I ate my last mini Hershey’s bar today. That deserves an entry to itself, but I will refrain from moping.
Instead, I will tell of my new arch nemesis, the Spider Ant, apparently also known as the Red Roman, a nasty creature that comes sprinting, not crawling or even creeping, into my house each night just about the time it starts to get dark outside. With the body shape of an ant, but about 90 times bigger, six spider legs and two more in front that it carries aloft like javelins, this creature gives me gooseflesh in the most insufferably hot of climates. Is it a spider? Is it an ant? Who can say? Locals call it “friend of the scorpion” because, they say, it carries a scorpion underneath it, attached to its stomach. Alksjdoihfmzdbvnlkhaf!!!!
After 2 years of stubbornly refusing to become ‘the English teacher’ in the Dominican Republic, my resolve finally crumbled when my neighbor, the cutest 14 year old girl named Delicia, showed up to my house bearing a small notebook and a gorgeous shy smile, and announced that she was there to learn English. No one has ever tried this exact technique before, simply showing up ready to get started. How could I say no? Especially since all I was doing at the moment was watching my 87th episode of Friends for the day. She already knows quite a few nouns and verbs from school, but can’t speak them very well at all, so we’ve started out by expanding her vocabulary and practicing a lot of sentences out loud. It’s really no work for me – she’s happy if I sit with her for 15 minutes and send her on her way with a little homework assignment. I don’t love that she feels the need to become versed in yet another European language that sadly has taken root and displaced (to some extent) many local dialects, but I can choose to be pragmatic about this: it really could help her get a job someday. But only if she figures out how to pronounce the word ‘shirt’ in a way that doesn’t sound quite so…offensive.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Mango Madness
It’s mango season, and not a moment too soon. Millions of eager children across the continent have been sinking there solid teeth into green mangos for months, and finally, the fruits have ripened, and their sweet, juicy flesh is a miracle that I can only wonder why the gods saw fit to confine to a few short months out of the year. A delicious treat, straight off the tree or cooled in the fridge for a few hours, mangos offer vitamin A and C, boost the immune system, and protect against infections. I will blame their late arrival in my community for the terrible incident involving my left foot that, thanks to another of nature’s miracles (that of mold growing on another ‘orange’ fruit) has finally healed into an itchy scab. It started out as a little blister on my ankle, could have been a bug or a cut, but I didn’t notice when it happened. Which to me, means it definitely could NOT have been a snake bite, contrary to popular belief. So I did what I’ve been taught – gritted my teeth and scrubbed the fire out of it, hoping that would take care of any potential infection. The next day, it was so painful and swollen I could barely walk, and by the next day, I headed into the city to seek the counsel of a doctor friend. I had to go in for other reasons, but by this point, what my sister has endearingly called my “club foot” was top priority.
Ten days, twenty Co-Trimoxazole tablets and as many Hail Mary’s later, and I am healed! Although I must say, the fact that each pill cost approximately 3 cents was less than reassuring. Seems to have done the trick though, and now it’s just another scar to tell the story of my travels.
Ten days, twenty Co-Trimoxazole tablets and as many Hail Mary’s later, and I am healed! Although I must say, the fact that each pill cost approximately 3 cents was less than reassuring. Seems to have done the trick though, and now it’s just another scar to tell the story of my travels.
Here Comes The Sun
And all of the sudden, quite unexpectedly, my work seems to have come together as a beautiful symphony, each piece seamlessly connecting to the next to form a cohesive whole. Well, that might be a bit dramatic, but lately I feel like things are falling into place. I spent months spreading my energies here and there, and suddenly it all makes sense and seems to have paid off. Due to a miraculous merger of transport (bike and car), cell phone service, and weather, I was able to visit all 4 of my kids groups in my site this week. I was astounded at how well their crops are coming along – in some cases, the corn was taller than most of the group’s members, a fact which inspired lots of giggling once I pointed it out, and they have done a remarkable job of keeping up with the weeding, a constant problem since the rainy season has descended upon us. (Not that I’m complaining! Please keep it coming! My cucumbers have just started to germinate!) And as always, I was touched by their enthusiasm upon my arrival. Are they excited at the potential of getting to ride in the bed of my truck and then tell everyone they know? Well yes, but it’s more than that. They show me how much they missed me with their smiles, holding my hands, and I feel how much I missed them too. And in this moment, it doesn’t matter if the world of development work is dysfunctional at times, that I can think of a hundred ways to put so much of the money funneled into NGO’s to better use, and that observing change is a long and grueling process. All that matters is that we take a few minutes to skip rope before we go check out our peanut plot.
After finishing the junior farmer’s manual last week, a piece of work that took months to finally come together, we had just a few days before training was to begin; a training for rural staff members who will work with junior farmers which I was largely in charge of planning, organizing and facilitating. Arriving at the World Vision Center in Nicoadala Sunday evening – ah yes, fond memories of the week I spent in this strangely pleasing, cement block compound 4 months ago when we were just starting the junior farmer program – I spent the first night tossing and turning in a bed of wooden boards, too distracted by heat and bugs to actually sleep. This morning, somewhat rejuvenated by tea and a piece of bread (breakfast of champions), I set off at a gallop, throwing more energy than I actually had into the sessions in order to set the pace at a jaunty trot. It really paid off. I got satisfactory, enthusiastic responses, and the day flew by practically without a hitch. We somehow were able to get through 7 sessions, visit a nearby youth group, eat multiple meals and snacks, and even have time for discussions all between breakfast and bedtime. I could not be more pleased with how the first day turned out. I was terrified that the participants wouldn’t respond to my questions and discussion topics (after witnessing this exact phenomenon at a training last week, of which I was thankfully only an observer) and that my sessions would run way under time. But thanks to a few key participants who got the ball rolling, most everyone stayed interested and involved the entire day.
Just as we were finishing up the last activity of the day (planning a daily routine for our youth groups and distributing the manuals), eager to head to our rooms for well deserved rest and shower, the sky which had been grumbling threats all afternoon suddenly opened up and caught us under the grass roofed gazebo, where earlier that afternoon, I had a group of 15 adults playing Simon Says, Telephone, and Musical Chairs. Or Africa-appropriate versions of. If they’re going to play with the kids, they need to understand the games themselves! Someone joked that now they were stuck, when just a moment before they were ready to flee from Mica’s presence because “she talks a lot! Haha!” But stuck as we were, there wasn’t much left to do except…talk some more. When I could no longer take sitting and waiting for the rain to pass, I made a dash for my cell, but before I could get to the shower, the lights went out. This doesn’t happen enough here to warrant carrying around a headlamp, and the center didn’t have any candles, so I set about adjusting my eyes like a cat and soon was showering in the dark, freezing cold water tumbling down from the showerhead as well as the dark clouds outside the bathroom window. For a moment, I forgot the feverish night before, and just shivered happily.
Nothing Mother Nature (or Mother-paper-thin-mattress) could throw at me will keep me from sleeping tonight.
After finishing the junior farmer’s manual last week, a piece of work that took months to finally come together, we had just a few days before training was to begin; a training for rural staff members who will work with junior farmers which I was largely in charge of planning, organizing and facilitating. Arriving at the World Vision Center in Nicoadala Sunday evening – ah yes, fond memories of the week I spent in this strangely pleasing, cement block compound 4 months ago when we were just starting the junior farmer program – I spent the first night tossing and turning in a bed of wooden boards, too distracted by heat and bugs to actually sleep. This morning, somewhat rejuvenated by tea and a piece of bread (breakfast of champions), I set off at a gallop, throwing more energy than I actually had into the sessions in order to set the pace at a jaunty trot. It really paid off. I got satisfactory, enthusiastic responses, and the day flew by practically without a hitch. We somehow were able to get through 7 sessions, visit a nearby youth group, eat multiple meals and snacks, and even have time for discussions all between breakfast and bedtime. I could not be more pleased with how the first day turned out. I was terrified that the participants wouldn’t respond to my questions and discussion topics (after witnessing this exact phenomenon at a training last week, of which I was thankfully only an observer) and that my sessions would run way under time. But thanks to a few key participants who got the ball rolling, most everyone stayed interested and involved the entire day.
Just as we were finishing up the last activity of the day (planning a daily routine for our youth groups and distributing the manuals), eager to head to our rooms for well deserved rest and shower, the sky which had been grumbling threats all afternoon suddenly opened up and caught us under the grass roofed gazebo, where earlier that afternoon, I had a group of 15 adults playing Simon Says, Telephone, and Musical Chairs. Or Africa-appropriate versions of. If they’re going to play with the kids, they need to understand the games themselves! Someone joked that now they were stuck, when just a moment before they were ready to flee from Mica’s presence because “she talks a lot! Haha!” But stuck as we were, there wasn’t much left to do except…talk some more. When I could no longer take sitting and waiting for the rain to pass, I made a dash for my cell, but before I could get to the shower, the lights went out. This doesn’t happen enough here to warrant carrying around a headlamp, and the center didn’t have any candles, so I set about adjusting my eyes like a cat and soon was showering in the dark, freezing cold water tumbling down from the showerhead as well as the dark clouds outside the bathroom window. For a moment, I forgot the feverish night before, and just shivered happily.
Nothing Mother Nature (or Mother-paper-thin-mattress) could throw at me will keep me from sleeping tonight.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Peanut Farmers
Due to a miraculous merger of transport (bike and car), cell phone service, and weather, I was able to visit all 4 of my kids groups in my site this week. I was astounded at how well their crops are coming along – in some cases, the corn was taller than most of the group’s members, and they have done a remarkable job of keeping up with the weeding, a constant problem since the rainy season has descended upon us. And as always, I was touched by their enthusiasm upon my arrival. Are they excited at the potential of getting to ride in the bed of my truck? Well yes, but it’s more than that. They show me how much they missed me with their smiles, holding my hands, and I feel how much I missed them too. And in this moment, it doesn’t matter if the world of development work is dysfunctional at times, that I can think of a hundred ways to put the money funneled into NGO’s to better use, and that observing change is a long and grueling process. All that matters is that we take a few minutes to skip rope before we go check-out our peanut plot.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Welcome Home
Last night was the first I spent in my new house. I’ve learned in recent years that so much of learning to be happy in a new place, perhaps very different from any you have ever known, is being able to carve out a place for yourself, your own personal space. I can already feel that things are going to be different from now until I leave. It doesn’t matter that I spent the first night a bit nervous, cat-napping instead of truly sleeping, that my stove doesn’t work yet and I’m once again subsisting on nibble-able foods. I’m happy. And I’m home.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
New Year, New Beginnings
After an encouraging 2 day conference in Maputo, the capital, a week on Tofo beach in the south of the country, and New Years back in Quelimane with friends, I returned to Morrumbala yesterday, if not the starry idealist of years before, at least invigorated, ready to roll up my sleeves and get back to work.
It’s hard to wrap my head around the non-traditional holiday experience I’ve just come away from. First of all, the extreme heat made it difficult to think of the season as ‘Christmasy’; made it difficult to think at all in fact, as we lounged around on the sandy shores like lizards, hustling from one patch of shade to the next and sweating faster than we could rehydrate.
It all began with a conference in Maputo, the capital. I met with the other Peace Corps Response Volunteers, as well as the director for Peace Corps Mozambique, to share our experiences of the first 4 months as well as ideas about the future of the food security sector. At this conference, we were reminded that we are the first group to attempt to work in food security within Peace Corps Mozambique, a fact I had lost sight of recently. Obviously there are a lot of kinks to work out, such as visas and developing a relationship with the ministry of agriculture, and although we didn’t really know what we were getting ourselves into as response volunteers, I’m glad to be part of a team that is solving problems and paving the way for the very timely work of food security.
Then it was on to Bamboozi, a beachside grass-hut establishment in the sandy-white and shimmery-blue coastal community of Tofo, where barefoot international hipsters surf by day, and by night, gather in 3-walled beach bars with lofts, heavy bass music and colorful lighting. While fun and stimulating, these social hotspots at times seem the same around the world…
I had originally intended to go to Barra beach and meet up with some volunteer acquaintances (it would have been presumptuous to call people I had met only once or twice friends), but as the 10 hour bus ride ran its course, I found myself in conversation with several VSO (Volunteer Services Overseas) volunteers and ended up heading to Tofo with them instead, where I spent an eclectic Christmas among South Africans and Brits, Germans and Finnish, Canadians and Dutch. Christmas Day found us grilling fresh fish and shrimp in a hilltop hut overlooking the big blue Indian Ocean, 12 people and 9 nationalities. And a good time was had by all. Here, the moon wanes faster than I imagined possible. We attended a full-moon party on Tuesday evening, and by the time we took a midnight beach stroll on Saturday Christmas night, it was half gone.
Back in Quelimane for New Years, I attended a house party in a sparsely furnished Portuguese colonial with a Mozzie friend, her family, and some other volunteers. A few days of rest in an air-conditioned home (it pays to be a house sitter in an African metropolis!), and it was back to Morrumbala. Upon arriving with a group of USAID representatives to one of the communities in which I have a kids’ group, my trepidation about returning after a 2 week absence gave way to throat-catching joy when I saw their smiling faces. Clearly they were happy to see me, and as they sang and danced as they always do for visitors (well, not for me anymore when I come alone, but I take this level of informality as a compliment), I could hardly hold back the tears. I thought I was past that immediate surge of emotion I used to feel in these situations when I first arrived to the country, but I guess 2 weeks away put more distance between me and the campo than I had imagined.
When we went to see the kids’ plot, they showed me that their peanuts and pigeon peas were growing quite well, although the unexpected halt of the rains resulted in poor germination of their corn crop. I was dazzled by their energy in this heat; we had arrived late because of transport problems, as usual. And yet there they all had been, adults and children alike, huddled into the modest shade of one of the few large mango trees, waiting to sing to their visitors.
I spent today preparing materials for an upcoming training on Junior Farmer initiatives I will be giving to World Vision employees, and being caught up on the progress made with the kids’ groups by my two auxiliaries while I was away. It feels good to be back. Now if I can just wrangle up a truck, I can finally move into my own house…
It’s hard to wrap my head around the non-traditional holiday experience I’ve just come away from. First of all, the extreme heat made it difficult to think of the season as ‘Christmasy’; made it difficult to think at all in fact, as we lounged around on the sandy shores like lizards, hustling from one patch of shade to the next and sweating faster than we could rehydrate.
It all began with a conference in Maputo, the capital. I met with the other Peace Corps Response Volunteers, as well as the director for Peace Corps Mozambique, to share our experiences of the first 4 months as well as ideas about the future of the food security sector. At this conference, we were reminded that we are the first group to attempt to work in food security within Peace Corps Mozambique, a fact I had lost sight of recently. Obviously there are a lot of kinks to work out, such as visas and developing a relationship with the ministry of agriculture, and although we didn’t really know what we were getting ourselves into as response volunteers, I’m glad to be part of a team that is solving problems and paving the way for the very timely work of food security.
Then it was on to Bamboozi, a beachside grass-hut establishment in the sandy-white and shimmery-blue coastal community of Tofo, where barefoot international hipsters surf by day, and by night, gather in 3-walled beach bars with lofts, heavy bass music and colorful lighting. While fun and stimulating, these social hotspots at times seem the same around the world…
I had originally intended to go to Barra beach and meet up with some volunteer acquaintances (it would have been presumptuous to call people I had met only once or twice friends), but as the 10 hour bus ride ran its course, I found myself in conversation with several VSO (Volunteer Services Overseas) volunteers and ended up heading to Tofo with them instead, where I spent an eclectic Christmas among South Africans and Brits, Germans and Finnish, Canadians and Dutch. Christmas Day found us grilling fresh fish and shrimp in a hilltop hut overlooking the big blue Indian Ocean, 12 people and 9 nationalities. And a good time was had by all. Here, the moon wanes faster than I imagined possible. We attended a full-moon party on Tuesday evening, and by the time we took a midnight beach stroll on Saturday Christmas night, it was half gone.
Back in Quelimane for New Years, I attended a house party in a sparsely furnished Portuguese colonial with a Mozzie friend, her family, and some other volunteers. A few days of rest in an air-conditioned home (it pays to be a house sitter in an African metropolis!), and it was back to Morrumbala. Upon arriving with a group of USAID representatives to one of the communities in which I have a kids’ group, my trepidation about returning after a 2 week absence gave way to throat-catching joy when I saw their smiling faces. Clearly they were happy to see me, and as they sang and danced as they always do for visitors (well, not for me anymore when I come alone, but I take this level of informality as a compliment), I could hardly hold back the tears. I thought I was past that immediate surge of emotion I used to feel in these situations when I first arrived to the country, but I guess 2 weeks away put more distance between me and the campo than I had imagined.
When we went to see the kids’ plot, they showed me that their peanuts and pigeon peas were growing quite well, although the unexpected halt of the rains resulted in poor germination of their corn crop. I was dazzled by their energy in this heat; we had arrived late because of transport problems, as usual. And yet there they all had been, adults and children alike, huddled into the modest shade of one of the few large mango trees, waiting to sing to their visitors.
I spent today preparing materials for an upcoming training on Junior Farmer initiatives I will be giving to World Vision employees, and being caught up on the progress made with the kids’ groups by my two auxiliaries while I was away. It feels good to be back. Now if I can just wrangle up a truck, I can finally move into my own house…
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
A Development Curve
My ever flexible and changing role as volunteer within a multi-billion dollar international aid and development organization makes it difficult to really nail down my job description, often leaves me feeling lost among the fray, and finally explains why my work the past few weeks has somewhat veered off in a different direction. I guess, to some extent, I have to just sit back and enjoy the scenery.
After hiring 2 new rural auxiliaries, at a whopping 50$ a month each, to help look after my junior farmer groups, I had more time to attend to the most recent request of my organization: that I begin work on rural income generation projects with community health councils (CHCs). I have to say, working with adults was a welcome change in some ways; not having to constantly be entertaining, singing songs and dancing jigs, but rather sharing information in a simple and direct manner, requires far less energy than I’m accustomed to devoting to the kids’ groups. Thus more energy I can concentrate on speaking Portuguese, suffering the brutal elements, and staying awake in the car as I seem to have developed an allergy to consciousness the moment we begin off-roading...
In just two meetings I conducted with the CHCs, however, the danger of a culture of dependency we (as NGO workers) are all constantly aware of was made painfully clear. Neither of these groups have a cent to contribute to start-up projects, and World Vision hesitates, for good and obvious reasons, to become the sole investor in such initiatives. Reasons such as: we’ve invested in this group before and nothing has come of it. Or: if there is no initial sacrifice made on the part of the community, how can we expect them to feel ownership of the project? Throughout Mozambique, postwar crisis response by well-intentioned organizations has lingered and evolved into expectancy that I see written all over the faces of the members of the CHCs – what is she here to bring us? I accompanied a health worker from the city to visit a group several days ago, and after her presentation was complete and we prepared to say our goodbyes, the questions that had clearly been on the minds of the group members the whole time were finally vocalized: “why haven’t you brought us anything today? You gave group “x” skirts, why didn’t we get skirts?” These questions were posed with no measure of timidity, rather righteous indignation at the fact that we had arrived that day empty handed, with no other agenda than to analyze several health problems the community is facing and talk about basic solutions such as improved hygiene and family planning.
It’s less obvious with the children, who ask for simpler things such as soccer balls and jump ropes, and who seem to be interested in holding my hands and working with me in the fields for the sheer novelty of it. With the adult groups, however, a whole new set of questions arise and cannot be ignored: Will we ever find a balance between providing immediate necessities and facilitating education and support that can lead to long-term change? Why does it seem that so many of these programs aren’t sticking, and whose fault is it, if anyone’s? Have the rural inhabitants we aim to aid made a conscious decision that it’s easier to wait for help; are they too underfed and undereducated to summon the energy to follow through with projects; or are they trying their damndest and getting nowhere? In the end, I think it must be all three. I see how hard my colleagues work, and I see how much the rural beneficiaries still suffer, and while some reports may show numerical improvements (increased occurrence of breast-feeding, decreased rate of child growth stunting) it’s hard to see any of this when you make daily observations at the community level. Obviously change takes time, and a comparison of current Mozambique to the country immediately after the war would surely speak of improvement. But even so, I still can’t quite shake the feeling that I was much more productive working as the lone white-woman in my small community in the DR than I am within a large and influential organization. It’s not that I have a problem being a cog, a tiny part of the operation, but sometimes I feel like I’m spinning in a way that doesn’t affect anyone. Maybe I’m simply cut-out for aid work on a more personal and intimate level. And maybe I can even find a way to make that happen within the framework of such a huge and ambitious project.
I left the meetings with the CHCs only after both groups had extracted from me a promise to return. But unfortunately, there’s little I am authorized to do for them until they can demonstrate that they are a group fit for investment. It seems that projects conducted with these groups (and many, many others) before have left much to be desired in terms of sustainability and numbers satisfactory for reporting, and organizations understandably are looking to support groups which they have reason to believe will succeed. But what do you tell everyone else? All of those who have no start-up money, no ace in the hole?
Fast-forward to the following week, in which I visited 2 other districts who are starting up junior farmer programs. I met with 3 kids groups and gave them my now practiced introductory spiel, debriefed World Vision staff at both locations, and finally headed back to Morrumbala to check on my own kids’ groups. Paying a few unplanned visits, I find I can remember only about half of their names, although some of their corn and bean crops seem to be germinating relatively well. But as with the adults, I can see a waning in interest, in drive, in energy. In general, it seems that the work they have been doing with the auxiliaries in my absence is half-hearted at best. They like me enough to work well when I’m there, but I can’t always be there. Maybe we can reconnect after the holidays. Also after the holidays, I plan to spend a few days at the rural health clinic I wrote about a number of weeks back. My goal is to observe their daily routines, determine their greatest needs, collect interviews, photos and stories, and begin the legwork for creating a sponsorship for this clinic by a church or organization in the U.S.
After hiring 2 new rural auxiliaries, at a whopping 50$ a month each, to help look after my junior farmer groups, I had more time to attend to the most recent request of my organization: that I begin work on rural income generation projects with community health councils (CHCs). I have to say, working with adults was a welcome change in some ways; not having to constantly be entertaining, singing songs and dancing jigs, but rather sharing information in a simple and direct manner, requires far less energy than I’m accustomed to devoting to the kids’ groups. Thus more energy I can concentrate on speaking Portuguese, suffering the brutal elements, and staying awake in the car as I seem to have developed an allergy to consciousness the moment we begin off-roading...
In just two meetings I conducted with the CHCs, however, the danger of a culture of dependency we (as NGO workers) are all constantly aware of was made painfully clear. Neither of these groups have a cent to contribute to start-up projects, and World Vision hesitates, for good and obvious reasons, to become the sole investor in such initiatives. Reasons such as: we’ve invested in this group before and nothing has come of it. Or: if there is no initial sacrifice made on the part of the community, how can we expect them to feel ownership of the project? Throughout Mozambique, postwar crisis response by well-intentioned organizations has lingered and evolved into expectancy that I see written all over the faces of the members of the CHCs – what is she here to bring us? I accompanied a health worker from the city to visit a group several days ago, and after her presentation was complete and we prepared to say our goodbyes, the questions that had clearly been on the minds of the group members the whole time were finally vocalized: “why haven’t you brought us anything today? You gave group “x” skirts, why didn’t we get skirts?” These questions were posed with no measure of timidity, rather righteous indignation at the fact that we had arrived that day empty handed, with no other agenda than to analyze several health problems the community is facing and talk about basic solutions such as improved hygiene and family planning.
It’s less obvious with the children, who ask for simpler things such as soccer balls and jump ropes, and who seem to be interested in holding my hands and working with me in the fields for the sheer novelty of it. With the adult groups, however, a whole new set of questions arise and cannot be ignored: Will we ever find a balance between providing immediate necessities and facilitating education and support that can lead to long-term change? Why does it seem that so many of these programs aren’t sticking, and whose fault is it, if anyone’s? Have the rural inhabitants we aim to aid made a conscious decision that it’s easier to wait for help; are they too underfed and undereducated to summon the energy to follow through with projects; or are they trying their damndest and getting nowhere? In the end, I think it must be all three. I see how hard my colleagues work, and I see how much the rural beneficiaries still suffer, and while some reports may show numerical improvements (increased occurrence of breast-feeding, decreased rate of child growth stunting) it’s hard to see any of this when you make daily observations at the community level. Obviously change takes time, and a comparison of current Mozambique to the country immediately after the war would surely speak of improvement. But even so, I still can’t quite shake the feeling that I was much more productive working as the lone white-woman in my small community in the DR than I am within a large and influential organization. It’s not that I have a problem being a cog, a tiny part of the operation, but sometimes I feel like I’m spinning in a way that doesn’t affect anyone. Maybe I’m simply cut-out for aid work on a more personal and intimate level. And maybe I can even find a way to make that happen within the framework of such a huge and ambitious project.
I left the meetings with the CHCs only after both groups had extracted from me a promise to return. But unfortunately, there’s little I am authorized to do for them until they can demonstrate that they are a group fit for investment. It seems that projects conducted with these groups (and many, many others) before have left much to be desired in terms of sustainability and numbers satisfactory for reporting, and organizations understandably are looking to support groups which they have reason to believe will succeed. But what do you tell everyone else? All of those who have no start-up money, no ace in the hole?
Fast-forward to the following week, in which I visited 2 other districts who are starting up junior farmer programs. I met with 3 kids groups and gave them my now practiced introductory spiel, debriefed World Vision staff at both locations, and finally headed back to Morrumbala to check on my own kids’ groups. Paying a few unplanned visits, I find I can remember only about half of their names, although some of their corn and bean crops seem to be germinating relatively well. But as with the adults, I can see a waning in interest, in drive, in energy. In general, it seems that the work they have been doing with the auxiliaries in my absence is half-hearted at best. They like me enough to work well when I’m there, but I can’t always be there. Maybe we can reconnect after the holidays. Also after the holidays, I plan to spend a few days at the rural health clinic I wrote about a number of weeks back. My goal is to observe their daily routines, determine their greatest needs, collect interviews, photos and stories, and begin the legwork for creating a sponsorship for this clinic by a church or organization in the U.S.
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