Haiti: after the quake

FRONTLINE reports on Haiti with correspondent Adam Davidson: http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/haiti-aid/

These reports by Adam Davidson give you a really interesting picture of Haiti, post quake. Three different economic caveats are explored separately: rice market, tent cities, and tap-tap buses.
They are short pieces and I really recommend them.

In need of their own agriculture
The first video brings up a timeless question that is relevant to many nations in the Caribbean: why is American produce and agriculture dominating these markets that are very capable of feeding their own (or, used to be, at least)? Granted, Haiti's usable farmland has largely been destroyed over the ages for a number of different reasons (see Google Earth image comparing Haiti vs. DR). Nonetheless, Haiti is in desperate need of an agricultural rebirth.
The rice video on the "Aid Dilemma" also-- again-- makes me think back to what I would say is (arguably) the best and most important read in the politics of aid, and the politics of development in the 21st century: William Easterly's "The White Man's Burden". (I don't know how many more times and in how many more ways I could recommend this book, even if you passionately tend to disagree with the author's general thesis).

Let us stay cool, and happy
The last two videos make me think back to my recent travels abroad, especially to Cambodia (SEA's poorest country), where there are equally gross cultures of commodification as we are seeing in Haiti. I use "gross" in a nonsensical sort of way, refering to the fact that despite near dollar-a-day salaries, these people manage to get pedicures, electronic gadgets, newest fashions, etc (What got me the most in SEA was seeing the IPHONE (or a rip there-of) nearly EVERYWHERE in every country-- it was THE status symbol). As Davidson notes comparably: all across these make-do tent cities in Haiti, one can find "entertainment, beauty, and happiness" despite the people's very apparent limited financial resources (video 2).
Seeing this paradox at play makes me feel that my (minor) degree in Cultural Studies wasn't complete bullocks... .

Interestingly, too, (although not surprisingly) is that these people living in makeshift tent-homes and makeshift lives find happiness. Increasingly I am starting to get it: it's not (entirely, sorry) about wealth. Indeed, Laotians (SEA's second poorest people) are said to be the nicest, smiliest, and happiest of the region.
An author I recently read (of course, can't remember who) wrote that happiness is found in the act of doing. People are happy not necessarily due to the size of their wallets, but primarily because they can use their hands, their brain, their feet to make something of their lives. This is why many psychologists often refer their depressed patients to do volunteer work: it keeps the self busy and productive, and therefore, happy(ier).
So, a new informal economy, or even a functioning economy generally, will/should create jobs and work for Haitians to feel productive and, hence, internally happy despite their less than ironically shitty situation.

To Love

"Once the initial madness of desire has passed and we are faced with each other as dimwitted mortal fools, how is it that any of us find the ability to love and forgive each other at all, much less enduringly?"

- Elizabeth Gilbert "Eat, Pray, Love", 129

A Visit to a Balinese Medicine Man

As most of you had already heard, while traveling in Bali I ended up paying a nice visit to a Balinese Medicine Man following an unfortunate event. Sorry I never divulged full details at the time, but I was just waiting for a moment when it would all seem like some funny event of the distant past.
Re-reading my travel journal now, I laugh about it and think, in some weird and twisted way, that it was almost an accident waiting to happen. I should have known that trouble was awaiting the minute I had decided to take command of our motorized scooter... .

The story begins about two weeks earlier .....

It was only a few weeks before when, riding Singapore's serene East Coast Park trails, I had crashed our tandem bike into a pole.

Magnus and I had decided to be romantic and rent a bicycle for two. And I had decided to be some strong, independent woman and guide us through the jungle (i.e. flat, paved bike trail). The getting starting part should have been our first sign: what a failure! Riding in the front seat, I was determined to get us on our way, but it was only after half an hour of many laughs, much shouting, and as many dubious looks from passerby's that we were off and rolling. We (I) had struggled so hard to coordinate that damn bike. It just wouldn't get going!
Anyways, we had been riding for many, many, many miles. It was hot. I had been hauling ass in the front... for a couple minutes. Up ahead there was a red light. And some posts.
And of course, I headed straight for a post. Crash.

Magnus flew off his seat, and I was sort of bumped off mine. But, luckily, no one was hurt and we were able to walk away, laughing at my poor driving skills, while Magnus quickly reclaimed the front seat as he tried to hide his look of utter shock at my poor navigation skills.

Fast forward two weeks later to Bali.....

Upon arriving in Ubud, Magnus and I had decided to be romantic and rent a motorbike and drive around the countryside visiting the rice paddies and chasing the setting sun. At some point on our way back home, I took control of the driving seat (the devil made me do it).
(sound familiar to you yet?)
Next thing you know, I'm trying to make a three-point turn across a road with oncoming traffic from both sides. Needless to say, I panicked, Revved the gas, and forgot to squeeze the breaks. (Motorbikes are so counter intuitive).
At the time, I faced two immediate options: 1. crash into a lusciously irrigated rice paddy up ahead, or 2. crash into a tree over to my side.
So, I aimed for the tree.
?


And this is how I got to visiting a Balinese Medicine man-- no, not THE Ubud Balinese Medicine man (from "Eat, Pray, Love"), just a young doctor at some local clinic.
A very, very nice local man who had witnessed the accident had brought us to this nearby clinic so that a doctor could asses my wounds. I was shaking, feeling light headed, but had to swallow my hesitations and hop on another motorbike with my two heros (Magnus and Local Driver) to get to the clinic.

Luckily, again, nothing serious happened to either of us from of my reckless driving. And fortunately, Magnus walked away (again) with nearly no scratch. I, on the other hand, had to get two stitches on my elbow and four on my hand. In one moment I instantly doubled my total stitch count for life. My left leg was pretty cut up as well... but that was just for effect ;)

I don't think Magnus will ever trust to get on another two-wheeled anything with me again... and somehow, I don't blame him. After encountering a pole and a tree, I couldn't imagine who ever gave me my license to kill.

picture above: not wanting to visit another Balinese Medicine man, I decided to take out all 6 of my stitches by myself! Five days after the accident, I began taking them out slowly, one at a time. Here is a picture of my hand, with the last stitch left!
Later on, when I would bump into a French Doctor/ Backpacker in Kuta, he said after taking a look at my wounds that I had taken the stitches out too early and went on to advise me that I shouldn't risk re-opening the cuts by going surfing.
I thanked him for his help and bandages, and then quickly ran to the beach for a sunset surf.
He was right, it was uncomfortable-- my elbow at this point could still barely bend fully-- and the pressure of pushing myself up on the board killed my hand, so I didn't last too long out there in the waves. But, it was still one heck of a ride-- my last surf in SEA. And for that, I could definitely swallow the pain.

FINE-d

This blog couldn't have come sooner, but in a way, it's more than overdue.
In the past few weeks since my last mass-ish update, I have been in 4 different countries, I have hit new highs and lows, and I have seen history repeat itself all while I have broken new records among friends. And on this latter point is where I shall start my update...

--

In our 5 months studying in Singapore, many warnings had been headed to obey the law. Of course, like everyone else that comes through this City-State we had the pop. culture image of Singapore ingrained in us: play hard, but stay within the lines even harder!
So, we would ride the MRT (metro) careful not to board with drinks or food (or durian, cause that's a category all on its own). We would walk the streets and keep everything on our persons-- spit, trash, and all.
All in all, we were cautious of being out of step at the wrong time and none of us wanted to face the re-precautions of such actions. At worst, Singapore still practices the death penalty, and at best, the government is fine-happy. On this last point, there is a particular t-shirt that deserves noted credit for creating this perception (see right). In fact, I was actually told by one Italian backpacker that the sole reason he came to Singapore (for 3 days, which he ended up abhoring) was to purchase this infamous "Singapore is a Fine City" t-shirt from Chinatown and walk away, with a fine. Needless to say, he was not fined (hence, "abhorred"). So it goes without saying, a lot of people have this idea about the government and the oft menial things they will do to keep their city as such by fining the people that walk its streets.
Anyways, as it concerned us exchange students, this perceived threat soon became a running joke, or to some, even a challenge of defiance. After a few months of nervous self-enforced best behaviour out of what some concluded was simply 'hypothetical fear', we all became more confident in the gum packs we kept hidden in our pockets and jay-walking tendencies. And as time kept-ticking, no one was caught-- for anything.
Much like the Italian backpacker I would later meet, I remember talking to some friends at the end of our exchange and almost laughing at the fact that no one had walked away with a scratch. Everyone-- all hundreds of us wild-Western liberalists-- left without so much as a light scold from the Singaporean government.
I myself had never fantasized in egging on the police, nor challenging the states authority. But in any case I have to admit, I felt pretty confident that only something drastic I did could warrant such attention (or, detention). You see, a friend of mine had calmed my fears one night over wine and cheese as he recounted his two years serving in the mandatory Military Service (MS). As a Malay-Singaporean, young guys like him are often placed in the police force. The most evident reason for this is that a large part of crime in the state is Malay driven-- and so the government hires and recruits men that are able to communicate with this demographic. My friend tells me that, like most young guys serving their time in the MS (and there are A LOT of these young guys, considering ALL young guys have to go through MS), he was shy of girls. And so it was that he never implicated any girl while on duty, despite having seen some questionable things.
Of course, I had noticed this hands-on. The young police officers don't look, don't question. In fact, they even look scared of YOU.
And so, there I was, approaching the very final days of my time in Singapore and like the rest of us internationals feeling quite immune and befooled by Chinatown's most deceiving souvenir.

But all that was about to change.

As I made my way to the airport (destination: Bali!), I had preemptively given myself more than enough time for any airport altrication, should one happen. It was just this feeling, a little pulse I felt deep in my gut enforced by my previous adventures (see blog one), that had made me think ahead-- 4 hours ahead just to be sure.
And so, after sleeping at most 2 hours the night before, I was prepared for the worse-- or my worse, I should say. But what I hadn't been prepared for was being DETAINED!

YES, I-- a young, GIRL, from Canada-- was detained in Singapore for what I would soon have a name for. My crime: "Overstaying".
After a couple of hours having to deal with a middle-aged, female immigration agent-- who was clearly not charmed by any of my charms-- I was made to sign a statement that recognized I had been illegally (she kept repeating, just so I would never forget) living in Singapore for a total of 13 days.
You see, when I had gone to renew my passport with the Canadian government (that fateful day), they had assured me I would have to stay in Singapore in the meanwhile, but that my presence would be classified under "Tourist", which gave me exactly 60 days (to wait out my passport, worse comes to worse).
Twenty-two days later when I finally got my passport back and was a free citizen of the world again, it took only five days before I exited/ fled the country to take refuge in beautiful Bali. Which made a grand total of twenty-seven days-- or, thirty-three days before
"Tourist" expiration date; or, otherwise seen through my eyes, good to go!
Well no, I was not good to go! (Thanks again, Canadian Government!)
In the end, I had to pay a FINE!

So, 100$ later I walked out with a receipt which had my name right at the bottom on the dotted line signed beside the word "Overstayer". I was, officially, fined in Singapore for being an Overstayer.

At first, this thought made me want to cry. I held my receipt, holding back tears as I doumbfoundedly walked through Changi airport to the only place of comfort I knew, the book store (right beside the pastries stand).
And there, as I browsed the books (while devouring my chocolatine, and then my swiss pastry), trying to find comfort in Haruki Murakami's short stories noted for spiritual emptiness, I started to think about Chinatown, and that stupid t-shirt, and that silly Italian backpacker... and how utterly jealous/ awed he would have been of my story.

In hindsight, thus, I've proudly held on to my receipt. In fact, when I have a home and a wall to call my own again, I will hang it up, right next to that stupid t-shirt and be living proof that fines do happen in Singapore, under the most unfortunate circumstances.
So you see, I'm quite proud of my accomplishment-- only because today I can tell you, I'm FINE-d!

Perspective in a Quote

God turns to you and gives you a piece of the universe that is just three millimeters large and says to you:
"Your job is to take care of it. Not make it bigger or better-- just take care of it. And when I'm ready, I'll take it back, and your life will be over."

- Daniel Gottlieb, "Letters to Sam"

http://letterstosam.blogspot.com/