Joyful Journey Two

By Barbara A. Coe

Dr. Barbara A. Coe began to work internationally in 1995 to help foster community empowerment and sustainable development. She lived and worked overseas for years. Then, in 2009, she returned to the United States to begin a new phase, conducting short-term projects in countries including Georgia, Rwanda, Sri Lanka, Brazil, Jordan, and others. Ma

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barbara A Coe
• Release date: May 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9798985514827

Book preview

PROLOGUE

While walking to the office from my hotel, a red mattress suddenly shot across my path. With the mattress blocking his view, a man had charged across the street with it, apparently with no thought about anyone who might be on the sidewalk. Another day as colleagues and I walked to lunch, a car backed onto our path on the sidewalk, ignoring the fact that we were there. A third day, in the heart of the main shopping district, a car suddenly drove onto the sidewalk at a high rate of speed, continued toward me and my colleagues, then abruptly stopped; the driver, a young man and his nattily dressed female companion, jumped out and ran into the store. Apparently, they were more important than other people in the city. The car was parked so close that opening the shop door was difficult. My dark side told me how satisfying keying the side of the Lexus would be—but fortunately I was able to rein it in. Civic behavior in the country of Georgia, formerly part of the United Soviet Socialist Republic (USSR), obviously needed work, and my purpose for being there was to try to help foster improvement.

I was then living back in the US after a nine-year stint living and working overseas. However, I was quite unsettled, both physically and emotionally. First of all, I kept looking for a city that would be as walkable and thus convenient for living as any of the locales where I lived in Eurasia. At first, I thought I’d live in Portland, Oregon, but after seven months there, looking at all of the available condos in my price range and also being less enthusiastic about the city than I thought I’d be, I gave up on it. I spent the next several years looking at other places in the western US, where I knew I wanted to confine my search because it’s my favorite part and because my family lives in eastern Washington. I bought and sold condos in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho; Puerto Penasco, Mexico; spent winters in Tucson, Arizona in an RV resort; and finally settled in San Leandro in the San Francisco Bay Area. It was only when I unpacked the memories from nearly twenty-five years with David, my late husband, that the reality of his being gone hit me full on. For one thing, I had begun to participate in Shambhala, a Buddhist group, while in Tucson and then in the Bay Area, which helped me understand how to accept my feelings and the necessity of doing so. I cried years of stored-up tears as I opened boxes and put things away. I can’t say I really moved on, as people not in that situation always seem to advise others to do, but I was more attuned to reality.

The Bay Area offered the closest I found in the western US to a European lifestyle, and I became quite involved there, but for better or worse, the threat of earthquake damage drove me to more years of being unsettled. I eventually moved nearer my family in eastern Washington. For the time being, at least, I’m averse to wasting more time on costly and time-consuming moves!

Back in the US, while I tried to find my place, I was delighted to be finding interesting opportunities to work overseas. Unlike the projects discussed in the previous book, these were short-term projects, from two to six weeks. As with the previous journey, however, all these projects focused on some aspect of democracy or governance, including advocacy, governance reform, and civil-society capacity-building to involve citizens in decision-making that would affect their future. No matter what the project—writing a grant for a civic education project in Georgia, conducting workshops for leaders involved in sustainable development in Brazil or leaders of nongovernmental organizations in Rwanda, or working one-on-one with individuals—my aim was always to help people learn how to realize their goals and enrich their lives.

I wasn’t getting any younger, but retirement was a foreign concept to me. Why would I stop doing what I loved, so long as I was able? I was experiencing both amazing and fraught events. I was seeing things I had dreamed of seeing but without any idea how I would do so. As during the previous nine years living and working overseas, the unexpected seemed to be the norm. Many of the experiences tested my resilience (and sometimes my sanity), but everything kept me on my toes and energized. Sometimes I was afraid, sometimes I was frustrated, but always, I was fascinated by the different ways of thinking and doing. The experiences reaffirmed to me the validity of something a dear friend had said to me: The only things of lasting value are memories of experiences. This book is the story of my journey in countries very different from each other: from Georgia to Sri Lanka to Rwanda to Jordan to Brazil.

As I said in the first book, Joyful Journey; Sharing the Road from Vietnam to Italy, international work was a dream come true for me. When I started this journey at age fifty-seven in 1995 when I was unexpectedly invited to go to Vietnam to teach the creative process to Swedish consultants and Vietnamese extension staff, I was thrilled. The training would be the foundation for a large sustainable development project. The short-term assignment combined my four main passions: a different culture, nature and sustainable development, planning, and the creative process.

The international work followed a long career in the US in regional planning, which focused on energy, transportation, and the environment. By the time I entered graduate school, I had begun to focus on how plans were actually achieved, the topic of my Ph.D. dissertation, which resulted in a framework for success. More and more, my work stressed community involvement as well. When I learned about the creative process, based on structural dynamics, as explained by Robert Fritz, author, consultant and teacher, I realized it was an important adjunct to my framework. It explains how underlying structures guide patterns of human behavior. Success begins with a clear idea about the vision for the future but also requires clarity about the relevant current reality. The two in juxtaposition create dynamic tension that energizes action. It enables us to create a path of least resistance that helps us advance naturally toward our goals.

I learned to use the process to shift my approach to create more of what I wanted in my own life—including the international work. Rather than simply reacting to whatever came at me, I began to focus on what I wanted in my life and to create much of it. I taught small groups of leaders from various organizations and also applied it to strategic planning and action to help organizations and community groups create their desired futures.

The Vietnam project led eventually to long-term projects in Armenia, in Albania, Bosnia and Herzegovina, and to my move to Italy, spending a total of nine years overseas. Then, back in the US, while I taught university courses via the internet and engaged in local projects, I led short-term international projects. I traveled to such countries as Armenia, Georgia, Greece, Sri Lanka, Rwanda, Jordan, Brazil, and others to work for a few weeks in each.

In every case, I used my knowledge of the creative process in two ways: Firstly, I used it as a foundation for the work, whether to help improve a community, enhance democracy, build a successful organization, or help foster sustainable development. I had learned that when we visualize what we want rather than what we don’t want, while clearly understanding the relevant reality, we can move forward toward our aspirations, whatever they may be. When I was able to impart this understanding and saw people using the tools to create the future they wanted, I felt tremendous joy.

Secondly, I used the process along with Buddhist ideas I was studying to keep myself on track and focused, and to try to maintain equanimity, even when facing difficult circumstances or unhelpful people. Sometimes the going was rough; sometimes the challenges felt insurmountable. When distracted or stymied, I was grateful for the tools to help me refocus and continue on my path. This, along with my professional background in planning, democracy and governance, and community and organizational development, impelled me to help organizations, communities, and individuals achieve their desired futures.

Each trip to a new country, a new environment, a new culture with new people changed me. The warmth and hospitality of people in every country were so heartwarming. I learned so much from them about their countries and cultures and about their hopes and dreams. Everywhere I went, I fell in love with the people and their cultures. And, as in the years living abroad, my experience working in these countries continued to reinforce my convictions:

People everywhere are really interesting, especially given the diverse ways of thinking and doing.

People are generally good, warmhearted, well-meaning, and hospitable.

Despite different lifestyles, skin colors, languages, customs, and traditions, people tend to want similar things: enough food, healthy families, freedom from fear and oppression.

People want to do something worthwhile and something they love.

I wrote this second Joyful Journey book because I wanted to share stories about my experiences working with people in these countries and about the road we traveled together toward the future. The chapters of the book are ordered first by country—from the first job in Georgia—then chronologically, ending with the two chapters about my work in Brazil.

I am profoundly grateful for the opportunity I’ve had to offer my skills and, most of all, to connect with so many wonderful people and learn a bit about their rich cultures. My hope is that this account of my work and personal journey in these five countries, all very different from each other, will bring the reader along on the journey to share the experience. I hope you enjoy the ride!

CHAPTER ONE

CIVIC EDUCATION FOR GEORGIA

Two minutes after my encounter with the red mattress in downtown Tbilisi, when I walked into the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) building, I was confronted by about ten dour-looking men in black suits. They started grilling me, asking what I was doing there, how long I intended to stay, and so on. I feared they were going to arrest me, although I didn’t know for what. However, they simply told me I had to get a security badge. Because I’d been coming and going without a security badge or any security guard confrontation for a week or so, I couldn’t understand what was happening. I learned that everyone had the same experience, even if they had worked there for years. Every now and then, the organization apparently became serious about security—for a couple of weeks. I got the requisite badge, which I pulled out every time I arrived, even though the guards got to know my face very well. One day, I pulled out my flash drive by mistake; the guard said, that is not your security badge. He said it with a smile on his face, though.

I had arrived in Tbilisi, capital of Georgia, about a week earlier. I would be there for about a month to conduct research and then prepare a grant proposal for UNDP to submit to the United States Agency for International Development (USAID) to expand Georgia’s civic education efforts. I had been selected because of my research and writing experience, combined with extensive work with civic education. The latter included my stint as a visiting scholar for the Civic Education Project (CEP), Armenia in the early 2000s. I would collect documents concerning the various related programs and would interview many leaders of organizations participating in or having knowledge of civic education. My aim was to do my best to understand the needs and current status of civic education in Georgia and then to prepare what I hoped would be a winning proposal. I recognized, however, the process would be very competitive and the outcome outside my control. I also aimed to be able to handle with equanimity any unexpected events that would surely arise. My training in the creative process and introduction to Buddhist thought had served me well thus far in helping me stay centered and calm (most of the time).

Upon arrival in Tbilisi, capital of Georgia, I was delivered by a UNDP driver and checked in at the Hotel Betsy, where I had reserved a room before leaving home. The hotel was an American style, hotel that had received very good reviews and was said to host many expats. It felt cozy and provided a comfortable room with a firm enough bed. A little bookshop and espresso bar were added attractions. Since many hotels in the former Soviet Union retained vestiges of Soviet days, I was pleased to see that the hotel featured most things Westerners expect, such as facial tissue, a functional desk, and TV programs in English. It even had a more or less American breakfast of eggs, bacon, French toast, juice, and cereal. However, its location high on a hill was problematic. Getting to the office or a restaurant meant taking a taxi. The location also meant having dinner at the hotel most evenings. That first night, I found the food to be much too salty for me and the choices limited for my usual diet. Furthermore, since Tbilisi had a wonderful old town, with many interesting and fine restaurants, I thought that eating at the hotel the entire time would border on the criminal.

Despite the comfort of the room, the twelve-hour time difference was a sleep killer. I would awaken at 1 a.m. and not be able to return to sleep. When I had writing to do, I only seemed to be able to work while flat on my back! I would awaken at 1, turn on the light, get my notepad, write for a while, then try again to sleep—many times—before I would give up and cut my toenails or do other chores until the rest of the world came to life. 

When I got to the office the following Monday, I met the government team leader, Natia Natsvlishvili, who was in charge of the project; Khatuna Sandroshvili, who would provide support and with whom I would work most closely; and other colleagues. We discussed the agenda and the various organizations and people with whom I should meet. I got settled in an office shared with other contractors and staff and was ready to get started. Khatuna was a godsend, providing me with a wealth of information and ideas and making arrangements for meetings with the various people. Since I didn’t know the language, she often had to translate as well. I began to scour the documents I had already received while Khatuna set appointments.

We met with myriad people from myriad organizations; many different ones were involved with some aspect of civic education. We had to discover the gaps that could be filled productively by UNDP with a grant from USAID. People were all very accommodating, providing time and information without hesitation. And they offered the typical Georgian warmth and hospitality. The organizations with whom we met, sometimes with multiple representatives, included the following:

Various programs at UNDP

Department for the Development of Educational Programs

National Center for Education Accreditation

Georgian Children’s Federation

Ministry of Education and Sciences

Civic Education Project, Georgia

Central Election Commission of Georgia – CEC

UN Association of Georgia

Dutch Consul

Eurasia Foundation

Civil Institute

Khatuna and I met periodically with Natia to report on progress and make sure we were on the right track. When we weren’t conducting interviews, I was organizing and summarizing the material. I was starting to see where and how UNDP could most effectively conduct civic education and to outline a proposal.

Tbilisi Then and Now

As I traversed the city to get to and from work, I saw that in most ways, Tbilisi had improved considerably since 2000-2002, when I was there several times as part of CEP, and it seemed quite safe, despite the occasional mattress or car on the sidewalk. I saw many positive changes. Government seemed to have cleaned up the problem of rampant robbery. I saw no signs such as those that in 2001 had been posted everywhere warning people not to go out alone, not to wear or carry anything valuable, and to be very careful of taxi drivers and people on the streets. By 2009, although as in any big city, one must pay attention, I felt quite safe walking alone along a street crowded with other pedestrians in the day or evening. The worst crime I encountered was some taxi drivers who charged me double fare as a foreigner; however, others gave change for 5 lari (about $2.50) and refused a tip, so I thought this balanced out. Corruption in government was also reputedly quite under control. In 2001, when our group of visiting scholars traveled to Tbilisi from Armenia, our van was stopped by the police demanding money. On one occasion, the police escorted us (for a hefty fee), only to be stopped by the KGB, who confiscated the fee from the police. Interesting times. This no longer seemed to be happening.

Other changes were obvious in 2009. Electricity seemed to be consistently on, unlike in 2001 when electricity was on only a couple of hours each day unless one had a generator. At that time, resourceful people acquired car batteries to power lights and computers, charging them when the public electricity was operating. The streets, at least the main ones, seemed clean, which was surprising for a former Soviet country, given the dire economic status. ATMs were everywhere, sometimes several per block. Also, café after café advertised Wi-Fi. The architecture was lovely before, but by 2009 many of the two-story buildings of Old Tbilisi, with their iron balconies, had been renovated and were even more beautiful. Whole blocks had been cleaned up and buildings painted. The institutional and cultural buildings, such as the opera house, along Rustaveli Avenue, and on other major central streets, with their grand classic architecture featuring columns and lovely arches, imparted a feeling of elegance. Some garish modern buildings such as Maxbet, apparently a casino, which could have been in Las Vegas, Nevada, a few decades ago, were best overlooked.

Walking in Tbilisi could still be a bit risky, however. Although the sidewalks were by 2009 clean and in reasonably good repair, the many dips and hills and holes and varying levels required attention. To illustrate, I would be walking along and all of a sudden come to a step or steps in the middle of the sidewalk or to a ridge or a big hole. I also needed to keep my eyes to the ground to be sure to step over the boards across the doorways and to step up or down when the floor level changed, as it often did. Falling flat on my face, as I have been known to do in other similar situations, did not appeal to me. However, looking down while I walked had its risks, too. While looking down, I could then crack my head on one of the low balconies overhanging the sidewalk. So, to be safe, I really needed to keep one eye on the ground and the other looking up—not easily done! Crossing the street was especially perilous. Because of the dense traffic, drivers imaginatively created additional lanes to supplement the formal ones. Also, pedestrians were apparently invisible to drivers. Many people crossed by inching forward right after one car passed, then waiting for the next, and so on, a few feet at a time. I had not yet mastered that skill. Only at stoplights did I feel comfortable, and even then, I looked in every direction for those cars that