Hello and welcome to November!
I am shocked it's come so quickly and am now scrambling to think of all the things I have to do with the kids before I leave in ONE MONTH! I am so sad to think of leaving and when I sit with the kids I get all emotional knowing I won't be able to see them after I've gone. That's life, and I'm trying to "detach" otherwise I'm going to feel bad or the poor guy who has to sit next to me on the flights home.
I wanted this blog to be a sort of "Ode to Volunteers" because I am constantly inspired by the people that are working here and spend all the time and money it takes to get here (especially since you have to get about 12 vaccinations).
The Volunteer House is about a block away from the Baby Home in Pasiansi-Mwanza, Tanzania, East Africa. It is a very large house with four bedrooms: one double which Ciara and I sleep in, two singles (twin bed sleeping one and full bed sleeping two), and a bunk room sleeping four. There are no vacancies at the moment which means there are interesting people to get to know and more resources, as everyone brings with them different "essentials." It is transient in nature because people come and go on schedules from around the world, but this particular group has been together for a month with only a few additions. The house is an energy vaccuum. No matter how long you stay you are always feeling very tired (because of what we are doing all day?)and some like to think it's the altitude or some other phenomenon "in the air."
Once we've gotten past the usual "where are you from?,"-"how did you find out about FA?"-"How long will you stay?"-"What kind of chocolates did you bring?"-conversations we usually talk about our crazy shifts and the cute things the kids did that day. You might think a group of nine people would run out of dirty-nappie horror stories but we never do and as I mentioned in a previous blog we will stay up late talking about the kids' milestones or blossoming personalities. Now we are at a stage where the "tiny babies" who sat in their blankets and barely moved or made a sound are heavy enough to feel when you pick them up and have started to smile and laugh and form sounds of their own. It's strange and exciting for us to watch them grow right in front of our eyes!
We are with these people (actually all women) everyday, all day long. If something so awesome and exhausting wasn't bringing us so close together I think on some days (some of us) might have killed one another, but we all get along very well. Currently we are composed of Ciara and myself (she's the best roommate ever), Erika the volunteer coordinator, a few fellow Americans from Washington Hannah and Melissa, two German girls Johanna and Ramona, and the newest additions from the UK Alice and Izzy.
At any given time we can be found doing "Insanity" with Ciara (a crazy workout video), reading, doing crossword puzzles, watching the first episode of Friends over and over (we have no remote and the TV crashes frequently so you have to constantly start it over from the beginning), looking at the work/activity schedule for the week, working on the baby's Life Books, getting ready to go to the market, looking at rain outside (the storms here are amazing), trying to get the toilet to flush, sleeping, making tea for the askari, baking "the Tanzanian-version" of whatever we are trying to cook, reading Cosmo's "35 ways to make you Happier" and mentally adjusting the 'Buy something nice for yourself at Macy's' to 'Go to the market in Mwanza and get a few slices of cheese.'
Reminiscing about home we often find that we all have a lot in common and that we are thankful for living this simple life and for being in a place where simple things make you happy and there's nothing to do in the face of a problem except laugh it off. Most of the volunteers have learned to appreciate our new home for what it is and realize that while the standards of living are much lower, we live in a house that is very safe and a far cry from the slums.
We laugh about our ever-gurgling stomachs and cling to our TUMS like it was gold. The "Africa-sick" is a constant reference to our weird ailments and has become a source of entertainment. Trying to figure out the culprit "dudu" (Bug!) that's responsible for everyone's discomfort and being thankful that we don't have this-or-that symptom on top of it infiltrates daily discussions.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Thank you
I need to do something that I should have done a long time ago.
Thank you to everyone who has been a part of our Forever Angels experience. So many of you attended our fundraiser and have donated money to the baby home. Words cannot express how thankful we are for that. There are so many things that the baby home needs and your donations really do make a difference in the lives of the children here. I know it's hard to imagine because you aren't here to see what your money or items have done, but please take it from me that they are VERY much appreciated.
Because of your donations, we raised enough money for a solar hot water heater for the baby home! The power goes out ALLLLL the time here and when that happens, it is very difficult to make bottles for babies or give warm baths. You should see their little bodies shiver at 7am with a cold shower. :( Thanks to you though, this will no longer be an issue! Amy said that because we are in the rainy season right now, she isn't going to start building the solar water heater until after Christmas, but it's in the works! I will have her take and send me pictures of the completed project when the time comes so you can see just how amazing it is going to be! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!
Forever Angels would not be able to save the lives of so many children if it wasn't for people like you. I know this sounds cliche and a little cheesy, but it is more than true. You guys ARE making a difference in the world, one solar water heater at a time. :)
If you would like to further donate, you can go to the Forever Angels website...www.foreverangels.org. Click "Support Us" and then follow the links to the Just Giving website. Again, thank you so much.
All my love,
Ciara
Thank you to everyone who has been a part of our Forever Angels experience. So many of you attended our fundraiser and have donated money to the baby home. Words cannot express how thankful we are for that. There are so many things that the baby home needs and your donations really do make a difference in the lives of the children here. I know it's hard to imagine because you aren't here to see what your money or items have done, but please take it from me that they are VERY much appreciated.
Because of your donations, we raised enough money for a solar hot water heater for the baby home! The power goes out ALLLLL the time here and when that happens, it is very difficult to make bottles for babies or give warm baths. You should see their little bodies shiver at 7am with a cold shower. :( Thanks to you though, this will no longer be an issue! Amy said that because we are in the rainy season right now, she isn't going to start building the solar water heater until after Christmas, but it's in the works! I will have her take and send me pictures of the completed project when the time comes so you can see just how amazing it is going to be! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!
Forever Angels would not be able to save the lives of so many children if it wasn't for people like you. I know this sounds cliche and a little cheesy, but it is more than true. You guys ARE making a difference in the world, one solar water heater at a time. :)
If you would like to further donate, you can go to the Forever Angels website...www.foreverangels.org. Click "Support Us" and then follow the links to the Just Giving website. Again, thank you so much.
All my love,
Ciara
Announcement!
Habariiiii?!!!!
As a continuation of my last blog entry, I have a little story followed by an announcement.
Yesterday I was playing in the "garden" (British term for back yard) with the children when Zawadi, one of the older girls, came and jumped in my lap. Talking turned to tickling and then tickling turned to snuggling. For those of you who need clarification on the term "snuggling," it is the simple act of blowing air on a child's neck until they laugh so hard they can no longer speak or complete any function of any kind besides the occasional scream and constant squirm. That's the Webster definition of course.
Zawadi then stopped with the snuggling session, sat up with a very serious look on her face and said, "Mama Ciara, don't go back."
"Don't go back where?" I ask.
"Don't go back to England or California."
"You think I should stay here with you forever?"
"Yes. Do not go back to California."
My heart broke (again...I'm sure you're getting sick of me saying that, but it did). Little does Zawadi know that going back to California is something that I struggle with. I wished with all my heart at that moment that I could have said, "Okay!" or even "How about you come home to California with me?"
In order to satisfy this craving of extending my stay in Mwanza, I have decided not to stay forever, but to do the next best thing. I am going to stay at the baby home for Christmas! (Surprise!) Amy asked if I would stay for Christmas, as the baby home is short on volunteers at this time. The baby home also has a HUGE Christmas celebration in which all the children who do have families (but are unable to care for them until they are a little older) have their families join them for Christmas, all the mamas bring their families, AND all the children who have left Forever Angels to go back to their families come back for a Christmas visit! There will be three or four hundred people!
On top of all that, as most of you know, Christmas is a very big deal in the Portwood house. We LOVE sharing our traditions with whoever wants to be a part of them. I think one of the biggest reasons why I have decided to stay is so that I can share that joy and love with children who have never had that before. ANNND, you know how important a baby's first Christmas is? Well, I get to help about 30 kids with their first Christmas!!! How awesome is that?
I have to thank Jarred for this amazing Christmas gift. He is paying for me to extend my stay and change all my flights. I have never met someone so selfless. Jarred has been so incredibly patient with me and all my dreams. He has hung with me as I went to college 3 hours away for four years, then decided to study abroad on my summers and spring breaks. Then he supported me as I made the decision to go to grad school, moving to Africa for five months, and now is helping me to extend my happiness for one more month. His exact words were, "Ciara, you have to do it. It's what makes you happy. It's worth it to me." Wow Jarred. He must really love me right?! I am the luckiest girl in the world. Thank you my love. You mean the world to me and I promise I will come home (eventually). :)
I also have to thank my family for...well...not freaking out about me missing Christmas. I know how much it means to you to have me there, and I wish I could be two places at once, but again, I know you know how happy being here for Christmas will make me. My poor mom said that she was okay with me staying here for Christmas until "NSYNC Christmas" came on her ipod. Don't worry Mom, Cody's NSYNC Christmas dance moves are enough for the both of us. :)
Lastly, I have to thank Cacey for being such a good sister. She has been my partner in crime here and it's so great to have her with me. When it came to deciding to stay, Cacey would LOVE to of course, but simply can't afford it. Jarred offered to pay for her flight too, but she (unlike selfish ol' me) just couldn't say yes to such a huge gift. She is very disappointed about not being able to stay, but she is also VERY excited and happy about seeing our family for Christmas. (It also helped soften the blow when we told our parents that at least one of us would be coming home for Christmas).
My dream would be that I could transport all my friends and family to the baby home for Christmas to share the magic that is loving children in need of love. Because that is not possible, please know that I will be home in spirit.
One more thing...THANK YOU GINA WOOD!!! She sent us a package that arrived yesterday! It had all the essentials...a new water bottle, dessert mints, beef jerky, and the newest, cutest Victoria's Secret undies. :) You're the best. You have no idea how happy that made us! It was the highlight of the volunteer house for the week for sure!!!
Love you guys!
Ciara
As a continuation of my last blog entry, I have a little story followed by an announcement.
Yesterday I was playing in the "garden" (British term for back yard) with the children when Zawadi, one of the older girls, came and jumped in my lap. Talking turned to tickling and then tickling turned to snuggling. For those of you who need clarification on the term "snuggling," it is the simple act of blowing air on a child's neck until they laugh so hard they can no longer speak or complete any function of any kind besides the occasional scream and constant squirm. That's the Webster definition of course.
Zawadi then stopped with the snuggling session, sat up with a very serious look on her face and said, "Mama Ciara, don't go back."
"Don't go back where?" I ask.
"Don't go back to England or California."
"You think I should stay here with you forever?"
"Yes. Do not go back to California."
My heart broke (again...I'm sure you're getting sick of me saying that, but it did). Little does Zawadi know that going back to California is something that I struggle with. I wished with all my heart at that moment that I could have said, "Okay!" or even "How about you come home to California with me?"
In order to satisfy this craving of extending my stay in Mwanza, I have decided not to stay forever, but to do the next best thing. I am going to stay at the baby home for Christmas! (Surprise!) Amy asked if I would stay for Christmas, as the baby home is short on volunteers at this time. The baby home also has a HUGE Christmas celebration in which all the children who do have families (but are unable to care for them until they are a little older) have their families join them for Christmas, all the mamas bring their families, AND all the children who have left Forever Angels to go back to their families come back for a Christmas visit! There will be three or four hundred people!
On top of all that, as most of you know, Christmas is a very big deal in the Portwood house. We LOVE sharing our traditions with whoever wants to be a part of them. I think one of the biggest reasons why I have decided to stay is so that I can share that joy and love with children who have never had that before. ANNND, you know how important a baby's first Christmas is? Well, I get to help about 30 kids with their first Christmas!!! How awesome is that?
I have to thank Jarred for this amazing Christmas gift. He is paying for me to extend my stay and change all my flights. I have never met someone so selfless. Jarred has been so incredibly patient with me and all my dreams. He has hung with me as I went to college 3 hours away for four years, then decided to study abroad on my summers and spring breaks. Then he supported me as I made the decision to go to grad school, moving to Africa for five months, and now is helping me to extend my happiness for one more month. His exact words were, "Ciara, you have to do it. It's what makes you happy. It's worth it to me." Wow Jarred. He must really love me right?! I am the luckiest girl in the world. Thank you my love. You mean the world to me and I promise I will come home (eventually). :)
I also have to thank my family for...well...not freaking out about me missing Christmas. I know how much it means to you to have me there, and I wish I could be two places at once, but again, I know you know how happy being here for Christmas will make me. My poor mom said that she was okay with me staying here for Christmas until "NSYNC Christmas" came on her ipod. Don't worry Mom, Cody's NSYNC Christmas dance moves are enough for the both of us. :)
Lastly, I have to thank Cacey for being such a good sister. She has been my partner in crime here and it's so great to have her with me. When it came to deciding to stay, Cacey would LOVE to of course, but simply can't afford it. Jarred offered to pay for her flight too, but she (unlike selfish ol' me) just couldn't say yes to such a huge gift. She is very disappointed about not being able to stay, but she is also VERY excited and happy about seeing our family for Christmas. (It also helped soften the blow when we told our parents that at least one of us would be coming home for Christmas).
My dream would be that I could transport all my friends and family to the baby home for Christmas to share the magic that is loving children in need of love. Because that is not possible, please know that I will be home in spirit.
One more thing...THANK YOU GINA WOOD!!! She sent us a package that arrived yesterday! It had all the essentials...a new water bottle, dessert mints, beef jerky, and the newest, cutest Victoria's Secret undies. :) You're the best. You have no idea how happy that made us! It was the highlight of the volunteer house for the week for sure!!!
Love you guys!
Ciara
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Happiness
As Cacey said, "Pole" for not writing sooner. We have been very busy holding and loving babies.
On that note, this blog entry is going to be short and sweet.
I just want to say that I am so happy. Actually, "so happy" can't even begin to describe how I feel about spending seven days a week with 55 of the most incredible little people on this planet. It's not happy at all. It's a deep, inside, hurts so good kind of feeling...wait, that doesn't describe it either. I don't know then. I just know that I can't imagine doing anything else right now or ever. I don't care if I get diarrhea-ed on 40 times a day with ten batches of throw-up and forty kids who won't stop crying. These kids are my heart and my soul.
I am in love. I am so undeniably and remarkably in love with these kids that the thought of going home makes me want to barf, cry, and scream. (I know, I know. I will come home, don't worry...).
I just want you all to know that I couldn't be...happier.
Ciara
Happy birthday Code-Blue! We love you so much and talk/think about you every single day. I think the other volunteers actually feel like they know you. We are constantly saying things like, "Our brother Cody...blah blah blah...well, he's our baby..." We are SO sad we can't be with you on your 18th birthday, but know that we are thinking about you and love you with all our hearts. We are so proud of you and everything you do. I can't believe you are now an adult. Be good Code! Cacey and I will forever fight over you and about who loves you more. I do of course...duh. :) 18 kisses are flying to you from Tanzania. Muuuuaaaaahhhh!
On that note, this blog entry is going to be short and sweet.
I just want to say that I am so happy. Actually, "so happy" can't even begin to describe how I feel about spending seven days a week with 55 of the most incredible little people on this planet. It's not happy at all. It's a deep, inside, hurts so good kind of feeling...wait, that doesn't describe it either. I don't know then. I just know that I can't imagine doing anything else right now or ever. I don't care if I get diarrhea-ed on 40 times a day with ten batches of throw-up and forty kids who won't stop crying. These kids are my heart and my soul.
I am in love. I am so undeniably and remarkably in love with these kids that the thought of going home makes me want to barf, cry, and scream. (I know, I know. I will come home, don't worry...).
I just want you all to know that I couldn't be...happier.
Ciara
Happy birthday Code-Blue! We love you so much and talk/think about you every single day. I think the other volunteers actually feel like they know you. We are constantly saying things like, "Our brother Cody...blah blah blah...well, he's our baby..." We are SO sad we can't be with you on your 18th birthday, but know that we are thinking about you and love you with all our hearts. We are so proud of you and everything you do. I can't believe you are now an adult. Be good Code! Cacey and I will forever fight over you and about who loves you more. I do of course...duh. :) 18 kisses are flying to you from Tanzania. Muuuuaaaaahhhh!
My Tanzania
"Pole" (sounds like Po-lay and means "sorry" in Swahili) for not posting earlier, but we have been on a very tight budget and getting into town and paying for the internet is more trouble than I can "be bothered" (its a British thing) to deal with. I was going to just start this post at the beginning of my stay and average out the details of everyday life how I see it in Tanzania.
The trip from Kenya started out nicely, except I didn't actually have a ticket on my flight. The company I had already paid just "forgot" to buy my ticket and they weren't very "pole" about it when I contacted them about it at 6am from the airport wondering where my ticket had gone. Either way I figured it out, paid again for my flight to Mwanza and one way or another ended up with a visa and ran right into a sickly Ciara as I exited the hot sticky airport. We drove straight to the volunteer house and I spilled about Kenya for about seven hours in our bunk room and felt Ciara's fever from across the room.
Mwanza is beautiful. As the second largest city in Tanzania it's bustling streets are lined with people from all over Africa, and occasionally decorated with Mzungus. The huge, somewhat rectangular rocks are aged and discolored but give a majestic frame to the lining of the city and Lake Victoria's reed shores.
The volunteer house is limited at times on its water supply, electricity, fridge space, plumbing capacity and living quarters by "usual" standards, but after about six hours living there anyone becomes accommodated and very comfortable. It is safe, and its going to be home for the next few months, and I've come to appreciate the high-quality lifestyle we live here in Mwanza.
The local market is about a block away and serves as a prime example of the basic principles of supply and the keepers adjust their stock according to the wants and desires of the "rich Mzungus" who favor cold Fanta sodas and Savannas (local cider). Every morning we wake up to the vocal stylings of a few men we call "The Ramadan Men" because while they are an everyday-thing they were supposedly much more passionate during Ramadan. These men are not our particular favorite locals since he begins his broadcast of hymns from a loud speaker around 5am, again at 530am, again at 6am and so on throughout the day. The first few nights it was so loud I thought he was singing from inside our room. Sometimes forgetting I'm in Tanzania when I wake up, I get confused and think I've been relocated to somewhere in the middle east. Then we hear the askari's cell phones go off and hear the sounds of Swahili and realize we are where we should be.
The early morning walks to the baby home are like the calm before the storm; the blush pink clouds of sunrise are so vibrant and teh last few gulps of crisp air are consumed before joining in the chaos. Depending on the shift, you are welcomed by thirty grumpy but excited toddlers having just been roused from sleep. Yikes. There are some still half dreaming, some bursting with energy, some quiet, others fussy, fighting and screaming. They are all so adorable and bring a smile to my face no matter how many snotty noses I clean up within the first five minutes. I could cuddle them all to death and most of the time go to bed praying for a few extra limbs to use to soothe and give hugs and kisses. The smart ones attack quickly once you get through the gate and wrestle you to the floor in a panicked "mamma" with surprising and quite impressive persistence and effeciency. Most of the next three hours is spent with about six of them bouncing on your lap, hanging on your arms, leaning against your back, or pulling on your legs. They are laughing, crying, peeing, pooing, screaming, and cooing. One moment you are getting a completely open-mouthed (and yes, totally welcomed) kiss on your face and the next minute you flinch from a bit finger and an earring being ripped out. To some less-qualified individuals this situtation sounds comparable to a retired-teacher's torture chamber or maybe a scene in a film titled "Babies Revenge" but for Ciara and myself there is more joy than a trip to Disneyland (officially now, NOT the happiest place on Earth) a vacation to Hawaii, or a great night out in Vegas (okay, sans alcohol of course but we would just end up giggling like toddlers and waddling them them, too). Either way my point is simply that this orphanage is such a fun place to be and most days the hourse fly by with all of us hurrying around carrying two at a time and frantically calming whichever baby we can get our hands on. There are multiple feedings, countless dirty "nappies" little ouchies, crying, laughing, playing, etc. Every child is so special and I only wish I could spend more time cuddling and helping them grow as individuals. At the end of a six hour shift, I've never been so tired. It still amazes me that my heart can withstand the amount of times it breaks in a shift, or how many times it can feel so completely full with love. It is a physical and emotional workout!
The babies all have a story, and everyday I spend with them I've chosen a new favorite and wonder how I will ever leave here without them. I am resigned to complete heartache and devastation when our time here runs out, and have explored every dark corner in my imagination trying to design a plan to smuglgle them all home with me. I am willing to pay the extra weight. How can I leave Neema here? What about Rebecca? Is Jacobo adoptable? No one appreciates Moses like I do! And then we stumble back to the volunteer house and collapse into our spaces and exhale at another shift come and gone.
We will have walked past a soccer match going on at the field in the center of the L-shaped market, right in from of Ramadan Men's broadcast center, and I always day dream as we walk past that the ball gets forcefully, but fortuitously jammed into the speakers and everyone will cheer. A girl can dream.
Walking around anywhere in Mwanza is quite interesting anyway most days. We obviously stand out and most people shout the only english they know and we end up hearing "Good Evening New York!" or "blue, red, green!" or "What's up?" or "Hi Mzungus!" At this point we remember that we don't look like everyone else, tell them we don't have any money, and laugh to ourselves. It's interesting to me that growing up being "white" was never something I used to describe myself, and now it is the first thing I think of. These differences are hard to adjust to since we were raised not to distinguish people by their color and people walk around saying basically "Hey pig-skin-colored people!" I always tell Ciara one day I will respond with "Hey black person!" It's not a racist thing here, and its hard to get used to it, but I am thankful to be so far displaced from western issues of race and color. Here we are a decoration to their society, and since we are here to volunteer, they are usually happy to see us. :)
At the end of a long day out, you'd think we could find other things to talk about, but we all usually end up discussing the babies and all the funny and cute things or horribly naughty things they did. We discuss their milestones, how to help the ones that struggle, give warnings and advice and general support for our challenging opportunity. "Time off" is usually spent running into town to get food, use internet, or time to be ill. I don't know how God worked this out, but I had a fever for around three days that only hit me after 7pm and lasted until about thirty minutes before I'd have to go on shift the next day. We all just say to eachother when some weird stomach issue or digestive issue pops up and leaves just as quickly as it hit, "oh, must be that weird-cyclical-African-flu-thing, or something like that. You will be okay" and we all just get on with it. Every volunteer agrees to get sick on their day off. I have been lucky enough to have only experienced a corsage size of the bouquet of symptoms that go along with these strange illnesses we all get. It's something we all get used to like re-using soda bottles, paying $14 for six slices of cheese, or wishing the cockroaches in the kitchen a pleasant evening before tucking the mouse in your sock drawer into bed.
I am here for only a few months and being here for only a short time so far it already feels like a place I will sorely miss. Besides the fifty-something faces shouting "Mama Kezey" and fighting for a first cuddle or last kiss, Mwanza is culturally enchanting and full of love and struggle, and has everything anyone could ever want (except Kikoman soy sauce-I can't find that anywhere...and basil...and good candy).
It's a place where laughter comes at you out of nowhere and friendships are formed over spilled beans. I am happy to be living in the moment and to appreciate all I had growing up, and all that I have now. You get the feeling that if you were to cease to exist in the next day your last thoughts would include "Yes, my life is full, my heart is full." But there are loads of smiles to be given out tomorrow and who will make sure Shalom gets extra food at lunch? So we make sure we are there and hope that our hearts can stretch a little more. So far, that's My Tanzania.
Love, Cacey
P.S. I miss you all! Happy 18th Birthday Cody, I love you!
The trip from Kenya started out nicely, except I didn't actually have a ticket on my flight. The company I had already paid just "forgot" to buy my ticket and they weren't very "pole" about it when I contacted them about it at 6am from the airport wondering where my ticket had gone. Either way I figured it out, paid again for my flight to Mwanza and one way or another ended up with a visa and ran right into a sickly Ciara as I exited the hot sticky airport. We drove straight to the volunteer house and I spilled about Kenya for about seven hours in our bunk room and felt Ciara's fever from across the room.
Mwanza is beautiful. As the second largest city in Tanzania it's bustling streets are lined with people from all over Africa, and occasionally decorated with Mzungus. The huge, somewhat rectangular rocks are aged and discolored but give a majestic frame to the lining of the city and Lake Victoria's reed shores.
The volunteer house is limited at times on its water supply, electricity, fridge space, plumbing capacity and living quarters by "usual" standards, but after about six hours living there anyone becomes accommodated and very comfortable. It is safe, and its going to be home for the next few months, and I've come to appreciate the high-quality lifestyle we live here in Mwanza.
The local market is about a block away and serves as a prime example of the basic principles of supply and the keepers adjust their stock according to the wants and desires of the "rich Mzungus" who favor cold Fanta sodas and Savannas (local cider). Every morning we wake up to the vocal stylings of a few men we call "The Ramadan Men" because while they are an everyday-thing they were supposedly much more passionate during Ramadan. These men are not our particular favorite locals since he begins his broadcast of hymns from a loud speaker around 5am, again at 530am, again at 6am and so on throughout the day. The first few nights it was so loud I thought he was singing from inside our room. Sometimes forgetting I'm in Tanzania when I wake up, I get confused and think I've been relocated to somewhere in the middle east. Then we hear the askari's cell phones go off and hear the sounds of Swahili and realize we are where we should be.
The early morning walks to the baby home are like the calm before the storm; the blush pink clouds of sunrise are so vibrant and teh last few gulps of crisp air are consumed before joining in the chaos. Depending on the shift, you are welcomed by thirty grumpy but excited toddlers having just been roused from sleep. Yikes. There are some still half dreaming, some bursting with energy, some quiet, others fussy, fighting and screaming. They are all so adorable and bring a smile to my face no matter how many snotty noses I clean up within the first five minutes. I could cuddle them all to death and most of the time go to bed praying for a few extra limbs to use to soothe and give hugs and kisses. The smart ones attack quickly once you get through the gate and wrestle you to the floor in a panicked "mamma" with surprising and quite impressive persistence and effeciency. Most of the next three hours is spent with about six of them bouncing on your lap, hanging on your arms, leaning against your back, or pulling on your legs. They are laughing, crying, peeing, pooing, screaming, and cooing. One moment you are getting a completely open-mouthed (and yes, totally welcomed) kiss on your face and the next minute you flinch from a bit finger and an earring being ripped out. To some less-qualified individuals this situtation sounds comparable to a retired-teacher's torture chamber or maybe a scene in a film titled "Babies Revenge" but for Ciara and myself there is more joy than a trip to Disneyland (officially now, NOT the happiest place on Earth) a vacation to Hawaii, or a great night out in Vegas (okay, sans alcohol of course but we would just end up giggling like toddlers and waddling them them, too). Either way my point is simply that this orphanage is such a fun place to be and most days the hourse fly by with all of us hurrying around carrying two at a time and frantically calming whichever baby we can get our hands on. There are multiple feedings, countless dirty "nappies" little ouchies, crying, laughing, playing, etc. Every child is so special and I only wish I could spend more time cuddling and helping them grow as individuals. At the end of a six hour shift, I've never been so tired. It still amazes me that my heart can withstand the amount of times it breaks in a shift, or how many times it can feel so completely full with love. It is a physical and emotional workout!
The babies all have a story, and everyday I spend with them I've chosen a new favorite and wonder how I will ever leave here without them. I am resigned to complete heartache and devastation when our time here runs out, and have explored every dark corner in my imagination trying to design a plan to smuglgle them all home with me. I am willing to pay the extra weight. How can I leave Neema here? What about Rebecca? Is Jacobo adoptable? No one appreciates Moses like I do! And then we stumble back to the volunteer house and collapse into our spaces and exhale at another shift come and gone.
We will have walked past a soccer match going on at the field in the center of the L-shaped market, right in from of Ramadan Men's broadcast center, and I always day dream as we walk past that the ball gets forcefully, but fortuitously jammed into the speakers and everyone will cheer. A girl can dream.
Walking around anywhere in Mwanza is quite interesting anyway most days. We obviously stand out and most people shout the only english they know and we end up hearing "Good Evening New York!" or "blue, red, green!" or "What's up?" or "Hi Mzungus!" At this point we remember that we don't look like everyone else, tell them we don't have any money, and laugh to ourselves. It's interesting to me that growing up being "white" was never something I used to describe myself, and now it is the first thing I think of. These differences are hard to adjust to since we were raised not to distinguish people by their color and people walk around saying basically "Hey pig-skin-colored people!" I always tell Ciara one day I will respond with "Hey black person!" It's not a racist thing here, and its hard to get used to it, but I am thankful to be so far displaced from western issues of race and color. Here we are a decoration to their society, and since we are here to volunteer, they are usually happy to see us. :)
At the end of a long day out, you'd think we could find other things to talk about, but we all usually end up discussing the babies and all the funny and cute things or horribly naughty things they did. We discuss their milestones, how to help the ones that struggle, give warnings and advice and general support for our challenging opportunity. "Time off" is usually spent running into town to get food, use internet, or time to be ill. I don't know how God worked this out, but I had a fever for around three days that only hit me after 7pm and lasted until about thirty minutes before I'd have to go on shift the next day. We all just say to eachother when some weird stomach issue or digestive issue pops up and leaves just as quickly as it hit, "oh, must be that weird-cyclical-African-flu-thing, or something like that. You will be okay" and we all just get on with it. Every volunteer agrees to get sick on their day off. I have been lucky enough to have only experienced a corsage size of the bouquet of symptoms that go along with these strange illnesses we all get. It's something we all get used to like re-using soda bottles, paying $14 for six slices of cheese, or wishing the cockroaches in the kitchen a pleasant evening before tucking the mouse in your sock drawer into bed.
I am here for only a few months and being here for only a short time so far it already feels like a place I will sorely miss. Besides the fifty-something faces shouting "Mama Kezey" and fighting for a first cuddle or last kiss, Mwanza is culturally enchanting and full of love and struggle, and has everything anyone could ever want (except Kikoman soy sauce-I can't find that anywhere...and basil...and good candy).
It's a place where laughter comes at you out of nowhere and friendships are formed over spilled beans. I am happy to be living in the moment and to appreciate all I had growing up, and all that I have now. You get the feeling that if you were to cease to exist in the next day your last thoughts would include "Yes, my life is full, my heart is full." But there are loads of smiles to be given out tomorrow and who will make sure Shalom gets extra food at lunch? So we make sure we are there and hope that our hearts can stretch a little more. So far, that's My Tanzania.
Love, Cacey
P.S. I miss you all! Happy 18th Birthday Cody, I love you!
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Making Pineapples into Pineapple-ade
As you have read, since coming to the baby home, I have become involved in the ongoing issue that is hydrocephalus in Mwanza. It is something that has touched my heart and left me asking, “Why?” on so many occasions. Again, such a simple procedure that can save a baby’s life is being held off because of money.
This is something that I feel I need to clarify based on some responses I have received regarding my previous blog entry about hydrocephalus. As you may recall, I wrote that the women in the hydrocephalus ward are “literally just waiting for us to help.” Some might interpret this as meaning that these mothers are “lazy,” unwilling to work for themselves, their children, or their future, and would instead rather wait for mzungus to come and “save” them and their children. This is neither the case nor what I was trying to convey.
In America, when one discovers she is pregnant, there are a series of tests and scans to determine anything and everything about the unborn child. Our technology is so advanced that we can even tell if the child has his father’s nose (3-D ultrasound) or his mother’s lips. In Tanzania however, a woman finds out she is pregnant and then hopes she and the child survive. My point is, parents would be completely unaware, before the birth of the child, if the baby has hydrocephalus or not.
Now, imagine you are this pregnant woman. You start to feel contractions so you gather about a week’s worth of food for your two young children whom you are leaving at home alone while you have the baby. You now make the five hour journey by foot on uneven, dirt roads to the nearest hospital (keep in mind this walk is being done while you are having unbearable contractions). You reach the hospital and have the baby without any labor-related complications besides the beatings you received by the doctors and nurses for making noise while pushing (true story- women must be silent during child birth or they are beaten).
A few days after giving birth, you begin to notice the size of your child’s head growing rather large and altogether too quickly. Your baby is diagnosed with hydrocephalus. You and your baby are now moved upstairs to the hydrocephalus ward where you discover you will be spending the next undetermined amount of time in a small room with thirty other women and thirty other babies.
The reality of the situation is that your child has been born with hydrocephalus and is slowly going to die because you cannot pay the $250 for the surgery. You also realize that your two small children at home are also probably going to die because you are not allowed to leave the hospital or this new baby.
I stand corrected: The women in the hydrocephalus ward are NOT “waiting for mzungus” to come and help them. They do NOT expect that anyone is going to come and help them pay for their baby’s surgery. They have simply been given a sentence to carry out the next six months or so in the hospital because they have a baby with hydrocephalus. They have no way of knowing their baby was going to have hydrocephalus and even if they did, it would be impossible for them to save up enough money in even three years time to pay for their surgery. They simply do not make that much money here. It would be like a mother in America having a baby that needed a million dollars worth of medical treatment. If this mother could not afford the million dollars (and insurance didn’t exist of course), she had to wait in the hospital until the child died.
Again, these women did not expect Amy to come and help them, but it just so happened that Amy found out about this situation and wanted to help.
Now that that’s settled...
Cacey, Emma, and I went back to the hospital to take more pictures for the women and children there. Guess what? Because Amy put the photos on the baby home website and asked for donations for the surgeries, we got all 27 babies their surgeries!!!! There were only a few babies that we recognized from the last time. They had all gone home. To us, it was $250. To them, it was a miracle.
Unfortunately, there are now 38 babies and their mothers in the hydrocephalus room. This is less than a month later. Like I said before, hydrocephalus is an ongoing issue in Mwanza. There are always going to be more and more babies with the disease until someone comes and does research and then educates the people on prevention (if possible).
Knowing that this problem is bigger than we are, Emma, Cacey, and I decided to make it our mission to bring just a tiny bit of joy into these women’s lives by taking and bringing them pictures of themselves and their babies. We also brought them each two cloth diapers and two towels. The excitement we caused in the hospital that day is hard to explain in words. The women were elated. It was a child-like, Christmas morning type of excitement. They were proudly showing their gifts and sharing their pictures with one another, giggling as they bounced about the room. Although we were doing something so small, it was nice to be able to do something to break up their solitude and sorrow that will last for weeks to come.
Just putting it out there one more time: If you or anyone you know (organization or personal contact) would like to sponsor one, a few, or ongoing hydrocephalus surgeries, please, please, please let me know.
This is something that I feel I need to clarify based on some responses I have received regarding my previous blog entry about hydrocephalus. As you may recall, I wrote that the women in the hydrocephalus ward are “literally just waiting for us to help.” Some might interpret this as meaning that these mothers are “lazy,” unwilling to work for themselves, their children, or their future, and would instead rather wait for mzungus to come and “save” them and their children. This is neither the case nor what I was trying to convey.
In America, when one discovers she is pregnant, there are a series of tests and scans to determine anything and everything about the unborn child. Our technology is so advanced that we can even tell if the child has his father’s nose (3-D ultrasound) or his mother’s lips. In Tanzania however, a woman finds out she is pregnant and then hopes she and the child survive. My point is, parents would be completely unaware, before the birth of the child, if the baby has hydrocephalus or not.
Now, imagine you are this pregnant woman. You start to feel contractions so you gather about a week’s worth of food for your two young children whom you are leaving at home alone while you have the baby. You now make the five hour journey by foot on uneven, dirt roads to the nearest hospital (keep in mind this walk is being done while you are having unbearable contractions). You reach the hospital and have the baby without any labor-related complications besides the beatings you received by the doctors and nurses for making noise while pushing (true story- women must be silent during child birth or they are beaten).
A few days after giving birth, you begin to notice the size of your child’s head growing rather large and altogether too quickly. Your baby is diagnosed with hydrocephalus. You and your baby are now moved upstairs to the hydrocephalus ward where you discover you will be spending the next undetermined amount of time in a small room with thirty other women and thirty other babies.
The reality of the situation is that your child has been born with hydrocephalus and is slowly going to die because you cannot pay the $250 for the surgery. You also realize that your two small children at home are also probably going to die because you are not allowed to leave the hospital or this new baby.
I stand corrected: The women in the hydrocephalus ward are NOT “waiting for mzungus” to come and help them. They do NOT expect that anyone is going to come and help them pay for their baby’s surgery. They have simply been given a sentence to carry out the next six months or so in the hospital because they have a baby with hydrocephalus. They have no way of knowing their baby was going to have hydrocephalus and even if they did, it would be impossible for them to save up enough money in even three years time to pay for their surgery. They simply do not make that much money here. It would be like a mother in America having a baby that needed a million dollars worth of medical treatment. If this mother could not afford the million dollars (and insurance didn’t exist of course), she had to wait in the hospital until the child died.
Again, these women did not expect Amy to come and help them, but it just so happened that Amy found out about this situation and wanted to help.
Now that that’s settled...
Cacey, Emma, and I went back to the hospital to take more pictures for the women and children there. Guess what? Because Amy put the photos on the baby home website and asked for donations for the surgeries, we got all 27 babies their surgeries!!!! There were only a few babies that we recognized from the last time. They had all gone home. To us, it was $250. To them, it was a miracle.
Unfortunately, there are now 38 babies and their mothers in the hydrocephalus room. This is less than a month later. Like I said before, hydrocephalus is an ongoing issue in Mwanza. There are always going to be more and more babies with the disease until someone comes and does research and then educates the people on prevention (if possible).
Knowing that this problem is bigger than we are, Emma, Cacey, and I decided to make it our mission to bring just a tiny bit of joy into these women’s lives by taking and bringing them pictures of themselves and their babies. We also brought them each two cloth diapers and two towels. The excitement we caused in the hospital that day is hard to explain in words. The women were elated. It was a child-like, Christmas morning type of excitement. They were proudly showing their gifts and sharing their pictures with one another, giggling as they bounced about the room. Although we were doing something so small, it was nice to be able to do something to break up their solitude and sorrow that will last for weeks to come.
Just putting it out there one more time: If you or anyone you know (organization or personal contact) would like to sponsor one, a few, or ongoing hydrocephalus surgeries, please, please, please let me know.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Is Aid Killing Africa?
This is a controversial topic that was brought to my attention during my time at Ol Malo and I want to bring it up to see what you all think.
There is a rumor going around that different types of humanitarian aid are doing more damage to countries in Africa than they are actually helping. This is not a new idea, but it was brought to attention at an international level with the release of a book called "Dead Aid" written by an African economist Dambisa Moyo. Her opinion has indeed ruffled a few feathers on the political level and economic level (NGO's, etc.) and raises an important question for people who provide different types of donations to third world countries.
I would like to preface this blog by saying I am not an economist, and I know very little about the structure within African governments that controls the distribution of aid, but I want to share what I've learned from seeing it first hand at Ol Malo with the Samburu tribe and talking with people who were born and grew up here.
Basically, foreign aid is an unstable phenomenon in Africa. People usually give in spurts; during times of drought or the recognition of extreme hunger and poverty. Everyone in the western world believes that giving giving giving as much money or clothes or to funds that send food is the best possible way to support these suffering people. The reality is that for individual groups of people in Africa, the aid is fleeting. The governments receive the aid and either tax it before distributing it to the different groups, or they distribute in large amounts at the wrong time! The result is, for example, a village who has become dependent on rice/grains, and when the money stops flowing (like when there's an economic crisis!) the grains stop coming and they are left with no skills to help them make money and get more food. There is a well known adage that explains this concept: Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.
This is a very simple truth that when you look at aid in Africa seems to apply in a startlingly sound way. The corrupt governments in place here seem to live off of the idea that Africa needs pitying. This has crippled their industrious spirits and allowed room for complacency. Of course this isn't true in every case of foreign aid, and there are millions who have been saved by medical aid, clean water, etc. but even things like this have killed more than they have helped.
A few real examples:
There was an organization that donated thousands of pounds of corn meal to a Massai village in northern Kenya. The Massai's entire way of life is based on the condition and number of cattle they maintain, and they do not typically rely on grains to survive. They eat a diet that consists mainly of meat and blood which is obvious due to their cash crops of cows. In 2009 there was a horrible drought and the people in this particular area began to eat the grains and not their cattle because this cattle was a symbol of status and they wanted to do everything they could to keep up their high numbers. What happens as a result is that the high number of cows eat the depleting amount of grass because there has been no water. The cows end up dying anyway because they have no more land to graze and the Massai end up going hungry. What should have happened was they selectively kill their cattle which in turn eat less grass and when the drought ends, there is not a lot of cattle, but there is enough to sustain the smaller herd. Very basically, you can see how in this situation aid wasn't the right answer for these people. They needed someone to teach them about sustainable grazing rotation, etc. The fact is, had the aid not been there the people would have just eaten the cows as usual and been more careful about the impact the herd had on the grazing lands instead of being preoccupied with the status of many cows.
The Samburu tribe who live near Ol Malo have also come across a problem with this same type of food-aid. They receive a type of aid that they don't actually consume as food. The Samburu eat a similar diet to the Massai which is meat, milk, blood. They receive this grain and end up getting bored and brewing it into a type of alcohol. Now, they're diet consists of meat, milk, blood, and alcohol. You can imagine the types of problems which stem from this: alcoholism, violence, death, etc. It sounds grim and maybe a little far fetched since everyone thinks all aid has to be good, but it isn't!
The fact is that when some of these organizations (who do mean well) come in to "save these poor people" who seemingly live this 3rd world lifestyle they aren't examining what might actually help them in the LONG TERM. A very simple way of looking at this is that if you give a young girl who normally wears a kikoy and beads (and nothing else) a dress from the U.S. and she wears this dress everyday and tears it all up on the acacia trees because its made of a different material, or it gets worn by the process in which they wash their clothes, or faded by the sun on the equator because she's outside all day long-then of course this girl is going to look horribly disheveled. In reality she doesn't NEED the dress, or shoes, or shampoo, or whatever else westerners think she needs because culturally it was never needed. She is also happier wearing her traditional kikoy and beads because she feels more comfortable in them.
Over the past few weeks it is clear to me that certain types of aid for certain types of people is completely unnecessary because their culture just doesn't call for it. You and I might think that giving money for someone to have certain types of food or clothes is a great thing because we can't imagine living without those things but they just don't need them! It causes more problems than it solves.
I am not saying that all types of aid are bad, nor that anyone should stop wanting to give or find ways to better the quality of life for others around the world. All I am suggesting is that people need to be more aware of what their money is really going toward. It might help to actually research some of these places that are legitimately helping in the long term, and aren't just a temporary fix for a larger ongoing problem. I can suggest you pick up the book Dead Aid by Dambisa Moyo just as a starting point to understanding the different types of aid. I don't think her solutions outlined in the book are necessarily correct, but I definitely got a different perspective about aid in general by listening to her talk about the book itself. You can also look up "Aid is Killing Africa" on YouTube and it comes up with some videos of this author talking about aid in Africa.
There are many people in Kenya who believe certain types of help are completely useless, and it has been interesting for me (as someone who's here mainly to VOLUNTEER) to talk with them about what I am doing here and why it may or may not be the best thing. There are many churches, for example, who are set up to help "save" people and then they leave about two years later a small town built around an abandoned church that houses thieves, prostitutes, and no more resources. Again, I don't want anyone to think I am suggesting that their donations aren't legitimate, but you all need to be thinking about how to help others in a way that is going to build on their skills and create opportunities for them, not just allow them to rely on foreign assistance that may or may not come in the future.
*You can also check out Kiva.org. I know my immediate family knows about this but it's a website you can go to and you basically loan small amounts of money to entrepreneurs in developing countries for them to buy, say, a cow or something small to get their milk-selling-business up and running. So you "loan" this $50 to a man in South America and he gets this cow and starts his business and makes money, and pays the loan back to you. Kiva sends you a message that says, "You have KIVA credit..would you like to donate the money to someone else? Would you like to cash out and get your money? Or Would you like to make that $50 a donation that the man in SA can just keep? It is an awesome system, and it's a great example of the right type of aid. Having hospital floors tiled is another good one...
Sorry this blog isn't so "exciting" but it's been on my mind an incredible amount. Kenya is a country full of creative minds and it's horrible when the guy who makes and sells me my sandals at the coast goes out of business because Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt just sent a truck load of FREE sandals to Watamu and now no one will buy them from this guy because there's free sandals everywhere. He's now going to take his extra corn meal and brew a batch of bubbly to drowned his unemployed sorrows.
Okay maybe that's a bit much but seriously guys, just think about it.
There is a rumor going around that different types of humanitarian aid are doing more damage to countries in Africa than they are actually helping. This is not a new idea, but it was brought to attention at an international level with the release of a book called "Dead Aid" written by an African economist Dambisa Moyo. Her opinion has indeed ruffled a few feathers on the political level and economic level (NGO's, etc.) and raises an important question for people who provide different types of donations to third world countries.
I would like to preface this blog by saying I am not an economist, and I know very little about the structure within African governments that controls the distribution of aid, but I want to share what I've learned from seeing it first hand at Ol Malo with the Samburu tribe and talking with people who were born and grew up here.
Basically, foreign aid is an unstable phenomenon in Africa. People usually give in spurts; during times of drought or the recognition of extreme hunger and poverty. Everyone in the western world believes that giving giving giving as much money or clothes or to funds that send food is the best possible way to support these suffering people. The reality is that for individual groups of people in Africa, the aid is fleeting. The governments receive the aid and either tax it before distributing it to the different groups, or they distribute in large amounts at the wrong time! The result is, for example, a village who has become dependent on rice/grains, and when the money stops flowing (like when there's an economic crisis!) the grains stop coming and they are left with no skills to help them make money and get more food. There is a well known adage that explains this concept: Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.
This is a very simple truth that when you look at aid in Africa seems to apply in a startlingly sound way. The corrupt governments in place here seem to live off of the idea that Africa needs pitying. This has crippled their industrious spirits and allowed room for complacency. Of course this isn't true in every case of foreign aid, and there are millions who have been saved by medical aid, clean water, etc. but even things like this have killed more than they have helped.
A few real examples:
There was an organization that donated thousands of pounds of corn meal to a Massai village in northern Kenya. The Massai's entire way of life is based on the condition and number of cattle they maintain, and they do not typically rely on grains to survive. They eat a diet that consists mainly of meat and blood which is obvious due to their cash crops of cows. In 2009 there was a horrible drought and the people in this particular area began to eat the grains and not their cattle because this cattle was a symbol of status and they wanted to do everything they could to keep up their high numbers. What happens as a result is that the high number of cows eat the depleting amount of grass because there has been no water. The cows end up dying anyway because they have no more land to graze and the Massai end up going hungry. What should have happened was they selectively kill their cattle which in turn eat less grass and when the drought ends, there is not a lot of cattle, but there is enough to sustain the smaller herd. Very basically, you can see how in this situation aid wasn't the right answer for these people. They needed someone to teach them about sustainable grazing rotation, etc. The fact is, had the aid not been there the people would have just eaten the cows as usual and been more careful about the impact the herd had on the grazing lands instead of being preoccupied with the status of many cows.
The Samburu tribe who live near Ol Malo have also come across a problem with this same type of food-aid. They receive a type of aid that they don't actually consume as food. The Samburu eat a similar diet to the Massai which is meat, milk, blood. They receive this grain and end up getting bored and brewing it into a type of alcohol. Now, they're diet consists of meat, milk, blood, and alcohol. You can imagine the types of problems which stem from this: alcoholism, violence, death, etc. It sounds grim and maybe a little far fetched since everyone thinks all aid has to be good, but it isn't!
The fact is that when some of these organizations (who do mean well) come in to "save these poor people" who seemingly live this 3rd world lifestyle they aren't examining what might actually help them in the LONG TERM. A very simple way of looking at this is that if you give a young girl who normally wears a kikoy and beads (and nothing else) a dress from the U.S. and she wears this dress everyday and tears it all up on the acacia trees because its made of a different material, or it gets worn by the process in which they wash their clothes, or faded by the sun on the equator because she's outside all day long-then of course this girl is going to look horribly disheveled. In reality she doesn't NEED the dress, or shoes, or shampoo, or whatever else westerners think she needs because culturally it was never needed. She is also happier wearing her traditional kikoy and beads because she feels more comfortable in them.
Over the past few weeks it is clear to me that certain types of aid for certain types of people is completely unnecessary because their culture just doesn't call for it. You and I might think that giving money for someone to have certain types of food or clothes is a great thing because we can't imagine living without those things but they just don't need them! It causes more problems than it solves.
I am not saying that all types of aid are bad, nor that anyone should stop wanting to give or find ways to better the quality of life for others around the world. All I am suggesting is that people need to be more aware of what their money is really going toward. It might help to actually research some of these places that are legitimately helping in the long term, and aren't just a temporary fix for a larger ongoing problem. I can suggest you pick up the book Dead Aid by Dambisa Moyo just as a starting point to understanding the different types of aid. I don't think her solutions outlined in the book are necessarily correct, but I definitely got a different perspective about aid in general by listening to her talk about the book itself. You can also look up "Aid is Killing Africa" on YouTube and it comes up with some videos of this author talking about aid in Africa.
There are many people in Kenya who believe certain types of help are completely useless, and it has been interesting for me (as someone who's here mainly to VOLUNTEER) to talk with them about what I am doing here and why it may or may not be the best thing. There are many churches, for example, who are set up to help "save" people and then they leave about two years later a small town built around an abandoned church that houses thieves, prostitutes, and no more resources. Again, I don't want anyone to think I am suggesting that their donations aren't legitimate, but you all need to be thinking about how to help others in a way that is going to build on their skills and create opportunities for them, not just allow them to rely on foreign assistance that may or may not come in the future.
*You can also check out Kiva.org. I know my immediate family knows about this but it's a website you can go to and you basically loan small amounts of money to entrepreneurs in developing countries for them to buy, say, a cow or something small to get their milk-selling-business up and running. So you "loan" this $50 to a man in South America and he gets this cow and starts his business and makes money, and pays the loan back to you. Kiva sends you a message that says, "You have KIVA credit..would you like to donate the money to someone else? Would you like to cash out and get your money? Or Would you like to make that $50 a donation that the man in SA can just keep? It is an awesome system, and it's a great example of the right type of aid. Having hospital floors tiled is another good one...
Sorry this blog isn't so "exciting" but it's been on my mind an incredible amount. Kenya is a country full of creative minds and it's horrible when the guy who makes and sells me my sandals at the coast goes out of business because Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt just sent a truck load of FREE sandals to Watamu and now no one will buy them from this guy because there's free sandals everywhere. He's now going to take his extra corn meal and brew a batch of bubbly to drowned his unemployed sorrows.
Okay maybe that's a bit much but seriously guys, just think about it.
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