Sunday, December 20, 2009

236: We've got news

Dear friends,

This e-mail consists of two parts. The part your are reading is a narrative about aging and new beginnings. The second part is a retrospective, looking back on our lives in Namibia in 2009 via photographs (an attachment).

The narrative started last June, when a bug entered my brain and my whole body started feeling antsy. Well, maybe it didn’t exactly START back then, but that’s when I began putting words to the feelings. We had just passed our 12th anniversary in Namibia, and I felt ready for something new. So, I took Bernd out for a romantic dinner and asked him a leading question. “Sweetie,” I said, “If you were to go around the world, just hypothetically, what would you want to do?”

At first, Bernd answered innocently. “I’d like to see something interesting, like mountains and nature and wildlife. And historical places and maybe some culture. Yes, culture goes with it. What’s about you?”

I said, “I would like adventure, with good stories to tell.”

I think this is when Bernd began to realize this was no longer just an idle conversation. But for a while, he played along, “What do you mean by adventure?”

I answered, “I would want to do interesting things, meet interesting people, grow closer to you and feel more at peace with myself.”

Bernd said, “You mean, like something you have never done before?” Then he waited a moment and offered, “If so, I have an idea.”

I got excited, “You do?”

Bernd smiled inwardly: “Yes, you could stay put and not go anywhere for a while. Now that would be really different for you.”

Hmmn. Obviously, I needed to try a different approach.

In July Bernd and I went to Zanzibar and had a fabulous time (see Diary #230), and I raised the issue again. By this time, Bernd knew what was coming and was better prepared. He also began warming up to the idea. But being the logical one in the family, he insisted that we should first check out our health, then our finances, and only then indulge in our fantasies. Some weeks later, when the first of these came out clean, we decided to put our Swakopmund (beach) house on the market to raise the money we would need. At the same time, I started to have doubts: At our age, wasn’t this idea a bit reckless?

In July, I flew back to Tanzania for work and spent a weekend with Sister Raphaela, with whom I had co-founded Catholic AIDS Action in Namibia in 1998 (see Diary #232). We had worked together in Namibia for eight years, before her religious order called her back to southern Tanzania. Although now approaching her 70th birthday, she remains active as the prioress of her religious order, as head of a regional high school that she founded two years ago, as trustee for the District Hospital, and as director of Uzima, a local offshoot of Catholic AIDS Action.

During our weekend together, we found ourselves talking late into the night like old schoolgirls. I had promised Bernd that we would keep our ideas a secret until we felt confident enough to go public, so I didn’t say anything. Nevertheless, Sister Raphaela asked me: “When you look back at your decision to move to Namibia, what do you think?”

I answered without hesitation, “It was the best decision our family ever made.” Sr Raphaela responded in kind. “Yes, I would agree with you: living in Namibia was the best part of my life, so far. But I have to add, ‘so far.’ You never know what might come next, if you just stay open to the future.”

Was Sister Raphaela prescient or just guessing? I always appreciated Sister Raphaela’s God-connection. Was her message coming from some Higher Power?

Two months later, I became convinced we were on the right track. This time, I was talking to my friend Sue Parry in Zimbabwe about our dreams, adding that in a way I felt silly about our starting over at ages 58 and 64, respectively. Sue answered by quoting Mother Theresa to me. As you read the quote, be sure to answer the question for yourself, too. According to Sue, Mother Theresa once said, “If you didn’t know how old you are, how old would you say you are?”

Great question, I thought. Then I answered, “43.”

Sue added one piece of Mother-Theresa advice. “Now, act it!” she said.

Oh wow! What fun! I couldn’t wait to pop the question to Bernd. If he answered similarly, then I would know we’re on the same wavelength.

So before I told Bernd how I responded, as soon as I got home I asked him, “If you didn’t know how old you are, how old would you say you are?”

Bernd hesitated momentarily and then took a deep breath.

“45,” he said.

Whew!

With this, we starting talking and searching the Internet in earnest, and we agreed on certain parameters:

1. We would wait to go until Elsita leaves Namibia for graduate school, probably next summer.
2. We would spend 11 months to a year traveling, using one of the round-the-world 16-stop tickets from the big airline networks (One-World or the Star Alliance)
3. We would go to mostly new places, touching all seven continents.
4. We would travel primarily in cheap countries, but intersperse them with some big splurges (see below).
5. Six months of the year will be spent volunteering for “good causes.” The first of these will be at the Belize Botanic Garden (obviously in Belize), staring in September 2010. We’re still looking for a second site, hopefully in Asia. (We shall apply through the American Jewish World Service but they are not yet accepting applications - so alternate ideas are also welcome.)
6. We will learn Travel-Spanish for three weeks in Nicaragua, and put it to practice in Bolivia, Peru and Ecuador.
7. Bernd would fulfill his life-dream of going to the South Georgia Islands, the Falkland Islands and Antarctica, and Lucy would get her life-dream of traveling for the same number of days in Northern India.
8. We would take two long hikes (Ireland and New Zealand), and bunk with friends and relatives wherever possible to save costs and renew old acquaintances.
9. We willl keep a blog, email frequently and/or stay connected via FaceBook.
Bernd decided to stop Lecturing at the Polytechnic in June next year and I shall quit Family Health International in February, but keep up with consulting work until we’re ready to take off. Last week the house sold in Swakopmund, so we know now that this is truly “beshert” (meant to be) – and we’re very excited!

Sergio and Elsita are the wild-cards: they don’t know where they will be next year; so we don’t know where (or when or if) we’ll meet up. As for our local (Namibian) kids, we shall maintain our support through the Saving Remnant program, allow four of the youngsters to stay in our home in Windhoek (in exchange for dog-duty and general house maintenance), and postpone our long-range plans until after we come back and figure out what-next. (This probably won’t involve another extensive stay in Namibia, but we can’t say for sure. Even for plan-and-pack-ahead freaks like us, deciding things that far ahead would be extreme.)

Meanwhile, all recommendations, advice and good wishes are welcome.

Yours truly,

Lucy and Bernd

P.S. Sister Namibia Magazine just came out with a huge double-issue in which both Lucy (on her work in Namibia) and Elsita (on adoption) are featured. Check out the brand-new Sister Namibia website (still under construction) where you can click onto this latest issue of the magazine. www.sisternamibia.org

P.S. Enjoy the attachment, and it’s Elsita who was wind-surfing, not me.

Sunday, October 18, 2009

235: A children's champion

I initially met my new hero, Marko Ndlovu, eighteen months ago when I visited the children’s organization Chiedza on the outskirts of Harare, Zimbabwe, for the first time. Last month, on behalf of the Stephen Lewis Foundation, I returned to see how the organization was doing. Chiedza, which means “Dawn’s Early Light” in Shona, is a day-center for several hundred of Harare’s poorest and most disadvantaged orphans. The organization operates out of a donated five-acre plot that houses a pre-school, after-school program, communal kitchen, large vegetable garden, rabbit-hutch (where the children breed rabbits for food), caretaker’s cottage, training-rooms, and offices. Just before my first visit, the founding director had announced her resignation, and Marko was told to anticipate a promotion. So when I returned to Chiedza last month, I sat down with Marko to interview him with a single question: I asked, “Given last year’s hyper-inflation, HIV and cholera epidemics, post-election violence, and clamp-down by the government on charitable organizations, how would you describe your first year as director?”

Marko looked at me and laughed. “If anyone had told me in advance that my promotion would mean dealing with all these challenges, I might never have taken the job. The worst part was that, on top of all of the terrible things that were happening inside Zimbabwe, our grant-funding got cut because the global economic crisis caused our faithful donors – including the Stephen Lewis Foundation -- to suddenly experience their own loss of income.”












Marko said, “In late 2008, we applied to the Stephen Lewis Foundation for a significant increase in funding – which is what we felt we needed to keep serving the 305 children who came here daily, plus their siblings, grandparents and other family members in the community. You can’t imagine our shock when we got an apologetic phone call from Canada and were told that the Foundation could only afford $20,000, due to the global recession. As soon as possible, they said, the Foundation would try to increase our funding once again. But when would that be and how would we cope in the interim?

“Suddenly, it felt like the earth fell out from underneath us. The Foundation had paid for several salaries, my own included. Even worse, we had relied on the Foundation for the educational support we provide to children – specifically, the payment of school fees, supplies and uniforms, which are required in Zimbabwe -- and for the purchase of maize-meal and beans that we use to feed the children each day, Monday through Saturday.”

When the news came in, Marko gathered the staff, volunteers and Board of Trustees. He told them that they had to prioritize activities under the new grant, and determine the best way forward. This was a group process, as everyone involved had a stake in the outcome. They chose to focus on education; using what money they had to keep as many children as possible in school. (School uniforms got scrapped, though – children were told to keep wearing their same clothes as the year before.) At the time, they hoped that Catholic Relief Services would meet their food needs, as that organization functioned as a conduit for the World Food Programme.

Unfortunately, about a month later the World Food Programme announced that they would concentrate exclusively on rural areas. Once again, Chiedza’s children lost out. Chiedza now had to rely on individual donors to buy food, supplementing the vegetables they grew in the garden. Marko said that he felt haunted every night by the image of 300-plus orphans who came every day to the Centre to eat the only decent meal they ever got, and to enjoy the emotional support and recreational games they desperately needed. “This isn’t just something we knew in the abstract,” Marko said. “We had been to every one of these children’s homes: we knew their caregivers, and we knew we were their only lifeline…” Marko said that there were days that he and the other staff just walked around dazed, unable to see straight.

Marko also spoke of a loss in medical care. The biggest hospital nearest to Chiedza closed down with the government’s health-care collapse. Caregivers and clients on treatment simply couldn’t access drugs anymore. Two of Chiedza’s children died because they could no longer get the HIV medications, as did 6 caregivers and one of their staff. Marko said, “We provided transportation over and over to go to the hospitals for medicines and tests, but the medicines were simply not there. Food was not available, either.” Twice, Chiedza had drive to Botswana to buy large supplies of food, which was expensive and hard to obtain.











Like some other non-governmental organizations in Zimbabwe, last year Chiedza also lost their reserve-funding – in their case about US$19,000-- when the government took control of all the accounts held by these organizations in the bank. “They simply wiped us out.” Marko said, “They claimed that the government needed this money as part of their emergency recovery plan.” This money was never returned. Then Chiedza tried to get government fuel-coupons and other types of in-kind support as an exchange –“just anything,” Marko said -- but all their appeals have gone unanswered. This money represented Chiedza’s back-up funds that were supposed to cover the organization in the event of an emergency. Now the emergency happened, but the back-up had disappeared too.

Marko took up the story again. “I am just relieved we have soldiered on,” he said. “The organization survived as did most of our children, although sadly we lost some of the quality-of-care that had been our hallmark.”

By mid-2008, many of Zimbabwe’s schools ceased functioning because the government paid the teachers so little money that it cost them more to get to school and back, than they got paid at the end of the day. Seeing once again that their children were suffering, in September 2008 Chiedza’s staff decided that, since education was no longer taking place in the schools, they would establish a supplemental school-tutoring program. They hired four part-time teachers, four afternoons a week for two hours a day, and they concentrated on serving children who faced the government-exams at the end of the year -- in Grades 4, 7 and 10. Marko said they went beyond their own children to include some others but suddenly this meant that they also had more mouths to feed. “These children rarely ate more than once a day,” he reminded me. “You can’t expect them to learn on an empty stomach.” The staff spent a lot of their time running around for food wherever they could get it – maize at one place, cooking oil at another, leftovers from some embassy function at a third. This meant other things didn’t get done and the program staff spent less time working directly with the children, but they felt they had no choice.








Marko had hoped that the need for tutoring would be temporary but with the near-total collapse of Zimbabwe’s educational system in 2009, they decided to continue the program. Marko had included the tutoring activities in their proposed budget to the Stephen Lewis Foundation. When that fell through, Marko tried a potential opportunity with Children First (a US government program). But that required an entirely redesigned school-support program. “It was touch-and-go for a long while,” Marko said, “because Chiedza didn’t quite fit into the USAID (US government) mold.”

Marko continued. “We insisted on maintaining a holistic service, despite the rules that keep USAID from paying for food except under very restricted circumstances – which we didn’t meet. But still, we needed to feed these children. We also wanted to build the children’s resilience and give them hope, which meant infusing our activities with emotional support and the opportunity for psycho-social expression. But where would that money come from?”

Via their USAID funding, Chiedza started providing block-grants for two terms (8 months) to local schools, to which they would give learning materials and supplemental teacher-training in exchange for a pledge by the school to absorb 150 poor children each, without requiring their payment of school fees. At first, just three schools were involved -- but with additional savings, Chiedza added another school, meaning that 600 children could be helped. Soon discovered that many of the Chiedza’s own children were not among those pupils covered by the grants because they attended different schools. To fill the gaps, they used funding from their Stephen Lewis Foundation grant, and also from Quantas Airlines (their other long-term donor). Before the end of this year, Chiedza will add four new schools under USAID, and hopefully this next set of schools can include more of their existing children.

In the meantime all the schools have added other costs that families now have to pay (not covered by the block-grants). Children who don’t contribute these extra expenses are sent home, made to sit in the back of the classroom, or prohibited from taking exams. “It’s not that the schools are mean-spirited,” one of the principals explained. “The problem is that the government no longer pays for any supplies or repairs, and many teachers have made it clear that they will only continue teaching if their salaries are supplemented by the school.” Around the country, children are increasingly being forced to bring US$1 per week to help pay their teachers, plus extra fees for chalk, office expenses and their schools’ upkeep. But in many low-income households, one dollar represents more than a day’s earnings.

Of course, the children who suffer the most are, once again, the poorest of the poor – in Chiedza’s case, those children who came to the center every day. “When this happened, I didn’t want to come to work in the mornings,” Marko said. “It was so terrible. The children would cling to us, crying that they wanted to go to school and study, but we couldn’t promise them anything. All we could do was assure them that we would try.” Then Marko reflected. “I think by now we have got just about everybody covered again, although one girl came to me yesterday and it seems that her situation has not yet been resolved. But we are working on it.”

Unfortunately, with the tutoring program last year the support came “too little too late.”. None of the eighty children who took the exams passed. The government allowed the younger children to continue into the next grade anyway, but the Grade 10 pupils had to repeat the year. When Chiedza decided to continue their tutorial program this year, they re-designed it to focus specifically on preparing for the exams. When word got around, one afternoon, Marko found 150 students pushing into a room that only holds 20 children. After a while, another tension arose: A teachers’ strike began at many schools, and several principals responded by sending the children to Chiedza for lessons. It got so bad that some community-children were heard to say that they wished they were also orphans, so that they could get Chiedza’s help.

Eventually the USAID program paid for more tutors (through September this year) and “classrooms” were established under trees. Chiedza hopes that they have done enough this year so that at least some students will pass their exams in November. They also hope that the government will take over their responsibility and that the schools will start functioning properly again, beginning with the new school year in January 2010.

It won’t be easy. The quality-of-care remains Chiedza’s major concern. It’s not just attending school that counts, but what the children learn. Marko calls Quality his “driving force.” He would rather ensure long-term impact on a fewer number of children, than focus just on the number of children served. They lost a chance of funding from UNICEF because they couldn’t scale-up fast enough. Marko said, “We are about trying to change children’s lives. We have already trained every staff person in basic counselling skills and we want to train them more in psycho-social supports. We want our children to feel comfortable and loved and to know that this is a place where they can go for help. You can’t do this piecemeal – to provide a quality service you have to respond to the whole child.”

Whew! What can you say after hearing all this?

P.S. I inadvertently forgot to take a photo of Marko, but the young man with whom I'm standing is called Washington -- now going by the name "Tino" -- to whom I introduced you previously in one of my earlier diaries about Howard Hospital's work in Zimbabwe. At that time we "discovered" this boy -- then 15 years old -- who was single-handedly taking care of himself and two younger siblings. Here is his now, obviously doing much better due to the support provided to him and his family by the hospital staff and volunteers.

Sunday, October 4, 2009

234: What we learned in Kindergarten (in Zimbabwe)

Although Zimbabwe has changed dramatically since we first lived there for a few months in 1994, I still love it. Despite the economic shambles and destroyed infrastructure you will find a level of dedication and inner resilience that surpasses any other country I have seen.

I recently had the opportunity to conduct twelve organizational assessments for the Stephen Lewis Foundation in Zimbabwe. These visits always include a financial and programmatic review, as well as a field visit. Sometimes my most important tasks are simply to listen and observe, and to offer encouragement and appreciation for the incredible work that is being done under indescribably difficult conditions.

History's Worst Inflation

For example, on this trip I heard how the country’s currency lost 25 zeros during 2008 and still reached an exchange of 3 trillion Zim-dollars to one US dollar: Prices changed four times a day so if you took a bus into town in the morning you were sure to pay 50% more or even twice as much for the return trip in the afternoon. If you went to a store to ask how much an item cost, they would tell you a price that would last only one hour. Shops couldn’t stock goods so groups sent emissaries once a month to shop in neighboring Botswana or South Africa. The health and educational systems crumbled to a stand-still. A lack of decent sanitation in the country’s swelling urban slums led to a cholera epidemic, just at the same time as all government hospitals shut down for lack of medicine and personnel. Schools were looted and consequently closed, and in June last year, the government shut down all in-country travel by non-governmental organizations (blaming them for supporting the opposition). Unbelievably, many of the organizations I visited still found ways to distribute food and other assistance, often resorting to barter and even traveling in disguise. While some conditions are slowly improving (for example, the US dollar is now the main local currency), other problems remain.







Double Hope

I have lots of stories to tell. Three of them come from the work of an all women’s group called Hope Tariro Trust (actually Double-Hope, as Tariro means hope in Shona) in Masvingo near the ancient Great Zimbabwe National Monument, three hours from the capital. (See photo). After first visiting two years ago, I convinced the Stephen Lewis Foundation (www.stephenlewisfoundation.org) to grant this small, start-up organization its first international grant. This time, my emotions ran the gamut – anger, joy and gratitude – but all the time feeling deeply privileged and completely blown away by the spirit of caring, hard work and voluntarism I witnessed.




(1) Education – that Isn’t.

Fezile Ncube, the organization’s widowed director, took me to Coronation Primary School – deep in the bush on a dirt track. As we approached, I noted that every single window had been broken. Inside the classrooms the only equipment consisted of a few benches and tables. There were no wall posters, educational supplies, or books to be seen. (Only the headmistress had a few frayed books on two shelves in her office – one set per teacher, she said.) Of course, there was also no electricity or running water, and the children we met – mostly barefoot and in rags – did not carry any notebooks, pens, or textbooks. The headmistress explained that the school enrolled 364 pupils in grades 1-7, for whom they should have 9 teachers. “However, three are on strike,” she said, ”And one has been attending a relative’s funeral for more than a week.” So now there are only five teachers left. How on earth can any of the children learn under these conditions?” I wondered.

I asked the headmistress how many came to school on the day I visited. “This was a good day,” she said. “The children knew you were coming and I told them all to come to school, even if they couldn’t pay the school fees. So we had 268.” “How many come usually?” I asked. The Headmistress answered, “This is a very poor school that serves the farm-worker community. What you have to understand is that only 71 of all the children have paid even part of the fees. So I chase the children home if the can’t pay. Somehow, they must come up with the money. We only change $3 per term, and we need that amount for chalk and other supplies.”

Hearing this, Fezile became upset (and me, too). Felize reminded the Headmistress that UNICEF had promised to pay the fees at Coronation School and others like it, although their bureaucracy has delayed the payments. Later Fezile added that she had already pleaded with the Headmistress to be patient, but now, six weeks into the new school term, the Headmistress has apparently taken matters into her own hands.

This whole situation broke my heart. It is true that the Headmistress’s action – sending children home to put pressure on their families to pay school fees – is common throughout Southern Africa. But it is horribly stigmatizing and destroys the children’s desire to learn. Obviously, very-poor children are not at-fault and shouldn’t be held responsible because their families don’t have money to pay these expenses. Worst of all, these children are missing more than their education: Via Hope Tariro Trust, the Norwegian People’s Aid provides a soy-blend porridge for the children at 10:00 every morning, so that they can get at least one nutritious meal a day. And with support from the Stephen Lewis Foundation, there is also an after-school children’s club for psycho-social support and life-skills training. So now the children who are turned away from school are denied all of that that, too!

After we left the school, Fezile confided to me in frustration, “I have already offered the Headmistress whatever supplies we have – chalk and paper and even some pens from the office – to help keep them going. But sending children home has another advantage from the school’s point of view: It helps to cut down the classroom size, which makes teaching more manageable… I’ll go back to the school again to try and convince the Headmistress once more to welcome all the children back – even telling her that the extra support we provide requires this. But we are working with over a hundred schools like Coronation, and we can’t police each one.”









(2) Kindergartens under a Tree


The second place we visited was far more heartwarming. Thanks to the volunteers that Hope Tariro Trust has trained (with support from the Stephen Lewis Foundation), the organization has opened 56 pre-schools in the district. Once again, the Norwegian People’s Aid provides porridge for the children who attend the Play Centers, as they are called – thus ensuring basic nutrition for thousands of under-five-year-olds. To reach the Play Center we visited, we had to use a borrowed 4x4 truck over an incredibly rough track. Eventually we arrived at a compound of huts with a shaded overhang, an open field, and a playground with rope swings and a few climbing logs that the children call their “buses.” The volunteer in charge of the Play Center lives on site, and children come each morning – sometimes accompanied by a parent or grandmother. Here they spend a few hours playing games, singing songs, and enjoying their meal. When we arrived, about 20 caregivers, 10 local volunteers, and 80 children greeted us with song and dance.

Usually each Play Center caters to about 55 children, I was told, but since many of the schools are on strike some older siblings also come each day. Most of the children are orphans, and all are extremely poor. None of the caregivers are paid, but all have been trained and receive a daily meal – the same porridge that the children receive.

What I loved most about the Play Center was how obviously happy and outgoing the children were. Usually when you visit pre-schools – especially as a foreigner – the children are shy and hesitant to interact. Alternatively, if there is no attachment to primary caregivers, they will run to you and jump all over. This was different. The children were willing to come to me -- but slowly. First I squatted down to their level and we smiled, and then they looked to one of the adults to see if it was all right for them to approach. When given the nod by their caregivers, the ice broke and soon we played small hand-games together, made funny faces with each other, and joined together in a song.

With the adults too, the joy felt genuine. When we sat together, I asked them how the Play Center and the training they received made a difference in their lives. One of the care facilitators said that, since these play-centers have been started, none of the children are malnourished anymore and all are more active and open. Several grandmothers said that they appreciate having some time for themselves, away from their orphaned grandchildren, so that they can attend to their vegetable garden and other household chores. I was told of one child who had been sexually abused and came to the Center acting very withdrawn. Through their child-rights and psycho-social support training they received, the caregivers realized what was going on and carefully worked to re-engage the child. Today, the child is much more active, and she engages properly with other children her age. Based on their follow-up, the alleged perpetrator was arrested.

After hearing from the adults, I explained that I also wanted to talk directly with the children. So a group of youngsters gathered together and I sat very low in the ground so we could look at each other, eye-to-eye. Then I asked them what they liked about the Play Center. The answers were exactly the kind you would hope for: “The porridge!” two of them shouted. Then one by one others added, “Playing on the swings!” “Playing ball!” “Making friends!”

I decided to test them about what they might have learned at the Center, as well. “What do you do if you see two children fighting with each other?” I asked. The answer I got was perfect: “Tell them to stop,” a girl said. “And if that does not work, then go to the grandma (caregiver in charge) for help,” another added.

“What do you do if you see a child sitting all alone, looking sad?” I pressed on. “”I will go over and play with that child,” several children chorused. Like Robert Fulghum’s famous book[1] -- even under the simplest of conditions -- these children will one day be able to testify that they learned all of life’s most important lessons while in “kindergarten.”

In terms of recommendations, the caregivers want help in growing their own food, rather than have food-aid delivered. Fezile said she would take the recommendation to Norwegian People’s Aid. As we talked some more, I made some suggestions about how to make toys and games out of rubbish and recycled materials (I actually brought a book to that effect, which I left as a gift), and made a special point that an old truck-canopy that lay to one side of the play area could easily be turned into a pretend “Play House.” This was a new idea for the women there, but I think several of them liked the idea.








(3) What it means to be More Blessed


The final visit was equally heartwarming but on a much smaller scale. Fezile’s assistant explained that about a year ago, she learned of a little girl whose parents had died and who was living with an aged grandfather, himself ill and unable to meet the child’s needs. The girl’s name was More-Blessed but her situation seemed like “anything but.” Seemingly, there were no other relatives to look after her. The staff had just finished training local caregivers and one couple – upon hearing about this child – offered to take her in. We went to visit, and I was struck by the care and support that both foster parents (father and mother) showed this little girl who is now about 3 years old. More-Blessed was clean, healthy-looking, showed interest in her environment, and clearly felt attached to her new family.

I asked the foster parents if they faced any problems with this arrangement. “We want to live long so that we can care for this child until she is all grown up,” the mother said. “We have three older children, but this little girl has added joy to our lives.” Then the father spoke. “Our biggest problem is that the girl does not have a birth-registration,” he said. “We have finally decided that I will tell the authorities that I am the father with another woman who died. This will be the easiest way. The girl’s grandfather – who is still alive -- agreed to verify this story and sign a letter that he has also asked us to raise the child.”

I thought this was an ingenious solution and also very generous on the part of both parents. “But make sure that you tell More-Blessed the truth,” I said. “She will find out anyway as she grows older. If you try to get her to believe something else, when she finds out the true story she will lose trust. But don’t worry: it is clear she loves you now and she will always love you, no matter what.” The parents thanked me for the advice, and I thought about our own adopted children, and how truly universal the concepts of care, support and honesty really are.

Yours truly, Lucy













[1] i.e. “All I Ever Really Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten” by Robert Fulghum.

Sunday, September 20, 2009

233: Elsita's walk to the sea

About two months ago, Elsita and five of her colleagues at the Gobabeb Research and Training Centre (www.gobabebtrc.org) decided to do what no-one they knew or heard-of had ever attempted in the same way before: to walk due west from the middle of the world’s oldest desert (where the Research Centre is located) about 60 kilometers (40 miles) to the tip of Sandwich Harbor on the Atlantic Ocean. The youngsters trained for six weeks, planned for all contingencies they could possibly conceive of (though they missed a few, as you’ll read below), and set out water-containers by car at 3 pre-selected spots along the way. Here is Elsita’s write up of this most amazing epic journey, all done under the name of “research,” in order to get the permit needed to attempt this otherwise crazy feat. Best wishes to all for a sweet new year --
__ __

Starting out in the early morning of September 9th, we found ourselves at a little spot in the (dry) Kuiseb River called Klipneus, with only the Central Namib Sand Sea between us and our destination: the ocean at Sandwich Harbor. (See map, below, with our camp-sites and water-points) We were 6 -- intrepid and daring adventurers all -- ready to take on anything sandy that could possibly come at us. Immediately, we left the cozy dry riverbed behind and began marching west, the sun rising behind us, up to greet our first set of dunes. For about two-thirds of the distance between the river-bed and the ocean the topography consists of linear dunes - line after line of dunes like giant orange waves. The last third of the Sand Sea turns into a maze of dune after dune in no particular order, a vast hilly stretch that we nicknamed "the House of Pain" in grim anticipation.

We expected that we would have to climb up the steep wind-formed dune slip- faces (the steepest slopes of the dune with the loosest sand) while lugging 8kgs of water as well as food, sleeping bags and other accessories like jackets and tents. But when we finally came face to face with our first dune we were pleasantly surprised to find the sand was hard and we could pick our route carefully - winding over the lowest crests, avoiding the steepest ones, and walking around sand-dips and crater-like bowls that would have cost us precious energy. Prior to the hike we had managed to drive out to and bury containers of water at three set-points along the way, and with the help of Google Earth maps and GPSes we navigated through terrain with minimal landmarks.












Map ............................................... Linear Dunes

In the photos, you can see us marching. The best way is to step in each other's footsteps to minimize sliding backwards too much. (Now, wherever I go I still feel the urge to step in the footsteps of the person ahead of me!) But when I was leading the group I got many complaints that my stride was too short, so I started doing funny things -- making my tracks go in meanders, hopping on one foot for a few steps (etc), that everyone had to follow. It was all quite silly (which was in-keeping with the spirit of the hike). It also occurred to us that I get the award for the most steps walked on the hike - 3 for every 2 of everybody else (tall people with long legs)!

Each day we started marching early in the morning and hiked until midday when the heat of the sun forced us to set up tents and nap for 4 hours (we augmented this siesta by stuffing our faces with peanuts and raisins and throwing around a Frisbee.) Then, as the temperature dropped from its mid-day boiling point, we picked up and continued until sunset.









Dune Crest ......................... In the Dunes

The first few "interdunes" we crossed – that is, shallow valleys in-between the linear dunes -- contained light-patterns of desert vegetation. But as we moved closer to the ocean, we saw less and less green. Amazingly, we still saw quite a few critters though. We found a Golden Wheeling Spider perched on top of a dune - so called because of their awesome ability to roll down the dune using all eight feet to whirlwind downwards. We put it on a steep slip-face and poked at it to make it wheel - quite a nifty party-trick. We also found ourselves shocked when, after sighting ostriches in the distance (yes, running around across the 7th dune oceanwards), we passed their footprints in the sand and discovered that their stride reached 2 meters (over six feet)!

Once, while trying to find a bush big enough to pee behind (I couldn’t find one), I startled a speedy Namib Sand Snake. It darted under some twigs and I approached, knowing that it was harmless. Unfortunately I was unprepared for what happened next: the snake coiled itself like a spring and then, to my utter horror, launched itself into the air straight at me! I may or may not have screamed like a small child and ran around in circles swearing while being chased by a jumping snake. By jumping I mean full horizontal, total extension, flying leaps. We eventually caught it in a hat and calmed it down.

And so we passed our time - hiking, napping, eating, refilling water bottles, dodging snakes and so forth. The nights were cold and windy, but it was a sweet moment when, at our second camp site 12km (8 miles) from the ocean, I lay looking up at the stars and brightest moon and realized that the faint yet consistent background noise was the ocean. The third morning, thick fog rolled in, covering our interdune like an impenetrable cold wet blanket. Here we spotted several Fog-basking Beetles (/Onymacris orbicularis/) doing their thing: perching on the top of dunes, butt up in the air allowing fog water to condense on their exoskeletons and trickle down to an eagerly awaiting mouth. Soon the fog made long-distance vision impossible and we were forced to navigate blindly by GPS. Here is also when we left the reassuring guidance of the linear dunes and entered the House of Pain. There was nothing we could do to avoid charging up and down sandy slope after sandy slope (each several stories high), attempting to remember every single summer-camp song, rhyming game and marching cadence we had ever heard to lift our spirits. There were several rounds of the a cappella free-for-all of "Old Joe Clark" (an American folk song), "Amarula" (a popular tune in local !Nama language) and "Don’t You Want Me?" (an 80s dance hit) before we finally scaled the tallest dune yet and to our great joy glimpsed the sweet SWEET glorious ocean for the first time.









House of Pain .................... Fog Basking Beetle

The marine sighting boosted our morale incredibly, and we crossed the remaining 6 kilometers (4 miles) at breakneck speed, pausing only to take a "Safety Break" to hydrate before charging onwards. Our long hours of training prior to the hike kicked in as we sped up and down like Dune Gorillas (a non-existent creature invented solely for the purpose of confusing school groups.)

And finally the ocean spread out in front of us. We pitched tents, tore off our clothes, linked arms and charged into freezing cold water under the watchful gaze of a curious seal. After our siesta we turned south, following the beach towards our final destination. The view that now greeted us was both epic and stunning: A magenta sunset over the ocean, the tide rising and the strip of beach on which we walked narrowing by the minute between the ocean and tall steep dunes. The near-violent waves became unavoidable and I found myself running along the beach when the waves rolled out and running up the dunes when the waves rolled in. Alas, my best efforts to keep only my feet wet were thwarted when a large wave ricochet off a sandy bank and soaked me to my waist. Soon we found a superb campsite halfway up a dune, where a bowl of sand had been hollowed out by wind, leaving us with a view of the ocean and shelter from the wind. Fortunately, we slept deeply that night, because the next morning we noticed brown hyena tracks right near our tents!


Dune meets Ocean

The next morning we made it to Sandwich Harbor - a haven for seabirds such as cormorants, gulls, flamingos and also several very fat jackals. We passed a series of lagoons and an abandoned cabin (haunted by the Sand Witch –ha ha), followed by a long peninsula jutting out into the ocean with a mass graveyard of sea creature skeletons, shells and guano. We reached the end of the peninsula and looked inland across the small bay. We stopped for lunch and ate the most delicious sandwiches ever created with leftover trail food.

Elsita Kiekebusch
Research Technician
Gobabeb Research and Training Centre
P.O.Box 953, Walvis Bay, Namibia
Tel: +264-64-694199, Fax: +264-64-694197
e-mail: elsita.k @ gmail.com
Website: www.gobabebtrc.org

Sunday, August 9, 2009

232: Two sets of clothes, one pair of shoes, and a blanket

A few years ago, Catholic AIDS Action – the organization I co-founded and headed in Namibia for six years[1] -- gave birth to a child in Tanzania, and called it Uzima (“Wellness”). I hadn’t seen the offspring until last week. Uzima is a small holistic organization based just north of the Mozambique border, whose mother is Catholic AIDS Action’s other co-founder -- my mentor and friend, Sister Dr. Raphaela Haendler.









Getting to Uzima required enormous coordination and support from lots of people. The rinky-dink airline that I dubbed (Im)Presicion Air doesn’t allow anyone to book flights from outside the country. To add insult to injury, the flight left Dar es Salaam five hours late. Fortunately, I met a nun who was waiting for the same plane and of course she knew Sr. Raphaela and could assist with logistics. A car picked us up in Mtwara, which is a coastal town that I couldn’t even pronounce before I got there, and drove two hours to the convent where Sr Raphaela serves as Prioress. (Although almost 70 years of age, this is just one of Sr. Raphaela’s many duties. She also oversees medical care at the district hospital, provides leadership for a new Catholic high school, and helps run Uzima.) When I finally arrived, she greeted me with open arms. Then Sr. Raphaela and I chatted like old school-friends, late into the night. Finally she said. “It’s time for sleep. Tomorrow I’ll introduce you to Uzima and then we’ll go swimming.”

We set off early to meet the people involved. Uzima is a beautiful “child,” ably led on a day-to-day basis by local Tanzanian staff, a volunteer social worker from Switzerland, and Catholic AIDS Action’s first accountant, Piet Hein Meckmann, who followed Sr Raphaela to Tanzania three years ago. Like Catholic AIDS Action in Namibia (which is still going strong), Uzima provides care and support to local villagers who have been ravaged by poverty, AIDS, and other tragedies. Many of the principles we carved together in Namibia have been replicated: the organization trains and supervises local volunteers who visit the sick in their homes, provide counseling, make referrals to the local hospital or schools, distribute emergency assistance, and above all, offer hope. The same training curricula are used, as well (translated into the local language, of course) -- both for home-based care and HIV-prevention.






Uzima works in six local villages, relying on small donations from the Catholic Church to meet expenses. Yet many of the clients and almost half of the volunteers are Muslim. In working side by side, the volunteers don’t just care for the sick; they also nurture a fresh ecumenical spirit in the area. Thus, for group prayers, they switch off – one time Christian and the next time Moslem. Similarly, when they had to design a logo for Uzima, the volunteers opted against any religious symbol but agreed to the picture of the Catholic Church because, as they explained, the church represented their region and not just the Christian faith.

Sr Raphaela and I joined several volunteers on their supervision rounds. One difference for us is that we had the luxury of a car, but usually the volunteers must walk. They spend hours doing this work every day, without any monetary compensation. I find this incredible, knowing that most are just as poor as the clients they visit. So what is their motivation? Later in the day, I heard some reasons: “Our neighbors need us.” “I am grateful to God to do this work.” And “I appreciate the training I got, which gives me respect in the village.”

Uzima aims for the alleviation of suffering, human dignity, and the chance for a better life in the future. Yet these are difficult goals to achieve. In Tanzania, 17% of all children are considered “most vulnerable,” due to illness, the loss of one or both parents, child labor or abuse, disability, and/or grinding poverty. Okay, you may say, in a country where most people are needy, just how poor is poor? By way of one example, the national standard for the “adequate material well-being” of children is two sets of clothes, one pair of shoes, and a blanket. And shockingly, this remains far out-of-reach for most. According to the government own documents, less than 20% of all Tanzanian children currently meet this standard.[2]









At each home we visited, we met outside under a tree or on a grass-mat, as the mud-and-stray home of the patient was invariably small and unsuitable for visitors. One woman we visited had just started medical treatment for HIV the week before. Previously, she had lain bedridden for months, and had almost died. The volunteers were delighted to see her. “I’m feeling much stronger,” the patient explained. “I can already sit up for long periods of the day.” Then she looked at her elderly mother who sat on a straw mat few feet away, and who takes care of the patient’s children. The woman continued. “But we have a new problem… Now that I am on treatment, I am hungry. Our harvest failed last year and we don’t have enough to eat. My appetite means that either I don’t eat or else someone else in the family has to skip food for the day.” One of the volunteers checked the storage-baskets and saw that they were almost empty. “Uzima will allocate some maize-meal for the next few months,” the volunteer said. “Once you get stronger, you can start working the fields again.”

At another home, we met an eleven year old girl who had first come to the volunteer’s attention some months back. It turns out that this child had never gone to school, and instead functioned as the household servant. The mother, who was undergoing medical treatment, had also never received any formal education as a child and didn’t understand what was wrong. “This won’t do,” the volunteers said. “In Tanzania today, every child has the right to a primary education.” Then they arranged for tutoring so the youngster wouldn’t have to start at Grade One, and got the mother to agree that her child would be given sufficient time each day to attend classes and do homework. The day we visited, the eleven year old was very excited but also a little scared. She would start attending school for the first time in two days, beginning in Grade Three. “Don’t worry,” the volunteer comforted her. “Soon you will make new friends and then everything will work out fine. Next week, we’ll come back to see how you are doing.”









In yet another household, we met a small girl that the volunteers had never seen before. The child, around four years old, looked horribly malnourished and dirty, with many small scabs covering her skin and big bald-patches on her head. “Whose child is this?” they asked. “She’s the daughter of our neighbor who ran away to Dar es Salaam and left the girl behind,” came the answer. “We couldn’t let her die but we also don’t even have enough food for ourselves. Even the water needed to wash must be paid-for.” The family members added that they keep hoping a relative will come to claim the child, but so far no one has. The Uzima staff and volunteers quickly conferred with each other about the situation. Ideally, they need the involvement of a government social worker to find a temporary placement for this child and then track down the parent(s). But Tanzania’s social welfare system is so broken that this will likely prove impossible, and meanwhile the child’s condition will only worsen. Fortunately, Uzima has its own social worker who can access some immediate treatment and start to make inquiries in the area. “We’ll be back on Monday,” the staff said. “Then we’ll figure out the next step, together with you.”

Back at the office, I reviewed Uzima’s excellent accounting and data-base systems, and stopped next door at the parish hall. Here, 80 high-pitched voices chorused joyfully to the beat of a hand-made drum. Sr. Raphaela introduced me as a visitor who was born in America. “Do you know anything about America?,” she asked in KiSwahili. Half a dozen hands shot up. “Obama!” the children shouted. I was amazed by the recognition until I hit the roadway the next day, on my way back to Dar es Salaam. Every third fourth bus has a huge picture of Barack Obama plastered on the back, with messages of “Hongera” (“Congratulations!”) and more. Could anyone have imagined this level of pro-American imagery in the heart of Africa, nine or ten months ago?









In the afternoon, I joined Sr Raphaela for the best lake-swimming I have ever experienced, halfway up a nearby mountain on church property. (The lake is certified with pure spring-water that tastes like silk, and is sold in bottles as an income generating project for the parish.) The next day, before leaving the area, I also stopped to see the Catholic High School that Sr Raphaela is building. It started in 2005 but quickly floundered due to a lack of finances and good management. Then the Bishop asked Sr. Raphaela to take over. Today, 270 students attend, with the projection of doubling the number in two years’ time. Frantically, Sr Raphaela tries to raise scholarships for those who make the grades but can’t afford the school fees. In addition to academics, many life-skills are taught. On the brand-new campus, you can already see a half-dozen classroom blocks, the start of a girls’ dormitory, a science-laboratory and an IT room with 38 computers. Students often walk 90 minutes each day to school and back, so hot porridge is served daily – cooked outdoors on an open fire. Already, this is the best school in the area, with both Muslim and Christian families clamoring for their children to attend. This blew me away, once again: Muslim families choosing to send their children to a Catholic school because they know, deep down inside, that what really counts is the quality of the education and the moral values that their children will be taught. It seems that here in rural Tanzania, a whole new world order has begun.

Back in Dar es Salaam, a strange sensation rolled over me. I had already been in Tanzania for two weeks, conducting both research and training. That night, I spoke to Bernd on SKYPE. He told me that Kelev, our 13 year old shepherd dog, had contracted a massive infection and was possibly dying. When I hung up, I started bawling like a baby and felt depressed for two days. Not only because I loved this dog and will miss him terribly, but also because it felt preposterous to me that I was so upset about the passing of an old dog who, by anyone’s measure, had had a better life than most of the people in Tanzania. Fortunately, Bernd informed me later in the week that Kelev was making a remarkable recovery and would surely be around a little while longer. And yet, what does this teach us about the inequalities to which we have grown so accustomed?

Over and over, I kept thinking: Is it too much to expect that, at the very least, every child in this world should have access to basic food, health and education – let alone, two sets of clothes, one pair of shoes, and a blanket?

[1] See www.caa.org.na for more information
[2] Tanzania HIV/AIDS and Malaria Survey, 2007-2008

Sunday, July 19, 2009

231: Parental Pride

We have a Lance Corporal in the family! Contrary to what you might think, the reference to ancient weaponry does not refer to a fencing title, but rather to a promotion last week for Sergio in the US Marines. He remains stationed in Japan for another year or so, working in the transport detail and hanging out at the beach with his new buddies whenever time allows.

Elsita also got a promotion but with a less fanciful title. She is now on the permanent research staff at the Desert Research Foundation of Namibia, assigned to a contract with NASA (yes, the National Air and Space Administration) to document and analyze the presence of extreme bacteria in the Namib Desert. The folks at NASA think these bacteria might, just might, be similar to life in outer space -- that is, IF there is life in outer space, they hasten to add, not wanting to forsake their jobs for the loony bin until all the data comes in. Elsita plans to continue doing this desert research – presumably also on some other projects – until starting graduate school next year in environmental biology, hopefully back in the States.


We hope you won’t think us too boastful in the way we are “shebbing naches” (absorbing joy) from our children’s accomplishments. Being so far from friends and relatives, however, these e-mail letters are the best way we have to share our good news. (We also welcome your updates about family, and promise to respond accordingly!) Meanwhile, we remain grateful for the support that many of you gave last year to Elsita for her Central American adventures, courtesy of the American Jewish World Service. Happily, a summary of Elsita’s experiences now appears on the AJWS website at
http://ajws.org/what_we_do/service_and_travel_opportunities/world_partners_fellowship/profiles/.

Most recently, however, both Elsita and I were asked to testify to the Namibian government on the new draft Child Protection Bill, in our case to offer guidelines on how Namibia might consider International Adoptions. (By way of background, most Namibians distrust adoptions, in part because they believe that adoption cuts off the child’s biological link to his or her innate spiritual and ancestral heritage. Nevertheless, we take it as a good sign that folks still wanted to hear our perspective.) Elsita couldn’t give her testimony personally because she was at work in the desert, but her open-letter generated a huge round of applause. I share it below, at the end of this e-mail.





As for Bernd and me, there’s not much to add at the moment. This past weekend we hiked some of the world’s highest sand dunes at Sossusvlei (truly, the height of mountains). This part of the country is really gorgeous, especially now. Although in 2008 the dunes received only a total of 5 millimeters of rain, this year already brought 218 millimeters and the “short rains” in October or November may still add more. As a result, the grass is now higher than anyone can remember, and the animals have gotten fat and happy. On the other hand, the heavy rains also caused the once-golden sand-dunes to turn reddish-brown, probably because the iron granules inside the sand-dune became rusty. So almost all the dunes send of a deeper, darker reddish hue than we ever remember them before!






Tomorrow Bernd starts a new semester at the Polytechnic, amidst the usual headache of too many students, too few classrooms, and a shortage of lecturers and equipment. At least our own students are well situated (now numbering 14, whom we help sponsor as part of the Saving Remnant program): one recent graduate won a scholarship to continue studying in France; another got a good job at the national power company; and a third graduate started night-school (in addition to full-time work) where she is “acing” her way through an added year of studies. Three other students have internships and the rest remain in school full-time -- all doing well.

Yes, we’re proud parents. No two ways about it. Meanwhile, I’m heading back to Tanzania tomorrow for three weeks’ work, but I should be available on-line. Catch you later, I hope!






Elsita’s adoption testimony (which was read aloud):

Hello Everybody,

This is Elsita Kiekebusch writing. As my mother probably explained to you already, I was adopted at the age of 6 months from Guatemala, a country in Latin America. I lived in the United States until age 11 at which point I moved to Namibia with my family.

I do not know the details of my birth, but I do know that I ended up living in an over-crowded orphanage in Guatemala’s capital city before being adopted and moving to the USA. As you can imagine, my life is certainly quite different than what it might have been, had I not been adopted. I think one of the most widely cited positive aspects of adoption is the change in the level of opportunity that a child experiences when adopted from a disadvantaged background into a more privileged environment. Within this context, material wealth comes to mind -- but even basic opportunities such as education and health care are clearly invaluable. My life in the USA (and also Namibia) has certainly been less danger-filled in comparison to the then war-torn Guatemala. However, to me, one cannot overlook the emotional benefits of being adopted into a caring and stable family environment.

One of the fears accompanying international adoption that I have come across here in Namibia, is that an adopted person will lose their connection to their biological family, their ancestors and their heritage. These are definitely real losses, and have given me cause to more strongly consider my own identity. My younger brother (not biologically related) is also adopted, and he is the one and only person I know who can share the same unique story as my own. I know that we both sometimes speculate about our biological relatives. We wonder what they are like, what they believe in and all the other “might-have-beens.” It seems obvious to me that the cutting off of these familial ties has more to do with the extreme circumstances of my birth and subsequent abandonment than the adoption itself. Adoption has allowed me to find a new and wonderful family and home.

It follows that in my “new” life I was also given the opportunity to reconnect with my heritage. I have been given the great gift of parents that have always encouraged me to explore my roots. I have traveled to and lived in several parts of Latin America (including Guatemala) in my adult life. I have learned about the history and culture of Guatemala and also to speak Spanish (the official language there.) Perhaps for some people who are adopted, learning about their country of origin isn’t a priority, but this has always been very important to me.

Adoption has probably been the single most defining event of my life. And I’m pretty happy to report that it has worked out very well for me. For children who do not have a family of their own, it can provide a great opportunity – a second chance at life.

Sincerely,
Elsita