The Winding Road

Celebrating Opportunities

2011-07-20T06:05:00.001-07:00

Ben and John (names changed for privacy reasons) grew up in Ukambani, a dry drought prone part of Kenya. They lived with their father, mother and two younger siblings. Though they were poor, they managed to get by with their small farm until their father fell ill, could no longer work , and eventually died.

By this time John had complete primary education, which is free in Kenya. There was no money for secondary school fees so John travelled the 100 km to Nairobi. There he lived on the streets doing small jobs like cutting grass and collecting scrap metal. Life on the streets was miserable and dangerous – John does not like to talk about it.

After about six months of such terror, John heard about a place called Emmanuel Center, where street kids had a place to live and a chance to go to school. After a bit of searching he found the centre and presented himself at the gate, asking for help. He was admitted and enrolled in secondary school.

The following year Ben finished primary school and also made the long trek to Nairobi in search of work. When he arrived he looked for his brother on the streets and so too learned about Emmanuel Centre. Though the centre was nearly full, space was made for him and he too enrolled in Secondary School.

Both boys did well in their studies in different ways. John was a social student (sometimes a bit too social perhaps) but worked hard. Ben was much more quiet and studious. When John graduated in 2007 he was supported by a generous donor and enrolled in a catering and hospitality diploma, which he finished in 2010. He is now working at the Hilton Hotel in Nairobi.

By the time Ben graduate in 2008, their mother had fallen ill and was unable to take care of herself or their younger siblings. Ben travelled back to Ukambani, where he enrolled her in an HIV/AIDS treatment program. He got a temporary job as a teacher in a rural school. The salary of approximately $35/month helped him support his family, but he desperately wanted to continue his own studies.

In early 2011, a qualified teacher was hired for his position and he lost his job. Luckily, the HIV/AIDS treatment had greatly improved his mother’s health and she was able to take care of his siblings and the farm. John was sending money home for his job at the Hilton.

Ben seized the opportunity and travelled back to Nairobi were he began researching academic programs. He decided he would like to complete a Diploma Business Information Technology at the Presbyterian University of East Africa.

Which brings me to the present day and point of this story . . . . to celebrate my Birthday, and all the amazing opportunities and learning experiences I have had over the last 30 years, I’m trying to raise the $1250 needed to cover Ben’s first term of university.

If you would like to help me meet this goal you can either donate online via the Squamish Rotary Club (write in the note section that the money is for EBRC university fees) or contract me to get bank account/mailing details.

THANK YOU!

Reflecting on 5 years with Emmanuel Project

2011-01-10T14:31:00.000-08:00

My first visit to Emmanuel Project

I’ve been involved, one way or another, with Emmanuel Project in Nairobi, Kenya for over five years now. Emmanuel Center provides education, shelter, health care, etc. to street children, and it has provided me with never ending learning, inspiration and joy.

However, the work has never been easy and journey has had bumps here and there. Sometimes it is hard to see that we are making a difference – when you consider there are 250,000 street kids in Kenya, for example, and we are only able to directly help about 40 a year. And sometimes the logistics, management and financials can distract from the true mission of the project – to give street kids a chance at a better life.

So when I become discouraged or frustrated I try and remember the individual stories: the first Emmanuel student to graduate from secondary school, who is now in university; the street boy who would barely speak, he was so traumatised by life on the streets, who learned carpentry in a vocational training institute and is now an apprentice in a workshop; the AIDS orphan who completed secondary school and catering training at a small college and is now working in a hotel. The list could go on. It is these faces, these stories that keep me motivated and keep Emmanuel Project doing what it does best – giving street kids a chance.

We’ve recently made some changes to how we go about this. We’ve never liked the idea of institutionalizing children. In Africa in particular, it is a foreign practice to put children into special homes; it is better for them to be integrated into the community. So Emmanuel Project has been working hard to get as many street children as possible placed with relatives – Emmanuel Project still provides for all education and health needs but the children live with families. Those children who have no relatives we are placing in boarding schools. This way we are able to close the center facility and can use all the money we were spending on rent, bills and staff to directly fund what children need most.

The truth is that this change in programming hasn’t been easy for any of us. In many cases both the children and the families need a lot of support and counselling in order to live together. For the leadership of Emmanuel Project, it has required some soul searching and remembering that our goal is to help children, not have own fancy building.

However, now the process is almost complete, I believe we are all very excited about it. The children are starting a new school year with their usual eagerness and excitement, and the leadership of Emmanuel Project is enjoying being able to focus on the kids.

If you would like to join us on this next leg of the Emmanuel journey I ask that you please consider donating to Emmanuel Project. Donations can be made online via the Squamish Rotary Foundation, are tax deductible for Canadians, and there are no administration fees. If you are wondering how much to donate these figures might help you:

$550 or $46 a month = one year in primary school for a former street kid
$750 or $63 a month = one year in secondary school for a former street kid
$600 or $50 a month = one year in vocational training for a former street kid

P.S These number include the cost of school fees, school supplies, nutritious food, and health care!

P.P.S. To donate now go here

Bits and Bobs

2010-12-13T16:58:00.000-08:00

Well 2010 and all its adventures are coming to a close. At the end of November I said good bye to the wonderful friends and family I had created in Kailahun, Sierra Leone and, after a few days on the beach, headed home for Christmas. I am currently sitting by the Christmas tree my family and I cut down and decorated yesterday, in chilly but cozy Squamish, British Columbia. As I wrap up the year here are few bits and bobs that might be of interest to those of you who stop by here.

Alan Whiteside and I have published an article on AIDS exceptionalism which can be read here.
Emmanuel Center, a home for street children in Kenya, is very grateful for any donations that might help the children have a bright Christmas. Donation can be made online via the Squamish Rotary Club here.
After my fill of skiing and shortbread, in January, I will be heading back to the Peace Studies Department at the University of Bradford to begin my PhD!

I wish you all a very happy holiday season and a peaceful journey through the new year.

Julia

Bumpy Roads Through Paradise

2010-11-15T07:08:00.000-08:00

I convinced a friend from Canada to join me on mini West African tour, and as often happens getting from place to place was as much of an adventure as any destination......

The road to Safari Beach Eco Lodge, on the coast of Ghana, was full of craters. It was narrow and twisty. It scratch the bottom of the taxi S. and I rented and made our driver swear. But it was worth it when we arrived in paradise.
Paradise included our own private beach, our own private waiter/bartender/cook, even our very own palm tree. We spent the next three days like this: wake up when we want to, pretend to do yoga on the beach but mostly just stare at the waves crashing, eat a delicious breakfast of yogurt fruit and honey, sit under the palm tree and read, jump around in the waves when it gets too hot, drink a great big beer, eat a delicious lunch, move lounge chairs to other side of palm tree, jump around in the waves when it gets too hot, drink a beautiful cocktail, eat dinner of decadent seafood such as lobster, drink a bottle of wine, walk on the beach looking for sea turtles, which we never did see.
Despite the absence of turtles, it was perfect. Then we had to brave the road again, but this time it wasn’t the dirt part that was the problem but the way our driver drove on the paved part. It tried to fall asleep but every time I opened my eyes our bumper was one inch from the bumper in front of us. It was the most terrifying drive ever – and I’ve had some pretty terrifying drives.
The ‘final’ day in Ghana was spent navigating Accra’s crazy traffic to find Global Mama’s and do Christmas shopping. We then went to the airport where we spent the better part of three days thanks to idiocy of Kenya Airways. We will not discuss these days, as we now refer to them as ‘The Lost Days.’

Back in Sierra Leone, we wound through the old mountain road outside of Freetown – causing yet another taxi driver to swear as his car scraped over the boulders – to Tacugama Chimpanzee Reserve. This magical spot is home to over 100 rescued chimpanzees and has delightful little forest huts for accommodation. Watching the baby chimps play, looking out over the forest of a million colours of green, it was easy to see we had found another corner of paradise.
We spent a final day on the beach in Freetown and then headed out on the long journey to my own little corner of the country. First we had to navigate Freetown traffic though, which meant that the one hour it should have taken us to leave the city took three. This meant we got on to ‘the real bad part’ of the Kailahun Road as dusk was falling. S. turned to our driver and said ‘Are you sure this is a road?’ At which point he burst out laughing. However, for the next three hours there were times when we did wonder if we were following a road or a long mud puddle/ baboon track/ old river bed/ etc. in the dark by accident. Thankfully, it led us back to Kailahun, which may not be paradise, but is pretty darn lovely after a long journey.

A Goat Named Turkey

2010-10-11T10:55:00.001-07:00

Turkey had four legs, two horns and brown fur. He was a lucky goat to have survived Eid in Sierra Leone a month ago. However, unbeknownst to him and the rest of Sierra Leone, Canadian thanksgiving was just around the corner. He died at dawn, shortly after my co-worker arrived with a large knife.
While Turkey was being cut up another friend arrived with a huge pineapple – he too had heard about thanksgiving. Shortly afterwards school children arrived carrying a papaya nearly half their size – they too want to give ‘thanksgiving gifts.’ Within a few hours three friends arrived with their aprons on - it was time to get to work on Turkey dinner.
First we cleaned out the intestines and stomach, and cut up the lungs, liver and kidneys. These went into the pot with a whole lot of pepper for ‘pepe soup.’ Mmmmmmmmm.....
After we had feasted on this lunch, we boiled up Turkey, mixed in more pepper, plus onions and garlic, and then skewered the small pieces of meat which we barbequed – boy did Turkey smell good.
He was done just in time. At 5 pm sharp the friend I had asked to bring his laptop and speakers, for music, arrived. What I hadn’t anticipated was that the speakers were borrowed from Kailahun’s only night club, complete with a full sound system and turn tables. The DJs set the speakers up on the porch and pretty soon the whole village was dancing in our front yard.
Sierra Leonean’s like formality, so we (my Canadian roomy and I) made a short welcome speech (because we don’t like formality). We then asked everyone inside to introduce themselves (there was about 30 people in the house by this point and 60 outside) by saying one thing they were grateful for. This turned out to be very good for the ego, as most people said they were thankful for us Canadians!
We gobbled Turkey all up, and danced a little more. Then there was a call for us to teach another Canadian game. You see ever since our Canada Day Party, there has been a lot of talk about the funny games Canadians play. So we introduce charades, which was, well – quite a charade. There was a lot of yelling, a fair bit of cheating and tones of laughter.
We finished the night off with more dancing, of course, and then fell asleep content and exhausted. It was a very good Canadian Thanksgiving in Sierra Leone for everyone except for poor Turkey.

Ramadan

2010-09-09T02:15:00.001-07:00

It’s nearing the end of Ramadan. Villages are over flowing with goats, encouraged to grow fat for a few days more. Women sit under trees elaborately braiding their hair. Tailors bend over piles of colourfully died clothes, sewing dresses to compliment the new hair styles. The roads have been turned into long strings of mud puddles by a persistent rainy season. I am travelling back and forth over them conducting a social impact assessment of the community credit unions and supervising the beginnings of a microfinance program.

At the credit unions I hear the members explain how loans have helped them pay school fees for their children, buy tools for their farms, and buy land to build on. They explain that people in the community are not used to savings but are learning slowly. One woman says there is now peace in her family because she deposits the money she earns from making soap in the credit union; when her husband wants to go use it to buy palm wine he can’t get at it and so they never fight about it.

The women come to the first microfinance sensitization meeting in colourful traditional dresses, bright cloths wrapped around their heads and strings of beads around their necks. They laugh and tease each other, and yell and argue with each other all at once. There is nothing quiet and meek about Sierra Leonean women. I take their energy to mean engagement and therefore a good sign.

By the time I reach home in the evening, the rain is falling in hard drops making a racket on my zinc roof. I fry some plantains and stand in the doorway eating them and watching the rain splash off the banana leaves.

Awesome Kailahun

2010-08-18T13:15:00.000-07:00

I recently downloaded The Book of Awesome on to my e-reader. The internet connection is so slow here that my patience is usually exhausted by the time I’ve loaded the e-book store and searched for a title. Since downloading a book is at least a 45 minute commitment, I don’t usual bother to read descriptions. Instead I put blind trust in recommendations from friends and family.
So I was surprised that The Book of Awesome is not a novel but a serious of descriptions of common place, but AWESOME, events: such as the smell of freshly cut grass. It’s a wonderful idea, and I opened it on a day when I really needed to be reminded of the small but precious details of life. But I felt most of it didn’t apply to my life in Kailahun – so far away from things like snowflakes, lawn mowers and grocery line ups. Then I realized that I should make a list of Awesome Kailahun. The list reminds me of what is great about this place and gives you (my friend/family/reader) a little insight into my life. Here it is.....
Impromptu Dance Parties
Sierra Leoneans like to shake it whether they be toddlers or seniors, and impromptu dance parties are a wonderful part of life here. Sometimes they happen with the kids on our front porch when the a driver decides to crank the car stereo, sometimes they happen in the office when we catch the accountant listening to lively Ghanaian beats, sometimes dancing just bursts out of nowhere. No matter what – Sierra Leoneans can dance AWESOME!
When Gmail loads on the first try
As I mentioned, the internet connection is crazy slow and for some reason Gmail is especially stubborn. So I usually have to refresh the page at least three times. This can be frustrating when I can see an email with a subject line like “PhD Application” and have to wait 10 minutes before it loads properly and I find out if I’m accepted or not (I was!). However, every now and then Gmail just loads, I don’t have to wait, I don’t have to pound my computer keys, it’s just there - AWESOME!
Jolof Rice
There are three ‘restaurants’ in Kailahun. Each serves one dish per day. Most days this dish is cassava leaf and rice. For variety it is sometimes potatoes leaf and rice. Every now and then it is Jolof Rice (rice cooked with tomatoes and spice) and soup (usually with chicken or fish), and the complete absence of slimy green mush is AWESOME!
Holding Hands
Sometimes when I walk to or from work, or through town, one of the little kids from the neighbourhood runs up and grabs my hand. We walk down the road holding hands until he or she skips off back home. Nothing is said, nothing is accomplished, but it sure feels AWESOME.
Mastering Mende
So far I have learned only the basic greetings in Mende (the local language). I’m trying to learn more and every now and then someone calls out to me and I reply in Mende, and they don’t burst out laughing, but respond as if I’ve said something that makes sense, and I feel so proud of myself - AWESOME.
Motorbike in the Mud
I always thought those guys who say motorbikes are awesome were just trying to be macho. Now I know better. I love riding the motorbike down the mud roads, walled by jungle trees, rain falling, sun beating, whatever the day is like – it is AWESOME!
Cold
It is hot here. Even now, during the rainy season when all my colleagues tell me it is ‘cold’, it is still hot (at least 28 degrees). However, there are pockets of cold – the refrigerator at the office when the generator is turned on; drinks at one of the restaurants when they turn on their generators; heavy rain drops at the end of especially hot days. In the heat, these things feel AWESOME!
Papaya and Pineapple
You know that 4 pm fade? You’ve worked all day and still have a couple of hours to go but really need a shot of energy. Well sometimes, right around this time, someone in the office busts out a pineapple or papaya. It’s cut up and distributed one plate per office. We all pause what we are doing and let the sweet fruit run down our throats and chins. It’s AWESOME!
Emails
When Gmail finally loads and I see an email from family or friends it is AWESOME. It can be juicy gossip, detailed description, silly jokes.... it doesn’t matter. I just love getting news from ‘home’. It brightens my day.
And the list could go on and one......

What is lost in war

2010-07-18T05:26:00.001-07:00

We count the costs of war in lives lost, people displaced, money spent – all very important measures. But by listening to stories from friends here, by observing both Sierra Leone and Liberia, I realise so much more is also destroyed and not just by the conflict itself, but by the aftermath. For example:
Environment - The jungles of Sierra Leone used to be heavily populated by monkeys and chimpanzees. However, these animals were either killed or fled during the war. Seven years later they are only beginning to return.
Food Security - The land people farmed was left unattended and the jungle quickly grew over it. Without any modern farm machinery, farmers are still struggling to reclaim their land. As a result they cannot grow enough to meet their basic needs.
Education - The University of Sierra Leone was once considered one of the best universities in West Africa, with students coming from Nigeria and Ghana. Now the university is still struggling to recover and Sierra Leonean students try to find a way to study elsewhere.
Culture - Both Sierra Leone and Liberia were once famous for having the most intricate masks in West Africa. Few such items survived the war. Even less of the knowledge, expertise and culture still exists, so now such mask are a rarity. Similarly, Sierra Leone used to be known for its beautiful gara-dying of clothes. This art is just beginning to be revived by women’s groups.
The Youth - In rural Liberia I saw villages consisting of only small children and their grandparents. The youth had all left of the big cities. They felt no historical ties to the land, as their parents had done, having been torn from it by conflict. They were looking for paid employment, not farming opportunities. This is logical of them – but who will grow the countries food, who will care for the young and old, what will this do to the African concept of family?

Kailahun's First Canada Day

2010-07-05T13:29:00.000-07:00

My two Canadian roomies and I decided that as the only Canadian representatives in all of Kailahun, it was our duty to through a Canada Day party for our friends and collegues that would not be forgotten.
We insisted that the party be Canadian in its totality, but certain exceptions did, in the end, have to be made. First, the food..... we managed to serve pancakes, which we felt was truly Canadian. There was also guacamole, which certainly wasn’t Sierra Leonean. But the rest of the dishes (friend plantains, tropical fruit etc.) was very local. We also insisted that, unlike Sierra Leonean parties, we would not have an agenda or speeches. However, the whole process (or lack thereof) was so confusing to our Sierra Leonean friends that we did have to say a few words in the beginning.
This was interrupted by one friend reminding us that there is a tradition that if they eat strange food without changing their names they will all get bloated bellies – this affliction will particularly affect the hosts of the party. So we all went around announcing our new names which ranged from ‘All Questions Will be Answered Tomorrow’ to ‘All the guests’. This obviously created interesting conversations.
After names were given there was a brief interlude for dancing, a necessary requirement for all Sierra Leonean parties, and which we were happy to adopt as a new Canadian tradition. Unlike in Canada though, it is the older men that lead the dancing – and can they ever dance!
Once everyone was very much warmed up it was time for the first game (we argue playing games is very much a Canadian pass time). – Canadian Trivia. Our friends were divided into three teams and asked a series of questions relating to Canadian culture. For example, they were asked what was Canada’s favourite sport, to which the closest answer was ‘snow ball’. They were then shown a picture of snowshoes and asked to guess what they were used for – straining cassava leaves, playing tennis....?
One team appeared to have an unfair advantage, including people who had worked most closely with the Canadians, so when they started to crow too loud about winning, we introduced the Canadian tradition of rewarding the underdog by presenting the prizes (two bags of candies) to the losing teams. This caused a great deal on conflict, which required some typically Canadian diplomacy.
After more dancing, so the Sierra Leoneans could sweat out any remaining frustrations, we introduced them to pin the tail on the donkey - once again maybe not necessarily a Canadian game, but definitely a novelty here. This was a huge hit, and even resulted in plans to include it in future SEND workshops.
The night ended with more dancing, as is only appropriate at the first ever, but not last, very Sierra Leonean Canada Day Party.

Liberia

2010-06-15T13:46:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago I travelled to Liberia. It’s taken me a while to write about it because it was the type of trip that required some processing afterwards. While I’m still turning over much of what I experienced in my mind, let me share a few notes with you.

Monrovia, the capital city, is spread out along wide roads. It has the potential to be beautiful, boasting white sandy beaches and lush green trees – and perhaps it once was. But the scars of war are still very present. As a tour I was taken to a five star hotel, or what had once been a hotel; now it was an empty shell with soldiers camped out in the lobby to prevent squatters. Street children played in the empty swimming pool and parking lot. From the poolside I looked out all over Monrovia – directly bellow me a massive slum pressed out on a peninsula of white sandy beach.

I then was taken to a church, now repaired, where I was told 200 people were massacred. The tour continued on such themes: the jail where my colleague was imprisoned for political protest; the beach where former government ministers faced Charles Taylor’s firing squads, and so on. The blue helmets and white land rovers of UN peacekeepers were everywhere.

We went to a rural village. On the bumpy 8 hour drive my travelling companions told me about spending two weeks fleeing Taylor’s rebels in the juggle. They spoke of eating razor blades because the traditional spiritual leaders told them it would make them bullet proof. They spoke of refugee camps and long years in exile.

In the village they describe how it once had been, pointing out the businesses that had been but were no more. They told me the pile of rocks I was standing on had been their grandmothers’ house and pointed out where her bedroom had been. It was like a tour of a ghost town – every pile of rubble or new little shack shadowed by the greater building that had once been there.

We visited a school my colleagues were trying to assist. The eight classrooms cannot accommodate the 500 children so they hope to build more, plus buy text books (since there are almost none). When we arrived many of the teachers were absent. They were required to travel 20 km to collect their pay of about $50 a month – the travel itself cost them $5 and collection had to be done on a working day, so once a month the children received no instruction.

When I visit a place I always look for the good. I don’t like presenting depressing stories from African countries – there are so many of those already. I found a glimmer of this good at the school. I saw seeds of hope and in the plans the people I met were making for themselves and their communities. I saw the potential for growth on the streets of Monrovia. But in truth, despite my best efforts, I was overwhelmed by destruction and suffering left in the wake of conflict.

Preventative Medicine in Sierra Leone

2010-06-03T14:26:00.000-07:00

On Kailahun’s ‘Free Immuniztion Day’ I was sitting in my office getting increasingly angry. I decided I needed an outlet before I committed some huge cultural taboo like yelling at all the men in authority around – so I did what I usually do. I emailed a rant to my mom. She wrote back in her typical thoughtful/understanding/encouraging way, and then suggested I should publish my rant somewhere. So I sent it to the very fabulous website called RHRealityCheck and they posted it.
Here it is - Preventative Medicine in Sierra Leone

Feeling the Freetown Love

2010-05-25T15:41:00.000-07:00

I have to admit, my first impression of Freetown was not one of instant love. Perhaps it was the jet leg back in April when I first landed there, but I found the city dingy, dilapidated, crowded and dirty. I was in no hurry to return, until the lack of chocolate, fresh coffee and other ‘necessities’ in Kailahun finally motivated me to head for the big city.
The pink Charm Beach Hotel, were we stayed looked like it lost its charm in the 70s. True you could see a speck of the ocean, but only over top of the half built/half falling down houses and razor wire. So I only started to feel the Freetown love when we headed into the city center. There a recognized the vibrancy I’ve experienced in other African cities: people from all over the continent mixing together, selling everything from goats to fake Gucci watches, spilling out of tiny houses by the dozen dressed to nines.
As our colleagues did some business in the bank, R. and I checked out the city center. I got passport photos taken for my Liberian visa (the actually purpose of my Freetown trip) on the street corner. We walked up to the giant cotton tree where slaves were once sold, and later free slaves returned to. We saw Freetown’s few historic sites – colonial style government buildings and a museum we didn’t go into. I bought a beautiful tie-died traditional dress (anywhere else in the world I’d look like a hippy but here I fit in. Besides it is the most comfy thing I have ever owned.)
Then we found Crown Bakery! We opened the door, stepped into the air conditioning and felt like we had been transported to North America. Without thinking that we were due to meet our colleagues we sat down and ordered cappuccinos, cinnamon buns, smoothies..... things we had only dreamed existed in Sierra Leone. When our work mates called to say we had to get to the embassy pronto, we begged them to wait. There was no way we could leave just yet.
From then on Freetown grew on me. For lunch we indulged in overpriced western goodies, and in the evenings we hit up the much cheaper make-shift stalls on the road side that sold food from all over Africa. We ate eba (Nigerian), and groundnut soap. I got to eat Nyama Choma (Kenyan) for the first time in years.
When A. arrived from Kailahun, I got to see more of Freetown up close and personal. We travelled the city by public transport visiting his family (our family actually since I’ve been adopted as A.’s twin sister). I discovered I much prefer crowded public taxies to travelling in air conditioned NGO trucks – there is something about public transport that makes one feel in beat with the pulse of the city. Inside the family homes I felt I was inside the heart of Freetown - these were busy places crowded with love.
In the evenings we dappled our feet in the waves at the beach, and sat in the sand speculating about what an amazing holiday destination Freetown will be one day soon. The never ending white sands certainly hold a lot of promise and the beach bars present a most relaxing atmosphere.
So I left Freetown with a bag of chocolate, cookies and wine to take back to Kailahun – and a much better impression of the place. It is a lively city, with friendly people, gorgeous beaches and great food. What more can you ask for?!
Peace.

What am I doing here?!

2010-05-13T02:57:00.001-07:00

What am I doing here? I have to admit sometimes this question runs through my own mind at least once a day and I get asked it at least three times a day. So here it is. . .
My main task right now is to design and implement a research project on microenterprise development in the District. Practically this means I spent days walking through hot crowded markets literally counting the numbers and types of businesses (which incidentally I loved because I quickly became familiar with where to buy the best palm oil, plantains, etc.). I tried to figure out how many ladies there are selling peppers? How many are selling handmade soap? How many young men sell fake Gucci watches? Etc... Since there are no government records – or records of any kind – and most of the economy is informal, my early research was based on this very unscientific method, from which I designed a survey sample and questionnaire.
Yesterday, I trained eight local young people to administer that questionnaire. The challenges we discussed ranged from how to determine income and expenditure when the business person is illiterate and keeps no records, to how to convince respondents that you aren’t going to report them for not paying taxes. The survey results will lead to focus groups, which will lead to a validation workshop, which will lead to a report...... but not a report to sit on a shelf – I hope!
The thing is there is absolutely no information on small businesses here so we are hoping other NGOs as well as the government might be interested in what we discover; even if they aren’t the results will inform SEND’s program development.
Personally, I find researching small business inspiring. Instead of dwelling on how poor people are; how they are dying; how policy is failing - I’m looking at how people are trying to make a living; at what they aspire to achieve; at how they can be best assisted. It is research for change and I’m thriving off it.
Meanwhile, I have created a multi ethnic/religious/cultural family. It includes my ‘sister’ R. (the other Canadian) who everyone thinks is my sister and so has become one (besides we are basically attached at the hip); my ‘twin brother’ A. who I work closely with, travel around on the motor bike with and rely on for all interpretations of Sierra Leonean culture; my ‘mom’ N. who I also work with and who insists on feeding R. and I more than we need to eat; and about a dozen children who hang out on my porch every evening to play games.
The social scene in Kailahun is limited, especially for single women (going out at night attracts a great degree of unwelcome attention and the only disco/bar is not the most comfortable place anyways). However, I have fallen into a peaceful social regime that involves working till 6:30, riding my bike home, playing with the children on the porch, eating dinner with R., reading and going to bed by 11.
So in short – what am I doing here? I’m talking to business people, I’m playing with children, I’m building new relationships, I’m being grateful for the simple things..... It’s not a bad life at all.

An Afternoon in Kailahun

2010-04-27T04:22:00.003-07:00

About 3 pm, the clouds move in and the humidity rises. I’m sitting at my desk. Out of the window directly in front of me I watch women and children balances buckets on their heads as they go back and forth from the river. Through the open door to my right I can see the massive mango tree that shades our office. The temperature directly under this tree is always a blissful few degrees cooler than anywhere else. Now the leaves are beginning to tremble and in a moment the whole tree is shaking in the wind and ripe mangoes are falling like rain. Everyone is laughing and chasing to catch the sweet fruit. Then the rain pours down, sending everyone except the children inside. The children continue to chase the mangoes and then begin to dance in the rain. They are thin, except for swollen bellies, and they are getting the only clothes they own soaked, but they are laughing and playing like children do everywhere.
When the rain stops I get on the motorbike with A., my colleague, and head for the market. There are no stores in Kailahun – as we know of them North America – but there are clusters of stalls that sell the basic necessities - plus hair products, cigarettes, and coco cola. We have an appointment at a stall that sells fabric. Earlier in the week the women who own the stall expressed interest in joining the credit union – the microfinance scheme the organization I’m working with is facilitating. I watch as the lady now puts her thumb print on the signature line – over 90 percent of the women in Kailahun are illiterate. As A. explains how to save and access loans, I listen to the hum a diesel generator somewhere, reggae music, children laughing, motorcycle horns, and neighbours calling out the constant greeting in the local language, ‘Kiegoma’ (thank God).
We cross the road and head to another potential member’s house. We walk carefully through the muddy paths between homes that are one third dilapidated building, one third mud hut, and one third adobe house. We find the lady we have come to see leaning over a huge pile of laundry, wearing just a wrap around her waist – there is little bother with modesty here. She is a laughing, joyful woman, who has great influence in the community. She is one of the most prosperous business women, but to my North American eyes her home is poor. There are only a few wooden benches for furniture: there is no electricity, no running water. Everything is the same mud colour. The children stand in doorways wearing only dirty bits of clothes. Still she produces the initial savings to join the credit union (about $20, an amount many people struggle for) and we are grateful to have such a positive influence onboard.
It’s seven pm by the time we are done and I hurriedly ride my bike home before dark. I’m not worried about crime, but about the motorcycles who are dangerous enough when they can see me. I discover the real threat though is the bugs that splatter into my face as I try to navigate the muddy street. By the time I reach home I have swallowed at least three of them.
As I pull in to the yard I hear, ‘Mrs. Juillette’ chorusing out of the darkness. I have taken pains to teach the children to call me by my name instead of ‘pumwi’ (which means white person). However, as Juilette is much more common here than Julia, somehow I have become Mrs. Juilette. Along with the sing song voices come smiling laughing faces and outstretched palms. One at a time I gently hold each palm face up, tracing circles with my finger singing ‘around, around the garden goes the teddy bear...’ It was my favourite game when I was little and when I introduced it to a toddler here it became an instant hit - I now repeat this game at least a couple times a day.
Tonight I’ll eat avocado, bread and mango for dinner, and then fall asleep exhausted. Sometime around 3 am I will wake up and think ‘oh it is cool’, and then fall back asleep. Tomorrow it will be another day in Kailahun.

Snap Shot from Kailahun

2010-04-09T09:38:00.001-07:00

First some context: According to the Human Development Report Sierra Leone is one of the poorest countries in the world. Kailahun (the town where I am based) is the in the poorest region of Sierra Leone. This is largely because this was a rebel strong hold during the civil war that lasted from 1993 to 2003.
Everywhere there are children with extended stomachs, young girls balancing babies on their backs and water on their head. There are the skeletons of bombed out buildings. I’ve seen two rusted tanks – one with ‘For sale’ spray painted on the side. There are many people with amputated limps.
Despite all of this one of the first words I would use to describe Kailahun is ‘peaceful’. Partly because it is so far away from any hustle and bustle, because the stars aren’t drowned out by electrical lights, because fresh sweet fruit grows naturally. But also because people are quiet but kind, they work hard (so very very hard), and everyone seems determined to build this into a better place. Perhaps I still have an idealised version of the place, not yet grasping the nuances, but that is my first impression.
Where do I fit into this world? I’m not too sure yet. I start working at a local NGO this week, where I’ll be designing and implementing a study to inform a business plan for further program development, but I haven’t figured out the details yet. In the evenings I sit on my little porch and open my book – by the time I’ve read two pages the neighbourhood children have congregated in front of my smiling and laughing. I try to talk with them but so far I have only gotten far enough to learn their names and if they go to school or not. Mostly they just watch me. They have no toys, TVs or video games so I guess I’m their new source of entertainment (Rezi, another Canadian, and I are the only two foreigners here from what I can tell so we are quite the novelty).
One final snap shot from Kailahun: Its Easter Monday and Rezi (another Canadian and I) are told there is a ‘celebration’. Our colleagues pick us up on motorbikes and we jump on back. Soon we are bouncing over the bumpy dirt roads as the landscape of palm trees and cocoa trees passes by. We get to the banks of a broad river, which we are told divides Sierra Leone from Guinea. There are about 100 people either sitting in the shade drinking coco cola and star beer, or dancing beneath the trees. There is a sound system and a generator. We have no choice but to join the dancing, despite the fact half the people are staring at us - the new comers. It’s a surreal experience – dancing in the late afternoon heat under the jungle shade, beside a tropical river on Easter Monday.

The next bend in the road

2010-03-21T10:56:00.003-07:00

I created this blog about two years ago. I chose the name The Winding Road because I was about to embark on an adventure that lead me from Canada, to Kenya, to the UK. I didn’t realise then how many other twist and turns I would take in the processes: I went to Ireland and Israel, South Africa and Italy, Scotland and Botswana. Many of my adventures didn’t require travelling – they were the escapades of living in new places, making remarkable friends from around the world, studying new ideas, and trying my best to soak up the knowledge I found myself immersed in. My journey was made possible by the Rotary World Peace Fellowship – the remarkable scholarship program from Rotary International for which I will always be grateful.

Since I returned home to Squamish, British Columbia in December I have been still – which is not easy for me. I have been catching up with old friends, skiing with family, taking long naps on the couch, and contemplating – ‘what is next?’ It has been a very rejuvenating time and I’m grateful to the friends and family that made it so.

Now I’m ready for the next twist in the road, and what a twist it is. On April 1^st, I will board a plane in Vancouver and, after a brief pause in London, will touch down in Freetown, Sierra Leone. From Sierra Leone I will travel nine hours on what I hear is a very bumpy road to the town of Kailahun. I have a position as Monitoring and Evaluations Advisor for the SEND Foundation, which is a West African organization that focuses on social and economic development in post-conflict and hard to reach areas. My placement is actually via the Canadian Co-operative Association – the organisation that launched me into development work six years ago by sending me as an intern to Kenya. Sometimes my path has a bit of a 360 aspect to it.

The thing about a Winding Road is you can’t always see what’s around the corner. I didn’t expect my path to lead to West Africa, but I’m thrilled that it has. I can’t tell you what it will be like until I get to Sierra Leone, but I will try to do so when I can. Until then, it’s the start of another adventure.

A Utopian Dream on International Women's Day

2010-03-08T13:35:00.000-08:00

It’s International Women’s Day! And on such a day I have already heard the very unoriginal complaint from the opposite sex of ‘When is it international men’s day?’ To which I heard the equally unoriginal response, ‘Every day is international men’s day.’ Still wouldn’t it be nice if we didn’t need an International Women’s Day; if every day belonged to everyone? Yes, I’m having a utopian dream – because after all we (as in all of us = men and women) do need an International Women’s Day.

The facts prove the need:

Women still make less money than men everywhere in the world.
90 percent of the victims of sexual and domestic violence are women.
Women represent 70 percent of the world’s poor.
They represent 60 percent of those living with HIV/AIDS.
Etc.

So what does International Women’s Day achieve besides reminding us of such mind-numbing statistics? It celebrates women who are making a difference, hopefully inspiring more women and men to do so. And it gives us a chance to say loudly, and with actions, that these mind-numbing stats – which we tend to ignore every other day of the year and therefore accept - are actually unacceptable.

International Women’s Day allows us to imagine a world where our communities foster equality, not the subjugation of one group by another; where we all live in safety and with respect; where poverty doesn’t exist, and where health is a basic human right. Yes... I’m off to utopian dream land again. But seriously, isn’t that a nice vision for everyone? So International Women’s Day – in my mind – is for women and men. We’ve all got something to gain from greater gender equality, even if it is just a more peaceful and prosperous world where every day belongs to everyone.

Giving in to Olympic Fever

2010-02-12T10:48:00.000-08:00

From the beginning I haven’t been the biggest Vancouver 2010 Olympic fan. In fact, back in 2008, I sewed a costume for Bity the Bedbug – the unofficial mascot of the Poverty Olympics (a protest event held by a group of community groups trying to create awareness about the ‘other’ issues in Vancouver that are in desperate need of just a fraction of funding the Olympics received). However, now the Olympics are on my doorstep I have decided I can either be grumpy about it, and achieve little more than making myself miserable, or embrace the joy and chaos. I have given in to Olympic fever.

On Wednesday I was lucky enough to get given two tickets to the dress rehearsal of the opening ceremonies. They swore all 50,000 of us who were there to secrecy, so I can’t tell all but I will say I believe tonight’s event will make all Canadians proud. The highlight for me was seeing one of my favourite Canadian musicians singing one of my favourite Canadian songs.

Tomorrow I am off to watch the bobsledding. I don’t know much about bobsledding but it will be fun to head up to Whistler and see the action. There is certainly a festive air around town. It’s kind of like Christmas – lots of hustle and bustle, and ridiculous consumerism and marketing, but all in good spirit and fun. So I will make the effort to pull out the patriotism I usually reserve for health care and human rights debates, and try to apply it to sporting events instead – Go Canada Go!

The job hunt and other adventures in my pyjamas

2010-02-01T19:01:00.000-08:00

It’s a bit like going from 1000 Km/h to zero in a second; going from the Rotary World Peace Fellowship to being unemployed living at home. It’s an adjustment that’s for sure – with both pluses and minuses. Pluses include: I can generally wear my pyjamas for as long as I like (which is usually until lunch time), get to go for long hikes and have fabulous ski days. Minus include: I miss the lively conversations with my fellow Peace Fellows (the dog I hike with is a good listener but doesn’t offer much feedback), I crave my former hectic schedule of international travel, and even miss the constant rigour of putting my brain through the dissertation grind.
Luckily, I’m keeping busy. Besides devouring a novel every few days, I on the great job hunt. I check the various posting for work in international development/research/social policy/ other adventures every day and cast resumes, applications and letters out into cyber space. There have been a few nibbles but nothing hooked yet.
Meanwhile, I’m very lucky to have the opportunity to do a bit of contract work with HEARD, which not only keeps my brain in academic gear, but also reminds me that I do have useful skills on offer. In fact, with a few contract opportunities piling up, I’m starting to think about starting my own consulting business..... more on that in a later post though.
And final, I’m still doing what I can for Emmanuel Center. On Saturday some of the staff members attended a peace and reconciliation meeting in Eldoret, aimed at overcoming tribalism. It was inspiring to hear their stories. Daniel told me, “We’ve decided we can’t wait for the politicians. We will have to make peace ourselves, with our own hands.” It’s good hear that such initiatives are going on.
So now I will sign off and return to my job applications and other adventure, but I thought I should offer an update from ‘the field’ of my parent’s basement.
Peace

On Haiti and Heroes

2010-01-14T08:53:00.001-08:00

The news from Haiti makes my heart sink. The earthquake is an unprecedented natural disaster, but the suffering is also the results of decades of human disaster. Haiti’s ability to help the third of its population that are affected is limited by its poverty and lack of infrastructure. As the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere, it was dependent on foreign aid before the earthquake, and now it is dependent on foreign aid to respond to the earthquake.

The reasons for Haiti’s poverty are complex, but many of them are not innocent. Foreign involvement on the island has not only been about providing aid. The American military has occupied the country twice, and has been accused of aiding paramilitaries there more than once. The only period during which there was substantial foreign investment was during the reign of the Duvalier family, who acted as dictators, violating human rights of citizens and plundering the country for 30 years. In fact, when the last Duvalier was ousted and a democratically elected president came to power – that was when the US decided to slap sanctions on the impoverished country.

Some of this history can be found in the books by Paul Farmer, and a book profiling him by Tracy Kidder ‘Mountains Beyond Mountains.’ Paul Farmer is one of my personal heroes. He began working in Haiti decades ago, bringing quality health care to the poor. He founded the organizations Partners in Health, which provides HIV/AIDS, TB and other care to impoverished communities around the world. He also speaks and writes prolifically about structural violence, human rights and social justice. He is not afraid of a little controversy. As someone who has spent a lot of time researching health policy, HIV/AIDS and international responses, I have remained convinced that Partners in Health does it best.

Partners in Health is now accepting donations in order to continue to help the people in Haiti recover from the most recent disaster. They are not just flying in because they know that is where the aid dollars will be pouring. They have been there for decades and will be there for decades. They will continue to do their best to provide the best care to those in need – and I will lift my heart by contributing to their efforts.

Dissertation Done!

2009-12-23T17:19:00.000-08:00

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

2009-12-09T06:06:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-20T05:08:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-09T10:29:00.000-08:00

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

2009-10-25T07:10:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-08T09:35:00.000-07:00

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?

2009-09-10T23:33:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-31T09:39:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-15T02:01:00.000-07:00

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

2009-07-20T09:58:00.000-07:00

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

2009-07-08T09:32:00.000-07:00

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

2009-07-01T08:01:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-21T07:11:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-04T01:41:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-05-11T03:24:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-21T07:27:00.001-07:00

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!

2009-04-04T06:17:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-27T14:03:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-23T14:13:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-22T05:14:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-11T13:55:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-03T05:58:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-13T02:34:00.000-08:00

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!

2009-02-02T09:15:00.000-08:00

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

2009-01-12T12:30:00.000-08:00

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

2009-01-03T02:45:00.000-08:00

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.

Shalome

2008-12-30T11:09:00.000-08:00

How do I summarize a packed-full week in Israel? Focusing on of the historical and holy sights I visited seems somehow inappropriate considering hundreds of civilians who are currently being bombed in Gaza.
But since I’m one of the lucky ones who gets to visit both Israel and Palestine as a tourist, let me try to share a little bit of what I saw and did. I spent the week with my dear friend Liora and her partner, who not only acted as superb tour guides, taking me to Haifa, Jerusalem and the Dead Sea (as well as hosting a fabulous Christmas dinner), but also provided a constant analysis of the current situation and took me to protests against the occupation. As a result I learned much more than I could have expected, and also had the chance to catch a glimpse of what it is like to live in country in conflict. To see some photos of my trip click here.
The day before I left, Israel began bombing Gaza, killing hundreds of civilians. At a peace protest in Tel Aviv, Israelis young and old chanted “No, no war. Yes, yes Peace.” If only they were listened to.

Shalome and best wishes for a peaceful New year.

Oh Goody - Gifts!

2008-12-16T12:18:00.000-08:00

My sister sent me an email the other day asking what I wanted for Christmas. My first thought was ‘oh goody gifts!’ and I rubbed my hands together in anticipation of…. Well I couldn’t think of what. I thought about DVDs but I can get those here, and online, for much cheaper than buying and mailing them. Then I thought of clothes (coz Carolyn has great taste) but then I couldn’t think of what in particular I needed. Since I move a lot, I really don’t need any more stuff to lug around. So I emailed my kind sister back a little sheepishly - I wrote, “why don’t you just make a donation to Emmanuel Center instead of buying me a gift.”

So if you’re like me and tired of buying and getting stuff, why not give to Emmanuel Center. We have even come up with Creative Christmas Cards, so you can truely share the joy of Christmas with the children at Emmanuel Center, and with your family and friends.

Here is how it works:
Pick a Christmas gift item from the list bellow. Donate the amount online and email lkell@sd48.bc.ca (my darling mother) who will mail you the card. You get a lovely card to give as a unique gift and the children at Emmanuel Center get something they need. You can also just give online in the name of a friend or family member. Any questions just email mom (lkell@sd48.bc.ca)!

Here are your gift card options:

Full of Beans - 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 - School shoes cost about $15, and with 40 growing boys Emmanuel Center is always needing to replace somebody's shoes –the kids can't go to school without them.

Give Education - Secondary school isn't free in Kenya. In fact tuition fees are about $400. Therefore it isn't surprising that most kids miss out on a secondary education.

Got Your Goat? - For $40 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 - 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 - The kids at Emmanuel Center literally wear out soccer balls –they play with them until the leather cracks and the stitching dissolves.Donations of $20 to our recreation fund replace soccer balls, buy other recreation equipment and even allow the boys to go on field trips hiking and camping.

Thank you to everyone who has given in 2008 - you helped educate 40 former street kids, gave them a home when they had no where else to go, and ensured they had a healthy, happy year!

A Christmas Story

2008-12-05T05:32:00.000-08:00

One day, just a few days before Christmas, a little boy was looking for a place to lay his head and rest. He went to his Aunt’s house in Kibera slum, where his mom lay coughing up blood, but his Aunt said, “there is no room for you here.” He went to a church, but the pastor said, “there is no room for you here.” He went to the children’s AIDS hospice, where his brother lived, but the lady said sadly, “there is no room for you here.”
The little boy made himself a bed out boxes in a ditch. That night he dreamed of a soft bed, with a red Masi blanket.
The next day he went to a mosque that gives alms to street kids. He said thank you for the 20 shillings they gave him and asked if there was a place he could sleep. They said, “There is no room for you here.” He bought bananas, but he dreamed of eating a Christmas feast of goat and sweets.
The night he slept in his box in the ditch. He had just begun dreaming about shoes for his tired feet when he was woken by a police man with a stick beating him away. His tired feet ran, pitter patter, over the cracked pavement, broken glass and rotting garbage, and away from the police man.
He ran and ran and ran, until he found himself on the outskirts of Nairobi. The Ngong Hills rose up like seven knuckles and above the tallest peak was a bright star. The boy decided to climb to the star. His feet bled and his stomach rumbled but up, up he hike.
Along the way he was joined by Masi with their cattle. “Where are you going?” he asked them. “To the star,” they said. The little boy followed them and just before dawn they reach the highest peak and the star shone down illuminating all of Nairobi.
The little boy was tired and curled up on the grass. One of the Masi wrapped a red blanket around him and said, “if you dream under that star, your dreams will come true.” The little boy nodded sleepily and fell fast asleep.
He woke to the sound of children laughing. All around him little kids in new shoes were running up and down the hill. He smelt a sweet smell in the air and before he knew it a big boy thrust a bone under his noise. “Want some goat?” the big boy said.
The little boy hadn’t eaten meat in years and quickly munched on the bone. All of a sudden he didn’t feel tired any more. He ran up and down the hill with the other kids. One of them noticed his bleeding feet and handed him a pair of blue shoes, “you can have these ones, I have two pairs” he said. The little boy danced in his new shoes to the drumming and singing of the other kids. One of the big boys handed out sweets and said, “ok let’s get going,” and all the kids started to run down the hill.
The little boy ran after them calling, “Wait can I come.” The other children replied, “Of course, there is room for you here.”
The little boy found himself in a simple house, with a big room full of bunk beds – the sign over the door said Emmanuel Center. The children pointed to one soft mattress and said “you can sleep there,” and the little boy spread his red Masi blanket over it. “Merry Christmas,” he said to his new home.

I love to tell stories about the boys at Emmanuel Center and, while this isn’t a true story, I often think of the street kids in Nairobi when I hear the story of Mary and Joseph and how there was no room at the inn for them. There is no room for the 250,000 street children in Nairobi in most homes or orphanages in Kenya. Even more sadly, there is no room for them in the policies of governments and agencies that ignore their suffering. Even Emmanuel Center can only house, feed and educate 40 at a time. But we try to help those we can, hoping to remind them that they do a space in the hearts of people who care. This Christmas please consider sharing some of your Christmas joy with street kids in Nairobi. You can donate online at www.emmanuelcenter.com

The World We Live In

2008-11-28T10:37:00.001-08:00

By the magic of technology I have world headlines instantly updated on my home page. Right now there are two headlines, one underneath the other. The first one reads “Mumbai Jewish Center Hostages Die; 200 Others Freed” the second one reads, “Wal-Mart Employee Trampled to Death.” Is this the world we live in? Where on one side of the world people die because of fundamentalism and on the other they die because of consumerism? There is no way to deny that this is our world, and that it is a terribly sad place in many ways.

Studying with people from around the world brings the differences of realities into sharp focus. Right now one of my good friends is waiting for news of a friend trapped in a hotel in Mumbia, his home town. The attacks occurred at the same time as we were celebrating his birthday at a curry restaurant in Bradford. A few weeks ago another friend from Somalia told us, in an off handed way, that he knew many of the 26 people killed by a bomb attack. Another friend, this time from Guatemala, recently got news that one of his best friends was kidnapped, but managed to escape though severely injured. This is the world we live in.

Last night we took time to also celebrate the creativity and diversity of our world. My two remarkable friends, Vanessa and Helen, organized a Culture Cabaret. Students from the department shared their cultures through songs, ceremonies, poems, dances and food. The highlight of the night was a Bollywood dance performed by students from India, Holland, Taiwan, Canada, and Tajikistan. It was the ultimate expression of cross-cultural fusion. I think of my brave friends twirling and gyrating to the cheery Bollywood tune and I think, thankfully, this is also the world we live in. It’s a world of creativity, of friendship, of sharing –and it might just be what saves us from the dustructive forces of fundamentalism and consumerism.

Mount Kenya, Starbucks and Street Kids

2008-11-22T08:13:00.000-08:00

I want to take you back in time, to three months ago. Three months doesn’t see very long in the grand scheme of things but for me (sitting at my desk in chilly but lovely Bradford UK) it is hard to imagine that just three months ago I was standing on top of Mount Kenya. So I want to revisit the journey with you in a way I couldn’t previously.
Our guide woke us (Mom, Dad and I) up at three am for hot tea and biscuits. We had been working our way up the mountain for the last three days and my body ached with stiffness as I pulled on my warmest clothes. As we left the hut the nearly full moon shone down on the ridge above us. Our guide explained that we ‘just’ needed to get to the top of the ridge and then “up over the top” we would go.
So we started placing one foot in front of the other up the sleet mountain. At 5000 meters above sea level the air is freezing and thin especially, it seemed, at three in the morning. Half way up my lungs started to constrict with asthma. We stopped so I could wheeze into a glove till my lungs relaxed. All I could think of was “I’m not going back down. We have to go to the top.” We resumed our painfully slow footsteps. The closer we got to the top of ridge the larger it became, and so the farther it seemed we had to go. As my breathing became more labored my thoughts became depressed: “This is the stupidest thing I have ever done. Why would I, someone with asthma, decide to climb a mountain. I’m an idiot.” If it wasn't for my quitely encouraging parents I would have sat down and cried.
In retrospect I know that such defeatist thoughts often inflict most of us at our most challenging moments. In the last few years that I’ve worked with Emmanuel Rescue Center, in Nairobi Kenya, I’ve often felt helpless, useless, and definitely stupid – and it has only been because of the people working with me that I have encouraged me otherwise.

However, I honestly wasn’t (for once) thinking about Emmanuel Center as I trudged up the mountain. I was thinking “breath in, breath out, breath in, breath out.” By a mircale I made it over the ridge. As we nestled into a crop of rock, out of the wind, to catch our breath my mobile phone (which I had forgotten was in my pack because there was no reception in the valley) beeped. I instantly remembered that I was expecting a message from Daniel letting me know if we had been successful in a grant application. There was no time to check the message as we pushed for the final summit.
The sun’s first rays were starting to peak out of the clouds bellow us. We pulled ourselves over the final ledges, and I was suddenly exhilarated. The sun rose through the clouds and the site of the Kenyan flag in its first rays made my heart jump. I dug through my pack for the phone and read a message that said “Good job, we got it!”
Two months ago the team at Emmanuel Center had submitted a proposal to the new Starbucks Youth Innovation Fund. The text message meant the fund had just accepted our proposal, which in turn meant that 30 street children who would otherwise go without a meal will receive lunch five days a week; hundreds of youth will have access to a community library and computer training, and there will be new resources for HIV prevention, counseling and drug rehabilitation for street kids.
On top of Mount Kenya, the weight of this realization lifted me above the clouds, and I burst into tears. The sun was shinning on a new day, and despite the rough start, I was on top of the world.

Three months later (after all the paper work has been signed so I can make the grant public) I sit here and reflect that the work of Emmanuel Center is much like climbing a mountain in cold thin air. Sometimes we want to give up, and though parts of it are fun, it is always hard, but good company pushes us on and the success of reaching new heights is worth it. The generous support of Starbucks is a new peak in Emanuel Center’s work, but as long as there are growing numbers of street children in Kenya, the long hard hike goes on.

I am intensely grateful to Starbucks for joining us on the journey and offering a helping hand.

Taste Testing Dublin

2008-11-12T12:53:00.001-08:00

I didn’t really plan to go to Dublin. About a month ago I got an email from a friend that said, “We just bought tickets to Dublin for 40 quid. We’re leaving the day we hand in our first essay. Wanna come along?” I glances through the door and asked Vanessa “Want to go to Dublin with Yvette, Yula, Pedro and Philip after we hand in our essays?” She said yes and we bought the tickets on line all in a matter of minutes.
We then reimbursed ourselves in essay research and writing. We also had the Rotary Peace Seminar to distract us. So all of a sudden my finished essay was handed in and I was in a taxi with my five friends headed for Ireland.
We arrived at the Ashfeild Hostel (very nice and affordable) late Thursday night. First stop the next morning was Trinity Colleague to see the Book of Kells. The book is an illustrated copy of the gospel story created in 700 AD by Irish monks. The calligraphy and Celtic patterns are remarkable, as are the still preserved colours. As we walked the ancient library corridor I could almost smell the history radiating from some of the oldest books in the world.
Later we wandered the streets and we just happened upon a castle and a number of ancient cathedrals. Our stomachs began to growl and we learnt our first lesson we learned about Dublin - cheap food does not exists. Dublin is by far the most expensive place I have ever been in my life.
That night we headed out to the famous Temple Bar, a region famous for the night life. As we bounced through the bars we met all sorts of lively characters from Ireland and abroad.

The next day we headed for the Saturday markets which were honestly a bit tiny and disappointing. That night we headed out again to the Temple Bar area, where we first listen to some rather bad hard rock band, and then later much better Irish folk music, and had a few pints.
On Sunday we went to church at Saint Patrick’s Cathedral. The giant church’s vaulted ceilings and stain glass awed us as we sat shivering in the drafty cold. Luckily the priest quickly warmed our hearts. It was Remembrance Sunday (like Remembrance Day for you Canadians) and his topic was ‘the abolition of war.’ It was the perfect rallying cry for a bunch of Peace Studies students like us.
After church we decided to see some Irish country side and headed out of the city on the train to the suburb where the guide book said Bono (the lead singer of the famous rock band U2) lived. However, when we got there we were told he did not. The disappointment continued. The map clearly marked a castle but everyone we asked for directions raised their eyebrows and said ‘castle?’ so we gave up. Oh well, with the poring rain and swirling wind it was the best kind of day to drink tea in a café anyways. That evening we heard some great Irish folk music (mixed in with modern classics like ‘Summer of 69’)at a lovely pub.
Monday was our final day in Dublin and there was only one important thing left to do – visit the Jameson Whiskey factory. (I had passed on going to the Guinness storehouse since I don’t like the beer.) At the old factory we heard the story of John Jameson and had a science lesson in how whisky is made. Then they needed volunteers for whisky tasting and so of course I had to offer my services. I had to taste and compare three whiskies. I decided to tell a white lie and say Jameson was the best, even though I preferred the scotch, and as a reward was given a Whiskey tasting diploma – I’m now a certified whisky drinker : )
It was late and cold when we arrived back in Bradford, but every once of exhaustion was 100 % worth it. Dublin is a remarkable city and I’m very grateful to my wonderful traveling companions for making the treat a true adventure.
Peace Out!

Rotary Peace Seminar

2008-11-06T03:28:00.000-08:00

Last weekend was a busy one. It was the Bill Huntly Peace Seminar here at the University of Bradford. The seminar was organized by our fabulous predecessors - Class Six of the Rotary World Peace Fellows. It was an opportunity to hear about what they have learned over the last year of being peace fellows, and also for my class (class seven) to introduce ourselves. To watch a clip of our presentation go here and click on the link to the recording.

I've also posted a collection of my photos since coming to the UK. There are lots of photos from Rotary events as well as some more social outings. Enjoy!

The next posting will be all about Dublin..... yippy!

London Wanderings

2008-10-31T03:38:00.003-07:00

It’s study week here at the University of Bradford, so naturally Vanessa (my fabulous roommate) and I decided to go to London for a few days. We arrived on Tuesday afternoon at our hostel right in the heart of Piccadilly Circus. The place was a bit of a circus itself but clean enough and cheap enough for two student travelers like us. Plus we were hardly there.
We immediately went to meet friends in front of Westminster Abbey and then stroll down to see Big Ben, the parliament buildings and Trafalgar Square. We had a lovely Italian dinner off Regent Street and then headed for Wicked, the musical. Wicked is the story of the two witches from wizard of OZ, before they became the ‘Good Witch’ and the ‘Wicked Witch’, when they were roommates in college. It absolutely hilarious! Afterwards we decided we needed a couple of drinks to help us fall asleep in the hostel and so headed to the pub.
The next morning we got up early to head to Buckingham Palace to see the changing of the guards, which was unfortunately canceled for the day. Still we enjoyed seeing the sites. We picked up Daniel, another friend stopping over a night on a flight from Vancouver to Kenya, from the airport and headed to Hyde Park. However the chilly autumn weather was too much for my southern friends (Vanessa is from California and Daniel is from Kenya) so we detoured to the Natural History Museum were we traveled to the center of the earth. After that is was off to another pub and then Vanessa and I decided to cash in on cheep student tickets again and went to see the stage adaptation of Rain Man (Daniel went to sleep off his jet leg). The play was also fantastic – a perfect balance of laughter and tears. By the time Vanessa was fast asleep in her hostel bunk, Daniel was wide awake so he and I wandered Piccadilly in our pajamas for a few hours.
The next morning we decided to return to Westminster Abbey, and this time go inside. The history of the place is overwhelming. In a few hours of wandering we felt like we had absorbed most of the royal history since the 13th century and some of the science and literature too! Next we headed to Hyde Park where we had a fantastic Turkish lunch and poked in the cute shops. Unfortunately it was then time for Vanessa and I to catch our bus back to Bradford.
Now it’s Friday morning and I’m writing this instead of working on my essay or preparing for the Rotary Peace Seminar this weekend – I better get on to both.
Peace!

P.S. I would post photos but my computer has some problems and is refusing to let me : (

the Daily Grind

2008-10-22T14:03:00.000-07:00

Just in case you all were thinking I was only having fun here. Let me share some of my daily grind with you…..
This morning I had my African Politics course – which I love. However, today’s topic was ethnic conflict and revolved around the Rwandan genocide. We watched a film about how all the world powers knew what was happening but failed to intervene. Then our professor told us about how he worked for the UN during the genocide and was in Rwanda immediately before it broke out. His job was to report on the likelihood of conflict – something he reported was very likely. He then spent the three months during the genocide in South Africa, as the world watched and did nothing. On returning to Rwanda after the massacre (one million people in 100 days) his job was to advise the UN on the best ways of disposing of the thousands of dead bodies throughout the country. He said what he learnt from the experience is that the world does not care about each other….. Somber thoughts for us idealist peace students.
After class I read about the links between HIV/AIDS and conflict for two hours. Once again the genocide came up in the readings which documented how rape and HIV are increasingly used as a weapon of war. I then went to a lecture of ‘Surprises in History’ including the very recent credit crunch…. More somber thoughts for a bunch of students hoping to get well paying jobs in the non-profit sector when we graduate.
After the lecture was an information session on how to write our first essays. I believe the purpose of the session was to build our confidence, but all 80 or so of us left feeling more panicked than before. For one thing, we learned that many people don’t pass their first essay! I could feel the stress level in the room rise with every other piece of advice the professor gave us, as we just built on each others’ anxiety. Next time I’m bringing my yoga candle to the session and lead everyone in deep breathing every few minutes : )
The good news is I then went out with a group of friends for dinner. Bradford is famous for curry and Omars (a great curry restaurant) is the only places I’ve eaten out here because I don’t see any reason to go anywhere else. It’s a cheap, you can bring you own wine, and they serve naan the size of the table! By the time our tummies were full the stress of essays, and our concern over the state of the world, had somewhat subsided.
So now I will watch a bit of Pride and Prejudice and sleep well. I’ll get up work on my essay, go to my Conflict Resolution course and then to yoga… and so life goes on for us lucky ones who get to read and study about the world’s problems instead of face them.
Big Love and Peace to Everyone.

Thankful Thoughts

2008-10-15T14:16:00.000-07:00

Thanksgiving has come and gone and now fall is really here. I spent four hours in the library today and still feel there is so much to learn. Fall makes me reflective, and my time constraints make me prefer lists to narratives, so please forgive the continued trend of bullets on my blog. Here is a rather important little list to help me keep perspective.

10 things I’m thankful for:

The fabulous Thanksgiving potluck we shared on Monday night in Bradford. Over 30 Peace Studies students from all over the world gathered to celebrate a holiday they knew little about but certainly enjoyed.
My remarkable fellow-Peace Fellows… to meet the rest of the Rotary World Peace Fellows in class seven click here
The wonderful weekend we all shared in Scarbourough and our successful presentation at the Rotary District Conference.
The very boisterous, yet spiritual, ‘Beer and Hymns’ we enjoyed last night raising funds for Christian Aid
That my African Politics professor gave me two more copies of his book ‘The Political Economy of AIDS in Africa’ to give to the library so I don’t have to wait three weeks for the one copy I reserved.
The lovely photo I’m looking at right now of my nephew Beckam
That I can call international for free (well kind of for free) so can talk to my parents as much as I like
That my apartment has a bath tub and not just a shower
That my friends and I booked tickets to Dublin for the day after we hand in our first essay
That I showed my professor the outline for my first essay and he said I was 'on the right track'
And ALWAYS… My sweet memories of days spent at Emmanuel Center in Kenya

Thank you everyone - Big smiles and hugs all around : )

Soak it In

2008-10-05T14:29:00.000-07:00

I’m readjusting to student life and loving it. I feel like a sponge, ready to soak in knowledge (and the rain). This week I singed up for classes, bought my books, borrowed more books from the library and dusted off my brain cells. Of course not all learning comes from books and lectures. Most of it is achieved through experiences and relationships. Though I’m feeling a little overwhelmed by all I’ve attempted to soak up this week, I thought I’d share some of the highlights….
Five things I learned this week:
From a fellow scholar . . . . .That the Chinese symbol for Peace is the combination of the symbol for agriculture and the symbol for mouth – therefore symbolizing that peace is closely linked to people having enough to eat.
In Introduction to Peace Studies . . . .That, this year, the United States of America will spend more on its military than all the other countries in the world combined.
At the Rotary Link Weekend of Ambassadorial and Peace Scholars . . . . How to ‘country dance’ (square dance) English style, with 80 other international students.
In Introduction to African Politics . . . . That most African countries spend more on debt repayment than they do on health care.
In life . . . . that the British have pubs everywhere - even in health and fitness clubs!

Also here is a photo of myself and Puck (the statue) in Stratford (Shakespear’s birth place).
Big Hugs and Smiles all around : )

First Impressions of Bradford

2008-09-24T13:23:00.000-07:00

There are literally people from all over the world here. There are students from over 40 countries who come from over 20 different academic disciplins. Despite such massive difference all of us MA students appear to have much in common. For example, everyone is so nice and friendly it is almost shocking. So needless to say my first week in Bradford has been fantastic.
Before I arrived I heard a great deal about the bad Bradford weather, but the sun has been shinning pretty much since I got here. I still haven’t tried the curry Bradford is famous for, but I have indulged in an English pint or two. I joined the other international students on a trip to York, spending a wonderful Sunday visiting ancient cathedrals and castels (remember the seige of York in Braveheart – that’s were we where).
Classes have started and I won’t lie, are a bit overwhelming. I haven’t selected my three courses yet simply because I would love to take all of the courses. I have met my fellow Rotary World Peace Fellows and have to say of all the nice, brillant people I’ve met here they are the nicest, most brillant! This weekend we are all off to a Rotary function in Birmingham, which will hopefully provide exciting content for next week’s blog.
In closing I will just say that throughout the week I have been continually overcome with gratitude. I can’t believe my good fortune - that I’m here, at one of the top universities for Peace Studies, and all through Rotary’s generousity. This is a very remarkable opportunity.

From the top of the world

2008-08-31T08:19:00.000-07:00

I’ve been a very lazy blogger lately. Not because I haven’t had much to write but because I’ve been too busy to. In the last three weeks I’ve gone from roasting a goat with the Emmanuel boyz on the Ngong hills to coming within two meets of lions in Samburu. My dad (both he and my mom visited Kenya) taught the boys how to repair bicycles and encouraged me up to the summit of Mount Kenya. I tucked an orphaned elephant into bed and celebrated when the first student from Emmanuel Center went to his first day of university. Together with my parents, we spent a lovely three days at the Kenyan coast, and then said a tearfully goodbye to the children at Emmanuel Center. Now I’m sitting in my parents’ house in lovely Squamish B.C. and beginning to prepare for the next great adventure…..
In the meantime instead of writing a very long story I’ve got some photos – a sort of summary of my last three weeks in Kenya – to share. Here is the web album!
Thanks for reading, thanks for caring and thanks for keeping in touch. Please continue to check in as I head off to Bradford and an academic adventure in Peace Studies.

Book Nerds in the Making

2008-08-13T07:39:00.000-07:00

As many of you know I’m a book nerd of the first degree. What many don’t know is that I wrote a children’s story about the boys at Emmanuel Center and submitted it to the Canadian Writer’s Union Writing for Children’s Contest. The story is about two Kenyan brothers who are both in desperate need of a home, which they find at a special center for street children. This little story was selected from 925 submissions as one of 12 finalists (though it wasn’t the over all winner). The prize for being a finalist is that your story is sent to three publishing houses – so now I’m praying that my story gets published so that children all over the world (or at least Canada) can read about Emmanuel Center.

Now on to other story books – last week we got a shipment from Afretech worth it’s wait in gold - 50 boxes of books! Afretech is a registered charity that supports education programs in Africa. Afretech not only makes it possible for North Americans to donate to Emmanuel Center, it has also sent computers in the past, and has now equipped the center with a full library.
The books are ideal for the Emmanuel students. There are atlases and dictionaries, which our teachers drooled over. We filled shelves with young adult novels and reference books. The English and Math text books, including teacher’s resource guides, will greatly improved the tuition and in house education at the center.
As I unpacked the boxes, crudely organizing the books by fiction, non-fiction, reference, or text book, (we need a librarian volunteer to catalogue them) the boys gathered around with eyes wide. I doubt they had ever seen so many books before. Their schools are completely devoid of book shelves, and a class of 70 students often shares less than five text books.
So it isn’t surprising that the students honour books as prized possessions to be kept somewhere safe, but not necessarily read. In fact I had to argue with staff and some boys at the center to be able to put the books out on shelves were they could be accessed and read – they wanted to lock them in a cupboard were they would be safe. Over the last few days some boys have taken books to school, to show off, but few have read any. There simply isn’t that culture here of picking up a book and reading it. However, I expect that to change. School holidays start this week and our teachers and volunteers will be sure to use the library to engage the students. If all goes well by the end of the month all the Emmanuel students will be book nerds just like me!

Family Ties

2008-08-03T08:58:00.000-07:00

Recently, David (one of the children at Emmanuel Center) has been talking a lot about his family. Some of it is obviously purely fiction… stories he wishes were true. For example he insists his father is the Director of another children’s home – “just like Daniel” he tells me. The truth is that David’s father has been out of the picture since he was a toddler. David was brought to the center by his mother and a priest. The priest had found him begging on the streets, looked for the mother and found her in Nairobi’s slums, suffering from AIDS related illnesses. It was obvious that David’s mother loved him very much. She was distressed to leave him at Emmanuel center, but bravely admitted she could not care for him and begged us to help him (actually we had no room for him but couldn’t refuse her so convinced the priest to buy him a bed and squeezed him in). The priest said he had taken David’s two younger brothers to a special home for HIV positive children.
That was three years ago. A year ago both his mother and youngest brother passed away. We never heard about the other brother until this week when David said he wanted to visit him at a home for HIV+ children. So on Saturday visited the home and asked for Jackson. The kind Matron, with a wonderfully wrinkled face from smiling for sixty-odd years, looked through her files but could find no record of Jackson. David’s face fell, though he manly (he is 12 years old) blinked back tears. “Are you sure?” We asked and looked at all the photos of all the children incase he had given a different name, but with no luck. My heart shrunk – an orphaned HIV positive child doesn’t have much of a chance anywhere but in a special home. I feared he was dead and was terrified that David maybe thinking the same thing. Then someone mentioned the name of another home that cares for HIV positive children, so we took a deep breath and tried again.
The equally wrinkly and kindly nun that received us was ecstatic – “Jackson’s brother! I didn’t know he had a brother.” We were just as ecstatic to see the small shy boy enter the room, eyes wide and staring. He didn’t know he had a brother either. Jackson and David had been separated when Jackson was just three years old and he didn’t remember any of his family.
The little boy was overwhelmed but us visitors, who kept asking him questions … How old was he, did he go to school, what class was he in…. Seeing he was beyond words I suggested we walk around the compound. When we stood up David, who was grinning, took his younger brother’s hand and my heart began to skip with joy. After our walk we left them alone. Through the window I could hear David softly explaining to Jackson about his family and I saw Jackson beginning to smile. The nun returned and told Jackson, “Isn’t this nice you have a big brother - someone to help take care of you.” And David’s chest puffed up and out.
I hoped finding the brother would help David give up his fantasy about his father (and sometimes Aunts and Uncles too), but as we drove past another children’s home he told me, “That’s where my dad works. He’s the Director. Just like Daniel.”
I didn’t tell him he was wrong – that I knew the director was a very nice lady - I’ll leave that to the professional councilors. Instead I said, “Your little brother is sure lucky to have you for a big brother.” David smiled and said, “I know.”

Small Victories and Big Heroes

2008-07-28T10:53:00.000-07:00

First …. THANK YOU for all the lovely birthday donations. I can now buy my own herd of goats and fully equip the boys with study books – Asanta Sana.

Today I’m meditating on the small victories we’ve experienced at Emmanuel Center over the last week. I have to do this when ever I get discouraged, and today I am a little discouraged for no good reason. A few of the boys have been misbehaving at school, our van has problems and the staff at Emmanuel are looking a little over worked. So I become frustrated that we can’t pay staff more, that we can’t waive a magic wand to make the boys behave perfectly, that we can’t conjure a new vehicle out of thin air….. etc. So now that frustration has done me no good, I’ve decided to make list of our ‘victories’ over the last week instead. Here it is:

Two of the older boys at the center registered for a driving course

Paul, one of the first boys to graduate from high school, was accepted at the Catholic University of East Africa

Our new chicken pen is complete

I read a grade two level story book in Swahili and Kamu (one of the boys) read a grade two level story book in English!

One of the boys we reintegrated with his family returned for a visit and is doing very well

We took a child refugee from Sudan to the Australian Embassy so he can get a visa and be reunited with his sister

I run through this list a couple times and I feel better. In fact I feel great. We may not have won any major battels, but the boys and staff at the center are certainly victorious heroes.

A Special Birthday Wish List

2008-07-16T11:57:00.000-07:00

July 22nd is my birthday! I’m planning to escape Nairobi for Lake Naivasha to relax at Fisherman’s Campsite where they have delicious food (including great Swahili fish stew and chocolate cake) and monkeys that provide more amusement than YouTube. But I will really miss all you folks who are on the other side of the world – especially the drinks and gifts I know you would shower me with : ) But don’t worry, I have an idea on how you can still contribute to this special day. For example:
• If you are the lovely kind of friend that would take me out to the bar and buy me a drink, why not donate $10 to Emmanuel Center so we can buy another one of these really cool study books for the high school kids (the books are by subject and have practice exams and other fun stuff. The boys begged for them so I bought them the Math and Physics editions but we just don’t have enough for all the subjects. I would love each of the boys to have their own complete set of all subjects).
• If you are a close friend who is always so kind to buy me a gift, you could donate $40 to buy a goat, which the boys will have a lot of fun slaughtering and eating. Imagine it isn’t everyday you get to buy your friend a goat for her birthday!
• If you are one of my few rich friends or one of my relatives that spoil me rotten, you might want to donate $100 to help with the outreach center we are in the process of getting up and running.

I know this is a usual sort of Birthday Wish List, but I’m so happy to have this opportunity to spread some of my birthday joy to the children here. If you would like to share in the fun please donate online by clicking here (you will get to a donation page of Afretech Aid Society - the charity that supports Emmanuel Center. From the Fund/Designation menue select Emmanuel Boyz Rescue Center and fill in your gift amount. Afretech will send all your donation directly to Emmanuel Center.)
Thank you!

the Other Stories

2008-07-10T05:08:00.000-07:00

He was wearing a jersey from my high school basketball team. I was shocked by the word ‘Sounders’ written across his chest in bright blue. I felt like two realities had collided. I thought of some happy peer of mine in the past, putting on the jersey before a game in a well lit gym, wearing Nike running shoes and going home to a loving family, and I looked at the dirty, barefoot, high, 14 year old boy now wearing the jersey in front of me….. the contrast was too extreme.
Mwengie, the street boy wearing the jersey, was given it by a visitor from my home town. That was when Mwengie was living at Emmanuel Center, free of drugs, eating three meals a day and going to school. Now he rarely eats, he sleeps on the streets, and he sniffs glue to forget the constant fear of violence and abuse. So what went wrong?
Sigh….. I don’t know. I like to tell people stories of Emmanuel children excelling in school, going on to further training, helping each other and so on. But there are other stories too. Not every child is able to quit drugs or adapt to a life of rules. It is a miracle that so many do when you compare addiction recovery rates at Emmanuel Center (over 75%) to North American drug rehabilitation centers (for many 50% is successful). But statistics don’t make a difference to the individual, and the fact is Mwengi is on the streets and addicted, instead of being safe and healthy at Emmanuel Center.
Mwengi ran away from Emmanuel Center after an argument with a teacher at his school. He never told the center staff about the argument, he just ran. His behavior is not uncommon. I’m not a child psychologist, but what I guess is that on the streets children learn to run from any conflict at a very early age – it is the only conflict resolution skill they have. So Mwengi ran, started sniffing glue again to forget his suffering and is now begging outside a shopping mall in a basketball jersey from my high school. Daniel will speak to him and see if he is able to return to Emmanuel Center. I’ll let you know if he does. If he doesn’t, try not to be disappointed. Daniel tells me when can’t help them all, that they have to chose to be helped themselves; to change their behavior. I try to gain this perspective. To just think of the 40 boys going to school, working hard and playing football as I type this, but I’ts hard. It’s very very hard.

The best kind of day

2008-06-28T23:39:00.000-07:00

It is the best kind of day. I meet Sammy at the cyber café. Sammy is one of Emmanuel Center’s first high school graduates. He comes from Kitui in Central Kenya. The area is so dry that the World Food Program has had to provide food aid to Sammy’s community for the last decade. His mother is still trying to grow a few crops on their acre of desert, while battling TB and AIDS. His father and youngest sibling are dead. His three other younger brothers are all at Emmanuel Center, having fled rural poverty for Nairobi’s streets and then the streets for a chance at Emmanuel Center.
Sammy is all smiles. We are going to register him for college. We board a matatu. Matatus are the most common form of public transport. Most are Nissan 14 seater mini vans, though they often squeeze in 15, 16, or 17 passengers. Most blare hip hop, reggae or gospel music (or a lively mix of all three) and are decorated with decals representing European football teams, American gangster rap and God. The one we’re on clearly supports Arsenal Football Club, has a huge picture of some gangst’a (I don’t know any of their names) and numerous stickers with sayings like “God can do what no man can do,” and “I love Jesus.” I’ve often compared riding matatus to riding roller coasters since the driving makes your stomach drop. Thankfully we reach downtown Nairobi safely and cross Moi Avenue, one of the busiest streets in Nairobi, with only two near death experiences.
Sammy and I enter the office of the Tourism College to a warm reception. Sammy has decided to study catering and found an excellent course. After one year he will get a certificate in Food Preparation and Management, if he continues for another year he will get a Diploma in the same, and if he completes a third year he will have a Advanced Diploma in Catering. We go over the paper work and register him to start in July. Since Sammy mentioned the course to me he has been constantly praying for it, even though I told him it was a done deal and I could guarantee that I would beg, borrow or steal the funding for it. Now he still doesn’t seem to quite believe it.
We go for lunch and he begins to talk – and Sammy is a talker. The conversations goes something like this: he says, “You know Daniel (Emmanuel Center founder and director) is like my father and I love him so much and he is my father because he saved my life and he put me through school and now he has brought people like you to help me. I love him so much. I really honour him….and you are so good. You must come to Kitui and see my home. I will give you half my farm (which is of course drought ridden) and we will kill our only goat for you. I am so happy…. Once I have this course I won’t want anything. I will never ask for anything again. I will be a chef and can’t miss a job…I will get a good job and give you the farm… and I will come on safari with you and cook for you. You know once I’m a chef I can’t miss a job. I won’t ask anything from Emmanuel Center again. I will be a donor. If I have job I can help others like Daniel does. I won’t ask anything from Daniel again…” And so the conversation goes full circle and starts at the beginning again. Meanwhile I’m torn between bursting into tears, because I’m so moved by what Sammy is saying, and bursting out laughing. Sammy is desperately trying to eat his chicken and chips with a knife fork even though everyone in Kenya picks up chicken with both hands and chews it off the bone. Sammy is obviously inexperienced with a knife and fork, but I guess he’ll learn such things in college too.
And as we ride the crowded, smelly, noisy matatu back to the center I realize that this might just be one of the best days of my life. Sammy is starting a new phase in his life, a phase he had every chance of missing due to poverty and disease, and I am here to celebrate it.

A visit to the children's HIV clinic

2008-06-17T04:36:00.000-07:00

At the children’s HIV clinic which we take the HIV+ Emmanuel children to there is a chart on the wall that lists how many HIV + children have been admitted this month (8), how many have transferred to other clinics (6) and how many have died (4). The furniture is simple (the examining table is the most basic wood table with a plastic table cloth on top), there are no computers and the medical supplies include only simple plastic gloves, tongue depressors, etc. (which is most than most Kenyan hospitals have), but the place is spotless (which most Kenyan hospitals are not) and the staff are cherry.
Brother (the remarkable volunteer at Emmanuel Center who does everything from monitoring the boys’ education to supervising their healthcare) and I take the HIV+ children to the clinic for medication refills.
The first child, let’s call him Dave, recently tested negative for HIV. The staff called me while I was still in Canada and told me he had ‘turned negative by a miracle.’ I instantly shot down their optimism, saying it is impossible to ‘turn negative.’ In fact I was harsh with them. I find belief in miraculous healing, when it comes to HIV, extremely dangerous – it leads to rash behavior and people praying instead of taking medication or protecting themselves. It turns out, on consulting the doctor, Dave’s first test for HIV must have been wrong. This happens occasionally, even in Canada. So though it wasn’t a miracle, there is good reason to celebrate.
The second child, let’s call him Sam, is one ARVs (HIV medication) but hasn’t been taking them regularly, even though Brother gives them to him at the allotted time each day. Sam who is 13 is rebelling like many 13 year olds do. He has realized that taking his medication on time is very important to the staff and so when he doesn’t get his way about something else he retaliates by refusing the medication. However, unlike many 13 year olds, his rebellion could truly shorten his life (not adhering to medication regimes can cause drug resistance). So the doctor, Brother and I all try and explain that the only person Sam is hurting is himself. Still I have to sympathize with him. I know many adults in Canada struggle to take their medication regularly; it is so much to ask of a child. We resolve the issue, hopefully, by agreeing to get him a watch with an alarm set for the time he must take the medication – this way he has to be responsible for himself, though of course he will still be monitored by Brother.
The third child, let’s call him Peter, is not on ARVs but is taking multivitamins to maintain his immune system. (The clinic gives us these and the medications for free through the fantastic program of Nymbani Children’s Home, funded by USAID.) The doctor asks Peter if he knows why he takes the vitamins and comes to the clinic, and Peter says no, though he has already been counseled many times about his HIV status. So we send him to the counselor to explain it all to him again. Once again I have to sympathize with him – HIV is a complicated disease, how can he really understand it?
Luckily, he comes out of the councilor’s office smiling and I could kiss the councilor in gratitude for doing such a hard job so well. She agrees to come to the center to test all the children again (we like to test them once a year) and provide counseling/education. However, she first has to request the extra supplies needed. She only gets about 100 testing kits a month and if she runs out before hand she can’t test anyone till she gets more.
As we leave we pass the line of mothers with children as young as infants and as old as 14 waiting to also see the doctor and get medications. I try and rejoice that they are at the clinic – after all HIV medications can help HIV+ individuals live a ‘normal’ life and these mothers and children are doing the right thing by being at the clinic. However, I feel that the reality where there is a need for a specific clinic for children with HIV is a sad reality. No one ‘should’ have HIV, which is after all completely preventable, but children ‘should’ especially be free from the virus.
Thinking about the way the world ‘should’ be often makes me want to blame someone for the way it actually is. In this case I can’t blame the doctors, children or mothers. The only blame I can point is at those of us who know how to prevent mother-child transmission and who haven’t done a good enough job at communicating it and making it possible (prevention requires good maternity healthcare facilities and a nutritious supplement to breast milk) in places like Kenya. It’s a harsh reality.

No Peace No Ugali

2008-06-06T05:51:00.000-07:00

Ugali is the past made from maize flour that most Kenya’s survive on. I saw the slogan ‘No Peace No Ugali’ spray painted across a hut in Kibera. I wish I could have taken a photo but I don’t usually take my camera into the slums. During the post election violence in January and February Kibera, one of the largest slums in the world and the site of much of the atrocities, was covered with slogans that read ‘No Raila, No Peace.’ Raila was the presidential contender and is now the prime minister. The killings, rapes, and destruction of property that occurred under this, and other slogans, has crippled the Kenyan economy and made it much more difficult for Kenyans’ to survive. So the new slogan, “No Peace, No Ugali,’ somehow seems much more correct. Without peace, Kenya will not be able to feed itself.

I get a lot of questions about the post-election violence from people in the west. I wasn’t here then but let me share some things my friends have told me…

-“They were rioting and burning tires just outside the gate. We had our passports ready and fuel in the car incase we had to run.”

- “I couldn’t get milk for my baby for five days. I was too scared to leave the house.”

- “We snuck Luos (one of the tribes) out of the neighborhood in the middle of the night. There were pamphlets warning them to leave now or be killed tomorrow.”

- “They (rioters) stopped our car and were going to burn it, and then one of them recognized me and let us go. My wife and baby were in the car crying.

-“He (an old acquaintance) is in hiding. He killed a Kikuyu (one of the tribes) woman during the violence.”

- It’s good Kofi Anan made them agree. Things would have gotten worse. The Kiyukus were ready to march to Kibera.’

- “This child saw his mother burnt alive. That one saw his grandmother raped. Where can they go home to?”

And, most commonly and most importantly…”We have seen who these politicians are. They have used us. They will not use us again. This will not happen in 2012.”

Remember No Peace, No Ugali – pray for peace.

Street kids and orphaned elephants

2008-05-27T00:04:00.000-07:00

I’ve decided orphaned baby elephants and street kids are very similar. They eat tones (literally in the elephants’ case), like to play soccer, and get very dirty very fast! On May 22^nd we went to one of my favorite places in Nairobi. The David Sheldrick Wildlife Trust rescues orphaned baby elephants and reintegrates them into the wild, just like Emmanuel Rescue Center helps street kids and reintegrates them into the community.

Most of the baby elephants’ moms have been killed by poachers. Some of the babies had to watch their mothers die and so have post traumatic stress syndrome (I’m not kidding). Their handlers have to sleep next to them each night to ensure they stay calm and healthy. Visitors can watch these babies play every day between 11 am and 12 pm, and as I watched them climb all over each other, wallow in the mud, splash in the water and kick soccer balls around I was reminded exactly of the Emmanuel boys!

Since May 22^nd is my mom’s birthday, and because she has started to complain about not having grandchildren, I decided to get her grand-baby elephant! I fostered, in her name, Makena the orphaned elephant. Makena means ‘happy girl’ and Makena is very happy when she gets to play in the mud and with the soccer ball.

Ok now on to the street kids…. On Saturday we had a very special picnic to celebrate my Babu’s (Grandpa’s) visit. At Shalome Hills, a picnic site near the center, the Emmanuel boys piled on to the play ground equipment – something they don’t have in their schools - and quickly began games of volleyball and soccer. From the look out point we could see out over the planes the Masi tribe heard their livestock on, towards Mountain Kenya and the Aberdane Forest, and spot the skyline of Nairobi. Daniel, with help from the boys, barbequed nyama choma (roasted meat) and hot dogs for the 40 Emmanuel boys and 20 children from a partner center.

Most of the children from the partner center are victims of the violence that followed the December 27^th elections in Kenya. For example three brothers, the youngest just five years old, witnessed their mother being burnt alive by their neighbors. The brothers are quieter than most of the other children and cautious of strangers, but their eyes lit up like any child when they saw the swing set and slide. It was a sweet gift to see them laughing and playing.

A picnic is a rare treat even for the Emmanuel boys. Unfortunately our budget doesn’t allow for many recreational activities and their schools don’t offer sports teams and field trips like North American schools do. So we made the most of it, playing soccer until nearly dark. I think we were all exhausted by the end of the day, but the children trekked across the hills back to the center with big smiles on their faces. It was one of those rare and precious perfect days in Kenya.

Buying a Goat and Other Blessings

2008-05-14T05:50:00.000-07:00

To celebrate my first full day in Nairobi we decide to have a goat feast (graciously funded by Auntie Janet, as the boys call her). Now goat buying isn’t a simple exercise. Daniel and I head up to Kiserian, a small community not far from Emmanuel Center were the very edge of Nairobi’s suburbs reach Masi-land. The market is a dusty square filled with the smell of animals and garbage. Masi women, with shaven heads and dozens of beaded necklaces around their long necks, sit on the edges selling tea and snacks. Within 30 seconds of stepping out of the vehicle Daniel and are surrounded by Masi goat sellers and young men wearing whites coats stained with blood (the goat butchers). Each seller is dragging a goat by the ear, horn or hoof. The sellers stretch the poor beasts’ gums to show us their teeth and pinch the fleshy stomachs. Bartering begins with each seller pressing closer and closer to us until Daniel and one seller are leaning over a very large goat, whispering in each others ears. They break away from the group for final negotiations, leaving me surrounded by men with ear lobes stretched to their shoulders. Everyone is staring at the strange white woman (me).
The goat sale is finalized and the rejected animals are dragged towards other potential customers. Our goat is carried mercilessly to the slaughter house. As Daniel and I follow, I ask about the sticks many people are chewing on. Daniel explains the Matasi sticks are a natural toothbrush and buys us each one. We scrape off the bark and chew the end till it is frayed. As I rub the end of the stick on my gums (something in it gives of a sort of tingling feeling) I remember how all the travel books warn against eating unwashed fruit – I wonder if chewing on strange sticks is equally dangerous.
I almost gag as we enter the slaughter house. Cow and goat carcasses hang from the ceiling. The floor is sticky with congealed blood. Young men are pulling the innards out of the animals and others are hacking them into pieces for roasting.
Within 30 minutes we have our goat (now in roasting size pieces) and head back to Emmanuel Center. At the center we are welcomed by many happy boys. Meat is a special treat as, like most Kenyans, their diet generally consists of maize, beans, lentils, rice and vegetables. (Though the Emmanuel boys do like to brag to their classmates that they get to eat three whole meals a day!)

As the goat roasts I sit in the shade and watch the boys play football. I watch one 12 year old boy running and laughing, and I remember meeting him on the streets three years ago. In those days he had the same big smile, but was sickly, filthy and addicted to glue. We brought him to the center and he ran away at least three times, unable to beat his addiction. When Daniel finally told him it was his last chance, somehow he found the strength to endure the withdrawal symptoms (migraines, chills, nausea…) of glue, and he never went back to the streets again. Instead he started school and amazed us all with his ability to make up rap songs on the spot.
It’s hard to imagine that the child I’m watching laughing and playing lived on the streets for four years, fought addictions and overcame abuse. His smile is too wide and his laugh is too loud. He is too good at football!
I think about all the fundraisers that have been held for these children, all the hard work that goes into running Emmanuel Center, all the remarkable people that give so generously in time, money and love- and I see that it is 100 percent worth it. This is what we do it for.
Before I have time to get teary-eyed remember how far Emmanuel Center has come, a plate of rice and matumbo is put in front of me. Matumbo is stewed goat intestines! I take a deep breath, and remember that before I reverted to being a soft Canadian, I used to like this special treat. I slowly chew a small rubbery piece and think that if my stomach survives his first day in Kenya I will be alright!

Every day is....

2008-04-27T21:39:00.000-07:00

… hectic - at least for the next week. I’m saying goodbye to my fabulous and inspiring colleagues at the BC Persons With AIDS Society, packing up my sweet studio suite off Commercial Drive in Vancouver, and trying to find a place to live in Nairobi. There is also all the random Rotary Peace Fellow paper work to be done before I leave for a country with unreliable internet connections and a useless mail service. This blog is one more item I am happy to check off on my ‘to do’ list. The idea is to keep family and friends informed without bombarding them with epic mass emails. If you’re reading this it is likely because I sent you the link. Thanks for clicking through! I promise it will get more exciting once I get to Emmanuel Center and can keep you up to date on the ins and outs of working with street kids in one of the world’s most hectic cities. In the meantime I’m focusing on the journey, not the destination. Stay tuned and be at peace.