Masters

Long days of fluorescent lighting and temperature-controlled buildings and an overload of information. I step out of that context, that box that becomes my home for eight hours, onto my bicycle.  Frigid air returns, freedom abounds, and I’m off to explore more deeply this dissertation of life’s complexities and beauties outside the air-conditioned box. Sometimes I wonder about the separation, segregation that may inevitably ensue upon acceptance to graduate school.  An elite group of individuals that numbers less than 2% of the world population call themselves Master’s of (you fill in the blank).  And I am one of them  – or, approved loans and crossed fingers aside, I will be one of them someday.  How far removed am I from this civil society that I aim to so positively affect?

My roommate works in a tattoo shop with bearded, pierced, artfully-articulated Master’s of body art.  The  man across the hall from me comes home with dirt in his fingernials, eking out a living as a Master Landscaper -an art all too quickly diminishing from a suffering economy.  There is a bicycle cooperative on the poor side of town, in that alley those men told me not to walk through alone in the dark, where Master mechanics build bikes for free  for the homeless, the poor and the car-less.  There are two boys standing on the corner outside my apartment, next to the coffee shop, fervently offering a partnership in Environmental stewardship with passersby, Mastering the art of concern and care for the beautiful Colorado river we all want to raft down next summer.  There are so many Masters eveywhere.  There are  ideas and innovations and creations and creatures moving and shaking all around me.    There are also broken hearts, broken hands, broken-ness.  Missed opportunities, waiting opportunities, extenuating circumstances and exhilerating heartbeats all around me.  People are mastering things all over the world. From the manicured sidewalks of Denver University to the cracked pavements we ride along on my side of town, to the absent pathways in the Hispanic neighborhoods of this city…. to the polished mud floors of Bangladesh.

I don’t ever want to find myself so affluent, erudite, so comfortable in my elite cohort of Masters representing less than 2% of global population that I become exceptional  to my own society.  I don’t want to be blind to my world of International Sustainable Development that is happening at the cafe three blocks from my classroom building, where an aged, retired writer named Ric waits to tell his stories to anyone who will listen.  I am humbly aiming for my Master’s of Development Practice at one of the best schools in the nation, where learned practitioners and rigorous academics are offering me the opportunity to learn so many new things everyday, and apply them to the world around me to make life just a little easier for my fellow human.  I don’t want the world around me to become transparent, disappearing the fellow human all around me.  I want to absorb all this air-conditioned box at Denver University has to offer and use it to the best of my ability, anywhere.

Consequence of Curiosity

In those precious, valued moments of freedom I rarely experience as a graduate student, I tend to indulge myself in the rants and raves of mind-numbing existential thought – a favorite being the works of Bertrand Russell who said the world needs more of kindness, courage and curiosity.  In lieu of a humble lack of clarity in the first two ideas, I attempt to explain the consequences (and beauties) of a curious mind.

I’ve noticed that graduate school, and particularly a degree of International Sustainable Development, tends to attract humans with an insatiable thirst for knowledge.  This curiosity is awakened with inquiries into international trade policies, power relations and inequalities, unacceptable disparities in health care and, of course, attempted solutions to all the worlds problems.

Yet, most of these curious minds are not satisfied with these questions alone.  No, these minds want to know about the psychological underpinnings of a society that encompasses individuals who kill their congresswomen and fellow neighbors; we want to know about the fledgling musical revolution led by Radiohead now flourishing into an unprecedented Indie Rock scene in Denver; we wan to know about the Colorado River’s increasing incapacity to sustain its 9-State clientele; we want to know about Edward Munchs’ provocative art of the late 19th century.  Ok, maybe that’s just me.

I find life so terribly short.  So little time, so much to do, so much to learn.  Thus, an incessant appreciation for the MDP program in its inter-disciplinary approach.  I’m currently in a two-week long Global Health course, after which we dive into Economics and Project Management Analysis.  Additionally this quarter, we’ll be visiting Washington D.C. to explore Domestic Environmental Policy.  Not to mention, I took advantage of the freedom to choose an extra elective.  Population, Environment and Development in Latin America stirs my mind with the sexy subject matter of Integrated Pest Management, soil erosion, and combating the evil-doings of those pesky multi-national corporations depleting the planet’s natural resources.

I rue the opportunities I have to say no to.  However, I find my life healthily balanced with local concerts at the High-Dive on Broadway, chilly afternoon runs around Washington Park, tasty concoctions of Thai food prepared in the comfort of my apartment… oh yes, and of course endless readings on international relations, health, agriculture, development…. yes yes yes.

I get stressed at times, I admit it.  Being a curious mind necessitates coffee and I sense I’ve imbibed in more than my fair share.  Alas, the challenging chase for knowledge and growth is worth it.

An array of oranges and reds drapes itself over snow-peaked mountains outside my second floor apartment.  Icy streets, single-digit temperatures and a stillness that only presents itself in the simplicity of frigid nights is much appreciated.  I find solace in the ferocity of Mother Nature proving her authority over this giant ecological system.  I forge on… to Global Health Class.

Back in the Game

Day 1 of Spring Quarter:

My “break” was a whirlwind two-week tour.  36 hours in transit from Dhaka, Bangladesh to Denver, Colorado left me more jet-lagged than the trip over, and plopped me smack dab in the middle of colder weather, higher altitudes and the most blown-out, hyper-commercialized, uber-Americana week of the year.  Jingle bells, Christmas trees and new techy ads flooded my senses, and providing a rather confused mind as I tried to reflect on all that I had just seen in the last month in Bangladesh.

Christmas with family and New Year’s with friends, and many mornings sleeping in while snow fell outside has left me feeling … only a bit refreshed.  Somehow January 3rd arrived quickly and I find myself back in the Korbel Cyber cafe reading syllabi and ordering textbooks.  The procrastination already feels heavy on my shoulders and lists are beginning to pile up in my planner.

For the first two weeks, the cohort is taking a Global Health course to culminate the Health conference we attended last fall and health projects we visited in Bangladesh.  After that, we’ll be taking Development Project Analysis and Statistics… oh la la.  I’ve also opted to overwhelm myself with an extra course (mostly because its free), in Population, Environment and Development in Latin America.  As my keen interest in Environment and Agriculture makes itself more prevalent day to day, I am quite eager to begin this course.

Until soon…

Agricultural Development Continued

We continued with IDE with a visit to Gulbahar and Nurulalam.  An older gentleman with a perfectly trimmed beard and his wife with a warm smile.  They are Demonstrators, just like Uchuno, hosting the drip irrigation system from IDE since June for neighbors to marvel at.  In lieu of a random rainstorm setting in, we crowded into the meager two-bedroom house where we sat with Nurulalam on tweed mats, colorful textiles draped overhead, and the calming sound of sprinkles outside.

Gulbahar rents the land for 5,000 Taka (~$70) for three years.  The system includes drip hoses and bladder bags for holding the water and altogether costs 2,600 Taka (~$38), although Gulbahar received a subsidized price from IDE because he is a demonstrator.  Because they derive water from a spring 500 yards away, this system benefits them in its efficient allocation of water directly to each bottle gourd they are growing, decreasing the time needed to gather water, the time needed to water the entire field, and overall nearly doubles the productivity of Gulbahar’s bottle gourd cultivation.  They have already harvested 5,000 Taka worth of bottle gourds after 5 months, and plan to harvest again soon.  Gulbahar intends to use the income to pay back his investment cost and rent.

Beaming with gratification at their accomplishments, they generously gifted one of their largest bottle gourds to our group.  Like a trophy raised after an impossible victory, Nurulalam reaches out with the gourd, urging us to touch it with our hands as if to let us tangibly feel her success.

I thought about the definition of prosperity: a successful, flourishing or thriving condition; good fortune.  Everytime I visit the Korbel website and see the word’s flashed across the screen with emotive photos, “Advancing Human Prosperity”, I always wonder what this means.  I saw prosperity in this neighborhood; a definition altogether disparate from my own contextual understanding of you-tube videos and ice cream stores and supermarkets of endless choices, but I saw prosperity in this family and their trophy gourd.

Fireflies of thought orbit my mind after two weeks of adventure and education in the poorest country I’ve ever experienced.  I peruse the curiosities of the sanctity of human life.  I have decided two things: I want to stop thinking I am saving the world, and I want to stop thinking the world needs saving.

“We exist because we exist.  We could imagine all sorts of universes unlike this one, but this is the one that happened.”

Empowerment as Development

Finally, I see the sun.  A plane carried me away from the pollution and chaotic overpopulation of Dhaka to the south, to Bandarban, a city in the famous Chittagong Hill Tracts where life is a just a bit slower and density is a bit thinner.  A home to many indigenous ethnic minorities, several Burmese refugees (some 300,000) have migrated their way across the border into the CHT area.  Beyond providing endless textiles of hand-woven blankets and vibrant saris of brilliance, this migration brings individual tales of toil and collective voices of need – a problem for the UN, Bangladesh and the locals who call the land their own.

A Denver-based NGO, International Development Enterprises (IDE), has taken the challenge of advancing progress in this disparate area, and they’re doing development in an innovative way.  Paul Polak, founder and author of one of my now favorite book Out of Poverty, believes in the innate entrepreneurial spirit of individuals all over the world and its ability to empower the world’s poor to helpthemselves out of poverty.

IDE’s treadle pump irrigation product

Uchuno, a man with an insatiable smile and a quiet humility, shared his life.  He was elected as an IDE Demonstrator Farmer to show off the effects of their new product, the Pressure Treadle Pump.  The pump draws water from a nearby pond to a mechanical pump generated by the strength of Uchunu’s own legs, and pressurizes the water through a hose which can be sprayed over the entirety of his 3 acre plot of Papayas.  After the initial investment of 5,000 Taka, Uchunu made 70,000 Taka from just the first harvest of papayas which take about 8 months to maturity.  He makes 25 Taka per kilo of produce, which is picked up by a buyer from the city and taken to the market.  He receives no microcredit (although IDE has payment plan options for their products) and is now paid in advance of the harvest because of his proven prudent farming practices.

Standing at the center of an overwhelming crowd of curious graduate students who most likely know very little about cultivating papayas in the degraded soils of rural Bangladesh, Uchunu’s infectious smile is bursting with gratification as we gaze over his flourishing farmland.  IDE staff boast of his commendable work ethic and positive attitude to learn, patting him on the back as they translate “good man, good man”.  His sheepish smile is the most genuine humility I have seen in a while.  When I ask the name of his child, half-damp eyes accompany a gasp for air as he attempts to conveys his dreams for Maroma to be an English Teacher some day, maybe even a reporter for the newspaper to help tell the story of the Chittagong Hill Tract People.

I tread back across the fields of green, ogling the spontaneous growth of bananas and teek, and the perfection of  symmetry in Uchunu’s Papaya grove.  I’m inspired by his work ethic and abashed at my lack of connection to the food I eat everyday.  I’m confounded at the possibilities of partnership with so many good humans living all over the world. Uchunu’s prospering produce is quickly navigating the seas of  archaic yet swift word-of-mouth rural communication,  inspiring the likes of six neighboring farmers to cultivate Papaya with IDE irrigation products, while more than 200 farmers in the region are on a waiting list for the new products. IDE has achieved its goal of community-based, client-driven, market-based improvements in agricultural productivity for small-acreage farmers in rural Bangladesh.  I eagerly await the next installment of IDE’s projects empowering the poor.

General Wanderings

Colors.  Its the colors here that distinguish.  Rubbish springles the dusty roads, curious eyes glistin the periphery, burning trash, dirty rickshaws and immaculate smells (some putrid, some alluring) entertain my senses along the streets – these are commonalities among many impoverished landscapes.  Its the colors I will remember.  Among the billowing grays and browns of camoflauging poverty in the city bursts a multitude of oranges and reds, sea greens and sky blues, golden sparkles and silver twinkles.  Its all the Christmas i could ever have.

I looked out a window for 4 hours today.  I keep getting booted to the back of the van for lack of ability to speak my mind that we should all take turns in the rollercoaster ride along this terrible infrastructure.  The potholes and chutes too narrow don’t allow for anything but looking out the window.  To be honest, the rural landscape is a bit too enthralling to pass up for mindless crocheting or wordy Foreign Affairs magazines anyway.

Have you ever wondered what people think when they gaze out the window during a long road trip?  I wondered about all the grains of sand scattering the roadsides, and where does it come from?  I wondered what it felt like to work in the rice paddies, spreading seeds and praying for water.  I wondered when exactly the transformation in the West happened that defined prosperity and well-being with austere, colorless concrete shapes like rectangles and circles;  what happened to obnoxious pinks and greens and diamonds and sparkles that decorate the rickshaws and billboards here?  I wondered about my future.  I wondered about how much money could be made building more efficient bicycles with local materials for the rickshaw drivers here.  I wondered about this old man Rick I met in Denver and if he slept well last night.

I finally made it out of of Dhaka.  In the city, an incomparable pollution lingers; so heavy I can taste it, so thick I hadn’t yet seen the sun.  Now, gratefully, I enter the beauty of the rural landscapes of Bangladesh.  The shades of green blanketing the landscape in the squares and squares of rice patties.  The bursting brightness of saris draped over bushes and trees edging the cucumber plots.  The browns that bustle in and out of shops.  The neon green color that inhabits all the freshwater sources, intoxicated by pesticides and fertilizers and human waste.  The colors of roses red and violets blue painted all over the rickshaws and taxis.

Ethics of Research

ICDDRB, the International Center for Diarrheal Disease Research Bangladesh, is one of our key partners in this trip, and probably one of the best known International NGOs from Bangladesh exhibiting excellence in research.  What began as a study on the effects of Cholera (which originated in the Bay of Bengal 6,000 years ago) in 1960, ICDDRB has grown into a multi-faceted organization of both research and service, particularly noted for the longest standing ongoing health study in the world.  We traversed the winding, one-lane roads of the peri-urban ‘countryside’ for four hours, finally reaching Matlab, a city only 50 km outside of Dhaka, where ICDDRB has focused its Maternal Child Health – Fertility Program since 1977.

With partners like the UNDP and Johns Hopkins School of Public Health providing millions, the funding available is anything but inconspicuous.  Yet, as a humanist and perhaps naive student of sustainable development in a program that lauds the importance of bottom-up, community-based approaches to development, the use of ICDDRB’s funding presents ethical dilemmas of which I haven’t deciphered yet.  Of the 250,000 people in the Matlab surveillance area, half are provided free services in the health and fertility program (including birth control, hospital services, checkups, physicals), while the other half are left as the “control” group as for comparison purposes.  Although the other inhabitants of the Matlab area can receive some emergency healthcare from the government, literally 125,000 people have been ostracized from a donated service for purposes of research.

The demographic and health research that has come out of the Matlab study is breaking barriers.   30 years of ongoing observations afford the analysis of the effects of a particular health program and fertility promotion: Life expectancy has raised to 69 from 55 in 1966; the infant mortality rate has decreased to 41 from 120 in 1966; total fertility rate in women is down to 2.6 in the variable group while the control group still lingers around 4; and keratosis, diarrhea and other communicable diseases are significantly lower in the variable group than the control group.   With valuable statistical information like this, ICDDRB has powerful policy-changing ability, like no other NGO we have seen in this country yet.

But at what cost?  Utilitarian arguments of sacrifice of one for the better of the whole orbit my mind.  Faces, hands, wrinkles, and smiles dance in my memory as I drive away from beneficiary villages, through the villages of exception.

There are many forms to development, and ICDDRB is one that is receiving accolades the world over for their work; how do I categorize this experience in my education?