One Toe Over the Line Sweet Jesus

One Toe Over the Line Sweet Jesus

That’s a saying we use for folks who don’t want to commit to something. The I’m sort of in, but if I’m wrong, I wasn’t really. Today’s Op-Ed by Richard Cohen in the Washington Post (see link below) was exquisite. The gist of it is that Obama doesn’t seem to care about anything but getting re-elected. I can’t agree more.

The comparison he uses is Bobby and Jack Kennedy, but mostly Bobby. I was a young girl back then and ardently supported Kennedy. They were the dream, and as a bomb throwing liberal Democrat, with a student’s idealism, their caring for the poor, the black, the less educated struck me with a passion to change the world that has stayed with me for 50 years.  I wanted to be better because they challenged me to be.

When Obama spoke at the DNC convention back in 2004,and again in 2008 I felt the same surge of joy that here was a leader I would follow into hell and back. Here was my fallen hero. I was no dewy-eyed college student by then, I was middle aged and yet that same stirring came back. “Yes We Can”.

Over these past four years it’s more like “I’m not sure if we can”. Or “Maybe if everyone agrees we can.” Or “Maybe I don’t care if we can”. And so I could not campaign for Obama as I did in 2008. I will not go to his inauguration if he wins. I will vote for him, because his not caring is better than Romney’s. But he’s got to get that toe on the other side to get my belief back.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/richard-cohen-obama-the-president-who-seems-not-to-care/2012/10/29/a52246a0-21e2-11e2-ac85-e669876c6a24_story.html


And to give the photographer of the photo above credit: lightwise / 123RF Stock Photo

A Turning Point

Francis, my driver says, "you must go far to find what is near." Sometimes decisions are like that. Sometimes you can't know what to do, until you put yourself through a turning point and have faith you'll come through it. 

I knew I wouldn’t be going back. It weighed heavily on my mind as I readied for this last trip. I wasn’t positive, but with the strikes and the grenades and the problems I had last year, I just didn’t think I could keep doing it. And I had no idea how things would work out if I didn’t keep going. That’s where faith fits in.

Everyone in Kenya was glad I was back. They wanted to see if I could walk, if I tired easily, and frankly would I come back. (Last year I got chased by a man with a machete and wound up with a broken leg that went unset for 3 days). It’s no easy feat to go back again when you’re 65 after that.

I knew the teachers were on strike, I knew the doctors were on strike. I knew that I couldn’t get hurt or sick. What I didn’t know was the way for the work I do over there. I fully believe that God put me in Africa to teach me both patience and surrender. I can assure you that if I got any of either of those in my birth package, I only got the sample size. Both would be needed to get through this trip.

As the weeks unfolded, however, I saw how the community organizers were really changing the attitudes of the people. And I saw that not only did I not need to be physically present when we brought a new school on board, but it was better if my little muzungu (white girl) face didn’t show up. It sent a mixed message, since white people are always associated with donors not empowerment.

I left my beloved Kenya, not knowing when or if I would be back. I didn’t say goodbye to my partners over there. I hadn’t told my board yet and they needed to know my decision first.And maybe I couldn't say goodbye because I didn't want it to be goodbye.  I felt sad, glad, scared, love, and accomplishment as I boarded the plane. The work will go on.  And Kenya will always be a heart home whether I return or not.

Homework

Why Do I Blog?

ABout 5 years ago, I joined a dating/over 50 site called Eons. I saw people blogging and thought, given my experiences in Africa that I might have something unusual to contribute so I began this blog called Mother Madrigal Speaks Out. (And if you haven't read Tales from the City by Armistand Maupin you might not understand who Mother Madrigal is, but I bear an amazing resemblence to her)I found that I quickly had a lot of followers which gave me the push to continue

Eons collapsed, but one of the editors encouraged me to continue and so I did for fun. Until I learned how important it could be to the organization I run. Then the focus changed from my rather personal ramblings to what we were doing in Kenya. Blogging might get us more followers and thus more donors.

Now I blog to get the word out on One Village at a Time. While I try to keep the blog personal, there are things I don't express on the blog anymore because it does represent the organization. I'm not sorry it's not personal. I can use twitter if I want to post political ideas or aging ideas. And hopefully when I am done with this blogging course, more people will follow, they will learn more about what we do, and frankly more about what is happening in Africa, a continent that Americans are woefully ignorant about.

Who are my Peeps?

1. My peeps are people I am trying to educate about the plight of girls and women in poverty stricken areas of the world. Particularly East Africa
2. My peeps are young people who donate and are passionate about what we do
3. My peeps are big donors/foundations who see what we are doing and want to help. I have found that Great Non-Profits and Global Giving were hooked through my twitter and blog posts. And I want more of them.
4. My peeps are those who need to know I am alive, so sometimes the posts are up there to let the folks back home know that I am still here.
5. My peeps are the people in Africa who need information and links to help them with the work they are doing in the areas of empowering women and girls.

I Won't Need This Gun Anymore

He was only 17 and a very brave  boy at that. It was the early 90's and he dared to come out in High School long before it was acceptable. His father threw him out of the house and he was living with an aunt. I was his therapist.

He was totally despondent and called to tell me he was going to kill himself. He couldn't take the name calling or the rejection. I asked him to come to my home in Boston, which, back then, was located at ground zero for gay men. I told him he could kill himself after he visited me. He said he would come.

That evening the guys came home from work. It was a soft spring night and sitting on the stoop is what we did. The men came up to say hi, as was the custom and I introduced the young man to Dan the doctor, his partner Tim the teacher. He met Terry the banker and Richard the lawyer and on and on.

As it got dark the boy got out his back pack and fumbled in it. He took something out. He said to me," I knew I could grow up to be a man, but I didn't know I could grow up to be a gay man." And with that he handed me the gun and said he wouldn't need it anymore.

My Kenya is Gone

Laughing, arm in arm, walking safely on the streets was once the way I knew my heart home. Now blown up children, terror, night blackness, no place safe, my Kenya is gone.

Harambee Sat, 5/12 5-9P

What is 65?

I didn’t think turning 65 would bother me, but it has made me pause. I know now that most of my time has been used. I’m ok with that. I have been talking to a few people about how One Village at a Time got started. I pulled out a video that I put together several years ago.

I look at myself, listen to my words and it seems decades ago. I hear my American voice and I know that the people didn’t understand my nasal accent and me. I see that I was the one doing the work and being lady bountiful. I am almost embarrassed that the people in the film had to be the kindergarten where I first learned how to work in Africa. I hope I did more good than harm.

It’s only been 10 years since I started, but what a journey it has been. Learning patience, accepting the vicissitudes of everyday life over there, keeping hope up when you’re about to fall off the cliff.

The first program was in Siaya. I remember I was so proud that we were feeding, clothing and paying school fees for 18 kids for $4000. How naïve I was. We do that now for little more than $100. I had to learn to get better partners, and that you need to pay people over there. Otherwise the money they get is just too tempting to take a piece of.  And sometimes they do even if you do pay them.  I fled that fiasco when I found that the woman who was supposed to be running the program took all the money. Thank heavens for an understanding board.

The second program got better. We went into schools. I counted on a community organizer to help the program go. It was supposed to be cost sharing, but we never got accurate accounts, and they never made any progress. See, I was still seen as Lady Bountiful with unlimited funds. They had no impetus to change. Oh and that leader, he left for Mombasa and never told me.

But today, when I spoke to Monica in Kigali, I knew we were there. Our program is crisp and clean. I am the woman behind the curtain. No longer do the villagers see me as anything more than a curious white girl. Our team in the field is tough and organized. I found out that when the team went to one school and the parents had not put in their contribution, the team packed up and left. Yesssss. Monica went on to tell me of the changes in the team, all of them good.

We work together, she and I. We are on the same wavelength. We share the same vision. Get these communities up and running and self-sustaining as fast as possible. We laugh over the schools we thought would do poorly are now succeeding. We commiserate over a dishonest worker Monica had to fire. We lay plans for the future

I have come such a long way from the skinny woman I see in that old film. I speak Kenyan English, I don’t fall for the pity party, I continue to love and be blessed by what I do. I know 65 is a number, but it is a number I’ve thought about all my life as an ending and for me, I’m still in the middle of something. So I hope there’s no ending any time soon

Vigilante Justice for Teachers

From time to time people ask me about the schools in Kenya. They wonder mostly about things like computers and assume that because the schools we work in are so poor the kids probably don't learn much. Nothing could be farther from the truth. I, frankly, find that the kids know more in more languages than our kids of the same age do.

In November the National Exams take place for 8th graders. These are the most important exams the kids will take until they graduate secondary school. They are called the KPCE's and the marks will be the ticket to a good school, a national school, or not. Parents, who often don't have much to do with the schools until the exams, worry greatly about the exams and the results can be tragic to say the least.

This year a couple of young girls committed suicide because of their marks, and today I read that a headmaster killed himself because of the poor showing of the children in his school.
But instead of my describing it, here's the article from the Nation.

By Nation Team Newsdesk@ke.nationmedia.com
Posted  Wednesday, January 4  2012 at  22:00

IN SUMMARY

• One headteacher commits suicide and others have been assaulted and run out of school as angry parents vent their anger over poor examination results
• Parents protesting against their children’s poor performance in last year’s exam take out their anger on school heads, roughing them up and locking them out of institutions

A headteacher committed suicide and scores of others were roughed up by irate parents protesting against poor results in last year’s KCPE examination.

One school head was badly injured, another was dragged out of his office and warned never to set foot in the school.

Six others were locked out of their offices by angry parents as the new school term started.

In a number of schools across the country, headteachers just went into hiding, fearing attacks from parents after their schools performed poorly, raising serious questions about the safety of teachers and school administrators.

Results cancelled

Police in Narok County confirmed that the headteacher of Kalyet Primary School in Mulot Division, Mr Geoffrey Kiplang’at Sigei, had taken his life after the school’s results were cancelled by the Kenya National Examinations Council over irregularities.

Mr Sigei’s body was found by relatives in a tea plantation in Bureti District on Tuesday.

Before he committed suicide, the headteacher had gone into hiding after learning that all his 38 candidates had failed to obtain their results since their English and Kiswahili scores were cancelled, said Bureti police boss Smollets Munyianzi.

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He initially sought refuge at a relative’s home and then said he was going to visit a friend on New Year’s day, never to be seen alive again, according to the police boss.

The family started looking for the teacher from the time he left the relative’s home until Tuesday, when his brother, Mr Joseph Sigei, reported the matter to Litein Police Station.

“His wife called relatives wondering why the teacher was not communicating to them. It was then that the family started searching for the teacher, only for his mother to find his body in the tea bushes,” said Mr Munyianzi.

The body was taken to Kapkatet District Hospital mortuary for a postmortem examination.