Theft

I had a long, complicated blog post all set up to post and then...

I read something on another blog: theft is actually wealth redistribution.  So you will get a slightly shorter, slightly more direct post.

As communist as that statement sounds/is, it was an interesting thought for me - my house was broken into during my first year in Peace Corps, dozens of other little things were stolen throughout the 2 years, and I said goodbye to Invinha by realizing that the student who had been helping me with house stuff for a year (and getting paid, given food, and was told he was allowed to ask for what he wanted but couldn't just take it) had been stealing things big and small for awhile.

I won't say much more - although I think in the purest form, theft is forced wealth redistribution.  Not that it is fair, not that it creates a nice ambiance in which to live - but the students who broke into my house and took everything from an electric iron to laptops were definitely much poorer than I am or ever will be.  The positive?  Maybe they took those things and made a better life for themselves.  Probably not, because they're teenagers with an underdeveloped frontal lobe, but maybe.  The negative?  It was the only time I seriously considered quitting Peace Corps and I completely lost trust in everyone in my community and only got it back for a special few. I try to offer things when I can and be perceptive to need  - generosity is the only thing I have come up with to deter theft.  It didn't work out very well with my student, but it might in the future. For a change, I'm not offering a solution.  I don't have one.


Anyway, what do you think?  Is there a moral certainty regarding theft?  Is it always wrong?

Me, a tin roof, and my trusty almost thief proof purse.

Maputo at Night

The Catch-22 of INGOs

I will first qualify this post.  I am a young development worker, which is to say, I'm not very old or experienced.  I have professionally worked for longer than 6 months in one country - which is to say, not very long.

Mozambique has been called a "Foreign Aid Darling" in recent publications, and this moniker does indeed represent a lot of money being thrown to Mozambique in the name of projects.  It's seen everywhere - the big pagoda-shaped resort being built in Maputo by the Chinese, the number of Mozambicans who say "Oh yes, I know a lot of Germans and Danes" and as I'm told, most notably the increase in the number of foreigners both in grocery stores and the offices of Immigration.  

This represents money.  Lots of Money.  And as far as for-profit companies go, it's understandable.  Come to a new, rapidly growing market, make a profit, employ more people, continue profiting.  It's how the system works.  In terms of International Non-Governmental Organizations (INGOs), this gets more complicated.  They have a mission to "help people."  The problem is this:  how can you help people if you don't know what they need?  There is so much infrastructure in international development attempting to help well-meaning INGOs figure out what the local population actually needs.  I'm not convinced this works though.  I've seen how much reports can be manipulated without ever actually telling a lie.  

These INGOs are rich.  They've been in Mozambique for anywhere from months to decades, and continue with noble mission statements and dedicated staff.  The problem is this: their programs are good.  Mostly worthy of the billions of dollars in funding received.   But not good enough to put themselves out of business (sustainability).  

In a recent conversation with a new colleague, a Mozambican who has spent decades working with everyone who is anyone in the foreign aid business in Mozambique, he clearly laid out the culture of dependency created by these programs.  Farmers had unions.  Then big organizations came in with projects that treated the farmers as babies.  Farmers became dependent on these organizations for money, infrastructure, and ideas, and he we are, decades later, waiting for them to become independent as they are waiting for us to come up with the next idea and pot of money.  

Does this mean that the world would be better without the programs?  I'm not sure yet, to be honest.  I think there are good and bad programs, competent and not competent people, good and bad ideas.  Looking back at my older posts, I think the main problem is this: it's not that we can't build good programs.  It's not that we shouldn't not try to help people because of this fear of dependency.  It's that there is a history and structure bigger than any one program, any one person, and I'm starting to think that we got most of that part wrong.  

HOWEVER.  Mozambique has seen record development since the civil war ended.  So just because a system is wrong or not perfect doesn't mean that it doesn't achieve.  It's complicated.

Things have gotten better for this family.

The Traveling Hannah

I'm back!  And, with the orders of Fred Kyle, about to be much better about my blog posting.

I have moved from program manager of a library (www.livroaberto.org) to program manager of a short term project.  I'm in Maputo for about a week to get everything we can set, and then I go back to the city in the tea fields.

The flight over was as fun as most 15 hour flights are, meaning that I watched a lot of movies, was blessed to sleep a solid 4 hours, and was very happy when we touched down in Johannesburg.

Johannesburg happened so that I could meet with the South African team who is implementing the same project in South Africa that we are in Mozambique.  The meetings were really helpful and it was absolutely the coolest experience of my embryonic life as a development worker to be in a meeting about development in Africa as the sole non-African. 

After 2 days wandering around the chic neighborhood where I stayed for my first business trip, Rosebank, Johannesburg, I took a quick 45 minute flight and I was in Mozambique!  My Blackberry worked immediately, meaning it really was as if I had never left.  However wonderful it is to have 21st century technology on your side, the best thing about returning to Mozambique has been realizing how wonderful the 2 months at home were.  I was nervous about going home the first time - it had been a long time since I had been home, it had been even longer since I had stayed with parents for more than the length of a vacation, and I was jumping into the depths of possible unemployment and a bank account ruined by Mozambican immigration fees.  At the same time, I went home because I wasn't happy in Mozambique anymore, and it truly didn't have anything to do with Mozambique.  I just wasn't happy.  It was time to go home.   Right about as my Blackberry powered up, I felt content.   Happy to be back, happier to have been home, and yes, already missing all of my family, friends, and American steak (the Portuguese and Mozambicans both have their versions and it just isn't the same).

As I type this, I'm sitting in the offices in Maputo.  A driver comes to get me every morning to bring me to work (this will only happen while I'm in Maputo, my project is based in the tea field and the city where I will live is not big enough to have any public transportation and therefore no need for a private driver), I enter a building and take an elevator (!) to go to an office where they have graciously given me desk space.  The project is intimidating because so much depends on how Mozambique does along with the other countries participating, but I'm slowly getting a better understanding of the task and thoroughly enjoying the human resources employees who are taking care of my visa, renewals, and work authorization.

So far so good.  I also just realized I didn't take any pictures while home, and I don't have any yet from this trip.  So, pictures from the end of the last Mozambique tour:

In my favorite city (Beira), cooking my favorite Mozambican food (Cassava leaves with coconut milk and peanut flour and in this case, shrimp)

She almost didn't let me go to the airport.  I almost let her let me not go to the airport.

Inside the classroom where they called me teacher

At the high school where they called me teacher