Lemony Snickets

The blogosphere did indeed go blank from Mama OVAAT for a few weeks. It in no way should reflect the success of the trip. Frankly I’m over the moon over how we are doing. That Sunday, Monica and I went to church and then sat under the trees by Lake Victoria and talked about the way forward. It was a delicious day of friendship and love between 2 kindred spirits who “dream dreams” as Bobby Kennedy would say.

Monday dawned bright and beautiful for our ride back across the Rift. Francis and I drove to KMET for one last visit and thus ensued the “Series of Unfortunate Events”.
Yes fans, I managed to break my leg on the last day, and of course there was no adequate medical care. My fabulous Medical Rescue Card got me nothing and there were no working x-ray machines at Nairobi Hospital. Which was probably ok since I doubt they had a tech anyway.

Determined to get on that plane, we got to the airport, I got a wheel chair and thus began the long, long ride home. 2.5 days travel with an unset broken leg is a bit of a challenge, but I did get home, get it set, and still wound up in the hospital with the creepy crawlies. Then a fall down my stairs a week later got me 16 stitches in my head. That’s what I mean by a series of unfortunate events.

Ok, but here’s the deal. What we are doing in Kenya defies the odds. We are going to run this program for under $30,000. I so want people to know that with the right partners and working with communities to own their programs you can change attitudes and lives. (Y’all know how I feel about the big guys. ) And I can’t wait to get back there.

And the second deal is not to be afraid. Do what your heartsong is. I am 65 years old and I love my work over there. Despite “the series of unfortunate events” I wouldn’t give up one single second of life over there and here. And I wish that more people stepped out of the fear of not being a success, or of getting hurt, or of the unknown, or what people might think and go for it. As my grandmother used to say, “Life is short, eat dessert first”. So go for it with everything you’ve got and believe you can. You’re neither too young or too old, it’s your time. Now get up and do it.

Even My Dirt is Covered in Dirt

15 November 2011
I So Dirty My Dirt is Covered in Dirt
Yeah and I’m a crispy critter too. So much for SPF 30, there’s no fighting the Kenyan sun. You only have to be out in it 15 minutes to fry, so I will be a dermatological dream again.
I am constantly telling my clients that they must surrender ego, that it is always up to the universe to make things happen. Old ego and I had a real smack down today. We were supposed to get to Malanga at 11A, then it was changed to noon, but we didn’t get there until 2P. That made me crazy since I, of course, was on time. But it turns out the KMET van broke down, Monica didn’t really know her way and wasn’t traveling with us and well it’s Kenya. By the tie we got there folks had been sitting waiting since 8A. And to make things worse the headteacher, Maloba, had told the new school we would be there by 11A. So we were pissing people off all over the place. We had to apologize at Malanga, then we had to split up so some of us could go and placate the new schools while the others worked out the exit plan at Malanga. Suffice it to say ego did not like where this was heading. Ego likes things organized, ego anticipates problems and leaves time for them, and ego was really snarky.
I went to the new school ,Nangina. By that time it was 3P and they had been waiting 6 hours. I felt terrible and apologized as best I could but they were still not having it.
So I got Francis to go to the car and get a bag of sweets that I always carry for the kids. In this case I needed to sweeten the mood of the parents and passed out the lollipops. I had to make a joke of it and they seemed a bit better.
But you know you’re in trouble when there are no speeches and few introductions. And the dancing girls were no where to be seen. The KMET team was first up and gave their schpiele for the first 30 minutes. We covered micro-finance, nutrition and partnership. We were missing a lot of the team cuz they were back at Malanga.
And then it was Mama OVAAT time. And something miraculous happened, it wasn’t’ about me anymore. It was about them. It was about building a team, a partnership. It was about telling them how much I believed in them and that with a little push they could make it on their own. I asked them if they would join our team, team Nangina and they said YES!! And then the old cheerleader or preacher in me broke out and I got them chanting yes we can and passed out faith bracelets to everyone of them so they could identify as members of the team and they were united and it was glorious and it was all about God not that dirty little ego. It was truly amazing grace.
We broke for a quick lunch (which I always avoid). I’ve gotten so good at it I take out my diabetic kit and prick my finger at the table, then shake my head and say sorry the number is not right for me to eat that. (trust me I don’t care whether it’s 80 or 180 it’s “never right”). So after a few handfuls of rice I want to see the children. The children breathe life back into me as surely as water lifts a marathon runner. Maybe it is runner’s high.
We finished at 5P and went to the lovely Blue York. Dinner and review of the day followed by no internet and very little electricity. No matter, since I’m so dirty I’m totally ok with washing with cold water. I didn’t have a choice really,
What always continues to amaze me is the teamwork that happens with the KMET crew. As I reflect on the day, and I see how they work as a team, reflect on the good and the bad and plan the next day I know I am with a group of remarkable people. Everyone is equal and respected and while sometimes it is not the most efficient process, their staff is dedicated, inventive, and a delight to work with.
So I end the night in grace and for that I am grateful. I’ll post this when I can.
Keep the faith y’all

The Rift

13 November 2011

Today we drive the Great Rift Valley. I don’t remember when exactly I started driving the Rift instead of flying. Probably when I smartened up and realized that a. it was much cheaper and b. it brings me to my heart home as I travel the different climes that are the Rift. First we hit a crest and look down on the long fertile valley, then we pass through miles of tea and coffee plantations, and then into the orange roads that signal the small towns teeming with people, farm animals roaming the streets and mounds and mounds of produce. Potatoes stacked in pyramids, onions, tomatoes. As we move further on we get to the villagers carrying great stalks of banannas and finally pineapples. Poverty abounds, naked children playing in the dirt, tall regal women with huge loads of sticks or water in jerry cans atop their heads, and everyone is walking by the side of the road.

Once in a while we see a private car like our own. But mostly it is the lorries and crazy matatu drivers (these are Toyota fans which are supposed to seat 9 but are often crammed with as many as 20 in them). The matatus are usually the culprits in the horrendous vehicle deaths that run rampant on the roads. A couple of weeks ago 25 people were killed because a Matatu tried to outrun a lorry and didn’t make it. I used to drive in those when I first started here; but even I gave up as they were so incredibly dangerous. Sometimes you see a boda boda (bike carrying someone for money). Life can be very cheap here and it is taken for granted that road deaths occur regularly. I don’t ride boda bodas either.

I am anxious to get going. Francis shall be here fairly soon given the traffic and what he has to attend to at home. I will film some of the Rift and post it for you.

rift click to see the film

I have officially been spooked by the security. I have checked out and had 3 bags. I left my black briefcase on the couch in the lobby while I went to the loo. It was scooped up immediately. Then,I got questioned by the guard as to whether it was mine. And since Francis is late, I decided to go to the ATM to get some cash. Again, I was questioned by 2 guards about my walkabout. And then another at the bank and then I was frisked to get back into the hotel. Yeah, who says they’re not worried?

Catch you in Kisumu

It was a glorious though bumpy ride to Kisumu. I have attached some un-edited film of our ride. We go from the very arid rift where the Masaii tend their cattle to the vast tea plantations in the valley and along the way meet some interesting fauna.

How Things Work..or Not

11 November 2011

I have entered into the amorphous part of travel. I have no idea what time it is. By my calculations I have been traveling for over 24 hours, but I still have a 13-hour flight to Kenya. Security is tight here in Amsterdam with a second screening. The strange thing about my traveling is that I enter into this zone of peace, which carries me through to the end. I have audio books and kindle and movies of my own and so however long it takes is fine.

I know I am on my way home to Kenya because the faces are so different sitting here at the airport. Now I see the faces of Kenya, I see the Kikuyu, the luo and the luya. I actually can pick out the facial differences of most of the tribes now and know Somalis from Ethiopians from Eritreans. A Somali drove me to the airport and we had a cool conversation about El Shabbab. He is from Southern Somalia and I think he daren’t say that he supports El Shabbab, but he wasn’t putting them down either.

It looks to be an interesting trip this time.

Because I am white and don’t belong to any tribe, people from all tribes tell me stuff they would never say aloud with other tribes. So I shall be interested to hear what people’s take is on El Shabbab.

More later when I land in Nairobi. I am looking forward to the warm moist air and the night sky. It is the short rains right now, but hopefully they will have passed for the day and I shall be able to look out onto the endless spectrum of stars that dot the horizon and the moon radiates above.

12 November 2011

It’s the little things that now make me laugh. Americans would really be upset if their phone number changed every 6 months or so. Once I landed I had to tank up my Kenya phone. Because I use it every 6 months or so, and can’t tank it up in the U.S, it means that I have a new sim card often. Which means I must call everyone and give him or her my new number. Which means that I have to buy extra cards so that I can call my friends and contacts here. It’s just part of how it works here.

I got in late, as usual and the lines for customs were long and ponderous. But again, it’s just part of the deal. Folks who were tweaking didn’t get anywhere and I figure waiting in the visa line beats waiting for luggage and getting crushed in the mix. Since my suitcases are all hand painted by me, I know no one is going to take them. And since they both weighed in over the weight limit, most folks can’t even ick them up.

It was great to see Francis waiting, and his son John who has grown exponentially since I saw him last. Francis says things have quieted down here in Nairobi, so we’re going to the Westlands to Masaii market today. I hate shopping and quibbling with the vendors, so I like to get it over as soon as possible. I swear Francis is my Kenyan husband and understands me well. We have our routine down pat and I’m glad we both slip into our easy friendship so quickly.

Ok, I’m hoping to post this now, since I’m in one of the better hotels and they ostensibly have Internet. It wasn’t working last night and there were some pretty angry muzungus. It’s going to be a long trip for them if they get upset about not having Internet. What are they going to do when there’s no power or water?? Oh, no they won’t be staying in those places.

Catch you later y’all

The Flamingo Has Landed

11 November 2011

I have entered into the amorphous part of travel. I have no idea what time it is. By my calculations I have been traveling for over 24 hours, but I still have a 13-hour flight to Kenya. Security is tight here in Amsterdam with a second screening. The strange thing about my traveling is that I enter into this zone of peace, which carries me through to the end. I have audio books and kindle and movies of my own and so however long it takes is fine.

I know I am on my way home to Kenya because the faces are so different sitting here at the airport. Now I see the faces of Kenya, I see the Kikuyu, the luo and the luya. I actually can pick out the facial differences of most of the tribes now and know Somalis from Ethiopians from Eritreans. A Somali drove me to the airport and we had a cool conversation about El Shabbab. He is from Southern Somalia and I think he daren’t say that he supports El Shabbab, but he wasn’t putting them down either.

It looks to be an interesting trip this time.

Because I am white and don’t belong to any tribe, people from all tribes tell me stuff they would never say aloud with other tribes. So I shall be interested to hear what people’s take is on El Shabbab.

More later when I land in Nairobi. I am looking forward to the warm moist air and the night sky. It is the short rains right now, but hopefully they will have passed for the day and I shall be able to look out onto the endless spectrum of stars that dot the horizon and the moon radiates above.

12 November 2011

It’s the little things that now make me laugh. Americans would really be upset if their phone number changed every 6 months or so. Once I landed I had to tank up my Kenya phone. Because I use it every 6 months or so, and can’t tank it up in the U.S, it means that I have a new sim card often. Which means I must call everyone and give him or her my new number. Which means that I have to buy extra cards so that I can call my friends and contacts here. It’s just part of how it works here.

I got in late, as usual and the lines for customs were long and ponderous. But again, it’s just part of the deal. Folks who were tweaking didn’t get anywhere and I figure waiting in the visa line beats waiting for luggage and getting crushed in the mix. Since my suitcases are all hand painted by me, I know no one is going to take them. And since they both weighed in over the weight limit, most folks can’t even ick them up.

It was great to see Francis waiting, and his son John who has grown exponentially since I saw him last. Francis says things have quieted down here in Nairobi, so we’re going to the Westlands to Masaii market today. I hate shopping and quibbling with the vendors, so I like to get it over as soon as possible. I swear Francis is my Kenyan husband and understands me well. We have our routine down pat and I’m glad we both slip into our easy friendship so quickly.

Ok, I’m hoping to post this now, since I’m in one of the better hotels and they ostensibly have Internet. It wasn’t working last night and there were some pretty angry muzungus. It’s going to be a long trip for them if they get upset about not having Internet. What are they going to do when there’s no power or water?? Oh, no they won’t be staying in those places.

Catch you later y’all

At Least The Cow Isn't Pissed

8 November 2011

Is it really almost 10 years since my first time in Siaya?  Imagine! (the Kenyans say this word with such emphasis it loses a bit in the translation). I went to Kenya that first time on complete faith and trust that my guardian angels and God would watch over me. I had met 2 ministers in Addis Ababa and was flying back to Africa to meet them.

One lived just outside Nairobi, and the other lived in Siaya. I knew nothing of either place, but Siaya was really out there. I flew into the tiny airport in Kisumu and was met by Mama Daniel and her brother, Ben.  I had no idea where I would be staying or what I would actually learn, but so like a freshman in college, I was up for it.

The history of Siaya is contained in the blogs of long ago. I am in awe that people had enough faith in me stateside that they raised the money, developed One Village at a Time into a non-profit and never knew how little I knew. It was, as they say, the Beta project. It ended very very badly. People in Siaya were pissed and so were my brother and sister-in-law whose daughters had gone over to get caught up in my debacle.  It wasn’t pretty.

Now, now I know the importance of so many things including good partners on the ground. I know how things work in Kenya (as much as anyone can). Our program has developed into something truly remarkable. We have gone from a rag tag feeding station in Siaya feeding 26 kids for $4000 to feeding 2000 kids for 6 months for the same price. And we are improving their lives and their parents lives. It’s a real macro approach.

Nambale is graduating 2 schools, a new one will enter to partner with the one we took in last year. And I am going back to Siaya. Funny how things work. Monica had asked me to work in her home village and of course I said yes. Then she told me it was Siaya. I must admit I blanched, and I am hoping they don’t string me up when I come back into town. I’m thinking that if I’m riding with Monica and Francis it will be ok.

So come with me now dear readers as we travel back to where I began.  It’s going to be a really cool journey and I promise to tell all the truth, not just some of it. And in the end, hopefully, you will know me and why I do what I do.

Keep the Faith Y’all.

Back To Where We Began

I am readying to return to Kenya Thursday. I look at our blue sky here, but I can already see the vastness and beauty of the African sky. I am longing to see my sister Monica and hug her. I think of driving with Francis and of the many journeys we have shared during this 9 year adventure. He has taught me a lot and I pray I have taught him some things too.
I am going back to the Village where I began 10 years ago. Without going into too many details, one could politely call it our beta program.
It was my learning place; it was where I knew that Africa would always own a piece of my heart and I would always have to return to touch that place. It was a place of humiliation and disgrace.
So now I begin again there. I am wiser now. I am accompanied by Monica and her team. I am glad I get the chance to do it right this time.
So this begins my journal for you and the Board. I must finish packing my suitcases. Funny how 100lbs fills up so quickly. Again I shall have to choose what is more important. And again I shall cover my bounty with condoms and candy. I am going home again.

She's BAAAACK!

Haven't been here folks for a while. This is where I'm supposed to put opinions not related to One Village. I opened up the Washington Post and got blasted by the woman I love to hate, Sarah Palin. Seems she's playing games with the media, and I just hope that the public doesn't fall for her shenanigans.
I've been wondering why she offends me so much. Could it be her stance on abortion, gay rights, the budget, environmental conservation, gun control. Yeah all of these piss me off, but the deal is I didn't like Nixon, or Bush or Regan, but they never stirred up the ire that she does. And that's because she's dumb as hair, and the thought of her even contemplating the presidency makes my blood run cold. How she got to be governor of a state is bad enough, but I am hoping the Peter Principle will be in effect and she will have risen to the top political office she will ever attain.
If you haven't read "Game Change" about the 08 elections it is certainly worth perusing. It was a game changer for me. I got to really respect Hillary which was not in my repertoire before and to really see just how truly uninformed and stupid Sarah is. Oh please folks, join me in prayer that Sarah's bus falls off a cliff and when she comes up for air she will have been struck dumb (meaning not able to speak not i.q. wise)
And that's it for today.
Keep the faith y'all

A Journey to Self-hood,” One Village at a Time”

Children purposely burned to death in a church, my hair matted with red clay for days, no place to go pee until 6P, no electricity, no water for showers, malaria, dysentery as part of my every day life. These were not things anyone would have thought I could endure much less treasure it.
When I was young, back in the 50’s, I thought that the poverty line people spoke of was about $60,000. My middle school was featured in a Time Magazine cover called “Suburbia’s Coddled Kids.” We were white, we were rich and we were totally isolated from the world.
When my marriage ended when I was 41, I finally grew up. And I stepped into the world.
I have had many lives since then, but nothing compares to what happened when I was 55. That was when I went to Africa and saw the poverty and the horror this white girl just wasn’t prepared for. More than that I saw whole villages lost to the decimation of AIDS. At first the whole scene in Addis Ababa was overwhelming, but somehow I had to something. I knew it would be a small thing; no one could take on what was happening in Africa in 2002. But I would try.
I returned to Africa 3 months after my first trip. I had packed 2 large suitcases with supplies I thought they needed, and knowing no one but the 2 ministers who had asked me to come to their villages, flew off into the unknown. People ask me if I was scared and I can honestly say, no not at all. It just seemed like the right thing to do.
In the second village I went to, I was taken to the hovels that the people lived in. I saw children bringing up children, death and dying everywhere. And I asked the question to the pastor “What do we do first”, and she said, “Feed our children”.
Feed our children, something so simple. While the world was singing to “We Are the World”, children were dying from starvation in Kenya. Drought and famine ran rampant across the more civilized countries in Africa. This was not Darfur; this was Kenya, home of “Out of Africa”. They had a democracy, Nairobi was a great city and people would rave about the safaris they had gone on.
No one, however, saw the real Kenya I saw. I was the only muzungu (white) I saw on the trip. I went where tourists never go, and I saw what tourists never see. After 3 weeks of traveling the dirt roads, talking to people, praying with them, and seeing bulging tummies on the children, I knew something had to be done.
That’s how One Village at a Time got started. I returned home and found one donor who was willing to commit $4000 for a year to feed the children. While I had sat on many charitable boards, I had never been an Executive Director. I surely knew nothing about forming a 501c3. But I’m a quick learner and within six months I had a board of directors, a mission statement and the beginnings of the organization.
We began by feeding children in a feeding station. Children would run miles to the station to get their lunch, often the only meal they got. I was so proud we were feeding 30 children for a year for $4000. I thought that was amazing. I was wrong and the first project was a disaster. Seems in Africa you can feed kids for a lot less and the person running the program was pocketing much of the money. Totally shamed I had to go to the Board and tell them.
While I was surely born with a silver spoon in my mouth, I was not even given the sample size of patience, and I was pretty despondent about the endeavor. But people here in Boston believed in me, and I hate to quit anything. With the understanding of a new Board of directors and their guidance, I finally found my way and ultimately the way forward for One Village. We found partners on the ground who had done what we wanted to do.
KMET was an answer to our prayers. They did community organization, they did micro-finance (we finally understood if we didn’t help the parents make money they would never become self-sustaining) and the ED of the program was like a long lost sister.
We are now a well-oiled machine. We do what big business can’t do. We leave. We can go into a community, get them involved in the feeding program, teach them micro-finance, and get them up and going in 2 years. We feed 3000 kids; 500 parents and teachers are getting loans, girls are learning about their bodies and we do it for $25,000 a year. And frankly, we couldn’t handle more than $100,000 per year.
I want to keep One Village small and effective. I want us to go out of business. Yes I volunteer my time, and yes I am glad for it. I am glad for all the young, enthusiastic people who help raise the money, build the website, keep the books. Anyone who helps us, or gives money to us knows exactly what it pays for. I am glad for that as well. I want everyone to feel like they are a raindrop, and together we will clean up this mess.
And who am I for this experience? I am woman of great patience now. Things happen, as they should in their time. I am a woman of great faith, both in what I am doing and in the people with whom I work. I am a woman of gratitude for each minute on this planet and for this work I get to do. I am a woman of understanding and acceptance. I live with the world and the wonderful tapestry of people that populate it. I am never more alive as when I am in Kenya. One Village at a Time has not changed my life it has made my life.

Cuts For Cutting Are Good

Female castration is one of the most grisly events I have ever seen. I watched as a 2-year-old child, screaming at the top of her lungs was held by her mother, while the Mzee cut the clitoris and labia off. I couldn’t believe a mother could do this, but culturally it has been done for hundreds of years.

Kenya outlawed this practice, however tribes continue to do it.  Bungoma is a town not far from where One Village works. In today’s paper I read that circumcision by 3 of the tribes is getting too costly. It seems for a full ceremony, including the killing of 2 bulls a family must pay 52,000ksh. That would send a child to secondary school for 4 years.

It seems that while the threat of AIDS is one reason they may slow it down, the real reason is that it’s too costly. While I wish it were because the girls are mutilated, I am well aware that changing customs anywhere in the world is not something that happens over night. So I guess I’m glad the cost of female castration has gone up enough that the Sabaot are considering stopping the tradition.

To read the full story here is the link: http://www.nation.co.ke/News/regional/Circumcision+proud+tradition+faces+the+cut++/-/1070/1133200/-/13vnqqbz/-/index.html

We Are Family

We are Family

I guess I’m showing my age. I had had a great day of working on One Village and was coming home from the grocery store. All I could hear in my head was Sister Sledge singing “We are Family”, Ah the Disco Years. I realized yesterday, after a hectic week of working with so many people on One Village activities that that is what we are. We are family.

When I started OVAAT back in 2002 we were far from that. I was OVAAT and the burden was pretty great. I would lie awake nights wondering if I could find donors to carry on supporting the few children we were feeding. I did the fundraising, tried to get the word out and did a terrible job of making a website. Board members came and went, there were hurt feelings, petty squabbles and board members shied away from actually getting their feet wet.

Something happened in 2006. The stars aligned, the work took on a different scope, and the family began to coalesce. Soon we had folks who wanted to raise money, who wanted to work on the website, who wanted to get more sponsors. The Board became a group of amazing people who came together gladly. And I guess, to be perfectly honest, I let go of OVAAT and shared it with everyone. Everyone’s opinion counted and ideas flourished and people not only worked on the Board but also became friends.

It is 2011. We are on our fourth Harames. We have a research committee, a fundraising committee, a marketing group, a website group but most important of all is how everyone cares about each other. When Alyssa didn’t make the fundraising meeting because of a sick child, I got lots of messages asking how her son was. When I wanted our new web designer to be able to come up here from Kentucky with her husband, one of the guys working on the website offered to pay for the husband’s ticket.

We are more than friends now, we are a family and One Village at a Time is our child. We want the very best for this special being. We want to see it grow and develop and reach towards the sky. We want to protect it and make sure that if we are not here that the next generation will follow up and care for it. We do this freely with no pay except the incredible experience of watching OVAAT grow up.

As for me, when I spoke to the Board last week, I cried. What I had hoped for and dreamed about these 9 years was a reality. We’re there. We have a successful model we can roll out across Africa, and I knew it was because we are family. And I am so very, very grateful .In my mind now, Harambee isn’t just a fundraiser; it’s a family reunion.

Get on board people, it’s a great family and all are welcome!

A Few of My Favorite Things

While sitting in the dentist chair waiting for my mouth to numb up, my dentist asked about how things were going in Kenya. We often have delightful conversations, with me drooling or slurping, about books and the difficulties of medicine over there. He’s not much of a fiction reader, but I did get him to read the “Poisonwood Bible”

(Barbara Kingsolver). However the conversation turned to things that we needed in the field. Namely sphygmometers and speculums. These are two of my favorite things right now. So Dr. D starts telling me that I can get them cheap on ebay.

Before I know it, after he’s drilled a hole in the bone of my upper jaw, we’re taking x-rays and surfing the net. He gets right down to business and sure enough you can get sphygmomanometers for a song on eBay.

want to know the rest of the story...go to www.onevillageatatime.org/blog

Bearing Witness

I have no catchy title for this. I have no cool photos. This is just something you need to know about, and it’s neither pretty nor unusual in poverty stricken countries. When I started One Village back in 2002, I saw some pretty gruesome medical conditions and visited several “clinics”. A matatu hit a child while I was standing by, and she died in my arms for lack of an emergency vehicle. It had never dawned on me back then, that whole areas of countries would have no emergency transport and that whoever had a car often got called upon as the transport.

This entry needed it’s own special spot and I wasn’t prepared to write it till I had let it all settle within me. Monica had asked me to go with her to the provincial hospital to visit one of the community workers who was in hospital. How bad could that be, after all it’s the provincial hospital? As bad as the open-air clinics were in Siaya, nothing prepared me for this.

want to know more? www.onevillageatatime.org/blog

Daniel

I want to do this story justice, but like all of my experiences in Africa, I shall never be able to give you the true essence of the man, or of my admiration and love for him.

I first met Daniel 9 years ago. Shy and subdued, there was a veiled passion for knowledge that simmered below the surface. He was the eldest of 4; his mother was the first minister I worked with in Kenya. Daniel was in college in Uganda, but it was a struggle. His father had left the family for a new wife, but would come home from time to time demanding money and support.  An abusive, alcoholic, Daniel would watch what his father would do to his mother and try his best to protect everyone.

want to read the rest? go to www.onevillageatatime.org/blog. It's well worth the trip over

Where My Heart Lives

3 February 2011

Sometimes people retell a joke and it goes flat. Then they say, “you had to be there”. I will try my best to bring you here, but I suspect I may fall flat. To be here in Nambale is to be at the heart of the real Africa. Many dream of Africa, but it is the Meryl Streep Africa. Or they live their lives planning the big Safari. They are picked up in big vans and escorted to the game reserves. They make a stop at a “real local artist shop” where everything is sanitized. And they go on their way satisfied that they have been to Africa.

My Africa is loud and dusty. My Africa is unpredictable and far from comfortable much of the time. It is lack of electricity and cold showers in Busia, and swerving not to hit a pig running across the road. It is hot and dirty and beautiful beyond description. The most important part of my Africa is the people. If you will not dare to get dirty or go in a foul smelling latrine, you will never meet them. But if you are willing their heart and spirit will amaze you.

Today we journeyed to our first stop, Malanga Primary. This is the home of the Iron Lady, a woman who has taken the idea of micro-finance to an entirely new level. A woman who, when she couldn’t get the men to pay back their loans got a debt collector to see that they did. Her name is Benta and later you can see her on film. It is the home of hundreds of children dressed in green uniforms lining up to sing and welcome me home. It is parents who want to reach for the stars and have just begun to believe maybe they can.

The team from KMET is beyond words. I have never seen such teamwork, such incredible respect for one another and such passion for what they are doing. Yet, they are never satisfied with their day until they debrief and figure out how it could have gone better. Monica is their lioness who encourages the parents to own the program. She talks to them like a stern mother. Then it’s my turn to talk about their growing up and how they can achieve that. I’m a bit softer, but still pretty tough. Malanga has till the end of this year to be on their feet. Giant, gentle Asuke, with a smile as big as the stars in an African sky, takes care of microfinance and in Malanga there is a 100% repayment.

The Girls Getting their Pads

While we are in front of the parents, another part of the team is working with the children. Ken is in charge of nutrition and statistics for the children. He weighs and measures all the children from kindergarten through 4^th grade. Sam is deworming all the children, for it does no good to feed the worms instead of the children. Beatrice is working on community-based health care and 2 girls who have graduated from the KMET program are now teaching the 7^th and 8^th grade girls about their periods and the reusable sanitary towels.

Sam Deworming the Children

Efficient, gentle, thoughtful, passionate, ingenious, the KMET team is all of that and I am so honored that we can partner with them. Sam noted we needed to de-worm earlier in the morning, Ken was trying to figure out how to follow the children better, Beatrice talked about more meetings with the parents to sensitize them, and on and on. And all of this took about 2 ½ hours.

Monica Congratulation the Young Boy

At the end of the visit, the headmaster brought before us a boy. Both his parents were dead and he had no place to live. It turns out, though that he scored second highest in the secondary exams and was offered a spot at a National school. Unfortunately he could not take that seat since he had no possible way of paying the fees. The teachers had taken up a collection and I knew what was coming next. He needed 6000ksh ($80) to cover his fees. And yes they asked me for the rest. However I have been so inculcated into the KMET way of doing things I adjured to Monica. She asked the parents to give (Harambee is a joyful party to raise money for the needy) and I told the parents we would match them dollar for dollar. The parents somehow raised 7000ksh, and we matched them and a bit more so that his entire year is covered. What is most important in my Africa is this simple gesture of people who are so poor they don’t know where the next meal is coming from, but they rose to the challenge and gave all they had.

One of the Shops From the Micro Finance

They don’t work at the fancy shops and hotels. The pretty much have never left Nambale. Their shops are tiny corrugated tin boxes with a few supplies, or a dress shop with treadle sewing machines, but their successes are all the sweeter because they got a loan, and made it work.

At Manyole the parents had been waiting under the Kenyan sun since early in the morning. Hard to fathom this kind of commitment, but they wanted to say thank you to Mama OVAAT who had supported them. So despite the heat, the dust, the lack of water and the sheer boredom of sitting, there they were singing and clapping as we arrived. The hugs I got from some of the elderly women were so deep and wide and heartfelt that I was a bit overcome. I’m always a bit embarrassed by all this show of appreciation, since frankly 1. I don’t really think I do much and 2. For me anything that happens is always by the grace of God. I never want to forget that.

The rest of the day is a bit of a blur. I have been working for 14 hours now and the sun is tough on this muzungu skin. I couldn’t be happier. It’s another day where life is good, yeah again. It’s just all-good.