12/5/05

I don't want to feel so cynical and disillusioned about the prospects for development here, but looking around, it's so hard not to.

Marc is reading a copy of L'Observateur, one of the handful of weekly newspapers published in N'Djamena. I'm not sure how's he managed to get a copy from just a few days before, and I'm even more surprised that he'd have bought it in the first place. The vast majority of Chadians' only source of news is RNT, Radio Nationale du Tchad- at 3-500 FCFA a copy, papers are out of the budget range of your average Abakar, Mahamat, Brahim, or Abdoulaye. I sit down next to him on his plywood bench, polished to a sheen by years of visitors, and glance at the article he's reading.

It's about the oil revenue that has gone to the Chadian government this year- 160 billion FCFA, roughly $300 million. In N'Djamena, retired functionnaires and veterans have been protesting regularly, as they haven't received their pensions for almost five years, something that was supposed to be resolved with the turning on of the oil taps. Instead, the money has disappeared, and the government is blaming the World Bank for stealing it- quite a charge from the leaders of the most corrupt nation on Earth.

Marc turns to me. "In your country," he asks, "would veterans and retirees not get their pensions for five years at a time?"

"Of course not," I say, startled. "They'd be protesting in the streets until they got it."

"They are in N'Djamena though too," he responds.

"So why don't they do something about it?" I ask him.

"What can we do?" He answers. It's always been like this, and it always will be."

Stop.

Why do I feel so cynical? Marc's response sums it up perfectly. People here seem so content to accept mediocrity, corruption, and outright failure in every aspect of their lives, just chalking it up to 'God's Will,' that it's hard to see how things will ever change.

The electricity in Gounou-Gaya is a perfect example- there was a huge fanfare last year when the president came to town to inaugurate the new generator system, among other things. We'd have electricity six hours a night, every night, he promised, compliments of the Chadian government. Fast-forward one year, as we're working on our third two-month or longer blackout with no end in sight, and the electric poles are crashing to the ground because they've been hollowed out by termites. Power lines are falling down everywhere, but fortunately, there's no danger, as it doesn't look like the electricity will be coming on again any time soon. The question I still can't answer is, "why are people OK with this?" Why does nobody say, "this isn't right and needs to change?" I realize it's not easy to be the lone voice of protest, but nobody here is willing to be it, so le Tchad falls ever further behind- that's why I feel cynical.

Equally crippling is the lack of innovation, which is particularly clear in a small town like Gounou-Gaya. I'm walking back from the market with Liva the other day, and as we walk, I notice something.

"Liva, why do all the tablettes all sell the same things?" I ask. Tablettes, little roadside stands typically run by teenage boys unfailingly carry the exact same items, even if another stand is an arm length away. You'll always find Le Boxeur Cameroonian matches, FINE (Paris/London) cigarettes (unfiltered or menthol), blue OMO soap powder, cheap Nigerian fruit candy, butter cookies, and bubble gum, along with tiny sachets of sugar, loose-leaf red tea, and Nescafé. The quantity may change, but the selection is always the same.

"You know, if one person would sell tea, another soap, another candy, and another cigarettes, instead of each one selling the same thing, they could make a lot more money," I say. "Why don't they try that?"

"Because this is how everyone does it," Liva responds.

"Yes, I know," I tell him, "and that's the problem."

"Ç'est comme ça," Liva replies. Well, it's like that.

All it'd take is one spark, that one flash of insight, someone saying, "Hey, there's a better way to do this." Unfortunately, that leap never seems to be made here, suffocating any attempt at progress.

I understand, of course, that I come from a completely different world than people here, and I involuntarily bring that perspective with me everywhere I go. I realize that by the circumstances of my birth, in an industrialized, rich, developed country, to a family that while certainly not wealthy at least had enough to get by, I hit the cosmic jackpot. As a result, I'm used to having things work properly, I'm able to take the necessary steps to create opportunity for myself, and most importantly, if I see a better way, I'm willing to try it. There's a reason why so many advancements have come out of the States- opportunity can knock anywhere, but you have to be willing to open the door.

One of the main reasons why this doesn't happen here, and quite possibly the single largest reason why progress is so elusive, I think, is the mentality of tribalism, and the absolute imperative that 'thou shalt follow the group,' even if the group is on the road to nowhere. People here will blindly follow their tribe regardless of circumstances- in the upcoming presidential "election" next year, a candidate from a tribe not far from Gounou-Gaya is running. Whether they agree or disagree with what he says, you can bet he'll capture 99% of the Moundang vote. Why? Because he's Moundang. The idea of not doing exactly what the rest of the group does, of standing out, is all but unthinkable. I was talking with Paul the American missionary recently, and he told me about an exchange he had with a student of his at the theological seminary. They were discussing Descartes' famous saying, "I think, therefore I am." One of Paul's students raised his hand, and said a more appropriate quote here might be, "I'm part of a group, therefore I am."

One of the most common goodbyes you hear here is, On est ensemble, we're together. The constant reassurance that yes, you're part of the group, is essential here. In some ways this is great- there are certainly benefits, most notably a sense of community that simply doesn't exist in the States. The other side of it though, is that the group holds people who might otherwise succeed back, and everyone suffers the loss, knowingly or unknowingly. I want to think that Chad will move forward in the years to come, but with so much working against it, it's hard to see how it'll actually happen...

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