Buy A Leg

Sculpture outside of the COPE Centre, composed of UXO remnants

The COPE Centre in Vientiane is a museum unlike any you’ve likely seen before. COPE stands for Cooperative  Orthotic and Prosthetic Enterprise and is dedicated to the production and provision of artificial limbs and supportive devices for those who have lost limbs or have mobility restrictions. The loss of limbs in Laos has particular prominence in the country, primarily because of the continued presence of UXOs (or unexploded ordnances) in the country.

Some background on this. During the Vietnam War, Lao suffered greatly as a neighbour to the conflict. Bombing runs over the region were indiscriminate in their targeting, resulting in Laos being more heavily bombed than even Vietnam, on a per capita basis. The estimates quoted reveal some astonishing statistics: approximately two million tons of bombs were dropped over the country in the period from 1964 to 1973, enough to average a planeload of bombs every eight minutes for the nine years. The chart below shows the individual target points for each of these bombing runs, with parts of the country turned red by the sheer number of these missions:

 

Of the bombs dropped, the majority consisted of cluster casings that would open and spread smaller bombs (known colloquially as “bombies”), as pictured below:

The estimated number of these submunitions still existing in the country today, forty years after being dropped, is approximately 78 million, and they continue to pose a danger to both life and limb. The number of people killed each year through encounters with these bombs still averages three hundred or more and stories fill the news on a regular basis of the latest deaths. The COPE Centre goes to great lengths to tell these individual stories to avoid having the details swept away by the numbers. Tragically, many of the deaths are of children who discover the bombs and do not know to keep away from them. Those that do survive often suffer horrendous injuries – nearly forty percent of the patients at the COPE Centre who receive prostheses have been injured as a result of contact with an UXO. The issue of UXO contamination extends beyond those directly affected, to the point that Laos has added the containment of UXOs to its list of Millennium Development Goals to be achieved by 2015. The United Nations is working alongside the Government in an effort to help it achieve this goal. But a discussion of the MDGs merits a separate examination and another blog post.

Picture of Survivor of UXO Contact

 

Display of prosthetic legs

 

The patients suffering losses due to UXOs may be the highest profile, due to the sensitivity of the issue, but the COPE Centre also works with those who need assistance due to losses suffered as a result of traffic accidents, diseases such as leprosy and birth defects such as club feet. While the events bringing patients to the COPE Centre are undeniably grim, the Centre exists as a place of hope for those who have benefitted from their services. Such is the case with Santar (with the following story taken directly from COPE’s website – www.copelaos.org):

Since a traffic accident two years ago, 13-year-old  Santar was confined to the house.  Santar had been injured when crossing a road.  His deaf father had called him to cross but hadn’t heard that a truck was coming.  Following the accident Santar lost one leg and the other was severly damaged. His left foot was fixed with his toes pointing downwards so that he was not able to stand or walk. Before the accident Santar was like any normal 8 year old boy who had been attending school and was a very active child.

In Vientiane, local surgeons corrected his left foot.  Then the local clinical staff fitted a prosthesis for his right leg and an orthosis to his left. Over a period of four months Santar received regular physiotherapy at the centre.  As a result of his treatment Santar began to realize that returning to school was achievable and this helped to sustained Santar through the four months of treatment. Now living in Vientiane, Santar is at school studying English, enjoys cooking, swimming, computing and is currently top of his class! No longer the depressed boy we first met, he is now optimistic about his future.

Stories like this abound at the COPE Centre, making a visit here far from depressing. Rather, inspiration can be drawn from both the patients and those seeking to help them.

As with many small organizations, COPE struggles for funding to support its services. In an effort to raise awareness, it has undertaken many different initiatives, including the “Buy a Leg” campaign and developing a line of products, such as those pictured below, designed to raise awareness through their cheeky approach to the issue. I decided against the “Hello Kitty” shirt, but couldn’t pass up on the key chain.

 

 

The COPE Centre proved to be that rare combination of education and poignancy – stories to reach both the head and heart. As a museum experience, I expect it will remain unique for me. For more on the issue of UXOs and their impact, have a look at the following video, produced by UNDP: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RZ9_g0t57e0&lr=1

Hammer and Tickle

“Give me your wallet!”, the cabbie demanded, impatiently waggling his fingers at me. Sitting alone in the back seat of his taxi, I meekly did as I was told. So much for riding solo at night, I thought. As I mentally kissed my credit cards and cash goodbye, the driver rifled through the money jammed haphazardly in the crease of the billfold. Pulling out a 20,000 kip note, he said, “This is what you should be paying me” and handed the wallet back to me. Looking at the meter, the red light beamed “20”, and I realized I was actually receiving a taxi tutorial on Lao currency. “Kup jai”, I mumbled as I fumbled my way out of the back seat on to the street, still shining blackly after the early evening shower.

And so it goes in Vientiane, the capital of Laos, and my new hometown. Arriving with a foreigner’s baggage of suspicion and anxiety, one soon learns to relax, just a little. Though the guidebook descriptions of Vientiane as an undiscovered gem and a bucolic capital are outdated by a few years, judging by the streets swollen with traffic and tourists, the city does deserve its reputation as the most laid-back of all the major cities in Southeast Asia. Walk down any of the tree-lined streets and one is greeted with ancient temples sharing space with pizza parlours and cafes promoting themselves with wi-fi internet and frappucinno knockoffs.

Being surrounded by these Western (as in North American, not Git-along-little-doggies) hallmarks does pose a particular problem for this writer. Inspiration for me came from the unfamiliar, the new experiences that amused me as much as they made me miserable. Living without electricity, finding a scorpion nestled between my feet in the shower, careening on top of a Bangladeshi bus in the pouring rain, being attacked by chimpanzees. Now, those were easy to write about. I moved in to my new apartment in Vientiane this week. Included in the rent are air conditioning, microwave, housekeeping, internet, laundry service and cable TV (with HBO, no less). That isn’t funny at all. I walked into the Home Ideal megastore the other day and was greeted by a display promoting five different kinds of Spam. This place is going to be a challenge.

I had high hopes when I arrived in town. Eighteen hours of flying and crossing the date line had left me hopelessly bedraggled and ripe for being swindled. Getting off my last plane as the clock struck midnight, I expected my visa application to be rejected after an interrogation that would be both lengthy and delightfully embarrassing. Imagine my disappointment when I had my visa and customs clearances in ten minutes. Arriving in the baggage claim area, my two suitcases stood waiting for me, almost mocking me in their banal readiness. At least the taxi ride was bound to be interesting – strange city, a foreign language, the Witching Hour. I ended up sharing the cab with a nice couple who had just opened their own restaurant in the city. Ten minutes later, I arrived at my Guesthouse, with my room reservation still cheerfully honoured. Any hope that I would be able to start my stay in Laos with a Martin-Sheen-Apocalypse-Now-hotel-room-freakout was forever shattered.

Sigh. That’s not to say that inspiration can’t be found. Hammer and Sickle flags fly everywhere, a constant reminder that I’m in one of the last Communist states in the world. And there is an endearing quirkiness to things here to offer a counterbalance to the seriousness of the ruling party. Whether it’s the seafood restaurant proudly advertising its “crap sticks”, the ice cream shoppe topping its “golden sundaes” with kernels of corn or the Swedish Pizza and Bakery down the street, there are plenty of sights to tickle the funnybone. But there’s a significant risk that I could end up, gulp, contented and happy here. I’ll just have to hope that I can find more cab drivers willing to take my wallet.

A Four-letter Word for "Thief"

Given the countries I’ve lived in over the past five years, my time abroad has been remarkably free of crime. Much of this can be attributed to an overabundance of caution that borders on paranoia and the rest to just dumb luck. Expats seem to be especially targeted in many incidents, as the expectation (not incorrect) is that foreigners tend to be much better off than the local people and often are more careless about how they protect that wealth. Given my inability to blend in with any crowd, this makes my unblemished record for protecting my valuables all the more miraculous.

Cameroon seems to be particularly eager to separate expats from their francs. Based on the stories I’ve heard from my fellow volunteers here, I would estimate roughly half to two-thirds have been victims of theft or attempted robbery. Thankfully, most of the incidents have been without violence, beyond the shock of suddenly losing one’s bag, camera or wallet. The majority of the losses come from the usual grab-and-go purse snatchings, but some stories seem straight from action films – robbers working in tandem on motorbikes, with one jumping off the back to grab a computer bag and mounting the moving bike again to zip off with their bounty before the target can react. Others, such as the taxi scam that I mentioned in my post last year, are complex enough to warrant a certain amount of perverse admiration, provided you’re not the mark, of course.

Much of the crime seems to be centred on the capital city of Yaounde, which makes sense, given the number of foreigners living and working there. My own city of Bamenda seems to have fewer cases, though the aforementioned taxi scam does seem to be something the city can proudly claim as its own invention, as I’ve only heard of it happening here. Regardless of the location, two times of the year have been repeatedly highlighted to me as the worst for theft: the beginning of the school season and Christmas. Parents desperate to cover school fees and materials for their kids will steal to get them what they need, conveniently skipping that day’s lesson on morality. And Christmas is known as the season of giving, whether the chump wants to or not.

My trip to Limbe was at the end of October, safely nestled between the two expected crime waves to give me the comfort that comes with kids already being In school and the yuletide robbers still to realize their need for some last-minute mugging. The plan for our travelling quartet of friends was to enjoy a relaxing long weekend in Limbe prior to the departure of one of our number to South Sudan with MSF. Limbe is a quiet seaside town popular among expats for its beaches and seafood. Getting there from Bamenda is no small trek – eight hours on average, on a bus that would test anyone’s determination to see the ocean. This particular trip turned out to be anything but average, with two flat tires and a driver who liked to support the local economies by stopping every half hour to buy vegetables. As a result, our journey ballooned into a ten-hour marathon that drained us of the initial merry mood that had boarded the bus with us that morning. Of greater concern was the fact that we lost the daylight on our way, meaning that we would land in Mutengene in darkness on a Saturday night, not a welcoming prospect.

Limbe and Mutengene are two towns joined at the hip that couldn’t be much more different. Cinderella had more in common with her stepsisters. But as a transfer point to get to Limbe, Mutengene is inescapable, so travellers approach it as the last obstacle between them and a cocktail on the beach. Since Limbe is such a haven for tourists, it is well-known among the locals that foreigners will be dropping in to Mutengene as well, like so many antelopes at the watering hole. And where there are antelopes, there are bound to be a few predators.

When we finally pulled in to the bus stop, it was well past eight o’clock and Saturday night was in full swing in Mutengene. As Elton sang, it is a night alright for fighting. And drinking. And checking out the new group of people arriving in town.  We unglued our sweaty selves from our seats and stumbled off the bus on shaky legs that had fallen asleep hours ago. All of our bags had been carefully packed away on top of the bus and identifying them in the dark became quite a guessing game. As we stood there and waved off the numerous bags that likely weren’t ours, one fellow made the rounds, shaking hands with the passengers and greeting them. After twenty minutes, all of our bags were in hand, so we made our way to cross the street to catch another bus for the last leg to Limbe. I followed the others, adjusting my backpacks as I went. From behind me, I heard someone yell, “Excuse me, please!” and I turned around to find the same man who had greeted us earlier. I was about to ask what he wanted when he jammed his hand into the front pocket of my shirt and grabbed what was in it. Pausing a second to enjoy my shock, he smiled at me and then ran off into the crowd before I could do anything.

Given what had just happened, I was remarkably unshaken and just shrugged it off. As I continued on to meet the others, I did a mental inventory of what was in that pocket. Travelling on a bus as cramped as we were, a shirt pocket is a valuable storage space, and through the day, I had carried my mobile phone, some cash and my bus ticket there at various times for easy access. But as we had approached Mutengene, I had put all of those things away in my backpack for fear of losing them. So, what had the thief managed to steal? The only thing I hadn’t bothered to put away – the crossword puzzle I had been working on during the trip. I laughed as I told the story to the others, as I could imagine the look on his face when he finally stopped running to check out his loot. And I wished him well with it, because it was one tough puzzle.

The Widowhood Rights Workshops

Over the course of five days in five different locations, we met with over 250 members of the Nsongwa community. Our purpose was to listen to and record the discussions of the people in the community as they exchanged their thoughts regarding widowhood rites and how they might best be changed in the future. These ideas will form the basis of our future discussions with the community leaders and those who may choose to become advocates on behalf of the widows.

Each session began with a brief introduction to the topic of widowhood rites and rights. Sometimes, some improvisation was needed, as on the first day, when we needed to use a junked car as our backstop.

After the introduction, the participants in the workshop were divided into five groups.

Each group had a specific question related to widowhood rites

and were asked to come up

with a series of responses to share with the larger group.

Those chosen as group leaders would record the ideas of their group members for sharing later.

Each group then presented their responses to the larger group and

further points on each question were discussed and debated.

The last day of the workshops was held

at the Fon's palace, where we were

 able to interview the Fon on his thoughts regarding widowhood rites.

The next steps will be to review and analyse

 the wealth of information that came from

these sessions and to prepare for the next stage of discussions with the community.

The PhotoVoice Experience

The first stage of the Widowhood Rites project was a pilot phase implemented in the Fondom of Baba1 last year. In order to judge the impact that the project has had on the Fondom, a group of VSO and MUSAB volunteers visited the Fondom this past week to do an evaluation through a series of interviews with those involved in the project. We met with the Fon, or traditional ruler, of Baba1, as well as other leaders in the community and those who have been involved in the advocacy groups working on behalf of the widows. We also spoke with widows themselves to see how their lives have changed since the advocates began working with them.

An important part of this evaluation was the PhotoVoice initiative. Past participants in the project and current members of advocacy groups were given cameras and instructed on how to use them. They were then given three days to go into the community to meet with the people there and take pictures to show the impact of the project and the challenges that remain for widows. What follows are my pictures of how the PhotoVoice workshops took place.

Prior to receiving their cameras, past participants met with VSO and MUSAB volunteers to discuss their views of what has happened in their community over the past year with respect to the experience of widows.

Cameras were then provided to pairs of people who would work together over the following three days.

A workshop session was then held with the participants to teach them how to use the digital cameras.

Those of us wth experience using the cameras then worked with the group members to ensure they were comfortable using them. Zachary was one of the participants that I helped.

Other methods of evaluation also took place during this time.

Here, Mandy talks with

Mallam Ali regarding his own experience of working with widows.

After three days, the group reassembled and the pictures were put on laptops. People were encouraged to tell the stories behind their pictures and the changes or challenges that exist for widows.

Participants were asked to select three of their pictures to share

with the group and also could pick ten pictures for themselves

that will be printed and provided to them at a later date as thanks for their participation.

Each member of the group then took a turn to show and discuss the pictures that they had taken.

The pictures and stories told were by turns inspiring and heartbreaking, as we learned about how much the situation has improved for widows and how much is still needed to be done.

The daughter of one of the group members kept us all entertained during the sessions.

The assembled team of PhotoVoice participants.

It was a great experience to work with so many people

who are passionate about helping their community.

Harvest Ceremony in Chomba

A village on the outskirts of Bamenda, Chomba celebrates the contributions of the women in its community through an annual harvest ceremony. Women from the village bring a portion of their harvest to the palace of the Fon, and in return, they are given food and drink and an audience with the Fon if they have concerns to share. As one of the Fondoms being considered for the Widowhood Rites project, a group of VSO and Peace Corps volunteers had visited with the Fon the previous day and we were invited to return to participate in the harvest ceremony.

The Fon of Chomba on his throne.

Preparing the food to be shared with the community.

Beans, corn, chicken and eggs were on the menu.

Palm wine being prepared. Very strong - I limited myself to two glasses.

VSO volunteers Mandy and Marja

and Peace Corps Volunteer Ben enjoying their meal.

After the meal, the Fon gave a speech and went

to the monument that represents women to pay his respects.

The ceremony ended with all of the women coming together

 in a traditional dance.The Fon and the volunteers also joined them.

More of the dancing.

One of the dancers encouraging the volunteers to join in.

Signs, Signs, Everywhere Signs

Attendance at this year's fair is expected to reach an all-time high.

I wanted to go in, but I wasn't sure if they would like me as a customer.

For some reason, sales of Masarch seem to be off.

For those who thought pliers were their only option.

The good doctor's techniques were rumoured to be somewhat invasive.