Workshops: More like shopping, less like working

I've been ruminating the deep internal flaws of the development system in this country for the past year or so, and in a horribly dramatic turn of events yesterday I faced an excellent illustration of the problem. I've been working with the farmers in my village to organize themselves when they sell their cashews so that they can have more bargaining power and hopefully oust the middle men buyers completely, selling as a block to the major exporters. We've had a lot of really excellent support from one NGO in particular, who has helped us write a constitution for our association, gotten the farmers to understand the possibilities of the cashew business, and provided some really great resources for us as a village. One of the activities this NGO has decided to carry out in the long term is a sort of ripple-effect education system, where villages choose several people to represent them at workshops, and those people are then responsible for bringing the information back to the village and teaching the farmers in an organized way the things they learned. It's a great idea, and I see a lot of potential in it. My village selected two really capable, smart men to represent us, and off we went to our first workshop to see what we would learn (I went too, just to see what they were learning so I could help where I could).

In the Gambia, there is rule, precedent, law - I'm not really sure which it is, depends who you ask - that people at workshops should be compensated for their time. So while in America you might pay to go to a workshop to learn interesting and valuable skills, here you get paid to attend. In theory, this should balance the scales, allowing people who can't afford to close shop for a day to have the same opportunities as everyone else. In reality, it has morphed into a culture where people go to as many workshops as they can, not to learn the information, but instead to eat meat, drink soda, and pad their pockets with cash. Not only that, they have come to see their per diem not as a welcome bonus, but as an inalienable right and if it is not high enough, then they will not bother.

Do all people feel this way? Certainly no. At this particular workshop there were several groups of people from different parts of SeneGambia, and it was clear that certain groups were intent upon exploiting the system, while others were content to be there and learn what they came to learn. Anyway, there were lots of interesting items on the agenda, but the first thing was determining per diem. The NGO's offer: 100 dalasis a day (this is including all meals, lodging, and transport costs and in my opinion is totally reasonable based on the average Gambian salary. Heck, it's even generous based on my own salary). The counter offer (from the vocal crowd): 700 dalasis per day. This is incredibly exorbitant. If per diem is to compensate you for the time you are not able to work, then people are saying that every day they were not at the workshop they would be making 700 dalasis. If this were true, each person would be making about 11,000 dollars a year. Just to put this in perspective, I make 2,000 dollars a year, and my salary is fairly high compared to most people in this country. I can live well, go on trips, and buy cheese when I want it.

The organizers of the workshop, in an incredible show of patience, said that they would take the offers back to the big boss and see what she had to say. Obviously, she said no way, and they came back with an offer of 250 dalasis. My issues with this: By making per diem negotiable, they are essentially exacerbating the problem. People see that they have the power to hold up workshops and demand money from people who are there to try to help them, and they continue to exploit this. The people still weren't happy, and day 2 of the workshop erupted into argument. Lots of people were sitting quietly, wishing the argument would end so we could get on with it. Already hours and hours of our time had been wasted by this particular group of people. Finally, I thought to myself, I should really say something. So here is what I said:

This NGO has given us a good offer. For everyone in this room, the money that they are offering is a good amount. We came here to learn. We came here for knowledge. We came here to represent our villages and do what has been asked of us. We can't waste more time arguing. We need to save the arguments for an appropriate time and get on with learning.

An important note: Since this workshop was attended by various groups of people from both Senegal and Gambia, it was held in Wolof, a language which I don't speak but which most of the other people in the room do. So a certain man who works for a certain association in a certain large village and has a certain corrupt and arrogant aspect to his personality translated into Wolof for me. I'm not sure what he said, but it definitely wasn't what I said. The response from the crowd: Shouting that they were not poor, that they have taught at my universities, that I was no one to tell them such things. Hmmm... something was obviously lost... or added... in translation.

At this point, I left the workshop. Not only was time wasted, but I felt really disheartened by people in general. It's sad to think that people can't see that they are being helped. That actually work against development because they want money in their individual pockets now. For a lot of people at that workshop, the information the NGO is bringing will help them make more money for themselves in the long term. And lots of people did see that and didn't complain. But enough people completely missed the point that it made me lose a little faith in humanity. A lot of faith. The flaw is obviously deep within the development system, but to me it seems like there is also a flaw within certain people in that room. Everything is quick money and nothing is about long term understanding and knowledge. And in this case the goal of the organization is so clear: to help people make money in the cashew business! This is the kind of stuff people pay for, the secrets to getting rich, and so many people not only failed to see that but tried to ruin it. They threatened to tarnish the name of the NGO if they weren't paid enough. They said they would not participate in any more work unless they were paid more. They said the NGO was wicked and pocketing money they themselves deserved...

A good kick in the pants. That's what I wish for those people. And I would like to be the one to administer it.

In Which Mom & Prudence Visit The Gambia

Sorry for the long, long break in posting. As they say here in The Gambia, It's Not Easy. But now I present you with a brief story of Mom & Prudence's adventure in West Africa.

First things first, Dakar. For me, Dakar is all about eating. For mom & Prudence, maybe not so much. No matter, we did a few culturally interesting things - checking out artists villages, looking at the one dusty museum they have in the city, listening to some very nice Senegalese music, shopping around for Tuareg jewellery (the best stuff you can buy in West Africa, in my opinion)... And then I encouraged the good eats. We had lobster at the Western-most point in Africa. Look at this. Makes you drool, huh?


Oh, I also began to teach mom the basics of bargaining, despite my extremely lacking knowledge of the French language. After a few days enjoying the relaxing (for me) and decrepit (for mom and Prudence) atmosphere of Dakar, we travelled overland to The Gambia. The first taste of Africa as I see it. We passed small bush villages, drove over salt flats, and in general ignored the places where the road said you should drive. Also, we shared the ferry over with some naughty cattle.

In Gambia, we relaxed on the beach in Sanyang and took it easy. Jeff came with us on a mini boat trip on The Gambian river where we saw such things as the Greater Spotted White Chested Plastic Bag (courtesy of the keen eyes of Captain Crocodile Dundee)and also some nice birds. Gambia was mostly about relaxation and seeing the real Gambian way of life.


After A few days getting used to the dust in Fajara, I took mom & Prudence up to Kafuta, where they were re-christened Mariama & Fatou and made up an interesting life story for themselves as Catholic sisters. My one-toothed host greeted them in his usual way: Elcome! Elcome! Elcome! Elcome! Then he insisted on a picture.


I organized the ladies to make baobab juice (with filtered water for the strangers). We had a nice little party where mom & Prudence doled out earrings, the ladies sat talking and holding babies, and the men questioned mom & Prudence on all topics taboo in polite conversation. Oh, there were dancing ladies in there at some point too.


The little kids managed to be less naughty then usual. Prudence, however, was her typical self.

After a sleepless night filled with the sounds of the konkuran, lizards in the ceiling, and Prudence's dreams of polar bears, they decided the thing to do was head back to Fajara. We squeezed in tours of all the schools, the hospital, and the forestry station, and had a giant breakfast served to us by one of my counterparts, and then we were off loaded with boabab, oranges, and other gifts. The end of the visit was mostly just fiddling around in Gambia: drinking cashew liquor (some good, some less than that), looking for music, being overwhelmed by the market. All in all, a good trip.

Speedy, I know, but it's lunch time!