I’ve finally made the move to a more sensible domain name - http://devonwhittle.com (no more confusion over who James is), and I’ve also found a great new theme that I installed at the same time.

More importantly, the domain change means the RSS feed has changed. This may be the last post you see unless you change your RSS subscription to point to here. Things might still keep working without the change, but better to be safe than sorry.

Things might pick up here after Christmas, but I’ve got 12,000 words to write for university before then, so busy enough right now to not think about blogging.

New domain, new theme, new RSS feed is a post from: Devon Whittle. You can contact the author at devonwhittle@gmail.com.

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My six months in Arusha are now over, and Clare and I are almost in London (although with nowhere to stay yet). The ICTR was amazing, hopefully I’ll post more on that in the future depending on how crazy school work is. And CTLS looks like it will be very exciting (but busy) – it’ll be nice to be studying again.

Currently we are visiting friends in Lecce, Italy. We get back to London the day before classes (bad planning on my part) and have a few house inspections lined up. Plus I’ve got less than a fortnight to make my paper on frivolous motions at the ICTR shine (any suggestions?).

If you’re in London, let me know and, if I’m not too stressed out, we can meet up for a coffee. We’ll be there until December.

Ciao!

Bye bye Arusha, Hello London (via Italy) is a post from: Devon Whittle. You can contact the author at devonwhittle@gmail.com.

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1. First week in Arusha
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Unfortuneately, due to the rush, it wasn’t exactly the best haircut I’d ever received and so I’ve been wrestling with a head of uneven hair ever since.

image source: willpate
So today I found a local hairdresser (and masseuse according to the sign on the door) and got a haircut.

I walked in, asked “Shillingi ngupi?” and was told it would cost about AU$5 for a haircut. Though I’m a terrible bargainer I had been told that I shouldn’t pay more than AU$3, and around AU$2 is a reasonable price. So I offered AU$3 – which he immediately accepted. I probably could have gone for AU$2, but I’m a terrible bargainer and didn’t want the man holding the scissors to have any feelings of resentment towards me.

When my German friend attempted to get a haircut here in Arusha the lady was too shocked that a mzungu would even ask for a haircut to do anything. She shook her head and told him “No, I can’t!” He offered her money but she still said no and when he asked her where he could go for a haircut she said that no-one in Arusha could cut his hair! He somehow managed to convince her to try and she took out her scissors and warily snipped one lock of his hair. She then returned the scissors to her belt observed her handiwork cautiously before withdrewing them for another attempt.

Needless to say not much of his hair was cut during that expedition (despite it costing him AU$10).

My hair cut was a rather different affair. The barber fluffed up my crazy mixed-race hair and expertly removed the lot of it. It seems that barbers here specialise in the buzzcut – the few mzungus that have gotten their hair cut here have all returned with a faux-military look.

I think my barber might have been a bit surprised when he started cutting my hair as even though my skin is darker then the average mzungu, my hair left Africa a long time ago. Not only are my genes a motely arrangement of German/French/British/Zulu, but my youthful experimentation with hair straighteners hasn’t been too kind on my follicles.

We had a few hiccups as my hair jammed up his buzzer, but, apart from his inability to remove my sideburns, I think it came out looking all right. Although I don’t think I’ll be posting photos anytime soon.

Today I got a haircut is a post from: Devon Whittle. You can contact the author at devonwhittle@gmail.com.

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There’s the Human Rights Majors: first year (hopefully no later) law students who’ve discovered human rights and want to help lock up the “evil genocidaires” as quickly as possible and for the longest time possible. Usually completely oblivious to the fact that the accused has human rights too. They are relatively unharmful as long as they stick to the Office of the Prosecutor and aren’t found working in Chambers.

Then you have the Here for the Safaris intern who come for two months tops (and sometimes less), spends most weekends on Safari, most Thursdays at Via Via and most Fridays complaining about their Via Via hangover. Happy to fix typos for their entire internship, as long as they only have to work three days week. They are only really annoying when you need to compete with them to get a spot on the free UN flight to Rwanda.

Next are those that are Here for the Long-Haul, one of my favourite types of interns. They come for three months, extend their internship to six months, and now, nine months later, might leave…as soon as their trial finishes (or they manage to snag a paid job here). These interns quickly become the veterans who know everything there is to know about the Arusha/ICTR/UN/Rwanda and learn to resent the coming and going of all us ‘newbies’ (and our constant questions).

There are also the interns who were Expecting New York and didn’t realise that Arusha is not New York City, even if we are working for the UN. They enjoy complaining about power outages, lack of hot water, lack of internet, bad food, dust, dalla-dallas, AK-47s, hot days, cold days, cramped offices and the pole pole pace of things. Also liable to have a paranoid fear of being robbed, being ripped off, using taxis, walking, dalla-dallas, getting food poisoning from fish/milk/the locals or contracting malaria. It is also almost guaranteed that something awful will happen to these people.

Finally there’s the interns that Would do Anything for a Job at the ICTR. These interns really, really, really, really, really, really want to work in international law and willing to do anything to make that happen. Unlikely to share work, tips or food with you, very likely to work overtime and most weekends.

I’m not sure which stereotype I am. After five months I’m probably leaning towards the crotchety old long-hauler complaining about all these newbies ruining my office and front lawn. But I’ve done enough complaining about the internet and offices that I must have a streak of New York-envy in me.

Five Stereotypes of ICTR Interns is a post from: Devon Whittle. You can contact the author at devonwhittle@gmail.com.

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photo source: loukreu
On a few occasions, I have struck up a conversation with someone on the street, only to then have them try to sell me something for the next fifteen minutes, during which time the price drops from $25 to $5 as long as you keep saying you don’t want it. At the end of that sort of hard sell it can be hard to say no (we have one dodgy painting in our apartment from this tactic so far).

While it’s easy enough to just walk fast and ignore them and the paintings, newspaper, maps and jewellery that they are selling, it’s hard not to feel rude doing this sometimes.

After three months here, my wife and I are well known enough so that most hawkers don’t bother trying to sell stuff to us on the streets, and the people we see at the market are now comfortable striking up a conversation with us (and giving us non-exploitative prices). In fact, Clare has even managed on a few occasions to sit and chat with some locals after doing some shopping at the markets. Her knowledge of Kiswahilii probably helps in that regard too.

I’ve been told off twice now for being “too busy” and for not replying to a Mambo. So maybe I need to start practising my Kiswahillii – Poa (cool) and hapana sante (no thank-you). Hopefully I won’t be coming home with a too many more dodgy paintings bought at crazy prices.

Saying hello to the hawkers is a post from: Devon Whittle. You can contact the author at devonwhittle@gmail.com.

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It came speeding at me from down a pot-holed, dirt road. My first encounter with the this side of the aid agency world.

Back home in Melbourne, we usually see aid agencies via their marketing machines. Glossy brochures, flashy websites, appeals for donations. In Tanzania, I’ve been able to get a small insight into another perspective – not aid agencies as marketers, but as social welfare agencies.

I haven’t seen any advertisements for sponsorships or donations, or seen any tele-thons, but I have heard one 12 year old boy talk about how great his Canadian sponsors were because it meant he could go to school and maybe study law one day.

I’m not sure that this means much beyond being my anecdotal experience of living outside of a ‘donor country’, and it certainly isn’t enough to change my views, for example, against traditional child sponsorship, but I found it encouraging, especially given how maligned aid agencies are and how easy it is to find fault with them.

World Vision is more than fundraising is a post from: Devon Whittle. You can contact the author at devonwhittle@gmail.com.

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We live on a street about a 20 minute walk from the city centre, so that probably explains part of the problem, but it also seems that either the locals don’t mind the constant noisy interruptions to their lives, or there is nothing they can do about it.

First, There’s the prayer call, which begins at 5am. It’s pretty loud but often melodic, so usually easy to sleep through. Worse is the habit of local street vendors to use megaphones attached to some sort of tape deck to spruik their products. They set the volume at somewhere past 11, resulting in a garbled, distorted mess of noise broadcast up and down the street. Worst of all is when one of the local radio stations is broadcast over loudspeakers. It always sounds like a combination of crazed speeches and a government propaganda machine – and it feels like the speaker is directly facing at our window. Though it’s all in kiswahili so who knows what they’re saying.

Beyond the abuse from loudspeakers, there is also a range of automotive sounds to put up with too. None of the cars and motor cycles here appear to have mufflers, and drivers also seem to enjoy revving their cars, trucks and transports up and down our road as they try to get up the hill with an overloaded car or truck. The extra weight results in the engine working overtime, producing a massive haze of smoke and noise. The cars also insist on using their horn as their main form of communication. There is one notorious dalla dalla that insists on hooting their horn for about 20 minutes outside our apartment at 7am for no apparent reason.

Finally, the dogs, which sleep throughout the day, roam the streets at night time, creating their own cacophony of barking, growling and fighting. While during the day you wouldn’t think the street was overrun by dogs, judging by the night time sounds there must be a serious over-population of fighting animals here (another reason not to walk the streets at night).

Even with all of the above, though, it’s been a while since I’ve been woken up by noise during the night. A combination of late nights, early mornings and long walks to work appears to have made me slightly more impervious to sleep disturbances – plus consumption of the bastardised ‘gin’ known as Konyagi has been known to help in this regard too.

Tanza-noise-ia is a post from: Devon Whittle. You can contact the author at devonwhittle@gmail.com.

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It’s been hard to find the time to keep updating this blog, especially with confidentiality requirements that means I’m unable to post about the most interesting topics I deal with, but I’ve been doing a lot of tweeting lately, so you could check there if you are interested in a more real time update.

Now tweeting live from Arusha, Tanzania is a post from: Devon Whittle. You can contact the author at devonwhittle@gmail.com.

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Sometime between 7:30AM and 8:00AM – Either get on the UN shuttle or start a 15 minute walk to the ICTR (let’s hope it’s not raining).

8:20AM – Arrive at the ICTR and quickly move through the ‘security checkpoint’. I’m not sure if sometimes they turn the big scanner off for me, but I’ve had keys, a phone and a massive metal belt buckle all pass through on some occasions with no issues. Also, one Sunday there was no-one manning the checkpoint so we waltzed through without issue.

8:25AM – Pass through the many swipe pads and lock doors and get to my desk on the second floor. The lights can’t be turned off as the office with the light switch is locked and the air-conditioner, though at one point we had it fixed, has failed again.

Before 9:00AM is when the internet is fastest as everyone is still getting to work, so I hurriedly check my e-mails, Facebook and Twitter and maybe even try to upload some photos if I’m feel particularly patient.

9:00AM – Now I’ve actually got start work. In my first two weeks there wasn’t a whole heap to do, but now things are slowly ramping up. So far I’ve had research tasks – e.g. how the Chamber has previously dealt with a certain motion; going through transcripts tasks – e.g. to take notes on witness testimony; and general administrative tasks like compiling a series of reports done by the interns on a recent Chambers’ retreat.

A substantial portion of this work time is also spent struggling with my computer and extremely slow internet connection.

12:00 – Time for lunch. This can vary from a trip out to ‘Immigration Café’ (TSH1,500) or Masai Café (TSH6,500) or maybe even Picasso’s Café (only if I’m feeling particularly generous to myself, TSH10,000). Or it’s avocado and peanut butter & banana sandwiches, samosas (TSH500) and some cake (TSH1,500).

And then it’s back to work for another few hours. I’m now on to actually drafting decisions on motions, which is quite exciting and at times overwhelming when you think about what it is you are writing.

5:30PM – Head down to the UN shuttle departure area and try to work out if any shuttle is going near Fire Rd. This usually takes upwards of half an hour and is very frustrating. I also once took a shuttle that went in an entirely different direction and it ended up taking about an hour to get home. These days I’m usually too frustrated to navigate the shuttle maze and end up taking a brisk walk home. Brisk walks are better than slow walks as they signal to the street hawkers that you won’t be buying any of their artwork today, although now many of them remark to me how I’m always too busy.

6:00PM – Home again, but not before I pick up our five liters of drinking water (TSH1800) to last us through the next two days.

A typical day in Arusha is a post from: Devon Whittle. You can contact the author at devonwhittle@gmail.com.

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What follows is a brief overview of our first week.

Day One

We landed at Kilimanjaro at about 11am in a small little Precision Air plane after a one hour trip from Nairobi. Kilimanjaro Airport is a fantastically small airport that is little more than a departure area. We lined up for our visas – “Australia? Kangaroo?” – paid our US$50 and were on our way. I’m sure glad we waited until we got to Tanzania to get our visas too, our Canadian friends ended up buying visas three times! Once in Canada, once at the border, and once more as they needed to get ‘volunteer’ visas to be able to volunteer in Tanzania.

We then loaded ourselves into a waiting minibus and were taken on a ride from Kilimanjaro Airport to Arusha. The airport seems to be right in the middle of nowhere, a one hour drive from Arusha, surrounded by nothing but the occasional dilapidated house or wandering donkey. The roads rapidly filled with people and cars as we approached Arusha, and we got our first taste of a ‘complimentary African massage’ – the government had recently installed insanely big speed bumps on the main highway after a bus ran off a bridge killing over 15 people. Along the way our driver also gave us our first Swahili lessons. Donkey is “ponda”.

Finally we arrived at BaseCamp Tanzania. A Canadian guest house for volunteers. It was a sleepy Sunday, but we still got to know a few of the extroverted Canadian volunteers – who were doing everything from teaching in schools to training pharmacists! They took us out that very night for a Tanzanian BBQ at Khan’s BBQ/Auto-mechanic. I’d recommend the “chicken on the bonnet” plus a passionfruit juice.

That night we realised the mosquito net we bought from home wasn’t quite going to fit over a single bed despite being labelled a “double”. So we had to gaffa tape together two mosquito nets, use our washing line to peg one end up and then make a hole in the ceiling to get the other one up. Plus Clare spent an hour sewing up all the holes in the mosquito net we found in our room. Thankfully the DEET was working well even if the nets weren’t.

The First Week

The next day I jumped straight in and took myself to the ICTR on Monday morning. As expected, they weren’t quite ready for me. After a few hours I managed to get my UN Intern ID sorted and then I was on my way home again because nothing else could be set up until Wednesday (Tuesday was a public holiday).

Monday night saw two Canadian birthdays so we head out to ‘Masaai Cafe’ for some authentic wood-fired pizza. And ’soda’ out of a glass bottle. I’m shocked by how much soft drink I’m now drinking – all because of those addictive glass bottles.

Tuesday as a public holiday, but Central Market was buzzing so Clare and I headed out to try and bargain for mangoes. We managed to get two mangoes for TSH300 – an absolute bargain down from TSH2500! It’s always tempting to stop at one of the street vendors for fruit, but the language barrier, combined with their lack of small change and habit of selecting all the worse pieces of fruit for you, mean it’s often not worth it. The worst part about Central Market is that there is no refrigeration so everything just sits out in the sun. Fruit, vegetables, dried fish. Not only does that mean nice, fresh lettuce is non-existent but also that the smell of dried fish permeates every nook and cranny of the market. Mixed with chicken excrement, it’s one of the more memorable smells of the city.

Wednesday I headed back to the ICTR and got set up with an office, an e-mail address and met the other interns. There’s a few Americans, a Canadian, three Germans and a girl from Scotland. No work to do yet though, that’ll have to wait until Thursday. I spent most of the day reading up on the case I had been assigned too.

I managed to fraternise with a Defence intern over dinner on Thursday night. He’s not working on the same case as me so we should be fine… We had Chinese, straight after the meal one of the regular Arusha blackouts happened. They often occur from 8pm to 8am on weekends, but I guess we were just lucky.

Friday and I am doing research for our case. Not sure how to work out what I can say about here, so that’ll have to wait for another post. Had our most ‘western’ meal tonight – at an Indian place called The Taj. Extremely grateful for good Indian food!

Finally we got to the weekend. I have hazy memories of Saturday, but Sunday we decided to try and find a Church. We first tried to the Lutheran church at 8.30am, but it turns out all their services are in Swahili. We then headed to the local Anglican Church, and arrived about an hour and a half before the service started! But it was worth the wait, a very lively two hour service with lots and lots of music and singing. Although after travelling half around the world, I wasn’t expecting to be listening to a priest from Sydney in Arusha!

That’s one crazy week down, 24 more to go. I’m very excited about working at the ICTR and Arusha is a…livable city (more on that later). Work is now pouring in for me, and Clare has settled in after a bit of a rocky start having to deal with homesickness, food-sickness and recovering from jetlag all at once. For Clare’s take on our time here check out her blog.

While I can’t imagine myself choosing to come to Arusha for a holiday, I think we’ll end up enjoying what Tanzania has to offer – can’t wait for the rainy season.

First week in Arusha is a post from: Devon Whittle. You can contact the author at devonwhittle@gmail.com.

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