Change begins with thy self

Tuesday, April 23rd, 2013

By Kseniya Fenner (Mama Hope intern)

When I was invited to join the Peace Corps in Ukraine I thought that the opportunity to do something completely selfless had come knocking on my door. I didn’t consider that signing away two years of my life for people I had not yet met would also be the most positive thing I could do for myself. I’m fortunate enough that I wanted to join the Peace Corps, at least partially, because of a subconscious feeling that the first twenty-one years of my life were almost too easy. I was ready to challenge myself. I was ready to give back. Of course the work that I did in Ukraine benefited my community. I worked at a secondary school teaching English to third to eleventh graders. They will probably never forget the American girl who spent two years as a walking, talking U.S. exhibit for their classes. I was free labor for the school, a new friend and confidante for the teachers, and my students were able to learn English from a native speaker. Still, I can’t help but feel that all of the lessons I taught, seminars I led, projects I developed, and relationships I formed had the biggest impact on me.

Working for two years in Ukraine I got to intimately know a country that the majority of people only think of when they hear “Chernobyl.” I showed my family and three best friends small glimpses of it’s beauty when they came to visit me. I learned a new language. My intercultural communication skills were constantly put to a test- Imagine trying to convince a group of angry, Ukrainian grandmothers that you aren’t the neighbor flushing pickles down the toilet. I was lucky enough to fall in love twice. Once was with a cat. I learned what a difference a little sunshine makes on a gloomy day. I made friends, both fellow volunteers and Ukrainians, who were there for me through my roller coaster highs and lows. They are the only ones who will ever fully understand this huge part of my life. I learned that I could survive 34 hours on a ninety-degree train with hundreds of other sweaty, half naked humans the day after I had food poisoning. I appreciate washing machines, peanut butter, and hot showers more than the average American, and I always will. I wouldn’t relive all of my experiences again, but the most challenging ones are the the times I look back at most fondly. I can’t wait to tell my grandchildren, “Oh yeah, I really did that.”

How exactly did I come back a different person? My childhood friends would probably argue that I didn’t. I still find more pleasure in hearing a good story than anything else. But some of the crazy stories I can now tell are better than fiction. I still plan my day around the food I will eat. But only being able to buy organic, in-season foods from toothless, smiling grandmothers has changed my eating habits forever. I still laugh obnoxiously loud when i’m really enjoying something. But the nights I spent so bored that plucking hairs out of my arms seemed fun made it possible for me to enjoy laughing with close friends so much more. So maybe I didn’t change, but I did mature in a way that could have never happened from the comfort of my own home.

My experience was life changing, but when people ask “Would you do it again?” and I always have to ask them to clarify. Do they mean if my time machine suddenly started working, and I was forced to go back to September 2010, would I still get on that plane? Yes. Or are they asking if I would add an additional two years to my service? No way. Being so far away made me appreciate my family, friends, and home city so much more. At the same time, being home is making me realize how important those two years in Ukraine were to me. Seeing the effects on, and of course of, the more than four-hundred volunteers serving in Ukraine alongside me strengthened my belief in the importance of international development projects.

Are you looking for a change?

Check out Mama Hope’s Global Advocate Program:

http://www.firstfifth.org/

Tags: change, Development Work, fellowship, first fifth, global advocates, Mama Hope, nonprofit, peace corps, Women
Posted in Articles | No Comments »

Eritrea created my Worldview

Thursday, April 11th, 2013

By Tiana Miller-Leonard (Mama Hope Intern and UCSB student)

When my mom first proposed the idea of a summer trip on the Peace Boat, a ship that would take us to eleven countries in six weeks, I didn’t hesitate to say yes. I hadn’t had much travel experience as a nine year-old and it sounded like an incredible adventure. I was right; it was. I didn’t realize, however, how this trip would transform my world. I didn’t know that the Peace Boat would shape my perspective in a way that would last my whole life. I had no idea that the cultures it exposed me to would have such an impact on my future aspirations, or that I would continue to think about those countries every day nearly a decade later. All I knew was that it sounded like fun.

Just months later, my world had changed.

In Japan, I learned that some cultures consider the boisterous antics of children “rude” rather than “cute”. I met kids my own age in Morocco who already spoke English and French, while I could barely say a word of Spanish. My nine-year-old self may have been more awed by the gelato in Italy than by the Vietnamese beggars collecting money in old war helmets, but the significance of the experience I was having was not lost on me. The Peace Boat opened my mind to countless new dimensions. One country that especially struck me was Eritrea.

Even though Ethiopians and Eritreans had come to a peace agreement four years earlier, Eritrea still felt like war. I don’t remember a single building that wasn’t decrepit and covered in bullet holes. In one square, residents had converted an old war tank into a decorative fountain. You were reminded of the struggle everywhere you looked.

I had heard about war after 9/11. I knew that somewhere out there, American troops were fighting. But since most wars were fought far from American soil, I had no idea what war really meant for a country. In Eritrea, I saw the effects of violence with my own eyes. On top of the reminders of war and fighting, I also saw a country ravaged by drought and poverty. Eritrea was hot, there was minimal water sources around, I saw people living in ways that I couldn’t imagine being able to endure.

But that’s the thing. They endured it. They went beyond enduring it; they still managed to enjoy their lives. Despite the brutal conditions, the kids still played around like kids, and the adults still welcomed us visitors into their society. I went to a soccer match and none of the outside hardship mattered. It was just soccer; everyone laughed and cheered and yelled at bad calls.

I learned so much from that visit. Yes, I learned what real struggle looked like, and I learned that my American life was incredibly privileged. But I also learned that all that privilege wasn’t necessary to live. The Eritreans I met were still able to live dynamic lives, even without the excess I had become used to. I am sure that at times they wished for more and felt unsatisfied, but they didn’t let that define them. They showed me that I didn’t need a lot to be happy. On the other side of the globe, in a country unlike mine in every way, I learned that people are still people, no matter what.

Lots of people wonder why my mother decided to drag me around the world at such a young age. Wasn’t I too young to really appreciate it? Wouldn’t I have been overwhelmed and too wrapped up in myself to see what was happening?

In fact, I think that it is because I was so young that the Peace Boat had such an important impact on my life. I went into that trip with no previous knowledge—I had no preconceived notions about what the world was supposed to be like. Rather than changing my worldview, the Peace Boat created it. It inspired me to give back to the world when I grew up, so that I could use my privilege to help make the lives of the people in Eritrea slightly less difficult, but it also showed me that I shouldn’t presume my way of life to be better. There were things they had that I lacked. As much as I want to help people in poverty to the best of my abilities, I want to continue learning from their cultures as well.

Tags: Africa, Eritrea, hope, Japan, Mama Hope, Peace Boat, poverty, UCSB
Posted in Articles, Uncategorized | No Comments »

Kenya’s 2013 Elections: Tribalism? Really?

Friday, March 22nd, 2013

By Andrew Hanauer

As opposition candidate Raila Odinga’s challenge to Kenya’s recent presidential election results proceeds in the Kenyan court system, the international media continues to dance around the issue of ethnicity or “tribalism,” at times trying desperately to avoid the “T” word and at times sinking into the depths of racist stereotypes, intentioned or not. Michaela Wrong writes in the New York Times, for instance, of the difficulty of writing about Kenya’s elections without talking about tribalism given the apparent ethnic divide between the two major electoral coalitions. Mukoma wa Ngugi criticizes Wrong in the UK Guardian, accusing her of defending a “discredited analytic framework,” and challenges western media outlets to accurately cover African issues in a meaningful way or risk being completely ignored by Africans generally. The general critique seems to be that the Western media seems to focusing intently on the so-called “tribal” divisions within the Kenyan electorate while breathlessly awaiting a repeat of the 2007 election violence, despite the fact that it seems unlikely to materialize. For the vast majority of Americans, who likely know little about Kenya beyond the “tribal warfare” narrative of the tragic 2007 elections that was forwarded by the mainstream American media, the images of Kenyans hacking each other to death over an election speak for themselves: “tribal” or not, these are inexplicable events happening in an inexplicable place that is beyond the realm of what is “normal.”

All of this serves to further alienate human beings from one another through the time-honored method of ignorance. To the extent that journalists should know better and report better, it is their fault. Wrong notes in a dispatch for the New York Times, for instance, that she is constantly told that “we Kenyans are totally tribal.” She correctly notes that this “tribalism” is not “irrational” but fails, in her defense of the term as it applies to this election, to ask why Kenyans might vote along ethnic lines. If it is not irrational, then what is the rationale? Is it because they hate members of other tribes? Or is there a better explanation that the media might need to convey to the world and in particular to the west? Kenya’s electoral violence stems not from primitive tribal blood feuds but rather from a system of governance created by Kenyan elites and western institutions and made possible by arbitrary colonial boundaries. Or, as Wrong herself writes quite accurately, “What Kenya desperately needs is an end to a political culture that treats state resources as a winner’s preserve rather than national assets benefiting all citizens equally.”

Posted in Articles | No Comments »

Standing room only for Mama Hope Supporters

Monday, February 11th, 2013

By Andrew Shaffer and Brianna Russell

Every month a group of Tuesday Night Writers gets together for their Pints & Prose fundraising event at Peri’s Bar in Fairfax, California to read original pieces of fiction and short stories and to raise money for women a world away. In their small corner of the world, these American writers are hopeful about the impact they can make in another small corner of the world, Kisumu, Kenya where their monthly donations reach the Stephanie Moore Women’s Group. These Kisumu women are the heads of their households and run their own businesses in order to support their families thanks in part to contributions from the Pints & Prose fundraiser.

Stephanie Moore led writing groups and taught dance classes mainly out of her home for years before she passed away in 2006. The Tuesday Night Writers include Cyndi Cady, Amanda Conran, Chris Cole, David Winton, Jill Tidman, John Phillip, Jon Wells, Tom Joyce and Tanya Egan Gibson. This group has remained together and motivated to continue what they learned from Stephanie, creating a sort of writer’s support group with the goal of carrying on her spirit. “She would never do anything half way, it wasn’t just send $25 a month to Bernard in Kenya, she wanted to know his grades, then about his mother and family, and then about the women in his village” recalled Cyndi.

In their monthly meetings these writers also raise money for Mama Hope, a non-profit started by Stephanie’s daughter, Nyla Rodgers. In an effort to recover from the loss of her mother, Nyla traveled to Kenya to meet a young man whose education her mother had sponsored. When she arrived, however, she was surprised to meet hundreds of people that were helped by her mother. Realizing the impact that a single person can have, Nyla founded Mama Hope to honor and continue her mother’s work.

Stephanie proved to us all that one person can in fact make a difference in the world. This year marks the third anniversary of Pints & Prose, whose meetings now pack the bar full, often leaving standing room only for those that come to show their support and carry on Stephanie’s legacy.

There is no doubt that the number of people touched by Stephanie and Mama Hope is forever growing. According to Cyndi, “It was important to her so it is important to us, Stephanie is ‘Mama Hope’.”

You can find more information about the Tuesday Night Writers on Facebook.

For more information about Mama Hope’s work, click here.

Posted in Articles, Education, Health, Kisumu, Kenya | No Comments »

Eunice’s Wish. Granted.

Thursday, August 9th, 2012

Every day Gratefulness.org sends me a quote of the day. The first thing I do when I wake up is read this quote and I find that often it sets the tone for the day. This is the quote that was sent to me on Monday.

“However much concerned I was at the problem of misery in the world; I never let myself get lost in broodings over it. I always held firmly to the thought that each one of us can do a little to bring some portion of it to an end.” -Dr. Albert Schweitzer

When I read this quote I knew that Monday would be a very special day.

The night before, after an 8 hour bus ride from Nairobi, we arrived here in Kisumu, Kenya. I was just here in February launching the Chiga Water Project and now we are here again to see it completed and eventually bring water to over 30,000 people. On Monday morning we went to the garden to meet the Women Caregiver Group who are the stewards of this project. The minute that we drove up they started dancing and singing. I was relieved because I thought for sure they would be mad at us because it has taken so long to finish this project. Instead they were holding our hands and thanking us for returning.

Women Caregiver Group meeting in Chiga.

The women lead us over to a grove of trees and started a community meeting . Anastasia Juma, the Director of our partner here in Kisumu, Our Lady of Perpetual Support (OLPS), welcomed us and made all the normal introductions and then she opened the floor for anyone to share with the group.

The first woman that stood up was a woman named Eunice. She told all of us that on Friday her house burned down and she lost everything except the clothes on her back. She is a widow but has four children who are 2, 4, 6 and 12 and now she is trying to figure out how to take care of them after they have lost everything. She said that she prays we can help her with a new home so that she can rebuild her life.

After she sat down another woman named Francesca stood up and said, “We have heard this woman. She is our sister. And we are a special group that takes care of each other. All of us need to go home and look at what we have and bring only those things that we love to help her.” All the women nodded in agreement. Then Anastasia started organizing. “Who of you can bring clothes for the 2 year old?” Hands went up. “Who of you will bring clothes for the 6 year old?” Hands went up again. How about dishes? Who will bring her dishes?” Again hands went up. Soon everyone had offered to bring some item of theirs to help Eunice start over. As the meeting came to a close it was decided that everyone would return on Wednesday with their items for Eunice.

I sat there with tears in my eyes. I was inspired by the courage of Eunice to share her problems with the group and ask for help and also moved by the willingness of all of the other women who are already struggling themselves and on average caring for eight children to give away the little they have to help her family. I was so happy to be surrounded by people that were ready to do whatever they could to ensure that a member of their community was not suffering.

Later Amy, Anastasia and I met to discuss the issue of the new house. It would be a simple mud and tin roofed home, which would cost about $500 to build. We asked Anastasia what she thought because we wanted to provide the funds to build the home but we do not normally help individuals, we focus on communities. Anastasia decided it was a priority to build the new home and since OLPS builds home for their people we would just give the money anonymously and she would tell Eunice that the community and OLPS came together to support her.

On Wednesday, the day the women were meeting to bring things to Eunice, I woke up and read this quote of the day. It said:

“Make a gift of your life and lift all…by being kind, considerate, forgiving, and compassionate at all times, in all places, and under all conditions, with everyone as well as yourself. This is the greatest gift anyone can give.
-David R. Hawkins

That afternoon we headed to the garden to meet the women. When we arrived the sky was darkening with rain clouds and the sound of thunder was in the distance. The women were under the trees dressed in Sunday’s best and they all were carrying their gift for Eunice in plastic bags. She sat in the middle of them all beaming.

Eunice receiving her gifts from the women as it starts to rain.

One by one they came up to give their gifts to her. There were clothes for all the children, shoes, pots, dishes, bedding, food and even money. The minute the gifts were finished being given out the gray clouds opened above us and it started to pour. One of the women stated, “This rain is seen as a blessing but we must run home”. We all helped Eunice gather her gifts and then they all ran home laughing, singing and dancing in the pouring rain. As Eunice walked away proudly with all of her gifts on her head tucked away in a table cloth she had a new sense of ease about her. She grabbed my hand and told me, “God will always provide and here my friends will support me.”

I think of the images that are usually put out there of poor helpless Africans and then I think, “Where are these helpless Africans?” Every person I’ve met during my visits all over Africa are strong willed, driven and committed to taking care of their family and community with whatever skills they possess. I am constantly inspired by the way the community comes together to make sure everyone is cared for. It is something I wish was highlighted more by all organizations who work here. They have to also witness and see it as much as we do because it is impossible to miss. It is built into the fabric and culture of the African people. Later that night, Anastasia sums up this selfless giving perfectly with one of her own awe inspiring quotes. “Whatever little you have, you give. We must take care of those who are the neediest because they are us and we are them.”

Eunice going home in the rain with all of her gifts on her head and a chance to rebuild her new home.

Posted in Agriculture, Articles, Kisumu, Kenya, Our Stories, Uncategorized, Water | No Comments »

Call Me Hope: Behind the Scenes in Africa

Saturday, December 3rd, 2011

130 Participants! 72 Locations! 2 Continents! 2 minutes and 15 seconds long!

Call Me Hope is the second video in our Stop the Pity. Unlock the Potential Campaign which began with Alex Presents: Commando. With this piece we wanted to push the theme of interconnectedness from observational to participatory. We wanted to bring our friends and family in Africa into collaboration with their U.S. counterparts.

To the right are the people we live, laugh and work with on a daily basis in Africa. Program directors, project beneficiaries, and neighbors… they are our dear friends and partners in Mama Hope’s mission. To the left are the Americans that form our other Mama Hope community… resilient, forward-thinking, committed and involved individuals joining the movement to change the stereotypes that have blanketed an entire continent since guilt-based fundraising took over the development world.

: Mama Hope Founding Director Nyla Rodgers works with Call Me Hope co-director Joe Sabia in the back of the Impala Express (Photo by Bryce Yukio Adolphson)

The idea for the Call Me Hope video was born in the back of bus near the border of Kenya and Tanzania this last July. My colleague Joe Sabia (digital artist and filmmaker) and I were wolfing down nadazi pastries and playing mental ping-pong with Stop the Pity campaign ideas. We’d amassed a lot of outlines exploring perceived contrasts and hidden similarities between our African and American communities, but hadn’t fully tapped into the energy that each of these communities exude. Our Mama Hope partners on both continents needed to have a say in the project and to actively participate in its creation rather than act as displays to be captured and presented. After much deliberation and many samosas, the trifecta of our film concept emerged:

1. Call and Response

In Africa, it’s hard for us to finish a community meeting without a call and response song session. Back in the States, YouTube is swamped with people singing along with their favorite songs. It is a universal concept. Done.

2. Split Screen
Naturally we couldn’t bring both sides together, so we needed to facilitate some sort of interaction (ideally clever). All the better if we could film people in their natural Africa/U.S. settings and have them match up.

3. Paul Simon
Honestly, we were tossing around some pretty ho-hum ideas until Nyla Rodgers, Mama Hope’s Founding Director, threw her unending love of Paul Simon’s Graceland and “You Can Call Me Al” into the mix. It was the obvious choice both in tone and meaning (far outweighing Gary Numan’s 1979 hit “Cars”).

: Gracie at the Moshi Girls Vocational School in Moshi, Tanzania. (Photo by Bryce Yukio Adolphson)

We started our Call Me Hope journey by assembling a team for this past summer’s Stop the Pity campaign: Nyla; Joe; and myself, Mama Hope Visual journalist and Founding Member, Bryce Yukio Adolphson. We tasked ourselves with expanding the scope of what nonprofit video content could be. In line with our Stop the Pity message, we aimed to show the direct opposite of helplessness and hopelessness. We needed to present the truth that we experienced in Africa: capable individuals full of potential.

Each African community had a different take on the project. Participants in the urban areas got it right off. Like most of us here in the States, the idea of acting for the camera is fairly ingrained into their culture. From Facebook to the movies, they’ve seen and experienced just as much as we have. About 60% of our friends in the film actually knew the song and perked up immediately upon hearing it. Our rural partners were different. The idea of participating in a way that went beyond allowing access to their lives and a few interviews took some explaining. Having worked with Mama Hope for the past five years, they were perfectly accepting of me and my camera. Their trust was earned, but how best to explain what we were up to?

We eventually took to carrying around a rough cut on my phone. Everyone would crowd around watching video footage of people singing Paul Simon’s lines and, of course, children dancing. The smiles were infectious. People instantly understood the message and their involvement. Afterwards, it became difficult to put a cap on the number of participants lining up (there’ll be a much much longer cut when we go back next year).

: Bryce Yukio Adolphson reviewing footage with community partners Amathe and Lucy in Kambi Garba, Kenya. (Photo by Amy Vaninetti)

Ultimately, Call Me Hope became a family album. It’s a cross-section of our projects and personal experiences. Not just of this year, but of the relationships reaching back to 2006 when Nyla first met our oldest partners. We feel this video is the truest representation of these relationships we have. From the schools to the gardens to the shops, everyone involved is an equal partner. They are who we are: our hope and potential intertwined.

Special thanks to Mama Hope Operations Director Amy Vaninetti for her constant outreach & bubble letter skills and Raffi Marty for his chalkboard-lifting biceps.

Stay tuned for our “Behind the Scenes in the U.S.” post!

Tags: Africa, Isiolo, Kenya, Mama Hope, moshi, Nairobi, nonprofit, Stop the Pity, tanzania
Posted in Articles, Isiolo, Kenya, Moshi, Tanzania, Our Locations, Our Stories, Videos | No Comments »

Sun up, Sun down Safari

Wednesday, July 27th, 2011

At 7:00 am Amy, Bryce, Joe, Raffy and myslef were sleepily waiting on the side of the Arusha Highway for the St. Timothy’s Students to pick us up in their buses. Today all 134 students were going to the Tarangine National Park on a Safari. This is a field trip that Mama Hope funds annuallly as a way to celebrate the end of their school term. At 7:30am the buses pulled up and kids all stuck their heads out the windows waving to us. When I stepped onto the bus there was a sea of green and white uniforms because it was completely packed with students. There were 4 children to every two seats, they were sitting on each other’s laps but none of the kids seemed uncomfortable. They were all grinning and excited for their field trip so they just scooted around to make room for us and we were all on our way.

Almost immediately your typical “Field Trip Bus” hijinks began. One student would start singing a song like “Bingo” and for a few minutes everyone would raucously join in until it trailed off about 10 minutes later. A few students were playing a version of “I spy” counting everything they saw that was yellow and every time one of the students named Alvin saw a sign for Tarangine he would update me enthusiatically, “106 km and we arrive!”

When we reached Arusha, Esther tapped me on the shoulder excitedly pointing at something in the street, “Look, I’ve never seen one before. And now there are two!” I looked around trying to see what they all were so excited about and then Doreen told me “Look its a stop light. We don’t have them in Moshi”.

A little later into the trip I heard some commotion and Acinta shouted “Meshak, you just farted! Open the window!” Meshak sat there looking embarassed as everyone laughed and the girls looked disgusted. Then he laughed and proudly said “I did!” and played it off like only a 9 year old boy can with the other boys giving him high fives for grossing out the girls.

After about 5 hours we finally arrived at the park and a tour guide got on our bus and said “if you want see the animals you have to be very quiet.” The kids immediately got very serious. It was safari time.

Tarangine’s landscape was absolutely breathtaking it was covered with herds of animals, wildebeests, warthogs, impalas, zebras, giraffes, elephants and hundreds of massive baobob trees. At one point, we were looking at a group of zebra who seemed to be distracted by something and then we saw why. Under a baobob tree about 50 feet away was a giant lioness eating a wildebeest. The kids all clammered to get a look and whispered “simba”. I announced “that is my first time seeing a lion” they all responded enthusiastically “me too!”

After seeing the lion it was time for lunch and we descended upon the picnic area. When we were finsished and headed back to the bus out of the corner of my eye I saw a giant baboon sneaking up on a group of khakied dutch safari picnicers. He broke into a run, hopped on their table, roared and grabbed one of the women’s lunch boxes and jumped over the fence and defiantly ate it all right in front of her. Then if as on cue, 35 baboons emerged from the bushes hopping on tables, stealing lunches and chasing little girls. We all watched from afar and as they reclaimed the picnic area. When we all got back on our buses and left the baboons stood in the parking lot as if to say “And stay out!!!”

Two hours later, after seeing 5 more lions and hundreds more animals, it was 5:00pm and time to make our way back to Moshi. A few hours into the ride Doreen was asleep in my lap, Sarafina and Jessica on either side using my shoulders as pillows and I was balancing Peace’s head in my hand as she slept. The mosqitoe bites on my leg were itching like crazy but I didn’t want to move and wake the girls so I tried my best to doze off as well. Just as I finally was starting to dream I was awakend by a huge “BAM!!!” and a loud clunking noise started coming from the buses engine. It was about 9:00pm and it was pitch dark except for headlights of the passing cars. I stepped out of the bus and stretched for the first time in 4 hours. Soon all of students piled out of the bus excited by this new development in their field trip. They were playing tag and Joe showed a few curious students how to use the southern cross constellation to find Saturn. It was one of those moments I was sure could of never happened in the USA. There was no fear about the dark just joy. There was no complaining from the children or angry parents demanding a refund. Instead while we waited for a new bus to pick us up we watched shooting stars appear above us everywhere.

Tags: Africa, Arusha, moshi, nonprofit, Safari, tanzania, Tarangine
Posted in Moshi, Tanzania, Our Locations, Our Stories | No Comments »

The Second 2 Weeks: Kisumu

Monday, July 25th, 2011

Joe Sabia and Raffy Marty visit the Mama Hope projects in Kenya and Tanzania. Here is the first hike of many with partner project OLPS Director Anastasia Juma.

Jane Kanango harvests tomatos at the Mama Rita Rose Garden in Kisumu, Kenya. The garden provides nutrition to over 800 people living in the community.

Anastasia and Paul give us a lesson in bow and arrow garden defense.

Joe makes a friend named Phien.

Raffy's impromptu travel log with Helen, a member of the Mama Hope sponsored Woman's Micro-finance Group.

Dorcas, another member of the Woman's Micro-Finance Group, shows us her sewing business in Kisumu, Kenya.

Wherever we go, children tend to follow. We're a little like the Pided Pipper.

Mullen, Program Director of OLPS, gives a tour of the Children's Rescue Center in Kisumu, Kenya. Mama Hope is currently raising funds to complete this community initiated project.

Raffy does his best to help out with the Children's Rescue Center bricks. He later admits he has no clue how the rock working crew manages it day in and out.

A Mama Hope induced stampede at Nyomonge Primary School (aka a game of Mr. Fox).

The longest congo line in the history of East Africa.

Joe teaches geography and American slang.

Raffy plays netball with the Mama Rita Rose Garden women. Netball is basically basketball without dribbling.

... and with a soccer ball.

Nyomonge community meeting. Their most pressing need: water.

Amy dancing with the women of Nyomonge (a continuing theme).

Bryce getting down at the Mama Hope house party with with OLPS and project beneficiaries on our last night in Kisumu, Kenya.

Joe and Nyla editing on the way to Moshi, Tanzania. Total bus time: 30 hours in 4 weeks.

Tags: Africa, Anastasia, Kenya, Kisumu, Mama Hope, nonprofit
Posted in Our Locations, Our Projects, Our Stories | 4 Comments »

The First 2 weeks

Friday, July 8th, 2011

The First 2 Weeks: Bryce Yukio Adolphson

People wonder what we’re up to when we’re out with our project communities. Here’s a taste…

Travel from Nairobi to Maai Mahiu: 2 hours.

Tuesday, June 28, 3:37pm: Visiting the chaos of Ngeya Primary School's 1700 student recess. It's crazy to think that the garden we fund here feeds them all daily.

Tuesday, June 28, 4:28pm: Attending the Ngeya Primary School Environmental Club meeting

Tuesday, June 28, 5:30pm: Plotting future projects with CTC youth and CTC Founder Zane Wilemon

Travel from Maai Mahiu to Isiolo: 7 hours

Friday, July 1, 3:08pm: Cell phone math with the New Jordan Women's Group in Isiolo, Kenya.

Friday, July 1, 5:48pm: Greg Mortenson got it wrong. It's 3 Cups of Fanta.

Saturday, July 2, 2:49pm: Flash mob dance off with our Kambi Garba water project community.

Travel from Isiolo to Arimet and back: 2 hours

Sunday, July 3, 3:19pm: Camel chasing with the Arimet water project.

Monday, July 4, 8:36am: Purchasing lumber at Mums Timber Sales to begin construction on the poultry project in Kambi Garba.

Monday, July 4, 11am: Tie-Dye madness with the NJWG micro-finance group.

Monday, July 4, 1:48pm: Haight Street, Kenya.

Monday, July 4, 4:45pm: Poultry project is well under way in Kambi Garba.

Monday, July 4, 5:53pm: Kambi Garba partner Sarafina Lokoel pumps iron at the USAID gym in honor of the 4th of July.

Travel from Isiolo to Kisumu: 12 hours

Thursday, July 7, 2:52pm: Corn shucking with the women of the Rita Rose Garden in Kisumu, Kenya.

Total time in Matatu buses: 23 hours in 2 weeks.

Posted in Our Locations, Our Projects, Our Stories | 8 Comments »

The Ride

Friday, July 1st, 2011

The Ride: by Amy Vaninetti

I want to tell you about one of my favorite parts of traveling Africa, most would say that this would be their least favorite, but let me explain why I love it so much….

The locals in Africa travel from town to town via a Matatu because it is the cheapest way to travel. A Matatu is a 1980′s 12 seater van that they use as a travel bus. The seats are very small to where your knees hit the seat in front of you and your shoulders are rubbing up against the person beside you. There is very little ventilation, so on a 90+ degree day this can be quite a sweaty ride. They not only pack it full of people, but they pack it full of peoples stuff; under the seats, by the side panels, in the legroom area, anywhere they can find a free square foot. Very cozy to say the least.

You buy a seat in the van, and if you are the first person to board you get the best seat, but could be waiting 2 hours for 11 more people to hop on board. Once the van is to capacity you begin driving and the whole vehicle starts to rattle and shake. The locals call this an “African massage”. You bounce and shake as you hit the road full of dips and potholes. At first you feel like at any moment the van is just going to spontaneously combust, every steel piece of the vehicle falling apart as you roll out onto the open road. After about 10 min of this, you start to get used to it, and this is when I start to find the fun. Seeing it just like the Indiana Jones ride at Disney Land but without the snakes popping out at you. Instead there are people darting out in the middle of the street, as if they were playing a real life game of Frogger and they are the frog. There are cars swerving to try and pass each other coming inches away from hitting one another. There are no traffic lights, so it is a free for all and everyone is trying to get somewhere fast!

View of the road from inside the Matatu

Yesterday I was in one of these Matatu’s as we drove 5 hours from Nairobi to Isiolo, where Mama Hope’s water projects are located. The conditions above may paint this drive as undesirable, but I just love it! I’m jolting back and fourth in a packed car with a funny old man, a mother with her small baby, and a bunch of middle aged African men, listening to bongo music, with pineapples under my feet, driving past small villages and road side fruit stands…. and then it hits me, this is Africa! This is what I love. The little imperfections, the closeness, and the lifestyle so real and raw and different from my own. Pulling over on the side of the road to hear the driver get out and announce “no brakes”… But never the less after some thumping around under the vehicle we’re back on the road again, driving with our flashers on the remainder of the way. I love it all, from the hawkers who bombard you at rest stops; shoving fruit, sodas and crackers in your face trying to get you to buy their goods… to the beautiful scenery that changes from lush rolling hills of banana trees and forest, to a desert full of shrubby trees and dirt as far as you can see.

My and Nyla's feet on Pineapples

Even though this ride is far from the comfort I get at home, with my butt asleep, my knees aching and hot as a sauna… Somehow I’m at peace; more so than I have ever been in the US. I’m relaxed and ready for every bump and shake this ride has to offer. Because its the ride that puts everything into perspective and in the end, soothes your soul. When everything is out of your control, and nothing is ideal, it is so freeing. This is what the ride is all about. Realizing… This is Africa, and it is beautiful! Some people say we’re insane for driving 5 hours in a Matatu with the locals, instead of chartering our own SUV, but I think they are the crazy ones because they’re missing out on the little experiences that make life so rich. It’s the ride… and I hope you all can take it some day.

The Kaisut desert in Kenya

Posted in Our Stories, Uncategorized | 1 Comment »

Arriving in Africa

Thursday, June 30th, 2011

Arriving in Africa: By Nyla Rodgers

Dancing with the women of our partner community in Kambi Garba, Kenya.

A week before leaving on this trip to Africa my best friend’s mother told me, “When all the other little girls were make believing they were princesses your were busy pretending you were in Africa.” After hearing this I started to think back and realized that I always had a fascination with Africa. I remembered that I wrote my first grade essay about Kenya. I remember using my grandpa’s atlas to trace the outline of the country and drawing the mane of a lion like a sun with an orange crayon. And in 1986 when I was 7 years old and Paul Simon came out with “Graceland” I would belt out the song “Under African Skies” and imagine all those stars and think “someday I will see them.” So it was no surprise to me that 20 years later when I first stepped off the plane in Nairobi, I felt like I had returned home.

This is my 6th trip to Africa and ever since that first trip in 2006 I continue to fall deeper in love with the culture of this incredibly beautiful continent and people. I feel like each year my heart must expand so that it can fit all the love I receive and give as we travel to all our different partner communities.

This year I am traveling with Amy Vaninetti, Mama Hope’s Operations Director and Bryce Yukio Adolphson, Mama Hope’s Visual Journalist and so far we are having an amazing time. During the next two months we will be visiting all of Mama Hope’s seven partner communities across Kenya, Tanzania and Ghana.

Playing with the students at Ngeya Primary

This is Amy’s second trip with me and it is so fun to be traveling with her again. She is constantly glowing and bringing warmth to everyone she meets. She feels like I do that a part of her heart has always been here in Africa.

We are also traveling with Bryce who is on his 5th trip here documenting Mama Hope’s projects. Everyone knows him and his camera. His Swahili is almost perfect and when we arrive to a community immediately people are calling his name. He will be busy documenting all of our adventures with his beautiful photos and video.

Bryce in action with partner Rocky Muuri in Maai Mahiu, Kenya.

For the next two months, each of us will take turns writing on the blog. We are not just going to be sharing project updates we will be posting our personal stories, funny times and crazy adventures. So stay tuned because as we’ve learned the unexpected is always expected.

Tags: Isiolo, Kenya, Maai Mahiu, Mama Hope, nonprofit
Posted in Articles, Our Projects, Our Stories | 2 Comments »

St. Timothy’s School, Moshi, Tanzania

Sunday, November 1st, 2009

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h7_1UJIV_qY]
Here we have a short overview and progress update on St. Timothy’s School in Moshi, Tanzania. Construction began in September of this year and is expected to be completed by Nov. 30th, with children attending in January 2010. I can’t tell you how exciting it’s been to see this project rise from the fields of Newland village! The efficiency and care our local community partner Tanzania Children Concern has been giving this project is a shining example of how communities know best. From local knowledge of land rights, power and water to the best vendors and manufactures. Again and again, it’s made me believe that communities need to be helped to help themselves!

-Bryce

_________
To read about my nonsense between work, check out my personal blog at: neitherherenorthere.org

Tags: Children, moshi, School, tanzania
Posted in Education, Moshi, Tanzania, Our Locations, Our Projects, Videos | No Comments »

St. Timothy’s: What I want to be…

Friday, October 30th, 2009

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e5qn7x3hzt8]

What started out as a Q and A about thoughts on the new school turned into a “What I want to be..” fest. It really seems to me that kids throughout the world generally have the same aspirations. Whether it’s about excitement or connecting with people, the occupations are usually somehow related with the people who take care or us. And, of course, there’s always one kid who wants to be president.

-Bryce

________
Read about my moments between the work on my personal blog at: neitherherenorthere.org

Tags: Africa, Children, moshi, Occupations, School, tanzania
Posted in Education, Moshi, Tanzania, Our Locations, Our Projects, Videos | No Comments »

St. Timothy’s Students on the New School

Thursday, October 29th, 2009

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XYL2g4_-bSc]

Our plans were to ask a few of the students what they thought of the school. Thanks to their vigor we ended up with a mob of children ready to tell us how excited they were about the number of toilets. Amazing since it was mere bricks when they saw it! Afterward, James was telling us that some of them wanted to have class in it before it was even completed. A few wanted to go live in the construction site. Wow.

-Bryce

_________
To read about my moments and people between the work, check out my personal blog at: neitherherenorthere.org

Tags: Children, moshi, School, tanzania
Posted in Education, Moshi, Tanzania, Our Projects, Videos | No Comments »

St. Timothy’s Kids Visiting the Site

Tuesday, October 27th, 2009

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AWeNcb9cLis]

This was a treat to behold. On October 14th, all the current St. Timothy Students got to visit the construction site of the new school. What’s not included in the video is the jostling and kid climbing the kids did to get into the buses that brought them to the school! Hope you find it as ridiculouly cute as I did.

- Bryce

___________
To read about my moments between the work, check out my personal blog at: neitherherenorthere.org

Tags: Chilren, moshi, Orphans, School, tanzania
Posted in Education, Moshi, Tanzania, Our Projects, Videos | No Comments »

Lucia, James and Facebook Causes

Monday, October 26th, 2009

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O1FsHOATg1E]

Here’s a video of Tanzania Children Concern Founder, James Nathaniel getting a lesson about what the heck Facebook Causes is from Lucia. I also had it explained to me about 3 minutes before this video was shot.

You can check out our Causes page for yourself here:

http://apps.facebook.com/causes/60174/15070448?m=e56504ed

-bryce

__________
To read about my moments between the work, check out my personal blog at: neitherherenorthere.org

Tags: Chilren, Facebook, Facebook Causes, moshi, tanzania
Posted in Education, Moshi, Tanzania, Our Locations, Our Projects, Videos | No Comments »

Portraits of the Drought: Mwambia

Monday, September 21st, 2009

- Bryce

Photos and Video by myself and the Trainers of Trainers, my student group at Wind of Hope.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=llwDIvhLMxs]
Isiolo, Kenya sits in the Kaisut desert in East Africa. The area as a whole is currently going through the worst drought in years. Water and food relief have become precious commodities and tribal conflict a regular fixture on the news. I’ve done my best to convey the following within this context.

Mwambia Kiunga, a spoon carver in Isiolo, Kenya.

Mwambia sits in the sun waiting. He shifts his toes in his sandals and wears a faded Muslim kufi on his head. A tired looking brown jacket covers his small frame while his kneecaps poke from behind his trousers.

He’ll tell you he’s 100 years old, but he was born in 1930. His home is a small wooden shack about 3 kilometers from where he’s currently sitting at in the Wind of Hope (WOH) community compound. He enjoys telling war stories and is originally from a good sized town about a 45 minute ride south, called Meru. It was a town of local shops and farmers which have recently given way the Kenyan equivalent of Walmart: Nakumatt.

Looking at him it’s a bit difficult to dispute his claim of 100. He already looked older than Africa when I first met him three years ago. Not much of a dent in his time frame, but his smile of recognition tells me it doesn’t matter. We’re here together again in Isiolo.

We shake hands, smile and try to work up a conversation through my broken Swahili. “Yes, I’ve returned. I’m happy to see you as well. It is very hot. You’ve walked all the way from your home today? How is your home? “ His smile is cheerful, but his eyes are a bit far and watery. Something’s on his mind.

Mwambia is a bit of an indicator here at WOH. When things are well, such as when the HBC (home based care for people living with HIV/AIDS) food distributions are arriving on time (or at all), he can be seen walking near town selling his hand carved wooden spoons. When times are bad, he’s usually sick and bed ridden. A year ago we had to break down his front door to save him from an accidental self-imprisonment. He hadn’t eaten in 3 days and was too weak to unlock his door for help. The amount of clothes he’s wearing makes me think of this; jackets upon jackets when the sun is blazing. His body can’t handle much.

It’s because he’s an indicator that his presence here today has attracted attention. Khadija, the Program Director, and a few others come and sit around us in a circle. He opens up immediately.

For the past week thieves have been coming into his home and stealing his food distributions.

“Everything,” he explains, “my food, my flashlight, my blankets. They’ve come and taken them all.” he pauses, shakes his head and narrows his eyes to the sun. “They are too strong. And they say they will come back. They say: We will come back again and again.”

He goes on for another ten minutes giving details that are not translated. Needless to say his audience is fuming. Angry words dart back and forth. “To where? …took it all? You haven’t eaten in five days? You know who they are? Your neighbor? We know that house. It’s not far at all.”
Before long the group splits. The two men, Nassir and Rojeb shake their heads and wander off in thought. Khadija storms off into the compound and back out again.

“Imagine,” she starts, “they steal from him! What does he have?”

My answer would be a few plastic water containers, a beat up wooden bed frame with a blanket, some rocks for cooking on, a pot and a photo of him with his son taken some 13 years back.

Khadija holds a hand to her chest as if quailing a fire, then goes on.

“They have even come in while he was having an asthma attack. What can you even do? Taking from an old man like that. They just come and take it from his hands. What can he do? And now that they know he gets food relief, how can we stop it?” She pauses and looks away from me, “But it is also because of starvation… This is a very bad signal. When people are like this, they can even start killing each other for food. You know not long ago a lady was killed for an avocado.”

Mwambia's home in the Bula Pesa neightborhood of Isiolo.

Ten minutes go by and I’m sitting next to Mwambia again. He’s being put together a care package. Some rice, beans and spinach. To my left is Nyla, she seems overwhelmed by the situation isn’t saying much.

“It’s very bad. I’m sorry.” I say to Mwambia.

“It’s in God’s hands,” he responds.

Lunch is ready and my conscience is starting to nudge me because of it. We all get plates of warm corn boiled in salt and milk. Mwambia refuses his and pulls down his bottom lip to show teeth worn to the gums. We quickly get a few bananas and some porridge which lights him up.

The three of us sit for awhile eating. It’s a bit difficult. I feel like I should hide my shameful plateful, but I can’t exactly not eat. Beside me, Nyla is silently dropping tears into her plate.

Mwambia finishes the porridge and eats a single banana. He puts two more into a torn plastic bag, diligently wraps up the fruit and hides it away in the folds of his jacket.

“You don’t want more to eat?” I ask.

“I’m full. If I eat too much now…” he makes the universal sign for throwing up.

It’s not long before Khadija appears again. I’ve seen her this way before and I fear for whoever is in her way. She starts to gather a small posse; two men and two women.

The ambulence leaves the compound. (Photo by Mohamed Adan)

The ambulance leaves the compound. (Photo by Mohamed Adan)

“They come at night? We’ll be there at night. It has happened five times. It must stop,” she says to Mwambia. She fires up the ambulance and everyone piles in. “We know where they are. We’ll find them, throw them in the back and drag them to the police station.“

She sticks the engine in reverse and plows out.

______

5 hours later, later the vehicle pulls back into the compound. It’s missing most of the posse. Khadija climbs out looking like she’s carrying a fifty pound weight on her back. Nyla catches Khadija as she heads inside.

“Did you find the thieves?” she asks.

“Yes, we found them.” Khadija responds softly with a tone of dejection. She takes off her shoes and heads inside.

_____

Around 9pm we finally get the rest of the story. Khadija is sitting on her living room couch. The dim turquoise of the solar lights cast a tiring tone on her and small shadows creep out from corners reminding us that it’s night now and Mwambia has long gone home.

“Who are we?” she starts, “This afternoon, we had looked at Mwambia and imagined: I don’t want someone to do that to me when I’m old. So we got there ready for a fight with young strong men. Rogeb was angry. But when went in the home of the thieves what we found was a family of five. These children with swollen bellies and tiny legs. The mother’s breast was just skin with a baby on it. The man sitting by the door was so weak he couldn’t get up. He just looked at us and shouted, ‘Khadija! You’ve come! We stole the old man’s food. Have you brought us some more?”

She shifts uncomfortably in her seat and continues, “We were so ashamed. Rogeb said nothing. He walked in circles like he didn’t know us… he had no words. We asked them where the old man’s belongings were. They replied that they sold them for food.”

“We said, ‘where is the blanket?’”

“’We sold it,’ he said.

“I wish you knew how much for, Bryce. It was for 40 shillings.”

“That’s about 50 cents,” I say to Nyla, “Enough for about half a kilogram of rice or 6 bananas.”

I watch Khadija adjust her skirt again as she goes on. Her left middle finger can’t bend due to the ligaments being severed during an attempt on her life. She’d caught the machete blade in her hand. She doesn’t strike me as someone who is easily caught off guard.

She goes on, “The man said, ‘Why should we leave food when there is food there at the old man’s. I will steal as far as I can walk and that is as far as I can walk.’

“We didn’t know what to do, so we went to town to buy food and brought it back. I tell you, they were down on the ground eating. Rogeb had to shove food in the man’s mouth and help him because he was too weak to chew. And then, there were people coming to their gate saying, ‘let us eat with them!’ It was crazy.”

She paused for about a minute before going on.

Mwambia Kiunga recieving a Ramadan food distribution from Salim Yassen. (Photo by Salat James Sunday)

“Sometimes to the local people, they think our community project manages everything: AIDS, turmoil, food. It’s not so good. We cannot manage it all. How do you choose who gets food? I’ve seen a baby sucking a dead woman. How do you choose? …but at least it’s not as bad as 1984. God should not let us see that again. That wasn’t drought. That was death. People couldn’t even fight. They just sat and glared at each other. They boiled hides to eat. You could not find a rat anywhere.”

Without warning Khadija’s cell phone rings, erupting her ringtone into the room. It’s playing the Elton John song, Sacrifice.

It’s a human sign… when things go wrong… when the scent of her lin-

Khadija silences her phone and looks at her caller ID. It’s Esha, the woman managing the health clinic. She was also at the home today. Khadija discards the call.

“She’s been calling me all night,” she says, “asking me what to think. What to do with herself now that she’s home. She’s saying, ‘you’ve been here long. You know.’ But surely, who am I? Why do I know? I can’t tell anyone what to think. I just tell her, ‘You do something positive. You sit with your children and appreciate them. You create something. You make something good with what you have. What else can you do? I’m not God.”

______

Isiolo riverbed some 30 kilometers from town. Until the current drought, this area was the main water source for nearby villages and wildlife.

Two weeks later, I’m in a cab with a driver named Abdi. He’s about my age and has family who were relocated from Somali refugee camps to England and the United States. He tells me about how he had lived in the UK for a year posing as his sister’s husband, but was found out and sent back. He’s now been in Isiolo for three months.

“London wasn’t so good. It’s was too cold. I’d find my death there,” he says.

We pull onto the main road. Bikes and hawkers pulling carts of water dart out of our way. Up the road a beaten up semi-truck pulls out of a gas station. Under its flapping brown tarp are a few hundred 50kg bags of soy and wheat powder. On each bag is the red and blue USAID food relief emblem. It reads: From the American People.

“Where are they going?” I ask.

“They are headed north to Wajir. Some 200 kilometers. It’s very far. The drought there is so bad,” Abdi responds.

He jerks the cab off the road to let 2 eight-wheeled military vehicles pass. Their engines seem to be the only real noise in town today. It’s hot and everyone is moving a bit slower than usual. Dust billows across vegetable stands and into the cars windows. Not a single bit of shade has been left unoccupied. The cab hops back on the road.

“It’s quiet here today,” I say watching a herd of goats pass by.

“Yes,” he says, “it’s very hot and the town is quiet. We’re all starving and no one wants to talk about it.”

____________
To read more of my stories from our projects, check out my personal blog at:
neitherherenorthere.org

Tags: Drought, Food Relief, Mwambia
Posted in Articles, Health, Isiolo, Kenya | No Comments »

Where it all began

Wednesday, September 2nd, 2009

Bernard and I, 2006

This originally is a letter that I sent out to my friends and family but I have been urged to share it on the blog as well.

-Nyla

As I write to you I am sitting on the porch of my hotel in Kisumu. This is the same hotel that in April of 2006, I shared a dinner with Bernard and talked about his dreams for the future. So much has changed since then. First, Bernard is no longer a boy but a man whose dreams are now within his grasp. Second, this is now my fourth time in Kenya and instead of it just being 3 months after my mother passed away it has been years. And it is only now that I am truly starting to understand how I ended up here in the first place.

I am here in Kisumu. Where it all began. Where 3 months after my mother died I came here to meet Bernard, the orphan that she sponsored. Not really knowing why but just following my instinct that when I got here things would fall into place. And they did to a certain extent. I met Bernard, learned about the project that my mother funded at OLPS-Neema that helped hundreds of women and out of this experience sparked the inspiration for Mama Hope. But what I have learned now is that this really is just the surface story. There is actually so much more.

A couple days ago, while driving with Bernard and Anastasia, the founder of OLPS-Neema, I asked her to tell me a little bit more about how my mother contacted her. She said one day in 2003 she just got a call from my mother and in true Stephanie Moore fashion, she just launched into her pitch. “Hi, I am Stephanie Moore. I am Bernard Olando’s sponsor. I want to help the young women in your community who are losing their parents to AIDS to become self sufficient? I saw a special about this on TV about how these women end up needing to take up prostitution to support their siblings and I want to help prevent this. You see I have a daughter and I hope that if anything happened to me she would be able to be self sufficient…and so on…and so on…..etc.” Once Anastasia could get a word in she told my mother that it was her dream “to start a program to teach these women how to run their own businesses.” Then she told my mom how much she needed to raise to start it. She said that my mother answered confidently, “Give me two weeks!” And so began a wonderful relationship where my mother would call Anastasia, ask her what she needed, then raise the money from her friends and send the funds to Kenya to help these young women.

Time went on and at the end of 2005 Anastasia got a very different call, “Anastasia, I have some bad news. I am very sick and I don’t think I will be around much longer. But I have a daughter and I promise that she will not abandon you and Bernard.” This was the very last time they spoke.

Anastasia told me that she had a beautiful picture of my mother who she said looked like a very young woman and so she thought for sure that the daughter must still be a young girl. She said that after that call she just prayed for the girl; that her whole community prayed that she would be alright. She told me that she wished to bring that girl into her home and care for her.

So four months later when I called her she thought it was a miracle. And a few weeks later when I showed up at her door in Kenya to meet Bernard she was so shocked to see a young woman who looked so similar to her picture of Stephanie Moore. She told me, “you know when you arrived and you were crying, and my whole staff was crying too. It was tears of joy because we knew that you had made it home.”

I want to point out that up until now I KNEW NONE OF THIS. My mother never told me of her promise to Anastasia. I didn’t go to Kenya to fulfill some destiny. I just saw it as an opportunity to meet Bernard and escape from my life in California and everything that reminded me of my terrible loss. Little did I know that what I was escaping to would eventually be the thing that healed my grief.

I remember now how I felt when I showed up; totally defeated and hopeless. The day before I met Anastasia and Bernard for the first time I was sitting on the porch of this very same hotel by myself. Cursing the universe. Asking why the hell I was in Kenya? How could my mother’s death ever have any meaning? How was I ever really to have faith again? I did not know that it would be renewed the very next day by meeting the people that my mother helped and inspiring me to create something so special in her absence.

The Women's group during a drip irrigation training in 2009

So today, I am meeting with Anastasia to launch a garden in her community to honor another mother, named Rita Rose. Through Mama Hope a young girl named Mimi Rose contacted me who also lost her young beautiful mother to cancer and decided to fundraise in her memory. The Rita Rose Garden is going to help 100 women, (the very same women my mother helped, who are no longer girls but now mother’s themselves) have a sustainable source of nutrition for their children.

And in two weeks Bernard begins Medical Training College. We were so excited when he got the call with us on Saturday and learned that he was the only student accepted from his high school and that he also got a $1,000 scholarship. I know my mother is beaming with pride!

Bernard and I, 2009

I have no idea why I woke up this morning to write this to you. I think I just wanted to share that the universe works in strange ways. People might leave us but it seems that love is something that can connect us beyond the boundaries of death in the most miraculous ways and that sometimes when you think you are completely lost you are just on another path home.

Tags: Kenya, Kisumu, Mother, Nyla, Sponsor
Posted in Articles, Education, Kisumu, Kenya, Our Stories, Uncategorized | No Comments »

Archive for the ‘Our Stories’ Category