Show us your model

Last night, we watched attentively as some of Africa's most famous football (soccer) legends picked numbers and names out of a glass bowl and, with a transparency we all wish upon the next Nigerian elections, determined the four different groups for the 2008 Cup of African Nations. Niger didn't qualify, yet all of Niamey dragged TV sets out of shacks and into streets and dirt roads to watch the event communally. Starting next January, 16 African teams will come together and battle it out in Ghana's stadiums for one of the most important and reputable titles in the region. Some are obvious favorites: Ghana, Nigeria, Cote d'Ivoire, Senegal... Others inspire more giggles than awe: Sudan (how did they get it together to even have a team?), Namibia (where is this place again?), Benin (we're protective of them, but you have to admit nobody really knows how they made it this far...)

It's going to be an exciting tournament. And we're here to give you a reason to care.

We all know that soccer is more than just soccer. We've blogged about this but smarter people have already written serious books about it before us. Soccer matches and soccer tournaments have triggered wars and taken down military regimes. And more than any other sport - or diplomatic effort for that matter - soccer can bring together Israelis and Iranians, Ghanaians and Nigerians, French and Germans, and Salvadoreans and Hondurans in one same, enclosed space, for 90 minutes... where the only shots fired are soccer balls aimed at soccer nets.

Clearly, what happens on that field and the scores that ensue must have something to do with more than just the individual performance of each player. It's also about the quality of the teams. And that, my friends, can be endogenous (I couldn't help myself) to any number of things...

With this in mind, we present to you the 2008 African Cup of Nations It's-More-Than-Just-Soccer Pool. To participate, simply email us the following information:
1) A written $5 pledge (it ain't fun if there are no stakes);
2) Your prediction rule: this is the rule you will have to commit to for all predictions throughout the tournament. You can choose any factor you believe best predicts victory. This can range from strictly athletic factors (the team with the most players in the Premier League will win) to strictly political factors (the team from the most democratic country will win). Identify your rule and explain it (note: number of languages and female literacy are already taken by yours truly);
3) Make available any external data needed to verify your predictions;
4) Pretend like this is a really cool and witty idea;
5) Do this by December 31st, 2007.

Qualifying teams are Ghana, Guinea, Namibia, Morocco (Group A); Nigeria, Mali, Cote d'Ivoire, Benin (Group B); Egypt, Sudan, Zambia, Cameroon (Group C); Tunisia, Senegal, South Africa, Angola (Group D). Games start January 20, 2008.

Good luck - and may the best empirical model win.

Congratulations, Al Gore and the IPCC!

Gore is a class act. He hardly even smiled at his press conference, and I have to believe it's because he knows that the work has only just begun; he's only just gotten people's attention. Violence and petroleum-use-based climate change are indelibly linked in a way that those of us who are wealthy-enough-to-choose-green fail to grasp, and I believe the Nobel committee was right - if not downright visionary - in giving Gore and the IPCC this year's Peace Prize. Explicitly making this link between climate change and peace, on all levels, is the critical next step in the process of fighting back.

If we are serious about building a peaceful world, we need to do more than raising awareness and changing the habits of the developed world: we need to find and encourage alternative development paths worldwide. Sure, we talk about the role of oil in Iraq and Darfur. But our consumption patterns are not just devastating on the state level, they have framed a pattern of development that is destroying individual lives and creating conflict on all levels, down to the tiny villages of West Africa.

Al Gore knows this.

After all, Gore, Thomas Freidman, and their colleagues are good guys: they never fail to address the relationship between climate change and poverty when they talk about our oil addiction and its environmental consequences. Thanks to them, we are all aware that climate change, wrought largely by developed nations, disproportionately affects the world's poor. Global agriculture and aquaculture have been altered in measurable ways, with devastating implications for those engaged in subsistence activities.

Unfortunately, until now, that's where their message has usually stopped--with this very *passive* notion of the developing world being harmed by the carbon evils of the developed world. Certainly this is true. And I don't fault the big voices on climate change for their message. They are rightfully focused on global stewardship and what we can do in the developed world to start fixing the situation; they also know that it would be both unfair and devastating to saddle developing communities with heavy petroleum taxes or the cost of greener technologies. But the message of “it’s the developing world’s responsibility,” while correct in what it asserts, silently endorses the standard “petroleum path” for developing communities.

This is unhealthy, unwise, uncreative, and – most important – unnecessary. The “petroleum path” is scary, and not just from the climate-change perspective. Sure, the Sahel is drying, and the farmers in the region will soon be facing adapt-or-perish pressures. But the most frightening manifestation of oil-addiction here is not the lengthening of the dry season; it’s what happens when an oil truck goes off the road.

You’ll know you’ve come across this scenario because for miles leading up to the truck, you’ll see people of all ages running towards the scene, carrying jugs, bowls, even thermoses. As you get closer, you’ll see people who look, well, wet…the smell will hit you just before you see the truck itself, and then it will all be clear—women, men, and small children are literally coated in gas as they climb over each other to pound holes in the tank and siphon off the contents.

Tom Friedman, gas here actually *is* $5 per gallon, forget any carbon tax. It’s all smuggled in from Nigeria and sold at roadside stands in old booze bottles, filtered (if you’re lucky) through an old tee-shirt. For people living on less than a dollar or two a day, it's the quickest money-maker around, so can you blame them for sending their 6-year old into the fray? Can we really expect people to restrain themselves and to think about last year, when a truck in the same situation went up in flames near Nattitingou, killing over 300? Of course not. On the way out of Cotonou a few months ago, I saw another gas truck that had gone off the road only minutes before. The driver and crew were staking out their turf around the tank, but it was only a matter of time until they'd be overrun, perhaps killed.

What’s the root of oil-addiction at the bottom of the pyramid? There are over a billion people (that's another China, my friends…) who don't have, but desperately want, access to the development opportunities afforded by electricity. What are the options for electricity in remote villages? Today, it's wait for the grid or buy a generator. The sad reality is that even if governments had the resources to expand grid infrastructure to many of these places, there's simply not enough power to go around. Most of electrified West Africa is well-accustomed to rolling blackouts. And so people are clawing past each other to find gas to feed their generators.

Do you blame them? Think about what it means to have a health clinic with lights and outlets (or imagine the converse). Think about what it means to be able to keep street shops and markets open at night thanks to streetlights. Think about what it means to have a pump on a well so women can engage in small commercial activities and girls can go to school instead of fetching water all day. Think about what it means to be able to do homework without hunching next to a tiny kerosene lamp (if you’re lucky enough to have one). Think about what it means to have phone service. Electricity provides a path out of poverty; and right now in the desperately poor villages of West Africa, this translates into oil greed of a variety never talked about in the climate change discussion. While the developed world is finally getting serious about changing our energy habits, the developing world is going down the same old path...only it has gotten even more dangerous.

So, as we environmentalists bask in the glow of the Nobel announcement, I submit that this is the moment for the response to climate change to expand, not settle. Yes, we need state-level change and top-level policy in the developed world, and that has now been acknowledged at the highest level. But we also need to intervene at the bottom, to innovate and create and start moving everyone away from the standard petroleum path. If in 20 years we just have another generation of war-ravaged nations to wean off of oil, this year's Nobel may be in vain.

Le Monde est Petit

Certain things are universal. I wouldn't go so far as to call them "truths," but there is an order to the cosmos on a scale somewhere between electromagnetism and gravity...let's say, oh, at the length of about a meter. That's right; the human scale. People are neither electrons nor rocks, but there are some incredible patterns to humanoid behavior in need of some explanation. To wit:

(1) Celine Dion. The woman is everywhere. Urban African restaurants, rural African radio, New York, the Mall of America (oh yes, I did), dentists' offices, airplanes, the Burney family backyard fireworks displays...she is loved by all, even those who claim otherwise. And she apparently mediates all human interaction, bringing the world closer together. Physicists have long been trying to reconcile forces at the atomic scale with forces at the cosmic scale. Perhaps we have found a missing piece?!? The gluon, the photon, the Dion, the graviton...

(2) Gendered Toilet Behavior. I thought it was a suburban American joke, those silly men who won't put the seat back down. Maybe they're macho; maybe they're just forgetful...but they certainly aren't the norm, right? Wrong. Even in the land of pit latrines, men are men, and women are left to clean up the mess. Recently in Kalale, we had an incredible opportunity...a BRAND NEW LATRINE uninfested by roaches. Yes, it was just a hole in the ground, but a *nice* one. The universal truth about roaches is that it's quite easy to keep them out, but almost impossible to get rid of them once they invade. The trick with a latrine? All you have to do is COVER THE HOLE. Now, is that really so difficult? Apparently it is. One month, and our nice new latrine is just as disgusting as any other, even though I lectured and begged and took to stalking in after the boys in a desperate attempt to stave off the inevitable. I'm trying to see this as a sign of higher order, but it hurts. Especially at night.

(3) Suicidal Insects. In the small slice of West Africa that we've seen, I routinely marvel at the speed with which an insect will die in whatever liquid you have recently left uncovered, be it a beer, a laundry basin, a bowl of soup. I thought this must be the Africa dummy at work, but, being a meticulous scientist, I realized that this merited an experiment in the States in September. So I took the paper and a glass of juice outside. BAM! Dead fly. Several iterations of this revealed that the average time of suicidal invasion is longer in the US than in Ghana, Benin, or Niger, but I believe this can be explained alone by the relative density of insects in these places. Perhaps you are thinking, "Hey wait, she was talking about human-scale behavior. What's with the bug business?" To this I have two answers: (a) I am a physicist and this is good enough for government work (especially in this administration); and (b) I AM talking about human behavior...why are we all idiots that keep leaving things uncovered??

(4) Enginerds. Future geeks/dorks/nerds (I am told they're different, but as I am all three, I cannot discern...) of the world are identifiable from a mile away. The air-sucking laughter (with perhaps a snort or two thrown in); the slightly awkward discomfort with looking people in the eye (even when it's not explainable by cultural norms); the outcast status...Oh yes, and of course, the inexplicable and impelling need to build things that roll, even if it is out of old bamboo stalks and melons.



Isn't the world a beautiful place?

It’s Not Just That My French Sucks

The first time I saw the word, it was on a sign over a toilet in Parakou: S’il vous plait, tirez-moi doucement. “Okay,” I thought, “I’ll flush gently; no problem.” The first time I heard anyone say the word, my reaction was, “Aw, now that’s kind of cute.” I had tripped getting off the back of a zemidjan (taxi moto), and the driver and every male within earshot earnestly muttered it together, creating a little chorus of “Doucement”s. It made enough sense, but diligent student that I am, I looked it up to be sure and then contented myself with a revised understanding that the word meant something more like “Careful!” The next time I heard it, I’d just broken my clothesline, so when a neighbor-of-whom-I-am-not-so-fond-and-vice-versa called out to me, I thought she was rubbing it in. I wanted to yell back, “Doucement yourself, you big jerk…And stop stealing my clothespins and send your daughter to school!” Fortunately, I held back…because the next time was after a young boy, looking the other way as he chased a flat soccer ball, had run smack into me. “Doucement, eh?” he said, looking up at me with big guilty eyes and waiting for my response. Part of me thought, “Were you raised in a barn?!? You don’t hit people and then lecture them about being careful!” The other part of me, though, had a sneaking suspicion that he was trying to apologize and that this word was more versatile than I had imagined.

It’s been a problem for me this entire year, in both languages. It’s not just that I’m like David Sedaris trying to explain the Easter Bunny to Eastern Europeans with a 100-word French vocabulary. And it’s not just the “Garbage v. Rubbish” business of non-American English (though Ghanaians do have a funny way of asking if you’d like to “alight” from the tro-tro here so you can “go-come-back-that-place”). It’s that I am accustomed to life expressed through a colorful, if at times inappropriate, vocabulary—one where there’s a one-to-one correspondence between word used and sentiment expressed. My very ability to function on this planet depends on “I’m so sorry”, “Bummer”, “Easy does it”, and “Hey, be careful!” being very clearly distinguished from one another.

But here, so much goes unsaid. Ask for clarification, and you’ll get a verbatim repetition, shrugged shoulders, or folded hands. You’re just supposed to get it, nuances and all. I, normally on the oblivious side even when confronting the blindingly obvious, am completely left behind. The gendarmes don't ever demand money; you're just supposed to know when smoothly bust out your 500CFA handshake. I'm reduced to following the cues of everyone else in the taxi-brousse..."cues" of course being stiff elbows to the ribs and big eyes that seem to be screaming, "get with it, already, stupid anasara!" Trips to customs sound to me like: “Your Excellence, Mr. Junior Rubber-Stamping Secretary of the Application of Tariffs, we are honored to be here to present to Your Most High Benevolence our Association.” Okay, fine, grammatically-speaking, it’s a sentence. But I thought we were here to ask for an exemption?! Where was the question? Did someone ask it while I blinked? On top of it, I know that the letter handed over to Mr. JRSSAT isn’t any clearer than whatever was just said. Somehow, though, at the end of the day, everyone else understands, and the exemption is granted.

I’ve more than once made people uncomfortable because I don’t understand that they are asking me for money or presents: “Do you know about my farm? We grow soy, and right now is when we do the planting and fertilizing.” “That’s great! I love tofu and soy milk! Soy is so nutritious.” Shifting in seat. “Yes, well, harvest time isn’t for a while. Now is when we are finishing preparing the ground.” “Ah yes, I see. How long does it take to grow?” “Well, you see, that’s the thing. I am here to talk to you about fertilizer.” “Oh, well, I don’t know much about the condition of your soil, so I am not sure I am the best person to help you.” “No, I mean, I want to ask you about fertilizer.” “Yes?” Nervous shifting. “That’s to say…” More silence, as I wait. Then the light bulb springs on. I take the lead: “Have you bought the fertilizer?” “No.” “Are you able to buy the fertilizer?” “No.” “How much does the fertilizer cost?” “40.000CFA.” “Do you want me to buy the fertilizer for you?” “No.” What?!? Okay, now I am REALLY confused. In the end, the woman just wants money - for other things - but talking about the cost of fertilizer is supposed to be my cue. Doh!

What's a girl supposed to do? I trust that people here know I am earnest and sincere, if stupid. So I do my best, smile a lot, and try to roll with it. But life has a way of always laughing at you. Just when you think you've gotten the hang of some of this stuff, you buy a 5000CFA ($10) phone card and accidentally scratch the numbers off. As you're kicking yourself for wasting an amount of money that is horrible even at home, nevermind horrifying here, you see the tiny text next the remains of the card number: Grattez doucement.

Merci, I think. Merci beaucoup.

1000 words * 30 fps * 4ish minutes = ...

Hello friends.

Omowe has gone multi-media. Here's a video my incredible sister edited together (but credit where credit is due, I picked the Afro-pop soundtrack) showing the installation of solar-powered pumps in two villages back in August. You'll notice that the system in the first village draws water from a small river. They are fortunate enough to have surface water year-round, and our goal here is to help them use that water for irrigation (they now transport and spread water by hand, attempting to avoid crocodiles in the process). The second village has a severe overall water shortage, so we drilled a borehole with the hope that we can use the water for both drinking and agriculture.

Two-thirds of the agricultural part of this pilot project are shown in the video - the pumps and panels were in and working and we were able to fill the big water reservoirs. I've just returned from another trip to finish the preparation of fields, the planting of seedlings, and the installation of drip irrigation lines. Solar powered drip irrigation is now officially happening, just in time for the dry season. Pictures to come soon. In the meantime, hip hip hooray for veggies.

Thanks for reading and watching.

[Big Important PS: This video was actually put together for in-family viewing, hence the heavy footage of yours truly...it was also never meant to be shown widely, and it's too large to embed directly here, so take care with our little private YouTube link. Unfortunately, the mastermind behind much of the action shown in this video, Mr. Walt Ratterman, also happened to be the mastermind behind the camera. Jokes about soundtrack aside, if anyone deserves credit, it's him!]

Yes! I love movies!