Category Archives: Tarai

Three Weeks In, or, The White Girl’s Burden

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A couple weeks into my internship, and I officially feel like I have a feel for this place. I know how to use the key fob to turn off the office alarm; I know how to work the coffee machine and how to grind the coffee beans; I know what temperature my boss likes to keep the office AC running at. More importantly, my knowledge of Iraq has already increased substantially, which I am quite happy about. I can name several Iraqi provinces off the top of my head–Nineveh, Kirkuk, Anbar, Salahuddin. I know that from the start of January 2014 to May 7, 2015, 2,966,844 Iraqis were internally displaced. I know what an Internally Displaced Person (IDP) actually is: someone who has fled his/her home but, unlike refugees, not crossed the international border. Also, I now know how to use Twitter and TweetDeck, which is apparently something that social media savvy people use A LOT to network and get their brand out.

My counterpart, Neel, and I have gotten to know each other pretty well. I know that he is from the autonomous community of Kashmir, attended various schools in India, and received a scholarship to complete his final two years of high school in the U.S., followed by another scholarship to attend college here. I know that he prefers business vests to jackets, and that he is known to be quite the spiffy dresser on his college campus.

Aside from Mark, who is frequently too busy running in and out of meetings and making important decisions to be in the office for very long periods of time, Neel and my’s immediate supervisor and Mark’s second-in-command is a man named *Tom. Tom is a refugee from Baghdad. In 2008, he came to the U.S. with a program that helps youth complete their undergraduate studies in the country. After graduating college in 2012, he was hired here.

Neel and Tom are two of the most impressive people I have ever met. It is astounding to me the circumstances that they have had to overcome–both being from a war torn region– and the necessary resilience they have had to embody from those experiences. Sometimes at work, because these two individuals actually know first hand what it’s like to be a refugee or to come from a war-torn area–the type of circumstances our organization addresses–I cannot help but feel…like an unhelpful burden. A nuisance. Like if only I had been exposed to these same circumstances, I would be a more knowledgeable asset to the team. I feel like an annoying little white girl, an outsider, inserting myself into the situation to try to fix things. In some sick, twisted way, I wish that I had a story to tell of the war torn area that I had just came from, but alas, Rhode Island will most likely never be that land. I just wish I didn’t feel like such a privileged upper-middle class outsider. I wish I wasn’t so goddamn…white. This is my White Girl’s Burden.

This isn’t to say that I don’t have things to say or add to the organization’s work.
I’m intelligent, I like to think I work pretty hard, and I have an eye for detail. But I do still have a part of me that is ashamed of my privilege, and ashamed of where I come from — because it has put me at such an advantage above the majority of the world. I hate to think that I had it “easier” than anyone; I have worked hard to get to where I am today. Yet it would be irresponsible to ignore the edge that my privilege has given me.

I try to remind myself that everyone has difficulties in their life that they have had to overcome, and that I have experienced my fair share of hardships too— parental divorce and a personal health crises to name a few. But every day that I walk into the organization’s office, my White

Girl’s Burden feels more pressing than all of that. Bigger. The guilt is overwhelming, and I find myself wanting to apologize for everything — my being there, my coworkers’ pasts, the inequality of the world.

But that is not what I am here to do. I am here to learn what I can and to help this agency grow so that there will be a little less world inequality in the future. And honestly, that is all I can do at this point. My guilt will get me nowhere. But proactive action will. I cannot do anything about where I come from, and it is useless to apologize for it. But I CAN try to make a difference for the future. So for now, all I have to say to this pressing White Girl anxiety is:

*Name has been changed.

Rookie Mistakes

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It’s Monday morning, my first day of interning in DC. I dress in my best business suit outfit and take a look in the mirror. I align my long pencil skirt, straighten my shoulder-padded jacket and smooth my hair. I feel much too overdressed, despite my mom’s frequent assurances that this will make “an excellent first impression on the first day!”

As I walk to the train station, I become instantly aware of how much slower I walk in high heels, probably covering half as much ground as usual. I hope this doesn’t make me late—it’s a half-mile walk to the metro, and after I take the train, another half-mile walk to work after that. I curse myself for not bringing my Birkenstock sandals for the commute. As I wattle at my painstakingly slow rate, the sun beats down stronger and stronger every minute, and it is not long before I am coated in a layer of sweat.

After my first attempt at navigating the DC metro during rush hour—have you ever seen a train packed so full with people that literally not one more ounce of flesh could fit inside? I have—I finally find myself around the corner from the office building. I scout out a bench to sit down, and then pull out my shoulder-padded jacket from my bag and begin to dab beads of sweat from my face and neck, attempting to look somewhat put together. My God it’s hot. I can feel the skin on my feet being rubbed raw from my high heels, as blisters begin to form. It takes nearly everything within my power to force myself to stand up again. I am hot, sweaty, exhausted, my feet are screaming in pain, and I still haven’t even made it to work yet. I feel like Cheryl Strayed (the author and main character of “Wild,” a book that was recently made into a film starring Reese Witherspoon), who hiked the Pacific Crest Trail alone. In the novel, Cheryl frequently talks about how grueling and difficult the journey is–how treacherous and demanding for one’s body. Cheryl hiking the entire West coast is 100% the same thing as me commuting to this internship.

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Reese, as Cheryl, enduring pain on the hike. But look how strong she is being! Read: Look how strong I am being!

Oh, Cheryl. I feel your pain.

Once I have located the office I will be working at for the next 14 weeks, my anxiety begins to subside as I am greeted by another new intern, who has also clearly just found this address for the first time. The anxiety immediately reemerges when we meet our boss, *Mark, the executive director.

From the get-go, it becomes very clear that Mark is an incredibly energetic and enthusiastic man. From one thought to another, Mark’s brain seems to always be moving and turning with productive ideas about how he can better the organization and further its mission. That’s probably what makes him such a brilliant executive director–excitement in one’s work is one of the most important qualities in the nonprofit sector.

Mark announces that he is taking the other intern, *Neel, and I out for coffee in order to give us some background info about the organization. My two thoughts are: This will be interesting! And: Back outside? I just escaped from there! On the walk over, Mark begins his explanation, and I strain to listen as I hobble behind him, trying to keep up in my more-than-uncomfortable, I-hate-these-so-much heels. Seriously, how is this guy walking so fast? 

“Some” info transforms into about 3 hours worth of info at the coffee shop, which is difficult to keep track of in one setting. I try to continuously balance paying attention and mental note taking with maintaing eye contact to demonstrating that I am listening, but it’s challenging. Mark tells us about the organization’s mission, which is to promote education, peace and democracy in Iraq through advocacy work and grassroots projects. There is so much to know about this organization and its work in the Middle East, I feel like I could do a month’s worth of reading and still not understand the complex histories of either. Mark is so knowledgable himself, that even though some of my questions are understandable, I feel inferior for asking them. One thing is clear to me: I need to do more research on my own free time to make sure I feel as caught up to speed as I can be.

All of a sudden,  Neel gets up to use the restroom, so I try to keep the ball of conversation rolling by asking a question.

“So how long have you been working here?”

His answer: “I’m the founder.”

embarrassed-cringe-woman-al

YIKES. I should have known this. I DID know this, I saw it when I was doing my initial research– how could I have let it slip my mind!? I want to pound my head into the table, but instead I just apologize profusely and then play with the straw in my iced coffee. Why isn’t that intern back yet? What’s taking him so long? How in the world do I bounce back from this? What was that about being up to speed?

Despite that initial embarrassment, the rest of the day goes much more smoothly. It is spent getting acquainted with the office, delegating tasks to Neel and I, and reading some introductory essays. Although it has only been the first day, and although I know I have my work cut out for me, I feel like I am going to fit in well here. I love the small community, the fact that I will be doing real work here (and not just faxing papers), and I believe in what my efforts will be going towards (benefitting displaced people in Iraq). And what an amazing opportunity to spend the day with the founder of the organization I’m interning with–not many people are able to foster those types of relationships, and for that I am grateful.

I am so excited to begin the rest of my summer here– once I master this commute.

Things I Learned on My First Day:

1. Never commute in high heels!!!!!!

2. Research your boss and definitely know if they founded the organization you’re working at.

3. Never commute in high heels.

 

*Name has been changed.

Anxious For Arrival

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As I begin packing my belongings for a summer long internship in Washington, D.C., I feel a flood of anxieties work their way to the surface. What if I can’t do this? A small part of me has a nagging fear that the organization I am working for is eventually going to find out that I am some kind of fraud, and that despite the apparent competency of my cover letter, resume, writing sample, and interview, I do not, in fact, posses the required skills needed to succeed at this internship position.

“You have been selected as our top intern choice among dozens of other candidates.”

The words from my acceptance email loom over in my mind as I continue to psych myself out the day of my flight. You wouldn’t have been accepted if they didn’t think you would be a good fit! They only want to pick someone who will help their organization! And yet, perhaps my cover letter made me sound more qualified than I really am? Or perhaps everyone seems more qualified than they really are? The angel and devil on my shoulder continue to battle it out, trying to sway me one way, then the other.

(me)

(me)

It’s not that this my first job, or that I don’t know how to live on my own. I’ve been working since I was a sophomore in high school – nannying, burger joints, hostessing, waitressing – and I lived away from home for a year and participated in grassroots projects on my gap year program after I graduated high school (this is just the first of many “on my gap year” references that I shall be making. For a quick preview of what you’re in for, click here) I had an internship last summer in Boston, door-to-door canvassing for a nonprofit to collect donations and signatures in support of environmental campaigns. However, working face to face with people on the ground seems a lot less intimidating than working in an office at the nation’s capitol. In D.C. everything seems so much more… official. As if my slightest error could result in some major consequences for the organization I am representing.

I make a mental note to myself to do some more research on the organization before my first day, so that I’m as prepared as can be. Then I attempt to distract myself from these anxiety-provoking thoughts. I absorb myself in choosing what clothes to bring (i.e. what looks professional, and what doesn’t), and try to imagine everything but my internship. There are so many things to be excited about, like the energy of the city, the new people I’ll be meeting, the amazing site seeing opportunities, living on GWU’s campus—BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

My alarm. I look at the clock—12:00PM.

Time to go!

Summer in Somerville

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This Friday, June 27th, is going to mark a tremendous feat: I will have officially survived one whole month of my summer internship “canvassing.”

Many of you will probably think to yourselves, “what in the world is canvassing, anyway?”

To be honest, when I first accepted this job, I didn’t really have a clue myself. I knew I would be working for a nonprofit, that I would be doing something with different campaign issues, and that I would be working with other like-minded youth. What’s not to like?

It wasn’t until several months later, after completing my first day, that I realized what my job actually consisted of.

The organization I work for hires youth between the ages of 18 and 30 to work as “canvassers” for the different campaigns they support and want to promote in the community. One might elaborate on our work by describing it as working to produce change by raising awareness of societal issues through informing the public, recruiting campaign supporters and advocates, and playing a pivotal role in the raising of campaign funds.

A more blunt way of putting it is that we are salesman trying to persuade people to donate for our cause. We go to door to door in various communities across the state, trying to have as many conversations with people about our campaign as we can, and ultimately ask for their monetary support in backing up the campaign.

If there is one thing I’ve learned over the course of having this job so far, it is that it is really, really hard to ask people you barely know to give you money.  It feels unnatural and innapropriate to walk up to a stranger’s home, interrupt their lives, and try and convince them to write a check on the spot for a hundred dollars to an organization they sometimes have never heard of. Discomfort is something the canvasser is forced to become accustomed to.

My day typically begins at 1:00 pm and goes to 10:30pm, Monday through Friday, including my commute. After a series of difficulties commuting from my parents’ house in Rhode Island to the organization’s office in Boston— my car breaking down on the highway several times,  me nearly falling asleep on the midnight drive home, and being so tired from the two hour commute there and back that work was too difficult— I decided to sacrifice some of my pay to invest in an apartment closer to work, which is what lead me to Somerville, MA. I was bummed to not be able to save all my earnings, but supporting myself alone in the city while I’m working has been a really cool experience that has taught me a lot about independence and self-reliance. Not to mention, I’ve been able to meet a lot of cool new people here in the city along the way, such as my three current roommates (more on my living situation to come later!)

Each workday begins and ends in essentially the same way. The staff gather round in a circle to discuss goals for our campaign, applaud outstanding work done by canvassers the night before, and to announce canvassing “teams” for the afternoon. We blast music to pump ourselves up for our long evening of work ahead of us, and each announcement time is ended with an enthusiastic cheer, similar to that of sports teams. A few days ago it was “Money Monday!” This is actually one of my favorite parts of the day. It’s incredibly brief, maybe 15 minutes at most, but there is so much energy and excitement from all of the working students about the work we are doing and it is really inspiring to see our generation step up and take action all are on our own (most of the staff are in their early 20s, including the campaign directors).

From there, we head off to our prospective vehicles to get to whatever town we are assigned to, sometimes driving as far as an hour away. We stop for lunch and to look over our maps and the turf area we have each been assigned to, and then we are dropped off at various streets where we will roam for the next five hours. At 8:30 p.m. we stop, drive back to the office, cash out our donations, and get debriefed by a director about how successful we were with the campaign that day.

They are long, difficult days, and each one presents a new challenge.  Whether it be walking around in the blistering heat or the cold rain, struggling up winding mile long private driveways, or cranky people who slam the door in your face, I find I am learning a lot, gaining many life experiences, meeting some new, wonderful people, and (I’m so happy to say) not serving people french fries anymore!

There is so much more I have to report back on, but this will have to do for now! Stay tuned for next week to hear the nitty gritty of my canvassing extravaganzas!