Raging Bulls

I had a 3-hour lunch with a friend the other day. It’s not that we ordered a lot of food, nor that the service was especially slow. We don’t even know each other that well. But we talked on and on. We do have things in common. We work in the same field, for example. But more importantly, and what kept us talking for hours, was the fact that we’ve both had the experience of working for bully bosses.

I’ve had my share of difficult bosses. I don’t mean demanding bosses; I’ve had a few of those, too, but they are not the problem. Bully bosses are more than demanding. They are unfair, unreasonable, and often unpredictable. They might be very smart and good at thinking on their feet, but they lack empathy and emotional maturity. They are poor managers and can be manipulative, Machiavellian, and represent the penultimate Mean Girl (or Mean Guy). Undeterred egos and ambition are also common characteristics, as is an overdeveloped sense of superiority.

Judging by the amount of literature devoted to dealing with bully bosses, the stories my lunch mate and I exchanged with each other are hardly unique. An article in Forbes Women Magazine puts it this way:

“The simple truth is that bully or tyrant bosses can be found in abundance. Unfortunately, the majority can't legally be institutionalized. Many should not be bosses.”

Seen from the outside, bully bosses can be a fascinating study in contrasts. I had a bully boss who could be remarkably articulate and astute, and come off as quite caring in some instances. Or she could be verbally abusive, throw tantrums, and contradict herself in ways that left staff, and the occasional important visitor, quite dumbfounded. Being in the line of fire of these displays was not only disconcerting, and at times humiliating, but also incredibly destabilizing for the whole organization. It instilled fear and avoidance even among the most senior and well-respected members of management. It also discouraged frank discussion and exchange.

For people who are not in a position to just tell the boss to “take this job and shove it” or more simply say, “you need help” and quietly walk away, dealing with bully behavior can take a huge toll on their physical and mental health. Because we don’t live in the scripted world of clever TV shows or William Wilder films, most of us can’t come up with the snappy retort or cool response that would help us glide over bully remarks with wit and agility.  Instead, we do things like babble, go silent, or say things we later regret. And in some ways, this is the most insidious part about bully bosses – how they push us beyond the boundaries of normal professional behavior into darker areas of avoidance, deceit, self-doubt, and other such things that don’t do anyone any good.

Because the problem is so rampant, there’s no shortage of advice in the press and online on how to deal with the bully boss. This may help survive the onslaught, but it doesn’t really resolve the issue. The best solution is to get out from under a tyrannical supervisor either by quitting, transferring to a new reporting line, or having the person in question leave or move to a different position. Sometimes, horrible bosses do get their due; they get fired, demoted, or as happened to one over-the-top-boss for whom I worked, publicly embarrassed in a major media story. Occasionally, they get promoted away or hired by unsuspecting new employers.

One positive side effect of working for a bully is that it can build solidarity among those on the receiving end of the unreasonable behavior. I still get together with a group of colleagues that bonded nearly 20 years ago in such circumstances. And over the years, I have forged far closer connections with colleagues in the face of subsequent bully bosses than I would have otherwise.

But even in the best-case scenarios, the imprints of abuse from bully bosses run deep. Recovery takes time. It takes a measure of realignment, a move to a saner working environment, and the occasional long lunch.

Encounters with Urban Livestock

 

One of the things I have to watch for when I’m out on my daily walks with the dog is cow pies. There is a certain irony to this, considering that I spent several months last year traveling to remote parts of Africa to find indigenous African cattle. Now I run into them in our neighborhood.

Though we live in a fairly densely populated part of Nairobi, it is not at all unusual for us to encounter herds of cattle. We also come across goats, sheep, chickens, and even the occasional camel. One day, the dog and I stumbled across two little piglets rooting around in the ditch. They did not seem to be accompanied by anyone and did seem to be thoroughly enjoying themselves. The dog was mystified.

Encounters with urban livestock are hardly unusual in Nairobi, as they are a primary source of wealth, livelihood, and food for its poorest residents. Exact figures for the numbers of farm animals living within city limits are hard to come by, though estimates suggest they are far higher than expected by policymakers and members of the general public. Most city livestock keepers are tucked away in informal settlements (aka slums), where they are totally ignored by official counts and services. So you can imagine how difficult it is to get a read on real numbers.

The first major study of urban agriculture in Kenya was undertaken in 1985 by the Mazingira Institute, which concluded that there were about 1.4 million heads of livestock being raised in urban parts of Kenya, worth some 3 million dollars in assets. Since then, the number of people living in Kenya’s city slums has more than doubled. So, we can presume that the growth in urban livestock has followed a similar pattern. In fact, more recent research by the Mazingira Institute suggests the raising of livestock in urban centers is increasing faster than the rate of urbanization.

Because of their need to graze and penchant for the green grasses found along the edges of city streets, cattle are fairly ubiquitous in both commercial and residential neighborhoods of Nairobi. As you can imagine, this creates some interesting traffic issues. But luckily, the bazillion-page Kenya Driving Code has this covered:

First, the code defines the term “cattle” to avoid any confusion. Interestingly, the definition includes not only oxen, bulls, and cows but also horses, camels, mules, asses, sheep, goats, and swine. There’s nothing about chickens.

Second, it describes how “cattle” should be given the right of way:

Section 52. Signals and signs to be obeyed

·       The driver of a vehicle shall at all times—when any person in charge of any cattle raises his hand or in any manner gives a signal to stop, forthwith stop his vehicle and keep it stationary for as long as it is reasonably necessary.

Finally, it outlines the penalties for failing to “forthwith stop” in the presence of “cattle”.  These include a fine of up to 50,000 Kenya Shillings (about US$540) or 6 months of prison on a first conviction. A repeat offense can result in a 70,000 Shilling (US$760) fine or 1-year prison term, along with the potential of 2-year driving license suspension.

The steepness of these fines does not correlate with much appreciation for the benefits and values of urban livestock. According to people who research these things, urban livestock are largely viewed in policy and practice as dirty, unsafe, and decidedly unmodern. Federal and local rules tend to be stacked against citified farm animals due to concerns about waste, disease, and traffic accidents. The result is that most urban livestock keepers function off the record and without the benefit of modern sanitation, veterinary care, refrigeration, water, or electricity.

In spite of this, studies show that urban livestock have a hugely beneficial effect, especially in terms of child nutrition. They offer a source of protein and nutrients that are otherwise largely lacking from the traditional subsistence diet of ugali (a sort of corn meal) and chopped greens.

And for the more industrious keepers, urban livestock can provide a hefty source of income that would be otherwise unattainable. Public Radio International’s The World Program featured a story in 2013 about a woman named Regina Wangari who raises chickens, rabbits, and goats in one of the Nairobi slums, earning $1,000 per month from the sale of chicks, eggs, and meat – a truly phenomenal sum.

While her success may be exceptional, her strategy is not. Which is why I expect the sight and sounds of urban livestock will continue to enrich the colors of our daily experiences out and about on the roads of Nairobi.

Graduating from Home Economics

Home economics class was mandatory for girls when I was in 7^th grade. Boys took shop. It was the 1970s, and I lived in Middle America. There we were at the height of the feminist movement, and what were we doing? The boys were making bookshelves and using a soldering iron, while the girls were making white sauce, pulling an elastic through a skirt waistband, and making sure our soup was served “piping hot.”

As it happens, my mother, grandmother, aunts, and cousins were all remarkable cooks and seamstresses. So, long before I’d walked through the doors of West Junior High School, I’d learned how to sew, cook, and knit.  More importantly, I could make a multicolored vest out of crocheted squares. This was very hip.

So, I really resented the fact that I had to take home ec. The teacher was a priss, and though probably in her late 20s, she seemed to cling to a vision of womanhood that was at least two decades behind the times.

Reforms came a year or so later, when pressure from the girls convinced the school administration to drop the gender requirements and let everyone choose between shop and home economics. By the time we got to high school, things had really improved. The domestic science classes had become electives, more practical, and open to anyone. They also touted perky new names like: Know Your Auto (a hit with the girls); Let’s Cook! (surprisingly popular with the boys); and Ready, Set, Sew!

The irony of all this is that historically, home economics was an incredibly progressive and feminist field of study, developed to get women into higher education and leadership positions. Known initially as domestic science, it became a real stepping stone for 19^th century women’s entry into serious careers (e.g., teaching or work in agricultural extension services, state and federal governments, industry, hospitals, restaurants, and hotels) thanks to the establishment of the land grant college system in 1862. Unlike private colleges, which largely excluded female students, the land grant institutions were coed and publicly funded. Courses in home economics were targeted at farm wives and focused on household management. The instruction was far more interdisciplinary (and interesting) than the kind of stuff they were serving up in my day. Topics included budgeting, consumer economics, nutrition, child development, fiber science (!), and agriculture.

In the mid-1990s, the term “home economics” was dropped in favor of a new term, “family and consumer science.” The change is supposed to reflect the fact that the field has once again moved beyond cooking and sewing to regain some of its former relevance.

Meanwhile, I’m now in my fifties. In all the years that have passed since my 7^th grade home ec class, I have never worried about whether or not the soup I was serving was “piping hot”.  I’ve cooked meals, hosted parties, sewn lots of Halloween and other costumes, accumulated advanced degrees, balanced work and family life, and served in senior management positions.

But now, more than ever, I could use guidance in the domestic science department.  I could use the steady, stern hand with which my grandmother, and even one of my aunts, used to manage a part of their household that I’ve only encountered in recent years – the domestic staff. Until I moved abroad, it just wasn’t part of the curriculum, in school or in life.

Hiring and managing household staff comes with the territory when you are an expat in a developing country. Labor is cheap, and you are an important source of employment. But to me, it’s very different from managing staff at work. It’s literally close to home, and far more invasive than office politics. So I’m learning by doing. And if I occasional blunder, well, at least I can make a white sauce.

Our expat kitchen

Playground Bullies

Most of the time, I try to stay positive about living in Kenya. You meet incredible people. There is a remarkable drive, level of entrepreneurship, and energy for modernizing this country and making it better. The land is beautiful, and the potential for wonder and adventure is huge.

But then there are times, like earlier this week, where frustration and despair take the forefront.

On January 19, Kenyan police fired teargas at a group of young children in Nairobi, who were protesting a land grab scheme that was taking away their school’s playground. The story made the international press. Here was a situation so egregious and disgraceful that not even the heavy hands of corruption and power could put a lid on it. 

According to the news stories, the children returned from Christmas break – prolonged by a two-week strike by underpaid teachers – to find that walls had been erected to block their access to the empty field that constituted their playground. Presumably, some wealthy, private individual (some say a leading politician) had acquired the land to make a parking lot. 

source: http://www.sbs.com.au/news/article/2015/01/19/kenya-police-tear-gas-school-children-playground-protest

 The kids, their teachers, and some other concerned adults began banging on the wall in protest. Ultimately, they managed to push down a section using sticks and sheer will. But this was not before armed police had been called in, and decided to shoot canisters of tear gas at the protestors. They also brought in fierce-looking police dogs. Mind you, we are talking about a primary school, where the kids are aged 6 to 13 years. Ten or so of them ended up in hospital. Many more could be seen crying, choking, and trying to rinse out their eyes. If you’ve ever been on the receiving end of tear gas, you’ll understand. It’s nasty stuff.

The disputed land is public, as is the primary school that sits on it. The story of public land getting into private hands through dubious means is hardly new or unusual here in Kenya. It’s just that this case was a particularly nasty and obvious example of greed, corruption, and abuse on the part of the power elite and heavy-handed police force – ills that all too often come down hardest on the backs of the poorest and most powerless.

Because of its high visibility, this story has a positive outcome, at least for the time being. After the requisite finger pointing and gnashing of teeth – not to mention attempts to blame the parents and teachers for “inciting” the protest – government officials from the president on down condemned the actions. They suspended the police officer in charge of the tear gas decision and issued formal apologies. The Land Ministry has officially declared that the playground belongs to the school and brought in grading machines to make it more usable.

According to several news venues, including an NPR report by Gregory Warner, this story is being seen as something of a triumph for the little guys. Noting that it’s not how these stories usually end, Warner sites an example of potential positive spillover from this ordeal:

“(…) In a different part of the city, I saw another victory for the public. I passed another prime piece of real estate with a private developer's illegal fence around it. Government bulldozers were destroying the fence, reclaiming public land, to a surprised and swelling crowd. It seemed that, at least for now, the school kids in Nairobi had won more than just their own playground.”

But questions remain. How many other land grabbing schemes remain under the radar of popular outcry. Who is paying for the health and hospital care of those injured by the teargas? Will the team of 11 lawyers set up by the Law Society of Kenya to try to prosecute the perpetrators of the police brutality make any headway?

If the aftermath of the incompetence and violations displayed by Kenyan military and law enforcement officials during the Westgate terrorist siege is any indication, truth and fairness will remain elusive.  Secrecy and cover up will continue to rule the day. And #Occupy Playground will be graded over like so many uneven clumps of grassy fields.