I am also readying for the naming ceremony of my latest grandchild. I am looking at Shel Silverstein poems to read and I am remembering my own children when they began a new year at school. How privileged they were. Not only did they have entire new wardrobes, but they went to private schools and private universities. Health concerns or food were never even thought of. Their father was a doctor at Man’s Best Hospital, and their mother was a great cook who could go to the store and buy whatever she felt like cooking paying no heed to sales or limits.  

For me, it is trying to get the world I knew to know the world I know now. I just read Bill Gates letter for the Davos Convention. It’s really good (and I don’t like him very much). He has a bully pulpit and tons of money to get his ideas out. I no longer live that other life, and getting people to care about starving children continents away is a challenge. So tonight I think about all my children, the ones that I bore, the ones my daughters bore and all the ones over in Kenya. How do I meld the worlds and make the one that needs it the most a better place for the children who live there?

What you say? What happened to the past 10 days? Ok I didn’t come back to the US in one piece, actually it was 3 pieces but that is a different story entirely. I wanted to wrap up the trip for you all.

That Saturday after we had finished visiting all the schools we returned to KMET for a team meeting.. Everyone showed up at 11A on a Saturday to develop the plan for 2012. We covered so many topics. We reviewed the difference between ACK, Nangina and Nina.

We realized that. 1. We had to develop criteria to see trends of when a school is failing before it gets to the level of ACK.
2. We noted that when I was the man behind the curtain the community immediately looked to each other instead of the muzungu
3. We realized that starting fresh meant there were no rumors of untold wealth and goodies and that we would struggle with that in Nambale
4. We all agreed that Nina is our new shining star and it holds so many hopes. For me it will hold my heart and I will be so glad to get back there

Then we set up a budget. First what needed to be done and a realistic number for what it would cost.

We needed to cost share the feeding programs in the 3 schools. We knew that it costs $1.80 per term for each child. Now OVAAT will get a list of the children and will base the donation on a realistic number. Further, after the first term, if ACK is not at 50% their feeding program will be dropped. And further to instill in the other schools that this is their program, the second term we will drop down from 50%-40% subsidy.

Our girls need sanitary towels to stay in school. For $400 per term ( 3 terms to the year) we can keep hundreds of girls in school by supplying them. Pretty cool huh?

We need to keep the community involved. We need the PICD team to visit each school each month to help the community develop a plan of action and a budget so that in 2 years they can take over the feeding program. The team not only teaches community development, but we have a nutritionist and a nurse as part of that team. The cost per term $1200.

Just before I sat down to write this wrap up I saw an add for “Save the Children” which shows you a tragic child in horrific conditions. Trust me these kids and these villages exist. But they’re not getting the community involved. They’re not teaching the community how to feed their children, how to work together and own the problem and thus, it seems to me they will be there forever. My goal for One Village at a Time has always been to go out of business. If we do our job right the community takes over, they are empowered, and everyone wins.

So for less than $5000 per term or $1500 per year we can change the attitudes of the people, make them self-sufficient and they can feed their kids. I call this a spectacular trip.

Keep the faith y’all

All God’s Promises are Yes

I remember when my pastor preached that sermon. It was such an astounding thought, that though it has been several years, I frequently quote that. And Friday was the dawn of a promise.

It is always hard to give everything up and know that if it’s supposed to be it will be, and if not, it really is no use fighting. You will lose anyway. Thursday night we prepared for the new school in Siaya. I had suggested a different approach where I would sit in the back and play the role of observer not the great white hope. We all thought that was a good idea, since when folks see the white girl they see dollars from heaven. We changed a few things around including this amazing skit that Beatrice and Rosemary get the people to do.

It’s a simple skit, they ask for 4 volunteers, 3 men and 1 woman. And the skit goes like this, there is a farmer plowing by a river. 3 people come upon the farmer and see that the river is flooded and they ask the farmer to help them. The farmer tells them that he is busy, but the 2 men prevail and the farmer carries him across the river. The woman says she wants to see how the farmer crosses the river so she can do it herself later. The End.

Then they get the audience participation and ask people who they want to be the men or the women. Well everyone wants to be the woman who learns. And then they get down to business and ask what is the river a symbol for? Challenges they face…Who is the farmer? The donor who gets tired and may not be there to help the men back across the river. It’s extremely effective and really gets people thinking and talking and seeing how important it is that they become the woman who learns how to cross the river.

Ready and prepared, we left the lovely Blue York for Siaya. Siaya has not changed one iota in 10 years. The “roads” are rutted and muddy and the car sways back and forth and we pray we don’t end up in the river. The poverty is so crushing that I begin to cough feeling it in my chest.

We arrive at Nina actually on time. The tour of the school is gripping in the filth and mud that the children walk in and learn in. The headmaster though is very forward thinking and  is excited that we have come. He tells me they also have a deaf school that is on their grounds. Ok, perhaps most if not all of you don’t know that in an earlier version of myself back in the 70’s and 80’s I worked with the deaf. I am quite fluent in sign language and my heart leapt for joy as I thought of seeing those kids here.

We went over to where they were playing, since they don’t mix with the hearing school. I walked right up to the first girl I saw and started signing my name and sign and where I came from. Her eyes opened wide, no one could believe the muzungu could do that. Very quickly I was surrounded by these amazing kids, whose sign was a lot better than the American kids I used to work with. I immediately invited them to join us for the meeting and for the girls to learn about the sanitary towels.

Shyly they came to the other side. They sat way in the back where I knew they couldn’t see me interpret for them. So I told them in sign that they belonged here and that they had to sit up front so they could understand what was going on. With encouragement they came up front and all the others saw that they were part of the activities and that the muzungu would interpret. (turns out I didn’t need to there were a couple of teachers who did a fine job) And what’s better for the first time I

Understood everything because I could read the sign language. And I knew that God said yes.

The parents were incredible in their enthusiasm, the team was it’s extraordinary self, it was as if new life was breathed into every one of us. The girls learned about the pads altogether, hearing and deaf.  And they asked Vera good questions. The parents were anxious to get started and next week the team will be back to work on their budget and action plan. Wow, we were really rocking! It was that moment I pray for every trip, and it’s always when I’m not sure it’s really going to happen.

But God said yes.

I’ll wrap it up for y’all tomorrow.

norton it’s not just the cow but the rains.

I am back at the Blue York after a day in the field. The torrents of rain are hurtling against the roof and windows, and of course there is no power now. It was not a good day. I am frustrated and disappointed by Nambale ACK and KMET.

It didn’t start well and went down hill rather rapidly. Last year when we started there were throngs of people. There were people from the town and the district who didn’t have kids in that school. I met with resounding endorsement for the idea of the feeding program. And by resounding I mean over 1000 people were clapping and enthusiastic for it to begin. Feed just the lower grades? No they wanted to feed all the grades and they were going to do it.

It is now 1 year later. There were less than 60 parents there. The feeding program which was to be shared by the community, is in the toilet. I found out today that they are only feeding the ECD (early childhood development) class. They are the only parents that are still contributing. Blank stares and innui looked out at me. When I asked them if they knew that our money was leaving in a year, they looked shocked. Now folks, I know, and KMET sat on the same stage telling them this is how the program works. But see a muzungu face (white girl) and it’s donor time. I was beyond tired and angry, but you can’t show those things to the villagers; it would have to wait until we had team meeting at night. I sat numbly through the rest of the meeting, sometimes I slipped on my headphones so I could leave without leaving.

Monica and her team did their thing, but by the end even Monica was angry and said if they didn’t participate she had other places to go. Funny that was my feeling, but I’m glad she said it. The community responded that they were going to make it compulsory that every parent contribute their share. I’ll be waiting to see.

So here I am 10 years later, wondering if it can be done. Can a small non-profit partner with an NGO and get a community to take care of their children? Micro-finance surely works, but getting a community to come together to feed their children, with all the support that they are getting…Nambale ACK was a real slap in the face, and Manyole was a chasm that OVAAT will not put more money into.

My hope lies with the 2 new schools. Can the new approach of PICD  work? I need to see the schools, surely, but perhaps tomorrow I won’t tell them where I am from or what I am doing there. Maybe I shall just be a consultant, so that they don’t see an unending source of money. We’ll talk about it in team meeting.

As for me today, I am tired of the rain, the mud, the lack of power, the lack of connection to the outside world, ha no connection to the outside world. Maybe that’s the key. If you don’t know what is going on outside then you see yourselves as victims, you are passive, you wait. Only when you think you are part of a future, part of a plan might you decide to change your attitude. Perhaps; but as for me, now, it’s time for another cold wash from the spigot and creepy food.

I’m gonna keep the faith y’all. Will you join me?

Wash it away please

I am back at the Blue York after a day in the field. The torrents of rain are hurtling against the roof and windows, and of course there is no power now. It was not a good day. I am frustrated and disappointed by Nambale ACK .

It didn’t start well and went down hill rather rapidly. Last year when we started there were throngs of people. There were people from the town and the district who didn’t have kids in that school. I met with resounding endorsement for the idea of the feeding program. And by resounding I mean over 1000 people were clapping and enthusiastic for it to begin. Feed just the lower grades? No they wanted to feed all the grades and they were going to do it.

It is now 1 year later. There were less than 60 parents there. The feeding program which was to be shared by the community, is in the toilet. I found out today that they are only feeding the ECD (early childhood development) class. They are the only parents that are still contributing. Blank stares and innui looked out at me. When I asked them if they knew that our money was leaving in a year, they looked shocked. Now folks, I know, and KMET sat on the same stage telling them this is how the program works. But see a muzungu face (white girl) and it’s donor time. I was beyond tired and angry, but you can’t show those things to the villagers; it would have to wait until we had team meeting at night. I sat numbly through the rest of the meeting, sometimes I slipped on my headphones so I could leave without leaving.

Monica and her team did their thing, but by the end even Monica was angry and said if they didn’t participate she had other places to go. Funny that was my feeling, but I’m glad she said it. The community responded that they were going to make it compulsory that every parent contribute their share. I’ll be waiting to see.

So here I am 10 years later, wondering if it can be done. Can a small non-profit partner with an NGO and get a community to take care of their children? Micro-finance surely works, but getting a community to come together to feed their children, with all the support that they are getting…Nambale ACK was a real slap in the face, and Manyole was a chasm that OVAAT will not put more money into.

My hope lies with the 2 new schools. Can the new approach of PICD work? I need to see the schools, surely, but perhaps tomorrow I won’t tell them where I am from or what I am doing there. Maybe I shall just be a consultant, so that they don’t see an unending source of money. We’ll talk about it in team meeting.

As for me today, I am tired of the rain, the mud, the lack of power, the lack of connection to the outside world, ha no connection to the outside world. Maybe that’s the key. If you don’t know what is going on outside then you see yourselves as victims, you are passive, you wait. Only when you think you are part of a future, part of a plan might you decide to change your attitude. Perhaps; but as for me, now, it’s time for another cold wash from the spigot and creepy food.

http://youtu.be/K0GWqLF6xl4  (In My Room)

I’m gonna keep the faith y’all. Will you join me?

Today we drive the Great Rift Valley. I don’t remember when exactly I started driving the Rift instead of flying. Probably when I smartened up and realized that a. it was much cheaper and b. it brings me to my heart home as I travel the different climes that are the Rift. First we hit a crest and look down on the long fertile valley, then we pass through miles of tea and coffee plantations, and then into the orange roads that signal the small towns teeming with people, farm animals roaming the streets and mounds and mounds of produce. Potatoes stacked in pyramids, onions, tomatoes. As we move further on we get to the villagers carrying great stalks of banannas and finally pineapples. Poverty abounds, naked children playing in the dirt, tall regal women with huge loads of sticks or water in jerry cans atop their heads, and everyone is walking by the side of the road.

Once in a while we see a private car like our own. But mostly it is the lorries and crazy matatu drivers (these are Toyota fans which are supposed to seat 9 but are often crammed with as many as 20 in them). The matatus are usually the culprits in the horrendous vehicle deaths that run rampant on the roads. A couple of weeks ago 25 people were killed because a Matatu tried to outrun a lorry and didn’t make it. I used to drive in those when I first started here; but even I gave up as they were so incredibly dangerous. Sometimes you see a boda boda (bike carrying someone for money). Life can be very cheap here and it is taken for granted that road deaths occur regularly. I don’t ride boda bodas either.

I am anxious to get going. Francis shall be here fairly soon given the traffic and what he has to attend to at home. I will film some of the Rift and post it for you.

rift click to see the film

I have officially been spooked by the security. I have checked out and had 3 bags. I left my black briefcase on the couch in the lobby while I went to the loo. It was scooped up immediately. Then,I got questioned by the guard as to whether it was mine. And since Francis is late, I decided to go to the ATM to get some cash. Again, I was questioned by 2 guards about my walkabout. And then another at the bank and then I was frisked to get back into the hotel. Yeah, who says they’re not worried?

Catch you in Kisumu

It was a glorious though bumpy ride to Kisumu. I have attached some un-edited film of our ride. We go from the very arid rift where the Masaii tend their cattle to the vast tea plantations in the valley and along the way meet some interesting fauna.

monkey click to see my new friend

I am glad to be back. Exhausted, the ride takes 6.5 hours, and it’s really hard on the back, but pain killers are a wonderful thing. Monica and I met for dinner and have mapped out the rest of the week. I am excited by the new steps they are taking to join resources with us and get more schools up and running in a year. Tomorrow I’ll see a proto-type, but the partnership between Monica and I is truly one the masters had in mind.

It is thundering like mad outside. I pray we don’t lose electricity until all my cameras, phones, and computer are tanked. Francis is going to do some serious filming tomorrow. I hope to bring you Monica tomorrow night if even in the un-edited version. Her words will speak for themselves.

And now dear campers, I’m going to read while I still have some light before we lose power. It’s a matter of an hour or so.

Keep the faith y’all
rift

I know it will be a bit crazy. I have so much to accomplish in only 9 days. 2 Schools are graduating the program so we shall have to have ceremonies for them. 2 schools shall be entering the program and yeah that means ceremonies and education for them as well. And of course there is all that driving.

Friday night I had a film gang over to talk about shooting a movie over there. When they heard that it can take 2 days to go 200 miles they were astounded. I always remember Monica saying (when she was in the States) “Oh my such a good road!” Driving the Rift is a bit of a bone cruncher but it is better than it used to be. It’s a 6 hour drive no longer 10. We are going to Siaya as well as Nambale. Now as I remember the roads to Siaya they are not “good roads”. What I remember is driving from one side of the road to the other to try and avoid the ruts. I remember the red mud slurping up the sides of the tires and swaying back and forth trying to traverse them. And yet my soul soars and I’m wiggling in my seat yearning to get back there. You see, it’s my heart home.

It should be the time of the short rains. Watching the rain roll across the sky from a distance, feeling it drench the roads and windshields and listening to its short rap rap on the tin roofs is spectacular. That is if the rains come this year. They haven’t had them in a long time. So probably there will be drought and famine, cows lying dead by the road, children with eyes bulging from their gaunt faces, and lots of flies. I must go back, I must keep trying. You see, it’s my heart home.

Monica and I shall share some talk together. On the long afternoons we shall drink tea with the women, sweat in the shade ( no African ever stands in the sun on purpose) and dream about the changes we want to make. The electricity will probably go out several times, the wifi spotty at best. Tall, sassy Asuke will come in with the rest of the team and talk about our schools and how to make the program better. I will find out how Miriam died. She was the headmistress at a couple of schools we worked with. She was in her 40′s. People die very young in Kenya. I need to bring as much medication as I can. You see, it’s my heart home.

And all too soon, weary from 16 hour days. It will be time to go back to the States. I will ache all over from the bad roads, the awful beds and sometimes the dysentery. I will long for a clean shower and clean sheets and food I can recognize. And miraculously everything that needs to get done will get done. And once again, I shall cry a bit as the plane takes off. For you see, I’m leaving my heart home.

It seems that there is a movement that started in California to give poor women who were drug abusers a monetary incentive to not have babies. For a certain amount of money, the women agreed to use an IUD’ which were inserted in them for free. This movement has now moved on to East Africa and in Kenya in particular.

$40US will be given to any woman who is HIV positive, who will submit to having an IUD implanted. This, the author writes will cut down on the number of HIV positive babies being born. This would probably help, but I am greatly disturbed by the means in which this is brought about.

$40 to a poor woman in Kenya is like thousands to someone over here. Any poor woman would want to get that money, and that’s understandable. However, there is no healthcare in Kenya. Hospitals are places you go to die, not get well. IUD’s can cause perforated uteruses, ectopic pregnancies and raging pelvic infections. There is no mention of treatment for the women, not even a follow up appointment. What ,perhaps, is understandable in the U.S ,given our national healthcare ,is out of the question in Kenya. Poor women in East Africa do not have either the education or access to medical care and are trading their health for a loaf of bread.

It seems to me a very short step before they start giving out $100 for permanent sterilization. And again, it is the poorest people, the least educated, who have the fewest rights who are given these “opportunities”. That it is being from the U.S makes it only more egregious.

Here is the link: http://www.thenation.com/article/160485/iuds-prevent-hiv-kenya

I hope you will weigh in on this one.

When I was young, back in the 50’s, I thought that the poverty line people spoke of was about $60,000. My middle school was featured in a Time Magazine cover called “Suburbia’s Coddled Kids.” We were white, we were rich and we were totally isolated from the world.

When my marriage ended when I was 41, I finally grew up. And I stepped into the world.

I have had many lives since then, but nothing compares to what happened when I was 55. That was when I went to Africa and saw the poverty and the horror this white girl just wasn’t prepared for. More than that I saw whole villages lost to the decimation of AIDS. At first the whole scene in Addis Ababa was overwhelming, but somehow I had to something. I knew it would be a small thing; no one could take on what was happening in Africa in 2002. But I would try.

I returned to Africa 3 months after my first trip. I had packed 2 large suitcases with supplies I thought they needed, and knowing no one but the 2 ministers who had asked me to come to their villages, flew off into the unknown. People ask me if I was scared and I can honestly say, no not at all. It just seemed like the right thing to do.
In the second village I went to, I was taken to the hovels that the people lived in. I saw children bringing up children, death and dying everywhere. And I asked the question to the pastor “What do we do first”, and she said, “Feed our children”.

Feed our children, something so simple. While the world was singing to “We Are the World”, children were dying from starvation in Kenya. Drought and famine ran rampant across the more civilized countries in Africa. This was not Darfur; this was Kenya, home of “Out of Africa”. They had a democracy, Nairobi was a great city and people would rave about the safaris they had gone on.

No one, however, saw the real Kenya I saw. I was the only muzungu (white) I saw on the trip. I went where tourists never go, and I saw what tourists never see. After 3 weeks of traveling the dirt roads, talking to people, praying with them, and seeing bulging tummies on the children, I knew something had to be done.

That’s how One Village at a Time got started. I returned home and found one donor who was willing to commit $4000 for a year to feed the children. While I had sat on many charitable boards, I had never been an Executive Director. I surely knew nothing about forming a 501c3. But I’m a quick learner and within six months I had a board of directors, a mission statement and the beginnings of the organization.

We began by feeding children in a feeding station. Children would run miles to the station to get their lunch, often the only meal they got. I was so proud we were feeding 30 children for a year for $4000. I thought that was amazing. I was wrong and the first project was a disaster. Seems in Africa you can feed kids for a lot less and the person running the program was pocketing much of the money. Totally shamed I had to go to the Board and tell them.

While I was surely born with a silver spoon in my mouth, I was not even given the sample size of patience, and I was pretty despondent about the endeavor. But people here in Boston believed in me, and I hate to quit anything. With the understanding of a new Board of directors and their guidance, I finally found my way and ultimately the way forward for One Village. We found partners on the ground who had done what we wanted to do.

KMET was an answer to our prayers. They did community organization, they did micro-finance (we finally understood if we didn’t help the parents make money they would never become self-sustaining) and the ED of the program was like a long lost sister.

We are now a well-oiled machine. We do what big business can’t do. We leave. We can go into a community, get them involved in the feeding program, teach them micro-finance, and get them up and going in 2 years. We feed 3000 kids; 500 parents and teachers are getting loans, girls are learning about their bodies and we do it for $25,000 a year. And frankly, we couldn’t handle more than $100,000 per year.

I want to keep One Village small and effective. I want us to go out of business. Yes I volunteer my time, and yes I am glad for it. I am glad for all the young, enthusiastic people who help raise the money, build the website, keep the books. Anyone who helps us, or gives money to us knows exactly what it pays for. I am glad for that as well. I want everyone to feel like they are a raindrop, and together we will clean up this mess.

And who am I for this experience? I am woman of great patience now. Things happen, as they should in their time. I am a woman of great faith, both in what I am doing and in the people with whom I work. I am a woman of gratitude for each minute on this planet and for this work I get to do. I am a woman of understanding and acceptance. I live with the world and the wonderful tapestry of people that populate it. I am never more alive as when I am in Kenya. One Village at a Time has not changed my life it has made my life.