Posts tagged with shock.

Mission Unfinished: Reflections on an internship in Bangladesh

Raksha Vasudevan, September 22, 2009 at 4:44 PM

 

 

The strangest part about being back in Canada is that it doesn't feel bizarre at all. In fact, sometimes I wonder if I ever even left, if the four months that I spent abroad were actually nothing more than an incredibly vivid dream.

All the "hard core" travellers I know had warned me about the severe culture shock that I'd experience once I arrived back to a home that, they said, wouldn't even feel like a home anymore. But that's not how things played out - once I got back, I didn't feel out of place in the clean, incredibly well-organized streets and malls, and I didn't feel like something was missing because a thousand smells and noises weren't bombarding me from all directions.

Nothing had struck me as unusual about walking down the street and being stared at, yelled at, asked for money ("Apu [meaning 'sister'], one taka!"), or asked where I'm from ("Madam, which country?").

I didn't find myself aching for the simple pleasure of taking a rickshaw ride around the neighbourhood, I didn't miss haggling over prices at the markets, and I didn't crave the sugary sweet tea that was sold by the vendors at virtually every street corner. 

And that's what shocked me. Why wasn't I feeling more out of place? Why didn't I miss the things, the ways of life, that I had learned to love? Instead of viewing this rapid adjustment as a gift, I saw it as an affront to my entire experience: Sure, I have some amazing memories and friendships that I know I'll maintain, and I really did feel like I'd made a contribution to the NGO that I'd been working for. But it wasn't enough - how could I spend four months of my life in such an enormously different part of the world and come back relatively unchanged? I felt like I'd not only let down myself, but also all of the people who had encouraged me to embark on "a life-changing journey."

But, gradually, smaller ideas that I hadn't noticed while I had been waiting for the anxiety and disorientation of reverse culture shock to hit, began to catch my attention: like what a beautiful thing it was to be able to drink water straight from the tap. And suddenly, my bed was the most toe-curlingly comfortable bed in the world. I was now dazzled by the size and almost nonsensical range of selection in supermarkets (have you ever noticed how many bathroom cleaning supplies there are? How many different products do you need to clean a bathtub anyway?). And I couldn't wait to go back to my pre-trip habit of buying a coffee in the morning, knowing that those few dollars could have fed an entire family, no matter how many times I reminded myself that that sort of thinking was irrational and hypocritical.

And bigger changes in my patterns of thought also started to make themselves known: travelling to countries where religion shades almost every aspect of daily life has made me examine my own religious beliefs and question the assumptions about life, death, people, and purpose that underlie them. I make much more of an effort to keep up-to-date about events that are unfolding in other parts of the world, rather than just gobbling down the most easily accessible news stories about North America. These acts alone have both drastically improved my understanding of "global affairs" while at the same time making me realize just how much I don't know (enough to fill a black hole).

And perhaps most importantly, rather than only feeling guilt over the poverty and lack of opportunity that face the people of developing countries, I now feel ownership.  I may not be able to solve those problems in their entirety, but that doesn't excuse me from trying to alleviate them.

I'm now working full-time for a management consulting firm here in Calgary, but I spend much of my free time volunteering for local organizations that focus on international development. I'm also considering graduate programs in development studies to prepare for entering a career in the development sector, although exactly what I'll be doing - which specific part within the sector I'll be working in - I have yet to decide.

I've seen for myself the inefficiency, excessive bureaucracy, corruption, and more, that exists within that sector, but its tremendous potential for affecting change and progress (or, in other words, "development") also inspires me in a way that nothing else ever has.

And I realize now that, more than anything, that sort of inspiration is exactly what I'd been looking for, and what everyone who'd supported me on this trip had been hoping I'd find. And the fact that I don't feel like this "mission," my mission, is complete only means that it was successful.


Tagged with development, canada, culture, shock, return, mission, reflections, inspiration | Comments (2) |

When fish get water and people don’t

Helen Hsu, July 9, 2009 at 11:24 AM

After two months in Kenya, I experienced an unexpected culture shock.

It was not the living conditions in the slums, or the policemen who take leisurely strolls around town holding their giant rifles, or the riots, or the tear gas from the riots, that gave me this unsettling sentiment; but the lavish lifestyle of the wealthy.

Recently, my work - the Youth Centre-Nairobi - ran a VCT and clinic outreach program in a small slum called Mitumba to provide testing and curative services to the local population.

The informal settlement houses around 4,000 residents, and there exists a jarring contrast between the settlement itself, and the fancy, Western-style housing - equipped with satellite dishes - directly adjacent. They are separated merely by a wall with barbed wires.

It is a well-known fact that almost every upper- and middle-class residential area in Nairobi has a slum nearby, but this is the first time I witnessed such proximity. An irony lies in the fact that many slums exist due to the beautiful residential area next door - these are the workers, and their families, who were hired to construct those houses; and it is more economical for them to build their own shacks next to work rather than commute on a daily basis.

Much aid has been poured into the larger, famous slums such as Kibera and Mathare, but the smaller slums such as Mitumba are still neglected. There are no water pipes or electrical wiring running through the area, nor is there proper waste or sewage treatment. The lack of access to clean drinking water has led to a cholera outbreak. It is one thing to read about cholera in "Love in the Time of Cholera" by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and it is another to be told explicitly to avoid food from the area due to the possibility of contracting the disease.

On the open field where we set up our tents, one could see a giant water tank. It was a project initiated by the local MP to give the community a means of storing water. Unfortunately, the project was never completed, due allegedly to corruption, and now the walls are cracked in ruins. I am still not sure how to reconcile this image with the beautiful houses on the other side of the wall.

The next day, I attended a meeting at a place called Village Market elsewhere in town. I was not prepared for what I saw - a large-scale mall with architecture reminiscent of that found in sunny California: an open-concept verandah with food courts selling dishes at double or triple what I spend weekly on food; fashionably dressed "wazungus" walking around with sunglasses and high heels; high-end retail stores such as Mango that are found in North America; and fountains. Fountains for aesthetic purposes with free-flowing water. And two koi ponds. The entire city of Nairobi suffers from water shortage problems with water frequently and regularly cut to many parts, but this mall, catering to wealthy locals and foreigners, has water for fish.

In Mitumba, I could not eat, because of the looks the children would give me as I ate. We gave a banana to a small boy (at left is a photo of him eating the banana).

I know the world is not just, but reading about injustice and inequality on paper, and witnessing it within 24 hours, are completely different stories. I have not shaken the haunting emotional impact of experiencing Village Market right after Mitumba, and I hope I do not forget it.

I never before grasped the great fortune of having the ability to drink the water that comes out of my tap. I cannot say I really do now, either. I have only caught a glimpse of the other side, and only begun to grasp how lucky I am, how lucky we all are.

Tagged with poverty, wealth, slums, kenya, water, clean, drinking, mitumba, culture, shock | Comments (11) |