Today on Twitter there is an ongoing conversation about the possibility that philanthropy can be damaging or dangerous. To that I said yes. Too often I have seen charities which target a certain population but don’t empower them to ameliorate the problem themselves.
For example, back in the 80′s and 90′s we needed a lot of different types of charities to work with the growing problem of AIDS. Gay men really rallied and did an amazing job of setting up clinics, political action groups, housing, nursing, you name it and they helped build it with the help of the general population. Now AIDS has moved more into the women and children of color population, but I have sadly watched as the pre-existing places for gay men fight to stay funded.
They did their jobs and they did them well. But lots of people got salaries from those jobs, and there were lots of ED’s who don’t want to give up their salaries either. So they fight to stay relevant when they should help move the money to where the need is now salaries be damned.
I believe that if One Village Does its job right we will go out of business. And that’s my goal. If we empower enough people and help them spread what they learned to other villages, we shall have done our job and it will be time to pack up and go home.
We’re a Drinking Club with a Philanthropic Problem
Isn’t that a great phrase? Last week I spoke on a panel about Board Development and people were fascinated to hear that the oldest member of my Board is 37. How could a non-profit run with such young people at the helm? Wasn’t I uncomfortable with their youth? How could they bring in the big donors? And the answer lies in the title of this blog entry.
No “mature” board member would think up a title like that. No seasoned board member would come up with the idea of monthly get togethers at local hot spots where the young and hip hang out. Yet these young people are our future. And having fun, unstuffy, less expensive events spreads the word for One Village at a Time. We won’t make a ton of money with any one of these events, but we will by the time we’re through.
If we don’t involve the millenials (whose reputation has been besmirched with such shows as Girls) how do they grow up to have a Philanthropic Problem? And don’t we want them to have that problem?
And if you want to join us this month for our Event here’s the link. Hope to see you there: https://www.facebook.com/events/138903706273169/
BTW: That tag line was written by a 26 year old. Pretty Fabulous I think.
The snow falls gently to the ground this morning. Around the world today we gather to remember World AIDS Day. We think of those lost in the fight, yes, but also we are hopeful for those infected and affected. New meds make their lives longer and better. But still they must take poison each day to stay alive. And I salute their courage and spirit.
But this is a story of the World AIDS Day Miracle. And indeed when the clock struck midnight last night, I knew it had happened. At first I was in awe, and then I felt overwhelmed. So many people believe in what we do in Kenya. And so many wanted to make a difference.
It started with a Global Giving Challenge for us to get 40 new donors to donate to our project to keep girls in Kenya in school. Most of the girls are AIDS orphans. It started a month ago, and despite my tweeting and putting up updates on Facebook it wasn’t going too well. Then a board member contacted me Thursday and said, we really should try and win this one. I had 48 hours to get it done.
So the word went out. I tweeted and FB’d. I reached out to everyone I knew. I really thought it was a lost cause. But then Friday morning people started to really respond to my pleas. Donations came in and we were getting closer.
And now for the miracle. I went to High School almost 50 years ago. One of the alums put up a Facebook Page and we try and connect when we can. I haven’t seen my classmates in almost 50 years, but somehow they believed in me. Jill, who I must admit I don’t remember, kept donating. First she donated $270 for the first 27 girls. But she was concerned it didn’t cover enough girls. So then it was $190 and a frantic email to me, was it enough? Wow now she had covered 47 girls. And then I saw the names of several others of my friends from high school and the donations they made. I cried.
I truly never thought I was much in High School and surely never thought anyone believed in me. But there it was. People from all over the US were saying go and take care of these girls, and I will support you. And they thanked me for what I did and somehow by 12:30A.M a miracle happened. I knew that God has blessed this mission and that folks really believe and trust that what I do is worth it. And for me that is my miracle.
Mamma’s Going Home!
I woke this morning with such a longing for my beloved Kenya. I spoke to Miriam today. She’s one of our headteachers. I could hear the rain pounding on the corrugated metal roof. You cannot imagine the noise it makes. I could see the mud rivers flowing in the streets, feel the warm damp on my lips, smell the earth and I knew it was time to go home. I realize no matter what the risks I must go home. I can go through Nairobi or through Kampala. Dear Daniel has said if I must go through Kampala he will meet me there and escort me across the border, since walking across the border is dicey. There is something called No Man’s Land where neither country has ownership and that’s where it can be a bit hairy.Wow! I’m leaving in 8 weeks. Got it confirmed. My heart soars! I’m going home!!!
We are working on our fundraiser and it’s getting pretty exciting. So many incredible people lending their gifts and talents for the children of Nambale makes me know how blessed my life is. One of the folks does content for websites and he has suggested that I include this article I wrote last year.
Whenever I go over to Kenya packing is a challenge. I bring so many things I want the people to have, computers or other electronics. The problem is always the customs folks. They usually have to take something or go through all my things. Being the seasoned traveler that I am I’ve got it nailed. And now I give you Rainbow Condoms
This is my last post before I disappear into the mud and
laughter. I have just finished packing my bags. I have
learned over the years how to pack for Kenya since
anything you want someone to truly get you have to
bring them. I am bringing mostly books, but for the
fellow who is my videographer I am bringing him a
good deal of electronics. Computer, external disk drive,
speakers and cameras. Now that’s yummy yummy time
for the customs folks. So how do I get around it, why
rainbow condoms of course! Because I am an AIDS
trainer as well, I always carry sacks of condoms and
black penises for demonstration. I don’t hide these
things, as a matter of fact I make sure that they are right
on top. Then when they ask if they can open my
suitcase I encourage them to do so, but to be careful
since some of the things I am carrying might embarrass
them. It works every time.
Usually I also announce in my best Swahili that they
should feel free to help themselves because there is
such a terrible epidemic in Kenya.Yeah, works every
time. So let’s hear it for rainbow condoms and the joys
of trying to do one’s mission while outfoxing the foxes.
I’ll write when I get back. Promise.
Those of you who follow this blog know I am nothing if not honest and right out there. It is a week until I depart and I must say I have very mixed feelings. My body still aches all over; my knee is not fully recovered nor is my ankle. I think of the long ride across the Rift and the walking in the endless heat to see the women’s businesses and my heart sinks a bit. Will I make it this time?
I am going back with a different cargo this time. I am not bringing medications, but school supplies and panties. Monica and I agreed last time that what the children needed more than sweets once they performed is a pencil or pen. So it’s pencils, pens and panties.
Walmart and I seem to be having a problem communicating. I have ordered the 500 pairs of panties from them several times. But somehow the order never goes through. I was sure I had it the last time, but when I went to their site I see that the cart is still full. So now it’s a trip to Walmart to actually buy the panties and the pencil sharpeners. I guess I’ll do that on the weekend since I’m working a full week.
The problem is that even carrying things hurts, and climbing up all my steps to pack the bags seems somewhat insurmountable. I am reminded of what my pastor once said when a man came up to him and asked, “How do you know if you’re doing what God wants?”
Scott thought for a minute and said, “Have you ever heard what God wanted from you? “ and the man said, “Yes but that was a while ago”. So Scott said, “Until you hear different I suggest you keep doing what you’re doing.”
And I haven’t heard a word from God yet about not going, so I guess I better keep doing what I’m doing.
Summer has sped by with the haste that those of us over 60 know well. What used to take months now seems to take only minutes and bang here we are in the fall.
I am readying for my return to Kenya. I am finally 85%mobile, though I wish it were better. Maybe the extra 15% will return when I am back in Kisumu. After all they kind of owe me that.
I realized that it has been 10 years since I first stepped onto African Shores. 10 years since I gave my heart to a continent I swore I would never visit. My heart pumps a little faster as I think of my return. Preparations now are so easy, compared to the first few times. I will purchase the last of the underpants for the girls tomorrow and start packing after Labor Day.
What makes me sad, though, is that nothing has changed in the 10 years since I started going to Kenya. Today, twitter abounded with stories of pre-election violence. Yes it’s in the northeast part of Kenya, not down in western where I work., yet it wouldn’t take much for it to cross the country like the Ebola a few miles from our project.
I am not a famous sociologist (nor do I play one on T.V). It seems to me, though, that the biggest part of the graft, violence, and corruption comes from the tribal mentality of the people. The people I work with will deny it, but I hear them talk. I know their distrust for another tribe. They don’t think I understand as much Swahili as I do. I’m just the white girl sitting quietly in the car.
I know that a couple tribes got all the good land, and that others have to eke out a living in almost impossible circumstances. I know that the hatred runs so deep, that no matter where your tribal lands are, your machete is close by and ready to hack someone to death because of some insult. I know that Kenya will blow again during this election.
I often tell clients that it’s important to know what you know. You don’t have to like what you know, but you need to know what you know. So I’m going in September and not in the winter at the beginning of the school year. I don’t want to see it again and I pray I don’t get frantic emails or calls from friends stuck hiding in the maize fields trying to stay alive while swarms of enemy tribes hunt them down.
So I return for my 10th anniversary. I look forward to seeing my friends, and the children and the hoped for progress. Unfortunately I know what I know, and in 6 months some of them may not be alive because of tribal hatred.
I wrote this 2 days ago and this appeared in today’s paper “The Nation:. http://www.nation.co.ke/News/I+saw+gang+kill+my+11+children+and+wife/-/1056/1486700/-/bmlsj0/-/index.html
Sometimes I don’t write for a while because things are quiet and I don’t have any updates. Today, unfortunately I do. Anyone who has been part of social media over the past couple of weeks knows about the Chick-Fil-A fiasco. But for those of you hiding under a rock, the Chairman of the company denounced homosexuality in the strongest of terms. This resulted in many tweets, much support from companies large and small decrying such words and such a stance. A couple of days ago there was even a “kiss in” to object to the policy of Chick-Fil-A.
Now they don’t call me Mothermadrigal as well as MamaOVAAT for nothing. Most of you readers are way too young to know who Mothermadrigal was. (From the Books Tales of the City by Armistad Mauphin). I carry this name with honor and have always believed it is not who you love but how you love that is important. So you’re asking just what does this have to do with One Village at a Time? A great deal frankly.
It was with enormous sorrow that I read this post on Facebook from a friend in Nairobi. And I am putting it up verbatim:
“A colleague of mine, David Kato, was murdered after the Chick-Fil-A-supported Family Research Council came to Uganda preaching their message of hate. CFA is entitled to fund this and you are entitled to give them more money to spend on it, but you should also own the direct connection between those actions. A couple of weeks before he was killed, David sat in a human rights meeting and begged us for help. He knew the danger he faced upon his return to Uganda. His plea brought me to tears but I was unable to protect him. But what really saddens me is to see the posts from some of you that indicate your support for this overt hatred.”
Whether you know it or not homosexuality is punishable by death in some African countries. Kenya has only recently revoked the death penalty for homosexuality, though it still remains a crime. And in Uganda which is a few miles across the border from where I work, people are murdered for it.
So I cry out and hope some of you are paying attention. The policy of Chick-Fil-A is worldwide and it lead to a man’s death. Their profits are going to support the Death to Gays Bill in Uganda. So tonight I am sad. I am sad for a group of people who would want to kill others for what they do in private. I am sad because it will make so many young people hide, make treating HIV all the more difficult, and lead to a lot of deaths.
Tonight I will go up on my roof deck and light a candle and let it shine for David’s life and for the lives of that are lost through hatred. Maybe you’ll light one too.
Here’s the link for the full article: http://thenewcivilrightsmovement.com/chick-fil-a-profits-are-supporting-ugandas-kill-the-gays-bill/politics/2012/08/01/45430
While we filled our glasses with wine, the children were dying. While we ate our bellies full, the floods were raging. While we raised a lot of money for One Village at a time, people were drowning and the rivers and Lake Victoria continues to sweep entire villages away.
I can’t make sense of all this. Harambee this year was the best ever. And we danced and laughed and showed photos of the children we help. Our committee was all shiny and did an amazing job. The music was spectacular. But, Back in Kenya, 3 children died as they were swept down river. Livestock lost, crops are lost. Why?
Often people will ask me why there are bad people in the world, or do I believe that God created misery. Usually I can say no that is the creation of man. But the floods, God, You’re famous for this. And I wonder whether we can ever help the children and villagers out of the muck. Are You testing my resolve? Was it not enough that it shall take me 8 months to recover from last time? Of course I’m going back, but really, can you give my people a break?
How do I reconcile the life here in Boston to the misery of what is happening now in my districts in Kenya? How do I even attempt to explain to people that where I work, villagers went to bed and during the night their homes were swept away, and their children lost? It’s not like Katrina; this is something that happens every year.
I wanted to write a really upbeat article about Harambee, but I always check the Nation just to give you all an update on Kenya. And today my heart sunk as I saw the tragedy unfold in words and photos. I am so grateful for everyone who did such an awesome job, but God, it’s going to be hard to pray to You tonight. I need You to explain this one to me.
I know that most countries are born of blood. No one cedes territory easily. I guess the French were happy to get paid for Louisiana, but by and large it’s fought over and someone wins. The war in South Sudan breaks my heart. For so long the north and the south have been fighting, and last summer it looked like South Sudan, the newest country in the world would make it.
Being the realist that I am, I didn’t really think they were going to break from the North without bloodshed. I’ve seen people slaughtered in Africa over tribal issues. This isn’t even just tribal: it’s oil. Yeah, goopy, precious oil that the South has. The North, though, has the pipelines and the military. A situation poised for a showdown.
Wherever there are valuable resources in the poverty stricken countries of Africa some do very, very well. But the farmer, the pastoralist, the small businesswoman selling tomatoes or beans on the side of the road, the child chasing a chicken in the middle of the road, these are the ones slaughtered in the fight over the resources. Today’s Washington Post has some particularly poignant photos of the South Sudanese caught in caves, hiding from the bombs and planes flying overhead. I am glad that I can read an American paper that talks about this tragedy. Usually I have to go to an African one. I have put a link to them at the bottom of this blog.
I write today out of sorrow, out of frustration, out a question when or why. I have promised to be only a raindrop and do the small thing that I do, but when do we evolve upwards towards a better being. A patient of mine asked me a similar question today and I tried to answer it. Frankly, I don’t know. I wonder about folks like me, whether indeed we make a difference. I wonder if we shall ever stop fighting over our God, our tribe, our best interests, our resources. And I wonder if anyone cares about the innocents caught in the crossfire. If you do, leave me a note. Let me know what you think. Where to next?
Few people get the chances I do. Or maybe few people take the chances I do. I suspect it’s some of both. I was 55 when life turned me around. I accepted an invitation to an AIDS conference in Addis Ababa. I’d never been to Africa nor knew anyone who was going, but somehow it seemed l like a good idea. I have written volumes about that on this blog. You can check the history if you’re so inclined. That’s not the deal.
After going once, I said yes to a second trip to Africa to see what I could do to help. Is that arrogance, perhaps. But I truly felt that it was a calling, and I couldn’t say no. One Village at a Time was born that fall of 2002 and it has grown and changed so much. Most of all I have changed so much because I said yes.
I was listening to a friend complain yesterday about something that displeased her. And I said to her it was about time she accepted the fact that that the world wasn’t always nay seldom going to perform the way she wanted it to. The universe doesn’t ask our opinion on how it’s doing. It’s just something I know now. There is a sense of peace and purpose in my life. Africa did that for me. It held up a beautiful ,cruel universe and beckoned me to try my hand. And every time I return, I feel as if I am recapturing the piece of my heart I left waiting for me.
This week the board reviewed my medical expenses from the last trip. And they are not small what with the broken leg, pt, the surgery for the knee and more pt. They are not upset about the monetary cost. Their concerns are about how I can stay safer. Should I double the bodyguards? Are there places I shouldn’t travel? I know it is because they care about me but they are so young. I am old enough to be mother to every one of them.
Their lives are in the beginning stages of jobs and marriages and loves and dating. They don’t understand purpose the way I do. I have reared my family and thankfully my daughters understand that I must do this. They’ve known about the “when I die” file for a long time. I love the careers I have had, but nothing compares to what I do now. Not even the grandchildren, though I love them dearly.
So I shall not stay safe. I read this morning that the US has warned Kenya that terrorists are in the final plans for staging some atrocity. I hope my board doesn’t see it, but even if they do, as soon as I am walking again, I am ready to go back. Along with grace and acceptance I am lucky enough not to be afraid anymore. I’m not afraid of what people say, or even what will happen to me. I know in my soul that I will do this until it is time to stop. And that is up to God. So I go because…
(Newspaper article about the plot: http://www.nation.co.ke/News/US+embassy+warns+of+fresh+Nairobi+attacks/-/1056/1392164/-/i0s5ohz/
can be damaging or dangerous. To that I said yes. Too often I have seen charities which target a certain population but don’t empower them to ameliorate the problem themselves.
