WENDY-LINBARTELS
CARE - Eritrea
Report
The sun seared the dry African plains. Camel caravans gathered in dusty riverbeds. Nomadic shepherds dozed in the shade of Acacia trees, one eye trained on their herds of goats. Time stood still in the sweltering heat of the afternoon. Rushing through this vast landscape, our vehicle crossed the riverbed, leaving a plume of sunburned powder that hung motionless over the gravel road. On the way to one of the camps, several kilometers from our destination, our vehicle passed red signs scattered in a patch on the edge of the road. They displayed skulls and crossbones, warning of landmines in the fields alongside. We stuck to the road, despite the potholes.
It took us seven hours to arrive at our destination, Tessenei, a trading post on the distant Eritrean border with Sudan. A distinctly Arabic ambiance envelops the small town, with mosques dotted between thatched mud brick houses. When we arrived, the streets were empty, most people staying indoors to avoid the blistering heat. But as dusk fell, families spilled out onto the streets. Wax candles were placed in shimmering brass scales that lit the central marketplace. Women wandered through the stalls buying vegetables and fruit, whilst men sipped sweet tea at roadside teashops.
Although charmed by the sights, smells and sounds, our trip to Tessenei was not one of sightseeing. We had work to do. I had driven to this lowland region with my boss from CARE International to visit several camps that had been set up to deal with the thousands of refuges that were flooding into Eritrea from Sudan.
The refugees, who settled in the camps, were displaced from their homeland during the 30-year struggle between Eritrea and Ethiopia. Over 160,000 people fled to Sudan when the fighting erupted. Many of these people spent years in camps in Sudan, waiting for peace so that they could return home. For a lot of the younger people, born in those camps and now finally repatriating to Eritrea, this is the first time they are seeing their country.
Getting home is only half the challenge. The conditions they have returned to present a number of difficulties. Most of the camps that have been "prepared" for their return have inadequate water supply. Water has to be trucked in via tankers, at exhaustive expense. People can only buy a quota of two jerry cans a week - for drinking and cooking. Education and health facilities are also poor. Employment and income generating opportunities do not look too promising. For a people who have already suffered so much, it must be a somewhat disappointing return.
"How can countries, scarred by the effects of war, insecurity, landmines, and poverty, burdened with the problem of demobilized soldiers and displaced civilians, be realistically expected to absorb those who return, when they are hardly able to sustain those who remained? " asks Madame Sadako Ogata, former UN High Commission for Refugees. It is a question without a simple answer.
Our trip down to Tessenei coincided with that of a group of around 20 international donor organizations and ambassadors - from USAID, the EU, Switzerland, Norway, the UK, and so on. They were flown into the area via helicopter to observe projects and investigate needs for further relief and development funding. They wanted to see where their money could best be spent. We joined them on this "tour" as they learned about the various programs underway in the area, visiting schools and clinics in the camps.
At the school we saw how children are given a daily "ration" of cooking oil, poured from imported tins marked "USA." This is supposed to encourage parents not to send their children away to work. It is common for children as young as 10 or 11 years old to have to go and find work so that they can support their family. Supplying them with oil or food that they take back home seems to act as an incentive for parents to keep their kids at school. "Food for thought," they call it.
But what will happen, if in the future, donor agencies stop giving money for this assistance? Will parents take their children out of school again? Could the long-term effects be more detrimental than helpful - creating an environment and attitude of dependence? What may seem like a quick and practical fix often has unfortunate consequences. Such was my uncertainty about many of the issues I observed in the world of emergency relief and development. Ways that the international community might "help" a nation like Eritrea, with a view toward the long term, are not as easily identifiable as I had hoped they would be. Things are complicated.
I felt inspired when I saw the promising programs that CARE International was carrying out in Eritrea. I saw hundreds of people given opportunities they would perhaps never have if CARE was not in the country. I wanted to believe that we are doing the "right" thing. CARE strives to establish an environment where human rights can improve, where people are empowered to choose between the potential options that might elevate their quality of life.
The people I met working at CARE (24 national staff and four foreigners), enriched my experience in Eritrea. They were warm, welcoming and encouraging. Liz Simes, my team leader, found the perfect balance between giving me independence and ownership over my work, while at the same time, always being nearby for guidance. She was a remarkable role model and proved to be the glue that kept all employees bound together as a "family." People just loved their jobs. I'd come into the office to smiling faces - to people who are absolutely dedicated to making a difference. I greatly appreciated this optimism.
For the most part, my work at CARE focused on a feasibility study for an alternative energy source for cooking. With the devastating deforestation that has taken place in Eritrea, there is an urgent need for a substitute for firewood. While researching this multifaceted topic, I met people from the Ministry of Energy, the Petroleum Corporation of Eritrea, local NGO's and private industries. Each of them proved to be an invaluable resource for my project and kindly imparted specific knowledge, facts and figures.
Not only was I welcomed into an extraordinary team at CARE, but I was also given a chance to work on several different projects. These allowed me to get a real sense of what the other program areas in CARE Eritrea were all about. For example, I joined the Education Improvement team on one fieldtrip. They were raising awareness with community PTA (parent-teacher association) members about the importance of equal opportunities for girls in schools. I attended a SPHERE Training workshop, which dealt with minimum standards in humanitarian relief. I was also involved in developing a training manual for landmine awareness team leaders that dealt with leadership, management skills and conflict resolution. I worked with Natsnet, one of CARE 's national staff members, in creating these lesson plans. The two of us then conducted a two-day training session for a local NGO.
My internship in Eritrea was successful for several reasons. It presented a great opportunity for personal growth. I was open to every opportunity and spent a great deal of time truly getting to know the people I worked with. I soon realized the importance of laying a foundation of trust before asking questions. I read a lot about the history and culture of Eritrea so that I could begin to understand the aspirations of Eritreans. I listened a great deal. And, although at first I was discouraged when I found that I was generating more questions than answers, over time I managed to be patient with myself and to allow some things to stay unresolved.
I had hoped that my three months in Eritrea would provide some answers to the unsettling questions that I had about my place and responsibility in the world. It did. At the same time, however, it filled my mind with many more questions. It opened my eyes to the full complexity of the issues surrounding "sustainable development."
Photo Gallery
Mutual enjoyment ...
A Tigrinya lady attends a CARE workshop on promoting equal opportunities for girls in education.
A traditional Arabic man from the lowland village of Tessenei.
The marketplace in Tessenei - a spectacle of color and beauty.
The Coca-Cola factory is located just across from the Asmara goat market.
"Always Coca-Cola".
When a guest at someone's house, the ritual of roasting fresh beans and brewing coffee is a ceremonial affair.
I try my best to perform the ritual coffee ceremony.
Despite the government's ban on cutting down trees, piles of firewood can be purchased all along the road, exacerbating Eritrea's crisis in deforestation.
Visited for centuries by traders and invaders, the port of Massawa on the Red Sea has long been a cultural sponge.
Remnants of the 30-year struggle for independence litter the Eritrean countryside.
Hopeful faces of a more peaceful future Eritrea.
A traditional stove - the "magogo" - is used to cook injera, a sour pancake made from sorghum or tef. Collecting firewood to burn as fuel can be time-consuming for women and children.
Cooking oil rations as FoodAid is given to children at school to encourage attendance.
The traditional Eritrean house or "hudmo" requires a large amount of wood to build.