Lovely Rita

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Rita Levi Montalcini is no more.
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Rita.
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Tajik reasoning

Saidjafar was the name of the translator.

Because I had no intention to stay in Tajikistan enough to learn Tajik.

He was a Haji, even if very young, because his family was rich and wanted him to have a status in a country where everything lost his meaning.

Anyway. At that time, if the particular curiosity of googlelize ’Tajikistan’ crossed your mind, Google kindly suggested ’Do you mean Pakistan?”.

There were probably more web pages about the pet hairdressers.

Anyway, there I was, in a Niva car, struggling over a Tajik perival, an icy, dirt, not defended mountain pass, watching hundreds of Niva skeletons who did not made it and instead of struggling over it, decided to jump down the perival, ending in a great ball of fire, with Saidjafar, our vodka drunk driver and an expatriate, an American woman who needed a lift.

Well, the two were talking.

Apparently, Saidjafar had two wives. The first one was the official, the second one…was hidden to the first one.

Two houses, two families, to pair of children. And, of course, he was not complaining but modestly explaining the big sacrifices he was doing to give a meaning to the two wife’s life.

”If you don’t get married, for a woman, your life has no meaning, isn’t it?”

The American lady immediately turned to ’fury red’ and her voice to ’piccolo flute’ mode: ”Well, apparently, I’m not married, and I’m completely satisfied with my life, like thousands of other women who had more interesting things to do than call you to ask you permission to go to the market”. As it just happened ten minutes before.

”Yeah, sure…”, he replied with sufficiency and a taste of pity, ”Sure, yeah…”. And I could hear the bullshit before the explosion, ”But, I mean, YOU don’t really know women”. And his voice would have been less compliant with a pampered poodle.

”What do you mean ’I do not really know’? In case you didn’t notice, I AM a woman”

”But you are ONE. While I have TWO”

A gender balanced Tajik celebration

When I was a volunteer

Yes, I was.

As thousands of young interactive people, I felt a boost to travel and DO. Do something. And SEE. See things.

I tried my best. But I come from one of these countries without credibility, and nobody gave attention to my cover letters written in bad English. I’ve studied French…bad choice..

Anyway, to travel and work abroad I’ve to apply to volunteer’s programs. Sometimes doing slave work in xmass time selling lions’ adoptions under the snow thinking to gain a free experience in Africa (that then at the end I paid), sometimes applying to volunteer high fee programs for the salvation or rare species in the middle of high touristic spots.

I proudly can say I did not save the white hand gibbons in Phuket.

Finally, after my sweated degree, I worked for one year for an NGO. They never paid me. But they were also organizing ’volunteers programs’ in Tanzania. And they needed a tutor.

”I’m fucking going”

And I became a touristic guide for young interactive people, whit a strong boost to travel, and work and do something.

Was cool. Terrific and useless.

I really should tell you when I was wanted in Tanzania for not paying a breakfast in Impala Hotel.

Making safaris in the Serengeti was terrific but not satisfactory. I mean…naked, sick and malnourished children were still asking for a fucking kalamu (nothing more than a pen), and my volunteers were seeking for a cow-bone souvenir.

Internet was still a new stuff, but I was so lucky to find a master whose name was so sexy: water management and territory use in developing countries.

I came back to study for one year, after which they sent me as an interim (a voluteer) in: TAJIKISTAN.

call me tony

Don’t call me volunteer, don’t even try.

I’m a professional; I must be, to build aqueducts in developing countries.

Let’s be clear. Most of the times I’m even against volunteers. Especially those unskilled who go to ”Africa” (just to be unpredictable and vague) to ”help” poor ”colored” people serving high protein food (like insipid soya derivate porridge) sent by a Sunday church group or a rich female organization, as ’colored people’ are not able to serve their own food.

And you may say: so what? Kenya has no engineers to build their own aqueducts?

Yes, of course, Kenya has. And also many other countries in which ’we’ usually work. It’s, I don’t say rare or even unusual, but it’s accidental to work in a country where there’s no better technician than you. But most of the funds we manage, comes from white Caucasian entities and the donors feel more secure if ’we’ manage the money.

Unfortunately it’s not merely paranoia. I’ve seen in many occasions wonderful projects derailed because managed by locals. For many reasons. And none of them contemplate stupidity or lacking of knowledge. A Haitian engineer earns 600 USD/month. Try to give him 3.5 millions. The temptation is tyrant. Especially if they grew up without water supply system at home and they think that wasn’t soooo bad. (try also to give 3.5 millions to manage to an Italian politician. Even if he earns 20,000 EUR/month the result it’s the same. But in this case it’s pure avidity, not the invaluable possibility to change life expectancy for you and all your beloved). Moreover in some places, building an aqueduct is merely political. Maybe the NGO considered a specific community more in need, but the mother of a parliamentary comes from the next village. And he goes to visit the Tanzanian engineer family…Or, last example I swear, you are the chief in command, but many people depend from you. The masons, the accountants, the drivers, and slowly some allusions, some hints, some glances…and you part the cake.

Happened once in Tibet. An NGO fully managed by Tibetans (I mean, Tibetans…not the Sopranos) had to build a school. The Spanish president came to visit together with the donor representative and…simply the school was not there. Not even a stone.

I mean. All the receipt were fake, all the car logbooks fake, the material distribution documents, the reports, the pictures…that’s was not a one man show.

Anyway: ’we’ manage the money. And before buying few meters of pipes, we have to follow some guidelines that in comparison the Bible is a sketchy cheatsheet. That’s why we are professional and why we are working. Of course they check us. But they know, in case, how to find us. And to turn us in pariah of the international cooperation.

I’m not saying AT ALL expatriate are good people. Please…don’t be ridiculous.

I met men with double families (one in Europe and one in Angola), and double children. I’ve met a battalion of women, from Indonesia to Haiti, still waiting for the ’prince fucking charming’ to come back and rescue them as promised.

And I’ve listened stories about drug addicted in Afghanistan and Country Coordinators who sent home solid wood furniture whom supposed to be in some school in Vietnam.

Power junkies, burned out, mercenaries, new style colonialists, Freudian topos…All kind of flavors.

Even people that were probably ’normal’ ten years ago, living constantly in deep stress, with no family support, changing friends, colleagues, language, landscape, house, office, political situation, endemic diseases, climate, tasks, project and donors every four months to three years, became unstable.

And you have to be professional to live like this.

So, don’t call me ’volunteer’. Call me Tony.

And I have the best job ever.