Illicit... Bulgaria.... Scotsman... Language and Other Otherwise Unrelated Thoughts

October 16th - Sofia, Bulgaria

Illicit Political Economy in Bulgaria

Brendan Former Afghanistan Expat Goody-do-right Scott, Anja German Student of Bulgarian Social-Realist Literature and I Babbling Idiot went out Friday night. We searched Sofia high and low for the hippin’est and most hoppin’est of venues. Alas, our first selection was piano bar/lounge complete with obligatory pictures of the Rat Pack produced only single 30 and 40-somethings crooning to their favorite Bulgarian and American classics. Now age conscious, we hired a cab for the University District. Woe and sorrow! Blown out speakers turned up to eleven ruined any potential enjoyment of classics such as “what is love, baby don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me… no more.”

“Sin City”

Back in the center it was decided that the last viable option would be Sin City, a large venue spotted near the hostel. After a pat down and metal detector we were in. This was the first bar with a heavy dose of security guardsThis established blasted turbo folk like 1999. We stood awkwardly to the side while very strong, very fat men shook hands and hugged other fat strong men in turns. People danced on table-tops. The go-go gals paid a visit to a particularly large (fat) man sitting in the middle of a table on either side sat two large (strong) men with only a beer for sipping pleasure. These men scanned the crowd and said little. Despite the shiny glamour, strobe lit disco-balls and enthusiastic table-dancing, it was clear that we stood out like kiddies at the grown up table (or grown ups at the kiddy table). The only black man in Bulgaria, dressed in a 19^th century coachman’s suit, bid us farewell at the exit. Suffice to say we left that world speechless for 30 seconds, followed by 15 minutes of trying to talk about it, followed by prolonged speechlessness.

Human Trafficking

Perhaps by coincindence an American woman of 25 years arrived to the hostel the next day. She has lived in various parts of Europe for about 5 years. She has been learning a great deal about human trafficking and utilizing her Anthropology undergrad background to conduct informal interviews with many people in areas highly affected by the trade, namely Odessa and Moldova. This is what I learned from here if memory serves:

Good looking Eastern European girls (of which there are many, a typical Eastern European build resembles the ideals of beauty in the West and thus the world) are approached by a friend, relative, or a “business recruitment” agency. The ladies come from places where there is little hope for the lifestyle promoted by magazine, song, and film should they stay at home. Promised high wages and the dream of a good life in a Western country, they are duped into leaving everything behind and to trust the guidance of an agency. The places they are promised work often do actually exist or at least have web-pages. Those that exist outside of virtual reality rarely are aware of their Moldovan recruitment efforts.

Once displaced their lives or the lives of their families are threatened and the girls are put to work, most often as prostitutes. A cost of $2,000 for documents and transportation becomes an exorbinant debt of tens of thousands of dollars that must be “paid back.” Large destinations for Eastern European women include Dubai, Turkey, Western Europe and Russia. Major source countries include Russia, Moldova, Romania, Bulgaria, and much of the former Yugoslavia.

Several organizations work to repatriate the girls. This typically costs about US$ 10,000. An ounce of prevention often is worth more than a pound of damage control. The American woman hoped to resolve the sources of the problem, namely the inability of the girls to assess the claims of recruiters and the complete lack of alternative economic opportunities. A few distinct ideas seemed to appear over the course of our conversation:

1. Microfinance for girls to have opportunities other than taking a chance.
2. An informal network of people to check into the proclaimed destination of a recruiter
3. A certification organization to look into the claims of actual talent recruitment business.
4. Traveling education lectures to visit the most likely victims (this approach is currently supposedly undertaken by some huge NGOs whose names I forget).

Ideas about education are a simple start but the level of desperation that compels someone to leave home all on their own despite the apparent obvious risks makes a DARE-style lecture seem to me unlikely to have lasting effects (of course if you sway 1 or 2% on the fence not to do it, that is significant).

The technique used to rope girls into this blatantly evil practice strike me as unusually devious and malicious. People need hope. Coming from a bleak past and with vision only of a bleak future, the need to hope compels an individual to take an ill-advised chance… perhaps even if they know it is ill-advised. The endemic nature of corruption in many source and destination countries makes working through governments towards enforcement little more than wishful thinking.

I hope that people like the American woman find ways to start initiatives like those listed above. If anyone who reads this wants to know more, email me and I get you in contact with the under-experienced 25 year-old California native who knows a lot about what is broken and wants desperately to find ways to fix it.

Talking and thinking about this made me look back on the run in with the “not-professional” prostitute in Ohrid with renewed nausea. My intuition tells me that her situation is much different from those trafficked but prostitution still sucks.

Brendan’s Plan to Save the World or Get Rich Trying

I spent the majority of the last week bumming around with Brendan, a 26 year-old Scotts-man with a flair for quoting literature and poetry, a zestfully bleak attitude to veil his deeper optimism and a height of 6 feet 5 inches. Brendan is intelligent and hardworking, characteristics that led him to the highest academic heights of British and American law programs. Working single-mindedly with every waking minute to achieve academically burned the man out eventually. To be first in your class offers a path so well worn for such a golden child of Law School. But as his heart wasn’t in it, he put his considerable intellect into non-profits. This led Brendan to Afghanistan in 2004 where he has worked for the last two years.

Brendan and I conversed epically to a fault. Even attempts to talk about women in the most superficial of ways turned into dialogues exploring what shaped our opinions. Eventually resigned to our fate, we drank begrudgingly to endlessly good conversation. Brendan, upon returning to Scotland. Will begin setting up a middle-man organization for NGOs and clients. Their organization will direct money from rich donors to worthy NGOs and will guarantee accountability and results by working with groups that measure outcomes of their project. This is what the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation demands and it is a relatively new and definitely rapidly expanding aspect of the non-profit community. According to Brendan almost anything can be measure quantitatively. It would be fascinating to learn how. Brendan will be the main guy in charge of selecting charities.

I learned a great deal from Brendan. His presence in Sofia made yet more eager to get to Kyrgyzstan and get less theoretical and more practical.

Random thoughts on Language and Culture (cont’d from last entry?)

Brendan traveled through Iran on his way here and remarked on a Persian concept that pervades their art, music, food and architecture. The Persians have a word that expresses a sort of overwhelming or overindulgence. As a result many foods, buildings, artworks and musical pieces are overly busy, ornate and impressive. Unfathomably beautiful and intricate and yet too much to enjoy for long. I think the word must be uber-Baroque.

Learning languages is like seeing new colors. These colors may only be concepts of the mind but nevertheless the richness of perception of the world increases exponentially.

October 19, 2006 – Munich, Germany

I have abandoned all hope of seeing my precious visa credit card ever again. After departing Indianapolis nearly a week ago, my visa card arrived in Paris. As its final destination was to be Sofia, Bulgaria, this made sense. Then things took a turn for the worst. New Jersey lured my visa card into its seedy depths. It has yet to emerge. Though broken hearted, I knew I had to carry on.

I did the bus dance for two days. I was very sick for the first day, which worked out well. I was stuck on a bus where I could expect only to be cramped and sweaty and where I could hope only for sleep. Stiff and sweaty from fever, sleeping was all I wanted to do. After a brief layover in Prague, I met Greg in Munich. Dysentery aside, things are going well.

Sometimes the fulfillment of a stereotype can be a beautiful thing. Munich has provided a few such moments all ready. Everyone rides bikes. They are strewn about the sidewalk and in front of the dorm. They are not locked to anything but a chain prevents the rear wheel from turning. People say things like ‘ist goot, ja?’ and greet one another with ‘greet god’ in a goodly German accent.