Looked down from a broken sky
Traced out by the city lights
My world from a mile high
Best seat in the house tonight
Touched down on the cold black tile
Hold on for the sudden stop
Breath in the familiar shock
Of confusion and chaos
Are those people going somewhere?
Why have I never cared?
Give me your eyes for just one second
Give me your eyes so I can see
Everything that I keep missing
Give me your love for humanity
Give me your arms for the broken hearted
The ones that are far beyond my reach
Give me your heart for the once forgotten
Give me your eyes so I can see
Step out on a busy street
See a girl and our eyes meet
Does her best to smile at me
To hide whats underneath
There’s a man just to her right
Black suit and a bright red tie
To ashamed to tell his wife
He’s out of work
He’s buying time
Are those people going somewhere?
Why have I never cared?
I’ve been there a million times
A couple of million eyes
Just moving past me by
I swear I never thought that I was wrong
Well I want a second glance
So give me a second chance
To see the way you see the people all alone
Give me your eyes for just one second
Give me your eyes so I can see
Everything that I keep missing
Give me your love for humanity
Give me your arms for the broken hearted
The ones that are far beyond my reach
Give me your heart for the once forgotten
Give me your eyes so I can see
Lyrics by: Brandon Heath
Mar 26, 2009
Mar 25, 2009
read this:
Mozambique is prone to a wide range of natural disasters, which regularly cause major damage and set back economic growth, especially in the disaster-affected areas. The country has a land surface of about 799,380 km² and a total population of 20.1 million inhabitants, of which 51.9 per cent are female. The population is dispersed over 11 provinces, 128 districts, 394 administrative posts, 1,072 localities and 10,025 villages. Natural and man-made disasters have long-lasting consequences due to the high level of vulnerability and poverty of the population. This has been is further exacerbated by the debilitating HIV pandemic, which national prevalence rate is 16% (CNCS, 2007). The malaria country prevalence rates in children vary from 40% to 90% but it represents 30% of hospital deaths. Under-five mortality rate is 152 per 1,000 live births and maternal mortality ratio is 1,000 per 100,000 live births. Chronic malnutrition reaches 45.7% of the under-5 children in rural areas, reflecting the shocking level of food insecurity.
Mar 24, 2009
welcome home
I returned to Quelimane tonight. As I was cleaning up my apartment I happened to glance out the back window at the most beautiful sunset...I'm back in Africa.
The states is a glorious place filled with family and friends and food and lots and lots of options to endless wants. However...Africa has breathtaking sunsets. And although my quick shot over the rooftops behind my flat can do little justice to the majesty...I wanted to share a little pic.
The states is a glorious place filled with family and friends and food and lots and lots of options to endless wants. However...Africa has breathtaking sunsets. And although my quick shot over the rooftops behind my flat can do little justice to the majesty...I wanted to share a little pic.
Feb 23, 2009
what is the what
“Whatever I do, however I find a way to live, I will tell these stories. I have spoken to every person I have encountered these last difficult days…because to do anything else would be something less than human. I speak to these people, and I speak to you because I cannot help it. It gives me strength, almost unbelievable strength, to know that you are there. I covet your eyes, your ears, the collapsible space between us. How blessed are we to have each other? I am alive and you are alive so we must fill the air with our words. I will fill today, tomorrow, every day until I am taken back to God. I will tell stories to people who will listen and to people who don’t want to listen, to people who seek me out and to those who run. All the while I will know that you are there. How can I pretend that you do not exist? It would be almost as impossible as you pretending that I do not exist.”
“What is the What”
Excerpt from the autobiography of Valentino Achak Deng; written by Dave Eggers.
I highly recommend the read. :-)
“What is the What”
Excerpt from the autobiography of Valentino Achak Deng; written by Dave Eggers.
I highly recommend the read. :-)
Feb 21, 2009
meet the farmers
This past week I spent three days out in the "field". I traveled up to the districts of Mopeia and Morrumbala in Zambezia Province to visit with the local farmers who are actively involved in our agricultural projects. It was incredibly refreshing to see a different area of Mozambique than what I have experienced thus far. These districts were lush and green with tall grass, fields of maize, thick bush and rock formations randomly protruding throughout the landscape. The air was much cooler in the evenings (though the sun was incredibly intense during the day)! I accompanied our director of agricultural programs in Zambezia Province, who is a wealth of knowledge! The four hour drive to and from and the walks through the bush and meeting with the farmers was a wonderful educational experience for me. (I'm still learning to identify the different crops planted and harvested here in Moz.)*Side note: for those of you who may not know, Mozambique had no annual emergencies this year! No flooding or cyclones. The southern half of the country is experiencing a drought, but it has not yet reached emergency status. I therefore have been transferred over to Agriculture to continue working on up and coming proposals and to do some monitoring and evaluation on current projects. I find it a bit ironic the year I work abroad on an emergency response program there are no emergencies!!
The field site visits were positive for the majority. The results of current projects were cut in half with the success. The majority of the multiplication plots that WV created, trained and supported were doing well; though some were planted late and therefore are lacking in average growth for this time of year. Other fields where farmers hired out workers who did not receive the training were suffering. A couple fields were quite miserable in that they didn't succeed at all. A new animal traction project has started and we spoke with three different farmers groups in these two districts to participate in the project. A cow and a plow will be provided to introduce an alternative to weeding by hand and hoe. The cow will also produce milk and eventually be joined with a bull to produce a calf, which will be given to another farmers groups to sustain the project. The lack of rainfall was an issue with all farmers. Weeding was the biggest complaint and culprit to the crops suffering. Hopefully the animal traction project will assist in this problem. Crops planted and assessed included maize, rice, cotton, millet, sesame and peanut. And a few others exotic to N.America and which I can't remember at the moment. :-)
I really enjoyed this time out in the field and meeting with the farmers. It brought to life the words I've been writing in proposals for the past few months. A beautiful thing!
Pics are posted on my flickr site. You can check out the sunshine and the green. :-)
Feb 18, 2009
little fingers
I bent over to look at the little white worm that was being pulled from the root of a peanut plant. It was killing the crop. I could barely see it, the size of my pinky fingernail. It is hard to believe such a little thing can do so much damage.
The hot midday African sun beat down on my already lobster-red neck and shoulders, I swatted fly after fly, brushing off fuzzy little inchworms that continually wanted to crawl up my pant legs. Little boys in ragged shorts with big bellies and protruding belly buttons and huge grins with missing front teeth stared at me; their bare feet covered in the rich soil as they nervously tried to stand still. I was among our field staff and visiting farmers who are actively involved in WVs agricultural projects. It was the fifth site we’d seen this day.
Straining to understand the Portuguese and focus on the conversation being had around the uprooted plant, I felt a tiny little brush upon my elbow. I figured it was a dragonfly. I continued to try and focus. A few moments later, I again felt a light brush up against my skin, a tickle almost. I turned around to see what it was. My eyes met those of a small child, a baby, whose eyes got really big and then quickly gave me the most beautiful sheepish smile. Her pudgy little fingers grabbed my arm. The mother met my gaze and grinned.
The child’s touch, the slightest most honest touch, grabbed at my heart today. Today I saw more poverty, more real life, than I want to tell about; I wasn’t humbled, I didn’t feel guilt or pity. I came home and cried. Mozambique is a country on the recovery of a deep and debilitating war. It is a country in extreme poverty. The term “rural” is an understatement; this county is made of bush land. High, thick, African bush land. The animals are gone; they were hunted and poached during the war. The crops are scarce and struggling. The farmers, the women, and the children all work very hard back breaking labor for very little profit. (Have you ever seen a peanut plant and how many of them you need to harvest a handful of peanuts? Many.) They struggle to have food to eat. Water is scarce; clean water is hard to find. Bellies are protruded and many lie ill on straw mats sick and dying of horrible disease. This land is beautiful from the outside - lush green bush, rock formations popping up throughout the landscape between fields of maize and cotton and peanut fields. Fluffy white clouds above in a bright blue sky. However, inside this country, where the people are, is a different reality.
This face of poverty is not necessarily new to me. But to walk within the thick of the bush and find myself meeting the faces of families catching shade beneath their mud and straw hut homes, to crouch down in the soil of their fields and point out the worms that are eating their crops, stripping them of any small amount of income to buy food, to feel the soft little fingers of a curious baby reaching out to touch me from behind – it broke my heart today. We all live with a different perspective, a choice to decide how we interpret the things that we see, what we do with our feelings, our thoughts, our beliefs, the things we share with each other and the things we keep to ourselves. I wish I could forget this feeling I had today. Leave it here in the thick African bush up in the middle of an isolated province in poverty stricken Mozambique. I really wish I could. My life would be easier to live if I could walk away. But those little fingers that reached out to me in what most likely was curiosity of my white skin, those little fingers touched me today. They brought me into the world I would right now so desperately like to leave behind and not be responsible to know of. It was the little fingers that turned me from my meeting and examining practical ways to meet the families’ needs to the eyes of the individuals I stood amongst. My attention was turned away from the problem and focused for a few moments on the people. Not on their needs and what it would take to feed them, to provide clean water, to teach them ways in which they could progress beyond the low yielding peanut crops and mud huts; but focus on the individuals I was standing next to, who had touched me and brought me into their world. I was at a loss of what to say, of how to react, so I didn’t. I smiled and turned my attention back to the meeting. And then I came home and cried.
I don’t need to wonder how such a tiny little worm can infect an entire crop; it only took a few tiny little fingers to touch me.
The hot midday African sun beat down on my already lobster-red neck and shoulders, I swatted fly after fly, brushing off fuzzy little inchworms that continually wanted to crawl up my pant legs. Little boys in ragged shorts with big bellies and protruding belly buttons and huge grins with missing front teeth stared at me; their bare feet covered in the rich soil as they nervously tried to stand still. I was among our field staff and visiting farmers who are actively involved in WVs agricultural projects. It was the fifth site we’d seen this day.
Straining to understand the Portuguese and focus on the conversation being had around the uprooted plant, I felt a tiny little brush upon my elbow. I figured it was a dragonfly. I continued to try and focus. A few moments later, I again felt a light brush up against my skin, a tickle almost. I turned around to see what it was. My eyes met those of a small child, a baby, whose eyes got really big and then quickly gave me the most beautiful sheepish smile. Her pudgy little fingers grabbed my arm. The mother met my gaze and grinned.
The child’s touch, the slightest most honest touch, grabbed at my heart today. Today I saw more poverty, more real life, than I want to tell about; I wasn’t humbled, I didn’t feel guilt or pity. I came home and cried. Mozambique is a country on the recovery of a deep and debilitating war. It is a country in extreme poverty. The term “rural” is an understatement; this county is made of bush land. High, thick, African bush land. The animals are gone; they were hunted and poached during the war. The crops are scarce and struggling. The farmers, the women, and the children all work very hard back breaking labor for very little profit. (Have you ever seen a peanut plant and how many of them you need to harvest a handful of peanuts? Many.) They struggle to have food to eat. Water is scarce; clean water is hard to find. Bellies are protruded and many lie ill on straw mats sick and dying of horrible disease. This land is beautiful from the outside - lush green bush, rock formations popping up throughout the landscape between fields of maize and cotton and peanut fields. Fluffy white clouds above in a bright blue sky. However, inside this country, where the people are, is a different reality.
This face of poverty is not necessarily new to me. But to walk within the thick of the bush and find myself meeting the faces of families catching shade beneath their mud and straw hut homes, to crouch down in the soil of their fields and point out the worms that are eating their crops, stripping them of any small amount of income to buy food, to feel the soft little fingers of a curious baby reaching out to touch me from behind – it broke my heart today. We all live with a different perspective, a choice to decide how we interpret the things that we see, what we do with our feelings, our thoughts, our beliefs, the things we share with each other and the things we keep to ourselves. I wish I could forget this feeling I had today. Leave it here in the thick African bush up in the middle of an isolated province in poverty stricken Mozambique. I really wish I could. My life would be easier to live if I could walk away. But those little fingers that reached out to me in what most likely was curiosity of my white skin, those little fingers touched me today. They brought me into the world I would right now so desperately like to leave behind and not be responsible to know of. It was the little fingers that turned me from my meeting and examining practical ways to meet the families’ needs to the eyes of the individuals I stood amongst. My attention was turned away from the problem and focused for a few moments on the people. Not on their needs and what it would take to feed them, to provide clean water, to teach them ways in which they could progress beyond the low yielding peanut crops and mud huts; but focus on the individuals I was standing next to, who had touched me and brought me into their world. I was at a loss of what to say, of how to react, so I didn’t. I smiled and turned my attention back to the meeting. And then I came home and cried.
I don’t need to wonder how such a tiny little worm can infect an entire crop; it only took a few tiny little fingers to touch me.
Feb 9, 2009
'bob' has been busy...
This past week I have had the privaledge of many new little 'bobs' surprising me! He is multiplying! And quickly. Little baby geckos are now seen scurrying across my floor, ceiling, even crawling out of my bed covers!! The funny thing with this story is that I was commenting on my multiplying geckos to an American friend who also lives in Quelimane - her "bob" (and yes, she actually named her first gecko in her house bob also! 9 months ago!) has also been multiplying. It must be the season.
The really funny bit - she was commenting on the multiplying geckos to our Mozambiquan friend who then asked her a few days later how the "baby crocodiles" in her house were doing! My friend gasped! "There are no baby CROCODILES in my house!!" Her friend continued to insist on the "crocodiles" that she was told about...gecko evidently translates to crocodile in Portuguese, but not back to English!! :-)
The really funny bit - she was commenting on the multiplying geckos to our Mozambiquan friend who then asked her a few days later how the "baby crocodiles" in her house were doing! My friend gasped! "There are no baby CROCODILES in my house!!" Her friend continued to insist on the "crocodiles" that she was told about...gecko evidently translates to crocodile in Portuguese, but not back to English!! :-)
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