Fencing isn’t perpetual, unless it’s a circular field

I went to the fields with my mom this weekend, taking advantage of an opportunity to spend time with my family in their element and to contemplate sustainability in development.

Since I arrived in Sabualla, my mom has been trying to communicate her lifelong dream to have a garden of her own with date palms and mango trees, adlegaan (cowpeas) and kilkash (melons). It would not be enough to work in a Sabuallan coop, of which there are two; she wants an oasis in her backyard, protected from livestock by meters of perfect, shiny, metal fencing. If only I had fencing, she says like a child eyeing a bike in a toy store window, I could have a huge huge huge garden. I finally conveyed to her that PCVs don’t work for money (hence the whole volunteer thing), but she is convinced, when I am patron (rich land owner, verging on pimp in translation) in the US, I can call her cell phone every day and send her money for fencing.

Her aunt has fencing and her cowpeas are plentiful and unharassed by donkeys. With this successful example of fenced gardening, Teitta surely knows the advantages, i.e. she does not want griyaj (fence) for griyaj sake. So the question is, how can I help in a sustainable way? Can I afford fencing, either now or later? If so, should I buy her some even if I can’t continue to do this over decades? In buying her “fish,” am I preventing her from learning to fish herself? If I simply provide her this luxury with no work necessary on her part, will she maintain it or patiently wait for the next gullible trainee? How can I support her enthusiasm without just throwing money at her?... Clearly, my questioning phase is still in full throttle…