22.3.06
in little rivers
It's the middle of the day. I have finished my woefully insufficient lunch, andam trying to distract myself from the growling yearnings of my stomach. If only I had a loonie to by some sort of horrible food-replica from the vending machine. I'd eat anything in there, even salt and vinegar chips.
But back to trying to distract myself. My day has been quite busy. I seem to usually avoid talking shop, unintentionally or not, I am not sure. But I have had an interesting week. Since I have "moved up", (as I have heard it referred to), I participated in various activities such as helping organize a press conference and reporting on several different projects run by our Canadian office. I interviewed one of our overseas Canadian staff this morning, a lovely, dark-skinned (she said her father was a Frenchman) Vancouverite who had spent the better part of nine months deep in the Aceh province of Indonesia. From the moment I heard her speak I loved her. She was frightfully candid, charming and straightforward, and crackled with life.
She was in a small area within the province of Aceh, a devoutly Muslim community close-knit before and after the tsunami, a place she describes as "dark". Police oppression and brutality are a part of every day life, corruption, even among religious leaders, is common, and the aftershocks of the tsunami are carved deeply on people's faces. Anger is quick to the surface; tempers easily boil over.
"You see this vacant, staring expression on a guy's face, and you think to yourself 'This guy's a ticking time-bomb'."
I have thought today about many of the things she said. How there are always different stories for every situation. How one person’s story is never enough. Information from one organization is never enough. A story from one media source is never enough. How western society is so good at creating a picture for ourselves that fits our needs, our perceptions, our philanthropy. How we can’t hear about the everyday strivings of NGO staff, the strange ‘battles’ they wage on a daily basis, the administrative mountains they must scale, the inner, moral, and cultural struggles with encouraging oppression by being “culturally sensitive”, paying bribes, and being forced to enforce superiority in order to maintain order and law. We don’t want to hear how UN office employees can make $100,000 per year. We don’t like food-for-oil nastiness. How non-Christian NGO’s are even further reviled by Muslim communities because of copious alcohol consumption, and cigarette smoking.
Left, right, all motivated, all with a mission. All consume according to their specific diet. It’s all in perception, educated or no.
The sun outside is melting the snow, melting it in rivers running down the north side of the parking lot. Could it be spring? It seems as if I haven’t seen the sun in weeks. Oh, I hope its spring. It would mean so much to me.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment