Mali - day three

Day three in Mali

The bathrooms are festooned with washed clothing as our clean clothes run out. Fellow “prisoners” compare notes about medications, soaps and lotions. Do we have enough malarial prophylaxis amongst us? (I will run out on Tuesday. There are definitely mosquitoes and they definitely bite; I wonder what percentage carry the malarial parasite.)

Five am is the best time of the day. The trees echo with bird (and other?) sounds and the air is probably a perfect 25 degrees. But not for long. By seven am, the heat is rolling in and the streets are becoming noisy.

A helicopter passes by but isn't seen. The night watchman has picked up his broom and is sweeping leaves and debris from the little plaza. There were shots in the night but it is quiet now.

Late in the day a message is received by the Tanzanian woman that a government official from her country is “stuck” in Mali but will be receiving airlift out. The same plane will carry other Tanzanian nationals tomorrow morning and there is a round of speculation that perhaps they will be persuaded to take other East Africans.

A voice from home – Garth Materi of CBC Saskatchewan noon show – wakes me from my nap. Disoriented as I am it is a welcome sound, a sound of home, but I'm sorry that I didn't ask to speak to Bill. It is hard to believe that there is a place in the world where the temperature is not +35!

Again an evening meeting where participants thresh out the primary reasons we are all here. To discuss ways in which mining in Africa can be held to the same standards that it is elsewhere in the world. Those who went to Falea are driven by the memories of polluted water, high-decibel drilling and other-worldly lights at night time – all within meters of settlements! The meeting with the villagers was telling in itself - “No one has come to speak to us!” they said.

Night comes at 6:00 pm. My back hurts.

Mali - Day two

Day 2

A flurry of phone calls produces new opportunities for flight. From Germany, a travel agent has found seats for four on a flight through Togo to Frankfurt. Suddenly no one cares what airline or whether they get air miles or travel points. As quickly as the offer arrives it is withdrawn.

The airport is closed. This is now certain. From the womb of our little plaza, we hear more shots in the streets, look around the circles and sigh.

I am with eleven others who attended the same conference – an NGO-sponsored meeting to discuss the effects of mining on the health and environment of Africans. (Our Western and Eastern – the Chinese are here too – based mining companies behave badly when away from the environmental and social constraints of the more sophisticated nations; in fact a quote from an Australian executive, John Borshaff, in 2007 said exactly that: “The Canadians and Australians have become over-sophisticated in their environmental and social concerns over uranium mining. The future of uranium is in Africa.”) Some of my colleagues took an arduous overland trip to a village in the West of Mali, Falea, where prospecting for uranium is occurring so today there is time to share their photos and debrief the trip.

The hotel manager recommends that everyone order a decent meal for lunch because the food is available and he doesn't know if the cooks will be able to get to the market for the evening meal. But other than this small concern, the day is passing quietly with telephone calls to loved ones, travel agents and embassies. Those pesky requests, “register with your embassy”, rarely heeded, becomes important.

As the heat of the day reaches its peak, a sort of communal bathing occurs in the small but refreshing pool. There seem to be sufficient staff arriving and leaving – and, since the tourist season is ending and the hotel during a military coup would ordinarily be fairly empty, the manager is smiling broadly.

The news of the day is that the airport will be closed until Monday or Tuesday. And the female cooks were exchanged for some men who did a very good job although we can see that the menu will not be changing. Ah, we are fortunate to have food.

Activists being activists, the day closes with a group meeting. Someone amongst us has decided that we may as well be planning how to best use the time together. A movie of mining in India is shown – hardly the stuff of a bedtime story.

Letter from Mali, March 22, 2012.

There is a military coup. No, there is not a military coup, there is only a mutiny. The Minister of Defense has been killed. No, only his car has been stoned. The airport is closed. No, it is open. The flight is coming. No, it is flying over Bamako. There is a curfew. No, there isn't a curfew. Everything is under control and it is safe to go to the restaurant. No, it is not safe.

Others have written about the sense of insecurity and the loss of a chain of reliable information that occurs in disasters and war. This is the first time that I have experienced it. It takes enormous concentration to avoid the welling anxiety and emotional turmoil that is happening. People at the hotel – a small two-star affair with rambling rooms, an open plaza for meals served at the coffee table level under an assortment of trees beside a handkerchief-sized swimming pool – gather in small collections of two or three speculating in French, English or German. Whenever one person is able to get an out-going telephone line, everyone else hauls out a cell phone and tries to call a wife or husband, partner or travel agent, children or a news agency. The same crowd behaviour occurs when internet is available.

The T-V shows a group of military men reading from a document. Apparently they are reassuring the public that everything is under control and that “democracy” will be re-established. Then it cuts to a pre-taped concert of women singing.

My travelling companions have booked air tickets for tonight through Tunisia; there was no room for another economy ticket. I might regret not springing for the business ticket ($3500 Cdn).

And suddenly the message is that “it is all over”. What is “all over”? The heads form in circles around coffee tables as a low buzz of speculation recurs, each as uncertain as the next. There are people who are trying to go to France, India, Namibia, South Africa, Ghana, Switzerland, Zambia and I to Canada. Divided tri-lingually – and finally, further divided into smokers and non-smokers!

I can catch a flight through Tunisia to Brussels. No, the airport is closed. So it goes.

Of Errors and Airports

How do errors happen when we are all so smart? My ticket was booked from Toronto to Regina without consideration of how I was going to get to Toronto! So I arrived early for the Toronto departure!! Except that I was in Ottawa. And not early enough to get an Ottawa-Toronto connection. Bill and I both reviewed the ticket last night!

There are worse things and hey, my life is pretty complicated and this is the first time for this.

What's the worst thing about sitting in an airport lounge for six hours?

The endless one-half conversations invariably at stage-level decibel? Does everyone think that we should all hear their telephone conversations? “Well, if you buy the blue one.....” “The Pittsberg Penguinshad a fantastic play.....” “George will be very tight-lipped about plans.....but when we all meet....”

Right now I am listening to a guy who is ordering steaks to cook for his dinner party tonight and I, and the entire lounge, know that he wants them very lightly “marbled”. He ended the conversation with “you know that I'm going to chop them all into bitesize pieces, don't you?” What?

I could be driven crazy wondering about the other half of the conversation.  What is he going to do with his steaks?  "Blue" what?

The two sided conversations that can be a) inane - “F***, I don't have my mascara in my purse”......leading to an on-going discussion about types of and a new brand on the market – actually, this conversation met two annoying criteria because, besides being vacuous, it was also punctuated with lots of s**t and f**k b) border on the politically incorrect – comments on the headlines about transgendered people having babies, 

c) loud comments on the news which assume that all and everyone within hearing distance - entire lounge - shares the political views of the speaker – usually somewhat right of centre, after all, this is a business lounge.....”We should shoot them all (Syria)” (I kid you not!) d) statements that are so patently wrong that I'd like a muzzle (that isn't a type of gun)  "In order to prevent weight gain, never eat beans, salad dressing or any kind of bread".

Now, both of these aforementioned problems can be partially – depending upon loudness and provided that I really don't want to listen to the news - solved by wearing of headsets.

But the only beer on tap in the lounge is dark?

I'm tired and no place to nap?  Sleep is impossible because of the irregular announcements of flight delays over the intercom – even though these are far less frequent than in the rest of the airport – they are definitely meant to grab attention. “Passenger Drummond, Passenger Drummond, please proceed immediately to your gate” almost activated my startle reflex (those who know my reflex would realize what a scene it would generate).

The attendants who scoop up my cups and don't let me recycle them?  Just annoying.

The lack of exercise? – I need a little privacy to lie down on the floor – not quite ready to lead a yoga class here.

No, the worst thing is that going to pee involves loading up all of my carryon goodies and taking them with me to the micro-closet in which the toilet sits.  This also involves recognizing that the urge will come upon me with sufficient time to perform the collection.  Of course, that is standard for travelling solo which I do quite a bit but, usually there is only short periods of time between flights. When given enough time, I tend to “messout” – book, glasses, newspaper, change purse, cup, headset, scarf, folder (thought erroneously that I might try to get some work done) and so on. The size of this flotsum depends upon whether I have a briefcase or a suitcase and this time I have a suitcase with my briefcase inside of it!

(Now I wonder whether “flotsum” can be used by itself – I have far too much time on my hands.)

Awesome morning sky

The awesome sky -

Every once in awhile I just have to sing sky praises. Today I watched the sun come up – stood on the deck wrapped against the cold and monitored the sky lightening in the East and the little pat of butter spread into a sun. It cleared the horizon at 9:17 am CST.

I was hoping to catch a glimpse of Mercury but there was just enough cloud wisps in the Eastern sky to block any stars.

Yesterday, in a breathtakingly clear morning, the “fingernail” moon hovered just above the horizon – holding the “old moon” in it's cradle. About one hand width (outstretched arm) to the left, Mercury blinked into view even as I watched!

The last time we saw Mercury distinctly like this was in Cuba from the top of our resort. It was the first SRPC Rural Critical Care.

Ranking lower on the scale of delightful wonderment, I counted a dozen jet-streams, markers of both our love affair with air travel and also of the most carbon-intensive means of travel. It would be impossible to have an unblemished photograph of the sunrise.

Can't cut the trails out of the sky - so it's all good!

We Are the Occupy Movement!

The occupy movement is about justifiable anger. Anger at the banks for paying more than a million taxpayers' bail-out dollars to the very chief executives who made the bad decisions that brought them close to bankruptcy in the first place. Anger at Wall street trading and gambling that passes for “making money”. Anger at corporations posing as “people” without the responsibilties for the actions of a “person”. Anger at an environment consumed by energy behomeths whose sole purpose for existence is to accumulate financial wealth.

The Occupy Movement is about reclaiming the global commons. It has no leader – or it has many leaders. Camps invite speakers – or they invite themselves.  Notable have been David Suzuku, David Korten, and Jeffrey Sachs. They organize food, water supplies, sanitation, media “rooms”, common areas and generally take care of one another. They police themselves and allow no alcohol or intoxicants on site.

Is it a “perfect” homogeneous movement? No. The homeless are there because the street is already their only home. Are mistakes made? Of course. The movement has not been able to sustain complete non-violence but it has made a gargantuan effort to do so. Individuals have become frustrated, weaker members have been bated by the police to lose their cool, and individuals have urinated on their opposition.

But I am part of the Occupy Movement! In Montreal, I walked through the encampment two or three times a day and stopped to read signs and talk. Martha McClure's daughter is participating in Fredericton. Friends of friends everywhere are either camping or supporting the campers. I am of the 99%.

This movement cannot be allowed to fail, to sputter or die!!

Those hardy souls who want to camp out all winter should be aware that they are at greater risk of losing their own tempers or to being forcibly evicted on spurious grounds. They are also humans and fragile – they need to be well-prepared for winter camping! Individuals should fall-back positions should they become ill. (A job for supporters.)  Those who cannot be prepared should go into hibernation for the season - or move South.  Control your output and your strength.

For the rest of us under warm roofs, we should be applying ourselves to non-violent study. Years ago I participated in a non-violent action where one of our group claimed that she knew enough about non-violent action to avoid the workshop and join us on site. Someone vouched for her but it was a delicate situation and we had media attention. Her non-constructive actions attracted more attention than the issue. Anarchy cannot work without cooperation.

Gandhi based his movement on a philosophy familiar to the Hindu - although not always practiced by them.  The civil rights movement was based on the principles of non-violence but conducted extensive workshops because they knew that the tiniest violent act on their part would be met by increasing state force.  The anti-apartheid movement only won finally when they eschewed violence and withdrew their services and their money.  It is not easy to sustain non-violence but it will be the winning card in this game.  Our strength will be in non-cooperation, in creation and in "adaptive management" of every situation.  Our numbers are legion.

Many of us have been armchair “occupiers” for decades. We have volunteered on the fringes of social and cultural change. We have been activists in environmental and peace movements.  Those who are putting their bodies where our mouths, and sometimes our feet, have been, need our support. We must give the on-site occupiers the energy to hang in there. Dismantling the repressive political and economic system that currently oppresses the 99% will not happen overnight.

Those who hibernate – and those who support the movement – must prepare for Spring. Perhaps we could target March 21^st? Significant for the beginning of the growing season in the North and the end of one in the South. If we cannot actively stay on a site, we should plan next summer's holidays to tent out somewhere – and proclaim that we are part of the Occupy Movement!

Home again.....

This morning I sat down on the deck to a grey backlit moonlit cloudy sky mourning my foolishness in agreeing to work in the clinic today – with Mr. Pointy-ears beside me – waiting to hear in the silence. There are no cars on Copeland road and no dogs or coyotes barking, no owls hooting and the squirrels and birds were doing what they are supposed to do in the coldest part of the day – hibernate. Pretty unusually quiet.

And I thought what two strange lives I am living. Yesterday morning I was in Ottawa. A bustling noisy city. I like hot yoga because it forces me to to become silent on the inside. Sirens, always cars, trucks, yet where Mary lives is quite quiet as compared to the sound level in other cities.

For the three weeks in Ottawa, the closest animal companion is a cat named Alice. Alice is very cheshire in that she will fold herself over things – steps, backs and sides of chairs, Mary's lap and give her best cheshire cat imitation on the corner of at the top of the stairs. I almost expect to see the grin without the cat! For all the trials and tribulations Sylvain and I are having trying to train ourselves, I start to miss his companionship – and his behaviour measures up quite nicely to that of a lot of urban dogs.

The house is chaos – and because it is hard to get to the places that need vacuuming (they are upside down, piles on one another, etc), there is a lot of animal hair everywhere. Two cats and the occasional dog (he is occasionally allowed the freedom of the house) leak hair all the time, not just in the spring!

The windows need two more sandings and two more coats of varnish (or whatever they are using – Bill and maybe Ntara) before we can begin to clear the space. My belongings are all in suitcases so I hope that there is a “work” outfit in the closet.

I'm fretting over the Turning Point, the establishment of PER (Physicians for Education and Research), the donor appeal, the upcoming trip to Iraq and the inability to get replies from our partners there (while I am excited that Bill is coming with me, I'm worried about stressors – when I'm alone, I have one person's tensions.)

Whenever I travel out of country, I think of the possibility that I won't come back. There are very few plane crashes but that risk always exists – but greater is the risk of a motor vehicular accident. If I travel alone, our children still have one parent; on the other hand, if we both go down, they are adults. But I'd hate to have them deal with my messes. It also makes me concerned that we share our wishes about goods and services in that unlikely event.

OK. Feed the dog, wash up, have breakfast and get dressed to “play doctor” for a day.