This one’s for all the techies and journos out there – Paddy’s Valley-type networkers and anyone with an ounce of IT knowledge. Pass this on, and act on it, to buy your way into heaven (or at least stall your descent to hell).

Before I sold my soul by getting into journalism (and sold it further by once contributing to the Irish Daily Mail), I spent a year studying development studies in UCD. I was at the soft-palmed end of the spectrum. Sinead had served in Peshawar and could speak Urdu. Several of the class were from Zimbabwe, Iran, Zambia and Mozambique. My few months in Tanzania counted for little in comparison, but the outcome was worthwhile.

We were a bunch of aspiring, hope-filled sandal-wearers, for the most part. Cormac (pictured, in drag*) was something of an enigma, however.  On day one he said that he used to be ‘in finance’, had the harried look of a executive at times, and the more we found out about him, the more we wondered why a person in the middle of building a large seafront house in an expensive suburb for his family was, all of a sudden, diving head-first into the muesli.

His biog lists his hugely impressive credentials, including a stint as chief executive of NIKoil, a medium-sized Russian Investment Bank.  He worked rigs in the North Sea. The legends surrounding Cormac included tales of him working at such an intense pace in Russia (commuting frequently back to Ireland) that two interpeters had to work in shifts to keep up with him. One, working alone, would have burnt out. Despite his MBA and high-flying financial past, the oft-unshaven Cormac rode a scrambler to college, sitting in class in a t-shirt and motorbike pants. And he was a nice guy. A really nice guy. Aren’t executives meant to be cutthroat, uncaring bastards?

We debated fiercely, the tone always being set left of centre, and Cormac’s grasp of economics and political realism meant that we were frequently at odds. But his grittey realism and business acumen has stood him in good stead, and benefited hundreds of others.

After finishing in UCD, Cormac waded straight in, waist-deep, starting his own charity, Camara.

Starting in Ethiopia, where Cormac based his MA (as far as I remember), Camara now sends reconditioned computers, kitted out with open-source Linux software, to its labs in Ethiopia, Lesotho, Kenya, Uganda and Zambia. It sends people, too, trained volunteers who pass on basic computing skills to the recipients.  It’s a huge success.

Small charities can struggle with communications, but obviously being an IT NGO means they have been fairly savvy in terms of how to get things done with minimum fuss and expense. Their blog is nicely patched in, with flickr and Skype utilities, RSS feeds (Some of Ireland’s big NGOs could learn a lot from this), Paypal features, etc.

Another thing small charities struggle with is getting the right volunteers. Camara is always looking for people to help out, either those with IT skills, or just enthusiastic volunteers. Click here for details.

They also need computers. LOTS of computers. And publicity. So, techies, roll up your sleeves, or mention this to your IT and PR staff before you chuck out a load of CPUs to upgrade. Journalists, call Cormac. His story is a glorious feelgood feature just waiting to be written, with angles to fit IT, business, lifestyle, travel sections. And he’s a nice guy to boot. And bloggers – linky link to Camara, please.
*The drag queen look was for the Ladies’ mini-marathon. It’s not a regular thing. Pic stolen from Camara’s flickr site. Camara are also looking for a fundraising/marketing manager – job link here.

Expanding on yesterday’s post, wherein I spoke of my back yard’s contempt for human life, here’s Dylan Moran (my boss’s cousin), who ventured south with kids in tow to find a former jail-island teeming with hostility. He makes one point hat I can truly identify with:

“It’s a totally inhospitable place, you shouldn’t be here. The sun – you live about three-quarters of a mile from it.”

The heat here is oppressive. You don’t sweat, pieces of your body liquefy and slide off your body into a cancerous pool at your feet. And this summer is a chilly one. Gawd.

On the plus side, I’m sitting in work in flip-flops and a pink flowery shirt, which I wouldn’t get away with at home. However, I assume John Waters does the very same, changing into a morose black turtleneck and trenchcoat before trudging out the door.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EZY17y1MVl4]