This is from the week of June 7th. Adjusting to life without electricity in this already strapped for-resources environment means having to roll with the punches a bit faster than normal. Impending deadlines at work make everyone scramble a bit more than usual. I’m struck yet again by just how many people are in the process of coming, leaving, or thinking about one of those options.
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Today started as a complete bust. I and the student helping me had rushed through our breakfast of flatbread and bean soup to get our equipment ready, only to find no cars ready to take us to the field site. Finally we got a ride with a surly geology professor, and after half an hour of bouncing along the dirt roads arrived at the field site. At 8am, the heat was already rising off the green-golden grassland. The two of us dragged our equipment up and down the long walk to the experiment: giant case with a “portable” photosynthesis measuring thingy, car battery to power it, and a light-sensor magic wand.
The plan was to collect lots of photosynthesis data on the grasses here, to figure out why it is that when we have more species in an experimental plot, total productivity rises; apparently the species are each carving out a very specific niche, to take advantage of distinct resource pools. My job was to figure out how they are carving up the light resources in the canopy.
I had lent the machine to another student the day before, and he had gotten it dirty and messed up some small things, so I was already a little grumpy. But here came the whopper: I opened the case and found I had forgotten the cable to connect the machine to the battery. “Dang!” I shouted. No, actually I was quite a bit more creative than that, and my student definitely learned some new English phrases. I stewed on it, and after some phone calls, decided the morning was already wasted. I eventually got myself back to the station (my student did some magic wand light measurements for me), and found out the next clunker of the morning: my room was a total wreck.
Samples and equipment were willy-nilly scattered throughout the room. Wha? It turns out yet more folks were coming to this station, run by the Institute of Botany in the Chinese Academy of Science, and so my room was being “readied” to go from two to five people… and we would have no space to store our equipment or samples. After a frustrating conversation with the impassive dorm-management dominatrix, I returned to sit on it, muttering under my breath.
The whole point of being here (here, actually) is to do some creative biology research on how species interact to drive ecosystem functioning. So far, it has been going great, data are rolling in, and I’m making myself useful to the Chinese researchers here in a few ways. But every now and then, a day like today rolls around, when nothing goes right.
However, things quite suddenly and completely turned around. I spoke with the station director, and hearing my frustration he offered to clear out some lab space for me to store things. Ok: great, actually! Then, I found out that one student in the “good” dorm was leaving, and I could take his place: Even better! When trying to arrange a car for the next day, one driver suggested that I just borrow a car and drive myself, so I wouldn’t have to wait around: Super! Finally, another photosynthemaniac needed some help, and I was able to fix her machine in a display of cleverness and competence: Ta da!
So all of a sudden, a grim, data-less day brightened. A few minor triumphs made up for the day’s false starts.
I am almost all caught up. This post is actually from last week (Jun 30 – July 4).
Co-workers return from their vacations and my fears of a rut are temporarily avoided (but may be multiplied, depending on the outcome of the next sentence). Two large problems present themselves and promise to make the rest of the summer more interesting. I discover Lebanese food and play volleyball in a pool. I also see a bazooka for the first time in my life. Sacre bleu
At the beginning of the week, a classmate arrives for his summer internship, which will involve managing the Humanitarian and Development Partnership blog. My immediate office is now comprised of three Americans, a German and a Swiss. Our office is also used by two economists from Burkina Faso, and one guy from Benin. And after the retreat, I also know more people in the office, so I feel easier and more comfortable navigating the hallways at work. The new house means I’m less isolated from the country and more familiar with my daily surroundings, which is good because it helps make life that much easier. But it does sound a warning bell for me: three weeks in allows time for patterns and habits to be set. When I travel or visit a new place, I think it is important to be open, always, to the newness. To think like a baby all the time, that’s one way to learn.
The work blur comes more into focus, several colleagues are going on vacation so there is a drive to finish and prepare and be on top of things. I take a boat ride. The office goes on a retreat and much is revealed (but not here, bien sur).
I am behind on my entries, apologies. Let me catch up:
And to catch up, let me back up. First, I should re-describe my entry to the country. Following my relief at finding a connection waiting for me at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris, the first leg of my Afriqiyah flight took me to Tripoli, where I was briefly immersed in the crossroads of north and western Africa, with people waiting for flights to Cameroon, Nigeria, and the CAR. Our Bangui-bound flight took off at sunset and flew south over the surprisingly semi-green of the Tripolian environs. As the sun sank, the terrain changed to sand and dunes. We entered a dark cloud for a time, while below the fading sun refracted a million billion times in gusts of Saharan sands, an unearthly pink sunset reflected up at us. Darkness settled in completely and the captain came on to tell us that there were thunderstorms in CAR, but we would continue. Several hours later, rapid flashes of lightening on the horizon announced our imminent arrival to Bangui. For a moment, we passengers held our breath as we headed towards the storm. But when we reached the airport, the clouds had moved on. As we descended close to midnight, the city appeared below, lit up in a kind of threadbare glory. Electricity! Not one but several roads lined with lights, and sprinklings of of blue and orange speckles in the night showing a city spread out and alive with at least some familiar comforts. Above the town, on a hill, a large signed blazed in white but I could not read it.