2nd and a half of 3 (or maybe 4?) -part camp series

While Elizabeth and I were sitting in the bright, lime-green Harmony “office” going over things this past week, I told her that some people had expressed interest in her story and would like some more information – especially about whether or not she’d made her decision about continuing with her work. So, before I do the next part of the 3- or 4-part series of things I’m doing on the camp, I thought I’d do a quick update on Elizabeth.

When we finished talking our “business” this past Wednesday and I started to ask her a few more personal, follow-up-to-the-story questions, she asked me to come walk with her - that she wanted to show me something. I thought it was so we could have a chance to talk privately without the others in the office overhearing her personal struggles. After about a 1 1/2 minute walk around the corner from Harmony, we came to a burnt out, roofless, crumbling-walls-falling-down 2-bedroom building. We’d barely had time to talk about her decision or anything else. This was where she used to live, she said. The group of people with disabilities on the camp had decided that they wanted to start learning Twi – the most commonly spoken Ghanaian language. Elizabeth helped to arrange an instructor for the classes. One day a couple of years ago she had a conference in Accra. While there, she received a message that there was a problem at her house on the camp; however, she couldn’t get back until late at night. It turned out that some people on the camp thought that, by making arrangements for people to learn the local language, she was encouraging Liberians to integrate into the Ghanaian society, and, as a result, she was hurting everyone's chances of getting resettled to the US – so they burnt her house as a warning. Luckily, she and her children weren’t home at the time – sadly, they lost all they owned. That's when she decided that for her and her family's safety, she'd move to the nearby town of Kasoa, where her rent is 60.00 Ghana cedis per month – that’s about $57.00.

In slowly walking back to Harmony and then accompanying me to where I needed to go for transport back to Accra, she told me she couldn’t easily leave Harmony or the work she’s been doing. She cares about the people she’s involved with, she’s known some of them for many years, and, for a couple of reasons, it wouldn’t be easy to hand it over. Primarily, she feels passionate about what she does and the people for and with whom she’s doing it; and also, there’s no one around who could reliably continue her work. So, her decision is to stay.

A couple of weeks ago (on the day that I describe in that last blog entry) she was doing what I do on those kinds of frantic days when I’m running around, feeling like I’m being played, sweating, feeling the thirst and the hunger and not knowing when I’ll get a chance to at least resolve those needs, and all the while wondering whether this running, worrying, sweating, etc. is just an ongoing exercise in futility - - - she was venting to someone who could be trusted and who would hopefully understand, she was letting off steam, expressing frustration and maybe expressing what she’d love to do that would give her peace at that very moment – while knowing that what she was talking about was something she really wouldn’t do.

I’m honored that this amazing woman trusts me.

2nd of 3 (or maybe 4?) -part camp series

Just to clarify, I’m not in a constant state of anger, frustration or depression. Some people were concerned from the last blog entry – but, in fact, I’m fine. The anger and frustration are just related to my involvement with the SMATVTC (and maybe a couple of other situations). Depression is not in the picture at all. I’ve got good people around me, making it possible to do what we do.

Elizabeth is one of these people. I’ve known her since 2004 when I first began working on the camp. She is somehow employed as a “volunteer” or something like that with UNHCR. So, she gets some compensation (I think it’s called a “stipend”, since she’s a refugee and can’t officially get a salary – but it’s possible I’m wrong on this, and it’s not the point, anyway) for work she does. When I first came to know her she was the contact person for the UN for work being done with people with disabilities on the camp. She was also one of the counselors at the women’s counseling center. At this time, she’s in charge of Harmony, an organization for people with disabilities on the camp, and which also teaches some vocational skills – sewing, baking, and I’m not sure what else – not just to people with disabilities, but to whoever’s interested. Through Harmony, there’s also an afternoon program for children with disabilities – mostly with multiple disabilities – and some of the other community children who are interested also can join these classes.

Years ago, we did well in dividing the work. Liliane Fonds, for which I was the mediator, helped people with disabilities under the age of 25 years. Elizabeth referred people in this category to me, and I referred older people to Elizabeth. We sometimes went to the orthopedic center together, occasionally met and discussed work – but we didn’t see each other too often at that time. Over those 3 ½ years of being “colleagues”, I didn’t get as much time with her or to know her as well as I have in the past year. I was busy with the deaf school and all else going on, and she was busy in the niche that she took care of.



Last year when I was moved back to Accra for Hope for Life and for following up with the SMATVTC and the deaf children still on the camp, the SMA lay person who was involved with Harmony was leaving and asked if I could also be involved there. Harmony gets monthly funding from Point Hope for the afternoon program that they have with the kids – it sounded great to me. It was a project already going on, already organized and already funded. And I’d be working with Elizabeth, who I already knew and respected, and with Thomas – who I also knew from years ago (his family had been killed in Liberia and he was in Ghana with his aunt; one day, on a trotro coming back to the camp from Accra, there was a nasty accident just in front of the camp – Thomas was the only one to survive, his aunt and all other passengers were killed. He wasn’t unharmed, though, and now walks with a slight limp and is unable to do hard, physical work – another story for another blog entry).

Thomas, in the Harmony office


The little group running Harmony (there’s a third man, slightly older and also with a disability), keep their project going. I don’t know all that’s involved, my focus is mostly on the afternoon program and being the link with Point Hope. Elizabeth is still the contact person for a lot of the people with disabilities on the camp. She’s always this calm, classy, simple and compassionate woman – yet strong and in-charge without being forceful about any of it. A beautiful mix – and a beautiful woman.



The last time I saw Elizabeth was 1 ½ weeks ago. I was coming to the camp, as we had planned, to discuss a few things, and to collect the monthly donation from Point Hope. She wasn’t at Harmony, which wasn’t strange – she’s often out for something the UN has called her to follow-up on. I had other things to do, so while calling her to let her know I’d be back, she rounded a corner, hurriedly walking my direction. We met and I’ve never seen her in this kind of “frantic mode”. Turns out the UN had called that morning and told her she needed to come immediately. When she arrived at the UN office, she was told she needed to gather 15 of the people from the groups for which she is responsible (the people with disabilities, women, and maybe some others), and tell them that they needed to come immediately that morning to the UN office for some kind of program/meeting/discussion.

Ah yes – the building up of people and the treating of people with dignity again. “We know you have no lives outside of us – so therefore, even though we’ve known of this meeting since last week – we will tell you to drop your lives and come running when we say RUN!!” And Elizabeth was running. And sweating. And not in her usual,calm, non-flustered mode. She was angry at being treated this way and yet having to respond. She was angry at being put in the position to treat 15 other people this way and then be on the receiving end of their justified anger at being treated as though they have no lives.

Money is needed to do relief work, but how it’s administered is just as important, if not more so, than the money itself. If projects are put into place, but people are treated as though they have no dignity and their daily lives have no importance, as though their only response when asked to “RUN!!” can be to reply, “how fast and how far?” – then how are we building up people who have been torn down by war, famine, disaster, whatever? When people are treated as though their lives have no value beyond the interaction they can have with a donor organization – then are we building up the essentials? Are we building up lives – restoring dignity, self-worth, self-esteem – qualities that are needed to be restored to give people a sense of control back into their lives?

Years ago money had been donated to UN to build a school. It didn’t matter how many schools were already in existence on the camp. It didn’t matter that most of these schools had staff in need of further training. It didn’t matter that most of these schools had no teaching materials, no textbooks, and a serious lack of educational supplies. It didn’t matter that yet another school wasn’t what was needed – and that the improvement of existing schools would actually bring up the quality of education received. So – a beautiful new school building was constructed - - - which then sat vacant for over 6 months because there was absolutely no need for it. The donors got their school. People on the ground were not consulted about the actual needs – people thousands of miles away decided what was needed and made sure they met the need that they had determined was the greatest.

About 2 years ago Elizabeth’s house on the camp burnt down. It could have been arson, or it could have been an accident. For safety, she moved to a nearby town, where just recently her rent has again come due. People usually need to pay their rent at least two years in advance – it’s a huge sum of money to come up with all at one time when you can barely make ends meet from month to month on the “stipend” that you’re allotted. Everyone has side things going on – little money- making efforts here and there. Still – it’s a struggle. This same day 1 ½ weeks ago after we met each other on the “road” and I then swiftly walked with the frustrated Elizabeth, she told me some of these struggles for rent (the landlord’s been coming and has given her a deadline and she has no idea where to turn) and getting by day-to-day. We got back to the Harmony office and she told me she’s also thinking of leaving her position – she’s had enough of being treated this way for practically no pay at all. I’ve seen her passionate about the people she’s involved with – going above and beyond most fully paid staff members. She cares and is involved with the lives she’s touching. But she also needs to think of her own health and her family (she was recently diagnosed with lumbar spondylosis and she also has 4 children).

I don’t know what her final decision will be – either way, she’s one of the people who has made my life and the things I do on the camp not only possible, but pleasant. Please keep her in your thoughts, hearts and prayers.

1st of 3 (or maybe 4?) -part camp series

I’m still involved with individuals, groups and organizations on the refugee camp – some inspire me and leave me standing in admiration of some wonderful people who I’ve known for the past 6 years. Some, often due to outside circumstances, organizations and individuals who have a say over situations and lives on the camp, leave me frustrated and pissed off. At other times, due to cultural attitudes towards people with disabilities, I find myself walking away from families, feeling thoroughly annoyed with the responses given and apathy shown towards their children with disabilities. Regularly I find myself reflecting on my role here, on the role of most “relief” agencies, and on the benefits/harm of relief money sent “for the needy”. Will I get into that in this blog entry? Hmmmm. The electricity just went out (again, ai yai yai – it’s off more than it’s on these days, which in the past wouldn’t have mattered, but these days, with the dependency that’s been created for all our electronic devices – computers for record keeping and most other administrative work and communication (. . . and and and) and cell phones especially – it makes it extremely difficult to get things done when the electricity is off. Office days are planned, but the electricity goes off that day so nothing can be done and it’s too late to make other plans/arrangements. And/Or, the electricity is off for a few days in a row, and all cell phones die.) so, even if I do get into it in this blog entry, it’ll have to wait until the electricity goes on again and I have a chance to continue. Ugggh.

*****************************

OK.

Electricity is back on, so I continue.

When I was involved with life on the camp on a daily basis, fatigue and extreme, out-of-control emotions were regular parts of my life. I remember a good friend giving me a DVD of Bridges of Madison County and in the first 5 minutes tears were already rolling down my face. My friend was confused – why was I already crying – nothing emotional had happened. And yet, in my mind, it had – somehow maybe I knew what was intended from the movie (tearjerker) or I already figured the direction it was going to go and end up – I don’t know. But I cried in those first few minutes and experienced regular tear showers for the next 2 or so hours. When alone during those years on the camp, at the end of the day, thinking about stuff, emotions were running high and tears were often threatening, sometimes falling.

I had a flashback to those days just a couple of weeks ago.

Last year, when I was moved down to Accra, I was asked to follow up with the SMA Technical and Vocational Training Center (SMATVTC) in Buduburam. [Here's a brief history of the SMATVTC (with a few editorial comments): It was begun in 2002 (or maybe 2001 or 2003). In 2005, several staff members and one of the founding lay missionaries went to Liberia to open a branch of the school there. About 1 ½ years ago half of the remaining staff also went back to Liberia. Nine of the original staff people chose to stay behind, believing the school could – and should - continue, that there was still a need for it and students would come. Sadly, that’s not what happened. UNHCR (United Nations High Commission for Refugees) also opened a vocational school – and . . . it was free. Ah, what a great way to build up people’s dignity and self-respect – give them a sense that they can’t earn something on their own – that they need yet another handout. And what a way to build up community by driving out other organizations that are offering similar services by offering these things for free. How messed up is that?]

So – for the past year I’ve been working with the vocational school. It’s maybe 5% – 10% of what I do – and yet it takes up a disproportionate amount of heart-space. I’ve known the people who are still there since I began on the camp in 2004 – they literally laid the foundation for the school. They are among the people who built it up from the ground. And they have stood by it – they believed in its relevancy and its importance to life on the camp and to building up individuals. And I have an incredible amount of respect for these people who have stuck with it.

I was asked by SMA to become involved and see how best to continue what lay missionaries before me had started. But – in addition to difficulties getting students due to the free vocational school, problems related to the land also entered the picture. And to be frank, I can’t even begin to explain a lot of this stuff – the land belongs to the Archdiocese, but the buildings and all other resources still housed in these facilities belongs to SMA. Something like that anyway.

I’m more concerned about these 9 people. They have been dedicated to the school and to the Liberian community. And when I arrived a year ago, it was already being discussed what to do with the school. The person assigned to this task was extremely busy with his responsibilities – he was an SMA priest working on the other side of the world from the camp and in reality didn’t have much time to dedicate to the situation. So I came in. (In a way there’s not that much choice sometimes in what we get involved with as missionaries. A few years ago the Regional Superior – he’s our local bossman – said something jokingly to me and I told him that I wouldn’t do whatever it was. He told me that I’d signed something about obedience to him. And I told him something along the lines of: “Hell no. I would never have signed anything like that.” When I got back home and dug out my contract, dusted it off, removed the gecko and frog droppings, I found that in fact I had signed something like that. Yikes. What was I thinking? I guess I’m just too trusting about some things (even though in other things I have HUGE trust issues – a topic for another blog entry, which – trust me – will never happen). I might have read and been aware of the obedience part but I never suspected I’d be asked to do something totally wrong or, more accurately, totally against what I believe. I’m not saying that’s what happens – I’m just saying that I guess I also believed that the obedience meant that we’d have dialogue. If I’d been less naïve I’d have realized that obedience and dialogue are not exactly synonymous. Fortunately, though, this has never been an issue - and, in fact, dialogue does take place and blind obedience isn't what's expected.) Anyway – this seemed clear enough – meet with the staff that remained and figure out the future of the SMATVTC. The staff and I discussed their goals for the school and for themselves – they sincerely wanted it to keep running – but also were coming to accept the reality that this was a major struggle when there was free training being offered elsewhere. Students weren’t coming to register.

Hoy. What to do. The staff wanted the school to become registered and to fall under the Ghanaian system. They looked into it and found out details, and suggested offering scholarships to students – I forget the exact numbers, but the numbers got whittled down to maybe 150 students (the school offered training in: auto mechanics, tailoring, plumbing, drafting, electrical engineering, construction/masonry, IT, soap making, and more). A large sum of money was needed for this – I forget exactly, but want to say around $15,000 (this was after much cutting out of things - some materials needed to be replaced because when the other groups went back to Liberia they needed to take supplies with them - so along with the scholarships was a list of needs to build the school up a bit, again). And I thought, "wow – these people are crazy amazing – they’re so dedicated to this project – they want scholarships to be offered to students, get a student population present, and then be able to call in the officials to observe what is going on and then for these Ghanaian officials to accept the school as a valid vocational training center."

Other things were going on, though. The Archdiocese wanted the land. Other plans were in the making. The Regional at the time suggested instead of offering scholarships, it could be more realistic - and cheaper - to offer “resettlement packages” to the 9 staff members who remained – giving them a chance to have something to return to Liberia with and still hold up their heads in justified pride for their accomplishments.

The staff met on their own, discussed things, and realized the future of the school was limited as long as they weren’t able to register and as long as cheaper/free options were available nearby.

I want to skip through all the drama, because I see that I’m now on page 3 of a Word document.

I feel I’ve been the go-between for all that’s been going on. I’ve been meeting with these people who I respect immensely and have known for over 6 years. And I feel that we’ve been getting this non-stop run-around. I’m going back and forth. The SMATVTC staff jumps and responds to requests that are coming for so many things – inventories, assessments of assets, more inventories, proposals, blah blah blah. I take these where they need to go. Promises are made, suggestions are . . . uh, suggested – and sometimes for good reasons and other times no reason at all – delays arrive, I feel like runarounds are presented, and frustration (for me and the staff and others involved with this game being played at a higher level, beyond the pawns on the ground) abounds.

I feel like an ass. The staff has trusted me, and I’m the one who passes the constant delay messages onto them, the constant requests for additional information or different information. I thought this should be a quickly resolved thing – and yet it goes on . . . and on and on and on.

A little over a week ago I got a call from the Archdiocesan go-between that some of the classrooms were needed for something and we need to do an immediate inventory of what was there. And I’m so very tired of playing the “JUMP!” and “how high, kind sir?” game. So I didn’t play. I pissed off some of the other players.

After shouting at (ok, maybe not shouting, but just being very abrupt with) the person I was talking to, finally saying that my phone units were almost gone (because they were and I had just added Ghc 5.00!!, which means nothing to most people who are reading this), I cut the phone and told the people I was with (we were in the process of filming a sort of documentary for the Hope for Life project to be used in Holland and maybe other places for fundraising efforts – and our days were packed solid) who had just returned to where I was (they left me to do some filming when I had the call) that I really needed some #%*()$&@)$(*&# time and I was ($%&*#_$& so $(#)@&%@$#) hungry, thirsty and pissed off and blah blah blah. They had patience with me. I ate some grilled plantain and peanuts, and drank some water in silence for my late lunch, and we moved on – I was fine – it wasn’t related to the moment that I needed to be in.

Early the next week, the camera people agreed to taking a little detour from our schedule so we could stop by the camp and I could meet with the staff of the SMATVTC. The staff told me they did what was needed. They trusted me. They’ve been with me and they knew me and would do what was needed. Oh my goodness. These people whose lives have been played with for over a year, to whom I’ve been passing on promises and hope that their suggestions would be heard and so on – and yet it’s dragged on and on with more and more painful delays – they still trusted me? How the hell? The film people were with me as we drove away from the camp (the camp wasn’t a part of the documentary). I tried to explain a little of what was going on – but couldn’t.

The flashback. Tears wanted to come. They are coming now as I write about it. I really hate being in this position. I hate feeling like I’m being used in this way. Yet that’s where I am. I hate playing with people’s lives – not even knowing I’m a pawn in that game because I’m too stupidly naive. I really hate it. And I’m trying to get out of it – which isn’t fair to the guy I’m trying to pass it off to, or to the staff of the SMATVTC who can't just pass it off and run away (so, I probably won't pass it off entirely). I have a fear that this will end with these amazing and dedicated people getting absolutely nothing to show for their commitment. They will be left on the camp or go back to Liberia with nothing for all their years of devotion to the SMATVTC and to the Liberian community on the camp. I hate that I’ve been a part of this dehumanizing process.

*******
Anyway – this is already incredibly long – and I have some other stories I wanted to tell from the camp – but . . . I guess now’s not the time. I also wanted to include some photos, but my camera battery was dead the last time I went and met with the staff (that electricity problem mentioned above). But – I have a few photos for the next story about an amazing woman I’ve been working with while involved with people with disabilities on the camp - hopefully a less frustrating story than this one.