I've mentioned in earlier posts the names of team members I'm working with on this refugee scholarship project, but I wanted to introduce them properly, because theyare phenomenally capable people whose dedication astounds me as much as the hardship they have survived and continue to overcome every day.
It is approprate to start with Mario, as he is the first of the so-called Lost Boys we came to know back in California. Mario is a graduate of University of San Francisco, and my mom was introduced to him by a Christian missionary, Ursula. My mom traveled to Somalia and Haiti with Ursula before realizing that she could accomplish more on humanitarian trips if she ventured out on her own, unfettered by organized religious/bureaucratic organizations. She continued to keep in touch with Mario and his Sudanese friends-Deng, Mamer, and a lot of others who knew each other either from refugee camps or after coming to the US. They were almost all involved in NGO work for Sudan, so my mom and I got involved through them. Last year, she went to Kenya with my dad to meet some of the students who she was introduced to by Mario and who she now sponsors. As I wrote before, this year, our aim is to expand the program, God willing. We haven't gotten any outside funding yet (grants, etc) but to continue to see the project grow (and there is a desperate need for that!), we plan to actively pursue other sources of funding.
Anyway, another member of the team is Deng, also studying in the US. Deng is a softspoken but adamantly just man who plans to get his masters in public health at Touro Univ. in Vallejo, CA. He is a college graduate. He is with us in Kenya right now, but just returned from his marriage in Sudan to a young woman he met in Kakuma refugee camp. They have two kids. He is forever arguing for us to make the most fair decisions regarding students: for instance, not discriminating against Ugandan applicants just because they are in Uganda (and thus harder to keep track of), and not discriminating against students who seem to look better off (what, do we need them to look dirty and bad to sponsor them? he asked last Sunday).
Kwai is another member, but I think I devoted plenty of time to him in my last post. A blessing to the project and more importantly, to SUdanese refugees in Kenya, period.
Then there's Mayen. He's also a refugee who was kidnapped by the SPLA but escaped with Chol, another one in Sudan right now for a school project (Chol did a lot of the organizational work for the project here in Nairobi while me and my mom were in Mexico and at home in CA, respectively). Mayen has two brothers, both of whom are in the US/Canada. They won the lottery like Mario did. He should have gone too, but his paperwork was lost. He's studying catering in college. He's a loyal, hardworking, resourceful, honest, accountable guy, always ready to help his people and their cause. As he told us in Nakuru: I don't care if I have to sleep under a tree, as long as the work gets done. I am learning from his example. He also likes rap music, so I'm going to make him some CD's once I have access to my laptop again.
And finally, there’s Agou Jon. He goes by Agou but I’ve only known him as Jon. I met him over email last year when he wrote to me, telling me about his studies. He had gotten admission to Moi University to study medicine. Moi is a prestigious public university here in Kenya. It’s even harder to get into med school here than in the US, which is saying a LOT (trust me). But he had no money to pay (like everywhere else in the world, studying to be an MD is extremely costly). So he gave it up, and decided to study communications instead. Of course, he excels at it, and USAID is doing creative projects using the radio to bring education to Sudanese, but I can’t help thinking that he would be of much greater service to his people as a doctor. And at least equally as importantly, I believe he’d get more satisfaction from it. Just my .02. Personally, I hope he finishes his current degree and then pursues funding (maybe a Universal Unity scholarship?) next year for medicine. The cost is $7,000 per year for four years. Anyone have any ideas? He is just so capable and dedicated. For instance, on Sunday in Nakuru, we divided up the labor of drawing up cost estimates for each candidate we’d narrowed the list down to. He took university students and I did high school boys and girls. He had class on Monday, but still came at 6pm with a neat Excel spreadsheet detailing everything. Knowing how prepared he would be, I did the same by hand (no laptop), calling all the schools I could in order to find out term costs in each school (each term is priced differently, and there are four forms in high school, three terms per form). I am inspired by his work ethic, as I am by Chol’s, Mayen’s, Kwai’s and Deng’s.
As I mentioned before, some of these students knew each other long before we got to know them as individuals. Mayen told us about how they all knew each other before this, back in Ethiopia and Sudan. Apparently, Chol snuck Mayen out of the SPLA camp at one point, and then himself escaped. In Kenya, Mayen met Mario. They were refugees trying to survive. Mario would bring food, Mayen and others would search for water, and still others would bring firewood back to the bush. Everyone knew Mario because he would bring the food and then distribute it, first to the little ones (like Mayen, back then) and then to the adults. Hearing this made me realize that there’s a whole history I know nothing about, and I have to be humble and keep my eyes, ears and brain wide open to learn as much as possible as I insert myself into this social network.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Monday, July 28, 2008
Back in Nairobi!
It occurred to me that I didn't exactly introduce what me and my mom are here in Kenya to do. Basically, we have accrued through my mom's non-profit organization a sum of money that we would like to now invest in Sudanese refugee children's education here in Kenya. My mom got to know some of the "Lost Boys of Sudan"; students who won a lottery established in the U.S. to bring Sudanese boys living in refugee camps to study in American universities. She developed a relationship with them and as they graduated from universities like San Jose State and University of San Francisco, she realized that they were determined to go back to Kenya and work for change for Sudan. And she wanted to be a part of it. She is already sponsoring 5 or so Sudanese students going to college in Kenya, so this was an extension of a network that was already in place, by God's grace.
So Mario, Deng, and other students from the U.S. (who come back to Kenya when grant money and other means are available) put the word out to the Sudanese refugees studying here, some of whom are my mom's students. They were happy to put up fliers in refugee camps like Kakuma, and schools where Sudanese refugees study. In this way, by the time we got here on Thursday, there were over a hundred secondary school and university students (or hopeful students) waiting for us with their biographies, life stories, and copies of their grades and other documents that might help us make a decision.
Over the weekend, we were in Nakuru, a two hour drive from Nairobi. There are lots of Sudanese refugee students there and we had an even longer day of interviewing than we had in Nairobi the day before. But it was great to meet all the students. My heart broke for the ones who were very nervous, as well as for the ones who had lost a parent (or both). So many have no idea where their parents are. So many have lost their parents to the war. So many woke up from hiding in the bushes from bombs at night, to find that family members were missing in the morning.
So many walked to Ethiopia, then out of Ethiopia and back to Sudan when war broke out in 1991, and then Kenya when life in Sudan became too dangerous to continue. They didn't know they were en route to Kenya. They were just following the masses of refugees.
We spoke more with Kwai, who I mentioned in my first post: he's the coordinator of the donated Sudanese community office in Nairobi. It's called PARAD: Penkyou Agency for Relief and Development. He's an awesome guy, and a great resource for the students. He went with us to Nakuru and was one of our greatest assets. We didn't know much about him until we finally shared a couple of meals together. He was a former SPLA fighter (Sudanese People's Liberation Army; we met others who were kidnapped as children by the SPLA and then taken to Ethiopia before the Ethiopian war, and fed and clothed until they were old enough to either escape or be sent out to fight with AK-47's). He fought for the SPLA and then somehow got to Kenya as a refugee, where he was a teacher in Kakuma camp. Then he got to this post at PARAD, where he helps anyone and everyone in the Sudanese community.
Kwai was deployed by the U.N. (last year? can't remember) on a peace mission tothe Murlee tribe of Sudan. I am finding from interviewing students that one of the most commmon reasons for poverty and refugee status is the Murlee warriors. The Dinka and the Nueri tribes are frequently attacked by the Murlees, who steal children and cattle. Apparently, they suffer from STD's and some of them are left barren; Kwai says he hasn't seen any Murlee boys in their community, only Dinka and Nueri (perhaps stolen or bought). They even wanted to buy him when he was a young boy!
Anyway, so he was deployed with a team of 7 other Dinka and 2 Kenyans to Sudan. Their mission was public health: they didn't want to hold the Murlee accountable, they only wanted to give them what they obviously lacked: food and water (probably the reason for their reliance on thievery to subsist). They came expressing their desire to help with finding water, and drilled holes to 100 meters searching for a water source, with no luck. The Murlee got angry, starting to mistrust the team, and Kwai said he was truly afraid they'd attack. So he called the U.N. and got permission to drill to 120 meters, and a plane dropped more supplies so that they could continue their mission. They found water and drilled a lot of holes, and the Murlee celebrated with their tribal dances and by smearing cow dung, blood and saliva on Kwai and his team.
Despite their portrayal as guerrilla warriors and terrorists (as far as I know), the SPLA doesn't seem to be held in contempt by the Sudanese people I've been talking to. They steal kids and give them AK-47's, but I think in Sudan, where you have the Murlee and the Arabs terrorizing peaceful tribes, the SPLA stands against them, and is probably not too badly received. In fact, they seem to be somewhat well-received; in another moment of danger, when leaving the Murlees, Kwai had to call for emergency protection and the SPLA came to his rescue, surrounding the area with troops while a U.N. plane came to airlift his team out of Sudan.
Yesterday and today were devoted to compiling all the students’ information, including grades, schools, family status (Which is an indication of need…orphan? One parent? Father or mother? Who currently pays school fees, if anyone?), how many terms they have left (there are three terms per year for a high school student), and all sorts of other helpful information. We also narrowed down the list to about 12 university candidates, 12 high school boys, and 10 high school girls. It was definitely a two-day job, with me on the phone to all the high schools I could reach to confirm fees, and Jon making an excel sheet of estimated costs for all the university candidates. Yesterday, we also visited three girls’ schools, as educating girls is a priority of ours. We were not impressed with any, but got a lot of insight into what life is like for a student. You’re not allowed to go to your room anytime you want (as a boarder); they lock the rooms from 6am to 9pm because otherwise people steal from the rooms. Crime is such a danger in schools that you can’t even keep any pocket money with you; you have to leave it in the main office and take it out as you need it.
Today, we had two more last minute interviews, one for high school and one for college. One of the candidates was a 17 year old boy whose mom currently works for the SPLA and earns $100USD a month (the reason for her joining). She tries to support her son, but she has four kids. They are all in Kakuma refugee camp, and she is back in Sudan. Their father was killed. He is a straight-A student. The only hindrance to his studies is his ulcers. I think he’s so afraid to eat because of the grinding pain that he simply doesn’t eat except for the sake of survival (in fact, most Sudanese I meet only eat twice a day, or even just once, just something to keep them alive, even in Kenya). He is so thin! I talked to him at length about food at schools, and it’s hard because the schools have a set menu and his ulcers make it impossible to eat some of what they give. I asked him to buy bread with some money, but he can’t take any outside food to his boarding school; if he does, the administration will search him and take it away! Why? For fear of stealing. Yes, even a loaf of bread.
Sudanese are definitely treated differently in society. Today I was reminded of this fact yet again. We had borrowed a stapler at the motel we did most of our work at yesterday. Today, we borrowed another stapler. It looked very similar to the one we were using yesterday, and I wondered if one of us had mistakenly taken it from the motel in Nakuru. It turned out that we hadn’t, it was just a very similar-looking stapler (broken in the same way). But Mayen, one of the boys on our team, then mentioned to us that yesterday, someone called the police and told them that two Sudanese boys had stolen a stapler from the front desk. The truth is, we were all using that stapler! I had borrowed it earlier in the morning and returned it; he had come back because we needed it again. I was so angry…how unfair. The things they have to deal with in terms of discrimination, on top of lack of food and having gone through so much.
Ok this is the longest blog ever, so I’ll have to save some of this for later.
So Mario, Deng, and other students from the U.S. (who come back to Kenya when grant money and other means are available) put the word out to the Sudanese refugees studying here, some of whom are my mom's students. They were happy to put up fliers in refugee camps like Kakuma, and schools where Sudanese refugees study. In this way, by the time we got here on Thursday, there were over a hundred secondary school and university students (or hopeful students) waiting for us with their biographies, life stories, and copies of their grades and other documents that might help us make a decision.
Over the weekend, we were in Nakuru, a two hour drive from Nairobi. There are lots of Sudanese refugee students there and we had an even longer day of interviewing than we had in Nairobi the day before. But it was great to meet all the students. My heart broke for the ones who were very nervous, as well as for the ones who had lost a parent (or both). So many have no idea where their parents are. So many have lost their parents to the war. So many woke up from hiding in the bushes from bombs at night, to find that family members were missing in the morning.
So many walked to Ethiopia, then out of Ethiopia and back to Sudan when war broke out in 1991, and then Kenya when life in Sudan became too dangerous to continue. They didn't know they were en route to Kenya. They were just following the masses of refugees.
We spoke more with Kwai, who I mentioned in my first post: he's the coordinator of the donated Sudanese community office in Nairobi. It's called PARAD: Penkyou Agency for Relief and Development. He's an awesome guy, and a great resource for the students. He went with us to Nakuru and was one of our greatest assets. We didn't know much about him until we finally shared a couple of meals together. He was a former SPLA fighter (Sudanese People's Liberation Army; we met others who were kidnapped as children by the SPLA and then taken to Ethiopia before the Ethiopian war, and fed and clothed until they were old enough to either escape or be sent out to fight with AK-47's). He fought for the SPLA and then somehow got to Kenya as a refugee, where he was a teacher in Kakuma camp. Then he got to this post at PARAD, where he helps anyone and everyone in the Sudanese community.
Kwai was deployed by the U.N. (last year? can't remember) on a peace mission tothe Murlee tribe of Sudan. I am finding from interviewing students that one of the most commmon reasons for poverty and refugee status is the Murlee warriors. The Dinka and the Nueri tribes are frequently attacked by the Murlees, who steal children and cattle. Apparently, they suffer from STD's and some of them are left barren; Kwai says he hasn't seen any Murlee boys in their community, only Dinka and Nueri (perhaps stolen or bought). They even wanted to buy him when he was a young boy!
Anyway, so he was deployed with a team of 7 other Dinka and 2 Kenyans to Sudan. Their mission was public health: they didn't want to hold the Murlee accountable, they only wanted to give them what they obviously lacked: food and water (probably the reason for their reliance on thievery to subsist). They came expressing their desire to help with finding water, and drilled holes to 100 meters searching for a water source, with no luck. The Murlee got angry, starting to mistrust the team, and Kwai said he was truly afraid they'd attack. So he called the U.N. and got permission to drill to 120 meters, and a plane dropped more supplies so that they could continue their mission. They found water and drilled a lot of holes, and the Murlee celebrated with their tribal dances and by smearing cow dung, blood and saliva on Kwai and his team.
Despite their portrayal as guerrilla warriors and terrorists (as far as I know), the SPLA doesn't seem to be held in contempt by the Sudanese people I've been talking to. They steal kids and give them AK-47's, but I think in Sudan, where you have the Murlee and the Arabs terrorizing peaceful tribes, the SPLA stands against them, and is probably not too badly received. In fact, they seem to be somewhat well-received; in another moment of danger, when leaving the Murlees, Kwai had to call for emergency protection and the SPLA came to his rescue, surrounding the area with troops while a U.N. plane came to airlift his team out of Sudan.
Yesterday and today were devoted to compiling all the students’ information, including grades, schools, family status (Which is an indication of need…orphan? One parent? Father or mother? Who currently pays school fees, if anyone?), how many terms they have left (there are three terms per year for a high school student), and all sorts of other helpful information. We also narrowed down the list to about 12 university candidates, 12 high school boys, and 10 high school girls. It was definitely a two-day job, with me on the phone to all the high schools I could reach to confirm fees, and Jon making an excel sheet of estimated costs for all the university candidates. Yesterday, we also visited three girls’ schools, as educating girls is a priority of ours. We were not impressed with any, but got a lot of insight into what life is like for a student. You’re not allowed to go to your room anytime you want (as a boarder); they lock the rooms from 6am to 9pm because otherwise people steal from the rooms. Crime is such a danger in schools that you can’t even keep any pocket money with you; you have to leave it in the main office and take it out as you need it.
Today, we had two more last minute interviews, one for high school and one for college. One of the candidates was a 17 year old boy whose mom currently works for the SPLA and earns $100USD a month (the reason for her joining). She tries to support her son, but she has four kids. They are all in Kakuma refugee camp, and she is back in Sudan. Their father was killed. He is a straight-A student. The only hindrance to his studies is his ulcers. I think he’s so afraid to eat because of the grinding pain that he simply doesn’t eat except for the sake of survival (in fact, most Sudanese I meet only eat twice a day, or even just once, just something to keep them alive, even in Kenya). He is so thin! I talked to him at length about food at schools, and it’s hard because the schools have a set menu and his ulcers make it impossible to eat some of what they give. I asked him to buy bread with some money, but he can’t take any outside food to his boarding school; if he does, the administration will search him and take it away! Why? For fear of stealing. Yes, even a loaf of bread.
Sudanese are definitely treated differently in society. Today I was reminded of this fact yet again. We had borrowed a stapler at the motel we did most of our work at yesterday. Today, we borrowed another stapler. It looked very similar to the one we were using yesterday, and I wondered if one of us had mistakenly taken it from the motel in Nakuru. It turned out that we hadn’t, it was just a very similar-looking stapler (broken in the same way). But Mayen, one of the boys on our team, then mentioned to us that yesterday, someone called the police and told them that two Sudanese boys had stolen a stapler from the front desk. The truth is, we were all using that stapler! I had borrowed it earlier in the morning and returned it; he had come back because we needed it again. I was so angry…how unfair. The things they have to deal with in terms of discrimination, on top of lack of food and having gone through so much.
Ok this is the longest blog ever, so I’ll have to save some of this for later.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Kenya, so far
so we had a whilrwind first two days in kenya, starting early morning friday to see all the college students we had lined up to select for scholarships. lots of students came to the donated sudanese "office" in nairobi, and we ended up splitting up into two teams with me and mom working separately, so we could see everyone in a timely fashion both for the students' sake and ours. some of these kids came from really far so we had to see them, no matter whether they were promising or not.
to hear them describe what they go through as you try to figure out how they live, how they study, what their plans are, is really something else. another post.
after a hectic first day, this morning we woke up super early (like 2am) because we couldn't sleep. late night i had been compiling all the student information into one coherent master list, so at 3 or 4 mom and i decided to work on it together as neither of us could sleep anyway. so we ate the emergency quaker granola bars and finished the list, two separate ones, one for college and one for high school candidates.
then at 6 we started to get ready to check out of the hotel already for nakuru, where we are now. nakuru is a couple hours away from nairobi, and it is where a lot of high school candidates are. so we came here. there were lots more high school students waiting for us than college. we ended up seeing 35 yesterday, not sure yet how many today. we just got done and went to eat food, and then came here. we are restless but zombielike because of the jet lag.
on the way to nakuru we were told we'd have to stop and vacate the car and be inspected by police because there have been recent cases of people with guns in buses like ours, but it didn't happen.
the sudanese are definitely treated differently here. you can tell they are different by their facial features and they are a lot blacker than kenyans. we don't understand swahili but we understand they are called by their nationality "sudanese" sometimes and this evening one of the students claimed he needed 3,000 kenyan shillings (conversion: 67 KSh = 1 dollar) to get home because the police stop him and take money from him, and he's in trouble if he doesn't have the cash.
there are lots of stories like this going around. i tend to believe them despite how awful they sound because they are so alike among sudanese refugees, and because they tell you the truth even when they don't have to (for instance we ask, what are your grades? they will tell you B- or whatever they are even when they didn't bring their documents. they could just say A, right?). anyway.
i am surprised to find who i like working with and who i almost cannot tolerate. i really like john agou, and deng, and chol, and mayen. i am on a short string with mario, who is from the US and got 8,000 through Univ Unity to check things out in Sudan. i just lost my patience after awhile. and after the 30th interview you're just like please...but mayen is really honest and hardworking, and chol always has a smile on his face, and john has a cool head but he notices a lot of things, and kwai is another one who is coordinating everything behind the scenes. we couldn't do this without them. they made the lists and told everyone when and where to come, and had staplers to staple documents, and gave us the applications as the students came in to ensure steady flow to get things done efficiently, etc. etc. we really have to be grateful.
now we have the even more daunting task of going through all this information and selecting the students. we wanted 5 girls and 5 boys for college and 15 high school students in roughly the same gender proportions. it's tough to find college girls, easier to find female high school candidates. but we have so much information on so many candidates, and because we split up into two groups over two full interview days, we have to communicate so everyone is up to date on every candidate and we can all make a fair, informed decision. not to mention that we haven't done proper justice to the essays of each applicant, so we have to do that.
we are also taking photos of each applicant to put together with their scanned autobiographies and other school documents, to create a profile online of each of these students, so that their efforts in applying to Universal Unity scholarships will not be in vain, God willing. our hope is to put each of their profiles up on the internet, and publicize it so that donors can be connected with these students and can put money toward their tuition, kind of like kiva.org. this was reshma's idea and i think it is an excellent one. we want to show appreciation for the fact that they came all this way and overcame so much hardship to pursue their desire to study, jumping through our hoops of paperwork, essay, and face-to-face interview. none of this could have been easy.
tomorrow we are going to see lake nakuru, apparently there are flamingoes there so we will hopefully visit for awhile. nakuru is not a big city, but it is definitely a town and not a village, so there is a lot of commerce and traffic here. i want to walk the streets more and get more of a feel of what life is like here before we leave on monday morning. and of course, we have a LOT to talk about regarding the candidates we have interviewed!
to hear them describe what they go through as you try to figure out how they live, how they study, what their plans are, is really something else. another post.
after a hectic first day, this morning we woke up super early (like 2am) because we couldn't sleep. late night i had been compiling all the student information into one coherent master list, so at 3 or 4 mom and i decided to work on it together as neither of us could sleep anyway. so we ate the emergency quaker granola bars and finished the list, two separate ones, one for college and one for high school candidates.
then at 6 we started to get ready to check out of the hotel already for nakuru, where we are now. nakuru is a couple hours away from nairobi, and it is where a lot of high school candidates are. so we came here. there were lots more high school students waiting for us than college. we ended up seeing 35 yesterday, not sure yet how many today. we just got done and went to eat food, and then came here. we are restless but zombielike because of the jet lag.
on the way to nakuru we were told we'd have to stop and vacate the car and be inspected by police because there have been recent cases of people with guns in buses like ours, but it didn't happen.
the sudanese are definitely treated differently here. you can tell they are different by their facial features and they are a lot blacker than kenyans. we don't understand swahili but we understand they are called by their nationality "sudanese" sometimes and this evening one of the students claimed he needed 3,000 kenyan shillings (conversion: 67 KSh = 1 dollar) to get home because the police stop him and take money from him, and he's in trouble if he doesn't have the cash.
there are lots of stories like this going around. i tend to believe them despite how awful they sound because they are so alike among sudanese refugees, and because they tell you the truth even when they don't have to (for instance we ask, what are your grades? they will tell you B- or whatever they are even when they didn't bring their documents. they could just say A, right?). anyway.
i am surprised to find who i like working with and who i almost cannot tolerate. i really like john agou, and deng, and chol, and mayen. i am on a short string with mario, who is from the US and got 8,000 through Univ Unity to check things out in Sudan. i just lost my patience after awhile. and after the 30th interview you're just like please...but mayen is really honest and hardworking, and chol always has a smile on his face, and john has a cool head but he notices a lot of things, and kwai is another one who is coordinating everything behind the scenes. we couldn't do this without them. they made the lists and told everyone when and where to come, and had staplers to staple documents, and gave us the applications as the students came in to ensure steady flow to get things done efficiently, etc. etc. we really have to be grateful.
now we have the even more daunting task of going through all this information and selecting the students. we wanted 5 girls and 5 boys for college and 15 high school students in roughly the same gender proportions. it's tough to find college girls, easier to find female high school candidates. but we have so much information on so many candidates, and because we split up into two groups over two full interview days, we have to communicate so everyone is up to date on every candidate and we can all make a fair, informed decision. not to mention that we haven't done proper justice to the essays of each applicant, so we have to do that.
we are also taking photos of each applicant to put together with their scanned autobiographies and other school documents, to create a profile online of each of these students, so that their efforts in applying to Universal Unity scholarships will not be in vain, God willing. our hope is to put each of their profiles up on the internet, and publicize it so that donors can be connected with these students and can put money toward their tuition, kind of like kiva.org. this was reshma's idea and i think it is an excellent one. we want to show appreciation for the fact that they came all this way and overcame so much hardship to pursue their desire to study, jumping through our hoops of paperwork, essay, and face-to-face interview. none of this could have been easy.
tomorrow we are going to see lake nakuru, apparently there are flamingoes there so we will hopefully visit for awhile. nakuru is not a big city, but it is definitely a town and not a village, so there is a lot of commerce and traffic here. i want to walk the streets more and get more of a feel of what life is like here before we leave on monday morning. and of course, we have a LOT to talk about regarding the candidates we have interviewed!
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Liberation Theology
I'm writing this post fresh off the beginning of what I hope will be a lifelong commitment to the betterment of public health in the rural highlands of Chiapas, Mexico. Sounds like a lofty statement. That's probably because it is.
Anyway, it was an amazing experience, meriting its own blog (estufasenchiapas.blogspot.com). I got back a couple days ago, ate my weight in junk food, and am leaving for Kenya tonight. Hey, they said it was our last summer and I believed them, so I figured I better do it big.
Chiapas was about getting stoves to families that cook with open fires, and Kenya is about educating Sudanese refugee kids. Disparate projects, but they seem to have one disturbing theme in common, the topic of which is this blog entry: liberation theology.
It's no surprise that religious groups are doing good work in resource-poor areas. After all, one of the basic tenets of any religious faith is to help those in need. It's not disturbing to me that Christians (or Muslims or Jews, for that matter) are putting Sudanese orphans through school or contributing to the empowerment of native Mexicans in Chiapas. What is disturbing (to me, that is) is that an undeniable byproduct of their aid is the conversion of the disenfranchised to the faith of their benefactors.
Now, it may well be the case that I am the only one bothered by this observation. Perhaps the recipients of faith-based organizational aid are unfettered by, or even grateful for, the importation of institutional religion into their cultures and communities. That's not for me to say, and there has been such a profound interweaving of ideas since as far back as the 16th century that the complexities are pretty great.
I believe in God, but inseparable from my faith is my conviction that everyone should use their own eyes, ears and brains to figure out what makes sense for themselves. For some reason, the disenfranchised of this world have endured the structural violence of hegemonic relationships for so long now that some of them seem more apt to accept what they are told (even by those who created those hegemonies) than to think for themselves. As Jaime from Medicos del Mundo told me and my crew in Chiapas a couple weeks ago, if you tell an indigenous man that this piece of paper is worth $1,000 pesos, he will believe you. This observation, to me, is potentially almost as disturbing and destructive as Hernan Cortes was to the Aztecs, or as NAFTA has been to the campesino. I'm exaggerating, but you get the idea.
So how do we empower the have-nots to think for themselves? How do we get to the point where as we objectify them by talking about them as the "have-nots", they too are creating social constructs in which we are pinned as the "haves", creating a way of seeing the world that makes sense to them and in which they have agency and can affect change?
Health and education are the only things I can come up with.
Health + education = agency. Health and education = object --> subject.
This post was supposed to be about liberation theology, so I guess I should say things about that now.
Mainly, I am concerned about the mixing of charitable work and religion. I think it's perfectly fine to share your religious beliefs with others. I definitely do. But sharing beliefs is different from building a church in the local community and tying aid (whether it's education, medicines, housing) to evangelism. In my opinion, it creates in people an unnecessary association between a hand up in life, and a particular way of thinking about the world (ie, Christ is going to save me). It creates in someone whose needs are so great that they don't have the luxury of choice, particular ideas about reality that ought to be his or her decision to make. And in fact, in many of these communities, despite big churches and crosses, people maintain their native ideas about life. And they are often in direct conflict with European religious constructs.
Case in point: I receive emails from Sudanese refugees living in Kenya trying to scrape money together to go to university. One of them wrote to me addressing me as his "sister in Christ". I don't believe that Christ is going to save me, I just believe in God alone, so I mentioned that to him. He wrote me back, and it was a worried email in which he apologized for having "misspoken" and written about Christ. He reassured me that he believed in God alone. And then he asked me again about school fees.
Am I to hold him in contempt for verbally conforming to my own beliefs in the hopes that it will secure some financial stability for his schooling? Definitely not. But I know that there is a strong Christian presence in Sudanese refugee aid efforts, and I am frankly suspicious that it has directly resulted in a large number of "Christian" refugees. What they want/need is a hand up in life, and there isn't much they are not willing to say or do to get it. I would, too, in their shoes.
Nor, however, do I hold religious NGOs in contempt. They are not force-feeding their beneficiaries with their own brand of theology. One can even see the conversion of native Mexicans to Christianity during aid efforts (ie, liberation theology) as an inevitable byproduct of such charitable projects. But I strongly believe that those spearheading these projects should be aware that instead of urging their own religious beliefs (voice them, yes, but voicing is different from evangelizing), they should exhort their charges to use their brains and think for themselves, and then give them the freedom to make their own choices.
And what is freedom? How do you give it to a person? By fighting to increase their access to health and education, I think.
Anyway, it was an amazing experience, meriting its own blog (estufasenchiapas.blogspot.com). I got back a couple days ago, ate my weight in junk food, and am leaving for Kenya tonight. Hey, they said it was our last summer and I believed them, so I figured I better do it big.
Chiapas was about getting stoves to families that cook with open fires, and Kenya is about educating Sudanese refugee kids. Disparate projects, but they seem to have one disturbing theme in common, the topic of which is this blog entry: liberation theology.
It's no surprise that religious groups are doing good work in resource-poor areas. After all, one of the basic tenets of any religious faith is to help those in need. It's not disturbing to me that Christians (or Muslims or Jews, for that matter) are putting Sudanese orphans through school or contributing to the empowerment of native Mexicans in Chiapas. What is disturbing (to me, that is) is that an undeniable byproduct of their aid is the conversion of the disenfranchised to the faith of their benefactors.
Now, it may well be the case that I am the only one bothered by this observation. Perhaps the recipients of faith-based organizational aid are unfettered by, or even grateful for, the importation of institutional religion into their cultures and communities. That's not for me to say, and there has been such a profound interweaving of ideas since as far back as the 16th century that the complexities are pretty great.
I believe in God, but inseparable from my faith is my conviction that everyone should use their own eyes, ears and brains to figure out what makes sense for themselves. For some reason, the disenfranchised of this world have endured the structural violence of hegemonic relationships for so long now that some of them seem more apt to accept what they are told (even by those who created those hegemonies) than to think for themselves. As Jaime from Medicos del Mundo told me and my crew in Chiapas a couple weeks ago, if you tell an indigenous man that this piece of paper is worth $1,000 pesos, he will believe you. This observation, to me, is potentially almost as disturbing and destructive as Hernan Cortes was to the Aztecs, or as NAFTA has been to the campesino. I'm exaggerating, but you get the idea.
So how do we empower the have-nots to think for themselves? How do we get to the point where as we objectify them by talking about them as the "have-nots", they too are creating social constructs in which we are pinned as the "haves", creating a way of seeing the world that makes sense to them and in which they have agency and can affect change?
Health and education are the only things I can come up with.
Health + education = agency. Health and education = object --> subject.
This post was supposed to be about liberation theology, so I guess I should say things about that now.
Mainly, I am concerned about the mixing of charitable work and religion. I think it's perfectly fine to share your religious beliefs with others. I definitely do. But sharing beliefs is different from building a church in the local community and tying aid (whether it's education, medicines, housing) to evangelism. In my opinion, it creates in people an unnecessary association between a hand up in life, and a particular way of thinking about the world (ie, Christ is going to save me). It creates in someone whose needs are so great that they don't have the luxury of choice, particular ideas about reality that ought to be his or her decision to make. And in fact, in many of these communities, despite big churches and crosses, people maintain their native ideas about life. And they are often in direct conflict with European religious constructs.
Case in point: I receive emails from Sudanese refugees living in Kenya trying to scrape money together to go to university. One of them wrote to me addressing me as his "sister in Christ". I don't believe that Christ is going to save me, I just believe in God alone, so I mentioned that to him. He wrote me back, and it was a worried email in which he apologized for having "misspoken" and written about Christ. He reassured me that he believed in God alone. And then he asked me again about school fees.
Am I to hold him in contempt for verbally conforming to my own beliefs in the hopes that it will secure some financial stability for his schooling? Definitely not. But I know that there is a strong Christian presence in Sudanese refugee aid efforts, and I am frankly suspicious that it has directly resulted in a large number of "Christian" refugees. What they want/need is a hand up in life, and there isn't much they are not willing to say or do to get it. I would, too, in their shoes.
Nor, however, do I hold religious NGOs in contempt. They are not force-feeding their beneficiaries with their own brand of theology. One can even see the conversion of native Mexicans to Christianity during aid efforts (ie, liberation theology) as an inevitable byproduct of such charitable projects. But I strongly believe that those spearheading these projects should be aware that instead of urging their own religious beliefs (voice them, yes, but voicing is different from evangelizing), they should exhort their charges to use their brains and think for themselves, and then give them the freedom to make their own choices.
And what is freedom? How do you give it to a person? By fighting to increase their access to health and education, I think.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Last night, after a week of studying for a couple of brutal national exams (whose sole purpose was evidently to convince us first-years that we still know nothing about medicine), I went to the Santa Ana armory to see patients with doctors, residents and other medical students. It was a good experience, as it made me reflect on my choice of profession more than anything else had in a long time.
First, some background: the armory is a seasonal night-time shelter in Santa Ana, California that runs only during the winter months. It opens its doors every evening around 6pm, and closes at 5am (the homeless are woken up at 4:30am to gather their belongings). It is located in a big warehouse stocked with 200+ four-by-six mattresses that accommodate its nightly patrons.
However, despite the lack of a kitchen, a child-care area, and other basic necessities of a shelter for people who have nothing (such as being open year-round, perhaps), the armory is generally well-run. It does its best to provide the services its clients need most: health care, legal aid, toiletries, and a hot meal.
My experience, of course, was in the clinic. MD's, DO's, residents, nurses, social workers and students are all part of the team providing care for 24-30 patients in a two hour time slot--no small feat. I've seen a lot of volunteer clinics, and this one worked well. Everyone had a role to play (even us first-years!) and things went fairly smoothly, the only worry (and it's a big one) being that homelessness is a disease too complex to cure in a twenty-minute visit. No matter how good a triage system you have.
I was paired with a family physician from Kaiser, a soft-spoken guy who (thankfully) was happy to have me around. He seemed like a natural teacher, and was eager to explain the intricacies of each case and field my endless string of questions. He was impressed that I knew what Barrett's esophagus was (he didn't know it might be the only thing I learned in histology) and that I was able to come up with differential diagnoses (even though much of the time, my differentials were longshots). In short, he was a kind man.
We saw several patients, and all of them reminded me of how my interests in literature, doctoring and people are the very reason I sit on my butt all day reading about the human body. I met an elderly German who shared his name with a film star from his country and chastised me for my poor geography. A Santa Ana native who came in for infected abscesses from heroine use and told us he spoke three languages: "English, Spanish and obscene." A jittery lady who "got out of prison on February 28th and lost all my teeth by the first of March." (I didn't ask how, despite wanting to know, because her chronic acid reflux was a much more pressing concern). "This homeless thing really gets in the way of eating properly and not stressing out," she told us. No kidding. We met a slight African American gentleman who hobbled into our station so fatigued he spoke in a whisper and had to rest on a cane. He was suffering from congestive heart failure, high blood pressure, peripheral neuropathy, and a really bad case of athlete's foot (which I noticed!). "Try to keep your feet as dry as possible, buddy," the doctor advised, despite all three of us knowing that his feet were the least of his worries. It was hard not to feel a little overwhelmed by the daily struggles the patients obviously face.
The night reminded me that everyone has a story. Not just homeless people, for that matter, but everyone. When we see standardized patients with our teachers and peers at school, or even when we practice interviewing with community doctors, I never get the feeling that I'm truly listening to a patient. I'm worried about whether my history-taking is orderly, or whether I'm asking all the right questions, or whether I'm projecting professionalism. But last night, in a real clinical setting, I felt more natural than ever before. And it didn't make me a worse clinician-in-training...in fact, I think it made me a better one. I was truly listening to the patients, trying to understand the evolution of their chief complaint from their point of view. Questions popped up in their logical progression; their answers led me down various paths. Some were right, others were clearly wrong. Either way, I felt a true connection with the patients, and I can't wait to volunteer again. Being a doctor is bearing witness to people's private life stories, and there is nothing I'd rather do than be the person who gets to hear them (and hopefully, one day, do something about it).
First, some background: the armory is a seasonal night-time shelter in Santa Ana, California that runs only during the winter months. It opens its doors every evening around 6pm, and closes at 5am (the homeless are woken up at 4:30am to gather their belongings). It is located in a big warehouse stocked with 200+ four-by-six mattresses that accommodate its nightly patrons.
However, despite the lack of a kitchen, a child-care area, and other basic necessities of a shelter for people who have nothing (such as being open year-round, perhaps), the armory is generally well-run. It does its best to provide the services its clients need most: health care, legal aid, toiletries, and a hot meal.
My experience, of course, was in the clinic. MD's, DO's, residents, nurses, social workers and students are all part of the team providing care for 24-30 patients in a two hour time slot--no small feat. I've seen a lot of volunteer clinics, and this one worked well. Everyone had a role to play (even us first-years!) and things went fairly smoothly, the only worry (and it's a big one) being that homelessness is a disease too complex to cure in a twenty-minute visit. No matter how good a triage system you have.
I was paired with a family physician from Kaiser, a soft-spoken guy who (thankfully) was happy to have me around. He seemed like a natural teacher, and was eager to explain the intricacies of each case and field my endless string of questions. He was impressed that I knew what Barrett's esophagus was (he didn't know it might be the only thing I learned in histology) and that I was able to come up with differential diagnoses (even though much of the time, my differentials were longshots). In short, he was a kind man.
We saw several patients, and all of them reminded me of how my interests in literature, doctoring and people are the very reason I sit on my butt all day reading about the human body. I met an elderly German who shared his name with a film star from his country and chastised me for my poor geography. A Santa Ana native who came in for infected abscesses from heroine use and told us he spoke three languages: "English, Spanish and obscene." A jittery lady who "got out of prison on February 28th and lost all my teeth by the first of March." (I didn't ask how, despite wanting to know, because her chronic acid reflux was a much more pressing concern). "This homeless thing really gets in the way of eating properly and not stressing out," she told us. No kidding. We met a slight African American gentleman who hobbled into our station so fatigued he spoke in a whisper and had to rest on a cane. He was suffering from congestive heart failure, high blood pressure, peripheral neuropathy, and a really bad case of athlete's foot (which I noticed!). "Try to keep your feet as dry as possible, buddy," the doctor advised, despite all three of us knowing that his feet were the least of his worries. It was hard not to feel a little overwhelmed by the daily struggles the patients obviously face.
The night reminded me that everyone has a story. Not just homeless people, for that matter, but everyone. When we see standardized patients with our teachers and peers at school, or even when we practice interviewing with community doctors, I never get the feeling that I'm truly listening to a patient. I'm worried about whether my history-taking is orderly, or whether I'm asking all the right questions, or whether I'm projecting professionalism. But last night, in a real clinical setting, I felt more natural than ever before. And it didn't make me a worse clinician-in-training...in fact, I think it made me a better one. I was truly listening to the patients, trying to understand the evolution of their chief complaint from their point of view. Questions popped up in their logical progression; their answers led me down various paths. Some were right, others were clearly wrong. Either way, I felt a true connection with the patients, and I can't wait to volunteer again. Being a doctor is bearing witness to people's private life stories, and there is nothing I'd rather do than be the person who gets to hear them (and hopefully, one day, do something about it).
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Bush, SCHIP, and Med School
From a NYT article today, this is Bush's explanation for why he vetoed a SCHIP expansion bill supported even by his own Republican contingency:
“It is estimated that if this program were to become law, one out of every three persons that would subscribe to the new expanded Schip would leave private insurance,” the president said. “The policies of the government ought to be to help poor children and to focus on poor children, and the policies of the government ought to be to help people find private insurance, not federal coverage. And that’s where the philosophical divide comes in.”
Well, he got that last part right. It is definitely a philosophical divide. Between him, and sane people. Because that's what insanity is: when things don't make sense and they aren't getting better, but we keep on ignoring intelligent stimuli because we're...not sane.
“It is estimated that if this program were to become law, one out of every three persons that would subscribe to the new expanded Schip would leave private insurance,” the president said. “The policies of the government ought to be to help poor children and to focus on poor children, and the policies of the government ought to be to help people find private insurance, not federal coverage. And that’s where the philosophical divide comes in.”
Well, he got that last part right. It is definitely a philosophical divide. Between him, and sane people. Because that's what insanity is: when things don't make sense and they aren't getting better, but we keep on ignoring intelligent stimuli because we're...not sane.
Monday, September 3, 2007
Stop Trying To 'Save' Africa
By Uzodinma Iweala
The Washington Post
Sunday, July 15, 2007; B07
Last fall, shortly after I returned from Nigeria, I was accosted by a
perky blond college student whose blue eyes seemed to match the
"African" beads around her wrists.
"Save Darfur!" she shouted from behind a table covered with pamphlets
urging students to TAKE ACTION NOW! STOP GENOCIDE IN DARFUR!
My aversion to college kids jumping onto fashionable social causes
nearly caused me to walk on, but her next shout stopped me.
"Don't you want to help us save Africa?" she yelled.
It seems that these days, wracked by guilt at the humanitarian crisis
it has created in the Middle East, the West has turned to Africa for
redemption. Idealistic college students, celebrities such as Bob
Geldof and politicians such as Tony Blair have all made bringing light
to the dark continent their mission. They fly in for internships and
fact-finding missions or to pick out children to adopt in much the
same way my friends and I in New York take the subway to the pound to
adopt stray dogs.
This is the West's new image of itself: a sexy, politically active
generation whose preferred means of spreading the word are magazine
spreads with celebrities pictured in the foreground, forlorn Africans
in the back. Never mind that the stars sent to bring succor to the
natives often are, willingly, as emaciated as those they want to help.
Perhaps most interesting is the language used to describe the Africa
being saved. For example, the Keep a Child Alive/" I am African" ad
campaign features portraits of primarily white, Western celebrities
with painted "tribal markings" on their faces above "I AM AFRICAN" in
bold letters. Below, smaller print says, "help us stop the dying."
Such campaigns, however well intentioned, promote the stereotype of
Africa as a black hole of disease and death. News reports constantly
focus on the continent's corrupt leaders, warlords, "tribal"
conflicts, child laborers, and women disfigured by abuse and genital
mutilation. These descriptions run under headlines like "Can Bono Save
Africa?" or "Will Brangelina Save Africa?" The relationship between
the West and Africa is no longer based on openly racist beliefs, but
such articles are reminiscent of reports from the heyday of European
colonialism, when missionaries were sent to Africa to introduce us to
education, Jesus Christ and "civilization."
There is no African, myself included, who does not appreciate the
help of the wider world, but we do question whether aid is genuine or
given in the spirit of affirming one's cultural superiority. My mood
is dampened every time I attend a benefit whose host runs through a
litany of African disasters before presenting a (usually) wealthy,
white person, who often proceeds to list the things he or she has done
for the poor, starving Africans. Every time a well-meaning college
student speaks of villagers dancing because they were so grateful for
her help, I cringe. Every time a Hollywood director shoots a film
about Africa that features a Western protagonist, I shake my head --
because Africans, real people though we may be, are used as props in
the West's fantasy of itself. And not only do such depictions tend to
ignore the West's prominent role in creating many of the unfortunate
situations on the continent, they also ignore the incredible work
Africans have done and continue to do to fix those problems.
Why do the media frequently refer to African countries as having been
"granted independence from their colonial masters," as opposed to
having fought and shed blood for their freedom? Why do Angelina Jolie
and Bono receive overwhelming attention for their work in Africa while
Nwankwo Kanu or Dikembe Mutombo, Africans both, are hardly ever
mentioned? How is it that a former mid-level U.S. diplomat receives
more attention for his cowboy antics in Sudan than do the numerous
African Union countries that have sent food and troops and spent
countless hours trying to negotiate a settlement among all parties in
that crisis?
Two years ago I worked in a camp for internally displaced people in
Nigeria, survivors of an uprising that killed about 1,000 people and
displaced 200,000. True to form, the Western media reported on the
violence but not on the humanitarian work the state and local
governments -- without much international help -- did for the
survivors. Social workers spent their time and in many cases their own
salaries to care for their compatriots. These are the people saving
Africa, and others like them across the continent get no credit for
their work.
Last month the Group of Eight industrialized nations and a host of
celebrities met in Germany to discuss, among other things, how to save
Africa. Before the next such summit, I hope people will realize Africa
doesn't want to be saved. Africa wants the world to acknowledge that
through fair partnerships with other members of the global community,
we ourselves are capable of unprecedented growth.
Uzodinma Iweala is the author of "Beasts of No Nation," a novel about
child soldiers.
The Washington Post
Sunday, July 15, 2007; B07
Last fall, shortly after I returned from Nigeria, I was accosted by a
perky blond college student whose blue eyes seemed to match the
"African" beads around her wrists.
"Save Darfur!" she shouted from behind a table covered with pamphlets
urging students to TAKE ACTION NOW! STOP GENOCIDE IN DARFUR!
My aversion to college kids jumping onto fashionable social causes
nearly caused me to walk on, but her next shout stopped me.
"Don't you want to help us save Africa?" she yelled.
It seems that these days, wracked by guilt at the humanitarian crisis
it has created in the Middle East, the West has turned to Africa for
redemption. Idealistic college students, celebrities such as Bob
Geldof and politicians such as Tony Blair have all made bringing light
to the dark continent their mission. They fly in for internships and
fact-finding missions or to pick out children to adopt in much the
same way my friends and I in New York take the subway to the pound to
adopt stray dogs.
This is the West's new image of itself: a sexy, politically active
generation whose preferred means of spreading the word are magazine
spreads with celebrities pictured in the foreground, forlorn Africans
in the back. Never mind that the stars sent to bring succor to the
natives often are, willingly, as emaciated as those they want to help.
Perhaps most interesting is the language used to describe the Africa
being saved. For example, the Keep a Child Alive/" I am African" ad
campaign features portraits of primarily white, Western celebrities
with painted "tribal markings" on their faces above "I AM AFRICAN" in
bold letters. Below, smaller print says, "help us stop the dying."
Such campaigns, however well intentioned, promote the stereotype of
Africa as a black hole of disease and death. News reports constantly
focus on the continent's corrupt leaders, warlords, "tribal"
conflicts, child laborers, and women disfigured by abuse and genital
mutilation. These descriptions run under headlines like "Can Bono Save
Africa?" or "Will Brangelina Save Africa?" The relationship between
the West and Africa is no longer based on openly racist beliefs, but
such articles are reminiscent of reports from the heyday of European
colonialism, when missionaries were sent to Africa to introduce us to
education, Jesus Christ and "civilization."
There is no African, myself included, who does not appreciate the
help of the wider world, but we do question whether aid is genuine or
given in the spirit of affirming one's cultural superiority. My mood
is dampened every time I attend a benefit whose host runs through a
litany of African disasters before presenting a (usually) wealthy,
white person, who often proceeds to list the things he or she has done
for the poor, starving Africans. Every time a well-meaning college
student speaks of villagers dancing because they were so grateful for
her help, I cringe. Every time a Hollywood director shoots a film
about Africa that features a Western protagonist, I shake my head --
because Africans, real people though we may be, are used as props in
the West's fantasy of itself. And not only do such depictions tend to
ignore the West's prominent role in creating many of the unfortunate
situations on the continent, they also ignore the incredible work
Africans have done and continue to do to fix those problems.
Why do the media frequently refer to African countries as having been
"granted independence from their colonial masters," as opposed to
having fought and shed blood for their freedom? Why do Angelina Jolie
and Bono receive overwhelming attention for their work in Africa while
Nwankwo Kanu or Dikembe Mutombo, Africans both, are hardly ever
mentioned? How is it that a former mid-level U.S. diplomat receives
more attention for his cowboy antics in Sudan than do the numerous
African Union countries that have sent food and troops and spent
countless hours trying to negotiate a settlement among all parties in
that crisis?
Two years ago I worked in a camp for internally displaced people in
Nigeria, survivors of an uprising that killed about 1,000 people and
displaced 200,000. True to form, the Western media reported on the
violence but not on the humanitarian work the state and local
governments -- without much international help -- did for the
survivors. Social workers spent their time and in many cases their own
salaries to care for their compatriots. These are the people saving
Africa, and others like them across the continent get no credit for
their work.
Last month the Group of Eight industrialized nations and a host of
celebrities met in Germany to discuss, among other things, how to save
Africa. Before the next such summit, I hope people will realize Africa
doesn't want to be saved. Africa wants the world to acknowledge that
through fair partnerships with other members of the global community,
we ourselves are capable of unprecedented growth.
Uzodinma Iweala is the author of "Beasts of No Nation," a novel about
child soldiers.
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