240: Countdown: Forty Days to Go

Every day our friends ask us if we're excited about leaving for our round-the world trip next month. The truth is that we're exhausted. I don't know how it's possible that our “To-Do” list still keep growing, but it does. And then there are all the good-byes we have to squeeze in – very gratifying but they tug at our heartstrings. Even though we plan to come back next year for at least several weeks, it’s hard to leave a country – and the people – we’ve come to love.

Nevertheless, the logistics of leaving are well underway. We conducted a sample packing and were able to stuff everything into two big suitcases, two small back-packs, and a carry-on. Former students Lydia and Pandu will move into our home next week (they’re the couple who got married in Namibia Diary #222) and their baby (!!!) should arrive before we leave. Our dogs will also get a new home, though I dread saying good- bye to them as much as to our human-friends.

A couple days ago Bernd and I went in search of elephants one last time. We found them at a watering hole at night, shortly after watching two lions mate and also seeing rhino, giraffe and assorted other mammals and birds. (We splurged for our 30th wedding anniversary and stayed at a new game-farm

that is larger than the countries of Lichtenstein and Andorra combined.) Still ahead of us is one last visit to Gobabeb, the desert- based research center where Elsita works. She also has exciting news: The faculty at Israel’s Ben Gurion University have invited her to join their Master’s Degree program in Desert Ecology, starting in October.

Unfortunately, we won’t get to see Sergio before our departure. He remains in Japan and is unable to take home-leave.

USEFUL INFORMATION YOU PROBABLY DIDN’T KNOW:

Question: Do you know how to tell the difference between the way male and female elephants leave their poop?

Answer: Males poop in a row, while walking. Females stop, poop in more-or-less one place, and add urine. (No kidding! I also bet if they had toilet seats they would also put down the rim.)

Meanwhile, we are still heavily engaged at our work. Bernd finishes teaching at the Polytechnic in a couple weeksand still plans an 8-day hike with Elsita and her friends (see Namibia Diaries #132 for the route). And starting later today, I must still travel for three-weeks to Zambia for the Stephen Lewis Foundation and also finish up writing two life-skills curricula for youth.

Training at Osire Refugee Camp

One of the curricula I’m writing led to an interesting experience last week. In order to pre-test it, I had arranged a five-day workshop at Namibia’s Osire Refugee Camp, about 3 hours from Windhoek on the edge of the Kalahari. Since the curriculum is designed for use in many countries (to be published by Strategies for Hope – www.stratshope.org), the multi-ethnic composition of the Refugee Camp made for a good fit. Moreover, all the youngsters (ages 11-15) spoke good English -- thanks to the presence of an English-medium government primary school on-site.

About 7000 people live at the Camp, mostly from Angola, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Rwanda and Burundi. Many of the young people, like the student Sofiana who moved in with us eighteen months ago, have lived there most of their lives. The place is like a massive low-security prison, completely surrounded by a high-wire fence -- albeit with dozens of churches, several mosques, a makeshift market, a health clinic, a library, school, and a large police station inside.

Although everyone living at the Camp has been found by the U.N. High Commission for Refugees to have a “well- founded fear of persecution” (which theoretically allows them to stay at the Camp indefinitely), the Namibian government doesn’t like the fact that the services to which they are entitled cost a lot of money (i.e. the school, health-clinic, police, etc), and the government wants them to go home as soon as possible. Thus, they keep things uncomfortable by reducing food subsidies to a minimum and disallowing electricity and running water except in a few public buildings. Families must also construct their own homes and latrines from mud-bricks and straw, and find their own way to make a living. Most supplement their diet by coaxing vegetables, beans and maize out of the meager soil. Others engage in buying and selling, as even cracked pots and worn-down clothing have value in this forsaken place.

Several good-Samaritan Non-Governmental Organizations try to make life reasonable by offering English-language classes, income-generating activities, theology training and youth-programs. This is how I slipped in, although I was still required to get a Government permit for entry. Fortunately, I had been to the Camp several times before and I already had a good relationship with Gabriel Sehenu, the volunteer Coordinator of the Osire Boys’ and Girls’ Clubs (himself a refugee from the DRC and a teacher in the Camp’s school). Together we recruited nineteen youngsters, met with their legal guardians, and subsequently held three two-hour sessions every day for an entire week in order to test and revise the curriculum.

The kids were great! The curriculum includes a lot of games, drawing and role-plays, so we could have lots of fun together. Gabriel and I addressed issues of sex and sexuality, how to solve problems, good study-habits, self- esteem, “Who is my Hero?”, “What is Love?,” HIV & AIDS, and issues of addiction and alcohol abuse. While I got lots of tips about how improve the curriculum, overall the workshop was a great success. By the second day, our anonymous Question-Box was filled with 23 questions that the participants wanted us to talk about – everything from menstruation to career guidance -- and that meant staying until very late each afternoon. But nobody minded.

I also became “mother confessor” to a few of the girls who sought my advice on personal issues. Most concerning was an incredibly bright and articulate 14- year-old named Rosa who told me on the third day that I was “the first adult to know” that she is pregnant, based on a Clinic-test she took a few days before. Oh, my heart broke as I felt her dreams just crumble to bits in my fingers!

Over the next few days, Rosa and I spent several hours talking things through. Rosa has been motherless since the age of five – and has been living alone for the last three years since her father moved in with a new girlfriend. (Tragically, there are quite a few child- headed households in the Camp.) She told me that she didn’t want an abortion --which would be illegal anyway, given Namibian law -- because her only sibling had died from a botched abortion three years ago. Rosa also said that her 17-year old boyfriend admits his role, but he is scared of his parents’ reaction and refuses to talk to them about it. No wonder this girl is feeling lost, lonely and vulnerable!

I tried to help Rosa put her new-found problem-solving skills into practice: Define the Challenge; Identify the Choices; Think through the Consequences; and then Make the best Decision... Unfortunately, the Camp contains very few resources with which to assist, as I’m told

this type of story repeats itself almost every week. Above all, Rosa and I decided that she must try to stay in school to finish her basic education. By the end of the week, she agreed to tell Gabriel about her situation and he said he would help with the school authorities. But how will she support herself and her baby? Who can help guide her through the tough times ahead?

Driving back to Windhoek after the training, I wondered if I could do more if we stayed longer in Namibia. The answer is, “Not easily.” Once I am physically away from the Camp, my only linkage can be through Gabriel. He has received some training in counseling and wants to learn more. So Bernd and I agreed we would try to help him with his goals and he, in turn, said he will do what little he can for Rosa...

Yours truly, Lucy

239: What continent is this?

For the last three years, the World Council of Churches had been planning a regional meeting in Madagascar to support the efforts of local churches dealing with HIV and AIDS. Finally, it happened. Our small plane left Johannesburg, crossed over Mozambique and the Indian Ocean, and graced over rocky outcrops and luscious green rice fields until it landed in Antananarivo, Madagascar’s capital. Very few tourists have come to this island since last year’s military coup, so in February the country cancelled all visa fees and now gives every new visitor an informational booklet on the history of Madagascar’s lunar calendar (which is Arabic in origin). Does the government really think these gestures will persuade tourists to start coming again?

An international city – in a time warp

Unfortunately, I could only stay less than one week. But what an amazing experience! Antananarivo is one of very few historic capitals that lie neither on the ocean nor on a major river. Instead, it is located in the middle of the country, perched on hilly outcrops about a mile above sea level. There are 2 million inhabitants and not a single traffic light. Not one!

The traffic is terrible, as you can imagine. But I enjoyed looking at the proliferation of cars from the 1950s, which gives a feel of Old Havana – albeit with a French overlay. Most cars are rattling Renault 4s and 2-horsepower Citroens, which are used as taxis.

Old buildings line the streets, with sloping tiled roofs, tiny wood-shuttered windows and small balconies where people hang out their laundry to dry. None of the structures seemed quite straight, least of all the narrow outdoor staircases that lead one to the second floor or up the steep hillsides of the city. Looking at these scenes, I was reminded of old Moldova or parts of Eastern Europe fifty years ago. Yet the street signs are all in Malagasy and French. And, given Madagascar’s history as a former French Colony, our meals invariably included croissants every morning and French wines at night.

Perhaps because I knew so little about Madagascar, I never expected the city’s residential and business areas to be so crowded. People’s homes and shops are squeezed into tiny spaces in between flower-potted gardens, polluted canals and sour-smelling garbage heaps. Most surprisingly, however, the flat areas that surround the city’s hills consist mostly of rice paddies. In the middle of the city! Sadly, however, the paddies are becoming less productive every year, as an epidemic of hyacinths choke out the oxygen in the stagnant water. Seemingly, no one knows how to get rid of this invasive plant. (The same has happened in the Chesapeake River outside Washington, I understand.) A number of local farmers try to induce their cattle into the water to eat the hyacinths, but with little success.

These scenes and my interactions with the Malagasy people transported me even farther afield -- to Asia. Most people look Polynesian and they speak a local language that resembles a Papua New Guinea dialect. (The photo of me is with Rev. Vololona Randriamanantena – a descendent of Malagasy royalty and coordinator of the World Council of Churches’ efforts in the country.) What little you see of new construction is almost entirely financed by Chinese banks using Chinese labor, and in my Chinese hotel nobody even bothered to translate the instructions from Chinese on how to operate the TV or telephone. Over and over during this trip, I kept pinching my arm to remember what continent I was in.

The two sides of HIV in Madagascar

But of course, we came to focus on the HIV situation. Coming from other southern-African countries that have the highest HIV-prevalence rates in the world (for example, Namibia’s adult population is 18% HIV-positive ), once again Madagascar blew me away. The national prevalence rate in Madagascar is less than a half-a-percent – far less than in Washington D.C. (at 3%) or the United States as a whole (close to 1%).

What is Madagascar’s secret to success?

If you answered “its isolation” you are probably correct. But it’s not only that Madagascar is an island, far away from Africa’s mainland. Even within the country people don’t move around a lot due to the country’s miserable road network. So the normal patterns by which disease is spread don’t apply here.

Moreover, when people do travel, it often means that they are looking for work outside Madagascar and, because of language issues, that usually means going to Mauritius or France or West Africa where the HIV prevalence is much lower. Finally, you may be aware that male circumcision reduces the likelihood for HIV infection by 60%. And, despite the fact that Madagascar is mostly Christian, virtually all Malagasy boys get circumcised by the age of two. It’s not a foolproof solution (as Jewish and Muslim men with HIV can sadly testify), but it certainly helps.

Unfortunately, the downside to this low prevalence rate is that for those Malagasy citizens who do happen to be HIV positive, the stigma and discrimination issues are awful and overwhelming. Most people living with HIV are afraid to tell their employers or even their family members that they carry the HIV virus for fear that they will be thrown of their jobs and homes. Clinics and support organizations for HIV-positive people are few and far between, and also very difficult to find. (The desire for anonymity keeps them hidden, without any public outreach.) The churches have a big role to play in breaking down stigma and discrimination, and from what we could see many are trying their best.

We visited a number of HIV/AIDS clinics and support groups. Interestingly most of the people living with HIV whom we met were men, while worldwide the disease predominantly affects women. Is this because of the relatively more-accepted practice of men-having-sex-with-men in Madagascar? I can only guess. So much on this island remains a mystery – and not only to me.

Lemurs are best!

Of course, no trip to Madagascar is complete without taking in some other unique aspects – specifically, some of the country’s 16 surviving species of lemur. Our natural history guide was named “Good-smelling,” which I thought bode well for our adventure.

Lemurs are the world’s earliest prehensile mammals, maternal in their social structure, and generally living in groups. They are primarily vegetarian and females always eat first. A night, lemurs sleep in a circle, with the males forming a protective ring around the females. They are naturally curious creatures, their round eyes staring at you intensely like Namibian bush-babies. Tragically, a loss of habitat has endangered many lemur species (15 are already extinct). We saw them in the zoo, in an open reserve. I would have loved to visit their natural habitat. Yet even here, I could have watched them for hours.

Madagascar is not on our world-trip itinerary but I hope I can come back one day. To end, here is a wonderful local proverb that I learned during my stay:

Let your love be like the misty rain,

coming softly but flooding the river.

...............(Madagascar)

238: The constancy of change

Three years ago I first visited MWEDO, The Maasai Women’s Development Organization in Tanzania. Leaving Arusha in Northern Tanzania, we spent an entire day driving over rough tracks to reach a group of Traditional Birth Attendants who had received training in basic health, hygiene and HIV/AIDS, thanks to support from the Stephen Lewis Foundation. At the time, my efforts were rewarded with a warm welcome by my age-mates (women of similar years) who dressed me as a local Maasai and told me – through translation – how much their training increased their knowledge and the respect they receive from other villagers. (To my left in the photograph is the mother of MWEDO’s founding director, Ndinini Kimesera Sikar, who was taken out of the village as a young child to receive an education, and is now a world-famous champion for women’s rights.)

On this trip, I learned that MWEDO (www.maasaiwomentanzania.org) has expanded its work in six districts, where it now empowers thousands of women through various income generating activities, advocacy over land-rights, and follow-up training with the Traditional Birth Attendants. They also involve young men as peer-educators, as these men often travel to the towns and cities looking for work and are therefore most-at-risk for bringing the HIV-virus back home to the rural areas. I visited three villages to ask about these experiences and find out what the participants had learned.







The work has been extraordinary, but some questions still remain. As Ndinini and I sat under a tree, one young man challenged me: “We learned how to
use condoms, but were told you could still get infected (with the HIV virus). So why should we bother with them?” Ndinini had already warned me against speaking directly about sex in this culture, but I sensed this question was a test. How I answered could determine the way this community continues to accept training by the Stephen Lewis Foundation. I thought carefully before responding, and then looked up at the new road that was under construction about two hundred meters from where we were sitting.

“You know, if you cross that road, the danger always exists that you could get hit by a truck,” I said. “In order to avoid that danger altogether completely, you have to stay on this side of the road. But if you want to cross the road, then you should reduce the chance of getting hit by a truck as much as you can. So you must look both ways to make sure it is safe and then you walk across very quickly. Well, it’s the same with the condom. There are things you can do to avoid getting hit as much as possible.”

I held my breath and looked at Ndinini who smiled. The young man said he understood and was satisfied. Then the women followed with stories and questions of their own, mostly related to and about HIV-testing and care. Before the Training, they said, it used to be their custom to share razors when shaving each other’s heads (a traditional sign of beauty). But now they realize this habit could spread the HIV infection. So they are teaching each woman to keep her own razor. As Traditional Birth Attendants, these women also know that if a pregnant woman is infected with HIV, she should go to the doctor to get certain drugs that can reduce the transmission of HIV from mother to child. As further protection, the pregnant woman should give birth in a health clinic, rather than in the bush. But Maasai women are used to giving birth in a squatting position, these women explained, while the clinics require you to lie down on your back. Could we do something to change that?

The truth is, I’m not sure how much can be done but I wish all organizations would pose challenges like this one. By contrast, I found out that another organization I had waxed eloquent about in 2006 (that was founded by two volunteer-doctors) has gone down the tubes. Fortunately it was the exception: Ruined by external funding and the lack of administrative know-how, though very little money was lost.







Where to next? I have a meeting next week in Madagascar, followed by consulting work for Family Health International. I’ll be back in time for Passover and an Easter-weekend trip with Bernd to see elephants, and then I head to Malawi for more work. Meanwhile, however, our “to-do” list for the Big Trip seems to be growing longer rather than shorter.

We’ve started to figure out what we should pack and what we should leave behind. I’m reminded of a jewellery-bedecked saleswoman I met in January at Chico’s (one of my favorite stores in the U.S.) when I was looking for a wrinkle-free blouse that I could use as an all-purpose “dress-up” outfit on the trip. The poor woman’s eyes popped out when I told her why I was being so fussy about what to buy. “How do you pack for a whole year?” she sputtered. Now, I’m beginning to wonder myself.

Nevertheless, we are making progress. This past week, Bernd and I went to hear a local speaker who had travelled around the world for fourteen months, albeit mostly as a beach bum -- not our style. He re-enforced two very important concepts, however: First, that in order to be truly open to new experiences, you have to detach yourself from the parts of your life that don’t matter so much. Second, don’t try to plan everything ahead of time because that doesn’t work anyway. (As an inveterate planner, this last bit of advice hit home. I have promised myself to try to hang loose on some of the details, for example waiting until we get settled in one country in order to decide what to do in the next.)

We still hope we’ll get to see Sergio before we leave in June, but aren’t sure. He remains in Okinawa and has turned his body into a canvass for the tattoos he designs. This latest photo includes one of his beloved guitars. (Appreciating this artiness is also a test – we’re okay with the picture but wonder what it will be like in-person.) Elsita’s future is also unclear at the moment: she didn’t get into the graduate schools she wanted and now wonders: Should she stay in Africa longer, move back to the USA with her friends and look for a job, or apply to Ben Gurion University in Israel for a Master’s Degree in Desert Ecology? (All three options have pros and cons. See her below at work in the laboratory - www.gobabebtrc.org.)

Bernd is teaching a course in Cryptography for the first time and really enjoying it. After six weeks of agony and applications to every tertiary-level course we could find, Sofiana (the Angolan refugee who lives with us) got into a 2-year diploma course in Accounting at the University of Namibia and is thrilled. She hopes for on-campus accommodation next term, but will continue commuting from our home in the interim.









(The photo of President Bush was taken during his visit to MWEDO in 2008, kissing a tall Maasai woman. I think it’s a hoot!) As a final note, yesterday I was interviewed by Namibia’s Anti-Corruption Commission based on some non-profit work I am doing (where the director was being investigated), but happily it was all a false alarm – motivated by party-politics and another Board member’s vindictive nature. I wish all disputes could be ironed out this easily!

237: Transitioning

One thing we’ve recently learned is that airlines can only book you 330 days in advance. Under normal circumstances that shouldn’t be a problem, but when you want to plan a year-long-trip around the world that basically means you can’t – at least, not all at once.

With our plan to leave Namibia in late June (2010), we ran straight into the World Soccer Cup tournament in South Africa. Already, there are no seats available in or out of Johannesburg (our major transit-airport). We’re reminded of the First Lesson in Travel – “Be flexible!” Our apologies to the environment, as we’re forced to take more airline flights than anticipated in order to bypass the soccer-glut. Already, we are promising to plant lots of trees somewhere along the route, maybe while in Belize.

Many people have asked for our itinerary. Some of our choices may strike you as odd. One factor was that we are trying to maintain an affordable budget by averaging all the costs, meaning that every big splurge has to be countered by cheap nights back-packing or bunking on the floor of friends. (Thanks to all of you who have offered!) Had our budget been higher, we would have included Terre del Fuego (Chile) and New Zealand, but then again, we’ve got to leave something for next time.

Our first six months features nine main stops:

• The ten day Dingle Walk in Western Ireland – 15 miles a day but with good Irish pub-music at night and a B & B at each stop. (The best part is that someone else will transport our luggage from place to place.) www.walkinghikingireland.com
• A wedding in North Carolina and some “legal business” in Washington. More on that below.
• Relaxation in Cape Breton and Quebec, touring with Steinitz relatives from Nova Scotia
• Three months’ volunteer work and learning all about orchids at the Belize Botanic Garden. www.belizebotanic.org
• Three weeks’ one-on-one Spanish lessons in Granada, Nicaragua, including a home-stay. www.1on1tutoring.net
• The tour-of-a-lifetime (aka “the Bribe” to get Bernd to agree to come on this trip) – 17 days to the Antarctic Peninsula, South Georgia Islands, and the Falklands/Malvinas. Penguins and icebergs galore! www.quarkexpeditions.com
• Two weeks in southern Peru and northern Bolivia, operating out of Cuzco, Peru
• Two weeks with cousin Anita Steinitz in and around Quito, Ecuador
• Ten days back in the USA with friends in Arizona, including a hike down and up the Grand Canyon

The Pacific (Australia) and Asia (Cambodia and India) fall to the second six months.







Now for the glitch.

When we landed at Dulles Airport last December 31 for a brief vacation, Bernd and I found ourselves hauled off to a “little dark room” at Immigration because he had broken the rules of his US Permanent Residency by staying out of the country too long. Essentially, Permanent Residents are not allowed to leave the US for more than six months at a time without giving up the privilege, the consequences of which could block Bernd from Medicare and a whole series of other US benefits.

Whoever wrote those rules obviously didn’t understand modern principles of globalization, but the bottom line is that we had to hire an immigration attorney plus pledge that we’ll return to the USA permanently as soon as possible – thus answering the “what next” question for both of us. (So much for my fantasies of another Namibia-like experience in a far-off Shangri-la after the world-tour.)

Fortunately, our round-the-world itinerary calls for another US stopover in July for our friends’ son’s wedding, by which time we hope the worst of our legal problems will be solved. Bernd also plans to take the Graduate Record Exams in July (ha! ha!), just like Elsita did a few months ago -- in his case for a possible Master’s Degree in Philosophy at the University of Maryland starting in August 2011. Hooray for him! Don’t ask me what I will be doing when we eventually return to the US to live because I haven’t a clue, the one advantage being that this leaves me open to any ideas you and others might have.

Of course, under these difficult legal circumstances we were especially delighted by the warm welcome we received last month by friends in Washington and beyond, and we loved walking around on the newfangled aluminum snowshoes that have replaced the Native American tennis-rackets that were used for the same purpose in the past. (See photo. I bet you East-coasters wish you had some now!) You can also imagine how relieved I am that Bernd likes the hundred-year-old colonial row house I bought in his absence eighteen months ago in the Petworth neighborhood of Washington (off North Capitol Street). It’s now under two feet of snow like everything else in the District, but has a lot of storage space and a guest-room downstairs for anticipated visitors. (You, included!)








Despite our efforts to look forward, we know that the hardest thing about leaving Namibia will be saying good-bye to the students we sponsor. Some we’ll miss like second sons and daughters.

Most of the young people are doing extremely well, and we cluck with pride at their achievements. As of December last year, half of them have graduated and are either working or continuing their studies or both. And by this time next year, all but three (out of 14) should have finished their undergraduate degrees. Unfortunately, Catholic AIDS Action’s main donor for the program has “moved on to other things” so they can’t take on new students – which is probably another sign for us to also move on in our lives.

That said, four of the students will stay in our house while we are gone – free rent and a subsidy in return for taking care of our dogs and personal belongings. But it still won’t be easy for them or for us, as we know how much personal turmoil many of these young people face despite our support. Thus, we recently spent about two weeks running interference for one orphaned student who faced a possible diagnosis of cancer (still not completely resolved). Two other students had sisters who died of HIV over the December holidays and left very-young children without proper care. Mostly, I try not to think about the welfare of these newly orphaned babies because it just makes me crazy, knowing how little attention the extended families are giving to their needs.







And the list goes on.

Over Christmas, our beloved Helvi learned that her 91-year-old grandmother (who raised her) had been physically abused by an aunt who wants to inherit the grandmother’s shamba (small land-holding). With this news, we had to move quickly: I made a quick study of will-writing and the laws governing protection in Namibia, and with the help of both the local Headman (the traditional Chief’s appointee) and the Namibian Police, Helvi got a restraining order against the aunt and the Headman endorsed the grandmother’s wish that Helvi should inherit the land instead. But the worry continues, as the aunt left her teenage son behind for the grandmother to care-for – nothing less than an “up-yours” retribution by the aunt for chasing her off the property.

On a completely different issue, the Polytechnic of Namibia recently changed their admissions criteria, which meant that Sofiana (the Angolan refugee who lives with us) didn’t meet the admissions requirements for a second year in a row – even though she would have sailed in under the old rules without any problems. Poor Sofiana has been feeling so hopeless that Bernd and I felt we needed a full-time psychiatrist on-hand, even as we desperately search-out every alternate option we can, in order to avoid her returning to the Refugee Camp with nothing to do.

It’s these situations that make us feel how fortunate our own family has been, to have had so many more opportunities and support-systems available. Within that context, we are glad to report that Elsita and Sergio are fine – both in a holding pattern until Sergio’s Japan-based assignment finishes in six months and Elsita finds out about the graduate schools to which she has applied. Two weekends ago Bernd and I visited Elsita at the Gobabeb research and training center – see photos, including one with Lucas and a Wilwitchia plant, the oldest living plant in the world. And yesterday we took Helvi on a hike over rough terrain in a nearby National Park – practicing for our big trip. The highlight was seeing a herd of 23 oryx (see photo), which has got to be the most beautiful animal ever born.








On a final note, I’m glad to call your attention to the link below for a copy of a book I worked on for two years at Family Health International – my swan song, now that I’m leaving. It has received excellent reviews and we’re hoping it can help many programs worldwide, even in Haiti where so much of the country must be rebuilt. Feel free to download the book and circulate it to others.

http://www.fhi.org/en/HIVAIDS/pub/guide/res_The_Way_We_Care.htm

We wish the snow-diggers along the East Coast all the best, and we’ll stay in touch,

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.

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.