peacemaker gypsy

Reason for the season

The other day Nell and I were in the city and did the cinema and then the DJ's Christmas windows (which were based on Christmas Carols this year) and as we were walking through an arcade back to the bus stop I was singing (very softly I thought) some carol or another and a woman commented "That is the first Christmas Carol I have heard this year". 

It pulled me up short (not least the thought of my singing being heard by passers by), but primarily because there has been a distinct (conscious?) lack of reference to anything remotely religious in this Christmas chaos.  I am aware that this is the most mercenary and shopaholic festival we have and also that it is the biggest cultural festival: but it does have its basis in a religious occasion (albeit probably not happening in December).  Why is Jesus left out of the festival?  Why are all the Christmas songs and references determinedly secular?

The passerby (who commented on the singing) blamed the non-Christian immigrants: rubbish!  Every other religious group I have worked with (particularly Muslims) acknowledge Jesus and therefore the birth of Jesus.  You have to remember that for the Muslims, Jesus was a very great prophet ... the differences come in terms of acceptance of His divinity.  The Muslims I know seem to know a good deal more about Jesus than do many nominal Christians (that I know).  Because other religions take their own holidays seriously ... they take ours seriously as well (in my own experience).

Is it some level of culture cringe being manifested ... under the mantle of religious diversity and cultural inclusion?  But ignoring the religion of a mainstream group is not religious diversity ... it is just ignorance (in all senses of the word).  I am aware that only a tiny proportion of Australians are genuine Christians. I am aware that most of the inclusion aspects of other religions is definitely of the window-dressing variety but surely we should not be reducing a major religious holiday of a mainstream relgion to a glorification of greed (ironically, exactly the opposite of the  intention).

By making it purely a cultural holiday we reduce not just the meaning of Christmas but also ourselves and I find that rather sad.

Bullies or bullied?

There has been a lot of (renewed) talk about bullying in schools and cyber-bullying: a national campaign no less with talk about a national policy (although I don't honestly see why the national aspect is so very important for the school level).  At the same time and with no apparent irony, the media is reporting that Australia is accused of bullying at the Copenhagen conference and more specifically that Kevin Rudd is accused of bullying - not only poor African countries re climate change but also his own staff.  The last time that bullying was discussed at length (I was o'seas) Bush was the US President and a better role model for bullying was hard to find.

There are of course multiple issues - but a couple  spring to mind for me. 

The first is ... we provide endless role models for potential bullies.  Nice guy Kevin 07 screams abuse at his staff both flight attendants and 'real' staff; now he bullies smaller countries to get what he feels is a necessary result re climate change agreements. 

Of course the fact that Kevin is being blamed pretty much as his plane touches down makes you think that there must be more to the story that somehow is not being reported.  Nevertheless ... is being a bully a necessary pre-requisite to being a leader (correction a political leader) ? 

Given the machinations of Oz politics recently the answer would appear to be yes.  So if the big boys can do it ... why not the rest of us?  How can anybody in all honesty, tell some angst ridden adolescent that s/he cannot bully somebody when all around them the bullies reign supreme? 

How can the government even think about pushing for a national policy on bullying (well actually on eradicating bullying) and at the same time indulge themselves ... presumably using the argument of the end justifies the means (at least re climate change).

Point 2: In terms of eradicating or minimising bullying ... given my usual work (which is primarily teaching about ethics) the whole bullying scene is distressing to say the least.  I don't think it is a new phenomenon, but there are many more aspects to it now and with a general desensitisation re violence perhaps it is more extreme.  But most of us know that bullying feeds on the fear it creates; i.e. when a bully knows they are feared they 'up the ante'.  To get the bully to change behaviour requires that there is an increase in the level of socialisation (beyond the punishment level - where the national policy is aimed).  That of course, is unlikely because the bully is currently very successful.  The other option therefore would seem to be to make the bully less successful.  Why are some kids bullied and others not?  It is not all kids that don't fit in that are bullied, although that would appear to be the aspect that kids themselves focus on.  But some kids have enough self-confidence and are secure enough in themselves that the potential bullying just doesn't connect.  So perhaps from an educational point of view we should be working much harder to create a real positive self-image - not the bland "everything you do is wonderful; now do you feel good about yourself?" type of confidence building - but the real analysis and caring that builds a genuine understanding of self that make the initial bullying worthless because the potential 'victim' knows better - and understands that there is no truth in the bullying tactics.

Point 3:  Why do we all put up with the bullies?  Bosses, workmates, shop assistants, bullies are in every group and every situation.  Bullying, harassment, a breakdown in self-discipline and control can all be justified ... a bad day; a retaliation; get them before they get you (after all whole wars have been fought on that premise) ... and what seems to be the most common one ... because I can (see any number of 'sportsmen/women who have been in the news for criminal/anti-social 'bullying' behaviour).  It seems we have a society where one group have been trained to be passive and powerless and the other group trained to take advantage of this by bullying to get what they want.  

Of course because I am an educator I think that the answer is in education (not school ... education) but we also need some positive role models at all levels in our society and a programme that focusses on a much higher level than simply punishing the wrong-doer: which is a form of bullying itself.

Identity

When I was a very young mother (and I was very young) my entire identity was as the mother of my kids.  When my daughter was in hospital (in a different city to where we lived) I had to travel to see her but leaving my son at home with parents.  I distinctly remember (in amongst all the angst of having a critically ill baby) the 'loss' of travelling without a baby or toddler in tow.  I didn't quite know what to do with myself.  (As an aside - the hospital that she was in - which was so far away  at the time and seemed to take endless bus travel to get there .. is up the road from where I now live.  Of course it is now medium/high density housing now but they have kept the beautiful and imposing sandstone facade.)

Anyway ... as I grew older and so did the kids I became weary of being so and so's mother - but that was okay because then I had a professional 'face' I could wear.  That 'face' became increasingly important and when I resigned and went to study I went through the whole "I-have-no-identity or who-the-hell-am-I" routine all over again ... I was too old to play the student ... was the mother of adolescents (nuff said) and was doing relief teaching - another sure fire way to shoot down any sense of self-worth. 

The professional 'face' changed slightly (different expression more than new face) and I was recognised as an expert in a very very tiny field.  (Ex= has been ... spurt = drip under pressure).  In the top 10 in Australia ... not terribly meaningful when there were probably only 11 of us.  Then a series of 'new' areas ... where I learned a lot - writing books, making films, writing curriulum (of course) - all of which came in terribly useful later.  But it was in the APS ... and the glass ceiling was alive and well and I was bumping against it after just a couple of years ... with 25 working years to go!!!

Off I went to the wider world.  A friend/mentor/colleague said to me that I was the "Africa expert" - the sulky little girl inside me whined and said (under my breath of course, in the tradition of sulky little girls) "But I don't want to be the Africa expert".  Same friend/colleague introduced me at a conference once as an expert in several different fields ... with the above quote in mind - about a drip under pressure ... I figured that what she really meant was that nobody else had stuck it out for as long  - in other words I was the last(wo)man left standing! 

The next phase was that of a freelance consultant.  Now there is an identity (or at least a stereotype): we are perceived as high maintenance - mostly a matter of over-crowded TORs and a limited time frame.  When I came home once a year the identity was very clear cut ... daughter, mother and grandmother and because of limited time in-country this was a full-time identity.

But now I live in Australia ... and while I have a clear-cut identity when I am working that is very often tied to an absence from home: when I am home I don't really have any identity at all.  I look like hundreds of other middle class "women of a certain age", my interests are predictable so any identity is banal to say the least.

So here is the question: are we nothing more than the sum of our parts - is our identity only that of our work and our relationships?  And what happens when this is not enough?

A note to cover my absence

Except the last post it has been a very long time since I blogged.  Burundi was generally not kind to the idea of long term use of the internet and the power was cut annoyingly often resulting in a loss of ... well everything really.

Working in two Francophone countries for the last few months had the usual effect of leaving me feeling particularly useless and stupid.  It is not arrogance that makes Anglo-phones speak only English ... we are just linguistically challenged it seems.  It left me feeling that I could not speak in English either by the end.

Anyway ... my impressions of Burundi can be summed up thus:

hippos, secretary birds and tiny brilliant honey-eaters;

masses of writing and editing translations (of a language that I do not speak although I can read it a bit)

training lots of people and being perpetually shocked at how much people can have a total dichotomy between talking the talk and walking the walk (I am sure I do as well - although I try very hard to be consistent): so in training workshops, participants know all the answers and say all the right things but in fact cannot put anything much into practice (or more to the point) even feel that they need to

Wonderful staff who helped out in all sorts of ways ... well over and above the call of duty

Wet eucalypts

From Burundi I travelled home back through Madagascar where I had an all day stay in Nairobi airport ... really all day arrived at 0500 and left at 1930.  Even the best airports and the best airport shopping cannot cope with that.  And I over heard some guy who had been there for two days!!!

Once in Mada my life was a social whirl ... shopping for semi-precious gemstones and lunch with the wonderful Anna and Uwaise, then whisked off to a dinner party and the next day to another lunch before the plane to home!

And now ... the somewhat staid life in Oz and being a grandmother ... but it is all good fun and now with a more reliable internet ...

Ethical behaviour

The other day when I was driving home I was listening to some radio station or another and the female DJ told this story about her buying two tops.  She knew her credit cards were nearly maxed out so wanted to split the purchases between two cards.  The assistant rang through one and it was rejected although it showed up on his computer as a sale and then she bought the other one.  She said to the guy that she thought that one sale had not gone through but the guy said no it was fine ... and so she left.  100 metres of so down the street she checked the docket and sure enough she had only paid for one top.   Her reasoning was a) she had told the guy and so it was his fault not hers and therefore the top was hers to keep and b) she was wearing high heels and wasn't going to walk back.

What shocked me was that when I teach ethics (which I do a lot) we discuss the various levels of ethical development - one of which (and it is pretty low on the hierarchy) is the "if I am not caught then I am not guilty" level (or what I privately call the Bart Simpson level).  This woman was barely even at that level ... because she knew that there was a mistake made but refused to take any responsibility and she knew that there would be consequences for the assistant (because it was discussed but she kept justifying her position).  A severe case of "I'm all right Jack ... pity about the rest of you".

You see I have this somewhat naive view that I teach ethics in developing countries because the fabric of their social structure has been destroyed because of conflict etc.  What is our excuse?

Which day ... which country?

So ... here I am in Burundi and have been here for a week.  I had a couple of days in Nairobi where I paid my traditional visit to the hairdresser (who greets me with kisses and o0pen arms .,.. and I only go there once a year ...or so) and then to the centre of civilised living - Anna's home at Karen.  This time she offered more temptation than usual - a visit to a glass making place way out in Masaii country.  Brilliant place recycled glass, kilns fuelled with recycled engine oil, recycled metal n- bottle caps and cans made into all sorts of things and employing fifty plus people.

I actually have some of their glasses ( a gift from years ago) but the stuff was breathtaking and I didn't buy a thing!  Going on to Burindi carrying loads of glass ware just didn't seem workable somehow ... but next time I am in Nairobi - look out!

So .. an uneventful trip to Burundi and immediately started training.  There are hippos in the lake across from my hotel (but I have not seen them) ... there are drummers down the road but I have not seen them; it is really really hot and humid with the rains imminent ... but I have not seen any.  I am feeling deprived of everything except heat and sor feet and legs (from standing for hours at a training.  Oh and I have the inimitable feeling of sweat trickling down my back under the waistband of my clothing etc. and watching participants fan themsleves but I cannot (because I am out the front training).

This coming week is mostly writing and then we start again - a 7 day training and then field work and then upgrade and then more training ... oh ... and then it is over!

PS This post is for Terje who commentedon a dearth of posts here ... the internet connection is dodgy to say the least ... this is a lucky break!

Little red engine

That whole puffing up the hill thing (I think I can; I think I can; etc.) well WHEEEEEE ... I am freewheeling down the other side.  Well not quite of course because I start in Burundi in a week but...

Back from the coast ... where I did not swim at all ... not did I see the beach more than once - tres disappointing.  They wanted to drive me up (or down) the coast for an hour or so so that I could swim at the end (on Friday afternoon) ... that would entail driving back for an hour as well ... have I mentioned that I get car sick??

All training workshops are done ... I am alternately a saint and/or bitch to the participants ... the thankyou speech referred to me "shattering" their props.  I was tempted to respond by saying that yep ... that would be part of the job ... but I refrained.

Now I have reports to write ... interviews to give (tomorrow is International Peace Day ... who knew?) and then prepare my debriefing.  I also have changes to make in materials - dunno when that will get done as I fly out on Wednesday and turn my attention to what Burundi needs.

Of course I have my favourite stress rash on my leg ... giving me agony. 

But ... the job is almost done; I can swim in Nairobi; my bags are packed (the one with rocks and stuff can actually stay here as I come back this way); my little house is spanking clean (much cleaner than when I moved in) and all excess food is packed up to give away (I am loath to part with my walnut oil).  And now it is freewheeling time.

This is why I train

I shopped on the Saturday morning of my London trip ... and then did the schlepp from the station to the hotel (about a kilometre).  Really tired so the thought of taking trains to the airport was all too much and so I thought I would get one of those shared vehicles  - wrong ... anyway the chef at the hotel is also a taxi driver (now that says something about something doesn't it??) and anyway he takes me ... not quite for free but ...

So I arrive at Heathrow really early which is lucky because they will not check me in because I have an Oz passport and my ticket is only going to Tana (Madagascar).  Where is my onward ticket?  I dunno ... it is being changed.  Who are you flying with?  I dunno ... some airline I have never heard of before.  Sorry Madam you are completely stupid and we do not take really stupid people on our flights.  Call somebody in Madagascar and get them to fax the ticket here.  ARE YOU JOKING???  Who the hell is going to Fax a ticket on a Saturday afternoon/evening. 

Of course phone numbers have changed and the one number I have is invalid.  During the course of trying to call another country for which nobody knows (or can apparently find out) the country code - my brain belatedly kicks into gear.  Wait ... is there an internet cafe somewhere?  Yes up those stairs (you will have to schlepp your suitcase) - the fact that the ticket I am about to download from my email has been changed is not an issue ... I just need a ticket.  So one pound copin in the slot ... cannot find the email ... try not to sweat blood ... oh look there it is  ... send to the "help desk" (in inverted commas because they were not very).  Give away remaining minutes (this is no time to surf the net) schlepp all belongings downstairs again over to  said help desk ... and before long it is almost all systems go.

Sorry Madam you will have to check that itty bitty suitcase in (through Jo'burg - airport notorious for losing/stealing whatever your luggage).  Okay ... do you have one of those plastic wrap thingys?  Yes go down to the next floor (mercifully there is a lift so I do not have to tackle the stairs).  Wait in line ... really really grateful that I have arrived so very early for check-in.  Pay five pounds to have miles of cling wrap wrapped around my case.  Back upstairs ... check in; make snide comment to man who called me stupid and swan off to board the plane (oh small side track to bookshop and sandwich bar).  By this time I have used up all the three hours alotted to checking in.

Take sleeping tablet and sleep on plane.  Plane is of course late taking off.  We do not make up time (because we are going north south).  Plane lands in Jo-burg ... touches down as they are calling my flight for Tana.  Plane docks at the extreme far end of terminal A ... my flight is (naturally) at the extreme other end of terminal B ... people tell me this is 3 kilometres. 

There are two checkpoints (which is where I catch my breath) ... flight has closed (according to the board ... I run anyway.  I ran the full length of both terminals (it seemd like 10 km) carrying an 8kilo shoulder bag and a bag of books.  I reached the gate ... the doors have closed and the bus (last bus) is about to leave ... I bash on the glass and scream at them (a lot).  Ground crew from the next gate check me through.  I stumble onto the bus.  I stagger up the stairs and collapse into my seat.  And spend the next four and a half hours worrying about whether my luggage would have made it onto the plane.

Lo and be old (and by this time I am ... very old) the luggage did make it ... the lack of a multiple entry visa does not faze anybody (except me who only noticed it while idly flicking through the passport as I was LEAVING Tana).  Picked up plastic covered case ... raced home - emptied out case (after sawing through multiple layers of plastic) repacked suitaces for training down the coast; jumped into and out of the shower and 20 minutes later I am on my way for my first road journey through Madagascar. 

And people wonder why I try to get to the gym 5 times a week ... would never have made the run through Jo'burg airport without it!

PS Was supposed to meet friend there ... she was held up in a queue and heard them calling for final boarding and she also ran ... missed me ... figuring I was already through those glass doors ... she should have stuck around ... I probably would have bowled her over.

Be grateful

My mother commented on an earlier post (the one about the rag curls) and said what a lot of nonsense we used to go through ... starched pillowslips (I have NEVER starched pillow slips - but I remember her starching my school tunic so stiff it stood up by itself), and damping down clothes. 

I have to damp down my clothes here ... because the iron is as close to a flat iron as it is possible to be while actually being electric: and worse there is no little spray bottle for damping down ... no I do it the truly old-fashioned way ... hole punched in the top of a water bottle.  And the other minor inconveniences of my life make me especially grateful for:

salad spinner (I have no idea how I ever lived without one)

cheese grater (without one you have to buy manky pre-grated cheese: a seeming speciality of the French ... odd really given their penchant for really great cheese ... nearly wrote grate cheese ... BAD pun)

steam and spray irons ... enough said

decent ironing boards ... mine is like a refugee from a plywood factory - on legs

decent mattresses (I am so looking forward to sleeping on an innerspring mattress - of course I have to suffer 15 hours in economy class on a plane first)

Be grateful for the things that make our lives easier ... not even the big things like clean water and good food.

Photo essay: Madagascar

They are a bit of a big deal here and the other week I wrote accompanying session notes for one that will do the rounds of the schools here.  Anyway I thought I should post one here ... my time in Madagascar.

Ring tailed lemur - symbol of Madagascar

  All natural fibres stall

All French ... but the grandeur is faded now

Eating place (but not for me)

My fruit market ... have I mentioned that I am sick of mandarines?

street stalls - complete with pale yellow renault taxi (quite a new one actually).

The butchers shop (I am a vegetarian mostly ...some canned tuna ... but )

a paddy field with the ubiquitous travellers palm (you see pictures, wrought iron representations, tapestry thingys ... all with the travellers palm).