Hope in Action: The Mama Hope Blog

2011-11-15T23:25:00.001-08:00

Hello World!

We've moved the Mama Hope Blog to our main site at Mamahope.org.

See you there!

St. Timothy's School, Moshi, Tanzania

2009-11-01T09:00:00.000-08:00

Here we have a short overview and progress update on St. Timothy's School in Moshi, Tanzania. Construction began in September of this year and is expected to be completed by Nov. 30th, with children attending in January 2010. I can't tell you how exciting it's been to see this project rise from the fields of Newland village! The efficiency and care our local community partner Tanzania Children Concern has been giving this project is a shining example of how communities know best. From local knowledge of land rights, power and water to the best vendors and manufactures. Again and again, it's made me believe that communities need to be helped to help themselves!

-Bryce

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To read about my nonsense between work, check out my personal blog at: neitherherenorthere.org

St. Timothy's: What I want to be...

2009-10-30T09:00:00.000-07:00

What started out as a Q and A about thoughts on the new school turned into a "What I want to be.." fest. It really seems to me that kids throughout the world generally have the same aspirations. Whether it's about excitement or connecting with people, the occupations are usually somehow related with the people who take care or us. And, of course, there's always one kid who wants to be president.

-Bryce

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Read about my moments between the work on my personal blog at: neitherherenorthere.org

St. Timothy's Students on the New School

2009-10-29T09:00:00.000-07:00

Our plans were to ask a few of the students what they thought of the school. Thanks to their vigor we ended up with a mob of children ready to tell us how excited they were about the number of toilets. Amazing since it was mere bricks when they saw it! Afterward, James was telling us that some of them wanted to have class in it before it was even completed. A few wanted to go live in the construction site. Wow.

-Bryce

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To read about my moments and people between the work, check out my personal blog at: neitherherenorthere.org

St. Timothy's Kids Visiting the Site

2009-10-27T09:00:00.000-07:00

This was a treat to behold. On October 14th, all the current St. Timothy Students got to visit the construction site of the new school. What's not included in the video is the jostling and kid climbing the kids did to get into the buses that brought them to the school! Hope you find it as ridiculouly cute as I did.

- Bryce

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To read about my moments between the work, check out my personal blog at: neitherherenorthere.org

Lucia, James and Facebook Causes

2009-10-26T10:01:00.000-07:00

Here's a video of Tanzania Children Concern Founder, James Nathaniel getting a lesson about what the heck Facebook Causes is from Lucia. I also had it explained to me about 3 minutes before this video was shot.

You can check out our Causes page for yourself here:
http://apps.facebook.com/causes/60174/15070448?m=e56504ed

-bryce

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To read about my moments between the work, check out my personal blog at: neitherherenorthere.org

Measles Vaccinations at Mama Tumaini

2009-10-04T08:23:00.000-07:00

A student from the Pepo La Tumaini Early Childhood Development school bravely refuses to cry while recieving a measles vaccination at the Mama Tumaini Clinic.

During September 19th-25th, the Mama Tumaini Health Clinic took part in a nation wide campaign to vaccinate children between the ages of 1 and 5 for measles. Mama Hope’s partner Wind of Hope in the Arid served the surrounding communities as well as several local Early Childhood Development and Primary schools.

By the end of the campaign, 485 children were vaccinated and 514 given vitamin A supplements. Administering the vaccinations were Naiomi Meme, Harriet Gatakaa and Wind of Hope Programme Nurse, Stella Okello.

We’re so proud that our clinic took part in this! Hope you enjoy the pics.

Nearly 150 children were vaccinated on September 23rd.

Children were lead by teachers from local primary schools. Others came on their mother's backs.

Children under the age of 1 came for vitamin A suppliments to help with the development of their eyes.

Late in the day anxious mother's began entering the clinic worried their children would miss the essential vaccinations. Order was eventually restored!

Naiomi Meme (right) administers a Vitamin A supplement

That's it!

Portraits of the Drought: Mwambia

2009-09-24T02:12:00.000-07:00

by Bryce

Photos and Video by myself and the Trainers of Trainers, my student group at Wind of Hope.

Isiolo, Kenya sits in the Kaisut desert in East Africa. The area as a whole is currently going through the worst drought in years. Water and food relief have become precious commodities and tribal conflict a regular fixture on the news. I’ve done my best to convey the following within this context.

Mwambia sits in the sun waiting. He shifts his toes in his sandals and wears a faded Muslim kufi on his head. A tired looking brown jacket covers his small frame while his kneecaps poke from behind his trousers.

He’ll tell you he’s 100 years old, but he was born in 1930. His home is a small wooden shack about 3 kilometers from where he’s currently sitting at in the Wind of Hope (WOH) community compound. He enjoys telling war stories and is originally from a good sized town about a 45 minute ride south, called Meru. It was a town of local shops and farmers which have recently given way the Kenyan equivalent of Walmart: Nakumatt.

Looking at him it’s a bit difficult to dispute his claim of 100. He already looked older than Africa when I first met him three years ago. Not much of a dent in his time frame, but his smile of recognition tells me it doesn’t matter. We’re here together again in Isiolo.

We shake hands, smile and try to work up a conversation through my broken Swahili. “Yes, I’ve returned. I’m happy to see you as well. It is very hot. You’ve walked all the way from your home today? How is your home? “ His smile is cheerful, but his eyes are a bit far and watery. Something’s on his mind.

Mwambia is a bit of an indicator here at WOH. When things are well, such as when the HBC (home based care for people living with HIV/AIDS) food distributions are arriving on time (or at all), he can be seen walking near town selling his hand carved wooden spoons. When times are bad, he’s usually sick and bed ridden. A year ago we had to break down his front door to save him from an accidental self-imprisonment. He hadn’t eaten in 3 days and was too weak to unlock his door for help. The amount of clothes he’s wearing makes me think of this; jackets upon jackets when the sun is blazing. His body can’t handle much.

It’s because he’s an indicator that his presence here today has attracted attention. Khadija, the Program Director, and a few others come and sit around us in a circle. He opens up immediately.

For the past week thieves have been coming into his home and stealing his food distributions.

“Everything,” he explains, “my food, my flashlight, my blankets. They’ve come and taken them all.” he pauses, shakes his head and narrows his eyes to the sun. “They are too strong. And they say they will come back. They say: We will come back again and again.”

He goes on for another ten minutes giving details that are not translated. Needless to say his audience is fuming. Angry words dart back and forth. “To where? …took it all? You haven’t eaten in five days? You know who they are? Your neighbor? We know that house. It’s not far at all.”
Before long the group splits. The two men, Nassir and Rojeb shake their heads and wander off in thought. Khadija storms off into the compound and back out again.

“Imagine,” she starts, “they steal from him! What does he have?”

My answer would be a few plastic water containers, a beat up wooden bed frame with a blanket, some rocks for cooking on, a pot and a photo of him with his son taken some 13 years back.

Khadija holds a hand to her chest as if quailing a fire, then goes on.

“They have even come in while he was having an asthma attack. What can you even do? Taking from an old man like that. They just come and take it from his hands. What can he do? And now that they know he gets food relief, how can we stop it?” She pauses and looks away from me, “But it is also because of starvation… This is a very bad signal. When people are like this, they can even start killing each other for food. You know not long ago a lady was killed for an avocado.”

Mwambia's home in the Bula Pesa neighborhood of Isiolo.

Ten minutes go by and I’m sitting next to Mwambia again. He’s being put together a care package. Some rice, beans and spinach. To my left is Nyla, she seems overwhelmed by the situation isn’t saying much.

“It’s very bad. I’m sorry.” I say to Mwambia.

“It’s in God’s hands,” he responds.

Lunch is ready and my conscience is starting to nudge me because of it. We all get plates of warm corn boiled in salt and milk. Mwambia refuses his and pulls down his bottom lip to show teeth worn to the gums. We quickly get a few bananas and some porridge which lights him up.

The three of us sit for awhile eating. It’s a bit difficult. I feel like I should hide my shameful plateful, but I can’t exactly not eat. Beside me, Nyla is silently dropping tears into her plate.

Mwambia finishes the porridge and eats a single banana. He puts two more into a torn plastic bag, diligently wraps up the fruit and hides it away in the folds of his jacket.

“You don’t want more to eat?” I ask.

“I’m full. If I eat too much now…” he makes the universal sign for throwing up.

It’s not long before Khadija appears again. I’ve seen her this way before and I fear for whoever is in her way. She starts to gather a small posse; two men and two women.

The ambulance leaves the compound. (Photo by Mohamed Adan)

“They come at night? We’ll be there at night. It has happened five times. It must stop,” she says to Mwambia. She fires up the ambulance and everyone piles in. “We know where they are. We’ll find them, throw them in the back and drag them to the police station.“

She sticks the engine in reverse and plows out.

______

5 hours later, later the vehicle pulls back into the compound. It’s missing most of the posse. Khadija climbs out looking like she’s carrying a fifty pound weight on her back. Nyla catches Khadija as she heads inside.

“Did you find the thieves?” she asks.

“Yes, we found them.” Khadija responds softly with a tone of dejection. She takes off her shoes and heads inside.

_____

Around 9pm we finally get the rest of the story. Khadija is sitting on her living room couch. The dim turquoise of the solar lights cast a tiring tone on her and small shadows creep out from corners reminding us that it’s night now and Mwambia has long gone home.

“Who are we?” she starts, “This afternoon, we had looked at Mwambia and imagined: I don’t want someone to do that to me when I’m old. So we got there ready for a fight with young strong men. Rogeb was angry. But when went in the home of the thieves what we found was a family of five. These children with swollen bellies and tiny legs. The mother’s breast was just skin with a baby on it. The man sitting by the door was so weak he couldn’t get up. He just looked at us and shouted, ‘Khadija! You’ve come! We stole the old man’s food. Have you brought us some more?”

She shifts uncomfortably in her seat and continues, “We were so ashamed. Rogeb said nothing. He walked in circles like he didn’t know us… he had no words. We asked them where the old man’s belongings were. They replied that they sold them for food.”

“We said, ‘where is the blanket?’”

“’We sold it,’ he said.

“I wish you knew how much for, Bryce. It was for 40 shillings.”

“That’s about 50 cents,” I say to Nyla, “Enough for about half a kilogram of rice or 6 bananas.”

I watch Khadija adjust her skirt again as she goes on. Her left middle finger can’t bend due to the ligaments being severed during an attempt on her life. She’d caught the machete blade in her hand. She doesn’t strike me as someone who is easily caught off guard.

She goes on, “The man said, ‘Why should we leave food when there is food there at the old man’s. I will steal as far as I can walk and that is as far as I can walk.’

“We didn’t know what to do, so we went to town to buy food and brought it back. I tell you, they were down on the ground eating. Rogeb had to shove food in the man’s mouth and help him because he was too weak to chew. And then, there were people coming to their gate saying, ‘let us eat with them!’ It was crazy.”

She paused for about a minute before going on.

Mwambia recieving a Ramadan food distribution from Salim Yassen.
(Photo by Salat James Sunday)

“Sometimes to the local people, they think our community project manages everything: AIDS, turmoil, food. It’s not so good. We cannot manage it all. How do you choose who gets food? I’ve seen a baby sucking a dead woman. How do you choose? …but at least it’s not as bad as 1984. God should not let us see that again. That wasn’t drought. That was death. People couldn’t even fight. They just sat and glared at each other. They boiled hides to eat. You could not find a rat anywhere.”

Without warning Khadija’s cell phone rings, erupting her ringtone into the room. It’s playing the Elton John song, Sacrifice.

It’s a human sign… when things go wrong… when the scent of her lin-

Khadija silences her phone and looks at her caller ID. It’s Esha, the woman managing the health clinic. She was also at the home today. Khadija discards the call.

“She’s been calling me all night,” she says, “asking me what to think. What to do with herself now that she’s home. She’s saying, ‘you’ve been here long. You know.’ But surely, who am I? Why do I know? I can’t tell anyone what to think. I just tell her, ‘You do something positive. You sit with your children and appreciate them. You create something. You make something good with what you have. What else can you do? I’m not God.”

______

Isiolo riverbed some 30 kilometers from town. Until the current drought, this area
was the main water source for nearby villages and wildlife.

Two weeks later, I’m in a cab with a driver named Abdi. He’s about my age and has family who were relocated from Somali refugee camps to England and the United States. He tells me about how he had lived in the UK for a year posing as his sister’s husband, but was found out and sent back. He’s now been in Isiolo for three months.

“London wasn’t so good. It’s was too cold. I’d find my death there,” he says.

We pull onto the main road. Bikes and hawkers pulling carts of water dart out of our way. Up the road a beaten up semi-truck pulls out of a gas station. Under its flapping brown tarp are a few hundred 50kg bags of soy and wheat powder. On each bag is the red and blue USAID food relief emblem. It reads: From the American People.

“Where are they going?” I ask.

“They are headed north to Wajir. Some 200 kilometers. It’s very far. The drought there is so bad,” Abdi responds.

He jerks the cab off the road to let 2 eight-wheeled military vehicles pass. Their engines seem to be the only real noise in town today. It’s hot and everyone is moving a bit slower than usual. Dust billows across vegetable stands and into the cars windows. Not a single bit of shade has been left unoccupied. The cab hops back on the road.

“It’s quiet here today,” I say watching a herd of goats pass by.

“Yes,” he says, “it’s very hot and the town is quiet. We’re all starving and no one wants to talk about it.”

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To read more of my stories from our projects, check out my personal blog at:
neitherherenorthere.org

St. Timothy's Update

2009-09-16T15:41:00.000-07:00

by Lucia Crenshaw

When I wrote you the last blog, I said that I thought things were about to get moving really fast, and I sit here today, exactly one month after breaking ground on the school, completely blown away by just how fast they have gotten moving.

The new school, two months ago just a barren piece of land, is now a completed foundation, and the beginning stages of the exterior walls. So, needless to say, the past month has been extremely busy.

The more time I am here, the more I am aware of things that I take for granted—things both learned and observed. When it comes to the school, I have realized just how reliant I am on technology to build and cultivate things, and how here, almost everything is done by hand. This might not seem like a “no-brainer”—Africa is behind the times when it comes to technology. But after watching the progress of this school, I am starting to wonder if we are not the ones who are in fact “lagging behind in terms of development,” and by development, I mean actually building something from the ground up.

In the past month, I have witnessed exactly this—a building process that is tedious; however, it is beyond resourceful and it involves the whole community. Neighbors store and guard the building supplies; women cook lunches and bring them to the site; and local masons combine their skill and expertise in such a way as to make it look effortless. Many of the workers are members of the community with whom Tanzania Children Concern does outreach with—some are masons who have worked on the current orphanage, others are parents of some of the students. I guess for all of these reasons and more, that is why I get the feeling that this project goes deeper than bricks and mortar. It is a true community project—designed by, built by, and sustained by the community that it will serve.

Tanzania Children Concern has been trying to build this school for over 5 years, but due to financial restraints, they have been unable to do so. James says that this past spring, he received a letter saying that St. Timothy’s must register (which means build a school) as soon as possible, and at the time, he had no idea what they were going to do. He then said, “I can’t believe that I am getting to witness this (the building of the school) in my lifetime! I am just so overjoyed; I can’t wait!” I am right there with James---I feel privileged to be a part of this!

To read more of my personal stories from St. Timothy's check out my blog:

luciacrenshaw.blogspot.com

Where it all began

2009-09-02T02:34:00.000-07:00

This originally is a letter that I sent out to my friends and family but I have been urged to share it on the blog as well.

-Nyla

As I write to you I am sitting on the porch of my hotel in Kisumu. This is the same hotel that in April of 2006, I shared a dinner with Bernard and talked about his dreams for the future. So much has changed since then. First, Bernard is no longer a boy but a man whose dreams are now within his grasp. Second, this is now my fourth time in Kenya and instead of it just being 3 months after my mother passed away it has been years. And it is only now that I am truly starting to understand how I ended up here in the first place.

I am here in Kisumu. Where it all began. Where 3 months after my mother died I came here to meet Bernard, the orphan that she sponsored. Not really knowing why but just following my instinct that when I got here things would fall into place. And they did to a certain extent. I met Bernard, learned about the project that my mother funded at OLPS-Neema that helped hundreds of women and out of this experience sparked the inspiration for Mama Hope. But what I have learned now is that this really is just the surface story. There is actually so much more.

A couple days ago, while driving with Bernard and Anastasia, the founder of OLPS-Neema, I asked her to tell me a little bit more about how my mother contacted her. She said one day in 2003 she just got a call from my mother and in true Stephanie Moore fashion, she just launched into her pitch. “Hi, I am Stephanie Moore. I am Bernard Olando’s sponsor. I want to help the young women in your community who are losing their parents to AIDS to become self sufficient? I saw a special about this on TV about how these women end up needing to take up prostitution to support their siblings and I want to help prevent this. You see I have a daughter and I hope that if anything happened to me she would be able to be self sufficient…and so on…and so on…..etc.” Once Anastasia could get a word in she told my mother that it was her dream “to start a program to teach these women how to run their own businesses.” Then she told my mom how much she needed to raise to start it. She said that my mother answered confidently, “Give me two weeks!” And so began a wonderful relationship where my mother would call Anastasia, ask her what she needed, then raise the money from her friends and send the funds to Kenya to help these young women.

Time went on and at the end of 2005 Anastasia got a very different call, “Anastasia, I have some bad news. I am very sick and I don’t think I will be around much longer. But I have a daughter and I promise that she will not abandon you and Bernard.” This was the very last time they spoke.

Anastasia told me that she had a beautiful picture of my mother who she said looked like a very young woman and so she thought for sure that the daughter must still be a young girl. She said that after that call she just prayed for the girl; that her whole community prayed that she would be alright. She told me that she wished to bring that girl into her home and care for her.

So four months later when I called her she thought it was a miracle. And a few weeks later when I showed up at her door in Kenya to meet Bernard she was so shocked to see a young woman who looked so similar to her picture of Stephanie Moore. She told me, “you know when you arrived and you were crying, and my whole staff was crying too. It was tears of joy because we knew that you had made it home.”

I want to point out that up until now I KNEW NONE OF THIS. My mother never told me of her promise to Anastasia. I didn’t go to Kenya to fulfill some destiny. I just saw it as an opportunity to meet Bernard and escape from my life in California and everything that reminded me of my terrible loss. Little did I know that what I was escaping to would eventually be the thing that healed my grief.

I remember now how I felt when I showed up; totally defeated and hopeless. The day before I met Anastasia and Bernard for the first time I was sitting on the porch of this very same hotel by myself. Cursing the universe. Asking why the hell I was in Kenya? How could my mother’s death ever have any meaning? How was I ever really to have faith again? I did not know that it would be renewed the very next day by meeting the people that my mother helped and inspiring me to create something so special in her absence.

So today, I am meeting with Anastasia to launch a garden in her community to honor another mother, named Rita Rose. Through Mama Hope a young girl named Mimi Rose contacted me who also lost her young beautiful mother to cancer and decided to fundraise in her memory. The Rita Rose Garden is going to help 100 women, (the very same women my mother helped, who are no longer girls but now mother’s themselves) have a sustainable source of nutrition for their children.

And in two weeks Bernard begins Medical Training College. We were so excited when he got the call with us on Saturday and learned that he was the only student accepted from his high school and that he also got a $1,000 scholarship. I know my mother is beaming with pride!

I have no idea why I woke up this morning to write this to you. I think I just wanted to share that the universe works in strange ways. People might leave us but it seems that love is something that can connect us beyond the boundaries of death in the most miraculous ways and that sometimes when you think you are completely lost you are just on another path home.

Kids Singing in the Kitchen

2009-08-28T08:00:00.000-07:00

This is a pretty common occurrence in the kitchen at Wind of Hope. The three girls (each waiting to be placed with a family) Miriam, Bushi, and Amina started out by studying their English with words like rock, flour and car. They eventually moved to their favorite pop songs. I don't think I could have managed to memorize "Hips Don't Lie." ...but they did. To the right is our founding director, Nyla, peeling tomatoes and humming along.

- Bryce

Three Takes on Community Gardens

2009-08-26T11:01:00.000-07:00

-Bryce

Since leaving Tanzania, Nyla and I have been traveling throughout Kenya helping to implement drip irrigation projects with communities in Mai Mahiu, Isiolo and Kisumu. Earlier this year Mama Hope received a grant from the William Zimmerman Foundation to launch these gardens. Initially, we thought of doing a single pilot “Demonstration Garden” that we could replicate in all three communities. Though, in typical Mama Hope fashion, the gardens have evolved according to the needs of our partner communities. Jargon? Yes, but it's true. Single template solutions only seem to work on paper. Here is a brief rundown of the three different approaches to the gardens. We'll have more about their progress as time moves on.

Comfort the Children, Mai Mahiu, The Rift Valley

First stop was up in the Rift Valley about an hour north of Nairobi. Small buses whine up steep hills, pass broken guard rails, overlooking the expanse of the Rift Valley. Up the hills towards the town, volcanic ash mixes in with the farm lands and winds roar up the town's main strip stinging the face and the clouding the eyes. Our partner project here is Comfort the Children International (CTC), an American based, but locally run organization working to create sustainable project models for local community based organizations.

Earlier in 2009 when Mama Hope first received the funds from the William Zimmerman Foundation we gave CTC a project grant to start a youth run Demonstration Garden. Currently, the garden is in its third harvest and will continue to produce year-round through the use of drip irrigation. It's run by the local primary school's Environmental Club. Mostly the group consists of coy quick-witted children between the ages of 7 and 14 who are taught an amazing amount of farming knowledge by their teacher, simply known as “Rocky”. Every Tuesday after school the Environmental Club meets to discuss the logistics of running the garden and on Thursdays they work in teams to maintain the garden.

The approach here is simple. Educate and work with the children to install and maintain the irrigation systems through lessons and practical activities, then involve the children's parents in the training in an effort to spread the knowledge of the drip irrigation systems to the local community.

Wind of Hope, Isiolo, Kaisut Desert

8 hours away in Isiolo is our original partner project Wind of Hope in the Arid (WOHA). It's a worn and dusty town surrounded by safari destinations. WOHA is an HIV/AIDS Community Based Program struggling through a particularly severe drought to feed its community. Four days ago we heard a story about a 79 year old man being repeatedly robbed by his neighbors for his food relief.

We had planned to help organize for a youth drip irrigation program similar to CTC, but food insecurity lead the youth to decide on a smaller more easily guarded project that would better utilize the little water resources they have. It was decided that a drip irrigated greenhouse should be constructed and used as a demonstration for the community of ways to conserve water and to provide better yields during drought periods. Also when the rains come the water can be harvested from gutters on the roof into water tanks.

Within an afternoon the greenhouse had been plotted and the land cleared completely by the youth. They also organized for building materials, soil, and skilled labor to help them construct the timber. Currently, they are documenting the project themselves through a camera and computer class Nyla and I have been teaching them.

Our Lady of Perpetual Support, Kisumu, Lake Victoria

Coming up to western Kenya is a bit deceiving. It's green and after being in a drought in the desert it was a shock to our system to arrive in a rain storm that could have doubled as a monsoon. Kisumu sits on the shores of one of the biggest fresh water lakes in the world. A 15 minute cab ride away from the city reveals tired farms and dried up fields of corn. It's green, sure, but once you get away from the city water sources, food security is entirely dependent on very undependable rainfall.

Our project partner Our Lady of Perpetual Support for People Living with HIV/AIDS (OLPS) does exactly as the name suggests. They are a community run program offering health care, home based care gardens and an orphanage. Their basic mission is supporting children from conception on. As the founding director, Anastasia states, "It is not enough to simply feed a child. They must be fed and educated, so they may do the same for others."

The project here has come together as drip irrigation training for 100 female home based caregivers taking care of orphans (most have been widowed by HIV/AIDS). They are to revamp a 3 acre garden with easily replicable drip irrigation systems. OLPS’s goal by the end of the year is that these methods are adopted by the women for use in their home gardens. The women's hope is that the produce from the garden will be used to supplement the food supply for an elementary school that is across the street from the project.

Salim Dancing

2009-08-25T08:16:00.000-07:00

This is Salim. He is a four year old orphan at Wind of Hope in Isiolo, Kenya. The day after we arrived at the project the youth had a dance party where Salim started showing off his moves. We were quite impressed.

- Bryce

James Nathaniel, St. Timothy's is a refuge

2009-08-25T07:57:00.000-07:00

This is a video of James Nathaniel, the Founding Director of Tanzania Children Concern and the headmaster of St. Timothy's School in Moshi, Tanzania. Here he talks about what St. Timothy's means to the children that currently attend.

Breaking Ground on the new St. Timothy's School!

2009-08-16T04:08:00.000-07:00

We broke ground on the new St. Timothy's School yesterday, August 15th, 2009, exactly one month and one day after I first arrived in here in Moshi, Tanzania!

It was absolutely perfect--not a dramatic, public event (it was just James, a few village executives,the workers, and me)--but James’ excitement and enthusiasm felt almost tangible.

For the past three past weeks, James has worked endlessly to finalize the building proposal for the new school. A process that I have come to learn is more meticulous than even the most complicated college application (kind of sad that that is all I can compare it to, but you get the drift). After a lot of patience and some compliance on our part, the proposal was approved with flying colors by the Moshi municipal ministry of education, and it has now been sent to Dar-Es-Salaam (Tanzanian business capital) to be officially registered by the country government.

In the meanwhile, we were given the go-ahead to begin construction. And so yesterday, I met James in town. He had just purchased the piping for the plumbing, and together, along with a truck load of supplies that followed, we ventured to Newland. In the past month, I have made this drive several times, and each time, I am continually amazed by the beauty that is Newland. It is a beauty that has changed since I first got here. The sunflower fields have been cut for harvest, and in their wake, the wildflowers have taken over, reclaiming their land back.

We pulled up to the site of the new school to see the workers busy digging trenches for the plumbing. We got out to walk along part of the newly dug trench, and James stopped to take it all in. He said with a huge smile on his face, “You know Lucia, this is going to be where the classrooms are going to be!” And he pointed to the land right next to where he was standing. He then ran over to where one boy was rhythmically hoisting a shovel up and down into the ground, and asked if he could try. He laughed as he pounded the shovel into the ground, pushing the dirt over to one side.

On the drive into Newland, James told me that when he was a child, public school cost one dollar per year. At the time, he did not have the money to pay for it, and he had to sell his bike so that he could go to school. He explained that this is one of the reasons that he feels so called to educating the "vulnerable children" in Tanzania. Watching James swing that shovel into the ground, I could see how determined he is to help these children, to make this vision a reality. He has come a long way, and now because of this school, others like him will now have an opportunity to receive an education. It was pretty amazing to witness.

The plumber and his workers say that they expect to finish digging the trenches and installing the tubing in the next few days, and after that, construction on the school will officially begin! James says that he thinks everything is about to get moving really fast, and judging by how fast the men were working yesterday, that is an understatement!

As for me, I have been busy working with the children at St. Timothy’s and helping with some of the Tanzania Children Concern outreach. I am planning to meet Nyla and Bryce in Kisumu, Kenya this upcoming weekend, and together we are going to launch the Rita Rose Drip Irrigation Garden! I look forward to keeping you updated on the school construction and everything else that is going on over here! Thank you again for being a part of all of this!

Yours In Hope,
Lucia Crenshaw

Taking time with the kids

2009-08-12T05:57:00.000-07:00

“To the children St. Timothy’s has been a refuge… for safety and to feel relieved from the pressures of the day, from the pressures of the night. …the school has been the place to run to for security and safety and for hope.”

James Nathaniel, Headmaster St. Timothy’s, Founder Tanzanian Children’s Concern

It’s easy to approach a group of playing children and take their happiness for granted. It was in my second week at St. Timothy’s when the schools headmaster opened up about what the school really means to the children and the community. He told me, “these children are the happiest when they are in school and during their break they are just counting down the days until they can return and be well taken care of.”

Last week, the students finished their finals on Tuesday and had the rest of the week to play and celebrate while their teachers corrected their exams. Up until this point we had been occupied with community meetings about launching the new school and had not spent time with the children. Fortunately, the end of their exams happened to coincide with handing off the project to the community, which gave us time to hang out with the students.

To help the teachers out we decided to hold a field day where we did every relay race we could think of. The next day we taught the kids different songs and dances. I went way back into my head to remember every song that I learned at summer camp. We even taught them how to do the Macarena, which was a huge hit. By mistake while I was dancing I started a conga line (for the big kids)/ choo choo train (for the young ones) that took over the whole playground.

The last day before their break, we played every game under the sun until we were so exhausted and the kids settled down for story time where Lucia recounted the plots of Sleeping beauty, Aladdin and finally Lion King. They sat there mesmerized. You could have heard a pin drop.

St. Timothy’s school is a special place. By taking care of the most vulnerable children in the community it gives these children a chance to have a childhood. During their break they might be faced with the realities of their situations, some will have to go to work to help a sick parent care for their family. Some who were so dependent on the meals they got at school will go hungry. But after the break they will get to return to school and be kids again.

Many times I get so wrapped up in the work that I have to do during my field visits that I don’t get enough time to spend with the communities that Mama Hope supports. I am so happy that I had this opportunity to be reminded by the children how important it is to just laugh, dance, sing and play. It allowed me to remember why I started this organization in the first place.

Yours in hope,

Nyla

"We are together now"

2009-07-30T08:05:00.001-07:00

Dear Friends of Mama Hope

For the past two weeks, I have been living in Moshi, Tanzania, working with Nyla and Bryce on Mama Hope’s most recent project, the new St. Timothy’s School in honor of Vince Mulroy. How this whole project got propelled into action, I am still unsure, but I am going to do my best to try to explain.

Three months ago, I sent Mama Hope an email asking if they could help to build the new St. Timothy’s School. My email explained that a few summers s ago I volunteered as a teacher at the St. Timothy’s school. Currently St. Timothy’s rents their facility, and due to a Tanzanian law they must build a school of their own. In my email, I emphasized the sense of community that I felt in the Newland community. Before I knew it, Mama Hope had agreed to take on the project, I had a plane ticket to Tanzania booked, and the rollercoaster of a ride had officially begun.

Last Wednesday was the community meeting with the Newland village leaders. It was in a small one-room school. We squeezed onto about 5 benches with 16 village leaders. At one point in the meeting, almost every single village leader had their hands up with ideas and suggestions about how to get the community involved, using local labor and the most cost-efficient materials.

At the end of the meeting, Mr. Minja (the village chairman) said, “We are together now.” He then explained that the village leaders had decided to hold another community meeting on Saturday where they would invite all of the surrounding villages.

That following Saturday, over 200 people crowded outside in a makeshift arena. Nyla and I sat with the women against a wall in the back (they tried to get us to sit in the front with the men and we said no way jose!). Bryce sat in front with the men.

Throughout the meeting we could hear a man going around the village announcing the meeting on his megaphone, and soon enough people started arriving from all corners; men on bicycles and women with babies on their backs. For 3 hours there was a lot of back and forth in Swahili, and then all of a sudden, we were being taken to look at a plot of land the village had just given for the health center (phase two of the project). I’m going to be honest. To me, this was a plot of land---no different from the next plot of land. But when we turned around and smiled, the whole place erupted in cheers, laughter and clapping. To them, this land was the best of the best, more so, it was the future site of their health center, and very symbolically, they were entrusting this land to “us” as their partners.

It was humbling. It also once again emphasized that these communities are far stronger and more united than anyone gives them credit for; they really do know what is best. We couldn’t help but laugh and dance along with them.

As you can see, this whole project is progressing at a very fast pace and it is definitely taking on a life of its own. We will break ground in a short while, and I look forward to keeping you updated!

All the best,

Lucia Crenshaw

Movement in Moshi, Tanzania

2009-07-21T00:42:00.000-07:00

Dear friends of Mama Hope,

After a 12 hour bus ride where we got trapped at the border for 2 hours with no visas and money, we have made it safely to Moshi, Tanzania. Yesterday myself, Lucia Crenshaw Mama Hope’s Program Coordinator and Bryce Adolphson, our photographer met with James Nathaniel the founder of Tanzanian Children Concern and visited the site where St. Timothy’s school is going to be built. Throughout the day we met with the architect, and the local officials who will be overseeing the project. They told us that they had purchased this land for the school in 2005 and they had all but given up hope that the school would ever be built.

The site of the school is in the center of six villages and will serve a community of 30,000 people when completed. It is a beautiful plot of land about 5 miles from Moshi at the base of Kilimanjaro, surrounded by sunflower fields and enormous baobab trees. During the committee meetings Mama Hope’s team stood back and let the community officials run the show trusting that they would know best what was needed to initiate the construction. Because of this approach by the end of the day they had decided all labor and the construction of the bricks would come from the communities themselves. That they would simply tap into the city water instead of dig an expensive well and that they didn’t need to put up power lines to get electricity that they could just share the lines of a neighboring building and share the costs. In the end these creative solutions are going to save them thousands of dollars and make the school a truly sustainable project. We were very excited about these conclusions because we know we would have never learned about them if we insisted on leading the project. They are true examples of how incredibly resourceful the communities are when you leave the planning and implementation of the project in their hands.

That’s all from the field for now!

Yours in hope,

Nyla

To learn more about St. Timothy's School project: Click Here

Busy with the World

2008-11-04T14:11:00.000-08:00

-Bryce

Traveling again. I’m racing along the tarmac in a taxi with James, a 17 year old back at Pepo for a break from Secondary school. To my right is Goolo, the cab driver. Not a word had been spoken in 20 minutes. We all know the deal. We’re headed to Kambi Garba.

Part of what I’m doing at Pepo La Tumaini is helping to fill in the gaps in their capacity. In this case they need photos. APHIA II EASTERN, the East Africa branch of USAID, has required photos for all the children they give Antiretroviral Aids medicine to. A seemingly small demand, except Pepo doesn’t have a camera. Nor do any of these 899 children have photos available. 28 are registered in Kambi Garba. Not bad I thought.

This is my third trip to Kambi Garba in four days. It’s a small dusty dry village with nomadic tribes. Thorns tangle around dirt yards, hiding dilapidated shacks and the occasional camel. Residents are largely Borana, Somali, and Turkana. None of whom have the friendliest history toward one another.

The first journey resulted in five photos of registered children and 15 photos of children who have been orphaned since the registration list was made. Some street kids threw rocks at us while we got a tour of the local water sources.

“Trash water” Sarafina Kamaro calls it. She’s a community Elder and our contact in Kambi Garba, “Look, it’s full of trash.”

It is. Isiolo river travels through a military base, several villages, then town before here. The water has a stink to it.

“We drink the water, then we get sick. Stomach aches.” She goes on.

“You don’t’ boil it?”

“No,” she answers looking back at the mile walk to her home.

She takes us to a small spring in the side of the river. It’s tucked away in a rocky hole only small enough for a small water bottle. A young girl of about 8 sticks her hand in the hole fills the bottle and empties it into a 10 liter jerry can weighing about 30 pounds when full. It takes awhile.

A day later, the second trip resulted in four photos. Only one of them from the register.
I’m remembering all this when the cab swerves to avoid a herd of goats. Goolo doesn’t flinch. He just turns up the radio. Somali music, I’m thinking.

About 30 minutes after leaving Isiolo town we arrive at the end of the tarmac. This is where the road ends in Kenya. From here it’s dirt roads all the way to Somalia. Small buses shoot like bullets out of the desert leaving dust like vapor trails.

It reminds me of a friend in the U.S., a Somali refugee. He told me with a chuckle, “After the soldiers had killed my family I walked to Kenya. Then they told us to leave. So I walked to Ethiopia. When it got bad there, I walked back to Kenya. You can never take a car! You’ll get shot!” He had the biggest grin on his face.

But the present is different here and construction has begun again on the tarmac. Large hills of gravel and sand loom over a newly leveled path fading into the distance. Children wave from atop the mounds. The Kenyan government is extending the road to some nearby tourist destinations, safari parks and the like. For a while longer, the road still ends in Isiolo.

James and I get out of the taxi and pay Goolo. He nods and speeds away.

We go down some small dirt paths off the main road. They wind to and fro. The thorn fences rise and create a tunnel over us. We have to walk in single file.

“They are called Panya routes. We are panya here!” James lets out with a smile.

“Panya?” I ask.

“Rats! We are rats.”

A tattered looking woman stands roadside as if waiting for us. We ask her for directions and she takes us the rest of the way. Sarafina’s home is a bit of an orphanage. Five women saunter about doing various chores and tending to children. There are near 20 children in various states of disarray. A good number of the Kambi Garba youth are in school, but these children are simply around. They range from 6 months to 10 years. We exchange greetings and start going over who is left on the list.

Selina Nawatan: Nomads School
Shadrak Ekidor: Moved to a different district
Zainabu: Lives in Shambani
Christine Engngiri: Lives in Shambani
Lokale Goko: New Life School
Akuta Ngoko: Has gone on a journey
Kebo Akwara : unknown…

10 more are living in Shambani, a small village just across the river.

“Can we go?” I ask.

The yard erupts with chatter. Women with babies on their backs and hips, old grandmas who can barley walk, a drunken woman from the street jumps in the fray.

“They will not take us,” James translates. “They say the people there are so much for money. They say to forget the children there and just take care of the ones here.”

As I surmise and later confirm with the Chief of the area, Kambi Garba and Shambani have a long standing grudge. No one is clear why, but I’ve grown to suspect water issues. Whatever the problem, they’re not taking or letting us go there.

After taking about 10 photos, we hear yelling from a group running down a road 100 feet off.

“Wait here,” Sarafina lets out then runs off leaving us with a drunk woman demanding I take her photo.

James and I guess it’s another illegal alcohol raid. Walking through Isiolo town this morning, we caught glimpses of some police raids at some local changa huts. Changa being the Kenyan equivalent of moonshine. It’s cheap and poisonous. I know of at least one person who used it to commit suicide.

We eventually make our way to the confusion. Someones cut a camel with a machete. A Turkana man has slashed the leg of an eight-foot camel. There is an angry crowd and some official looking individuals. The camel sits on the ground bleeding. Another stands by its side chewing lethargically. Three weeks later I find out the man who slashed the camel meant to feed his family with it.

A child from the list is at the scene. Another picture taken and name crossed out.

Half an hour later, James and I are walking down the tarmac. We’re heading to New Life. A primary school a kilometer outside of Kambi Garba. We need a photo of a single attending student. The sun beats down and we share a water bottle.

“So what are you doing after school?” I ask.

“Where or what?” James responds.

“Both.”

“I’d like to be… a doctor or a journalist. Yes, I’d very much like to be a journalist!”

My ears perk.

“Yes. I’m even secretary in the journalist club at school. I love it very much. …I’m very interested in people from everywhere. Ai, those journalists get to know things. They are always so very busy with the world!”

A police wagon roars down the tarmac. It’s carrying several of the people from the camel incident. It kicks up dust and we’re alone again.

After another ten minutes we reach New Life School. The gate is chained. Dried plants line the fence. Inside it’s a ghost town. Dusty and empty.

“You. Is the school open?” James calls out to a child milling about near the road.

“Closed,” the kid responds.

“Closed for everything?” I ask.

James gives a questioning shrug, looking a little hopeless. We stand there for a moment soaking in the sun then head back to Kambi Garba.

Sarafina explains she’ll arrange with the child later. We then find out the ride we expected isn’t coming. And we haven’t enough for a taxi or bus. It’s about a eight kilometer walk back to town. We’ve hitchhiked before, but it’s just police and army vehicles today. Not ideal.

A little ways down the road a hulking tour bus rolls by. It’s a 12 wheel, 20 foot high, yellow and green vehicle. More commonly used to help the army traverse rivers. The tired looking tourists look down from a high.

20 photos down 879 to go. I know I’m not going to finish taking the pictures. And I know Pepo won’t either. The occasional volunteer might have the camera and the time. Each of the 899 children need a daily activity report as well. That’s 899 pages a day from a largely illiterate community.

James and I walk past the construction at the end of the road and back towards town. We spend most of our time talking and dreaming of cool milk or water. We go back and forth about whether soda is good for quenching thirst. But neither of us really care what we're going find in town. Really anything would do.

The Final

2008-08-04T13:51:00.000-07:00

-Bryce

On July 29^th the Pepo La Tumaini ECD (Early Childhood Development) preschool tackled their year-end final with the same intensity of a bar exam. Children ranging from 3-5 years old sat through hours of tests deemed essential by the Kenyan Ministry of Education.

“Do you think you’ll pass?” Project Coordinator Khadija Rama asked Abdallah Mohamed.

“I don’t know. Only the teacher knows.” The 4-year-old sternly answered.

The student’s tests began at 8am and lasted, interspersed with recess, until 12:30pm. Their tests ranged from animal identification in English and Kiswahili to math and science.

Ashu Abubakar, is one of the few students unable to get a desk for the tests.

Frankline Murithi was one of the first finished and with only one wrong answer.

Denis Mutrtuia (left) and Samwel Kithinji were witnessed plagiarizing each other’s papers, but escaped authoritative detection.

Fidy Ntinyari and ECD teacher, Albina Ngugi, discuss the final.

Ngugi has been teaching at the ECD for three years and often makes the class decorations using whatever resources are available.

During the math test, students were asked to complete problems such as 4+3 and complete numerical sequences 21, 22, __, 24. Answers varied.

Brenda Gakili was one of 54 students taking the test who would rather be at recess.

As the day wears on many students got the chance for extended recesses, while others stewed in class.

Shouting, “Finished?! Finished?!, “ a group of students help/harass Antony Kimathi with his final.

Antony: last man standing.

The Women's Group

2008-07-28T06:31:00.000-07:00

-Bryce

We’re walking to Mama Lucia. Our shoes crunch the dirt road and the wind whips at the plastic bags clinging to the dried shrubs. The land is a dusty patchwork of half finished construction and leaning fences. Around me are the women, seven members of the New Jordan Womens Group community bank (NJWG). They walk in flowing fabrics of red, black, pink and blue. Some children jeer at us and laughingly try to get a handshake.

“Give me my pen?” one of the children asks.

“You give me my pen.” I respond. The kids laugh harder and dart away.

“We’re going to visit an old mama,” says Hadija Mohammed, “A very sick mama.”

Again, I’ve found myself involved in a food distribution. Bringing food and midnight oil to someone unable to care for themselves. The difference here is the caregivers and the means behind the goods.

Over the past year, the 12 women of NJWG have been working to maintain a community banking project facilitated by Mama Hope though Pepo La Tumaini Jangwani (Wind of Hope in the Desert) in Isiolo, Kenya. The basic idea behind community based microfinance projects is to give those ordinarily unable to access credit, the ability to obtain small business loans, as well as the knowledge to manage these funds

Before the transition to microfinance, the women’s group had already been meeting for several years as a way to support fellow entrepreneurs. Their businesses range from small milk shops and clothing repair to a handful of roadside vegetable stands. A good day brings in about 100 shillings (approx. $1.50 USD).

Seeing the need for expansion, the group started what’s called a merry-go-round. Every week each member brought 50 shillings to give to a single entrepreneur.

“The money would help one of us, but we never moved forward. We were always waiting for our turn and could never make a higher amount “explains the bank’s first elected president, Geraldine Mugaonbi, the owner of a milk shop. “With the microfinance, we are all able to have the money through loans at the same time. So it helps us all.”

The key to this particular bank is its savings lead approach. Rather than an outside source simply giving money to the members, the bank is funded through the member’s hard earned savings. Each week, the members deposit a mandatory and voluntary savings. Once enough is saved, the members begin taking out loans and paying back interest to the fund.

“There is a saying from the coast,” Geraldine goes on, “if you give a man a fish, he’ll eat it, then ask for another. If you teach a man to fish, he’ll never go hungry. Even some of the members who came hoping and expecting money have decided what we got is better”

“I’m running the shop myself. My husband is an old man who never visits,” says Rose Mumbi, owner of a milk and charcoal stand. “I was married to him when I was 12 and he has other wives.”

The sentiment seems to be the same throughout the group. Of the 12 women, over half have no support beyond what they have built for themselves. When documenting a microfinance project in Nicaragua, I found a similar situation. The majority of men had either left their wives or had been unemployed for extended periods of time.

“”We’re not letting any men in the bank,” exclaims Hadija, a vegetable roadside stand owner, during a July 2008 meeting.

The group agrees.

They had one at the beginning. He was a local hired to help them manage the bank and act as a liaison between the NJWG, Pepo La Tumaini and Mama Hope.

“He tried to shake us, but we wouldn’t let him,” explains Hadija. “He was trying take complete control of it. Eventually he just left. No goodbye.”

Another aspect of the bank is the development fund. 20% of the interest from the loans is combined with weekly contributions and set aside to help community focused projects. Whether funding a community health day or helping the women care for the ill, the development fund gives the members the ability to make a positive change in their community. In their most common method of help, the development fund allows the women to bring supplies and psycho-social support to those in the community like Mama Lucia.

11 and a half months after the start of the bank, we enter Mama Lucia’s complex. Outside is a leaning sheet metal gate. The rectangular building is made of worn wood panels blackened with soot. It has 4 sections. Several children play in the front yard with pots and kitchen utensils.

Her room is in the back. It’s dark and she needs help greeting everyone. We spend some time with her chatting and showing her what has been brought. She asks for some petrol to burn at night and the group complies. She doesn’t say much else.

As we’re leaving I’m realizing the full circle this bank has taken. The women are finishing their first year and their capacity has been increasing in tandem with their ability to help the community. They have proposed more food distributions as well as more helping other groups to start their own community banks.

Hadija asks me if I remember a woman named Salma. I do.

We had visited Salma nearly a year ago, my first food distribution with the bank. She was a woman paralyzed from the waist down and unable to leave her home. At first she thought I was there to give her a handout. She refused until she found out it was purely from the women.

To explain her reasons, she propped herself up and said in perfect English, “if you give a man a fish, he’ll eat it, then ask for another. If you teach a man to fish, he’ll never go hungry.”

A Clinic Evolving

2008-07-14T08:59:00.000-07:00

-Nyla

Hello friends of Mama Hope,

I have arrived safely in Isiolo and feel like I have returned to my Kenyan home. We were welcomed with flowers, a song and a dance by the Wind of Hope orphans.

We were told that while the clinic has been under a construction it has served as so many things for the community. During the recent conflict it housed refugees who had lost their homes. During the rains it served as an orphanage for the children whose rooms flooded. While the elementary school was being renovated it served as a school. Until its official launch on August 12th, it is being used as a rehabilitation home for girls who have been sexually abused or have come off the street. The outside waiting area is being used as a preschool while the new school is being built.

Your donation to build the health clinic also helped build a school/sanctuary/orphanage/rehabilitation center providing a safe haven to hundreds even before it has opened to provide health care to thousands!

I'm so happy to see that the Mama Hope Clinic built to nurture the community is doing exactly that!

Thank you for your support. This all would not be possible with out Mama Hope's incredible donors.

During the next two months we will be updating the blog with videos, pictures and stories of our time in Kenya.

With gratitude,

Nyla

Letters of Hope

2008-02-01T13:29:00.001-08:00

Dear Friends,

Thank you for your concern and compassion for our Kenyan partner project, Wind of Hope in the Arid. Every morning since the disputed Kenyan election of December 27th, 2007, I have spoken with Khadija Rama, the founding director of Wind of Hope in the Arid to make sure her community is safe. Currently, her community finds itself in a terrifying crisis-- innocent people in Kenya houses are being burned down and 255,000 people have been displaced. Many HIV positive people who have long been healthy thanks to medication can no longer take the life saving drugs because of their lack of nutrition, and are rapidly becoming ill. On Jan. 24, 2008, The Economist reported, "Kenya remains deeply divided and unstable. Politically motivated killings, hackings and gang rapes continue in the towns and in volatile county districts. The economy is faltering."

This is a potentially devastating crisis for a country that was long considered one of the most stable and promising in Africa. There are ways, though, that we can help:

1. Donate online to Mama Hope. 100% of your donations will go to help the victims of the crisis. We have been and will continue sending money to ensure that the 35,000 people being cared for by Wind of Hope receive the food and medication necessary to survive.

2. Take a few moments to write a note of encouragement to the people of Wind of Hope. It has been such a huge comfort to the community to know that we support them during these difficult times. If you work with children, ask them to write to the children of Isiolo. You can send your emails to khadija@mamahope.org. I will also read them your messages daily over the phone and post them on our blog Yours in Hope: Letters to Kenya for our other donors to read. For suggestions on what to write please click here.

3. Take a few moments to send this email on to friends and family. It is amazing the strides we can make when we work together.

When I spoke this morning with Khadija she told me, "Please tell all your donors that they are making a difference. We would not be able to survive this crisis without Mama Hope's support. Your prayers are a source of strength and the knowledge that you care about our country makes our people strong and gives us hope this crisis will soon end."

Thank you again for your donations and words of encouragement!

Yours in hope,

Nyla
www.mamahope.org

--
Nyla Moore Rodgers
Director & Founder
Mama Hope
P.O. Box 843
23 Ross Common, Suite 10
Ross, CA 94957
Tel: 415.461.4858
Fax: 415.461.0300
http://www.mamahope.org

-"Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it's the only thing that ever has."
~Margaret Mead

Care Givers

2007-10-20T11:42:00.000-07:00

Posted by Bryce

The rocks make the path look more like a riverbed than a road. The ambulance and its five passengers clunk along at 5 miles per hour. We occasionally smash our heads on the roof and windows. Seated in the front is Fatuma, a Home Based Care giver; next to her is Rupert, a volunteer from England here at Pepo La Tumaini Jangwani (Pepo) for the second time; in the back snuggled amongst our cargo are Peter and Raphael, two Orphans living at the Pepo Transitional Living Camp; and myself, just another volunteer today, but in my head a photojournalist without a camera!

The boys and I joke, as we clunk along to the directions from Fatuma. She is from the area we are headed. It is a small section of Isiolo town, where a number of people suffering from HIV/AIDS are interspersed throughout the community. Fatuma is one of 79 Home Based Care givers aiding Pepo to provide food and care to those incapable of helping themselves. In the month of September alone, the volunteer based organization was able to provide such care to 794 individuals. Today is just a fraction of that. It’s also an example of the context this care takes place in.

Already drawing a large crowd, we stop in front of a dilapidated wooden fence and exit the back of the vehicle. I hop out and the boys start to hand me the small bags of supplies we’ve prepared. Rice, wheat, flour, cooking oil, sugar and a few others are all tied neatly into clear plastic bags. There is no mistaking we’re delivering a fair amount of quality food. In the eyes of onlookers, it is food that’s going to someone who would or should have been died already. We're getting as many glares as curious and excited glances.

This communal divide, acceptance of Pepo’s mission and anger over their use of resources has been with the organization from the beginning. Whether with angry religious groups in the past or local law enforcement in present. Not a week prior, a police officer was voicing this to Pepo’s Director, Khadija O. Rama in front of a 14 year old boy with Aids. “Why do you help them? They have Aids and deserve to be dead already,“ he criticized, speaking loudly enough for everyone around to hear.

Looking into the crowd now, I get the feeling that the same sentiment is running through some onlookers. Fatuma’s curt actions and lack of eye contact seem to confirm this. We carry the parcels of food to a wooden gate. Before we enter, a woman dressed in a torn black shirt approaches us and angrily asks, “Na meme?” Meaning, “and me?” Fatuma ignores her and I follow suit. Inside are two rectangular homes and lying between is a small shack. We’re greeted by a woman in her 20’s. She chats with Fatuma in kiswahili. Then, like the clumsy American I must look, I drop a bag from my tower of food. It explodes on the ground showering the dirt with dry beans. I give Fatuma a shameful look and let out, “ pole sana.” “Very sorry,” a phrase I’ve learned well. She gives me an indecipherable look and disappears into the shack. I sheepishly help the young lady blow the dirt off the beans and land then in another bag.

The inside of the shack is dark and cluttered. A bed lies on the side on which an elderly lady props herself. She’s thin, ill, and anywhere from 85 to 300 years old near as I can tell. We greet with a handshake and talk as Fatuma translates. She explains her name is Khadija as well and doesn’t know her age. She’s been in Isiolo for more than 40 years and calls it home. We're not sure where she has come from. It’s a short conversation. Khadija takes a breath and gives us a tired smile. Fatuma gives me a glance and it's time to go. We exchange goodbyes.

Back at the ambulance the crowd still lingers. The boys open the back and I climb in. Laughing, Peter says something in kiswahili while pointing outside. Raphael translates, “You want ride on the outside of the car? Hold on the back?” I give them a smirk and egg them on. “You want me to?” I get up and make to open the back door. In unison they jump up and shout in a half laugh, “No! No! Don't!” They realize I'm joking as well and laugh. “Don't do that!” Raphael tells me, “ You'll get stoned!” I raise my eyebrow and they giggle. The vehicle jerks forward and clunks along. Raphael stares out his open window, then closes it tight.

We make several more stops, including one to an exuberant woman in a wheelchair living in a complex of about 40 Borana men seeming to be getting ready for mosque. Eventually we run out of food and return to the Pepo compound for more. A number of the transitional living children and home bases care givers are organizing and packing food in a concrete sitting area. They laugh hurriedly as O. Rama teases them with orders to hurry because people are hungry. It's during this time that I realize the emotional contrasts. At any given location we can be a welcomed sight or a hated presence. One moment, I'm being told off by a girl of around 15: the next Nasir Mohammed, the program coordinator and Christopher, a Danish volunteer speed by. Their motorcycle chugging under the weight of its food parcels. They wave, then zip around a corner, which immediately erupts with a herd of panicked goats. Five minutes later, I'm meeting another grateful recipient. It's all a bit of a blur.

But it's easy to understand why a food distribution can cause such varied welcomes. In Isiolo those living below the poverty line vastly over shadow the 10 percent Aids prevalence rate. So deciding who receives aid is a complicated matter. Each individual receiving home based care must go through a rigorous application so someone else can decide whether Pepo is able to support them. Indeed, it's not as if Pepo has this food regularly. This distribution only came when an organization operating under USAID, delivered the food supplies. Without meeting the informational requirements Pepo wouldn't be able to help the individuals at all. So the question of who gets support is always so simple to ask, but difficult to answer. In a poverty stricken area like Isiolo, it's hard to discern those with wealth and those who have only the will to obtain the resources to help. Of the 794 home based care recipients, this day’s shipment will reach less than 40 individuals. It's a figure that is sometimes hard for the community to see. Pepo isn’t saving the day, it’s just helping to get through it.

Dealing with this situation is a regular routine. It is just more pronounced when Pepo has to make such a large appearance. But in the end, we exhaust the supplies without much incident. Our day now over, the ride slowly ends. Peter and Raphael stick their heads out the windows to shout and wave at some schoolmates passing the vehicle. I’m tired and wary of the fact that we have violated the Ambulance donor’s usage agreement. It is to be used to help children and the sick to the hospital, not help them in general. We stop in the middle of a deserted road and Fatuma hops out. We open the back door and hand her the last of the remaining bags. Wheat, flour, beans, rice, sugar, cooking oil, salt, and a small box of tea bags are her incentive for the past month of home based care work. “My home is near” she informs. She gives another indistinguishable look, then lets out a sly and knowing smile. I realize all my revelations today are just old news to her. Fatuma heads off and so do we.

Of Service and Self-Reflection

2007-09-26T08:00:00.000-07:00

Working for Pepo la Tumaini is as much about service as it is about self-reflection. The work gets to the core of you: who you are, what you’re made of and what needs improvement. It calls for self-sacrifice, for selflessness, for letting go of one’s ego, and this is not an easy process. Yet it begs the question: “How can we serve others if we cannot first forget ourselves?”

Our young British friend, Rupert, was with us for a couple of weeks. During that time he had a birthday and the Pepo community prepared a coming of age ceremony for him and all of us wuzungu. The event seemed to sum up what working with A Wind of Hope is all about.

We were led together in long robes, staffs in hand, brought through an extremely boisterous crowd of Turkana grandmothers singing and dancing with the orphans yelling and screaming and swinging their staffs and sticks in our direction, as if to scare us back to childhood. We were told to sit cross-legged on the gazebo floor as the young men charged us again and again, pretending to strike yet coming inches from our foreheads. Then, the young women served us tea and circled around us in a sort of playful flirtation, brushing their hands across our heads. We were not to make eye-contact with them.

Rupert was then placed at center stage. He was given two cakes and told to choose one. One represented his past, one his future. Rupert confidently snatched his past and tossed it aside. “Why did you throw away your past?” asked Khadija, as if she knew not only the answer to the question, but why that answer would be wrong. “I need to look forward,” said Rupert, a little unsure of himself. “Yes,” said Khadija. “We must look forward. But we can never forget our past. If we are running from battle and someone is left behind, will we forget that person?”

Rupert was then asked to cut the cake he had chosen. He diced it into small, bite-size pieces and was told he must serve it to the assemblage. He circled the inside of the gazebo, offering the platter to each and all. Some politely took a piece of cake. Others did not. “You must serve all of them,” said Khadija, calmly. Rupert returned to the ones who refused to eat. He tried again. One young boy shook his head. Rupert tried again. The boy shot his mouth up in disgust. He tried again. This time the boy got angry and made grunting noises. Rupert tried something new. This time, when he offered the platter, he did so on his knees. The boy took the piece of cake.

He then began to feed the Turkana elders, but Khadija scolded him: “You cannot offer the platter like that to them! You must show proper respect.” So he bent a little, and offered the platter with both hands, head peering downwards. This time they accepted.

Others he had to sit with; with some, he had to leave the piece of cake behind; still others required the utmost love and patience. The message was simple enough: Along the path of service there are many we will come across. Some will accept our work with gratitude, others will refuse, some must be paid a certain respect and others will need tact and patience. A simple lesson, yet infinitely profound. This is what coming of age is all about: in our childhood we only look inward (what do people do for us?). We are very selfish and dependent. Yet, when we reach adulthood we must begin to look outward. This is the true meaning of becoming an adult: turning from selfishness to selflessness, from dependence to servitude.

On my last day in Isiolo I received a final lesson from Khadija. A few days earlier we had spoken. I was feeling a lot of stress and pressure at the time, striving to fully train and prepare the two community banks before I returned home. Khadija told me not too worry so much, that I can easily “get caught up in the world.” I pondered this: “Get caught up in the world”… I wasn’t too sure what that meant. Then, on my last day in Isiolo, shortly after I woke up that morning, I was meditating on what she had said, reflecting on the past couple of weeks and how I had been so single-mindedly focused on my work. I realized that I was neglecting the more important duties: Saying my proper goodbyes, laughing and playing with the children, drumming with the men, sitting and chatting with the women. Basically, spending time with the people I was purporting to serve.

As soon as I discovered that insight, I said my goodbyes to Khadija. “Thank you for your service,” she said. “We appreciate all you have done and hope you will return someday.” “But,” she continued. “Don’t forget the small things, Jordan…. The people.” I was amazed. She had completely confirmed the realization I had just arrived at. Indeed, in order to serve—just like in the ceremony—we must be patient and loving, placing more emphasis on the relationships than on the actual work. How could Rupert have ever offered that cake without first establishing trust with the people he was serving?

I left Isiolo pensive yet satisfied, knowing that my service had been meager but that I had learned a great deal. God willing, next time I can put into practice some of what Khadija and the people of Isiolo taught me.