DEVELOPMENT MUSINGS

I know it must seem like it’s all fun and games down here, playing with the Prime Minister and checking out volcanoes and such, but the truth is that we spend the majority of our time working on our development projects. And it’s important to note that we spend an inordinate amount of time doing what in the US would take mere seconds. Like trying to contact the board of directors of the COV to call the next meeting – something they are required by law to do each quarter. In a perfect world they would call me up and extend an invitation for me to attend as a guest, since I’m techically just an advisor. But in practice I have to hunt down and hound the chairwoman, constantly pleading with her to pick a date “any date, just pick a date!”, so that a formal meeting can take place and decisions can be made and the project can move forward. Her office has a phone, a computer, and access to vehicles. I don’t have a local working phone, no vehicles (unless I hire the rare taxi), and must walk 90 minutes in the blazing southern sun just to get to her office. This woman is one of the most educated on the island, and purportedly the go-to girl for all affairs concerning the province offices. For this reason she was selected to be on the Board of Directors for the charitable organization that is charged with looking after all the farmers of Tanna (the COV) for which I was brought in to provide technical and managerial assistance.

Really what I’m doing is out-right managing the factory and babysitting the Board of Directors.

I run into M.J., COV Chairwoman, at Lenekal, the hub of Tanna island where we (Jeff, Matt and I) often have lunch. I politely ask when the next board meeting will take place, noting that the previous deadline had long-ago lapsed. She strangely blames Jeff for “not coming around any more” as if that prevented her from her duties, and then says she will defiinitely come to the factory the very next morning. The next morning we put on a fresh pot of coffee and wait. And wait. And wait. Of course she doesn’t show. We go to Lenekal for lunch and learn of a message from another board member asking ME when the next meeting will take place. Ugh.

The following week I trudge up to Isangel. The sun is particularly blazing, and the second half of the walk is uphill. I arrive dripping in sweat (it’s not even summer yet!) and upon reaching the province offices I find M.J. walking around the grass.

Me: M.!

M.J.: Hello Brett – you look hot, why are you so sweaty?

Me: Uh…because M.J., I have to walk everywhere. You see how hard it is for me to come up here and visit you? We really REALLY need the COV board to work hard to get a phone installed at the factory.

M.J.: Yes, it’s true.

Me: So… you didn’t come to the factory last week. No big deal, just tell me the date you picked for the next board meeting.

M.J.: I don’t know.

Me: You don’t know? Well… just pick a date.

M.J.: I don’t know.

Me: Do you want to have a board meeting?

M.J.: I don’t know.

Me: Aren’t we required by law to have quarterly meetings?

M.J.: I don’t know.

Me: Do you still want to be on the board of directors?

M.J.: I don’t know.

The whole time she is rolling her head back and forth in a slow Stevie Wonder impersonation and my blood is starting to boil.

It is moments like this, later when the white boys talk amongst ourselves, that stimulate us down long and convoluted conversations about development projects, the efficacy and sustainability thereof, and our role in the matters at hand. We have discussed and debated for hours upon hours often only to find ourselves twisted around right back where we started. Usually, and most annoyingly, we find there is no answer to our question. At least no good or acceptable answer.

Sometimes we find there is no question to our answer. If the answer is “a PCV in the field doing development work” - what was the question?

If the question is: “Vanuatu needs development assistance, what do we do?” The answer may be the above. The answer could be the above. But maybe the answer is to ask another question. Like… what would happen if we didn’t help with development? What does development look like when it’s done? Is development culturallly appropriate? Do they want and/or need development? Will development hurt or help?

The questions and answers are mind-boggling and we often find ourselves having moments of inner-clarity which may lead to thinking that the whole affair is useless, that they don’t need us and we may in fact be hurting more than helping. Especially if you look at the big, big picture.

Then tomorrow you talk it over again and you decide that what your doing is important and is, in fact, helping – if only in small baby-step ways.

For business volunteers such as Jeff and I it’s easy for us to say that our goal is to make sure the farmers earn as much money as possible from the coffee industry – that they aren’t being ripped off by the white man, that the factory is running efficiently, that’s it’s all worth their time and energy. With the money they earn we can only hope that they are using it to pay school fees to educate the next generation so that maybe they, the future leaders of Vanuatu, can run the factory themselves instead of relying on outsiders.

This is just a pipe dream, however, as we see everyday the results of the piss-poor education system that exists here in Vanuatu. For all their charm and impressive first-impression abilities, the most educated people often continue to act like 12 year olds.

So then the base of any development conversation, assuming the country has sufficient health needs met, is always going to be education. And if we are just running this coffee industry as a way to get the farmers money to pay for school fees (assuming they have a school nearby, and are actually using the money for school fees) then you may have a “fuck it all” epiphany such as I had the other day.

It doesn’t take a math wizard to realize that it’s much cheaper and more effective to just pay the school fees directly. Forget all this coffee industry crap. This year the combined earnings of over 350 farmers totaled just over 5 million vatu. Exchanged into dollars that’s about $50,000. In this land that’s a lot of money – but at what cost? By the time I had reached the staging event in Los Angeles before departing for Vanuatu they told us the Peace Corps had already invested an average of $25,000 in each of us. That was before we even came to the country. Between our living allowance, re-adjustment allowance, training, travel, and all the myriad expenses involved in all the support infrastruture in Vila and DC I would guess each volunteer is costing the Peace Corps over $35,000 a year. The French have donated tens of thousands to this project and have had salaried advisors on the project for over 5 years. In effect we are donating well over $100,000 a year to a project that is earning the famers only $50,000. And I’m here walking for hours uphill in the blazing sun trying to get an apathetic local person to sign a bank form so I can pay off a loan so the project doesn’t collapse. It makes you wanna say “fuck it all”, just hand them the hundred thousand in the form of school fees – and while were at it lets give them a quality education.

This isn’t the answer either, of course.

In the US we can afford public education and then we make education mandatory which in turn lifts up the entire society making us smart and powerful. Here they can’t afford public education, and even the schools that the people pay for aren’t anything that can be considered good or effective. And it’s certainly not mandatory. The kids can stop going whenever they feel like it.

And if we didn’t help develop sustainable industries then there would be no point in having educated Ni-Vans to run it. Which brings me to the infamous rub.

The rub to just about every single development discussion that we have here in Vanuatu is that they don’t need it. They aren’t poor (in relative terms), and they certainly aren’t hungry.

If the coffee industry (the biggest industry on Tanna) were to collapse entirely this place would be just fine and life would continue with barely a blip of concern registering on the livihoods of the people who formerly profited from coffee. The truth is they don’t need this. They may want this, but they sure don’t need it. That’s the beauty of subsistance living. It’s the reason they won top honors in a “Worlds Happiest Place” study. This particular study was based on environmental impact and a societies relationship with natural resources. The Ni-Van culture is almost entirely subsistance living and while that might sound sad and poor, the truth is that they aren’t poor at all. In fact, they seem quite rich and happy. You just need to tweak your definitions a bit - alter your ideals about what constitutes relative wealth and how that translates to happiness.

It’s difficult but helpful the realized that if the coffee industry was wiped out the only person that would really be screwed is Terry Adlington, the Australian ex-pat that owns the private Tanna Coffee Company. And he can always just start importing from Papua New Gueni or return to Australia.

Where does that leave me?

The next line of thought is that if they are happy living the way they live and we are just forcing the modern world on them, then what would happen if we weren’t here trying to develop them from the grass roots level?

Well – There’s this:

There is a small (tiny) island in North Efate not too far from my training village on Lelepa. This tiny island has been purchased by foreign businessmen who are turning it into a $40,000 per night ultra-luxury resort that will accommodate one person and six of his/her friends. It includes a multi-level, ultra-luxury, treehouse situated in a giant banyan that has, on the tips of it’s highest branches, a six-person hot tub. The staff of maids and butlers, including a private world-class chef, will visit you in advance to determine your tastes, preferences, and styles so that when you arrive you need bring just one small bag of clothes. Everything else will be shipped-in before you arrive and will be exactly to your liking. The spectacular grounds have two full-time garderners to keep up the bogus tropical flora, which doesn’t entirely exist naturally in Vanuatu. While some efforts have been made to employ locals during the construction, the long-term care and staffing of this ten-star business will require highly trained individuals that simply don’t exist in Vanuatu. In other words, very little money will be flowing into local hands as a result of this development.

At low-tide this ultra-luxury resort is accessible simply by walking across knee deep water to the mainland of North Efate. Of course the resident of the island will have a luxury watercraft to ferry him or her across the water. The problem, however, is what to do with the unsightly village that lays just across this water and is in full view of the resort? What to do with all the locals that use the North Efate coastline for bathing, cleaning clothes, fishing and general enjoyment?

Purportedly, the businessmen crudely offered the villagers a lump sum payment of 4 million vatu to move the entire village back into the bush a few kilometers so it would be out of sight for the resort. Remember that 4 million vatu is about $40,000. And the locals NEED regular access to the coast. The village chiefs, thank god!, declined the offer. But this won’t stop the offers, always an embarrassing and offensive low-ball, from coming in all directions.

And this is why I, and others like myself, are here. We need to help them help themselves before others come along and take advantage of them.

If this means Peace Corps needs to run the factory for the next few years so that farmers have a reason to hold onto their land for another generation or two (if nothing else) then so be it.

In the end if the whole world goes to shit, but the Ni-Vans each have a little bit of land, then they’ll be just fine.

[PHOTO: A moonrise above my bungalow - one of my favorite photos]