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.

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.