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.
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.
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