Under the SurfaceSelections from Makeshift Magazine

curated for the Feast Worldwide Dinner

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RE-CULTURE 19

Organic growth is the goal of any economy. Regrettably, such de-velopment is lacking in certain parts of the world. In an effort to fill this void, many well-meaning individu-als seek to provide impoverished areas with in-kind donations—goods and services given freely which could be given cash values. This may seem appropriate, if not com-mendable, but unfortunately many in-kind donation schemes are bad aid—aid which creates more harm for its beneficiaries than good.

The poster child for the in-kind donation model is TOMS, a shoe company which has gained substantial popularity for its socially conscious business model. TOMS allows its custom-ers to donate through personal consumption with a one-for-one model, giving one pair of shoes to impoverished children for each pair purchased. The hope is that by freely giving shoes away, the gap between the haves and have-nots might be bridged.

Unfortunately, it’s not that simple. Often, such methods of giving do more to suppress the economic growth of targeted areas than they do to help. Clothing donations have a consistent record of damaging local economies, specifically textile industries.

Economist Garth Frazer of the University of Toronto found a significant negative correlation between donations and produc-tion, concluding that imported used clothing has “a negative impact on apparel production in Africa, explaining roughly 40 per-cent of the decline in production and 50 percent of the decline in employment” from 1981 to 2000. According to The Nation, between 1992 and 2006 “543,000 textile workers lost their jobs” in Nigeria, as over 150 companies shut down after being undercut by outside aid. As journalist Nick Wad-hams argued in TIME, “Flood-ing the market with free goods could bankrupt the people who already sell them... Many coun-tries’ textile industries collapsed under the weight of secondhand-clothing imports that were introduced in the 1970s and 80s.”

These numbers mean thou-sands of jobs were lost due to well-meaning donors unintention-ally preventing the beneficiaries of their aid from providing for them-

Bad AidAbstractThe buy-one-give-one model, a new fad in international development, threatens to undermine local manufacturing economies through donations.

Text by Kevin Laughlin Illustration by Dadu Shin

ESSAY AFRICA

selves. Such damage to the textile industry is particularly dangerous because this sector is the first rung of the ladder for industrialization.

Aid watchdogs, such as Good Intentions Are Not Enough, have documented the availability of locally-made shoes and sandals throughout the developing world. Anywhere you go, sandals are available for low prices from local merchants. The makers of these products, experts tend to agree, should be supported to grow organically, not undercut by impulsive and misinformed giving by Western consumers. But the popular aid fads of today ignore this, incorrectly believing that simply giving a pair of shoes will make a lasting difference.

It is essential to consider the effects of economic interac-tions involving the poor to ensure that more harm than good isn’t being done to those in need. The desire to help is commendable, but in-kind donations are not the best ways to make a positive impact. By injecting outside goods at prices which undercut local merchants, TOMS and similar donation schemes prevent these sellers from earning a living and helping build their local economy from the ground up, stifling the organic growth these commu-nities so desperately need.

Well-meaning donations have

a history of undermining

local production economies, forcing

factories out of business.

28 MAKESHIFT

“You can catapult your old belongings, and a big bag of money lands on your hand. How easy that is.”

This is the latest advertisement from the website Baixing run-ning on Shanghai subway screens. Baixing is an online barter plat-form owned by eBay. In Chinese, baixing means “commoners”.

As a designer, I strive to cre-ate objects that are simple and timeless—classic products to be used forever. But after living in China for half a decade, I have not found that philosophy here.

Another online favorite, DianPing, offers reviews on any

ESSAY CHINA

Re-generationAbstractAs China Westernizes, its residents—from traditional craftsmen to young consumers—find themselves conflicted in their perspective on re-culture.

Text and photos by Lynnette Chan

topic that might concern Shanghai residents: the city’s best-kept gos-sip, places to eat, group discounts, shopping tips, and, of course, countless “mistake” purchases up for barter. These online platforms offer channels for easily ridding oneself of products. There’s no guilt in buying something one min-ute and getting rid of it the next, all from the comfort of your home.

In a 2009 study on Chinese media consumption, we found that readers stopped purchasing print magazines because the two inches of beautiful glossy paper brought with it light resale value—and heavy guilt. But this phe-nomenon arose from the demand side: When readers purchase a magazine from a newspaper stand, they want it as thick as possible. Thicker equals more content. More content for the same price equals value. Hence, Chinese Elle is at least four times thicker than a Finnish Elle. But when it comes time to dispose old issues, the dated titles retain almost zero resell value. Because it is diffi-

cult to resell or reuse, consumers thought twice before buying.

In contrast, it is easy to pick up an iced fizzy drink to quench one’s thirst on a hot Shanghai noon and toss the PET plastic bottle into the bin without hesitation. Unlike magazines, this humble bottle has its suitors. In Shanghai, a sophisti-cated hierarchy of rag pickers runs the recycling game. The lowest-level rags pick barehanded—elderly who pop their heads into trash bins, spe-lunking for discarded bottles. Oth-ers cruise around on their tricycles ringing bells jerry-rigged from old kettle covers to buy unwanted bottles at CNY 0.10 (USD 0.02) each.

These retired elderly are sus-tainability angels, halving the trash in bins by pulling out Styrofoam boards, packaging boxes, soda cans, and cooking oils to trade them for cash. But at the same time, it makes the process of consuming an extra dis-posable bottle seem innocuous. No guilt accompanies the act of tossing.

What most Shanghai residents don’t see are the piles of collected bottles gathered and sent to informal

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RE-CULTURE 29

recycling centers in rural areas, typically a local entrepreneurs’ low-cost setup. Every part of the bottle is separated: cap, label, and bottle. Workers sit among the bottles, un-screwing each cap off, slitting off the label and sorting by shape and color. Hands hurt most for unscrewing thousands of caps each day. Designed to be user-friendly, the ribbed feature on the cap ironically causes the most pain on the laborer’s thumb. When we fail to see how much effort is put into disposing a humble bottle, we continue to consume and dispose.

The attitude towards “throw-awayism” differs among genera-tions. Older Chinese from the 50s and 60s treasure and repurpose their objects. They are from the generation when China began to open its borders to the world, and color televisions, refrigerators, and rice cookers were objects of desire. They were precious. The older generation does not understand the rapid technology advancement of the iPhone 4 or 5, nor the rationale behind bartering away a new laptop.

My seamstress repurposed an unwanted newspaper stand to be her thread stand.

My fruit seller used a tree branch to replace the broken feet of his stool.

China’s “sustainability angels” alleviate the effects

of burgeoning consumption, including resellers and repairmen

(3), as well as scrap pickers and recycling sorters (1 and 2).

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My neighbor used unwanted steel sheets to make a three-square-meter extension from of his fourth-floor balcony.

There is a beautiful traditional trade in ancient China. Chinese craftsman can stitch back a broken ceramic cup with a hand drill and threads, producing an artifact more beautiful than the original. But this is a disappearing trade, as it re-quires graceful skills, patience, and years of apprenticeship. With these traditions of restoration falling out of fashion comes greater apprecia-tion for the disappearing craftsman who fixes broken objects.

For my neighbor who patched the worn, uneven heels of my Puma sneakers.

The repairman who replaced ribs of my broken umbrella.

The aged couple at the corner who patiently mended thread by thread the tiny holes on shirts.

Chinese youth of the 80s and 90s continue to reject their past and look towards the future. They adopt “international” style and dis-like traditional furniture. Antiques are too country bumpkin. Said one respondent to our study, “Using a repaired object is humiliating. No one does it these days.”

Meanwhile, at a design confer-ence earlier this year, a Swiss pros-thetist-turned-furniture-designer Jonas Merian turned up. For the past year, Jonas has been treasure hunting for unwanted flooring and furniture from demolished Chinese homes. With his craftsmanship in prosthetics, he upcycles Chinese tables, water dispensers, and wood planks into objects of desire. A new life for unfashionable goods.

But for most, modern homes are too tiny to store old broken appliances and furniture. No one has learned how to fix them. The craftsmen are disappearing. The government is encouraging internal consumption to rely less on exports. Online commerce allows delivery to your doorstep—the next day.

And hey, if you don’t like it, catapult those wrong purchases away. It’s that easy.

32 MAKESHIFT

DISPATCH MOZAMBIQUE

Repair in ReachAbstractClinicians repair damaged bodies with whatever materials are available—and a healthy dose of creativity.

Text and photos by Johannes Myburgh

The sounds of grinders and drills echo off the walls in the Hos-pital Central de Maputo, the largest hospital in Mozambique, where thirteen men and women cut and melt industrial plastic PVC pipes into braces and artificial limbs.

When the country’s 16-year civil war ended in 1992, as many as five million land mines were left in the ground. Today, roughly

half of the 2,000 patients this hospital houses have been injured by land mines. Others who come here for help suffer from dis-ease or accidents on bad roads.

“We cut the tube in half, then put it in the oven to melt. Then we take it out and bend it open,” explains technician Paulo Rafael. He opens a hinged-door furnace, which lets off a waxy heat. Inside, a metal rod stuck through a 20-inch length of PVC pipe rests on sup-ports on either side of the oven, suspending the plastic in the air.

Donated to the hospital by the Indian government in 2010, the plastic was designated for prostheses. But plastic alone is too weak to do the job of an arm and a leg. The workshop used to make prostheses by reinforc-ing the PVC tubes with metal pipes, but metal stockpiles ran out in August.

“A lot of prostheses came back because they didn’t work,” says Rafael. “We can only use the plastic for small things. For bigger things it just doesn’t work,” explains Rafael.

Instead they use the 0.8-inch diameter pipes to produce braces to support a patient’s own arm or leg weakened by accident or disease. The process is a creative impro-visation, hatched in the face of scarcity. “As we have nothing, we’re using the material from India so people don’t leave empty-handed,” says technician Paulo Rafael.

The technicians shape the mol-ten plastic around models of arms or legs made of plaster of Paris and then bake them again. Once cooled and hardened, the plastic is cut loose with a grinder, trimmed, and fitted with leather straps. The new brace fits like a glove on the patient’s limb.

17-year-old patient Ana Cossa’s right arm and leg have been disfigured by muscle weak-ness. She is here to try on her first brace, which should help her arm grow straight again.

When it’s fixed on, she smiles. “It’s comfortable,” she says, im-pressed with her new gadget.

The workshop was set up in the early 1990s by the Red Cross after the civil war but was handed over to Mozam-bique’s health ministry later.

“Then we started using our own methodology,” says Sergio Nhamtumbo, Head of Ortho-pedics. The unit incorporated plaster of Paris and leather in its designs, changing from more conventional steel and plastics.

Farmer Fernando Wamba, whose right leg was blown off below the knee by a land mine in 1989, waits patiently while the technicians mend his third prosthesis since the accident. He comes in from the coun-tryside twice a year to have his artificial leg repaired.

“I can walk and do every-thing I need to do,” he explains, happy that a few bits of plastic and metal have enabled him to earn his living with dignity.

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MOBILITY 33

From Stanford to Jaipur A team from Stanford University is trying to revolutionize prostheses by making high-end artificial limbs available at low cost. Cheaper prosthetics usually hinge like a door, making the joints uncomfortable and unstable under pressure. The students researched both the inputs used in cheap prosthetics in developing countries and the function of expensive titanium knee joints, with price tags up to USD 100,000. Their final product, with a more flexible joint, sells for just USD 20. The team piloted nearly 50 new limbs in Jaipur, India in 2009 and plans to mass produce 100,000 even more affordably within the next three years.

Artificial limbs for animals The Thailand-Myanmar border is littered with land mines that pose a risk to people and wildlife alike. Injured elephants have long been patients at the local Friends of the Asian Elephant hospital. With help from the Prostheses Foundation, founded by the Thai royal family, the hospital outfitted its first grown elephant with a prosthetic limb last fall. Even with the cost of the state-of-the-art device covered, outfitting the three-ton mammal was no small matter. The hospital gave the elephant several pre-prostheses to help her adjust to the feeling and balance of a returned fourth limb and minimize the chance of rejection. Reportedly, she’s taken to it.

Global problem, local innovation Outfitting those in need with prosthetics means contending with a basic resource problem: how to keep raw materials flowing, especially if donor interest wanes. In its work in Angola, Handicap International experimented with making limbs out of locally available materials. It teamed up with local prosthetics makers, many of whom it had trained, to innovate with what’s around. They have devised artificial feet out of vulcanized rubber—a mixture of rubber from worn tires and sulfur that becomes both flexible and durable under heat—and used woven cushions to protect amputees’ own limbs from the sharp angles of new prosthetics.

MORE TAKES ON LIMBS

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Prosthetists at the Hospital Central de Maputo constantly refine the design of their prosthetics (1), using plaster molds (2) and whatever materials are available get their patients moving again (3).

26 MAKESHIFT

DISPATCH RWANDA

The green-blue hills of northern Rwanda are likely not the first place most people would look for a public health revolution. One of Africa’s tiniest countries, Rwanda is best known for one of its worst moments: the 1994 genocide, when an esti-mated 800,000 people were killed over 100 days of brutal violence.

Feeling BlueprintAbstractAs diseases like tuberculosis grow more resistant to drugs, doctors turn to architects to design disease-resistant clinic.

Text by Jina Moore

In the 18 years since, the country has thrown itself full-throttle into every kind development, resisting the image of post-conflict chaos with globally praised progress in infrastructure, business, and public health. The northern city of Butaro is fighting a resistance battle of a different kind—against airborne diseases like tuberculosis.

Before we get to Butaro, a quick diversion into epidemiol-ogy: One of the biggest airborne threats in the developing world is the lung infection tuberculo-sis (TB), which spreads through contact with airborne germs. In 2010, the World Health Organiza-tion counted nearly nine million TB cases, resulting in more than a million deaths globally. The most basic form of the disease can be treated with a combination of drugs, but recently, drug-resistant strains have taken root. In 2011, 77 countries had patients diagnosed with “extremely drug resistant” TB.

Doctors and public health specialists have been looking for innovative ways to stop the spread of drug-resistant disease. To test the answer in Butaro, they teamed up with unex-pected partners: architects.

“The core problem was that the buildings were making people sicker,” says Michael Murphy, founder of MASS Design, a nonprofit architecture firm that designs public hospitals. Poor ventilation meant that stale, germy air hung around hospital beds, making hospitals places that literally transmitted, rather than treated, disease. “This forced us to rethink the design of the hospital itself—to think around its per-formance for reducing infection [and] improving people’s health.”

Murphy and his design team joined international public health organization Partners in Health. They focused on improving the number of “air changes per hour”—how often the air inside of a room is replaced by new air—by designing tall ceilings and wide windows and incorporating big ceiling fans. These aren’t changes that need big budgets; the mantra is “locally appropriate”. So are the materials: They wrapped the new hospital in gray rock from the Virungas, a volcanic moun-tain chain that surrounds Butaro. They used local steel and cement and trained community members as builders and masons. There’s still a shop on the grounds where construction workers can fix doors, cut replacement pipes, or otherwise mend materials on site.

This “simple design strategy”, as Murphy calls it, is making its way through other parts of the world as well. MASS Design is working on clinics and hospi-tals in Haiti, Liberia, Burundi, and Uganda. But MASS isn’t the only player in the game. Dr. Rod Escombe, an honorary research fellow at Imperial College in Lon-don, has retrofitted older hospitals in Peru by moving waiting rooms outside and adding skylights or bigger windows. In two of the hospitals he studied, the TB risk in the modified rooms dropped from 79 percent to 30 percent.

MASS Design’s improvements included improving air exchange in patient rooms (1) and separating elements of the hospital (2).

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34 MaKeSHIFt

DISPATCHEGYPT

In the towering piles of Cai-ro’s waste, Zabaleen residents have become desensitized from what are, to the uninitiated, nauseating smells and sights. Here in Man-shiyet Nasser district, just eight kilometers from downtown Cairo, 60,000 Zabaleen garbage workers process some 30 percent of Great-er Cairo’s daily municipal waste output—over 125,000 tons a year.

Bekhit Mettry is a second-gen-eration resident of what is known as Garbage City. He explains that originally, Coptic Christians from Upper egypt came to Cairo in the 1950s in search of a better life. For these mostly illiterate peo-ple, finding a job was difficult.

they soon—albeit begrudg-ingly—embraced the one sector routinely suggested: waste man-agement. the stigma attached to

the job meant their community was able to take full advantage of the opportunity and carve out a thriving enterprise. decades later, their grandsons and grand-daughters continue this work in a community that now has its own school, church, shops, and clinics.

the makeshift houses of corrugated iron and wood, were built with the fear of forceful eviction at a moment’s notice. as confidence in their property rights grew over time, ad hoc brick housing units emerged, planned for a unique mix of residency, transportation, sort-ing, and processing of waste.

Ground floors overflow with the storage of non-organic waste. Small areas on the pe-rimeter of the dense housing are freed for organic waste, which

AbstractResidents of Cairo’s landfill community upcycle and trade the city’s refuse.

Text by Adam RamseyPhotos by Amanda Mustard

Garbage City

is either composted and sold or given as feed to their cattle.

the Zabaleen have built up long-standing relationships with housing areas and compa-nies and intimately know where profits hide in their daily routes. this has proven vital for their survival. When the egyptian government decided to offshore a large majority of solid waste management to three multina-tional companies, its efficiency couldn’t match the street trade.

“they just didn’t have the know-how of the Zabaleen. they didn’t have the relationships or the trust,” explains Nicole assad, a long-time worker with the association for the Protec-tion of the environment (aPe), an NGO that works with Gar-bage City. after many decades

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trade 35

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of successful waste service, the Zabaleen remain an integral part of many communities and neighborhoods in Cairo—some-thing that cannot be said of the waste management companies.

recycling by hand appears to point to an efficiency large corpora-tions can only aspire to. While the majority of waste processed by the private companies ends up in land-fill sites, Zabaleen workers recycle at a rate of 85 percent. this in-cludes keeping an eye out for types of materials that can be used for direct use in their own community without the need for a middleman.

Bekhit describes the latest plan of getting solar powered lamps for the neighborhood’s streets: “We sell the recycled raw materials to companies here and use that money to buy the solar panels from

Germany. the rest of the wiring and things we get straight from the rubbish”. Light, in exchange for what others see as rubbish.

Beyond that, Bekhit describes the rough deals that they have with several schools, factories and hospi-tals around Cairo. “these organiza-tions would send their waste to us, and the community would clean, recycle, and repackage the goods to be sold back out to them or to fair trade shops around egypt”.

at aPe, over 450 women from Garbage City work to make recycled merchandise. after a month’s vocational training in sewing, molding, weaving or painting, they produce a variety of goods, from recycled greet-ings cards to pots, pans, rugs and bags. all sourced from the piles, these goods can be found at fair

Amidst the piles of waste (01), anything of

value gets extracted and packed into bags (02, 03). Some workshops

now process usable goods for sale them on the international

market (04).

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0402

This quarter, premium subscribers receive products handcrafted by Zabaleen in Manshiyet Nasser.

trade shops all around egypt. and more recently, in New York City. “We received a phone call from an egyptian who was living in New York, and they wanted to sell some of our goods at some of those little fairs they have in Manhattan. Last year we managed to make just over USd 46,000”, explains Nicole. In an area where the average worker has a daily income of a dollar, this money goes a long way for the community.

With the egyptian pound continuing to nosedive and the future of the economy as a whole somewhat bleak, the success of the Zabaleen trade is becoming increasingly predicated on overseas

sales—perhaps an anom-aly for an extremely localized, low-income recycling business. Or perhaps the most efficient way to process garbage.