A · Little · Addition...

Some of you know that I worked at the Laikipia Baraka School in Kenya from 2002-2003, shortly before Melody and I were married. I was a residential counselor and in charge of a dormitory filled with 10, 12 year old boys. The boys at our school came from the toughest neighborhoods in Baltimore, but at our school they really had the chance to be children. In a completely safe environment they could just go to school, play, and explore their new African surroundings. There were difficult times too. The boys struggled with their new surroundings and expectations of them, but most of the time it was a blast.

One boy in particular stands out now in my memory. His name was Charles Pratt and it was easy to overlook him in that environment. He did what he was told, the first time, almost 100% of the time. His demeanor rubbed off on his two roommates as well. I almost never had to tell them to turn off the lights at night or to be quiet. They always made their beds in the morning and their grades were perfect. I say it was easy to overlook Charles because in a dorm full of screaming 12 year olds, you don’t always notice the quiet ones.

Charles had his struggles as well. The boys followed a point system based on behavior. The boys earned greater privileges, like the chance to leave the school and visit the nearby town, as they earned higher and higher ‘levels’. Charles progressed through this system easily and quickly, but once he attained the highest level of privilege, he fell apart. With nothing to work toward he started getting into fights and causing trouble. That didn’t last long, however, and soon he was focused and back on track. He was one of the top performers at the school that year, if not THE top performer.

Yesterday at work I received a message saying that Charles, now 18, had been found dead in a parking lot near his home in Baltimore. The news article, two sentences bundled with other accounts that day of gun violence in the city, said only that he had been shot multiple times.

I lost contact with Charles when the school closed in 2003. Like I said, it was easier to concentrate on the squeakier wheels, those boys demanding attention. Instead I worried about the ones I knew would return to the streets and resume their lives selling drugs or working for dealers. Some of those boys were featured in the documentary, The Boys of Baraka, a film shot during my year at Baraka. I didn’t worry for a moment about Charles, who seemed to have a good home life. Once again I don’t seem to know nearly as much as I think I do.

For both of you out there who read this blog, I feel I owe an apology for not having posted in two weeks. So much has happened and I want to bring you up to speed. Now that the strike has been called off for three weeks or so, I plan over the next few posts to cover the lost ground. Let’s start with my hospital stay.

I want to start by saying a great thanks to the people at Yuma Hospital in Darjeeling, who didn’t really know what hit them when I came along. Thanks for getting me back on my feet.

On Sunday, July 12^th, I joined the Mercy Corps football team for a match at a nearby tea estate. This was my third straight week of football with the office staff and I was feeling pretty confident. We played in the mud and rain and were sliding all over the place. I was playing defense and while going through a particularly muddy zone, I slid and twisted my knee. It immediately popped out of joint and I went down.

Since injuring my knee in 2004 it sometimes pops out of joint, but I can always get it back in. This time it wouldn’t go back in no matter what I did. I knew I was in some serious trouble…serious pain too. I was covered head to toe in mud and bleeding from a few minor cuts on my legs. After a couple of hours on the road we made it to Yuma Hospital.

Day 1- Yuma Hospital

I was seen in the ER by Dr. Dawa. His instant grasp of the situation gave me confidence (his name means “medicine” in Swahili too so that didn’t hurt). He called in an Orthopedist and together they went to work trying to get the joint back in place. Dr. Dawa discussed the options for me in terms of pain meds before they went to work: ketamine (a horse tranquilizer), nitrous oxide, or codeine. I was intrigued by the other options, but chose codeine in the end. They ultimately failed to reset the joint, but did manage to introduce me to a whole new level of pain.

That night they showed me to my very own private room, a luxury to be sure in this hospital. I quickly realized that I was in the maternity ward and that my room was for new mothers…it had a basinet and everything. At that point I didn’t care, though. The office staff had been with me the entire way. They even went to my house and the office to get a set of belongings for me. I didn’t know I would need my own towel and soap though. My bucket bath was very interesting that first night.

Day 2- Yuma Hospital

I awoke early the next morning to a set of orderlies (at least I think they were orderlies…they were wearing street clothes and looked about 16) coming into the room to collect me for round two of the wrestling match to try and get my knee back in place. I failed to mention that my room was on the fourth floor of a hospital with no elevator…the night before I had hopped up those stairs with the help of friends. This morning they came for me with a stretcher. It took 3 on each side for them to get me downstairs…I would have been terrified if I hadn’t been laughing so hard.

This time they put me all the way under. The next thing I knew I was back in my hospital bed. My knee was bound very tightly by layer upon layer of ace bandage and cotton fiber. I was in some serious pain and didn’t manage to speak to the doctor about how successful they had been until about six hours later. I learned that they probably got the joint back in place, but thought I likely had torn some ligaments.

Day 3- Siliguri

The next morning we left early to try and get an MRI of my knee. The “ambulance” was just a local four wheel drive painted white with a red cross on the back. It took a little while to get me in the car, but eventually we managed. Siliguri is about three hours from Darjeeling and is located down in the plains, out of the mountains. We had special permission to travel on the roads even though the strike was in full swing. We were stopped at about six checkpoints along the way, each one needing to confirm that I was indeed injured and in need of medical attention.

After settling in to the ambulance C.K., one of the Mercy Corps staff, reached into his pocket and handed me a pill. By this point I was fully used to random people giving me medicine. Apparently the norm here is for family members to handle all interactions with medical staff. The patient isn’t really involved. So, I took the pill and most of the day after that is pretty patchy. They would rouse me at various points and move me to the next stage in the process. From the car to the waiting room. From the waiting room to the MRI. From the MRI to the hotel room where we would wait for the results. It went on like that for the whole day. We also managed to pick up some crutches in Siliguri that day from the local Red Cross. They are a little too short, but they get me around.

Day 4- Yuma Hospital

The next morning I woke and immediately started working on getting them to discharge me. By this point I was so ready to get out of there. I hopped all over the hospital paying my bills and getting my discharge paperwork in order. No one knew what to make of me. Sunil, my main man here at Mercy Corps, told me that he would come and get me at around 2:30pm and take me home. It was 9:30am at that time and I was already packed and ready. I told him that I would walk home before waiting around all day, besides I had lunch plans with some new friends that I intended to keep. I was desperate for some normalcy.

Sunil took pity on me and got me home immediately. Right after getting home, almost all of the Mercy Corps staff dropped in on me to make sure that I was feeling ok…especially guys on the football team. They even got a physical therapist to come to my place right away to start working with me. It was a huge scandal when I got out of bed and set off to the other side of town to keep my lunch date on my new crutches.

As of now, my plan is to continue with the physical therapy and then consult a surgeon when I reach the U.S. Through physical therapy I am almost able to straighten my knee, but I can’t yet walk without the crutches…a joy in the most hilly city on the planet!

There is a movement calling for a new Indian state centered around Darjeeling. The movement seeks the establishment of a new Indian state called Gorkhaland. Currently Darjeeling and most of the region occupied by ethnic Nepalese in India is within the state of West Bengal. The Gorkhaland movement believes that the new state they are calling for would channel more development funds to Darjeeling and the region.

From what I understand the Gorkhaland movement dates back to the 1980s and in its early days there was considerable violence. More recently the movement has resorted to non-violent approaches, foremost being general strikes. These strikes involve closing all shops and businesses as well as blocking all travel within the region. Exceptions are life saving functions such as hospitals and ambulances as well as movement of essential goods such as newspapers. Everything else just stops. We seem to be about to enter just such a strike.

We received word of this impending strike during my most recent visit to Lingten, where the handmade paper factory that Mercy Corps supports operates. We were waiting for the last of our colleagues to meet us so that we could head back to town when we started getting calls that there were plans for a general strike in Darjeeling.

I quickly learned that this was a very bad thing. We were not sure that we would be allowed back into the city when we started our 2.5 hour journey yesterday afternoon. The journey was especially challenging for me. All 5 of my travel companions were chattering worriedly about what was happening and simultaneously texting and chatting on the phone. Unfortunately all of this communication was in Nepalese and no one felt very compelled to let me in on what was happening.

I was therefore very surprised when we stopped an hour into the trip in order to have tea and momos. Momos are a local delicacy: steamed dumplings filled with either meat or vegetables. Needless to say I was confused to go from a panicked departure to a casual stop for snacks. I was able to learn that passing vehicles were saying the road to Darjeeling was closed, but people in the city itself were reporting free movement. We continued after tea.

We were allowed to enter the city, but it was pitch black and raining when we arrived. Fearing that a strike would prevent me from buying any food, I immediately sought provisions. I found a small fruit and vegetable stand open on the way home and loaded up. On the way home a car dealt a glancing blow to my shopping bag. It ripped and the contents flew all over the road. I was pretty bummed to say the least when I got home wet, cold, and minus most of my produce.

This morning I walked tenuously to the office. There seemed to be people on the roads and the small shops around my apartment were open. I met some friends on the street and learned that today and tomorrow everything should be open. On Monday at 1pm the local movement intends to initiate a full general strike for an indefinite period. There are some negotiations in place to try and defuse this before Monday, but I have no idea of its chances for success.

Also, I don’t know how to continue my work in the event of a strike. The plan for Monday has been to travel to Kalimpong to visit a much more established handmade paper factory. The theory is that we can assist the young factory by studying the mature one. Now, I just don’t know what we will plan. In the meantime it seems that our office football team’s match for tomorrow is still on. I’m certainly relieved to know that politics won’t interfere with my weekly humiliation on the football pitch.

I will certainly keep you up to date on whats going on!

During the interview process for this position I received a scope of work detailing Mercy Corps’ expectations. The deliverable that they initially envisioned was a business plan for the Manokamana Handmade Paper Factory, a small enterprise established through a social enterprise fund administered by Mercy Corps. Almost immediately after accepting the assignment I was told that the scope of work was probably out of date. I should just come out and we would “see what made the most sense”. It was a play straight out of the NGO playbook.

Not knowing quite what to expect I arrived to find none of the senior staff present in Darjeeling. The head of office was in Bangkok on holiday and the program director was in Calcutta for work. After settling in for two days I finally got to discuss my work with Dr. Sanjay Gurung, the man who I would report to. He simply said that for now they wanted my assessment of the work to date. We would go on from there. So that’s what I have been doing for the past two weeks. I have spent almost half of that time in the villages getting to know the communities, the staff, and the projects. This assessment phase is now winding down. Tomorrow I present my findings to the head of office and charting a course for the remaining weeks.

Here are my initial impressions. The program’s early roots are in work with youth and public health messages: hand washing, boiling drinking water, training community health workers. They transitioned into a focus on economic development…and their work on this front is really exciting. Mercy Corps is starting to use a methodology called Making Markets Work for the Poor (M4P). M4P is a theoretical framework with roots in The Sustainable Livelihoods Framework, but is tightly focused on market-based interventions and gives more practical guidance on project design. More later on their specific projects!

I celebrated my two week anniversary on Wednesday in Darjeeling with intense stomach cramps, nausea, chills, and a fever. I spent most of the day in bed and managed to sleep 13 hours that night. Yesterday was much better, but I still don’t have much of an appetite.

The monsoons seem to have officially arrived. Everyone has been concerned that they are coming late this year. Much of Indian agriculture relies on these seasonal heavy rains. Late arrival can throw the system out of balance. The consensus in Darjeeling is that they are now underway…its been raining for three days straight. Today I intend to buy a rain jacket. I feel like a poseur walking around town in my hiking boots, but they are the only water-proof footwear that I have!

Given my stomach conditions I felt it prudent to seek out some Western food for breakfast yesterday. I am so glad I did. I found an incredible little backpacker’s café in town: Sonnam’s Kitchen. I ordered black coffee (the first non-instant I have found), boiled eggs, and toast (my first non-Indian bread). I also met my first foreigner tourists (first foreign people really) in Darjeeling. I will post later on about the experience.

My plan with this blog is to balance entries like this about my personal experience with entries that describe my work with Mercy Corps. I promise the next entry will be of the latter type and will come either late Friday my time or this weekend. For now, I have added a new set of photos of Darjeeling town itself. More later!

The journey to Darjeeling was the smoothest, most enjoyable trip I have taken in years. I flew directly from San Francisco to Newark to Delhi. The international flight was 14 hours, which sounds horrible, but Continental had on-demand movies. It could have been much worse.

I landed in Delhi and was checking in to my hotel within one hour. That does not happen very often. I was met at my hotel by Jenny Pro, a dear friend from my years in Nairobi who now works in Nepal. After catching up with her I slept for nine hours before catching my domestic flight. I checked in and waited for only one hour at Delhi’s fantastic new domestic terminal before flying to Bagdogra.

Bagdogra sits in the plains 90km south of Darjeeling. It sits at sea level and is extremely hot and humid. I was met at the airport by Gautam, a local taxi driver dispatched by Mercy Corps to pick me up. The trip from Bagdogra to Darjeeling was breathtaking. After 45 minutes you leave the hot, brown plains and start the extremely steep climb up a one-lane, paved road into the Himalayas. Literally, you turn off the main road and begin a 45-degree climb for 2.5 hours and over 7,000 feet. And yes, the single lane travel quickly becomes complicated because that lane is shared by two directions of traffic…and a steam engine passenger train.

I arrived in town at about 3:00pm and was immediately taken up to the home I would be living in for these ten weeks. It is incredible. The building is still under construction. I think I am the first occupant. The only other tenant is the owner’s brother, who lives on the first floor. My building sits on the top of a ridge that overlooks valleys on both sides. The house has very simple furnishings: a table and chairs, a bed, and a nightstand. Two of the rooms have no furniture at all. The kitchen as a gas stove, but no oven or fridge. I have power and running water. The views are just incredible. I am eye level with the clouds. Check out my photo gallery for shots of my apartment.

So much has happened so far and I will write plenty about it in the coming days. I also have tons more photos. Tomorrow I leave for an overnight trip to the field. I will post again when I get back!

Many of you know that my partner, Melody, is the blogger in our family. I have relied on her for many years to keep our friends and family up to date on our latest adventures. Our family is taking some incredible steps this summer, but unfortunately we take them from opposite sides of the globe: me in India with Mercy Corps and Melody readying for a move to DC to start a new job with USAID in July. That means you’re stuck with this, my first effort at blogging.

I have chosen to establish this blog for a number of reasons. Most importantly, I want to provide a portal for those students who support the Nonprofit Fellowship Fund to share in my experience. The fund is an extraordinary program organized and supported by the students of The Graduate School of Management at UC Davis. Participating students with paid summer internships opt to donate a single day’s wages to the fund which then supports students who accept unpaid, nonprofit internships. The fund’s existence is evidence of the depth of commitment by GSM students to use their talents to create social as well as economic value.

My other motives are much simpler. This is shaping up to be an incredible experience for me and I want to use it to form new ties, strengthen existing relationships, and reestablish contact with those of you who tell me I should write more. Besides, the Mercy Corps office blocks Facebook.

I take the title of this blog from a line in the song Laramie by Amy Ray. I found this title by consulting my own little lesbian folk rock I-Ching (attention out there…I thought of it first. Don’t get any ideas). I randomly searched the songs in my iPod for inspiration. Ok, its not exactly divination, but it’s certainly not original.

In the song, Ray sings about how the killing of Matthew Shephard is often dismissed as the actions of a few intolerant red necks or just a problem in rural America. She rejects this explanation and sings about the difference between tolerance and acceptance. A Little Addition could refer to that extra effort required to transform one into the other. It could also simply refer to the simple logic (2+2=4) underlying the current struggle for equality in our country.

I choose this title not to make a political statement, but rather because it will mean something different to everyone. I think for me now it represents my hope that my time in India will benefit Mercy Corps and the communities they serve. To you it might mean that this blog gives you something extra to ponder or smile about. Either way, here goes…