Crowdsourcing

It's an idea that has become increasingly popular in the developed world. However, I think the developing world stands to gain the most from its benefits. You’re probably familiar with the term ‘outsourcing’, where we export our work to India or China because it's cheaper. This idea is a little bit different and (hopefully) doesn't bring to mind sweatshops or layoffs. The idea is this: Imagine a large puzzle with thousands of tiny pieces. Most of the puzzles you and I know have all of these little pieces conveniently placed in a box, the work now is to put these little pieces together to make that winter cabin or giant puppy. So let's take this puzzle, but now the pieces are, instead of in a box, scattered around the country or around the world. And the puzzle isn't made of cardboard, it’s made of information. This information gets communicated through a variety of mediums and is pieced together by man and machine to get a better picture of the puzzle trying to be solved. There is no single expert, rather it utilizes the composite knowledge of the crowd.

This is crowdsourcing.

One example we're all familiar with is Wikipedia. This is an encyclopedia put together by various resources, and is continually edited and updated by people like you and me who may not be an expert on the entire subject, but aggregating bits and pieces of information that we each have stitches together the world's most extensive encyclopedia. Another example involving business is one called Amazon Mechanical Turk. This is a service created by Amazon to outsource little pieces of work to a whole lot of people. These jobs usually take less than a few minutes to complete and pay you a wage in cents. It’s not day-trading and wouldn’t make sense to quit your job and do this full-time, but it is a great way to supplement your income, especially if you run a store out of your home, have frequent downtime and a regular internet connection like my friend here in Subirana. The last example I’ll give, though unpopular, is Google. I mean when Google compiles your and my information and sells it to ad companies. It’s using little pieces of information from each one of us, turning them into trend charts or profiles and selling them. (I could have included them on this blog to turn a small profit from all of you… let me know if you don’t mind and I’ll add them).

Ease of access to the internet has caused this type of interactive collaboration to proliferate. Though, another popular method for aggregating data is the use of mobile phones. For use in the developing world this is key; SMS in particular. There is a group, a non-profit actually, called Ushahidi that developed an open-source software to aggregate and even map information from a variety of inputs including SMS, tweets, and email. Ushahidi is Swahili for testimony. The software was originally developed in Kenya to map incidents of violence and peace efforts after a controversial election in 2008. It has since been used to map the location of earthquake survivors in Haiti, crime reports in Atlanta, and distress messages during the infamous Snowmageddon. Ushahidi has also developed a compact web-based version of the software called Crowdmap where you can find a list of current projects or ‘deployments’. It turns out there’s a current project in Honduras to track and map healthcare resources, and has expanded to include disease outbreaks, incidents of violence, and demonstrations. This information helps people coordinating medical brigades or aid and relief efforts during a potential health crisis.

I’ve known about this type of technology for some time and I have been in the process of trying to figure out a business application for it. Specifically, what kind of information about coffee crops, exports, etc. would the cooperative benefit from tracking? Is there a larger organization with more manpower that would aggregate this information that would also benefit from this information? Who would the information come from and who would be able to or want to access it? I also just discovered that a microfinance organization called Funder and one of the mobile service providers Tigo are offering text message subscriptions to coffee, grain, and vegetable prices. Think of all the potential these kinds of resources have. Ideas welcome.

P.S. I got my stitches out this past Thursday, after a week. And I have spent every day since my last post in bed… a full week. I rediscovered the joy of solitaire and I’m on my way to becoming a computer chess master.

Tale of Two Stitches

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

I think those words describe the Peace Corps experience. Or at least I'm told. The highest highs and the lowest lows. I think those are just Dickens' words rephrased.

All kinds of things happen during Peace Corps, just like would happen during any given two years of your typical American life. They also include a few other experiences that typically don't happen in the States. Now, while many people receive stitches back home, I never did. Never a broken bone, never a stitch. You can't really say I'm not the adventurous type, I mean you are talking to a Peace Corps Volunteer... which leads me to recounting the glorious tale of my first two stitches. I'll spare you the graphic photos I had to send to the Medical Officer. But if you really want to see, I posted one on facebook a few days ago.

Honestly, I wish there was a really crazy story that involved machetes, wild rabid animals (don't worry, I'm vaccinated), and me rescuing several small children from a burning building. But it doesn't. The story starts at the high school here in town. It was "student day" which means no classes, games, food, and general tomfoolery. The teachers keep trying to get me to play the games, because they (and I) think if I play, all the girls will want to participate, too. I'm resisting for most of the games, enjoying just watching people do the three-legged race (which I think was a first for most of them).

Then comes the gunny-sack race.

There are six sacks, and they've managed to finagle 5 volunteers so far. They don't seem to be moving on, so I volunteer to take up the sixth, and smallest, gunny-sack to the applause of the students. The gunny sack reaches about mid-thigh, meaning I definitely have to be leaning forward to grab onto it. We line up on the raceway (read: gravel-dirt road). We race down to the end of the track, and prepare to turn around. Turn executed properly. I managed to kick a hole through my sack and was left with my foot hanging out. I spun the sack to get my both of my feet back in the bag. We take off back towards the start and a guy falls in front of me. I don't think I even tripped on him, I was just focused on tactically avoiding the obstacle and down I went. I got back up and finished the race, noting the obvious scratches on my hand. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or the fact that there aren't very many nerve endings in your knee, or that there were thirty-something high school girls watching me, but I didn't really notice my knee.

At first, anyway.

I noticed I tore a hole in my jeans, which I remember hurting more than the physical pain. We're in short supply of malls that sell Levi's down here. Then through the hole in my jeans I could see the blood. And the gaping hole where my knee usually is! Some lucky rock had managed to puncture my skin and whatever else was in the way, trying to get to me knee-cap. Probably that same lucky rock that ripped a hole in my jeans. We spent some time in the back of the school trying to clean up my bloody mess with cotton balls, hydrogen peroxide, rubbing alcohol, and tiny bandaids (that part was unsuccessful). A few people scoured the town to find some gauze pads only to return empty handed. They kept telling me to wait, they were still looking, etc. I finally told them I had a med kit with gauze pads and all kinds of other magical items back at the house if they would just let me leave. I stumble the two blocks back to the house, do a good cleanup job and tape on some gauze. At this point I just needed to lay down and take it easy.

I left.

I had made this commitment to the missionary group that was here to attempt some interpretation. I remember how difficult it is when people are saying all sorts of good things about you, thanking you, maybe crying and you have no idea. So I stumble back a few blocks to the church and head up to the front, now embarrassingly in shorts and flip-flops in an attempt not to irritate the wound. Interpreting is as hard or harder than it sounds, but luckily I had a friend there to help with the English-to-Spanish parts (i.e. most of it). One of the missionaries came up towards the end and mentioned to me that I might be bleeding. I look down my leg to find the evidence. They then discover my current situation and wounded status. Fortunately one of them tells me the cut looks deep enough to require stitches. They offered to help with the needles and thread they had (and no trained professionals). As sweet as that was, I resisted and got the number for the doctor in town since it was after-hours at the clinic. I explained it was sort of an emergency and she agreed to come to the clinic and help me out.

This is ugly.

She said it several times as I was staring at the ceiling trying to breathe as she poured rubbing alcohol over the open wound and dug around checking for bone shrapnel. All clear. I don't think I'll need an X-ray. She puts in the two stitches, patches it up with gauze and tells me to take it easy for a while. Minimal to no walking for a few days, some antibiotics and anti-inflammatories, and after a week we'll take out the stitches. I headed over to my friend's house to get some movies for the long weekend in bed.

The whole ordeal wasn't even that bad, it's just not very fun not being able to walk and being stuck in bed all weekend. Seems to be healing well and I'm able to sleep again, so now we just wait. And for all those people that think "third-world" medicine is crazy and unsanitary and are surprised they didn't just amputate my leg... it's not that bad. And the best part, the trip to the clinic after-hours and the two stitches totals a whopping 50¢, which Peace Corps would even reimburse. I can only imagine how much this ordeal would cost in the States, all for a small aquarium, comfy stools, and unused needles (just kidding!).


Well, if you feel bad for me, feel free to take this opportunity and send me a package. I'm not picky, but I really like chocolate and it's impossible to find here. You can find my address at the right.


Meanwhile, I'm so glad I could finally get back to work today...


Location: In the Cooperative.
Status: Meeting with the supervisory board. Going on 6 (now 7) straight hours with a short lunch break.
Current topic of conversation: Why the associates don't come to meetings...

Status Update

Ritmo de Cambio (Rhythm of Change): Slow...

I looked at the calendar today. Thursday is month 2 in site. Almost month 5 in Honduras.
Only 22 left.

I'm in the process of looking for a house. Hoping to make the move in August, but right now the only houses available are tiny little cement-block shacks. 2 bedroom, 1 bath, 1 living room/kitchen, outdoor pila, possibly a yard. Bedroom size is 2.8m x 2.8m. There is a slim possibility that another house is opening up, it's going to be somewhat of a political exercise to get it, so all prayers are welcome. My friends' house I was planning on moving into isn't going to be available for rent probably until next year sometime.

Work with the Cooperative has slowed down drastically. Slower pace, fewer meetings. We're trying to set up an overall accounting system. Our Excel workbook of credit accounts is up and running. They decided giving loans isn't as fun when people don't pay you back, so now the only thing on credit is fertilizer and old accounts. Considering that food prices have gone up, specifically corn and beans, the Cooperative is interested now in buying food stores to sell to the associates as another way to earn money and provide a service to the associates. At first, I thought it might be corn and beans to plant, but I have confirmed that it is for consumption. I'm still not sure how I feel about this or how it's going to work. The Cooperative has been focused on buying and exporting coffee, now we'll add to the resume importing and selling food stores.

Peace Corps inside update: Honduras is getting rid of the business project after I'm done. They will be combining it with another program into something called "Food Security," which will start February 2012. I guess now this makes sense given the current circumstances in Subirana.

I'm working with the Elementary school primarily helping with computer classes. Though Subirana is a tiny rural site, they have about 15 computers at the elementary school and another 12 at the high school. I've narrowed the work down to the 'advanced' classes - 7th, 8th, and 9th grade. The computer lab is only about 2 years old, so most of the kids are still very new to computers. We're not writing algorithms to compute an Excel database yet, but we're learning the basics. Actually, I had to go back and review the function of the mouse and check that everyone's left and other left were in order so we could click together. We're on track mostly now and I'm splitting the classes with the teacher. First half: theory, second half: practice.

For all of my resisting to help teach English, I actually jumped in with the 9th grade class to read some material with my lovely nondescript American accent. I force them to practice reading out loud. I've discovered most of them can read and write well enough, but they have the hardest time speaking or pronouncing any of it. Most of the people, in fact, will tell me they would love to learn English, but they are all too afraid or shy to even say one word. I told most of the students if they wanted to practice English with me, then they could talk to me, but I'm not really one for teaching it.

Work at the high school is pretty slow. I try to show up a few times a week, but most of what I do is chat with the teachers while they're not in class. I guess you could say I'm building relationships, but it feels more like wasting time. Nonetheless, I keep showing up to discuss plans or ideas of projects to start - we'll call it 'being available.' I did happen to be available when they invited me on their field trip to Omoa on the North Coast! I'll let you know how that goes when I get back (hopefully with nice pictures).

One of the guys in town invited me (read: tricked me) to help out with a kids' soccer team. There's about 25 kids in two teams between the ages of 10 and 14. I show up a few times and I'm now the official "trainer". I just add that to my stack of titles (along with people calling me "Profe"). This job entails leading exercises and kicking their butts for an hour or so a few times a week. It's a really good excuse to do some exercise and get to know the kids. (I find it's easier to run laps and do jumping jacks when 25 kids are copying you!). And I'm working in a secret project of cleaning up the soccer field by hand, you know, to teach them discipline and team work!


Bonus material:
I finally had enough internet to upload this video from our garden day of training.

Other Gringos

Last Monday I saw a bunch of white people in my town.

I had heard rumors that the Methodist church brought in groups every so often, but my initial reaction was almost defensive of my position as sole gringo in Subirana. However, I decided it would be rude not to introduce myself and there’s a possibility we could work together in the future. As I was approaching their group seated on the sidewalk, a bolo (drunk) carrying a machete (arma blanca) came wandering straight for us. He had just wandered off from the colegio a little earlier, but I was surprised to see him wandering up a street opposite the school. The normal advice in this situation is to run away. But I had to do something to save my American soon-to-be friends. Fortunately enough, this guy was only mildly drunk which means I could actually understand most of what he was saying and he had an inkling of rationale left in his brain. I intercepted him from shaking everyone’s hand and asked him where he was going and attempted to usher him in that direction. He stopped me to let me know that he was a Christian and a tranquil drunk. Oh, OK, great? I told him he was scaring everybody by walking around with a machete and they didn’t know he was a Christian and a tranquil drunk, so he should put it away or get rid of it. At this point you have to realize that the other Americans don’t speak a word of Spanish and have no idea what I’m saying to this guy. The only thing they see is the bolo squatting down to lay his machete on the ground and lift up his hands in semi-surrender to show he means no harm. I think that’s the reason they invited me, Bolo Master, to dinner. The drunk made a good point: you can’t just drop your machete on the ground and walk away. So he eventually asked me for money before walking off with his machete towards the park where all the children were playing… Don’t worry. I stopped him and told him to go another direction.

Status: Threat mitigated. Dinner acquired.

It was nice to have a taste of America for a week. I was able to share a couple meals and sit in on some processing sessions as many of them recounted the first day arriving here, which for many was the first time out of the States. Others were so overwhelmed by the day-to-day events they forgot what happened the first day. In either case, they were experiences and feelings that, though I used to share them, now contrasted to my own. I’ve become more accustomed to the cold showers – I don’t shiver or seize up. And bucket baths… been there, done that, still do it on occasion (just to take me back). The garbage everywhere, it starts to become a blind spot. The “extreme poverty” doesn’t seem very extreme.

The question it left me asking is this: What is normal?

Normal is the thing that makes us comfortable in our environment. Adapting is what makes us human. But are there things we shouldn’t adapt to? Are there some norms I shouldn’t change? Wouldn’t it be great if I had some profound insight to share with you regarding these questions? All I have are questions. I’ve already set myself up to throw my previous definition of ‘normal’ out the window, but talking with some other Americans who have a fresh perspective on my town makes me reconsider what I should label as ‘normal’ and what still shouldn’t be normal.

What’s normal for you?