blog will encourage me to write a bit more, get a bit more creative... although as you can tell this one is a bit of an update, make it easier to share photos with you all.