rees outside my window have come and gone, as predictably as the seasons. Planted without any real sense of optimism in the spring, they stand broke, battered yet resolute, to meet their inevitable fate (buried beneath the gardener's whimsical spade) as the clouds gathered and the temperature shuddered downwards toward lows that turn mere breaths into showers of crystals, as winter truly takes hold.I recently gave my time to entertain groups of enthusiastic english students who came to polish their varying levels of the language, and replace the classroom twang bred from the best efforts of their kazakh tutors with an incomprehensible indian, dutch or, worse, kiwi accent. The motivation was generally that they will be better positioned to pursue rewarding careers or perhaps lives overseas, with the added advantage in my case that they they've also witnessed a "genuine" maori Haka and received a 20minute lecture on climate change. There seems to be a big appetite here, in this booming oil town, a town of definite haves and have nots, for English skills. English is available in schools, however Kazakhstan's isolation and the wall that invariably develops between the lives of expats and their hosts means there is little opportunity to polish it with English speakers. Bingo.
Hold the applause. Like the trees, I recently gave up.
The story begins a little while ago when a good kazakh friend approached myself and a few others with an idea to help orphanages by supplying clothing. Her concept was to purchase cheap clothing of varying and likely ill-fitting styles and sizes from the local markets, then hand it to our orphan beneficiaries - it seemed promising if a little rough around the edges. I thought of the charities that ask you to give a goat. These had given me the occasional sleepless night wondering (like the dyslexic insomniac agnostic who stayed awake all night, wondering whether there really was a Dog) whether there really was a goat - or at least a need for one (I guess they send photographs?).Being as I was a "non-giver" it's fair to assume I may have been looking for ways to justify and maintain this aphilanthropic state. But no, it started me thinking "is there something I could do to help that I could be less of a pain in the ass about?".
The Celestine Prophecy is a pseudo-philosophical pseudo-non-fiction book that has since been matched in writing prowess only by the likes of the Da Vinci Code. The writer informs us that there are 9 stages of Insight, the first of which is the ability to recognise coincidences for what they are, an indication of a greater power or destiny at work, a series of coincidental events that lead to a higher path. The Matrix, brilliant yet not altogether outwith the above genre, developed this theme and had us all fretting even more than usual about deja vu and cats crossing our paths.
So it was, that after this first brief and cryptic encounter with the concept of volunteering, and genuinely desiring to be part of a solution rather than a problem, a series of coincidental events occurred that took me more deeply into the matter, down the rabbithole, through the looking glass. I edged closer to the Matrix's red pill.
The challenge was laid down - if not keeping Kazakhs in tracksuits and imitation crocs, what was I going to do to discharge my duty as a global citizen toward charity.
It was at this time the second coincidence happened. I was inadvertently delegated to be my company's Social Responsibility contact in the country. Not an official position, but more a designation bestowed upon me by virtue of them not knowing anyone else in this far away posting.
Furiously, or at least mildly animated, brainstorming and briefing discussions ensued, flying back and forth (by fibre optics and satellite) between the Hague and Atyrau. The role required me to step back and consider what were the viable opportunities to assist, largely on a volunteer basis, and how would I motivate a pool of volunteers. I managed to tame my imaginings of repopulating the Caspian with air-drops of flamingo-friendly estuarine dolphins, reared with a genetically induced inclination to protect sturgeon. Having at least a passing acquaintance with the nuances and pitfalls of responsible aid and volunteering, I knew well enough to consider "where is the appetite; what do people want, what do people need, what will they accept?" and to harness any efforts already underway and offer support.
A colourful example of the pitfalls of poorly placed social efforts comes from a friend who was a lead development advisor to a small pacific nation. He told of an international effort that responded to a need for sustainable sanitation on a tiny island state by providing composting toilets. This solution smartly addressed the meagre technical competencies as well as the space limitations on the island. The project went ahead, the effort failed miserably and the toilets promptly descended into disuse and disrepair. They had failed to recognise the social and religious context to the islanders' ablutions.
Previously, islanders had evacuated their bowels on an apparent opportunity basis around the beaches of the island, which seemed less than ideal from a sanitation, health or beach volley perspective. Following the introduction of the fancy toilets, islanders still continued in this way - why? It turns out that a culture akin to voodoo was present, and the seemingly random distribution of intimate body matter was in fact an intentional or at least extremely convenient mechanism for remaining anonymous and safe from vindictive neighbours who are itching to stick pins in a cushion styled in their likeness, and presumably caked in their discards.
In assembling ideas for helping out here in Atyrau, the orphanage assistance idea was on the radar. With slight modifications and some consideration, it might be a reasonable component of any aid package. But what else...
Enter the third coincidence. Meeting with my local friend, the conversation uncovers that outside of the clothes idea, many foreign workers here are lending their time and money to assist in local charity efforts. This is not specifically driven by an obvious screaming need for charity here, but the simple good nature and pro-activity of the volunteers; I can imagine them doing the same anywhere. However, as I was offering to lend coordination and profile to the efforts, and by now wielding lofty thoughts of a much expanded volunteer base via web tools and company muscle, they let me in on a few nuances of volunteering.
It became clearer that the proposal to help orphans with new randomly bought cheap clothes had evolved based on quite sound recognition of some very real and quite complex challenges.
The first, applicable in many countries where aid is most needed, is the dilemma of whether cold hard cash actually gets to the intended beneficiary. Kazakhstan sits in 2010 at 107th equal on the list of the world's most corrupt countries, sharing its privileged position with the likes of Zimbabwe, Eritrea and Belarus. Compare this with my privileged upbringing in a country that sits only second to Iceland (..hmm…a review may be in order) as least corrupt. In a country where family expat postings are prevented due to the desperately poor state of health services, the Minister of Health was recently compelled to simulate a stroke in order to avoid an investigation into embezzlement. He nevertheless received adequate hospital care, as his inventive, evasive coronary was supported by Doctors' fraudulent statements.
Another, that the options for assisting worthy causes, including this orphanage, by donating directly one's time and enthusiasm is not without a host of perils. Companies had been fined, wives sent home, offers of assistance rejected due to governmental or imagined restrictions, work permits compromised, locals unfamiliar with the concept of charity left feeling insulted.
It evolved that even the choice of clothing rather than for example, toys, was a deliberate sidestep of complex and painful certification requirements for doned toys. Glaxxo Smith Kline possibly expended less effort obtaining approval for experimental drugs from the Bush's Food and Drug Administration than if the Corporation were to donate 20 Tickle-me-Elmos to a former CIS orphanage.
Nor could it be second hand clothes, particularly from the West (at this news, the Orphanage manager, friend and myself shared commiserations that we hadn't seen our own clothes until late teens). These are popular criticised for devaluing local clothing industries or, in this case, being perceived as a potential epidemiological threat and consequently garnering restrictions.
Enter the fourth coincidence. My friend's Facebook status pops up with a research article she's written about a rising trend for Voluntourism, in particular AIDS orphans. The article, causing quite a rattle even now, months afterward, criticises a growing volunteer industry on a number of grounds. One reason is that it fuels growth of unnecessary, unsafe and even bogus orphanages. In Ghana for example it is estimated that around 90% of children in orphanages have at least one parent. Bear in mind that institiutional care is broadly considered inferior to assistance in homecare. A second reason is that, on psychological grounds, a tourist volunteer offers only a temporary attachment and the inevitability of dealing with further abandonment. Damn, I said, this is getting complicated.
A fifth coincidence involved me sitting down to dinner with a philosophical and contentious Frenchman over dinner after one of my English sessions. Conversation of course turned to what I had been doing, and my friend upon hearing of the volunteering immediately voiced that he had no time or belief for such activities. Intrigued, I asked why. He was fresh from having his nose buried in "War Games", a recent popular book that painfully describes the ironies of the Aid Industry; that it has become an industry aimed at sustaining itself, and one where the baddies of the world are now clued onto the equation; more headlines, more aid, more money, more guns - more headlines, more.... Intentional maiming in Sierra Leone, poisoning of lands and forced servitude in Ethiopia were done with the deliberate intention of attracting aid dollars, diverted to the warmongers. Some may remember the latter as the subject of the extremely successful Liveaid and Bandaid funding efforts), with the deliberate purpose of attracting aid.
The list goes on; the incestuous relationship between NGO's and the press, which is responsible for aid going not necessarily where most needed but instead where most "popular", or where the photo opportunities are. We hear of the feeding and protection of Hutu genocidist soldiers in Zaire camps crowded out with NGO insignia, while they foster genocidist sentiment and ensure that those who are sympathetic or seek peace risk being found dead in a ditch. And of the boom bust cycle, where massive amounts of NGO funding hit a trouble spot for a relatively short time, attract away all the good talent from local hospitals and so forth, then leave as quickly as they arrived, with the next BBC headlines.
I was thinking these were all quite high level examples and perhaps still something could be done by the individual, when he finished with a story of his own.
His wife had called from Africa to announce that their housemaid, long held dear, had contract AIDS. The wife understandably was pushing him that they help the poor girl in some way. With trepidations that I now understand, he agreed on the grounds that the assistance be carefully controlled. The story ends 2 weeks later with the maid found beaten to death in a remote part of the locale. Earnings (including the money given for medication) inevitably come back to the family in such a country, and tragically families also see AIDS victims as bringing great shame upon them. She had ceased to become a breadwinner and now was simply a liability.
I borrowed the book, by Linda Polman, who herself hails from Netherlands, a country that contributes one of the greatest per capita Aid chunks. And indeed the case is compelling. An excellently written book, it only disappoints when it comes to offering a way forward. Well, perhaps has more failings on reflection. I, like my friend, was left with a great disillusionment in the efforts of NGOs and government aid. What way forward then for the disillusioned masses… Polman's book makes the case that good intentions are not only "not enough" ("we couldn't not help…") but can be exceptionally destructive. She argues that the public should challenge where there money is going, and try to understand it, before contributing.
This is all easier said than done. I haven't been back to English classes since hearing of the American volunteer wife who was sent home for this, but I am escorting a busload of orphans to the movies this Saturday. Hopefully issues of attachment or creating an orphan bus movie industry will be kept in check by my non-existent Russian and abrasive personality, at least until I get a clear way forward on how better to help.
Watching some articles on BBC some weeks later, through different eyes, I sobered in my newfound animosity toward UNICEF, MSF and all the other F'in NGOs. I still perceived there are good things happening; inadvertently contributing to genocide was clearly wrong, but kids in Sierra leone selling off contraband UNICEF ponchos was worth the price. There seemed a chance of a balance.
I was still watching BBC and musing on Polman's difficult final advice, to give aid where it's needed and demand transparency, when I was presented with a curious programme called the BBC Worldchallenge (worldchallenge.co.uk, webpage overloaded when I visited, and not to be confused with *.org, a Christian ministry).
The programme, which has been running for weeks on BBC, confronted the viewer with a rotating line up of bright youths, devoted volunteers and community groups, bent on providing solar electricity or clean water to villages, or compassionate care to ostracised leprosy sufferers in an urban setting.
It was the unusual format of the programme that gave food for thought. In this age of Pop Idols and Big Brother, perhaps it was only natural that I sat and watched a community leader rouse his group of rural african children to song, in a hastily penned pop plea for votes, so that their village could win funding for critical water infrastructure. I watched an enticing sample of aid causes roll by me on the TV screen before a voice and a flashing web address enthusiastically entreatied "YOU can choose who is most deserving of assistance, CAST YOUR VOTE".
