Sunday, May 26, 2013
Moving On!
Since we came home, we have been busy little bees.
I hardly know where to start. But for the most part it's home projects and a wonderful, extended visit from J's folks, school and play group and ballet and swimming lessons. All that life stuff that gets rolling and keeps the days filled and makes the weeks seem to evaporate.
We've been (not so) patiently waiting for the weather to warm up around here, and it is hesitantly agreeing to turn the corner and begin a slide through spring into summer. I hope.
The Littles are growing and learning and keeping us up on the very tips of our toes, as we dance our way through dinners and bedtimes and learning to ride tricycles.
I'm taking time to try and enjoy moments of holding my Littles together in my lap, or watching them swing from a sunny spot. I'm looking forward to a fun, busy summer and frankly can't wait for school to end so Little One can be home all day and we can play in the baby pool and explore the zoo and just enjoy our family time. Especially because there will be some big changes coming up for us soon (is there ever a dull moment around here?), but I will tell you all about that. Soon.
I hardly know where to start. But for the most part it's home projects and a wonderful, extended visit from J's folks, school and play group and ballet and swimming lessons. All that life stuff that gets rolling and keeps the days filled and makes the weeks seem to evaporate.
We've been (not so) patiently waiting for the weather to warm up around here, and it is hesitantly agreeing to turn the corner and begin a slide through spring into summer. I hope.
The Littles are growing and learning and keeping us up on the very tips of our toes, as we dance our way through dinners and bedtimes and learning to ride tricycles.
I'm taking time to try and enjoy moments of holding my Littles together in my lap, or watching them swing from a sunny spot. I'm looking forward to a fun, busy summer and frankly can't wait for school to end so Little One can be home all day and we can play in the baby pool and explore the zoo and just enjoy our family time. Especially because there will be some big changes coming up for us soon (is there ever a dull moment around here?), but I will tell you all about that. Soon.
One Last Thing...
The first time I met the children of the AFC home was SIX years ago. Six!
They were all over the age of eight (that was part of the point), but they were still little kids.
Some of them were VERY little; I distinctly recall that two of the kids (age 8 and 9 years at the time) regularly wore size 18mo. onesies with perfect comfort. That's what malnutrition and illness will do for you. They were little bitty bundles of adorable sweetness.
I remember that some of them had been SO sick. Some of them were SO sad. There was one little girl who hid under beds and behind doors for months. The home was pretty new, then. They were just becoming a family, just getting to know what a home felt like.
Some had never been to school, some couldn't read. Some had behaviors to manage as they worked through the fresh wounds of various traumas. They were a bunch of little kids from different places, literally, and in disparate places metaphorically too; all sort of precariously finding their way day by day.
While I've since spent time with those who have traveled to the states for medical care, and while I've never left the organization and the effort to stand by those kiddos as an international family of supporters, it had been six years since I'd been in the home or seen most of the children in person. Six years! There are now AFC kids who have grown into young adults and moved on. Like any young adult fresh on their own two feet, they come back to the home on weekends and for family events and holidays, and for dinner time to time. But they are out in the world nonetheless. Crazy how time flies.
For me, the absolute most wonderful thing about our whole trip to Ethiopia was getting to see the kids- not just because they have such an exceptionally soft and smooshy spot in my heart (and will forever). But because, as someone who volunteers on the other side of the planet in simple faith that the work is important and doing something good, it was monumentally gratifying to see that, yes. Yes, all the effort and support from everyone who gives to and works at AFC is doing exactly what we could only hope it would.
It was the best feeling to see the way each and every AFC child has grown into their own. The progress and change since six years ago is stunning.
The kids are healthy.
They have made leaps and bounds in their education that are astonishing.
They are all so unique and so sure of who they are. So much more than I would expect any teenager to be, much less these who have been through so much.
They are compassionate and kind and generous.
Not once did I see so much as an eye-roll when one of their pint-sized guests threw a tantrum or took the last of the pasta or snuck into their room and finger-painted with their toothpaste.
Impossibly, I had over a dozen teenaged role-models for my children, every one of whom I could not have been happier for my children to emulate. I went to bed saying little prayers- Please, please, let my Littles turn out like these ones when they are teenagers. Please let the way these AFC kids study and do their chores and treat guests and one other become impressed upon the little minds of my children and stick there.
Perhaps the best part was simply seeing how they had become so entirely and irrevocably a family together. They joked around and hung out and worked together and sometimes argued, and stuck up for one another just like any siblings anywhere. Sitting at the dinner table each night and watching them take for granted that this was their home and their family nearly brought me to tears sometimes. Yes, I would think. Yes. This is what we'd hoped for, six years ago, isn't it?
I'm not taking credit for this, by the way. The credit goes to the founder, who made this home out of nothing. It goes to the program manager, who is pure gold in the world of program managers. Some goes to the AFC volunteers and supporters and donors everywhere who make it possible at the end of the day.
And most of all, it goes to each of those kids. They are breathing examples of strength and tenacity and faith. They are the seemingly impossible ideal of what a human being- any human being- can make of themselves if given the slightest opportunity.
They are- in a world where boston bombers and chicago kidnappers and hate crimes exist- my faith in the human heart and soul. My faith in the potential of the future.
I am so grateful to these children. What more important and valuable gift could be given than inspiration to be a better person, faith in goodness, and hope for my children's future? Knowing that the AFC kids are who they are out there in the world gives me exactly that.
It's a myth that the best role models are famous, old, and/or dead. The best one's I've found in all my travels, reading, and searching are always children. Especially these.
They were all over the age of eight (that was part of the point), but they were still little kids.
Some of them were VERY little; I distinctly recall that two of the kids (age 8 and 9 years at the time) regularly wore size 18mo. onesies with perfect comfort. That's what malnutrition and illness will do for you. They were little bitty bundles of adorable sweetness.
I remember that some of them had been SO sick. Some of them were SO sad. There was one little girl who hid under beds and behind doors for months. The home was pretty new, then. They were just becoming a family, just getting to know what a home felt like.
Some had never been to school, some couldn't read. Some had behaviors to manage as they worked through the fresh wounds of various traumas. They were a bunch of little kids from different places, literally, and in disparate places metaphorically too; all sort of precariously finding their way day by day.
For me, the absolute most wonderful thing about our whole trip to Ethiopia was getting to see the kids- not just because they have such an exceptionally soft and smooshy spot in my heart (and will forever). But because, as someone who volunteers on the other side of the planet in simple faith that the work is important and doing something good, it was monumentally gratifying to see that, yes. Yes, all the effort and support from everyone who gives to and works at AFC is doing exactly what we could only hope it would.
It was the best feeling to see the way each and every AFC child has grown into their own. The progress and change since six years ago is stunning.
The kids are healthy.
They have made leaps and bounds in their education that are astonishing.
They are all so unique and so sure of who they are. So much more than I would expect any teenager to be, much less these who have been through so much.
They are compassionate and kind and generous.
Not once did I see so much as an eye-roll when one of their pint-sized guests threw a tantrum or took the last of the pasta or snuck into their room and finger-painted with their toothpaste.
Impossibly, I had over a dozen teenaged role-models for my children, every one of whom I could not have been happier for my children to emulate. I went to bed saying little prayers- Please, please, let my Littles turn out like these ones when they are teenagers. Please let the way these AFC kids study and do their chores and treat guests and one other become impressed upon the little minds of my children and stick there.
Perhaps the best part was simply seeing how they had become so entirely and irrevocably a family together. They joked around and hung out and worked together and sometimes argued, and stuck up for one another just like any siblings anywhere. Sitting at the dinner table each night and watching them take for granted that this was their home and their family nearly brought me to tears sometimes. Yes, I would think. Yes. This is what we'd hoped for, six years ago, isn't it?
I'm not taking credit for this, by the way. The credit goes to the founder, who made this home out of nothing. It goes to the program manager, who is pure gold in the world of program managers. Some goes to the AFC volunteers and supporters and donors everywhere who make it possible at the end of the day.
And most of all, it goes to each of those kids. They are breathing examples of strength and tenacity and faith. They are the seemingly impossible ideal of what a human being- any human being- can make of themselves if given the slightest opportunity.
They are- in a world where boston bombers and chicago kidnappers and hate crimes exist- my faith in the human heart and soul. My faith in the potential of the future.
I am so grateful to these children. What more important and valuable gift could be given than inspiration to be a better person, faith in goodness, and hope for my children's future? Knowing that the AFC kids are who they are out there in the world gives me exactly that.
It's a myth that the best role models are famous, old, and/or dead. The best one's I've found in all my travels, reading, and searching are always children. Especially these.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Brighter Side
There are more stories I've been mulling over posting, from our trip. But the trip was a long time ago now. So I'm thinking, maybe later. Maybe. I do want to share, on a personal note, what it was like to travel across the world with two Littles in a general sense.And then, people, we shall have to move on. Because life does and because the harder parts of the trip are hard to write about. Because there are some things that just don't turn out, quite, in words. The good parts, too.
So, for now, let me describe living with my kids for a month at a children's home in Ethiopia.
There were over 20 of us in the compound, which altogether is smaller than the footprint of my house and yard, one level. My friend was there too, with her own two littles. The six of us shared a room, sleeping on pads on the floor and sharing two big wool blankets. We all shared a bathroom with the staff and any visitors, and bathed the kids in the plastic tubs we washed clothes in. The kitchen was outside with the sun streaming
over the large family table each morning. The power went out sometimes, the water turned off sometimes (memorably the three nights in which one child or another woke up vomiting). There was smoke from the charcoal cooking fires, there were cats roaming and fighting with the dog. There was the sound of goats herding by, the ringing din of mosques calling devotees to prayer, and the smell of berbere and coffee always on the air. There were a couple baby dolls and some crayons we had brought, but (keep in mind the kids at the home are all older than 12 now) there were no toys. Pretty much as different from home as it could be.
It was awesome.
Here is the reason:
There was fresh bread and real honey and hand roasted/ground coffee each morning, brewed exactly as it has been for centuries. That was enough reason for the whole trip, right there.
 |
| Grinding Fresh Coffee |
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| Heaven in a little cup. |
Despite what urban legend may have you thinking, the absolute fact is that children are much, much better traveling companions than adults. Fact!
Because adults get uncomfortable and whiny. Kids get creative.
-When the lights went out after dark- hide and seek! Flashlight tag!
-When the water turned off- who cares? Getting dirty is fun!
-Stray cats? You mean new buddies.
-And who needs toys when you have friends?
And dirt.
The kids had a blast. Every. Day.
They made magical gardens. 
They baked elaborate cakes.
They stole charcoal from old cooking fires and made murals
...and played hopscotch.
They played endless games of pretend everything.
They spent hours making mud. For the simple sake of making mud.
Not to mention the exciting sights and sounds when we went out and about.
I worried about the complete absence of "childproofing" sometimes. But there were quite a lot of watchful eyes around. And I couldn't help but think, every day as I watched them, that this life was somehow closer to the way childhood is just supposed to be, somehow.
They explored and imagined all day. And when school was out and the big kids came home?
There was an endless supply of friends willing to play tag, hide and seek, swing-me-up-in-the-air,
ring around the rosy, pony ride, race car, Ping pong, dance party, anything under the sun!
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| Dance Party! |
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| Ping Pong Champions |
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| Little One LOVED Her "Fancy Hair" |
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| Ponies |
Or to sit quietly and read.
Little One missed a month of school and I admit I did nothing formally to "homeschool" her on this trip. But she found so many teenagers eager to practice English with her, that She spent hours and hours writing words, then lists, then stories, and practicing reading and simple math. When we returned home her teachers were floored by her new skills.
When we left the US she was reading five letter words and writing some three letter ones. When we got home she was reading seven letter words in paragraphs and writing two page, phonetic stories. And subtracting on paper. I did none of that. It was the joy of learning together.
 |
| Word Games |
They were allowed to wear whatever they chose and get as dirty as they pleased. The nannies could be easily cajoled into feeding them whenever they wanted. And since all the food was all organic, sugar-free, made from scratch, and- thanks to fasting season- allergy friendly, I had no qualms about looking the other way. When they got tired they slept. When they woke, they played. It was child paradise.
No wonder Little One looked like this as we were about to depart.
It took Her weeks to forgive me for leaving. Missy seems just as happy to be here, there, or anywhere, as long as my hip is present. But Little One seemed to find Her place in the world on that trip. She misses Her AFC friends dearly, as do I. We miss the food, we miss the company, we miss the way days stretch out long enough to lay in the sun and count birds.
On one of the last nights, some new friends threw us a big goodbye party, complete with a feast of Ethiopian food, a traditional coffee ceremony, music and games and fun.
"Please", Little One whispered sleepily in my ear as I carried Her back to the compound, "Please can't we just live here? Daddy could come and we could all be a big family".
Under the big moon with the sound of all the kids laughing as we walked, I really wanted to say yes.
As hard as some of this trip was, it was also inspiring, relaxing, and a heck of a lot of fun. We are a Navy family and will probably never get to live in such a place. But part of my heart will always be there. And I hope with the rest of it that my Littles and I, and maybe even J, too, will be back to be blessed by the beauty of Ethiopia again.
My Inspriration On a Sick Day
He doesn't wear a cape.
He wears a baseball cap that used to be blue, I think. He wears a long-sleeved shirt that is thin and faded, as he appears to be himself. But it is washed and his navy slacks are also worn, but somehow spotless, as if immune to the dust they swung through on the way. He wears shiny leather shoes.
He mentioned in passing, answering another question, that his leg was sore. Just in passing, so it wasn't a big deal. But we were waiting around for the bus to take the families home from a group meeting, so to be polite I asked about it. I asked, if it wasn't embarrassing, could I see the leg?
He shrugged. He lifted the hem of his trousers, scrunching them up to his knee. I grit my teeth.
I asked him to wait. I went to the clinic and gathered some things. Through a translator we spoke to each other gently. He came and sat on the low rock wall where the clothes are washed, where the faucet gingerly rises from the dirt and the earth slopes towards a drain at the base of the compound wall. He is a very brave man. I know this because he did not flinch or cry out as I carefully pulled away the dead tissue, as I scraped the pus and the scabs from his wound, digging out the strip of cloth bound around his calf. His leg was swollen to over twice the size of the other. It was hot and red and festering. The infection had opened a gaping hole and I knew there was little I could do with first aid to help it. I asked him if he had ever changed the makeshift bandage, grown over now, which I was extracting from his shin.
He explained that he had children who were not infected with HIV, as he was, and he was afraid that if he changed or cleaned his wound, there would be blood, and he would expose them to the virus. To protect his children he had sacrificed his own health and comfort. I knew this was nothing new to him. He works nearly 24 hours a day, a toll visible in his wan face and the dark circles around his eyes. He is a guard. So for 20 hours a day, he must stand on that leg. Walk and patrol on that leg. Hide any trace of pain or malady lest he get fired for the state of that leg. He had suffered like that for many weeks. He does this because he must.
Some time ago, his wife- six months pregnant at the time- was at work collecting garbage at the large open air market, when she was attacked. A metal cart was thrown forcefully at her, tearing through her abdomen. She lost the baby. She very, very nearly lost her life. She still may. She recovers now at home- a structure made of boxes, metal scraps, and blue plastic tarp- and is unable to leave bed. Even if she lives it will be a long time before she can return to work. So her needs and those of their children depend on this father keeping that job- walking and standing without fail on that leg, day after day, without showing his pain. And day after day, he does it.
I did the best I could. I showed him how to clean his wound with water and disinfectant, how to bandage it with sterile dressings. We explained how to change and clean it so that his children would be safe. And then, which was difficult because I know his situation at home, I had to tell him that though I am not a doctor, I was fairly certain he would lose that leg if it wasn't treated by one very soon. He is a kind man. He is a calm man. He just nodded and thanked us and took his bundle of supplies. When he walked away I cleaned up the blood and the gauze and things and I thought about fortitude. I thought of him working hard, working though pain, working in the face of very little hope for anything but a long life of work and pain; doing it for love of his family. No one knows this man. He lives in a shanty in the middle of a city slum. He doesn't wear a cape. But if you ever want to know a real, true hero, I know where to find him.
**Updated to add: AFC has ensured that this gentleman is receiving medical care, are are trying to help him find another job which will be less painful. He participates in a community outreach program through the AFC organization.
He wears a baseball cap that used to be blue, I think. He wears a long-sleeved shirt that is thin and faded, as he appears to be himself. But it is washed and his navy slacks are also worn, but somehow spotless, as if immune to the dust they swung through on the way. He wears shiny leather shoes.
He mentioned in passing, answering another question, that his leg was sore. Just in passing, so it wasn't a big deal. But we were waiting around for the bus to take the families home from a group meeting, so to be polite I asked about it. I asked, if it wasn't embarrassing, could I see the leg?
He shrugged. He lifted the hem of his trousers, scrunching them up to his knee. I grit my teeth.
I asked him to wait. I went to the clinic and gathered some things. Through a translator we spoke to each other gently. He came and sat on the low rock wall where the clothes are washed, where the faucet gingerly rises from the dirt and the earth slopes towards a drain at the base of the compound wall. He is a very brave man. I know this because he did not flinch or cry out as I carefully pulled away the dead tissue, as I scraped the pus and the scabs from his wound, digging out the strip of cloth bound around his calf. His leg was swollen to over twice the size of the other. It was hot and red and festering. The infection had opened a gaping hole and I knew there was little I could do with first aid to help it. I asked him if he had ever changed the makeshift bandage, grown over now, which I was extracting from his shin.
He explained that he had children who were not infected with HIV, as he was, and he was afraid that if he changed or cleaned his wound, there would be blood, and he would expose them to the virus. To protect his children he had sacrificed his own health and comfort. I knew this was nothing new to him. He works nearly 24 hours a day, a toll visible in his wan face and the dark circles around his eyes. He is a guard. So for 20 hours a day, he must stand on that leg. Walk and patrol on that leg. Hide any trace of pain or malady lest he get fired for the state of that leg. He had suffered like that for many weeks. He does this because he must.
Some time ago, his wife- six months pregnant at the time- was at work collecting garbage at the large open air market, when she was attacked. A metal cart was thrown forcefully at her, tearing through her abdomen. She lost the baby. She very, very nearly lost her life. She still may. She recovers now at home- a structure made of boxes, metal scraps, and blue plastic tarp- and is unable to leave bed. Even if she lives it will be a long time before she can return to work. So her needs and those of their children depend on this father keeping that job- walking and standing without fail on that leg, day after day, without showing his pain. And day after day, he does it.
I did the best I could. I showed him how to clean his wound with water and disinfectant, how to bandage it with sterile dressings. We explained how to change and clean it so that his children would be safe. And then, which was difficult because I know his situation at home, I had to tell him that though I am not a doctor, I was fairly certain he would lose that leg if it wasn't treated by one very soon. He is a kind man. He is a calm man. He just nodded and thanked us and took his bundle of supplies. When he walked away I cleaned up the blood and the gauze and things and I thought about fortitude. I thought of him working hard, working though pain, working in the face of very little hope for anything but a long life of work and pain; doing it for love of his family. No one knows this man. He lives in a shanty in the middle of a city slum. He doesn't wear a cape. But if you ever want to know a real, true hero, I know where to find him.
**Updated to add: AFC has ensured that this gentleman is receiving medical care, are are trying to help him find another job which will be less painful. He participates in a community outreach program through the AFC organization.
Friday, May 17, 2013
Cinderella Got Nothin.
This is a true story.
There was once a little baby born into difficult circumstances. But she survived them and grew into a little girl. Her parents died and she and her siblings were left alone with their grief. Vulnerable, this girl was subjected to horrors that most of us can never imagine. I could write them down here. I could spell them out and describe them, and still most of us could never imagine, understand, begin to fathom the things that happened to this small girl.
But she survived.
Only, she was given a curse.
(Still a true story.)
It was said that this curse was only for those who made devilish choices or who had been evil and punished.
But remember, she was a little girl, that's all. She didn't make any of those choices- she hadn't been allowed many choices at all- and there was nothing evil about this child who smiled shyly and always had gentle comfort for anyone in need.
Still, she was given this curse and made to live with it, and all the stigma and ostracism and hatred that rained down on her from those around her who became terrified of her. Of her, a little girl. She was turned away and hurt by her own relatives and community.
This happened not so long ago, but it was a time and place where this curse called HIV was still a mystery that gripped villages and families with terror. Fear so often breeds cruelty.
Her brother saw her suffer, he saw her health begin to fail, and he tried to find her someplace safe. She was only eight years old.
He asked at the crowded institutions at the city, but he was turned away. Eight? She's too old. She wouldn't be adopted; no one would want an eight year old. HIV? That child? She'll never make it. We can't waste precious few resources on a kid who isn't going to live. Doors were closed, and closed. By the time they found one that opened to her, she was in a precarious state.
But- can you believe it? A lot of people couldn't, but it's true- she survived again.
And in this new place our girl found something amazing. It wasn't just safety and a good decent try at saving her life; it was a place to belong. A place where she was told something that, I think, maybe she had always known in her heart; that she had a right to a future. To hope, to dream, to be a part of the big world and to matter to it.
In this place she went to school and quickly excelled. So much so that she was given scholarships to the fancy private school, where she rose to the top of her class. She excelled in science but also in art. She used her talents to advocate for other children who suffered, and her art can be seen around her capital city on billboards promoting the safety and rights of all little girls.
Her advocacy didn't stop there. She spoke to other children with HIV, she spoke to groups of adults, she wrote essays on what it is to be a child living with HIV. She was selected to represent all the children of her country at a major UNICEF event, speaking with the eloquence of an expert before her prime minister and high diplomats from all over the world.
When another child joined her new home who was deaf, our little girl learned sign language and traveled with that child to the US, serving as an interpreter. Translating the signs into words, translating those words from her native language to English.
She has helped to decorate children's rooms in hospitals, to make their burdens easier to bear. As she's grown she has volunteered at camps for orphaned children, sharing the hope that never perished from her own heart. She volunteers at one of the largest institutional homes for HIV positive children in her country, tutoring and mentoring children; she shows them that if they never give up, they can be like her one day.
Like her. A little girl who is growing into a young woman full of life and laughter. A young woman with many friends and an international legion of admirers for her unfailing optimism and integrity, her unending compassion and capacity to give. Who has so completely succeeded and excelled at not only surviving, but at her education, at being part of a family, at becoming a wonderful person, at changing the world around her.
And she will change it more as she grows. She has just received acceptance and scholarship funds to an excellent pre-med program in North America, and is determined to become a doctor to serve those most in need. After all the triumph she has carved out of adversity, who could ever doubt that she will do exactly that?
This is the story of a quiet, unassuming little girl who was given a curse. But, through the strength of her own character, managed to crush it in her small hands, squeeze the fear from it, and reshape it into a life of purpose, a beacon of hope to others.
But that's why I'm telling you this story. I'm hoping you will be inspired by our little girl.
I'm hoping you will be about five dollars inspired. Because even though her tuition has been covered by well-deserved scholarships, she still needs room and board, books, and a plane ticket across an ocean to reach her dream. She needs about $5000 for each of her four years. It is a terrible lot for a young lady who is rich in ability but financially has nothing.
If you take five minutes to throw a few (tax-deductible) dollars into the scholarship fund for this amazing young lady, just imagine the ripples you will create as she continues to change and inspire and heal the world she moves through.
This story started out as a tragedy, didn't it?
For the tragedies someone has helped you overcome, for the opportunities someone has helped to provide you with, for the love of investing in a karma account with a guaranteed high return, I hope you will be inspired.
To help the story have a happy ending.
To Donate Directly to Her College Fund:
Write a check made out to: Artists For Charity
Write the account number (2000026141718) and "College Fund" in the memo line.
Mail to:
Wells Fargo Bank
PO Box 5629
Portland, OR 97228-5629
US donors may wire funds to Wells Fargo using Routing #: 121000248
Account Name: Artists For Charity
For international wires, the bank name is listed as:
Wells Fargo, N.A. San Francisco, CA
Account #: 2000026141718
SWIFT code: WFBIUS6S
There was once a little baby born into difficult circumstances. But she survived them and grew into a little girl. Her parents died and she and her siblings were left alone with their grief. Vulnerable, this girl was subjected to horrors that most of us can never imagine. I could write them down here. I could spell them out and describe them, and still most of us could never imagine, understand, begin to fathom the things that happened to this small girl.
But she survived.
Only, she was given a curse.
(Still a true story.)
It was said that this curse was only for those who made devilish choices or who had been evil and punished.
But remember, she was a little girl, that's all. She didn't make any of those choices- she hadn't been allowed many choices at all- and there was nothing evil about this child who smiled shyly and always had gentle comfort for anyone in need.
Still, she was given this curse and made to live with it, and all the stigma and ostracism and hatred that rained down on her from those around her who became terrified of her. Of her, a little girl. She was turned away and hurt by her own relatives and community.
This happened not so long ago, but it was a time and place where this curse called HIV was still a mystery that gripped villages and families with terror. Fear so often breeds cruelty.
Her brother saw her suffer, he saw her health begin to fail, and he tried to find her someplace safe. She was only eight years old.
He asked at the crowded institutions at the city, but he was turned away. Eight? She's too old. She wouldn't be adopted; no one would want an eight year old. HIV? That child? She'll never make it. We can't waste precious few resources on a kid who isn't going to live. Doors were closed, and closed. By the time they found one that opened to her, she was in a precarious state.
But- can you believe it? A lot of people couldn't, but it's true- she survived again.
And in this new place our girl found something amazing. It wasn't just safety and a good decent try at saving her life; it was a place to belong. A place where she was told something that, I think, maybe she had always known in her heart; that she had a right to a future. To hope, to dream, to be a part of the big world and to matter to it.
In this place she went to school and quickly excelled. So much so that she was given scholarships to the fancy private school, where she rose to the top of her class. She excelled in science but also in art. She used her talents to advocate for other children who suffered, and her art can be seen around her capital city on billboards promoting the safety and rights of all little girls.
Her advocacy didn't stop there. She spoke to other children with HIV, she spoke to groups of adults, she wrote essays on what it is to be a child living with HIV. She was selected to represent all the children of her country at a major UNICEF event, speaking with the eloquence of an expert before her prime minister and high diplomats from all over the world.
When another child joined her new home who was deaf, our little girl learned sign language and traveled with that child to the US, serving as an interpreter. Translating the signs into words, translating those words from her native language to English.
She has helped to decorate children's rooms in hospitals, to make their burdens easier to bear. As she's grown she has volunteered at camps for orphaned children, sharing the hope that never perished from her own heart. She volunteers at one of the largest institutional homes for HIV positive children in her country, tutoring and mentoring children; she shows them that if they never give up, they can be like her one day.
Like her. A little girl who is growing into a young woman full of life and laughter. A young woman with many friends and an international legion of admirers for her unfailing optimism and integrity, her unending compassion and capacity to give. Who has so completely succeeded and excelled at not only surviving, but at her education, at being part of a family, at becoming a wonderful person, at changing the world around her.
And she will change it more as she grows. She has just received acceptance and scholarship funds to an excellent pre-med program in North America, and is determined to become a doctor to serve those most in need. After all the triumph she has carved out of adversity, who could ever doubt that she will do exactly that?
This is the story of a quiet, unassuming little girl who was given a curse. But, through the strength of her own character, managed to crush it in her small hands, squeeze the fear from it, and reshape it into a life of purpose, a beacon of hope to others.
But that's why I'm telling you this story. I'm hoping you will be inspired by our little girl.
I'm hoping you will be about five dollars inspired. Because even though her tuition has been covered by well-deserved scholarships, she still needs room and board, books, and a plane ticket across an ocean to reach her dream. She needs about $5000 for each of her four years. It is a terrible lot for a young lady who is rich in ability but financially has nothing.
If you take five minutes to throw a few (tax-deductible) dollars into the scholarship fund for this amazing young lady, just imagine the ripples you will create as she continues to change and inspire and heal the world she moves through.
This story started out as a tragedy, didn't it?
For the tragedies someone has helped you overcome, for the opportunities someone has helped to provide you with, for the love of investing in a karma account with a guaranteed high return, I hope you will be inspired.
To help the story have a happy ending.
To Donate Directly to Her College Fund:
Write a check made out to: Artists For Charity
Write the account number (2000026141718) and "College Fund" in the memo line.
Mail to:
Wells Fargo Bank
PO Box 5629
Portland, OR 97228-5629
US donors may wire funds to Wells Fargo using Routing #: 121000248
Account Name: Artists For Charity
For international wires, the bank name is listed as:
Wells Fargo, N.A. San Francisco, CA
Account #: 2000026141718
SWIFT code: WFBIUS6S
Friday, May 3, 2013
Healing Arts
Like Little One, AFC's founder is a force of positive energy.
This hospital project began with her scrubbing walls, with the help of one of the AFC kids who has grown up and trained as a painter. Then came me and my kids. Then some of our founder's friends came to see what she was up to. They ended up sponsoring the cost of the paint, they ended up rolling up their sleeves and pitching in.
Some of the nurses in their white coats joined us. Friends brought friends, AFC donors heard and came to see, and stayed to help.
The AFC kids became a fleet of artists, cutting out vinyl butterflies and painting rainbows. They brought their friends.
Random hospital visitors gave their phone numbers and asked to be invited to help on future projects. Some of the patients themselves joined us, making their own environment better, proving that everyone has something to give.
They were amazed. They thanked us
and oohed and ahhhed. The little patients gave
ideas and directed the placement of cartoon animals. A little to the left, where I can see it from
my bed. A little lower, where a small
child could see it. It became a colorful
fabric of community for us all to hold on to together. To bring people closer, lift them up a
little. 
It was just a little paint. A little paint in the middle of a kind of hell. But it mattered.
But it showed that a little bit of caring can plant smiles in the most unlikely places.
It can cultivate hope in a barren landscape.
Some things about the hospital experience were very hard. But if a person living there for days, weeks, and months can find laughter in a painted rainbow, I have no right not to.
This project is ongoing. Since we left Ethiopia, AFC has continued to paint rooms and distribute smiles. AFC hopes that the success of the project will inspire more hospitals to allow us to enliven the children's wings, and that this project will grow and grow. There are plans to send in teams of volunteers on an ongoing basis to the rooms that have been finished, to touch them up, wash them off, and remind people that we care. If it sounds like fun to you, visit the volunteer page on the website and send an email.
I can pretty well guarantee you one of the hardest and best experiences of your life.
The time I spent on this project reminded me of something I try to keep in mind, in a world that stereotypes and tries so often to see in only black and white; here on earth there is no heaven. There is no hell. People ache and suffer in the most "perfect" and rich environments; and there is beauty and joy in the poorest and most difficult. There are devils in the dreamlands, and there are certainly angels in the nightmarish places. In the end it all just runs together, a great swirl of good and bad wherever you go, whoever you may be. Far from black and white. A sea of color.
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