Valencia County Observations

I'm in New Mexico for a week, enjoying some time observing life in the place where I grew up. Here are some of the moments that have stood out to me about Los Lunas and Valencia County, the place where my dad calls home:

This is a rural area about an hour south of Albuquerque. The scenery is serene and classically New Mexican: wide open fields of hay and corn, grandiose cottonwoods whose leaves have started turning yellow with the changing seasons, chile roasting on street corners, and dusty mountains in the distance. In the middle of this all runs the Rio Grande, currently a small trickle because so much water has been diverted into the irrigation ditches that criss-cross the landscape. The people here are connected to the land, to family, to tradition.

Driving around I am struck by the billboards along Highway 47, which fall into a few main themes:

- DWI (You can't afford it!)
- Anti Domestic Abuse (Elders and children are our heritage, our future!)
- Pro-Life propaganda (My heart beats 18 days after conception!)
- Personal Injury Lawyers
- Military Recruitment
- Indian Casinos

Tells you a lot about the problems people face and the values they hold...

As I write this I am sitting in a café in Los Lunas (the main town around these parts) that is part coffee shop, part Christian bookstore / religious supplies, and part guitar store. It is the closest wifi to my dad's house (he has no internet and my cell signal is practically nonexistent) so if I want to check email or blog or do some work, I come here.

Culture shock is an understatement. Not only is there all the religious paraphernalia and "church people" vibe from the staff and patrons, there is the political aspect. The people here like their guns. Next to the coffee creamer is an advertisement for Concealed Carry Training. I just overheard someone talk about how Obama was the best thing ever for gun and ammo sales, that they skyrocketed because of him. Another table over there is a guy loudly voicing his support for Trump and calling Bernie Sanders supporters "sheeple" for now supporting Hilary. He's all about the government conspiracies, too, talking about 9/11 being an inside job and how he just bought a $2,000 end-of-the-world survival kit because shit is going to go down.

The scary part to me is that everyone who walks in and overhears these conversations in progress jumps in and is in agreement! Guns and Trump and anti-Obama and God are the anthem over here! It makes me reconsider where I am spending my $7 for coffee and a breakfast burrito, but then again there's no guarantee that the owner of Starbucks on the far side of town (the other wifi option) is not cut from the same cloth, even though the corporate aspect of the place might suggest neutrality.

I don't identify with Valencia County as being home (I lived with my mom in Albuquerque from ages 5 to 15), but my dad has always been here so it is familiar and full of memories. Since my mom moved to California over a decade ago, my dad's house is now my base when I come to New Mexico. While I appreciate the hospitality he and his wife extend to me, I am struck by how anthropological these visits feel. I am definitely an outsider, observing "the other," gaining heightened perception of my own views and values as a result of the contrasts.

On the Attacks

Yesterday, waking to the news of the attacks on the Brussels airport and metro system, I felt outrage and despair at the indiscriminate killing of innocent people. So wrong and horrible and tragic. I thought of my childhood friend Vincent who is from Belgium, currently living in Nairobi, with a girlfriend who works in the UN system. My friends group from Mozambique came to mind, so many of whom live and work in the EU. I thought back to the Paris attacks, to San Bernardino, Boston, Madrid, London, 9/11.

When attacks feel close to home (or are in our backyards) we take notice. We are put on edge, we feel fear, we change our Facebook profiles to be flags in solidarity, we check in as 'safe' but often feel anything but. The message seems to be that the terrorists are always ready, always a step ahead, will always catch us by surprise.

I know there have been attacks just this past week in the Ivory Coast and in Turkey. Around the time of the Paris attacks there was also Lebanon and Iraq. And of course the countless other bombings that happen throughout the Middle East and Africa - suicide and otherwise - not to mention the drones and operations and refugee crisis and political chess game.

And yet those form a blur in my mind, even though as a global citizen deeply concerned about our world, I don't want them to. I see the news and lament about how terrible it is, and then go on about my day. It's easy to pretend it's not happening when it's far away. Easy to believe it's about "those people" and maintain the illusion that we are not connected, involved, responsible.

I think of my friend Dena who is Assyrian-Canadian and the only person in my midst who is consistently vocal about how hypocritical our Western position is. I'm not talking the obligatory re-post of some article that says "There's shit happening in these other places, too! Solidarity with ___________________ (fill in the blank to choose location we likely can't find on the map yet are financing weapons for and bombing on the regular)." No, my friend Dena actually goes there and criticizes from a human standpoint, showing mothers holding dead children and other un-ignorable losses of innocent life. She has opened my eyes to what happens in "those places" (and in Iraq in particular, because that's where her family is from). It feels real, personal, connected. So different from what you read in the news.

We need more of these connections and real conversations. How diverse are our circles? Do you know anybody from Iraq or Syria or Yemen or Palestine? Do you know any locals or expats living in the Middle East or Africa? Have you ever traveled to these places? Do you know anybody in the military who has served in these places? Do you know anybody who is Muslim? Do you know any refugees? Do you know anybody who is young and unemployed? Do you know anyone in politics? Do you know anybody who has been directly impacted by an attack?

Useful questions for home issues, too:

Do you know anybody who supports Trump? Do you know anybody in Flint, Michigan? Do you know anybody who depends on public assistance to survive? Do you know any billionaires?  Do you know anyone who is homeless? Do you know anyone who has been incarcerated? Do you know any recent immigrants?  Do you know anyone who loves their guns? Do you know anyone who has witnessed a mass shooting? Do you know anyone who has been impacted by police violence? Do you know any police officers? Are you friends with anyone of a different race than your own? Do you know anyone who has suffered racism?

The basic idea being: Do you know what it's like to walk in another's shoes? How do those realities shape our political sphere? Who has power and a voice, and who does not? Do we have any common ground at all in our differences or are we destined to fight it out tooth and nail, across an ever-widening chasm?

Riots in Maputo

"Six people, including two children, are reported to have been killed during riots in Mozambique's capital, Maputo, over rising food and fuel prices."

Apparently the local population, tired of increases in the price of bread, petrol, water and electricity, took to the streets in a protest that was organized primarily by cell phone. Unfortunately violence erupted, and people who I've spoken with in Maputo today say the situation is still quite chaotic. There are reports of tires burning in the streets, cars being stoned and vandalized, barricades blocking the circulation of vehicles, and even reports of the police firing live rounds into crowds (although supposedly the police only use rubber bullets). Most people are just staying home, hunkering down until the violence draws to an end.

The news today gave me flashbacks to the riots of 2008, which I experienced first-hand and wrote about extensively here and here.

The main problem, as I see it, is that there is no real solution in sight. Prices will continue to increase, salaries will continue to be miserably low, and the root causes of the social and economic inequalities in Mozambique will persist. While I don't condone the violence, I can definitely see how the poor reach a breaking point when their lives are so unimaginably hard, and yet they constantly witness others (i.e. the fat cats associated with the Government and those who thrive on corrupt business practices) driving their luxury cars, living in their 15-room mansions, and acting like they rule the world. Something fundamental has got to give...until then, expect more headlines like today's coming out of Mozambique.

Census

Our US census forms arrived a few days ago and I found filling them out to be quite the interesting experience, not just because I love to do paperwork. Yes, the race/ethnicity* part of the survey could generate endless debate and offers a unique view into the (disfunctional) perspective our government and many citizens have about the topic...but it's not what fascinated me about the census. Rather, it's what the census didn't ask that got me.

Back in 2007 when I filled out the Mozambican census, in addition to the requisite name/age/race information, they wanted to know:

• Did we own a car, tractor or bicycle?
• Did we own any farm implements (e.g. hoe, shovel, trowel)?
• How many rooms were in our house?
• Did we own a TV or radio?
• Did we have a computer or internet access?
• Where was I born?
• What was my mother tongue and what language did we speak currently speak at home?
• What was my profession?
• What level of schooling had I completed?

They even sent a nice uniformed census worker over to the house to sit with me and fill out the form on my behalf (a necessity in a country where there are over 21 languages spoken and illiteracy rates are high).

Clearly the census in Mozambique has a much broader socio-developmental application as compared to here in the US, where it seems to be much more about a cut-and-dry tallying-up of the population.

I find it fascinating to think about the myriad reasons why the Mozambican-style census would never fly here in the US...

*The old race/ethnicity categorization is a challenge for many people, but notoriously for Brazilians who tend to be shoved into the "Latino/Hispanic" ethnicity despite not self-identifying as such, and have a terribly difficult time picking only one race to describe their generally mixed heritage. After some reflection, Rico chose the "Other" subcategory of "Latino/Hispanic" and wrote in Brazilian, then chose "White" for race, as his family is predominately Portuguese.

Pit Stop

I'm in the final stretch of exams, projects and critiques. I can see the light of spring break at the end of the tunnel. Thank God. I'm in need of a week off to renew my creative energy, for sure.

In the meantime, here's a great blog I discovered today about a Brazilian's experiences throughout Africa. It seems he is a reporter and based in Angola. I haven't had time to read through that much of the archives, but he writes quite well and writes about relevant topics in politics, economics and culture. All in Portuguese, by the way. Check out Diário da África here.

Nairobi and Obama with a Big Delay

It's been nearly a month since I attended the boring and quite poorly-delivered financial system training in Nairobi. Although the course was tough to sit through (the new system they were training us on was still full of bugs), it was nice to meet colleagues from the other country offices in Africa. There were people in attendance from Kenya, Mozambique, Ghana, Ethiopia, Tanzania, Rwanda, Uganda, Swaziland and South Africa - a very international crowd.

The highlight of the week was definitely Obama's inauguration. I was excited to be in Nairobi for that historical moment, and spent the evening watching CNN from the hotel bar with a group of colleagues, eating Indian food and absolutely crying my eyes out. Never has a moment made me feel so homesick! It was really incredible to be watching Obama's speech in the midst of a group of people I'd just met, and having one of the most emotional bursts of recent memory.

After watching the speech at the hotel, a group of us headed out to the streets to get a feel for how Kenyans were commemorating the event. We were lucky to be staying within walking distance of the University of Nairobi, site of the biggest public viewing of the inauguration in the city. The students turned out in hordes, and had set up several projectors and big screens showing CNN. There were Obama imitators and mock debates going on, as well as partying all around.

When my colleagues and I walked into the main campus courtyard and started taking photos, the students went wild. I was literally bombarded with people waving American flags, chanting "Yes we can!", all vying for me to take a picture. Had it been under any other circumstances, I'd have feared for my purse and my decency. Getting surrounded by a group of young, inebriated men generally doesn't fare well for a female, foreign tourist at night. However, this was no ordinary night. The vibe was very positive, inspiring and exciting. After a round of pictures, my colleagues managed to drag me out of the middle of the crowd and we walked through the campus watching all the crazy antics going on around us - people sitting down in the middle of busy highways and successfully stopping traffic while waving an American flag, cheers and chanting, handstands and other acrobatics, screaming, etc.

It was definitely a memorable night, not just for the partying, but for the conversations I had with my diverse group of colleagues, discussing how they saw the election, what Obama meant to them - if anything - and what they expected going forward. The main sentiment, heard from the mouths of Kenyans to South Africans to Mozambicans, was that they hoped Obama would serve as a model and inspiration for their African leaders...but that sentiment was many times tempered by cynicism and the belief that "unfortunately things are different here."

Time will tell, né?

Sea Change

US Election fever has struck big in Mozambique. All of the front pages of the local papers today featured Obama and McCain, and the election was the topic of choice in offices and restaurants throughout Maputo all day. I've never seen so much interest in an American event in my life. It is really incredible, though perfectly understandable. What a historic moment, regardless of the outcome!

This evening, the US Embassy sponsored a big party complete with mock voting, a student debate, biographies of both candidates, and lots of snacks and drinks. Rico and I went by early in the night, as our election strategy is to be in bed early and wake up in the pre-dawn hours to watch as the polls close (there is a 10-hour difference between Moz and the West Coast). We thought the party would be a little lame at 7:30pm, but boy were we wrong. It was packed with people, most wearing funny plastic hats, palpable excitement bubbling through the conference center. Rico and I still ended up leaving early (we need our rest to be coherent tomorrow at such an early hour), but most people are planning on pulling an all-nighter to watch the results.

The crowd at the party was very mixed - lots of Americans, Mozambicans and people from dozens of other countries: India, Brazil, Nicaragua, UK and more. Very exciting. The majority of the people were clearly supporting Obama, but there was some Republican representation just to remind us that one of the beautiful things about the US is that we can clearly express our views in public, in the same venue, and not suffer any serious conflicts.

Tomorrow morning I am dragging Rico to our friend Sheila's house for sweet buns and coffee. We will watch the end of the poll closings together, and hopefully celebrate what I hope to be a win for Obama. :)

I am on SMS duty starting at 3am, meaning I've promised to text message regarding important developments with the following people: one of the Marines on guard at the US Embassy, our downstairs neighbor who is from the Sudan, several American friends, and my Moz/American girl N. I'll likely also call my parents, as the time difference will be in our favor, and I'm sure that everyone will still be awake!

After months of feeling apathetic about the election process, I'm finally in on the excitement! Very cool that I'll be able to look back and tell our kids that I voted for Obama via absentee ballot all the way from Mozambique!

Meme: Eight Homes à les McCains

As tagged by Safiya.

Here’s the meme: McCain has 8 homes in the U.S. You have to pick eight places you would like to live. List them. You don’t have to list your reasons, but if you do at least for a few of them, it would be more fun. And remember that the only rule is: the homes must be within the borders of the United States of America or else, within the borders of the country you live in, so as to utterly emulate the McCains. When you’re done, tag 8 people, so that they may join in the self-indulgence, forgetting about the crappy property market and the equivalent of The End of Pompeii on Wall-Street. You could spend your time hammering your doors and windows shut in preparation for the apocalypse instead, but it would be much less fun.

My eight choices are all in the US:

1. Santa Fe, New Mexico. I love my homestate like no other place in the US. My home would have to be a ways outside the city limits, however, because there is only so much touristy-artsy-newage-vortex-authenticity I can handle at one time. Still, the area is breathtaking.

2. Austin, Texas. I really enjoyed living there prior to my move to Moz. I had a sweet little apartment right around the corner from Zilker Park and Barton Springs, I knew all my neighbors and hung out with them regularly, took Nia classes and enjoyed lots of live music with good friends.

3. Bay Area, California. It could be Rockridge, Oakland, San Fran - whatever. With the BART it doesn't matter too much, everything is accessible. Also, I'd be just around the corner from my Mom and Azul, my two beloved girl-cats.

4. New Orleans, Louisiana. I loved it when I visited my high school best friend for Thanksgiving back in 2004. I think I'd love it just as much now, perhaps even more. It has all the elements that seem to attract me to a city: fabulous fusion architecture, unique population, strong regional culture, multi-lingual, tropical, hot and so humid your clothes mold over if left neglected in the closet for more than a week.

5. Idaho or Montana. Or perhaps one of the Dakotas. Random, I know. But I think I'd like the wilderness, the open spaces and the agriculture.

6. San Juan, Puerto Rico. They vote in our election, so that means I can choose a home in the land of the Boricuas for this list.

7. Sea Island, Georgia. I've never visited, but remember my Mom's stories after she went there for work. Seemed like a beautiful place.

8. Kauai, Hawaii. My favorite vacation spot in high school. Hanalei, Waimea Canyon, endless taro fields and a beautiful pink and gray B&B that we were very tempted to buy. If I had a home there, I'd go zodiac rafting and hiking every single weekend.

Now for the tagging. I'm honestly too lazy to link, as my mouse has acted up and I'm unable to highlight text. So, consider yourself one of the selected ones if you are inspired to play along!

Civic Duties Completed

Amazingly, my absentee ballot arrived by mail at our apartment in Maputo. Given the dismal record of receiving mail over the past 3.5 years, I was nothing short of shocked. I thought I'd requested that the ballot be delivered to the US Embassy, but somehow it still arrived via post at our front door.

I feel very disconnected from the election process. I know that even though I reside overseas, the policies of the US still greatly affect me on a personal level, from taxes to how much I must play the ambassador role in the face of poor strategic decisions (and the resulting destroyed reputation of our country) made by our government. Still, I don't really feel engaged. Politics has never been my cup of tea, but I don't think I've ever been so apathetic about the process. Strange, especially considering what a dynamic election process this has been so far, and what critical issues are on the table for our next President to manage.

I decided to vote last week, given that I've know for quite a while whom I prefer to take office come next year. For the record, I voted for Obama, but I'm not entirely convinced he has the fiscal savvy to pull the US through the economic crisis in the most efficient way. Still, for me, he represents the best choice at this point.

I can feel myself becoming more and more centrist as the years go by. I am definitely still a bit left-of-center, but I am increasingly incapable of identifying with either party, or even with a liberal vs. conservative orientation. I've always been registered as an Independent, but now, after some leftish leanings in college, I'm firmly convinced this is the best choice for me.

Apparently my ballot will be delivered along with a bunch of others from Mozambique en masse via the diplomatic pouch, direct to wherever the counting will take place. Here's hoping everything goes as it should with that process...

Also, speaking of civic duties, I got a new passport last week as well. It was fortuitous timing, as 1) I was nearly out of pages, even after 2 additional booklets of 24 pages; 2) my passport was about to expire; and 3) I changed my name. I now have a shiny, new booklet with no stamps that easily fits in my passport holder. And it is my first official document with my new name.

Now that I am legitimate (in the eyes of the US government) as Mrs. Amaro, this kicks of the fun process of changing my name on social security records, bank accounts, credit cards, IRA, driving license, and every other public document ever issued. And I thought I was escaping bureaucracy by leaving my consulting assignment at the BIC...

Unbelievably Dark Days

Do you know what is happening in Zimbabwe? What has been happening for many years now, without any consequences for the man responsible for massive oppression and death?

Please click here and see what is going on. Warning: this is graphic material.

For the last 2 years, since arriving in Mozambique, I have had feelings of anger and indignance bubbling up inside me regarding the situation in neighboring Zimbabwe. Before coming here I admit I knew extremely little about Zimbabwe...about how the country used to be the agricultural star of Africa and was considered even more "developed" than South Africa...about the struggle for independence and the rule of Ian Smith...about how a former national hero is now the very person responsible for beating his country into the ground.

But now, strangely, I feel very passionate about what is happening in Zimbabwe. The country is not my own, I have never lived there. Still, among all of the horrific situations in the world today - Sudan, Iraq, Afghanistan, Côte d'Ivoire, etc. - there is something about the crisis next door that particularly moves me. In the past weeks, the violence and tension in Zimbabwe has escalated. Finally we are seeing consistent coverage on the international news networks about what is happening. I am holding my breath, along with all of the other people that give a shit about the fate of that country and its people, wondering when it will finally implode.

The first thing I heard about Zimbabwe was about the land reform implemented by Mugabe. Many of the white farmers that had lost their land ended up moving to Manica Province. In the capital Chimoio, we had many clients and friends that had farms outside the town. They came to Mozambique with hopes of creating an agricultural miracle. The Government here had the same expectations, and when I arrived in Chimoio everyone was talking about how the Zimbabweans could possibly change the future of agriculture in the Province.

Now, several years later, it is apparent that this miracle never materialized. Many of the white farmers invested in tabacco and paprika and went broke, partly due to irresponsible contract farming policies by the companies, partly due to the fact that there is not an environment in Mozambique conducive to commercial agriculture, at least not now. Some farmers did make it, though, including several clients of ours that are involved in plant propagation and fruit production.

Over the course of living in Chimoio, we got to know many Zimbabweans quite well. We even had the opportunity to cross the border several times to visit clients, especially while working on the proposal for the tea processing plant. Between 2005 and 2006 I visited Zimbabwe 4 times. Even though the US State Department already had a travel warning out, and even though all sorts of "people in the know" warned us about how dangerous the situation was in Zimbabwe, we drove across to the Eastern Highlands nonetheless. Each visit was an incredibly positive experience. We were received warmly by blacks and whites, rich people and poor people alike.

Despite the great impression we had of Zimbabwe and her people, it was already apparent at that time that the country was in the throes of a serious crisis. Cars were lined up around the block to get a tank of gas. What struck me was that the lines were colorblind - whites and blacks alike turned off their car engines and leaned lazily against their vehicles to wait. Occasionally we'd pass tanker trucks on the road in Mozambique, on their way back to Zimbabwe after filling up over the border.

The streets in Mutare and Chipinge, the main cities we visited, were void of cars. Nobody had gas, except those people lucky enough to have black market connections. At one gorgeous (and deserted) lodge Rico and I stayed in, the owners were offering guests petrol to buy on-site so that people wouldn't be afraid of getting stranded in Zimbabwe and therefore give up on tourism by car.

Our client we were visiting - the tea guy - was the last white farmer in the entire Eastern Highlands region. He'd established a training program for his black workers, and made sure that a good portion of the company's management was composed of blacks. By doing this, he managed to put off the government and the war veterans coming to claim the land they saw as rightfully theirs. We toured the tea plantation and the factory, then had a delicious lunch at the sprawling home of our client. Yes, their home was a contrast to the poverty we'd seen on the road. But these people - and all of the other white Zimbabweans we'd met in Chimoio - were passionate about their country. They did not identify as colonizers, or as Englishmen. They were Africans, 100% Zimbabwean, equally as enraged as their black compatriots at the atrocities being committed.

The general feeling I got during our visit was that everything in Zimbabwe was slowly grinding to a halt. Agricultural production had all but ceased, as the black war veterans that took over the white farms did not have production techniques or management skills to run a commercial operation. Food supply dwindled. Poor neighborhoods were bulldozed over to "clean up" Harare. Civil liberties were squashed. Inflation skyrocketed, forcing the government to bleach old bills and reprint new amounts over the worn beige paper, each time adding a healthy allotment of zeros to the end of the number.

Tensions mounted as living conditions became more and more unbearable, not to mention the political absurdities going on the entire time. While watching his countrymen starve and face massive unemployment, Mugabe made sure to keep his allies happy, giving them ludicrous gifts such as brand new Mercedes and diamond-studded watches.

Opposition forces mounted, but what I still do not understand to this day is how the Zimbabwean people have managed to hang on for 7 years of total economic and political crisis. Why hasn't there been a revolution of some sort? Why has nobody tried to assassinate the old bastard? And why hasn't the international community given a rat's ass, until the severe beating of the opposition leader last week during an illegal detention?

Watching what is happening in Zimbabwe makes me feel sick. How is it that in this day and age such atrocities still exist...are permitted to exist? How much longer will the people of Zimbabwe be able to survive? And what will be necessary for a once promising and powerful country to start healing the wounds of the past, once again?