Markings of Dignity

As I woke Monday morning to the very noisy street outside my window, I have to confess the anxiety that consumed me getting ready to go to work. Monday would mark the very first training of the Community Health Evangelists. If you’re familiar with the program, Community Health Evangelism is the grassroots development strategy we use to support women here, and the very heart of our program. For a little over a year now, the WOHInt national staff with direction from the U.S. staff have worked to introduce the concepts of CHE to women with disabilities in the community, working with them to identify their needs and the assets they already posses, committing to work alongside them to reach physical, spiritual and emotional wellness. After electing a governing body made up of women with disabilities, they selected Community Health Evangelists (CHE’s) who would be trained by our staff in areas such as health and sanitation, disease prevention, nutrition, disabilities awareness, exploitation prevention, micro-enterprise development and advocacy skills all incorporated with Christian discipleship.

This past year has been one of relationship building, “sensitization” (their word very frequently used for awareness building), boundary-setting, commitments, listening, praying, then listening and praying some more. Out of the over 300 women registered with the program, ten of those women selected by the community showed up at 9:00 am to receive their first CHE training. Out of the original 30 women selected, these ten women repeatedly demonstrated a dedication to the development of the disability community and committed their time and energy for the next six months. The trainings are one day a week for the next sixth months with the expectation each woman will transfer the learned concepts throughout the month to their assigned women.

As the Program Assistant, I have had my hand in all aspects of the program on the U.S. side and in-country, working with Kim to train the national staff so they can train the women. Our intent is to make disciples, so that they will then multiply as God fulfills His purposes in Sierra Leone and transforms the community. I was anxious Monday morning for a number of reasons, but mostly because I wasn’t sure the staff were as prepared as I had hoped them to be. Teaching development and community health principles to illiterate women so they are able to teach others is something that takes an incredible amount of creativity in engaging adults and using transferable concepts. Most of these women haven’t attended but a few years of the equivalent of elementary school if that, and so the ways they learn are completely different to that of someone who has gone to school here. Even the idea of sitting in one area for a period of eight hours is an unusual request for these women who have no school experience and never been to a workshop. Many of the parents of these women long-ago decided it was a waste of resources to educate them, and so they were sent into the streets beg for additional income to support the family.

While reading and journaling before breakfast I couldn’t help but bicker with God (because that works so well all the time J) confessing that I had envisioned this first training differently and I was finding it hard to believe it would go successfully. I had pictured at least thirty women receiving training and a staff much more organized. As I lifted up my concerns I felt the Holy Spirit say, “Hey Kels, you need to adjust your expectations and trust me for the results.” Grumbling, I left for the office bracing myself for what I would encounter. That wasn’t the response I was looking for after all the hard work I had put into the program up to this point. Finally I had to acquiesce, considering I was arguing with God. NOTHING goes as planned in Sierra Leone!

At the office I was happy to see the training was underway on time. Kim and I entered the office and politely greeted the women. Many of the CHE’s present were older women, each with hard stories written on their faces. In the social hierarchy of beggars, those who roam the main streets of town for their daily food are the lowest class. I recognized some of the women as falling into this category and others as being more respectable within the disability community itself. All of the women fall into the category beggars, prostitutes and second-class citizens in Makeni. Again I found myself wondering how the staff would accommodate the learning styles of these women, reach them wherever they’re at, speaking into their needs as individuals and as part of the greater whole.

Kim and I sat in the reception area of our office where we were able to look in on the training and show moral support for the staff, but not play an active role. I worked on Admin. team finances as I listened in on the lessons. They taught on the value of in-home medical care, proper sanitation, discussed expectations for all parties invested in CHE and again went over the CHE process. The women actively engaged themselves openly discussing issues they see and sharing with each other and the staff. As it neared noon, the staff told them they would be signing a voucher acknowledging receipt of a small amount of money for their transportation costs for attending the training. Immediately the women became restless and looked around in shock and excitement. None of these women knew how to sign their names. Most people in Sierra Leone who have never been to school are forced to give a thumbprint to acknowledge receipt of something or to make a formal agreement. A thumbprint “signature” is a dead give-away that an individual is uneducated, and therefore lesser.

Our Operations Officer assured them that a signature is often times an illegible scribble, and that they would be able to make up their own chicken scratch and use it as their personal signature. The women began to clap and squeal with enthusiasm as the staff first taught them one-by-one how to hold a pencil and gave them paper to practice the exact scribble that would serve as their personal identification. “Ah Papa God, we don’t know nothing and now we’re going to learn how to sign!” said one woman of significant years. These mothers and grandmothers each stood up, awkwardly with pen in hand and demonstrated her new signature for the rest of the group as the others yelled and clapped in excitement. With each “signature” presentation the women glowed with the dignity that had just been awarded them. I couldn’t help but cry at their unexpected reaction to such a secondary piece of the training.

I pray that some day we will be able to measure success in terms of a decrease in malaria outbreaks amongst our women, lowered infant mortality rates and reports of higher annual income. I believe God is working on that even as I write this blog. Basking in the enjoyment of the women I had just experienced I sat in our dirty little office recording recent expenditures, and I felt rich with the success of the program. At that moment I felt the Holy Spirit say, “Kels, I’m going to measure progress in chicken scratches.” My expectations were yet again adjusted and only my radical God could produce such beautiful results as these.

Dating Salone

Salone and I have well passed the honeymoon stage, and I am already beginning to combat the natural cynicism that seems to seep into many development relationships. I entered into this monogamous (on my part at least J ) partnership wrestling through the incredible barriers surrounding cycles of poverty and the overwhelming idea of really assisting in the journey of transformation for a small people group. God opened my eyes to the condition of women with disabilities here, and I had to begin asking Him questions.

One of the first questions I asked was, “why them and not me?” Why have I been awarded such opportunity and comfort while these women are left to maybe an elementary level education (if that), confined by stereotypes and stigma that perpetuate discrimination and feelings of low self-worth. The next question I had to ask is, “so how does one really love someone well anyway?” Those questions became a driving force in my participation with the birthing of WOHInt. The only real answer I had is that only God could possibly know.

Why had I been exposed to the plight of these women? What had God taken me through personally that might be of value to their lives, and what is my responsibility now that I have seen what I have seen? These questions haunted me. As I continued on the journey to finding the answers (this journey that I’m still on) God began to give terse responses to myself and the original founders of WOHInt. Those “responses” formed the strategies that we felt best matched Jesus’ development strategies.

I really believed these founding principles to be true, but this trip is making me put my money where my mouth is as far as what I really believe about the life transformation that Christ is working on here. While my relationship with Salone has not been one of pretenses I think, my eyes have been opened more to the deeply rooted oppression in governmental corruption and an unbiblical worldview that appears to bind many third-world countries, hindering their progression. Again, similar questions continue to plague me, and I am forced to ask myself if the answers He keeps providing me with are enough.

I wrestle often with the question of how one really loves well. As I look at the poverty that surrounds me and as I listen to the stories of my friends, so many of them are woven with sorrow. I vacillate between responding to my knee-jerk reaction of giving (although I have no money myself J) and maintaining a tough-love mentality, giving the promise to walk alongside each woman in her personal journey to find “dignity, purpose and life transformation.”

I have been working with one of our women named Fatmata for an hour every morning to strengthen my Krio. Fatmata contracted Polio as a child and now uses a caliper to help her walk. Last week she showed up for my lesson without her leg brace. She told me that her mobility aid had finally broken on her way home from our lesson the day before. She had been walking home and the metal that holds her leg straight completely broke. She fell in the street, and had to limp the rest of the way home, stopping every so often to rest her weak leg. It took her four hours to reach her house. She teared up when she explained the story and how she didn’t know how she was going to get her caliper fixed.

My initial reaction was to say, “don’t worry, I can help you with the fifty dollars you need to get your caliper fixed.” As someone who used to be dependent on my prosthetic, I was really able to relate to the feelings of anxiousness when your independence is ripped from you, and you aren’t able to do the same things you could once do on your own when your adaptive device is damaged. Fatmata has a five-month child and she is a single mother. As I stared Fatmata in the face, I realized that maybe my convictions weren’t as strong as I thought they were. I knew I needed to wrestle some more with what I believed to be true outside of the WOHInt strategic plan that looked quite good to me on paper. I needed to wrestle some more with what I believe to be true.

I started to think about the potential long-term implications of giving Fatmata this money. I could be playing into the common African belief that white people are their saviors, further speaking into the idea that the country will only succeed with continual help from the Western world. I could be communicating the message that I don’t think she is capable of managing on her own. On a bigger scale, I am assuming the responsibility of addressing the large-scale problem of a shortage of mobility-aid devices instead of working with the disability community to address the problem as a whole. Personally I could be stroking my own savior complex, elevating myself as a giver. Lastly, I would be hypocritical in my giving, undermining WOHInt and our commitment not to give, but to equip and empower women with disabilities.

The wrestling match led me to the Garden of Eden (Genesis 2:15). God made us for His own glory and our good, to work this Earth that He blessed us with and take care of it. He equipped us to carry out this task. He created Fatmata and designed plans for her life. He spoke into being skills and abilities, calling her His masterpiece. The best way I know how to love someone is to affirm just what God has created within him or her, supporting and equipping her for her own betterment and the ability to go bring “Garden living” somewhere else.

But what about all the brokenness? What about sin? What about the reality of the situation presently? We aren’t living in the Garden of Eden anymore. Romans 8:22 “We know that the whole of creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to this present time.” Paul recognizes that something is off here. There is extreme suffering, evil and pain. The answers I came up with aren’t really easy to digest.

I believe the only thing that doesn’t serve as a band-aid on the gunshot wound is the working toward this Garden of Eden restoration, the restoring of right relationship with God, each other, ourselves and the earth. The Jews used the word Shalom with the Hebrew translation being “peace.” The word can also encompass ideas of wellness, completeness, and wholeness. If this is true, then the best thing I have to offer Fatmata isn’t a caliper or some money, but instead the promise to work together in seeking shalom and bringing it ourselves. If I want to love Fatmata well, first I need to affirm the gifts she has been given and make the commitment to work with her and community to bring restoration physically, emotionally, socially and spiritually.

I talked over the situation with Kim, and we agreed that we could give Fatmata an advance on the money she was to earn for next week in order to pay for caliper repairs. This money would not be the total amount for a new caliper, however. We contacted a member of the WOHInt Advisory Board who is the Director of the Prosthetics Outreach Foundation and attempted to connect with Handicap International in Freetown to help Fatmata identify the best resources available for her. After a long weekend Fatmata returned from Freetown with a patched caliper. She was able to address her problem and meet her own need. She didn’t get a new caliper, and we haven’t solved the problem of sustainable mobility aid devices for the women just yet. I believe Fatmata is on a journey of discovering her dignity that has been worn down and oftentimes stolen by society because of her disability, her sex, and her economic status. I am privileged to journey alongside her.

A Caramel Baby Namesake :)

I’ve fallen back into my Salone life again after a little over two weeks. Kim and I, and her two kids will be here until April 18, working on hiring a Director, hosting a business development team, marketing team, health training team and working on various other things. It’s funny that our small Guesthouse is the place I’ve collectively lived in the longest over the past year. I feel rather comfortable here and almost find it endearing in the ways something is constantly breaking… the sink, the bed after being infested with termites, the generator… nothing is off limits!

The Harmattan season was in full force upon arrival, bringing enormous amounts of dust and a nice breeze in the mo

rning. Apparently the breeze comes from the Sahara desert and brings the dirt with it. I went for a run that first week, and came back orange from all the red dirt flying around. I prefer the dust to the heat of the approaching dry season any day.

Last Saturday Kim and I heard one of my friends gave birth to her fifth child. I’ve mentioned Adamsay and her daughter, Mabinty, in one of my prayer letters before. She has a beautiful smile and yet you can see she’s been through a lot after contracting Polio and all that seems to come with being a woman with a disability thereafter. I’ve grown to love little Mabinty who often comes with her mother to the gatherings. When we heard of Adamsay’s new addition, it was bitter sweet. I was so happy that she brought another beautiful child into the world, excited at the plans God has for her. On the other hand, I knew of the heavy burden that another child would be on Adamsay. She earns her daily living from begging and her husband appears to have a developmental disability that seems to limit his ability to find work. The next few days would soon make me really admire, Adamsay’s husband with the amount of love and adoration he would show the mother of his children.

Shortly after hearing of the birth of Adamsay’s newest addition, Kim and I heard from another friend that there were complications during the delivery, Adamsay had a cesarean section, and had lost a lot of blood. We hesitated visiting her in the hospital out of fear that the government hospital staff would make up procedures or “treatments” for her that would cost extra money so that they might pocket the extra cash. Our national staff went to see her first instead. When they came back, they reported she was in need of a lot of blood and extremely weak. Kim ad I decided to take our chances and visit Adamsay anyway, Kim thinking her background in nursing could possibly help the situation. When we arrived, Adamsay was barely responsive. Her sister and mother greeted us and told me that the new baby was to be my namesake! She is beautiful! As I stood in that unkempt maternity ward, gazing at the frail body of Adamsay, I was struck by how God creates beauty from ashes. In the midst of such chaos, next to a woman whom society overlooks, curled tightly in a dirty blanket, lay a gift to the world. The next thing I felt was empathy for the child whose name would be mispronounced wherever she goes!

After Kim took her pulse and assessed Adamsay’s condition, the doctor and her concluded she would need six units of blood. Adamsay was expected to die if she didn’t get the blood. Her mother, sister and husband were unable to give to Adamsay, but thankfully I was a match.

While I often pretend to be tough, I am, in fact, a wuss when it comes to giving blood. This was soon apparent to the men assigned to draw it. I kept my composure (the stone wall that I am J) sitting in the small “lab” where they do blood tests, upon a rickety wooden stool, propped up next to a refrigerator. It wasn’t until the technician pulled the needle out and dripped my own blood all down my arm that I started to turn white and feel uneasy. I calmly and most daintily told the gentleman, “I’M GOING TO THROW UP!” All at once, one rushed to find a bowl for me while the other man fanned me with a stray piece of Styrofoam, as Kim made sure I didn’t fall over. Good news…. I’m going to make it!

As they gave Adamsay my measly one unit of blood, I was able to cheer her on sitting down on the other side of the maternity ward J. Kim told Adamsay that she would now have some “poto” (white person) in her, but Adamsay was too out of it to enjoy the joke. We soon discovered that finding the other necessary units of blood would be a challenge considering a lot of Sierra Leoneans are afraid to give blood, and many of Adamsay’s friends (who also happen to have disabilities) are ineligible to give because of syphilis contracted from selling their bodies to get by. In spite of the odds, God used a small team of people to round up another unit of blood for her. Three days later, after only three of the six needed pints, the doctor released Adamsay and little Kelsey from the hospital.

Unfortunately Adamsay’s husband came to tell us this weekend, that Adamsay’s wound has become infected and little Kelsey continually cries and won’t breast-feed. Will you please pray for Adamsay and her family this week? Sometimes I feel like God is bigger in the little country of Sierra Leone. Of course He is not bigger anywhere, but He appears to be magnified in the daily dependency of His mercy. God’s faithfulness will not change based on the outcome of this sweet-spirited young woman and her infant child, but I pray His goodness be highlighted in the healing of these two. I am so blessed to know her and see Him in another light through her.

The Journey in Process....

Those who know me well, know that I’m anything but quick at jumping on the bandwagons of technology, fads or even just quick at leaving the house! It’s probably not in the least bit surprising that it’s taken me so long to start a blog to keep in touch with those whom I love and who have supported and encouraged me through this growth opportunity called Women of Hope International. Some years ago I had a collision with God, and my life hasn’t been the same. He has broken my heart for what breaks His and invited me to be apart of what He’s doing for women with disabilities in Sierra Leone, West Africa. I admit that the thought of sharing my thoughts and experiences with the World Wide Web struck me as pretentious at first, which explains my hesitancy in writing. I thought the world probably doesn’t need me to add to the chatter, but being away from those closest to me, and finally admitting my tendencies toward ill-communication has forced me to change my mind about the whole blog issue. This being said, I humbly submit this first blog, and invite you into this crazy journey.

Women of Hope International has become an expression of my own heart. I’m blessed to be a part of His ministry. For this reason I have left Washington to become the full-time Program Assistant for the ministry. As I participate in the inception, my role as the Program Assistant doesn’t look like that of the typical missionary or Non-Governmental Organization (NGO) worker. The WOHInt Board of Directors and myself believe God wants this ministry to be indigenous in Sierra Leone, and so Kim Kargbo (International Director and close friend) and I have committed to making disciples of our staff, training and equipping them to run the organization, while casting vision for the ministry we feel God has called us to birth. Since launching the ministry in Sierra Leone last March, I have been working full-time with Kim in program planning and implementation, staff development, fundraising, grant-writing, donor-management and coordinating volunteers. I am still “residing” part-time in Olive Branch, Mississippi (twenty minutes from Memphis Tennessee) with the lovely Bartlett family who has graciously taken me in when I’m in the U.S. The rest of my time is spent in Makeni, Sierra Leone. I have been in transition for about the last nine months, living out of a few pieces of luggage and working on my Krio and my Southern twang! I am very much in process.

At the same time, I’m finally starting to settle into this chaotic season of life as WOHInt and myself consistently grow. I feel truly privileged to get a front-row seat at watching how God uses broken vessels (the WOHInt team) to bring about restoration and then repairs those same vessels in the process. God continues to remind me that the name of the game is “dependency.” WOHInt has been His lesson in dependency for me, as He has called me to a task that is impossible without Him. I’m learning that He often asks us to do exactly that which we cannot do in ourselves so that His glory is magnified in the extraordinary completed by the immensely weak.