Experience of the Near-Far

This could end up being just another blog post about the ubiquity of communication technology, and the no-longer odd experience of being instantly in touch with friends and loved ones thousands of miles and multiple time zones away. But I will give it a shot anyway.

Brazzaville felt very far from Seattle: incredibly hot and humid for someone grown accustomed to the mild, temperate Pacific Northwest. But I had some Internet connectivity, as long as the electricity was on. It wasn’t always on, but the outages were not so severe that I could not check email, or Facebook, or do a bit of basic research when necessary. So I would post the occasional humorous Facebook update about my encounters with strange fruits, or enormous flying insects, or basic learning experiences in a new place. I also had a simple cell phone (not “smart” but able to make calls and send texts), and with the 10-hour time difference I could have end-of-day, beginning-of-day conversations or texts with home. Thus, with all of this communication, the far often felt quite near, and loved ones at home were able to stay current with my experiences as they happened.

Traveling to Impfondo meant giving up this immediate connection, as there were only two places I could get online and often the satellite connection was out due to weather or other technical problems. The cell phone service in the area was also down almost the entire time we were there, and there was no electricity on the grounds of the cathedral, where I was staying with a group of nuns, because the electric wires had been stolen earlier. I grew to enjoy the relative quiet imposed by this fast from communication technology, and the space it gave my mind to wander.

Then, one morning, I came into the parish house next to the cathedral, where I had been having my breakfast every day, and the television on the wall in the breakfast room was turned on. Apparently, the priest and his staff usually ate breakfast to the early morning news broadcasts from France, a fact I had not been aware of due to the electrical outage. That morning in late December, I was not paying a great deal of attention until I heard the word “Connecticut” in the midst of a stream of rapid-fire French from a news anchor. I looked up at the screen and saw night, flashing police lights, and police milling around with crowds of people.

I struggled at first to catch the gist of the broadcast, but there were guns, and dead…and children. Everyone at breakfast was watching, buttered bread suspended, café au lait growing cold. They turned to look at me, wondering if I could explain what they were hearing. Someone changed the channel, and it was a different news program, no longer a live broadcast from Newtown but a panel of experts, including a French academic expert on America, discussing the latest example of violence and America’s “gun culture.” The number of dead, the ages of the children, the age of the shooter, and the recurring question, why?

No one at the table was rude enough to put me on the spot, demand an answer to that question from the conveniently near-at-hand American “expert.” But they wondered, and they asked, does this happen often? Do you feel afraid in your country?

No one commented on the rather cruel coincidence that one project I was in Impfondo to observe, funded by UNICEF, was a violence prevention project aimed at reducing violence against women and children in Congo.  

Leaving Congo

Before our airplane can push away from the gate at the Brazzaville airport for the flight to Paris, the cabin crew announces that “due to health regulations,” the cabin crew must first spray the entire cabin with insecticide. A crew member walks up and down the aisles, holding two cans of the product that he sprays directly up into the air, while the voice over the intercom assures us that this substance is “completely safe” for human beings. The strongly perfumed mist falls gently on all the passengers, reminding us once again – if we needed a reminder – that the place we are leaving is categorized very differently from the place we are going to. Congo is a potential source of health hazards, and Paris is part of the world that must be protected from these hazards, according to the logic of global air travel.

It is difficult to leave, and at the same time I am anxious to be home. Nothing feels finished in the work I came here to do – it would be amazing if it did – but I am also exhausted and ill from a stomach bug I picked up on my last day in Brazzaville. As one new friend sympathized, “Sometimes Africa kicks your ass.” It is almost Christmas, and all of me wants colder temperatures, crisp air, and the scent of evergreen. This almost physical desire has gotten stronger in the last few days, as I struggled to get back to Brazzaville in time to catch my scheduled flight out.

Getting to – and from – the northern town Impfondo turns out to be a more difficult task than I had realized, although people had tried, sort of, to explain this reality to me. One day before we were due to fly back to Brazzaville, our flight was canceled. The next commercial flight was not for five days. Impfondo is not connected by road to any part of the Republic of Congo. To get there, and back, one must either fly or travel by river, a method of transport that is fickle and prone to irregular and unpredictable shifts. It also takes at least three weeks to get to Brazzaville that way…and I didn’t have three weeks. Flights to Impfondo are often canceled due to low bookings, or for whatever reason the airline feels like giving. The UNHCR operates a sort of air taxi service between various far-flung parts of both ROC and DRC, including Brazzaville and Kinshasa, but priority is given to UN project workers and other humanitarian workers, for obvious reasons, so one’s seat is never guaranteed.

Now, this experience of frustration, anxiety, and travel disruption is not, I should stress, a special or unique experience. In fact, it is commonplace, even mundane. In this case, I was the only person upset by the whole thing. That’s just the way it goes. An experience that, for me, required the cultivation of some seriously Job-like patience (not something I am good at), was nothing remarkable for any of the INCEF staff, missionaries, or other people trying to get back to Brazzaville at the same time. More than anything, really, this experience was one of the most important reasons I needed to do this pilot study: both to test my research questions and theories, and to have the kinds of experiences that, as a researcher, I will need to cope with more gracefully than I managed this time. Towards that end, I have already made a note to pack more high-octane instant coffee for the next trip. You can even mix that stuff cold in a water bottle. It helps a lot.

Successful Communication?

During our time in Impfondo, INCEF’s educators carried out several screenings of the films for their project on violence prevention, and held several focus group discussions with both men and women about the films. This time in Impfondo gave me the opportunity to observe INCEF’s communication work first-hand, which is an important and necessary part of the research process. The more of these discussion groups that I see, the more I understand the important role they play in INCEF’s communication methodology.

The educators consistently told me that they felt the discussions were necessary for the audience or the community to fully appreciate or internalize the messages from the films. It was in the discussion groups that educators also received what were, to them, clear indications that successful communication had taken place – community members would ask questions, offer examples from their own experience, make jokes, and engage with one another and with the educators on the topic(s) at hand. Educators reported that the various non-verbal signals they could see – smiles, gestures, eye contact, and other expressions – were clear indications to them that the audience understood and accepted the information and messages in the films. They also reported numerous verbal exchanges with participants that further supported their belief that the communication had been successful. In particular, educators would relate powerful anecdotes of individuals who had told them how the messages in INCEF’s programs had led them to change their own behavior or intended future behavior, and thanked the educators for the programs.

The question of effect is, for all communication organizations, the key issue that must be proven to other stakeholders, including national partners and international donors. Communication projects are undertaken because, at some point, someone or some organization has determined that one part of a complex problem is linked to a lack of information, or to attitudes and behaviors that may be amenable to change through communication intervention. Thus, at some point there has been a judgment made that change needs to happen in a community, and communication has been identified as one way to achieve that change. There are, obviously, important questions to ask about who has determined that change is needed, and what sort of change, and how it is to be achieved, but ultimately the common preoccupation of all development programs, health programs, and environmental programs is to produce some sort of effect, and to be able to prove that the program was responsible for that effect.

Local partners and community members are also concerned about the effects of communication programs, as was clear when INCEF’s educator and I made our pre-departure calls on the Sub-Prefect in Impfondo. The purpose of our visit this time was to give an oral account of the activities that had been carried out by INCEF during our visit, a reverse process of les civilites we had performed when we arrived. After he listened to the account, the Sub-Prefect expressed his approval, saying that the local authorities always noticed an improvement in the town after an INCEF project. He then said, speaking in the plural for all the local authorities, “We are satisfied.” He expressed appreciation for INCEF’s work, and for the effect he perceived it to have on social relations and behavior in Impfondo and the surrounding area. Since the most recent INCEF activities had to do with violence prevention, he cited a decrease in reported acts of violence and a sense of “calmness” that was observed by local authorities.

An ethnographic approach is not the appropriate method to use for program evaluation, as it is not equipped (or intended) to prove any cause and effect relationship between phenomena. One place where ethnography of communication may help in the evaluation process, however, is in understanding what successful communication looks like in a local context, and in knowing how members of a particular speech community interpret their own and others’ communication as either effective or ineffective.

My time in Impfondo, observing projects as they were implemented, and also observing everyday interactions and communicative events has given me an introduction to some of the ways that participants in this community evaluate their own speech and the speech of others. This is a long way from a full understanding of the speech code or codes operating here, but it does provide a starting point for further investigation. 

Malheureusement

One could perhaps be forgiven for starting to think that one word, malheureusement, dominates spoken French in Congo. According to the dictionary, it means, “unfortunately.” At times, it feels like the only word one needs to know, and the truly important translation is, “Whatever follows this word is not something you want to hear.” Whenever someone is about to tell you that your flight has been canceled, it is too rainy to travel, the generator has broken down, the internet or cell phone network is not working, there is no more drinking water, the documents have not arrived (or are not the right ones), or for some other reason your plans are going to have to change, speakers usually begin the sentence with malheureusement.

A feature of life in the US that we hardly ever notice is the fact that things almost always work as they are supposed to, or at least don’t all break down at the same time. Yes, flights get canceled, but you can whip out your smart phone and re-book, and you have a decent hope of getting at least some of the price of the new ticket covered by the airline. Yes, electrical power failures happen, and sometimes last longer than we think they should (days or weeks), but there is someone on a customer service line somewhere who will listen to us complain.

It takes a while to realize how much the expectations created by this ubiquitous experience of functioning systems shape and color a view of the world, and affect one’s reactions when confronting systems that routinely, almost as a matter of course, do not function smoothly. Thus, when a French-speaking Congolese person has to deliver the news to an English-speaking foreigner that, unsurprisingly, plans will have to be adjusted because although there was supposed to be gasoline available to purchase, there is none, the French-speaking Congolese person will almost always begin the sentence, “Malheureusement…” Unfortunately, a perfectly normal roadblock to your plans has appeared. Unfortunately, I know you will be angry about this. Unfortunately, you may express this anger to me, although I had nothing to do with the situation. Unfortunately, you will also be angry that you don’t know exactly how to deal with this new problem.

The frequency of this particular communicative interaction eventually compels the researcher (me) to try to figure out what is going on here. One concept that appears to be key is the issue of “blame.” To blame someone is, in fact, a communicative action, an act that is performed in and through speaking. While the English concept of “taking responsibility” has positive connotations, and is a culturally understood communicative action that should be performed by “responsible” people at the appropriate time and in the appropriate setting, “blame” has almost entirely negative connotations, and is an action directed by a speaker towards another person. The question of “blame,” especially when the action is directed (or perceived to be directed) by a foreigner or non-French speaker towards a Congolese person, also appears to be an extremely sensitive issue when it arises in interpersonal or inter-group communication.

It will take more time and more observation and experience to piece together the rules operating in this type of communicative interaction, and the meanings and premises that underlie the speech produced in such encounters, but this does seems to be one potentially productive place to keep looking. And figuring out where to look is often the first step in figuring out something possibly important.

Operator Error

Learning to do field research, and finally trying to apply the lessons imparted in every book on research methods I could find, and every seminar and class I have ever taken, does not go as planned. The main reason why this is so…is me. This is not news to anyone who has ever tried to do this before, I know.

Reading back over my field notes from my time in Impfondo, I came across this list I wrote to myself:

Things to be aware of

Nobody will think to tell you anything you need to know ahead of time.

Everything starts late.

Nothing will be clear until it happens.

Even then, it won’t be clear.

You are not the most important thing going on in this place.

The last item on the list is, I think, the important one. On one level, it is what distinguishes a researcher from a tourist. It may also be the characteristic that makes the researcher resemble a missionary – a connection that surprised me, since I am the opposite of religious and typically think of myself as a very different sort of person. It turns out that in many ways I am not.

During my time in Impfondo, I had the chance to meet an extraordinary group of people, missionary doctors and their families at the Hopital Evangelique le Pionnier. This hospital sits at the very edge of Impfondo; turn to the left when leaving the gate and you return to town. Turn right and you are on the road out into the jungle. This community of expatriates provided me with the opportunity to learn more about the process of learning to live and work in Congo, and the strategies that other outsiders have used to adapt. They also gave me access to a reliable internet connection, a chance to share meals, and some great conversation – all things I was feeling in need of at the time.

Gradually, I also came to recognize that we all shared something in common. Not religious faith, since as noted above I am not religious. But missionaries and researchers feel a calling to explore, to teach, and to create change that compels them to act. Throughout history, that impulse has had both good and bad effects. The world’s hardest-to-reach, most underserved populations are touched by the compassion and work of missionaries. Sometimes lives are changed for the better by the results of research, too. Missionaries have also worked hand in hand with colonizers and imperialists, as have researchers of all kinds. The zeal that drives a mission – whether for religious conversion or for scientific discovery – can sometimes go awry.

Doing this work, in full knowledge of its complex and often problematic history, means facing the possibility that I could mess up, do the wrong thing, or fail to achieve anything at all. It also means confronting some of my own biases (against religion), and cultivating a bit more nuance in my own understanding of religiously motivated people and their work. I look forward to this part of the process, since it also means I get to know some amazing people doing meaningful and extraordinary work.

If you would like to learn more about some of this work, check out New Sight Congo, a non-profit group setting up an eye surgical center in Impfondo.   

     

Necessary But Not Sufficient

Above, a water pump provided by UNHCR.

Taking a step back from the moment-by-moment chronicle of my research trip (which I fear may start to sound like a travel blog), I wanted to reflect a bit on the paradox of research in general, and of communication research in particular. In those settings that are now somewhat euphemistically called “low resource” – countries so poor that the governments cannot provide even the most basic services, places where malnourishment remains a bigger problem than obesity – I found it very difficult to remain convinced of the importance of my research goals.

In the face of extreme deprivation, when confronted by the lack of the most basic material resources, I found myself wondering, “Why don’t I just work on meeting this immediate need?” In other words, what’s the point of doing research on something as abstract as communication, when there are much less abstract things I could be doing with my time and energy? Research is necessarily retrospective – you can only study something once it has happened – and looking backwards began to feel much less important than looking forwards.

Posing this question probably reveals exactly how new to this type of research I am. I know, I know, many of my readers are now thinking, “You’ll get over it. We all go through this.” Quite true. I will get over it. But I do think it’s a worthwhile process to go through, and I don’t want to just skip over it.

This line of thinking also led me to question the need for, or importance of both the practice of “communication” and research on the subject. The fact that I have chosen to study a process called “communication” does not mean that I think “communication” can solve every problem. But I do think there are a great many problems that won’t get solved without it. Just making a film on a topic, or raising awareness, or performing “outreach” won’t make underlying structural problems go away, or change much in the material world at all. And researching those efforts won’t solve any immediate material need. It might not even solve those problems that are related to a process called “communication.” At least, not at once.

Likewise, simply providing human beings with “information” (in scare quotes here to indicate that this is itself a contested term) does not often lead directly to behavior change by those same human beings. Smoking is one good example: my fourth grade science teacher’s presentation of a piece of smoker’s lung tissue to my class was definitely enough to persuade me never to smoke, but I also already hated the smell of cigarettes. For several of my classmates, that vivid piece of empirical evidence was not sufficient to persuade them not to smoke, and by the time we all reached high school they were clustered in the bathrooms at every class break, puffing away. Clearly, some other motivation was at work here.

Studying the process of communication about disease prevention and environmental conservation in villages where the only treatment for a child burned in a cooking fire comes from my own emergency first aid kit may seem excessively abstract. Many people will ask, “Wouldn’t it be better to just give them clean water/medical supplies/a health clinic?” Sure, I would reply. But then what? What if you didn’t give them what they actually needed, but instead what you thought they needed? How would you find out what local needs actually were? For me, that is the point in the system where communication questions arise, and where I would like to begin working. 

Observation in the Dark

From Impfondo, the INCEF educators and I traveled by car and on foot to an outlying village, Makolongoulu, located north of the town along the banks of the Obangui River. With us, we carried a small portable generator (“portable” is a generous term for this heavy, awkward piece of equipment), and Pelican cases containing the projector, hard drives, and laptops that will be used to screen the films once we reach the village. We also brought tents, sleeping pads, some food, and lots of drinking water.

Our arrival in the village was almost like a procession: by the time we reached the center of the village, which is strung along the river’s edge for about half a mile, we had acquired a number of ad hoc assistants carrying some of our equipment, and a train of small children tagging along…to stare at me. While both INCEF educators are well known in the village, having conducted film screenings here before, I am a new face and the object of some attention for that reason.

Our first stop after arrival in the village is the home of the village chief, where we are welcomed and shown to the location where we will set up our tents. This first conversation is another form of les civilites, the formal, face-to-face communication we engage in with authority figures. The village chief is a government appointee, and his consent is necessary before we may begin any work. The chief also arranges for the crieur – a sort of town crier – to walk through the entire village announcing the program activities through an electronic megaphone in order to inform village residents of the time and place, who should participate, and other information to promote the program.  

The sun begins to set, and the set up for the film screenings begins. Here at the equator, sunset is around 6:15pm every day, and by 6:00 it is quite dark. Gradually it dawns on me that, of course, the films must be screened in the dark. The audience assembles in front of a white tarp that has been strung between two trees. Each person brings a chair, and sets it down in a small semi-circle. Without any electricity, once the sun sets here it is dark. I know this sounds obvious, but without any ambient light it is nearly impossible to see the audience. I can’t see their expressions, or observe their movements as they watch the films. The group is very fluid, with people coming and going according to their own plan. At times both during and after each short film the lead educator, Mika, addresses the audience through a megaphone, to repeat and reinforce the basic message of each film. Sometimes, audience members call out responses to actions or words in the films, or in response to a question Mika has asked.

Older women and men seem to be the core of the audience, seated near the front. Many of the women are holding babies and small children, who also cry, run around, and talk. Around the periphery of the audience group, younger men stand, coming and going throughout the screening. Although there is no electrical service to Makolongoulu, the village does have cell phone reception and many of these younger men are texting or talking on their phones during the film screening. At times they also call out responses, or make side comments about the films to their friends. In the back of my mind, I am reminded of the TV show Mystery Science Theater 3000 (MST3K to its fans), where puppets screen old B movies while offering their own commentary and dialogue through the entire film. Once this analogy has popped into my head, it’s difficult to dislodge – one of the hazards of observational research for someone with a long personal history of immersion in American popular culture, I am learning.

Overall, the scene could be described as chaotic and disorganized, if one were only to take the perspective of an outsider. My job is to set aside these judgments – and my initial random TV analogies – and try to understand what is happening in this scene from the perspective of the participants. To them, I slowly begin to understand, this scene is not chaotic. It does make sense. I am the only one disoriented by the darkness and the multiple voices speaking at once. I am going to have to learn to perform my observations in the dark, and to untangle the threads of the various types of speech going on around me.    

Above, a photo of lead INCEF educator Mika (left) with the Community Relay contact in Makolongoulu (right)

“Faire les civilites”

Before we can begin any activities in Impfondo and the surrounding area – research, INCEF project work, etc. – we must first “faire les civilites,” a procedural form of official communication required by local authorities. Because it involves face-to-face communication with individual government officials, the fact that we have arrived late on a Friday afternoon means that we cannot begin this process until the following Monday, when those officials will again be receiving petitioners and visitors. INCEF and its partner organizations, UNICEF and Medecins d’Afrique (MDA) are well known in Impfondo and have been working here for years, but each visit and resumption of project activities requires that a formal letter of mission be presented to the district Prefect, and the Sub-Prefect, and also possibly to the head of the local police. This letter of mission is the same document that was examined and stamped when we arrived at the airport.

Of course, Impfondo is a small town (or perhaps a very large village), so we also run into some of the same officials we must meet with at the town’s principal restaurant, Le Tropicana. Here, appointments may be made, or the intention to make the appointment signaled, and my presence in Impfondo explained in advance. Because Impfondo is a small place where everyone knows everyone else, and because I do tend to stick out in the crowd here, I must be explained.

Monday finally arrives, and together with the INCEF educator from Brazzaville and the local INCEF educator based in Impfondo, I walk over to the location of our first appointment at the residence of the district Prefect. First, we wait outside on the street, while a cell phone conversation and a few other conversations with the police guards outside the compound establish the fact that we have an appointment. Then we are escorted inside, across a courtyard to a seating area outside what appears to be the main building. We have a view of a staircase leading to another building, decorated with elaborate wooden carvings, and a small wooden bridge connecting to the main house. After a wait, the Protocol Officer comes out, greets us, and takes the letter of mission up the stairs and across the bridge into the house. After more waiting, the Protocol Officer returns and escorts us up the stairs and into the outer building, which turns out to be an office almost entirely filled by a conference table and seats for about twenty people. There we wait until the Prefect enters the office, and we stand until he is seated. He has our letter of mission, and asks several questions to the INCEF educators. He also discusses their overall project goal, violence prevention, and the reasons why he believes this is necessary in the region. My presence is also explained, and my credentials offered. At the conclusion of the meeting, we are given permission to proceed, as well as the assurance that we will have whatever support the Prefect can offer. I must fill in a register book with my name and cell phone number, and then we are escorted out.

Next, we walk to the offices of the Sub-Prefect, where a similar procedure is carried out in somewhat less grand surroundings. I am introduced, the project work and scope is explained, and our letter of mission is stamped and signed. I am surprised at how uncomfortable the whole process makes me, and how odd it feels. It is very easy to get exasperated with this extensive official gatekeeping. When I ask about it, both INCEF educators seem surprised that I have questions about the process. They explain that it is necessary for all local officials to be informed directly about our activities, and for them to authorize and facilitate our work by contacting the village chiefs in locations where we plan to work. Likewise, they point out, if we were to get into any trouble during our work, which might require official intervention, we would be unable to appeal for assistance if our work had not received prior authorization.

Again, the process of communication with official bureaucracy appears as an important factor in accomplishing both INCEF’s work, and my research work. There are particular procedures, words, and terms associated with this communication, and written documents appear to play a very important role. Likewise, the face-to-face experience and official office settings are important (even necessary). One may not faire les civilites via email, or over the telephone. The statement of the credentials and background of all participants also seems to be part of the process. I noticed that my own credentials became slightly inflated (I was suddenly introduced as a “professor,” rather than a mere “researcher”), and institutional affiliation was also important. This entire process must also be repeated at the conclusion of our work in the area, and we will return to these same offices to give an oral report of the outcomes of the project.

Going to Impfondo

In order to observe INCEF’s program implementation and the application of their communication methodology, I am going to the northern town of Impfondo, about 500 miles from Brazzaville, along with one of INCEF’s educators. There, we will meet with another INCEF educator who lives in Impfondo, and we will visit an outlying village to screen films on basic health as well as violence prevention, part of a UNICEF-funded project on which INCEF is currently working. The purpose of this trip, from my research perspective, is to give me the opportunity to observe INCEF’s communication methodology in action. While it is always valuable to listen to the descriptions and explanations of this methodology from other INCEF staff, observation is a key part of my research, and this current project around Impfondo is the only one I will have the chance to see on my visit.

We must fly to Impfondo, since it is not possible to drive there and a journey by river would take at least three weeks. It is a short flight, just about an hour, and uneventful. On its approach to land at the Impfondo airport, the plane swings wide over the river and lines up on a runway that ends in a green wall of vegetation. There is the usual noise and confusion inside the airport, and more official steps to take in order for me to be allowed to enter – I must hand over my passport, and wait as our “letter of mission” is scrutinized by a local official. Although this is a domestic flight and I have already been through visa and immigration procedures when I arrived in the country, this trip to another city must also receive official sanction and my planned activities in this area – along with those of the INCEF educator accompanying me – must be understood and approved by local authorities.

While waiting for the paperwork to be completed, I sit in a plastic chair in the lobby, watching the crowd of people meeting other arrivals on our flight. There is no other flight arriving today, and no flight departing. The airport reminds me a little bit of the old airport in Ithaca, NY: Gate 1 and Gate 2, arrivals and departures, and not a lot of chance for confusion or mixed up bags given the low volume of passengers. Then, one of those encounters that reminds me I am nowhere near Ithaca: a young man walks in carrying a hawk by its wings. He sets the bird down on the floor while he chats with a friend, and I can see the strings tied to its legs that keep it secured. I ask if I can take a photo, and the young man explains he uses the bird to fish.

Outside the airport, there is a small crowd sorting itself out as arriving passengers slowly leave. There is a woman sitting on the ground next to a small goat, which lies in a cloth bag, looking rather dispirited. We are being driven into town in a truck belonging to a local NGO, Medecins d’Afrique (MDA), and we load our luggage into the back of the truck. On the way out of the parking lot, we stop to buy some fish and chicken from women standing on the side of the lot with their buckets. The fish go into the back of the truck next to the luggage. Then we drive the ten minutes to my lodgings, a room rented from the nuns who live next to the Catholic cathedral. I can already tell that this trip is going to be a valuable learning experience, and I am beginning to get excited to see more. 

A view of the Impfondo airport from the parking lot, showing the primary mode of transportation in the area, motorcycles.

Below is a view facing away from the airport, which sits more or less at the edge of the jungle.

Studying Communication

I think that every academic researcher must experience a similar dilemma, the inevitable problem of trying to explain one’s work and discipline to outsiders – those family members, friends, and new acquaintances who, quite reasonably, would like to know “what you do” in your work. Communication researchers, however, seem to face an additional wrinkle in this explanation, I think, because the object of our study – “communication” – is a subject upon which everyone (it seems) considers him or herself an expert. The definition of our subject is also a question, (what do you mean by “communication,” anyway?) and most speakers also consider themselves to have a very good grasp of exactly what that definition is. They have very strong opinions on it, in fact.

I somehow doubt that physicists are routinely told, when they explain their work to non-academics, “Oh, yes, I use gravity every day. I know all about that.” Or that molecular geneticists are assured by new acquaintances, “Oh, yes, DNA. I have that. It’s pretty simple, right?”

Of course, this is not really a complaint, because all of the reactions generated by my response to the question, “So, what do you study, anyway?” also constitute data for me. The wrinkle does, however, create a rather difficult situation when research subjects do their best to tell me what they think I want to know about their communication, rather than simply letting me observe it. It seems to take a very long time before subjects will allow me to recede into the background, and become a mere observer, a data collection instrument, rather than the foregrounded oddity, outsider, random academic whose presence is cause for a great deal of speculation and conversation. Why would anyone need to study something so obvious?   

Small Steps

I have spent quite a bit of time recently wondering, how can I be of use here? What contributions, of a tangible nature, can my research and the theoretical tools I have available really produce? I also realize that this is jumping ahead quite a bit, but I think it comes in response to the situation I see around me. There is so much to do, and there are so many good people working hard, that the desire to contribute something right away is becoming an urgent need.

I also realize that I am not really ready to do this yet. There is a great deal I have not yet even seen – and there will be many things I don’t have time to see before I leave. When studying the activities of human beings, their communication and their work, you realize that nothing ever happens as your carefully crafted research agenda (constructed in the comfort of a home office) had predicted. This can be frustrating, but it can also be wonderful. It hardly ever, however, conforms to a pre-arranged schedule.

Walking around the city, and having conversations with INCEF staff, I realize that I am getting better at talking to people and I can understand more every day. I am also beginning to get a handle on the questions I need to be asking that I could not have anticipated from my perch in Seattle. One aspect that I had not foreseen, which turns out to be very important, is the role of communication with local bureaucracy. When I first conceived of this research project, I thought all local communication efforts would be focused on the population at large, particularly rural populations living in close contact with the forest and the wildlife. That is indeed the main focus of INCEF’s work and mission. There is another local audience, however, that occupies a very different position, and that requires a great deal of attention in order to make the other work possible. Coordination with local partners, including several different government ministries, requires energy, experience and expertise on the part of any NGO that wants to work here. It is a very different mode of communication from INCEF’s main work: it takes place in different settings, and in a different language (French, rather than Lingala or Kitouba), and often involves multiple stakeholders with different agendas.

The norms of bureaucratic communication, and the culture of government in Congo, play an important part in the work of getting the work done. Some initial conversations have suggested to me that personal connections are important in this process. This is not in any corrupt sense, but in the way that an individual’s personal credibility is judged and evaluated by interlocutors. Several people have also mentioned the importance of observing the polite formalities of face-to-face communication, allowing the conversation to cover more general topics, inquiries about the health of one’s family, the state of one’s children, and so forth, before diving in to the main purpose of a meeting.

These few initial observations indicate that there is “something” going on here, and that I should at the very least attempt to account for it in any revised project design, and in future efforts at data collection.    

Boiling the Water

This morning, I went through the chore of boiling large pots of tap water, then pouring the thoroughly boiled water into a large, stainless steel filter device. From the filter, the water is poured into re-used plastic water bottles, then placed on the counter in the kitchen. We use this water for cooking – rice, or pasta – and for making coffee or tea. For everyday drinking water, I purchase “l’eau potable” from the nearby shop, eight liters at a time. I think I am drinking almost three liters of water per day.

Several conversations recently with various public health professionals, all foreigners, have followed the same pattern. I ask about their work in Congo, and they tell me. They ask about my research, and I tell them. Then they say, “but the real problem here is cholera.” In other words, the problem that none of us is working on.

It seems to me, coming from my Western/Northern/‘developed’ world perspective, that “cholera” actually signifies something more than just a disease. It may stand for “extreme poverty,” or the very odd term “under-developed” (as though a country were a piece of film or a photographic print, removed from its developing fluid too soon). It is a disease spread through water and human waste, among people living without what many parts of the world now consider to be “basic” sanitation: a functioning public water system, drains, and waste water treatment. It may be a disease we read about in history books, afflicting the workers who dug the Panama Canal, or newly arrived immigrants in 19^th century US cities, living in slums without modern sanitation. It is a disease we associate with disasters, the dreaded aftermath of a tsunami or earthquake, especially in poor parts of the world. The spectre of cholera was raised after Hurricane Katrina, and it felt like yet another piece of the frame painting New Orleans and its residents as somehow more “backward” than the rest of the US.

If you can forgive the slide into interpretation in the paragraph above, what seems most significant about cholera and about the places that suffer from it, is that this is a problem whose solutions are relatively straightforward, involving some major public infrastructure, to be sure, but not requiring a great deal of laboratory research or trial and error. And that is also the problem.

The son of the president of the Republic of Congo lives right next door to INCEF’s headquarters. Or, I should more accurately say he owns a large, walled compound of several elegant, whitewashed buildings next door. But the public water system in this neighborhood does not work most of the time, which is the case for every neighborhood in Brazzaville. INCEF has, in fact, its own reservoir for the house, and this reservoir must be refilled with water purchased from a private company that delivers it in a truck. This fact does not stop the city water company from delivering a bill every month. Nor should one drink any of the water that comes out of the taps, regardless of its source. I doubt the president’s son drinks tap water. I know I don’t. 

On My Way to the Church I Passed a Mosque

INCEF’s offices, and the residence where I am staying, are located in a neighborhood at the top of a hill in Brazzaville. There is a spot just down the road where one can have an unbroken view all the way down to the Congo River and across to Kinshasa. (Bit of trivia: Brazzaville and Kinshasa are the only two national capitals that are within eyesight of one another. Or at least, this is what I have been told.)

Yesterday I decided to go for a walk. My destination was an enormous church, the Basilica of St. Anne, which was visible in the distance at the bottom of the hill. The basilica stands out because of its beautiful green roof. It is a color like malachite, and shines with a similar polish. My route also took me through the neighborhood of Poto Poto, where I had not walked before. I took my camera, although I am still very shy about asking people if I may take their picture. Architecture is easier for me to capture, as long as it is not a government building (forbidden by law, which is tough since every other building I pass seems to be a government building).

At the very beginning I was reminded of an interesting phenomenon here in Brazzaville, and perhaps elsewhere: foreigners (non-Africans) are sometimes generically classified as “chinois” or “Chinese.” As I walked along with my camera, a little boy with his mother pointed at me and said, “chinois.” In my head, I could not help thinking, with a chuckle, “I guess foreigners do all look alike.” It is not unusual for a non-African to be called “chinois” here, especially by children, whatever one’s ethnic background. To be fair to the small child, we were on a street just behind the Chinese embassy. Having my own ethnic identity become a matter for questioning and explaining is, in fact, part of this experience. Blonde hair and blue eyes just make me “foreign” in some cases, “French” in others, and “Chinese” for most small children.

Heading down the hill towards the green-roofed church, I found myself walking through a neighborhood of small shops and restaurants, thinking, why haven’t I been here before? Looking down a side street, I saw another large building, green and white with four tall narrow towers, that I had also seen from the top of the hill. I detoured down the side street, and found Brazzaville’s mosque under construction. According to some gentlemen I spoke with outside, the Muslim community in Congo is made up of immigrants from other African countries such as Senegal, as well as some local converts. They were planning to celebrate the 100^th anniversary of the Muslim community in Brazzaville in 2014. They had raised funds to construct the new mosque, and it would be complete in time for the celebrations.

Back on the main road, I could still see the green roof of the basilica ahead of me, so I continued along the street, hopping over the drainage canals that cut through the sidewalk (where there is a sidewalk). The rain gutters on the side of the road are all two or three feet deep, and there are uncovered side channels that cross the sidewalks everywhere, ready to catch unwary or less-than-nimble pedestrians.

Finally, I reached the basilica, which looks like a gigantic space ship that somehow landed in the middle of the city, but is poised to lift off again at any moment. The doors are particularly beautiful, with their hammered copper friezes, as are the green tiles that give it an almost reptilian look, like a gorgeous salamander. I am not sure my photos do it justice, but it is spectacular. Stained glass does not feature prominently – in fact, most of the windows have no glass. Air flow is more important than decorative glass, I think.

That’s Not How We Do Things

Just as a visual image without texture can be somewhat flat and uninteresting, communication without friction can be difficult to see. What I mean by this is that often, the cultural and deeply coded aspects of people’s communicative behavior only become visible to the observer when there is a problem. For a scholar of communication doing an ethnographic study, it can be difficult at first to distinguish individual idiosyncrasies from cultural codes, especially when you have not yet met a very wide range of people from a given place or community. You can’t tell whether an observed behavior is a personal quirk – someone who just happens to enjoy verbal sparring or argument, for example – or a behavior that is expected and valued in a particular speech community.

When there is conflict, however, and speakers explicitly call upon the communicative norms of their own speech community (“American,” or “Congolese,” for example), to challenge or explain their own or others’ communicative conduct, an observer can be fairly certain that there is something cultural going on. This observation is not my own, of course, but comes from the literature on ethnography of communication and from many, many published case studies on the role of culture in communication. It is, however, always rather satisfying to see it proven yet again. It is also a bit of a relief, as it does provide a good place to start one’s data collection. When you hear someone say, “that’s not how we do things,” you can be fairly certain that you should listen more closely to the explanation. A lesson in “how we do things” can be valuable data.

There is another interesting phenomenon that occurs when you tell a new acquaintance that you are a communication researcher: people will either tell you what they think that means (“to me, that means ‘language’”), or they will roll their eyes, clutch their heads and bemoan the near-total absence of “communication” in their workplace or the world at large. Either way, these reactions also provide a good starting point for data collection.

Talking about intercultural communication also frequently reveals just how persistent are beliefs and premises about the “essential” characteristics of groups of people – “Americans” are this way, “Congolese” are like that – and how such an understanding of the role of “culture” shapes speakers’ behaviors and attitudes when they find themselves involved in communication that they recognize as “intercultural.” This phenomenon also presents the scholar of intercultural communication with a real challenge: how to write about and analyze culture in communication without duplicating your subjects’ own understanding of “culture” as something static and determinative.

These are just a few reflections on the task at hand, as I continue to grapple with the basic question, “what is going on here?” and as I try to begin to understand what is going on here from the participants’ own viewpoints.  

Thanksgiving in Brazzaville

As a former French colony, which only became fully independent in 1960, the Republic of Congo still has very close ties to France. There are, however, Americans here aside from the embassy staff. Not many, but a few. A fairly large cross-section of these Americans gathered at the residence of US Ambassador Chris Murray to celebrate Thanksgiving. Americans make their way to Congo for a number of reasons: to work on environmental conservation, to work on public health, and to work in development and education. (I’m sure there are business people, too, but I didn’t meet any last night.) The first American School, a private institution offering instruction in English, opened this year, and the first group of teachers is quite extraordinary. They appear to combine a sense of adventure with great dedication to, and passion for their teaching.

Some longer-term American expats, individuals who have worked abroad for various international NGOs and other organizations, and who have been in Brazzaville for years, constitute a different group from the newly arrived and still (possibly) jet-lagged group. Conversations with this group tend to focus less on the excitement of new experiences and anxiety about resources, and more on comparison of this year’s events to last year’s, or to the sharing of new strategies for coping with the wildly inadequate infrastructure in Brazzaville and the sheer physical difficulty of getting around the country. One important signifier of short-term versus long-term status appears to be the moment when one switches from being amazed at how inexpensive most things (except food) are in Congo, to being appalled at how expensive they are.

As a developing country in great need of a wide variety of things – better roads, more reliable electricity production and distribution, better basic health care, more jobs and opportunity for citizens – Congo, like other countries in a similar situation, attracts the usual array of international organizations, each here to carry out its mission and achieve its own specific goals. Americans work with all of these institutions, and were present at Thanksgiving. The usual alphabet soup of large international groups – WHO, WCS, UNICEF, UNDP, etc. – is also accompanied by smaller organizations and even individual efforts, dedicated to service and often faith-based missions. If ever there was a time to heed the general advice for Thanksgiving dinner survival, “avoid religion and politics,” this was such a time. It was, instead, a good time to marvel at and appreciate the choices so many people have made to leave the comfort and security of their home country, their native language, and (often) their families to do work that they believe is important. From foreign service officers to volunteers on development projects, this is an interesting and deeply engaged group of people.

*One important caveat, which has been studied by both scholars and practitioners of international aid and development, is the extent to which NGOs and other large international organizations can take over and basically replace the normal functions of the state in a developing country. Where state institutions are weak, NGOs often flow in to fill the perceived vacuum. This process, over time, can undermine the incentives for the state to fulfill its obligations to its citizens, whether in public health, or education, or basic infrastructure. There is also a risk that the state’s own capacity to fulfill these functions may be undermined, if the work is instead being done by the foreign employees of a variety of NGOs. A short walk through the Centreville section of Brazzaville will demonstrate just how prevalent NGOs are in Congo, as you walk past one sign after another indicating the office of yet another NGO, or company funded by the UN, with yet another mission. They are almost as numerous as the various government ministries. Just another aspect of the context here in Congo, and something else to keep in mind as I move forward with my research.