LIS Cases: Amy's Zampatria River Exepedition

After several years of working as a systems administrator in various libraries and information centers around the Great Lakes, Amy Billings was restless. When a friend suggested they set up a consulting agency, she jumped at the chance. Using their contacts with non-governmental not-for-profit organizations, they had soon built up enough of a client base for Amy to quit her full time job at the Nanabush Library Consortium.

That year, they landed a major Unesco project grant, with partial funding from the Canadian International Development Agency (CIDA). Projects like these involved sending western analysts into developing nations, on the theory that small ongoing locally based projects were better than long term cash infusions from the West. The overall philosophy was: "Buy a man a fish, and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish, and you feed him for life." Amy and her partner quibbled about the proposal. "We know about NGOs", Amy said, "But what do we really know about other countries?" Her partner was more optimistic.  "No worries", he assured her. "You can apply systems thinking anywhere."

Amy was excited when she landed in the remote country of Zampatria. A Land Rover with government markings was waiting for her at the airport. After a bumpy two hour drive, it deposited her in the village of Terraqua. "You will be enjoying the Domus Hotel", said her cheerful chauffeur. "It is the very best hotel in Terraqua – very exclusive." Later, Amy realized it was the only hotel. It consisted of a few rooms attached to the local "chai shop", which sold wonderful tea and coffee, made fresh over a charcoal stove, to the steady stream of truckers who passed up and down the "improved" gravel highway which led to the capital.

On the way to her first meeting with her client at the Rural Improvement Project (RIP), Amy allowed herself extra time to perform a brief environmental scan. Only the main street was paved. The first thing she noticed was that there were no telephone poles lining the dirt streets. As she walked further, she saw that cinder block buildings soon gave way to whitewashed adobe houses, interspersed with mud brick ones. Most had tin roofs, and some had wide porches. Amy was struck by the beautiful pottery vessels which lined most of the porches. She wondered in passing why people who seemed to have so few material possessions would spend so much money on decorative pots.

Women thronged the market square, haggling with vendors for fruit and vegetables. Here and there, a butcher offered to slay various birds, small mammals, even the occasional reptile. Herb stands sold bunches of plants touting them as marvelous cures. Amy noticed a crowd gathering round a man dressed in a ragged robe. When he spotted Amy, the man began calling to her at once. "I can tell you the future," he claimed. "I can tell you your mother's name!" Amy thanked him politely and moved on. She already knew her mother's name.

The women were all stuffing their purchases into baskets, some with handles, some meant to be carried on the head. Amy got close enough to examine one of these baskets, and was surprised at how many gaps there were in the weave. It was made of twigs and tree bark, and if you bought anything small, it would surely fall out. The whole system seemed terribly inefficient. Pulling out her notebook, she summarized quickly. She already had some ideas on improving the village. "Source plastic bags for women. Do pots have functions? Electricity. Telecommunications? Build proper hotel? Pavement? Prefabricated houses? Mobile homes?"

Mr. Marcellus Howe was in charge of the RIP. He welcomed her to a meeting of half a dozen project officers, two of whom were women. Howe began to explain how the village worked. It was the market town for the region, one of Zampatria's three main agricultural areas. Electricity was provided by generators, but the required gasoline or kerosene was delivered by tanker trucks. If the main road to the capital washed out in a monsoon, Howe explained, the village might be left without fuel for some days, and hence, without electricity. Howe laughed. Besides, every night at about eight o'clock, there was a thunderstorm. The power inevitably went out during these storms. People out on the town went armed with umbrellas and pocket torches. It took Amy a minute to realize he meant flashlights.

Ordinary homes used kerosene lamps, said Howe. He called them "paraffin lamps", forcing some quick mental translation on Amy's part. Most meals were prepared over charcoal cookers, said Howe, and the charcoal had to be bought from charcoal burners, who trekked down on foot from the forested slopes of the Sarai Mountains. Weaving was the other main Sarai Mountain industry, and as far as livestock went, goats and sheep predominated, along with a great many chickens. Maize was the main crop, and the climate allowed three plantings per year.

Amy asked about irrigation. Howe laughed. Yes, they had dug channels from the Zampatria River. "We don't have running water in the houses. Did you notice the pots?" Amy asked for clarification. "People take water from the well, or from the Zampatria River itself," Howe explained. "They cart it home, and put it in those pots you see lining the porches." Amy was astounded. "But they leak! Why not use plastic pails?" Howe laughed again. "They're meant to leak a bit. The water seeps through the clay, and evaporates – natural cooling for the water inside." Amy thought for a moment. "What would you say were the main challenges for the RIP?" Howe laughed softly. "Oh, the usual ones", he said. "Drought, famine, crop failure, inability to preserve the harvest, health, illiteracy, poverty... you name it."

Her head swimming from the implications, Amy made her way back to the Domus Hotel, bought a hot mug of chai from the grinning vendor, and took out her laptop. Soon, she had created a 64 kilobyte file, containing a summary of her experiences, with tentative recommendations. Darkness was gathering over the Sarai Mountains. The tea was stone cold. Amy lit a candle and settled back to read her document. Just then, the electricity went off all over town.  Before Amy's laptop battery went dead, what do you think she wrote in her preliminary report?

[What questions would you ask if you were Amy? What systems would you define and investigate further? What mistakes has Amy made so far? Is she being too hasty in recommending solutions? Write a short (1-2 paragraph) commentary on this case. Hints: Amy could have learned a lot about Zampatria by checking the CIA World Factbook and the US Department of State Web pages before she left. What other homework might she have done?]