Every now and then, when you work in developing countries, you see something that is just sad.
Today we were driving along and we witnessed an accident. That's normal. I think I see one every day on the roads here.
But this one stood out. A young boy, perhaps 7-8 years old, was knocked over by a motorbike while he was begging on a street corner. In his tin there were a few coins and a few biscuits, which all fell out on to the road.
As he scrambled up, a friend helped him to the side of the road. Then all the traffic started moving despite him. His biscuits lost and crushed under cars. His coins - well I hope he was able to get them afterward.
While none of this is out of the ordinary for Bamako - there are many beggars, there are many accidents, there are many sad stories - this one stood out to me today. You could see the hurt as the boy got up, you could see the sadness as he lost his biscuits. I could feel my own sadness and helplessness as we were moving the other way.
All of this took about 10 seconds - but it will remain with me.
Friday, 14 June 2013
Tuesday, 11 June 2013
Mali 17
Today was one of the days when the rubber hits the road.
After weeks of preparation, today was the first distribution that we conducted of household items to displaced people. Keeping it deliberately small, so that we could iron out bugs in our registration and distribution systems, we assisted 40 families today. It was a good thing, as first thing this morning we discovered that our truck was indisposed... and we were moving things in a small van instead. For those in Adelaide, it's like Christmas Cheer, except that we have to buy every item, move it across town (twice in some cases), find where the beneficiaries are now staying (most of them are with host families), register them and then do the handouts - and all through multiple tranlaters (the tribal languages from the north are different to those here in the south).
Over the next two weeks we hope to assist around 275 families in this way (I should point out that the family sizes here are huge - we have three families listed with over 40 in the family!!). They will receive blankets (believe it or not), mats, cups, cutlery, a cooking pot, a serving pot and ladle, mosquito nets, buckets, jerry cans, water purification tablets and the like. We also provide a small amount of cash to assist with transporting goods.
The sad thing is that we are limited by time and budget. So that these distributions, by a number of NGOs, are coordinated, we all receieve an allocation of names from IOM to assist. When we do, we are able to see their whole database. In Bamako alone, at the moment, over 77000 internally displaced people are registered, in 9000+ family units.
Our 275 families are but a small drop in a very large ocean. But it makes a difference to that 275 and we pray for the other groups that are also assisting so that between us we make a big difference.
After weeks of preparation, today was the first distribution that we conducted of household items to displaced people. Keeping it deliberately small, so that we could iron out bugs in our registration and distribution systems, we assisted 40 families today. It was a good thing, as first thing this morning we discovered that our truck was indisposed... and we were moving things in a small van instead. For those in Adelaide, it's like Christmas Cheer, except that we have to buy every item, move it across town (twice in some cases), find where the beneficiaries are now staying (most of them are with host families), register them and then do the handouts - and all through multiple tranlaters (the tribal languages from the north are different to those here in the south).
Over the next two weeks we hope to assist around 275 families in this way (I should point out that the family sizes here are huge - we have three families listed with over 40 in the family!!). They will receive blankets (believe it or not), mats, cups, cutlery, a cooking pot, a serving pot and ladle, mosquito nets, buckets, jerry cans, water purification tablets and the like. We also provide a small amount of cash to assist with transporting goods.
The sad thing is that we are limited by time and budget. So that these distributions, by a number of NGOs, are coordinated, we all receieve an allocation of names from IOM to assist. When we do, we are able to see their whole database. In Bamako alone, at the moment, over 77000 internally displaced people are registered, in 9000+ family units.
Our 275 families are but a small drop in a very large ocean. But it makes a difference to that 275 and we pray for the other groups that are also assisting so that between us we make a big difference.
Monday, 10 June 2013
Mali - ACI2000 Corps
This morning we went to church. This is not unusual for most, and certainly not for us. Even as we walked past the new turkish mosque on the way nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
But having said that, church here is Mali is out of the ordinary for a number of reasons.
In the first place we are worshipping as a minority group. While Malians, especially in the south, are a moderate people and very tolerant, they are primarily a Muslim people. Around 95%, in fact. Compared to 2% Christians. Most of the time you don't really notice the difference - except on a Friday when our driver vanishes for two hours to go to Mosque. Or on a Sunday when you raise some strange looks as you walk to church with a Bible in your hand.
Secondly, there is no permanant home for our church here. The Corps did have a building but it was so badly built that the foundations gave way and it is unsafe for them to use. For the last few months the Corps has been meeting under a tin roof (very hot when it's over 40 degrees anyway) propped up behind the RHQ offices. It leaks in the rain; not that it matters - you can't hear anything under the roof while it's raining anyway.
Church is a lot longer than at home. Usually between 2.5 - 3 hours, of which at least 1 - 1.5 hours is the sermon. And it's not a story telling time like at home. Sermons here are loud - usually yelled - and the speakers are turned up so that there is very little that is clear, even to people that understand a lot of French! But it's effective - there are new people at church every week. This week they had a new lady who came for the first time after hearing the new radio show that the Region have started broadcasting. And there are people responding every week to the message. Even today, three people put up their hand to say that they want to become Salvation Army soldiers.
So amid the heat, the flies, the smell from the rubbish dump down the road, and the unique speaker system, we worship. There are some rules about worship here. You must dance. You must jump. You must bring your offering to the altar. You must respond hallelujah every time that the leader calls out (which is around 20 times per worship service). You must clap. It's all very different compared to Marion... but perhaps it wouldn't hurt for there to be a bit more dancing, calling out and jumping at home...
But having said that, church here is Mali is out of the ordinary for a number of reasons.
In the first place we are worshipping as a minority group. While Malians, especially in the south, are a moderate people and very tolerant, they are primarily a Muslim people. Around 95%, in fact. Compared to 2% Christians. Most of the time you don't really notice the difference - except on a Friday when our driver vanishes for two hours to go to Mosque. Or on a Sunday when you raise some strange looks as you walk to church with a Bible in your hand.
Secondly, there is no permanant home for our church here. The Corps did have a building but it was so badly built that the foundations gave way and it is unsafe for them to use. For the last few months the Corps has been meeting under a tin roof (very hot when it's over 40 degrees anyway) propped up behind the RHQ offices. It leaks in the rain; not that it matters - you can't hear anything under the roof while it's raining anyway.
Church is a lot longer than at home. Usually between 2.5 - 3 hours, of which at least 1 - 1.5 hours is the sermon. And it's not a story telling time like at home. Sermons here are loud - usually yelled - and the speakers are turned up so that there is very little that is clear, even to people that understand a lot of French! But it's effective - there are new people at church every week. This week they had a new lady who came for the first time after hearing the new radio show that the Region have started broadcasting. And there are people responding every week to the message. Even today, three people put up their hand to say that they want to become Salvation Army soldiers.
So amid the heat, the flies, the smell from the rubbish dump down the road, and the unique speaker system, we worship. There are some rules about worship here. You must dance. You must jump. You must bring your offering to the altar. You must respond hallelujah every time that the leader calls out (which is around 20 times per worship service). You must clap. It's all very different compared to Marion... but perhaps it wouldn't hurt for there to be a bit more dancing, calling out and jumping at home...
Friday, 7 June 2013
Mali 15
Today I saw the way that God will always change our plans and move things so that they work as they should.
We had just finished our last soap making workshop in a place called Bako-Djikoroni. We had received word that there was a parcel to pick up in the area of Niamana where we conducted the first workshop. As we had finished early we went to receive the parcel.
We arrived at Niamana and were directed to a lady's house. For some reason the person that was escorting us (who spoke less French than I) didn't tell the lady why we were there. So she thought that we had just come for a pastoral visit.
She explained to us how she was ill. She certainly was - two weeks ago I met her and she was the life of the party. Today she can barely move. She explained that she had high blood pressure and had suffered stress and headaches ever since the conflict started.
She told us how shocked she was when, in her home near Timbuktu, she heard gunfire for the first time. She also told us how she had fled, sent by her husband, who has stayed behind. She hears news from home very rarely. Sadly, on Friday she had some bad news - her youngest brother had suddenldy died. She cannot be in her home town for the funeral.
As I listened to her, and spoke with her, it was evident that she was suffering greatly. It was also evident that we were meant to be there, to keep her company for an hour or two, to listen to her story, to appreciate her pain and to pray for her health. She did finish her story by declaring God's care for her and her trust.
Turns out that the parcel that we were to pick up finally came when another lady saw us there and went to fetch it. It was a shirt that had been made to say thank you to me for the time we came and ran the workshop. To be honest, it's not normally a shirt I would wear. But I will, occasionally, thankful for the lady who made it and grateful that I was able to give her some time today - even if by accident.
We had just finished our last soap making workshop in a place called Bako-Djikoroni. We had received word that there was a parcel to pick up in the area of Niamana where we conducted the first workshop. As we had finished early we went to receive the parcel.
We arrived at Niamana and were directed to a lady's house. For some reason the person that was escorting us (who spoke less French than I) didn't tell the lady why we were there. So she thought that we had just come for a pastoral visit.
She explained to us how she was ill. She certainly was - two weeks ago I met her and she was the life of the party. Today she can barely move. She explained that she had high blood pressure and had suffered stress and headaches ever since the conflict started.
She told us how shocked she was when, in her home near Timbuktu, she heard gunfire for the first time. She also told us how she had fled, sent by her husband, who has stayed behind. She hears news from home very rarely. Sadly, on Friday she had some bad news - her youngest brother had suddenldy died. She cannot be in her home town for the funeral.
As I listened to her, and spoke with her, it was evident that she was suffering greatly. It was also evident that we were meant to be there, to keep her company for an hour or two, to listen to her story, to appreciate her pain and to pray for her health. She did finish her story by declaring God's care for her and her trust.
Turns out that the parcel that we were to pick up finally came when another lady saw us there and went to fetch it. It was a shirt that had been made to say thank you to me for the time we came and ran the workshop. To be honest, it's not normally a shirt I would wear. But I will, occasionally, thankful for the lady who made it and grateful that I was able to give her some time today - even if by accident.
Wednesday, 5 June 2013
Shopping... sort of
So it's a little different sometimes when you are working overseas.
At home, if we were looking for water purification tablets (not that we'd need them) in large supply, we would ring a wholesaler and have a delivery date arranged.
No such luck here.
This morning I spent a few hours being driven from chemist to chemist buying one or two boxes at a time. Our hope was to build up our supply to add a box to each of the kits we are providing over the next two weeks for displaced people - 275 boxes are required.
Today's expedition netted 61 boxes from 17 chemists. Back on the road tomorrow ;-)
At home, if we were looking for water purification tablets (not that we'd need them) in large supply, we would ring a wholesaler and have a delivery date arranged.
No such luck here.
This morning I spent a few hours being driven from chemist to chemist buying one or two boxes at a time. Our hope was to build up our supply to add a box to each of the kits we are providing over the next two weeks for displaced people - 275 boxes are required.
Today's expedition netted 61 boxes from 17 chemists. Back on the road tomorrow ;-)
Tuesday, 4 June 2013
Kassela
Today I was able to escape the big city for a drive to the town of Kassela. It lies around 1 1/2 hours SE of Bamako on the road that takes you to the Burkina Faso border.
As we left town I felt quite at home. The landscape was reminiscent of the north of SA or the south of the NT. Very red dirt. Small mounds of rock. Sparse, but dark green, vegetation. Arid but beautiful, and ironically not that far from the mighty Niger River.
The objective was to see if we could start a community gardens project in the area. Unfortunately it is not going to be possible. The cost to benefit ratio, alone, makes it prohibitive and we had to admit that there was insufficient research done before we had arrived. Further, there was no available land that was both affordable and farmable for the local people.
This was a little disappointing. Of the 500,000 displaced people, 28,000 are in this province. Food security was an issue apart from the conflict and is only getting worse.
We will continue to look at other ways of assisting, but for now it's back for a quiet night in town, ready to go to our next workshop tomorrow at Bako-Djikoroni.
As we left town I felt quite at home. The landscape was reminiscent of the north of SA or the south of the NT. Very red dirt. Small mounds of rock. Sparse, but dark green, vegetation. Arid but beautiful, and ironically not that far from the mighty Niger River.
The objective was to see if we could start a community gardens project in the area. Unfortunately it is not going to be possible. The cost to benefit ratio, alone, makes it prohibitive and we had to admit that there was insufficient research done before we had arrived. Further, there was no available land that was both affordable and farmable for the local people.
This was a little disappointing. Of the 500,000 displaced people, 28,000 are in this province. Food security was an issue apart from the conflict and is only getting worse.
We will continue to look at other ways of assisting, but for now it's back for a quiet night in town, ready to go to our next workshop tomorrow at Bako-Djikoroni.
Sunday, 2 June 2013
Gratitude
During the week we spent some time at Niamakoro, just south of Bamako.
We were running another workshop for the displaced women. This time we assisted 27 of them with training and equipment to start their own businesses.
Apart from the very physcial work of moving hundreds of kilos of gear that needed to be distributed, it was great to spend time in this community. It was great to hear more stories, including one lady who testified that we were her 'answer to prayer'.
Then, in true African style, we witnessed a dance. They started circling and hollering and waving their hands in the air as they repeatedly sang, "Merci, Merci, Merci". Then they broke into another song as some of the ladies took centre stage in the middle - solos if you like. It finished with a great singalong as the ladies thanked us for what we had delivered.
In truth we are only intermediaries. The materials have been purchased thanks to Canadian donors. The goods have come from local markets. The training has been done by local Salvationists. All that we do is bring the three together.
The gratitude of people in places like Mali teaches me so much. They have, realtively speaking, very little. They live in conditions that no-one in Australia would accept. There is no money. There is little health care. There is high food insecurity. Water is a problem - in one northern town (Gao) this week there was no water. Heat is a problem.
But they are a grateful people. And I feel embarassed again by the sense of entitlement so prevalent at home.
We were running another workshop for the displaced women. This time we assisted 27 of them with training and equipment to start their own businesses.
Apart from the very physcial work of moving hundreds of kilos of gear that needed to be distributed, it was great to spend time in this community. It was great to hear more stories, including one lady who testified that we were her 'answer to prayer'.
Then, in true African style, we witnessed a dance. They started circling and hollering and waving their hands in the air as they repeatedly sang, "Merci, Merci, Merci". Then they broke into another song as some of the ladies took centre stage in the middle - solos if you like. It finished with a great singalong as the ladies thanked us for what we had delivered.
In truth we are only intermediaries. The materials have been purchased thanks to Canadian donors. The goods have come from local markets. The training has been done by local Salvationists. All that we do is bring the three together.
The gratitude of people in places like Mali teaches me so much. They have, realtively speaking, very little. They live in conditions that no-one in Australia would accept. There is no money. There is little health care. There is high food insecurity. Water is a problem - in one northern town (Gao) this week there was no water. Heat is a problem.
But they are a grateful people. And I feel embarassed again by the sense of entitlement so prevalent at home.
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