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AidBlogsWhat's all this then?Many aid workers keep online journals called web logs, or "blogs" for short. Blogs tend to be very personal, to present unabashedly biased opinions and to be much less formal than an organization's web site. Blogs are sometimes provocative, and some may make you feel uncomfortable -- you certainly won't agree with everything you read in blogs, including those produced by aid workers. The AWN blog portal presents a range of aid worker-produced blogs from around the world. However, AWN is not responsible for the content of any of these blogs, and inclusion here on the AWN blog portal in no way endorses their content by AWN. If you disagree with what a blog has presented, by all means, write the blog author ("blogger") directly and let him or her know what you think. If you would like to submit a blog by an aid, relief or development worker, please complete this form. My summer in KanoCategories: AidBlogs
Pakistan floods, a cartoon. Or not. (via The Economist)Pakistan floods, a cartoon. Or not. (via The Economist) Categories: AidBlogs
How to be alone...Sweet...
A video by filmmaker, Andrea Dorfman, and poet/singer/songwriter, Tanya Davis.
Full post on www.theroadtothehorizon.org Categories: AidBlogs
The UnexpectedMuch to my mom’s dismay, I used to take in homeless animals when I was young. They were irresistible to me, all forlorn and miserable. None were ugly, in my opinion. Cats especially were cute. It usually took a fair bit of begging and pleading to get a “Well, ok, but you’re going to be the one to feed it” out of my mom. I always readily agreed to the feeding part, but I must admit, it did get tedious after awhile. One of my boldest and most memorable rescues was a big, black German Shepherd-looking dog. My parents were away on a trip when his need for a home came to my attention. Them being away made bringing him home all the easier. No immediate begging and pleading involved, just some explaining to be done later. I knew mom didn’t expect to come home to a big, black dog. And I didn’t really expect she’d let me keep him, either. But I was willing to try. When they got home, she was "surprised", of course. And after some lengthy explaining, pleading, and promising on my part, she let me keep him. I guess you could say that we both got the unexpected. I was the happier of the two initially, but in time, I think she actually grew to like the dog too. So what’s the moral to the story? Well, sometimes the unexpected turns out ok. Sometimes it’s ok right away, but sometimes you have to wait for that. (And maybe my mom will add a moral of her own in the comment section at the end of this post!) It’s been an interesting week here in the bush. Rick and Heather have officially left on furlough, although they will be in South Africa for several weeks while they work with the Canadian embassy on Tendai’s (their adopted daughter’s) visitor’s visa. There have been several unexpected bumps and delays, but we continue to trust with them for good to come of it. I commented last week that Dwight would be gone and I planned to get LOTS of work done. Although I didn’t get to the tiling and painting, I did get other important things done. Among these, I tackled organizing the school health curriculum visuals into folders and boxes, and now have revised lists of items I need to take to South Africa for scanning, printing, and laminating. (9 units x approx 10 visuals/unit x 3 sets = quite a few pictures!) I also followed up on getting school child sponsor letters organized to send back with Rick and Heather. Now, this is a much bigger task than most realize. First, because our school kids don’t write the letters in their mother tongue but rather in Portuguese, Mozambique’s official language. So some fluency is lost there. Then staff members, whose first language is also something other than Portuguese or English, translate those letters from Portuguese to English. One of the staff who does some translating was trying to write with his left hand because his right arm is in a cast. He did a great job, considering. But those letters then needed to be typed and edited so North American sponsors could read and understand them better. I love reading these letters though because they are so unique and they represent the realities, hopes, and dreams, of these young lives. Oh yes, and we had an unexpected visitor this week. Raimundo wasn’t very happy when he almost stepped on this Puff Adder lying in our yard yesterday. It was a warm day and the Puff Adder seemed to have come to cool off in the sprinkler. (Well, it’s a theory…) In contrast to last week’s snake, this one IS poisonous. He’s also beautiful. Strikingly so, if you’ll forgive the pun. And so wraps up another week. Yesterday, as I headed out on a walk at sunset, I expected to see the usual sights. Lots of orange sky, green and red autumn leaves, golden-brown field grass and red dirt. I saw all of those things plus a few unexpected surprises along the way too. A Hornbill (Zazoo-bird, for those familiar with Disney's "The Lion King") Several hornbills seem to have moved nearby to feast on the fruiting wild fig trees. To me, they are the clumsiest and most humorous of birds to watch. I also saw a black and white butterfly in an otherwise colourful world. Who would have thought? God would, that's who :) And last but not least, A few forgotten relics in the bush which I retrieved and took home. I love old things like this because: 1. They can clean up and show off quite nicely. 2. They've stood the test of time, and that always challenges me. 3. I don't have to beg, plead or explain in order to keep them. I don't have to feed them either. And that's ok with me. Have a good weekend and ttyl. Categories: AidBlogs
The long callWe received an email today from the widow of one of the people killed up in Nuristan recently. She wrote about ‘reaching the end of this long call to serve in Afghanistan’. Apart from it being terribly sad and hard to read, it provoked some reflection from Julie and I. Why are we here in this country? So much effort over so many years is erased so quickly. So much goodness can be undone so easily – in 2009, I evaluated a community development project working in the North East of this country. It was working in two remote valleys, where the staff showed huge commitment and substantial progress was being made. Since then, a bunch of Taliban moved down one of the valleys. US forces took note, and sent in a few drones, which bombed the place up. Everyone got hostile. One of the development team was kidnapped, then released; then they all had to pull out. Now they are working in a small, tight radius around the township. All their work in the valleys is pretty much over, the momentum lost. It reminds me of our work in community development years ago, in the North. Long days, long years of work in remote, dusty places, which was terminated over night by the events of 9/11. Why do we keep trying here? I am less and less sure that we achieve anything. I know, I know now that this work is not about us feeling good, or developing our CVs. And I am not an aid junkie, living on the high of the emergency, the thrill of saving lives. But I would like to see permanent progress here in some form, in my lifetime. I am less convinced that will happen, or at least less convinced that there is much I can do to expedite it. It seems I follow a God of lost causes. I am not sure how I feel about that. As Nathan says, ‘I have joined the long defeat’. * Also, because the room I am sitting in is badly built, one side is about 4 inches lower than the other. I have propped the right side of the desk up on boards but the chair is still on an acute angle. I am just wanting you all to know that should I develop some kind of horrible arthritis or malignant osteopathic condition because of unergonomic seating, I will be vexed. Categories: AidBlogs
Good Bye Sri LankaIMG_0001.JPG
It hurts to go. Very much. When will I see you again, my lovely island? When will I see your beauty again? When will I see the smiles of your people once more, many times more? Categories: AidBlogs
Honesty in the Hardest Thing...Categories: AidBlogs
FOR GOD, FOR COUNTRY, AND FOR YALE(That's the motto, from the last line of the school song . . reminiscent of Uganda's except for the Yale part)
Yale is an amazing place. We are now about 30 miles away and hurtling southward as the sun begins to sink, with six hours to go until we return to Virginia. But along with thousands of other parents we spent Friday and Saturday in the great take-your-kid-to-college ritual, which has become quite an orchestrated production since our days. And rightly so, because we leave with a much better sense of the quality and flavor of the University than we could have received on line. Unlike almost all other parents we met, this week was our first time to see Yale. And what a great way to be introduced. The perfect weather didn't hurt, either. Yale is a (relatively) non-pretentious Ivy, valuing diversity and exploration. Every speech we heard pushed the idea of taking risks to study topics outside of the usual, joining groups that will challenge and change you, spending time with people from different cultures and backgrounds. Sort of sounds like missionary values, without the God part. Someone in our family turned down two different Ivy's in the old days, both for undergrad and grad school, partly because of the incredibly entitled and arrogant atmospheres there (and because of money, which is ironically a complete reversal of the current situation where these schools have the best financial aid and essentially complete scholarships for lots of kids like ours). So we were relieved to find Yale quite different. Pleasant and welcoming, celebratory and engaging. And full of fascinating people from everywhere. In Luke's suite alone: a young man from Singapore with a mom from New Jersey who just finished two years post-high school in the military, a young man from NYC with a German mother and American dad, a young man with a dad from Costa Rica and an American mom who moved from Maryland to Costa Rica three years ago and played in the Under-17 World Cup Football tournament in Nigeria, a young man whose Lebanese family raised him in Paris until they moved to Texas 7 years ago, a young man who rows on the crew team (the only one as far as I can tell with 2 American parents and growing up in America his whole life). All of these boys are polite, friendly, intelligent kids with very involved and helpful families. Nice. I'm sure there will be difficult situations elsewhere involving pressure to conform to unwise and unholy choices, it won't all be pleasant hand-shakes and small talk (did we mention the sobering "no glove no love" bag of items taped to the wall in the hallway as a public health measure?). But these are great kids with strong families behind them. Back to the pomp and glory of Yale's weekend. We filed through the Master's house of the residential college, shaking hands with the Master and Dean and then munching fruit cups and cheese squares with other parents and students. We filed through the Presidents mansion, shaking hands again and gaping like bumpkins at original works by Degas, Pissaro, Rembrandt, Chagall on the walls. It was like an art museum in an historic home. Then lemonade on the spacious lawn. We listened to a panel discussion on the academics at Yale, the structure of the residential colleges (a really great way that the vastness of the University becomes manageable), and a parent-assuring session on the security system that makes the open campus in downtown New Haven safer. We ate lunch in Luke's dining hall with its wood-paneled walls, portraits, high ceilings, and long wooden tables. But the best part was the opening ceremony, sort of a bookend to the eventual graduation, where the students dressed up and sat in the cathedral-like hall, the parents watched from the balcony seats, the prefessors and deans paraded in their academic robes. And in deference to Yale's puritan roots, the majestic organ led us in singing a beautiful hymn (God of All Peoples, which you might recognize as God of our Fathers . . ). The Dean gave an interesting speech connecting depictions of scribes on ancient Mayan pottery to the dangers of standing for truth in any age. And the President spoke about Yale students changing the world. It was all very inspiring and dignified. But because God is God, and delights in small details in our stories that come as unexpected connections and gifts, my favorite moment of the weekend came early Saturday morning. We had just driven in (from spending the night with Scott's very gracious high school buddy who lives about half an hour away). Scott went to the free parking lot for parents that was about a mile away, and I went to find Luke, because we had agreed to meet a family who contacted us through the blog and also has a son starting at Yale this year. Our rendezvous point was the Batel chapel, where I had not yet been. Luke and I tried several doors and as we finally entered, an organist was practicing. This majestic church of stone and stained glass was completely empty except for me, Luke, and the glorious strains of "How Firm a Foundation". Now, to understand why I burst into tears, you have to know that the FIRST time I heard this hymn almost exactly 18 years ago, I also cried. I was pregnant with Luke after losing three children, we were visiting McLean Pres with my sister as part of our support-raising to go to Uganda, and my heart was broken with grief. When we stood to sing from Isaiah "when through the deep waters I cause you to go, the rivers of sorrow shall not overflow . . . when through fiery trials your pathway shall lie, my grace all sufficient shall be your supply, the flames shall not hurt you I only design, your dross to consume and your gold to refine" it was like God directly addressing my heart. What are the odds that the same song would come back to me in such power, the only really alone moment I had with the person who had grown from a fetus to reach what is culturally his last day of childhood? So I can be forgiven for the teary hug, and thankful there was no one else to make Luke embarrassed, and grateful that these kind of musical themes, small details, come as gifts to one unimportant individual among billions. A gesture of assurance, that this is the right place, that we move ahead in this crazy life for God, for country, and for Yale. Categories: AidBlogs
Into the VoidTwo boys, launched.
It's been quite a week. After leaving Luke at International Student Orientation, we drove back to Virginia Tuesday, and took Caleb to the plane on Thursday. Fifteen year old lanky cheery Caleb hugged us and waved as he passed through the Dulles checkpoint to face the intense security gate lines alone. It was his first solo international trip, and we were in communication darkness until he landed in Nairobi (1 minute call and his battery died) and then got to RVA today. Thankful he made it, was placed in Luke's old dorm (his first choice). Trying out for choir and the soccer team, adjusting his class schedule, working through incompatible class desires (no Swahili 2 if you take AP Chem, and that sort of issue), health check, etc., on his own. Well, not really, there is a fantastic staff at RVA who organize and shepherd. But it's a pretty big step to arrive for the new year, move into the dorm, reshuffle classes, and begin life, with no parental support. I'm amazed at my own kids. This was not the easiest month, grieving the loss of home (and dog!) and jumping into the "show's on" aspect of meeting our churches and friends, catching up on the perennial sleep deficits of boarding school and time zone change, returning without family or even big brother. Caleb has a well-honed and quirky sense of humor, so if he can hold onto that, he'll be fine. And that's why perhaps today, driving away from Yale where we left Luke, I'm more peaceful than moms of freshman are supposed to be. Because we've done this for the last two years, and no time is as hard as the first time. In fact by the time we got up in the dark early early Friday morning and drove back north to New Haven, Luke had already moved into his dorm room , organized his living space, been to all the sign here-do this lines for freshmen. So we could just visit, walk in the spectacular cloudless sunshine to the famous "Bulldog Burritos" and hear about the week. Luke is his own person, confident about what he does not need, pursuing simplicity and truth in a place that suspects both. It was good to see him relatively at ease in the parent-social context, answering questions and making conversation at the various open houses and receptions, messaging suite-mates and introducing us around. When we passed by the voter registration table the students tried to rope him in, until he said he wouldn't be 18 'til February. Oh. Yale is a far cry from RVA, about 2000 courses from which to choose 5, 1344 freshmen in 12 residential colleges, and I can't even begin to imagine the number of organizations and options. So many options. One rather young kid there in an epicenter of the academic world, on his own. But ready. So two boys are off, launched, left. And though it feels very unknown to me, all future is equally so. And equally not so, because the void is really occupied by the One whose essence is Love. Both boys are in places I did not imagine a few years ago, but doors opened and money was provided and favor found, and they are blessed to be taking steps into adulthood in two fantastic schools. Both are young men I'd choose to meet and spend time with even if they weren't my kids, talented and insightful and honest and challenging and world-aware and smart. And as we drive away thinking about them and the void, I know what both would say. Chill, mom. Categories: AidBlogs
On becoming a soccer momI'm trying. Sort of. I'm actually not 100% sure what that means, but I take it to represent the kind of mom who forges a path for her children, often with an SUV, so they can participate in activities and become better and successful people. I'm lacking the SUV, but the idea of advocating for my kids sounds pretty noble.
When we came back from CA I went on line to spend my birthday money on tickets for our family to go to a DC United game. Which was another story. But while I was on the web site, a notice caught my eye, that these MLS professionals were coming out to Sterling, our town, to do a fee soccer clinic for the first 200 kids age 7 to 13 who registered. Why not? I seriously doubted I'd be in the first 200 in anything, but it must have been by grace immediately after the notice was posted, and I slipped Jack and Julia in effortlessly. So Wednesday evening we drove them over to a local playing field for a dose of American culture. 200 kids, heavy on the 7-year-old size. 6 young men from DC United. Tents and merchandise and hooplah. It's all about community relations. Another 200 or more milling parents, taking photos from the sidelines. Clump ball and chaotic drills, but serious kids all inspired by this personal proximity with real players, the guys they watch on TV. Jack and Julia had a good time. Jack of course with his usual all-out intensity, and Julia of course asking the other 13 year old girls their names and smiling. Note to self: my kids were the ONLY ONES not wearing shin guards. And I thought it was pretty high-tech to practice in SHOES, since cleats are the reserve of the official games in Africa, and never wasted on mere scrimmage and drill. Good to learn that here we suit up, fully, for practice too. At the end of the hour the kids lined up to get their soccer balls autographed by each player, and were given a free DC United-logo shoe bag. An hour of soccer, interaction with a bunch of kids we've never met, talking to celebrities, and goodies to take home, all for free. Julia misses the sunsets, and thinks the water tastes funny, and sighs about Acacia, and Star. We got a sweet letter from Ivan, Jack's best friend. We miss home. But America has its perks, and this was one of the fun ones. And now that I've had a taste of success, I've enrolled them in the community soccer league (even though we'll miss half the season with support-thanking travel), and am exploring some music lessons. It's intimidating and a bit bewildering, and after experiencing the Yale parents I realize I have far to go. Luke is in a suite with 5 other guys. And 5 great moms. People who were running hither and yon to buy one more bulletin board or couch or lamp, who had thought through things like winter coats and snow boots, who all seemed very competent and caring. We felt like kind of deadbeat parents who just brought our kid with a half dozen hangers, two pairs of jeans, and a computer. But I'm taking notes, and I may become a bona fide soccer mom yet. Categories: AidBlogs
Issa Sesay’s testimonyFor almost 2 months former RUF leader Issa Sesay has been testifying for the defense at Charles Taylor’s trial, but you could be forgiven for not knowing this. (Google news hits for “Issa Sesay AND Charles Taylor”: 18. Google news hits for “Naomi Campbell AND Charles Taylor”: 1,862.) Sesay, convicted by the Special Court for Sierra Leone, is serving 52 years in a Rwandan prison.
At first, it seems odd that Sesay would testify for Taylor. One of the prosecution witnesses alleged that Taylor ordered Sesay killed in 2008. The prosecution says Sesay is testifying because Sesay thinks Taylor might be able to help him get out of prison if acquitted. Given the extraordinary spiritual and political power West Africans attribute to Taylor, I bet this is true. I also imagine Sesay’s family in Sierra Leone might benefit, somehow, through Taylor’s associates, in exchange for his supportive testimony. But that’s just a guess. Lapsing into a Taylor-esque habit of referring to himself in the third person, Sesay said his motivation for testifying was that: “I heard my colleagues saying a lot about Issa, things that Issa didn’t do.”
Highlights from Sesay’s testimony:
-Despite testifying for the defense, Sesay’s account of how former-former RUF leader Foday Sankoh and Taylor differs from Taylor’s account. Taylor says he met Sankoh only after he realized he would need to collaborate with the RUF to fend off domestic attacks from Sierra Leone government-supported ULIMO. Sesay said Sankoh told him that he met Taylor when they were both training in Libya. This testimony is good for the prosecution, which wants to show that Taylor and Sankoh had a relationship before the RUF invasion of Sierra Leone.
-Prosecution witnesses had testified that Taylor told Sesay that if Sesay released UN peacekeepers Taylor would help the RUF overthrow the Sierra Leonean government. Sesay agrees that he was under pressure from Taylor to release the peacekeepers, but denies there was a quid pro quo.
-Sesay testified that his meetings with Taylor were never to exchange diamonds for weapons, as the prosecution alleges, but rather discussions about how to make peace. This supports the defense painting of Taylor as a regional peacemaker.
-So how did the RUF pay for weapons, if not buy trading in diamonds? Sesay says, among other things, that the RUF sold produce harvested from civilian farms.
-Sesay’s account of how he became leader of the RUF goes against the idea that Taylor had command control of the RUF. Sesay says that when West Africa leaders decided that Sesay should lead the RUF after Sankoh was imprisoned, Taylor suggested that Sankoh be consulted on this. Sesay testified that Sankoh was against the idea of Sesay taking over.
-Sesay admitted that the RUF committed many of the crimes Taylor is accused of committed through joint criminal enterprise (eg rape, murder) but denies that Taylor told the RUF to do these things. This is in line with previous defense arguments.
For almost 2 months former RUF leader Issa Sesay has been testifying for the defense at Charles Taylor’s trial, but you could be forgiven for not knowing this. (Google news hits for “Issa Sesay AND Charles Taylor”: 18. Google news hits for “Naomi Campbell AND Charles Taylor”: 1,832.) Sesay, convicted by the Special Court for Sierra Leone, is serving 52 years in a Rwandan prison. At first, it seems odd that Sesay would testify for Taylor. One prosecution witness alleged that Taylor ordered Sesay killed in 2008. The prosecution says Sesay is testifying because Sesay thinks Taylor might be able to help him get out of prison if acquitted. Given the extraordinary spiritual and political power West Africans attribute to Taylor, I bet this is true. I also imagine Sesay’s family in Sierra Leone might benefit, somehow, through Taylor’s associates, in exchange for his supportive testimony. But that’s just a guess. Lapsing into a Taylor-esque habit of referring to himself in the third person, Sesay said his motivation for testifying was that: “I heard my colleagues saying a lot about Issa, things that Issa didn’t do.” Highlights from Sesay’s testimony:
All of this is from The Trial of Charles Taylor blog. Categories: AidBlogs
Haiti: The complexity of aid..Looking at different sides of the need for aid and the effects of aid..
Video discovered via Global Envision
Full post on www.theroadtothehorizon.org Categories: AidBlogs
Voices of Peace's message of peace"A Jaffa youth choir made up of Jews and Arabs girls isn't just sharing a message of coexistence with audiences throughout Israel, it is also practicing that message."
Categories: AidBlogs
A Big AssetDo all jobs require the skills of an adult? No, many jobs can be done by youth. Children and youth can do a great job if they are given the opportunity and required learning. However most adults get impatient and just do it ourselves. Rural Congolese parents depend on their youth and children to do more. It pays for these adults to teach them to do more. They help harvest and prepare fields. They help cook and carry water. They help care for their siblings. Youth and children become full members of the family earlier. They are big asset to a family. Categories: AidBlogs
Tapping the Fanatical SurplusI have a confession to make: I am a fan. I read fan fiction. I participate in Livejournal communities. I have actually written fan fiction on occasion. It’s been a great hobby in a life where I can’t have hobbies that involve material things, and fan fiction has saved me more than once from death by boredom on trips too long to carry as many books as I need. It’s traditional to pretend to be ashamed of this hobby, but I’m not. It’s been crucial to my understanding of social media, community, and the way the world has shifted to a new participatory culture. I am proud to be a textual poacher. This level playing field has even changed the way I see international development. And sometimes fans do wonderful things. Which is a long way of getting to this post by Laurenist. In it, she deconstructs a new charity started by Misha Collins, the actor who plays Castiel on Supernatural. Here’s how she begins: Now, Misha is attempting to once again tap his social networking prowess (and large fanbase) to raise funds for a new charity, Random Acts. Not awesome. (Sadface.) Don’t get me wrong. I like charities! I like Misha! I want Misha’s charity to be one that I like. Unfortunately, it seems the people behind it have good intentions, but as we in the international development blogger community know, “Good intentions are not enough.” Let’s look at how Random Acts says it’s going to spend the money it raises:
She has two major criticisms: 1) Orphanages are a bad idea and 2) Supporting random acts of kindness is not an effective use of money. I agree with her on both points. Orphanages are a bad idea, almost always. Saundra can tell you why. And the whole random acts idea strikes me as kind of weak. A lot of feel-good; not much actual result. But. Misha Collins actually responded to Laurenist’s post with a well-thought-out comment, and here’s what he had to say about the “random acts” portion of his charity: “Part of what made me want to do this project was seeing so many of my followers on Twitter putting so much energy and so many resources into fandom. I think all of that energy is great, but my thinking was, perhaps, if we could harness a fraction of those resources (both creative and fiscal), we could put some of this c-list idolatry to good use.” He’s got a point. Fans are completely off the hook crazy. I know this because I am one. I once sent a postcard to David Hewlett that said “how are you so awesome?” I have seen every movie Josh Charles ever appeared in, and that takes some serious endurance. Small wonder Misha Collins wants to tap this fanatical surplus. The thing is, fans are crazy because being a fan is fun. It’s not meaningful, Henry Jenkins aside. It’s not purposeful. It’s just fun. People don’t do fannish things because they want to be useful. They do it to entertain themselves. While a Misha Collins doing-serious-things charity probably wouldn’t capture fannish attention, maybe his doing-silly-things charity will. And while those silly kind things may not be terribly effective, they are not, as the comments on Laurenist’s post pointed out, worthless. Misha Collins, in his own way, knows the community he’s dealing with: nutso fans. He’s designed a charity that will appeal to nutso fans and use their energy for good. So, this time, I have to say – more power to him. (Except for the orphanages.) ———– Yep, that’s Misha Collins. Categories: AidBlogs
Maker Faire Africa 2010 Begins!Maker Faire Africa 2010 has begun in Nairobi, Kenya. This is the second of what is becoming an annual event, an event that seeks to shed some light on the inventors, innovators and artists creating practical and interesting ideas – mostly from Africa’s informal sector. This year, besides having jua kali creators from Kenya, we also have makers from Uganda, Rwanda, Ghana, Malawi, Nigeria and South Africa. It’s a great turnout, and continues the tradition from Ghana last year. We’re seeing all kinds of incredible ideas brought to life. Here are a couple: A customized bicycle, with an accessory that lets you charge your phone via dynamo: A robotic porridge cooking machine, made by a Malawian inventor: Artistic sunglasses, made from locally available materials: More pictures in the Maker Faire Africa group Categories: AidBlogs
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