Tim Gunn: Make It Work!

You may be a Project Runway fan.   Even if you are not, you may be familiar with the inimitable Tim Gunn’s catch phrase “make it work!”  He utters this when a designer has produced something so abysmal, it seems impossible.  He says it when there is nothing else to say.

But the word “impossible” is of course relative.  Our version of impossible is often just inconvenience.  Africans give a whole new meaning to “make it work.”  Their resourcefulness astounds me.  The scaffolding made out of trees,

the efficiency with which mothers strap babies to their backs and then walk along busy roads with giant baskets skillfully and solidly balanced on their heads, the unthinkable items carried on bicycles and on heads – all just absolutely foreign to our western conveniences.  

Yes, there's a wee baby on her back.  Not to mention her toddler.

As we drive between the capital, Bujumbura, and Kigutu in the mountains, we pass countless versions of this.  People riding bicycles carrying unwieldy building materials; some carrying the same on their heads.  A man on a bicycle with what looked like a small jungle on his back – apparently cow fodder (yes, that's on the back of bicycle).

Women walking with tiers of flats of eggs on her head.  Eggs!  In layers!  Ok, they’re hard boiled, but still.    

The one that blew me away the most was a man walking with an inverted table on his head.  Not a cocktail table or end table, but a dining table.  And two chairs were neatly tucked underneath where they belong.  A table and chairs!  I wanted so badly to stop for this one and take a photo, but alas the circumstances.  

The photos here don't begin to depict the outrageous fantasticness that I've seen these few weeks - I've held off on this post hoping for better photos, but we seem to be always on the go, so this is the best I've been able to get.

Mattresses, furniture, bags of feed, a family of four (four!) on a moto, the dad driving with a box in his lap, the mom in back holding things out to the side with both hands, all on a hilly, rocky, dusty, mountain pass that barely had room for them and us. 

Unfortunately taken just a hair too soon, this was a whole procession of kids carrying tables on their heads -
you can just see the last few of the parade.

The whole family working as a team to get the new chairs home.

There was a goat giveaway at Kigutu recently – recognition for co-ops that have done exceptional work.  At the end of the speeches, the goats were divided up among the co-op members in attendance.  I look around - there are no vehicles, everyone has arrived by foot.  I ask my colleague, Peter, how they will get their 20 goats home.  He’s wearing a polo shirt, pressed jeans, and nice leather shoes.  He looks at me with a tilt of the head (‘you simpleton’ I'm sure he's thinking), and says “just like this” with an over-the-shoulder gesture.  These goats will be carried by these women on their shoulders and on their backs to get home.  I'm in awe.  I then recall that I saw one guy riding a bike with two goats tied on the rattrap.  Two goats! 

That reminds me of the time I had all sorts of things to carry, had to get the upper west side on a rainy day, which meant three train transfers and muddy, soggy train platforms, requiring a change of shoes, which I had stashed in my bag.  No, wait – I just took a cab.

But it’s all they know, right?  We would get used to it too, if we had to do it, right?  Well, maybe we would and maybe we wouldn’t.  And just because it’s all they know doesn’t mean it’s irrelevant.  What I take away from this is the juxtaposition between how we pity the developing world and their plight, countered against how we should be in awe of them – their resourcefulness, their strength, their resilience.  These people do things on a daily basis we never imagine doing.  Where do we get off pitying them?  They should pity us.  And in some ways, they probably do.

I'm the boss of you.

I reflect on this and think about the few make-it-work moments I've had myself.   I find that I learn things out of necessity … like, how to toast bread with bare hands over hot open coals and only burn myself a little, that Dove bar soap doubles as laundry detergent in a pinch, the best way to ease into an icy shower, how to eat a messy openface avocado-and-tomato sandwich without a napkin (as it turns out, they’re hard to come by), how to ensure there is toilet paper when there maybe wouldn’t be otherwise (it’s not really stealing if I leave a good tip, is it?), that sleeping inside mosquito netting with a roach (yes, a roach) all night won’t actually kill me (he was the goner in the end).  No, indeed I survived all these things, and I’m also pretty sure I’m now the boss of the roaches.

I look at this list and fancy myself pretty victorious.  Yet I recognize that against the backdrop of what is going on around me, outside these brick walls and metal gates, my victories are relatively ridiculous.  The real victories are those achieved daily by the strong and courageous people living in this mountainous and alternately dusty and muddy country, who have learned survival techniques far more dramatic than my pedestrian day-to-day coping strategies.  They are truly admirable in a way our western culture doesn't always recognize, but rather writes off as a necessary evil of the developing world.  While we can always call a friend, or call a cab, or call a 'service,' or go to the ATM, they have to find a way, when all else fails, to make it work.  And they do.