A Development Curve

My ever flexible and changing role as volunteer within a multi-billion dollar international aid and development organization makes it difficult to really nail down my job description, often leaves me feeling lost among the fray, and finally explains why my work the past few weeks has somewhat veered off in a different direction. I guess, to some extent, I have to just sit back and enjoy the scenery.

After hiring 2 new rural auxiliaries, at a whopping 50$ a month each, to help look after my junior farmer groups, I had more time to attend to the most recent request of my organization: that I begin work on rural income generation projects with community health councils (CHCs). I have to say, working with adults was a welcome change in some ways; not having to constantly be entertaining, singing songs and dancing jigs, but rather sharing information in a simple and direct manner, requires far less energy than I’m accustomed to devoting to the kids’ groups. Thus more energy I can concentrate on speaking Portuguese, suffering the brutal elements, and staying awake in the car as I seem to have developed an allergy to consciousness the moment we begin off-roading...

In just two meetings I conducted with the CHCs, however, the danger of a culture of dependency we (as NGO workers) are all constantly aware of was made painfully clear. Neither of these groups have a cent to contribute to start-up projects, and World Vision hesitates, for good and obvious reasons, to become the sole investor in such initiatives. Reasons such as: we’ve invested in this group before and nothing has come of it. Or: if there is no initial sacrifice made on the part of the community, how can we expect them to feel ownership of the project? Throughout Mozambique, postwar crisis response by well-intentioned organizations has lingered and evolved into expectancy that I see written all over the faces of the members of the CHCs – what is she here to bring us? I accompanied a health worker from the city to visit a group several days ago, and after her presentation was complete and we prepared to say our goodbyes, the questions that had clearly been on the minds of the group members the whole time were finally vocalized: “why haven’t you brought us anything today? You gave group “x” skirts, why didn’t we get skirts?” These questions were posed with no measure of timidity, rather righteous indignation at the fact that we had arrived that day empty handed, with no other agenda than to analyze several health problems the community is facing and talk about basic solutions such as improved hygiene and family planning.

It’s less obvious with the children, who ask for simpler things such as soccer balls and jump ropes, and who seem to be interested in holding my hands and working with me in the fields for the sheer novelty of it. With the adult groups, however, a whole new set of questions arise and cannot be ignored: Will we ever find a balance between providing immediate necessities and facilitating education and support that can lead to long-term change? Why does it seem that so many of these programs aren’t sticking, and whose fault is it, if anyone’s? Have the rural inhabitants we aim to aid made a conscious decision that it’s easier to wait for help; are they too underfed and undereducated to summon the energy to follow through with projects; or are they trying their damndest and getting nowhere? In the end, I think it must be all three. I see how hard my colleagues work, and I see how much the rural beneficiaries still suffer, and while some reports may show numerical improvements (increased occurrence of breast-feeding, decreased rate of child growth stunting) it’s hard to see any of this when you make daily observations at the community level. Obviously change takes time, and a comparison of current Mozambique to the country immediately after the war would surely speak of improvement. But even so, I still can’t quite shake the feeling that I was much more productive working as the lone white-woman in my small community in the DR than I am within a large and influential organization. It’s not that I have a problem being a cog, a tiny part of the operation, but sometimes I feel like I’m spinning in a way that doesn’t affect anyone. Maybe I’m simply cut-out for aid work on a more personal and intimate level. And maybe I can even find a way to make that happen within the framework of such a huge and ambitious project.

I left the meetings with the CHCs only after both groups had extracted from me a promise to return. But unfortunately, there’s little I am authorized to do for them until they can demonstrate that they are a group fit for investment. It seems that projects conducted with these groups (and many, many others) before have left much to be desired in terms of sustainability and numbers satisfactory for reporting, and organizations understandably are looking to support groups which they have reason to believe will succeed. But what do you tell everyone else? All of those who have no start-up money, no ace in the hole?

Fast-forward to the following week, in which I visited 2 other districts who are starting up junior farmer programs. I met with 3 kids groups and gave them my now practiced introductory spiel, debriefed World Vision staff at both locations, and finally headed back to Morrumbala to check on my own kids’ groups. Paying a few unplanned visits, I find I can remember only about half of their names, although some of their corn and bean crops seem to be germinating relatively well. But as with the adults, I can see a waning in interest, in drive, in energy. In general, it seems that the work they have been doing with the auxiliaries in my absence is half-hearted at best. They like me enough to work well when I’m there, but I can’t always be there. Maybe we can reconnect after the holidays. Also after the holidays, I plan to spend a few days at the rural health clinic I wrote about a number of weeks back. My goal is to observe their daily routines, determine their greatest needs, collect interviews, photos and stories, and begin the legwork for creating a sponsorship for this clinic by a church or organization in the U.S.