Is anyone else watching the Zimbabwe election updates (or lack thereof) as much as me? Ohmigosh. Seriously. Don’t they know there are Americans waiting to book tours to their country and need to know the safety situation? Really now. Let’s get on with this. Victoria Falls is calling my name.
Last week at the children’s home an opportunity came around that I just couldn’t pass up. The kids were to go one morning to visit the local correctional facility (i.e. prison). Although I wasn’t required to go, I definitely wanted to…I mean, how many times do we foreigners get to see another country’s prisons without having committed a crime? Not that often. So, yeah, I was eager to join in on the trip.
Before the trip started, I have to say I was a bit dismayed…I figured it was going to be a “don’t mess up” scare tactic for the little ones. Then, I was reminded that the supervisor of the home used to be a police officer. It was actually set up to be more of a “here is a place you can work when you’re older” kind of trip.
And, yes, it is a place that many of them can work. The center employs quite a few locals. I have to say I was flabbergasted by the size of the facility in comparison to the size of the city. Basically the city has a downtown area of two square blocks. There is like one video store. No malls. No movie theater. It’s a small place. Yet the prison holds 300-some-odd prisoners. Granted they’re from some of the surrounding cities, too. But 300 is definitely a large chunk of the population. And before we went in, the guards asked if the kids were scared and when they said no, he said that was good because the men in there were “our fathers, our brothers, our uncles” etc., etc. And he wasn’t just saying that in the figurative sense. Nope. Most of the staff and some of the kids bumped into someone they knew on the inside.
And the inside is basically nothing like what prisons are like in America (from what I’ve seen on Law & Order). All but the worst sleep in dorm-like rooms (the trouble ones have single cells) housing five or more men that open up to a courtyard. During their free time they get to go to school (with teachers who actually seem to care), make curtains and handbags, cook meals, or make music. Twice during the trip we were treated to performances from inmates at two different units. The first a cappella group sang traditional South African music. The second — with the assistance of a keyboard and electric guitar — sang a rendition of Cher’s “Do You Believe in Life after Love.” (Yes, it’s safe to say I enjoyed the South African music a bit more…)
But there was one striking similarity to the prisons in America…while walking through the halls, one of the kids leaned over to me and said, “Jayna…have you noticed there’s no white people in here?” Yep. I had. We actually did end up seeing one of them before the morning was over. But in reality, I think he may have even just been a light-skinned “colored” man.
All in all, the day was a great learning experience for me. Perhaps the most thought-provoking part of it was hearing a man convicted of shooting someone talk. During apartheid he — like many others — had been imprisoned for little or no reason; after apartheid ended, he vowed he would never go to prison again. Yet, despite an education and working as a school administrator, he found himself committing a crime — that he doesn’t fully seem to regret — and back in prison. And as we freely walked through the prison and inmates were allowed to stand right next to us and interact with us without a guard menacingly breathing down their necks, I came to realize…for some people here, prison is a way of life. I kind of get the feeling that the imprisonment during apartheid continues to carry on in people’s minds in the way that going to the slammer isn’t that big of a deal — thus adding to the problem of controlling crime in the country.
Sitting in my flat later that night, a truly disturbing thought entered my mind. I realized that I felt safer walking around in the halls, courtyards, and cells of the prison than I ever have walking down any street in the rest of South Africa.
I didn’t take any pictures of the prison, but this is the local police station…
With the cash reserves on the low-end after the pick-pocketing, I’ve been a bit more choosy as to which sites I see in India. With the two-tier price system — one for Indians and one for foreigners — there are some I just can’t really bring myself to pay to see. I mean, why would I pay the same price as the entrance fee to the Grand Canyon for something definitely not as cool as the Grand Canyon or that I’d never heard of? Interestingly, I’m not the only one. The American girl I met in Delhi and hung out with in Jaipur (small world that we wound up in the same guesthouse!) and I only saw about half of Jaipur’s sites because the prices were a bit too much for something too little.
So, although I’d previously quietly payed the foreigners’ price, I have to admit I’m getting a bit more annoyed by it. I mean, before I told myself that the publicly owned sites were (theoretically) payed for by taxpayers’ money, so charging non-tax-payers a different price is excusable.
Now, though, I’m not so sure. I mean, a small difference would be OK. But more than 15 times the Indian price? No thanks. And the worst is when I get the SAME exact service as the Indian tourists and then the guide (which was mandatory and included in the ticket I payed five times the amount for) ends the tour and still asks for a tip because I’m American. Uh, no thanks, champ.
Then, in Bikaner, I met a Spanish couple who refused to visit any of the sites that charged two separate prices. “We miss out on a lot,” the woman says, adding that there are plenty of Indians that make more than she. They’re happier that they stick to their morals.
That got me thinking…how do you all feel about the foreigners’ prices? Clearly, this would never fly in America, but what about when you’re traveling? Fair or not??? Hmmm…
Since January 30, I’ve officially been finished with my time at Impulse. I know when I first started there I said I’d be blogging a bit about my work. Well, as you loyal readers out there may have realized, that didn’t happen so much. While I was volunteering, everything seemed to be happening so quickly that I guess I never really thought I had the time to explain anything or even have the chance to really digest what I was contributing or learning from my experience there.
Now that I do have a bit of time, I can tell you I was mostly documenting the organization’s history for its 15th year anniversary book, compiling information for the now-released (but still under construction) website, and meeting with trafficked survivors to document their current life. Smaller tasks included editing reports for UN funding agencies, assisting in workshops, documenting workshops, and writing the monthly newsletter.
In my few days of away-from-office-freedom, I’ve really realized how much my three months there made me grow. Somehow in the last week I’ve kind of come away with an idea of what I want to do with my life, and what I learned from the people at Impulse has made me think of the ways I can actually do it. (What the plan is…well, that’s for another time).
But in the meantime, here are a few pics of me at work. (Click on the thumbnail to view it full size)
at a workshop on trafficking for the Border Security Force
making a poster at another workshop
modeling a Western-style salwar suit I’d just had tailored
discussing the book at its early release
in traditional Khasi dress at the wedding of the son of one of the doctors that works with Impulse
“Donald Rumsfeld is briefing George Bush in the Oval Office.
‘Oh and finally, sir, three Brazilian soldiers were killed in Iraq today.’
Bush goes pale, his jaw hanging open in stunned disbelief. He buries his face in his hands, muttering ‘My God…My God.’
‘Mr. President,’ says Cheney, ‘we lose soldiers all the time, and it’s terrible. But I’ve never seen you so upset. What’s the matter?’
Bush looks up and says…’How many is a Brazilian?’”
-as seen in Eastern Panorama (January 2008), a monthly publication about North East India
Saw this story on Yahoo! yesterday. Apparently, I’ll even be able to vote (online) in the primaries this year. Yahoo!
This is fabulous as I’ve been following the primaries with almost as much gusto as I followed the Britney/K-Fed custody battle. But you know, we didn’t get to vote in that.
I’ll be registering soon, unless of course, any of you political reporters clue me into some security breaches of the site.
And, yes that means I’m a registered Democrat (come on…I grew up in a union family). Interestingly, though, it’s only the Dems offering this. Do you think that means Republicans don’t become expats?
At a party thrown by an American expat last week, I met an American couple about my age. The wife was, I’m pretty sure preggers, so when they sat down next to me, I asked when she was due. As I’ve termed this year of travel also the “year of the baby” (I’ve had no less than 6 friends and family members give birth or e-mail me with the announcement since I left in May), I’m starting to understand all the baby planning things that come along with pre-parenting.
After we talked about the due date and when she’d take the baby home to see her folks, I asked if they knew if it was a boy or girl yet, or if they were waiting to find out.
Then, of course, I was reminded this is India. It’s illegal for a doctor to tell them if it’s a boy or girl…
Last week the organization had a workshop to gather input on the content of an upcoming training program. During one point, the facilitators asked the attendees to guess the legal age of responsibility in countries that have ratified the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child.
There were lots of guesses for the US. And after each guess a few attendees would look my way as if to question if the guess was right. So, eventually I said things like that aren’t determined by the US but by each state’s government…then the facilitator said the US hasn’t ratified the Convention, either…
Interestingly, though, the range of guesses was only 7-14 years…
OK, so I think it’s probably time to explain what I’m actually doing in India…
When I had planned this trip, I had wanted to spend time volunteering, and I knew India would offer plenty of opportunities for this. So, sometime during my first visit to Thailand, I spent a bit of time searching around on the ‘net and found two Indian NGOs that needed help with media projects and worked in fields that interested me/I really cared about (I mean although I believe improving the water supply for rural areas is important, I wouldn’t necessarily rank it as a “passion” of mine…). One based in Delhi got back right away and said they’d look to see if my dates/skills would match up with their projects. The other got back a few days later with an offer to come when I could and would provide housing and a living stipend. I quickly accepted…
So here I am in Shillong now, working with Impulse NGO Network (soon to become known simply as “Impulse”). They work in a variety of sectors, but the main ones are village livelihood (finding ways for the small villages near here to sustain themselves), adolescent health/education, and child trafficking. I’ve got 2.5 large projects I’m working on. It’s basically putting together two separate publications (and culling information from one, so the organization can build a website…that’s the “.5″).
My days/weeks here are pretty long…six days a week, about 70 hours total, and most of the time is spent in an office. But I really can’t complain. I’m enjoying working on the projects (and have been copyediting too, which I love, love, love), and if you knew me before the last six months, you’ll know that 70-hour weeks aren’t that uncommon for me.
As my months here continue, I’m sure I’ll be posting more about what the organization is doing…which actually is pretty related to the US. One of the major funders is the US Department of State, which through the UN Office on Drugs and Crime, funds some of the work/studies on child trafficking. That way, you know, you Yanks can also see what your tax dollars (as well as me) are doing here in India.
New York’s Fleet Week is basically legendary in America. If you’ve never experienced it, Sex and the City’s Season Five had a great episode that shows a lot of what it’s like for a woman in the City during that time. For those unwilling to watch it, just imagine a beautiful, bustling city that sadly has more women than men. Now, imagine for one week in late spring — when skirts and open-toed shoes are finally able to be worn again — boat loads of athletic-built men (who’ve seen few women for the last four months) unloading into the city, uniforms and all. It’s basically every New York gal’s dream (well, you know, besides the job at the top of the masthead, the three-bedroom apartment in SoHo, or the new pair of Manolos). My first summer in New York, Fleet Week happened to be the second week of our stay. I’m pretty sure it’s what spurred my friend Kim and I’s pact that summer that we’d never leave a bar until both of us had gotten a drink bought for us (which definitely brought out some good stories by the end of the summer).
See, it’s not that we were the most beautiful girls stepping into the New York joints. But, well, guys in New York buy drinks for girls all the time. And military guys are often even more old-school…buying drinks (and dinner), opening every door, walking the girl home. It’s the kind of treatment girls like me grew up getting from guys, friends or otherwise, and tend to expect from any guy in pursuit…and it’s the kind of treatment girls who’ve never had love for its doting nature.
OK, OK…so I haven’t been watching any Carrie Bradshaw lately or reminiscing with old photos…so why bring all this up? Well, this past week in Perth was pretty much a mini Fleet Week with our own US Navy and Marines unloading more than 5000 service men and women onto the shores of Fremantle, near Perth.
It was honestly so entertaining watching their reception by the locals. The war in Iraq and US policy are extremely unpopular in Oz right now (to say the least). But none of that spilled over to how the Americans were greeted. The local 20- and 30-something women were practically out in droves hoping to meet up with a young Yank. One visiting British girl was telling how excited her coworker was to hear about the boats’ landing. “We’re SO going out this weekend,” she’d said. “The American Navy’s in town. You need to hook up with one. They’ll like buy you jewelry! But don’t sleep with them. You might get an STD.”
So, maybe dating an American sailor is kind of like doing politics with America. We strike up a lot of excitement and bring the promise of nice things for other countries, even if they know they might get a little dirty from it…and well, in the end, a little gold goes a long way in getting people to forget about the bad.
But when you’re a visiting American, politics definitely don’t matter and dating an American really has no novelty. You just need to think about enough banter to get you through a polite conversation with the 20-year-old based out of San Diego who bought you that drink (or how to play wing woman for your Aussie friend).
