Sunday and Monday

July 8, 2012

Today we visit Piet and Anike, a couple from Holland who’ve been living in Zimbabwe for 32 years.  They graciously invite us to their house for lunch after church and we arrive excited to make new friends.  Anike is a gracious host, presenting us with a delicious stew and rice meal, salad and a dessert of yogurt and stewed fruit.  It is so nice!  Homemade wine and guava juice completes a delicious meal where conversation flows easily and where the kids don’t feel like they have to sit still the entire time.  After lunch, we talk and the little ones scamper off to play in the sand pile close to the house and to make dolls out of twigs and leaves.  They have the best time! 

M and J with boys in left top

The real treat comes when we go on a hike with their two dogs.  We walk towards some dams that have been built to help with water issues and which has been completely neglected by the government.  Five years ago, Piet and Anike got together with others in the area to clean up the dam and surrounding park.  Today, it is gorgeous!  They’ve worked so hard at clearing paths, at creating spaces for bar-b-q’s and picnics, at planting aloe gardens and magical-looking cacti gardens.  We roam around, enjoying our surroundings and quiet. 

We return to their home for a snack of samosas (I looooove them!) and juice before we head back to our home where pancakes (thin, large pancakes with a drizzle of lemon from the lemon tree out back, cinnamon and sugar) and waiting for us at the Stambolie home.  All 13 of us sit around a makeshift large table and we enjoy more good conversation and food in an easy atmosphere that is welcoming and warm. Ah!!  It’s good to feel at home.

July 9, 2012

 

The kids and I pile into Q’s truck, ready for another goat distribution.  This one is also thanks to One Day’s Wages, who gave us a nice grant.  We pull up to the dry, dry village and there, waiting for us as usual, is a small group of grannies.  They pose for photos while the goats are brought to a small pen where it will be easy to corral them.  Q and I fall into our usual roles and quickly, we are done with vaccinating and tagging the goats.

Morgan falls in love with little one

I look out to see what the kids are doing and there is Morgan, holding a cute little girl.  They, along with Juju, are communicating somehow, even though the little one doesn’t speak English and Morgan and Juju don’t speak N’debele.  They help write some signs I need for a future video and do it together, the four.  The little girl does not let go of Morgan, who is just happy to hold her and make her smile. 

African Boy

Aiden is inside a hut, watching lunch being cooked and chatting away to the lady cooking.  His eyes are watering from all the smoke that can’t escape the round hut, but he refuses to leave.  When the lady leaves to fetch some water, Aiden is right on her heels, asking questions and pointing things out to her.  She answers him in N’debele and they seem to get along really well, even without a common language.

When they are done making lunch, Aiden is happy to play outside with a stick. He is a hero, a champion, a soldier, Lightning MacQueen. 

The girls play with the little one until it is time to eat lunch.  Juju loves the sadzsa and Morgan and I struggle to get the chicken meat off the bone.  We start by gently trying, then we get a bit more forceful.  Soon, it is a challenge and we are not about to give up easily.  We put our plates on our laps and dig our fingers into the place where meat meets bone.  We tug, we pull, we cajole.  We CANNOT free the meat!  It is quite amazing!  When I finally, finally get a bit off, I give it to Aiden, who happily chews on it for 3-4 minutes before it disappears.  By then, I've been able to get some more pieces off.  It is quite comical and Morgan and I laugh at our inability to eat neatly, with one hand, like everyone around us does.

I love how these three kids are getting along out here with everyone.  They are gracious, shaking hands when appropriate, smiling at everyone, eating what is put in front of them, thanking people kindly, and saying goodbye with a big wave.  They make me proud, these three.

Numbers

Ever wondered just how big the global AIDS problem is? Let’s see if we can give a little quantitative scope to this planet-wide pandemic.

Right now, 34 million people are living with HIV. Most of them—22.9 million—are in Africa, the continent from which the disease originated. 9 African countries suffer from a prevalence rate greater than 10 percent. One in ten carries HIV. Of those 9 countries, 3 are especially devastated. Though South Africa has the greatest total number of victims in the world, with 5.6 million South Africans (17.8%) infected with HIV, 24.8% of Botswana’s population has the virus. Regionally, Southern Africa is the hottest hot spot, Eastern Africa (Kenya, Uganda, and Tanzania among others) are moderate by African standards (meaning still bad—6-8%), and West Africa is doing relatively well. However, certain West African countries harbor huge numbers of HIV victims, e.g. Nigeria, whose 3.3 million infectees account for 10% of the global HIV+ population. A final statistic—in Africa, women are disproportionately at risk for HIV—59% of new infections in take hold in females.

Though Africa is by far the hardest hit region of the world, HIV has reached everywhere else as well. The absolute prevalence estimate in Asia is 4.8 million people, half of them in India, and most countries’ prevalence rates are about 1%. In many cases, as in China, the HIV+ population is concentrated within a few provinces of a country. In Eastern Europe, 1.5 million people carry HIV, with Russia, Ukraine, and the Baltic States being the worst affected. The Caribbean, whose prevalence rates are higher than anywhere but Africa, averages 2%. Latin American has 1.5 million victims, most of them in Brazil due to that country’s size. Little Belize is a hotspot, with a prevalence rate of 2%. In highly developed countries (the US, Western Europe, Australia, Canada, New Zealand), a total of 2.2 million people have HIV. In these countries, information about transmission prevention is widely available, leading to generally safer sexual behavior. On the other hand, the dismissive attitude that HIV is a problem only for poorer countries sometimes leads to riskier choices.

Looking at the broader picture, as of 2011, AIDS’s total death toll was 30 million, and as 1.8 million of those casualties were lost in 2010, by now the real number of lives taken has likely grown close to 33 million. The number of HIV+ individuals who die annually is less than the number of new HIV infections yearly—meaning more and more people are living with the virus with time. In 2010, there were 50% more new infections than deaths. 2.7 million people contracted HIV; 1.8 million others died from it.

There were 3.4 million children living with HIV in 2010, and 290,000 became infected that year. Every hour, 30 kids die from AIDS. Nine tenths of them are in Africa.

So, yeah, it’s huge. This is a problem of historic proportions. It will require a concerted, unified movement on the part of societies, their governments, and the international community to defeat the virus and ensure the health of the world’s population. Individually, we cannot do it all. But before we get lost in the numbers, it is important to remember that we can do something that matters to some AIDS victims. We, even individually, can end the threat of HIV for some people, and it’s important that we do so. Find out how you can make a difference by exploring our main website.

Chickens and Tea

July 4, 2012

The car horn gets me moving quickly and I grab my water bottle on my way out the door.  Q and I are going a couple of hours away to conduct a chicken training to a group of grandma's who are caring for orphans.  Along the way, we talk about many things: the role of women in Zimbabwean society, life during the colonial days, what sort of foods are eaten here which I haven't had yet (worms, field mice, etc),  Hwange National Park, Victoria Falls, the price of food and how it is changing the face of poverty, Lassie, scary-looking dogs, etc, etc. 

Josphine

We sit under an avocado tree on hand hewn benches, surrounded by grandmas who are ready to learn about chickens and their care.  While we wait for more grandmas to arrive, I interview the ones there in order to get their stories down.  I meet one grandma whose name is my own grandmother's, the grandma of my heart.  I tell her that my grandma is Josphine, too, but that we pronounce it differently because my grandma is from Colombia.  She tries out my "Josefina" on her tongue and finds it tastes just as good as her "Josphine".  She repeats it to herself a couple of times, as if to remember it for later.

They seem shy but are willing to answer my questions, which helps me understand their lives just a tiny bit.  The daughter who've died, leaving them with grandbabies to raise.  The sons who've pass on.  The husbands who are no more. Somehow, these women have survived tragedy after tragedy, holding on to a thin veil of hope, believing that despite everything, their grandchildren will do better than they did.  I ask them what the gift of five chickens means to them.

School fees.

Food.

Soap.

A future.

A new blanket.

I take them on a journey of possibilites and we work on numbers.  We determine that at the worst case scenario, they will each have 35-40 chickens by the end of the year (after eating some eggs and losing some chicks to predators or illness).  One woman squints her eyes and says in N'debele, "We will be rich".  Her voice is soft, her poise calm, her tone straight forward.  She shows no external excitement.  In fact, she looks a bit wary, a bit careful as she utters those words.  Once translated, I look at her square in the eyes and say "That is the point".  It seems that no translation is necessary because as the words come out of my mouth and I gesture that this is what we want for them, they all break out in smiles and laughter.  It seems that they were afraid to point out what could possibly be true - that in one year, they might be richer than they ever thought they'd be.  That in a year's time, they might have 35 chickens to call their own, some to be sold, some to be eaten and some to be kept as layers.  Once the realization hits that this is where their children's future might lay, they are eager to know what to do, what the contract demands of them and of us, how to build the best house for their chickens, and how to do record keeping.

Once I am done with the contract and record keeping portion of the workshop, my part in the training is done and I head off in search of wood.  A woman joins me and helps me build a small fire on the opposite side of the small, weather beaten church, while two adolescent girls go to a river for water.  The walk is long and in the time they go and come back, the fire is ready, almost out, revived again.  I've managed to make 50+ butter and jam sandwiches while squatting on the hot ground.  They are stacked in tall columns, these sandwiches, as tasty as I could make them with the two ingredients we have.  Q had purchased the bread, butter, jam, tea, milk, and sugar on our way to the training and I was incredulous at the amount of bread.  In his quiet manner, Q tells me that rural Africans eat as much as they can when food is available because they never know when they will eat again.  He assures me the sandwiches will be gone at tea time. 

The workshop ends at the same time as I round the corner of the church building with a pan in one hand and a small pitcher of water in the other.  Old women with beautiful black, wrinkled, hard-working, sometimes arthritic, hands are surprised that a white woman is offering to wash their hands.  They laugh shyly and hold out their hands over the pan as a thin stream of water gets poured on them.  They scrub and I pour a bit more.  Down the line I go until we are done and can go into the church where four more benches, a large pot of tea, and more than fifty sandwiches wait for us.

Q is right.  There is no food left by the time he and I head out the door. 

A pair of those beautiful old hands grabs one of mine as I say good-bye and she kisses it.  I am undone.  I hug her tightly and she says against my neck one, two, three times - "thank you. thank you. thank you". I say "thank you" back because the gift is mine.

On the Road Again

June 29, 2012 - Mahwanke, Zimbabwe

While Juju convinces Aiden that she can carry him like African women carry their babies, I prepare for a day in the field:

Water bottle.
Snack.
Sunglasses.
Paper and pen.
Camera.
Toilet paper

I am on the road again.

This time, I am on my way to Mahwanke with Shungu (monitoring and evaluation guy) and Q to distribute 32 goats to some elderly Go-gos (grandmothers) in the middle of nowhere.  We talk easily as now-familiar scenery flashes by the side windows of the car.  I don't lift up my camera when a troop of baboons cross my path or when impala jump in front of the car startling the three of us.  Now, if a rhino or a giraffe were to make their presence known, I'll be all over that!

As we drive, we talk easily about ideas, about development, about hunger, about food security, about goats, rabbits, and chickes.  Shungu tells me that what AFCA does here is life-changing.  He is passionate as he tells me of the goat babies born in programs we've supported in the past and how the children are getting plumper due to good milk.  He is so excited to monitor the activity of various sites because he sees real change. Of all people, he should know.  He has worked all around the country and can easily tell you where villages are located, where the driest areas are, where the biggest hunger lurks.  He will also tell you with a broad smile about the places where hope lives and where grandmas dance at the birth of a new baby goat. 

Go-go Judith

After what seems like half the day, we arrive dusty and a bit parched.  It is a hovel of round huts, a space where dust and greenish-brown skinny trees meet under an intense blue sky.  There, waiting for us, are the grandmas.  They shake my hand in the funny three-part African handshake and some hug me.  Introductions are made and short speeches are called for.  It is obvious, though, that no one came for speeches.  They came for GOATS and we are going to give them some!

Now accustomed to the routine, I write out ear tags and hand them out to each woman as Q explains the details of what we'll be doing in the beautiful clicking sounds of N'debele.  They clap and smile, eager to get the party going.  Beautiful, colorful head coverings stand out against the blue of the sky and the heads bob up and down as they nod in agreement to Q's words.

Q readies the syringe and I get the tagging gun ready.  With a quick nod, goat by goat are brought out of the pen, are vaccinated, tagged and handed to the Go-gos. 

Go-go Judith is about 90 years old and she breaks out in a dance of joy right there, in front of us, missing teeth and all.  She is about six inches shorter than me (imagine that!) and dances ferociously. Her feet work up a pattern in the sand and dust. She grabs my hand and says "thank you" with such intensity that the sky cannot compete with her smile.  She is radiant. 

She is all any donor would ever need to see to feel that their work is valuable.   Please understand that you are a hero to many in a dusty land far from your own. 

You are a hero to me.

More importantly, you are a hero to Go-go Judith and the children she is raising as her own.

Stigma

One of the worst things about AIDS is that it’s not just a disease. It’s not just a biological phenomenon. It’s a degrading status symbol. Around the world, AIDS is associated with degenerate morality and shame. Once you have it, it becomes an unwanted social marker if you tell and a death sentence if you don’t—and all too often, it is both. The phrase ‘insult to injury’ could never has been more apt. HIV comes with a terrible weight on the victim’s shoulders—not just because knowing that something lethal lives inside you puts an ominous feeling in the pit of your stomach, but because you now have a humiliating social burden to carry as well.

It’s not hard to figure out why HIV and AIDS have a stigma associated with them. When HIV/AIDS first appeared in humans in the mid-1980s, the infected population was primarily composed of marginalized groups—sex workers, intravenous drug users, and homosexuals. In many cultures, each of these groups is associated (some unjustly) with immorality, and this association transferred to the virus. Even in America, upon hearing the world “AIDS,” the listener will often think “homosexual,” “immorality,” or “dirty.” Moreover, the primary mode of transmission is sex—and the more partners you have the greater your chances of contracting HIV. Needless to say, the moral connotation of AIDS is nearly invariably negative. Additionally, in rural areas of developing countries, indigenous beliefs and religions may regard AIDS as the result of sin or spiritual malaise, sharpening the social division HIV can lead to.

The irony is that the marginalized groups among whom AIDS initially spread are now responsible for a small percentage of HIV transmission, at least internationally. In Southern Africa, in countries such as Zimbabwe where we work, HIV/AIDS is a problem that entire societies face. But whether these societies are willing to face it depends on their ability to accept the stigma it carries. Sometimes, entire communities will baldly deny the presence or at least the pervasiveness of HIV. And that denial is deadly, because where available, testing means treatment, and treatment means unnecessary deaths are avoided.

So AIDS means so much more than physical pain. AIDS means ostracism. AIDS means humiliation. AIDS means secrets. AIDS means stigma. And it’s really, really terrible. You’d think at least that kids would escape the social wounds of AIDS, but in many places, they don’t. Even though all children who have HIV were either born with it or had it breastfed to them, that is, no choice of theirs led to their infection, many children with HIV or AIDS face discrimination and neglect because of their condition. Sometimes, HIV+ kids who were also orphaned by AIDS have no caretaker because no one is willing to take on a tainted child. And that is not okay.

The world must begin to see AIDS victims as God’s children, as sisters and brothers whom we are to suffer with, care for, and lift up. They are not tainted, they do not deserve ostracism; they are cherished and deserve love and care. The AFCA strives to provide that love and care, and YOU can be a part of that effort. Visit the main website to learn more.

Water, water - not everywhere

June 28, 2012 - Bulawayo, Zimbabwe

Cows in Riverbed

Water is such an immense issue, isn't it?  Where I am right this instant, in Bulawayo, water is scarse. Not as scarse as outside of the city, though, where we drive by countless dry riverbeds, all full of sand and the hoofprints of horses and the footprints of other animals.  I don't know where animals and people go to find water, but am told it can be 20 kilometers for a person to get water.  When they arrive at the water hole, the creek bed, the borehole, the well, they take time to get their water and then, they have 20 kilometers to get back home - this time carrying a 60 - 70lb jug of water on their head.  This is HOURS from a person's day.  HOURS of walking under the hot sun in search of something that we Americans take for granted.

Animals survive more from the liquid they get from leaves and stems they chew on, even though these, too, are shriveled and brown.  It is amazing to me to see how the local goats have adapted to life without much water, looking plump and healthy, even though they might not actually drink water but once a day, if that.  Imagine how much more milk they'd produce if they had actual water to drink?  This topic has been occupying my time these past two days, taking me to meetings with dam builders and borehole diggers.  If we can find a partner to help us in this particular area in the villages where we work, life would be much sweeter for many. I keep plodding forward, researching, calling, writing, visiting, pestering, begging, and pleading.  Someone, somewhere will answer.  I am sure of it. 

Bathoom in middle of no where

I don't know how many times we leave the water running while washing dishes. The water running so it gets hot enough for us to enjoy a shower. The water running while we reach for a toddler who needs his hands cleaned.

After two weeks of very controlled water supplies, I've learned to bathe both Aiden and Julia using the water from one stardard size bucket.  I can wash completely, hair and all, with less than half a bucket, reserving the other half to flush the toilet when the water is off.  Will we remember to be this careful when we return home and water seems to be flowing everywhere, at little expense? 

Another issue with water is the fact that without it, people can't grow gardens properly.  With this in mind, we are starting a small pilot project to see which vegetables grow best in these conditions, with which specific type of gardening (4x4, pallet, hanging, etc) types.  We are enlisting the help of ECHO, an organization in Florida, to record our findings and to access seeds suitable for drought conditions.  A big part of this project will be the use of manure from goats and chickens given to orphan families and tons of mulch to keep moisture in the ground.  Stay in touch to hear how this project progresses...I promise it will be interesting and we'll all learn a lot.

Where Did Two Weeks Go?

June 25, 2012 - Bulawayo, Zimbabwe

Incredible Rock Formations in Matopos

Jodi has left us and returned home.  We will miss her, as she is kind, affable, knowledgeable, loving, and sweet.  She also has so many talents!  If she had stayed here all summer, she would not have run out of things she could teach and share with others.  I do hope she will return one day soon, but this time, with Ed.

straw used for roofing

This morning I meet with folks from Forgotten Voices (an NGO from PA who also work here, but in a different capacity than AFCA), introducing Q and ZOE to them.  I think the meeting goes well because we are like-minded in our approach to development and in how we work. I like these folks and what they do.  Hopefully, we'll be able to do something together soon. 

Work at the office went smoothly as I search for grants to help each of our programs.  I so wish that we could raise more funds through churches and schools, rather than through grants, as these take long to research, long to write, and longer to wait for a response.  But God knows what we need and if this is way we can help, then, I'll do it.  I am grateful for Yasmina in South Africa who is helping me compile a list of possible grantors an for Mary who is helping with with PA company info.  It is only through the work of many that a load gets lighter.  The next two weeks is dedicated solely to grant-writing, with some animal distributions mixed in the middle of the research and writing days. Then, the next week, I'd like to focus on writing various companies in PA who might be interested in supporting our work. Then, at some point, we are taking a week off to visit a large game park on our way to Victoria Falls.  Before you know it, our time here will be over and we'll find ourselves packing up to return home. 

Rainbow Lizard

It doesn't seem possible that tomorrow, we've been here two weeks.  Where has time gone?  So far, we've distributed 116 goats and 84 chickens, attended church twice, washed clothes four times, consulted with two other groups on how to write grants and how to fundraise for projects, gone to a game park twice, gone to a b-b-q, seen rainbow lizards, met countless new people, gone food shopping 6 -7 times (we buy a little at a time so it stays fresh), Morgan has had one sleep over, Juju has gone out with friends to a game park, we've had four children over to play, and we've lost electricity and water half the time we've been here.  What a trip it's been! 

Last weekend while visiting another part of the Matopos game park, we got out of the car to look for hippos at a lake.  The water table was very, very low, we everyone made it down to the area where water would normally be.  Instead, we were walking on dry sand between large puddles, looking for the hippos.  Suddendly, we saw a baby crocordile not too far away and while we all stared and took photos of it, it occured to me that the mama must be somewhere close by.  So, we pile back in the car and drive off.  Turning back, we read a sign...see it here.

Oops!!