224: Travel Season

Travel season has begun again – every month a different country or two for Lucy, all for Family Health International. Meanwhile, Elsita is rapidly catching up in the travel sphere, and has recorded many adventures of her own (see below) and Sergio – from what we hear – is fine but bored in Japan. Bernd began teaching again and stays in Windhoek, accompanied by Lucas and Sofiana, both of whom are immersed in their studies. We’ve had unprecedented rain that permeated almost every modern convenience we rely on: last month our old cars didn’t start, our electric stove went on permanent strike, the alarm-system outside started bleating, the city’s drinking water had to be turned off for fear it would get infected with sewage, and our clothes (which we usually hang outside) haven’t dried in weeks. There isn’t much we can do except respond as other Namibians might: simply wait patiently until the sun re-emerges in this normally arid land.

From Lucy – In the land of Injera and Sheroh (Ethiopian bread with beans)

In Ethiopia last week I trained 21 local staff and led a planning effort on how to better serve child-headed households. A decade ago, the term child-headed household was virtually unknown, but today it has actually become an official census category in some countries, including Namibia. Due to Ethiopia’s tragic history of war, famine and AIDS, that country has more child-headed households than anywhere else in Africa (after Zimbabwe) – about 77,000 of them in 2005 and growing rapidly.

On the surface, this seems like a hopeless situation; yet with the addition of community-based supports – for example, regular home visits by trained volunteers plus some material assistance and access to education and health care -- many children from child-headed households can become productive, self-sufficient adults. (By way of success, we need only mention three of the students we are sponsoring in Namibia, all of whom come from a child-headed household. Now one is studying social work, another is in medical school and just delivered his first baby, and the third just graduated University and is working as an accountant.)

The next challenge in Ethiopia will be to get funding for a support-program focusing on Child Headed Households, based on the structures that already exist through local organizations. Fortunately, we have already identified some expressions-of-interest. No doubt this is important and exciting work, but after ten intensive days I decided to take a break. Then a local friend and I headed to Wonchi for a fantastic day of hiking and horseback riding at a magnificent crater lake, all at an altitude of 12,000 feet.









Hundreds of monkeys lived in the woods at the lodge where stayed overnight – both vervets (the little gray ones) and colobus, with their silky sleek fur. Some got very close and made for easy photography.









We ended our day at Wonchi with a traditional coffee ceremony and a vegetarian meal of Injera and Sheroh (my favorite) – all in sharp contrast to Elsita’s diet last week, about which you can read.


From Elsita: The Rough Guide to Research

For those of you who have been wondering how my work has been going since I started about a month ago at Integrated Environmental Consultants Namibia (IECN), I have many stories to share…

I have mainly focused on the evaluation of a coastal awareness campaign, by undertaking a survey in all of the coastal regions of Namibia. Basically, my coworkers and I have gone around and interviewed approximately 250 local citizens and members of affiliated institutions -- such as the provincial Councils and environmental Conservancies -- to assess the impact of the campaign since its commencement a year and a half ago. As the entire western border of Namibia is the ocean, you can imagine the incredible distances that we had to cover in order to carry out the survey. In one week we went south to the small German-style port of Lüderitz, stopping at various sites along the way for the interviews. Then last week we headed out into the unbelievably remote Kunene Region with the IECN land cruiser packed full with jerry cans, food, camping equipment, 2 spare tires, a toolbox and more.

We experienced bad roads like never before. At times sandy; at times stony; at times wet, steep and muddy (or some unbelievably messy combination thereof). It seemed like our car had seen it all when we drove straight down a dry riverbed composed solely of boulders, racing to catch up with our translator-guide who enjoyed driving his Government-owned truck as fast as he possibly could. (I’m talking 75mph on gravel roads.) And this was just the first day. That night found us camped next to the beautiful Hoanib riverbed. We were up late because we had decided to blend in with local culture and slaughter a goat for dinner. By dinner I mean that we ate the meat for the next 3 days straight. We were unable to buy purified water anywhere, but beer was available everywhere so we drank that for 3 days straight too.

The food and drink put us in high spirits even after we discovered that our car battery had died when we left the lights on in the dark and we had no jumper cables. The next morning we found ourselves stranded in practically every way you can think of. Our translator-guide had woken up early in the morning, drove across the riverbed and gone to the nearest small settlement called Purros to find jumper cables. When he did not return we suspected the worst – if not dead or maimed then drunk and gone forever. But soon we realized that the dry river to Purros had flooded overnight so he couldn’t have returned even if he wanted. It is the flash-flood season in Namibia -- a country with no permanent rivers within its borders -- so in the rainy season dry riverbeds in the desert can suddenly fill with water from rainfall miles away.

Certainly, the Hoanib was no calm stream that morning! It had become a raging torrent about 100 feet across with rapids, rocks, unreliable sandbars – altogether impassable by any sort of vehicle. So that was how we found ourselves trapped on the wrong side of the river from where we had to go next: Our car battery was dead, the car petrol (gas) was low; there was no cell-phone service and we had no food as our goat-meat and pots were in the back of the truck that our guide drove, and he had gone awol.

Somehow, we made it out of there. With the help of some tourists also stranded at the campsite, we jump-started our car. A nice British lady fed us breakfast and directed us to a nearby lodge where we could buy petrol. And then there was nothing to do but wait for the water level to drop. Around 3pm we heard honking across the river and looked up to see our guide on the other side. He gestured wildly and somehow managed to communicate to us that we should go to another spot further downriver. We felt we had no choice but to attempt the crossing before any new afternoon rains could catch up with us. We put the Land Cruiser into 4-wheel drive and ventured forward. Churning that car through thigh-deep water was certainly a sight to behold: The roar of the engine clashed with the sound of rushing water, as she swayed perilously from side to side. Somehow she finally made it across and we were able to continue on our way towards the coast.

I’m pleased to report that we ultimately survived the trip. We had a nice few days at Swakopmund on the coast and we’re now back inWindhoek where I’m writing up a final report. Next week I head to the United States for 14 days to participate in a follow-up retreat with the American Jewish World Service, based on my past year in El Salvador, and I’ll add a few days to visit friends.

My last big BIG news is that I have been offered a new 6-month job at Gobabeb Training and Research Centre in the Namib Desert, where I interned for a summer a few years ago. This exciting opportunity is funded by none other than NASA, and concerns research on a unique form of life called hypolithic cyanobacteria. They sound like a mouthful, but these little guys can survive the desert’s harshest hot-and-cold conditions by living underneath rocks. Moreover, NASA “astrobiologists” believe that studying these hardy organisms can inform their search for life beyond earth. You got it – this background research is a possible precursor to future studies of life on Mars and even beyond! I will begin working at Gobabeb by the end of this month, so look out for more good adventure stories in the future.

Yours truly,
Lucy and Elsita (and Bernd etc)

223: Sofiana’s rollercoaster

Since our last e-mail, the son of my oldest friend died tragically and as my heart grieves, I am again reminded that the hardest thing about living in Africa is being so far away from friends and family. On a brighter note, Bernd starts teaching this week (senior students in Information Technology at the Polytechnic) and I finally sent off a 250 page manuscript for review, hopefully to be published by Family Health International in July. (It’s a global guide for program managers who work with orphans and other vulnerable children.) Also, Sergio is doing well and Elsita got three job offers in Namibia within a week of sending out her resume. She currently works for a local environmental consulting firm called IECN (Integrated Environmental Consultants Namibia - www.iecn-namibia.com), initially on a project to test different methods of measuring desertification. Starting next week, she’ll be traveling up and down Namibia’s coast to evaluate the impact of a large environmental awareness program.

Namibia and its neighbor

Overall, we still feel very fortunate to live in this beautiful and politically stable country – especially in contrast to our Zimbabwean neighbors. As Zimbabwe’s politicians talk of a coalition government starting soon, the National Bank of the Zimbabwean government recently authorized foreign currency for local trading. But as our friends explain, this poses its own problems: Had you translated a doctor’s pay at a government hospital in January from Zim dollars back to U.S. money, he (or she) would have earned only 32 cents for the month. (For evidence on how worthless the Zimbabwe dollar really is, see the attached photo sent by an Israeli visitor to that country.) So it’s anybody’s guess how much Zimbabweans will get paid at the end of February – that is, if they get paid at all.

Back home, our main news concerns the students we’re sponsoring. One recent graduate (an accountant) got a wonderful job while another (a geologist) recently lost his, a consequence of Namibia’s plummeting mining industry. At the same time, a new pre-med student joined the group, explaining that she wants to help find a cure for the AIDS virus that killed her parents. Also, two weeks ago our other new student arrived from Namibia’s refugee camp. You may recall Sofiana from our last e-mail – she was born in Angola but has lived in the refugee camp (a truly dreadful place) since she was three. In our short time together, we have grown very fond of Sofiana – but she has taken us on quite a rollercoaster ride.

Sofiana arrives in Windhoek

Although Windhoek has only 350,000 people, it is Namibia’s largest city – and to a poor girl from a refugee camp, everything feels new and scary. It’s not just the multi-story buildings, the traffic, and the fast pace of activity. Initially, Sofiana was frightened of our dogs, scared of heights from our back-veranda, jumpy at the unfamiliar noises, and bewildered by a shower that runs hot water straight from the tap. As the sun set in the evening she didn’t turn on a reading light because, as she admitted later, it didn’t occur to her that electric light was available.

Happily, we could introduce Sofiana to two other Saving Remnant students who shared their own stories about first coming to Windhoek from a rural setting, and soon the house rocked with laughter. The three young people quickly became friends and within two days they were exploring the city together, visiting museums (I insisted: “No museum visits, no dinner”), and securing the administrative paper work needed to start their studies later this month.

As we got to know each other, we also discovered that Sofiana suffered from a history of serious stomachaches that included numerous hospitalizations, but Namibia’s State-employed doctors had never diagnosed the cause. She said that she didn’t get sick when she stayed in a government hostel (i.e. the school dormitory, while attending high school) but the pain always came back when she returned to the refugee camp. “So what was different in her diet between the two settings?” I asked. Unbelievably, none of the hospital staff had ever asked about her food-intake. By contrast, I learned that at the refugee camp they often drink un-pasteurized cows’ milk, while the government hostels rarely provided any dairy products at all. A few minutes on the Internet confirmed what I immediately suspected, that Sofiana has a serious milk allergy. So now she is on a milk-free diet and so far, she’s feeling terrific. (Of course, I’m fuming that this had never been uncovered before.)

The doors shut tight

The days passed quickly, as we looked forward to registration at the University of Namibia this week. Meanwhile, Sofiana even got to like our dogs. She also started reading some of our books, shared with the cooking, volunteered her hairdressing skills on the other students (literally sewing on the hair extensions with needle and thread), and generally adjusted well.

Then Thursday came (ten days ago) and the final results of the grade 12 exams were published in the newspaper. This is part of a crazy system in Namibia where students are tentatively accepted at the University based on their preliminary exam results (sort of like the PSATs in America), but the final exam results are released only 48 hours before the University actually starts. Even before I got the newspaper at a local shop, Sofiana came wailing to me — her sister called at 6:30 am and told her that she missed qualifying by three points (about 12%). What a shock! But there was nothing to be done — no University. Moreover, the system does not allow for second chances, except to possibly try again next year.

Sofiana’s family was furious, as they had pinned hopes for their own future on hers. And she – Sofiana – was terrified. Suddenly, everything went black before her eyes, and she saw herself living a beggar’s life – at risk of pregnancy and AIDS, like so many of the other young girls at the camp. Bernd and I quickly conferred and decided that we could not let her go back to her family empty-handed, so we needed think creatively. Then we put Lucas (the other student who lives with us) on “watch” that Sofiana wouldn’t cause herself physical harm, which turned out to be the right premonition.

Shortly after Bernd and I left for work that same morning, Sofiana asked Lucas for pills and said she would rather die than face this failure. Immediately Lucas took out his Bible and started reading to her about Job and Moses, and told her that what happened to her was a test to prepare her for life’s inevitable disappointments in the future. He tried every way he could to encourage her, insisting that she would eventually find a way to succeed. And for the next two days, for every moment that she was awake, Lucas wouldn’t let Sofiana out of his sight. (The remarkable thing about Lucas’ response is that he spoke at all, given his terrible speech impediment. Two years ago, when we first met Lucas, he would barely open his mouth. So as you can imagine, we’re very proud of him now.)

Another door opens

Meanwhile, Bernd and I investigated a range of options. Since Sofiana said she wanted to study computers (not that she knew anything about them), we looked for a vocational course that could give her a head start in this field. We found one and enrolled her, and that will last for two months. We also identified a correspondence course which will allow her to repeat some of her subject-exams next October and – as the best news – we found the only school in the country that will enroll her for a Portuguese language-exam that, as a native speaker, we’re convince she’ll “Ace.” All of this should greatly strengthen her chance for higher grades for 2010, when she’ll try for the University once again.

So that’s where we are. I guess Lucas was right – eventually Sofiana will make it and she’ll be stronger for the experience. Now Bernd and I look forward to calmer times ahead, but we’re happy with how things have progressed. And, as my friend Diane cheerfully signs off on all of her own newsy letters, we add joyfully: “Obama is STILL president!”

222: Two Weddings and a Funeral

Dear Friends,
Below is a summary of the last five incredible days: It’s a long e-mail (spanning 3400 km/2500 miles of traveling) but we hope you will agree it’s worth reading.

TUESDAY, 23 December

It all began last Tuesday night, when Elsita arrived in Namibia with three loads of laundry that hadn’t seen the inside of a functional washing machine since she left for El Salvador, almost a year ago. Our second-generation spinner in Namibia didn’t offer much relief, but we tried our best. Her visit back home made for a wonderful Hannukah.

WEDNESDAY, 24 December

The next morning we packed our Four-Wheel-Drive and headed north, stopping to overnight in the small mining town of Tsumeb, a couple hours from the Angolan boarder. Here, unbelievably enough, dinner on the hotel veranda brought back many childhood memories for Bernd -- complete with a German-language menu, imported German foods, German-language TV, and a track of German Christmas carols wafting in the background. Only Namibia can still pull this off, we figure (especially at US$6 a meal) -- where the casual visitor can be forgiven for thinking that this is still is a German colony even though the history books tell us that Germany officially lost its colonial grip over 90 years ago.

THURSDAY, 25 December

For Christmas day, we planned a 24-hour detour within Etosha National Park, before moving even father north to a traditional Owambo wedding (our main reason for the trip). Etosha looked different than during all our previous visits: The early summer rains turned the fields bright green with millions of yellow flowers and many standing pools of shallow water. Although the scenery looked beautiful, we expected it to be much more difficult to see the animals who could now forage at the far corners of the park, away from the usual watering holes that the tourists visit.

Wow, were we ever wrong!

The first thing that struck us was the intensity of the bird-life, with a new species almost every time we turned our heads. Most exciting to us was the endangered Blue Crane (we saw three) that are endemic to only this part of the country.

Zebra, wildebeest, impala, springbok, and giraffe abounded to the point that we didn’t even stop the car for them any more, and then felt guilty about how quickly we had become blasé. Elsita also got to see her favorite jackals, and we counted seven different antelope species, from the miniature dik-dik that twitches its nose from left-to-right, to the near-giant kuku with its majestic corkscrew horns. To crown the day, we saw two lions, their bellies swollen from an earlier kill.

FRIDAY, 26 December

Only elephants were missing. Although I wore my elephant earrings for good-luck, I really didn’t think we would see any. The next day, we drove on a road in the park that we had never taken before that ends in the newly opened Northern gate. After scores of more zebra, wildebeest and giraffe, I suddenly spotted a huge moving rock far ahead to the right of the road: Could it be? Sure enough!

But we didn’t see just one or two elephants. By the time the morning was through Elsita counted more than fifty pachyderms in six groupings, including several very tiny babies and three rather agitated matriarchs who started to charge our car when they thought we had come too close for comfort. (Fortunately, they didn’t do it all at once.) All of a sudden our Four-Wheel-Drive seemed very small indeed, in comparison to these huge beasts. We took over a hundred photos, but almost lost our presence of mind in focusing the cameras on the largest of the protective moms who came so close to our windshield (see below) that all I could do was whisper hoarsely was “Roll up the windows!!!” while Bernd jerked the car into Reverse.

All’s well that ends well, especially when it comes to wild animal encounters. Thirty minutes later we crossed into the communal farmlands of the north. Via another pre-arrangement, we stopped at a local after-school center for a Christmas party with 350 orphans that we had sponsored, thanks to some unexpected earnings earlier in the year. The children entertained each other with drama and song, received multiple small gifts, and had a huge meal with goodies to take home – an occasion that neither they nor we would easily forget.

SATURDAY, 27 December

Traditional Owambo weddings usually take place on Saturdays, preferably in December when most relatives return home for the festive season. The wedding of Lydia Hasheela and Pandu Amutenya aimed to be letter-perfect: They had known each other since High School and had been planning this occasion for almost a year. As the oldest of our “Saving Remnant students,” Lydia has now graduated and works in the field of communications, while Pandu -- the son of a headman -- teaches high school. Given our special relationship with Lydia, Bernd and I got to take on the role of Auntie and Uncle – complete with specially designed African outfits -- while Elsita joined as the unofficial photographer.

Several days of celebration were planned. The day before we arrived, friends and relatives gathered for a night of singing. On the actual wedding day, the invitations announced a church service, followed by a reception at the home of Lydia’s father. The next day a second reception would take place at Pandu’s family–home about 100 kilometers (67 miles) away. A week ago, we were told, the traditional spear-throwing ritual already occurred, where men from the extended family gathered around the bride-to-be and threw spears at her feet – each one representing a cow that she would be given for her marriage. Lydia ended up with thirteen new cows but agreed to sacrifice four for the wedding, as the entire village would be showing up at the receptions and everyone expected to bring home a basket of fresh meat to enjoy.

Early on this day, we first drove to pick up Helvi Shilongo, one of our more recent Saving Remnant members, to join the celebrations. Helvi has been raised by her grandmother (now 86 years old) in a very rural homestead, 30 minutes’ drive across sandy tracks to the nearest road. She showed us how each of the traditional round-huts in the homestead has a different purpose, with old wooden stockades serving as walls and fencing. The grandmother greeted us warmly with some ground millet and spinach-sauce, showed us their recently plowed field (the work of Helvi, a cousin, and the family donkeys), and proudly tossed away her cane to pose for a photograph. Helvi provided the translation as the grandmother – who has never traveled more than 90 kilometers (60 miles) from her home -- promised to visit Windhoek ("God-willing") in order to witness Helvi’s anticipated graduation from the Polytechnic of Namibia in two years’ time.

With Helvi and Elsita now in the back-seat, we drove to the wedding itself. The church service was meant to start at 10 in the morning, and we arrived just minutes before – only to realize that the church was already crowded with people singing hymns. Helvi and Elsita rushed inside to find seats and then Helvi – who suddenly grasped what was going on – turned to Elsita and whispered, “Are we supposed to be at a funeral?” Elsita looked askance and whispered back, “No, I don’t think so!!” Realizing that it would be rude to leave, they decided to stay through to the end. Meanwhile Bernd and I learned that the wedding had been postponed some hours to accommodate this unanticipated event, but since there hadn’t been time to inform the out-of-towners we were told to wait outside under a shade-tree.

Hurry up and wait, my mother always said.

Soon a new crowd appeared, and a very pregnant bride emerged from a car. A second wedding – obviously one that could not wait! The organizers eventually decided that each party would occupy one side of the church – to the left and right of the central aisle – and the two couples would get married in the same ceremony. Two hours later, Lydia and Pandu extended the service with a visiting choir and a series of small speeches just for them (Bernd and me included) and then we proceeded -- largely on foot -- to the home of Lydia’s father. To protect them from the unrelenting summer sun, the newly wedded couple had parasol-bearers – but progress was slow as they stopped every few minutes to make sure that everyone in the neighborhood knew they were invited to join the wedding feast.

Just outside the father’s house, the couple had to stand patiently for almost a full hour as family members and village elders sang and danced, alerting Lydia that this would be the last time she would enter the house as her father’s daughter, rather than as her husband’s wife.

More ceremonies continued as a long row of female gift-bearers offered traditional straw- baskets and small denominations of money. Then the couple – who had not eaten since morning – had to sample the father’s traditional (home-made) beer. Unfortunately, by this time it was approaching six o’clock in the evening and we still intended to drive Helvi back home before it got dark. Three other Saving Remnant students recognized our dilemma and gave us each a plate of salads and grilled beef that they had prepared for the evening feast. After the food, we quietly voiced our good-byes. Everyone else’s serious eating and drinking would only begin after sunset, we were told, and the next day pretty much the same was planned with Pandu’s family, except there wouldn’t be a second church-service. After witnessing the day’s events, Helvi quipped that she would rather elope or not marry at all.

SUNDAY, 28 September

Again we rose early, with one last side-trip planned before returning to Windhoek. As some of you know, in 2009 we plan to sponsor an additional student at the University of Namibia – a young woman living at the Osire Refugee Camp amidst 6500 other refugees from Angola and the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Today we got to meet the student along with her mother, grandmother, pastor, and volunteer-coordinator of the Osire Boys’ and Girls’ clubs, who had nominated her as the recent high-school graduate “most likely to succeed.”

Angolan-born Sofiana Silva, age 18, has lived in the Osire Refugee Camp since she was two years old. Her family of 12 occupies three small windowless rooms made of mud-bricks with dirt floors and a bare-tin roof, surrounded by a vegetable garden that Sofiana tries to maintain as much as possible. Cooking is done outside and there is one pit toilet two houses down, which several families share. As part of our tour, I asked to see where Sofiana sleeps: She is designated a corner of one bare room (without a light or candle) where there is a narrow cot that she shares with her sister (they sleep one head at each end of the bed, with a shared blanket).

It's hard to believe that such a completely devastating place could produce such an outgoing and accomplished young woman! Two years ago, Sofiana won a U.N. High Commission for Refugees’ scholarship to finish her high school education through grades 11 and 12. (In the refugee camp, schooling stops at Grade 10.) Unfortunately, many fellow-students shunned her as a refugee and accused her of taking up a space in the school that could otherwise go to a Namibian. Eventually, however, she found two friends. What kept her going? Sofiana clearly clings to her faith as a source of strength, but she also explained that every opportunity she receives comes with the responsibility to do her best and then help others -- her family and beyond – as much as she can.

Sofiana's academic interests lie with computer technology, which she hopes to combine with Media Studies. She told us how, in September, her best friend had persuaded her to use her last dollars for an application to the University of Namibia, even though she thought she had no hope of being able to attend. By contrast, now everyone in the family was singing praises - they see this as truly heaven-sent.

So do we. It will be a great privilege to help a young woman like Sofiana. With thanks for your support – emotional and otherwise -- we wish you the best for 2009.

221: Sand, Sun & Serious Work

After almost 12 years in Namibia, I still can’t get used to the fact that it’s cold in June and July and boiling hot when the festive season rolls around in December. Fortunately, this year we have been blessed by some early summer rains, so the dry spell that began last April has finally broken with new grass and scattered flowers growing in the fields.


At least the farmers are happy. By contrast, the Namibian news is filled with horror stories about the failed neighboring-state of Zimbabwe (some of our Zimbabwean friends have relatives who were beaten up by the Mugabe forces), and about the teetering Namibian economy that -- even under the best of circumstances – wobbles dangerously on the triple legs of tourism, mining, and a diminishing fishing industry. But over the last six months, to no-one’s surprise, tourist bookings are down; uranium prices have fallen; and the diamond companies are saying, quite bluntly, that no one is buying. Already one third of Namibians are living on less than US$1 a day.


GOOD NEWS WE’RE GLAD TO SHARE:

Among the good news we can share is that all twelve of our local tertiary students that we help sponsor did well this year. By way of example, Lucas (who lives with us) scored amongst the best in his class for Mechanical Engineering, and we have two seniors who are about to graduate with good jobs awaiting them in geology and accounting.


Ten days ago Bernd finished teaching and I returned from 2 weeks in Ethiopia, so last weekend we took all the students to the coast for a massive camp-out and Braii (traditional Namibian barbecue). On Saturday morning, we booked a sand-boarding adventure that is a lot like tobogganing except that it takes place on huge sand dunes.





















True to its eco-tourism identity, there is only a cheap piece of bendable pressboard between yourself and the hot sand, onto which you literally have to hold on for dear life. Bernd and I joined the adventure and clocked 68 and 60 kilometers per hour respectively going down the step slopes (45 and 40 mph). The students overcame a lot of their own fears in doing this, which felt very empowering -- and all of us had a blast. (Sorry that our photos could only be “before” and “afterwards.” In between there was too much blowing sand that could have ruined the camera.)











Speaking of students, this past year Bernd and I also took on a double-orphan who is studying economics, and we’re hoping to add at least one more for the coming year. To make that possible, we’re willing to match all donations that come in from friends, dollar-for-dollar, up to US$2000 (meaning that we would provide an additional US$2000, for a total of US$4000). We know this is a tough time for everyone, but if you are stumped for a holiday gift for someone, why not consider a contribution in that person’s name, instead? Any amount will be gratefully accepted.*

Our own holiday plans this year are simple. Bernd and I will return to the Coast for some writing, reading, craft-making and long walks on the beach: Bernd indulged me with a third dog so that will definitely keep us running! Elsita arrives on December 23rd after her year in El Salvador; thereafter we head north for a traditional wedding (I promise to write about that in my next Namibia Diary) and finally we return to the coast for New Year’s. Come January Elsita will have to decide whether she wants to try to find work in the USA (where most of her friends live) or stay here a little longer (where, despite the economic woes, her job prospects are probably better). Meanwhile, Sergio will spend his holidays with the U.S. Marines in Okinawa, Japan – he says he is bored there but we are thrilled that he is safe.


AN ETHIOPIAN REVOLUTION, ONE NEIGHBORHOOD AT A TIME:

My own international travels are over for 2008, although the Family Health International (FHI) office in Ethiopia will definitely require me to return soon after the New Year. The work is fascinating: FHI has helped transform traditional Ethiopian burial societies (called “Iddrs”) into mutual-aid organizations that focus on living people rather than only on the dead. It’s one of those silver-linings to the AIDS pandemic that always makes me stop and think about what else we might be missing, underneath the mounds of tragedy that generally accompanies this disease.

By way of background, traditional Iddrs span the entire county as local voluntary associations for every 3,000 - 5,000 people. Based on a Government mandate, Iddrs have historically collected a small payment every month from all households in their catchment area, in order to provide financial and logistical support for burial expenses when someone dies. But with the start of the AIDS pandemic, some local Iddr leaders realized that their priorities were all wrong: So many people were dying, often for lack of medicine and healthy food. So they said, “Why not take a portion of the money allocated to each person for funeral costs and allocate it for medicine and food while the person is still alive?” If the person still dies, they argued, this amount can be deducted from the death-benefit; but if the person lives, then the amount provided can be paid back once the person starts earning money again.

Brilliant, isn’t it? From this starting point, several local Iddrs underwent a complete sea change: they asked to have local volunteers trained in home based care, and then in orphan-care (which is where I come in), and finally in resource-development, service-co-ordination, and even in monitoring-and-evaluation. One challenge will be scaling this model out to cover more and more neighborhoods, but the potential is obvious. It also amazes me that all Iddrs members are volunteers; moreover they span all religious groups (Christian and Muslim) with the mandate that each family’s own religious customs must be respected.

The world needs more of this, that’s for sure. With Obamania flying high around the world, we know that the possibilities for positive change are endless. Meanwhile we wish you and yours all the best for a safe and happy holiday season. We appreciate your friendship, your support, and your correspondence.


*Money can be sent directly to the Saving Remnant Program at Catholic AIDS Action (tax deductible) at: Maryknoll Fathers and Brothers; Controller's Office; PO BOX 302; Maryknoll, NY 10545-0302… Please state that this donation is for the MISSION ACCOUNT of Fr. Richard W. Bauer, Namibia and for the SAVING REMNANT program. If you need a receipt, they can provide that for you, and if you don't want to be put on the Maryknoll mailing list, please also state that in your letter (otherwise you’ll get a lot of Catholic-related mail). The alternative is to make a bank deposit into our account in the USA or in Namibia or send a check to our power-of-attorney – let us know what you prefer and we’ll send you details.

220: Election Day in Western Kenya

This US election is the biggest story to hit Kenya in decades. I’m in Western Kenya doing Stephen Lewis Foundation work, but everyone else, it seems, has only the US election on the brain. One cameraman said this morning, “All the TV crews are here from Nairobi. What happens if there is a bomb in the capital? No one will be there to report it.” Obamania is how the newspaper headlines called this over the weekend.

For the last several days, you could not find a vacant hotel room in Kisumu (the main town in Western Kenya), for either love or money. As a frequent customer, two weeks ago I had to beg for a room. Eventually I got bumped up to a deluxe-suite as the only option left, albeit at a discounted rate. The breakfast room each morning buzzes with reporters from Canada, China, Japan, Israel, South Africa, Mauritania (!), the USA, and various European countries, as well as nearby Nairobi. I got to talk with quite a few of them. In some parts of the city, one can almost count as many Obama tee-shirts and caps here as on an American college campus.

Beginning a few weeks ago, the Obama extended family started gathering at their ancestral homestead in Kogelo, about 90 minutes from Kisumu. The police are only letting certified media reporters into the area. I heard that relatives erected a wall around the compound creating a kind of garrison village. One local resident characterized it as Barrack’s barracks – all in keeping with the country’s favorite son. As it happens, I visited Kogelo village about a year ago. Even at that time, every other shop and school had been renamed for the American senator. As one would expect, relatives have been saying that they are confident that Barrack Obama will win the US election. But no one wants to take the chance: Local soothsayers are doing a good business, sending spiritual messages to underscore more traditional religious prayers. (Hey – I support whatever will help!)

The main pre-election event, one reporter said, is that most of the family is just hanging around getting drunk. Malik Abong’o Obama, Barrack’s half-brother, has returned from the USA to take charge at the family compound and gives a daily press conference. He made it clear that the media can’t report on the alcohol consumption or else he won’t grant any more interviews. But he did say that the fact that the Kenyan government had moved to grade the dirt road leading to the village was an indication of better things to come.

On Saturday, the family held an Obama Cup – a series of soccer matches for TV and local sponsorships. Apparently, they had the family widows playing against the cousins; the grandmother’s side of the family against the grandfather’s, and so on. One reporter said, “The people love it but the soccer has been truly awful. The ball was always in the air, going in all directions.” No matter: After the games, one local newspaper reported that the family enjoyed a “bull roast.” By contrast to the rest of the family, however, the grandmother and great grandmother have gone into retreat – apparently exhausted by all the fuss and they don’t want to talk with anyone.

Also over the weekend, eleven huge billboards with Obama’s portrait and campaign slogan suddenly appeared all over the town of Kisumu. Nobody is saying who paid for them but many local people suspect Raila Odinga, Kenya’s Prime Minister from the opposition party. Odinga claims to be Obama’s cousin – though I couldn’t find out what the connection really is. “It’s like all Kenyans are Obama’s cousin,” said one reporter. This is not all innocent fun, however: Rumors are also circulating that, to further his own political goals, Prime Minister Odinga has said that with his being an ethnic Luo and Obama being ethnic Luo, he’ll now have an “in” to the White House over his political rival, President Kibaki.

What about the story that one of Barrack Obama’s aunts – his father’s half-sister – has been living illegally in the US for years? “A conspiracy dug up by Obama’s detractors,” one person said. “No comment,” said another. What’s interesting is that, seemingly, no one is saying that Barrack should interfere on his aunt’s behalf, although that would likely be the Kenyan way of doing things – one relative helping another. Instinctively, they realize that such an approach runs counter to the way a real democracy works, and that is not the American way.

219: The impact of Cash Transfers

Two weeks ago, I met with 70 ancient grandmothers under some trees outside the Ethiopian capital of Addis Ababa. All the grandmothers wore white cotton shawls and sat on the ground or on some cement blocks because there weren’t any chairs. I greeted each one formally with the few words of Amharic that I learned. In turn, the women proffered blessings onto the Stephen Lewis Foundation (www.stephenlewisfoundation.org) that provided for their sustenance and made my visit possible. All of these women were widows, desperately poor, who were nevertheless saddled with the care of grandchildren following the illness and death of their own children primarily due to war or HIV/AIDS.

This is not an unusual situation. Between 40 and 60% of all orphans in sub-Saharan Africa live with their grandparents – almost always with their grandmothers. These grandparents represent the last shred in the family safety net. If the grandparents also die, their grandchildren end up on the street or as Child-Headed Households – a new “category of family” that has tragically become part of Africa’s everyday language. By 2010, Ethiopia alone anticipates 225,000 Child-Headed Households! Obviously, it should be in everyone’s interest to keep the grandmother’s alive as long as possible in order to provide some modicum of stability, continuity, and support for these children. But very few countries in Africa have any form of state pension for the elderly, and once again, it is the poorest of the poor who suffer most.

Through the Destitute Elder’s Welfare and Development Association – the Ethiopian NGO I visited -- 1266 very-poor and very-old people receive the equivalent of $8 a month (less than 27 cents a day), one new set of clothes each year, and access to free nurse-assessments: literally drawing the line between life and death. In its first year of assistance to this organization, the Stephen Lewis Foundation paid for 100 of these grandmothers and added extra for their orphans -- including basic school supplies and a school-uniform. The reason for my assessment was to see how well the money was spent and to make a recommendation for a follow-up grant, hopefully of a larger size.

As is usually the case, I was asked to make a small speech to the beneficiaries (with translation). Knowing a bit about their background, I expressed appreciation for the grandmothers’ hard work and dedication. What these old women appreciated hearing the most, however, was how the money came to them through groups of older women in Canada who gather together regularly to hold fund-raisers, bake-sales, and craft fairs to help their counterparts in Africa – grandmothers to grandmothers. “Now we know we are not forgotten,” one beneficiary commented to me later. “Even far away, someone has heard our cry for help.”

Over and over I heard that the support given through the Destitute Elders’ Association has become an absolute lifesaver, “If it weren’t for this organization, I would be dead by now and my grandchildren would be living on the street. Eight dollars a day (75 Ethiopian Birr) comes to just one meal a day, but it keeps us alive.” one grandmother said bluntly. The others nodded in agreement. “What additional assistance do you want?” I asked. I was told that last year the organization had experimented with an income-generating project involving goats and chickens, but there was a drought so the animal feed had to be purchased from far away and this cost too much. Despite the grandmothers’ efforts, all the animals died. Those elderly women who are still able to work said that next year they would prefer to receive small loans for petty trading (for example, the buying and selling of vegetables or some cloth), the spinning of cotton, and the preparation of injera, the Ethiopian staple pancake.

On our way back to the organization’s small office, we stopped at two homes – hovels – headed by grandmothers. In the first, I met a very-elderly and partly blind widow who lives with her 7-year-old grandson. Some years ago, she also cared for an older grandson, as well, but he ran away and lost touch. “Now,” she explained, “The younger boy is my entire reason for living.” With the support she gets from the Destitute Elders’ Association, she ekes out the rent of her 1-room mud hut, in which she and her grandson sleep on the same single cot with just one blanket between them. Each month, the grandmother is able to buy a little salt, coffee, oil, kerosene (for cooking) and 5 kilograms (11 lbs) of tef (the traditional Ethiopian grain) and 5 kilograms of wheat-flour. The household meals never contain vegetables or protein – just the flour mixed with a bit of oil and salt. The grandmother said that she eats only once a day in order to give two meals per day to the boy so that he can concentrate at school and get good grades. Still, by mid-month they generally run out of food. The grandmother explained that food prices have nearly doubled since last year, so for these past few months they had to borrow from friends. Now they have a “guest” sleeping on a mat on the floor of the house – a younger woman with an infant – and this woman pays a few cents per month, too.

After we spoke for a while, the boy came into the house – his clothes threadbare and torn, but proudly carrying a small back-pack with this school materials. His face shone as he explained how much he loves school and that he has made many friends. “What did you learn today?” I asked through the translator. “I learned an English word,” the boy said proudly, pointing to his face. “Nose.” He smiled broadly and we did too, and I felt that a connection had been made. Then I decided to show him how to make his face look like a fish and other silly things. Soon he started giggling and the grandmother joined in, and then the two staff who had accompanied me started making silly faces and soon the whole room shook with raucous laughter. Seeing my camera, the boy asked to have their picture taken, and I promised to send a copy back, via the organization’s office.

Two weeks have passed since I visited this home, and I can’t get this grandmother and her grandson out of my thoughts. Amidst their hunger and material deprivation, they evoked incredible dignity, care, and even joy. Those of us facing our own tighter economic times and financial insecurity due to the Wall Street debacle can learn a lot from this tiny family. And we must also remember that they, and others like them, need our help more than ever.

The second home we visited included a 3-year old girl (see photo with Lucy) who was born with HIV. She currently receives free medicines from the government, through American foreign assistance (PEPFAR). Her mother is alive but still sickly, although she also started on treatment a couple months ago. One problem is that the medications don’t come with the extra nutrition that is needed for the pills to really work. And so, once again, that is where the Stephen Lewis Foundation steps in.

Before arriving here, the director of the Destitute Elders’ Association had told me that, if he had to choose a favorite child among all the orphan-beneficiaries, he would select this little girl. “She is all sunshine,” he explained, “even when she is not feeling well.”

To get to the family’s shack in the slum, we had to squeeze through some very narrow passageways that smelled of sewage and were slippery from the recent rains. The little girl caught sight of us and, recognizing the staff, came over to be hugged. But as we entered the one-room shack, we noticed that the grandmother wasn’t around. “Where is she?” the director asked. “She died very suddenly, just four days ago,” the mother whispered hoarsely. “We are now in mourning.” So our routine home-visit suddenly became something of a “shiva” call (the custom in Ethiopia is similar). After a while the mother spoke, “My mother’s welfare - pension from the Destitute Elders’ Association was all that we had to live on. I am young but ill, and can’t work. I worry now, how will we will survive?”

Whew!

This family, too, has been in my thoughts frequently, since we met. I know that “welfare checks” are not considered a progressive development policy because they create dependency, and they are not a quick fix. Most donors prefer to give one-time assistance, like a few goats or chickens, and then have families rely on themselves. But as we know, that doesn’t always work either. Sometimes there are situations where only direct, ongoing assistance will really make the difference. Without better nutrition and rent-money, this mother and child won’t make it. But if they are assisted, then eventually Mom may get better on the drugs and could start working again.

So why do we maintain a double standard and balk at giving cash or vouchers to the poor? In the industrialized world old people and folks with disabilities get their pensions or Social Security, and low-income children get assistance without having to earn it, so why shouldn’t the same system apply in Africa where the need is even greater? A recent study of cash transfers in Malawi, Zimbabwe and South Africa concluded that, in countries with a high HIV/AIDS prevalence, social cash transfer programs – whether paid by government or through outside donors – reduce death and have a substantial AIDS mitigation impact. They also found that, with rare exceptions, the money is spent to benefit the whole family, and isn’t wasted on alcohol or other excesses. Clearly, social transfers – that is, vouchers or cash-sustenance for basic needs plus access to free education and health care – make as much sense for the poorest of the poor in the developing world as it does in London or New York or Mississippi.

Yours truly,

Lucy

P.S. #1: Belated good wishes to our Jewish friends for a Shanah Tovah u’Metukah – a sweet and happy new year. Our own new year started off great: we heard from Sergio this week that he will be shipped to Japan (Okinawa) in a month, and we figure that any country that doesn’t start with a vowel is definitely good news! The rest of us are also doing well and send regards.

P.S. #2: Bernd became a member of the worldwide Rotary Club in Windhoek (Auas Chapter - receiving his membership pin in the photo).

P.S. #3: Finally, here are two other photos of typical Ethiopian street scenes – I especially fell in love with the Ethiopian donkeys that are much smaller than the ones we have in Namibia (and much harder working, too).

218: Namibia’s Matterhorn

I was recently asked to name my favorite place to relax and clear my head. In the old days before we moved to Africa, I would have answered immediately, “West Virginia.” But now, there are so many places to choose from. Eventually, I selected just one and it is Spitzkoppe, the Matterhorn of Namibia.

I’ll start by telling you a little about the geology and feel of the place and then you can understand more easily why we like it so much. Bernd and I went camping there this weekend (with the dogs) so we also have some recent photos to share.

The landmass of Southern Africa is very old and particularly rich in mineral resources. About 300 million years ago the region that is today known as Namibia was much closer to the South Pole and was covered by huge glaciers. Tectonic movement of plates within the earth’s crust caused it to move further away from Pole about 250 million years ago and then the ice melted, leaving behind glacial debris in valleys and depressions. The climate continued to change from cold and wet to hot and dry, and eventually a desert spread over large parts of the area known as Gondwanaland. Although the greater part of Namibia became covered by sand, outflows of lava emerged when Gondwanaland broke apart. Over time, heavy wind and water erosion sculpted enormous granite domes, twisted towers, and fissured outcrops all over the area, most dramatically along the rocks of Spitzkoppe (1728 meters or 5857 feet high).

Getting to Spitzkoppe requires a good car and a lot of patience, but it’s worth it every time. For miles you feel like you are in the middle of nowhere, until a huge rocky mountain range appears suddenly before your eyes. Almost tree-less, it looks like the entire mountain has been carved from one giant rock. It looks stark, forbidding, and inviting at the same time. A hotel is planned for the area, but right now the only way to stay overnight is to camp. The cost for camping is combined with an entrance fee that you must pay to the local community that manages the site as part of their communal lands. This concept of locally-run tourism aims to bring people into harmony with nature, by creating an incentive for the local population – otherwise very poor and largely unemployed – to make a small profit while preserving the land from overgrazing and hunting.

Our family comes here annually (previously with our children and now by ourselves or with friends). The equivalent of US$12 buys you the privilege of a clean campsite far away from anybody else, great hiking and one of the best views on earth. The harsh environment contains a unique biodiversity, so you must always be on the lookout for small mammals, birds, lizards and snakes – but you’re allowed to take your dogs with you, so for us this makes for a special treat.

The trick when finding a good campsite at Spitzkoppe is to locate one with shade. We’ve camped at about a dozen places around the area by now, and have several favorites. But ever since the Hollywood filming of 10,000BC at Spitzkoppe about a year ago, when the filming crew introduced several herds of zebra and springbok into the area (and consequently fenced off the mountains’ central valley), some of the campsites have been restricted. So this weekend we had to find a new site and eventually did, though the angle of the rock over Bernd’s head made us think that it could fall over any minute.

We arrived in the mid-day heat, so after unpacking we made ourselves comfortable with a stash of Stuart Kaminsky detective novels that I found in a second-hand bookstore in South Africa. (These make for great reads, intertwined juicy tidbits about the ironic contradictions of life in cold-war Russia.) When it cooled down around 4pm we hiked up the backside of Spitzkoppe, our 12 year old shepherd trailing somewhat behind due to his weak hips. We made it about a third of the way to the top (anything further would have required ropes and a climbing guide), and the view was breathtaking. Looking down, our car looks like a tiny speck of white dust.

Although it almost never rains at Spitzkoppe, we found ourselves greeted around sundown by a cold wind and a wave of fog that rolled in from the coast, 100 kilometers (61 miles) away. Whereas we were practically roasting at mid-day, by nightfall we had donned every article of clothing we brought with us – and still we were freezing. Yet, this coastal moisture is what keeps the Namibian desert alive, though it is rare to be seen so far inland. Desert plants and animals survive by absorbing the cloud-like droplets that land on rocks and waxy leaves, coveting every last molecule as the precious life-source that it is.

We crawled early into our tent, but around midnight nature called and I awoke to find a clear sky and full moon. Night-time under a full-moon is my favorite time at Spitzkoppe, so the dogs and I took a stroll in the moonlight, marveling at the mysterious rock-silhouettes, the height of skyscrapers, which surrounded the narrow dirt road. Bernd got up a few hours later for the same reason, but unfortunately for him the fog had returned.

Allow a short digression: Like many small countries, Namibia makes gorgeous postage stamps and sells them to collectors world-wide as a much-coveted source of foreign income. Elsita started our Namibian collection, and Bernd has continued it: we now have every stamp and every first-day cover that this country has ever issued. (That sounds bigger than it sounds but remember, Namibia is only 18 years old.) At any rate, to mark the Millennium, Namibia issued a dual-set -- sunset and sunrise over the Spitzkoppe. What was a great choice!! Usually we are able to see both of these when we camp, but this morning, all we had left was a cool haze. We took a second hike and returned for a late breakfast. Then we had to leave in order to get home in time to cook for fifteen: tonight is our monthly gathering for the Saving Remnant students. We have a guest speaker – a refugee from Rwanda’s 1994 genocide – who will speak about how to keep hope alive in the face of unspeakable terrors.

Other updates: Many of you have asked about Sergio’s new mailing address. Although we know he is getting trained for the Transport Corps someplace in Missouri, we have no address for him at the moment. Nor does he seem to have frequent access to e-mail. Elsita spent a wonderful holiday in Copan, Honduras (see http://moremotion.blogspot.com) and plans to extend her time in Central America by an additional 4-6 months (through May 2009) in order to get in another growing season for the native corn on which she is experimenting. Bernd and I doing well -- juggling our work, my travel and a busy home-life. (We have also started gathering our old diaries onto a blog: check out http://namibiadiaries.blogspot.com. All of our friends and acquaintances in Africa feel totally convinced that Obama will win (I even saw Obama buttons and bumper stickers in Cape Town); we only hope that they are right.

Work-wise, Bernd is teaching four courses at the Polytechnic and has developed quite a following of students who specifically seek out his classes. I recently co-authored a small book with two Namibian memes (traditional women from the north) that teaches orphans living without adults what they need to know about caring for their property, saving and spending money, accessing local services, and parenting younger siblings. It’s a dreadful sign-of-our-times that our assistance to “child-headed households” has come down to a manual (even one that will be translated into the local languages). But soon the memes will begin leading workshops with the young people on these issues, and hopefully they can be linked – at a minimum – to caring neighbors and volunteers for additional support.

This week, too, Catholic AIDS Action (www.caa.org.na) celebrates its tenth anniversary. Who could have imagined a decade ago, when Sr. Dr. Raphaela Händler and I teamed up together, that this organization would become Namibia’s largest non-governmental provider of HIV-related services? But as an indication of just how distorted local thinking has become as a consequence of our donor-driven focus on HIV, a research study was recently launched in Namibia’s far north-eastern region after it was discovered that some local women in their fifties thought they had HIV, when in reality their complaints (heat-flashes, etc) were all menopause-related. HIV was the only disease they were being educated about, so naturally that’s what they thought their symptoms revealed!

Obviously, there is still a lot of work to be done. We wish you well, Lucy and Bernd