Recovering Vision

Generally, I don't feel cute in Juba. It (Africa?) does weird things to people. Like weird infections and stomach bugs and rashes and things. There seems to always be something wonky going on with my body here. And I think that is just part of life.

Earlier this week I woke up and my right eye felt like someone had been taking a nail file to it while I was sleeping. As the day progressed it got worse and by the evening I was pretty much holding my eye closed while I was out with friends because the bright light was making it feel like someone was punching the back of my eye from inside my skull. I thought I would sleep on it and it would heal itself.

Nope. Basically woke up with a tear soaked pillow. Ok, not really, but tears running steadily down the one side of my face. ANY light I looked into made my eye throb. I tried to look at my phone but even that caused achy pains inside my head and tears in my eyes. Walked outside into the early overcast morning with my sunglasses on cuz otherwise I'd just be squinting and tripping over things. Naturally the girls were wondering why I was wearing my sunglasses at 7am. I told them my eye was paining and showed them the bright red mess inside my eye. And repeatedly they responded with giggles. Uh...thanks? So compassionate.

I went to the clinic nearby as soon as it opened. I walked there with one eye closed, without my contacts in or glasses on because it was too painful to go without sunglasses. I learned that with one eye your depth perception is off. Which is inconvenient when the walk to the clinic involves scaling a small rocky formation and over a few precariously placed rocks in a small polluted creek. I didn't fall in, thankfully, but I did look slightly drunk and off balance probably to the 10 kids I encountered. Whoops.

At the clinic the Dr. didn't even look in my eye. Said it was a bacterial infection and gave me 3 medicines and then (I found out later) charged me 4x the normal rate. Being dubious of all the medicines I just started using the eye drops and my eye is on the mend.

But, for an entire day I couldn't really look at a computer without pain. I couldn't focus my eyes to read or to write for more than 2 minutes. I couldn't focus on the beads without a headache. And certain things I couldn't do because I had to keep my sunglasses on until dusk. A couple of times I wondered (because you never know what germs and ailments and other crazy things are lurking around) what if this was serious and I was going to lose my vision and then, omg!, what would I do if I couldn't see or read or paint or bead?! The crazy would pass, I knew I was being ridiculous, but it did make me ponder. People who don't have the things I take for granted. Even living so close to extreme poverty I still take so much for granted.

My vision is returning to normal which is a huge relief. I still can't wear my contacts, and need to wear sunglasses when I go out, so that means no glasses. But I ventured to the market today and going to the market in a blurry world is less scary than I thought it would be. I feel like there is probably some lesson in that, but I'm not thinking that deeply at the moment.

And this long story about my wonky eye was supposed to be a segue into keeping vision for my life and work here. So, uh, segue.

It's been a rough last two weeks or so with the girls. They've been tough. I need a break (I'm taking a long weekend away for Thanksgiving next week. Yes!) But, there have been moments of sweet goodness that help me keep on and not throw in the towel. Like, there is a 5 year old who is super oppositional defiant and tells me at least once a week that God is going to curse me. This is in response to things like me not letting her in the dorm when she's not supposed to be there or making her go eat her lunch or taking needles that she's found. One morning this week when I was on duty she came next to me and laid her head in my lap and had a doze. So she may hate me most of the time, but she feels safe with me! This feels like a victory some how.

Another girl who is one of the most demanding, rude, and wounded children I've ever encountered asked me for help with her beading project and not only said please, also said THANK YOU completely unprompted after I helped her. I was so excited I may have given her a hug and scared her a little bit with my enthusiasm.

Yesterday I was getting the girls to sign for their money for the ones who'd had items purchased. They were talking about the money they were accumulating in their savings and one of the girls said, "Auntie, you should keep some of our money." I thought she meant I should hold on to it for them, which I'm already doing. Then she explained that I should keep some of the money from the things they're selling because I taught them and because I am selling it for them. My heart was warmed and there may have been another over enthusiastic hug from me and another slightly alarmed child.

Thankful for recovering vision in my eye and enough small encouragements to help keep my vision for life in Juba strong.

Saving

There is a guy that has been coming here a couple of days a week to volunteer for that last several months. He has taught the girls some karate, dressed wounds, and, perhaps most importantly, hung around and chatted with them. He is getting ready to leave Juba and had a going away party at CCC. He brought a bunch of work friends and they bought a bunch of the things the girls have been making. It is the most we've sold in one day. About 20 pieces, over 600 ssp ($150ish) worth.

I happily recorded all of the sales in the book, then went through and updated the girls personal accounts who sold things. Such a happy task. I was excited because we've now sold more than 5,000 ssp of the girls merchandise ($1,250ish) in about 2.5 months. That's exciting, right? I'm excited!

So as they're trickling back in from school I find the girls who made sales and did what I always do--show them the sale in the book, tell them what it was they sold, the price, and then break down the percentage to buy more materials, the percentage for pocket money, and how much will go into their savings. Then I open to their page in another book and show them what I added, what the totals are for pocket and savings, and have them sign.

Uh...signing that you have money accumulating is a good thing, right? Its something I feel like I would enjoy. And, ok, I guess the girls are usually at least neutral about it if not happy. But for some reason on Monday evverrryyyonnneee was so grumpy. So dang grumpy! I wanted to heave the book over the fence! I got grimaces and rolled eyes and accusations and complaints. Complaints! Are you kidding me?!

The girls are generally annoyed with this concept of saving. I explain that it is money for their future. That it is for when they leave CCC or if there is an emergency or something and they need the money. At one time or another I've had girls explain that haircuts, dvd's, snacks, and other silly things warrant an emergency and I should give them their money for the future. In the beginning I would laugh. But they've gotten more grumpy and accusatory with the whole thing. Yesterday a girl pushed her way into my room and sulked angrily and wouldn't leave because she had already spent all of her pocket money and I wouldn't give her any from her savings. Girls have threatened to run away and leave so I'll give them their savings. It is emotionally exhausting doing something you know is good and beneficial for them and having them be, not only ungrateful a good part of the time, but downright mean about it.

And I think it is just exacerbated by the fact that I live with them. That at the end of the day I can't go home and call it a day and be away from them and the frustrations for the evening. They knock on my door and stop me when I go to get dinner and it all starts again first thing in the morning, sometimes before I even roll out of bed. Relentless, is the word.

And yet, its not so bad. I love their little faces even though they metaphorically spit in mine sometimes. And after the grandiose frustration from Monday, Tuesday morning one of the older girls came to get some of her pocket money. She is talented and one of the harder working girls. She's sold 3x more things than any of the other girls and has over 700ssp ($175ish) in her savings from the bead work. She said that no other girls her age are making money like this. I asked what she would use her money for someday. She said to by a plot of land. Her mother is a squatter in a cemetery nearby. Many people live there, it is a very poor area, as you can imagine. No one would choose to live in a cemetery unless your situation was dire. She told me that people who don't buy a plot just end up back in the cemetery. My heart did a little leap. The thought of this bright girl not continuing in her family's cycle of extreme poverty. So here is to her ad her future plot of land. I shall continue to plug along in spite of thanklessness and dealing with grumpy girls because that, that is what this is all about.

 

Not for the Faint of Heart (I mean it.)

Seriously, heart-heavy stuff here in this one. Just so you know.

Let's talk about staff meetings. We have them every Monday and Friday morning. They can last one to three hours, and are usually about two. But, yes, that does mean that some weeks I spend six hours just in staff meetings. This is frustrating for everyone, but it's a part of things. The meetings are good. They are important. But they are not a highlight in the week.

They're good because they get all of us as a staff on the same page and are important platform to bring up issues and have dialogue and talk about concerns or questions. But they're not a highlight because usually they stress me out.

There are always problems. There are always frustrations. There are always people who are unhappy. There are never-ending issues with clothes, medicine, cleaning, duties, and a certain five year old who won't stop eating soap. We always need money. There are always girls who are running away or fighting. It can get pretty bleak.

One of our meetings last week made my heart hurt. The older girls came back from school and reported to one of us aunties that boys at school were boasting that during the tea break one of our youngerish girls was having sex with them. She's like 8/9ish. Lived in a trash heap most of her life. Still is daily told not to play/scavenge in the area where trash is burned on the compound. It's been said that she may be slightly autistic. She is resourceful and creative; always making interesting things out of bits she finds.

And then we talked about the other girls her age here who are having similar issues. Last weekend two of our eightish year olds were out all night at, essentially, a creepy dance club. And were, undoubtedly, voluntarily, making themselves available for all sorts of badness. (Shudder.) These girls are also having issues in their room. I won't go into detail. But they're basically experimenting and confused based on the pretty jacked up first few years of their young lives.

The girls who have mothers, many of them are drunks and prostitutes. They have been exposed to a lot. A LOT. Too much. And each of their precious little bodies have been touched, abused, violated. And many of them have learned to use their bodies to get what they want and/or have become to callous to care about the negative affects of such things. This happens when you are born on the streets and no one is properly looking after you.

It's not just the one girl. Apparently a few of them are sneaking off during tea break to the cemetery to make a pound. (About 25 cents). It makes me want to vomit.

Solutions? Staff to check up on the girls at tea break. Talking with the older girls and help remind them that they should be helping look after the littler ones because we are a community. Meetings with them with our psycho-social therapist about appropriate sexual behavior and teach them to identify for themselves what is dangerous. And, if what they're after is money to buy sweets and snacks, well we can work on that.

I haven't been doing beads with the girls ten-and-under because I didn't have the capacity to. I was working from two tote bags outside on the bench. There were already enough spilled beads and general chaos without the younger ones being involved. But now I have a ROOM for CRAFTS (!) and therefore have the capacity to work the with the girls in one spot, sitting down, with actual tables and chairs. They've been begging me for weeks to be involved and now they can.

And it may sound silly. But maybe it can help? If we can sell some of their things maybe it will give them enough pocket money to be satisfied. We also discussed at the meeting that this age bracket here is somewhat neglected as far as many of the afternoon activities go. They're too small for sewing, life skills, going out for volleyball. And they're too old to participate in programs with the littlest ones. So it can only help, right?

It makes you wonder, if they're already so far gone at such a young age, if they can be brought back. And while you can't restore innocence, you can help people to heal. I'm not a parent, but I'm sort of functioning as one of their foster parents right now. And, in my limited scope of this parental world, it ain't no day job. Nor is it some short contract. To do it and do it right, it takes time, commitment, community and freaking ton of love. So I hope, I hope, that as these girls grow up they have enough of all of these things from responsible people who care in their lives. And I really do believe that human love intersected with the divine has healing power. And I believe he can work in these little misguided ones, too. I won't be around forever to watch them grow up, but hopefully I can be a small part of their healing community while I'm here. Not a job for the faint of heart. But Jesus is equipping me daily, just like he's promised to.

Meaning Well

This is one of those posts that I feel slightly conflicted about writing. Because it is something that I haven't fully reconciled in my mind, and also could come across and somewhat hurtful to some and I don't want to seem like a jaded fool. But the blog is about my life here. Hence, by default includes my thoughts, feelings, and opinions about life here. So, whatev, here we are.

The street girls home where I am living and working has lots of friends. Lots of associations. Lots of people in our network. Which is really good. The director has worked hard to make that happen and CCC has certainly benefited from it. We get lots of donations and lots of people interested and occasionally a volunteer who will stick around for more than a few weeks.

But it does mean that we have a lot of people in and out and around and visiting the compound. Like, all the time. I'm frequently enlisted to give tours. And frequently there are seemingly random people showing up, taking pictures, wandering around, and I need to try and figure out who they are, why they're here, and if it's ok if they take pictures, all the while knowing no one really should be taking pictures...but not wanting to offend big dogs, like ambassadors offices or the people who paid to construct the dorm or close personal friends of the director. Pretty much I never really know what I'm doing. This is a pretty common denominator in my life here.

Two Saturdays ago a group of about fifty Japanese came. They work as peace-keepers here and some of their engineers fixed our gate, to make our compound more secure, and put up a really nice sign about how our girls are going to help raise up this wonderful nation. They brought toys and games and played with the girls for about two hours. So there is definitely a somewhat uncomfortable aspect of having huge groups of strangers where you live and work. But, silver lining, it is also an excellent opportunity to hide in the dorm for a few hours of solitude while the girls are being entertained. Except when they leave, and leave the compound a hot mess, and the energy you conserved for having a few hours away from them, you spend trying to get them to clean. I'm whining. I digress.

This past weekend a group of 60+ people came for a company volunteer day. They came and did some painting, helped in the garden, played with the girls, provided lunch, donated bedding and shirts. It was well-meaning and nice. Really. But.

You see...I live with these girls. They're my friends/students/little sisters/foster children/responsibility/pals. They make me laugh and cry and roll my eyes and feel proud and like I wanna scream and give them hugs. They're the reason I'm in Juba, the reason I don't get enough sleep, the reason I feel like maybe I could possibly be doing something worthwhile with my life, I hope. Working with them is a dream come true, on the real.

Soooo, because of that, sometimes I feel a little awkward about how things go down. Like, the girls were all made to stand while a staff member spoke and it was videoed about the girls hardships and lives in a general way. We, the rest of the staff stood with them, and one of the girls hid behind me while they were taping. I let her hide. Right? I mean, even though its general, does any kid want to stand there proudly while someone talks about how you were living on the street and abused? Does it make me as uncomfortable as it makes them to have strangers come into, literally, their home all the time?

The girls like people. They especially like male attention. So I don't think that the constant flow of visitors bother them as much as it does me on their behalf. Which is really good.

The volunteers who came painted the inside of the kitchen (and donated awesome new sturdy tables). To do this they needed to take down the girls bags where they hang some of their personal things. Some clothes, odds, ends, craft supplies. One of the staff took this opportunity to go through the girls things and whittle down some of their belongings. I mean...ok. The compound gets cluttered. The girls are certainly messy. And they have (slightly) more than the bare essentials in life. But, uh, they're kids (so of course they're messy) and they used to live on the streets (so of course they don't take the best care of things) and there are 37 of them living in one place (so of course there is clutter). Anyway, so a few staff and some well-meaning volunteers start dumping the girls bags and putting it altogether into piles. Trash, books, pencils, clothes, knickers, knitting/beading supplies. So the girls are milling about kind of concerned watching strangers go through their things! Um, ah?! The whole thing made me so uncomfortable I went inside to remove myself from the situation. And these volunteers were probably patting themselves one the back for helping us rid the place of some mess and unnecessary garbage.

Later I was given the 2 big boxes of yarn, beads and other supplies. Which means that I was handed over the joy frustrating and unnecessary hassle of redistributing to each girl what was removed from their individual bags and thrown together in a big pile. Ahhh.

Out of the lots of people there we only sold two of the girls handcraft things. I hate to judge. I don't want to be a person like that. But I couldn't help but think that maybeeee if they had just hired local painters (and help the local economy, who needs all the help it can get) and bought up a bunch of the girls handiwork (and build up their savings for their futures helping them have some money to build a tukul or go to university one day and therefore helping ensure their futures) instead... I dunno. People mean well. I appreciate their efforts for the day and the good they did. But, I'm certainly somewhat jaded and got annoyed watching them take lots of cute pictures with the girls (which they're not supposed to do, but its not my place to say or to stop them) and then leaving.

But...I'm gonna leave one day too, eventually. And I shouldn't hate on the bits of good that people do. I dunno. I just struggle with certain aspects of this. The different approaches to this sort of work and the inevitable tensions and misunderstandings that arise when people from different cultures live and work in community. I don't think I'm always right. I know that I'm usually not. But I wrestle with things and I have formed some opinions about certain things but its hard to know what to do with that.

So I go on with my best intentions knowing full well that people still screw up, and sometimes royally with the best intentions. But I'm open to criticism and change because I know that I don't know. And I feel like maybe that's a good place to be?

Making Progress

So, the last few weeks work-wise have felt ever so slightly like a let-down. Tried, unsuccessfully, to start training with girls from the community on six separate days. And on each of those days nooo onnneeee showed up. Chose not to be discouraged because I was doing all that was in my power. The issue I think was a combination of lack of interest by some girls, the social worker and community mobilizer not grasping entirely what I was communicating with them, and the fact that we're dealing with teenagers who aren't exactly known for their reliability.

But (finally!) yesterday six girls showed up! I still need nineteen more, but it'll come! And probably starting in shifts is better anyway. I see lots of chaos in my future, but I'm excited.

As if that weren't enough encouragement I had the best chat with the director of CCC today. I was doing some inventory and she came in to discuss something and launched into what a good job I'm doing. How there are many people who think it's great and want to help with funding. How the girls are actually responding to it and are really into it. How there is specifically one girl who wants to run away, an has twice in recent months, who is staying specifically because she is making money with the beading. She said that, really, I am changing these girls lives. No matter how sincere our efforts, some of these girls are going to end up back on the streets and I am giving them the tools to be able to provide for themselves other than prostitution. I gave her a big hug and wanted to cry a little bit.

I know my own heart and head and I know how little of this is a result of any excellent planning skills or great teaching ability. I know all of it is a grace. That God is very gracious with whatever small offerings we bring. So I'm not taking the credit, but I am thrilled to be a part.

The director has great big ideas and things, certainly for things that feel outside of my depth and well beyond my capacity. And I continue to be excited and a little scared. But I keep being surprised by encouragement and blessed by the efforts of these girls. They're doing it! They like it! They're making money and saving for their futures! It's working. Holy cow!

Jesus, Jesus He is way to good to us.

"We must, simply, accept that he [Jesus] is the best and smartest man who ever lived in this world, that he is even now "the prince of the kings of the earth" (Rev 1:5) Then we heartily join his cosmic conspiracy to overcome evil with good." Dallas Willard

The Monkey

There is a monkey that lives at CCC. A small little monkey. Smaller than a cat with a longer tail and weirdly human-like hands with tiny fingernails. At first it seems cute. And like a sort of cliché of what life in Africa should be like. Of course our compound would have a pet monkey.

But, I've seen Outbreak. So even though I liked the idea of the novelty of a pet monkey, I kept my distance my first few weeks. I'd sort of carefully scratch her head sometimes. Give her bits of fruit. I was going for a sort of unspoken understanding--I don't mess with you, you don't mess with me type thing.

I appreciate how cute the monkey is with the girls. Especially the smallest ones. It's pretty precious how she'll sit on the five-year-olds heads and (literally) come running over when she hears them crying. They're little friends and that's cute.

What is NOT cute is how she eats beads. She eats the freaking beads! And loves to spill them. And will sometimes take whole strands and run up to the roof with them. And sometimes she takes the girls candy and makes them cry. One day the girls went in for lunch and the monkey went and spilled six cups of beads into the dirt.

She bites the girls sometimes. When they hit her or throw things at her. I get it. They don't treat the monkey well sometimes, so I get that she responds with biting. But one day she was trying to go inside the dorm and I was blocking her and she jumped on my leg and bit me really hard through my jeans and drew blood. This was the end of our cordial relationship. My indifference turned to distain.

And she noticed. She knows I don't like her. Maybe she hears the way I say "Stupid monkey!" each time she takes beads and knocks over the trash can and in general makes my life more difficult than it needs to be. So now she does this thing where, as I walk by, minding my own business, ignoring the furry trouble maker, she'll LUNGE after me and try to bite me!

Um, excuse me!? I still give her bits of food because she is a living thing, so what the heck?! More than once, several times in fact, I'll be walking by to go into the dorm or something and she'll start running after me. I run of course because I, uh, don't like being bitten by monkeys. And the girls will always laugh (it is funny, I suppose), but will stand between us and block her. Which is sweet. Dumb monkey.

A few of us would be ok if she, um, relocated elsewhere. I guess its good for the girls to have a pet? But they do abuse her sometimes. And she has gotten more aggressive. So I'll continue to keep my distance...and keep beads away from her as much as I can. Pet monkeys. Not all they're cracked up to be.

It Will Come

Last week did not go how I'd planned. I've learned to hold my ideas about a day or week very loosely on this continent. Everyday life is much more unpredictable here.

I was supposed to start training girls from the community this week. Girls who have dropped out of school and are between 14-18 and are living on the streets and are at high risk to turn to sex work.

Weeellllll. That didn't happen. I was supposed to start on Wednesday. On Monday I met with my assistant (that sounds so weird to say. Esp since she's more than twice my age!) and we made a loose plan of the first week.

It was raining on Wednesday morning. When it rains, people don't go out. Everyone always comes really late to work. So I sat in the training room, with other work, knowing full well that probably no one was going to show up. No one did, but I caught up on some things which was nice.

Thursday I hoped again people would come. The social worker and community mobilizer told me they would. ...But no one did. I caught up on more odds and ends and in the afternoon sat down to chat with them about the 25 girls they were supposed to have been mobilizing for the last month. Yeahhh.

A few things have also come up about the training I'm doing that I should have been told much sooner. Like, when discussing things on Monday I was told that if we can't provide food, I need to at least provide tea, sugar, bread, and soap to the girls. Well that's nice...but the budget is made, those things are not on it, and shouldn't I have been informed about this before the budget was approved?!

I was told it wasn't my fault, I should have been told sooner. But then it was left at that. So I said, "Um, ok, if that's true we need to find a solution. Do we have tea we can use in the storeroom? People/businesses who maybe could donate?" After a few emails and a few other failed ideas we still have no money or donations to cover it. But it will come. Things tend to work out one way or another.

On Friday I talked more with the two ladies who were supposed to mobilize the 25 girls I need for the training. The and others decided that I need to do a program instead in the afternoon, which means I'll be combining the CCC girls with the other girls which was not what I had planned on. Also, after already making the plan in the grant proposal people don't think it's a good idea to sell at the local market and we should just focus on selling to foreigners. Which is fine, really. Maybe even simpler. However this is wise counsel I needed before we finished the grant proposal! Now we're locking into certain things and I don't know how much wiggle room there is. Stress.

It will come. I still am excited about this and when I start to get worried that I haven't really started, I remember that I've already trained half the girls that I need to--the ones at CCC and we're already selling their things. This isn't nothing. We'll get there.