tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80596381478151063242024-03-13T00:49:30.055-04:00Speaking My TruthCurrently working in education in emergencies, grateful for my experiences and the opportunity to share them with you. Revitalizing this platform to share my commitment to social and political action to help protect this beautiful world. (from Desiderata... speaking my truth while striving to be happy) lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072611322067109629noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059638147815106324.post-48100799743372439482010-08-30T12:24:00.000-04:002010-08-30T12:24:15.222-04:00Reconnecting<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/THvXH2KbGWI/AAAAAAAAA7M/I02aD2RN7fU/s1600/viva+la+paix+en+RDC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/THvXH2KbGWI/AAAAAAAAA7M/I02aD2RN7fU/s200/viva+la+paix+en+RDC.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="145" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">The photo was taken at my going away lunch. My dedicated and inspiring team gave me this beautiful plaque in remembrance of our work to build peace in the DRC.</span></i> </td></tr>
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</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">It has been almost 20 months since I've written anything. It's been 1 year since I arrived back in the US after 14 months in the Democratic Republic of Congo. I left the DRC war weary, uncertain and a little bit heart broken. Now I'm home, world weary, uncertain and a little bit heart broken. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I came home to reconnect with my "real" life, my friends and family and the momentous ordinary that I had taken for granted, like safety and anonymity. I came home to re-establish myself, to define myself outside the context of work. I needed to remember who I was, a person with interests and hobbies. (Hobbies! An amazing luxury.) I came to return to having enough (and often excess), to escape scarcity. I returned to be with the people that I loved and I returned to find what can be most elusive in the field, solitude. I needed to heal, I needed a break from the every day horrors that harden the heart. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I came to remember. I came to forget. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">It's been a long time. Much has happened in the last year, I've been to 12 different countries. I've witnessed loss and love in many places. Somewhere between then and now I lost my voice. I hope I've found it again. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </div>lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072611322067109629noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059638147815106324.post-1688416787144559582009-02-01T09:06:00.001-05:002010-10-21T05:43:24.072-04:00V-Day!<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/SYW3FzyM90I/AAAAAAAAAFY/ET3zhYq0s2A/s1600-h/eager+to+learn.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297841847099258690" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/SYW3FzyM90I/AAAAAAAAAFY/ET3zhYq0s2A/s320/eager+to+learn.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 214px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a> <br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 100%;">I<span style="font-size: 85%;">t’s always a difficult trip back to work, knowing that after a long and uncomfortable journey I will descend into a veritable war zone & the chaos of developing countries. My holidays had been so lovely, I was reluctant to let go of the safety and ease of home. Somewhere over freezing waters there was terrible turbulence on the plane and I took it as a bad sign. There comes a time when you worry that all your luck has run out. <br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <br />
</span><span style="font-size: 85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">To distract myself I read the New York Times – a proper news source made of actual paper, a rare commodity since I moved to <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Congo</st1:country-region></st1:place>. The article that immediately drew my attention was about girls in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Afghanistan</st1:place></st1:country-region>. The story told about men who threw acid in young girls’ faces to punish them for daring to leave their homes to try to learn at school. The story centered on their return despite the risks, but despite the positive note, my stomach tightened and I put the paper away, folding it in near the air sickness bag. <br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <br />
</span><span style="font-size: 85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">It is difficult to be confronted by things that are so disturbing, things that we have no control over and feel powerless to change. Sometimes I feel as though this is the story of my life, of the work I have chosen. Yet, I know that these things do and can change. I am not idealistic, or an especially good person that dares to dream about ‘a better world’. Look at us! The <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">United States</st1:place></st1:country-region> has gone from a country with state sponsored slavery & no voting rights for women to having a black man as president that makes signing an equal pay bill for women one of his first acts in office. Why shouldn’t I believe that this kind of progress will happen for the oppressed everywhere? <br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <br />
</span><span style="font-size: 85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">Today is February 1<sup>st</sup> which means we are coming up on V-Day. Not Valentine’s day but V-Day, the day to publicly combat violence against women and girls around the world. The 'V' in V-Day stands for Victory, Valentine and Vagina. It is the day to host The Vagina Monologues - a day for women to own their sexuality, to stand in solidarity with one another and acknowledge that there is more work to be done. I have always loved V-Day: the outrageous performances, the chocolate vaginas, and bold reclamation of female sexuality. I love the feeling of sisterhood and having strong male allies. I love the activism and unity of purpose. <br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <br />
</span><span style="font-size: 85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">This year’s campaign targets the <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Congo</st1:country-region></st1:place>, perhaps the worst place to be a woman in the world. (Learn more at <a href="http://newsite.vday.org/">http://newsite.vday.org/</a>) Ensler, the controversial founder, speaks of ‘femicide’ - rape being used as a weapon of war, deployed in a campaign of terror. This, one of the greatest crimes against humanity, is committed at shocking rates here – it is the weapon of choice in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Congo</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s conflict. <br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <br />
</span><span style="font-size: 85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">I am attaching an article that I am asking you to read. It is a powerful call to action and I hope it will help inform your personal decision on what you will do to help end violence against women and girls. </span><span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="http://www.womenscommission.org/pdf/lewis_speech.pdf">http://www.womenscommission.org/pdf/lewis_speech.pdf</a></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">Recently, there are rumors spreading here in Goma. The expatriate aid workers speak about it in huddled groups at social events, in quiet pairs, in lowered voices. Rape. One of the expatriate residences was attacked last week. Rape. Official reports say the attack was ‘violent’ and the victims evacuated to <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">France</st1:place></st1:country-region>. Rape. The attacks seem to be happening with more frequency and after what happened to our office in October, I am not naïve enough to believe it can’t happen to us. Rape. We have increased our number of unarmed, napping gate openers who are suppose to serve as guards. Rape. We’ve posted emergency numbers throughout the house. Rape. We’ve also discussed what we would do if it happened to us…rape. How we would probably rather just be shot, killed, that somehow rape is more frightening than death. I know we are not supposed to think this, that it betrays all the amazing survivors who go on with the hard work of living after so much devastation. However, it doesn’t change the truth of our feelings. <br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <br />
</span><span style="font-size: 85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">Even if it didn’t happen here last week to a colleague, that dark imaginings have gotten the better of us in troubled times – it doesn’t matter. <br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <br />
</span><span style="font-size: 85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">I know that it is happening and happening <i>right now</i>. Whether it be date rape in Europe, marital rape in the Middle East, raping of children in southeast Asia, rapes in public parks in the <st1:country-region st="on">US</st1:country-region>, and perhaps more than anywhere else in the world - rape in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Congo</st1:place></st1:country-region> is happening right now. It happens in the camps, in the schools, on the roads, in the farms, in homes, there is no escaping it. It is happening now, it is killing little girls and women right now. It is a dark shadow of fear casting darkness every day for women everywhere. <br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <br />
</span><span style="font-size: 85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">Why? Impunity. A culture of violence. Apathy. <br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <br />
</span><span style="font-size: 85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">Women are not equal here; they do not have access to power and they spend their energies taking care of their children. They are consumed with the hard manual labor in fields that may soon be looted, caring for children who won’t live to be 3, cooking over fires that burn their eyes, blacken their lungs and barely feed the family. They are cheated out of opportunities to learn to read and write, limiting their access to and realization of their rights. We can do something about this. These wrongs can be righted. <br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <br />
</span><span style="font-size: 85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">Our work goes on. I visited schools today, monitoring the return of students after recent fighting in the territory. The children were beautiful. The smallest ones were so in love with learning, delighting in the chance to show off their knowledge to guests. Their smiles made the dark stick and mud classroom shine brightly. Their laughter, eagerness and potential could barely be contained in those walls. <br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <br />
</span><span style="font-size: 85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">Who amongst these precious faces will grow up to be a rapist? Which of these gorgeous smiles will be dimmed by sexual violence? I want something better for all of these children. They want something better. I know you do too. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">Please join us in the <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Congo</st1:place></st1:country-region> campaign – <o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 85%; font-weight: bold;">Stop raping our greatest resource: Power to the women and girls of the Democratic Republic of the Congo</span><span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">.</span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <br />
</span><span style="font-size: 85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">I can’t explain to you why I have chosen this work. Certain aspects are hurtful and ugly, the violence is too close and too much. Yet, the good parts are so good – I feel closer to real life, my days are full and I use all ability I have been blessed with, both physically and mentally. I cook and clean and hug and laugh. I train and negotiate. I find defeat and triumph in everyday. In fact, I have never fallen or fought so hard. I wish I could explain myself better; it is just too beautiful and too terrible. I’m going to keep pushing forward and I am asking you to help. <br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <br />
</span><span style="font-size: 85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">Please share this message with someone you love. Please support V-Day events in your area: host a <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Congo</st1:country-region></st1:place> teach-in, go to The Vagina Monologues, support the International Violence Against Women Act. Do something and get a friend to do it with you. Talk about it… help give a voice to those who go unheard. <br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072611322067109629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059638147815106324.post-47572629693230081682009-01-24T10:18:00.000-05:002010-10-21T05:43:54.484-04:00Almost censored...<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I realize it has been awhile since I have written but I have been facing some difficulties. It was unofficially 'suggested' to me that I cease and desist with my blog. However, after consultation with some professionals (among them legal experts) - I feel confident in moving forward with my writing. I have notes that I will be transferring to my site soon so stay tuned.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">As for why I haven't sent any email updates - laziness, tunnel vision at work and a lovely vacation in Nicaragua! Forgive and I promise to do better...<br /><br /> <br /><br /></span></span>lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072611322067109629noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059638147815106324.post-23224467948138963182008-11-03T11:35:00.000-05:002010-10-21T05:44:42.183-04:00Walking, waiting, wanting - November 3, 2008<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/SQ8o2N-ClNI/AAAAAAAAAEw/HUtcaeW23rI/s1600-h/DRC.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 141px; height: 94px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/SQ8o2N-ClNI/AAAAAAAAAEw/HUtcaeW23rI/s320/DRC.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264471401347323090" border="0" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal">The sunset is gorgeous. Soft palette of blues & lilacs touched by pale pinks cast a shimmer over the lake, abnormally calm. I see the hills of <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Rwanda</st1:place></st1:country-region> to the left, a shadow of earth pushed up by ancient forces. The fishermen are out in their handmade boats, singing their songs, their repeated motions all a beautiful rhythm. This is my favorite time of day, when I usually feel most at peace, most connected with life. Like much in <st1:place st="on">Africa</st1:place> though, dusk is hurried and taken away too quickly – it is gorgeous but never lasts long enough. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">These half days, split by the equator with equal day and night, share no lingering evenings, late mornings or other evidence of movement in the universe. Things here remain the same no matter how we wish they would change and that we could change them. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>It is hard to believe that this was the scene of chaos a few days ago. Hard to acknowledge that the hills beyond are full of armed fighters, that the still waters are haunted by the bodies of many many dead; that the roads away from my own are full of people walking, waiting and wanting. Somehow, in these moments of quiet I am the most affected, the most saddened and the most overwhelmed by the great human tragedy playing out around me. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>I can’t comprehend the situation, it alludes me while haunting me.<span style=""> </span>All my dreams are the same; you might be surprised at how many of you are in them. Those I love, loved, lost and re-found, you have been there, whenever I have found a troubled sleep. You are slipping away from me, being ripped out of my arms, never strong enough to hold you – again and again these visions of being powerless to save the people I care about. I know it is a manifestation of my anxiety, images representing my powerlessness and fear. But still I dream…</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>At first my story came out all in broken and disjointed pieces, the burning accusations, the shocking revelations, the unimagined horrors. I needed others to know I had suffered that I have been to the bottom of fear and am climbing my way back up. It was an indirect way of asking that they be gentle with me, understanding and accommodate my fragility. I made detailed reports, kept working working working busy busy busy to occupy my mind and control the memories. However, simultaneously, I can’t stand to be hugged too long, to be comforted too much. The slightest bit of self-pity could lead to my slipping out of control; out of the disciplined space I’ve constructed to protect myself and that has allowed me to protect others. The well of tears could be too deep and I am afraid to drown. I can imagine the gasping, the closing of my throat, the burning and so I stay away from the edge, unable to look down. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>I will tell my story, but not yet. I will tell of the horror, disappointments and cowardice. I need to tell them, to put them away so that they stop poisoning me with their anger, pushing me to blame and condemn. I need to stop hiding behind the anger so I release the despair. The anger burns and the despair creeps, I don't know which is more dangerous. Then, hopefully, I will be free to leave part of this behind me. To only take away the lessons learned, the strength discovered and the compassion cultivated. I want to<span style=""> </span>remember... smiling little ones, acts of kindness and sacrifice, hard working mothers, brave friends and most of all, the protective power of love.<br /></p>lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072611322067109629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059638147815106324.post-14246776844558116672008-11-03T11:19:00.000-05:002010-10-21T05:45:26.771-04:00Trouble in Congo - November 1, 2008<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/SQ8npOwe7qI/AAAAAAAAAEo/eLl_ub-TOcA/s1600-h/volcano.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 229px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/SQ8npOwe7qI/AAAAAAAAAEo/eLl_ub-TOcA/s320/volcano.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264470078708969122" border="0" /></a><br />Hello everyone,<br /><br />I know that many of you have been worried about me as North Kivu has fallen into anarchy. The rebel groups expanded taking over a great deal of new territory in North Kivu. This caused panic among the rag tag militias and dangerously undisciplined government troops. As they fled their posts they went on a rampage, killing, raping and looting innocent civilians along their roads. I wanted to write just to let people know I have made it to relative safety.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Trouble in Congo</span><br /><br />I checked my email this morning and that was the first news feed.<br /><br />No kidding!<br /><br />I am not sure what to say. I am not sure I can explain what has happened to us here. I want to say we are ok but I think it is a bit too early. The good news is that my entire team will have been evacuated to Goma by 3pm today. Goma is calm for the moment and we are trying to pull it together.<br /><br />Anarchy descended upon us Tuesday. Tensions were high and I posted an entry on my blog that morning then went to work as usual. I arrived at the office without incident and then tried to leave again on an errand. A drunk government soldier began yelling at my driver and waving his gun at us, forcing us back into our office compound. That was the beginning of the end. The rest is a chaotic nightmare of attacks, tanks, abandonment, gunfire, assaults, fear, rationing, helicopters, and anger. Our convoy was attacked and I was slightly injured when our windows were blown out of the car. Our offices were violently raided by armed militias and everything was looted. I don't think it is an exaggeration to say we barely escaped with our lives.<br /><br />A complete failure of humanity and coordination contributed to the disastrous attempts to rescue us. I don't think I, who has always had a critical point of view, has ever been so disappointed by so many. At the same time, I was blessed to be supported by a handful of people who were brave and strong, who kept me encouraged, laughing and hoping against all odds.<br /><br />Now the de-briefing and hopefully, healing, begin. Then we will see what happens next... and where. We are trying to mobilize our emergency response teams while constantly assessing the security situation.<br /><br />I feel very loved and supported and in all the madness; I have never ever felt alone. Thank you so much for all your love and support. I hope to publish more soon.<br /><br />As a favor to me, please go hug all the people you love right now - as I am still awaiting the opportunity to do so...lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072611322067109629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059638147815106324.post-78015637594502459352008-10-28T07:14:00.000-04:002010-10-21T05:46:12.737-04:00Sounds of the morning…<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/SQ80Ty28lKI/AAAAAAAAAE4/8ERAeGtY30M/s1600-h/neutrality.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 277px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/SQ80Ty28lKI/AAAAAAAAAE4/8ERAeGtY30M/s320/neutrality.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264484004093793442" border="0" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal">7:16 AM Tuesday, October 28, 2008</p> <p class="MsoNormal">This is the text message I received:</p><p class="MsoNormal">Explosions have been constant since 6:30 AM. Info from hcr (rcvd from monuc) is fighting in Rubare (11km). Monuc, “not to panic”</p><p class="MsoNormal">[HCR= UNHCR, UN High Commission for Refugees/MONUC = UN mission in Congo]<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>The sounds of artillery have been consistent for two days now and began this morning before 6:30am. I know because I can here them from my abnormally large and uncomfortable bed.<span style=""> </span>I hear the rattle of gunfire, the light blasts of bigger arms just as often as not, both at night and some mornings. Military bases are near by and the sound carries well with no real buildings or structures to capture the waves. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>Am I panicked? No. Is it because I am brave? No. I have just become accustomed to this heightened tension. It's like a jacket that is a bit too warm, but I don’t want to take it off because I know I would be cold and exposed without. I don’t want to fall into the rumors, naïve analysis and unfounded speculation that many have already succumbed to. All the discussion focuses on which armed group is where, the movements of fighting and where they might be next. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>The truth is this is not war. This is not real fighting. There are almost no casualties, there has probably rarely been such an extended ‘war’ with so few combatants dead. These are probably the least committed ‘soldiers’ in the world, it’s a game of capture the flag. Push the lines, make a lot of noise but don’t hurt people because them you might actually get hurt! They are only strong against the unarmed weak, can only kill the spirits of already broken people. The victims are primarily women, mothers traveling to farms to take food for their families – raped and beaten going and coming. Families’ little mud houses are raided, their meager belongings taken and their food eaten. The death is slow, it steals children in the night from malaria, after they are forced to sleep in fields to escape the militias. Sickness, like the soldiers, targets the sick and weak, the young and old. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>I want to be angry but I just can’t muster up the emotions. Who can we blame? Not the soldiers, who are mostly forcibly recruited in their young teens – little boys with big guns. I saw a skinny band of them Saturday, their smiles an eerie contrast to their oversized weapons. There are no other jobs and the military provides clothes, occasional pay and a measure of power, all things in short supply here. Should I blame the government? They are a world away in <st1:city st="on">Kinshasa</st1:city> and I have lived in <st1:place st="on">Africa</st1:place> long enough to know better than to expect anything from them. No expectations, equals no blame and no accountability. You might not have realized, but this is how they have gotten away with so much for so long! </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>I could blame <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Rwanda</st1:place></st1:country-region> for sending their young boys here to be trained, for their genocidal history whose blood has seeped across our borders. They export Congolese minerals and monies and import rebels and instability while they enjoy unprecedented development. When it really comes down to it, I blame myself and oh - all of you too. For being ignorant and complacent, for not keeping our own governments accountable, for not using our voices for those who no one chooses to hear. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>Who buys the raw materials? Who supports the corrupt regimes, gives most favored nation status to China, builds, sells and reaps the profits of all the rocket launchers, machine guns, tanks and grenades I see every day, the tools of terror that haunt my neighbors? The big men who run this mess, who profit from this disaster live in the <st1:country-region st="on">US</st1:country-region> and <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Germany</st1:place></st1:country-region>, their considerable finances are protected and increased in our financial institutions. The invaluable coltan they take from the land with slave labor and then sell for influence and arms, power the cell phones we will all use today. Forgive my anger but it is the only safe feeling. Hope feels ridiculous and fear seems so weak. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The explosions have quieted in the last hour and now the predominant sounds are babies crying and children laughing. So I will pack up now and head for work. I’ll get into my big land cruiser and drive the bumpy road to my office. I will wave at the children who run too close to the car, with special smiles for my favorite girls next door – Tantine, Alice and Sylvie. I am knitting their little brother <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Alliance</st1:place></st1:city> a sweater and have already made a knitted bunny for Tantine. The streets will be packed with people, stuck here in Kiwanja as the major transport route has been blocked. I will follow up on proposals, continue working on our sector strategy, I will sit at my desk doing paperwork while awaiting the newest developments. I will go on with my day to day life just like the other people in <st1:place st="on">North Kivu</st1:place>. Even in just a few months, I have, like them, become accustomed to this conflict. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>I am safe for now and I will not panic. I will write and I will hope for relative peace, the only kind of peace this battered land has known for so many years.</p>lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072611322067109629noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059638147815106324.post-52873068359842891332008-09-22T06:51:00.000-04:002010-10-21T05:46:43.797-04:00Capturing positive thoughts... living with fear<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/SNd8VNHDDcI/AAAAAAAAAD0/N3RJgZRzuCc/s1600-h/stop+loss.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/SNd8VNHDDcI/AAAAAAAAAD0/N3RJgZRzuCc/s320/stop+loss.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248800594461920706" border="0" /></a>Loss has been getting closer and closer to home; fear has been creeping into my life. I asked a brave friend how he had survived his years of service in Iraq and Afghanistan. I asked Mike how he dealt with fear.<br /><br />Colleagues in our program in Afghanistan were killed in mid-August. Two of the women were my age and they all worked in my sector. Given the lack of adequate security measures in North Kivu, recent plane crashes and the flare-up of hostilities I asked Mike how to know when the risks are too great...<br /><br />Here is an excerpt of what he wrote -<br /><p style="font-family: times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">I was driven by emotion- joy, love. Two<br />emotions that spawn miracles, one by it self can move mountains. Yes I<br />had fear, but fear only worked as a reminder to why I was afraid in<br />the first place. I need to fear to overcome my fear. Fear doesn't only<br />claim us when we feel weak, injured or defeated. It grabs us when<br />we're confident, relaxed or happy. When I was in <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Iraq</st1:country-region></st1:place> I was 20 years<br />old. I feared my leaders more than I did the enemy. I had very little<br />to live for, so I thought. When I enlisted I locked and forgot<br />everything I did before I joined. I was the token soldier for the<br />army, listened, learned and executed. I bleed green. Fear wasn't a<br />factor my first 2 years in the service. I wasn't living, I was<br />functioning.<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">After <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Iraq</st1:country-region></st1:place> I went to ft bragg, in between that time I had<br />30 days of leave. And it wasn't til about a month at bragg when I<br />really started thinking about how much freakin' danger I was in when<br />deployed. With <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Afghanistan</st1:country-region></st1:place> I didn't even want to go. I had the feeling<br />of - I got something to live for. I had something Wonderful to return<br />too. Now I had a cause, it was a good cause. Good enough to live for,<br />survive for, fight for. I didn't know what to expect but I knew if<br />there were going to be any fulfillment from my cause I would have to<br />deal with fear. Fear in cunning, powerful, baffling. Who is to say how<br />someone's to act in a traumatic situation, can one control themselves<br />at the height of their own fear as they understood it. Can knowledge<br />and understanding prove hostile to your thinking mind, do your<br />thoughts wager dangers to protect or maybe cower.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p>If you didn't know about the unfortunates with IRC would fear drip<br />from your thoughts like sweat of the brow. Does your fear dance because of<br />similarity to your fellow employees. If so would the same be said if<br />all your minds as one captured positive thoughts sharing joy for one<br />another. Acknowledging fear and sharing the feeling with others can<br />lighten the load for a human mind. Anxiety attacks quickly and can<br />easily engulf your mind with worries beyond imagine. When something is<br />out of my power, when danger lingers, I would immediately acknowledge<br />my current state of feeling. Can I change it or will this ride out.<br />The cunning part of fear is; the more fear one has experienced or the<br />unexpected fear to come will never determine how one is to feel when<br />fear presents itself. Yes you can numb yourself or scream yourself,<br />it'll catch up to you, fear is powerful.<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Lisa all around you is<br />danger. I know this mostly for what you have told me. When are the<br />risks too great you ask? I believe a risk is too great when it is too<br />late. Meaning, believing in something greater than yourself, living<br />for the cause, surrounded by obstacles without measure a risk is<br />merely a fly in the house, no great concern because your concern is<br />not of yourself but of the greater cause that makes you.</span></p><p style="font-family: times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Ms Bender acknowledge your fears, remember your choices, be ready to<br />share them and already fear will weaken its power over you. I am but<br />just one person sharing to another. I would be lying if I said I don't<br />think and pray for you each night. Being afraid all the time is not<br />fun, but knowing a friend that is afraid I can help by praying for<br />safety and sharing my heart for your comfort.<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Miss you Lisa, the cause is greater than you are but the cause<br />wouldn't be as great without you.</span></p>Thank you Mike.<br />I am grateful you made it home to us safely. I am praying for all of those still serving...lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072611322067109629noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059638147815106324.post-91831758299761598042008-09-22T06:44:00.000-04:002010-10-21T05:47:25.826-04:00Borrowed from Batuhancum... (Aug. 2, 2008)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/SNd4Ss6tLrI/AAAAAAAAADs/LFB8sX0La-U/s1600-h/Certified+teachers.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/SNd4Ss6tLrI/AAAAAAAAADs/LFB8sX0La-U/s320/Certified+teachers.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248796153413971634" border="0" /></a><br />My first guest blogger - Batuhan Aydagul. He started out as a colleague in Liberia and now is much much more. He wrote this on his own blog in celebration of the graduation of our first group of certified teachers!I was touched by his words and humbled by the hard work of the teachers...<br /><br />Sunday, August 2, 2008 19:13<br /><br />I am on my balcony.<br /><br />There are partial clouds across the ocean, the fading sky still reminiscent of daylight reigns over Monrovia. The breeze is simply delightful, makes me love the rainy season and the chilliness that comes with it. No, we have not had any rain today; yesterday was the chosen day of the usual rainy w/end we got used to here, with almost 24 hours of continuous rain. As always, I can see the waves of the Atlantic Ocean hitting the shores of the city further on the East, where the Barclay Training Center (infamous military barracks, where Tolberts' 13 ministers were trialed following Doe's coup in 1980 and executed by the beach adjacent to it, while being televised live in public TV) is.<br /><br />I wrote my first journal entry here sitting outside of my apartment on Sunday, July 29, 2007. One year ago! As I shared earlier in my mails, that was the first night I felt 'home.' One year later, I am at home, I am in my beloved city of Monrovia, grateful for what this experience has given me so far. I am engaged in two of my favorite activities tonight: Writing and cooking. While I am typing these letters on my computer outside, the eggplant with olive oil is simmering back in the kitchen. And the carrots and onions are sliced for dinner tonight, waiting to be part of a hopefully tasteful stir fried noodles with vegetables. I poured my <i>Siyah Efe </i>(a high quality Turkish <i>raki</i>) to my nice and thin <i>raki </i>glass; I seize the moment as well as life right now.<br /><br />One year and few days later, this journal witnesses its first entry in English. That's a new experience for me; writing about my emotions and personal reflections in a different language other than my native one. Professional and academic writing in English has been part of my daily life but this is rather new. In fact, I have debated many times throughout the last year about switching to English as the urge of being able to share my writing with my friends and family who did not read Turkish grew further and further. But when it came to emotions, Turkish dominated my fingers all this time. Well, until tonight! I want someone special to be able to read this entry. In a way, this writing is homage to her as she had contributed so much to the events that provoked me to this particular writing.<br /><br />[BA: Let me also do something I never do, apologize for the length of this one. This one came up as some sort of a reflective piece on development with a touch of emotions.]<br /><br /><b><i>Kakata Teacher Training Institute (KTTI), Yesterday</i></b><br /><br />Yesterday, I attended a very significant and touching ceremony at the KTTI. The first cohort of Liberian teachers who completed their year long in-service training graduated and received their 'C' Level Teaching Certificate. These 139 teachers have been teaching for several years in schools in Lofa, Montserrado and Nimba counties as voluntary teachers, receiving compensation either from communities or the International Rescue Committee (IRC), which has been supporting their schools.<br /><br />So in other words, these were dedicated individuals who took the initiative to go to the classroom during or after the civil war to try to make an impact in lives and futures of thousands of children. They did not receive any professional training prior to that, just like almost two third of the teaching force in Liberia teach without a certificate, yet, they had risen to the challenge, got in the classroom and did their best when children needed them most.<br /><br />These teachers were lucky as their schools have been supported by the IRC as part of this institution's attempt to increase the access to and quality of basic services for thousands of individuals who were returning to their homes after spending many years abroad in refugee camps, where they sought shelter from the on-going human slaughtering in Liberia. IRC was at the same time one of the three institutions which formed the Liberia Teacher Training Program (LTTP) in 2007, together with the AED and MCET. LTTP is the government's own program to re-institutionalize and improve teacher training in the country as part post-conflict reconstruction efforts and financed by the American people (read: USAID).<br /><br /><i><b>Liberia Teacher Training Program</b></i><br /><br />One of the first meetings I attended when I arrived here last year was about the LTTP. By then, the implementation process had already began and regular meetings were held to discuss issues pertaining to the implementation, specifically the rehabilitation of the three RTTIs (Rural Teacher Training Institutes), all of which were almost completely destroyed during the civil war. In that first meeting on July 17, 2007, there were representatives from AED, which managed the USAID contract, IRC, UNICEF, UNHCR and of course the Ministry of Education, including me. Well, among these people there was someone who would later become a very special person for me: Lisa, one of the two education managers working in the IRC for the LTTP.<br /><br />Almost one month after that meeting, the residential training of the first cohort of in-service trainings began in Kakata and Zorzor. The program requires un-certified teachers to attend a month long residential training in one of the RTTIs in August, and then go back to their schools to continue teaching. Throughout the academic year, these teachers receive mentoring support and continue their professional development in their counties. Provided and/or facilitated by the IRC staff, these trainings cover a wide array of issues ranging from pedagogic issues, participatory teaching methods and classroom management to psycho-social support and gender sensitization. The underlying idea is to enable teachers to stay in the classroom while they are getting trained as well as to provide them with opportunities for practicing what they learn and continuous improvements throughout the year. At the end of the school year, these teachers come back to RTTIs for the second part of their residential training to complete their training, with emphasis on lots of demonstration classes.<br /><br />The in-service teacher training module of the LTTP was run by the IRC. So, basically, the IRC had designated staff for the LTTP in Lofa, Montserrado and Nimba, including Lisa and her international and Liberian colleagues, who undertook the huge challenge of working with those teachers on a more or less daily basis.<br /><br /><i><b>Proximity to the individual</b></i><br /><br />In the development game, as well as in education, some of us think and do things on a macro level, mostly around policy and planning issues. But others are in the trenches, as my director Prof. Erguder at ERI would say, getting their hands dirty to have a more direct impact on lives of principals, teachers, students and parents, all of whom individuals with names and faces. For policy-makers sitting in the central ministry, advisors such as me who work at that level, contractors managing the projects, the connection to the individual is by far more distant.<br /><br />This proximity to the individual is a source of tension in the development game. The practitioners working in IRC and other NGOs have first hand experience of interacting with individuals in schools, primarily with teachers and students. Whereas, those who work at the macro level have very limited exposure. This gap between the 'practitioners in the field' and 'policy-makers in the capital' results in different perceptions of problems and different approaches to solutions. Also, values do have a special place within this tension both as a subject and object. The values which define our actions as well as the actions we take to protect values can vary between these two levels.<br /><br />So, while Lisa and her colleagues were working hard to implement the program, they were also advocating for issues such as more conducive conditions for female teachers, more reasonable admission policies for rural teachers and trying to protect the rights of both teachers and students, whose lives they were witnessing very closely. For people in the 'trenches,' these issues do generally become an emotional stress as they find themselves dealing with 'senior officials' at that top level I mentioned earlier, most of whom rarely realize all we do in education is about individuals, certainly about children. Unfortunately, I have to admit that during the one year I spent here I have seldom seen individuals both from the ministry and development partners whose real first priority was 'children.'<br /><br /><i><b>A sense of fulfillment</b></i><br /><br />Development is a game one can hardly take credit for exclusively. Despite all this tension I described, success comes as a result of a collaborative effort, one that requires governments, aid agencies, contractors, NGOs, civil society, etc. to work together. However, there are instances when one can claim the success more than others if not solely. On Saturday, I guess the compassionate and dedicated staff of the IRC had that right and privilege. When I congratulated Sam, the Liberian education manager who worked with Lisa in Nimba, I could see the pride and happiness in his eyes. Yet, he was humble as always, looked into my eyes, shook my hand and said 'we did it together, you were part of the team.'<br /><br />Indeed, I felt as part of the team, one that had so many faces from many countries. Sitting there on Saturday and watching 139 teachers take their certificates one by one, I felt my share of pride. After all, this was the first outcome of the ministry's renewed institutional effort to train the nation's teachers, which was also one of the objectives of the Liberia Primary Education Recovery Program I have been supporting for a year now. Earlier, I had felt a similar sentiment when we finally signed the Liberia Education Pooled Fund, an innovative financing mechanism to fund the program, after a long and challenging process. However, this ceremony left me with a more fulfilling satisfaction, one that is more personal, real and close to the individuals whose lives we have been trying to impact in the ministry all this time.<br /><br />Lisa did her part too. A very substantial one, in collaboration with her team in Nimba. Unfortunately she was not able to see her teachers graduate as she is now in a conflict zone in the North Kivu region of the Democratic Republic of Congo, this time trying to design and implement interventions that will serve the needs of thousands of displaced children whose lives have been traumatized by the on-going conflict.<br /><br />Prior to her departure, Sam, Marcia, Fred and other members of Lisa's team organized a small gathering to say goodbye to Lisa. I believe it was Marcia who told her: "Lisa, the seeds you planted here will grow to become flowers and their smell will reach you all the way in DRC."<br /><br />Can you smell the flowers Lisacim?lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072611322067109629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059638147815106324.post-18980685252568603922008-09-22T06:27:00.000-04:002010-10-21T05:47:51.716-04:00Unfaithful Blogging...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/SNd0iyOnSII/AAAAAAAAADc/WenccN7-6eM/s1600-h/librarie.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/SNd0iyOnSII/AAAAAAAAADc/WenccN7-6eM/s320/librarie.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248792031671044226" border="0" /></a><br />I know! I know! I haven't written anything new in months... I apologize. I am instead going to be posting pieces from two friends. Then I will get around to catching up on my Libera posts before moving forward with stories of South Africa, Congo and Turkey.<br /><br />I promise I will do better, thanks for everyone who has been supporting my infrequent and fledgling blog.lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072611322067109629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059638147815106324.post-836158928526812562008-09-22T06:16:00.000-04:002010-10-21T05:48:26.471-04:00Safe in the Congo... kind of (July 9, 2008)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/SNd16j8U9VI/AAAAAAAAADk/rOvuN-eJe6A/s1600-h/DSC00721.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/SNd16j8U9VI/AAAAAAAAADk/rOvuN-eJe6A/s320/DSC00721.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248793539664737618" border="0" /></a><br /><span><div>Hello everyone, </div> <div> </div> <div>I promised I would write and let you all know that I made it safely as well as share first impresssions. As many of you know, I wrapped up my contact in Liberia at the end of June. I have accepted a position as the CYPD/Education Coordinator for the North Kivu province in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. It was sad to say goodbye to my friends and team in Liberia but I was very ready to take on different challenges and feel that working in a conflict zone will contribute to my professional development.<br /><br /></div> <div> </div></span> <div>I arrived last Saturday night in Kigali. Rwanda is beautiful and it does give me hope about development potential. The road from Kigali to Goma was in great condition and the temperatures were so cool... I was cold - in Africa! What a treat! We went through the mountains which provided spectacular views, driving through small towns and through some of the areas near the national parks that are home to the mountain gorillas. The parks are less than an hour from DRC. Goma is a dusty town that was devastated by the last volcanic eruption, stores in town were buried up to the second level so that the 3rd floor of buildings are now at street level. The black lava dirt/dust and boulders are everywhere. They are using them to rebuild. It is a bit spooky.<br /><br /></div> <div> </div> <div>In our nice residential NGO neighborhood, there is almost always electricity which feels like a real luxury after a year of noisy and dirty generators. Nicest of all is that our residence is lake front property - like a hotel! We have a huge outdoor terrace and a lower level esplanade with beautiful views of Lake Kivu. The bad thing is that there are rumors of huge methane gas deposits in the lake that could erupt at any moment, sending so many noxious fumes into the air it will supposedly kill everyone in and around the lake. Everyone supports this but I have yet to see any evidence (reports, articles, etc.). Not sure I am a believer, science friends - please let me know what you think...<br /><br /></div> <div> </div> <div>IRC is just starting up programs here in North Kivu, we haven't been on the ground a year yet so much of our work is emergency response. My first week in Goma I enjoyed the lake, met my colleagues and started meeting some of our partners, Sunday I departed for my field office which is in the Rutshuru territoire in a little town called Kiwanja, about 2 hours away. The drive was a sad one with lots of spontaneous IDP camps set up along the road. They take bamboo to make tent frames and then "tent" the frames with leaves and palm fronds - very depressing. They are just big enough to lie down in. They are waiting to be recognized so that they can receive latrines, tarps, water and other non-food items. WFP distribution has been seriously curtailed in the region due to soaring food costs and ongoing conflict.<br /><br />How can I describe where i live? It is almost as though the landscape and people look a bit faded and tired. People are very poor and the military are everywhere. We live near the buffer zone between the government troops and the Tutsi led CNDP rebels. Everything is monitored and we all know that MONUC (UN military mission in DRC) is ineffectual.<br /><br /></div> <div> </div> <div>Yesterday I was set to have a meeting with the rebel leaders - I know that sounds crazy. But they are well organized and have an administrative center and offices where they have representatives for most sectors. I was to meet with the NGO person near the Ugandan border in their region of control. (The head guy at their military base is someone who insists upon being called Castro!) However, due to a number of delays we left a bit late. As we were nearing the front lines, a convoy of 3 IRC cars was returning with all their lights flashing. We stopped to see what had happened and discovered that the cars had been ambushed (again!) on a stretch of contested highway. Armed men stopped the cars and stole everyone's possessions. </div> <div> </div> <div>Apparently during the 1-10 of the month there are a lot of groups making payments or delivering supplies to clinics, groups, teachers, etc and so the ambushes increase. Many speculate that we have informers in our organizations. That same morning one of our other cars (also running late) was carrying almost 10,000.00. Coincidence? Who knows. Needless to say the GBV team was shooken up and we dumped our plans of visiting the rebels via 'ambush road' for the day. However, Thursday and Friday we are suppose to making almost 18,000 worth of teacher payments - so wish us luck!<br /><br /></div> <div> </div> <div>My project is small and coming to a close. We support youth groups, pay incentives for catch up classes, do some parent meetings, do some training, distribute supplies, etc. My team is only 3 people, a big change from Liberia. However, our next proposal is due in the next few weeks and there is a lot of house cleaning to do here. My team is disorganized and inefficient. They are going to think me quite the task master! Beyond that I am dreaming up big plans for delivering more sustainable and long term interventions. Though with all the insecurity it is really difficult to choose areas for coverage.<br /><br /></div> <div> </div> <div>I have a strong feeling that I won't have as much of a social life here as I did in Liberia. In Kiwanja we have a 9pm curfew and there is nothing to do so I work a lot, study french and read. Yes, it is as exciting as it sounds! Surprisingly Liberia had many more amenities for those who could afford them (and for those of us who couldn't but indulged anyways). There are fewer choices here in North Kivu. That saidm I will be home for my annual leave in August and look forward to seeing as many of you as I can. I am longing for news from home so emails are welcome! Miss you and grateful to have such good friends...<br /></div>lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072611322067109629noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059638147815106324.post-28256401324637480152008-03-01T14:10:00.000-05:002010-10-21T05:49:06.230-04:00A Day in the Life - Mob Violence - April 2008<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/SOY5NaX9xfI/AAAAAAAAAD8/-hX28JIHQ9I/s1600-h/Stop+Mob+Violence.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/SOY5NaX9xfI/AAAAAAAAAD8/-hX28JIHQ9I/s320/Stop+Mob+Violence.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252948917955184114" border="0" /></a><br /> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="">Monrovia, Liberia - April 2008<br /><o:p></o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>It's 10 am on a Sunday morning, I am with one of my favorite people on the way to the beach for some jogging, yoga, swimming and snacks. I had wanted to get up earlier but Saturday night festivities, dancing and laughing in the humid West African air, left me exhausted and spent. </o:p><br />We are rounding familiar corners, many Liberians are at church, leaving the streets unusually calm. The windows are up, the radio on and air conditioning is cooling the hot car.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">I see them but can't hear them, the lack of sound somehow makes the violence surreal. I can see them screaming and surrounding him more closely, their expressions awash with sweat and fury. Others are drawn by the scene and the group grows, people materializing out of cracks and wavy humidity, surely as ignorant as to what is going on as I am.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Now they are kicking and their faces contort in exaggerated expressions of hate. They are trying to whip him while many dark arms grab at him simultaneously. Even for me, he loses his individuality, he is no longer a man in shabby clothes and plastic flip flops, he is a victim. He is purely an object of unadulterated anger.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">I yell at the driver to stop!stop!stop! The car slows as I realize I am grabbing his arm but he locks the door and continues driving. They are running, grabbing stones, try to bash him in the head. There is nothing you can do. We have to help. Call the people. Derisive laughter. Back the car up and into the crowd - they could kill him. Struggling, running, grabbing, throwing. </span><br /><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Then, a UNHCR car approaches. I think, surely they will stop and they will know what to do. It drives right by, the driver does not turn his head or touch the brakes.<br /></p>I start honking the horn, loudly and a bit desperately. He is getting away and though I am certain he is guilty of horrible crimes I cant bear the thought of him being killed in the streets, in front of me. I hate that in front of me plays such a strong role in my despair. They give up the chase, their emotions draining, allowing them to return to their tasks - carrying heavy loads, sweeping dirt, making food. They scatter to places unseen.<br /><br />We drive on but my eyes keep looking back and then turn to every act of violence along the roads, and there are many. They squeeze at my heart. It is the brutality, the crude and intimate lifting and powerful bringing down of the rock on the man's back, narrowly missing his head, that disgusts me. That scares me. I know that look - the tight expression that only finds voice in a stern shake, a cold slap or rough push. I see it everyday in puppies kicked and twisted by blank faced boys and the screaming children viciously grabbed and slapped into submission by mothers.<br /><br />We hear about it every day, angry mobs attacking UN vehicles, tearing the people out, burning the cars. The rape and domestic violence statistics that only tell half a tale in a society that does not believe in the existence of marital rape.<br /><br />This is a culture of violence. This is the apathy that years of conflict breeds. This is the hardness that a lifetime of fighting for survival creates. This is the ground from which truth, reconciliation and peace is meant to grow. Sometimes I worry that the rocky bitterness and dried up tears have left the ground barren and only fit to grow and reap more of the same... I hope every day that I am wrong.<br /><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"></p><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072611322067109629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059638147815106324.post-49895084768579564482008-02-26T09:02:00.000-05:002008-04-01T08:13:30.342-04:00Liberian rhythm<strong><span style="font-size:130%;">And she say: an egg story<br /></span></strong><br />At the White Man store<br /><br />No eggs<br /><br />So I…<br /><br />Ask a girl – a girl named Haja<br /><br />You get chickens? You get fresh eggs?<br /><br />She say – this way…<br /><br />Through a porch where children lie<br /><br />Dark alleys full of smiles and old pots<br /><br />Smiling Mami, she say – Come, come eat!<br /><br />Pass quickly by the yelling men<br /><br />Pass the little ones singing<br /><br />Quie! Quie! Quie!<br /><br />They say – the Kpelle way<br /><br />Down the hill in the hot hot sun<br /><br />Pass the plaiting girls<br /><br />I’m coming-o!<br /><br />Haja say – I will plait today<br /><br />See a small small girl<br /><br />You get eggs?<br /><br />Fresh eggs?<br /><br />Two for twenty<br /><br />She say – how the day?<br /><br />Fine-o!<br /><br />Thank God!lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072611322067109629noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059638147815106324.post-58114442256082412008-02-26T08:30:00.000-05:002008-04-01T08:17:37.104-04:00The Headlines<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/R8QVQl9-_wI/AAAAAAAAACE/6HlP8WEW6-U/s1600-h/only+what+you+can+carry2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5171281646942355202" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/R8QVQl9-_wI/AAAAAAAAACE/6HlP8WEW6-U/s320/only+what+you+can+carry2.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Feb. 26th, 2008<br /><br />(Photo: Last IRC repatriation - returning from Guinea into Nimba county)<br /><br />Almost every day our Information Officer, Nobeh, sends out summaries of the leading stories from local papers. These always prove entertaining as media here, like everywhere, is very political.<br /><br /><em>Story 1: I love Conspiracy Theories</em><br /><br /><strong>The Independent</strong><br /><br />Who Burnt Lands & Mines Ministry: The Ministry of Lands, Mines and Energy was gutted by fire Monday February 25, ’08 just at about let off time. The cause of the fire is not yet known, but eyewitnesses say the fire severely damaged the Ministry’s library. The Energy Ministry has lately been embroiled into allegations of corruption with accusing fingers being pointed at Minister Eugene Shannon. Three weeks ago, the Minister was accused of paying an assassin to kill Sam Dean, the Managing Editor of the Independent Newspaper. The Independent is the local Liberian paper which published the infamous Willis Knuckles sex scandal. The paper has lately been investigating and publishing articles about graft and malfeasance at the Energy Ministry.<br /><br /><br /><em>Story 2: What exactly do refugees do when they strike? Only Liberians...</em><br /><br /><strong>The Plain Truth</strong><br /><br />Liberian Refugees In Ghana Strike Over Appalling Conditions: Liberian refugees residing at the Bunduburam Camp in Ghana have protested against the UNHCR over the last three days for reported attempts by the UN Refugee agency to forcibly reintegrated them in the local Ghanaian society. The refugees claimed the UNHCR has refused to repatriate them back home or a third country of choice. A spokesman for the refugees told reporters it was the right of the refugees to be settled in a third country according to the asylum status, but said the agency has downplayed their demand.lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072611322067109629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059638147815106324.post-62142180935452545472008-02-19T08:39:00.000-05:002008-04-01T08:17:04.315-04:00A Day in the Life - Welcome Bush<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/R7rm0l9-_vI/AAAAAAAAAB8/hePlCSforT0/s1600-h/Process+is+on2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168697313580744434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/R7rm0l9-_vI/AAAAAAAAAB8/hePlCSforT0/s320/Process+is+on2.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />I was asked by a friend to share more about the little things - the quirks of living in Liberia so I have decided to start a series - A Day in the Life. It will give me the opportunity to update my blog more frequently with shorter entries. So it begins...<br /><br />February 19, 2008<br /><br />Once again I am running a bit late in the morning. I am staying in a crappy apartment on the beach that in owned by the Catholic church industrial complex here in Monrovia. Actually a rather small group as Pentecostal, Evangelical and other more radical churches seem to dominate the scene. Staying on the beach probably sounds fantastic but the beach is called Poo Poo beach for immediately obvious reasons. It is not a nice view. The first thing I think upon waking in the morning is - "Please, please let there be water." This morning I am very lucky, yesterday I was not.<br /><br />On the drive in I barely notice the scenery as I am so familiar with the route. However I do notice the skeleton of the National Elections Commission (NEC) building. The only nice thing about the remnant of the site is the shiny sign that says USAID - Aid from the American people – Future Home of the NEC. It must be a distant future as the sign has been up for quite some time and yet there hasn't been a bit of work done.<br /><br />Then, I notice fancy shmancy multi-level apartments rising above the husks of other buildings. PAE - A Lockheed Martin Company. Lovely. Dick Cheney also runs an “energy” company here. In the last months Liberia has hosted George Soros, Jeffrey Sachs, Robert Zoellick and other high profile visitors. There are large arrays of business and development interests around and lately we have been seeing more and more American soldiers.<br /><br />The driver inexplicably flips on the radio - probably to drown out our morning chatter. Per usual, it is loud! Drums and instruments strike up a typically upbeat West African tune. Then the lyrics begin:<br /><br />Welcome Welcome George Bush!<br />You are welcome!<br />The Liberian people welcome you!<br /><br />(Insert musical interlude)<br /><br />Thank you thank you George Bush!<br />Thank you for the peace, the markets, something something<br />Thank you thank you George Bush!<br />Thank you for the women and the children<br />Thank you for the men and the something something<br /><br />(More music)<br /><br />Bush is a higher man!<br />Bush is a higher man!<br />Bush is a higher man!<br /><br />All the people in the car are taken aback, some laughing, some looking a bit sick and others are translating as the Liberian English is not so easy to follow. I am mortified! A higher man?! You have got to be kidding me!<br /><br />Bush arrives Thursday as part of his African tour. There are rumors that AFRICOM will be based here so this is an important visit on a large scale. However, in my little world it is also an important visit. Bush will be doing a review (read = photo-op) with USAID projects and our program will be featured. This has meant security and logistical headaches that you can not even begin to imagine. However, I do believe that a member of our team, Aberdeen, and perhaps some of our beneficiaries will be featured on the international news (BBC, CNN, Al Jazeera). This is a great opportunity for our national team and wonderful publicity for our project. Plenty things happening in Liberia!lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072611322067109629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059638147815106324.post-77935129939092758072008-02-16T08:53:00.000-05:002008-04-01T08:16:40.808-04:00What it's all about...January 27, 2008<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/R7cXJ19-_tI/AAAAAAAAABs/aa6DCtjbsxY/s1600-h/cava+with+the+Fijians.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5167624555304255186" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/R7cXJ19-_tI/AAAAAAAAABs/aa6DCtjbsxY/s320/cava+with+the+Fijians.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Sometimes it seems there is a lot of grumbling about the United Nations. While accountability, program implementation, monitoring, evaluation and all those things are absolutely necessary, they aren’t the point of the organization, at least not in my opinion. My experience has been that the UN is about cultivating global citizenship, about building compassion for our fellow humans and about raising awareness of issues that touch all of us...<br /><br />The best awareness raising campaign I have ever experienced was in Switzerland. It was sponsored by Amnesty International. They had bus stop size posters put up that imitated their background perfectly. Walking by you would see the same view as you would if the poster was not there – a bench, a tree, a streetlamp in the background with an addition: a person sitting on the bench being tortured or a man screaming to heavens as he holds a bleeding child. The caption would read <strong>“Not here, but now.”</strong> How powerful! If you had someone being tortured next to you while you waited for the bus, children being shot on the street that you walked on every day – armed conflict, violations of human rights and other atrocities would mean much more to you. You couldn’t just walk by, ignoring them and feeling that they were issues that did not impact you or your community. How do we make the Suisse care about what happens in East Timor? How do we make Pakistan care about Liberia?<br /><br />Saturday night I went to a BBQ with friends (one French Canadian, a South African and a Brit). We were invited by the Serbian UN Police officers stationed in my little town. Upon arrival we were greeted by two giant men from Fiji who immediately offered us cava to drink – the traditional drink of Fiji. It was an herbal concoction that left my mouth a bit numb and tasted very rooty. They insisted it was good for my health and I believed them. We drank it out of coconut shells. They had brought the roots back with them all the way from Fiji and hand ground them here in Liberia to make their national drink in order to share this important local custom with their friends. I think about how I horde my peanut butter and feel immense guilt. I am not sure I would share as easily or generously as they.<br /><br />I kissed the Ecuadorian on the cheeks and listened to his Latin music. We ate BBQ goat, chicken, cassava chips and my contribution – deviled eggs. I listened to the Pakistani officer give a farewell speech to the outgoing commander from Benin. I had vodka with the Serbians. I sat near the officer from Paraguay; enjoyed music played by the Bangladeshi and watched the Korean eat his goat with chopsticks. Various officers gave speeches wishing their commander well. The Serbian said that he had come to do a job and never imagined he would make a family here in Liberia. Then, the guys from Fiji broke out an acoustic guitar and played a traditional going away song for the commander by the fire– everyone was moved. I think I was particularly touched by the big Serbian guy who sang along with him – how long had it taken him to memorize this song in whatever language they speak in Fiji?! The men had amazing voices, one of them a startling baritone.<br /><br />It was a beautiful experience and I thought – this is what it is all about. It is about bringing average people - a nurse, a teacher, a police officer together from the most remote corners of the world and building a sense of family. It is easy to go to war or ignore the problems in a country that is strange, where the customs and people are foreign to you. It is much harder to go to war with your friends, your brothers, your honored guests, your respected colleagues, your partners, your roommates… To look away when it is the people you love who are suffering.<br /><br />The next day we organized a trip to Yekepa to go into the mountains and see some of the old mining sites once ran by the Swedes. We had an armed Bangladeshi escort accompany us for safety reasons. When we arrived at their base – they had a mural of sorts painted that said: “Peacekeeping is not the job of soldiers but only soldiers can do it.” I am well aware of the abuse, scandals and exploitation that come along with development work. However, I do believe that the UN has a crucial role to play in Liberia, a post conflict nation. Perhaps only average people from distant lands can hold the peace in a country like Liberia. Perhaps only the female Indian peacekeeping group can inspire trust and model the capacity of women to do what has long been considered “men’s” work. Perhaps only when we invite Muslims, Christians, Africans, Balkans, Americans, the privileged <em>and </em>the poor can we begin to understand the problems of this broken land. Perhaps this is the only way to see how our actions and inactions are inextricably linked to the least and greatest among us.</div>lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072611322067109629noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059638147815106324.post-24574851198788749542007-12-12T05:49:00.000-05:002008-04-01T08:19:27.172-04:00The good you do...<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/R7ciKV9-_uI/AAAAAAAAAB0/lB5TXA_DnU0/s1600-h/BWI+team2sm.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5167636658522095330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/R7ciKV9-_uI/AAAAAAAAAB0/lB5TXA_DnU0/s320/BWI+team2sm.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>My team started out a bit tense. They have been working for nine months and this was their first time "defending" their work in a public venue. Most of them come from modest backgrounds, honest people who have worked hard and survived the last 15 years of madness by working in education in refugee camps (mostly in Guinea). The audience? Ministry officials, professors at Liberia's largest and best university, ex-patriot consultants with PhDs, their supervisors and their peers, enough to make anyone nervous.<br /><br />However, they were now on a roll. They were fast realizing that they had the answers and could handle the barrage of questions confronting them. They took turns providing details about the content of the new teacher training certification courses, the structure, delivery mechanisms, etc. The endless hours of toil in working groups, the laborious editing process and piloting were finally starting to pay off. We were assembled to discuss and put forth a curriculum to further define Liberia's teacher certification process. Important work, as education has continually been named as one of the top three priorities for Liberians by Liberians (second only to new roads and followed by health). If Liberians had to choose between having good hospitals or good schools - they want good schools damn it!<br /><br />The issues surrounding quality in education are serious in Liberia. Many of the "teachers" in schools have very low literacy levels. Few of them have any formal training and some are not even high school graduates. So given these realities, a professor stands and asks (in the usual long-winded Liberian fashion) - "What will we do about the issue of teachers? Our students will never receive a good education if we can't improve the quality of the teachers."<br /><br />At the end of the first phase of our training, we distributed a content assessment to gauge areas where teachers were the weakest (maybe they needed some supplementary math courses for example). The teachers were given a 25 question evaluation that tested content knowledge at the primary level (converting decimals to fractions, 4th grade science, etc.). 70% of the teachers did not pass.<br /><br />Given this reality our team was stumped for a moment. I stood and raised my brows in a "May I?" fashion. They nod, looking relieved. I climb on my soap box. I explain that we are well aware that many of the teachers currently in classrooms do not meet the minimum standards we need for effective classroom instruction. However, we can not choose our teachers, we have to train the teachers that are there. These are the teachers who have been working for years, often with little to no pay, who stepped up to teach in refugee camps because no one else would. The teachers who go to to school every day and do the best they can. In the future we hope to develop the recruitment process and return the teaching profession to the stature it deserves but for now we have to do the best that we can with who we have. The teachers deserve our investment for the hard work they have already done and doubtless will continue to do.<br /><br />The same professor stands again and I am worried about what he will say. Will he call us out on the low level of our teachers in training? Has he seen our results?<br /><br />He says "Thank you for that response. We just hope you don't forget how important good teachers are to schools. Liberia use to have great schools and great teachers. We experienced a completely different level of education in the past. We had Peace Corps. They made us love school and love to learn." He said some other things but I wasn't listening at that point.<br /><br />He is a college professor that has returned to Liberia to contribute to the rebuilding of the education system. He returned when many like him have not, many who have privilege and power and status decided to live easier lives in Ghana, the US or other parts of the world.<br /><br />No one can say what made the difference. However, we do know that he had Peace Corps teachers. They made him love school and love to learn. It's harder to ask for anything more than that.<br /><br />So, to all your PCVs, RPCVs and teachers out there fighting the good fight - I bow to you.<br /><br /><strong>"There is an innocence that conspires to hold humanity together, and it is made of people who can never fully know the good that they have done." - Tracy Kidder </strong><br /><strong>from Among Schoolchildren</strong></div>lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072611322067109629noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059638147815106324.post-60982538082442775522007-11-26T10:35:00.000-05:002007-11-26T11:12:42.208-05:00Desiderata by Max Ehrmann<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/R0ruGMUKqcI/AAAAAAAAABc/Y32F82YRSkY/s1600-h/I.+OSG+from+above.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5137180115121908162" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/R0ruGMUKqcI/AAAAAAAAABc/Y32F82YRSkY/s320/I.+OSG+from+above.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><div></div><div>From Wikipedia --- "Desiderata" (Latin for "desired things", plural of desideratum) is an inspirational <a title="Prose poem" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prose_poem"><span style="color:#000000;">prose poem</span></a><span style="color:#000000;"> about attaining happiness in life. It was first copyrighted in </span><a title="1927" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1927"><span style="color:#000000;">1927</span></a><span style="color:#000000;"> by </span><a title="Max Ehrmann" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Max_Ehrmann"><span style="color:#000000;">Max Ehrmann</span></a><span style="color:#000000;">.</span></div><br /><div>Desiderata<br /></div><div>Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrenderbe on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story. </div><br /><div>Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. </div><br /><div>Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of heroism. </div><br /><div>Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantmentit is as perennial as the grass. </div><br /><div>Take kindly the counsel of the years,gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. </div><br /><div>You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you,no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.<br />Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul. </div><div><br />With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy. </div><br /><div>Max Ehrmann, Desiderata, Copyright 1952.</div><div> </div><div>Photo - Orta San Guilio, Italia</div></div>lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072611322067109629noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059638147815106324.post-65458752427412256922007-11-26T09:45:00.000-05:002008-04-01T10:14:52.195-04:00Thankful - Nov. 22, 2007<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/R0rnHsUKqaI/AAAAAAAAABM/328n720ODt0/s1600-h/smartest+girl+in+Gbevowee.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5137172444310317474" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/R0rnHsUKqaI/AAAAAAAAABM/328n720ODt0/s320/smartest+girl+in+Gbevowee.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>On Thanksgiving I am counting my many blessings. I began by feeling sorry for myself. Then I felt sorry for others. Now, I am truly grateful for all my experiences and the experiences I am able to share with others. </p><p><br />I am so thankful to have the will, ability and opportunity to work.</p><p>I am thankful for the many wonderful and loving family & friends who share with me and inspire me. </p><p>I am thankful for all the hardships and all the blessings that add up to a challenging and joyful life!<br /><br />My story starts with pity – stemming from the fact that I am going to be in the tiny town of Ganta far from family, friends and feasts for Thanksgiving. Work has been very trying as of late – logistical headaches, corrupt government officials, and lots of negative office politics, etc. There has also been a run of tragic events here in Liberia – a UN helicopter crashed, a partner NGO's compound was broken into by armed men, and a friend was carjacked, all in the last three weeks.<br /><br />The challenges of the job sometimes feel overwhelming. In the past month I have started our field work in earnest, visiting lots of schools and meeting with lots of community members. This is the first year of free, universal, compulsory education in Liberia. The schools are bursting at the seams! Children's little knees are literally pressed against the front walls of classrooms and many of them go to school in shifts. Holding their little hands and seeing their excited faces is sometimes heartbreaking.<br /><br />Despite the poor quality available, many Liberians are dedicated to getting an education. At 6:15 in the morning when I am out jogging - the students are already walking, many of them travel miles by foot to go to school. After school many of them sell food on the street or come home to complete grinding chores. Then, when I come home from the office, there are groups of kids sitting under the security lights, using the light to do their assignments and read over the day's lessons. There is no electricity here in Ganta and as they spend all the daylight hours working, this is their only chance to study.<br /><br />Later I felt I shouldn't complain, as I have so much relative to those around me. I recently visited the Leper/TB colony here in Ganta; it was an incredibly humbling experience. Despite many disabilities they make very beautiful woven items. The gentleman who assisted me had no fingers and had lost most of both feet. It took him a very long time to unlock the door to the shop as he only has tiny stubs where his fingers once were. I hated myself for pitying him. He didn't seem to feel sorry for himself, instead of focusing on the things he couldn't do, he focused on the things he could. He shook off offers of assistance from my driver and was genuinely pleased by his ability to facilitate our transactions. I kept thinking "I really shouldn't complain. I am so lucky. Thank god I have all my fingers and toes."<br /><br />Yesterday I visited the most remote school in our region. They were short on teachers so I covered a reading session while the trainers conducted observations. The smartest child in my 4 th grade group was a teenage girl who had a nursing baby. Due to the war, many of the children have started school very late and so there is little correlation between age and grade. I admire her tenacity to continue with her studies despite the fact that this small school had no books, her class had no teacher and she had to bring her child with her each day! As our team was leaving the school, we commended the principal for his good work under challenging circumstances. Then, this man, who only makes $25 dollars a month (when he receives anything!), running a school with virtually no resources in a tiny village presented me with a very valuable gift on behalf of the school staff - a chicken. Needless to say I was moved and feel very thankful. So - though I may not have turkey this Thanksgiving, I do have a chicken (who I have named Beverly).<br /><br />Happy Thanksgiving!<br />I am thankful for each of you.<br />Please eat extra for me!<br /><br />lisa</p>lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072611322067109629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059638147815106324.post-42018749428939056602007-11-26T09:41:00.000-05:002008-04-01T10:15:24.253-04:00Rest & Relaxation - Nov. 10 2007<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/R0rleMUKqZI/AAAAAAAAABE/L54Bw3TDwA0/s1600-h/keyhole+view.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5137170631834118546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/R0rleMUKqZI/AAAAAAAAABE/L54Bw3TDwA0/s320/keyhole+view.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Hello loved ones,<br /><br />I am so bad at this, it's been almost three weeks since I got back from R&R! I have many many new updates but promised I would give a complete vacation report…<br /><br />I barely made it to the airport in time as I was trying to achieve two weeks worth of work in a few hours. (Thankfully Monrovia International Airport is a miniscule structure with few people going or coming). The plane was practically empty – just a handful of Liberians and maybe two handfuls of aid workers undoubtedly also on their way to well deserved vacations or home leave. I did my best to avoid direct eye contact with everyone so that the other expats wouldn't engage me in tedious and seemingly obligatory small talk (Where do you work? Where are you from? How long have you been in Liberia…. Blah blah boring…). After one stop in Dakar we were on our way to Brussels!<br /><br />We land in a sleepy Belgium just as dawn is breaking and I am thrilled to see frost on windshields! Cold! I had almost forgotten that existed. Living in the lands of perpetual summer, you can't imagine how I envy everyone who gets to enjoy the change of seasons. I have hours to kill before my flight but the small Brussels airport is a like a wonderland after three months in Liberia.<br /><br />Eventually we are boarding our plane for Casablanca. Casablanca! Even though I've read that this is a charmless city, I can't wait! The name alone conjures feelings of adventure. Upon arrival I fully appreciate that I am in a Muslim country (the first I have ever visited). I am wearing a red tank top and feel like a walking scarlet letter as almost all of the other women are wearing head scarves and jellabas (a long kaftan with a pointy hood). I am quickly distracted from my shame by a fight that breaks out nearby. I turn around just in time to see a man lift a slim cylindrical trash bin and bash a man over the head with it. My impression of Moroccan men is that they are very aggressive. This was the first of three public brawls I would witness in a week! I slept through the meal on the flight and found myself pretty darn hungry but as it was Ramadan – so no food to be found.<br /><br />Eventually I see Bob's adored curly head half a foot above the see of North Africans and we embrace awkwardly amongst many onlookers while he asks me if I feel bad for wearing a tank top. Thanks. Casablanca is a not so impressive but we did visit the world's third largest mosque – Hassan II, stayed in a beautiful art deco hotel, and had McArabia's at McDonald's – the only place open for lunch. (Does anyone else think a sandwich called McArabia is bit offensive?) Even if Casablanca had more to offer, I don't think we would have seen anything more. I was totally spent from the demands of the preceding weeks, I didn't realize how tired I was until I got away. Bob was equally exhausted from incredibly demanding cancer/tumor service and spine service. We were a bit lame but it was good to be reunited and we did walk around one kasbah (fort) in Casablanca.<br /><br />Traveling in Morocco presented some challenges – mostly because we had an incredible amount of luggage. I had my laptop, a large shoulder bag, and a completely stuffed, full size pack. Bob had a small backpack and two full size suitcases. One of which was nearly bursting with Korean essentials selected by my mom and wondrous delights from my girls in Nashville. (Thank you so much, that 'special delivery' was the sweetest surprise! I miss you all so much!) We bought train tickets to Marrakech and as soon as we entered the terminal watched our train take off, the guy had sold us tickets for a train that left 1.5 minutes after the receipt was printed. When I returned to him furious he said – "No problem. Just take the next train." When did the next train leave? 2.5 HOURs later.<br /><br />We opted for first class tickets to accommodate our excessive baggage and were fortunate to share a cabin with Badi, a military officer/engineer who had just finished extensive training in Greece. He was really cool and shared stories about his ill fated love affair with a Greek woman. They are trying to maintain their relationship but he is committed to a 15 year military contract (yikes!) and she is less than thrilled about giving up the good life in Greece to move to Morocco (having traveled to Greece last year, I can't blame her!). I again felt fortunate to be American. I rarely need visas, can travel anywhere I have the money to go, could probably work in any country I liked and have endless opportunities compared to someone like Badi. He is the only male in family of six sisters as his father has passed away. His good government job (that paid for school and 4 years in Greece) was his ticket and his jailer. We wished him luck as he helped us negotiate a taxi and we said our goodbyes.<br /><br />Love at first sight! We arrived to a medina that was inexplicably dark, none of the street lights were on. Our riad, Dar El Warda was just lovely. I was enamored with the tadelakt (polished limestone) bathroom, the colors were so rich and the sheen (from eggs and stone polishing?) were gorgeous. I bought a few pieces of pottery in the same style. Marrakech was a sensory splendor. The medina walls are dusty pink and arranged like a maze. The interior is full of bright shops, languid cats, and fresh fruit and vegetable stands spilling over with pomegranates and lots of other treats. It was also incredibly clean, though Monrovia may have diminished my standards. I ate like it was my job - practically force feeding myself! I knew I needed to take advantage of the abundance of fresh produce while I could.<br /><br />Djemaa el-Fna was everything I had hoped for and more. Fire eaters, vendors, snake charmers, fortune tellers, beggars, traditional dancers, guys with monkeys, craftsmen, musicians, and some guy sitting at a table piled high with human teeth! The colors, sounds and smells were absolutely delightful. We admired intricately crafted lamps, leather work and Berber jewelry. I chose scarves made from cactus silk and mountable Hands of Fatima to hang our doors (to welcome peace and good fortune). I ate so many dates I literally made myself sick and Bob loved the fresh squeezed juices so much he was able to wean himself off his diet coke addiction. At night we enjoyed delicious tajines (local stews), couscous, salads and much French fare on breezy balconies or took to the streets. There we ate berbouch (snail soup), yummy odds and ends from street vendors, and had hunja (a spicy cinnamon tea) from glowing copper urns accompanied by sellou (weird, not-very-sweet cakes). Not even Bob would try the sheep's head soup that was so popular (they literally boil the whole head and everything is eaten but the bones and eyes).<br /><br />We wrapped up our tour in Agadir at a seaside resort called the Palais des Roses. It was hands down the fanciest place we've ever stayed and the location was really nice, quite a ways from town with a long flat beaches and great view of the kasbah. The pool was huge, the beaches super clean, the grounds had lots of resident cats and the resort was full of people of indiscernible descent (Eastern Europe?). Wherever those people were from, the men loved mullets and the women loved makeup and fake blonde hair. The two highlights of the last few days were the hammans and camels. We rode camels on the beach – how cheesy and cool is that?!<br /><br />I could dedicate pages to my hamman experiences, traditional saunas/spas were dirt cheap and I treated myself well out of proportion to what I needed or deserved! Sauna, massage, hair cut, masks, mani/pedi, facials, exfoliation – you name it and I probably did it. The traditional hamman services – sweltering steam rooms and thorough exfoliation were quite the experience. The air was so thick it was like breathing through a hot, wet towel. I am extremely uncomfortable with public nudity and simultaneously repulsed and fascinated by the naked human form. I sat on scorching benches while a thick, oily black soap (made from the resin of olives) was rubbed all over my body. The women scrubbed with the vigor of well-intentioned mothers and I was sure I was going to pass out from the heat. I then got a clay mask and more time to sweat. At the end I was pink, tender and as limp as an overcooked noodle. All I could manage afterwards was a nap by the pool. Needless to say – Morocco was all around fabulous.<br /><br />Despite its wonders, Maroc is not exactly the first world. So after a bittersweet parting with Bob, I flew to back to Brussels to spend a few days in Belgium. It was such a wonderful feeling to have Chris waiting for me at the airport after so much travel alone! I was fortunate that he was able to finagle his schedule to overlap with me a few days after his trips to Suisse & Italia (lucky son of a gun). We decided to head for Bruges, a charming medieval town near Brussels. After studying our Lonely Planet guide book we decided on a bed & breakfast that provided free bikes and a picnic lunch – it sounded perfect and was!<br /><br />I can not begin to explain the wonders of autumn, the crispness of the air, the smell of leaves, the warm palette of the trees and the soothing quality of late afternoon sunshine. I was in heaven! Chris and I biked around the little town over quaint brick streets drinking beer, eating chocolate and window shopping to our hearts delight. We climbed the Belfry, went to the Groening museum, did a brewery tour, ate mussels, ate gaufres and enjoyed a fantastic breakfast spread at the B&B. (Whose owner is the sweetest woman – owns an art restoration business with her husband and son.) Chris was the perfect traveling companion and Bruges is an incredibly romantic town. It was so bike friendly and not so busy with tourists at that time of year. We had perfect weather and the swan filled canals surrounding the city made for perfect backdrops to all our wanderings.<br /><br />Before I knew it I was back in the airport lugging around heavy beers for Batuhan (who deserved them, the truffles and much more!) and on my way back to Monrovia. Before we landed they announced that it was 37 degrees, despite the fact that the sun had already gone down. As I exited the plane and walked across the tarmac the heat and humidly hit like a personal assault. I waited in pathetic semblances of lines, jostling to keep my place amongst the Liberians and then dove into the epic struggle to get my luggage and exit the world's smallest baggage room. I was very late arriving and didn't know if a driver would be there to meet me. However, before I could call to ask - William was there, elbowing other guys out of the way to help me with my bags. I climbed into the familiar white Toyota and we took off into the night towards – home? Well, home for now…<br /><br />Miss you all dearly and will get the next update out soon. I am back in the borderlands - lots happening in Liberia!<br /><br />Bisoux,<br /><br />lisa</div>lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072611322067109629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059638147815106324.post-58358237561584732562007-11-26T09:38:00.000-05:002008-04-01T11:27:15.667-04:003 months in Liberia - Oct 5 2007<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/R0rj98UKqYI/AAAAAAAAAA8/IcnNdht_rfQ/s1600-h/not+looking+good.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5137168978271709570" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/R0rj98UKqYI/AAAAAAAAAA8/IcnNdht_rfQ/s320/not+looking+good.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>Hello loved ones,<br /><br />Let me begin with an apology - I'm long winded. I think folks would prefer less writing and more pictures. While I am sending along more pictures, I'm also sending along much more writing! Sorry to disappoint.<br /><br />My story begins...<br /><br />It's hot; the traffic is bumper to bumper – but not the organized, endless and hazy highways of America. The scene is a pulsing, colorful and chaotic mass of broken down yellow taxis, overloaded pick ups that have seen much better days, and gleaming white Toyota SUVs. Throw in throngs of people selling everything you never needed, random animals (none of which would win best of show in anything) and lots of garbage. Line the pot holed streets with decrepit buildings that look like they've survived 15 years of war and voila – you have envisioned Randall Street in downtown Monrovia. This particular street is dressed with a large banner proclaiming END CHILD LABOR. Children hawking their wares rest on the curb in front of the banner, enjoying the shade it provides on this humid day. It is near the end of the rainy season so the air is thick and dark clouds hover in the distance.<br /><br />I step out of my especially clean SUV (John the program driver cares for the car like a youngest child) and enter the dark hulk of the Ministry of Education. The elevators don't work (and only a fool would ride them if they did) so I begin to climb the 8 flights of steps to a poverty reduction strategy meeting upstairs. I am not supposed to be here. I am suppose to be at a meeting at our project HQ but upon arrival I was informed that the meeting had been canceled because the Associate deputy assistant junior wanna be minister of instruction had forgot about this other, more important meeting.<br /><br />The actual Minister of Education is preparing to give welcoming remarks to an odd assortment of NGO folks and bored looking Liberians in a sweltering room full of white plastic chairs. I just found out that this minister ran against the president in the last election and actually won one of the most populous counties. I guess that explains his position. In a recent meeting with a colleague he said "I don't really know that much about education. I leave that to my deputy ministers." For those not in the loop, I HATE the deputy associate assistant junior wanna be minister of instruction that overseas much of our project. My saving grace? Batuhan. He is an education policy advisor with the Open Society Institute and has become a good friend (via surviving other horrible meetings together). This Turkish delight earned my eternal affection by bringing me back a bag full licorice (Red Vines and Pull n' Peel Twizzlers) from NY!<br /><br />Also, I had fortunately brought my laptop so I begin to write this email while listening to the drone of government futility…<br /><br />I returned from Zorzor, a small village that hosts the Rural Teacher Training Institute (ZRTTI), about two weeks ago. While there I stayed with the Pakistani UN contingent. What an experience! I stayed in the pop up trailers they house many of the units in, ate in the officers' mess hall and shared one of the dirtiest bathrooms I have ever had to use with about 20 Pakistani soldiers. The bugs in Zorzor are ginormous and there are varieties I have never before encountered - even in Cameroon! I've easily had enough chai and chapatti to last me ten years.<br /><br />I was the only woman on the base and was met each day with a mixture of fascination and condemnation. They were shocked and awed by my audacity – leaving my trailer to talk on the phone in my pajamas! (The top of which was – scandal of scandals - a tank top!!!) I stayed up late with them, had political opinions about things on Al-Jazeera and did all this with no chaperone! They often shared their amazement at the strange habits of Americans with me, as well as their general admiration for the US (save our total lack of respect for ourselves, the world or Allah).<br /><br />Most of the men I spent time with were well educated and had traveled a bit before. They spoke excellent English but I truly believe that the only women they had spent such 'intimate' time with were related to them. The enlisted guys spoke ZERO English, so we communicated with lots of gestures, smiles and frowns. The favorite gesture being to wave over one's shoulder and then put up a hand like a stop sign while signaling "wait, wait". This translates exactly into – "Let me get someone to translate, I don't understand a damn thing you are saying."<br /><br />By the end of the two weeks I had bonded with the UN Police guys – really laid back and sweet fellows who behaved like perfect gentlemen. We watched Bollywood movies and laughed about the universal conformity of romantic comedy plots. For about a week I was determined to marry someone Indian so I could have a life full of elaborate customs, fantastic costumes, love songs, dance numbers and family drama. PakBat was really kind to me when Ramadan started and invited me to break fast with them at each sundown despite being a heathen and not fasting one bit. This may have been part of the larger conversion scheme. I was gifted with my very own dual language Qur'aan, as well as a CD full of conversion stories, pictures of Mecca and "scientific" articles about the accuracy of the Qur'aan. Wow. Two weeks in Little Pakistan (in tiny Zorzor ) was equal parts exhausting, incredible, challenging and fun.<br /><br />I can not talk about this part of my experience without complaining about the road. Complaining about rainy season and especially the conditions of the roads is the Liberian national pastime. Lofa road is TERRIBLE in the rainy season. Fortunately, I had the benefit of Stephen, driver extraordinaire. Liberians are resourceful folks and most things here have an angle. So the angle on the road – it is a dirt road, the rains are indeed bad, the vehicles that use it are dangerously overloaded and the traffic is surprisingly high. However, what really makes the roads impassable? Villagers go out in the night and dig the pits deeper; they add water and anything else they can do to make the conditions worse. Then, during the day, they demand money for helping to push you out of the muddy morass they've created or build "bypasses" that they charge exorbitant fees to use. As a principled person who is staunchly anti-corruption (Thank you Cameroon), I refused to pay! So as we were clearing the mud puddles (the kind of 4 wheelin' red necks dream about) the locals are slamming their fists against the side of the vehicle and banging on the windows. We are sliding all over the place and Stephen is exerting the kind of skill that makes you me feel like a talentless loser.<br /><br />So ends the four week residential component of our 12 month teacher training program. We were amazed to find out what low competency levels the teachers have, I am not exaggerating when I say some of them were not even literate. Still, overall it was a heartening experience and we wrapped up the training at ZRTTI on a happy note. The teachers performed a skit to illustrate what a powerful impact training had on them. Scene 1 – teacher enters the class late, berates the children, dictates and writes on the board all period, beats the children who misbehave and is all around a typical West African teacher. Scene 2 – teacher enters class early with a lesson plan, shares objectives with the students, gets them involved in group work, praises them and ensures the lesson is student-centered. Hilarious and rewarding!<br /><br />The Liberian NGO world is a transitory place and people are constantly coming and going. Last week Chris (the Protection Unit coordinator) left. This kid is generous to a fault and had a steady stream of folks following him around with their hands out. We had numerous discussions about his "giving" philosophy – one near argument about the morality of supporting ex-combatant soccer leagues. (Why do they deserve help?) Regardless of our views, I admire his generous spirit. It is a rare thing to find someone who is so comfortable in the face of other people's need. Instead of feeling uncomfortable, looking the other way or doing the kinds of things many do (myself included), he accepted people where they were, reached out to them and always looked to see if there was something he could do.<br /><br />Over dinner, friends were talking about happiness. I said that I thought myself happier than most people that I know. When asked about the secret to my happiness I said I had incredible luck in meeting the most amazing and wonderful people. And I stand by my assertion that it is indeed luck, I've done little to deserve so much good fortune! Most of the great people I've met have been fairly random encounters. I appreciate you all so much. Life takes us in many unexpected directions but wherever I go, it is the people who make or break the experience.<br /><br />That said, the place I am going to next is… Morocco!! I am meeting Bob and a suitcase of Korean food (thanks Uma!) in Casablanca, traveling to Marrakesh and then wrapping up our tour in the seaside town of Agadir at a beautiful resort. From there I'll be heading to Europe for a few days to rendezvous with Chris and reunite with Olivier and possibly a few other friends. Initially I thought R&R (rest and relaxation) was a cushy indulgence from IRC to compensate us for crappy pay and poor institutional support. However, I now view it as an absolute necessity, I am totally exhausted and in desperate need of a break from Liberia. I've been giddy the last few days, packing and day dreaming of my Moroccan adventure.<br /><br />I will write a full report upon my return and will have many many pictures to share. Looking forward to hearing lots more good news from those of you job searching, traveling, etc. In just three more months I will be reuniting with many of you! Miss you...<br /><br />Bisoux,<br /><br />lisa</div>lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072611322067109629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059638147815106324.post-23396744878773667962007-11-26T09:30:00.000-05:002008-04-01T11:29:06.877-04:00Softly softly - Sept. 3 2007<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/R0ri7cUKqXI/AAAAAAAAAA0/5Xonq99oHlA/s1600-h/sad+chimp2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5137167835810408818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/R0ri7cUKqXI/AAAAAAAAAA0/5Xonq99oHlA/s320/sad+chimp2.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Hello all,<br /><br />It has been quite awhile since my last update (perhaps a relief to some of you). Things have been incredibly busy here in Liberia! As usual the highs have been high and the lows have been low. I intended to write about the inflated false economy INGOs have created here, the latest security whispers and my recent debate with this naïve nitwit from the Clinton Foundation but am so obsessed with my immediate work it is difficult to share about those things. As you may recall we have been gearing up for our teacher training in partnership with the Rural Teacher Training Institutes (RTTIs) and this has consumed my life!<br /><br />We encountered many obstacles but eventually successfully launched both our programs in Kakata (less than two hours outside of Monrovia) and Zorzor (in the far north). We have 379 participants total, with about 176 at my site, 45 of which are women – something we are excited about. Last week we had a great training on Human Rights from the Protection Unit. It was both heartening and gratifying to witness Liberians engaged in lively discussions about FGM, women's rights to own land, educational access, and basic liberties. This week we are having the Gender Based Violence Prevention Unit come in to do training on gender equity, creating safe classrooms for children, etc. I am really looking forward to this as I truly believe in the power of dialogue to open avenues to change.<br /><br />I've developed a strong bond with my trainers and I feel we've suffered through our growing pains and are now reaching our full potential as a professional team. We are holding our training at the Booker Washington Institute, a technical school based on the Tuskegee Institute in the US. The facilities are really very basic – lots of cold bucket baths, limited generator power and I've been eating Liberian food in the cafeteria three meals a day with everyone else. The menu: breakfast = bread, lunch = rice and sauce with a piece of mystery meat, dinner = same as lunch. I didn't think I could tire of eating rice but I think I am!<br /><br />The biggest joy has been the children. Little Joe, Victoria, Mercy and Lovina have become my constant companions in the evening. The children come to my room to work on their "assignments", listen to music and dance, sing and for story time. Their mothers brought nursing babies to the training site and these smaller children (between the ages of 8 and 13) were brought along as caretakers for the infants while mom is in school. This was quite the contentious issue early on but we've sorted it all out. It is heartbreaking how hard they poor darlings work. Girls just have so many responsibilities. Perhaps the most tragic aspect is their incredibly low literacy. Given that their mothers are teachers I expected much better! I think I am only beginning to scratch the surface of how dire the educational situation is here in Liberia.<br />We have been dealing with lots of problems on site, the logistics of managing food, finance, transportation, accommodations, supplies, etc for almost 200 is quite the challenge (especially for a novice like me).<br /><br />Institutionally, we haven't taken on any new leadership and since the last time I wrote both our Finance Coordinator and Finance Mgr have resigned (the top two finance positions in our organization). Sadly, my two best friends also left. Ronnie and Rei returned to America (via Australia and Japan respectively – the lucky son of a guns). It has been a struggle to maintain any kind of work/life balance without them here, not to mention I've been a little sadder and lonelier. However, I am slowly but surely making other friends. Living outside of Monrovia has put a real cramp on that for awhile.<br /><br />This latest period has been full of incidents of cruelty towards animals. Somehow the plight of the animals here always strikes me as especially tragic as they have no advocates and the prospect of things improving for them seems dim. Outside of a shady hotel near our office there was the saddest chimp I have ever seen tethered to a light pole with a cruelly short and heavy metal chain. He was apparently being "punished" for "spoiling" his house. It was heartbreaking. I've seem pretty sad treatment of puppies, pigs and goats in the last two weeks as well. Besides the chimp though the other terrible thing I saw happened just last week.<br /><br />I was taking an evening stroll around campus when I heard a man approaching, there were the strangest screeching/crying noises emanating from his direction. As I got closer I saw that he had a small animal attached to his umbrella. It had light brown fur, a longish tail, large bright eyes, and looked something between a monkey and a sloth. He had long fingers. I asked him what it was and he replied in very Liberian English what sounded like "soapie soapie". I repeated this back to him and he said "No! Sophie sophie!" I asked him what he planned to do with the poor creature that he was pinching by the neck. He informed me that they were sweet and he was going to sell it to someone to eat. I was shocked and appalled. I had a conversation with an on-looker about why I thought it was wrong to eat this animal. I didn't have a very convincing argument but we were both intractable in our beliefs. Later I found out that the local name for this creature is 'softly softly', apparently they are gentle, slow moving and rather quiet (let's not forget sweet).<br /><br />I then proceeded to reflect on what I could learn from this incident. 'Doucement' (french for something like softly or sweetly) was one of my favorite words to use in Peace Corps Cameroon. You could use it to ask taxi drivers to be more careful on the road, to get people to slow their speech so one could understand, to encourage others to take it easy. Should I adopt a 'softly softly' approach to more things here in Liberia? Gentle, slow moving and quiet seem an appropriate response to many situations. However, if I should strive for this – will I just be considered easy prey and then eaten?<br /><br />On a lighter note Jean, my tailor from Cote D'Ivoire, is a delight. I go to chat with him weekly while also submitting my attempts at fashion designs. Fortunately he is saves me from my own immodesty and takes the liberty to alter all my requests. He raises my necklines, lengthens my hemlines and puts in extra lining layers wherever he deems necessary. The only draw back about being with Jean is that for the first time I recognize how awful my French is. We understand one another perfectly and speak with such ease. When I speak with Liberians it is almost always a struggle. The accents, modified pidgin, poor grammar, and simplified verb tense usage – all make the "English" spoken here hard to understand. Of course they understand one another perfectly and have equal difficulty understanding me. I've realized that I speak French as badly as they speak English. That is why no one in Europe can understand me and everyone in Africa understands me so well! Very embarrassing…<br /><br />The last update I need to pass along is that I will be moving to the other training site in Zorzor. My colleague's father fell seriously ill so I will be taking over as the site manager at Zorzor. It is a more remote location with a fairly primitive training facility as it is still under renovation. This has been a rather drastic and last minute change of plans. I won't be able to be on site for the closure of "my" training site and will have to say good-bye to all my new friends and the children very hurriedly this evening. I'm a bit sad but duty calls so I am trying to take it softly softly. Apparently the road in the rainy season is a nightmare and the trip takes about 9 hours (as you get stuck and have to pull yourself out of the mud repeatedly with a winch). I will have limited phone coverage and very limited internet access on site but will be back in Monrovia soon. Wish me luck and when I get back I will give a more interesting update.<br /><br />I know many of you are going through big changes at home and just want you to know my thoughts are with you! I miss everyone tremendously and being here has increased my appreciation of you all. Thanks again to everyone who has been sending mail. A few of you sent NYT articles about Liberia – I'm so glad we are getting some press cover in the states. Also, thanks to those who signed our IRC GBV Prevention petition, I feel really blessed to be able to count such warm and wonderful people as friends!<br /><br />Softly softly,<br /><br />lisa</div>lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072611322067109629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059638147815106324.post-41802124504917175872007-11-26T08:13:00.000-05:002010-10-21T05:50:19.313-04:00Living Under Occupation - July 2007<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/R0rfm8UKqVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/gwPyb56QfIE/s1600-h/storm+coming+in2.jpg"></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/R0rfm8UKqVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/gwPyb56QfIE/s1600-h/storm+coming+in2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5137164185088207186" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/R0rfm8UKqVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/gwPyb56QfIE/s320/storm+coming+in2.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/R0rfm8UKqVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/gwPyb56QfIE/s1600-h/storm+coming+in2.jpg"></a></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/R0rfm8UKqVI/AAAAAAAAAAk/gwPyb56QfIE/s1600-h/storm+coming+in2.jpg"></a></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>Hello Loved Ones,<br /><br />The honeymoon phase is about over. Things are becoming less and less exciting and new and more and more frustrating and muddy. I am still in love with my project but I have a feeling that Liberia will not earn a spot on my favorite places list. A great deal of it is due to the war. All those child soldiers have grown up to be 20 somethings with a big chip on their shoulders and easy access to weapons. The violent crime rates here are high and one can sense an underlying current of tension.<br /><br />Perhaps it is the occupation – the check points, armed soldier, sand bags and barbed wire surely wear on people. The ubiquitous light blue <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">UNMIL</span> helmets both comfort and distress. Each soldier is identified by block letters on the back of their ponchos – <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">NIBAT</span> or <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">PAKBAT</span> (Nigerian battalion, Pakistani battalion). While we know they are here to 'keep the peace', we also know they are guilty of horrific sexual exploitation and abuse of power. I attended my fist security briefing for humanitarian aide <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">orgs</span> last week, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">tres</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">interesante</span>. The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">UNMIL</span> officers give updates on the situation locally and in bordering countries. In this neck of the woods, what happens in Guinea, Sierra Leone or Cote <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">D'Ivoire</span> is <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">everyone's</span> business, as their troubles often spill over our borders. Attempted assassination of the PM in Cote <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">D'Ivoire</span>, growing restlessness in Guinea, concern about upcoming elections in Sierra Leone, but mostly all is well here in Liberia.<br /><br />The more I learn about Liberia the more I understand that the road to recovery will be a long and difficult one. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">GBV</span> (gender based violence) rates here are HIGH, it is hard to believe the numbers that you hear – over 65% of girls report having engaged in sexual acts to cover school fees or enrollment, the sexual assault rates are sky high and the literacy rate is sometimes estimated to be as low as 30%. Having finished the two weeks of Training of Trainers (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">ToT</span>) I have had a chance to hear first hand a lot of war stories. Stories about child soldiers, kids and teachers traumatized from the war, scraped together refugee schools, total failure of the government to pay teachers, and rampant corruption.<br /><br />I even have my own story! After week one of the training we had about $3,500 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">USD</span> to reimburse participants for travel, hotels, etc. It was stolen by either the hotel staff or one of our participants. You should have seen the fall out - all the yelling, blaming, accusations, tears and frustration! I don't know that I have ever had such a bad headache. After involving the police, security and many bystanders, eventually the money turned up in the notebook of our lead national staff member for Education. Clearly she was framed. Unfortunately there were a group of journalists having a conference down stairs (on ethics and professionalism ironically) who heard the hullabaloo. They tried to blackmail our staff member – telling her that if she did not pay a bribe he would run a very bad story about her and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">IRC</span> in the paper. Theft, extortion, entrapment – the excitement never ends around here!<br /><br />Otherwise the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">ToT</span> was a success. We were able to provide a lot of resources and solid technical training. We hope that we can cull the 30 best participants to train 400 teachers in the middle of August. We are trying to re-open the Rural Teacher Training Institutes to get teachers certified & hopefully on government payrolls Right now I am in heated debate with the Director of the Booker Washington Institute trying to negotiate a usage fee for the facility. He is trying to charge us $7,000!! $2,000 is "overhead" – strange that he would call it that since we know it would go straight under the table and into his pocket!! Cross your fingers for us…<br /><br />Despite all the drama – life goes on. I organized a yoga group and so far we have had three sessions – they have been delightfully <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">de</span>-stressing. I went to the beach for the first time yesterday, the waters are VERY rough here so no swimming but I waded into about my knees and just enjoyed being outdoors in the sun (kinda, as it is rainy season it is always cloudy with just flashes of sun here and there).<br /><br />I've gotten my first batch of letters via FedEx <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Skypacks</span> – how exciting!! Thanks to everyone that wrote, I am clearly the most beloved person in country, I got more mail than anyone else. Let's keep it up! Please write!! It has been determined that one can sneak in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">CDs</span> and other flat items into magazines so may I suggest sending me a magazine with a flat something hidden inside to accompany your long and detailed letters?<br /><br />I'm slowly but surely meeting more people from other organizations and getting to familiar with the popular spots in town. It seems as though every day I learn a hundred new things, which is great but also kind of exhausting. The institutional culture here is a strange one and our office politics could supply the plot of a daytime drama. The turnover is incredible! Our logistics manager (an American) was let go very abruptly last month. Last week our country director announced that he and the assistant director would be leaving next month. Yesterday I found out that our finance manager has also resigned. It's not looking good folks! Fortunately I am on a project with more stable agencies. I still don't understand what is going on here but can def. see the red flags waving.<br /><br />I miss you all and hope to hear from you soon. Take care and please eat some ice cream for me!<br /><br />Your Liberian correspondent,<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">lisa</span></div>lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072611322067109629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059638147815106324.post-58357452182473294822007-11-26T08:08:00.000-05:002008-04-01T11:27:15.668-04:00The Land of Friendly People - July 2007<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/R0rd-cUKqUI/AAAAAAAAAAc/kIWcpC95T9Y/s1600-h/Liberia+from+above2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5137162389791877442" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/R0rd-cUKqUI/AAAAAAAAAAc/kIWcpC95T9Y/s320/Liberia+from+above2.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/R0rd-cUKqUI/AAAAAAAAAAc/kIWcpC95T9Y/s1600-h/Liberia+from+above2.jpg"></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/R0rd-cUKqUI/AAAAAAAAAAc/kIWcpC95T9Y/s1600-h/Liberia+from+above2.jpg"></a><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/R0rd-cUKqUI/AAAAAAAAAAc/kIWcpC95T9Y/s1600-h/Liberia+from+above2.jpg"></a><br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_20Xs1MvSmzA/R0rd-cUKqUI/AAAAAAAAAAc/kIWcpC95T9Y/s1600-h/Liberia+from+above2.jpg"></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Hello loved ones,<br /><br />I arrived! My luggage arrived! It is no small miracle given the many delays, the madness of Liberian customs and my current mental state. A large sign at the airport assured me that Liberia is the> land of friendly people and so far - I agree.<br /><br />My supervisor, her partner and a colleague had me over for a delicious vegetarian welcome dinner last night. We enjoyed much conversation over wine and it felt as though I was among old friends. Everyone has been friendly at the office and I have already had 3.5 meetings - this is def. a management position with lots of oversight, planning and meeting after meeting. I've had to jump right in. I'm exhausted and starving - no food and hardly any sleep but so far I LOVE it! Everything feels right.<br /><br />It is the rainy season and listening to the pounding rain on our metal roofs is delightful. My room has a bathroom and is like the Kaele for those who know it. Bob, my room is like our first hotel in Phnom Phenh. The compound is great and very secure (no need to worry family). I got my security briefing this morning and it was comprehensive. Need to wrap this up so I can eat.<br />Miss you and love you all. I will write more as soon as I can.<br /><br />Best wishes,<br /><br />lisa xox<br /><br />PS Thanks to Rei for the beautiful shot of Liberia from the air.lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08072611322067109629noreply@blogger.com0