It's Often What We Don't Say

A couple of posts ago, I spoke about the misleading dialogue that often exists between members of a community and those trying to develop said community.  To continue with that discussion, I think it's important to note another complication thwarting these conversations-- what people don't say.  And, this is not just what they don't say to development workers, but what they don't say to anybody-- not even (or especially not) their fellow community members.  The primary culprit I see for this is shame.  If you ask someone what they would like to develop in their community, they will rarely mention anything that could be construed for their own personal failure.  However, it's these issues that are often most telling.  And the more people who  seem to dodge speaking about an issue, the more integral that issue generally is.  Often times I think we wrongfully define communities with structures-- buildings, bore holes, electric poles, etc.  However, a community is fundamentally defined by it's inhabitants.  You could have skyscrapers, paved roads, and every "first-world" amenity, but without people, there is no community.  Where you have a sizable group of people, regardless of their amenities, you always have a community.  By focusing on the structures, we avoid the core of the community and our projects often end up superficial and unsustainable.  Instead of focusing on what structures a community is lacking, we should be focusing on what skills or qualities the people are lacking.  It is through them and with them that we can fundamentally and sustainably develop a community.

In the case of my community and many rural communities in northern Ghana, I've found people are rarely if ever willing to discuss their farming abilities.  Reason being, almost all of us have inherited the trade from our parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, and so on.  What we farm and how we farm is often inextricably linked to our ethnic identity.  It's part of our culture.  So, to admit that one might not know how to farm a specific crop, or how to do it most efficiently is a grave shame that not only reflects on the individual, but the family.  To question someone's farming abilities is a severe insult.  Consequently, it is often a difficult topic to discuss.  The unfortunate reality, however, is that 90% of the people are farming inefficiently.  They farm to feed their families and generate an income, but most years, they fall short of doing both.  The effects are detrimental to the development of the community, contributing to the levels of poverty and malnutrition directly, as well as so many other social issues indirectly (youth education, health insurance, crime, etc.). 

Tackling an issue such as this takes a significant amount of time and sensitivity.  It requires leaders and organizers who are trusted by community members, as well as able to speak candidly to them.  It's this kind of work, though the focus may be different in each community or country, that I believe will empower the people-- the community.  Once empowered--able to maintain themselves, their families, and make a living wage, a whole host of new opportunities will become available.  As the community thrives we may even start to see some of those external indicators (bore holes, electricity, running water...) of a developing society.  But, it will be the people who organized to put them there, and for that reason alone, they will be sustainable. 

There is no alternative to infrastructure, unless your aim is to fail.

I watched a story on the news in Ghana a few days ago that simultaneously saddened and angered me: a clear example of foreign development work performed with complete disregard to existing infrastructure.  A 17 year old girl was thrown out of her home by her parents when they found out she was pregnant.  She had no place to go, but was eventually taken in by a foreign human rights agency in the country.  Under their care she gave birth to a healthy baby.  However, a few months later the agency's facility closed.  They pulled out of the country, I'm assuming due to lack of funds or the termination of a contract.  The young girl is now living on the streets again-- this time, with an infant.

While the agency's intentions to aid the the girl were noble and justified.  Ultimately, they were unable to help her at all.  They had no long-term solution to her problem and this is by no means a situation in which a short-term solution will suffice.  And I wonder if the short-term solution provided will even  prove to make it harder for the girl now that she's been further alienated from her family.  This is the saddening part of the story.

The infuriating part of the story is that this agency supposedly dedicated to human rights took no real actions towards ascertaining this girl's rights.  We have laws in Ghana that prohibit parents from abandoning their children.  And, we have court systems to enforce these laws.  We also have an entire ministry dedicated to issues such as these: The Ministry of Women and Children Affairs.  Now, I am willing to admit that these institutions do not always (dare I say rarely) function as they should; however, this is the infrastructure the agency should have been working with to ensure a sustainable shift in women and child rights in our country.  This is the infrastructure needed to prevent this situation from happening in the future, after the foreign agency's funds have run out.

While this is a very specific example, I think it pertains to much of the development sector.  Our projects, whatever they may be, will amount to nothing if there is no infrastructure in place to maintain them after we've concluded.  It may be more time-consuming and costly to ensure this infrastructure, but there is ultimately no alternative.

Sometimes, It's Who You Are That Matters

From a very young age I learned that when you hear the three letters: N, G, O, it means someone is coming to give you something.  Maybe a mosquito net, a community tractor, or a t-shirt.  I came to learn how outsiders defined our underdevelopment as if I read it in a text book.  Later, when I actually read it in a text book, I couldn't help but laugh.  If someone from outside asked, "How can we help?" or, "What problems do you see in your community?"  Any one of my neighbors would recite as if reading from some shared list: malaria, water, fertile land, electricity, etc.  However, if I were to ask any of my neighbors these same questions, I wouldn't receive any of these responses.  And in that discrepancy lies much of what plagues development initiatives today.  We know what you want to hear, and we will tell you what you want to hear.  Why?  That's far more complicated.  I think it's partly a trust issue, partly a matter of fear, partly a desire to appear "smart," partly for simplicity's sake.  It's not a phenomenon unique to the developing world.  I believe it happens in every country or situation where there's a population or individual comparatively under-served.  It's human.

So what do we do as development workers?  I think we need to be more sensitive and spend more time.  More than we probably think.  I believe we also need to be honest with ourselves.  Solutions to community-wide issues are not going to come strictly from the individuals who happen to speak the same languages as us, or the same language as our interpreters.  They are not only going to come from the chiefs or communities leaders.  They probably won't come in weeks or months; they may not come for years.  If we can see that a project is far less effective just because we (the one initiating it) are who we are.  We need to step away, even if it means the project will "fail."  Development can't be about deadlines.  Miss the deadline, find people who you believe really can implement the project because they are who they are, and set a new deadline.  Easier said than done, of course.  But what is more important is the reality.

The Development Sector Needs Development: Poverty Porn

        

          A friend of mine.

This week, I've been seeing a lot of discussion on the web about "poverty porn."  For anyone who's not familiar, this term refers to pictures of impoverished places/people being used in fundraising campaigns, as well as the idea that the worse-off the individuals look in the picture, the greater the financial response.  It seems to be an unfortunate truth that these types of poverty-stricken photos are the types of non-profit publicity that really "sell."  Although it's reassuring to know that when people see someone suffering they generally want to help out (i.e. make a donation), these pictures almost always undermine the mission of the program and create a falsified reality about poverty and how it can be eradicated. 

Many times, and for two reasons that I can think of, this "poverty porn" depicts children.  One, because regardless of economic or social status, children always seems to find a way to soften peoples' hearts.  Two, because children like to play in the dirt.  They like to explore their surroundings and get messy, often at the expense of their clothing.  I think this can be said of almost all children in all countries.  In the case of the developing world, these uninhibited children make for a prime photo opportunity when an organization is trying to catch a people at their worst and really show their "need."  I often wonder what people think when they see these pictures.  That these children are so poor that they must spend their days rolling around in the dust?  I have been living in the U.S. for almost half a year now, and I have seen a number of messy children.  Children covered in mud.  Children covered in paint.  Children covered in ice cream.  I don't think messy children can in anyway be correlated to poverty.  In the example of my dear, young friend above, we see messy children everywhere are capable of cleaning up nicely.  However, the images of these children before they have had their nightly bath still seem to be an integral part of fundraising in our current non-profit sector.

All humor aside, the true danger of these pictures is that they often make very capable people out to be helpless individuals.  They foster a cultural perception of poverty that is synonymous with co-dependence, powerlessness, and hopelessness.  When instead, we need to be fostering independence, facilitating empowerment, and building hope.  These photos are superficial.  We need to be rooted.  And, unfortunately, much of what I've just said about these photos can also be said about the development sector as a whole.  These photos are not just a means to raise money for an eventual end.  These photos define a culture in the development sector that is donor-oriented instead of solution-oriented.  I am willing to go as far as to say they are the antithesis of development.  And the blame for this does not lie solely on the organization or their fundraising team.  Donors are equally, if not more, to blame.  When we are raising or donating money for development work, we shouldn't be thinking about how we can feed a person today, clothe them this week, or send them to school this year.  We should be thinking about how we can create lasting partnerships and sustainable endeavors that will rectify a wrong that currently exists in our world and initiate economic equality for everyone.  Development is not emotional.  It is logical and strategic. 

Agriculture Culture

My yam farm.

I have said it before, and I will certainly say it again: agriculture is key in the development of Ghana (and I believe in many other countries of a similar economic demographic).  It's a skill that so many of us possess; one that we have inherited from our mothers and fathers.  It's a job that requires no application and a business that demands as little or as much start-up capital as one can afford.  This is not to say it's an easy job.  However, it is a very accessible job-- one that can efficiently bring economic equality to individuals and families throughout all of our regions.  For exactly this reason, my non-profit organization (Clash International) has chosen agriculture as it's first focus in Ghana.  We believe empowering individuals to achieve their own financial stability is the gateway necessary for these individuals to, in turn, develop  their own societies in a manner that is most suitable to their needs.  We've chosen agriculture, because it's something so many Ghanians (roughly 65%) already do in some capacity.  There are also a few specific (and resolvable) reasons that they are not already as effective as they could be.  These reasons are the cornerstones of our program.  Today I want to talk about the few that fall under the umbrella of "agriculture culture."
In Ghana, each people group has their own traditional farming practices.  For some people, this means they only farm one kind of crop (i.e. only yams, cassava, maize, etc.).  For others, this means they only farm using the seeds that have been passed down to them by their parents and grandparents.  On top of this, cultural traditions often gendered crops; meaning only women were "supposed to" farm groundnuts, or only men were "supposed to" farm yams.  Perhaps each of these tenants made sense in their historical context; however, today they simply stifle the efficacy of farmers and their farms.  They limit the quantity, quality, and diversity of our produce, as well as the revenue that is associated with each of these things.
There is also a level of mob mentality that goes on in Ghana's agricultural sphere, particularly in the more rural communities.  There is very much a sense of "We plant at this time," "We harvest at this time," and "We sell at this time."  In some communities, this schedule is maintained to an extent by the political hierarchy; however, it is primarily imposed by the people (and their form of peer pressure) themselves.  You can imagine the effect this has on the market, as well as the value of their individual crops.  There is little concept of an individual carving out his or her own edge on the market. I have seen countless yams harvested all at once only to spoil weeks later in the house, because the supply was simply far beyond the demand.  Weeks after that, the price of yams leaps, but there are no more yams.  They are all gone by this point-- sold at a much lower price or spoiled.
When it comes to animal rearing, there seems to be a culturally-enforced, hands-off approach.  While I can't really trace the origin of this style, I believe it to be fostered by the fact that many identify as a farmer first and an animal caretaker second.  People are rarely willing to invest any time into the care of their animals.  They seldom care or fence them.  They simply allow them to roam and graze freely (with everyone else' animals into homes, roads, public toilets, and refuse dumps) and then sell them when the time arises.  This almost gives the allusion of "free money."  They sell the animal and earn a profit without really doing any work-- no cleaning, building, or food preparation.  However, it's truly a missed financial opportunity, where a slightly more specific effort could yield a much greater profit.
This is by no means an extensive list of the agricultural practices that are truly hindering our farmers; however, it does touch on many of the larger points and many of the areas we try to emphasize at Clash.  And while I believe that it is important to maintain our culture and identity as Ghanaians and as our various people groups, I also believe culture to be dynamic.  While our identity need not change, our practices may evolve and adapt to our circumstances in the name of efficiency and growth.

Family Planning and Ethnocentrism

The issue of family planning programming can be a difficult one to discuss.  While the intent of organizations is almost always good, the common approach to such initiatives is usually far too oversimplified for such a complicated matter of culture.  When I use the term "family planning," I am referring to initiatives that attempt to reduce family size by promoting forms of birth control with the belief that smaller families put less of a financial strain on the family structure, allowing for a better quality of life.  The idea is that it's easier to maintain the well being of four children than it is of six.  Four children accrue less medical bills, require less food, need fewer school uniforms and books.  While this is a logical argument, it completely ignores the cultural beliefs and financial logic held by many in favor of large families, making these sorts of programs almost entirely ineffectual.


For starters, promoting a family size of five or six resonates very little with someone who plans to marry four or five wives, nor does it resonate with someone who plans to be one of four or five wives.  If this is a decision that an individual has made based on their cultural or religious beliefs, they are unlikely to change their mind simply because it is supposedly cheaper to do so.  We do not all share the same ideas about what constitutes a quality life, and we do not all see money as the chief indicator of our life's quality.  Not only does the financial logic of many family planning initiatives not apply to these families, it's offensive to these families-- ethnocentrism disguised as community development.

But culture and religion aside, many families have their own financial logic that favors a larger family size.  In rural sub-Saharan Africa there is no social security or retirement plan.  The majority of people are farmers.  They farm until they can no longer farm, and then their children farm for them.  So while a large number of children act as helping hands on the farm in their youth; they, more importantly, become the support system for their elderly parents once they are grown.  Sharing the labor and financial burden among six children is much easier for each individual child, than it is to share the same burden among four.

I am personally one of twenty-one children.  My father had four wives.  I have decided not to maintain this type of lifestyle, and I am sure many family planning proponents will claim me as a success story.  The truth is, however, my reasons for wanting one wife and fewer children have nothing to do with what I was taught about family planning and everything to do with my personal beliefs and current situation.  I think a general shift towards smaller family size is just the natural progression of a society that becomes more urban and more mechanized.  There is no need to teach it.  Even more importantly, there's no need to use valuable resources to teach it in the name of development.  Smaller families do not lead to development; they are a product of development for the reasons that I've mentioned.  It's important when doing development work that we do not misconstrue the phenomena of developed societies with the causes of undeveloped societies.  We risk wasting resources, and in this case, being cultural insensitive.

Development Versus Relief or My Mother Doesn't Like Shoes

Continuing with the subject of sustainability, I have been thinking a lot about what plagues so many initiatives and inhibits them from achieving something truly sustainable in their operational communities.  I think, often times, it's simply a matter of perspective.  I saw a picture on Pinterest the other day of two Burkinabe children's feet covered in dust.  Below the picture was a caption describing these dusty feet as a product of severe poverty.  I immediately thought of my mother, who's feet often look the same after she's spent a day at farm or walking around the market.  But, it's not because she's poor.  It's because she doesn't like to wear shoes.  One, because she finds them to be uncomfortable.  Two, because Sub-Saharan Africa is hot.  But would a foreign onlooker/ development worker see it this way?  We know that the one who posted this picture to Pinterest did not.  And the next thing you know, a black tinted SUV is rolling into that community filled with used, or even unused, shoes from outside of the country, giving them free-of-charge to each barefooted person they can find.  I've seen a lot of "development" done this way in my lifetime, but I don't consider it to be such.  That is relief work-- something entirely different in scope and nature than development work, but the two seem to get conflated quite a bit.

I think back on a school feeding program that used to be an existence when I was a child.  An organization, who believed we children were severely undernourished and uneducated (which we may have been to somebody's standard), would drop "nutritious" food off at our schools to be given out to each of us come lunch time.  It really was nutritious food.  And delicious too.  I looked forward to eating it everyday.  But, did I need it?  Was it helping me or my classmates or my community?  Was it developing us?  After decades of this organization dropping food off for us, the government banned the program, saying such feeding programs needed to be supported with local foodstuff-- not imports.  This is a ruling I can't really contest; however, I will note that since the government has taken over the program, it has been far less reliable and consistently plagued with food shortages and spoilage.  Such occurrences have led many of us to believe that much of the food continues to be imported, despite the government's initial stance on the issue.

So, here we are decades later, back at square one.  Had the emphasis been less about hand-outs and more about training our families in farming and preparing nutritious foods, we might have something to show for this effort-- had it been more about developing our society and less about saving lives.  Because, to be perfectly honest, very few of our lives were in danger.  We weren't starving.  We weren't experiencing famine or even severe drought.  We simply knew very little about the food pyramid.  We needed development-- not relief.  There is a time and place for each.

On the Subject of Sustainability

A discussion developed recently on Linkedin that caught my attention.  An organization was offering start-up grants ranging between $10,000 and $20,000.  One reader challenged the organization to increase the value of their grants, because no truly sustainable project could be funded by such small amounts of money.  A debate ensued about the meaning of sustainability and the appropriate methods for funding such projects.  While the necessary funding depends on the scale of your project, I think we are often deceived into believing that the more funding somehow equates to more sustainability—the bigger the better!  But, I don’t think this rule applies to development work.  In fact, I think this kind of perspective is often detrimental.

The core of a truly sustainable project is empowerment.  It’s not technology-enhancements, subsidized resources, loans, or hand-outs.  And I don’t believe any of these things lead to or facilitate empowerment.  They actually do quite the opposite.  They foster dependence, lack of confidence in one’s own knowledge or tradition, and complacency.  In addition to that, they are often the unnecessary things that bulk up a program’s budget.  It is not necessary to buy people things to empower them or develop them.  Often times, if it’s not something already obtainable to them, they won’t know how to use it anyway.  And more importantly, when it breaks or runs out, they won’t know how nor be able to fix or replace it.  All too often I have seen shiny, new solar panels crack and become storage shelves in peoples’ homes.  Subsidized fertilizer becomes someone’s new retail venture.  Broken or unused farm tools and computer parts are used as toys by children. 

Any development project looking to be successful (and which isn’t?) needs to assess the skill-sets and resources already within reach and educate the people in maximizing these potentials first.  When they have, a whole new set of potentials should arise, and the people will now have the skill-sets to go after them.  They will also be able to pass these skills on to their predecessors.  That is empowerment, and that is sustainable. It is not always very flashy, but it is effective and much lower in budget.

Placing Blame for the Doctors’ and Pharmacists’ Strike

                                                      A clinic in rural Nkwanta District.

To continue with the same theme as my last post, I’d like to discuss the current doctors’ and pharmacists’ strike.  Ghana is going on almost two weeks with no functioning physicians or pharmacies in the public hospitals—the primary healthcare providers in the nation.  This, for obvious reasons, is a very stressing circumstance for our citizens who rely on these institutions in times of emergency, as well as for day-to-day health concerns.  It is they who are undoubtedly suffering most from this strike.  And I wonder if either party, the government or the doctors, are truly concerned about this suffering.  And if they aren’t, than that is the true travesty.

There are definitely grounds for incriminating the government, much of which revolves around the single-spine salary structure that was implemented under Atta Mills.  I make this point objectively with no interest in aligning myself to any political party in Ghana.  This system was supposedly designed and implemented to create greater salary equality in the country.  It was proposed with a number of grand promises to make a more comfortable livelihood for all workers and to fix all of the salary issues faced by public servants in the past.  Such lofty promises require as much follow through, and that is where the government has failed in the first place.  As evidenced by this strike and the recent teachers’ strike, these promises have not been fulfilled.  In the second place, the government failed to shed light on both sides of the story.  They never publicly acknowledged that, while such a system would lead to salary increases for some public servants; it would simultaneously lead to salary decreases for other public servants.  For the purposes of this discussion, these other public servants are the doctors and pharmacists who expressed disinterest in being a part of the single-spine system from the outset.  Lastly, these decreases often come as a shock to the workers who don’t even realize they are going into effect until they receive their paychecks.  Those implementing the single-spine system sit down with the various labor groups (i.e. teachers, doctors, pharmacists, police officers, etc.) to enter into negotiations.  Both seem to walk away happy from these negotiations; but just a few months later, when the paychecks are received, we find ourselves in situations like the current strike.

Given the government’s actions, it’s understandable why the doctor’s would be frustrated.  However, I can’t help but wonder if their greatest concerns are not actually about their pay, but about the pay of their counterparts in other fields.  Those who stand to benefit most from this single-spine system are those who were formally paid least, which may be why we haven’t seen public servants in the police force, for example, moved to strike.  While their salaries are still smaller than the salaries of doctor’s, the margin between the two has definitely diminished.  I believe this may be root of the doctors’ frustration.  They have expressed concern since the introduction of the single-spine system about being paid similarly to those who may have failed out of school at the junior or senior high level (but who still qualify for the police force)—afraid that their hard work was being overlooked.  They have also used terms like “essential service” to describe their work as something unique and more valuable than the work of other public servants.  While they may be making some strong points, I don’t know that this perspective is justifiable.  Is it right to favor certain public servants over others?  Aren’t all positions necessary for our society to function?  The arguments become a little less clear under this light, and it becomes difficult to place blame.  In the meantime, it is our people who will pay the consequence.

We Don't Need Schools.

In light of the recent public school teachers’ strike in Ghana—a phenomena that has become far too regular in our country (practically annually), I wanted to discuss a couple of points that I feel are relevant and pressing in regards to our government’s ineffectiveness at dealing with the education of our future generations:

·        

• There are only enough jobs in the formal sector for 40% of our university graduates.  80% of our university graduates will turn to teaching in the public school system, despite the fact that they are often discouraged from doing so by Ghana Education Services; and even though they have no formal training in education. 

• The majority of Ghana’s public schools are staffed by unqualified teachers from the communities where the schools have been built.  Most of these teachers only have secondary school certificates and did not qualify for any tertiary institutions.  We often fondly refer to these people as ‘pupil teachers.’

•  A larger number of schools ‘operate’ without a single teacher.  Children actually put on their school uniforms, sit in their respective class rooms each day, and never once see a teacher. 

Now, I’m not claiming to know the exact solution that will save our public school system, but I do have a few questions that could lead us in a better direction than we are going now.

• If 80% of our university graduates are becoming teachers due to lack of employment opportunity, why aren’t we offering training for such work in our university programs?

• What are the teachers who were not able to pass the national exams themselves teaching to their students who are currently working to pass those same exams?

•   How can we spend resources on the construction of so many schools when there is not anyway these schools could possibly operate?

And, I have to wonder if government officials have ever asked these questions.  And if they have, how did they answer them, and what did they do about it?  I don’t want a government official, when he or she is running for re-election, to tell me how many school have been opened or constructed during his or her term.  I want to be told how many trained teachers were hired during their term.  I want to hear about how the teacher’s salaries have increased, how literacy has increased, or how admittances to tertiary institutions have gone up.  We don’t need schools.  We need effective educators.

A True End to Poverty

                                                                    My cassava farm.

Today I would like to talk about something I believe will probably become a reoccurring theme in my posts and currently the focus of my non-profit Clash International—farming as a tool for poverty reduction and development.  Again, I am only speaking based on my experience in Ghana, but I think the importance of agriculture is relevant in many countries.  Often times, I feel poverty is viewed in the development sector as something far more complicated than it actually is—some mysterious illness without any known cure.  Consequently, development organizations often end up treating the more immediate symptoms of poverty: illiteracy, malnutrition, disease, etc.  Little attention is actually spent searching for and implementing a cure.   The cure, however, lies in what I don’t think many of us feel comfortable talking about: money.  Poverty exists, because people do not have money; poverty would not exist if people had money.  That is all there really is to it.  So, how do we get money to the people who don’t have it?  And not just for now, but for the rest of their lives?  By creating jobs—jobs that are accessible to everyone regardless of their literacy level, location, or demographic.  As a farmer whose harvests put him and his brothers through junior high, senior high, and university, this is where I believe agriculture can facilitate job creation and poverty reduction.

For so many of us in Ghana, farming is not a foreign concept.  Many of us have been farmers since birth, carried to farm each morning strapped to our mothers’ backs with a two-yard piece of cloth.  We are familiar with the techniques and accustomed to the labor, but we don’t always know how to turn this technique and labor into a profitable business for ourselves and our families.  While we often know how to farm, we don’t always know how to run a business.  We easily overlook business strategies.  For example: market-assessment.  When is there a good market for our produce?  Are we planting and harvesting accordingly?  Or, we don’t always consider investing in our farms.  If we have a profitable year, we often take all that money as personal profit instead of using a portion to expand our business the following year.  Sometimes we even take the next year off, waiting for the money to run out before we head back to our farms.

Simply put, we often don’t view farming as a legitimate occupation at all.  We don’t see it as a way to generate sustainable revenue, but as a means to an end.  Farming, of course, will not be for everybody; but for so many of us, it’s a skill set we already possess and an occupation that is readily available to us.  It is a gaping, untapped opportunity in Ghana.  We can create our own jobs, use these jobs to make our own money, and use this money to end our own poverty.  It is the development and facilitation of this process and processes like this that I believe can truly end poverty country-wide.  So to those of us in the development sector, let’s move away from treating the symptoms, and start administering the cure.