...where every child has a smile."
Saturday at Kawanda...
The students at Kawanda High School created a social and political commentary through their music, dance, and dramatic competition today! It was an inspiring cultural experience where children had a voice and expressed themselves with confidence.
Some of the highlights included the performing arts expressions on the Rights of the Child and on the progressing Eastern African Union. Not only was the festival experience novel, but the content was new and a testimony to progress.
Although we are only one sleep from the tiring, long journey where we didn't see a bed for about 45+ hours; today was a unique and fabulous experience at Kawanda.
Our connection with Kawanda goes back to 2007, when Erika participated in Teaching Together with those teachers.
The bigger picture...
Years ago, when I was writing my graduate studies project, I dreamt of teachers who would come to Uganda and connect with other educators. They would teach together and build relationships where collegial support and professional conversations abounded. Erika has achieved that goal and Kawanda is testimony to it.
Erika has nurtured long term relationships with the teachers at Kawanda and Niteo has been able to continue to partner with these fine educators. Now, we exchange ideas, we offer science resources, they gift us with their culture. It is reciprocity at its finest. It achieves our vision of "partnering with Ugandans to establish hope and to nourish minds."
I love it when dreams come true!
More from Africa soon...
Karine
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Karine's Story
I found him curled up in the corner of the double-sized walk-in closet in my bedroom. My 5-year old son, who even then was tall and slim for his age, with long lanky limbs, sat huddled and sobbing. When Daniel cries there aren’t tears, just heaves in his body, a scrunched up face, and flushed angry cheeks.
My heart flooded with compassion and concern. Of course, I’m determined, with the determination of a mother bear, to rescue him and fix whatever is wrong.
As I hunch down and curl my body around him, I plead quietly, “Daniel, Daniel, honey what’s wrong?”
With big brown eyes, he looks up at me with a mixture of frustration and shame written on the scowl of his face.
“Why can’t I do it!? Why can’t I do it?!” he screams.
“Shhhhh sweetie. Shhhhh. Its okay.” I lie.
“What do you mean? What happened?” I ask. Daniel sits anguished and crying. So, with more urgency, I gently rub his back, and with my blood rushing through my veins in desperation, I prod, “Tell me honey.”
He screams again as his eyes roll up into his tipping head, struggling to get the words out, “W-w-w-w-w-why c-c-c-c-c-c-can’t I do a j-j-j-j-jumping jack?!”
With overwhelming grief I look down at his palsied body, with loose raggedy-andy muscles that are uncontrollable to him. I know that Daniel has been playing downstairs with his cousins and in that moment I’m acutely aware that Daniel is realizing his own differences. He can’t do a jumping jack and I can tell you 7 years later, he probably never will.
He was diagnosed hearing impaired at 6 months of age and with cerebral palsy at 18 months.
But knowing, well, that comes over and over again in waves. The knowing pain of the differences, the poverty of a body that just won’t cooperate. It comes with each new season, as surely as the changing leaves or the lengthening days.
There are no easy answers, simple platitudes, or assuaging words. In that moment of knowing, there is only ‘being with it.’ Being with the truth, dignifying the truth, the human being. Being together.
Of course, at the time I tried to fix with words, encouragement, cheering, but really, it was useless. Now, I can’t even remember what I said. But, I honour that moment and am proud that we shared it.
The clock speeds forward, and jumbo jets rush me into the hot heavy air of equatorial Africa.
In a tiny corner of Uganda, a little country of sub-Saharan Africa, tucked right between Rwanda and the Congo, I am visiting a little village of Rwebisengo. Back in the hotel of Kampala, the friends from the lounge had laughed as they warned me about how they will grab your forearm and bow low to the ground to greet you in this place.
The trip into the village had been long and trying, as I grabbed my straw hat and held it down over my head as the wind and dust from the dusty road and down-turned windows of the Jeep wreaked havoc with my hair and skin.
The heat was suffocating.
But, my heart was moved to see the village medical clinic serving mothers with dying babies, hemorrhaging women, and AIDS patients. We intelligently and thoughtfully discussed the issues with the community social services worker.
Our meal was planned for the “Uncle’s” house. Everyone in the village called him “Uncle” and they took pleasure in telling me how they were related. When I got to Uncles large compound with many plastered and mud huts, I was received with much pomp and circumstance. Feeling foreign and awkward, I gratefully greeted my hosts.
The orphans, praying silently in their hearts for sponsorship and support, were lined up in the courtyard in a Sound-of-Music line up…to greet ME?! I had little to offer but some pencils and candy. I proceeded slowly down the line, introducing myself to each child through a translator.
Swahili is beyond me.
When I get to the end of the line, I am greeting the littlest ones. And, I squat down, taking the child’s hand and cheerfully announce, “Hello, my name is Karine! What’s your name?” I’m aware of the heat and my loud voice; I look forward to sitting down again.
I wait though, holding the little girl’s hand and gaze as my hostess is translating for her. The girl shrugs. The question is repeated with a hint of frustration as the girl shrugs her shoulders again. In this moment, there are some nervous giggles from the adults and a couple of the children present.
They have my attention.
They look at me, as I am quickly looking around and trying to sense what is going on. I look back at the tall lean girl, obviously from the Congolese tribes. I’m sure she is about 6 years old, but she hasn’t started losing her teeth yet. Nervously, my host grips my shoulder and whispers, “She doesn’t know her name. She doesn’t know the name of her family. She is an orphan and she doesn’t know.”
I rage inside. Who has called this girl over to them? How does she know where she belongs? How can I fix this?! The futility of the pencils and the candy! DAMN! This child who is about 6 has no identity, name, or place. She isn’t just wearing a stained and torn pink party dress; she doesn’t even have her name!
I look into her eyes.
With a rush of conviction and inspiration I declare, as if I can change something, “You are Precious! From now on, and forever, you will be known as Precious.”
What happened in that moment? Was something profound or simple? Did anything change or move?
What gives me comfort is that we were together. Just together. Present. Connected. Sharing a moment. We dignified each other’s humanity and existence just by being together. There was nothing to fix; only two little girls affirming each other.
Dignity is “being with” in the moments of sheer and utter poverty and helplessness. It is important to be together.
My heart flooded with compassion and concern. Of course, I’m determined, with the determination of a mother bear, to rescue him and fix whatever is wrong.
As I hunch down and curl my body around him, I plead quietly, “Daniel, Daniel, honey what’s wrong?”
With big brown eyes, he looks up at me with a mixture of frustration and shame written on the scowl of his face.
“Why can’t I do it!? Why can’t I do it?!” he screams.
“Shhhhh sweetie. Shhhhh. Its okay.” I lie.
“What do you mean? What happened?” I ask. Daniel sits anguished and crying. So, with more urgency, I gently rub his back, and with my blood rushing through my veins in desperation, I prod, “Tell me honey.”
He screams again as his eyes roll up into his tipping head, struggling to get the words out, “W-w-w-w-w-why c-c-c-c-c-c-can’t I do a j-j-j-j-jumping jack?!”
With overwhelming grief I look down at his palsied body, with loose raggedy-andy muscles that are uncontrollable to him. I know that Daniel has been playing downstairs with his cousins and in that moment I’m acutely aware that Daniel is realizing his own differences. He can’t do a jumping jack and I can tell you 7 years later, he probably never will.
He was diagnosed hearing impaired at 6 months of age and with cerebral palsy at 18 months.
But knowing, well, that comes over and over again in waves. The knowing pain of the differences, the poverty of a body that just won’t cooperate. It comes with each new season, as surely as the changing leaves or the lengthening days.
There are no easy answers, simple platitudes, or assuaging words. In that moment of knowing, there is only ‘being with it.’ Being with the truth, dignifying the truth, the human being. Being together.
Of course, at the time I tried to fix with words, encouragement, cheering, but really, it was useless. Now, I can’t even remember what I said. But, I honour that moment and am proud that we shared it.
The clock speeds forward, and jumbo jets rush me into the hot heavy air of equatorial Africa.
In a tiny corner of Uganda, a little country of sub-Saharan Africa, tucked right between Rwanda and the Congo, I am visiting a little village of Rwebisengo. Back in the hotel of Kampala, the friends from the lounge had laughed as they warned me about how they will grab your forearm and bow low to the ground to greet you in this place.
The trip into the village had been long and trying, as I grabbed my straw hat and held it down over my head as the wind and dust from the dusty road and down-turned windows of the Jeep wreaked havoc with my hair and skin.
The heat was suffocating.
But, my heart was moved to see the village medical clinic serving mothers with dying babies, hemorrhaging women, and AIDS patients. We intelligently and thoughtfully discussed the issues with the community social services worker.
Our meal was planned for the “Uncle’s” house. Everyone in the village called him “Uncle” and they took pleasure in telling me how they were related. When I got to Uncles large compound with many plastered and mud huts, I was received with much pomp and circumstance. Feeling foreign and awkward, I gratefully greeted my hosts.
The orphans, praying silently in their hearts for sponsorship and support, were lined up in the courtyard in a Sound-of-Music line up…to greet ME?! I had little to offer but some pencils and candy. I proceeded slowly down the line, introducing myself to each child through a translator.
Swahili is beyond me.
When I get to the end of the line, I am greeting the littlest ones. And, I squat down, taking the child’s hand and cheerfully announce, “Hello, my name is Karine! What’s your name?” I’m aware of the heat and my loud voice; I look forward to sitting down again.
I wait though, holding the little girl’s hand and gaze as my hostess is translating for her. The girl shrugs. The question is repeated with a hint of frustration as the girl shrugs her shoulders again. In this moment, there are some nervous giggles from the adults and a couple of the children present.
They have my attention.
They look at me, as I am quickly looking around and trying to sense what is going on. I look back at the tall lean girl, obviously from the Congolese tribes. I’m sure she is about 6 years old, but she hasn’t started losing her teeth yet. Nervously, my host grips my shoulder and whispers, “She doesn’t know her name. She doesn’t know the name of her family. She is an orphan and she doesn’t know.”
I rage inside. Who has called this girl over to them? How does she know where she belongs? How can I fix this?! The futility of the pencils and the candy! DAMN! This child who is about 6 has no identity, name, or place. She isn’t just wearing a stained and torn pink party dress; she doesn’t even have her name!
I look into her eyes.
With a rush of conviction and inspiration I declare, as if I can change something, “You are Precious! From now on, and forever, you will be known as Precious.”
What happened in that moment? Was something profound or simple? Did anything change or move?
What gives me comfort is that we were together. Just together. Present. Connected. Sharing a moment. We dignified each other’s humanity and existence just by being together. There was nothing to fix; only two little girls affirming each other.
Dignity is “being with” in the moments of sheer and utter poverty and helplessness. It is important to be together.
Monday, April 19, 2010
With Flights Grounded, Kenya’s Produce Wilts (from the NY Times)
We worry about our flights being delayed and the added costs. What about those who are losing their $90 a month income? - Erika
April 19, 2010
With Flights Grounded, Kenya’s Produce Wilts
By JEFFREY GETTLEMAN
NAIROBI, Kenya — When Kenneth Maundu, general manager for Sunripe produce exporters, first heard about a volcano erupting in Iceland, he was excited. “I thought, ‘Oh, wow, a volcano,’ ” he said.
And then reality hit him in the face like a hurled tomato.
Because Kenya’s gourmet vegetable and cut-flower industry exports mainly to Europe, and because the cloud of volcanic ash has grounded flights to much of northern Europe since Thursday, its horticultural business has been waylaid as never before.
On Monday, Mr. Maundu stared at the towering wreckage: eight-feet-tall heaps of perfectly good carrots, onions, baby sweet corn and deliciously green sugar snap peas being dumped into the back of a pickup truck.
“Cow food,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s about all we can do with it now.”
If farmers in Africa’s Great Rift Valley ever doubted that they were intricately tied into the global economy, they know now that they are. Because of a volcanic eruption more than 5,000 miles away, Kenyan horticulture, which as the top foreign exchange earner is a critical piece of the national economy, is losing $3 million a day and shedding jobs.
The pickers are not picking. The washers are not washing. Temporary workers have been told to go home because refrigerated warehouses at the airport are stuffed with ripening fruit, vegetables and flowers, and there is no room for more until planes can take away the produce. Already, millions of roses, lilies and carnations have wilted.
“Volcano, volcano, volcano,” grumbled Ronald Osotsi, whose $90-a-month job scrubbing baby courgettes, which are zucchinis, and French beans is now endangered. “That’s all anyone is talking about.” He sat on a log outside a vegetable processing plant in Nairobi, next to other glum-faced workers eating a cheap lunch of fried bread and beans.
Election-driven riots, the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks and stunningly bad harvests have all left their mark on Kenya’s agriculture industry, which is based in the Rift Valley, Kenya’s breadbasket and the cradle of mankind.
But industry insiders say they have never suffered like this.
“It’s a terrible nightmare,” said Stephen Mbithi, the chief executive officer of the Fresh Produce Exporters Association of Kenya. He rattled off some figures: Two million pounds of fresh produce is normally shipped out of Kenya every night. Eighty-two percent of that goes to Europe, and more than a third goes solely to Britain, whose airports have been among those shut down by the volcano’s eruption. Five thousand Kenyan field hands have been laid off in the past few days, and others may be jobless soon. The only way to alleviate this would be to restore the air bridge to Europe, which would necessitate the equivalent of 10 Boeing 747s of cargo space — per night.
“There is no diversionary market,” Mr. Mbithi said. “Flowers and courgettes are not something the average Kenyan buys.”
Thus, the trash heap of greens. At Sunripe, one of the most profitable sides of the business is prepackaging veggies for supermarkets in Europe. Most of the peppers, corn, carrots, broccoli and beans are grown in the Rift Valley, trucked to Nairobi, and then washed, chopped and shrink-wrapped. There are even some packages labeled “stir fry,” which few Kenyans have ever heard about.
The vegetables are marked with the names of some of England’s biggest supermarkets. (They requested not to be mentioned in this article.) But those supermarkets are very particular about their brands and do not allow Sunripe to give away excess produce with their labels on it.
So, on Monday, a man in a Sunripe lab coat and mesh hair net stood at the back of the pickup truck in the company’s loading bay tearing open plastic bags of perfectly edible vegetables, each worth a couple of dollars, and shaking out the contents. Sunripe does give away unpackaged food, and two nuns from an orphanage stood nearby, waiting for some French beans.
Upstairs, Tiku Shah, whose family owns Sunripe, shouted into his cellphone. “Give us half the plane, you take half, we take half!” he said to someone.
“Arusha and Dar are also packed,” he followed up, referring to two Tanzanian cities whose warehouses were full.
Before he hung up, he said, “I’m waiting for Raila to call.”
Raila Odinga is Kenya’s prime minister, and exporters are hoping that the Kenyan government will help defray the costs of organizing special cargo flights to ship out produce.
No one here knows when the flight chaos will end. Countless tourists are also stranded in Kenya, although many of them on spotless white-sand beaches.
By Monday afternoon, a few tons of vegetables had been flown to Spain, where airports had reopened. From there, the produce will be trucked the rest of the way to northern Europe.
“The cost is doubling,” Mr. Shah said. “But we don’t have a choice. If we don’t have product on the shelves, our customers will look for alternatives.”
Among them, he said, Guatemala was a rising threat, along with North Africa.
April 19, 2010
With Flights Grounded, Kenya’s Produce Wilts
By JEFFREY GETTLEMAN
NAIROBI, Kenya — When Kenneth Maundu, general manager for Sunripe produce exporters, first heard about a volcano erupting in Iceland, he was excited. “I thought, ‘Oh, wow, a volcano,’ ” he said.
And then reality hit him in the face like a hurled tomato.
Because Kenya’s gourmet vegetable and cut-flower industry exports mainly to Europe, and because the cloud of volcanic ash has grounded flights to much of northern Europe since Thursday, its horticultural business has been waylaid as never before.
On Monday, Mr. Maundu stared at the towering wreckage: eight-feet-tall heaps of perfectly good carrots, onions, baby sweet corn and deliciously green sugar snap peas being dumped into the back of a pickup truck.
“Cow food,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s about all we can do with it now.”
If farmers in Africa’s Great Rift Valley ever doubted that they were intricately tied into the global economy, they know now that they are. Because of a volcanic eruption more than 5,000 miles away, Kenyan horticulture, which as the top foreign exchange earner is a critical piece of the national economy, is losing $3 million a day and shedding jobs.
The pickers are not picking. The washers are not washing. Temporary workers have been told to go home because refrigerated warehouses at the airport are stuffed with ripening fruit, vegetables and flowers, and there is no room for more until planes can take away the produce. Already, millions of roses, lilies and carnations have wilted.
“Volcano, volcano, volcano,” grumbled Ronald Osotsi, whose $90-a-month job scrubbing baby courgettes, which are zucchinis, and French beans is now endangered. “That’s all anyone is talking about.” He sat on a log outside a vegetable processing plant in Nairobi, next to other glum-faced workers eating a cheap lunch of fried bread and beans.
Election-driven riots, the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks and stunningly bad harvests have all left their mark on Kenya’s agriculture industry, which is based in the Rift Valley, Kenya’s breadbasket and the cradle of mankind.
But industry insiders say they have never suffered like this.
“It’s a terrible nightmare,” said Stephen Mbithi, the chief executive officer of the Fresh Produce Exporters Association of Kenya. He rattled off some figures: Two million pounds of fresh produce is normally shipped out of Kenya every night. Eighty-two percent of that goes to Europe, and more than a third goes solely to Britain, whose airports have been among those shut down by the volcano’s eruption. Five thousand Kenyan field hands have been laid off in the past few days, and others may be jobless soon. The only way to alleviate this would be to restore the air bridge to Europe, which would necessitate the equivalent of 10 Boeing 747s of cargo space — per night.
“There is no diversionary market,” Mr. Mbithi said. “Flowers and courgettes are not something the average Kenyan buys.”
Thus, the trash heap of greens. At Sunripe, one of the most profitable sides of the business is prepackaging veggies for supermarkets in Europe. Most of the peppers, corn, carrots, broccoli and beans are grown in the Rift Valley, trucked to Nairobi, and then washed, chopped and shrink-wrapped. There are even some packages labeled “stir fry,” which few Kenyans have ever heard about.
The vegetables are marked with the names of some of England’s biggest supermarkets. (They requested not to be mentioned in this article.) But those supermarkets are very particular about their brands and do not allow Sunripe to give away excess produce with their labels on it.
So, on Monday, a man in a Sunripe lab coat and mesh hair net stood at the back of the pickup truck in the company’s loading bay tearing open plastic bags of perfectly edible vegetables, each worth a couple of dollars, and shaking out the contents. Sunripe does give away unpackaged food, and two nuns from an orphanage stood nearby, waiting for some French beans.
Upstairs, Tiku Shah, whose family owns Sunripe, shouted into his cellphone. “Give us half the plane, you take half, we take half!” he said to someone.
“Arusha and Dar are also packed,” he followed up, referring to two Tanzanian cities whose warehouses were full.
Before he hung up, he said, “I’m waiting for Raila to call.”
Raila Odinga is Kenya’s prime minister, and exporters are hoping that the Kenyan government will help defray the costs of organizing special cargo flights to ship out produce.
No one here knows when the flight chaos will end. Countless tourists are also stranded in Kenya, although many of them on spotless white-sand beaches.
By Monday afternoon, a few tons of vegetables had been flown to Spain, where airports had reopened. From there, the produce will be trucked the rest of the way to northern Europe.
“The cost is doubling,” Mr. Shah said. “But we don’t have a choice. If we don’t have product on the shelves, our customers will look for alternatives.”
Among them, he said, Guatemala was a rising threat, along with North Africa.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Beautiful Fundraiser
Glenmore Elementary in partnership with figurative artist Chiara Costa have put together a fine opportunity for art collectors or anybody who wishes to help children in Uganda. Donate $20.00 (minimum) or more and you might get a beautiful artwork created by Costa.
Please mail your contact information and donation (name, telephone number, address, e-mail address and amount donated) to 'Hope for the nations' - 'Niteo' c/o Rhonda Draper 1180 Kelview St. Kelowna, BC V1Y 3N8.
The highest bidder/donor will take home the large portrait entitled Orphan. The other two artworks entitled Mango Sweety and Dennis will be taken in a random draw.
Please write the cheque for 'Hope for the Nations' with 'Niteo' on the memo line. Please write the information correctly so a receipt can be mailed to you after the draw. The draw will occur upon the count of 200 bids.
For more information about Chiara Costa and to see the three pieces of art that are part of this fundraising initiative, please visit her website.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
On Generosity and Greed
I was reading Tricycle, the Buddhist review, and I came across a great article and a series of quotes about generosity and greed. Are these not the two opposing forces that are at the core of most of the world's woes?
Generosity does not need to be monetary and in actual fact we have many examples of how money and stuff do not serve those who most need it.
How are you generous? With your affection? Your time? Your kind words? Your service?
Generosity does not need to be big. It just needs to be done with a pure heart.
"When you are practising generosity, you should feel a little pinch when you give something away. That pinch is your stinginess protesting. If you give away your old, worn-out coat that you wouldn't be caught dead wearing, that is not generosity. There is no pinch. You are doing nothing to overcome your stinginess; you're just cleaning out your closet and calling it something else."
- Gelek Rinpoche - Tibetan Buddhist Lama
Generosity does not need to be monetary and in actual fact we have many examples of how money and stuff do not serve those who most need it.
How are you generous? With your affection? Your time? Your kind words? Your service?
Generosity does not need to be big. It just needs to be done with a pure heart.
"When you are practising generosity, you should feel a little pinch when you give something away. That pinch is your stinginess protesting. If you give away your old, worn-out coat that you wouldn't be caught dead wearing, that is not generosity. There is no pinch. You are doing nothing to overcome your stinginess; you're just cleaning out your closet and calling it something else."
- Gelek Rinpoche - Tibetan Buddhist Lama
Friday, March 26, 2010
One Million Starving for Food and Education!
One million people face famine in Northern Uganda!
The WFP is handing out food and Stanlake Samkange, WFP country director pleads that "Handing out food will not improve the underlying causes of food insecurity," which, Samkange said, include illiteracy levels especially among girls; poor access to basic health services; bad infrastructure and a narrow set of livelihood options.
Niteo will be touring Northern Uganda this summer to ask the question "What does helping look like?" in support of education.
Niteo has friends who are getting involved in Kelowna, including all of the students who performed with Mrs. Rhonda Draper and Joy Hlady, event organizers, of Raise Your Voice II at the Kelowna Community Theatre last night.
We are excited about how people are becoming sensitized to the developing world and how we can personally get involved, both in Canada and Uganda!
The WFP is handing out food and Stanlake Samkange, WFP country director pleads that "Handing out food will not improve the underlying causes of food insecurity," which, Samkange said, include illiteracy levels especially among girls; poor access to basic health services; bad infrastructure and a narrow set of livelihood options.
Niteo will be touring Northern Uganda this summer to ask the question "What does helping look like?" in support of education.
Niteo has friends who are getting involved in Kelowna, including all of the students who performed with Mrs. Rhonda Draper and Joy Hlady, event organizers, of Raise Your Voice II at the Kelowna Community Theatre last night.
We are excited about how people are becoming sensitized to the developing world and how we can personally get involved, both in Canada and Uganda!
Saturday, January 2, 2010
2010 Information Meeting
We're having an information meeting this month. Karine and Erika will be there to answer questions and explain details.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
