I spent last weekend in the city of Fianarantsoa. Formerly the second biggest city in Madagascar (after Antananarivo), today the city of Fianarantsoa is no more than a ghost town. People leave by the droves every day, escaping the lack of work and industries for bigger cities like Antananarivo, or tourist towns such as Tulier. The people left in town are among the poorest in the country, and the shacks in which they live, many perched on hills high above the city center, are no more than one or two-room clay boxes with no electricity or bathing facilities.
Yet, it was in those hills this weekend that I spent my time; meeting the most amazing women I have met in a long time. These women are beneficiaries in a huge multi-agency program aiming at reducing the percentage of food insecurity in the southern and eastern parts of Madagascar. Part of the program is targeting women-headed households with pregnant women or children under the age of two to provide women with training on income generating activities, as well as food to complement what they are already eating with nutrients-filled CSB and oil, helping to avoid stunted growth in children, and/or malnutrition in the same children, as well as their mothers.
This was a two-day trip, in which I mostly tagged along with my Malagasy co-workers, who were introducing the program to the beneficiaries as well as signing program agreements with the centers in Fianarantsoa chosen to keep track of the families, as well as distribute the food that will be given to them. My job was mostly to look pretty and hear the word “vaza” mentioned a half a million times, as they referred to me. The exciting part for me came on the second day, when I was able to hold a focus group with several of the beneficiaries, as well a visit the homes of three of them.
I was humbled, and honored to have met these women. They have been chosen among the many vulnerable people in their communities for being the most needy of all, and they truly are. Notwithstanding the hardship they are living through, their resiliency and ability to laugh out loud impressed me beyond believe. They joked, and laughed, and were so positive about the results expected from this program, that I was hopeful for them, as well as ashamed for all the times I have complained about not being able to afford any frivolous want we westerners think as important, many times hearing others and ourselves say things like “ I NEED a new ipod,” or “We really NEED to remodel the kitchen, it is outdated,” etc.
Two of the things I struggle the most when visiting other countries are my position as a privileged westerner, and whether or not my thoughts and plans are realistic or too western for the population I am serving. It is not rare for me to stand in a corner and watch people walk by as I ask myself what I did to deserve such a privileged life, as opposed to the random Malagasy, or Dominican, or Turkmen, or anyone else in the world struggling beyond belief to make it through the day. My family is by no means rich by American standards, and yet, here I am, in Madagascar, able to live here for six months without pay (the fact that the money comes mostly from school loans I have to pay back is another matter), able to afford simple pleasures a Malagasy would never even consider. What can I say, I feel guilty.
I thought of the same two points as I sat in the two-room home of the first beneficiary I went to visit (I will call her Lany). She is a young mother with a six-year-old daughter and a husband in prison (One of my coworkers later mentioned she thought the family was “better-off” than others in the program based on the fact that they had chairs…I wondered if the chairs were even theirs). Lany told me her priority in going through our program was making sure she gained skills to help her get her daughter educated. Her daughter is currently in a program sponsored by a local organization, in which they provide 24 children in the community two-year scholarships to attend pre-school classes before heading to regular school. Lany’s daughter is already lucky, given the fact that the average woman in the program has 4 children, and only 24 in the whole area are chosen every year. The organization covers the 11,500 ariary tuition per month, per child (roughly $5.75 US), while the family has to cover 800 ariary per month (roughly $ .40 cents). Lany told me how her family (11 people live in the two room shack) struggles to cover their part of the tuition, sometimes going up to three months without paying. The family’s contribution cover’s the preschool teacher’s fees, so when a family doesn’t pay, teachers many times get angry and bar the child from coming to class until they have the money. I was shocked and angry by this. They are so used to it, it had long been internalized and become a normal part of life: No money, no school.
I wondered why Lany’s daughter wasn’t attending regular school since she was already six, and there are public schools in the area. She said that though tuition at public schools is free, there is a 5,000 ariary fee per year that must be paid per child ($2.50 US), and since her family cannot afford to pay 5,000 ariary at once, the preschool program was her daughter’s only shot at learning to read and write, since she would probably not be able to go to school the following year or any other year, for lack of money.
Two things struck me about this revelation. One, the way in which many organizations in developing countries march in with an idea of what is good for the community, and throw money (waste money) on programs they claim are helpful. The organization that pays for Lany’s daughter to go to preschool spends 11,500 ariary PER MONTH on each child in the program, adding the 800 families have to chip in as well, it is a total of 12,300 ariary per month, per child (about $6.15 US). Regular schools cost 5,000 ariary PER YEAR. Why in the hell, I wonder, does that organization spend so much money to send 24 children to preschool (295, 200 ariary to be exact, including the families’ contribution), when they could use one month’s payment of preschool for 24 children to send 59 children in the community to regular school for an entire year. The preschool program runs for two, ten-month terms, bringing the running total for 24 children (in 20 months of preschool) to 5.904.000 ariary ($29,520 US), which could send almost 100 children to regular school for 12 years of education each (first to twelfth grade). WTF is wrong with this organization? Lany said the organization runs the preschool at their own facility, probably a good way for a tax deduction in the states at the end of the year, while 100 students are denied 12 years of education. Families in the area don’t complain of course, they rather have their children learn rudimentary reading and writing skills in those two years, than nothing at all, since they can’t afford to send them to school no matter what.
The second thing was that I could have easily handed Lany 5,000 ariary. Shit, I could have easily paid the 60,000 it would cost to send her daughter to school for all 12 years. But I didn’t, and I won’t. First, doing that would further accentuate people’s beliefs that all foreigners are walking gold mines; although compared to Lany’s circumstances the gold mine thinking is kind of true (as I was sitting in her home a man who’d heard there was a foreigner visiting stopped by with a little boy he claimed was mute and needed help…my help; Lany and my coworker told him to go away). Second, who can guarantee the money would be used for her education anyways? In a family of 11, even if they want the kids to go to school, food is priority number one, not education. Besides, why Lany’s daughter, and not the girl or boy next door? If I help one kid in such a direct way, what good am I doing for the thousands, millions of others I could not help?
I was mentally exhausted after that first visit, and still had two more visits, and another 2-hour training that day. I don’t get to complain about exhaustion though, I am way too privileged to complain when people like Lany have to sell charcoal on the side of the road for 12 hours a day to feed her family a bit of white rice and nothing else. I came in with ideas of pulling women together, forming savings groups, women associations, making them financially independent by working together. All Lany wants is training on how to manage what she alreay has: the ability to buy charcoal and resale it on teh side of the road for profit. She dreams of expanding her business to also sell beans, and other dry prooducts. This alone, would help her with her goal of sending her child to school.
Yet, it was in those hills this weekend that I spent my time; meeting the most amazing women I have met in a long time. These women are beneficiaries in a huge multi-agency program aiming at reducing the percentage of food insecurity in the southern and eastern parts of Madagascar. Part of the program is targeting women-headed households with pregnant women or children under the age of two to provide women with training on income generating activities, as well as food to complement what they are already eating with nutrients-filled CSB and oil, helping to avoid stunted growth in children, and/or malnutrition in the same children, as well as their mothers.
This was a two-day trip, in which I mostly tagged along with my Malagasy co-workers, who were introducing the program to the beneficiaries as well as signing program agreements with the centers in Fianarantsoa chosen to keep track of the families, as well as distribute the food that will be given to them. My job was mostly to look pretty and hear the word “vaza” mentioned a half a million times, as they referred to me. The exciting part for me came on the second day, when I was able to hold a focus group with several of the beneficiaries, as well a visit the homes of three of them.
I was humbled, and honored to have met these women. They have been chosen among the many vulnerable people in their communities for being the most needy of all, and they truly are. Notwithstanding the hardship they are living through, their resiliency and ability to laugh out loud impressed me beyond believe. They joked, and laughed, and were so positive about the results expected from this program, that I was hopeful for them, as well as ashamed for all the times I have complained about not being able to afford any frivolous want we westerners think as important, many times hearing others and ourselves say things like “ I NEED a new ipod,” or “We really NEED to remodel the kitchen, it is outdated,” etc.
Two of the things I struggle the most when visiting other countries are my position as a privileged westerner, and whether or not my thoughts and plans are realistic or too western for the population I am serving. It is not rare for me to stand in a corner and watch people walk by as I ask myself what I did to deserve such a privileged life, as opposed to the random Malagasy, or Dominican, or Turkmen, or anyone else in the world struggling beyond belief to make it through the day. My family is by no means rich by American standards, and yet, here I am, in Madagascar, able to live here for six months without pay (the fact that the money comes mostly from school loans I have to pay back is another matter), able to afford simple pleasures a Malagasy would never even consider. What can I say, I feel guilty.
I thought of the same two points as I sat in the two-room home of the first beneficiary I went to visit (I will call her Lany). She is a young mother with a six-year-old daughter and a husband in prison (One of my coworkers later mentioned she thought the family was “better-off” than others in the program based on the fact that they had chairs…I wondered if the chairs were even theirs). Lany told me her priority in going through our program was making sure she gained skills to help her get her daughter educated. Her daughter is currently in a program sponsored by a local organization, in which they provide 24 children in the community two-year scholarships to attend pre-school classes before heading to regular school. Lany’s daughter is already lucky, given the fact that the average woman in the program has 4 children, and only 24 in the whole area are chosen every year. The organization covers the 11,500 ariary tuition per month, per child (roughly $5.75 US), while the family has to cover 800 ariary per month (roughly $ .40 cents). Lany told me how her family (11 people live in the two room shack) struggles to cover their part of the tuition, sometimes going up to three months without paying. The family’s contribution cover’s the preschool teacher’s fees, so when a family doesn’t pay, teachers many times get angry and bar the child from coming to class until they have the money. I was shocked and angry by this. They are so used to it, it had long been internalized and become a normal part of life: No money, no school.
I wondered why Lany’s daughter wasn’t attending regular school since she was already six, and there are public schools in the area. She said that though tuition at public schools is free, there is a 5,000 ariary fee per year that must be paid per child ($2.50 US), and since her family cannot afford to pay 5,000 ariary at once, the preschool program was her daughter’s only shot at learning to read and write, since she would probably not be able to go to school the following year or any other year, for lack of money.
Two things struck me about this revelation. One, the way in which many organizations in developing countries march in with an idea of what is good for the community, and throw money (waste money) on programs they claim are helpful. The organization that pays for Lany’s daughter to go to preschool spends 11,500 ariary PER MONTH on each child in the program, adding the 800 families have to chip in as well, it is a total of 12,300 ariary per month, per child (about $6.15 US). Regular schools cost 5,000 ariary PER YEAR. Why in the hell, I wonder, does that organization spend so much money to send 24 children to preschool (295, 200 ariary to be exact, including the families’ contribution), when they could use one month’s payment of preschool for 24 children to send 59 children in the community to regular school for an entire year. The preschool program runs for two, ten-month terms, bringing the running total for 24 children (in 20 months of preschool) to 5.904.000 ariary ($29,520 US), which could send almost 100 children to regular school for 12 years of education each (first to twelfth grade). WTF is wrong with this organization? Lany said the organization runs the preschool at their own facility, probably a good way for a tax deduction in the states at the end of the year, while 100 students are denied 12 years of education. Families in the area don’t complain of course, they rather have their children learn rudimentary reading and writing skills in those two years, than nothing at all, since they can’t afford to send them to school no matter what.
The second thing was that I could have easily handed Lany 5,000 ariary. Shit, I could have easily paid the 60,000 it would cost to send her daughter to school for all 12 years. But I didn’t, and I won’t. First, doing that would further accentuate people’s beliefs that all foreigners are walking gold mines; although compared to Lany’s circumstances the gold mine thinking is kind of true (as I was sitting in her home a man who’d heard there was a foreigner visiting stopped by with a little boy he claimed was mute and needed help…my help; Lany and my coworker told him to go away). Second, who can guarantee the money would be used for her education anyways? In a family of 11, even if they want the kids to go to school, food is priority number one, not education. Besides, why Lany’s daughter, and not the girl or boy next door? If I help one kid in such a direct way, what good am I doing for the thousands, millions of others I could not help?
I was mentally exhausted after that first visit, and still had two more visits, and another 2-hour training that day. I don’t get to complain about exhaustion though, I am way too privileged to complain when people like Lany have to sell charcoal on the side of the road for 12 hours a day to feed her family a bit of white rice and nothing else. I came in with ideas of pulling women together, forming savings groups, women associations, making them financially independent by working together. All Lany wants is training on how to manage what she alreay has: the ability to buy charcoal and resale it on teh side of the road for profit. She dreams of expanding her business to also sell beans, and other dry prooducts. This alone, would help her with her goal of sending her child to school.
Not that my ideas are bad or unrealistic; I just have a lot to learn still...
Isn't that the truth about privilege. After the time I spent in Guatemala, I look at want and need much differently than I did before. Americans don't get it unless they've seen it. Sad but true.
ReplyDeletethank you for this! very inspiring, and i can so relate to struggling with feelings of privilege, and questioning whether our ideas for change are really what is needed. keep up the awesome work and BE CAREFUL :)
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