Dissertation Done!

Last week I handed in my MA dissertation. It was a long and often painful process of writing, but it is over and, while there is always room for improvement, I am satisfied with the finished project. I won't share all 70 odd pages with you, but since so many of you have been so supportive of me during the MA process I feel I ought to let you know a little bit about what I've been working on. So bellow is the abstract of my dissertation. If you would like to read more just email me and I would be happy to send it your way.

The policitcal economy of HIV/AIDS care in South Africa
South Africa has the greatest number of people living with HIV/AIDS (PWAs) in the world – 5.7 million. Effective treatment and care can potentially improve and prolong the lives of PWAs, thus easing the impacts of the epidemic on households, the community and the state. However, providing treatment and care creates new costs and challenges. This paper explores the political economy of HIV/AIDS care, arguing for greater attention to the role of the care economy. The care economy is defined as the labour and time required to provide care in the household or community.  The care economy, as it relates to care for those with HIV/AIDS related illness, includes tasks such basic first aid, cooking, cleaning and bathing. In South Africa, HIV/AIDS care is carried out almost exclusively by women living in poverty. Assumptions within South African policy frameworks obscure the gender dimensions of care work, and costs borne by caregivers, undervaluing the contributions of the care economy and failing to create supportive environments. Task-shifting policies, which have been promoted to facilitate treatment roll-out, present an example of how over-reliance on the care economy, without providing adequate support, negatively impacts caregivers and threatens a comprehensive response to the AIDS epidemic. Lack of recognition of the care economy has resulted in HIV/AIDS care policies that further marginalize caregivers and exacerbate gender inequality.



I can't believe I am done my MA. I have not yet had time to really reflect on the experiance as a whole, what finishing means, or what is next - it may take me a while. Meanwhile I am happily 'home', eating my Mom's yummy cooking, skiing with my Dad and catching up with family and friends. I am simply being grateful for a fufilling and remarkable learning experiance.

Give Double this Christmas

It's that time of year again..... you know - when I encourage you to get a little creative with gift giving and support Emmanuel Rescue Center as well. For those of you who don't know. Emmanuel Center is a grassroots organization in Nairobi, Kenya that helps street kids. They are always in need of more support and 100 percent of your donation goes directly to the center (minus 3% of online donations which is eaten by processing fees).

So here's how to give gifts and give to charity all at once. You can "buy" a meaningful gift like school shoes for street kids in Kenya. Or maybe you'd like to give them a goat...just because. Simply email sheri_davis5@yahoo.com to order one of the gifts described bellow. Sheri will tell you how to make a donation to the Squamish Rotary Foundation (who will then forward the donation to Emmanuel Center), will issue a tax receipt, and send you a beautiful card that you can give to your "hard to buy for person," explaining your gift.

Full of Beans - $75

Beans are a staple component of the diet at Emmanuel Center. A gift of $75 will keep the children full of energy for a full month.

The Long Walk to School - $15

School shoes cost about $15, and with 30 growing boys Emmanuel Center is always needing to replace somebody’s shoes – the kids can’t go to school without them.

Give Education - $400

Secondary school isn’t free in Kenya. In fact tuition fees are about $400, which is a lot considering the average salary is about $700 per year. Therefore it isn’t surprising that most kids miss out on a secondary education. Give one of the Emmanuel kids the chance by donating enough to cover school fees for one year.

Got your Goat? - $50

There is nothing the kids at the center like more than having a goat to roast. In fact it’s a Christmas tradition to slaughter a goat. Don’t feel bad for the goat, celebrate with the kids who rarely enjoy meat and love using every part of the goat… the head makes soup… the hide makes drums… and you don’t want to know what they do with the eyeballs.

Food in the Belly - $1000

It costs only $1000 to feed all 40 kids each month! That might not seem a lot compared to the typical grocery bill in a North American family, but it adds up at Emmanuel Center. So please consider feeding the whole center for a month through a generous donation.

Fun’n Games - $40

The kids at Emmanuel Center literally wear out soccer balls – they play with them until the leather cracks and the stitching dissolves. Donations to our recreation fund replace soccer balls, buy other recreation equipment and even allow the boys to go on field trips hiking and camping.

Remember to order email -  sheri_davis5@yahoo.com

Asanta Sana and Kristmasi Njema!

Exceptional epidemics: AIDS still deserves a global response

Well as I sat here struggling along with my dissertation, I received notice that an article I co-authored while at HEARD  entitled "Exceptional epidemics: AIDS still deserves a global response" has been published in the academic journal Globalization and Health.

The article is a commentary on the AIDS Exceptionalism debate, which is crucial in terms of international mobilization in response to the epidemic. You can read it HERE.

Meanwhile, I’m cheered up by the reminder that I can indeed write a coherent sentence or two, and re-energised to tuck back into the struggles of academia.

Bill Huntley Memorial Peace Seminar

Just over a week ago a fantastic event was held at the University of Bradford – and yes I am bragging! Class seven of the Rotary World Peace Fellows (that’s me and the crazy crew I hang out with) hosted the best Bill Huntley Memorial Peace Seminar yet.

It took a lot of work (especially on behalf of some Rotarians who are very generous with their time), and was a bit stressful at times – but we pulled it off. I was a little nervous to be the first speaker in the morning, but very happy to have the chance to talk about Abigail Housing – the charity I’ve been working with. And once I was done I could relax and enjoy the rest of the day, which included excellent thought provoking presentations by fellow colleagues as well as a number of guest speakers.

There were also a few tears shed – mostly happy over the joy we’ve experienced throughout the last year, a lot of grateful tears for the support from Rotary, the university and friends, and a few sad tears that our Rotary World Peace Fellowship would soon be coming to an end.

It was a remarkable day – see this news article for  more  info

A Rant

There is an article in today’s Guardian you shouldn’t bother to read because it just annoys me. Here is the headlines: ‘Experts want African aid funds channeled away from HIV. Focus on Aids, they say, has led to neglect of other fatal conditions killing young children.’

It goes on to explain how AIDS funds have been misused by corrupt leaders, channeled towards ineffective programs, etc. All of which is true – to a degree. It is not true that the focus on AIDS has ‘killed young children.’ In fact AIDS is the leading cause of child mortality in Southern Africa, so the focus on AIDS – most recently to reduce mother to child transmission of HIV- actually is saving millions of young lives.

The reason many fatal conditions, such as childhood diarrhea, continue to kill is that health systems in Africa are the pits. There are not enough doctors, nurses, hospital beds, medications, bandages, etc. One of the main reasons hospitals are in such a sorry state is that in the 1980s and 1990s the World Bank and IMF imposed policies on African nations that forced them to reduce social spending on health care. Now many of the same economists and policy makers are blaming the amount of funding allocated to AIDS (which they would love to decrease in line with their macroeconomic policies) for the results of their own destructive policies.

Stephen Lewis says it best at the IAS conference in Cape Town in June: “So when, as now, there’s a backlash against funding for AIDS, with mindless charges against AIDS exceptionalism, you should find a way, collectively, to shoot down the pinched bureaucrats and publicity-seeking academics who advocate exchanging the health of some for the health of others – who propose robbing Peter to pay Paul rather than arguing, in principled fashion, that money must be found for every imperative, including maternal and child health, and sexual and reproductive health, and environmental health as well as all the resources required to turn the tide of the AIDS pandemic.”

Summing-up South Africa

I write this as I’m also flying over the Mediterranean in the airplane. I’ve been traveling for 16 hours already (and have another four to go) so feel it’s about time I got around to writing a final South African blog. As I realize they’ve been few and far between, let me reflect on some ‘highlights’ of the last four months.

Memories from HEARD:
Becoming obsessed with AIDS exceptionalism until I just didn’t care anymore (ok I still do)
Having the chance to interview some real life heroes who fought for the right to AIDS treatment in South Africa
Continuing to care ‘too much’ about HIV and AIDS care and treatment
Evenings with colleagues at Yossis - where too many bottles of wine where consumed along with a few Turkish Tigers (a shot consisting of condensed milk and vodka – it sounds gross but tastes like caramel)

Memories from Durban
Rugby games!
A picnic in the Botanical gardens
Getting lost downtown and having the police officer to give me a lift to where I was going
Drinking wine on the beach under the full moon
The chocolate cake at Earth Mother (absolutely orgasmic and also vegan and gluten free)
The Goldfish Concert
Bunny Chows (a hollowed out half loaf of bread filled with curry – traditional fare in Durban)

Memories from my travels
Hiking in the Drakensberg

Dave's Backpakers
The masked ball birthday party in East London
Wine, cheese and a perfect sunset in Hilton
The Cape Winelands (I still don’t understand why I’m doing a Masters in Peace Studies when I could be studying wine-making in Stellenbosch)
The beach at Jeffery’s Bay

Some food for though presented at the AIDS Impacts Conference I attended in Botswana:
A new initiative aims to reduce HIV infections by 50% by 2015 – it’s called 50 by 15.
Despite the many challenges to HIV prevention, there is evidence of significant positive behavior change amongst 15 to 24 year olds in sub-Saharan Africa (i.e. more of them are waiting longer to have first sex and are using condoms more often)
1000 people in South Africa are still dying every day from AIDS
A recent survey in South Africa found that 1 in 20 men reported having raped a woman in the last year!
The cost of treatment in South Africa will peak at $41-58 billion, but should then start to decrease.
6 percent of all HIV infections in Kenya are from injection drug use
North American college students likely engage in the most high-risk sexual behavior of any group in the world; yet HIV infections are higher in sub-Saharan Africa because poor health and nutrition increases vulnerability to infection (ie AIDS in Africa has very little to do with sexual behavior and a whole lot to do with poor health and poverty).
A number of presentatiosn advocated approaches that target families instead of individuals
There was also much discussion about applying social protection policies as part of the AIDS response

Favorite South African Wines that I’ve tried:
Beyerskloof Pinotage
Boekenhoutskloof Chocolate Block (yes that’s it’s real name and it’s as good as it sounds)
Boland Kelder Cappuccino Pinotage (has a slight coffee flavor)
Bekenhoutsskloof (didn’t write down which type)
L’avenir Merlot
Anura Merlot and Maestro
Diemersfontein Pinotage (actually tastes like dark chocolate)

Of course, mostly I’ll remember the people. The very friendly and helpful folks at HEARD, the friends and ‘family’ I’ve reconnected with after 10 years, and the new friends I’ve made. Thank you for making these months so special. And thank you HEARD and Rotary for making it possible.

Stay tuned for thrilling updates on how I stress out in the final two months of dissertation writing…………….

Saving the World's Women?

Recently the New York Times Magazine dedicated it’s self to ‘Saving the World’s Women. The issue includes a number of articles, including a feature by Pulitzer Prize winning journalist Nicholas Kristof. Though the spirit of bringing increased attention to women’s issue is spot on, there are a number of problems with the presentation and stories in the issue. Writers and activists have responded on the RH Reality Check news website – including myself and my colleague Alan Whiteside.
You can read our response here: http://www.rhrealitycheck.org/blog/2009/09/10/the-nyt-issue-women-critique-south-africa I'd love to know what the rest of your think too!

Exceptional tragedy and exceptional compassion

Sometimes the reality of the rather drying academic topics I write about comes with a harsh dose of reality. Today was one of those days.
I’d spent the afternoon working on an article I’m writing with some colleagues on AIDS exceptionalism. Essentially, in the last few years a number of researchers, academics and policy wogs have argued that AIDS gets too much attention, too much funding, and is causing other important health and development issues to be ignored. In rebuttal, we argue that yes AIDS rates in much of the world have stabilized, but that doesn’t mean we stop what we are doing, especially if it might be working, and that you can’t in Steven Lewis’ words “trade the health of some for the health of others.” Yes, other health and development issues need attention and funding, but they need it in addition to AIDS, not instead of AIDS. So we spent the afternoon hashing this rather polemic, academic, full of fancy words article in hopes it will contribute to the roar of protest over any reduction in AIDS funding. At the end of the article one of my colleagues wrote the comment, “Remember - one death is a tragedy, a million deaths are a statistic.” It resonated with me – people have become so used to AIDS statistic that all of a sudden the fact that there are 33 million people living with HIV and AIDS, instead of 40 million leads some to think we can pack up and quit!
So I was milling over these thoughts just as I arrived home, when my phone rang. I hear Daniel’s soft voice on the fuzzy Kenyan phone line, “Did you get my text message? S [name removed in respect of privacy] is in the hospital.”
I gasp. I know S developed resistance to his anti-retroviral therapy (ART – AIDS treatment medications) last spring and developed tuberculosis. I know the doctor was starting him on second line ART, but that it is very hard to balance the two medication regimes, especially in children, and the side effects are severe. As these thoughts run through my head Daniel says, “It’s not serious.” And I know he just doesn’t want me to be upset.
I speak to S and his voice seems quiet and far away. I have a photo of him and another boy in a frame on my desk and I look at it while he tells me he is feeling a little better. In the photo he is laughing and playing with a dog. I speak to Daniel, who tells the doctor is concerned that S’s blood sugar is high. He might have diabetes. We speak for a few more minutes until the line wavers and cuts out.
At moments like this I wish I didn’t make it my business to learn more about HIV and AIDS – it just makes me angry. I wish I didn’t know that ART only extends the life of an HIV positive person in Africa, on average, by 5 to 6 years, while in the Western world someone on ART can live decades. I wish I didn’t know that TB greatly reduces even this time span. I wish that when Daniel told me he had taken S to the ‘good hospital’ instead of the ‘bad hospital’ I didn’t think, “Crap, that is going to cost Emmanuel Center a lot, where will they get the money.” I wish I didn’t read today that UNAIDS predicts donor countries will not honour their commitments to AIDS funding, using the economic crisis as an excuse, and as a result children like S may not have access to ART or TB treatment and care.
I compare this last point to the situation at Emmanuel Center. The staff there never say to a sick child, “Sorry cash is tight [and it almost always is]. We can’t help you. You’ll have to suffer and probably die.” But it seems the rich world has not problem saying essentially the same thing to the poor world. I ask myself what is the difference I decided it is compassion. I think back to my colleagues comment - to many people the millions of people who die from AIDS are a statistic. To those of us who know them though it is a tragedy – it is an exceptional tragedy.
And I am exceptionally grateful that Daniel is sitting by S’s bedside right now. That Emmanuel Center will find the money to pay his hospital bill, and that in all likelihood he will be up and playing again soon. Because AIDS doesn’t have to be a tragedy where there is treatment and care – and above all compassion.

A long over due update

I realize I haven't updated this blog in 'ages.' It's not that I haven't any thing to write, but that I've been writing too much. Besides that pesky dissertation I'm supposed to be working on, I've been very busy at HEARD learning all sorts of things. In fact I've been missing the good old days in Bradford where I had weeks to write an essay. Here I just have days!
Not that I'm complaining. I'm loving every moment of it. Here is what a typical day is like during the week for me in Durban. I wake up at 6:45 and make my coffee. By 7:30 I'm on the street corner waiting for my lift to work. I live in a lovely leafy neighborhood called Glenwood and every morning I see the same old gentleman walk out to get his newspaper and the same school boy rush by in his uniform.
Monday mornings depress me because they are garbage day and as I stand, with my travel mug in hand, outside the safe and clean apartment buildings, street kids pick through the garbage that has been left out by the likes of me. They are very organized: they never make a mess and each group of kids seems to have their own block. They carefully rifle through the bags, removing anything that can be reused or sold. I guess it is a very efficient, if informal, recycling program, but its such a blatant display of the inequality that grips this country (the discarded excess of a few is the desperate livelihood of the rest), that I can't help but feel a bit sick watching the process.Once at the office I sit down at my computer and am sucked into what ever project I am currently working on. At noon my stomach reminds me to pull my sandwich out of my bag and eat it while I work. I realise sitting at a computer conducting research sounds a bit boring to most people, but the issues and people I get to engage with thrill me. I get to work on projects with some of the big names, contribute to advocacy pieces that can make a difference, and I learn a whole lot in the process! For example, right now a colleague and I are puling together information on HIV and AIDS funding, in order to make a case for predictable funding commitments from wealthy countries. In light of the current economic crisis this is crucial. In many African countries AIDS treatment is dependant on international aid; if countries start giving less (as we expect they will), people won't have access to treatment and will develop drug resistance (AIDS meds must be taken consistently otherwise resistance develops), and will die. In endemic regions (like in Durban where HIV prevalence is 30%) this would be a humanitarian crisis.
But don't let me get carried away…. I might start writing an essay instead of a blog…. suffice it to say that my days generally blur by in mosaic of reading, writing and talking about HIV and AIDS. It's like AIDS research bootcamp!
But don't worry, I still make time for fun. I went to the Tri Nations Rugby game and watched South Africa beat New Zealand! I spent last weekend in the Drakensberg Mountains, where I saw the second highest waterfall in the world, and visited the mountain kingdom of Lesotho.
Now I've survived yet another week in the office and it is Saturday morning. I’m doing a few hours work and then am off to Ushaka Marine world where one can swim with the sharks if one is brave enough (not sure yet if I am or not)
I hope you are all, wherever you are, also having a lovely weekend.
x. Julia

Birthday Wishes

My friend Samantha and I were getting ready for our own birthday party when I got a phone call from Stuart Farrow, a Rotarian from the King William’s Town club and a member of parliament in South Africa. The evening before I had made a short presentation at the Rotary Club and had mentioned my research on HIV and AIDS treatment and care. Stuart explained that the following day was Nelson Mandela’s birthday, and so South Africans across the country were spending 67 (the number of years he has served South Africa and the world) minutes doing community service. Stuart was heading to an HIV and AIDS clinic in one of the townships, and invited me to go along.
Of course I jumped at the chance and so found myself amongst the singing and dancing at New Haven Wellness Center. Stuart and his fellow party members, from the Democratic Alliance, had brought 67 kilograms of food donations for the clinic, which has about 40 beds for palliative care, plus feeding, counseling and support groups programs.
The clinic, which has a lovely homey feel, is run by volunteers. Think about that – think about caring for over 40 terminally ill patients, feeding hundreds of children, providing counseling to people facing stigma and denial, going out and visiting sick people in their homes… all voluntarily. UNAIDS estimates 90 percent of AIDS care in Africa is done by volunteers and family members – who are almost exclusively poor women. Why? Because they are the ones that are there, who care, who are committed to helping their loved ones and fellow community members. In many cases there is no one else willing to help. The support they receive from government is minimal. The need is exponential.
As I danced with the children and chatted with the nurses, I thought it was a perfect way to recognize Mandela’s birthday. After all it is these people, in the communities, that are nurturing his vision of a free and just South Africa.


As many of you may know, Wednesday is my birthday. Once again, I’d like to humbly ask that instead o f gifts or cards, those of you who wish to celebrate with me please make a donation to the organization that represents my own little vision of a better world – Emmanuel Center. You can donate online here

Miraculous South Africa

Islamango means miracle in Zulu, and its a very appropriate name for the wetlands park I visited this weekend. But let me start at the beginning of my adventure, in a rental car with two other friendly interns also determined to see the best of South Africa during their time here. We headed along the coast, North of Durban for about three hours before we reached Dave's Backpackers' hostel, a backpackers hostel on the edge of Hluhluwe Game Reserve.

A blind dalmatian greeted us with a half hearted bark, and the only creature at reception was a tiny tabby cat curled up under the light. However, a beaded curtain swung back, revealing the kitchen where boleworst (South African susage) was sizzling, giving off a slightly sour but still tempting smell, and Dave emerged.

Dave is a rugged Afrikaner with the name of his hostel tattooed on his chest. When I mentioned he therefore must be very committed to his business, he broke into a soliloquy on how the hostel was like his wife.... she was good to him if he was good to her, and they only fought when money was tight.

Soon we were ushered into our dorm room. The door was off its bottom hinges, and there was no hot water, but the beds were comfy and the place was clean.We chowed down on the boleworst Dave had been cooking and threw back a beer, before heading to bed, planning an early rise to get to the game park.

The morning light revealed that Dave's place really was a gem in the rough. The rolling hills of acia trees and cacti sparkled in the early morning sun. We helped ourselves to coffee and toast and then piled back into our rental car and headed for the game park.
Now I've been on numerous safaris, but I never get tired to gazing at giraffe picking the leaves off an acia tree, or watching the slow way elephants lumbar through the forest, simply crushing or breaking anything in their way. We saw buffalo and zebras, buck and rhinos. Before we knew it, the sun was setting and we headed back to Dave's hostel.

The hostel had the feeling of a friendly neighbourhood and the various guests (including a Dutch scuba diver, a Swiss actor, two middle aged ladies from South Africa and Australia, an eccentric Swede, and British business man) were happy to chat, swap stories and advise on future travel plans. I soon found myself in good company at the campfire, under the African stars, with a glass of wine in my hand - and perfectly content.

The next day things only got better. The town of St. Lucia is a picturesque beach town, with outdoor patios and palm trees. The Islamango estuary that makes up the park is an UNESCO world hertitage site and boast some of the most varied species of birds and plant life, as well as elephants, leopards, Buffalo, hippos and crocs. We went on a fabulous boat tour, where we saw hippos and crocs close up, but the highlight of the day was when we headed down to the estuary beach. After playing in the Indian Ocean, we sat down on the boardwalk from where we could see - all in one view - the sun setting, the moon rising, the ocean waves, the mirrored surface of the estuary, a few crocodiles, and a pod of hippos playing in the water.

It was a miraculous weekend!

Champaign Skies

Apparently Durban is experiencing a cold spell, but right now the sun is shining through my window and warming me quite nicely. After all it is 23 degrees – an average summer temperature in Canada or the UK.
I’m sitting on the couch having devoured a whole pineapple. I’m still reveling in all the South African treats I’ve miss since I lived her over 10 years ago – fresh tropical fruit, double decked Cadbury bars, muesli rusks, litchi juice….. the list goes on.
From where I’m sitting I see out the two French doors of my cottage, over the tops of the trpocial trees and then just catch a glimpse of the ocean. The ski is perfect cloudless blue. In the evenings it turns a pale pinky yellow that one of my colleagues told me is called ‘Champaign ski.’
I’ve started work at HEARD and am already happily up to my eyeballs in readings about HIV and care, and helping the communications department with websites and other projects. The office is a busy place, with about 30 researchers working on projects ranging from how to improve services for children orphaned by AIDS, to how to increase the capacity of health systems to better address AIDS care and treatment needs.
I’ve also had a good dose of South Africa culture. On Saturday I was invited to the ultimate South African event – a brai to watch the rugby game. We munched on yummy bratwurst rolls and cheered on the South African Springboks who won just in the nick of time.
Now its mid week and I’m experiencing my first ‘real’ work week in eight months (student life does not count as ‘real work’ as week days and weekends blur into one). I’m actually enjoying being busy and useful at the same time as exploring this lovely country. This weekend I’m off to iSlmangaliso Wetlands Park, so stayed tuned incase I have any adventures with hippos and crocodiles.
Peace, x.

Rotary World Peace Symposium

I’ve just returned from a remarkable three days at the Rotary Peace Symposium. I heard my hero, Desmond Tutu, speak. I learned a great deal from former Peace Fellows during workshops, and met many inspiring people. It was a remarkable few days and I wish I had time to write about it in detail. However, I’m hastely packing my bags for South Africa and just don’t have time to do the symposium justice. So instead can I please direct you to rotary’s website where you can check out photos, watch a clip of Desmond Tutus speach and catch a glimps of the fabulous few days I spent celebrating the great work Rotary does for peace.

On the disciplin of Caring Too Much

I’ve started, albeit slowly, to conceptualize my dissertation topic. In a recent meeting with my supervisor he told me, “You have two problems. You care and you care too much.” (I think he likes to pretend to be an academic drill sergeant.) He went on to rant about academic discipline….. blah blah blah…. I smiled sweetly and didn’t say what I wanted to say – that I can fake academic discipline if he wants and write a very objective dry dissertation but he won’t snuff the caring out of me. That I’m not afraid of “being too soft heart” when I’m doing field research with people living with HIV/AIDS, because I’ve already seen people both live with and die from it. I wanted to tell him how I decided on this topic, but I applied academic discipline and kept it to myself. Instead I’ll write about it here.

Firstly, this is my topic: Discuss how AIDS treatment policy in South Africa influences the distribution of the burden of care. (How very dry sounding… blah!)

Secondly, here is the story that led to it…… about four years ago, when I was first working at Emmanuel Center a young women, about 17 years old, showed up at the center. She said she had come to inquire if we had space for her brother. Her parents had just died of AIDS, and while she and her older brother were able to fend for themselves, they did not have enough to care for their youngest brother, Tim, who was just seven. I explained sadly Emmanuel Center was full and there was no room for another child. She broke down in tears and said she had walk over 12 hours to come ask us and she couldn’t face going back to the slum where she lived. I offered her lunch, and suggested she call back in a month in case we had space then. I felt horribly guilty for sending her back without more help.
Luckily, she was determined for Tim to get an education and continued to pester Emmanuel Center until we made space for him. When we took the boy for the routine health test we were not surprised to learn he was HIV positive.
This past summer I was back at Emmanuel Center when Tim’s sister showed up once more at the gates, this time to visit Tim for the afternoon. As I sat and watched her ask him about school I suddenly became angry that they were separated from each other (we had tried to arrange for Tim to live with her and Emmanuel Center just support his school fees, but since she was struggling to support herself she was moving every month or so, and so unable to provide him the security he needed).
Having worked with people with HIV/AIDS in Canada I knew that many people with HIV/AIDS were now able to live for decades with the virus because had access to anti-retroviral drugs and healthcare. I thought about how Tim’s parents had never even had access to medications, clean water or nutritious food. I thought – if they lived in Canada they would still be alive and caring for Tim, but because they were poor Kenyans Tim is an orphan. I thought about how in the Western world HIV positive mothers do not pass on the virus to their babies because they have the right medications and information. I looked at Tim and thought about how much longer and happier his life could be.

Tim is an example of what Paul Farmer terms, “inequality in risk, access and outcomes.” He was at risk of getting HIV because his mother was poor and had to breast feed, his parents did not have access to medications because they live in Africa, and the outcome (Tim being an orphan and HIV positive) is shaped by such inequalities. The injustice of this reality wiggled into my consciousness and never left.

So when, seven months later, my dissertation supervisor asked what I wanted to do I said – “I want to figure out how to get everyone living with HIV/AIDS in Africa effective treatment and care.” In other words I want to find a way to prevent children like Tim contracting AIDS from their mothers, and enable those mothers to live long enough to raise their children themselves. Of course there are many brilliant people (including my supervisor) working on this very conundrum, and the topic in it’s self is much too massive for an MA dissertation. So we began to discuss how to narrow it down. Since most policies now support the idea of universal access to AIDS treatment and care, I wanted to know why they were ineffective – why were most people living with AIDS in Africa still not on anti-retroviral treatment and getting the care they needed?

I have a photo of some of the children from Emmanuel Center in my dissertation note book. I keep it there for motivation – I can write with all the academic discipline I need to, but in my heart I don’t want to forget what inspires me – children like Tim and determined women like his sister.

Pause, Reflect... head back to the library.

I don’t have one book out of the library. I don’t have a file titled ‘essay’ permanently open on my computer, staring at me accusingly every time I check my email or surf face book. There is no deadline hanging over my head. Essays have been handed in, and classes are finished. I have a sense of freedom and desire for celebration, but there is also a sort of sense of needing to pause and reflect.
Eight months ago about 100 of us peace studies students crammed into the lecture hall for our first Introduction to Peace Studies class. We instantly created ourselves into a tribe of friends, living in a confined village which included the library, café, pub, halls, etc. We’ve read the same books, had stress attacks at the same times, and complained about the same weather. We’ve consumed copious amounts of coffee, and almost as much wine. We’ve tried to cram conflict resolution, political science, international relations and more into our head space.
The courses have been great, but it’s the people that I have learned from. I wonder when I will have the opportunity to sit around a table in a pub with people from a dozen different countries again, while discussing concepts like universal human rights, just war, and failed states.
Part of the reality of being a diverse group is that we are all pointed in different directions. Since classes ended two weeks ago, and our essays were handed in last week, we have already started to scatter. Some people are heading to their home countries to write their dissertations, others are heading out on field research, some have other exciting adventures planned.
In a month and a half I’m boarding a plane to Durban, South Africa to intern at the Health Economics AIDS Research Division. I’m terribly excited about the opportunity to work at THE place to be if your interested in the social and economic dimensions of the AIDS pandemic (which I am!). I’m also hopeful that my work at HEARD will inform my dissertation.
In fact that is the next task that looms over me. I have to finalize my topic, begin my background research and write my proposal. So today I’m off to the library to get some books out and then no doubt I’ll have a permanently open file on my computer titled ‘dissertation,’ starting at me accusingly. There is not much time for pause and reflection after all – but there is a lot still going on, which is just the way I like it.

Team Twickenham Tours Scotland

Mom and Auntie Carolyn arrived at Twickenham Court (my home in Bradford) on April 6th, ready to see the best of Great Britian. After a few fine days in lovely Yorkshire, the two of them, Vanessa and I piled into a rental car and programmed the satnav (one of those computers that talks to you and tells you which direction to go) for Edinburgh. I was driving for the first time in the UK, but after a few false starts, and with oral directions from the ever polite Felicity (our name for the satnav), we were off in the right direction - we hoped!
Vanessa ooed and awed at the little lambs spotting the Yorkshire Dales, Auntie Carolyn imagined the sketches she would do, mom cringed at the narrow roads, and I tried to follow directions for once in my life. I must have been paying attention because after five short hours Felicity had delivered us safely to Edinburgh. However, she didn’t offer to find us a parking spot and so I spent another 45 minutes driving around in circles, fighting with buses and practicing my favorite swear words.
Our guest house was on the edge of the old town, with a great Thai restaurant in the basement. We wondered Edinburgh’s ancient streets in the shadow of the massive castle, visited the castle, went to Good Friday Service in the ancient cathedral, and climbed the green hills on the outskirts of the city – it was delightful.
We then programmed Felicity for the coastal town of Oban, where we ate lovely greasy fish n’chips in the rain and scoped out the Scotch distillery. Oban is a quaint town, with tourists pouring out of every store front. However, Vanessa and I found a peaceful moment on top of one of the hills, were a local church was holding a sunrise service on Easter Sunday.
We left Oban by ferry for the Isle of Mull. The very informative captain told us all about the stunning castle we past as we basked in the cool sun. Once on Mull we remained breathless (and not only out of fear of crashing on the twisty turny roads). The scenery was picture perfect: rolling hills, blue ocean, punk rock cows and fluffy white sheep. The only thing that was missing was burly men in kilts. Our cozy bed and breakfast surpassed our expectations, but not as much as our Easter supper at the local pub – the fresh sea food was overflowing on our table, and was nicely washed down by a local single malt.
The next day we wandered the isles’ twisty roads, walked into a lake, basked on Calgary beach, and ate a few more great meals. There was no doubt about it – Mull was magic.
From Mull we passed back through Oban long enough to go on a distillery tour, and then headed for Glasgow where we met our ever so friendly host at the Barrisdale B&B. Glasgow surprised us with her charm: excellent free museums and galleries, a stunning cathedral and superb taxi drivers (more like tour guides really). Our last meal was at the famous restaurant – Two Fat Ladies at the Buttery.
The following morning we programmed good old Felicity for Twickenham Court and four hours later found ourselves safely home.
It was a road trip to remember. We reflected a number of times that our adventures could be crafted into one of those ultra girly movies about friendship, sisterhood, intergenerational learning, reflecting on the past, etc. Perhaps we’ll write the screen play one day, but until then please check out some photos here.

Heroes!

Emmanuel Center was recently featured on the national news station in Kenya! Watch this inspiring clip right away - www.youtube.com/watch?v=oypQMUaUf_Q

I'm so proud to be part of such a great organization!

Elders

As I read the sympathetic messages from aunts, parents, Rotarians and friends in regards to my last post, I begin to reflect again on my essay on indigenous conflict resolution in Africa. One of the characteristics of indigenous approaches to conflict resolution across the continent is the role of elders. Now ‘elder’ is not necessarily a flattering term in the Western context, but in Africa it invokes wisdom, generosity and respect. So with that impression of elders in my mind I start to reflect on the elders in my life.
Though I grew up in the West, there certainly was a ‘tribe’ of elders (you know who you are) who gathered nearly weekly around a dinner table, good food and multiple bottles of wine to share stories, opinions, and yes even wisdom. Visiting family included a similar ritual, and somehow as the hours vanished in the chit chat based on full tummies and the warmth of wine I think I learned something – I certainly gleaned a great deal of support, encouragement and what we in the peace studies field call ‘empowerment.’
As I’ve left home I’ve never left that support behind – though the ritual of dinners and drinks isn’t possible, the virtual support is still there. Plus, here in Bradford I’ve found a new tribe of elders to rely on – Rotarians, professors and friends.
In the African context, Elders guide the young, cool passions and are the voice of experience. For sure my Elders offer the same service, and when I get down and angry I’m glad their encouragement and empowerment is there. Plus it is nice when I can relate to what I'm studying : )

In Memory

Last week a former resident of Emmanuel Center died. His nickname was Odijo, which means teacher. I realize I actually know very little about his life. I know he was originally from Western Kenya and had lived on the streets of Nairobi as a boy. He struggled, as street kids do, with addictions and violence. Around the age of 19 he came to Emmanuel Center were he lived and volunteered as a security guard. He was called Odijo because he was good at guiding the younger boys, and often taught them sports. He was in charge of Emmanuel Center’s make shift gym (made up of paint cans full of cement) and loved to work out. I remember discussing his dreams with him one day – he wanted to work in a gym. Together we drew up a budget of what it would cost to buy the equipment and I hoped we could find funding for it, and then could run it as an income generating project for Emmanuel Center – but nothing ever came of it.
Odijo struggled with alcoholism and sometimes he would lose control and we would have to send him away from Emmanuel Center. He would vanish for months at time and then turn up apologetic and sheepish. He was part of the Emmanuel Center family and so got a second, third and even forth chance. However, the last time I saw him in August Daniel was telling him to leave once again – the neighbors had accused him of stealing and he was obviously drunk.
Today Daniel told me that Odijo had been caught stealing by the police, who had shot and killed him. My sadness at this news has many levels: I’m morning for Odijo’s life which was hard from the beginning, had potential for love and kindness, but ended too soon; I’m furious that he died a violent death that goes against all notions of human rights, and I’m pained to think that we couldn’t help or protect him at Emmanuel Center.
Daniel says this tragedy demonstrates the importance of the work Emmanuel Center does. I guess so, but right now I’m raging against a system that breeds street kids, feeds them drugs and alcohol and then guns them down. I don’t want to read my human rights text book, or write my essay on conflict resolution in Africa – it all seems a little futile in the harsh light of the reality of life and death on Nairobi’s streets.
Those of us who knew Odijo need to remember him for the good gentle soul that he was. We need to remember him helping the younger boys do bench presses, and sitting under the tree by the gate to Emmanuel Center in the evening sun.

I am because of you

I’m afraid the most exciting thing going on in my life right now is the essay I’m writing on African Indigenous Knowledge and Conflict Resolution. Basically the just of the issue is that outsiders (the UN etc.) have been trying to ‘solve’ conflicts in Africa for decades and with very little success. As a result a renewed interest is forming around African solutions to African conflicts. Of course there are the usual dry academic debates about what terms like ‘traditional’ and ‘indigenous’ mean… but I won’t bore you with the theory. Instead let me share some points of interest….

Ubuntu - This African philosophy exists across many African cultures and can basically be summed up in the phrase “I am because of you.”

Or as Desmond Tutu puts it: “Ubuntu speaks particularly about the fact that you can't exist as a human being in isolation. It speaks about our interconnectedness. You can't be human all by yourself, and when you have this quality - Ubuntu - you are known for your generosity. . . . A person with Ubuntu is open and available to others, affirming of others, does not feel threatened that others are able and good, for he or she has a proper self-assurance that comes from knowing that he or she belongs in a greater whole and is diminished when others are humiliated or diminished, when others are tortured or oppressed.

So what does Ubuntu have to do with conflict resolutions? Well there is a lot of variety across communities and cultures, but basically Ubuntu –esque conflict resolution would involve the whole community affected and aim at restoring harmony. For example, someone who had broken a societal rule (who Westerns would call a criminal) may have to confess in front of the community or appointed elders, pay reparation and/or go through a symbolic ceremony and then be forgiven by whom he/she had offended. The aim would be to restore the perpetrator to the community as opposed to isolating him/her. The best example of putting Ubuntu into practice on a large scale is the South African Truth and Reconciliation Commission.

Another aspect of African conflict resolution models that struck me is that the whole community takes responsibility for the conflict. As one of the essays I’m reading states, “The African model accepts responsibility for the conflict. The mad person (who Westerners would call the criminal) is taken over, reintegrated into the traditional milieu, brought back into the social fold; he lives together with others. His statements are understood, experienced, accepted. Where necessary, purification rituals are performed. The Western mode leaves the mad person on his own. He is accused, subjected to treatment.” For example, former child soldiers in Northern Uganda are reintegrated through symbolic cleansing, songs and rituals and then welcomed back into their communities.

Of course all this sounds very ideal, but it is also realistic. African approaches see conflict as a necessary component of societies and therefore restitution as an on going process. It’s not like everyone lives in the Ubuntu ideal – it just another approach to solving conflict with its own strengths and weaknesses. Still I like it, especially compared to the punitive approaches of the West.

Perhaps I’ll have deeper insights the deeper I get into this essay. In the meantime …. Be Because We Are : )

Coffee Daze

I think that when I look back on the year one of the things I’ll miss most in hours that fly by over coffee and chit chat. The University of Bradford’s heart beat is a little café called Jasmines.

At the counter I order my standard Americano, at which point the smiling server quips back “don’t you mean Canadiano” in his thick Yorkshire accent- to which I always laugh at as I snatch another piece of broken cookie from the sample plate. I sit in my favorite spot in one of the round armchairs in the far corner, from which I can watch the café buzz over the top of the book I’m suppose to be reading. From this vantage point I can watch the university drift around in its little eddy.

In one corner the PHd students will be talking ever so seriously. In another, the Japanese girls are laughing. Professors walk in and out, before students can bombard them with questions. My fellow peace studies students mull over current events and the daily cross word puzzle. Nobody seems in a rush, and the only stress factor is the essay we are suppose to be working on but are talking about instead. The circle of arm chairs I sit in is like a game of musical chairs – whenever one person gets up there is someone else to sit down and renew the conversation. I have a feeling that if I just sat here long enough, the cycle of people would continue to repeat itself. But I noticed two hours have past with no productive work being accomplished, so I reluctantly pack up my books and head to class.

A Week in Italian Paradise

I always had a feeling I would love Italy – any country that makes good food, wine and coffee sacred is my kind of place. Of course one of the best things about my trip was the fabulous Danes I was skiing with, but I’ll get to them later. Let’s start at the beginning….

On the airplane I met one of the nicest people in the world - Ben. I didn’t know this when he sat down next to me, but we hadn’t been chatting more than a few minutes before he offered to show me around Milano the next day. When we got off the plane he offered me a lift into the city and his mom even took us out for delicious pizza in the old city of Bergamo.

The next day I got up early to wander the sunny, but chilly, streets of Milano. I had delicious espresso and a croissant for breakfast (twice!) and figured out how to take the Metro. I had to ask a few people for directions, but even the Italians who couldn’t speak much English were very helpful (hand gestures are generally universal and Italians are good at talking with their hands). At lunch time I met Ben who took me to this remarkable little restaurant, which as a tourist I never would have found on my own. I told him that it was so ‘authentic’ and he said that’s because it is! As I ate the best risotto ever, I learned more about Italian food than I knew was to know. It was a perfect meal.

After lunch we went to the Domu – this remarkable gothic cathedral that rises out of center of Milano. Inside the sun shone through the massive stain glass windows sending rainbow reflections on to the marble pillars. It was the type of place that makes you catch your breath.
But the really breath taking beauty was on the top of the Domu. After climbing a long spiral stone stair case we emerged between the pillars, gargoyls and golden statues. Milano stretched out before us – now I was really breathless.

Next we went to the Castelo, a huge ancient fortress in which I could almost see Don Giovanni galloping through on a dark stead, through a lovely park and down the winding cobbled streets. That evening we had a drink by the river and I felt very spoilt to have had such a perfect day in Milano.

The next day I was up early and on the bus to Canazie, in the Italian alps. I was surprised to see vineyards so far North, but thought the little villages at the foot of the Mounties, with square church spires poking out, looked just like they were out of a picture book. As we approached the resort the mountains got bigger and the road twisted and turned. I had expected the mountains to remind me of home but they didn’t. They were some how harder, more stern and more jagged than the wrinkly coast mountains in Canada.

So I found myself on one such mountain, skis in hand, searching faces for the Clausens, who I hadn’t seen in 12 years. I recognized Karen’s smile instantly and soon Thomas was there to. It was just like being reunited with family. We had a lovely skiing afternoon – It felt like being a home to have to slippery sticks strapped to my feet again.

The next day Peter Michael showed up and his he skied down towards, big smile shining, I thought he looked just like the 17 year old who had lived with us 15 odd years ago. Of course he is actually a bit more mature looking now, but he was still just like a big brother to me.

Now I must explain something about skiing in Europe for the North Americas out there…. Well when I go skiing in Canada with my Dad and my sister in Canada they always promise lots of hot chocolate breaks but then make me hike over mountains instead, in search of ‘fresh tracks’, ‘the best powder’ and other elusive dreams. As a result I might get one hot chocolate break at the very end of the day if I’m lucky. Well in Europe we stopped as much as we want and not only for hot chocolate – for beer (at 10am!), warm wine, or this sweet tea with very strong rum in it. We had big relaxing lunches and took everything nice and easy – it was divine! Kind of like skiing in paradise, with the mountain views, great company and good food.

There is another cultural aspect of skiing I feel responsible to share – that is the Apres Ski culture. As you can guess from the name, this ritual takes place at the end of the ski day and once again includes drinking yummy drinks, chatting and relaxing. Peter Michael told me it is very important to keep you ski boots on during Apres Ski, otherwise it’s just drinking : )

So five days past way too fast with the wonderful Clausens and their fellow Danes. I felt completely spoilt by the great company, soft snow and sunshine. I really didn’t want to leave, but alas I had to. I headed back to Milano where I had a final lovely Italian meal, and then it was back to reality.

The only disappointment to the whole trip was that my camera battery was dead on arrival and I forgot the charger so I don’t have any photos to remember one of the most relaxing, fun weeks of my life. I’ll just have to day dream about it instead.

Fleeing Persecution

The other day I found myself at a meeting of a student group that helps refugees practice their English. My friend and I sat down across from a young Kurdish man from Syria and, in between broken conversation about university, football and the weather, his story emerged. It went something like this:

He was half way through his engineering degree at university when he joined an illegal Kurdish party. The party argued that Kurds should have the right to speak their own language, learn it in school, and also some basic political representation. The current Syrian regime consequently banned the party and imprisoned many of its leaders. The young man and his friends continued to meet in secret and circulate Kurdish literature. One day he got news that one of his friends was arrested. The next day he was in class when another friend called him to warn him the police were at his house and had found the illegal party pamphlets and Kurdish books. He never went home again. Instead he fled to the UK, where he has submitted an asylum plea and is waiting to hear the results.

I sat across from him and tried to imagine what he had been through. He was younger than me but had made the decision to fight for his cultural and political rights at great risk. He had fled his home and may never be able to see his family again. In the UK, if he is granted asylum, he will have to start over again from scratch.

Bradford is overflowing with such stories. A number of organizations are trying to meet the needs of such refugees and asylum seekers. I’m currently working at one - Abigail Housing. Check out is blog for more info.

Check it out!

I've been a lazy blogger lately, but I have an excuse. I was 'refurbishing' the Emmanuel Center website. So, while I wait to find something thrilling to write about, please check out the new site and let me know what you think (especially if you notice any typos, since I'm sure there are more than one or two). Here's the link http://www.emmanuelcenter.com/

The G-Word

People ask me if I was safe on my recent trip to Israel. The question shows how little we understand what is going on there. Of course I was safe – I’m not Palestinian. I have fair skin and a North American accent. Even when I attended a protest in the West Bank, the Israel soldiers aimed their rubber bullets at the Palestinian children, not at me.

I swam in the Dead Sea while the first bombs were dropped on Gaza. The next day, while more bombs fell, I visited historic Yafo. That day the newspaper headline noted only that two Israeli homes had been hit by rockets, it didn’t mention that 200 Palestinians had died. At a protest against the bombing in Tel Aviv, Israel activists were almost begging to be arrested – they desperately wanted to do something to demonstrate their opposition to the killing of civilians, and there is so little they could do while walled into a police state. As I left the country, and the soldiers searched every pocket of my bags, I grieved not only for the people in Gaza, but also for the Israelis against the occupation who are being smothered.

I can’t help but think, if what was happening in Gaza right now was happening in Africa, the international community and press would be throwing around the G –word. Can you guess what the G-word is? It’s not God, there is nothing Godly going on in the Holy Land these days. It’s not Good, or Great, or Gargantuan. It’s Genocide. It’s a big word, and a serious word. I don’t think it should be used lightly (as the press loves to do when reporting about Africa but not when reporting on ‘civilized’ states), but its worth reflecting on the definition in light of the destruction of Gaza: the organized attempt to deliberately and systematically destroy, in whole or in part, an ethnic, racial, religious, or national group.

My own country recently voted against a UN Human Rights Council resolution condemning the Israeli campaign on humanitarian grounds. Perhaps we are no longer deserving of our reputation as peacemakers. It’s not often I’m ashamed to be Canadian, but today I am.

On Heroes

Once upon a time, about 11 years ago, when I was a 16 year old Rotary Exchange Student in South Africa, my high school history teacher let me work on a history project of my choosing – which to a budding history nerd like me was a great gift. I decided to research women who opposed apartheid, including Helen Suzman – one of my first heroes.

As 2009 opened, Helen Suzman died. She was 91, and had served as a member of parliament in South Africa for 36 years. For over a dozen of those years she was the only parliamentary voice of opposition to apartheid, and for many years she was also the only female voice. As a Jewish woman in a patriarchal state the odds were stacked against her, yet she chose to speak out when few others would to a racist regime most accepted as the status quo. Where did her courage and conviction come from?

At 16 I believed it came from a special sort of ‘good person status’ I aspired to. Now, at 27, I'm suppose to know a lot more than I did then. I’ve completed an honours degree in Gender History, not just one report. I’ve traveled the world a little bit and stood up, every now and then, for what I believe in.

But along the way, as bombs drop on Gaza and poverty grows in Africa, it’s been hard to maintain faith in the ‘good people can change the world’ hypotheses. Sometimes I look at the budget for my own little cause at Emmanuel Center in Kenya and think “when we will stop struggling? How can it be so difficult just to feed 40 children?” Or I read a book on political economy and decide with so many corrupt leaders in the world peace is a hopeless dream. Or I watch the news and think - where are the Helen Suzmans in Israel right now?

Then I reflect back on that first history project and the dozens of women I read about. Not all of them where famous. Not all of them survived to see their dream come reality – but they all fought a long hard battle for a better world, and I know there are others like them out there – whether we listen to them and look to them as leaders or not.

If I remember anything that I learned from that history report 11 years ago it should be that Helen Suzman had an inspirational faith in a more just world and the courage to fight for it against the odds – we need that spirit now more than ever.