pain in the belly

When I snapped this photo, my focus was on these sisters' beautiful smiles. They skipped down the path arm in arm and would turn, giggle, and flash huge smiles at me. I wanted to capture their contagious joy. As I view the photo upon returning home, I notice the sister on the right and her swollen belly. I remember seeing it when we met, but her smile was so beautiful the belly was forgotten within seconds.

I met many children on my visit in the DRC. Many of them had bellies just like this little girl. I myself struggle with pain in my belly often - a result from my travels and foreign parasites wanting to make home inside of me. It hurts. But I treat it, rest, and thankfully the pain goes away.

The most common reason for little bellies swollen such as this sister's is from parasites. Worms. Water-borne diseases that could be prevented completely if she had clean water to drink. That's it. It is that simple. No pain in the belly in exchange for a clean glass of water. My belly hurts just thinking of it. The really depressing side of this story is that I saw not only big bellies on little people, but on adults as well. Without medication, clean water and proper nutrition, this little girl with the most beautiful smile will forever have pain in her belly. And she's not the only one.

*Every 20 seconds, a child dies from a water-related disease. (UN Human Dev Report)
*Children in poor environments often carry 1,000 parasitic worms in their bodies at any time. (UN Water)
*Diarrhea remains in the second leading cause of death among children under five globally. Nearly one in five child deaths – about 1.5 million each year – is due to diarrhea. It kills more young children than AIDS, malaria and measles combined. (UNICEF)

Check out more staggering facts at: http://water.org/learn-about-the-water-crisis/facts

photo essay: drc april 2011

go to: my facebook page or...

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Portraits of Congo

my bat story.

Our last night in the Congo we slept at the mission in Banda. The sleeping arrangements looked similar to the last couple nights...a foam mattress, clean sheets, mosquito net - tucked in nice and tight to keep out any scary things outside of the net from coming in. The generator goes off just before we get into bed. I score my net with the flashlight to make one last check for mosquitoes or snakes or possibly a rat. My mind is of course racing; yet the bed is empty. So I thought...

I tuck my net in tight. As does Bethany. We settle under the light of our headlamps to read, journal and try to calm any ridiculous fear we may have of actually falling asleep atop the hill in Banda where the LRA have been known to appear. Oh the drama, you say. Just wait. I have to use the facility. I coax Bethany to come with me as its quite dark and I'm a chicken. I open our bedroom door and in the main room are bats. Lots of bats. Flying low and fast in circles. Attracted to my headlamp, btw, flying towards me. I close the door. Nope, just kidding.

I tuck my net in tight - again. So many unfamiliar sounds outside. The moonlight streams in through the cracks of the boarded windows. I plug in my headphones and will for sleep to come. Without notice, a loud steady beeping noise goes off in the other room. It sounds like a walkie-talkie or moris code. I would have guessed it to be a dying battery. But earlier that day, our director tells us how the soldiers keeping watch outside send a signal when LRA are approaching...

Jim's snoring stops and I hear him go to the beeping noise. It too stops. And thankfully, I was right. Just the radio battery dying.

I awake in the middle of the night to something hitting my head! A wing! Shoot!! A bat found its way into our room. I move closer to the center of the bed, logically thinking if I'm away from the net, it won't hit me and I can just go back to sleep. I turn to my side. Swoop! Another wing hits me in the face! This is not fun. I sit up and get smacked back and forth from a flying bat!! I'm wailing at it in the dark with my arms. I want it gone. But I don't want to turn on my light as it may attack me. And even if I am told they are "probably" harmless, many bats in Africa carry deadly diseases. "Yes, nurse in Menomonie, I need my rabies shots!" It continues to fly atop my bed and swooping down. I curl into a ball in the middle of the bed, pulling the sheet over my head. A flashing light begins at the head of the bed - my headlamp batteries are dying. The bat goes towards the light. Desperate for some sleep, I decide to turn on a light, get out of bed and chase the dirty thing out of the room. As I sit up and get whacked again with a wing, I hear chewing and scattering under my bed, between Bethany and I's beds. There is a rat or something akeen to a rat in our room. I'm not leaving my tightly tucked net. I try to wake Bethany - remembering she is my fearless hero and will hopefully rid these creatures from our night. She tells me to put my headphones back in and go to sleep. Gee, thanks.

Dawn finally filters through the cracks and the flying, flapping, smacking bat wings are still. Ahh...now can I sleep? Why no, we are staying on a military base and the drill sergeant is waking all the soldiers - at the crack of dawn. The marching and singing begin. I hear the boys get up and make coffee. I decided I've had enough. Today we travel onward. As Bethany and I get up to start our day, I take a look around.

I found the bat in our room.

It is tucked neatly up INSIDE MY NET!!!

Take a look...

"where do your evil spirits live?"

"on top of that hill..."
"then that is where I will build my house. to show you my God is mightier than your god."

And that was the beginning of the mission in Banda.

I can't help but feel a little afraid as the generator turns off and the compound goes completely dark. There are many unfamiliar sounds of jungle birds, insects, night timers outside my window. Maybe even under my bed. But they are not what I fear the most. We are in LRA territory. (The Lord's Resistance Army is a deadly and famous rebel group across Uganda, Sudan, DRC) Attacks can happen at any time. The most recent was on a road into Banda - just a couple days ago. A truck load of jerry cans for a hygiene kit distribution was held as an NGO vehicle ahead of them was attacked. Our truck had to go back and await a secure escort to continue.

I spent the afternoon walking through the villages - but first we walked through forest. Dense with humidity, thick with brush, trees, mangoes dropping at our feet. We viewed the newly constructed water wells, and an existing spring. We spoke with our staff and members of the community to identify their greatest challenges, their most pressing needs. The answer: water. Access to clean water. Closely following is food, followed by protection & livelihoods. The LRA has taken it all from them. These communities also live with fear.

I watched as women and children (as young as 3 or 4 years of age) carried yellow jerry cans to the spring - first down a slippery steep path. Upon the spring all you see is filthy pools of mud and garbage. Is this what they are drinking? Stepping in closer though the crowd of children, unwashed, barefoot & wearing clothes that are tattered and too big, is a tiny little opening in the rock bed. A spring. There are slow trickles of clean water flowing out. How is this tiny spring suppose to provide enough water for all these people? It doesn't.

I watch as they fill the jerry cans and help one another place them high atop their heads to hike back up the slippery slope and back to their homes in the village.

Churches were born from this house built high upon the hill. Generations have been brought up in its teachings. Our pilot, flying us in and around northern Congo is a third generation of the first missionaries in Banda. As I watched young children, women, even a mentally & physically handicapped young girl (who was being teased mercilessly and pushed around by the other kids), gather their jerry cans of water - I couldn't help to wonder what they thought. Had they heard the teachings of the church? Did they believe or did they turn away as their life was dependent of their survival, their search for water, food and protection? Did they find it in their faith and in the promises God gives us under his grace and protection? I thought of my small nephews, Alex & Hudson, if they lived in this village they too would be at the spring fighting to gather clean water to drink. Assisting one another to place a large heavy jerry can filled with water atop their little heads, crunching down on their growing bodies. Is there justice in this? The Bible is filled with passages and stories of struggles here on this earth. It is also filled with hope and promise. The reality for so many in villages just like Banda is that their lives will be full of struggles. But have they heard the hope? Can they rest in God's peace and promise of provision - if not on this earth, then in eternity with him? Is faith enough to sustain someone who struggles for their basic survival their entire life?

Our mornings start with a time of scripture and prayer as a staff. Often I hear choruses of the church in the background, singing praises to the start of their day. Those who have heard the Good news, they believe. They know God's provision and grace. They are not bitter or scoff at a god who does not bring them water. They praise their God of mercy. They pray for protection. They ask people like us, who walk through their village, to help them with needs such as water and food and protection. They live their lives in faith of a God that is mightier than the evil spirits who reside on the highest point.

Please don't turn your head to those who are thirsty, who need clean water to drink, food to nourish their bodies, protection from rebels who are only out to steal, kill and destroy. These communities are our Christian family. They sing praises to our God. They live through trials and tribulations we cannot even imagine. They trust also in our King of Kings, our Mighty God, our Prince of Peace.

more tea, please

I am in Faradje, DRC (The Democratic Republic of Congo). We’ve only been here three days, but it feels like a week has passed. It really is a little world all of its own. Gorgeous and green, the forests are scattered between small rivers and hilltop savannas. We walked through an IDP (internally displaced persons) camp yesterday evening, asking families how they’ve come, why they’ve come, what are their current challenges. It is hot here. The humid high temps that suck all life out of you and make your head spin when you stand up. This afternoon I’ll be joining the team in a food distribution out in another IDP camp an hour from base. Families will receive cornmeal, oil, and beans. I’ll find out more details later today.

We are roughing it out here in the bush. Camping, some would say. I don’t really like camping. And camping with boys makes it even more fun (hear the sarcasm?) I am super thankful my friend Bethany is also on this trip. It would be a different experience without another girl to laugh with in misery. Well, it’s not that bad, but eating bush rat and praying a bat doesn’t fly up as you squat over a hole in the dark isn’t what I call jump up and down, write home about, fun. The compound we are staying at is the childhood home of our country director. His parents were AIM missionaries. I don’t think I’ve been to a more remote location where you can only enter on a plane. It’s hard to imagine what a childhood here looks like. He is a good leader. We walk through the village and everyone greets us with a handshake. The base is very pretty sitting up on a hill. To the back is two large canvas storage tents where the sacks and cans of food is stored before being distributed. The old truck used has no alternator and takes 10 guys to push start it. I now am smelling chicken – it clucked around our feet during morning devotions. It better be chicken, I can do without more bush rat. The teeny tiny kittens ate one much larger than itself this morning.

Mud huts with thatched rooftops are tucked in between guava, mango and various orange trees. Palm trees fat as oak trees are scattered across the hillside. Thunderstorms threaten us from above and are making it quite dark outside.

I made it through the flights without being sick…so far! I even opened my eyes a few times – it’s quite amazing to be up in this tiny plane and watch everything on the ground. We’re high, but not too high. I can see huts and people walking. The goats are a wee bit too small to spot. The mountains were pretty. And looking forward in the plane all you see is clouds – it’s pretty awesome, I won't lie. :-) You feel like you’re floating on the clouds. Until you hit a bumpy patch. Then my eyes close again. We are spending another night in Faradje and traveling up to Banda (a village even more remote and oppressed) for tomorrow to check out our current water & sanitation projects, and then a couple more stops before flying back to Uganda and Kenya on Friday.

It really is beautiful here. The communities are very poor; children have large swollen bellies from malnutrition and illnesses. But they also have huge smiles, lots of giggles, and love to follow you around asking for pictures to be taken of them. I will post some of their portraits when I get home this weekend. For now, I think I will have one more cup of tea, and then we’re off to distribute food!

watch out for the bat in the outhouse hole! he likes to come out at night

That’s right. After eating bush rat for dinner, sitting in the dark as the generator does not run after the sun goes down, I go to get ready for bed. Our sole expat living up here shouts “watch out for the bat!” he lives in the hole in the outhouse and flies up when things fall into his house. Oh, joy. It’s pitch dark outside. Clouds are covering the stars and the mud is slick and sticky beneath us after the heavy downpour. Two white girls can’t really squat in the open without being noticed. A Full moon on a dark night, if you know what I mean. We brave the outhouse with our headlamps. Scouring the walls first for snakes and spiders – just a hairy one in the corner to be found.

Thankfully, the bat did not make an appearance.

Next we go to our room - in a separate building than the boys are sleeping at. Again, we take the bright light around looking for rats, snake, spiders…anything creepy and crawling that I don’t want in my bed. Remember, it is pitch dark outside. My logical brain is thinking a flashlight is not going to catch any creatures that may be moving about. But what else can be done? So tired. The village is silent from words, but loud with cicadas.

Goodnight, Faradje! I pray no bedbugs bite!

dinner is served: bush rat

Returning from a long, hot, dirty day in the village and traveling from Abi, we bucket bath in the dark and sit down for dinner. I open the containers curious to what’s on the menu. It is pitch black in the food hut – I can’t really see. Rice, bean stew, fish stew, and some kind of meat. We are told not to ask and just eat. We need the protein.

There are six Americans on this trip – our two reporters came from North Carolina. The guys all start to eat, as does Bethany. After a few bites, the mystery meat is revealed. Bush rat. Lovely. Bethany swallows hard and asks Aaron to eat the remaining chunks on her plate. He refuses. I am proud of her, she ate it all! And I am really thankfully I only took rice and beans to start with. Had I tried the mystery meat, culture would make me eat it! After all, we’re feeding the village with cornmeal and oil. Who am I to complain of rat stew??

prayer request

I'm headed into the Congo in two hours. I am told it is unlike any place I have or will ever go. And that I won't be able to understand it until I am experiencing it first hand. I am intrigued; and I am nervous. A tiny plane will fly us in from Entebbe to Bunia (on the northeastern corner of the DRC if you look on a map). We'll be visiting project sites all week in several different locations. I'm told the geography of it will change - and that I'll miss the rain forest portion of the trip due to my USAID workshop next week. :( Next time.

Please pray for our teams safety as the area can become insecure without much notice; and for good health (as my stomach isn't too keen on motion and I hear little planes do!)

I'm excited for the company and seeing good friends. A girlfriend of mine is there and it will be wonderful to have some girl time. Our fearless leader is also an expert on Congo and has more stories to tell than I could possibly ask for. It should be fun!

(Re) Introducing...Bob

Bob joined me for dinner tonight.

I'm staying at a lovely little guesthouse in Entebbe, Uganda awaiting my AIM AIR flight to the DRC tomorrow.

Flying termites have been attacking me all evening - but I got even and (accidentally) ate one. At least I'm assuming that was the crunch after the buzzing sound landed in my salad.

I thought geckos were suppose to eat insects - Bob must not like the flying ones. Maybe he's old and not fast enough to catch them. He stayed with me at the table until I finished the most delicious coffee ice cream dessert (my first ice cream in months). Now Bob has gone. Come to think of it, so have the flying termites. Maybe I scared them away by eating one? Or maybe Bob is faster and sneakier than I thought. :-)

lesson learned

When asked..."would you like a meat pie?" Always answer, NO thank you!

Kenya Airways has some food service needs to be addressed.

stolen rice

A question was posed to me – what I do with beggars on the streets when I am approached? Do I give them money? Food? Turn my head??

We went to the fish market yesterday for lunch. In Maputo, this is a must visit. You buy the fish in the market fresh, then walk around the corner, pick a restaurant and they cook it for you. Seating is in beer-garden style, with plastic beach tables, sand on the floor, live (horrible) music, and people walking around trying to sell you things. Yesterday the boutiques being walked around were all “tasteful” nude paintings for some reason. I was at a table with my three bodyguards (as I called my three tall well muscled colleagues I was with all week :-)) and the paintings made for quite some conversation starters. We had a working lunch, enjoyed plates full of clam, shrimp, lobster and fish steak (I don’t know what they ate – my eyes were on the shrimp – a favorite from my time in Moz).

We had cleaned up just about everything on the table, but some rice and a little salad. A small boy (my guess is he was around 10-12yr) came over and started to beg. I noticed his eyes at first, and it wasn’t until our country director told him to take the rice and salad did I notice his hands were open and he was bowing, begging for food. His clothes were tattered and dirty; his hands unwashed. He pulled out a small black plastic bag from his pocket and began to quickly try and transfer the left-over food into it. We sat in silence and watched him. He struggled at first; the bag was too small. Nathan reached over to help the boy. I sat across the table, watching, and uncomfortable. The look in the boys eyes was one of mercy. It was as if he was pleading with me not to judge him, not to shame him, but to have mercy. Show compassion. He was only hungry.

My initial reaction surprised me. I had forgotten what it is like to be challenged with this level of poverty face to face. The area of Nairobi I live is clean and there are rarely homeless people on the street. If I were to drive downtown or just 10 minutes to another suburb, I would be pulled at and asked for money. Glue sniffing street boys would surround me. But day to day, I do not see this. In Quelimane, after a night of eating out with the girls, we would always take away any leftovers and hand to the ill woman living on our street corner near the apartment. I had forgotten.

What do I do when I am approached by someone begging for a handout? I am uncomfortable. I often don’t know how to respond. Or I turn my head and walk away. And I don’t like any of those responses. There are many things with this new organization I work for that I struggle with. But one thing they do not compromise on, no matter how many questions are asked, is why we are here and around the world working. Our mission is to be the good Samaritan. It is to offer food, water, and shelter to those in most desperate situations. It is to provide hope, extend God's love, and show mercy.

I respect that. Theologies vary and beliefs are challenged as one travels the world and is faced with many different situations that alter points of reference. But aside from all of that, is the very basic. Humanity. Eyes begging for mercy. Stolen rice.

no idea. (amended)

I have no idea what I just ate. The veggie salad started out normal, the yellow chicken curry was questionable, but the dessert square is a puzzler. At first glance it looks possibly like an apple pie bar with cream sauce over top. It’s not. (I knew that would be too good to be true!) Half way through my tooth crunches down on something – no idea what. There’s not really a taste. I contemplate stopping as I can’t figure out what it is. I continue. Intrigued. Then something falls out of the bar – sort of a grape shape or raisin, possibly. But not quite. I stop eating. Tis a shame to waste a dessert, but I simply cannot figure it out!

an ocean view

The Indian Ocean - Maputo, Mozambique (from my hotel view :-)).

an angry (civilized) mob

I experienced my first peaceful protest in Kenya this morning. At the Jomo Kenyatta airport.

It all began at 4:30am with my alarm finally going off – I had one of those restless nights where I never really could fall asleep and awoke every hour in (subconscious) fear of not awaking with the alarm and missing my early morning flight (which is quite laughable now).

I arrive at the airport (packed at 6am) waiting an hour and a half to get up to the gate. I go through additional security to sit in the boarding room - where I fall asleep. Awakening, I see people are all getting up and being ushered back into the airport. I close my eyes again, desperate for just a few more minutes. Nope - airport guy insists I too get up – my flight has been delayed. “Go get breakfast” he says “come back at 9am for more info and a new departure time”. Fine. I move to the hallway and proceed to continue my nap. At 9a we are told to come back at 10a. I go for a coffee and bonus – Java House has apple pie! 10a the airport man in the most hideous color of mustard (head to toe and with a matching vest!) tells us the flight is delayed indefinitely because they don’t have a crew and can’t find a pilot. Maybe, he says, we will leave at 4p on the LAM flight stopping through northern Mozambique (and taking double the amount of time). But we all need to stick around to find out. Suddenly, a handful of large Kenyan men stand up and started asking very loud “what?” “are you kidding me?” I watch and to my entertainment, the mustard colored man turned and RAN down the hallway! Ha! He just ran away! I wanted to laugh at the comedy of this, but before I knew what was happening, I was being pulled from my chair and told to join the group. We were going to “negotiate” our side of the story - as that is the Kenyan way! And delaying the flight because no pilot was scheduled to fly the plane (which they also don’t have, btw) is not acceptable. What about our schedules? the angry mob shouts. Our ring leader believes Kenya Airways should be asking about our schedules, our plans for the day and what a delay of indefinite would mean for us. I so desperately wanted to laugh. I also wanted to be involved in this civil protest. I march on and stifle my giggles.

There were at least 30 of us in this group, marching through the airport, full of excitement and working up those that were already upset. To the customer service counter! We want to speak with the manager on duty! To my surprise and delight, I watch as our ring leader, angry and very tall, turned into a peaceful negotiator – but not until after the manager “hid” from us. We were told the only way to speak to the manager on duty was to go out of the airport, lose our visas, and wait outside. There was then a discussion of what “manager ON DUTY” was suppose to mean. “On duty” logically would mean the manager is here and available. Not to Kenyan Airways though. Nope. We didn’t move. And thirty people congregated in one area gathers a crowd. It was kind of fun, to be honest. Random travelers came up to me to ask what was going on, what we were protesting about. It was 11am at this time and all we wanted was an explanation, a confirmed departure time, and an apology. And oh yes, maybe a pilot to fly the plane. Oh, and a plane, please! The “negotiating” with the manager on-duty went on for a good 45 minutes. I was standing between a European man and an elderly Indian woman. We were all impressed with how peaceful this protest was occurring. It really was impressive.

An unidentifiable free lunch and a free stay in the KQ lounge passed another five hours by. 5p and we are finally on the flight to Maputo – 10 hours late! So much for my sunny Sunday on the beach in Mozambique. At least I got to be a part of my first mob and peaceful protest. It was worth it.

blossoms

This morning I looked out across my balcony and my favorite bright white tree had blossomed to pink! I was reminded of the cherry blossoms in Washington D.C. and the sure promise of spring.

watching for elephants

I step off the plane, my breath catching as my lungs expand with the intense heat. The sun is hot. Palm trees line the runway. I am in Mombasa. My first site visit with this new job, new org, new location. We drive an hour outside the city and the roads are awesomely smooth - I am impressed. Lorries pass us on both sides and deep billows of exhaust straggle through the open windows. I cough. Turning off the awesome road we drive inland. The road begins to disappear, becoming a more bumpy overgrown path, rugged with deep crevices and holes filled with muddy water. I look out to the vast open land - as far as I can see is shrubbery and brush. It is very dry. Red soil spins around as the wind blows. An hour passes and we take a few more turns, now deep into the rural countryside. It is green here. Lush. Trees are tall and the grass is high. Rolling hills give way to a stream, huts are scattered to the left and right. I am told over there is "Canada" - what the locals call an electric wire that runs through the district for miles (and was put in by the Canadian government). We are now driving along Samburu (not to be confused with Samburu National Park - as I was all day). This area is known for elephants! Lots and lots of elephants. My colleague is telling me story after story of when they were out at a project site and a herd of elephants walk right through. My eyes are watching - I want to see an elephant! People pay hundreds of dollars to go on safari and I've been doing it for my job today - I want to see an elephant! A few dick dicks graze under the shrubs. Large birds fly low and scrabble that high pitched noise I hear in the city. Silence falls. Still no elephants. We drive on. The day is long and hot, my left arm is becoming sunburned as it rests out the window, but I don't care. I'm in AFRICA! Driving through the bush looking for elephants. :-) Well, really we are driving from one village to the next checking on water filters, tanks, pans, goats, bees and some more goats. But I pretend, just for a little while, that I'm on safari, watching for elephants!

I didn't see one, by the way. I am assured next time.

pretty.