into the heart

where i am now

Always at this time of year I feel the need to write about tradeoffs.  In fact, a year ago, almost to the day, I was sitting in this same Amtrak station, having packed up my things and closed the house alone, as I did again this year, and I was thinking about the choices I make and what I give up to do what I do.  (And for effect, I took almost the same photo from the train arriving into New York City for this post!)

They say you have to gamble big to win big.  I remind myself of this from time to time.  When you make big decisions they often mean leaving equally big things behind.  If you live in smaller circles, it seems, the paths available are less disparate and the tradeoffs less stark.  (Though I suppose you could argue that choosing not to make a big change or move or risk is a tradeoff in itself…)  But when you choose, as I do, to live far away from familiar places and people, to live in difficult situation where conveniences are few and far between, the tradeoff can sometimes seem too dear.   Especially at the end of a vacation in one of those familiar places with those familiar people and all the conveniences a girl could dream of.  

The days go quickly when you spend them in the warmth of love and comfort.  I try to appreciate each day at home but yet it never seems enough.  As long as possible I hold off thoughts of going back to… to… what is it that I’m going back to?

When I tell strangers I live in Congo I often get one of a few responses.  Some people just say, “You’re brave… Aren’t you scared?”  Others say something along the lines of, “Wow, that must be an amazing adventure.  I’m jealous!”  And a few even say, “You’re lucky to be out of the US.  It’s so much better over there I bet.”  This tends to be a vague reference to the politics or cultural trends of the US… a statement on reality tv and malls, which we, for sure, do not have in Congo. 

But most of the time my life in DRC doesn’t seem adventurous or culturally superior.  Generally it feels like a struggle interspersed with a few moments of satisfaction or excitement or awe.  While I work for a conservation project, my days are mostly spent in town, in an office, at a desk, in front of a computer, staring at Excel or emails.  I am working on an extremely ambitious project with a dozen moving parts, all of which need intense pushing and pulling into shape.  This new job has been my biggest challenge to date and the first few months have been harder than I expected.

My day to day is not so much a daily grind as it is a kind of slog up a mountain.  The terrain changes, it is never boring, but it is not exactly fun either.  You walk head down, avoiding the rocks and stumps, trying to find a path around a fallen tree, trying not to slip in the mud or trip on a root, hoping that you will eventually get to the top.  It’s tiring.  It’s only every once in a while when you come to a ledge and get a clear view of the long winding path you’ve walked or stumble upon some small treasure on the trail, a blue mushroom or the flash of a crimson bird, do you stop and say, “Hmm… this is what I’m doing.  This is my life.  This is worth it.  I am glad I’m here.”

But those moments are sporadic and it can be hard to remember them.  There are a lot of moments of wanting to scream or cry or yell.  There is clausterphobia when I haven’t left the compound in days.  There is confusion about how to operate in a totally dysfunctional system.  There is a lot of loneliness and a lot of doubt. 

Being home, the temptation sets in to just root myself in a place with all the easiness and baked goods and hot water and fluffy tumbled-dried clothes I could want.  Not to mention the people I love.  So I write these notes, once a year or so, to remind myself.  And I try to remember the things I have done that I could not do if it weren’t for the tradeoffs.  Like the other day, I was lying in bed while visiting the Seregenti office of FZS, listening to a hyena’s whooping from just on the other side of the wall.  A hyena!  Outside my window!  And that’s my job!  I smiled at each bellowy yelp and thought, in my dreamy half-sleep, “This is why.  Don’t forget.”

Things I'm Missing

Cake.  I am madly craving cake.  Angel, devil, or stodgy coffee… homemade or storebought.  At the moment I’m not picky.  I haven’t had baked goods in… months.  I would seriously kill for a chocolate cupcake with vanilla icing.

My sister.  She might not guess it from the few and far between emails I send, but I miss my sis.  I would love to be doing just about anything with her right now. Talking at night in our ridiculously close together twin beds at my parents house, watching silly tv or shopping at Whole Foods or making elaborate veggie sandwiches or just sitting reading magazines on the porch...

Pet supplies.  I just got a kitten and have no toys, flea meds or, importantly, cat food.  I once told my grandmother when she suggested that I would eventually cook (and eat) meat for my future husband that any future husband of mine could cook his own darn burgers.  Apparently I make an exception for a cat, though, for whom I cut up big slabs of beef and pull raw goat from the bone.  Ugh.

Starbucks.  I always miss Starbucks.  Not so much the coffee, but the ice soy chai latte… heaven.

Running water.  I’ve been in Beni now almost 3 weeks and we’ve had a total of 4 days of running water.

Shopping.  It’s so girly of me.  In fact, this whole list is pretty girly so far.  But I would so love like 2 hours in a mall.  I don’t even need anything.  I just want to look.

Lettuce and cheese.  Not necessarily together, mind you.  You can't get lettuce in Beni and the cheese is... either processed slices for $5/pack or the stinkiest stuff on earth.  So stinky, in fact, that it stinks up anything else in the fridge with it.  Like my daily can of Pepsi.  So I get enough cheese stink via other foods that I don't dare consume any directly.

Long flat roads that are not being crisscrossed by headlightless motos, bicycles, children without adults, skittish goats, dumb chickens, top heavy offkilter matatus, speeding buses, and mamas with babies on their backs and bidons of water balanced on their heads such that they can't turn to see what's coming behind them.

Whole wheat bread.  Again, with the baked goods, I know.  But I miss it so much.  When the best bread around is basically a hotdog bun, the idea of soft, dense whole wheat toast with nonrancid butter on top… oh man.

A proper office.  One where I have a desk rather than a table and a chair to match at a reasonably ergonomic height, where the internet works well 99% of the time, where the printer, scanner and copier all work at the same time and where the power is supplied without the background noise of a generator.

Baseball.  It's probably not what you might expect, but every year around this time I get happy at the thought of baseball season.  Watching it on tv on hot summer nights, going to games with friends and eating so many stadium nachos and big plastic bottles of Bud... it's the one and only sport I genuinely enjoy.

Downloadable stuff.  I'm almost out of podcasts I haven't heard and I could really use some new music.  And downloadable/streamable movies?  Nah, that's the stuff of dreams.

A dryer.  During the rainy season nothing ever seems to really get dry and all my clothes have a slightly mildewy smell.  It's gross.

The smell of home.  The smell of New York City, the smell of Washington DC and most of all the smell of western Massachusetts in June.  And the physical-emotional-psychological feeling of being there.

mt. hoyo

to the northwest of virunga national park is a small, little-known reserve called mt. hoyo.  before the war in congo, the reserve was the site of a hotel and home to, apparently, numerous wildlife.  it sits just about at the point where the ituri rainforest meets the albertine rift, linking these two important biodiversity zones.  

the hotel and reserve were regularly visited by congolese and foreigners alike as a waypoint on the road from the east to the interior city of kisangani, and as a pleasant weekend destination, until the war forced the wildlife authority to relocate its rangers, and the hotel was abandoned.  for many years, this little reserve, which is on no map that any one i know has ever seen, existed entirely as a memory.  

it wasn't until 2010 that iccn returned to reclaim the reserve. communities who fled the region during the war were already returning.  many of them believe, after all this time, that iccn has given up its rights to the reserve.  this is a confusion which is proving quite difficult to clear up and has led to a growing conflict between local people and the government, preventing much progress from being made towards the site's rehabilitation.  it doesn't help that a local armed group still controls part of the forest.  

in march we visited, some of the first outsiders in many years to do so.  

to get there, after turning off the main road, we traversed rivers with no bridges and roads overgrown with trees.  (crossing the 15 foot wide, 10 foot deep drop in the photo above required laying 2 wooden planks almost exactly the width of the landcruiser tires and very very carefully guiding my colleague stu across... hoping the planks wouldn't break or shift... all the while being mocked and shouted at at by a few drunken guys from the village asking for cash for their "assistance.") 

the wildlife, it seems, is nearly gone, though zsl and its partners intend to survey the area later this year to find out what remains.  (i fear the fact that the famous "bat caves" are now home to very few bats does not bode well for the more favored bushmeat species... but let's hope i'm wrong.)  and the amazing staircase-like waterfall, a perfect picnic site and swimming hole, goes unvisited.  

and the hotel, once a beautiful building and manicured gardens with a view of the ituri forest, has been ravaged.  ransacked uncountable times by one armed group or another, and used as a base for many, now including for iccn.  this destroyed hotel is what i found to be one of the strangest and most haunting places i've ever been.   

between expertly crafted, though empty, wooden window frames and beautifully laid stone floors, the walls are completely covered in graffiti.  as a friend pointed out, you really don't see graffiti in congo.  paint, it would seem, is too expensive.  throughout the building, dusty black drawings, made with bits of charcoal range from the benign to the bizarre to the downright obscene.

and the thing that struck me as we walked through room after room was that these men, as crude as their drawings and writings are, are probably some of the most well represented soldiers of the time.  congo's war was not well documented.  there were no embedded reporters or interviews from the field.  no youtube videos taken on cell phone cameras.  no nightly broadcast to the world.  in fact, almost nobody cared.  so how do people in rural areas with little more than a cooking pot, raggy clothes and an AK-47 to their name mark their place in the world?  how do they express themselves to anyone but those immediately around them?  they don't have photos of themselves.  they aren't writing letters let alone memoirs.  there's no postal service afterall, even if they had a pen or paper.  and they certainly aren't writing blogs.  

if there was not record of you, besides the memories of your friends and family, and someone handed you a piece of charcoal to make your mark, what would draw?  or write?  would it be profound?  an image of nature or a dream?  or would it be what you happened to be thinking about at that moment?  sports?  your friends?  your boss?  sex?  to be fair, these young men were in the middle of a war.  and so like many young men in the middle of a war scratching on a wall, they drew and wrote what they were thinking about at that moment.   

apologies for the offensive drawings here, and there are many.  and to anyone who speaks swahili, double apologies as i can only assume what all of this says.  but i had to share.  because at some point this building is bound to be torn down or painted over.  and these photos of these walls will really be some of the only records left of these tragic young men.

in the photo above you can see a reference to the fardc (the congolese military) as well as the space on the wall where the old wooden bar was removed and burned.

species matter: a rant about conservation in 2011

this slideshow by the new york times of species that are either extinct or close to extinction is gorgeous and tragic.  i urge you to look through it.  it made me want to make a post of my own favorite species photos, below.  and it also got me thinking.  or perhaps it just got me to put in writing what i’ve been thinking for a while.

as a conservationist i worry that my field has become far too focused on new trends in forest conservation for carbon and is letting slide the core of what's important.  

we know extinction is happening.  not just to a few random frogs or bugs, but to lots of frogs.  lots of bugs.  and elephants, tigers, lions, rhinos, gorillas and dozens of picture book animals we tend to assume will always be there.

there are many reasons for this and deforestation is just one.  yet it seems at this moment it’s all anyone is focused on.  and not deforestation of national parks or forest reserves, but deforestation of areas outside of protected areas.  that’s where the carbon credit money is, and that’s where we all seem to be looking.

but we already know how to equip protected area rangers, enforce hunting and mining laws, and, where possible, work with communities to protect very special places.  we already know it can work if we just allocate the resources and the will.  and many of the species we need to save are found within those same sites.  not all, true, but many.

yet existing conservation programs and national parks flounder while we wait around for the big donors to give their money to what they deem "innovative."  basic funding for protected areas, and for species-oriented conservation, is extremely hard to find these days.

instead, donors are spending millions on the process of trying to develop complicated systems to monetize the carbon in forests outside protected areas while trees, and the frogs, birds, insects and mammals that depend on them, go unprotected in national parks and are slipping away.  infrastructure maintenance for parks and salaries for guards is boring.  we’ve done that.  we want new.  we want big. 

at this very moment there is a workshop going on to determine vital populations of great apes and other species in this region.  but the thing is, we already know most of the important, intact populations are within national parks.  sure there are important areas outside of parks where we should or could start working, but the parks already exist and have the legal mandate to conserve, but are under funded and poorly managed. 

does it really make sense to allocate millions or even billions to start new systems which may or may not work while we watch the core focus of conservation languishing?

and why do we need to “innovate” all the time?  why can't we simply say: this area is important, there is already the legal mandate to protect it, and we will do everything we can to ensure it's integrity before we spread our meager funds around into new "innovative" ideas?  i know for a fact that millions of dollars are available right now for organizations willing to try new, untested theories all over congo while protected area staff are unable to do their jobs for lack of funding.  why is it that the donors steer us, and we go happily, towards newer and shinier instead of truly securing what we’ve already accomplished through years of hard work?

perhaps i start to sound like what some might call a "parks and guards" fundamentalist.  it's old fashion, some might say.  but i ask, do we have reason to believe it doesn't work?  i mean, really, when it is provided the resources and we put in the work?

and of course we want to protect more areas than only what’s within the boundaries of current parks and reserves, but it seems to me we should get our house in order first before we spread our money even more thinly. for example, if we took all the money allocated to the process of developing redd+ (avoided deforestation carbon credit) standards, and all the money allocated to redd+ pilot projects in drc alone, we could develop an endowment fund, with a modest annual rate of return, that would actually fund the bulk of protection of congo’s protected areas.  potentially forever.  sure there would still be challenges, but in a country where many park guards don’t get paid for months at a time and few have the most basic equipment needed to do their jobs, can we really justify the millions spent on consultants and conferences to establish best practices for projects that don’t even exist yet and may never at the rate we’re going?  will there even be any wildlife left by the time the money hits the ground?

i understand that carbon projects are designed to address climate change as much as conservation, but it appears at the moment that the funding available for such projects is in lieu of funding for actual conservation, species-based or otherwise.  it’s easier to get money to do “conceptual conservation” than to do conservation in real life.  the donor world has caught on in a big way to this hip new trend, and we all seem happy to go along with it.  why? 

do we really think this will all pan out and forests around the world will be conserved when carbon money starts rolling in?  at the end of the day that money will only have to pay for more guards (or “community monitors”) and more equipment in more areas, won’t it?  do we actually think those areas will work any better than the current ones with the amount of money they'll receive?

so despite it being conservation heresy at the moment (and perhaps not entirely in line with my current job description!) i have to say that i’m starting to grow very wary of the “all carbon all the time” path mainstream conservation is on.

species are important.  yet we all seem to be so caught up in the razzle dazzle of our own brilliant schemes that we’ve forgotten that simple fact.  i guess i’m asking, are we forgetting how to just buckle down and do our job?

and here, some photos i've taken of beautiful species.  in protected areas.

(apologies for the low resolution... it's the only option for posting photos on the connection at the moment.)

where i am

I'm sitting in the Amtrak station, 45 minutes to my train.  

I finally arrived in Boston on Christmas Eve after nearly a week of delay in London.  The next couple of weeks flew by and I watched the ball "rise" in downtown Northampton for New Year.  Yes, where I'm from the ball, covered in rainbow lights, rises because it's "a more positive symbol for the new year."  

Now I've got one week of vacation left and I’m spending it with my sister and friends in NYC and DC.  Two cities of my past and perhaps of my future?  If there is one thing I know it is that’s I have no idea where I’ll be in a year, 2 years, 3 years from now!

But for now, many people to see and a few things on my shopping list yet to tick off.  Shopping lately has involved goofy questions that tend to throw the store staff for a loop.  Like “Can you please tell me which of your netbooks is the most shock resistant?”  “I want my hair cut shorter but long enough to keep in pigtails when I’m in the forest.”  “I need something like this but that runs on batteries because I don’t have electricity at my house.”  “I want this spatula, but that other one is so much lighter and easier to pack.”

Speaking of, I’m 75% packed.  I have, here with me now, 2 giant suitcases and another inside one of them.  It will be filled with field equipment – GPSs, camera traps, etc. – that is meeting me in NYC.

When I used to travel, and I have traveled a lot, I always calmed my “did I forget something” jitters with the knowledge that as long as I had my passport and my credit card I’d be fine.  I knew I could get whatever I’d forgotten or buy my way home in a pinch.  Heading to DRC that’s not exactly true.  And I feel the need to bring lots of things... silly things I just can’t get there.  Things like nonstick cooking utensils, Arborio rice, dvds, underwear and SmartWool (best socks ever), a yoga matt, granola bars, etc. etc. etc. Admittedly, I’m a “stuff” person.  I like to nest and I like to feel comfortable in my home and my daily life. 

But in DRC, no matter how many credit cards I have, I just can’t get that “stuff.”  Credit cards are worth nothing in a place with no network to process them.  DRC is cash only… like only  the sketchiest Italian restaurant in the Bronx.

In fact, I’ve had Congolese colleagues ask about credit cards after they’ve seen a reference to them online.  “What is a credit card?  A piece of plastic with your name on it?  Is it real?  How does it work?”  It’s like some mythical beast… “Pray tell, what is this credit card of which you speak?  I have heard tales so wondrous…”

In any case, you could make the case that I don’t really NEED granola bars.  And it’s true, I don’t.  But I most definitely NEED underwear.  And Herrel’s homemade hot fudge.

So as I sit here, dreading hauling my “stuff” up and down the train stairs and through Penn Station, I think about what all this means.  Moves and the ends of vacations always get to me a bit.  But it’s particularly true this time.  I may not be back in the US for a year.  Despite growing up in Thailand when we came back only every summer, a year seems like a very long time this time around.  It didn’t help that my parents packed up and left for Singapore yesterday, leaving me to finish my own packing in an empty house which I also had to close up for 5 months until they get back.  Moving through the house, full of familiar things and the warmth of home, yet empty of anyone but me, felt lonely.  I suddenly found my self just staring into my room thinking about what it means that I don’t really live anywhere.

There are many many people I know who live like I do, or even more transient.  Moving around from post to post, never fully settling in anywhere.  And that’s fine, I guess.  But at least when you aren’t always moving you’d think you’d settle in, right?  Right now, though, I don’t really feel settled anywhere.  Sure I have my parents’ house in Massachusetts and it does very much feel like home.  Yet I’ll only be there a few weeks a year.  And yes, I have a house in Beni.  But it is only just starting to feel like home, and only in the sense that it’s familiar.  (Maybe that’s why I’m carting around 2 Ikea throw pillows and so many kitchen accoutrements?!)  Plus, with all the uncertainty that my job entails who knows how long I’ll be there.

So I am homeless with two homes.  

What does that mean?  Nothing really.  It just is, I guess.  But when you have a moment where you suddenly realize that all the choices you've made have led you to where you are, and feel the gravity of that, and realize that all the choices you will make, individually and all together in some sort of order, will be the total sum of your life... and that's all you get.  That one set of choices and that one life and you can't go back.  Well, I suppose that's the kind of thing that suddenly can make your 3 suitcases seem very very heavy and cause you to kind of forget what you're carrying and why.  It can make you feel a little bit lost.  

And yet at the same time, make you... or me I suppose... feel strangely lucky to be at this moment because of my choices.  I can feel lonely or scared or a bit displaced, but I've chosen to be here and do this right now.  And the ability to set my path and make those choices, for better or worse, is something you just have to stop and appreciate now and then.  That, and the delicious taste of hot fudge straight from the jar on another gas lantern lit night in Beni.

my beni dream house

the zsl office in beni. 

not my dream house, but pretty nice.

getting there

monday morning at 5:30am i woke up thankful that the electricity was on.  i was not looking forward to packing the last few things in my bag in the dark.   we had to be at the airport at 6:30am for an 8am echo flight to beni.  echo is the EU airlines run free for humanitarian ngo's, government, etc.  it's safe and convenient, two things rare in congo.  and not just in aviation.  

by 10:30am we still hadn't left.  the weather in beni, where rainy season has already started, was bad. whereas most people would be annoyed at the delayed flight, i felt somewhat comforted by the idea of a pilot not wanting to take unnecessary risks with my life, and fell back half asleep on my bag after each successive announcement of the same news.

however, they finally announced the flight would be canceled, and the next to beni not until thursday.  we, and by "we” i mean the collective group of passengers assembled in the waiting area, suggested directly to the pilot that perhaps we could fly with him to bunia and dungu, both stops after beni on the looping route, and if the weather had cleared on the way back we could land in beni then. 

it was a bit like trying to organize a lift from your mom in middle school to drop various people off at home in the right order so you all got to ride together.  yet it was actually a totally reasonable request that under normal circumstances would be completely ignored because of procedure, flight schedules, etc. etc. etc.  but not here.  here the pilot said, “sure if you want.”  so we happily hopped on the plane just minutes later.  and a mere 45 minutes after that, he announced the weather was fine in beni and we could land there first after all.  nice

.

beni (...beni, beni, beni and the jettttts)

beni is a small town.  it's not a village, not a city.  it's a town.  the airport, slightly out of town, is a long strip of red dirt surrounded by banana fields and scrubby forest.  the lady and gentleman who sign you into the big blue book sit in a small cement building with a thatch roof. 

 the magical mythical zsl land rover... 166k rough miles and still kickin'... just not above 35k/hr.

 

the paved road into town is lined on both sides by one-room mud houses with maize and cassava drying on sheets out front and children tending goats (or avoiding their duties to tend the goats) and little plots of bananas and papaya trees growing here and there.  as you get closer, you pass a united nations base for the nepali battalion, and start to see signs for various ngos and ngo projects.  finally you hit beni’s one major street and a roundabout complete with a cement statue of a guy on top and a random statue of a gorilla sitting in the grass nearby. from there the road goes up the hill for about 10 minutes, lined on both sides with a colourful hodgepodge of shops selling used clothes, household goods, cell phones and bootleg dvds... and then it peters out again. 

well, right after the strip of money changer kiosks, each with a unique interpretation of an american president painted on the front.  they are copied from the different denominations, of course, but you’ve never seen ben franklin look so anorexic or bug-eyed or bloated as he does all around beni.  it’s really quite something.  i’ll post some photos one day.

the town feels low key.  the hills to one side are covered in small mud houses only some of which are surrounded by walls and only a few those have barbwire on top. there seems to be a respect for trees in yards and public spaces that is lacking in goma.  far from the swealtering tropics, the altitude and greenery make it cool and shady.  the fact that it's cloudy and rainy rather than baked dry with sun like goma also helps.  jeans and a long sleeve tshirt are just right.

john on the phone at our "desk"

the search is on

of particular personal concern while i'm here is looking for a house.  i am not being supplied with a house, as i was in goma with dfgfi.  in fact, i'm not even given much of a housing allowance.  so i have to find something decent that i can afford all on my own.  unfortunately, the "decent" part is proving tricker than expected.  john, our program administrator, has been patiently helping me search.  we had some leads, none of which panned out.  so we spent the better part of today looking at several houses around town.

it should be noted that there are not realtors in beni.  you find a house by having someone you know who knows people call those people and other people who those people tell him to call and they all call people and then you get calls back to meet you at various times.  you are very lucky if the person has the keys to the house they want to show you, which may be their house but is more often their friend’s house who lives in goma or kisangani or nairobi.  it is more likely,  though, that they do not have the keys and you have to reschedule a different time for them to meet you with the keys.  or sometimes you can take them to find the lady who has the keys while she is shopping the market. or maybe you go to the house and wait and then the lady with the keys shows up 15 minutes later on a motorcycle.  but eventually the moment arrives when you have the keys and the house and the person who is sort of in charge of renting the house all at once and you get to see the actual inside of the house.  this is how it seems to not work but eventually does and why looking at three houses in a such a very small town can actually take all day.

my beni dream house wishlist would be laughable on one of those HGTV shows where the real estate agent shows off the whirlpool tub and stainless steel appliances, yet the buyers complain that there aren't 2 sinks in the master bedroom.  here's what i'm looking for, generally in order of importance:

1. 2 bedrooms (at least one of which can fit a regular bed, a dresser and a wardrobe) and at least one bathroom
2. running water, at least a few hours per day
3. a generator or access to a generator or, even better, both a generator and occasional mains power
4. windows in every room, most of which aren’t broken
5. a kitchen that has some sort of water faucet and is inside the house, or, if not inside, at least covered with a roof
6. a patio where i can eat outside and a patch of grass or, preferably, space for a garden

i don't think i'm being so demanding.  i'm even willing to pay good money - like $400 a month!  but sadly, thus far, the houses we've seen are missing several key components of this list.  apparently i am supposed to have a maid who cooks outside in the rain with water hauled from one of the bathrooms or the public spigot down the road.  that is an unlikely scenario for several reasons.

the funny thing is, i'm basically looking for the twin of our office.  it's a perfect little building with plenty of light, 2 bedrooms, etc. unfortunately it's already taken.

but i haven't given up.  i know my beni dream house exists!  it may not be pink or h

ave a jacuzzi or built in washer-dryer or a glittery corvet parked out front with ken at the wheel, but damn it, it's my modest congolese dream house on a budget and i'm going to find it!

the office guest room: 

my temporary abode until my dream house is secured

hearts of brightness

john and terese hart are pretty much my personal role models.  i read about them for the first time at the bronx zoo's congo exhibit where the signage about their work and photos of them with their young daughters still stand. 

so of course i was more than thrilled to meet them when i finally got to congo.  though i've met terese only once, in passing in the brussels airport, i spent a bit time with john on a couple of occasions.  he was very encouraging of my hopes to stay on after i left dfgfi... an effervescent character who sort of bounds around speaking french, swahili and english loudly and interchangeably, he's probably one of the nicest most knowledgeable and interesting people i could hope to meet.

they've been working in drc since the 70's, raised their family in the ituri forest and continue to manage a conservation project focused on creating a national park in the tl2 landscape.  their blog, searching for bonobo in congo, is fantastic.

this film, hearts of brightness by alan root, was made about their family and their work in the late 1980's. 

amazing to think of working in congo then... both more difficult, with out the connectivity of the internet and cell phones, but also perhaps easier in that it was pre-war and presumably safer in many respects.  i am in awe of the harts... their passion and guts.  and, frankly, i'm a little jealous of their daughters for getting to grow up in the rainforest... but then again bangkok wasn't so bad! 

check it out:

Career Goals

I found this short statement in a pile of admissions documents and transcripts from college.  I think I wrote it as an intro for a seminar class junior year.  Clearly not the most eloquent thing I've ever written, but I find it amusing in light of what I'm doing and where I am now!

Career Goals:

I have traveled quite a bit overseas and the first goal I have is to work overseas.  My ideal position would be in Nepal or southern South America working with people in villages bordering national parks to come up with a viable plan.  One that is economically viable for them but which also protects the park and its plant and animal inhabitants.  I am more interested in problem solving and social issues than data collection.  I would prefer to work somewhere between the field and the office, using collected data but still talking to people firsthand.  My criteria of Nepal and S. America, of course, is just an ideal; I would love to go anywhere.  The other thing I would be interested in doing is running eco-tourism trips or teaching.  If I were to teach, I would like to teach env. science in international high schools or for a program like The School for Field Studies.

Sept. 29, 1998

NAREST 391

more bread, still no kneading

i made another loaf of that magical no-knead bread.  this time, i used 3/4 cup of whole wheat flour (replacing equal of the white) as described in martha stewart living, april 2010.  i again ended up needing more water than called for, so i added it.  because of the way it bakes (in a pan) the water seems a bit flexible... as long as the texture is about right.  (again, see the video.)  i also ended up leaving it sitting in a ball on the counter for over twice the time allotted (5 hrs!) and it's fine. 

finally, this time it took longer to cook... i took it out after 40 min (30 covered, 10 uncovered) and tapped the bottom.  this is a trick i learned online somewhere and it's soooo useful.  your bread should sound hollow.  if it sounds dense stick it back in for another 10 and try it again.  this is key.  it WILL eventually sound hollow and so far i have never burned my bread.

i wish i could record the sound for reference... and then later as well because it crackles softly for like 2 minutes after you take it out of the oven.  it's almost adorable.

this is why i LOVE this bread.  i cannot tell you how much i love it because words can't convey the joy of making delicious bread that i would theoretically pay many dollars for at an artisan bakery with virtually no dollars or effort.  all it takes is time. 

maybe some sort of metaphor for life?  patience, my dear, patience.

this reminds me of my friend lisa's brilliant, funny, insightful and true post on her blog the other day.  please read it.  maybe while you make some bread?

my youth in asia

i was 8 when we moved to thailand.  we lived there, went to school there and traveled the region until i went to college... and even after when i returned on holidays to visit my parents. 

my se asia years fall smack dab in the middle of my life and are slowly fading into the distance... my parents are now in singapore but i haven't visited since 2002.  not sure when i will again.  i never really consider moving back... it would be easy, i think, for me to get a job in conservation there, but perhaps on some level i feel like there is too much world still unseen to repeat a place where i spent so much time. 

but yet there are moments, like watching this beautiful video, when i realize how much like home it feels to me and how strange it is that a home can be so distant and foreign.  it's a bit like an emigrant who leaves their homeland and never returns, except thailand was never my homeland... i never was nor will i ever be thai.  i was falang then and i'm falang now.  yet, the colors, the smells, the subtle details of life are so familiar.  south east asia is very much a part of me in a way that only a homeland can be... yet in a way that no thai person would ever see or feel it. 

a journey through asia from ivan vania on Vimeo.