Meeting the Gap

From September to December 2015, I worked as a Project Manager for a UK charity that focuses on youth leadership and sustainable development in developing countries. My first project was situated in Isiquí, a village in rural Nicaragua. The project’s goal was to rebuild the 28-year old water system, thus improving the water quality. The team consisted of myself and  two other volunteer PMs, plus a group of 14 teenage Venturers. Once begun, we quickly noticed that the project was much less effective than expected.

Isiquí, it turned out, did already have access to potable water through water filters supplied by Rotary Club. Additionally, only a small part of the community actually engaged with our work and benefited financially from our presence in the village. In an effort to make the project more worthwhile, we decided to change host families to include poorer sections of the community. Our attempt, however, led nowhere, getting stuck in a web of local political and social ambitions. Having set aside three months of my time to contribute to what I hoped would be a worthwhile effort, I found that immensely frustrating. Isiquí seemed to represent, in a nutshell, what was wrong with what we call sustainable development, and how difficult it is to get help to where it is most needed - even on the level of a single community. One meeting in particular stuck in my mind. I wrote this blog post while I was still offline in Nicaragua.

Meetings, unfortunately, are an essential part of any project, anywhere in the world. This particular meeting I was sitting in had been called by our host mothers, who had heard rumors that we were considering changing host families for the second group of venturers, due to arrive in a couple of days. They were not amused. Taking things into their own hands, they had asked myself and the other two Project Managers, the village leaders Don C and Don H, and a representative of our local Project Partner to join them for a chat on Don C’s front porch. If it was up to them, the host families would remain unchanged.

We started off with greetings, and mutual confirmations of how much we enjoyed each others company. They had loved hosting us and the teenagers for the last few weeks, and we confirmed that everyone had felt very welcomed by the families. That being established, one of the host mothers got more specific. One of the reasons we had enjoyed our stay so much, she explained, was that the process of vetting host families was a long and arduous one, and that only the most suitable families of Isiquí had been selected. The village leaders nodded in agreement. With other families, they pointed out, they could not guarantee the safety and comfort of the venturers. Alcohol abuse was rampant, they suggested, surely we did not want the Venturers to be exposed to that kind of influence, especially since we were running a dry expedition? “Of course not,” I assured them, thinking to myself how strange it was that every other family in a village of 120 households had a drinking problem. Pleased, Don H shifted his weight: “Then why would you want to change host families?” Was it that we thought that the current families weren’t deserving of the extra income, just because they lived in the nicest houses in the village? Surely, we were aware that the stipend of 4USD per day and venturer did not cover the true costs of hosting them. “Yes,” Don C nodded in agreement, “4USD only pays for condiments on top of rice and beans”.

My fellow PMs and I glanced at each other. Truth is, we did not think they were “deserving” of extra income. To us it seemed as if only the richest families in town, all of which were related, had been chosen as host families. And they had hosted Venturers every year for the last two years. As for condiments - most households we had surveyed in Isiquí over the course of the project earned about 3000 Cordobas per month, which equates to roughly 4USD per day. With two Venturers staying with any one family, the 8USD stipend paid by our organisation to cover costs of food and shelter would triple average daily family income. This is why we wanted to change host families - to increase the project’s reach in the community, both economically and culturally. Isiquí does have some very poor households in its midst, which seemed to be left out of that particular benefit our project was bringing to the community. With new host families, the Venturers would experience a greater variety of homes and more locals would feel connected to our work in the community. 

The village leaders, unfortunately, had a different plan. They seemed focussed on securing economic opportunities mostly for a small circle of friends and family, which may or may not have a positive side effect for the rest of Isiquí. Also, there appeared to be little interest in learning how to use their own skills and resources to improve things for the community. The expectation seemed to be that some NGO, one of the many active in the Miraflor region, would roll in to do necessary work: such as building eco-latrines, or installing a new water system. Which is ironic, since those projects involve mainly manual labor and very little of what we would call engineering. Indeed, the original water system we were replacing had been built by the locals. Clearly, with their skills in handling tools and knowledge of communal infrastructure, they would be much better equipped to complete them. At least better equipped than a bunch of teenagers who’ve never used a pickaxe in their life - led by three desk jockeys on a career break, equipped with a manual on gravity fed water systems. 

Upon reflection, I found the meeting both fascinating and disconcerting. There we were, three people trying to “work in development”, just finding our feet. On the other side a community and a project partner clearly experienced in interacting with NGOs, playing the game on another level. They knew how to get development projects, and how to get the most out of them. The water system seemed to be reduced to a nice side effect to where the real action was happening, and there was very little we could do to change that. Once everyone present had assured us that it was impossible to change host families, we PMs grudgingly agreed to review our plans.  “I think that is sensible,” the project partner agreed, “we don’t want to put anyone at risk”. The host mothers and village leaders nodded in agreement. Faced with so much resistance, we felt defeated. Every single alternative host family we had visited and suggested to the village leaders was ruled out as having a drunk in the same house. There was clearly no interest in widening the circle of beneficiaries of our project; it felt as if any attempt to increase its economic reach was thwarted by the community. Sensing our disappointment, Don C smiled: “Please know that we’re thankful for the work you’re doing in Isiquí. It is very important to us, and we want to support you”. For a moment, I felt we might be turning a corner. Then he continued, revealing a glimpse of the grander scheme of things. “For the next project, we’d love to get flushing toilets for the whole village. Maybe you can tell your organisation when you speak with them?".

This is Alejandro (23) with his wife Maria (19), their infant daughter and Alejandro's niece. They live in a section of Isiquí called El Carizo, which is only reachable via a steep, 30min hike from the center of the village. They have no running water, no latrines and the only electricity available is provided by a solar panel. They would have loved to host two Venturers, but our project partner deemed El Carizo unsafe, claiming that "the people of El Carizo go out to drink and party on the weekends".

In Need of Need

Arriving in Isiquí at the edge of Miraflor nature reserve, you’ll have a hard time finding the 120 houses that are supposed to be part of this village. Like many communities in Nicaragua, Isiquí actually stands for a larger area, and it’s census comprises many families that have chosen to live farther away from the main road, up the mountain. The village itself consists of a school, a catholic and an evangelic church, a baseball field and three dozen houses draped alongside the road to Estelí.

Isiquí has a gravity fed water system that is 28 years old and has fallen into disrepair. The water filters are rotten, the water tanks are filthy, the pipes are leaking and many of the extensions which have been added over the years use rubber tubes that are slowly crumbling away. The resulting tap water causes stomach problems. For the next three months, my job will be to update and extend this existing water system. I’ll be working with two other project managers, Pete from the UK and Claudia from Italy. We’ll be joined by a team of 12 teenagers from around the world that are here to expand their horizon and do some good along the way. We’re all volunteers for Raleigh International, a charity which combines sustainable development with youth leadership training. Their partner on the ground, El Foro Miraflor, has sourced the project and laid the groundwork with the community.

The first time I, Pete and Claudia visited Isiquí, we unsure as what to make of it. Here we were, having pledged to dedicate three months of our lives to development work, and we were being sent to a village with running water and electricity. Even the most modest home we visited had a television and a stereo. Colleagues of ours, working on a different water project, found themselves in a tiny outpost of civilization without access to a road, where the only electricity is generated by solar panels and water is fetched from a nearby stream using horses. Something seemed off. Why were we working with a community that had had water for 28 years and had obviously cared so little for it that the system had slowly rotten away? In a village that had seen two previous Raleigh expeditions install 38 eco latrines? Where other charities had rolled through to provide terracotta water filters for each household, only for some families to turn around and sell them or use them for laundry?

One of the eco latrines that was installed by a previous Raleigh group. The lady told us she didn't want to paint it, for fear that Raleigh wouldn't appreciate their logo being covered up.

We felt that we had not arrived in a place of need, but rather in a village that had become complacent in the face of too much aid. It seemed as if people were expecting the next NGO to parachute in and fix any problem the community might have. Don Claudio’s wife, our host mother, noticed that we had many questions. “Many NGOs have visited Isiquí,” she assured us, “we know how it works.” This, of course, threw a spotlight on our predicament. All three of us, though from different cultural and professional backgrounds, had had the same image in our heads. Mostly, it involved us riding on horseback into an impoverished village which was set against a beautiful jungle backdrop, with locals running out of their huts to greet us - the first foreigners visit, ever. We would amaze them with our water system building skills, and hug them as they burst into tears when the first tap was finally turned on after three months of hard but rewarding work. We expected to come home with stories of incredible hospitality, gruesome sanitary conditions, and the suffering we had overcome to deliver water to a village in need.

Instead, Don Carlos’ house featured a flushing toilet (one of two in the village), tiled floors, a bed for each of us, and an air of “thanks for dropping by. The next charity should be here, soon.” However, who are we to assess need on a first sight basis? Maybe the fact that the community has had a water system for so long but has not found a way of keeping it in order is a sign of a deeper problem? Maybe the reality is that, after two projects building eco latrines in Isiquí, villagers still don’t know how to build them themselves?

Our luxurious quarters at Don Carlo's house. His daughter loves hanging out in our room.

Aid dependency is widely discussed in development circles. Unbeknownst to us, our team had found itself looking at a prime example of the the dark side of aid: a community which, over decades of receiving help from NGOs, has developed a mindset which prevents them from taking their future in their own hands. Once several generations have learnt that they don’t need to take matters into their own hand, any sense of active citizenship and communal responsibility seems to vanish. Public goods fall into disrepair, “development” is left for outsiders to undertake.

Isiquí also highlights why development work needs to change. Rather than focussing only on building a sparkling new water system which in ten years will be rotten, we will devote a fair amount of time training the new committee in charge of the water system. We also hope to involve the village in the work we are doing, and raise awareness about water related environmental and hygiene issues. While I’m still not 100% convinced that we are spending our time in the area of greatest need, this episode has certainly opened my eyes to the complexities of  “development aid”. Need cannot simply be assessed from the perspective of what an outsider might think need should look like. Rather, need is defined by context and circumstances. I’m really looking forward to spending time in Isiquí and creating development that is sustainable in the long term.

Claudia and Pete inspecting the rotten water filter, together with Alex of El Foro (our local project partner).