iron mike
day to day
lost in the mundane,
which is really the wild.
sometimes it takes unusual inspiration
to shake me out of the day to day.
inspiration from another’s sacrifice,
inspiration from america:
iron mike.
I hurriedly wrote the above after a staff meeting earlier this week. Mike is an average 55 year old man from Elizabethtown. He became ‘Iron Mike’ when he biked from coast to coast to raise funds for Blood:Water Mission. He found something worth fighting for, bought a bike a couple weeks before the ride began, joined the team, and rode his bike for the better part of 9 weeks telling people at gas stations, parks, churches and concerts about the men, women, and children who needed clean water in Africa. Iron Mike and his team raised a fairly impressive sum of money and impacted thousands. Beyond that, they were and continue to be inspiring. Iron Mike stopped in our office earlier this week and he encouraged our staff to continue our work and to work towards excellence.
I love what I do, and I love Africa. America is comfortable, but I let my guard down in Africa. The stories of hurt and happiness, of pain and perseverance, and of trials and triumphs of Africans are my day to day. In America it is in the pictures, proposals, and reports that I read daily, and in Africa it is all around me. It is wild and lovely, but is my day to day. In America I am surrounded by shiny windows, smooth roads, fast food, and blinking lights; consumerism. It is a constant sensory overload and yet it is uninspiring. And that is why I found Iron Mike so refreshing and incredibly inspiring. I am grateful to be in a place where I have the privilege to regularly be inspired and blessed by the Iron Mike’s of America.
Tags: BWM, inspiration, nashville
how was africa?
Africa is a continent, not one country or one people, but I find this to be something hard for many to truly grasp as they sit across an ocean from this grand continent. Although I understand where this misconception comes from, it makes me want to ask a Boston native about soul cooking and an LA resident why they don’t have a Jersey accent. Most of the time I refrain as I remind myself that they have not had the same privileges of travel with which I have been blessed. And, when they ask how Africa was, I tell them a word or two about the specific country from which I have just returned.
My new job puts the question, “How was Africa?” in a new context. On this trip I have visited South Africa, Zambia, Mozambique, and Kenya. Within several of these countries I have visited locations that are as diverse as Chicago and Chattanooga and Charlotte. In October I will return to visit Uganda, Rwanda, and likely Ghana.
“How was Africa?”
On this trip, the diversity and differences found within Africa seem particularly vivid. This being my first trip to Mozambique, it was fun to find the Portuguese and Brazilian influence on the country everywhere I turned. Homes are painted bright colors, music is tinted with Latin flavors, driving is relaxed, and conversation is filled with the smooth tones of Portuguese. Each country, each region is unique, but this was a new flavor for me. Kind of like traveling across America and suddenly landing oneself in Texas.
Completely distinct from the rest of this trip was Marsabit, a town and region in Northern Kenya. This is the desert region just south of Ethiopia that is largely forgotten by Kenya. The landscape is filled with igneous rocks, and desert trees and scrubs which provide little protection from the harsh sun. The main road to Ethiopia is a bumpy, dusty dirt road; it is by far the best around. Here herds of animals are life, water trips take days, women wear bright scarves, and homes are moved on camels’ back. Sort of like being time warped to a 100 years ago to visit ranchers in Montana.
When I say ‘kind of’ or ‘sort of’ like such and such, I am trying to make the differences and the vitality of life in Africa a bit more real, but I often wonder if it works. How does one take a National Geographic special that is what I have just experienced and make it anything but the two dimensional image of my photographs? Maybe if I told you stories as I unpacked my suitcase so that you could experience the mingling smells of the fresh coffee beans I bring back and laundry dirtied in the villages or if we talked as we bounced along in a four wheeler or if we sat in the hot autumn sun with music taped at villages and schools serenading us in the background, these images, these rich and vibrant cultures, would become real. Yet it is so much more complex to try and communicate an image, an understanding, stuck in my head that is constantly changing and growing. How can I blame someone for seeing Africa as one place when I, who have traveled much, struggle to make even the most simple of stories real to friends I love?
I feel as if each place I visit in Africa adds a color or a layer to an oil painting. With each visit my painting of Africa becomes more detailed, increasingly complex, and ever richer. Somehow the diversity that I experience and try to share with others fits onto one wild canvas. Yet, as I continue to add to this painting, I doubt it will ever be complete. One canvas, one painting, so many parts, sections, colors, and textures.
Maybe as my painting of Africa continues to grow in my head and in my heart, my response to the question, “How was Africa?” will change. Maybe I will simply say, “She is good.”
gladys
There is a wonderful magic about children. They have the ability to capture the heart and the soul with nothing more than a smile and a twinkle in the eye, and tonight Gladys captured my heart.
We visited a girls’ home run by one of our partners. Here the children are well clothed, have wonderful facilities, and are surrounded by people who love them. Each child comes out of a difficult situation ranging from abandonment to living on the street to abuse to lacking parents. By being family with one another, they are rising out of these difficult, seemingly hopeless situations, to live full lives. They learn the enduring power of love and hope.
Tonight as these girls sang and danced for us, little Gladys, only two and a half years old, was held in the loving arms of her new sisters and mothers. Later, as she sat next to an older girl, she stretched her small hand out to greet me. Suddenly shy, she backed away to play pick-a-boo around the edge of the table, a game that stands outside of language or culture. Then I gathered this delightful child in my arms. Over the next minutes we shared smiles and gestures and she proceeded to capture my heart.
Before leaving I sat down to sign the guest book, Gladys still in my arms. An active child engaged in the world around her, she wanted to participate in the writing. So after I signed their guest book, young Gladys signed my field notebook. Now I have two pages of scribbles that are Gladys’s two year old signature sandwiched between pages of notes from endless days of meetings. These two pages, a reminder of a child who captured my heart in a moment, might be the most precious thing that notebook holds.
In case you were wondering, I have not forgotten you. It is simply that travel has been a bit consuming as of late. As I travel with Blood:Water job, I will post on occasion on our Blood:Water blog. My best guess is that you don’t read their site, so I figure the least I can do is post those entries here as well. This was written while I was in Zambia:
Today I returned from village tired from my time in the sun, from laughing with the children, and from sharing knowing looks with the women. The afternoon was spent installing 15 biosand filters in village, not long ago an informal settlement outside of Ndola, Zambia. Like so many technologies, the construction of a biosand filter is relatively simple: a concrete exterior created in a metal mold, a small pipe to carry water, layers of washed gravel and sand covered by a metal plate, all sealed by a wood cover. This simple technology has the potential to work for 15-20 years, is inexpensive to produce, and can reduce waterborne disease by 97%. But the expertise to create the filters and the money for the materials and labor is not enough. No where near enough. It takes education and the building of strong relationships to change long-established practices within a community. Though this takes longer than simply placing a filter in a home, it comes with the hope and possibility that the filter is the first step towards continued change, change that will come from the strength within the village.
For example, in a village not far from where I was today, where biosand filters have also been installed in some of the homes, our partner’s ongoing relationships and conversations with the locals led to a realization that the large garbage dumps within their village needed to be moved as they bred disease. The locals decided to move the dumps and clean their village. The combination of these efforts has led to such a great reduction of waterborne disease in the community that they said that, last year, for the fist time in their history, there was no cholera within the community.
Yes, a biosand filter is a fantastic technology, but it is the education and the relationships that are key to long term success. It is because of these things I am hopeful that, if I return to Zambia in 10 or 20 years, these communities will not only have clean water, but will also have taken significant other steps to reduce disease and further community development. Tonight I turn to bed tired, but hopeful.
Tags: BWM, development, water, zambia
fencing
Check this out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BskJRTWZRJY
Sometimes you just have to brag, and this is one of those times. The non-Olympic fencer in this commercial is RC, one of ‘my girls’. To top it off, I just happened to be in LA the day they filmed for the commercial, so I was sitting on the bleachers watching as they filmed. Good memories.
Tags: friends, notre dame
where in the world?
Do you remember the book series Where’s Waldo? I am fairly certain that my family never owned one of the books, but I certainly ‘read’ or ‘played’ them with friends. I must have been a book elitist in my early years as I remember being baffled by the concept that this book, which was really a game in my mind, could be called a book. It was like a regression to early reader books where the sentences are short and the pages filled with pictures.
In case you never had a chance to play a Where’s Waldo book, the pages are filled with detailed drawings and Waldo, always dressed in a red and white striped shirt, is hidden somewhere on the page. Waldo gets to cities and famous landmarks across the world, so I guess there is something educational about it.
When I returned from Tanzania this spring a friend told me that she would ask the question, “Where in the world is Pamela C.?” before checking my blog. I wish I could capture the way she told me this as it made me laugh and feel like I was Waldo. If I was, what would be my red and white striped shirt? Maybe my white skin and red hair, or maybe I would be well served to find an iconic shirt to always pack in my travel bag. Let me know if you have a thought on this.
Regardless, this friend has inspired an addition to my blog. ‘where: in the world’ will be updates on the go…little bits and pieces of where I am and what I am up to. If you want, you can pretend that I am in a red and white stripped shirt, or whatever other iconic shirt you so desire.
Tags: blog
burnt cake
Last night I decided to make a cake. Nothing fancy, just a boxed cake mix. Just because I wanted a piece of cake. I figured JM, who is staying at my house as I travel to a wedding this weekend, might enjoy it too. So out came the strawberry cake mix, juice (makes it even better than adding water), oil, eggs, a bowl, the mixer, and the cake pan. I whipped up the cake mix, tossed it in the oven, and set the timer a few minutes short of the shortest suggest bake time.
Now, you ask why a few minutes short of the bake time? New ovens are unpredictable. They should not be as baking is much more of a science than an art, but they are. What should happen is that you turn the dial to the desired temperature, oven heats up and remains at that temperature until the dial is again turned. However, all too often the temperature is off, and this was my first time to bake at my cottage.
You have to understand that I love to cook. I bake primarily because I like baked goods. It is a science, and I know what parts of recipes to not mess with, and I get good results. Every now and then I forget to set the timer on a tray of cookies (a tray, not a batch), but that is the extent of the disaster.
Last night the house was smelling great as I was watching Laura Croft Tomb Raider while ironing in the living room. The timer goes off, I go to check the cake and as I approach the oven I smell burnt food. A distinctive and altogether painful and annoying smell. I pull the cake out of the oven and the bottom of it is burnt. I now have the top have cake in small pieces in a tuperware in the 
fridge. I am glad to say that part tasted good. An oven thermometer is on my ‘to purchase’ list so that next time the science of baking will not fail me.
All because I wanted a piece of cake.
Tags: food
cosmetology school
Today my mailbox contained two items:
1-The fifth disk of Alias Season 1 compliments of Netflix. This I will enjoy.
2-A brochure from Remington College for cosmetology school. Ok…the inside of the brochure says I could also become a personal fitness trainer, massage therapist, or a medical assistant through 8 - 12 months of school at any of the 19 campuses across the nation. Can I count the ways in which they waisted paper?
Tags: what?
arriving in nashville
I recently received an email from a friend titled “Breathing Check.” Yes, I am alive. Alive and well. I haven’t written as life has been busy, and the beginning of my time here was trying in its own way. On day three in town I found my one of my car windows busted and my car stereo stolen. Annoying at any time, day three was in the midst of painting multiple rooms in my house, living with friends to 45 minutes away to avoid sleeping amongst the paint fumes, learning the roads in a new town, and starting a new job. So it took a little longer to be able to write a sane blog than I thought it would. Since day three I have managed to finish the wall painting, move in, find some random pieces of needed furniture, unpack most of my crap, get the car fixed, start to figure out the new job, have a few good nights of hanging out with people from the office, and generally avoid traumatic events. As the police officer said, it should all be uphill from here.