Party Animals

It’s our last full day in Bo – and we have been super-busy. The Child Support Program/Foster Care Program party is this afternoon….we are hosting 174 children. That’s already a TON of work, but we also really need to try to get some things done during the party: 1. Get updated pictures of every one of them, 2. Get a little personal information to send to their American sponsors, and 3. Hand each one a book and bag.


We’ll have some fun too – we’ve planned a scavenger hunt, balloon relay (can you run with a balloon between your knees?) and of course a snack station. I’m anticipating we’ll be exhausted by the time we get back to the MTC for rest and dinner before our farewell party with the resident children. We’re already wiped out from party prep: blowing up balloons, cutting papers for bios and scavenger hunts, getting the station signs ready, making “passports” for kids to wear around their necks so they can get stamps at each station.

Yesterday was spent prepping and planning. The men spent the day rebuilding the rain gutter on the MTC with the help of some of the security guards and Tommy, the caretaker of the MTC. God blessed us with a torrential downpour after devotions last night so that we could test their work – which held really beautifully, but of course they wanted to tweak it a bit today and have spent the morning working on it. Craig and I were also able to have a very frank and productive meeting with the staff yesterday afternoon.

Last night we attended the election of the new president of the Children’s Voice. It might have been the longest election I’ve ever witnessed, but it was the most fair. Ishmael Koroma beat his opponent in a landslide.

Winding Down

It’s our last real work day – if we don’t count tomorrow. And we don’t really count tomorrow, as our primary task is to throw a party for the 150 CSP (Child Support Program) children and the 25 Foster Care children supported by African Programs as part of the CRC/Mercy project. The focus of the party is to encourage the children to read. They’ll each receive one of the canvas tote bags Kate got for them with our CRC Reads! Campaign dragon on them, and a Scholastic book to keep for themselves. That will take place tomorrow afternoon with 174 children!

We’ll have our traditional farewell party with the resident children tomorrow evening, with treats and t-shirt signing. And then early on Sunday, we’ll begin the long journey home.

It’s been a very full week. We haven’t completed our task list, but we accomplished a great deal of it, and feel good about what we have been able to do. I think we gathered some useful data about how teaching and school work here, and we’ll be able to draw some conclusions about what we could do differently to be more supportive and responsive to our students' needs in the summer school programs. We have a better idea of their reading levels as well.

School visits might have been the highlight of the week for me. Though some of it I had expected, some of it surprised me, both pleasantly and not. The students learn in classrooms with virtually no resources. No teacher at any level or in any class I observed had much more than a spiral notebook they had turned into a grade book, three or four pieces of chalk and a battered blackboard. The classrooms have no electric lights, no posters or educational materials on the walls, no books in shelves lining. They sometimes sit two and three to the same desk because of overcrowding.  JSS and SS students don’t bring textbooks to school (though they have them at home for some subjects) because they have eight classes a day and no lockers at school. They write everything they learn from their teacher into their copy books (composition notebooks); one per class, and most information is memorized and recited back from rote memory. The teachers are by and large tough and funny, and they don’t put up with any hint of misbehavior.

Students seem remarkably polite, well-mannered and attentive in class. Even the very youngest students remain relatively still and quiet while teacher is talking. Of course, one reason for that is that corporal punishment is widely used here, and culturally acceptable. I saw one third grade teacher twist the ear of a student who was writing when she was not supposed to be. One of our own CRC children was flogged (four “cuts” with a cane on the seat of her pants, though the last fell on her arm as she tried to block it) for being disrespectful to a teacher. Punishment is physically and verbally harsh here. Teachers not only hit students, they say things to them that would get an American teacher fired. And yet, they seem to genuinely care about their students, and they work very hard at their jobs with absolutely no resources at their disposal. The people here believe that this type of punishment is necessary to toughen a child. Some reflect that they prefer their children to go to the government schools so that they will be beaten more often and learn how to behave. I’m glad ours go to private schools if that is the case. It is hard to see them hurt. I wonder what these teachers would think if they had the chance to observe in our schools.

Rains in Africa

This is actually the dry season in Sierra Leone. The rainy (monsoon) season begins in May, and I’m usually here in the summer months during the rainy season. Farmers use this time of year to burn their fields in preparation for planting. We actually passed one on the road from Freetown to Bo:

It was a little frightening, but we could see the thunderstorm approaching and we passed by it quickly. The ensuing rain was so strong that it broke a tree limb that fell on the cable that connects the MTC to BKPS (Bo Kenema Power Station). Rain is very dramatic here – it rains very hard for a very short period of time. It rained again yesterday just before dinner. Craig put on his bathing suit and went and stood under the rain gutter where the water was pouring down like a shower. It only took a few minutes to get the rest of us out in it in our clothes:

The entire MTC staff came peeking around the corners to see the pumoy standing around in the rain.

Pictures!

Now that I’ve had someone help me compress files, I’m hoping that I can post a lot more photos (I know these are a lot more interesting than any words I could write)! So here’s my friend and fellow team member Mary:

Kathleen, so happy that she’s smiling with her eye’s closed:

Scott cutting out paper airplanes:

Ken, smiling a little goofily:

And lest you think we’re all just sitting around making paper airplanes, sticking stickers on people and hugging kids, here is the K1 class I observed on Monday (age 2-3). They’re staring at the pumoy in the room:

and practicing writing numbers on their slates:

This is Class 2 (second grade):

And the group that swarmed us for hugs and pats as we were leaving:

We Are Marching

Tonight we had story time with the kids for the first time since we arrived – last night the kids begged off so they could study. Really. They are some kind of stressed about the WASSCE! The men went to the boy’s dorm for stories and the women to the girls. After books, the girls sang – one of my favorite things about being here. You’re crammed in this dark, hot little lounge in the girls’ dorm, girls on every piece of furniture and draped over you, and they sing. They naturally harmonize, and Africans sing more from the diaphragm than Americans do. Their voices come out so strong it makes us sound so ready and thin. Sitting in the middle of that room though is like sitting inside the music somehow. I always get a little choked up.

Today was a very low-key day – church for two hours, then lunch and free time with the kids. I don’t get to do that often enough when I’m here for summer school – or I don’t take advantage of the opportunities then like I should, so I made myself leave the list in the MTC and just hang out. Spent most of the afternoon sticking stickers on kids and getting soundly beaten at various card games that I never understood.

 

But if you want to know what we're really doing here, check these out:

Off the Grid

Off The Grid


We had hoped to blog while in Bo – and I’m not giving up yet – but the Internet here presents its own brand of problems. The Internet connection – tenuous at best – which was working at Mercy lab mysteriously went down yesterday. They were able to get it back up for a little while, but it keeps blipping in and out, so emails crash and burn before they can get sent, and Skype just drops the call as soon as the connection is made. It’s frustrating – and tough to switch from the American mindset of reliance on the Internet to not only work but to be FAST and reliable.

Going to have to go low-tech and go back to the SAT phone tomorrow night to give this weary team a chance to hear their loved one’s voices – some of us need a bit of a morale boost.

I get the chance to get off the grid a little when we have our family reunion in WV – and it’s always an adjustment but also a bit of a relief once we get used to it. Of course, I’m not as off the grid as I am in Africa – and I’m not so far away from everyone I love. Still – we’ll make do. And pray that the Internet connection improves in the next day or so. And the most important thing is that the team has arrived at the CRC – been fed and spent a little time with the kids, and now we will get some rest so we can get the week off to a good start.

Stranded

Anyone remember the name of the Tom Hanks movie where he gets stuck in the airport?  We're feeling a little that way.  Our Freetown flight was scheduled to leave almost two hours ago, and we are still waiting to be officially called to our new gate (though we overhead where it's going to be).  Our original plane was replaced for technical problems (certainly don't mind getting a new plan), but the veddddy polite BMI workers just keep reassuring us that we will be ready to go in "five minutes".  They've been saying that for about an hour.

It's all good, though, because this is hopefully giving them time to find our team member's luggage.  Scott handed his bag to the girl at the counter to be weighed, and she put it on the conveyor belt without tagging it at all.  We have no idea where it is right now, and it has no way of knowing what flight it's supposed to be on.

We know travel to Bo is hard - just didn't expect the challenges to start in London!  Still, the team is well, and resting - and if you have to be stuck somewhere, Heathrow isn't the worst place in the world to be.

The Relectant Expat

The Reluctant Expat

Thanks Laura for asking me to guest post - it's a treat. Laura and I met when we were both vendors at a craft fair. We became fast friends and I often had the pleasure of sitting near her at craft fairs - we'd give each other potty breaks and quickly became each other's best customers. Our worlds overlap in many arenas and it is fun to add the blog sphere to the places we can meet.

When she asked me to guest post, I really wasn't sure what to write about. So, I just chose what I know - this crazy expat adventure we have undertaken.

My family was not looking for a move - especially not a move across oceans. We were quite comfy cozy in our very little corner of the world. In fact, when my husband came home and asked if I would be willing to move to India, I asked if it was a new street in our neighborhood.

So, I didn't exactly start immediately packing. First, I took a deep breath, then I threw up, then I started praying, then I started a blog (www.areason2write.wordpress.com), and then I finally started packing after delaying our official move twice. I arrived in Delhi almost exactly one year ago and it began to change us the minute we stepped off the plane - honestly, it began changing us the minute we began to talk about stepping on the plane.

I was no stranger to living abroad. As a child, I lived in Germany for two years - and I moved within the U.S. quite a few times. Luckily travel was important to my Dad and we saw a lot of Europe and quite a bit of the United States.

But frankly, I wanted my family to stay put. We had made a home for ten years in a wonderful neighborhood. We had just renovated our house and life was rolling along quietly and uneventfully and I wanted that for my children - I wanted for them what I never had. I wanted my children to grow up with life long friends and family around the corner. I wanted the comfort of the familiar for them - elementary school, middle school, and high school all within one mile of each other. I did not want each new school year to be a new beginning. We were in the zone - the comfort zone. And it was working quite well, at least for most of us.

Except that my husband had lived within the same 20 mile-radius for as long as he could remember. And he was itching to step out of that comfort zone. He wanted for our children what he had never had. He wanted them to meet new people and see new things. He wanted them to go more than 20 miles from home for more than a week.

Then he got the phone call. A former boss asked the only question that we would have answered yes to - do you want to work for me in India? I would have said no to Alabama, New York City, Germany, Poland, anywhere else - did it have to be India?

My husband had visited India so he knew that it would be a life as different from ours as it could possibly be. He wasn’t kidding. He wanted our children to see that the quality of life for most people in the United States is not reality for most of the world. He wanted our children to appreciate that we are all lucky - damn lucky. Me? Well, I had to look up India on the map. My first question was, “You mean all the way over there?”

He did not think it was funny when I asked if there wasn’t a Sally Struthers special we could watch instead.

So we began planning and crying and planning and crying some more. For my husband, they were tears of joy - for the rest of us - not so much. The kids and I really weren’t all that interested in leaving family and friends and routines and our newly renovated kitchen with the perfect island for entertaining. It was hard. I just did not think I could bring myself to do it. I don’t think anyone believed that we would ever actually get on the plane.

And the first four months were very challenging - challenging in ways I never imagined. When you come from a developed country to a third world country, be prepared to get sick - probably nothing serious - but your stomach and your lungs and your heart will need time to adjust. We got stomach bugs and skin rashes and jet lag hit me particularly hard. And we were homesick. My husband went to work and the kids went off to school and I managed to get out of bed and at least blog. I tried to laugh and make light of some of the adventures - but I was mentally homesick and physically just sick. I was having a really hard time understanding why this was a good idea.

Some one had given me terrific advise right before I left. “Don’t have any expectations.” That was the best advice I have ever gotten. I started putting it in to practice.

I would head out the door and expect nothing. And I started enjoying it more. I found the American Women's Association and met some great people and started going out and doing things and discovering Delhi. And I found that I enjoyed the people as much as the sights. Because the monuments don’t change me - they fascinate me and I love their stories - but they do not change me. It’s the people I want to get to know.

And it was some of the people that were upsetting me. They seem so desperate and absolutely alone. Every ride down the street introduced me to more helplessness. Children selling balloons in the middle of the road. Parents begging for just a few rupees. It is heart breaking, really. And most people say that you will harden to it. That has not happened to me yet. I cannot imagine that it will.

As you drive down the road and see the poverty and the children and honestly the filth, you can try to keep it at a distance. Read the paper, pretend to talk on the phone, just ignore it. And you want to ignore it because you feel helpless. How can one person make a difference? And then you get out there and you meet people who are doing just that - making big, big differences by starting with little bit steps. Then they get others to walk those little bitty steps with them, and all of the sudden, lives are changed forever.

I met Anou from Project Why (www.projectwhy.org) who is an amazing woman. Her daughter struggled in school and she came home from school one day very upset (again) and Anou decided enough was enough. The school was not meeting her daughter’s needs so she told her daughter that she did not have to go back. She created Project Why to help children in India who were not getting help. She reaches hundreds of children every day. I went to visit her schools and the reality began to sink in. The world is indeed a big place where the corners will probably never meet. There are millions and millions of children in the world who are suffering and it just takes one person who has had enough to help at least some of them.

I met Kiran Bedi ( www.kiranbedi.com ) who is a marvel unto herself. She has written several books and has her own television show. But she is best known for her work at Tihar jail. She tells the story that she was causing too many waves in the police force by publicly asking the tough questions so they were going to show her. She was assigned to run Tihar Jail. She immediately instituted policies like no smoking and insisted that the prisoners be given access to radios and books so that they would not be completely isolated from the outside world. Mrs. Bedi began a program called Weaving Behind Bars to teach the women prisoners a skill they can use when they were released. These women often take their children with them to prison - so Kiran established day care facilities and classroom facilities so that these children also had options. She did not want anyone rotting away in jail. So she was pushed into corner - a filthy rat infested corner - and she pushed back hard to the benefit of many.

I met Harmala Gupta who is the founder of CanSupport ( www.cansupport.org ). She is a cancer survivor herself and saw a tremendous need in India, and particularly in Delhi, for education and early detection. Through her work with hospitals, Mrs. Gupta realized that nearly two-thirds of the cancer diagnoses in Delhi were in the advanced stages, which left too many patients with little hope of recovery. Those patients were often too weak to go to the hospitals to receive pain medicine, so Mrs. Gupta began getting the medicine to the patients. Cancer in India carries its own stigma - so beyond fighting for their lives in tremendous pain, many patients are left alone without family support or financial resources to manage their care. That is where CanSupport steps in. They provide education and coordinate treatment free of charge for patients. And two years ago, they began the Walk for Life - it is as much an attempt to raise awareness as it is a fund raiser to help those struggling with cancer. Well over 3,000 people participated in the Walk this year.

I met some of the young leaders of Salaam Baalak Trust ( http://www.salaambaalaktrust.com/ ), an organization that helps find and keep safe the street children of Central Delhi. Many of its workers will navigate the train station to reach children arriving alone in Delhi before someone with less than honorable intentions finds them first. That thought will keep you awake at night - the idea that some one will snatch these children up and use them simply to make money without any concern whatsoever for their well-being.

I met April Cornell ( http://blog.aprilcornell.com/ ) who brought her manufacturing business to India. Surely, it is cheaper to do business here but you can tell she wants to do business here because of the people. She does not hire any child laborers, she pays her employees overtime, and she follows the rules - not just the rules set out by the Indian government - but the rules of her heart. She leads by example. When her company recently won a big contract, she decided to share the gains with her employees, who in-turn, provided food to needy families. She is not only providing a safe environment for her employees, she is sharing with them the gift of generosity. She is teaching them that you can find great joy through helping others - even if you are not exactly rich.

And finally, I met His Holiness the Karmapa ( www.kagyuoffice.org ) who simply teaches that we should live our lives peacefully. That the only changes in people we need to make are changes in ourselves. Because we frankly don’t have a lot of control over what other people do and do not do. That was good to hear and now I just have to remember it!

So, yes, the world out there is much different than we ever understood it to be. It is not the perfect bubble of comfort and convenience that we reveled in when living in the United States. It is also not home. We will return to all of those comforts and people we miss, but hopefully we will understand better that we have an obligation to this world to somehow make it a better place. To not just take from it but also contribute to it. Our corner has become less rigid - it's sides have softened and our eyes have opened.

I am also beginning to realize that when we leave, there will be things we miss about living here. And I never imagined myself saying that.

So, you can guess just how proud I am of Laura for taking another big leap across oceans to help those in Sierra Leone. Safe travels!

Because sometimes I need a reminder...

I have a tendency to get caught up in the pre-trip stress and lose sight of the goal.  So, for those on my team who need a reminder, and for those of you who wonder just why I do this:

              

A lot of these pictures weren't taken by me, but by the TSE photographers I mentioned in a previous blog entry.  The pumoy (Krio for "white folk") pictured here are various team members who've traveled to Bo as well.  This one is for those of you who'd like to be able to picture where I am and whom I'm with.

Anticipation...

We depart for Africa in less than one week.  It's been hard to think of a blog entry - there are so many things on my mind that I could write about, but most of them are more fit for my private journal than for a public blog.  My emotional state is a roller coaster - I wake up at 3 am literally in a sweat over all that I hope to accomplish and just the responsibility of leading a team for the first time - but there are also moments when I reflect on what it will feel like to step off of that bus and put my feet back on African soil - and to put my arms around those kids again. 

Travel to Bo is hard.  When they perfect "beaming" (a la Star Trek), I'll be Bo-bound much more often.  The truth is, I don't love to travel.  I hate flying, and I'm really just a big homebody.  Travel is a hassle -the laundry, the packing, the hauling of heavy luggage, jet lag, sleeping in strange beds, eating strange food, meeting new people, the work, the return home, and then more laundry and jet lag.  Travel to Bo is like a whole level of travel difficulty beyond what Westerners are used to.  It's roughly 5-6 hours to Heathrow, then another 7 hours to Lungi Airport.  Then the two hour ferry ride from Lungi to Freetown followed by the four hour bus ride to Bo.  When it's all said and done, it takes two days to get from VA to Bo.  Two days of sitting upright in uncomfortable airline seats and bus seats (broken up by one night in the airport hotel), fighting jetlag and trying to sleep.  Surrounded by nothing at all familiar.

At this stage of the pre-trip journey, I always, always feel such anxiety and stress.  Even on trip three, it just doesn't feel routine.  There's so much to prepare, so much to think about, so many lists to check and doublecheck.  Whenever we travel anywhere domestically, my husband always says "stop worrying about forgetting something, we can always get whatever it is when we get there; it's not like we're going to a third world country or something."  Except, this time - I am.  Even knowing that I've traveled there before, very successfully - doesn't seem to alleviate the stress.

What's nice, is that I know from experience that once we set foot on that plane - and eventually in Sierra Leonean soil, some of that stress will evaporate.  At a certain point, the plan gets set in motion, and the momentum carries you forward.  And I also know that the minute I can get one of those kids in a hug I will remember down to my soul how very, very worth it this trip is.  Counting the days....

Servanthood & Thoughts about Sierra Leone….(the state of affairs on 2/23 at 6:15 p.m.)

by Mary Marshall, guest blogger

First of all, a bit of background on me: I’m a completely self-centered traveler. So, you may ask, why exactly are you going as a member of a team on a mission trip to work with a bunch of kids? Indeed, that is an excellent question. I love to travel and have been loads of really interesting places, but I always have an agenda (although part of my agenda is to schedule time not to have an agenda) and it’s usually (okay, always) about fulfilling my own desires. Point being, in traveling to Sierra Leone in this particular fashion, I’m out of my element.


How did I end up in this state of affairs? Well, after hearing about my good friend Laura’s experiences and at her request (seeing as she’s team leader this time), I applied for this trip. Somewhat to my dismay, I was accepted! Immediately, my thoughts turned to me (surprise, surprise): What if people snore? I wonder if they have Diet Coke? Will I be able to take naps? Will there be time to read my novel? What touristy activities can I do while I’m there? Can I get away with not wearing a name-tag? Are we going to have to stick together in the airport? How can I avoid being labeled as a loud American if I’m with this group?

After confessing my issues to a pastor friend, I suggested that really it’s a total joke that I would even pretend to be a missions-minded individual interested in bettering the welfare of those who are less privileged than myself. Vicki, in turn, suggested that maybe there is nothing wrong with part of my motivation being just wanting to go to Sierra Leone and that, in fact, I might find that I was getting blessed rather than being the one to do the blessing. And, after all, who do I think I am to consider myself more privileged than another? (Although Vicki didn’t actually say this last part, she probably should have).

As the weeks have gone by and I now find myself a week and a half away from departure, I grow increasingly excited. I was recently challenged by listening to a presentation by Pastor Tom Berlin in which he touched on servanthood and what it might mean to be a “servant” in Sierra Leone. He suggested that rather than thinking I was bestowing some sort of knowledge or gift to the people with whom I come in contact, I look on it as a reciprocal relationship – we spend time together just being ourselves. And we will be in the presence of the Lord because He is there and His Holy Spirit dwells within me.

I then thought of Jesus’ commands: Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength, and love your neighbor as yourself. He says that there are no other commandments greater than these (Mark 12: 13). If I am after God with all my heart, soul, mind and strength, then I long to be in His presence and I choose to seek Him in all the minutes of my day. That means I look for Him and enjoy Him in Sierra Leone – in my interactions, in the conversations that take place, in the events that unfold, in the beauty of natural surroundings, in the quiet moments that I take to be alone with Him. I serve Him in glorying in His presence and inviting others to come into that space with me. By making room, I love them as I love myself. It’s not about slaving for hours in the broiling sun doing a construction project (although that might be part of the agenda) or not getting any sleep for 10 days (although there is that possibility as well). In other words, it’s not about performing certain hardship acts. Instead, it’s about consciously carving space for the work of Jesus and then getting out of the way so there’s room for Him. A true servant prepares for the presence of the master and yields to his desires – and a true master knows his servant’s skills and uses his servant to her best capacity. So I can trust that this trip has been ordained by God for my good and His glory – I will bless and be blessed because He put together this group for such a time as this before time even began. Talk about mind-boggling! But that’s a tangent for another day. Enough for now…

Guest Bloggers

One of the things my fellow, veteran blogger Ellen (A Reason to Write - India) suggested to me is to ask others to guest blog.  This is one of my favorite pieces of blogging advice as it gets me off the hook for writing, and lets you enjoy the talents of other writers (which will hopefully prevent you from getting bored and will make you keep reading my blog). 

Not sure what the proper ettiquette here is, but I feel like I want to introduce my first guest blogger and good friend Mary.  Mary is another member of my team, and it's a real full-circle moment for me, because in a lot of ways, Mary is a big part of what made me think I could go to Africa in the first place.  Although I'd always wanted to go visit the CRC, I never felt like it was in my cards - and then when, nearly five years ago it finally was - I thought I was the wrong person for the trip.  I was crippled by self-doubt.  Mary's words of encouragement helped convince me to make that leap - so to get to share this experience with her feels almost like saying thank you.  I hope at the end of the trip she feels the same way!

She'll be authoring the next entry (to follow shortly).  Thanks, Mary.  For the blogging, for the support, and for the friendship.

To Market, To Market

It's snowing in Northern Virginia.  A lot.  We had an actual blizzard last weekend that dumped about 20 inches of snow on us, and tonight we're receiving somewhere between 10 -20 more.  This is unusual for our area.  We usually get a few polite little snows, with the occasional foot once a season or so - but it's rare to get this kind of one-two punch.  People in this area are therefore a little...shall we say, reactionary - when we get this kind of record-breaking weather.  Typical response pre-storm?  Everyone rushes to the store to stock up on shovels, milk, bread, toilet paper, and ice cream.  (Yes, ice cream.  I don't why.  I'm from Florida.  I think the whole thing is bizarre).

We've been jokingly referring to this storm as "snowmageddon" or the "snowpocalypse," but to be honest, to go to any one of the area grocery stores the day before the first flake falls is like witnessing the end of days.  People behave as if they are unsure that they will ever see the inside of Giant again.  They fill carts and push their way into checkout lines, frantic to get out of the store with the last package of toilet paper before the snow falls. 

Today was even weirder.  Forced to go to Giant by the utter lack of food in my house, and caught between the storm that hit us this past weekend (so okay, we're out of food mostly because we hosted a giant Superbowl party too, but still - no food) and the one hitting us tonight, I found myself standing in a completely decimated produce section this morning.  I am literally in possesion of the very last tomato Giant had.  There was no chicken, no ground meat of any kind.  There was skim milk and soy milk, but that was it.  There were eggs, but no butter.  The strangest thing of all was the people.  The store the day before storm #1 hit was populated by rabid, mean, frantic and angry people fighting (literally) over the last package of Wonder bread.  The people in the store this morning looked like victims of the aftermath.  People wandered around as if in a daze.  It was oddly quiet.  No one seemed particularly upset that there were no onions or  chicken breasts.  They were just figuring out how to make do with what was left.  No onions?  Maybe leeks will work....

It reminded me of conversations I've had with Fudia, the wonderful cook of the MTC (Missionary Training Center) at the Child Rescue Centre (you do remember that this is a blog about my journey to Africa, right?).  After having been served some of the best pineapple I've ever eaten in my life, we asked her if we could have it again for dinner the next night.  She was apologetic on the following evening when pineapple was not on the table, explaining that it was "too dear" at the market that day.  Fudia doesn't buy food just because she (or we) wants a particular thing - she buys what is reasonably priced and she negotiates and balances nutritional needs with budget every time she goes to the market - which is every single day.  She may plan to cook chicken for dinner, but if it is too "dear" she will make do with cassava or fish.  She may plan to serve pineapple, but if they don't have any at the market, she will simply have to see what is. 

We live in a country where we take so much for granted.  If I want strawberries, I go across the street and buy them.  I don't pay much attention to the season, and often not even to the cost.  I bought a brisket today.  That's all they really had in the meat case.  I've never cooked a brisket before - I've never had to because they've always had things in the case I'm more familiar with cooking.  But I'm kind of excited by the challenge.  It makes me feel like maybe I'll appreciate how Fudia navigates the world a little bit more.

The Hard Part

Travel anywhere is difficult, as is preparing to travel.  Traveling to a third world country is an added layer of difficulty it's hard to describe.  Tomorrow I get to check in with the travel doctor.  International travelers (especially to places not considered to be "first world" countries) get to add this step to their travel preparations.  Usually this involves a consult with a doctor who specializes in the needs of Western travelers to other, more medically challenged parts of the world.  The doctor researches the diseases of the area, and then selects a host of immunizations and vaccinations (I don't know the difference between these two, I just realized) to give the traveler to prevent a variety of illnesses.

For a trip to Sierra Leone, that can mean around 5 injections, an anti-malaria medication, and Cipro to be taken as a preventative for foodborne illnesses (I'm not going to get specific here - you can figure out what I'm talking about).  That's the bad (ouch) news.  The good news for me this time is that I don't think I have to have any/many injections.  Having just been in SL in July, most of my shots are up-to-date.  There's a small chance I haven't had the follow-up shot for Hep B (can't remember) which isn't really required, but is suggested. 

It's amazing to me that I can just drive to the doctor's office, get a few shots, a few pills, and I'm protected from diseases that the average Sierra Leonean has no protection from.  Malaria kills tens of thousands of children in Sierra Leone, for example, adding to the highest childhood mortality rate in the world.  This disease is responsible for almost 40 percent of the deaths of children under the age of five.  Malaria.  A completely preventable disease.

I'll tell you one big thing you get by traveling to a third world country: a new apprecation for how incredibly blessed we are in this country.  I know health care in America is a mess, and that something (or many things) has to change, but I'd take our current health care debate over the issues of health care my friends in Sierra Leone face any day of the week.  The photo accompanying this post was taken by Alfreda Humper, a TSE photographer and resident of the Child Rescue Centre.  It is of Mercy Hospital a place where lives are saved on a daily basis - from many of these diseases.

Poverty Porn

In looking for other blogs on related topics (at the advice of my blog guru Ellen, who blogs about her adventures in India on A Reason to Write - India), I came across the blog of Owen, of Owen Abroad.  In it he writes this:
If you want to raise money for international development you will eventually encounter a dilemma. You want potential donors to be interested in their fellow human beings and to feel a connection with the people they are helping. You know that you will raise more money, and sustain a longer-term relationship with your donors if they are getting constant feedback about the people they are helping and the difference your programme is making. Your communications team tells you that statistics are not enough: you need “human interest” stories about individual lives. You need photographs and life stories.

And goes on to describe the result of the above as "poverty porn."  I need to chew on that a while, but while I understand what he's talking about and why it's exploitative, I wonder about things like donor sustainability.  I have heard it said that it is relatively easy to get people to donate intially to projects like the CRC in Africa - but what is really hard is to sustain it for the long haul.  Sustainability is critical in a human institution.  How tragic would it be if the US-based donors lost interest (or moved on to any one of a billion other equally worthy causes) and left these children to their own devices after having supported them thus far? 

I get that we don't want to perpetuate the "poverty porn" of pictures and words about destitute children languishing without your dollars to ease their burdens, but if we are brutally honest with ourselves it is hard to send money into a void without some sense of where it going, what it is doing and whose lives it is affecting.  Is it really that people want to see picture after picture of suffering?  Or is it about wanting a human connection for the gesture? 

There was a piece in the Washington Post Magazine this past Sunday about human beings' ability to comprehend suffering on a large scale.  Shankar Vedantam explains that we just aren't capable of comprehending on a visceral level the difference between donating to help 2000 vs. 20,000.  Either seems to big to be meaningful.  We much prefer to help the one. 

But I think it's more than that.  I think, at the end of the day, we also just want to be in relationship with each other.  I want the money I donate to Africa or Haiti or AIDS research to go where it is most needed, but I also want to know that the money is having an impact on a real human life, a real person living and breathing in the world.  I am much more likely to keep sending money if I know that my money is going into a fund that pays for Hawa's school tuition, that buys cassava for Albert's dinner, that enables Sallay to receive vitamins.  Is it wrong for me to want to know that my donation has an impact on a real human being?  How can we foster that connection; be in relationship with one another across oceans and miles and cultures in a way that is not exploitative?

Through Students's Eyes

When I traveled to Bo to teach Summer School last summer, I was given the opportunity to invite six of the CRC students to participate in a grant my new boss was writing connected to a project he was a part of in Cleveland.  The project is called Through Students' Eyes, and seeks to connect high school and middle school students in various parts of the country in an effort to have them document through photographs and writing what education means to them.  The inclusion of six CRC kids meant that we would be able to connect kids in Cleveland, VA and Sierra Leone through a website so that they could share their images and writing with one another.  We're curious what similarities and differences we find between the educational experiences of kids in inner city Cleveland, upper middle class Fairfax county, and West Africa.

Through the grant, I was able to travel to Bo in July with six point-and-shoot digital cameras.  Only four made the journey (theft is a common problem en route to Bo, and two of our cameras disappeared from our luggage between Heathrow and Freetown), but my six intrepid photographers just shared the equipment.  A fellow missionary (Brian) and I followed the kids around while they snapped pictures for several hours during the course of our time there, and then the kids wrote about their two favorite images.  The kids at the CRC often get a chance to play with the cameras of missionaries who travel there, but they don't have as much access to this kind of technology as their American peers.  The images they took are amazing, especially when you consider that they have more limited contact with cameras than kids in America:

Abu-Bakarr Jalloh, TSE photographer

Albert Lawundeh, TSE photographer

Alfreda Humper, TSE photographer

Joseph Bomorie, TSE photographer

Rosa Saffa, TSE Photographer

Suma Thamu, TSE photographer

Part of the grant is that the kids get to keep the cameras.  They'll get a small stipend as well, which will go into their respective college/post-secondary funds.  Their work will also be published - in some format chosen by them, but also as a part of an exhibit where their photography and writing will be displayed for the public.  They'll each get to select one image to be professionally printed and framed for display.  The first exhibit will take place April 10 -11 at the historic Old Stone Church in Cleveland, OH.  My kids won't be able to make the trip, but I'm hoping to go in their place, and to videotape the presentation of their first public exhibit.

What an amazing opportunity for these kids to get published in a real and public way, and for people with no idea what life is like on the other side of the world to see it through their eyes!  Thanks again, Kristien - for allowing me to be a part of this!

Bedtime in Bo

Bedtime at the CRC is one of the best times of the day for teams that travel there - and no, I'm not talking about finally falling into bed at the Missionary Training Center (MTC) after a long day of working hard (although that has it's merit too)! One of the traditions for teams traveling to Bo is that we get to spend the last hours of the day with the children, reading them stories and then listening to them sing before they go off to their own beds.

Usually teams split up - sometimes along gender lines, but sometimes not, and visit with the children in the common rooms or lounges in their respective dorms. The children crowd in, sitting on the tables, arms of the couches and each others' or missionaries' laps and listen to stories (or tell them). And finally, as we wrap up, they sing.

Africans harmonize differently than Americans, and when they sing, they sing loudly and with conviction. It's hard not to be moved no matter what they sing, but most of the missionaries who travel to the CRC are most moved by a song called "Reconciliation Song". Part of the Peace and Reconciliation Movement, the song reflects the terrible civil war that tore Sierra Leone apart, and how in the wake of all of that, it is the mandate of God that we forgive those who have committed atrocities against us.

If you know of Sierra Leone's war at all, and what these children suffered at the hands of the RUF, and then you hear them sing this song at the top of their voices with passion and conviction, then you get to witness the true redemptive power of forgiveness. If you've ever seen the film Blood Diamond, or read Ishmael Beah's book, A Long Way Gone, you'll have some small idea of what these children have lived through and survived. It is one of the most humbling experiences I've ever had in my life. The first time I heard the girls sing this song (the boys sing it too, but my first time was in the girls' dorm), I couldn't breathe. These children have witnessed the very depths of human depravity; the worst that human beings have to offer....and yet, they have the power to forgive.

Here is a link to a video of the girls singing the Reconciliation Song. Don't pay attention to the video part - it was shot with a video camera, but you can't see anything (Africa at night is DARK). But listen to it. Below are the lyrics:

They are moving

The Angels of place and reconciliation are moving the gospel (soldiers)

We want peace, we want love, and reconciliation

Brethren, let's love one another for this is the commandment God gave us.

Yes we know and we that our leader have really wronged us

For they have killed our fathers, killed our mothers

for they have destroyed all our resources and yet still oh my brethren

Le's forgive, we just have to do it,

for its a command that is given by God

Everyday we sin and God forgives

They are moving (repeat chorus)

Yes we know and we know

that prayer is the only key

How can we serve God and Man -

When God is a jealous God?

Let's forgive, we just have to do it

for its a command that is given by God,

Everyday we sin and God forgives

Well, that puts it into perspective, doesn't it?

Out of the Box

The first time I went to Bo, I wasn't sure how I'd do. Most of my friends and family weren't sure how I'd do. I'm really more of a Hilton or Marriot girl than I am a camping kind of girl. I like my creature comforts. I like them to be nicer than average. I'm a 700 thread count kind of girl.


However, I like to be a little bit off-balance. I'm learned about myself that I learn better if I'm slightly uncomfortable. I like to be pushed a little. So okay - traveling to a third-world country might be a little more than slightly off-balance, and I was pretty nervous about that the first time around. One of the best aspects of that first trip was that I learned something new about myself - and I adjusted to the non-Hilton aspects of the trip a lot quicker than I had expected to. And the truth is, the MTC - the dormitory where missionaries stay when visitng Mercy or the CRC, is hardly roughing it. Tommy and Fudea, the caretaker and cook respectively, take such good care of us that I wind up feeling quite spoiled.

And yet, it's not the difference in how we live when we're at the CRC that pushes me out of my box - not anymore, and it's deeper than just that I'm in a foreign culture (although that is certainly a different box than I'm used to). It's more that every time I've been to Bo, whatever it is I think brought me there turns out to be not the real reason I'm there at all. I have good reasons to go - teach summer school, for example - but both times I've been I've realized fairly quickly that my agenda is extremely minor. Irrelevant even. In Bo, I'm so far out of my box that I don't even know what I'm about to learn - I can't help but just be open to whatever the experience is going to be. I don't live that way normally; not at all. I'm a planner. I love routines and I hate surprises, and in Bo, the only thing you can count on is that your plans will change, nothing will be routine and it's all a surprise. And I can't wait to go back.

Preparing

I'm not sure exactly how to begin this blog, since for me, this journey is not really beginning. It's actually more of a continuation that began seven years ago when I agreed to become the chair of the education committee of the Child Rescue Centre Partnership without really knowing what that would mean, and how it would transform and enrich my life.

The Child Rescue Centre, for those of you who don't know of it, is a 70-child resident orphanage located in Bo, Sierra Leone. The CRC provides safety and nurturing to these children, and my role as the chair of education is to do my best to ensure that they receive the best education possible so that they can grow up and become the future leaders of their nation. You can find out more about the CRC here.

In less than two months, I will be making the journey back to Bo, the second largest "city" (I put "city" in quotes because by American standards, it would probably more accurately be described as "village" or "wide place in the road"). This will be my third trip to Bo, and my first as the leader of an 8 person team. It will also be the first time I'll get a chance to observe in the classrooms and schools attended by our resident orphans, and the first time I'll travel to Bo with a student of my own; a GMU senior earning three credit hours for her work with me in Bo and in the months leading up to and following our trip.

As my student's instructor, I'm charged with giving and grading assignments. One of the things I'm requiring of her is writing a regular blog about her experiences related to this trip. In the spirit of never asking a student to do something you're not willing to do yourself, I'm also planning to keep my own blog.