All posts tagged: West Africa

on self knowledge and getting lost on purpose

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I asked them to go out on a limb for me. after 2 months of trainings, many Saturdays crammed into a small room with AC, learning the essentials of how to manage a field team, the final session was upon us. We had reviewed serious topics, we had loosened up with absurd charades,  we had dropped eggs from the roof to build morale. But for this last session, I asked them to forgo their notebooks, have a look inwards, and see what was written there. Early in the day I set up a hasty labyrinth in the courtyard with string, scotch tape, rocks and twigs. During the training, we talked about mindfulness, self-awareness, and the tools of meditation, and I asked for deep breaths and silence. In a wordless shuffle we headed outside, and I asked them to trust me, and to trust the labyrinth’s path. I also asked them to walk it slowly–slower than they imagined was possible. and they did. The thing about self-knowledge is that it’s floating at the surface, just near …

what’s to eat

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Exactly 340 kola nuts, to distribute to the chiefs of 34 villages as an opening remark. If you want to get anywhere au village, you’ve got to carry kola.* *Also used as wedding party favors, and munched on for a caffeine boost, among many other purposes.

on the rain

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In school history books, and cheesy movies, you learned about those ancient (and not so ancient) civilizations whose agricultural practices made them dependent upon fickle precipitation, and even more fickle gods. The rituals, the sacrifices, the offerings to appease the powers that were. anything for rain, anything for fertile fields and a promise of a full harvest. How strange to imagine someone high in the sky, debating whether or not to roll up their sleeves and wring out the clouds. Yet, working with farmers through a dry season, my relationship to rainfall has changed. Because now everything–everything–depends on that rain. Where I once saw puddling obstacles, or traffic jams, or the lowly absence of an umbrella, even a pleasant summer thunderstorm, I now see hope, and sprouting sprouts, and tremendous relief. When the wind gathers speed and the drops begin to fall, I’m elated, beyond thrilled, as are my colleagues. Because we would give almost anything for rain, for fertile fields, for a promise of a full harvest. And I can imagine – I can just see …

on the patiences

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Question: if good things come to those who wait, does patience come as well? A new variety of patience has made itself known during the process of Growing Up. It’s distinct from Waiting Patience, as in waiting in line, waiting for dessert, waiting for a promotion, or waiting for things to come together. I call it Watching Patience, and it’s much messier and more confusing, although possibly more rewarding. It’s the patience that accompanies growth and change when they take months, years, even decades. Waiting Patience has a discernible end; Watching Patience discerns little in advance, only you imagine you’ll recognize the fruits of the process when you see them. The most striking difference between these two Patiences is the way they proceed. With Waiting Patience, you can break down the steps and be confident in your progress. Each bite of vegetables brings me closer to dessert… each step forward brings me closer to completing a marathon… each course brings me closer to a degree, and so on. But Watching Patience requires a near-impossible level …

on lately

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Rounds (and rounds) of pizzas … Seed deliveries to far-off villages with names like Sanambele, Tiakadougou-Dialakoro, and Sanankoro-Djitoumou. We have cats and data, and data and cats; trainings, plantings, hard work, and lots of hope in bare fields, and sometimes in bare feet.