La Seminaire Interreligieux, Doba 2013

"Perhaps travel cannot prevent bigotry,

but by demonstrating that all peoples cry, laugh, eat, worry, and die,

it can introduce the idea that if we try and understand each other,

we may even become friends"

-Maya Angelou-

La Seminaire Interreligieux

Doba, Tchad

December, 2013

(Photo and quote re-posted grace à Jonathan Austin)

War and Peace

What do you see when you watch or read stories about Africa in the news?* Recently you may have been following the stories of political turmoil and deadly violence in South Sudan and Central African Republic (CAR), or perhaps your attention was captured by last month’s tribute to the life and peace advancements of Nelson Mandela. The contrast of these events in particular has made very real to me the importance of the work happening in our Peace department at EPJ. For a nation like Chad, with a long history of civil war and a fairly recent history of peace, there is a great deal of healing, relationship-building, and education needed to ensure that a new generation of Chadians can leave past conflicts in the oral history books. Today, Chadian Muslims and Christians seem to share a relatively peaceful coexistence, but the barriers of ignorance, prejudice and intolerance are clearly present and accounted for, always carrying the potential to rekindle past conflict. Despite such a complex challenge, EPJ’s peace building strategy is remarkably simple. Find the people from various camps who are likely to be the most influential (religious leaders, women, and youth), bring them together to learn non-violent, conflict resolution skills, and provide a context for them to get to know one another as people. And so it happened that even while deadly Muslim/Christian clashes were escalating in the CAR and the songs dedicated to Madiba’s peace achievements were resonating around the world, I found myself in rural, southern Chad – roughly 100km on the peaceful side of the CAR boarder – hanging out with thirty or so influential priests, imams, and pastors from across Chad. Our goal? Simply to help dissipate the kinds of political/religious tensions that divide our Centrafricaine neighbours, and continue building the culture of peace to which Nelson Mandela devoted his life.

This week-long workshop began with a healthy dose of Chadian pomp and ceremony, and a presentation by Souina Potiphar (Secretary General of Protestant Churches in Chad), who had some pretty clear ground-rules for our religious authorities:

“We are not here to discuss theology,” exclaimed Potiphar.

“We are not here to call one another to the other’s religion.

We are not here to combine our doctrines together to create something new.

No!

We are here to learn how to share life together.

We have to live together,

so what kinds of relationships will we develop?

…In working for peace, if this week we can form friendships between priests, pastors, and imams, that is already a strength.”

As Potiphar spoke these words, I looked around the room and wondered about the reality of the religious divide. I am a far cry from a religious scholar, but it didn’t take one to noticed that the religious leaders were even divided physically, sitting in three relatively distinct groups. At meal times they generally clumped together with the friends they had come with… but, they had all come. Perhaps just sitting in the same room and sleeping in the same guest house was an important first step.

The first day of the workshop continued to set the context and elicit buy-in from our participants. We wanted them to understand that despite differences in tradition, doctrine, and lifestyle, the need for peace is something that we all share. What’s more, working for peace is a task that requires everyone’s collaboration. “Without peace, no project of development can happen. In times of war, nothing functions – no markets, no schools, no industry, no livelihoods, we can’t even eat. There is nothing but war” (Victor Dogos, head of EPJ Peace). In his presentation, Victor spoke at length about the reality of living in a war zone and in this crowd of elders and religious leaders, what a vivid and well-known image that must be. Having highlighted the numerous consequences of war, Victor concluded his talk with a reminder to the attendees of the immense level of collective influence they have in Chadian society. “Peace is not an option, but an obligation for inter-religious leaders.”

There was significant time for the participants to engage with one another. Some early discussions included the naming of stereotypes and stigmas that each group held regarding the other groups’ customs and beliefs. The conversations were surprisingly blunt! These people were not at all preoccupied with being politically correct towards other groups, nor did they seem at all surprised or offended by the accusations on their own faith. Instead they patiently took turns explaining the truth and intentions behind their own rules and customs. There was a clear emphasis on the need to understand one another. “We’re afraid of what we don’t know” said Victor at the end of one such discussion. “There are no verses in either of our sacred texts that encourage us to take part in violence and war. It’s only the extremists from one side or the other who interpret our texts in this way…. we must accept our differences and work together for peace.”

The next morning, having enjoyed the modest and generous hospitality of the village’s guest house, the religious leaders settled in for another day’s lessons (in exactly the same seats they had chosen the day before). For day two, the emphasis was on teaching about the nature of conflict. Religious leaders in Chad are extremely influential; they set the moral ground rules for what is acceptable behaviour in Chadian society, and their advice is taken seriously. If these leaders can better understand the nature of the disputes in their villages and neighbourhoods, they will be better equipped to mediate these situations. To this end, lesson number one went as follows: Conflict is a normal and neutral part of every-day life, and any positive or negative effects arise from the choices that we each make in response to situations of conflict. Boniface Tchingweubé (head of advocacy at EPJ) facilitated an engaging presentation including roll-plays and discussions, but at the end of the day there is only so much that can be taught. Some things need to be learned by doing. At the climax of his talk, Boniface suddenly broke from his energetic style of lecturing and settled into a chair at the front of the room. “You cannot choose what conflicts arrive, but you can always choose how you respond,” he said. “If you want to make peace in your communities, you must change your position.” Then he sat there, looking out at the Muslim/Christian divide in our own seating arrangement… Religious authorities looked at him. He looked at them. “Look at yourselves,” he exclaimed! “There is conflict among you right now!” He paused for dramatic effect, taking on a calm, authoritative tone. “…I’ll wait for you.” Like a soccer mom on the side of the road, refusing to budge until all mischievous little passengers start to behave, Boniface sat in the driver’s seat of the lecture and with a brilliant display of teacherly charisma he waited for the religious authorities of Chad to mix it up. He crossed his legs and settled conspicuously deeper into his chair. The religious authorities looked at each other…

Cautiously, one brave imam rose to his feet and crossed the room.

At this point, whatever force was holding the groups in isolation was broken and the natural laws of chaos took over. In a very literal sense, Christians and Muslims found new positions and new neighbours, creating model for relationships upon which Boniface would elaborate for the remainder of the workshop. In every-day life, in our neighbourhoods and communities, “when the leaders [of different faiths] connect and visit one another, that gives an example for all the others in the community to follow,” he explained. “If we learn to share everything in our lives, we will live together in peace and be true friends.”

Throughout the week, people began to change how they interacted with one another and with me. For example, because of my status as a young woman I was not surprised at the beginning of the week that several devout imams would not shake my hand. I was surprised however, when several days into the workshop these same imams greeted me with a warm and friendly handshake! By the end of the week, we were all eating together, washing our hands in the same sinks, chatting about the day, trading English, French, and Arabic lessons, and sharing lively stories and laughter. And these results were not just limited to the inner courtyard of the village guest house. Several leaders from each confession have called us since the workshop to tell about the meetings they held when they went home. They wasted no time spreading the ideas of acceptance, tolerance, and understanding within their communities.

I could end the blog there. But there’s something a little too perfect about the end of this story. Doesn’t it seem a little odd to be so proud of simple acts such as eating and washing hands together…? If I’m totally honest, sometimes this work is so basic it’s frustrating… why is it even necessary to go to such great lengths just so that people will see one another as worthy of a little respect and acceptance? I wrestled with this question throughout the workshops, and in the end, I don’t know why. But when I see Africa in the news, I know that this work is necessary, urgent even. In current civil wars, in the history of Apartheid, and even in my own N’Djamena neighbourhood it’s clear that the roots of prejudice and mistrust run deep in the generational identity and psyche of peoples who have lived through violent conflict. Reversing this trend is the untold story of African development, the story that takes place when international reporters have gone home, or perhaps before they arrive. It’s the epilogue of war and the prologue to peace.

*This is not exactly a rhetorical question – I would really love to hear your responses! What do you see when Africa is in the news (or any other media)? Please post your comments here or email me at michellemetzger@mcc.org with the subject line “I see Africa.”

My Chadian Social Life (Part 2): On verra…

To me being flexible has always meant the willingness to change plans with changing circumstances… that is to say, even flexible people have plans to start with. This year, however, I’m discovering a whole new dimension to what it means to be flexible which often involves a good deal of going with the flow. This December, my ability to live in the moment has been ultimately put to the test. From weddings to Christmas gatherings, ‘on verra’ or ‘we’ll see’ has been the hallmark phrase of each celebration.

Take for example, the wedding of my friend Clémence earlier this month. As it turned out, the wedding was the scheduled for the last day of a large workshop on conflict transformation that Ethics Peace and Justice was running in the south of Chad (about a 8 hour journey from N’Djamena). This was a problem. I had already told Clémence that I would attend her ceremony and she had even asked me to wear a matching dress with many of her other friends and family… and yet, would I make it to the ceremony? On verra… with permission to leave the workshop early, I caught the early morning bus to N’Djamena the day of the ceremony. If everything went normalement (according to plan), I’d arrive in the city at 1:30pm for a 2pm wedding. I of course had no plan for how I would get to the ceremony; it was way too early to think about those details… Despite potholes and animals running between our wheels, herds of cattle and a few traditional ‘bathroom’ stops, we arrived precisely and remarkably on time in N’Djamena. Similar luck proceeded to guide each step of my speedy transition from traveller to wedding-goer until I found myself standing in front of Church 6, dressed in my freshly tailored Chadian outfit, only about 20 minutes late, and one of the first guests to arrive…

And because I was one of the first to arrive, I had no idea where my friends and colleagues were, nor did I know where amongst the groups of matching outfits might be an appropriate place for me to sit... apparently my colour hadn’t arrived yet. I managed to find a young usher (who looked like she’d much rather be enjoying the ceremony with her friends than showing older guests to their seats). Without a word and assuming I must be a very special guest, she showed me to some chairs that were set up at the very front of the church and on a bit of an angle to the rest. I had a sneaking suspicion I was in the wrong place, but a bit helpless to make a better choice. As the rest of the angled chairs filled up with middle-aged, important-looking men, I grew increasingly certain of the awkwardness of my situation. Eventually my friends showed up, clearly a little surprised to find me seated with the pastors and elders. By this time the church was full of dancing guests and the choir (backed up with a small keyboard, solo guitar and drum kit) was in full swing behind me. There was no room to move so I stayed where I was. I gave up on fitting in a long time ago, so I just sat back and enjoyed the music!

The wedding ceremony itself took several hours and was full of song and dance, and of course a long sermon. Since all of the legal marriage rituals are done in a separate ceremony in the morning, this is a strictly community-focused event. A friend of the couple presented a comedic monologue and various groups of family and friends gifted the couple with a prepared song (accompanied by a traditional stringed drum). Many of the traditions were surprisingly similar to how weddings are done back home – the vows, the rings, the cake, and even the attire of the bride and groom were not at all unlike what I’ve seen at my friends weddings in Canada. When it comes to presenting the gifts, however, there was no mistaking the distinctly Chadian flavour of this wedding. After a brief announcement the music began again and people began dancing up the isles, all manner of household items held high above their heads. People cheered and clapped and danced their gifts up to the front to create a large pile in front of the couple. This more or less marked the end of the ceremony, but the dancing continued; we were offered plates of sweets and eventually filtered out into the night.

All through events like this, if people are worried about how things will turn out they certainly don’t show it. From an outsiders perspective the ‘Chadian way’ can easily be seen as simply putting off planning as long as possible, or occasionally altogether. Or it might be seen as a lack of foresight or organization. In practice, however, I’ve found it to be more of a preference that often just makes sense given the context in which we are living. Instead of a schedule where each task is allotted a certain time, tasks are prioritized and generally carried out in that order regardless of how long they take to accomplish. In this context, leaving plans ambiguous is actually an extremely practical way of ‘organizing’ one’s day, accounting for all the likely yet unforeseeable happenings of day to day life.

At the end of the day, acceptance for the unexpected is the prominent attitude, and I’ve found that the more comfortable I become with this way of scheduling, the easier it becomes to settle into the flow of Chadian life. Even as I write this, it is 5:30pm on New Year’s Eve and I still don’t know how I will celebrate. I might drop in on my host family’s church where people will be singing and dancing until dawn tomorrow. I might be invited to attend a formal new year’s party with my host dad and many of his colleagues. I might spend the evening with some expat friends (who have clearly picked up the Chadian tendency of last minute planning), or I might have a quiet night in with my host mom and sister… What is certain is that 2014 is going to begin in the company of good friends, looking back on a full and fruitful year, thinking of loved ones around the world, and looking forward to certain and unpredictable adventures in the year ahead… On verra. 

My Chadian Social Life (Part 1): Are You Married Yet…?

Amusingly, the marriage question seems to come from all directions in my life, whether my grandma is kindly reminding me that I could bring a special someone to our reunions anytime I like, or here in Chad where complete strangers are known to propose on the spot hoping for free immigration status. In general the topic of marriage is inevitable when getting to know Chadians and they always seem a little surprised to find out that a young women such as myself is both unattached and unafraid of the future. While it may be perfectly normal for a young Canadian women to be traveling or focusing on education, finding a husband is of paramount social importance for Chadian women and all the single ladies are watching the clock to make sure they don’t get too close to 25 without securing a dowry. This time of year, with the rains long gone and the heat subdued, there’s plenty of events going on. So even while I play the role of long-distance maid-of-honour for my best friend in Canada, I’m taking note of how things are done Chadian style.

And do Chadians ever have style! Last Friday my friend Charlee came into work with her hands and feet covered in beautiful henna art. She was going to have a part in her cousin’s dowry celebration the next day and invited me to come along. We arrived early in the morning to find that dozens of friends and relatives had already begun filling the small courtyard of the bride’s home. There was a DJ and a sound system playing upbeat African and International favourites, and chairs were being lined up for some sort of ceremony. As I took in the scene, Charlee took me by the hand and led me to a separate room just off the courtyard where the bride was seated on a pile of floor pillows. This is where she enjoys the party, surrounded by aunts, sisters, cousins, and friends. It’s not considered proper for her to view the ceremony. The mood in the room was lively and fun as the women greeted, laughed, teased, and laughed some more. Before long the groom’s family arrived (the groom doesn't attend the ceremony either). They filed in carrying large platters of useful and beautiful items – soaps, boxes of sugar, stacks of cloth, piles of shoes, seeds, oil, and crates of fizzy drinks. The chairs quickly filled up so people crowded together on the porch of the house like they were posing for a large family photo around the pile of gifts. Then the proceedings began.

One family member stood and greeted the crowd with charisma. After a flourish of introductions, a mat was ceremonially brought and rolled out in the small bit of open courtyard left between chairs and fizzy drinks. Members of the two families came and sat on either side of the mat. Greetings were exchanged, and then the ‘negotiating’ began. I should add that even through the complete language barrier, it was clear that the entire event was staged for the enjoyment of the two families. Any real decision making was done long before the ceremony, and both families were clearly thrilled at the prospect of the marriage. But on the day of the dowry it’s one for the money, two for the show… The father of the groom pulled 200 000 francs ($400) from his pocket, and the banter began. The family of the bride was clearly unimpressed at the insufficient sum. After some time, the grandfather pulled out the extra 50 000 ($100) to help his grandson’s cause, and still more banter and laughter from the crowd. Eventually the grandfather sheepishly pulled out a single 1000 franc note ($2) as if to say “really, this is all we've got” and everyone laughed, agreements were made, hands were shaken, and the dancing began (yes, for me too!)

On the way back to my house I had lots of questions for Charlee. Why doesn't the couple attend the ceremony? What does a dowry of 250 000 francs mean socially? What exactly was being said between the families? …There is still much that I don’t understand, but I’ll share a few notes. Compared with our western traditions, it may seem strange at first that the couple doesn't attend the ceremony. Back home, the couple is absolutely the center of attention for all events associated with their wedding. However, I would say that this tradition is not so much diminishing the couple’s role, but rather it highlights that the families play a much more central role than in my own culture. Perhaps this is representative of the ways that family plays a more central role in the lives of Chadians in general. I also learned that the amount of this dowry was pretty much average (at least for someone in this socio-economic bracket). If the price were much higher it would reflect badly on the father of the bride, as he would be seen to be ‘selling’ his daughter. Similarly, a less than average gift would suggest that the bride was not worth a proper dowry.

Overall, I think I see more similarities between our traditions than I expected to find. I think at the end of the day, it’s really about the community coming together to support the future of the couple. Back home we function in a society where a bride and groom are starting an independent life together, and all financial support tends to go directly to the couple. In Chad, as in many African cultures, financial inter-dependency within families is the fiscal norm. The couple may be starting a new chapter in life but they’re not necessarily becoming any less dependent on family connections and support. In this way, perhaps trading money between the families is as much a sign of unity as the marriage ceremony itself.

And speaking of ceremonies, the next big celebration will be the wedding of another co-worker in early December. It’s a Chadian tradition that the bride arranges for friends and family to tailor outfits from the same cloth for the wedding day, and my custom dress is in the works. I’m honoured to be included and curious what this next celebration will have in store!

Road Trip! (Pictures)

This is the home of our host, Martin, in Gounougaya. The homes were pretty similar in all the villages - small brick rooms, usually round, with thatched roves, and woven grass sheets for courtyard walls. 

Also at Martin's house, when I explained to these women that I was taking photos so that my friends and family in Canada could better understand life in Chad, they smiled and insisted that I also photograph them with their cooking charcoal.  

This is our second flat tire of the trip.

And don't forget our meetings. This is a group of children in Doba ready to receive their new school supplies. 

There is a herd of cattle in the road. Classic.

On the way home, we stopped to buy all sorts of foodstuffs that are cheaper to buy in the villages than in the city. At this stop we loaded up with fresh sugarcane. 

Road Trip!

It’s about time I explained more about the work I’m involved with here in Chad. I should say that discovering the projects of my organization is an ongoing process. There isn’t a tidy file (at least not that I’ve seen yet) that I can read and get up to speed on the history of the organization or even the current peace and  development efforts, but I invite you to learn along with me – petit à petit. In this post, I’m going to take you along on my most intense week of learning so far – an unexpected opportunity to join the HIV/AIDS program team on a 6 day road trip to visit five rural villages in the South of Chad. We were meeting with partners to discuss the progress and future of a school sponsorship and a microfinance project. But before launching into stories from the trip, it’s worth taking a minute here to explain a little more about the organization I work for.

Ethics Peace and Justice (EPJ) is a division of a larger Chadian organization which has several projects sponsored by MCC. In my department at EPJ there are three full time staff: Boniface works on advocacy projects; Victor is in charge of peaceful conflict resolution training; and Adka oversees the HIV/AIDS support programs. I will be helping out with projects in all three areas throughout the year, but it was Adka’s HIV/AIDS programs that took me south. In these five villages, MCC and EPJ have arranged for children orphaned by HIV/AIDS to attend school and be provided with a uniform and school supplies. The sponsorship is part of a three year program, which has included raising awareness within local churches for how to continue this support program into the future. In some of the villages, there was also a microfinance operation for women living with AIDS. In Chad, as in many African societies, AIDS is considered a shameful disease such that those infected often hide their illness to avoid discrimination. The microfinance project is intended to help such marginalized women organize to support themselves and one another, both financially and socially.

My first journey to the villages began bright and early on a Monday morning. The team picked me up in an antique Toyota pickup; the canvas covered bed was full of school supplies and clothes for children in the villages. We bought some baguettes for the road and began a full day’s drive south. Despite the remnants of the rainy season in N’Djamena, things become greener as we left the city and the dusty Sahel region behind. The roads became gradually less populated, except for the occasional line of women carrying large plastic tubs of produce on their heads to sell in the market, and the odd bus (like a larger version of the van from Little Miss Sunshine) with all manner of things piled high on the roof: baggage, sugar cane, even a live ram! Gradually the population of potholes began to grow until we were weaving back and forth across the entire road to avoid the particularly treacherous parts. Even so, after several hours we found ourselves stuck on the side of the road with a flat tire and a faulty spare. Thus began a bumpy race against time – could we get to the next village on what little air was left? With no small amount of luck, when we pulled over beside a small roadside market we were nearly riding on rim, but there was no damage. We paid a young teen to patch our inner tube and on we went. All along the way, the truck was filled with cheerful banter in French or Ngumbay, as we traded stories and discussed the work ahead.

In the first village, the local language was unknown to our team so everything was translated into French, allowing me to follow almost everything as it happened. First thing in the morning we met with the children and caregivers regarding school sponsorship. Adka started by asking the villagers to recall what they had talked about in the very first meeting when they launched this project. After a long silence, people started speaking up, recalling many important details of the project and sponsorship. Adka reminded them that this is the third and final year of the project, and we then proceeded to check in on the children. Most of the children stood with pride to announce their passing grades and receive their new backpack. Some of the children were sick. Several of the girls had been married and were no longer attending school. Other children were singled out for having failed their studies – the public shame of the announcement intended to encourage them to study harder next year. After all the supplies had been given out and a few pictures taken, the meeting was over and the students dismissed. In the other villages, the meetings didn’t always happen in French but with the odd translated summary I was pretty sure that a similar scenario was playing out in each. In the evenings over sweet tea and boule with fish sauce, we debriefed our meetings and this is what I learned:

The biggest problem facing this project is the dilemma of passing the torch to local churches. In theory there is no reason why churches couldn’t serve as a sustainable institution of social security. Yet, in this village the churches were not likely to continue the program as originally intended. In some cases there was resistance from pastors, not giving Adka and her team the authority to raise awareness about the project. But perhaps a more systemic challenge is that churches in rural Chad don’t collect offerings like churches do in the city. In N’Djamena I’m told, money is donated by the congregation each week to support the pastor and other projects like providing food at church events or giving to charity. In contrast, pastors in the villages struggle just to get by, I’ve been told on as little as 500CFA ($1.00CDN) per month.

In this context, more than one Chadian has told me that “people in the villages believe they have no money…” Every time I hear that I have to wonder, why is that word “believe” in there? Surely for many of the rural poor, it’s true. They really don’t have money. But for others, one Chadian friend explained, they have assets such as animals and crops but they believe they can’t give to others because their assets are not in cash... To be totally honest, I’m not sure what to do with opinions like this. Rural Chad is not an easy place to make a living, and it’s only getting more difficult as climate change brings more frequent and more severe drought. The growing season in southern Chad is significantly shorter than previous generations have seen and this trend is not likely to reverse. Can we really expect our model of collecting offering in support of social welfare programs to work in rural Chad?

In some villages we also met with microfinance groups. Again in our first village, after meeting with the school children, a small group of 6-8 women gathered their benches in a circle under a large tree and the meeting began. This time it wasn’t all in French, so I didn’t get to hear all of the stories they shared, but it wasn’t hard to follow the tone of the meeting. The women in turn gave voice to their struggles and suffering, explaining the many challenges with their illness and entrepreneurship. Even through the language barrier, I started to feel awkward sitting there in that circle – what exactly gave me permission to plop myself down in such an intimate time of sharing and support, in a circle where there was already bonds of trust and friendship and I was so clearly an outsider? How did the women feel about my presence? I didn’t want to play the role of a distant observer, invading their meeting, swiping their stories and pictures without offering any gesture of friendship in return… No, I had to find some way of contributing empathy to this circle. After a while, I could tell that Adka had left business matters behind and was counselling the women about how to support one another, to live with hope, and embrace life despite illness. From my seat of privilege, what could I possibly say to these women that would be genuine and meaningful…? The circle reminded me of another cross-cultural experience I had in Canada, a guest in a different circle in a First Nations community. In that circle, we had traded songs in reciprocity and friendship… suddenly my heart knew exactly what I could share, just as Adka turned to me. “Michelle, isn’t there anything you’d like to say…?” So I borrowed a cultural tradition to bridge a culture, language, and life experience gap thousands of kilometers away. This is what I sang:

Peace before you
Peace behind you
Peace under your feet
Peace within you
Peace over you
Let all around you be peace.

I couldn’t remember the other verses so I made up my own that seemed appropriate…

Strength before you…
…Love under your feet…
…Hope within you…
…Let all around you be…

…Peace, strength, love, hope. Could these gifts of the human heart overcome, just for a moment, barriers of race and privilege? I sang the simple melody slowly, repeating each verse and letting the phrases hang in the air. The song was simple to translate and the women asked me to write down the lyrics for them. I can only hope that it leaves them with some small amount of peace, strength, love and hope. I’ve grown accustomed to lengthy handshakes, but after that meeting did the women hold on just a little bit longer? All my words felt inadequate so I just held on, hoping that a moment of lingering eye contact would carry a little more peace, strength, love, and hope.

Those were our first meetings in Gounougaya, and there were many more insightful and touching moments to come throughout the week. One woman in the village of Doba told about how she had just about given up on life in her battle with AIDS when this program started. She was bedridden in the hospital when she got word that her children were being sponsored to go to school and she would have the chance to start her own small business. She sat tall and proud and thankful as she told us this story. Another elderly woman in Bebidja simply expressed that she would never have had the means to send her grandchildren to school if not for the sponsorship. She wanted to give us something to say thank you, but had nothing to give. She said she hoped that God would bless us for this work. I think the blessing was in her words.

And so, after a week of putting faces to the recipients of our aid programs and pondering with the team the sustainability of the efforts, I was left with a pretty mixed bag of emotions. More than ever, “I have been impressed with the urgency of doing…” (Leonardo Da Vinci) and more than ever, I am aware that we have yet to figure out what exactly ought to be done. 

Powerless?

I write this post in the dark (under my mosquito net, sweat absorbing into my bed sheets…) on a laptop I charged with the generator at work. We haven’t had electricity for 2 weeks and counting. This length of outage is apparently uncommon, though certainly not unheard of here in N’Djamena. Water is also cut frequently for large portions of the day, at which times we (and several of our neighbours) depend on the well beside our home. That’s just how it is with services in Chad. For most people, even in the capital city, money can’t buy internet fast enough for Skype, taxis come when taxis come, and there is no way of knowing when basics like power or water will come back. It’s true, you could trace a general pattern that richer neighbourhoods will have more reliable power than poorer neighbourhoods; as well there seems to be a greater likelihood to be without power during the day and more chance of power at night… but beyond that, it’s almost impossible to predict. There is no news expected about whether anyone is making an effort to restore the situation. Life just carries on with what’s available. While we can always hope for the lights to come on, it seems nobody is holding their breath.

This attitude that Chadians take towards power outages is just one example of an interesting cultural difference that’s come to my attention recently (through my experiences and a book I've been reading).* African cultures tend to utilize resources in the moment to meet the immediate needs of themselves, friends and family. Then, they are prepared to do without until more becomes available. In managing personal finances, there is good reason why the culture has evolved this way. Personal relationships are the backbone of society, providing a social safety net to people who have seen more than their share of hardships throughout history. It is simply expected that those with excess resources will share the wealth with friends and family. Someone who keeps excess money to themselves is not seen as investing in a secure future, but rather selfishly failing to fulfill his/her relational obligations – the very relationships which would provide in the event of future needs. And so, Africans tend to spend their resources fairly quickly (either to meet their own needs, the needs of others, or to ensure that the funds are spent before any kin has the chance to ask for it) and as a result, they are accustomed to inconsistencies in the availability of resources. They're willing to wait in half-hearted annoyance about the inconvenience until the resource becomes available again.  

While this note-culturelle helps me understand the attitudes I encounter, all these black evenings leave me wondering - why is it exactly that there couldn't be enough power in this city to avoid cuts all together? People expect and tolerate shortages, but they would certainly prefer not to lose power. What is keeping this country from obtaining enough supply? Chad is an oil-producing nation. Surely there is a solution to be found in the wealth of black exports. Maybe it's a problem of politics... or what about solar? Surely if panels could be installed throughout a city like N'Djamena you could build a self sufficient grid right into the infrastructure of the city! So maybe it's an engineering problem... Or maybe... suddenly I'm reminded of a recent conversation with a Chadian friend, and I have mixed feelings about my brainstorming... 'Development in Africa,' he told me, 'needs to come from Africans.' I couldn't agree more. Real, viable solutions to development challenges in Chad are going to have to line up with cultural realities that I am still reading about in books. Perhaps the most promising solutions are those that will defy western business models and baffle development scholars. Much like how the willingness to sit in the dark for weeks on end and the preference to use rather than budget resources is baffling to a Canadian like me. 

Despite the inconvenience and inequality, I must say that I’m rather fond of evenings without power. It makes everyday life feel a little bit like camping, and I’ll do my best to paint the picture for you. Nights are cooler at this time of year, dropping to around 30°C. It is extremely hot in the house, so I put on some bug-spray and join the family sitting outside. The moon is bright and the breeze is refreshing. We sit in comfortable silence for a while – silent that is, except for the soundtrack of tonight’s feature film blaring from the cinema next door. Someone tells a story in French or Moundang (my host family’s language – pronounced “moon-dung”). I ask how to say a simple phrase in Moundang, get a lesson in pronunciation for the sounds that English and French simply don’t use, and sit for a while silently memorizing the new words so that I can greet my host dad (Papa) when he gets home. The mood seems relaxed and content, even though I know all the children (whether 6 or 24 years old) would rather be watching TV. Papa arrives, parks his work SUV in the back of our compound, and teases me about why I’m just sitting around when I could have gone back to Canada to find some electricity. We eat leftovers from lunch – reheated rice or corn-flour paste with a runny, flavorful tomato or peanut sauce. We watch the stars, slap a few mosquitoes  and trade stories about our days in between long bouts of comfortable silence. Mama is dozing on a wooden bench, only after having checked several times that everyone had enough to eat (especially me). Olga is texting friends; Junior is asleep on a plastic woven mat on the front porch, and aunt Odette is singing softly to herself a hymn from the family’s Lutheran song book. Deli, however, is bored and he's been eyeing his mother's cellphone, carefully nestled in the crook of her arm. He stealthily gets up and creeps behind his mother’s bench. Much to the amusement of everyone, he reaches over his mother to swipe his prize… but she senses something and reaches out to swat the mosquito – back jumps Deli! Mama hasn't noticed him, but the rest of us can’t keep our laughter in and his secret is out! …Back to our comfortable silence, and the night goes on.

Even across cultures and language barriers it’s amazing how powerful it is to just be with people. We’re taking in a shared experience – tranquil evenings, family time, more than a few stars and more than a few mosquitoes. Big questions on life and development will just have to wait until tomorrow. 

*David Maranz (2001). African Friends and Money Matters. Dallas: SIL