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’m still keepin the faith.

http://www.nation.co.ke/News/300+Malindi+families+cut+off+by+floods+/-/1056/1402866/-/fr12gez/-/index.html

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?

http://www.washingtonpost.com/world/south-sudan-civilians-are-trapped-in-conflict-over-oil/2012/05/01/gIQAUX6buT_story

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/

(Now music from Jaws should start playing in the background) And that’s just what I did. OMG you have to be kidding. Seriously? What happened to the nice little dot of a scar? I have been sliced and diced.It’s the ickiest thing I have seen on me ever. And as I look at it all I can think of is the rehab this is going to take.
So, the moral of the story is don’t fall and break your leg in Kenya. Don’t expect an ER doctor here to want to look at anything but the one thing he does (remember I don’t do knees) and be sure you know exactly how much cutting they are going to do.

Keep the faith Y’all

Of course I have had this surgery before, so I know what to expect blah blah blah, but the rules darling the rules.So I have no clue when we’ll have our little chat, but it will happen. And the knee will be fixed asap. Wait till they hear what I want them to do.I have my rules too. I’ll get back to you on that next week.

So dear machete man, you truly gave me a gift that will hopefully stop giving after Thursday…and then the rehab…and then guess what? I’m on my way back to Kenya.

Keep the faith y’all

Lillian contracted HIV at 13months due to a transfusion. She was sick off and on for years without a diagnosis. Finally as she was practically dying her mother got her tested and indeed she was positive. But there was hope, since Lillian was enrolled in a drug protocol so she could get the drugs.  I loved bringing her a new dress and her family news that a minister would help with their bus fare. Yes I did.Her story is in the link below.

And the I was the problem. Giving is an interesting human phenomenon. We do it for so many reasons: for recognition, for our faith, to feel good, to be praised and noticed, the list goes on. And I was doing it, though somewhat noble, because I felt good about it. It became too personal. And in the end it was a bit of a fiasco. Much of the money we sent over there was siphoned off, the kids weren’t being fed, and furthermore I found out that we could feed a lot more in schools.

Moving to a school based program allowed One Village to feed more kids effectively. I still didn’t have the protocol down well.  I still didn’t have community contributions as I had wanted, and it was still an I.

Then the new board arrived. They were bright, connected, great ideas and wanted part of the organization. And by the grace of God I let them in. (So many ED’s disempower their boards and make them yes men). One helped me find a partner through Kiva, another helped get a fundraiser off the ground, someone kept the books properly, and 8 years after Lillian we had a program that runs smoothly, is effective and helps communities turn the corner.

So why am I writing this? Because I hope someone will read it and know that you can do a small thing and make a difference. But if it’s not about you and you join with others then the small thing becomes bigger . And if you can put down your ego the chance of learning and growing is beyond your imagination.

<iframe width=”640″ height=”480″ src=”http://www.youtube.com/embed/PTTi3HsaqPQ” frameborder=”0″ allowfullscreen></iframe>

It goes from bad to worse these days. I follow Kenya the most since that is where we are working. But South Sudan is up there, as is Somalia. Corruption in governments, tribal differences killing men women and children. This week has been particularly disturbing.

Last week I called out saying that childbirth should not kill. This week, not only are more women dying in childbirth in Kenya than ever before, but also the reason is almost incomprehensible. 25,000 health workers went on strike. The government in their own insanity then fired them all and tried to get retired workers to take their places.
They don’t have enough health workers or equipment with or without the strikers. And the situation only worsens as the days go by. Healthcare in developing countries is a crapshoot at best but in Kenya right now it’s a shot with a 38.

This week the Nairobi bus station was also hit with grenades. Nine are dead many injured. Kind of tough to have that happen when there is no one in the hospital to take care of the victims. That was due to El Shabbab. CNN indicated it was the beginning of tribal violence, which sent Kenyan Bloggers into rocket land. How dare CNN call this tribal wars? It’s bad for tourism to say that, even though it’s true

The very next day Kenya’s paper reported Odinga (the Prime Minister) speaking out about tribal animosities and their danger as elections come near. All of Kenya and many of us who were stuck in the violence remember that. Things simmer so close to the surface over there. I’m not optimistic about elections there (or in the US for that matter).

So why will I return as soon as I can? Even a misfit toy doesn’t want to lose its stuffing. I go because I can’t imagine giving up. I think there need to be some stalwarts who will go and try and help because turning their heads and running in the opposite direction won’t make the problems go away. I go because maybe just maybe one life will be changed because I went.

Yesterday the Nation Posted this article about a woman in labor who went to one clinic that couldn’t help her, then being taken to another where the nurses were on strike…mother and newborn died in the streets. Yes healthcare workers have gone on strike and to add insult to injury the government has just fired 25,000 of them as if that’s going to help.

Today is International Women’s Day. In first world countries we can celebrate women’s accomplishments in government, in business, in education. These women have such good medical care that if they cannot conceive they have fertility specialists to help them. They have ultra sounds whenever it is deemed a good idea. Women here in the U.S even ask for extra ones if they are feeling anxious. Labor rooms are equipped with the latest equipment and the women have been seeing their doctors for months. Happy International Women’s Day to them.

But in Kenya and other 3rd world countries, women die on the streets while giving birth. There are not pre-natal checkups for the majority of them and surely no fetal monitors or ultra-sounds. Heck, right now there isn’t even a healthcare worker to attend the birth should they go into labor. There is no International Women’s Day for them.

So I sigh and pray that someone reads this and someone cares. I hope the work we do educates women and children, but I am disheartened because I know that the scarcity of real medical help for them is a long long way off. And 1 out of 10 women where I die may receive a death sentence the minute she knows she is pregnant.

Read this if you can: http://www.nation.co.ke/News/Mum+baby+bleed+to+death+in+strike+horror+/-/1056/1361452/-/y4bndxz/-/index.html

A couple of months ago I was saddened to see that 3 children had taken their lives because of low marks on the National Exams in Kenya. They thought their lives were over. Their thinking was distorted.

It happens here in the U.S this time of year. College acceptances, private school acceptances, prom dates are all, to kids, a vote for their acceptability, their path to success. Parents can tell children that it will be all right they will get in “somewhere”. They can tell them that proms don’t count; they are swans that will come into their own when they get older.

The issue is that these strategies don’t work for some kids. Why? Because we don’t teach them about thinking. (Probably because we were never taught). We don’t start at early asking our kids what happened that made them happy that day. We don’t notice if they are playing happily with a sibling. We only ask, “what’s wrong” not what’s right? We need to start teaching them that thought changes no matter what.
We need to show them that what they thought at 7 is not what they thought at 10. And what they think at 14 will also change.

If we as parents can begin to understand that today is only a snapshot of today and not our entire lives, we can begin to suicide proof our kids. If we can help our children learn that what they once thought was important (say the arrival of Santa) is no longer important, they can begin to realize that things change.

All suicide is because of one reason and one only. We believe that what we are experiencing and feeling is forever. We have forgotten we might want one more pepperoni pizza before we do the deed, or maybe one more great ski run, or one more kiss. If they can see that there might be one boy or girl walking the face of this planet that might love us, or that there might be one school they haven’t tried, we change the dynamics. If we can help kids see that, they can hold off. And if they can hold off, and we help them wait, their thinking will change.

I wrote this blog on Sunday never thinking we would have another school shooting. If only that kid had been noticed. If only someone had said tell me what you’re thinking and did you know that will probably change? His thinking was  distorted; he had no hope that it would change. Misery forever who wouldn’t want to die? Or sadly kill. And kids don’t have either the impulse control or the wisdom to know, it will change, it always does.

Reassurance is helpful for a very few. My grandmother used to say “My mind is made up, don’t’ confuse me with the truth” is so true of all of us when we are stuck in that dark place. We, hopefully, have lived long enough to know it will change.
Start early with your children, show them their ever changing thinking, help them see the happy thoughts, the faith thoughts, the love thoughts all exist with the others and you have a good chance you will suicide proof your child.

I look at myself, listen to my words and it seems decades ago. I hear my American voice and I know that the people didn’t understand my nasal accent and me. I see that I was the one doing the work and being lady bountiful. I am almost embarrassed that the people in the film had to be the kindergarten where I first learned how to work in Africa. I hope I did more good than harm.

It’s only been 10 years since I started, but what a journey it has been. Learning patience, accepting the vicissitudes of everyday life over there, keeping hope up when you’re about to fall off the cliff.

The first program was in Siaya. I remember I was so proud that we were feeding, clothing and paying school fees for 18 kids for $4000. How naïve I was. We do that now for little more than $100. I had to learn to get better partners, and that you need to pay people over there. Otherwise the money they get is just too tempting to take a piece of. And sometimes they do even if you do pay them. I fled that fiasco when I found that the woman who was supposed to be running the program took all the money. Thank heavens for an understanding board.

The second program got better. We went into schools. I counted on a community organizer to help the program go. It was supposed to be cost sharing, but we never got accurate accounts, and they never made any progress. See, I was still seen as Lady Bountiful with unlimited funds. They had no impetus to change. Oh and that leader, he left for Mombasa and never told me.

But today, when I spoke to Monica in Kigali, I knew we were there. Our program is crisp and clean. I am the woman behind the curtain. No longer do the villagers see me as anything more than a curious white girl. Our team in the field is tough and organized. I found out that when the team went to one school and the parents had not put in their contribution, the team packed up and left. Yesssss. Monica went on to tell me of the changes in the team, all of them good.

We work together, she and I. We are on the same wavelength. We share the same vision. Get these communities up and running and self-sustaining as fast as possible. We laugh over the schools we thought would do poorly are now succeeding. We commiserate over a dishonest worker Monica had to fire. We lay plans for the future

I have come such a long way from the skinny woman I see in that old film. I speak Kenyan English, I don’t fall for the pity party, I continue to love and be blessed by what I do. I know 65 is a number, but it is a number I’ve thought about all my life as an ending and for me, I’m still in the middle of something. So I hope there’s no ending any time soon