03 May 2014
17 January 2014
there are good people in the world
Toni is back in Ethiopia as of today. He has a month more of work ahead of him to finish up the data collection phase of his PhD, and has also taken advantage of being in Addis to check up on some of the things we left behind when we moved back to the UK in August...
The main thing: a pilot fund we created with the help of Dr. Aynalem, an oncologist at the Black Lion Hospital. (Featured in that film above that we made about cancer care in Ethiopia.) I've said this to many of you before, but cancer care in Ethiopia, and most of the developing world, essentially does not exist. While there are thousands of campaigns and organisations to help treat communicable diseases - HIV, malaria, TB etc - cancer seems too big and scary and expensive an issue, for either governments or aid agencies, so the services just aren't there. Black Lion Hospital has the only cancer centre in Ethiopia - for a population of over 80 million. There are 3 oncologists. You can imagine the demand!
It's grossly unfair to assume that if you live in a developing country and get cancer, you are just going to have to die a slow and painful death. (This is exactly what happens in most every case.) Recognising the immensity of the problem, and mine + Toni's teeny tiny smallness, we chatted with Aynalem to see what initial steps could be made to improve the situation. He said it outright - a discretionary fund that could be used for poor patients who could not afford treatment or medications, or who had traveled to the city for treatment and had to sleep on the street because they couldn't afford basic accommodation. We set it up, left in August, and Toni went back today - today! - to see what happened.
Let me tell you: Dr. Aynalem is one of the best men I have ever met. His honesty and commitment to his patients is seriously unparalleled. You don't understand - there are more Ethiopian doctors in the city of Chicago than the entire country of Ethiopia. You are paid $300/month to be a doctor in Ethiopia. That's it. It is an immense personal sacrifice to stay in the country, and I do not blame anyone for seeking better offers elsewhere. And I know Aynalem has had them - but instead, he sticks it out with the extremely limited resources he is given. RAD.
And on meeting Toni today, he handed him a letter carefully listing every patient who benefited from the fund so far - with individual receipts signed by him + the patient detailing what the funds went to. One woman was able to get an MRI. Another medical student was able to get an early cancerous growth in his anus removed successfully, and can now continue his studies. It goes on and on. Two dozen people were able to get life-saving treatment that they would have had no access to otherwise. Think of it!
This is such a basic form of assistance - no middle man, no umbrella organisation, just immediate and very critical needs that can now be filled when otherwise they would have been left to simply fester and get worse, completely ruining these peoples' lives. I could write a whole other post about the processes of development, or charity and giving, and what I feel I've learned these last 10 years since that first trip to Beira, Mozambique... but suffice it to say: just giving cash to impoverished communities to do with it what THEY need, not what you THINK they need, will 100%, always be more effective. (It's kind of what my whole PhD thesis is about too.)
But this couldn't have happened without Aynalem - without having him there to manage the fund, to provide the treatment AND the care for his patients to know who needs what. He's a champion. I cannot say enough how much I admire this man, and how happy I am to have worked with him.
As I said, this was sort of a pilot - to see how things would go if we started this kind of fund. And we really want to keep it going, but also make it as strategic and effective as possible. Toni's having lunch with Aynalem in a couple days to discuss more. And we will really need more help moving forward, in case you're keen... (honestly, please do get in touch if able.)
But I have to say: sitting in my comfortable flat in beautiful Oxford, it's been easy to feel very removed from Ethiopia and the people we met there. It's ironic that day in, day out I write my thesis about these people - about their lives and struggles, in a setting that is so resource-full it's shocking. I wrote about that below - being pregnant here, and having every kind of care at my fingertips - ah! I will never ever forget what a privilege that is. I'm so happy Toni is back in Addis this month, and able to reconnect in person with that grand world we love so dearly. This day is one of the happiest I've ever known (in a very, VERY happy time at that). And I can't wait to see how all the weeks and months coming forward unfold.
Até mais!!
jooj.
26 November 2013
JOY!
I know I don't write on this blog much anymore, but I feel I should record (for my own posterity and memory), my feelings at being pregnant for the first time, given I'm now halfway through... a monumental thing indeed!
Thoughts, the first.
As the title of the post suggests, to me it's joy - joy, joy joy ! ! ! - that I have felt most these last 20 weeks. (Or rather, 14, considering I didn't find out til I was 6 weeks in :). And while I'm writing this and not Toni, I'd have to put him in that category too. As my belly has grown, our joy seems to exponentially increase. I never thought I could love someone as much as I love dear Toni these days, not only because he has done a million and one things daily for me to make sure I'm comfortable and healthy, but just to know that we have this whole, new and exciting life together that we cannot predict or really imagine as of now. Seeing the way he constantly cares for me, without being asked, and without complaint, I know how wonderful he'll be as a dad, and it makes me that much more grateful to be a co-parent with him to this darling little one (and then some, insha'Allah!).
When she heard I was expecting, a good friend of ours said 'until now, you've known only two dimensions of love, and now you're going to know a third.' So beautiful! I already feel such a growth in love even with the baby inside, both for this dear child and for Toni too, I can't fathom what that birthday will feel like.
Before you all write me off as a whacked out, idealistic pregnant woman, I know I know it will be hard. I know we won't sleep, I know parenthood turns your lives upside down and you're never the same. But that's what we want. That's why we're having kids. We've lived three decades for ourselves, our own interests and pursuits, it's time we turn our lives over to raising a child and building something larger than just our own lives. I get it, I get that I'll be tired and frustrated and at a loss - you don't need to remind me! (But people love to all the time.) I know the greatest joys I've known have been in times of struggle, when I'm doing hard things, and this hard thing will put the rest to shame. So wouldn't the joy, too? We're ready and prepared for the downs as well as the ups, even if we don't yet know how far down those downs will be. (So stop reminding me, random strangers I don't really know that well and the million begrudging parenting articles out there that say 'you have no idea'. Sheesh.)
Thoughts, the second.
It's no secret I've been working on maternal health for several years now, and when I discovered I was pregnant, just three weeks later I was supposed to fly to the DR Congo to conduct a survey of a pre-conception and ante-natal care project run by Handicap International in the environs of Kinshasa. I would have been 10 weeks pregnant, was already frightfully nauseated, and my GP wouldn't prescribe me with anti-malarials. My boss pulled the plug and sent someone else instead.
I was a bit devastated. I had really wanted to see DR Congo, and the project was fascinating. But I knew I would've been awful at the job, given how sick and tired I was, and ultimately, like my boss said: there's no use me, a maternal health patient, going to remote areas of the Congo to evaluate the very paucity of maternal health services.
It only reinforced to me again how important maternal care and support are, and how grossly unfair it is that I can arbitrarily choose to NOT be in a situation where I would be at risk, just because of my privileged birth in the US, and privileged home in the UK.
This connects with the thoughts above, that ultimately, this pregnancy is only reinforcing to me how very very critical it is that reproduction is chosen, not forced, and that the woman who must undergo the debilitating state of pregnancy, labour, postpartum, is adequately supported. Not just with medical care for any impending crisis (considering they remain the exception, not the rule), but also emotionally, socially, domestically... Toni is the ultimate house-husband these days, and I think of the women I work with who have no relief after conception. Their roles in domestic labour are as arduous as they were before, and the injustice of this is criminal.
At the same time, most African countries (Ethiopia included), allow women to rest 40 days post-birth, to recover her strength, to do NOTHING but learn to nurse that baby, while neighbours, relatives, husbands, take over her own care and all other domestic duties. How alone most women in Europe, in North America, feel post-birth! With a screaming baby, forced to 'snap back' to your old life, your old body. So just to say, we can all learn from the caring and support systems we've developed cross-nations. Can I have both? (With a husband like Toni, methinks yes. I AM SO DANG LUCKY I KNOW IT.)
Thoughts, the conclusion.
We're really, ridiculously happy. We have another ultrasound this week to check on babe's progress, and to see if we're having a boy or girl. I've been feeling those flutters, and 'quickening' of early baby movements for the last two weeks, and I can't wait to see our babe on that screen again! Whatever the outcome, whatever happens with this baby in the next 20 weeks and thereafter, I have been privileged to nurture him/her for these last five months, and my depth of love and feeling has increased. I've been cared and supported by a solid medical system + a solid group of friends, family and husband from day one, and gosh darn it if I will.not.stop working (in whatever capacity that may be, back at the UN? at an NGO? in academia?) on issues of maternal health globally to ensure that level of care is the norm, not a privileged exception.
The end.
Thoughts, the first.
As the title of the post suggests, to me it's joy - joy, joy joy ! ! ! - that I have felt most these last 20 weeks. (Or rather, 14, considering I didn't find out til I was 6 weeks in :). And while I'm writing this and not Toni, I'd have to put him in that category too. As my belly has grown, our joy seems to exponentially increase. I never thought I could love someone as much as I love dear Toni these days, not only because he has done a million and one things daily for me to make sure I'm comfortable and healthy, but just to know that we have this whole, new and exciting life together that we cannot predict or really imagine as of now. Seeing the way he constantly cares for me, without being asked, and without complaint, I know how wonderful he'll be as a dad, and it makes me that much more grateful to be a co-parent with him to this darling little one (and then some, insha'Allah!).
When she heard I was expecting, a good friend of ours said 'until now, you've known only two dimensions of love, and now you're going to know a third.' So beautiful! I already feel such a growth in love even with the baby inside, both for this dear child and for Toni too, I can't fathom what that birthday will feel like.
Before you all write me off as a whacked out, idealistic pregnant woman, I know I know it will be hard. I know we won't sleep, I know parenthood turns your lives upside down and you're never the same. But that's what we want. That's why we're having kids. We've lived three decades for ourselves, our own interests and pursuits, it's time we turn our lives over to raising a child and building something larger than just our own lives. I get it, I get that I'll be tired and frustrated and at a loss - you don't need to remind me! (But people love to all the time.) I know the greatest joys I've known have been in times of struggle, when I'm doing hard things, and this hard thing will put the rest to shame. So wouldn't the joy, too? We're ready and prepared for the downs as well as the ups, even if we don't yet know how far down those downs will be. (So stop reminding me, random strangers I don't really know that well and the million begrudging parenting articles out there that say 'you have no idea'. Sheesh.)
Thoughts, the second.
It's no secret I've been working on maternal health for several years now, and when I discovered I was pregnant, just three weeks later I was supposed to fly to the DR Congo to conduct a survey of a pre-conception and ante-natal care project run by Handicap International in the environs of Kinshasa. I would have been 10 weeks pregnant, was already frightfully nauseated, and my GP wouldn't prescribe me with anti-malarials. My boss pulled the plug and sent someone else instead.
I was a bit devastated. I had really wanted to see DR Congo, and the project was fascinating. But I knew I would've been awful at the job, given how sick and tired I was, and ultimately, like my boss said: there's no use me, a maternal health patient, going to remote areas of the Congo to evaluate the very paucity of maternal health services.
It only reinforced to me again how important maternal care and support are, and how grossly unfair it is that I can arbitrarily choose to NOT be in a situation where I would be at risk, just because of my privileged birth in the US, and privileged home in the UK.
This connects with the thoughts above, that ultimately, this pregnancy is only reinforcing to me how very very critical it is that reproduction is chosen, not forced, and that the woman who must undergo the debilitating state of pregnancy, labour, postpartum, is adequately supported. Not just with medical care for any impending crisis (considering they remain the exception, not the rule), but also emotionally, socially, domestically... Toni is the ultimate house-husband these days, and I think of the women I work with who have no relief after conception. Their roles in domestic labour are as arduous as they were before, and the injustice of this is criminal.
At the same time, most African countries (Ethiopia included), allow women to rest 40 days post-birth, to recover her strength, to do NOTHING but learn to nurse that baby, while neighbours, relatives, husbands, take over her own care and all other domestic duties. How alone most women in Europe, in North America, feel post-birth! With a screaming baby, forced to 'snap back' to your old life, your old body. So just to say, we can all learn from the caring and support systems we've developed cross-nations. Can I have both? (With a husband like Toni, methinks yes. I AM SO DANG LUCKY I KNOW IT.)
Thoughts, the conclusion.
We're really, ridiculously happy. We have another ultrasound this week to check on babe's progress, and to see if we're having a boy or girl. I've been feeling those flutters, and 'quickening' of early baby movements for the last two weeks, and I can't wait to see our babe on that screen again! Whatever the outcome, whatever happens with this baby in the next 20 weeks and thereafter, I have been privileged to nurture him/her for these last five months, and my depth of love and feeling has increased. I've been cared and supported by a solid medical system + a solid group of friends, family and husband from day one, and gosh darn it if I will.not.stop working (in whatever capacity that may be, back at the UN? at an NGO? in academia?) on issues of maternal health globally to ensure that level of care is the norm, not a privileged exception.
The end.
28 October 2013
Per request!
Toni is basically the nicest husband ever. His support to me- especially these last four (!!!) months of pregnancy and sickness and fatigue - has been so wonderful. I love him.
He also said very nice things about me on Facebook after church yesterday and the talk I gave in Sacrament Meeting. Per Leslie and Steph's request - I've copied it all below. I wanted to talk about the importance of women in the church, and how much they've done for the organisation and its members. And I wanted to relate this to Christ's ministry which concentrated so much on women, and put up some arguments about how much we need to support and care for the oppressed of the earth. This is all sort of my testimony in it's rawest state, and I cried quite a bit towards the end - reading Christ's words to the Pharisees, and talking about Sister Yewinshet from Ethiopia. Phew! People were very kind after, and so many women (especially single, elderly, childless etc) told me they needed that talk - they needed to have someone talk about them in an "unconventional" way - remind us all how AMAZING early church women were in their leadership and strength, their outspokenness to guide the Gospel. (Not to say women are not amazing now, I just wish they were more visible :)
Ok, will stop there :) Here you go-
He also said very nice things about me on Facebook after church yesterday and the talk I gave in Sacrament Meeting. Per Leslie and Steph's request - I've copied it all below. I wanted to talk about the importance of women in the church, and how much they've done for the organisation and its members. And I wanted to relate this to Christ's ministry which concentrated so much on women, and put up some arguments about how much we need to support and care for the oppressed of the earth. This is all sort of my testimony in it's rawest state, and I cried quite a bit towards the end - reading Christ's words to the Pharisees, and talking about Sister Yewinshet from Ethiopia. Phew! People were very kind after, and so many women (especially single, elderly, childless etc) told me they needed that talk - they needed to have someone talk about them in an "unconventional" way - remind us all how AMAZING early church women were in their leadership and strength, their outspokenness to guide the Gospel. (Not to say women are not amazing now, I just wish they were more visible :)
Ok, will stop there :) Here you go-
Astonishingly
enough, I’m actually happy to speak to you today - Brother Reeves asked if I’d
be willing to speak on one of the general Relief Society Presidents of the church,
as part of this month’s Sacrament theme of Prophets. I nearly teared up reading
his email, so happy to see such a welcome inclusion of women in the history of
the church. I chose Eliza R Snow as the subject of my talk, a woman who is
incredibly interesting and inspiring to me, and was also an intrinsic part of
the early church’s development. Given we get a whole year of lessons based on
her brother, the Prophet Lorenzo Snow, Eliza deserves at least a Sacrament talk
- if not much more! I hope that in my talk I am able to do justice to this woman,
and the powerful work of the early Relief Society. For me and my own testimony
of the Gospel, it’s very important to reclaim some of the more radical and
diverse elements of our history. In my professional life, both at home and
abroad, I have seen both impoverished communities and women especially crushed
under customs which demand their silence. It is hard to not see how poverty and
gender both continue to lead to the worst forms of oppression across the globe.
I love the Gospel because we follow Jesus Christ in all things, and it was He
who said ‘the first shall be last, and the last shall be first.’ I cannot wait
for the day when the humbled of the earth are given their true seat of dignity,
and what I love about Eliza Snow and the work of the Relief Society is the way
in which this organization, shaped so much by the leadership of President Snow,
does nothing so well as lift up the lowly and preach a Gospel of inclusivity.
For me, that is the core of what we are meant to do as disciples of Jesus
Christ, and in studying powerful examples of such inclusive leadership, I’m
inspired to do better - to not just wait for that eventual day when the last
shall be first, but try to work on that here and now.
Eliza Snow was a
unique woman from the very outset of her life. She broke restrictive customs
and was not afraid to assert her place and share her talents. Born to
progressive parents, she received all the educational opportunities given to
her brothers. Her father, a Justice of the Peace in the American state of Iowa,
hired Eliza in his office to act as a clerk. This position was incredibly
influential on Eliza’s later work in organising and administering the Relief
Society Organisation - she was able to develop skills at that time reserved for
men, and was also not shy about working within a “man’s world.”
Eliza’s conversion
to Mormonism itself is also striking in demonstrating her prioritisation of
personal growth and knowledge. She first met Joseph Smith in Kirtland, Ohio in 1831,
but didn’t join the church until four years after. She was deliberate and
thoughtful about converting to the church, following a sincere method of
enquiry and introspection that I find again, very inspiring. Eliza didn’t do
anything lightly - she was not a follower, she pursued knowledge and truth in a
slow, questioning manner that only proved to create a firmer testimony in
herself later on. Describing her final decision to join the church, Eliza
explained that in a period of meditative reflection, “I saw a beautiful candle
with an unusually long, bright blaze directly over my feet. I sought to know
the interpretation and received the following: The lamp of intelligence shall
be lighted over your path, and I was satisfied.”
That phrase “the
lamp of intelligence” is so beautiful, and shows how Eliza privileged the
education she could receive in the church, of both temporal and spiritual
things. As her life and work moved forward, Eliza continued to not only improve
her own knowledge and learning, but inspired other women around her to do the
same. Eliza Snow is probably best known in the church for the beautiful hymns
she wrote - especially “O, My Father.” Eliza was an incredibly talented and
renown poet and writer, and was even asked to pen a national obituary at the
death of President Abraham Lincoln. While “O, My Father” is particularly
beautiful in its message about our Heavenly Mother, I want to read some lines
of another one of her less famed hymns, number 273 “Truth Reflects Upon Our
Senses.” I want to read the last two verses because again, they typify to me
the way in which Eliza preached this Gospel of inclusivity:
If I love my neighbor dearer, and his mote I
would erase,
the light should shine the clearer, for the eye’s a tender place.
Others I have oft reproved, for an object like a mote,
now I wish this beam removed, oh, that tears would wash it out.
the light should shine the clearer, for the eye’s a tender place.
Others I have oft reproved, for an object like a mote,
now I wish this beam removed, oh, that tears would wash it out.
Charity and love are healing; these will give
the clearest sight,
when I saw my brother’s failing, I was not exactly right.
Now I’ll take no further trouble; Jesus’ love is all my theme;
little motes are but a bubble when I think upon the beam.
when I saw my brother’s failing, I was not exactly right.
Now I’ll take no further trouble; Jesus’ love is all my theme;
little motes are but a bubble when I think upon the beam.
While these words
completely and beautifully summarize our need to not judge others, I want to
point out that Eliza Snow herself would in many ways be considered an
“outsider” in the ways she defied customary expectations of Mormon women. While
she was married to Brigham Young, Eliza never had children. Brigham Young
called her a “Priestess, Prophetess, and Presidentess” of the church, and she
held numerous leadership positions in the church - not only as General Relief
Society President, but also president of Deseret Hospital in Salt Lake City,
prolific author and editor of the newspaper the Women’s Exponent, and president
of the Women’s Department of the Endowment House. Eliza traveled heavily - both
within the US and also to Egypt and Palestine. While never a mother or
housewife, Eliza did not see this as some personal failure, despite the
church’s heavy emphasis on home and family, especially for women. Eliza
believed fully in working to build up the Gospel of Christ, and encouraged all
residents of the expanding Salt Lake valley to do the same thing - no matter
their age, station or gender. Eliza did not judge, and she did not expect
everyone to be the same - she encouraged members of the church to use their
talents where they were best served, both in secular and spiritual callings.
One niece of
Brigham Young wrote to Eliza feeling dejected that a potential marriage suit
had fallen through. She asked the President, “Will I ever get married?” In
reply, Eliza wrote “while unmarried, one cannot be fulfilling the requisition of
maternity, but let me ask, is it not important that those already born should
be cultivated and reared as that others should be born?” In other words,
there’s plenty of work to be done to uplift and instruct each other -
motherhood aside. There’s much work we can all do at all stages of our life,
and there is not one way to work in the Gospel of Christ - we all have a
mission and a responsibility unique to our own talents. There’s no room for
judgment on what stage anyone is at in their own lives - we’re all striving to
be like Christ and follow His example, and in the end that’s all that matters.
Eliza continued to
champion women especially in their capacity to work and improve their lives and
those of others around them - to the Relief Society sisters, President Snow
said, “If any of the daughters and mothers in Israel are feeling in the least
limited in their present spheres, they will now find ample scope for every
power and capability for doing good with which they are most liberally
endowed.” The vehicle of this remarkable organization of women, the Relief
Society, would support and allow women to expand their spheres and do good
within their community. In the early church, one of the principle ways this was
manifest was the incredible number of women who were sent to medical schools
for training to become doctors and nurses. President Snow said to the Relief
Society sisters, “are there here, now, any sisters who have ambition enough,
and realize the necessity of it, to take up this study? There are some who are
naturally inclined, and such ones would do well to study Medicine… if they cannot
meet their own expenses, we have means of doing so.” With the number of
educated sisters at hand, the Relief Society established the Deseret Hospital
in 1882, residents of Salt Lake had access to quality medical care, and a whole
generation of women were educated that otherwise would not have been.
For me, this is
the pinnacle of that lamp of intelligence Eliza had seen while studying the
Gospel. She had said that the Relief Society was just as much a part of the
restoration of Christ’s church as the Priesthood or Temple. Indeed, she felt
profoundly the need to follow Christ’s example fully, especially in His
ministry to the needy and outcast members of society. When you study Christ’s
ministry in detail, it is obvious how often He was chastised for speaking with
and healing those members of society supposedly too far below Him - not worthy
of His attention. When the woman taken into adultery was brought to Christ by
an angry mob intent on stoning her, the clerics of the day were attempting to
trick Christ into defending such a sinful creature. Instead, He responded with
the beautiful line, “let he who is without sin, cast the first stone.” When the
woman came to wash Christ’s feet with expensive ointment and her tears, the
Pharisees again, chastised Him for allowing such a renown sinner to touch his
feet and enter His company - saying that if Christ was truly a Prophet, He
would know who that woman was and would not have allowed her near. In response,
Christ says, in Luke 7:44-48:
And he turned to the woman, and said unto Simon, seest thou this
woman? I entered into thine house, thou gavest me no water for my feet: but she
hath washed my feet with tears, and wiped them with the hairs of her head.
Thou gavest me no kiss: but this woman hath since the time I came in
hath not ceased to kiss my feet.
My head with oil thou didst not anoint: but this woman hath anointed
my feet with ointment.
Wherefore, I say unto thee, Her sins, which are many, are forgiven;
for she loved much: but to whom little is forgiven, the same loveth little.
And he said to the woman, Thy faith hath saved thee; go in peace.
Or another of my
favourite stories, of the woman at the well. When Christ approached the woman
for a drink, His Apostles had left Him, and the woman was astonished, asking
(in John 4:9):
How is it that thou, being a Jew, askest drink of me, which am a
woman of Samaria? For the Jews have no dealings with the Samaritans.
To me, Christ
reversed the social order, lifting up those that others had cast aside because
of their poverty or sins. It’s not a coincidence to me that so many of those He
ministered to in this way were women. With the theme, Charity Never Faileth,
the Relief Society is to me the most natural restoration of Christ’s mission.
Built up by remarkable foremothers like Eliza R Snow, I’m so happy to be a
member of that organisation which does nothing but lift and support our ward
and community members without judgment. I think about all the Relief Society
congregations I’ve been privileged to be a part of since I turned 18, and think
President Snow would be proud to see what the organisation she worked so hard
to build had become in these days. I want to end in telling you about the Relief
Society in my branch in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia last year. With less than ten
members, it was a small group of women, but was led by President Yewinshet, an
amazing woman whose dedication and faith were truly inspiring to me. Like most
Mormons in Ethiopia, Yewinshet was the only member in her family. Inactivity in
the branch was exceptionally common - every week there was at least two
baptisms, but the number of people who continued to come to meetings remained
small. But Yewinshet never missed a Sunday. Born blind, Yewinshet ran a small
training school she had built for disabled people to learn essential jobs
skills so they wouldn’t have to rely on begging to survive. She worked with
hardly any budget, and gave all of herself - her time, her resources, her
talents - both to that important work, and to the sisters of the Relief
Society. Every week she bore a strong testimony of her faith in God, a faith
that to be honest, in her circumstances, and given the opposition I know she
faced at home, I doubt I would be strong enough to profess. Yewinshet was
dedicating her life to serving the downtrodden of society - she did so without
praise or acclaim, and to me, is the ultimate example of the love we as
disciples of Christ are meant to project.
I hope that we can
learn from the example of Eliza Snow, and so many around us, who use their
unique talents to follow Christ and build up His people. We’re all outsiders in
one way or another, but those external social markers mean little in comparison
to our heart’s desire to serve Christ’s people - like King Benjamin said, “we
are all beggars,” giving what little we have.
I say these things
in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.
17 August 2013
29 July 2013
settling in (this is a long one, guys)
There are so many things to get used to being back in Germany, in Europe, in the 'first world.' Small things like when I leave a room I don't have to stow away all electronics to prevent the roof from leaking on them when it rains. Big things like CLEAN WATER OMG. Clothes that get clean, body that gets clean! Food that doesn't make you sick in the least. Variety in food! We haven't been to a supermarket yet, but I know it will be a shock. What I have learned most is the value of working sewage and water treatment systems. This is everything for quality of life. Without them, you have so much unnecessary illness, dirt and smells. I keep telling Toni, I would eat off every surface in Germany everything looks so dang CLEAN.
The thing is, Addis Ababa is not really Ethiopia. Whenever we'd go out to the provinces, to where 85% of the population lives, we'd realize how removed Addis is - how Europeanized and fancy in so many ways. Finding a working toilet is a challenge in Addis, but they do exist. Life there is luxurious - just ask dear Zemzem, the young Guraghe woman who we shared a house with. She supports her whole family (mother + 5 siblings) on her $40/month salary - they still live out in Soddo, in a thatched tukul/cottage, farming teff and barley. For us, the house in Addis came with new challenges - barricading every nook and cranny to prevent full rat invasion, "leaky" roofing, bad plumbing, daily power outages. For Zemzem, this house was incredibly luxe.
Where we grow up so determines what we consider proper living standards, but I know that everyone here in Germany - with their amazing infrastructure and clean streets - is not much happier than people in Ethiopia, despite a much lower physical standard of living. This is a fallacy of much charitable/development thinking, that everyone in physical poverty is also emotionally impoverished. No in fact, that's another thing to get used to being away from Ethiopia - the lack of community in the sense that everyone is constantly greeting each other, asking if they can help each other - there is an amazing camaraderie that "developed" countries have in some sense abandoned. So many people now live alone, shuttling themselves between places in cars, so this constant interaction you get in African countries, with 12 people to one home, crowded public transport and lots of walking, is very much missing.
The point is. I read this really good op-ed in the New York Times, written by Warren Buffet's son. It's a very honest critique of the charitable industry that does more to pump up the egos of donors than actually improve peoples' lives. I can attest to this a million times over, seeing how organizations work on the ground in the countries I've been working in the last years. I think the issue lies in this critical misunderstanding of people living in physical poverty. They've been simplified and blanketed to be these pathetic, unintelligent creatures who are happy for just any hand-out, but have no self determination, capacity, or even desire to improve their own lives. Let me tell you, people are people everywhere (duh) - sure, Ethiopians are not miserable, they are strong and quite happy people, but every family I met with told me how much they'd love to get rid of the open sewage running outside their doors. They want to be able to pay for healthcare, and not just stay at home and languish in pain from disease because they don't have the $10 or $30 for treatment. These are real problems they are frustrated with, that they themselves acknowledge. Would you like someone to come in and tell you what needs fixing in your own life? Don't you know what challenges you face more than anyone? But no, these are just "people in need," and "we" know what's best for them.
What's needed (like the article says) is systematic change. It's governments stepping up and taking control of the social contract they're meant to have with their people. It's the end of pandering to people in power, but listening instead to those "at the bottom." (Remember the "first shall be last and the last shall be first?" My favourite.) It's for all the ridiculous humanitarian organizations and donor representatives to stop sending "experts" over to a country for a 2 week stint where they stay in a 5-star hotel and visit a school and take pictures with the kids and say the have "been to Africa." No you have not. There is no incentive to change the systemic challenges of physical poverty because those in charge - those who are responsible for making the decisions - are themselves so far removed from the reality of food insecure, rural African livelihoods. They make demands of people in these situations that make no sense, all in the guise of "development." (This is a big part of my PhD thesis, I am still doing that after all. :)
No one wants to actually live in physically poor situations - the USAID office in Addis? Everyone who works there gets a mansion with a generator and back-up water supply. They are allowed an initial 2,000 pounds of food shipped into the country from the US so they don't have to deal with the limited Ethiopian fare. They get direct shipments from Amazon.com while in Ethiopia to further ensure they don't "miss" anything. And these are the people making decisions for developing rural Ethiopia? How can they possibly understand what life there is actually like? A couple "field visits" doesn't cut it. You have to LIVE there. You have to live the reality of no running water and a thatched cottage home and walking 40 km to a health station with no staff as your only recourse for treatment.
There is much that is wrong in the world - but not in the way it's traditionally depicted. And while we have an obscene level of privilege, given the infrastructure we are blessed with for no other reason than we were lucky enough to be born in a first world country, we are not more privileged in emotional or intellectual capacity, and should never ever think we can determine others' happiness by our own measures.
You can tell I'm still reeling from all we've experienced and seen. I will be for months and years, just as I still haven't fully "processed" Mozambique, Niger, or Brazil. Besides, my engagement with these worlds is never ended - I'm back in Zambia in less than 3 weeks, then the Congo in September. I wouldn't feel myself if I wasn't constantly engaged with this. I'd miss it all too much.
But for now. For the next 2 weeks, it's time to do very little except re-acquaint ourselves with milk and cereal, bread and cheese - chat with Toni's family, take bike rides, WALK BAREFOOT mmmmm. It's so so so deliciously lovely here I could burst. We're so happy. I think I could easily say I am happier today than at any point in my life. Toni is a dream husband, we did it all together, and I'm so grateful for that. Life is good, y'all. Life is good.
The thing is, Addis Ababa is not really Ethiopia. Whenever we'd go out to the provinces, to where 85% of the population lives, we'd realize how removed Addis is - how Europeanized and fancy in so many ways. Finding a working toilet is a challenge in Addis, but they do exist. Life there is luxurious - just ask dear Zemzem, the young Guraghe woman who we shared a house with. She supports her whole family (mother + 5 siblings) on her $40/month salary - they still live out in Soddo, in a thatched tukul/cottage, farming teff and barley. For us, the house in Addis came with new challenges - barricading every nook and cranny to prevent full rat invasion, "leaky" roofing, bad plumbing, daily power outages. For Zemzem, this house was incredibly luxe.
Where we grow up so determines what we consider proper living standards, but I know that everyone here in Germany - with their amazing infrastructure and clean streets - is not much happier than people in Ethiopia, despite a much lower physical standard of living. This is a fallacy of much charitable/development thinking, that everyone in physical poverty is also emotionally impoverished. No in fact, that's another thing to get used to being away from Ethiopia - the lack of community in the sense that everyone is constantly greeting each other, asking if they can help each other - there is an amazing camaraderie that "developed" countries have in some sense abandoned. So many people now live alone, shuttling themselves between places in cars, so this constant interaction you get in African countries, with 12 people to one home, crowded public transport and lots of walking, is very much missing.
The point is. I read this really good op-ed in the New York Times, written by Warren Buffet's son. It's a very honest critique of the charitable industry that does more to pump up the egos of donors than actually improve peoples' lives. I can attest to this a million times over, seeing how organizations work on the ground in the countries I've been working in the last years. I think the issue lies in this critical misunderstanding of people living in physical poverty. They've been simplified and blanketed to be these pathetic, unintelligent creatures who are happy for just any hand-out, but have no self determination, capacity, or even desire to improve their own lives. Let me tell you, people are people everywhere (duh) - sure, Ethiopians are not miserable, they are strong and quite happy people, but every family I met with told me how much they'd love to get rid of the open sewage running outside their doors. They want to be able to pay for healthcare, and not just stay at home and languish in pain from disease because they don't have the $10 or $30 for treatment. These are real problems they are frustrated with, that they themselves acknowledge. Would you like someone to come in and tell you what needs fixing in your own life? Don't you know what challenges you face more than anyone? But no, these are just "people in need," and "we" know what's best for them.
What's needed (like the article says) is systematic change. It's governments stepping up and taking control of the social contract they're meant to have with their people. It's the end of pandering to people in power, but listening instead to those "at the bottom." (Remember the "first shall be last and the last shall be first?" My favourite.) It's for all the ridiculous humanitarian organizations and donor representatives to stop sending "experts" over to a country for a 2 week stint where they stay in a 5-star hotel and visit a school and take pictures with the kids and say the have "been to Africa." No you have not. There is no incentive to change the systemic challenges of physical poverty because those in charge - those who are responsible for making the decisions - are themselves so far removed from the reality of food insecure, rural African livelihoods. They make demands of people in these situations that make no sense, all in the guise of "development." (This is a big part of my PhD thesis, I am still doing that after all. :)
No one wants to actually live in physically poor situations - the USAID office in Addis? Everyone who works there gets a mansion with a generator and back-up water supply. They are allowed an initial 2,000 pounds of food shipped into the country from the US so they don't have to deal with the limited Ethiopian fare. They get direct shipments from Amazon.com while in Ethiopia to further ensure they don't "miss" anything. And these are the people making decisions for developing rural Ethiopia? How can they possibly understand what life there is actually like? A couple "field visits" doesn't cut it. You have to LIVE there. You have to live the reality of no running water and a thatched cottage home and walking 40 km to a health station with no staff as your only recourse for treatment.
There is much that is wrong in the world - but not in the way it's traditionally depicted. And while we have an obscene level of privilege, given the infrastructure we are blessed with for no other reason than we were lucky enough to be born in a first world country, we are not more privileged in emotional or intellectual capacity, and should never ever think we can determine others' happiness by our own measures.
You can tell I'm still reeling from all we've experienced and seen. I will be for months and years, just as I still haven't fully "processed" Mozambique, Niger, or Brazil. Besides, my engagement with these worlds is never ended - I'm back in Zambia in less than 3 weeks, then the Congo in September. I wouldn't feel myself if I wasn't constantly engaged with this. I'd miss it all too much.
But for now. For the next 2 weeks, it's time to do very little except re-acquaint ourselves with milk and cereal, bread and cheese - chat with Toni's family, take bike rides, WALK BAREFOOT mmmmm. It's so so so deliciously lovely here I could burst. We're so happy. I think I could easily say I am happier today than at any point in my life. Toni is a dream husband, we did it all together, and I'm so grateful for that. Life is good, y'all. Life is good.
24 June 2013
20 June 2013
on doing hard things
Many of you know that in addition to doing my PhD, I'm working as a "Senior Research Associate" for Anthrologica, a small consultancy firm started by a fellow Oxford-er that evaluates global health projects using the principles of applied anthropology towards improved efficacy. Since January, I've done stints for them in Zambia and Nigeria, and I may possibly squeeze in another job in Kinshasa, DR Congo in July before Toni and I leave Ethiopia. Ah! On one hand, the prospect is thrilling - the job is with Handicap International, and I'd be evaluating their work on maternal health, so seeing how handicapped mothers have been better served since the organization started working there 5 years back. Interviewing these women and hearing about their experiences, and hopefully coming away with honest ways to improve their care is incredibly exciting.
But. It's also daunting - I'd have to work in French again, first of all, a language I last worked in 3 languages/6 years ago. It also would mean I'd spend a large chunk of my last month in Ethiopia in the Congo, which really just makes me a bit tired.
I'm tired. We've been in Ethiopia since last year, it's been a fantastic but exhausting time. With just a month left in the country, I'd love to just smoothly and easily wrap up the loose ends, pack, buy last minute gifts, and fly off in peace. Uprooting again for a brief stint and getting entirely acquainted with a whole new set of cultural parameters, in a rusty language... ah! It all sounds very hard.
But I remember Stephanie (right?) saying at one point (on her blog?) "I can do hard things." And that's how I have to approach this. I HAVE done hard things, right? I went to Mozambique at 19. I moved to Brazil all alone. I've been living in Ethiopia for almost a year - I mean c'mon! And not as if Zambia and Nigeria were picnics - Nigeria especially. I've always been a peripatetic person, love being engaged with new ways of thinking on living to turn my pre-concieved notions of daily living on their head, but I feel this longing for a settled "peace" tugging at another side of me. A side that wasn't there 8 years ago when I shipped off to Damascus or Paris...
Still. I can't predict exactly what life Toni and I will have in the next 10, 20 years, but I can't imagine trips to Kinshasa won't be a regularly featured part of it. I have to regain that confident (foolhardy?) side of me again.
It's not even certain I'm going! I'll know next week. But in the meantime it's all food for thought. Going outside of ourselves and whatever comfortable routine we've created - even if for me that comfortable routine is now in a "foreign" place like Addis Ababa... it's never easy. But I can't back down now! Right?
But. It's also daunting - I'd have to work in French again, first of all, a language I last worked in 3 languages/6 years ago. It also would mean I'd spend a large chunk of my last month in Ethiopia in the Congo, which really just makes me a bit tired.
I'm tired. We've been in Ethiopia since last year, it's been a fantastic but exhausting time. With just a month left in the country, I'd love to just smoothly and easily wrap up the loose ends, pack, buy last minute gifts, and fly off in peace. Uprooting again for a brief stint and getting entirely acquainted with a whole new set of cultural parameters, in a rusty language... ah! It all sounds very hard.
But I remember Stephanie (right?) saying at one point (on her blog?) "I can do hard things." And that's how I have to approach this. I HAVE done hard things, right? I went to Mozambique at 19. I moved to Brazil all alone. I've been living in Ethiopia for almost a year - I mean c'mon! And not as if Zambia and Nigeria were picnics - Nigeria especially. I've always been a peripatetic person, love being engaged with new ways of thinking on living to turn my pre-concieved notions of daily living on their head, but I feel this longing for a settled "peace" tugging at another side of me. A side that wasn't there 8 years ago when I shipped off to Damascus or Paris...
Still. I can't predict exactly what life Toni and I will have in the next 10, 20 years, but I can't imagine trips to Kinshasa won't be a regularly featured part of it. I have to regain that confident (foolhardy?) side of me again.
It's not even certain I'm going! I'll know next week. But in the meantime it's all food for thought. Going outside of ourselves and whatever comfortable routine we've created - even if for me that comfortable routine is now in a "foreign" place like Addis Ababa... it's never easy. But I can't back down now! Right?
08 June 2013
kocho!
As y'all know, Toni and I spent some weeks in Southern Ethiopia this last month - I was there for some research, and Toni kindly came along to see more of this country we call home. The cultural make-up in Southern Ethiopia is completely different from the highland areas we live in in Addis Ababa, and with new cultures comes new cuisine - the mainstream Amhara settled down south when Emperor Menelik expanded the Ethiopian empire in the late 1800s, so you can find injera, berbere, the staples of mainstream highland cuisine down there. But the collection of pastoralist groups in the South Omo valley (where we were in Jinka) subsist almost entirely on sorghum and milk, with the occasional animal killed and eaten. (Variety in what you eat = chalk that up to be another HUGE luxury aligned with running water and electricity)
Two other groups, the Dorze and Guraghe, eat the "false banana" plant for every meal. (It looks just like a banana tree, but doesn't produce bananas.) It's the most versatile plant! You can make anything out of it's leaves, roots, and fibers. But the most typical way to prepare it is like this - as "Kocho," a slightly fermented tasting flat "bread" eaten with spices or honey or meat. Since I showed you the steps of preparation for injera, it wouldn't be a full Ethiopian experience if I didn't show you the other staple food!
We visited this kind woman's home and she prepared the Kocho for us…
Two other groups, the Dorze and Guraghe, eat the "false banana" plant for every meal. (It looks just like a banana tree, but doesn't produce bananas.) It's the most versatile plant! You can make anything out of it's leaves, roots, and fibers. But the most typical way to prepare it is like this - as "Kocho," a slightly fermented tasting flat "bread" eaten with spices or honey or meat. Since I showed you the steps of preparation for injera, it wouldn't be a full Ethiopian experience if I didn't show you the other staple food!
We visited this kind woman's home and she prepared the Kocho for us…
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| Peeling off a strip of that black bark you see on all the trees.. |
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| Bingo then ties the strip to the plank and starts stripping the inner flesh out of the bark. |
| After she's stripped it clean, leaving just the fibers (as you see on the left), she starts to dig out her stash of the stuff buried underground, where it ferments. |
| She takes out a bunch that had been underground, and pats it down into a patty. |
| The neighbourhood gang. :) |
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| Bingo then takes another big leaf to wrap up the ball/patty of the "dough." |
| Then we go inside her home where she cooks the Kocho. (It's wrapped in that leaf on her stove. |
02 June 2013
dorze, ethiopia
As you will have all seen from instagram, Toni and I were down south for a couple weeks in May. It was glorious - my favourite part of Ethiopia so far. The people were wonderful, everything was a bit more relaxed - less tourists than the historic northern route! And the scenery was to die for. I had to share some more pictures. Do indulge me!
| This was the view from where we stayed at Dorze, that mountain-top collection of villages we went to. We looked down onto two massive crocodile-and-hippo-filled lakes. The air was so clean and clear - ah! Heaven. |
| Morning sunrise. |
| Our home!! |
| Because Dorze is at almost 3000 meters, the whole place is literally in the clouds. Walking around up there is just surreal and utterly serene. |
| Last shot - happier note! Here's one of the shops set up on the side of the road to sell the locally woven goods. Gorgeous, no? (I bought out nearly the whole place :) |
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