philhollands.com

It had been thirteen years since I last went to a cricket game at the Gabba. Back then a school mate invited me in to see England take on the Queensland Bulls in a day-nighter. Thirteen years on history repeated itself yesterday when a mate invited me to see Australia take on Pakistan. What people find to love about cricket is beyond my understanding. I’ve searched for this passion a few times in the past but have come up short every time. In all honesty I’ve never got into it and it seems futile to try and escape the game this nation so warmly embraces. Since cricket is so engrained into our culture it wasn’t surprising to see people of different generations all eagerly watching athletes who were pretty handy with a bat and ball. Fathers with their young sons, young men turning up after work in suits and ties, taking in a few sips of the amber ale, all the way up to elderly gentlemen taking in a few breaths of oxygen through a mask while bound to their wheelchairs. Is it the game they love, or is it something more?

Although I love my country, I don’t count myself to be overly patriotic. Although we all come from different backgrounds and cultures I count everyone all on the same level. We are human, not human based on nationality. When I was at the game last night I did however feel a greater love for my country when I was seated in a stadium full of people all united for Australia. After this, I guess it was safe to say that people use the game to channel their love for this great land. I certainly did.

As I watched the Pakistani players on the field I was reminded of the cricketers who were fired upon in Lahore last year. I thought about how they are free to play in this land without fear of being shot. As I watched the Australian players on the field I thought about the Australian athletes that are gearing up to play in the Commonwealth Games in India with all the speculation of threats to their safety hanging over their heads. Yet, in this land these Australian athletes are free.

By the time the skies overhead transformed into night I had well and truly lost that zeal I had for the game six hours prior, but as I sat back with my mates and had a good look around at my fellow Australians, I counted myself immensely fortunate to be both born and to have lived in this land, particularly while growing up. With Australia Day next week, going to the game last night set me in a great mood to celebrate and reflect on what it means to be an Aussie.

I did record the above vid in 720p HD but for whatever reason it’s not allowing me to imbed it here. To view - http://vimeo.com/8925711?hd=1

Compiled after a recent ride and trek around the greater Brisbane area. The compression is a little naff, sorry.

I gave that relatively new sushi place at Carseldine a crack with a friend last night. Although I can’t say I’m a huge fan of the food, I quite like the novel idea of food rolling past on these little plates. It certainly proved to be a place where I could work on my indecisiveness.

I’ve only been to a sushi train twice in my life and for some reason while there last night it prompted memories of airport baggage claim. Probably a sure reminder that I’ve been grounded in Aus for too long.

How many layers to an onion? After reading Robert Guest’s The Shackled Continent much could be said about corruption of governments in Africa. As I turned the pages it was like peeling back yet another layer of corruption. Layer upon layer of corruption. It was though I wasn’t getting anywhere with this book, as it felt like I was reading the same thing over and over, just a different leader in a different country was all that changed. It’s easy to see why Africa is still the poorest continent in the world because after reading this book there is just so many layers, so much of the same thing permeated through Africa – corrupted people in power.

“Africans are poor, largely because they are not yet free. They live under predatory, incompetent governments, which they have great trouble shaking off. Their governments impoverish them in many ways; though corruption, through bad economic policies, and sometimes, as in Zimbabwe, by creating an atmosphere of terror that scares off all but the most intrepid businessfolk. In theory most Africans have the freedom to vote their rulers out of office, but in practice they find it very difficult to do so”

Enter the ultimate catch-22. In my opinion, most, if not all African leaders these days have become more adept in rigging an election than leading a country. I happened to be in Kampala during the 2007 Kenyan elections, an election which saw the most blatant tampering of votes. It was as blatant as watching a child take something they weren’t allowed, only for them to deny taking it even when you witnessed it first hand. Of course, then the people are infuriated and take to the streets, killing and rioting. I recall The New Vision, Uganda’s national paper, publishing some of the most brutal and horrific photographs I’ve ever seen. Pictures that I’ve seen used in surgical procedural textbooks wouldn’t hold a candle to them. All for what? All because some ‘leader’ in power is sending a country to hell and doesn’t want to be stopped. I can’t remember the book I read it in, but the author identified two main reasons why African’s are more prone to become corrupt - because they’re poor, so they will clutch at any straw to gain power even if it means turning on their own countrymen, and interestingly, there is fundamental lack of accountability in their systems. Apply this to politics, and you have serious problems.

Another intriguing issue that is gripping Africa’s chance to break out of its poverty is the breakdown in converting assets into live capital. Reports have estimated that Africa is worth about nine trillion in assets, but it’s worth nothing because there is no legalities in place that stipulate who actually owns these assets. It’s a case of tribal law meeting modern law, it just doesn’t meet in the middle. You have a tribal chief who says someone owns a particular plot or particular asset, but it doesn’t hold up as financial institutions will not acknowledge or authenticate the words that come out of the chiefs mouth. As a result, African’s are financially crippled and cannot make a break.

There were all these types of stories all throughout the book, story after story about the African race being hammered by anything and everything that will stop them from ever breaking the poverty mould. From HIV, to war, to corruption, it’s just unbelievable. Although I truly believe colonialism probably did more damage than good, in some respects, I think Africa needs to be healed from the wrongs and move on. I’m sure that’s easier said than done, but it’s instilling the idea that someone is wrong, therefore someone has to pay compensation. The author states, “Grieving for past wrongs, although natural to do, can allow a foothold for despair to creep in”. Africa will never change by handouts, I believe it will change when its people work together to change it for themselves. The author pointed out that change within its people is possible. You only have to look at various countries in history that have either been annexed or colonised in the past, yet when ties were severed from colonial dominion, they thrived. Taiwan, Hong Kong, Malaysia, Singapore, are all ex-colonies, and are now “affluent and peaceful places”. I guess the African country that comes to mind that are probably tending to swing this way is Rwanda. Paul Kagame, the former leader of the RPF and now current president, has pretty much put the country back on its feet after the genocide. He did it without the influence of the Euros. He abolished the work of the colonists by eradicating identity cards that differentiated Hutu’s from Tutsi’s; so all people were classed as Rwandan’s. He put together a balanced government and gave the people a real sense of unity internally within Rwanda. He’s even gone to the lengths of changing the national language from French to English, which I feel is a display of his willingness to remove the country as far away from the old powers as possible.

When I visited Rwanda in 2007 I was a gasp at the efficiency and organisation, which is saying something when in Africa. It was so different to Uganda that you’d be forgiven to think you weren’t in Africa any more. There was a difference, no question about it. I believe that difference was brought in by the winds of change. It also shows that when you have the right government (although I’m sure Kagame’s government has its flaws) progress and restoration takes place.

In saying the change must be made within its people, I’m not watering down the work that is done by Western aid organisations, or even people who are not affiliated with such entities but still have a heart to help people in Africa. The fact still remains, African people are poor and genuinely need help. It could be a few lifetimes away before we start to see any significant change in African nations, so in the mean time there are lives that need to be saved. You can’t stop saving lives while you wait for governments to get their acts together. You could be waiting a while, particularly when the continent runs on African time.

Although the actual contents of this book is certainly nothing to get happy about I still thoroughly enjoyed learning about the various moments in history, the various hidden political agenda’s, the frail health systems, tribal conflicts, and civil wars that have shaped Africa into the shackled continent.

In all honesty, while reading this book, I began losing faith in Africa. Is there any hope for its people? My head kept telling me no, there is no hope, therefore there is no faith. Just throw the white flag up, turn your back, and walk away. My heart on the other hand seemed to think otherwise. There were a couple accounts of individuals who, in their poverty, just couldn’t make a break because they were too poor to invest in assets that would help them get a leg up in life. Reading these accounts that focused on individual people started to reinforce the idea that making a difference in one persons life is an achievable task. If you take Africa, or any developing nation for that matter, as a collective mass of people who are in desperate need, it can be extremely overwhelming. The task of helping the multitudes is too difficult. Where do you begin to offer help? If, however, you take the individual, if you invest in one person at a time, then that extremely difficult, almost impossible task of helping people has changed significantly.

In this book there was a story of a Rwandan man who had devised an entire business plan that would see him and his family elevated out of poverty’s clutches. He planned everything out. He would start small and gradually move his way up by buying and selling goods. On paper, it was perfect. The only problem was that he couldn’t start to begin with. All he needed was a bicycle to set his whole business plan in motion. That was it, a bicycle. This is a perfect story about ‘Stopping for the one’. Imagine buying this man a bicycle that would set he and his family on a better path. There are stories like this all over Africa. All people need is just that leg up in life that will see them on their way.

It highlighted to me that aid work is not about helping a town, a nation, or even a continent; it’s about helping one person. From an aid/charity/volunteer point of view, it’s not a competition who is the most prominent or who has the most sponsor children. You can sponsor tens of thousands of children, but are they loved, are they happy, do they have hopes and dreams, are they excited for their future, will they make decisions in life based on good values and morals, will they lead their country? Organisations who boast about numbers sponsored in their annual reports have missed the point. Sure it’s makes for a pretty statistic and I’m sure investors would like to know, but is there genuine relationship behind those numbers?

Over the months, stopping for the one has really helped settle my heart, as my ideas about saving hundreds can sometimes become overbearing. Now, I couldn’t care less if I leave Australia just to save one baby from poverty, disease, and even death. If that be the case, if I know that my current 3-year degree with a one year post-grad adds up to saving one baby then I wouldn’t change a thing.