Name change ...

I guess I got tired of my blase blog name (and I'm spending more time with it), so a change was in order; therefore, I paraphrased a blog entry from Good Intentions titled "Whites in Shining Armor" for the new title.

With my right hand in the air, I can swear that I have almost nothing to offer Zambians. Indeed, despite five years of work in rural Zambia, despite a masters' degree in Agroecology that focused on agriculture in southern Zambia, I can readily say that my knowledge of agriculture and its challenges (and the solutions) are a single dim flame against the wealth of knowledge that the least small-scale farmer commands. If anyone could claim to be "saved", it would be me.

My only claim to fame, if it were, is the capacity that I've gained through respecting farmers to listen and empathize. The attention to local language, taking the cotton out of my ears and stuffing it in my mouth, watching what people do, and questioning why agriculture is carried out the way it is paints a more accurate picture than broad ethnographic descriptions (e.g. "most Zambians farmers are ...) that disregard issues of "place" ... the combination of ecology, economy, politics, societal norms, history, and cultural references that influence and are influenced by farmers.

To whit ... in a workshop the other day, a discussion of how farmers simply broadcast rice into a paddy and then let cattle trample it in was being characterized as backwards, unproductive, etc. I tentatively raised the point that it seemed like a pretty fast and easy way to sow rice, esp. given the myriad of things going on at the same time. Many of my colleagues agreed; the in the context of other tasks (herding, tending gardens, sowing maize, etc.), its tough to spend a lot of time planting nurseries and planting them out. That sort of thinking guides much of my work on agroforestry.

Maybe Zambians and Africans as a whole would be better off without aid workers, Peace Corps Volunteers, etc., etc. However, I'd be much worse without them, so they are stuck with me. Therefore, I'll coach all my efforts with the basic tenant of the Hippocratic Oath "First, do no harm." That said, I must therefore first know the farmers.

Now ... where can I go about beating this rusty sword into a hoe?