Sylvia's Journal

On Monday I started the second part of my assignment, working with an impressive Malian NGO that is getting ready to take over the functions of our project, which means instead of us, they will be assisting other less advanced NGOs to get their organizational management and governance in order. For them to do this they have to get their own house in order and this means, among other things, bringing their governance practices up to American standards – they hope to get American tax dollars in due time to help them pay for their assistance to others. The senior leadership team participated in last week workshop and now they are getting their governance manual together – something they realized was lacking.

We had given them a generic outline of what a governance manual needs to contain. They immediately set to work, very systematically – see what they had, someplace, and what they did not. They asked us for advice on these missing pieces and we asked them a bunch of questions, such as, how do people get on or off the board, what requirements are there, who votes and how, etc. It’s a big task that, with the French tendency to write literature whatever they do, required some nudging towards conciseness and simplicity.

The NGO is across town and it took a full hour to get from where we are to where they are; straight through the congested market, narrows streets blocked by 18 wheelers filled with yams or potatoes or onions and the smaller camions, carts and strong lean men that take the wares to other parts of the vast market. And where there is a market there is waste. A huge and horrendous garbage pile sits right at the edge of the market and next to a residential/commercial district. Garbage pickers are pushing their way through the mess to discover treasure – kids barefoot, skinny women and men. I could not look at the scene.  Onwards we went through lots of potholed or unpaved streets lined by various small scale commercial enterprises. The town is filthy beyond filthy – I remember times when it was not, or maybe my memory fails me.  But we certainly produce more filth because there are more people and more cars and no one fixes anything it seems. One wonders about city government – it appears to be entirely absent. One also wonders what urban planners are doing – there must we at least some. But as my colleague says, the only way to get something done or get away with not doing something is to pay someone off. It’s a thriving side business for countless people I suspect.

Back in the office, another hour later, my colleagues sent for a sandwich from a local sandwich shop, a beef shawarma. It tasted delicious and so I didn’t notice right away that something was amiss. But by the time I was dropped off at the hotel I didn’t feel that well, and after that I was up all night trying to get rid of whatever toxins I had ingested. I didn’t sleep a wink and called in sick the next day. There was no way I was going to endure two more hours in traffic and driving by the garbage heap without some form of physical upheaval.  The combination of very high temperatures, food not being consumed during the day because of Ramadan and the regular power outages made for a perfect intestinal storm. I bought oral rehydration salts (a gift from the American people, our project logo on the box, bought by retailers at a subsidized price and selling for 45% over the price advertised on the box. From the American People for the American People. It got me back on my feet.