tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41713251459595115122024-03-14T06:34:41.829-07:00Etha MajidaDerekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13625643612351493388noreply@blogger.comBlogger31125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4171325145959511512.post-37341558407856766862012-03-07T05:59:00.000-08:002012-03-07T06:48:43.025-08:00Makokoba City Warriors<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">An entire blog would not suffice to describe the myriad challenges of living in sub-saharan Africa, but certainly the daily power outages,
struggle to secure transportation, and pervasive government corruption and
inefficiencies trivialize the challenges I faced growing up in Massachusetts.
More upsetting than these personal inconveniences are the daily struggles of
the people of <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Zimbabwe</st1:place></st1:country-region>.
Neighbors watch their corn seedlings fail to grow as January still has not
brought the rains historically rumbling by October. More than 80% of the
population is unemployed, and almost 15% of Zimbabweans are HIV-positive.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnzBZyBG-Oms7uA17643Lv85KYvo6cMNqGu8GYbAifDvYVNeobF8fIo6BhPv_PKh1GMG-CIknDbdq1Ewxrpsk9-vUzj09G2PVoDYPXbLzQm7PbyIgOdWOcOitkqdm5WURMiuDs3uS1VYM/s1600/DSCN5487.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnzBZyBG-Oms7uA17643Lv85KYvo6cMNqGu8GYbAifDvYVNeobF8fIo6BhPv_PKh1GMG-CIknDbdq1Ewxrpsk9-vUzj09G2PVoDYPXbLzQm7PbyIgOdWOcOitkqdm5WURMiuDs3uS1VYM/s200/DSCN5487.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I recently got a pretty special glimpse into life in a township outside of</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span><st1:city style="font-family: Calibri;" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Bulawayo</st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">when Ale, Nkosi, and I traveled to Makokoba township for dinner with our Zimbabwean mother, Esnath. On a Sunday afternoon in mid-January, we threw the dog in the car and headed for the lodge to pick up Esnath after work. She knocked off at 2pm and we were headed for the ghetto of</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span><st1:city style="font-family: Calibri;" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Bulawayo</st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">to have dinner with her kids and finally meet her extended family. After driving around to nearly every single grocery store in</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span><st1:city style="font-family: Calibri;" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Bulawayo</st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">in search of elusive 2-kg bags of frozen chicken pieces, Esnath turned around in the front seat and asked if we would “eat the live ones.” She said, “We can get them there, in Makokoba, at the market.” Ale and I laughed and said that of course we’d eat fresh chicken. Crisis averted, and with the rest of the ingredients for dinner in the car, we turned right onto</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span><st1:street style="font-family: Calibri;" w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Herbert Chitepo Ave</st1:address></st1:street><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">and left on Fifth, heading for the most densely populated area in the southern half of</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span><st1:country-region style="font-family: Calibri;" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Zimbabwe</st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-family: Calibri;">.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkzRFeqk7jHmUPtoaHfZhheS6LaV5GK6LzK7xzof4Om1IrRXjDqyDM0mLUK3iHyJaYwacyiyp7sfFN_MMehxBU7wEBqorO-bJqcbC-OVz0OEPp9cwR9hDaoEnYTophM9zkR3r1xCsN_-Y/s1600/DSCN5470.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkzRFeqk7jHmUPtoaHfZhheS6LaV5GK6LzK7xzof4Om1IrRXjDqyDM0mLUK3iHyJaYwacyiyp7sfFN_MMehxBU7wEBqorO-bJqcbC-OVz0OEPp9cwR9hDaoEnYTophM9zkR3r1xCsN_-Y/s320/DSCN5470.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Makokoba is </span><st1:city style="font-family: Calibri;" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Bulawayo</st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-family: Calibri;">’s oldest township. Barely out of the city center, it is home to thousands of </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">families who live in crumbling tenements. This housing was built before independence, when black Zimbabweans were largely confined to the "western areas" or townships west of the city. Independence was in 1980, so now the buildings are crumbling and decrepit. They stand two stories tall, and each building contains many units upstairs and down. Laundry lines are festooned between buildings accented by cracked satellite dishes and flaking paint. Graffiti is everywhere, trash fires burn on the side of the road, and everyone walks everywhere; no one can afford a car. The roads haven't been maintained in three decades so they are are eroded and narrow, with giant pot holes. Yet despite the oppressive poverty and lack of sanitation and trash disposal, the townships are some of the liveliest places in Bulawayo. They teem with human life, love, laughter, and family. Neighbors watch out for each other, and music is constantly blaring, echoing off the two-story tenements and sending children into fits of dance, imitating their older siblings or someone they saw on TV. My trips to the townships have made it abundantly clear to me why all Africans can dance. While at Esnath's I saw a baby in a diaper shaking his hips to DJ Cleo next door. It's in their blood.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq_eP7rVO8wli2LCpze1bA7oXh40720UovgUMxM5srfMp9oJc05YkYshoh66xjBB6geDrpX8Qk5_aP9r4YOLZ9QkDi3Qa6as-6WvAY9SkTfnGmUpYTYFXLyMgDS5kNSppmsaiJYVpy0oY/s1600/DSCN6302.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq_eP7rVO8wli2LCpze1bA7oXh40720UovgUMxM5srfMp9oJc05YkYshoh66xjBB6geDrpX8Qk5_aP9r4YOLZ9QkDi3Qa6as-6WvAY9SkTfnGmUpYTYFXLyMgDS5kNSppmsaiJYVpy0oY/s200/DSCN6302.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Often, as is the case with Esnath’s family, an entire family will share just two rooms in these </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">tenements: a kitchen and one bedroom. Esnath’s husband passed away several years ago and she is an incredible mother to her four children. They have one bed and one bed frame, but through her hard work and sacrifice she has managed save enough over the years to purchase a new refrigerator, an old television set, a microwave, several wardrobes, and even some kitchen cabinet sets. The cabinets are made of lightweight metal, white with red trim and marbled faux-formica countertops. Above the television is one of those light-up, electronic scrolling scenes. It depicts the NYC skyline, complete with twin towers, and boats and planes floating and flying past it. They keep it plugged in at all times and it illuminates the room (except when they lose power every day). It struck me as odd that there would be an NYC scene in Esnath’s living room/kitchen/foyer. The odds are stacked monumentally against any members of her family ever seeing the </span><st1:country-region style="font-family: Calibri;" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">United States</st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-family: Calibri;">.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZr7E_jGDGBHsnlENKqQmB2GkMogiPFzlrS4uCtxDqWB1Nj0GcAk_sRWOWblR9BRLtBGHiGXyQLN_2fu2tm5JnASHx5frj-AAhQnsW04c4e3li3q_ufC_XpU-KyIG9zuC9EDgsOwAV0hU/s1600/IMG_5030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZr7E_jGDGBHsnlENKqQmB2GkMogiPFzlrS4uCtxDqWB1Nj0GcAk_sRWOWblR9BRLtBGHiGXyQLN_2fu2tm5JnASHx5frj-AAhQnsW04c4e3li3q_ufC_XpU-KyIG9zuC9EDgsOwAV0hU/s200/IMG_5030.JPG" width="133" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We spent the afternoon with Esnath’s extended family. First of all, we headed to the Makokoba </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Market to buy dinner. Two chickens for $7 each. We wandered around the market and back to the house where the women prepared the chicken while the men drank cane alcohol cut with Sprite or Coke. Esnath’s son brought speakers outside and Soul Brothers or house music blared until well after dark. The living room/kitchen turned into a dance party despite the ladies trying to prepare the meal, and the whole neighborhood reverberated with the bass from Zahara or DJ Cleo. The people of Makokoba could not stop talking to us; kiwhas rarely, if ever, visit these townships. As dinner hour approached, Esnath showed me how to mix sadza properly (I’d been trying all year at our house but never really succeeded), and when the chickens were done stewing we had a delicious meal. The family members seemed to never stop coming, but everyone ot a serving of chamolia (spinach-like vegetable fried in oil), sadza, and stewed chicken.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrfQFxGVYmXhRZOmNueErQfNiYgXHK0FC7AliuUn-A03KbzYaa3CfH-Kh9M638lJNeWFgupGBys55MJIyTyZAeYPID5OthkuoGTHmo8rWtfFRJbHGq2QfGWypvWHZ_lBeOflsePtyBgl4/s1600/DSCN6300.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrfQFxGVYmXhRZOmNueErQfNiYgXHK0FC7AliuUn-A03KbzYaa3CfH-Kh9M638lJNeWFgupGBys55MJIyTyZAeYPID5OthkuoGTHmo8rWtfFRJbHGq2QfGWypvWHZ_lBeOflsePtyBgl4/s320/DSCN6300.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On a Saturday a few weeks later, we helped Esnath’s family move from their two rooms in Makokoba to two new rooms in Mziligazi. The person they rented from in Makokoba decided they wanted to use those two rooms again, so out they went. We spent the day ferrying all the family’s belongings to the new place in Mziligazi. After we’d made a few trips along the same route through the townships, a group of young men in their 20s tried to hail me to stop the overpacked car. Esnath urged me to keep driving: “They’re <i>totsis</i> (thieves),” she said. We succeeded in shifting all the belongings, with the help of the entire extended family of course, just before it started drizzling. We left Esnath and her sisters to organize the kitchen and headed home. Days like these really put into perspective all the things we take for granted in the <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">United States</st1:place></st1:country-region>. </span></div>
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</div>Derekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13625643612351493388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4171325145959511512.post-15910071347808889922012-02-18T07:07:00.001-08:002012-03-07T05:57:45.253-08:00Thank you THETFORD!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Last weekend we went to
Emthunzini Wethemba to drop off all the clothes we brought back to </span><st1:country-region style="font-family: Calibri;" w:st="on">Zimbabwe</st1:country-region><span style="font-family: Calibri;">, collected and donated by the kids at </span><st1:placename style="font-family: Calibri;" w:st="on"><b>Thetford</b></st1:placename><b style="font-family: Calibri;"> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Elementary
School</st1:placetype> in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Thetford</st1:city>,
<st1:state w:st="on">VT<span style="font-weight: normal;">.</span></st1:state></st1:place><span style="font-weight: normal;"> Big shout out to my Thetford family! The kids at
Emthunzini Wethemba loved the clothes, but they were handed out a little
differently than the cleats I brought by a few weeks ago. You see, Sis P likes
to instill discipline in the kids, so they are given a few sets of clothing for
the week. They are responsible for keeping themselves clean so the clothes don’t
have to be washed every day. This is the reality when there are 65 children
living under one roof and no full-time person to do laundry. Therefore, the
majority of the clothing from Thetford went into storage, to be handed out to
the kids as they wear out the clothing they currently have. However, some of it
went to kids who already had holes in their shirts or pants. The big girls got
to sift through a selection of the more stylish stuff that came down and they
were thrilled! I could hear them shouting across the yard. No matter what, the
clothing will all be used, and it was very much needed. At the moment, the kids
have only bread and tea for breakfast and sadza (cornmeal) and beans for lunch.
They last had meat when some chickens were donated for Christmas. You can be
sure the clothes will be put to good use, and they will allow orphanage staff
to direct what little funding they occasionally receive into nutrition for the
kids, where it is needed most.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Special thank you to my
buddy Aiden Cudhea and his dad Cameron! These two guys are my old friends, and
they organized the clothing drive at Thetford. They did such a fantastic job I
couldn’t even bring all the clothes that were donated! Then I almost broke my
back lugging a giant hockey bag from NYC to <st1:country-region w:st="on">Egypt</st1:country-region>
to <st1:country-region w:st="on">South Africa</st1:country-region>, and finally
across the border into <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Zimbabwe</st1:place></st1:country-region>.
We came by bus and I got quite a few funny looks at customs, but it was well
worth it. The kids at the orphanage are now so well-stocked with beautiful,
gently used clothing. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Also, thank you to Cameron and Aiden as well as the Thetford administration for giving me the chance to talk to a few of the 3rd, 4th, and 5th grade classes about Emthunzini Wethemba when I visited in January. The kids were fantastic listeners and they had great questions about the kids and about life here in Zimbabwe. They got to see some videos from the orphanage, and I'm looking forward to showing the Emthunzini Wethemba kids some photos from Thetford. Thank you!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Take a look at how much clothing you gave them; some of the boys are already wearing donated shirts. Enjoy the pictures, thank you to everyone at Thetford!</span><br />
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</div>Derekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13625643612351493388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4171325145959511512.post-42858599450342968722012-02-03T07:14:00.000-08:002012-03-07T06:47:27.880-08:00Emthunzini Wethemba Football Club<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: x-small;">Photo by Ale Frisch. Mine are the ugly ones at the bottom...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">On Saturday morning we went back to Emthunzini Wethemba to play soccer with the kids. It was the first of what I hope will become a weekly ritual of spending time with the kids there playing soccer, helping to cook meals, gardening, helping to care for the chickens, or cleaning and organizing storage rooms. We arrived and I let Nkosi out of the car on a leash. I walked him towards some kids playing around the rickety swingset in the center of the yard. Emthunzini Wethemba’s campus buildings were built in the 1970s by the late Reverend Ndoda and his wife. The three main buildings form a courtyard, with the director’s quarters and the boys’ dormitory on the left, the girls’ dormitory and kitchen straight ahead, and the administrative offices and big girls’ dorm in the building to the right. The center of the courtyard is shaded by a few tall trees, and a giant tractor tire half-buried in earth alongside the swingset form a playground. On the other side of the swingset is a </span><i style="font-family: Calibri;">braai</i><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> stand where the cooks were boiling water for morning sadza when I visited in December, because none of the stoves had been working.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The kids started screaming at the sight of Nkosi. As children on the streets of <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Bulawayo</st1:place></st1:city>, I can’t even imagine what their experience with dogs has been. I did the stupidest thing possible, placing too much faith in Nkosi’s even temperament and love for kids. It was only 8am and I failed to take into account that he’s always wired in the morning. I made him sit and slipped his choke collar off. The kids shrieked and Nkosi cleared the playground in about 3 seconds. He chased a few girls all the way to the door of their dormitory, but I caught him before he could get inside. I put the leash back on him and threw him back in the car, where he remained for the rest of the visit. They’re not ready yet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">An elderly woman scolded me from the step of one of the buildings. I begged forgiveness for scaring the kids and she shook her head and told me to go see Sis P. Sistah P, the artist formerly known as Patience Dube, is the 25-year-old volunteer social worker and caretaker of 65 children. She was waiting for us in the administrative building. She greeted us as warmly as always but said we should probably go say good morning to the director. I prayed to God that the director wasn’t the lady who’d just yelled at me. She was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Reverend Ndoda’s wife still lives on the campus of Emthunzini Wethemba in the brick building forming the west side of the courtyard. Sistah P brought us into her brightly lit sitting room where several couches faced a wall dominated by a picture of the late Reverend. The director bustled in from the adjoining kitchen and we all stood to shake hands. I tried to be polite and apologized once more, but this elderly woman was stern: “You mustn’t come and just start playing with the children until you have made your presence known to Sis P.” I had anticipated a hiding for terrorizing twenty orphans with my dog, but instead, like all Zimbabweans, the director was simply a stickler for protocol. She made no mention of the kids’ canine conniptions. In the next breath her stern face dissolved in to a wrinkle-framed smile, and she grabbed me in an embrace and told me to call her “gogo” which means grandmother. Then she held me at arms length, jabbed a finger at my chest, and said forcefully, “I am your grandmother.” No arguing with that. “Yes ma’am!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgECrwdFxnaIYzZ1VyWFbC52enYA1JND876kLVdNkSItZ5S0B_GcgiCO69Ke83o4eZmyW2oqsImUFmnX7dKP8HKEV_YLaLD09sAyKKrBw_9axdyoMXnz9F7cLzxpEmyJpRQejDNwCUmJO8/s1600/IMG_5231.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgECrwdFxnaIYzZ1VyWFbC52enYA1JND876kLVdNkSItZ5S0B_GcgiCO69Ke83o4eZmyW2oqsImUFmnX7dKP8HKEV_YLaLD09sAyKKrBw_9axdyoMXnz9F7cLzxpEmyJpRQejDNwCUmJO8/s400/IMG_5231.JPG" width="400" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We visited with Ma Ndoda for only a few minutes, but she shared a brief history of the orphanage and said she’d been living on the campus for more than twenty years. Then she ushered us out the door to greet the kids. “They’re waiting for you.” Sis P assembled all the kids, the ‘big girls’ once again bringing up the rear, and they all smiled expectantly. I brandished a soccer ball and they promised to show us where the football grounds were. But first, we had some business to attend to. My neighbors, the Brown family, collected more than 25 pairs of used youth soccer cleats and the boots made the journey with me from <st1:city w:st="on">Boston</st1:city>, to NYC, to <st1:city w:st="on">Cairo</st1:city>, to Joburg, and all the way to <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Bulawayo</st1:place></st1:city>. I hauled the suitcase full of cleats out of the car and into Sis P’s office. Initially she called only six boys who were “the soccer players.” After they’d tried on boots and found pairs that fit, she started sending them running into the dining room where the rest the kids were eating breakfast. First they came one by one. Sis P would shout a name and a little kid would go running out the door in his new boots. He’d return hand-in-hand with another orphan and the new kid’s eyes would light up when he or she saw the suitcase full of cleats. Now boys and girls were getting involved and older kids helped younger ones try on different sizes. It was chaos, somehow organized by the maestro, Sis P. Meanwhile, the kids who’d already found their sizes had got a hold of the soccer ball we brought (the only ball they have is made from plastic bags) and were breaking in their new boots outside. Soon the suitcase was almost empty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The tiny pairs of cleats included in the collection made for some priceless fittings. One tiny boy named Gerard stood bewildered with a half-eaten piece of bread in his hand, staring at me and my camera while two teenage girls fitted him with a shiny pair of blue Diadoras, youth size 10.5. He beamed when he looked down at his feet and ran back to finish his breakfast, but he would be back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Once all the kids had eaten and the empty suitcase was returned to the car, the kids wasted no time showing us the soccer grounds. We headed out the front gate and took a right towards the Mpilo Hospital OI clinic that stands next to the orphanage. The kids poured out of the gates, carrying the younger ones on their shoulders. Not a single kid stayed behind at the orphanage. We held hands and sang while we walked the half kilometer to the soccer pitch. Some of the teenage boys tore ahead, making me nervous as they darted into the road and screamed to each other while cars shot by, barely slowing. We reached the field, </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">located behind the Mpilo Hospital Opportunistic Infections clinic. As the kids cavorted around the pitch I noticed faded gravestones poking between overgrown elephant grass beyond the far sideline. The kids were used to this sight by now, and were</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> busy running laps, warming up. There was no question they were taking this very seriously. After 10 minutes of shooting around with the few kids who weren't running laps or completing spontaneously organized warm-up routines, we split into two giant teams and kicked the ball straight up in the air to start the game. Every single kid in the orphanage tore around the pitch, raising dust in the morning air and never slowing when the ball bounced into the half of the field where patchy grass had grown to knee height. We batted the ball back and forth across the field for 20 minutes, chasing it in clumps, before a goal was finally scored. It was worth the wait. A group of girls, purportedly on the scoring team but who had previously been engaged in a heated gossip circle at the other end of the field, immediately broke into a coordinated goal celebration that the rest of the team, and all the kiwhas, quickly took up. It was too good to not have been planned. Or it could just be that they’re African so they came out of the womb dancing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">That a soccer ball and a few foreigners could create such joy and diversion for so many orphaned kids, on a soccer pitch hauntingly situated between an AIDS clinic and a hospital graveyard, amazed me. On Saturday we began the daunting task of learning all 65 kids’ names, and we discovered that many are siblings. Without a doubt, some of their parents were treated (or were on the waiting list for treatment) at the very AIDS clinic they now live next door to. Six of them receive their own treatment for HIV there. The kids at Emthunzini Wethemba work hard in school and go to church every Sunday. Somehow, their fearless and admirable leader Sis P instills discipline and sound values into all of them. I’m just thankful to get a glimpse into this extraordinary community. Thank you to the Browns, my neighbors who made this morning of joy on the soccer pitch possible. I will continue to update about our adventures at EW with more pictures and stories.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>Derekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13625643612351493388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4171325145959511512.post-4607901471586382012-02-02T03:55:00.000-08:002012-02-02T04:04:20.528-08:00Peanut Butter Jelly Time<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCCXL5GidVTv0O1KNHJkNvCKTb1934NxjCRbFNb8eFu0xZVWjF9q7xhpiy4rGvzKSHEpo3jQgXrIdFUJ3repB2oBnajQJyAjd68rU98nNXzSBU-vLKelApGIn4EXQXjKWHQqOf1LdEuZA/s1600/DSCN5455.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCCXL5GidVTv0O1KNHJkNvCKTb1934NxjCRbFNb8eFu0xZVWjF9q7xhpiy4rGvzKSHEpo3jQgXrIdFUJ3repB2oBnajQJyAjd68rU98nNXzSBU-vLKelApGIn4EXQXjKWHQqOf1LdEuZA/s200/DSCN5455.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Last Friday I took Nkosi
for a run and on my way home, I swung by the office to pick up a sandwich and snack
I had left in the fridge there. Didn’t want them to sit in the office all
weekend. As I made my way down Queens in the failing light of another beautiful
African dusk, I jogged up behind two
young boys, trotting along in barefeet and tattered clothing. Running home from
town. They did a double-take when I came up behind them with a dog on a leash.
Zimbabweans are terrified of dogs, with no exceptions that I know of. These two
boys jumped into the elephant grass on either side of the path to avoid being
eaten, but I slowed and told Nkosi to sit. Again, they were amazed that a dog
would listen to me and not attack them. Five minutes later, the younger of the
two boys had taken the leash from me, the older was holding my hand, and the
four of us walked along leisurely. I had greeted them in Ndebele and quickly
learned that their English was very poor. They carried a plastic bag and
nothing else and their clothes hung off them. Both were extremely skinny. They
probably can’t afford school fees. I managed to ascertain that the older was
eleven, the younger one nine. They were much too short for their ages. I might
have guessed six and nine. Clearly their nutrition at home is insufficient. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As we walked along, content to giggle whenever Nkosi turned and tried to sniff them, I found myself wishing I had my wallet on me. I would have handed them some cash to take home to their mother. I didn’t even have pockets, out for a jog, carrying nothing but my keys…and two Tupperwares of food. I could have smacked myself in the face. I opened the first container and ripped my peanut butter and jelly sandwich in half, handing one to each of the boys. Then I took the carrots out of the other one, along with a small Jif to-go peanut butter container and handed those to the boys. My aunt had come home from a shopping trip with four cases of portable peanut butter containers after I told her how much I survived on peanut butter and how often we’re on the road for soccer games. Good thinking! The boys went home with a little more nourishment and a new appreciation for dogs. I went home wishing I could give them much more than a sandwich and a few carrots, but even though I’d looked forward to a post-run sandwich, carrying empty Tupperware never felt better.</span>
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</div>Derekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13625643612351493388noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4171325145959511512.post-61098446160170866482012-02-02T02:15:00.000-08:002012-02-02T02:19:05.392-08:00Walk like an Egyptian<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8P5EGLCWAVifNESlN92nI5pIWEY6ktOZ1F582CIZ2_IHlQYvZPSfooectaoijrFg6ZE9ajTwxPdg6A_QMLeMt87vB0VprPF3Q5PcDCDCvPUzu2_uBeeUWGIRl9imlvp-NcmWgvaSC1lo/s1600/DSCN5268.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8P5EGLCWAVifNESlN92nI5pIWEY6ktOZ1F582CIZ2_IHlQYvZPSfooectaoijrFg6ZE9ajTwxPdg6A_QMLeMt87vB0VprPF3Q5PcDCDCvPUzu2_uBeeUWGIRl9imlvp-NcmWgvaSC1lo/s200/DSCN5268.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On our way back to <st1:country-region w:st="on">Zimbabwe</st1:country-region> on January 7 we flew Egypt Air through <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Cairo</st1:place></st1:city>. Rather than hunker
down for our 13-hour layover in the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Cairo</st1:placename>
<st1:placetype w:st="on">Airport</st1:placetype></st1:place>, we decided to
venture outside the airport to pay King Tut a visit. Little did we know, there
was rioting in the capital on the same day, but our cab skirted the downtown
area and headed for the old city of <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Giza</st1:place></st1:city>.
I think the Egyptians have been starved for tourists since their revolution a
year ago, and continued unrest hasn’t improved the industry. As a result, we were
</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">sitting
ducks and the prices we were quoted shifted constantly in the upward direction.
What began as a simple cab ride to a quick walk around the pyramids turned into
hiring a camel and horse to trek over the dunes and past the sphinx. Ale and I
were ready to head back to the airport without seeing anything after a marathon
negotiation/bartering session in the back room of an incense-filled shop.
Finally we reached terms with our host Mohammed and our guide Kareem, and
emerged from the war room slightly beleaguered but anticipating our first
encounter with the iconic humped mammal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv1rSrf24IiQ0lPF61Vw86WzouE2ezA4J-Q92oRO19cL9DOaarY9vqGhVmBD_-LZDlt0tvOYlL3DhXbVWSiCGAXoMQqR2RR2yXoPQ8GylvASo8gx_O56gpQQ-LEDpXhX9OHUq8ZIWa-lM/s1600/DSCN5252.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv1rSrf24IiQ0lPF61Vw86WzouE2ezA4J-Q92oRO19cL9DOaarY9vqGhVmBD_-LZDlt0tvOYlL3DhXbVWSiCGAXoMQqR2RR2yXoPQ8GylvASo8gx_O56gpQQ-LEDpXhX9OHUq8ZIWa-lM/s200/DSCN5252.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Turns out camels are ugly.
And smelly. In <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Giza</st1:place></st1:city>
they had camel parking lots, where camels were tied up in rows like horses in
the wild west. I braved the camel first, and it protested noisily as our
12-year-old camel master forced it to its knees so I could clamber aboard. The
camel-kneeling process seemed to take forever as the beast folded its gangly
legs under it like an ironing board collapsing, and creakily and complainingly
touched down on the hard-packed earth. Now I gripped the tattered knit blankets
that formed a saddle, snatched the reins, and vaulted aboard, holding on for
dear life as the ironing board unfolded lurchingly for what seemed like forever and my
perch just kept getting higher. Soon my knees were above Ale’s head where he
sat atop a dun mare next to me. Camels are really tall. Our camel, Michael
Jackson, and many of the camels we passed, had tattoos etched into the hide on their neck to identify them. Many were also adorned with ear piercings, and all were
draped with colorful blankets/saddles and masticated the same neon-green,
pungent cud which they coughed up noisily at intervals.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I think Kareem took us the back
way into the pyramids because we had a little tour of the city of Giza,
down alleyways and past trash heaps where old women sifted with sticks for
useful items. I felt like a real chump because we’re such known commodities in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Bulawayo</st1:place></st1:city> now that I no
longer feel like a tourist. But trust me, nothing will make you feel more like
a tourist than being a blond-haired American swaying regally down an Egyptian
causeway nine feet above the crowds. Meanwhile, our guides kept telling Ale how Egyptian he looks. Odd man out. Finally we reached a gate that let us into the vast area
of dunes surrounding the pyramids, Sphinx, and tombs. Whatever package we had
negotiated for through clouds of incense included a look at the three large
pyramids, one tomb, and the Sphinx. We snapped pictures in front of the
pyramids, spelunked into a pretty cool tomb, and sauntered past the Sphinx.
I’ll let the pictures do the talking. The chance to see the pyramids and the
significant workout I got from gripping the camel with my legs on sandy 30
degree inclines made the detour from sterile airport life well worth it.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTUbKJGCNOoagfTGYMRJVVoAvnW1f80zxPdDxebAJE1RqWUQdSvxT8ZHwEjB6ta58g3ZCZWEq1ChBsNTizbfa58KZRvId1BWyHah5giCnvw-uZzlpLNBOGk2klkcsvXNAa7XHDirWpo_8/s1600/DSCN5344.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTUbKJGCNOoagfTGYMRJVVoAvnW1f80zxPdDxebAJE1RqWUQdSvxT8ZHwEjB6ta58g3ZCZWEq1ChBsNTizbfa58KZRvId1BWyHah5giCnvw-uZzlpLNBOGk2klkcsvXNAa7XHDirWpo_8/s200/DSCN5344.JPG" width="200" /></a> <span style="font-family: Calibri;">However, the addendum to pyramid viewing which included a look into a “free art museum” which was actually a friend’s papyrus art shop, convinced me that I will not be returning to </span><st1:country-region style="font-family: Calibri;" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Egypt</st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> as a tourist any time soon. Our Egyptian “host,” a very large man with a perpetually flushed complexion, accompanied us everywhere to make sure we couldn’t refuse. They were all in cahoots - guy at the airport who advertised the tour, taxi driver, Mohammed, Kareem, and our next character, the wanna-be Spaniard. Inside the pristine shop, a googly-eyed salesman served us tea and insisted on speaking to us only in Spanish when he found out that we were both Spanish speakers (Ale fluent, Derek extremely rusty). His Spanish was actually Italian, so the conversation would have been difficult if his intentions weren’t abundantly clear. He harassed me in Italiaish until I settled on an Egyptian tomb scene painted on papyrus which I bartered down from $40 to $10 and bought just to shut him up. Sure was an adventure to break up the monotony of 3 straight days of traveling which included standing at the SA-Zim border from 1am to 6am the next morning, waiting to get busted for bringing in bags full of clothing and soccer cleats. I’ll take camels any day.</span><br />
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</div>Derekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13625643612351493388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4171325145959511512.post-29076372480900891402012-01-23T08:47:00.000-08:002012-02-02T02:26:27.151-08:00New GRS Zimbabwe Video!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="http://bulawayo24.com/index-id-videos-vid-kPu_j5vvjcQ.html">http://bulawayo24.com/index-id-videos-vid-kPu_j5vvjcQ.html</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Check out this video - the staff and coaches in this documentary
are the very people I work with every single day in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Zimbabwe</st1:place></st1:country-region>. They are incredibly
dedicated and passionate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Just stopped by the orphanage to set up a soccer game for Saturday
morning. I'm going to drop off some cleats for the soccer players and get some
pictures (thanks Brown family!). The orphanage has an awesome vibe and I can't
wait to start spending more time there. Patience, the social worker in charge,
chatted with me today to set up Saturday and then came out to the car to meet
Nkosi. She said we should bring him this weekend - the kids will love him. It's
the first time she'd patted a dog's head, she said. Dogs are not pets in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Zimbabwe</st1:place></st1:country-region>, and
definitely not members of the family like Nkosi is! I found out the kids call
Patience 'Sistah P', so from now on she will officially be Sis P, and no more
of this Patience stuff.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So far we've just been settling back in and handling a rush of
reports due on 31 January. Yesterday we went to Makokoba for dinner with
Esnath, our Zimbabwean mom, and her EXTENDED family. I mean extended. Dinner in
the ghetto in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Bulawayo</st1:place></st1:city>
means blaring music and every relative you ever had crammed into a tiny flat
until they're spilling out the door. It was a very very memorable evening,
right down to the two live chickens we purchased in the market and stewed all
afternoon to eat with the sadza. Pictures and a full update to come! This is a
quick fix because internet has been terrible lately. We were down all weekend
and only got it back at 5pm today.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">More to come. GO PATS!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>Derekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13625643612351493388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4171325145959511512.post-44857175161540916982012-01-03T15:45:00.000-08:002012-01-03T19:47:54.866-08:00Emthunzini Wethemba<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iNAp5VYx04A/TwPKJzfHhzI/AAAAAAAAAG4/Qz3r6tIhU3Y/s1600/100_0039.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iNAp5VYx04A/TwPKJzfHhzI/AAAAAAAAAG4/Qz3r6tIhU3Y/s400/100_0039.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Imagine 65 children, all orphans,
living under one roof. Now imagine that 95% of those who are eligible for
school attend classes every single day and that all 65 of them are clothed,
fed, and cared for by only a few dedicated community members. This is
Emthunzini Wethemba, an orphanage in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Mziligazi</st1:placename>
<st1:placetype w:st="on">Township</st1:placetype></st1:place> that can’t even
afford to pay all of its employees. The chief administrator is retained on a
volunteer basis, and all of the employees care for the children as if they were
their own. This is the reality of <st1:country-region w:st="on">Zimbabwe</st1:country-region>:
AIDS orphans have become <st1:country-region w:st="on">Zimbabwe</st1:country-region>’s
children because too many of <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Zimbabwe</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s
children have become AIDS orphans.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> By 2009 more than 1 million children, or 71% of all the orphans
in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Zimbabwe</st1:place></st1:country-region>,
had been orphaned by AIDS. Several weeks ago, as I prepared to leave for a
brief visit to the <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">United
States</st1:place></st1:country-region> before returning to continue my work
with Grassroot Soccer in January 2012, I was searching for a deserving school
to collect supplies for. I had been planning to collect clothing from family
and friends as best I could when an old friend contacted me with a better
solution: Aiden Cudhea, my buddy from <st1:placename w:st="on">Thetford</st1:placename>
<st1:placetype w:st="on">Elementary school</st1:placetype> in <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Vermont</st1:place></st1:state>, and his dad Cameron, would hold a clothing drive at Aiden’s school. I went in search of a recipient for
the clothing and donations in the weeks before my return to the <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">U.S.</st1:place></st1:country-region>, and a
Zimbabwean acquaintance pointed me in the direction of Emthunzini Wethemba.
What I found is going to change the nature of my relationship with the city of <st1:city w:st="on">Bulawayo</st1:city>, and I can’t wait to begin playing soccer with
the kids at the home and volunteering at the shelter on a weekly basis when I
return to <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Bulawayo</st1:place></st1:city>
next week. Emthunzini Wethemba is a truly amazing place. I wanted to share my
glimpse into life at the shelter, and I will continue to post stories and
pictures as I volunteer there during the next 5 months.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Nc6cYnCludI/TwOScrFZKEI/AAAAAAAAAFY/pJuYQ7-G-BU/s1600/DSCN5199.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Nc6cYnCludI/TwOScrFZKEI/AAAAAAAAAFY/pJuYQ7-G-BU/s320/DSCN5199.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> The orphanage is located less than 2 km north of <st1:placename w:st="on">Bulawayo</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">City</st1:placetype>
<st1:placetype w:st="on">Center</st1:placetype> along <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Vic</st1:placename> <st1:placename w:st="on">Falls</st1:placename></st1:place>
road. It sits adjacent to the Mpilo Hospital OI clinic where Ale and I have
spent a significant amount of time since our arrival in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Bulawayo</st1:place></st1:city> in August. The orphanage was founded
by the late reverend E. Ndoda in 1992 to care for 6 orphaned boys, and has
since expanded to house 65 orphans. The children who live at Emthunzini
Wethemba, which translates as “Shelter of Hope,” come to the home from <st1:city w:st="on">Bulawayo</st1:city>’s social welfare department, from the streets of <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Bulawayo</st1:place></st1:city>, or from the
Mpilo Hospital Opportunistic Infections clinic when the hospital learns that a
child has lost his or her parents or caregivers to AIDS. Therefore, many of the
65 children have spent time on the streets or are AIDS orphans, and 6 of them
are HIV-positive through vertical transmission. I had the opportunity to tour
Emthunzini Wethemba, visit with the children, and speak with Patience, the
volunteer caretaker of the shelter and its 65 young inhabitants, just before
Christmas. I was immediately inspired by the sense of hope and joy
amongst the children despite their circumstances, and by the dedication and
professionalism of the home’s staff and volunteers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> Despite the seemingly overwhelming odds stacked against AIDS orphans
and the crippling lack of resources in <st1:country-region w:st="on">Zimbabwe</st1:country-region>,
Emthunzini Wethemba offers hope to the children of <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Bulawayo</st1:place></st1:city>. The shelter’s mission is
refreshingly simple:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">1)<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span></span><span dir="LTR"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">To
restore youth to a state of physical, emotional, and spiritual well being
sufficient for them to return to a normal lifestyle, preferably within the
framework of their family or social structure.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">2)<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span></span><span dir="LTR"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">To
equip them with entrepreneurial skills and empower them with attitudes and
behaviors necessary for employment.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2FLy3VPWeYs/TwPLo5PyiaI/AAAAAAAAAHE/OMNFfIak0DQ/s1600/100_0040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2FLy3VPWeYs/TwPLo5PyiaI/AAAAAAAAAHE/OMNFfIak0DQ/s320/100_0040.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> In pursuit of goal number one, the home employs a young
social worker named Patience on a volunteer basis. Patience graduated from the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">University</st1:placetype> of <st1:placename w:st="on">Zimbabwe</st1:placename></st1:place> with a degree in social work
and psychology. She recently returned to her hometown of <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Bulawayo</st1:place></st1:city> to take over the reigns as chief
administrator at Emthunzini Wethemba. Patience sets the daily schedule at the
home and cares for the children in every way, from setting the daily menu to
chasing down the youngest boys attempting to shirk their daily bath. When I
arrived at the home at 8:30am on a Thursday morning, Patience explained with an
exasperated eye roll that the children were almost ready to greet me but it
would be a few minutes because the “big girls” were still finishing with their
morning baths and “getting ready.” Apparently teenagers will be teenagers no
matter what the time zone or latitude. I laughed and could immediately feel the
sense of normalcy and family that pervades the home despite its dilapidated
physical appearance and the tragic circumstances that land young people on its
doorstep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> It didn’t take long to discover that Patience is the
force behind the discipline and love which are so pivotal to helping the kids
regain their sense of normalcy, structure, and hope. As chief administrator,
Patience organizes schooling, meals, recreation, chores, and educational
enrichment for the children 24/7. All but a handful of the 65 children at
Emthunzini are currently attending school in the neighboring community of
Mziligazi. Patience tells me proudly that several children have also earned
scholarships to local private high schools thanks to their academic
performance. The handful of children not attending school consists of those who
are beyond schooling age and three who are mentally challenged. The home is
currently investigating options for these children, including vocational
training for the older children and special needs schools for the children with
disabilities. When I visited Emthunzini Wethemba on 15 December, the children
were on holiday from school, but Patience had set up a schedule which included
morning chores and two hours each of morning and afternoon study time because,
she explained, she wants the children to stay intellectually engaged even
during their school breaks. This, of course, leads us to goal number two:
equipping the children with skills to return to society as productive adults.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> The children live in dorm-style buildings of concrete and
brick. I had the opportunity to visit both the girls’ and boys’ dormitories,
and despite the fact that the living spaces lack rugs, lamps and many of the
comforts we are accustomed to, their wooden bunk beds, brightly colored sheets,
and the stuffed animal tucked neatly by each pillow gave an aura of summer camp
which made me hopeful that the children are happy here. They certainly seem to
be, and the youngest kids loved posing for my camera and were proud to show off
the bedrooms they carefully maintain during morning chores. Patience showed me
through all the school’s facilities and we made our way to several fields of
crops behind the dormitory buildings. The children learn how to farm covo,
spinach, and other vegetables at Emthunzini Wethemba. They gather mangoes and bananas
from several trees on the property, and have duties to help cook at every meal
using the vegetables they have helped to raise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> Patience showed me a concrete building behind the
dormitories that is under renovation. She explained that the city laws
do not allow the shelter to retain children over 19 years of age. The 65 children
she had introduced me to that morning ranged in age from 5 to 23. The kids older than 19 have graduated from high school and by law they are adults and should be removed from the
orphanage. But with 80% unemployment plaguing the country, these young adults
with few marketable skills would be thrown back onto the streets of <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Bulawayo</st1:place></st1:city> from whence many
of them came. Therefore, the shelter continues to provide for these older
orphans and gives them increased leadership and mentoring opportunities within
the home. Patience is currently working on a project to secure vocational
training for the older children at the home. These young adults would then teach
classes for the younger kids in order to earn their room and board at the
shelter, creating a sustainable model for vocational training and giving the
older children productive and fulfilling employment. Patience showed me
woodworking equipment and even a pottery wheel in a storage room at the
orphanage but explained that the shelter stopped offering classes for its
children several years ago when money dried up in the city and no one would
volunteer to teach the classes or teach for a modest allowance. Hopefully, now
that the economy has sputtered back to life and is growing slowly, Patience
will be able to find someone willing to train the older children so that they
can breathe new life into vocational classes at Emthunzini Wethemba.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> Through donations from friends and family and the efforts
of Aiden and Cameron, I have arranged to bring many donated clothes back to <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Zimbabwe</st1:place></st1:country-region> this
week to give to the children at Emthunzini Wethemba. My neighbors, the Brown
Family, collected and donated more than 20 pairs of gently used youth soccer cleats.
I also have more than $300 donated by my grandmother and aunt which I will use
to take Patience on a shopping trip to Fazak’s, the local department store,
upon my return to <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Zimbabwe</st1:place></st1:country-region>.
Patience explained that the shelter needs everything from pots and pans to
curtains, sheets, light bulbs, toiletries, garden tools, utensils, paint
brushes, cough medicine, children’s underwear….the list goes on and on. We hope
to address a few of these needs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Iz8jgxmv1kU/TwOSj9KLtaI/AAAAAAAAAFk/u3mhlDBpzX0/s1600/DSCN5210.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Iz8jgxmv1kU/TwOSj9KLtaI/AAAAAAAAAFk/u3mhlDBpzX0/s320/DSCN5210.JPG" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> Emthunzini is an inspiring place. The shelter employs many practices that we aspire to here in the U.S.: the
children learn to farm and grow much of their own food; they often bathe with
rainwater collected in a large drum behind the shelter; they live together with
few conflicts and maintain their own living spaces through rigorous daily
chores; they attend school and several have earned the opportunity to pursue
higher education; they live simply and ask for nothing. They do all of this
with far fewer resources than we enjoy here at home, and they are extremely
deserving. I am excited to have the opportunity to spend more time with them
and to learn from their example.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> If you are interested in supporting the kids at
Emthunzini Wethemba, please contact me and let me know
(dereks@grassrootsoccer.org). You can make a donation to my intern fund online
at <a href="http://www.derekinafrica2011.blospot.com/">www.derekinafrica2011.blospot.com</a>
and I will use any funds you earmark for the orphanage to help Patience
purchase supplies. I can then provide you with a list of exactly what we
purchased with your donation so you can see how you contributed! Patience also
explained to me that she is trying to set up a new relationship with donors
through a program called <i>Friends of Emthunzini Wethemba</i>. Donors may
register as a friend to the home for a monthly minimum subscription of $5. This
contribution of only $60 for the entire year will serve to raise funds for the
daily needs of the home (volunteer stipends, groceries, electric and water
bills) and generate income for long term projects such as the training of older
members of the Emthunzini family to stay on as vocational counselors and
mentors for younger children. I will continue to provide updates and pictures
as I deliver the first round of supplies to the orphanage and as our
relationship with Emthunzini Wethemba grows this year through soccer games and
volunteer work. Thank you for the continued support!</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ld9pTzzqU9o/TwOS2TRNL6I/AAAAAAAAAGI/HhHcPF8d0Qc/s1600/DSCN5214.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ld9pTzzqU9o/TwOS2TRNL6I/AAAAAAAAAGI/HhHcPF8d0Qc/s320/DSCN5214.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
The youth cleats, donated by the Brown family of Hudson, MA, are ready for the journey to Bulawayo. Thank you!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<br /></div>Derekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13625643612351493388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4171325145959511512.post-45585174378768469912011-12-23T08:30:00.000-08:002011-12-23T08:30:40.509-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KhjVs0cZ6eU/TvSsovC4hcI/AAAAAAAAAFI/JDNBaG29Gyk/s1600/IMG_4685.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KhjVs0cZ6eU/TvSsovC4hcI/AAAAAAAAAFI/JDNBaG29Gyk/s400/IMG_4685.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Merry Christmas from Bulawayo!</div>
</div>Derekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13625643612351493388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4171325145959511512.post-59792972737742579092011-12-09T03:19:00.001-08:002011-12-09T03:24:42.877-08:00Mrs. Marube<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Calibri;">I went for a run this
morning like I usually do when we don’t have training. It was grey and overcast
and a nice temperature for a jog. I never meet any other joggers and I usually
feel a little foolish passing hundreds of people walking to work while I bounce
along with my wrap-around ear-buds hooked up to my ipod. Sure, it’s only a 1gig
shuffle and it’s about 4 years old, but still. I always greet the people I pass
with either “good morning” or “livugile” and most are incredibly friendly,
breaking into huge smiles. That’s just how Zimbabweans are.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> As I turned onto the home stretch this morning, running
down a road bordered by abandoned, trash-covered fields next to the smelly
river that surrounds the city, I passed an older mother with two children tending
a small patch of corn. Exams ended last week and school is out for the
holidays, so I was happy to know that these two kids are usually at school at
8am on a Friday. But today they were helping their mother with her urban
farming. Many families in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Bulawayo</st1:place></st1:city>
engage in urban farming, raising crops such as rape and maize on small patches
of soil surrounded by crumbling flats and trash-filled alleys. Most patches of
arable land in the city are taken up by small gardens and people often carry
water long distances to keep their crops alive.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> I greeted the mother as I jogged past the farming family,
one of many moving methodically through patches of red soil between the road
and the river, hoeing and weeding. Two hundred yards down the road I slid open
the heavy black car gate to our yard that squeals like a banshee and really
needs to be oiled, and went in to retrieve my camera. Jogging back up the road,
camera in hand, I felt foolish again. I wasn’t even sure why I’d brought my
camera. My object was not to get a picture for my own use, but to possibly make
a copy and give it to the mother and her family if they were neighbors. I’ve
seen urban farming going on since we arrived 5 months ago and most of all I
just wanted to talk to them and gain some insight into their daily life. Yet I
didn’t want to seem like an annoying kiwha or a tourist. I guess it helped that
when the mother asked where I stay I was able to point up the road and show her
our house, one of the more modest in her very own neighborhood. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> I greeted the mother first and all three stopped working
and looked up. Their field wasn’t really a field – the tilled rectangle of land
bordered by the burned remnants of other families’ trash piles measured no more
than 10 x 20 meters, and I noticed that half of it was filled with weeds. The
mother was heavy set and wore the traditional <i>chitenge </i>skirt and a head
wrap. She was very sturdily built, and it was clear that her arms and hands had
seen many seasons of planting. After an exchange of ‘good mornings’ she introduced
herself as Mrs. Marube. I asked her what she was growing (even though I
suspected corn), and she cried “maize!” to which I responded, somewhat
stupidly, “well, it’s a very nice crop.” At this she snorted, “It could be, but
there is no rain,” and pointed to the highest of her corn plants, explaining that
all the plants would be this height if the rains had come on schedule. It is
now mid-December and we’ve had almost no rain in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Bulawayo</st1:place></st1:city>. The rainy season is supposed to
start in October. The lack of rain has been wreaking havoc throughout the
country because farmers are afraid to plant too early for fear of drought and
lost crops. In the case of Mrs. Marube’s corn, she’d lost more than half to the
lack of rain – the section that appeared full of weeds was actually the other
half of her field where the corn seedlings had failed to sprout.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> I gestured toward the larger field behind us, bordering
the river that doubles as a sewer, and asked why it was not planted. “He just
planted yesterday,” she explained. “He waited because of the rain, but finally
he could not wait any longer. The seasons, they are changing. We should have
rain in October but still we have none.” She shook her head and asked where I
stay. Turns out she stays just up the road so we’re neighbors, and the family
grows the corn to supplement their income. I didn’t ask further but I assume
they sell it to the vendors who then grill it on the side of the road and sell
an ear for 6 rand (75 cents). The kids had crept closer as we talked, and I gave
each of them a high five and asked how they were. They responded shyly and
smiled. Kids in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Zimbabwe</st1:place></st1:country-region>
are incredibly well-behaved and very reserved. Mrs. Marube started to resume
hoeing the ground in front of her, and sensing that there was work to be done,
I thanked her and asked her if I could take a picture. She asked what I wanted
it for and when I told her I would make a copy and bring it to her, she said,
“but I am so dirty!” Indeed, the front of her white blouse and her arms, hands,
and knees were covered with dirt. I said I would return another time and
thanked her. She smiled and resumed her work and I jogged back up the road to take
a bucket shower and go to work. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> Mrs. Marube and her family represent one tiny example of
how the seasons really are changing in Sub-Saharan Africa. When we first
arrived we kept asking locals when the rains would come. It was the end of the
dry season and everyone was complaining about the heat (niya chisa!), insisting
that the seasons had shifted. I dismissed their comments as exaggeration and
alarmism. It seemed so strange to me that a hot-button topic and subject of
heated debates in liberal bastions of <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">America</st1:place></st1:country-region> should be on the tips of
people’s tongues in a nation reeling from one of the worst economic meltdowns in
history. Don’t they have better things to worry about? Why are they running
around talking about climate change? Are they just saying it to me because I’m
American or because I’m white and they think I’ll want to talk about it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> No - now that I’ve been here a few months, heard from
people from all walks of life about the shifting seasons, and witnessed the
effects on farmers large and small, my opinion is changing. Zimbabweans talk
about climate change amongst themselves. It is a real issue for them. Regardless
of whether the change is due to human activity or not, the results are real. It’s
not about being liberal or conservative. It’s about identifying a problem and
using the resources we have to address it for the good of people less fortunate
than ourselves. It’s a bonus that we too will benefit from lower emissions,
more sustainable sources of energy, and cleaner air. And don’t we have a moral
imperative to address this issue if there is a chance it might alleviate
negative effects for people like Mrs. Marube <i>and</i> result in research
which could produce cleaner air and energy security for the foreseeable future?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> It is so cosmically unfortunate that due to weather
patterns, the pollution contributed by the wealthiest countries ends up
affecting climates in some of the poorest areas of the world where people
already live on the margins of survival. Sub-Saharan <st1:place w:st="on">Africa</st1:place>
is one of the areas most affected by climate change. We, as Americans, are in a
position to make change. The privileged always are. I was so proud of the
taxpayers of <st1:country-region w:st="on">America</st1:country-region> after
reading this article about the impact that PEPFAR has had on the fight against
HIV and AIDS in <st1:place w:st="on">Africa</st1:place>: <a href="http://www.forbes.com/sites/jamesglassman/2011/12/02/how-to-build-on-success-against-aids-in-africa/">http://www.forbes.com/sites/jamesglassman/2011/12/02/how-to-build-on-success-against-aids-in-africa/</a>
. The American people have contributed billions to the fight, whether they know
it or not, and we can’t stop there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> But why doesn’t the same hold for climate change? If you
don’t believe in global warming, agree to disagree. But doesn’t it make sense
to reduce emissions and seek more sustainable solutions anyway? It’s a win-win
situation. We’re going to need them eventually. There is no debate about whether
the negative effects of pollution are real. People on the ground, people who
have food security issues without throwing drought into the mix, are being
affected, so let’s do something about it. It starts in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Durban</st1:place></st1:city>, at the climate conference going on right
now. Let’s get the right demographic represented there, and let’s take
responsibility, as the most powerful nation in world, for leading the way. I
really enjoyed reading this article today about that climate conference going
on in Durban South Africa, although it indicates that real progress may be
years away - it was a particularly timely read given my conversation with Mrs.
Marube this morning. Check it out: <a href="http://allafrica.com/stories/201112061052.html">http://allafrica.com/stories/201112061052.html</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>Derekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13625643612351493388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4171325145959511512.post-49466524821074343882011-12-04T05:56:00.000-08:002011-12-23T08:28:09.709-08:00Esnath and Mattias<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I can’t believe I haven’t written about Esnath yet. It’s criminal. Esnath is our Zimbabwean mom, and a wonderful lady. When Ale and I first arrived in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Zimbabwe</st1:place></st1:country-region>, we stayed at a lodge next to the GRS offices. Esnath keeps house at the lodge, and as we passed 3 weeks there while GRS looked for a house for us to rent in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Bulawayo</st1:place></st1:city>, we bonded with Esnath during many nights without electricity. Esnath cooks the best sadza I’ve ever tasted, and there’s just nothing like a home-cooked Zimbabwean meal when the zesa (power) fails. Eventually the time came for us to move into a new home not far from the office or the lodge. One afternoon before we moved, Ale and I looked at each other and realized how much we were going to miss Esnath and Mattias, the security guard at the lodge. We’d now become very close with both, sharing pictures and stories of our families over meals and staying in the tiny dining room, just the four of us, to chat long after we’d finished eating dinner. Although we live a few blocks from the lodge now, Ale and I have dinner with Esnath and Mattias at least once per week at the lodge. Esnath and Mattias are like family now, and Esnath calls us her Kiwha sons.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> Mattias is a wiry young man, probably in his mid-thirties, with a gap in his teeth and an ever-present smile. He is soft-spoken, with an accent that differentiates him from most of the other Zimbabweans we meet. He provides all-night security at the lodge 5 nights per week. Mattias is one of the <st1:country-region w:st="on">Tonga</st1:country-region> people from Binga, on the shores of <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">Lake</st1:placetype> <st1:placename w:st="on">Kariba</st1:placename></st1:place>. He speaks Ndebele, English, Shona, and of course his native <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Tonga</st1:place></st1:country-region>. He has a heart of gold and is a talented bike mechanic, and somehow he functions on only 3 to 4 hours’ sleep per night, riding his bike nearly 20 kilometers to work every day. One night after our truck had broken down for the millionth time, Esnath was afraid to allow us to walk home alone from the lodge. Mattias grabbed his bike, walked us home, and then returned to the lodge. While at the house he inspected our locks and our gate (this was shortly after we’d been robbed the first time) and made recommendations for our safety. Mattias has only 2 kids right now but says he wants 5. That way there will be at least one who decides to stay home and care for the aging parents!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> Esnath is from </span><st1:city style="font-family: Calibri;" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Bulawayo</st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> and has 5 children at home. She has been working at the lodge for years and stays in </span><st1:city style="font-family: Calibri;" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Bulawayo</st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-family: Calibri;">, away from her kids, for the six days per week that she works. When she hops in a combi (commuter bus) to go home, she brings her wages and checks on the kids. One of the older girls does all the cooking at home and gets her siblings to school every day. One day Esnath told us that her daughter had been sent home from school because she’d been late to pay the $110 school fee. For someone who makes $200 per month, that’s a very steep fee. Luckily her daughter is now back at school, but it makes one realize how precious education is. And how inaccessible it can be in </span><st1:country-region style="font-family: Calibri;" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Zimbabwe</st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-family: Calibri;">. The net secondary school attendance stands at only around 50%, and an acute shortage of books and supplies plagues most learning institutions and limits the quality of education. I just hope that as the economy here continues to strengthen, education will be prioritized. Sure, the few prestigious boys’ and girls’ private schools in </span><st1:country-region style="font-family: Calibri;" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Zimbabwe</st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> continue to flourish and offer excellent educations – some of the best for teens in Sub-Saharan Africa. But on the whole, for the average Zimbabwean child, getting a complete education is an uphill battle. Unfortunately, finding an opportunity to apply that education is even tougher. Unemployment peaked at 95% in 2009, forcing many family providers to seek opportunities elsewhere and draining the nation of wealth and expertise. The result is a loss of industry and a persistent lack of job opportunities. For people like Esnath and Mattias, life is far from easy. They work hard day in and day out for themselves and their children, yet unlike many parents in the </span><st1:country-region style="font-family: Calibri;" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">US</st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-family: Calibri;">, they cannot be confident in a better future for the next generation. They just have to pray and hope for it. However, they can be proud that they both emphasize education and are dedicated to their families. I know I’m thankful that Esnath and Mattias are who they are. They’re two of the reasons I feel at home here in </span><st1:city style="font-family: Calibri;" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Bulawayo</st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-family: Calibri;">.</span>
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Mattias by the cooking fire.</div>
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Esnath dishing the sadza.</div>
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Mixty beef! The classic Zimbabwean meal.</div>
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Christmas dinner 12/12/11.</div>
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</div>Derekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13625643612351493388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4171325145959511512.post-12702842248766261472011-11-09T03:25:00.000-08:002011-12-04T06:14:50.282-08:00First VCT Tournament!<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: normal;">
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">GRS Zimbabwe kicked off its VCT campaign in style on 29 October!
Here's a press release I wrote after the event that was published in this
Saturday's<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Bulawayo Chronicle</i>.
The event was a blast!</span><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">First Grassroot Soccer VCT Tournament A Success</span><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Saturday marked the launch of Grassroot Soccer’s Voluntary
Counseling and Testing (VCT) Tournament campaign in Bulawayo with soccer
celebrities such as Highlanders’ coach Mkhuphali Masuku and captain Gilbert
Banda turning out in force to promote HIV testing. GRS Voluntary Counseling and
Testing tournaments will bring free HIV testing and other HIV health services
to communities throughout <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Bulawayo</st1:place></st1:city>
in 2011 and 2012. Besides free HIV testing and other health services, each
event features a soccer tournament between local high schools and other
entertainment such as a DJ, dance groups, and Grassroot Soccer HIV prevention
activities and dramas. The first VCT tournament was a huge success, drawing
more than 600 community members to the Lobengula Rugby fields on Saturday, 29
October.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The success of the first Grassroot Soccer VCT tournament was made
possible by the hard work of many <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Bulawayo</st1:place></st1:city>
community partners. Local and international partner organizations including
Matabeleland AIDS Council (MAC) and Population Services International (PSI)
generously offered free HIV testing to community members for more than 6 hours
despite the heat of the day. The National AIDS Council (NAC) served as
technical advisor for the event and mobilized its Young People’s Network to
hand out information on Male Circumcision, Family Planning, Tuberculosis, and
HIV/AIDS prevention. Hundreds of young people accessed HIV-related health
information throughout the day at information booths set up by the various
partners.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Grassroot Soccer has also formed a strategic partnership with <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Mpilo</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Hospital</st1:placetype></st1:place>
as part of its VCT campaign, allowing any HIV-positive youth between 16-19
years of age to be referred directly to the Mpilo OI Clinic for enrollment on
ARV treatment with no waiting time. Counselors and Home Based Care Givers from
Mpilo also played an invaluable role in VCT tournament preparation. Adolescent
HIV counselors from Mpilo first prepared GRS coaches to provide HIV outreach
through role-playing and rigorous training sessions. Teams of GRS coaches
and Home-Based Care Givers then ventured into the communities around Lobengula
Rugby ground to visit more than 500 households during the two weeks prior to
the event, inviting families to the VCT tournament and providing information
about the services to be offered. The wild success of this outreach program was
evident on Saturday: Chrispen Ngulube, leader of the MAC HIV testing team,
remarked on the effectiveness of the door-to-door information visits, stating
that MAC had previously provided its standard mobile VCT services in the
Lobengula area but never with such a tremendous response from the public.
Soccer matches, a festive atmosphere, and door-to-door invitations by
Highlanders stars on the day of the event undoubtedly strengthened the
community turnout as well.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Male and female students from nearby Masotsha and <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Njube</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">High
Schools</st1:placetype></st1:place> competed in a friendly soccer tournament
for the opportunity to hoist GRS trophies presented by Highlanders stars
Gilbert Banda and Gift Lunga Junior. The girls from Matsosha and boys from
Njube prevailed on the day, taking home silverware to be displayed in their
schools until the next VCT tournament. DJ Prosper kept the crowds dancing all
day long, even during heated matches between GRS coaches and staff including
former Highlanders goal-scoring machine Gift Lunga Senior. Highlights of the
entertainment program included an HIV drama performed by Gilbert Banda and Gift
Lunga Junior, and GRS HIV prevention games led by former Mighty Warriors star and
GRS master coach Sithethelelwe ‘Kwinji 15’ Sibanda. Community youth in
attendance loved the GRS soccer activities designed to teach facts about HIV
and AIDS, the benefits of male circumcision, and how to avoid HIV risks. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The tournament concluded with the trophy presentation by Gilbert
Banda, Gift Lunga Jr., and Highlanders legend Netsai Moyo, who also served as
MC for the event. The inaugural GRS VCT tournament in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Bulawayo</st1:place></st1:city> was an enormous success, with more
than 600 people in attendance, roughly half of whom elected to undergo HIV
testing. GRS looks forward to bringing great community health events to other
areas around Bulawayo in the coming weeks, with 3 more tournaments scheduled
for 12 November, 19 November, and 3 December. The venues for the events will be
announced shortly. To find out the latest Grassroot Soccer <st1:country-region w:st="on">Zimbabwe</st1:country-region> news and more information on upcoming
VCT events in your area, visit Grassroot Soccer <st1:country-region w:st="on">Zimbabwe</st1:country-region>’s
Facebook page by searching “Grassroot Soccer <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Zimbabwe</st1:place></st1:country-region>.”</span><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>Derekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13625643612351493388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4171325145959511512.post-52776163943136105192011-10-31T05:51:00.000-07:002011-10-31T05:51:24.931-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMuaDSeJowRaMhwPYOw73zDP7QAb93JVnSNZ02bauPOvpgLqTc8oKqQ6v2xX1DMDnERGVU6FBElNyzlwSHTXgVR02ec6Epf7Ay-bcAhIywWrU8qi2Fa-meC1EkRoSm7UEf5Fo6nOIl-JM/s1600/DSCN4217.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMuaDSeJowRaMhwPYOw73zDP7QAb93JVnSNZ02bauPOvpgLqTc8oKqQ6v2xX1DMDnERGVU6FBElNyzlwSHTXgVR02ec6Epf7Ay-bcAhIywWrU8qi2Fa-meC1EkRoSm7UEf5Fo6nOIl-JM/s320/DSCN4217.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When we went to Vic Falls for a game we played in the shadow of Hwange Power Station. The field was layered with coal dust and my knees were black by the end of the game. The kids from Hwange loved seeing two kiwhas on the team and they chased our bus out of the parking lot.</span></div>Derekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13625643612351493388noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4171325145959511512.post-3627902700691752472011-10-31T05:34:00.000-07:002011-11-15T03:10:39.465-08:00Cliff Notes<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So I’ve had some requests for blog cliff notes.* Fine, the entries have been a bit long. This gets you up to speed if, like my cousin, you don’t have the attention span to read long posts. Even if you’ve been reading all along, there’s lots of new stuff in here so check it out!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">*I'm not endorsing cliff notes. Read the whole book! You'll get more out of it. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Character list:</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Derek Stenquist</span></b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> – protagonist, GRS Zim Grants Officer</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Alejandro “the ‘stache” Frischeisen</span></b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> – roommate/partner in crime, GRS Zim Business Development Officer</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Annie Bauer</span></b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> - GRS Zim Director of Operations</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Doc Ndiweni</span></b><span style="font-family: Calibri;">– GRS Zim Director of Health and Local Relations</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Methembe</span></b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> – Executive Director “The Big Boss”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Nkosi </span></b><span style="font-family: Calibri;">– GRS-Z intern house guard puppy</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Chapter 1: This is Zim</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I arrived in Zimbabwe on August 22<sup>nd</sup> and have since had many adventures. I’m serving as an intern this year, and so far I’ve been assigned the role of Grants Officer for the organization. I write a lot of proposals and grant reports to donors and get to do awesome site visits to check in on our programs or investigate sites for future programs. Alejandro and I work under Doc in the Health and Local Relationships department (which also handles Business Development), and our other role this year has been to kick off GRS Zim’s VCT campaign. More about that in Chapter 9, but preparation for our first VCT has meant lots of networking with local independent and government-funded health organizations to create an HIV health services dream team, ready to deploy to any township with tents, HIV testing kits, CD4 count machine, condoms, peer educator support, and of course, sweet GRS t-shirts.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Chapter 2: Soccer</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Soccer games here are always a crazy experience. We went to the Banc ABC Super 8 final between Motor Action Might Bulls and Highlanders FC last month. Highlanders are the team of the people in Bulawayo (nickname Bosso). They used to be a powerhouse in Zimbabwe but have fallen off in recent years. Fans still have very high expectations. Bosso lost 1-0 to Motor Action and 10,000 people in the North stands got upset. They started kicking down the fence at the north end of the stadium and police moved in with tear gas and German Shepherds. We watched from high in the East stands as the police loosed the dogs on the crowd. At another premier league game in Luveve we had a policeman in full riot gear come after us swinging his nightstick. The friends we were with didn’t tell us that the gate they were trying to pull us through actually wasn’t an entrance…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Chapter 3: Food</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So far I’ve eaten macimbi (larvae of an endemic tree slug), matemba (tiny fish salty enough to turn your tongue to leather), imbuzi (goat), chicken liver, cow liver, and ox tail. Sadza is the cornmeal mush that doubles as Zimbabwe’s staple carbohydrate and silverware. Too bad it’s so hard to keep your hands clean here.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Chapter 4: Mpilo Hospital</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve written about Mpilo quite a few times because it fascinates me and presents such an incredible picture of the overwhelming need that still exists here in Zimbabwe. The hospital houses one of the largest pediatric Opportunistic Infections (AIDS) clinics in Sub-Saharan Africa. It is currently run by Doctors Without Borders, which brought the first ARVs (anti-retroviral drugs) to Bulawayo in 2004. The AIDS epidemic had been raging in Zimbabwe for over 20 years by the time the drugs arrived. The Mpilo OI clinic has a great teen resource center for kids living with HIV. One of the projects the interns have been cooking up in Business Development is a program to put the GRS curriculum to work for HIV-positive kids. We’ve written several proposals to fund SKILLZ Club, a support group for HIV-positive teens using GRS games to build collective identity, self-esteem, and conflict mitigation skills. Most importantly we want to help Mpilo counselors reduce default rates (defaulters are HIV-positive kids who stop taking their ARVs) because HIV-positive individuals who adhere to their treatment are 96% less likely to infect others with HIV! We think GRS has an important role to play in this aspect of treatment for prevention by bolstering support for HIV-positive teens with a soccer-based curriculum that helps realize they can live long, healthy lives if they stick to their treatment regimen.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Chapter 5: Transport</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our trashed Mazda truck has Ultimate Force decals on the front and back. It also has a sticker on the tailgate that says “Bad Boy” and has a little face with devilish eyebrows. We’ve been rolling in the truck for about a month now. The tires are worn completely bald and whenever we put too many people/things in the bed of the truck, the wheelwell grinds ruts into the tire and the air smells like burning rubber because the shocks are kaput. We were promised something safer, but this is Africa and they’re working on the repairs to another car for us. In the meantime, I love cruising with the lefty stickshift. I’m writing about the truck again because we’ve since had some unbelievable episodes with running out of gas. When I wrote about it before, it was funny. Then we ran out of gas three times. In one day. The gas gauge is broken so we have to guess how we’re doing from the sound of the engine. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Chapter 6: Bantu</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ale and I play for Bantu Rovers in the ZIFA southern region division 1 league. Side note: he’s also been grooming an impressive mustache since we got here. Our season’s over now, but we got to do some traveling with the team and see parts of the country we never would have otherwise. The other day we went to a gold mine called How Mine for a game. The sign at the entrance said: “all visitors will be searched upon exit” and the entire complex was surrounded by barbed wire. The field itself sat below an impressive complex of towering scaffolding and machinery and who-knows-what up on the hill they pull the gold out of. On opposite hillside nestled an entire town of squat, white-washed square houses and a few longer, rectangular school buildings. This side was the town for the miners’ families (High-density How Mine housing area). At one end of the field the ground fell away into amazing valleys covered with scrub grass and stunted trees. Everything is dusty here…elephant country. We hear that Zimbabwe has tons of gold, and we’ve seen our share of mines since we’ve been here. Hopefully some day soon Zim will have a government that takes all the country’s abundant natural resources (diamonds, coal, gold, platinum) and puts them to work for the people once again.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">During another team trip we went to play up at Vic Falls on the Zambian border, and the team stayed in a backpackers’ lodge and went to see the Falls together the morning before the game. I’ll post some pictures of the team, Falls, and cooking a giant vat of sadza over a fire to feed 25 people. I chopped about 10 pounds of chamolia (local lettuce-type veggie) that night.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Chapter 7: Robbery</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We got robbed a month or so ago. The thieves made off with two bikes, two bananas, a can of beans, a jar of peanut butter, and other groceries. Luckily they didn’t come looking for our bedrooms because we were in the house, asleep! Two days later they came back and siphoned gas out of the truck. Since then we’ve upgraded our security systems considerably (added an extra padlock and bought a 6-week old puppy). </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Chapter 8: Nkosi</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We got a puppy two weeks ago. He has been a blast to hang out with and really rounds out the intern house. Some day he might even be large enough to scare someone. His name is Nkosi, which means “Chief” in Ndebele, and he is a yellow lab/boxer mix. He’s also my new alarm clock, and I’ve never seen a bigger ball of energy than Nkosi at 5:30am. Pictures to come (all picture promises are always dependent on internet connection strength. Usually that’s a 2 on a scale from 1-10.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Chapter 9: VCT</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A GRS VCT tournament is a soccer tournament held in a disadvantaged area with HIV health services offered on-site during the event. GRS has had incredible success hosting VCTs in Malawi, South Africa, and Zambia, with over 21,000 people tested for HIV since 2009. One of our tasks as interns was to help GRS Zim launch its VCT campaign this year. Well, we got off to a great start on Saturday with our first event at Lobengula Rugby Ground in the high-density township of Lobengula North outside of Bulawayo.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our tournament featured soccer games between boys’ and girls’ teams from three local high schools. The matches started around 9am (after a GRS staff game!) and our testing partners came and set up tents by the field. Our testing partners are government and international organizations with mobile testing units who can set up shop to test people for HIV in any environment. We hired a DJ for the day and he kept the African house music pumping all day long. I can’t wait to post some pictures from the event. It was like a giant dance party and the little kids in attendance danced from 8am to 5pm. Professional soccer players (who also work as GRS coaches) decked out in their GRS t-shirts with slogans like “Play it Safe, Get Tested Today” went door-to-door in the community, encouraging people to come test. We encouraged all families and community members to test and utilize other services provided by our health partners such as PMTCT counseling, family planning resources, and referrals for medical male circumcision. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">By the end of the day we had tested 300 people for HIV who may otherwise not have had access to HIV testing facilities. It was a great day and a fantastic first VCT event for GRS Zim. The entire staff was exhausted by the end of the day, having worked from 6am to 6pm to make it happen! Most importantly, we lowered barriers to care such as fees, distance, and time, for a lot of vulnerable children and individuals, allowing them to access vital health services and know their HIV status. It was amazing to see the response – some people were crying they were so thankful to be negative. One young woman claimed to have seen the light, and was planning on changing her lifestyle in order to stay negative. The great thing about GRS VCT tournaments is that they bring together many of the resources this young lady needs to help her stay negative (behavior change curricula, referral to health partners, family planning services). </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Chapter 10: Aliens</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our work permits still haven’t come through and we had a brief stint as illegal aliens last month when we overstayed our holiday visas. Luckily we have a friend in immigration, wink wink. The best part was this week when our permits came back, rejected. They’d decided to retroactively impose an additional two requirements for a work visa. Literally took the requirements list and added numbers 12 and 13 <i>after </i>we’d filed our paperwork and then enforced those requirements. Classic.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Plot Summary:</span></b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The people of Zimbabwe are incredibly welcoming and have made our stay a blast so far. Africa is so different from everything at home; many things are quite the opposite, in fact. Two and half months here and I’m really starting to get a hang of life this side. Everything happens five times slower, bureaucracy is the rule, and soccer is king. There is a great need for development, improved infrastructure, and more efficient and abundant health services. Most importantly, living here has helped me to realize how fortunate we truly are in the United States. Sure, we have our problems, and we gripe about government and money and work. But we have the basics, and we have an awful lot to be happy about. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Life for us is downright easy compared to what many of these people face on a daily basis and what they’ve gone through in the last few years. Just a year or two ago there was no food in the grocery stores. Even today, many people go hungry in the townships where we host VCTs. Unemployment is still over 80%. There are no jobs, and precious few opportunities to improve one’s lot. HIV is a daily reality for everyone, regardless of class, race, creed, sexual orientation. Education is limited and up to 50% of kids are out of school. In the United States many of us have educational opportunities that young people here can’t even imagine. Thank you to everyone who has helped me to spend this year working on behalf of the people of Bulawayo through your generous support. Organizations like GRS help us all to realize what it means to be worthy of our privileges.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Derekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13625643612351493388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4171325145959511512.post-71146021605842060502011-10-31T01:32:00.000-07:002011-10-31T02:05:17.537-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMtjD7xlwWBnYqbt7xeGmuKOm6OdB9LiDNcAIYwp9M2UYs7rSrXR4vU9qhv3y8Pr3S2NCIAJNPqbI5GgPxda6ItMay6KE3TUo3DRVgY2yWKL-P7LQiZY2IfDh3prjqxP34smt4DwntyX8/s1600/DSCN4091.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMtjD7xlwWBnYqbt7xeGmuKOm6OdB9LiDNcAIYwp9M2UYs7rSrXR4vU9qhv3y8Pr3S2NCIAJNPqbI5GgPxda6ItMay6KE3TUo3DRVgY2yWKL-P7LQiZY2IfDh3prjqxP34smt4DwntyX8/s320/DSCN4091.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Jacaranda trees lining every street in Bulawayo bloom purple at the start of the rainy season and the colors are incredible!</span></div>Derekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13625643612351493388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4171325145959511512.post-9815984905317205682011-10-31T00:52:00.000-07:002011-10-31T06:38:05.731-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-c7ooZlcUybeHw3N4isUUBnC5VYFbivvzbcCGAbJLTkKOFmu95DsR1eXofCIFEWUthbhK6Z20hZQ1xc2gGqFHVosjm1cdRWL5_IIwd6RohsDjf4RK3UiNBI2rZNENvNsj9d98wAETKB0/s1600/DSCN4151.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-c7ooZlcUybeHw3N4isUUBnC5VYFbivvzbcCGAbJLTkKOFmu95DsR1eXofCIFEWUthbhK6Z20hZQ1xc2gGqFHVosjm1cdRWL5_IIwd6RohsDjf4RK3UiNBI2rZNENvNsj9d98wAETKB0/s320/DSCN4151.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7b-xMZyNneDEaN4znxdxFqQLdljv3OcnzRlonSH2CqsAKTUIIja9qrvDUWQ7R3iD0UpvcXMR-Wrd-cdP3PzUFmtKUUZErAOv7ORHOsyWXL5cse_IQ5f33vQcfsxWZIqOaxSI5XfKJIWs/s1600/DSCN4179.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri;">Bantu Rovers in front of a statue of Dr. Livingstone at Vic Falls.</span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7b-xMZyNneDEaN4znxdxFqQLdljv3OcnzRlonSH2CqsAKTUIIja9qrvDUWQ7R3iD0UpvcXMR-Wrd-cdP3PzUFmtKUUZErAOv7ORHOsyWXL5cse_IQ5f33vQcfsxWZIqOaxSI5XfKJIWs/s320/DSCN4179.JPG" width="320" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br />
</span></div>Derekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13625643612351493388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4171325145959511512.post-34169364883954279012011-10-16T05:22:00.001-07:002011-10-16T05:22:19.396-07:00Teen Power<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:UseFELayout/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><img src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/video_object.png" style="background-color: #b2b2b2; " class="BLOGGER-object-element tr_noresize tr_placeholder" id="ieooui" data-original-id="ieooui" /> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We returned to Mpilo Hospital a week after our visit to meet with Miriam. This time we’d come to visit the teen resource center. Dr. Nyathi was not around but we met a young MSF doctor from the states, we’ll call him Dr. Y, who agreed to take us around for a quick tour. When we first found him, the doctor was seeing a patient who had come from the rural areas for ARVs. The boy was maybe 7 years old and as he sat on a bench next to a man that looked like his grandfather, his feet hung far off the ground. He didn’t swing them, and he didn’t smile. I knew that this boy had acquired AIDS by no fault of his own. Dr. Y spoke with his resident, a Zimbabwean, who translated into Shona for the patient and his guardian, whom we’ll call Mdada. Mdada is a term of respect for a male elder in Ndebele. Turns out Mdada was actually the boy’s father. Dr. Y and the resident searched for the term in Shona that means “the child who comes after all the others,” essentially, that last child that was a mistake.<span> </span>After a few minutes and with Mdada’s help, they figured out the term and Mdada laughed and nodded but the boy remained silent. He hadn’t looked at us. I think he could sense that we were here to look at him. To watch and possibly learn something from his suffering. I felt instantly guilty. Dr. Y and the resident reviewed the boy’s lab results and said something about how the adult dose had improved his CD4 count. They agreed that they should continue with the same strategy and Dr. Y gathered a stack of papers, tapped them together on the desk to order them, and slipped them into a fading green cardboard folder. No computerized records here. No computers. He excused himself and we bid Mdada and his son goodbye and followed Dr. Y on a tour of the hospital. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span> </span>Dr. Y would later explain that the boy in the consult room is suffering from HIV cardiomyopathy. The HIV virus has infected his heart and gives him the symptoms of an old man with heart failure at 7 years old. He gets out of breath after walking short distances. Dr. Y says that the boy is doing much better on his ARVs. I was thankful for that but I just hope that he will continue to have access to the clinic. There are so many potential barriers and money, transport, and distance are just the beginning. He will have to remain on ARVs for the rest of his life to stay healthy and it’s difficult to predict how he’ll feel when he reaches his tumultuous teenage years or early twenties. This is the very scenario that Dr. Nyathi has described to us – sometimes even kids who have been on ARVs for as long as they can remember will default when they reach their teens or early twenties when they gain a full understanding of the implications of their diagnosis and life with HIV. They might be angry with parents for not seeking Prevention of Mother to Child Transmission (PMTCT) resources or they might simply despair at the nature of their condition. The support group we’re trying to form for HIV+ youth at Mpilo will aim to support these very kids and help them cope with their status in healthy ways. I truly believe that the Grassroot Soccer approach and curriculum combined with the power of soccer and team building can create an effective supportive environment for these kids. Soccer is life here; we have seen that time and time again in only 8 weeks of living here, and it can give these kids the self-esteem and peer network that they need to cope.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span> </span>Dr. Y showed us around the hospital and explained how MSF has teamed up with the World Food Programme and Catholic Relief Services to implement a nutrition program at the hospital for those receiving ARV treatment. WFP and CRS provide mealie-meal (to make sadza), the Zimbabwean staple, as well as other dry goods. In other cases they provide food stamps, and we pass papers tacked to the crumbling walls which list the supermarkets where the stamps are redeemable. (Speaking of crumbling walls, the hardware stores down here still advertise and sell asbestos. I’m sure they also use lead paint.) During the course of the tour I asked Dr. Y about the young Zimbabwean doctor’s training. Dr. Y explained that Dr. M, is an excellent young doctor but that he is not actually a resident. There is no medical residency in Zim. Dr. M will receive his full peds training in 2 months at Mpilo under Dr. Y. He will then take his place as the fourth pediatrician in the entire city of Bulawayo. MSF is leaving in December, and Dr. Y with them, so the count for the entire city of 2 million will return to its former total of 3 pediatricians. Since there is no residency training in Zim, med school graduates must leave the country for further training and they have no incentive to return. The result is an enormous brain drain. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span> </span>We finished our tour outside the Mpilo teen resource center, located on the Mpilo campus but in a small building detached from the main square of the hospital. Dr. Y had informed us that the resource center is a teen-only space and that part the preparation for the MSF handover to the Zim Ministry of Health in December has involved training teens to run the center on their own. When we arrived a girl in her late teens popped her head out the door with a huge smile and bounced out to introduce herself carrying a broom. In the dim interior of the center several other teens looked out with various cleaning implements in their hands. They were ecstatic to have visitors but asked us to come back in 10 minutes – they were in the middle of cleaning the center. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span> </span>When we returned we were properly introduced to Marilyn, the young woman with the broom, and Tanatswa, a young man who couldn’t contain his smile. These two seemed to be in charge but were quickly joined by Talent, Gladwell, and Immaculate to give us a tour of the small, 2-room resource center. Most of the teens sported t-shirts reading “Mpilo teen resource center” with cool designs and slogans (can’t remember what they were right now, but Dr. Y was wearing the same t-shirt while he took us around the hospital. MSF is really behind these kids!) We were first shown into the media room, complete with TV and VCR and stacks of VHS tapes against the wall organized neatly below hand-written signs stating the genre. Talent insisted that comedy is his favorite. We said maybe we’d come back and watch a movie with him some time. We left the media room and passed through to the library and reading room. The kids told us they have a self-run book club – teens take the books home and then engage in discussion when they return to the hospital for their ART appointments.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span> </span>Marilyn also explained that another NGO runs art therapy sessions at the recourse center and that adolescents and teens are encouraged to create arts and crafts using the center’s supplies at any time. Gladwell even had some beautiful hand-made sandstone sculptures for sale, displayed on top of the book shelves. Ale gave him $5 for a carved hippopotamus on the spot. The reading room included a computer with internet access so that teens can use facebook and do research for book reports. The walls were covered with posters about HIV prevention, responsible living with HIV, and messages of adolescent and female empowerment. As we prepared to leave, the kids were sorry to see us go. We hinted that we hoped to return and bring some GRS games to the resource center to support kids who are visiting the hospital for ART. Before we could excuse ourselves Immaculate spoke up – she wanted to sing a song for us to thank us for visiting and say goodbye. Another teen rushed to silence the house music that had been pulsing through the computer speakers and Immaculate unabashedly launched into a beautiful medley of religious songs without accompaniment. After our applause had died down, Talent quickly spoke up, asking if we’d like to hear some poetry. Of course! He began to recite a poem in the style of poetry slam (is that what it’s called?) but the poem was about HIV prevention- using condoms, being responsible, having one partner, getting tested – it was all there. Who taught them that? It was awesome. After the poem we prepared to leave and Marilyn insisted that all the adolescents write their names in my notebook. It had been an amazing visit; the teens’ pride was so palpable. They are all volunteers, trained as peer educators, waiting for visiting adolescents who utilize the center’s resources while at Mpilo for their ART. What an incredible resource and a fantastic opportunity for GRS to get involved on behalf of HIV+ youth! Dr. Nyathi had already pointed out the need, and here was a physical plant with space outside for GRS programming, all within the hospital grounds! We can’t wait to possibly bring GRS SKILLZ Club programming to the resource center to give Marilyn, Tanatswa, and the rest of the crew another tool to help HIV positive adolescents and teens. And the best part about the center? Only adolescents and teens allowed !</span></div>Derekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13625643612351493388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4171325145959511512.post-9395865294894705782011-10-16T03:46:00.000-07:002011-10-16T03:46:47.123-07:00Enkhamwini SKILLZ<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:UseFELayout/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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</style> <![endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12pt;">The other day we went to the first session of a GRS intervention. GRS was starting a new 10-week curriculum at a school in Enkhamwini. It marked the first school to receive the new Generation SKILLZ curriculum in Zimbabwe and the GRS coaches were so pumped up. They had just finished a week-long training session and couldn’t wait to start working with the kids. I’ll post some pictures when I have a better internet connection (hopefully soon, but good connections are pretty hard to come by here). The Monitoring and Evaluation team came along to administer the standard GRS pre- and post-intervention surveys. The questionnaires gauge kids’ HIV/AIDS knowledge before and after the 10-week intervention to track learning outcomes and try to capture some information on behavior change. Ale and I had no idea what to expect when we arrived in the dusty school yard, but the teachers had gathered the entire school into two large classrooms. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12pt;">In the first room, tons of kids were assembled and the energy in the room was incredible. The kids were so excited to start working with Grassroot Soccer and get outside for some energizers and other games. They were even more excited to see a few kiwhas. I introduced myself in (poorly pronounced) Ndebele and the first room full of 80 primary school kids FREAKED OUT. The kids were screaming. They thought it was hilarious and exciting to see a kiwha trying to speak Ndebele. (As a side note, I have spelled kiwha about 5 different ways in my blogs but we finally got the correct spelling from someone at work, so there it is. It’s an important word; we’ve even learned to answer to it, which is kind of sad.) After the intros we followed a huge caravan of coaches and kids from the school buildings out to the soccer field and the coaches split the kids into groups of less than 20 to begin their first week of the GRS Generation SKILLZ curriculum. Gen SKILLZ teaches these kids how to protect themselves and their loved ones from HIV and also sparks critical discussions about HIV and its drivers. This is what it’s all about!</span>Derekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13625643612351493388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4171325145959511512.post-6040764689302691492011-10-11T12:07:00.001-07:002011-11-15T03:05:56.506-08:00Ultimate Force<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigsI4q5bwGB1m798KiZYyg1a8deRfIIm-mXZiEioK8RLoatPGhRiyxnxchkhtiagVlwfHSNjgoQy3s9SKdbrETHAA3q-g5eetLWs7i6i4ixtwlaWKt6zgP-0An5HYts5Z4JU-KaXNzL6w/s1600/DSCN4461.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigsI4q5bwGB1m798KiZYyg1a8deRfIIm-mXZiEioK8RLoatPGhRiyxnxchkhtiagVlwfHSNjgoQy3s9SKdbrETHAA3q-g5eetLWs7i6i4ixtwlaWKt6zgP-0An5HYts5Z4JU-KaXNzL6w/s320/DSCN4461.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our house was broken into last week. We woke up on a Sunday morning to find our front door swinging open. First, I need to add a disclaimer: there probably is not one person in Bulawayo who has not been robbed at some point. So I’m not trying to make light of the situation, but in retrospect the thieves’ choice of items was pretty amusing. I’m also not trying to discourage anyone from becoming a GRS intern. This is par for the course and you take the necessary precautions, but TIA (This is Africa).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> The house is completely encased by rebar, so when we lock up it’s like we’re in a cage. All the windows and doors are barred. We have a small veranda just large enough to store two bicycles, and then a sliding door to enter the house. The sliding door does not lock. We had a pretty hefty padlock on the veranda door (made of rebar) and we kept our bikes on the porch. Whoever did it must have come the night before to size up the job, because they managed to take only a few swings with either a hammer or a crowbar and break the piece of welded metal that we pass our padlock through to secure the door (We’d found beer bottles in the front yard the morning before, so they had definitely made a weekend study of it). And they managed not to wake us up when they did it. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> Thus the lock remained locked, the door swung open, and they walked right in through the unlocked sliding door to check out the contents of our pantry. They ended up taking both of our bikes, a liter jar of peanut butter, two bananas, a bag of brown sugar (why we had brown sugar I don’t know; it’s not like we bake. I think Ale was putting it in his tea – it was cheaper than regular sugar…yeah African budgets), a can of beans, several packets of soup mix (including a rich ox-tail soup, which broke Ale’s heart), a soccer ball, and a (pretty darn nice) dish towel. Oh, and a burlap grocery sack to carry it all in. What’s even funnier is the list of things they <i>didn’t</i> take. They left two really nice knives (and luckily didn't stab us with them), two brand new pots and a pan, a loaf of bread, our TV and DVD player (which we haven’t used once anyways), and our quick-boil hot water heater. We’re also convinced that one of them made himself a peanut butter sandwich because another jar of peanut butter was moved to the table. There was a plate on the table too, so his mother taught him well. However, as robbers they’re a bunch of amateurs because I found a banana they dropped out by our boundary wall the next afternoon. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> Nevertheless, they got away with our bikes, which was frustrating because after about 5 weeks and 30 extra bucks each (that’s a lot when lunch costs $2), we had finally gotten the cheap rickety heaps of metal to function without breaking down every other day. The thieves probably waited until we replaced the tires made in China, painstakingly adjusted the brakes, and put in good tubes, and then decided to swoop in. I don’t blame them. We’ve since replaced the bikes, and the left pedal on my new one has fallen off no less than 10 times. I bought a spanner and have now taught myself a lot about fixing bikes, so there’s the silver lining. And, even more silver lining, we now get to roll in the absolutely trashed rust-colored GRS pickup truck that has no seatbelts, three gnarly cracks in the windshield, and flame-licked “ULTIMATE FORCE” decals on the front and back. Oh, and did I mention it’s a stick shift (lefty). Unfortunately it’s short-lived because they have to upgrade us to a really lame (automatic) Mazda Demio that used to be a taxi. Once they fix the tires and get a battery for it, that is. For now I’m going to relish putting the FORCE through its paces. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> Gas is murder though. It’s over $5 per gallon and as a rule over here you never put more than 5 or 10 dollars worth in your tank at a time (at least it’s our rule, as interns). Did I mention the gas gauge is broken? So you have to get good at listening for the hiccups that mean you’re almost empty and then you have to know which Petrol stations in town won’t have a sign that reads: Petrol: NO; Diesel: NO when you need gas. We’ve had the truck for a week and we’ve already run out of gas twice (once at 4am in the suburbs after a Friday night but that’s another story; we were fully prepared to spend the night in the truck and had just locked the doors and hunkered down when a friend actually answered our text for help and zoomed up in his shiny pickup. I’m not jealous.) So to top it all off and bring the robbery story to a nice conclusion, yesterday morning we awoke to find the gas cap sitting in the truck bed and the gas tank door open. It seems our friends had returned to siphon off the $3 worth of gas we’d put in the tank the night before. Luckily we’d run a few errands before coming home so they got maybe $1.12 out of it. They even left us enough to sputter the half mile to the office. Thanks guys. TIA.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Derekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13625643612351493388noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4171325145959511512.post-24763883507806052762011-10-02T08:08:00.000-07:002011-10-02T08:08:03.672-07:00Mpilo Hospital<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:UseFELayout/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><img src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/video_object.png" style="background-color: #b2b2b2; " class="BLOGGER-object-element tr_noresize tr_placeholder" id="ieooui" data-original-id="ieooui" /> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span> </span>Today we’re visiting the head HIV counselor at Mpilo Central Hospital’s Opportunistic Infections clinic to find out if Mpilo counselors will collaborate with us on the new initiative the interns have come up with: GRS Skillz Club for HIV+ kids. We drive west out of Bulawayo towards Vic Falls for only 5 minutes before we reach the main hospital grounds. On the left Doc points out a new pediatric ward, built by the Chinese 5 years ago, he says. The dust flies up into the open windows and we weave around potholes in the road; the Ministry has no money for road repairs let alone ARVs, I realize. The OI clinic is on the opposite side of the road from the main hospital, deliberately isolated because it was built around 30 years ago as a Tuberculosis ward. Thus the sign over the door announcing, “Chest Hospital.” The hospital is laid out as a square, with open-air hallways and a brown, dusty courtyard in the middle. The design maximizes air circulation and ensures that anyone waiting to be seen is sitting in the hallway in the open air. All the consult rooms face the courtyard and have ample windows as a precaution to try to minimize air-borne transmission of Pulmonary Tb.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span> </span>Passing through a dim foyer into the main ward we find hundreds of people lining the open air hallways. Every eye stares at us as we pass. What could two Makewas possibly want in the AIDS ward of a dilapidated hospital? They must be doctors. I wish I could help them in that capacity. I wish I could treat them, each and every one. I wish I just had the privilege to know their stories. As we make our way through the forest of people to find the head counselor, I look at the faces of the children lining the hallway. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“This is it, this is why we’re here,” is all I can think. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">They appear healthy, but then again they are young and strong so maybe the virus has not yet decimated their immune systems. ARV drugs keep the virus in check. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">How many are HIV positive? How many will default on their treatment, angry at their parents for transmitting a preventable death sentence? How many will have unprotected sex and infect their loved ones? How many will pass HIV to their own children? They do not play like regular children. They are serious, thinking. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span> </span>We wind through several doorways and down a back hallway. Children and their mothers cover every available sitting space along every turn we make. When we reach the office of Miriam, the head counselor, there is yet another line outside her doorway. I feel guilty as we sidle past into the dimly lit office and seat ourselves. I don't want to delay them further. A poster of the WHO clinical staging of HIV disease in adults and adolescents (2006 version) hangs on the wall. Above our heads, painted high on the whitewashed wall to our right, is a picture of Jimmy Newtron – yes, Jimmy Newtron of Nickelodeon cartoon fame – with a friend framing him on either side. He’s really happy, and the painting is colorful and at least 4 feet tall. Jimmy holds two cans under his arms with the letters “ARVs” painted on them. Positive reinforcement.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span> </span>Miriam shuffles into the office, out of breath. Too many kids to see. She explains that the waiting families have brought their children for ARV counseling, to receive their actual ARV drugs, or to have bloodwork done. All these kids are HIV-positive. She begins to tell us a little more about Mpilo. The OI clinic is one of the largest in Sub-Saharan Africa, possibly the largest single AIDS clinic. It is currently run by MSF (</span><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:UseFELayout/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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</style> <![endif]--><span class="st"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12pt;">Médecins Sans Frontières</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> or Doctors Without Borders) but Miriam is very worried because MSF is pulling out this year. According to MSF’s mission, it steps in to help when international health situations are classified as “emergent.” Now that the focus of the clinic has shifted to ARV administration, the situation is "chronic," and MSF will finish the hand-over of clinic leadership to Mpilo this December. MSF identified Bulawayo as an HIV emergency in 2004 and set up camp at the Mpilo Chest Clinic, creating the first HIV clinic in the city. This blew my mind – it means (and an MSF doctor later confirmed this for us) <i>there were no ARVs in Bulawayo, a city of 2 million, until 2004. </i>To put this in perspective, the AIDS epidemic in Zimbabwe has been raging for over 20 years. At its peak, 1 in 4 adults in Zimbabwe was infected with HIV. People were dying by the millions. Talk about lack of infrastructure, unwillingness to acknowledge a humanitarian crisis, and inability to do anything about it anyways. MSF had to step in because the Zimbabwean Ministry of Health could not afford ARVs and the government had not taken the appropriate steps to secure international aid. In 2004 the economy was in a fiery tailspin so it’s no wonder the money didn’t exist. Even today, over 1 million people are living with HIV in Zimbabwe but only 360,000 are on ARV treatment. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span> </span>These figures give new meaning to our VCT campaign in Bulawayo this year; we hold soccer tournaments to get kids and community members tested. We probably won’t find that many kids who are HIV+; as Dr. Nyathi said, thankfully many of them who live in Bulawayo are already identified and enrolled in treatment. However, we could potentially make huge strides with other community members. The tournaments can serve as an excuse for many adults to get tested. In Zimbabwe the stigma around HIV may discourage adults from testing, but when we hold tournaments with soccer games, music, other distractions, and very discrete testing tents, people are more likely to test. We bring the services to their doorstep and we do it in a friendly way. The more people we test, the more people we can link to ARV treatment and try to chip away at that huge treatment gap.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span> </span>Miriam tells us that about 6,000 kids are currently enrolled on ARV treatment at Mpilo and she echoes Dr. Nyathi’s sentiments about the problem of teenage default. After we tell Miriam about Skillz Club and ask her to collaborate with us, she says, “you’ve come at the right time.” The counseling trust has just begun considering new solutions for teenagers, possibly to be linked with their teen resource center, which is on the Mpilo hospital campus. The resource center has some existing programs for teens and we might be able to integrate GRS programming pretty seamlessly. We’re excited about the prospect and we begin to realize that even the Generation Skillz curriculum as it exists has many important messages for HIV+ teens. Miriam tells us about ongoing problems with teens who refuse to disclose yet never use condoms. She also promises to get us the numbers on defaulters at Mpilo and agrees to work with us on VCTs as well. She says 10 of her best adolescent counselors can be on-hand for the first VCT at the end of October. Success.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span> </span>Back at the office later, we receive a phone call from Miriam giving us stats about 12-18 year olds on ARV treatment at Mpilo. There are currently 1,713 HIV-positive 12-18 year olds registered for ARV treatment at Mpilo Hospital. 249 (15%) have already defaulted on their ARV treatment. The statistics for pre-ARV treatment present an even more desperate picture. Pre-ARV treatment is for newly identified patients who are placed on a regimen of cotrimoxazole prophylaxis in preparation for the heavier ARV drugs. It is a critical stage when kids who are HIV-positive may fall off the map and never be seen by the hospital again. Unfortunately, of 252 HIV-positive 12-18 year olds registered for pre-ARV treatment at Mpilo, 163 (65%) have already defaulted. Although Mpilo Hospital offers standard HIV counseling, Miriam says that even the most experienced counselors have failed to connect with some teens who are so traumatized over their loss of identity that they refuse to take their ARV drugs or complete pre-ARV treatment.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span> </span>Although the numbers are disheartening I wonder how many teens we could retain if they had a constructive environment to accompany their ARV visits. What if they knew they were going to see friends who shared their stresses and their diagnosis and have a safe place to talk about it? The Generation Skillz curriculum is so awesome, it will be great if we can adapt it to help these kids. Here’s a look at just a few of the activities HIV- teens currently participate in to learn strategies for resolving conflict around HIV risk. These descriptions are from the Skillz Club proposal we wrote:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="COREBody" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Gen Skillz activity “Ubuntu: Man-Woman Summit” builds self-esteem by requiring teens to develop their arguments and discuss ways to resolve gender conflict during a mock summit. During Ubuntu, which translates loosely as “togetherness,” participants are asked to explain why the use of force or violence against women is wrong and identify ways to stand up to violence against women and girls.<span> </span>They first discuss strategies for mediating gender conflict before a GRS Skillz coach facilitates a mock Zimbabwean political summit between representatives for the male and female sexes with participants challenged to create their own healthy guidelines for gender relations. </span></div><div align="left" class="COREBody" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="COREBody" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Youth build their ability to resolve conflicts with peers during Generation Skillz “Red Card” role playing scenarios. Red Card scenarios challenge youth 15-19 years old to “give HIV the red card” by standing up for themselves and peers during difficult conversations and situations which may put them at risk for contracting HIV. Such role-plays include a “Taxi Driver” scenario which places a young girl at risk of exploitation for sexual favors; a scenario where a sister must mediate discussion between mother and daughter about an older sexual partner who may have other concurrent partners; and a gender-based violence scenario where male and female friends initiate discussion about an abusive relationship which places a young girl in a position of risk and dependence, unable to negotiate a safe relationship. </span></div><div align="left" class="COREBody" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="COREBody" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The game “Gender Stadium” brings youth together to discuss cultural gender norms that put pressure on each sex and brainstorm ways to empower men and women. The boys and girls in a GRS intervention group take turns sitting inside a stadium of chairs while the opposite sex forms a ring of spectators and listens without interrupting. The “stars” inside the stadium have license to discuss any gender norms they observe in their communities and how they may put pressure on either sex. Once both sexes have discussed, the group comes together to brainstorm ways to overcome gender norms which may facilitate the spread of HIV.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>Derekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13625643612351493388noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4171325145959511512.post-43041911242155562222011-10-02T06:38:00.000-07:002011-10-02T06:38:25.202-07:00Mad Skillz<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:UseFELayout/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><img src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/video_object.png" style="background-color: #b2b2b2; " class="BLOGGER-object-element tr_noresize tr_placeholder" id="ieooui" data-original-id="ieooui" /> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span>I have really been slacking on the blog. In my defense, our internet has been getting fried on a daily basis for the past two weeks. We only have power for 6-8 hours per day and the rest of the time we run a generator at the office. It turns out that every time the power shuts off, the surge messes up our wireless internet configuration. Africom, our internet provider, has sent someone out here so often in the past two weeks that we actually sent someone from the office to go <i>pick up</i> one of their technicians to fix our system again on Friday. The problem has thankfully been solved with an easy solution: surge protector. We also got swamped with quarter-end reporting for all our grants. Who knew that Sep 30 marked the end of a reporting period? Enough excuses, I'm back and I have a backlog of things to post about. We've had some really amazing experiences in the last two weeks that have put an even more personal face on the HIV epidemic in Bulawayo.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span></span>Today we went to visit Dr. Nyathi, director of the Opportunistic Infections Clinic at Mpilo Central Hospital, at her offices downtown (again, downtown in a dusty, sprawling city of 2 million doesn’t mean much). The waiting room had two tiny plastic horses in the center for kids to sit on and some dirty dolls and other toys on the window sill. After an hour, Dr. Nyathi arrived, a little out of breath. We passed through to her office and gave her our VCT pitch. She reflected for a moment and then began to describe her work at the Mpilo OI clinic with HIV positive youth. At first it seemed she was ignoring our request for a partnership with Mpilo for VCT, but it quickly became apparent that she was actually registering a plea for help with an organization that might be able to bring resources and support to Mpilo.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span> </span>Dr. Nyathi began by acknowledging that she shared our interest in barriers to HIV care for teenagers in Bulawayo, but that she is most anxious to conduct research on HIV+ teens who have defaulted. She explained that Mpilo has a long list of defaulters, and the hospital needs to know why they leave treatment and how it might bring them back. Defaulters are teenagers who start a regimen of anti-retroviral drugs (ARVs), the drugs needed to keep the HIV virus in check, but then become delinquent and fail to meet their appointments. They fall off their prescribed life-saving regimen, endangering themselves and their loved ones. Although they will most likely die within a few years without treatment, they will also have a surging viral load in the meantime which makes them more infectious to others. The majority of teens on treatment at Mpilo Hospital have acquired HIV as a result of vertical transmission, which is when a mother passes HIV on to her offspring in the womb or due to exchange of blood during birth. Vertical transmission can be prevented with a high rate of success through a process called PMTCT (prevention of mother to child transmission), but health infrastructure in Bulawayo is so poor that many women, and especially young mothers, do not have access to PMTCT. One of our goals for our VCT tournaments is to reduce barriers to services like PMTCT and medical male circumcision, not just HIV testing. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span> </span>Dr. Nyathi lamented that there are many 12-18 year olds in Zimbabwe who have AIDS and that many are ill; however, Mpilo has managed to reach almost all of them who live in Bulawayo, so the challenge at the moment is keeping teens on their treatment. One might wonder why a teenager would opt not to follow his or her regimen of ARV drugs when it means life or death. Besides the monetary or geographical barriers to care which are very real in a country with an 80% unemployment rate and 68% of the population living below the poverty line, many teenagers are heads of households in Zimbabwe and have countless siblings to care for, cook for, and clean up after (CIA world factbook reports that unemployment soared as high as 95% in 2009). They might start the regimen when they’re young and their parents are around to bring them to the clinic for checkups, but once they take on more responsibilities it becomes harder to make monthly appointments. Since many of the teens have HIV as a result of vertical transmission, their odds of being orphaned are much higher, also heaping more responsibility on their narrow shoulders and making compliance even more difficult. Compliance itself is a tricky term because it implies agency and therefore deliberate delinquency; but as we can see from all these potential drivers of ARV treatment default, many of these teens are stripped of their agency by poverty or other disadvantages very early in life. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span> </span>Interestingly enough, although these are all potential factors in non-compliance, Dr. Nyathi did not mention any of them. She had listened carefully to how GRS uses soccer as a tool to attract, engage, and retain the attention of youth, the most vulnerable segment of Africa’s soccer-crazed population. <span> </span>She chose to focus on the psycho-social aspect of non-compliance, which by her estimation is a major driver amongst the age group we’re targeting. Dr. Nyathi explained that these teens are left in a state of bereavement when they are diagnosed with HIV. Many of those who default as a result of anger, depression, or inability to cope are children who find out their HIV status as they approach teenagehood. They live healthy lives through their first decade, before the HIV virus has overrun their immune systems and left them vulnerable to opportunistic infections. As Dr. Nyathi put it, imagine you’re running around playing soccer one day and the next day you have HIV. These kids lose their trust in their parents because many are intensely angry that their mothers did not seek PMTCT. Parents often hide their own HIV status from their children. The teens lose their sense of themselves, their friends, their social status, and their health overnight. Therefore they experience an acute loss of self and in mourning their loss they lash out. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span> </span>Dr. Nyathi launched into a series of case studies which illustrate the incredible burden carried by teens infected by no fault of their own. Teenagers tend to have poor judgment in general, she admitted, and these poor kids employ coping mechanisms which can be reckless and harmful to others besides themselves. She told the story of one 18-year-old who defaulted on treatment and thought he would feel better if he got a girlfriend. He started dating a girl he really liked without disclosing his status and he had unprotected sex with her. Now he fears he may have infected her with HIV but is afraid to tell her. Many young pregnant women in Bulawayo who are HIV+ fail to tell their partners out of a fear of retribution and go to elaborate lengths to get their ARV treatment in secret. Young women who live in the rural areas might periodically ask their husband for money to go shopping in Bulawayo and visit Mpilo for their checkups. One woman hopes to have an HIV test taken along with her husband when their baby is born, planning to pretend she is finding out her status for the first time. Thus Dr. Nyathi’s question is, how can we reduce the rate of teenage ARV default at Mpilo; reduce teens’ rate of hating themselves? How can we help them cope in healthy ways and reduce stigma and use of harmful coping mechanisms?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span> </span>The question running through my head as Dr. Nyathi gave us invaluable insight into one of the less talked-about realities of life with HIV in Bulawayo was, What can GRS do about this? At orientation we learned of a GRS program for HIV+ kids in Malawi which is run in partnership with Baylor School of Medicine. Baylor has a teen club for HIV+ kids which has grown to 250 strong over the past few years. Teens come together to take their ARVs and then they hang out, have discussions, and play GRS games. We mentioned the program to Dr. Nyathi and told her we would work on something. She was excited about the potential application of GRS coping mechanisms through GRS games aimed at conflict mediation and discussion to help teens at Mpilo. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span> </span>When we got back to the office after our visit with Dr. Nyathi, we dug a little deeper into the new Generation Skillz curriculum and realized how much of it focused on empowering teens to resolve conflicts they face which may put them at risk for contracting HIV. The HIV+ kids at Mpilo face conflicts too – with their parents, their peers, and themselves. And the best part of Generation Skillz is that it targets an older audience (15-19) with a discussion-based curriculum. In Malawi’s teen club, one of the most powerful aspects of the program is the incredible support network it builds. Teens realize that they are not alone in their bereavement and that there are others suffering the same loss. In a supportive environment they talk about their treatment and come to understand the risks of defaulting. They learn through GRS game play that they can be healthy, even living with HIV. They learn that they can even play soccer again.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span> </span>So we continued bouncing ideas around and realized we might be able to adapt the Gen Skillz curriculum for HIV+ kids. Through heated candle-light conversations (no power, of course) with Hooter Glidden, GRS Global’s visiting curriculum and development specialist who was our houseguest for the week, our idea began to take shape. We’re calling it GRS Skillz Club. Skillz Club would establish support groups for HIV-positive youth undergoing ARV treatment at Mpilo Hospital. The groups would meet once per week for 10-15 weeks to play GRS games adapted from the Gen Skillz curriculum. GRS game-play provokes conversations which foster individual self esteem and self-efficacy, promote a collective identity to help teens cope with their diagnosis, and empower them with skills to resolve conflicts that arise as a result of their HIV status. GRS coaches would be trained in HIV counseling and Mpilo counselors trained in the GRS curriculum; the two would then be paired as co-counselors to lead each support group “team” of 10 HIV-positive youth. This cross training model should facilitate exchange, sharing of resources, and sustainability of the program before Skillz Club even begins. Skillz Club would culminate with a soccer tournament where the 10 support group teams play against each other at a community venue to build self-esteem, reduce stigma, and provide role models for healthy living with HIV. The Skillz Club curriculum would consist of Gen Skillz activities adapted for children living with HIV, supplemented by games such as fair-play soccer and team handball which promote communication and gender equity. Athletic endeavors could prove crucial for children living with HIV who are traumatized from “being healthy one day and HIV positive the next,” as Dr. Nyathi puts it. Soccer can help to restore a sense of normalcy and help teens understand that they can regain the ability to play soccer just as they can regain their lives through adherence to ARV treatment.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span> </span>We’re excited about the potential for Skillz Club at Mpilo. To top it off, our visit to recruit Dr. Nyathi and Mpilo for our VCT campaign wasn’t in vain either. She left us with a smile and a promise that day: “When you find those that are HIV+, we are happy to treat them.”</span></div>Derekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13625643612351493388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4171325145959511512.post-39385453007514410882011-09-16T08:53:00.001-07:002011-09-16T08:53:46.847-07:00VCT Zambia<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:UseFELayout/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><img src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/video_object.png" style="background-color: #b2b2b2; " class="BLOGGER-object-element tr_noresize tr_placeholder" id="ieooui" data-original-id="ieooui" /> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span> </span>The trusty interns were called into a meeting recently to review details of an agreement Doc and the big boss Mo had recently completed with the Bulawayo City Council (BCC). The city council maintains youth centers all over Bulawayo and sponsors programming and recreation at the centers, including the opportunity to undergo comprehensive vocational training. GRS recently formed an important agreement with the BCC to allow us access to every single youth center in the city during our VCT campaign this year. This crucial permission will allow GRS to bring HIV prevention programming to a sector of the youth population in Bulawayo that it does not currently reach through school-based interventions. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span> </span>We also discussed “legacy pitches” we are responsible for restoring this year. One of our grants includes money to improve three soccer pitches around the city and put up GRS signage along with the signage of the sponsor. The pitches will then be open for the entire community to use, and we hope to build them in particularly disadvantaged neighborhoods around Bulawayo to help revive some struggling communities. We’re aiming to get our first Legacy Pitch opened up by December so hopefully we’ll have some awesome pictures to post!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span> </span>In other news, our VCT count for this quarter has increased from 1 to 4 so we’re hoping to test up to 1,000 people for HIV by December. Here’s a great article about the VCT program in Zambia which illustrates what we’ll be trying to replicate here in Zimbabwe: <a href="http://pulitzercenter.org/reporting/zambia-lusaka-hiv-testing-campaign-grassroot-soccer" target="_blank">http://pulitzercenter.org/<wbr></wbr>reporting/zambia-lusaka-hiv-<wbr></wbr>testing-campaign-grassroot-<wbr></wbr>soccer</a></span></div>Derekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13625643612351493388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4171325145959511512.post-67525781790181955712011-09-14T04:59:00.000-07:002011-09-16T07:06:06.773-07:00Z'thin' (what's up?)<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">If I perish in Bulawayo this year it will be because I looked left first when crossing the street and then got creamed from the right. They drive on the wrong side of the road over here and I just can’t seem to get used to it. I still see cars driving themselves down the street with someone sitting happily in the passenger seat, and when I drove the ancient, rusty GRS (lefty) stick-shift pickup the other day, I drove on the right side of the road until a near head-on woke me up. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> Pedestrians here have a serious fear of bicycles. Every single day on my way home from work I weave around pedestrians who are simultaneously scrambling frantically out of the way. Sometimes we both go the same way – great. See, in Zimbabwe, cars, bicycles, vegetable carts, anything wheeled, horses (actually there seem to be no horses – lots of goats and cattle though); basically anything not ambulating on two feet has the right of way. Pedestrians are very flighty and it’s hilarious watching people of all ages dash around downtown Bulawayo…until you see a car come too close. Therefore their fear of my bicycle is perfectly understandable. It’s still hard not to laugh when I come upon pedestrians at dusk and they turn and stare at me as soon as they hear the rattle of my cheap red fenders behind them. Most stop and stand stock still until I pass them, ready to dive out of the way in case I decide to rush them. Meanwhile, I’m swinging much wider than necessary, giving them a good four feet of leeway and still mumbling excuse me. They definitely aren’t used to that. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> I met our neighbors tonight. Frisch and I recently moved into a house down the street from the office. It’s a good location in the northend, the real Bulawayo. You’d be surprised how quickly you get used to 6 hour power outages every single night, and I love the smell of trash fires in the morning. Really gets your nose running. Anyways, I was biking out to the main road in the dark, blinding everyone I passed and looking awesome in my headlamp, when I passed a family of around six people (no power…it was really dark) trying to push a car. At least three were small kids just along for the ride in the back seat. I stopped, asking if they needed help, and the heavy-set mother almost collapsed with relief. The father, an adolescent son, and I pushed the car into the driveway and mom said she had been about to faint, good thing I’d come along. I introduced myself as their new neighbor and warned them about my shady roommate. She introduced herself as Ms. Roberts and invited me to tea. Awesome.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> Tea is another thing I don’t quite get. I like tea. I’ve been drinking a cup at “tea time” almost every day at the office. But tea time is a funny thing; the actual time is very fluid, though you can count on it to occur some time between breakfast and lunch and usually before noon. It consists of sitting in the kitchen and trying to follow Ndebele conversations while munching on white bread spread with margarine. I started bringing my own snack after three days. I can’t sit there and eat 3 pieces of white bread with margarine every single day. Our co-workers are awesome though, and they don’t actually ignore us during tea time…they just switch to Ndebele when they want to make fun of us. They speak a lot of Ndelebe during tea.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>Derekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13625643612351493388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4171325145959511512.post-82314284880127644392011-09-09T11:15:00.000-07:002011-09-09T11:15:28.829-07:00Local News<div class="MsoNormal"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:UseFELayout/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><img src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/video_object.png" style="background-color: #b2b2b2; " class="BLOGGER-object-element tr_noresize tr_placeholder" id="ieooui" data-original-id="ieooui" /> <style>
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</style> <![endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now <i>this</i> is what we’re here for. Two days in a row now, Methembe, the executive director of GRS Zimbabwe, has come in and put newspaper articles on our desk and asked “how can we contribute?” The <i>Chronicle</i> is a daily newspaper in Bulawayo and the first article covered increased uptake of medical male circumcision (MMC) procedures for the prevention of HIV transmission. Studies have shown that circumcision can reduce the risk of contracting (not spreading) the virus by up to 60%. The Bulawayo Eye Clinic (ah, the irony) is offering the procedure for free at clinics downtown. Although the article focused on MMC, the author exhorted readers to gather information about how to protect themselves from HIV with an emphasis on testing and treatment for children. In Zimbabwe, only 33,000 kids are on anti-retro viral treatment out of an estimated 90,000 who are HIV+. GRS will contribute directly to promoting both MMC and HIV testing for children in Bulawayo through the VCT (voluntary counseling and testing tournaments) we’re starting this year. The <i>Chronicle </i>article pleaded with parents: “<b><i>Children need to be tested for HIV and AIDS</i></b> so that precautionary measures are taken. Our child is our posterity and the future needs to be invested in them…more and more medical specialists need to be trained. <b><i>Families and individuals need to be armed with more information so as to make informed decisions and accurate actions.</i></b> Governments in Africa must continue to allocate more resources to fund education campaigns on <b><i>prevention</i></b> as well as <b><i>minimizing the spread</i></b> of the AIDS scourge.” GRS contributes on all the issues I’ve highlighted and it’s invigorating to read a newspaper article published this morning and look back at your proposal to a tournament partner and think, how can we capitalize on this? We plan to target young males with advertising during our VCT tournament, linking them to partners like PSI who offer MMC and pre- and post-procedure counseling. As far as HIV testing for children, the situation is much graver, unfortunately. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span> </span>Today’s article was entitled, “7,000 Children Die of HIV-related Illness,” and it was inspired by remarks made by Dr. Peter Salama, UNICEF’s country representative for Zimbabwe. Zimbabwe is currently hosting its second annual National HIV and AIDS Conference. Speaking in front of various stakeholders in Harare, Dr. Salama asserted that approximately 7,000 children die each year of HIV-related illness in Zimbabwe, and that most of them have not accessed pediatric anti-retro viral treatment (ARV). 50% of HIV+ children not tested will not reach the age of two. The most appalling information revealed Zimbabwe’s record on pediatric ART: last year, Zimbabwe only provided 30% ART universal access to children – well less than regional average. Botswana, Namibia, and Swaziland provided 90, 89, and 70 percent respectively last year. When Mo asked how we can contribute on this one, we started brainstorming ways to market our events to pregnant women and young mothers. The Generation SKILLZ curriculum we’re linking to the VCTs events already deals with the issue of PMTCT (Prevention of Mother to Child Transmission), so girls aged 15-19 will be empowered with the knowledge of where to seek help in the event that they are HIV+ and become pregnant. In many cases HIV services are available, even for free, but it is a matter of reducing stigma around issues of HIV and increasing demand for the services. We’re aiming to do just this during our tournaments and given what we’ve learned over the past few days about the burden on children and mothers of Bulawayo, how could we not be even more motivated to target these most at-risk populations? Thanks for the support!</span></div>Derekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13625643612351493388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4171325145959511512.post-63974678528332036822011-09-08T06:02:00.003-07:002011-09-08T06:02:20.272-07:00Found it<b>http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UsS2wcD9PkI</b>Derekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13625643612351493388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4171325145959511512.post-74539208363104314872011-09-06T14:53:00.001-07:002011-09-12T09:27:29.627-07:00DJ Cleo<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Playing for Bantu Rovers has certainly been an adventure thus far. Bantu plays in Zimbabwe’s Division 1 pro league, one tier below the Zimbabwean Premier League. We’re fighting for promotion to the premier league, but only the top finisher in Division 1 gets promoted each year. We currently sit in 3<sup>rd</sup> place with 5 games to go and it doesn’t look like we’re going to be able to catch the leader before the end of the season. Our 0-0 draw away to Mpumalanga on Saturday afternoon didn’t help, but the trip was one to remember.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> Frisch and I hauled ourselves out of bed at 5:15am on Saturday morning and over to the GRS office (so far away - right next door) to meet the team bus. We were expecting some sort of coach bus arrangement to transport the 18 players, 2 coaches, manager, trainer (they call him our physio) and our head of security, Ndu, who apparently travels with us (a bug dude, he could use two seats). However, the bus that pulled up was the larger African cousin of a 15-passenger van in the states. It had a higher ceiling and a slightly larger seating capacity, but boy was it cramped. Frisch and I piled in on the forward-most bench seat and turned to mumble sleepy hello’s to our teammates who were packed like sardines behind us. As an aside, our GRS hosts told us we’re the only non-Africans playing professional soccer in the whole country at the moment, so you can imagine the stares we got at rest stops (what are those guys doing on that bus?).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> Ndu rolled the door shut and we were off with our number one supporter (official title), Coxy (who apparently gets to travel with the team for being the number one supporter), passed out on the floor between the seats. Famous (infamous) for his obnoxious cries of BAAAAANNNNTUUUUUUUUUUUU, Coxy was already drunk (or had just come straight from the bar where he’d finished his Friday night), so he was probably more comfortable on the floor anyways.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> Approximately two minutes into the ride, our teammates decided that the music wasn’t loud enough and also requested that a specific CD be inserted – DJ Cleo, an artist from South Africa, whose musical stylings can only be described as African House music. Basically hiphop/R&B over techno with a lot of bass. As our driver maxed the bus’s surprisingly competent subwoofers to the shattering volume they would maintain for the next 4 hours, I noticed that the bus’s speedometer was broken. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> We hit the highway heading north by 6:30am and the roads were in surprisingly good shape. The landscape whizzing by at 120km/hr (estimated landspeed, obviously) was red and dusty for the better part of the trip. It really is incredible to think that Zimbabwe was once considered the jewel of Sub-Saharan Africa, with incredibly productive farms. The landscape we witnessed was one of poverty and for lack of a better word, regression. As one of our Zimbabwean acquaintances was quoted as saying, “Zimbabwe is regressing. We are not progressing. There is too much corruption.” The cattle farmers inhabiting the parched land between Bulawayo and Hwange, our destination, live in mud huts with thatched roofs and many of their big-eared African cattle moved with ribs we could count from the bus and boney hips jutting with each step. I learned from reading about Paul Farmer’s experience in Haiti, which he writes about in <i>Infections and Inequalities,</i> that poverty leads to the spread of HIV from urban to rural centers when rural inhabitants are forced to seek temporary employment in the city as migrant or domestic workers. In the rural setting, many cases of HIV go undiagnosed but the disease can spread just as rapidly and is accompanied by deadly diarrhea in infants and Tuberculosis for many afflicted adults. I wondered how HIV had affected these seemingly remote communities inextricably linked to Bulawayo by the human traffic bringing produce and livestock to market or making daily journeys to provide cheap labor. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> As we neared Hwange our surroundings began to look greener. Hwange is located about 320 km northwest of Bulwayo in a region of Zimbabwe that produces coal. It is also on the northern border of Hwange National Park, Zimbabwe’s largest, which borders Botswana and is roughly the size of Belgium. The park is home to the big 5 (elephant, lion, jaguar, wildebeest, and rhino. The pictures of lions and giraffes I posted are from a visit Frisch and I took to the fringe of Hwange National Park on the way home from the game Sunday.) Hwange is the largest town in the area, and we rolled to a stop near a soccer pitch that looked nice and green. Only problem was that we had arrived almost 5 hours before game time. The guys were happy enough for a while performing what I imagine is an away-game ritual: they pumped the volume of the music up even louder and many sat inside the bus to escape the oppressive heat and danced to the African House music. I caught on video the tail end of some pregame dancing that had the bus bouncing up and down to the lyrics of DJ Cleo's song facebook: “I don’t want yo numba, I’ll find you on the facebook.” If I had been successful finding the track or a link to it on the internet I obviously would have posted it here. I will be looking high and low and will post it the minute I find it. Quality song. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> Also the source of a great conversation with assistant coach Dube – he nodded towards the bus and said, “The boys, they love that House music. These boys, they can dance.” I was forced to reply, “I’m sure they can. I cannot. You don’t want to see us dance (pointing to Ale and I).” Dube burst out laughing and agreed. Coach Dube had made the trip to Hwange despite the fact that his wife was due to deliver their third child, a boy, that day or the next. She was home and arrangements with a private hospital had been made, but he said she’d better not have the kid because there was no one home to drive her to the hospital. Luckily she didn’t, and we learned at practice today that a healthy boy, Romeo, was born yesterday.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> So we hung around with DJ Cleo until the pregame meal, provided by the hosting team, and then reboarded the bus for the field which was 10 minutes away. After a small altercation </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">(into which Ndu felt the need to insert himself, which was funny) </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">about counting players at the stadium gate involving a Zim police officer, the bus was allowed to pass through and view the gorgeous, dusty field. Not a single blade of grass. Welcome to Africa. (See picture posted on Sunday – a view overlooking the field and the teams playing before our game). We all wanted to go back to the pitch near where we’d eaten lunch but it apparently belongs to a division 2 team in the area. The guys on the team quickly informed us that there are so many teams near Hwange, there aren’t enough good fields to go around. The pitch was certainly tough to play on and may have been to blame for our failure to convert several first half chances, but no excuses. I made my debut for Bantu at holding midfield in the second half. We carried play and generated better opportunities than Mpumalanga, but weren’t able to come away with the 3 points. It had been a trip for the ages regardless of the score, and the African House music was bumping all the way home. What a weekend.</span></div>Derekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13625643612351493388noreply@blogger.com0