Into Africa

On December 29, 13 of us will travel to Nairobi, Kenya for our third, and final shoot in slums for the slum documentary film we're working on.

We have already tracked individuals living in slums in Asia and Latin America. The final piece of the puzzle lies in Africa.

I used to live in Kenya, so have a lot of contacts there. We'll be working closely with Pastor Shadrack Ogembo, Pastor Daniel Ogutu, and a new friend, Father Ted Hochstatter.

Ogutu and Ogembo have been friends of mine since 1985 when I first went to live in Kenya after my Jr. year in college. We'll be doing pro-bono work for all three of these men, like we did in Manila. Plus we'll be shooting stories for the slum documentary.

Pastor Daniel is my main contact for finding just the right family for the documentary. He has already sent me some pictures--the ones you see in this blog--of people he feels will help us capture the story of the one billion people living in slums.

So far, they are just faces in a picture. No personalities, no names, no family histories. The beauty of this project is taking anonymous folks like this, taking jpgs, and having the privilege of discovering who they really are. And helping our viewers discover that too.

For the last few months, our team of 13 has been through quite a bit together. We've done fund raisers, students have written letters asking for support, and we've planned things out. Now the funds are in and sufficient to make this trip happen. We're excited to create publicity materials for three different groups working among the poor in Nairobi, as well as get the material we need to create this documentary.

Please keep an eye on this space over the next few weeks as I'll be putting stories here of what we discover, who we discover, and what we learn about what I'm starting to refer to as "The Fourth World," the world of slums.

LONG-Term Disaster

CRWRC works under the name of GenAssist here in Banda Aceh in Indonesia. They came almost immediately after the Tsunami of December 26, 2004. They’re just wrapping up now.

The other night, GenAssist threw a huge party at one of the universities here in Aceh. 500 or so people showed up, the governor of the region, the mayor, other important government officials, some impressive dance troupes, musicians, food and drink were served, and for 3.5 hours, these people remembered what happened, and celebrated all the good work done by Muslims and Christians—working together—for the past 4.5 years.

When disasters hit an area, they tend to hit the news headlines pretty hard too. We probably all remember the Tsunmai, the massive earthquake in China, the chemical explosion in India some years ago, Chernobyl. But once the headlines fade away, so do our thoughts of the event.

This celebration was a powerful reminder that tragedies linger. For years. For the people of Aceh, the Tsunami will not be a distant memory for the next few generations. You can’t drive very far through this city without seeing a monument, a plaque, an escape building, a mass grave, and be reminded that this Tsunami was for the people of Aceh what Hiroshima/Nagasaki was for the Japanese a few generations ago. It forever changed them.

Seeing that celebration also made me realize that organizations that go in, claim the limelight while it’s there, then leave, would be better off never showing up in the first place. It’s quite possible that they do more harm than good.

CRWRC goes in for the long haul. They stick it out until the job is done, or at least until the infrastructure and talent is in place to keep things moving toward restoration.

Here in Aceh, they’ve built houses, trained thousands of people to have new livelihoods, worked with government leaders, and are leaving a very qualified and gifted group of people behind to tie up any loose ends in the months and years to come.

So even though the headlines left years ago, and our memories faded fast on the devastation of this Tsunami, my little blog is one attempt to bring to light the fact that this tragedy isn’t over yet. For the people of Aceh, it’s a daily reality. For CRWRC, it’s now a job well done.

As a footnote, CRWRC has just applied for a large grant to help them get started in Southern Sudan where a tsunami of war, violence, starvation and, dare we say it? Genocide? is under way. It will be interesting to see how long they stay there after the headlines fade away.

I suspect they’ll be there awhile.

The Photograph

We interviewed several people today and asked them to tell their story of what happened on Decemember 26, 2004, the day of the great Tsunami.

Ihya’s story goes like this:

He lived near the ocean and heard of what was coming. He grabbed their young son in one arm, and his wife was hanging onto the other arm. They ran—literally ran—for their lives away from the ocean.

As they ran, he looked back and “saw a mountain of water behind us.” They kept running, looked back again and saw the mountain coming closer.

His son was ripped from his arms, then his wife. He went unconscious and when he came too, saw he was near a roof a building. He grabbed hold but then that building collapsed.

Somehow he managed to survive.

Just before the Tsunami hit, Ihya’s parents made the pilgrimage to Mecca. Before they left, they took a picture of their son, his wife, and their son. That picture was in the camera they took with them to Saudi Arabia. It’s one of the only things Ihya has left to remember his family by. He had the photo enlarged and brought it out to show to us.

CRWRC, the organization that has worked here for the past four years, has helped Ihya, and hundreds and hundreds more just like him, aquire housing and meaningful work since the Tsunami. Seeing Ihya in his new home, and hearing him talk of the girl he’s now dating and hopes to marry, makes me realize that hope can emerge from such a dark story.

Religion

Grand Rapids, Michigan, where I used to live, is known as a city of churches. There’s one on every corner. Banda Aceh, on the tip of Sumatra here in Indonesia, is a city of mosques. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many mosques in one place. Green domes, gold domes, silver domes, multi-colored domes, black domes. They are beautiful to look at and there’s something haunting about the call to prayer.

Our guide and driver, Yassir, is a Muslim. Today when we finally broke for lunch, we were just sitting down when he asked to be excused for “about 10 minutes.” It was time for prayer. That’s devotion.

Garuda Airlines, one of Indonesia’s airline companies, has an in-flight magazine. The current issue has two full pages, prominently displaced just before the maps in the back of the magazine, giving “Invocations” to all so we can pray before the flight takes off. These invocations are offered in a variety of languages, but I’ll just give you the English, exactly as printed in the Garuda magazine:

Islam:

We seek the help of Allah, the most Gracious, the Most Merciful… Who has bestowed upon us the will and ability to use this aircraft without Whom we are helpless. Verily, to God alone, we worship and to God alone we shall return. Oh Allah, shower us with Your blessings and protect us on this journey from any hardship or danger and protect also out family and our wealth.

Protestant:

Lord in heaven, we praise and thanks of thy bless and endless love in our live. In this opportunity, we call They holly nname to accompany our journey. We believe Thou will guard and protect our plane from any disturbance and danger. To the all air crew, Thou will lead their duty in order for us to arrive in destination in time and save. Thank you for Thy help and firm love from beginning, now, and forever, In the name of Yesu Christ, we pray, Amen.

Catholic:

In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, Amen. Long Ago You save the children of Israel who crossed the sea with dry feet. And three wise kings from the East received Your command with the guidance of a star. We beg You. Bless us with a safe trip, with good weather. Bless us with the guidance from your angels, so that the crew of this aircraft will lead us to our destination safely. We also hope that our family remain happy and peaceful until we land safely. Blessed be Your name, now and forever. Amen. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, Amen.

Hinduism:

Om Sanghyang Widhi Wasa the Greatest, all wealth and intelligence comes from your blessings. Keep our minds and manners pure and let us attain inner peace and happiness.

Buddhism:

Praise be to Sang Bhagavca, the Pure. One who has attained enlightment (3x)

Let All Creature live in happiness in accordeance to Your will. (Paritta Suci).

Confucian

In The Name of TIAN, The God Almighty. In The Highest Place. Under the guidance of our Prophet Kong Zi. Be Honor. SHANG DI, The Supreme God. Please be your guidance for all the airline crews. So they can perform their job accordingly. Please bless us all. So that we can arrive at our destination savely. And so to unite with our beloved family.

Rebuilding Banda Aceh

On December 26, 2006, a tsunami raced through the Bay of Bengal and killed over 260,000 people. Many of those victims were on the northern tip of the Island of Sumatra in Indonesia.

Since then, CRWRC (Christian Reformed World Relief Committee) has spent millions of dollars to put lives and communities back together. That’s not so unusual. CRWRC does that. What’s rather unique about this story is that Banda Aceh (pronounced A-chay), the community at the tip of Sumatra—the one that got hit hardest by the tsunami—is a Muslim community.

Next week I’m going to Banda Aceh to help CRWRC tell the story of what they’ve been doing since the tsunami hit.

It’s not part of the slum documentary, but yet it is. It’s a story about people who are “down on their luck,” people who needed a hand—and got one. Slum dwellers often don’t get that helping hand. Because their needs are chronic and never ending, we tend not to notice. But when a tsunami hits and takes out a couple hundred thousand people, we notice.

I’ll write about my experiences on these pages and tell some of the stories of the people I meet. I hope you’ll forgive me for using the Slum Doc blog to tell a different kind of story here.

On another note: I love fine coffee. My favorite is Sumatra from Starbucks. I’ll see what I can find on Sumatra J

Impunity

A woman was murdered here last night.

In Guatemala, that’s not so unusual. Last year, 620 women were murdered, and not one person was brought to justice over it.

While filming in Guatemala, we are staying at a seminary, the largest in Latin America. It’s a beautiful oasis in a violent city. High walls surround lovely green areas, well-manicured lawns, well-kept buildings and engaging students.

We left the compound at 8 a.m. for our day of shooting. At 7:30 a.m., the woman who cleans the rooms, makes sure the towels are fresh and who keeps the guest comfortable, was dropped off right in front of the main gate of the seminary.

A student who lives across the street was an eye witness to what happened next.

The cleaning woman (who’s name I do not know) alighted from the vehicle and moved toward the gate.

A car sped around the corner and a well-trained assassin leaned out the window with his pistol and shot the woman in the head.

The car sped off and the woman collapsed in the arms of her sister. She died soon after.

The eye witness said it was a well-executed operation by a well-trained person. Apparently it’s quite easy to hire such a person in Guatemala.

One of the seminary professors knew the woman quite well and she’s the one who told us about the 620 murders of the previous year. Trembling with anger and frustration, the professor told us that most likely, some routine paper work would be done on this murder and then it would be put in a file somewhere and would most likely never see the light of day again.

The professor talked of those who operate with “impunity.”

Seeing her anger and helpless frustration gave me an inkling of what the residents of La Limonada slum must feel at times. The Ministry of Justice building is an imposing structure (see photo) that stands literally on top of the ridge overlooking La Limonada. The task of the Ministry of Justice would be similar to the FBI in the USA. They are charged with investigating murders, suspicious deaths, etc. Being so close to La Limonada, a violent slum in a violent city, should be job security for them.

However, as we found out, what happens in La Limonada stays in La Limonada. According to those who live and work down in that deep ravine, murders that happen there are just not worth investigating by the Ministry of Justice.

At certain times of the day, the shadow of the Ministry building literally falls into the slum. But that’s about all the residents of the slum will get. Murders down there are not investigated.

Imagine being one of those residents and knowing that murderers can operate with impunity. Simply being a resident of La Limonada makes you unworthy of official protection. You’re on your own.

The United Nations says some characteristics of slums include lack of security of tenure, lack of security and lack of sanitation. For those in La Limonada, we could also add lack of rights.

Selma's War

I have never, ever, in my life, heard a story quite like Selma’s.

Imagine Job. You know, the guy in the Old Testament book of Job. Now add rape, sexual abuse, physical abuse and a severe beating with a machete, add a life-time of rejection by an alcoholic mother, being sold by her to the sex trade, a string of men who added to the rejection and abuse she felt, and you start to get an idea of what Selma’s story is all about.

Being a journalist, or in my case, a documentary film maker, opens up portals into stories and lives one could never enter otherwise. I remember interviewing a lovely woman in Sierra Leone who was finally, a few years after the war there, recovering her sanity. She was buried in a deep hole for days, was raped, assaulted, tortured, and made to hold the severed head of her aunt for hours on end. That happened during a war so in some bizarre, strange way, maybe the fact of war somehow lessens the horror of her experience for those that hear her story later.

But Selma’s story takes place in Guatemala. Today. The war officially ended in 1996 but even so, her story really had nothing to do with the “official” Guatemalan war.

When Selma finished telling her story to Tita and, in effect, to you the reader of this blog and eventual watcher of the film, Tita and Selma hugged each other tightly and they both wept for several minutes. It was a most holy moment there in Selma’s house. Iron sheets on a narrow spit of land on the side of the steep ravine that is La Limonada.

After catching my breath, Tita told me that Selma’s story is actually not that unusual. Women in Guatemala are abused and beaten all the time. “At least 50% of them,” she said.

I suppose poverty is a war of sorts. It assaults its victims and puts them in situations and predicaments that would seem unimaginable in peacetime. Selma, the men that beat her, the impoverished alcoholic mother, the men that used Selma when she was sold as a nine-year-old girl; all part of the violence of poverty.

Does it really have to be this way? In a world that generates so much wealth, does Tanya have to beg on that corner every day, and does Selma have to suffer so much?

Today, as I write this blog entry, Selma is experiencing yet another chapter in her life. She’s having surgery somewhere in Guatemala City to try and remove her cancer.

For her, the war goes on.