Lauren Howe – 1st
Quarterly Report – September 16, 2013
Dear Watson
Foundation Family,
It is hard to
believe that three months have come and gone since I left home. First off, I would like to thank you for
giving me this incredible opportunity to spread my wings and explore far
corners of the globe with my project as my North Star. During the last twelve weeks, I resided with
a Tanzanian family outside the city of Arusha, lived in a Maasai boma for a permaculture
agriculture training (where I also learned how to milk goats and cows!), went
on safari through UNESCO World Heritage Sites, attended Tanzania’s largest
agricultural trade show as part of Nane Nane (Farmers’ Day), helped facilitate
a 1,000 Gardens partnership between the Watoto Foundation for street children
and my Slow Food chapter back home, learned how to prepare botanical and
biopesticides, picked up several phrases in Swahili and Ladakhi, lived with and
worked on a small Ladakhi farm helping to harvest and thresh barley, and hiked
and camped in the Himalayas (among many, many adventures).
When
I try to reflect on everything I saw and learned in Tanzania (my first 9
weeks), I become overwhelmed. I have
found it difficult to balance my time, as I want to read relevant literature,
meet farmers, talk to agricultural researchers, explore NGO and government efforts,
and participate in farming activities myself.
I recently listened to a podcast and something the woman said that
resonated strongly with me was about avoiding being the “armchair type” that
preaches sustainable food systems but hasn’t ever gotten dirt under their
fingernails. I fear being that
person.
While
in Tanzania, I felt like I was able to see the spectrum, though not as equally
as I would have liked – with many more visits to small farms and not as many
commercial operations. But perhaps that
is reflective of farming here: many more small farmers using hand tools and
maybe animal power if they’re lucky.
However, large-scale operations do exist, though they are much more
capital intensive. On the high end of
the technological gamut, I saw pivot sprinklers at Hortanzia Ltd. (an
export-oriented farming operation that looks like it came straight from the
American Plains), the BioAGtive Emissions System (“the most cutting edge in the
industry” that uses exhaust from tractors and puts nutrients back into the
soil, rendering fertilizer unnecessary) and Quality Food Product’s usage of
high tech no till seeders and glyphosate for conservation agriculture. These are definitely not the Tanzanian norm
though, and it was interesting to compare the models of a foreign-owned company
coming in and farming large tracts of land (with the help of machines and local
labor) versus a foreigner coming in and integrating their technology and
business models with local farmers.
All
in all, I was able to make 25 productive visits while in Tanzania: 9 NGOs, 3
farmer groups/community gardening projects; 3 cooperatives, 4 research institutions,
4 large-scale/commercial operations; 1 individual doing post harvest processing
and consulting; and the agricultural trade show (Nane Nane). Each person I spoke with naturally had
different opinions and approaches to farming, and I felt like I came away from
Tanzania better understanding the plight of small impoverished farmers, though
I didn’t experience them first hand. I
felt like I learned more about the power of cooperatives in farming: that they
can help individual farms by pooling resources and using collective bargaining
power to achieve many of their goals. I
found myself startled by the apparent lack of education in the farming
population (e.g. about pesticide safety).
Obviously, I’ve always known that slash and burn agriculture exists, but
seeing the burning and charred fields firsthand made it much more real. Moreover, it definitely seems like farmers
here are receiving conflicting information: e.g. that chemical inputs are an
absolute necessity, that tilling is paramount, or that high quality seeds are
the be all, end all. I come away with
the understanding that we still need to take great measures to reduce food
waste – I hadn’t really considered post-harvest processing technologies when I
first conceived of my project, but it’s actually come up so often in Tanzania
that it seems foolish that it didn’t make it on my radar initially. I was also surprised by how little official support
agriculture seems to receive when it makes up such an enormous portion of the GDP
and employment. Despite Kilimo Kwanza
(Tanzania’s national agriculture policy of “farming first”), it seems like the
government is all talk (i.e. outdated research stations and poor farmers with
unfair subsidy systems). I also wonder
and ask who should be “teaching” or “helping” who (e.g. Australian permaculture
training and Dutch-owned dairy cooperative versus Tanzanian-led NGOs). It seems like in some cases, foreigners can
come in and train Africans, who then train each other but the issue of long
term financial stability of donor dependent NGOs is crucial. Though fortunately, through value added
products, groups can generate additional income for themselves. It seemed like the most damaging and least
positively contributing operation was a foreign owned one that doesn’t
disseminate knowledge or technology to farmers but rather uses local labor to
mass produce crops for export.
A
number of questions, largely related to “development,” continue to swirl
through my head including: is food self-sufficiency and localization the answer
or will commercialization and export lift farmers out of poverty? Which models are truly sustainable? How to we define growth, efficiency, and
progress? And are cutting edge technologies appropriate? They aren’t locally produced, are usually
expensive, require technical knowhow, and may be large-scale. The idea of
appropriate technology versus modern is hugely important and was first
mentioned to me by a post-harvest specialist who noted that more often than
not, the newest and most advanced technologies are not made available or
accessible to farmers, so what we might conventionally conceive of as
“technology” is actually irrelevant. The
issue of climate change further exacerbates the problem and may render
traditional farming techniques obsolete and new technologies the only way
forward (though I’m not convinced). My
gut tells me it’s probably a marrying of the two. Gender also complicates my research – how
many and women are participating in farming activities (usually women are
subsistence and men are commercial).
My
meeting with Mick Dennis, Australian farmer who moved his business to Tanzania
10+ years ago, perhaps more than any other thus far, has made me ponder the
tension inherent in my project. This
Emissions Systems Technology seems to genuinely embody the “modern technology”
concept I proposed to research. As it is
a bit abstract and chemically complex, I am having difficulties wrapping my
head around the concept. Mick emphasized
evolution/survival of the fittest in agriculture and the importance of a
creative entrepreneurial spirit in the younger generation of farmers, those
people who are going to come in and replace their parents and grandparents,
bringing with them a revolutionary wave of technological acceptance. These notions are hopeful but also seemed to
directly challenge that which I have been encouraged to believe throughout my
time as an undergrad at Hamilton. I.e.
Slow Food values of looking to older generations and the importance of
safeguarding the wisdom of elders, that traditional knowledge which has been so
successful and paramount for centuries.
But has it been successful? How
do we measure success and sustainability?
The farmers I’ve met in Tanzania can barely afford a hand pump to
irrigate their two acre fields. Some
want chemical inputs but can’t afford those either. If this is how their parents “taught” them to
farm, can we count their struggles as a success? Or have we entered a new age where climate
change, depleted soil, land and water shortages, and chemicals rule? Is this new context making old knowledge
obsolete? I don’t know. I don’t think there is a clear or easy
answer. I don’t think recent trends
could possibly negate indigenous wisdom entirely, as there seem to be basic
farming practices that are reliable, age-old truisms such as crop rotation and
applying animal manure. But only few
farmers I’ve talked to have been trained in intercropping, mulching, the use of
homemade biopesticides, etc. Did their
parents know about these “best practices” and simply neglected to share with
their children? Or have open land and
the freedom to slash/burn/and move on become so acceptable that actively and
consciously restoring the nutrient content of existing soil is seemed
unnecessary? I don’t know. Similar to the way I’ve been conceiving of a
lot of issues recently (e.g. taking both a top down and bottom up approach are
necessary), it seems that this may be a similar example, except involving
old/new: that in the future, soil, climate, and water conditions are going to
undoubtedly change, and new methods of mitigation and adaptation will have to
take place, at least to some degree.
These may exhibit the combination of “modern” technology and traditional
wisdom – that precarious balance that seems like a contradictory and
inaccessible space.
In
sum, I don’t know if I had any burning questions answered while I was in
Tanzania, but rather, my brain has become further saturated and muddled with
uncertainty. If anything, I think I saw
(or tried to see) a good variety of worldviews and each person I meet
challenges me to think more. I saw both the dire reality and also what is
possible given a location and resources.
I also hope to skim the surface less and delve more deeply in the
future. Tanzania felt like a whirlwind,
though a good introduction to farming issues as a whole (seeds, irrigation, synthetic
inputs versus organic, subsistence versus commercial etc.), with one of the
main messages being that climate change and water availability are going to
continue to be extremely influential in shaping the future of farming, as well
as the importance of place-based solutions (i.e. what works in one place may be
irrelevant or ineffective in another).
On
August 21st, I arrived in India, which left me overwhelmed with a
mix of emotions. For all intents and
purposes, I felt that I should hate it here.
New Delhi is crowded, pungent with a mix of aromas (trash, spices,
urine, wet dog, and perfume to name a few), hot and humid, and the honking of
vehicles is pervasive. But for some
reason, I am happy, and I can’t explain my premature draw to this country, the
strange internal pull I feel for it, deep in the fibers of my body and corners
of my heart. Maybe my proclivity for
India is explained by the fact that it is not my first country on the
Watson. I have much to thank Tanzania
for. I think the beautiful East African
country sensitized me to a lot of things: both vacant and vaguely threatening
stares, modestly dressed women, litter and trash scattered everywhere, long
drop toilets/latrines, language barriers, and poverty. And after spending only two days in Delhi, I
boarded a plane to Ladakh, also known as “Little Tibet” and translating into
“the Land of Mountain Passes,” a trans-Himalayan region of high altitude desert
in northern-most India, bordering China.
I have been dreaming about coming to Ladakh since I first saw it in a
documentary film almost two years ago, which made it seem close to ideal for
carrying out my research. Because of its
remote location and hostile environment, it remained closed off from the West
until fairly recently (1974 is when tourism arrived) and the culture really
sits at the nexus of tradition and innovation.
Most Ladakhis are Tibetan Buddhist, which also influences their
agricultural practices (e.g. no use of pesticides because it kills living
things). Ladakh is the most beautiful
place I have seen in my entire life, hands down. The sky is opulently blue, the sun is
intensely strong, the mountains are rugged and snow capped, the inhabited
valleys are the color of emeralds, and the dusty and lifeless mountainsides
resemble a lunar landscape.
I
spent my first two weeks here living in the tiny village of Likir helping a
family on their farm. We harvested peas
and barley using a sickle and stacked the harvested/dried barley into neat
teepee shaped piles called chuks, which was actually really hard work. It felt good to get my hands dirty and we
took frequent tea breaks. And after
reflecting a bit more, I don’t know if I could ever be a farmer or at least one
that grows grain. I was only helping to
harvest for a few hours and the intense monotony combined with the physically
demanding labor was a lot to take in. I
think that the altitude definitely makes is harder because I am out of breath a
lot and relatively little physical exertion leaves my heart pounding. I also think that it would be a lot more
tolerable if I could communicate with the family and friends in the field. Thus, I can see how being here for an
extended period of time and not having a grasp on the local language would be
extremely isolating and lonely. I want
to be able to communicate with these people and I’m lucky that a few speak
limited English, but I’ve felt a bit alone, even when surrounded by
people. Fortunately, with the fieldwork,
once they showed me how to do it, we could all just go about our business and
language didn’t really matter, even though it would have been nice to partake in
their banter. Quickly, I began to lose
track of the days. I think it has to do
with living in the village where the routine of going into the fields is so
constant. I found myself looking up at
the sun while in the field to gauge the time and having no Internet or cell
phone, I was truly immersed. Although
the monotony is killer, there is something about seeing a tangible result that
is so utterly rewarding: going from a field
filled with barley laid out nearly then piles of chuks. We can see what our hard work has resulted in
and then enjoy the feeling of lying down at the end of a long day. Overall, it was extremely useful spending
nearly two weeks living with a Ladakhi family and accompanying them to the
fields to work. I haven’t had much farming
experience and the manual labor felt good, albeit exhausting. It gave me a minute and brief taste of the
hardships and rewards of agriculture. My
fingernails seem to be permanently crusted with dirt, my shoulders bruised from
carrying barley on my back in their makeshift packs, and my arms scorched from
the strong Ladakhi sun. And perhaps more
importantly, I think I will come away feeling like I have a family and friends
here.
Now,
with a somewhat more thorough understanding of agriculture in Ladakh, I feel
more prepared to speak with NGOs, government officials, businesses etc. during
the remainder of my time in Leh. Since
then, I’ve been able to meet the retired civil engineer who invented artificial
glaciers, interview an 87-year-old famous Ladakhi horticulturalist, visit the
Leh Nutrition Project and Ladakh Ecological Development Group, and become
exposed to new technologies such as passive solar greenhouses, micro-hydro
power units, and food processing schemes.
I also learned that it may be the parents and older generations, perhaps
more than anyone else, who are inhibiting the future of farming in Ladakh. As a director of a school, one man commented,
“development agencies and experts did their jobs so well that previous
generations were made to hate farming, soil, and dirt.” So “brainwashed” parents are now impeding the
future of farming – who’d have thought?
And
lastly, I would like to share with you my experiences of hiking through the
Himalayas. The trek felt to me like a
mini Watson lesson: it was difficult to look up while walking, so I had to
focus on one step at a time for fear of becoming overwhelmed or exhausted (we
reached altitudes of 5200 m and walked 15+ miles in one day), and the hike was
simultaneously about the incredible views once reaching vantage points but also
about the journey itself. For the
Watson, I am likewise trying to take things a day at a time and relish the expedition
more than the destination because in reality, there is no “destination” in the
conventional sense, except for the ultimate culmination of knowledge and
experience. I so loved the three days
trekking because it was physically demanding, definitely one of the toughest
things I’ve ever done, which made it all the more rewarding in the end. And even though there were many other people
walking along the same path, plenty of moments occurred during which you felt
like the only person in the world at that place at that time. It was incredible. I’ve never felt so much in the moment,
wanting desperately for the views and feelings to last forever.
These
last three months have brought intense successes and challenges to say the
least. I’ve had my longstanding views
both challenged and corroborated. I’m slow
learning to let go and go with the flow more, which is so against my control
freak and perfectionist tendencies. I’ve
struggled to balance living in the moment with both staying in touch back home
(and assuring my mom that I’m alive and well) and obsessively documenting my experiences. I’ve found myself sick on several occasions,
battling nausea and diarrhea that I thought would never end, and have dealt
with extreme bouts of loneliness and homesickness. But I have also met some unbelievably
incredible, hospitable, and inspirational people who remind me why I am
passionate about these issues. As I
write this, I am currently based in Leh, Ladakh, Jammu & Kashmir, India and
the next few months will bring me South to other parts India, after which I
hope to spend about a month in Bhutan, working with the National Organic
Program of the Ministry of Agriculture.
Then I anticipate heading to South America, where I will learn from
indigenous agriculture projects in the Andean mountains of Peru and Bolivia. Again, I cannot thank you enough for your
continued support as make my way through the next 9 months, navigating and
negotiating my travels and project.
Sincerely,
Lauren
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