From Biu, Nigeria - and on Election 16

Hello again, faithful readers (ahem, Mom and Grandma)

I haven't posted in a while. Years, in fact. And I've had a half-year deployment in Nepal in the mean time, so I've truly let you down. And by "You" what I really mean is the evenings of wine-drenched narcissism I'll enjoy at 45 when I look back on when I used to do cool things.

Anyway - moving on. It is November 9, 2016 here in Biu, Nigeria, and Donald Trump has just hit that magic threshold of 270 electoral votes. And I don't really want to talk about it, or the electorate. Let's instead talk about these geese! They live at my hotel. They're cranky and territorial. As geese are wont to do... jerks.

Actually, I do want to talk about what I'm doing here, which I typically refuse to do. My personal blog is not the right place to discuss the complexities of development and relief work, nor to represent the agency I work for.

But I am going to tell you how I'm feeling, supporting humanitarian work in the northeast corner of Nigeria, working with communities that are violently impacted and displaced by Boko Haram, on the day the USA elected Donald Trump as president . . . how's that for narcissism?

First - perspective: There are communities in the world that spend decades, and indeed entire lives, under regimes that support, and even violently implement, ethnic/racial/gendered discrimination. There are people that will never have the opportunity to vote. And countries where a vote cast is like "declaring war on the ocean ... an exercise in futility" (thank you, Zimbabwe, for the eloquent phrase). We, my dear American friends, are NOT ENTITLED TO OUR DEMOCRACY. It is precious.

At least today the candidate's share of the vote was in the 40s. Not the 90s, as so many "democratic" dictators enjoy. (notice how I can't bring myself to say the name? Maybe if I don't acknowledge it, it will go away ....) In fact, as I'm sitting here writing it, he doesn't appear to have even secured the popular vote.

And regardless, very few people get to experience an Obama. In their lifetimes. And perhaps you don't like Obama, but for me, he's great. Because I trust the heart of my president. Quite the luxury, really.

It wouldn't be right for me to try and fit the people I am meeting today into any of the above boxes. But I know they are IDPs (Internally Displaced People). I know they fled their homes about six months ago. They saw the violence coming for them and decided, for their family, for themselves, that they were no longer safe. And they left.

They missed their planting/growing season, which secures their livelihood for the year. Their children were pulled from school. Their families were separated.

And as they piece their lives back together, my amazing team of colleagues is helping. They are from Nigeria. From this region. They know the context and the needs. They live and breathe these problems. And the help is paid for using US (as well as European) support.

CIVICS LESSON: Remember kids, less than 1% of your tax contribution goes to foreign aid. And today, your less-than-one-percent just secured food for a displaced and conflict-affected family while they prepare for this year's planting season. NOT A HANDOUT. Necessary, temporary support for people whose lives were turned upside down, through absolutely no fault of their own.

Here are some of their kids:

(I gathered this following of cherubims with my excellent supply of silly faces.)

Projects like this make complete sense to me. But will they make sense to our new administration? Early signs point to: "maybe - if a strong enough argument can be made that this help actually counters violent extremism." 

In fact, the aid world is trying to work within an increasingly isolationist and conservative government framework globally. Brexit. The EU refugee crisis. I mean, jeeze. And in my (limited) view, the conversation is shifting from "There's a problem! How best can we help?" to "What's in it for me?" faster than my heart can handle. 

And I keep coming back to the word "courage."

The world is on fire. The problems are bigger than you knew. More real than you knew. Closer to home, than you knew. Social media helps, and it hurts your effort to understand. And what used to be easy to swat away because "oh that happens over there, because they have problems. But we don't, because we [insert trivial and superficial excuse]," sounds a lot more like bullshit now. 

So you hide under the covers. And I guess what I'm trying to say is, I get it.

But you know better, and frankly that's not going to cut it. The world is there. All the uncomfortable parts of humanity are HERE. You cannot hide, dear friends.

So neck deep in the stages of grief, I think I need to look to courage. To lean in to the skid. To get uncomfortable, get out of my echo chamber - have the conversation with my black, latino, LGBTQ, Muslim, refugee, Trump-voting neighbor. Be ready to be embarrassed, frustrated and to learn. To be challenged. 

To expect more from us, not less in the coming years. To walk my talk, and not get isolationist myself in my liberal Portland paradise. To expect more from myself. 

To have courage and to keep working. 

P.S. Dear Future Allie - if you read this and find it insufferable, don't be too hard on yourself. It's been a shit 24 hours.