Haiti: the right blocks

There are so many things you take for granted. Even the most simple things you can think of. Having a flat street to walk on or drive on. Having water at the tap for your cooking or washing or flushing. Having electricity at the tip of your fingers, ready to light your room or run your stove or maybe even charge your phone. Having a clean space in which to live. Having air that is clean and free of disease-spreading mosquitoes. Having a roof above your had that will not fall down. And these are all good things. Not excessive.

Think of a place with none of these things (at least none that are reliable or wide-spread).

Now imaging driving down a street in this place in our city, in your worn, hand-me-down four wheel drive, slowing down now for the speed bump, now for the traffic jam, now for the small crack in the road, now for the pile of trash on the street, now for the pile of rubble on the street, now for the larger crack from the earth. What had started out as a scene of poverty (whose root causes are many including financial burdens from historical colonial powers, dictators, a history of coups, limited island resources with poor environmental management, and misguided intervening influences of external countries), this scene of poverty has taken an additional dive into the suffering seen from a natural disaster. An earthquake that shook all things. A ‘goudou’, one who took over two hundred thousand lives from this earth. The crack in the earth makes you look up, look to the right and left at the buildings. Concrete, almost fully. One standing, the next cracked and tilted, one pancaked with floor lying upon floor unevenly, one a pile of rubble. The next wall may have spray paint with ‘Adieu’ to a lost loved one.

In the midst of this destruction and poverty, there are many beautiful smiles, open hearts, and hopeful friends that you will meet.

As you head toward the small sliver of flat ocean that you can see in the not-too-far distance when standing on the staircase that goes nowhere, you walk across the field. Then a little girl comes up and takes your hand to walk with you. Later you learn that she is 11 years old and that her name is Victoria, and she tries to teach you a little Creole (kabrit, goat) as you converse a little in French. Her younger friend comes up and takes your other hand, and together they help you navigate through the field, by the stream, to the shade of the trees, and along the curved path to the shortest distance to the ocean, the mer. They are living in the IDP (Internally Displaced Persons) tent camp nearby. Alas, you do not make it to the sea this time, maybe next time.

In the little town of Ganthier (gan-thee-yay), a few hours east of Port-au-Prince, there is a small blue house with a red gate to create a good space, an open courtyard out front for playing, a space out back for the goats and pigs and chickens, and a great home inside for ten beautiful kids: five boys, five girls, all without parents, but all loved and raised by a lovely woman named Dada with the help of her sister and others. Dada is almost always busy, but always has time. She will offer you her bed to sleep in, and make you an unexpected pancake breakfast with eggs. As she serves breakfast to the kids, she will be singing, and she will keep singing when cooking or cleaning. If you ask, she will teach you her song, her prayer. Se pou gro roeh yo roule, se pou gro roeh yo roule, se pou gro roeh yo roule, aswa a. If there are big rocks in front of you, may they move away, tonight. Se pou malade yo geli, se pou malade yo geli, se pou malade yo geli, aswa a. If you have sickness, may it go away tonight. Se pou probleme yo resoul, se pou probleme yo resoul, se pou probleme yo resoul, kunye a. If you have problems, may they be resolved right now. You can remember this song, and sing it throughout your time, teach it to others, and bring it home with you, saved to memory in your heart. Sing it with the girls; they will like to hear you speaking Creole and will work more on their English with you. Mesi Dada, and thank you Larry.

As you take your turn with your partner, swinging the ten pound sledgehammer, counting out loud in Creole (which luckily is the same as counting in French), you start to think more about the story behind who lived at this house. It has a pretty big footprint, half of which is pancaked to the ground, the other side waiting for demolition. Was this the house where the woman escaped and only lost her toes? No, that was the one from yesterday. The hot sun is beating down and you’ve been working for five straight days. Then a bunch of folks round the corner: it is the whole of the Wenke family men coming to help sledge away, come to help in the rubbling process! They step up, and start swinging away, putting more force into each blow than you were, turning the concrete slab into tiny pieces, even when sometimes supported underneath. And they don’t want to give up their ‘turn,’ but rather keep on working. We talk some, learn that Wenke is actually the given name of the head of the family, and not the surname, as we had thought. After a time, and some good progress, the group heads off on their original journey, headed to work. And we return to ours at hand, with Hands On.

As you sit in the very back row of the packed church, trying to avoid the sun coming in the back window, but too close to the fan above to feel any of the artificial wind, dressed in your finest of your travel clothes, you will see the large choir file in and set up themselves at the front. A few minutes later they will erupt in song, and you will smile to hear it. Their voices are powerful, and about fifty strong. They do not need accompanying music, they stand on their own. They carry love in their voices. Joyeux mèveye.

At one time it had been an empty field. Then it had become a school, built up of river rocks and concrete and tin. It was a place where one hundred and fifty little kids would come to learn, happy for the privilege to be there. Then there came a day in January, at first no different than the last, but then like no other. The place had seen its own share of tragedy. The walls were no longer there, the rubble was cleared away. And in its place a temporary UNICEF tent had been erected so that school could continue in the spring. Now it is summer, and it is time to build a more permanent school before the fall comes. The Director of the school will be there everyday. As will the Second Director. Ready to help. Ready to swing the sledgehammer taking down the remnant concrete walls and posts, or move the wheel barrel full of rubbled concrete from the house next door to help form the base of the new foundation of the school (later to be filled with concrete to form a platform). Ready to work side by side with you, telling you their story in a mixture of English, French, and Creole. The kids will be nearby, also ready to pitch in where they can, helping to move parts of the UNICEF tent to the street to be later taken to its new location. Ready to save the intact blocks from the wall that just came down. Ready and eager to learn in the new, slightly bigger than originally-designed school, come September (if the build goes according to its new schedule).
Even the two little shy girls, hiding behind their mothers when you try to take their picture or video, even they are ready for school. Ready to change the statistic that only half of the population is literate, ready to change that statistic one person at a time.

This is Haiti, and these are Haitians. Our brothers and sisters in this one world we share. We are blessed to live where we do, to have been born where we were. We are all blessed to be in this world. And we are blessed to know one another.

Getting down to the base of things, removing one layer after another after another, this is a hard thing to do. It is hard to peel away what is not useful, hard to get rid of what is harming you (or could). But there is a wonderful opportunity there. Then you can rebuild using the right blocks.

Reference frames

S for Sudan. Now how often is it that you hear that one? Sure, S for Smith or Sunshine, or Sally, but certainly not for Sudan. Some of you might remember S for Shishapangma or Summit from past adventures of mine. Nor to you hear R for Rwanda very often either. Do we say M for Mexico, or C for Canada? B for Brazil, or is it rather B for Boy? Where do our thoughts lie? Is it for our surroundings, for the world around us, for those who may be Suffering? Or is it rather for those things that are in front of us every day. B for brother. A brother who is learning how to live, how to survive, how to not get dragged down by his thoughts or the world. Is it B for Brazil, for those suffering in Rio whose fragile homes have been destroyed by the rain, by the mud. P for Poland as they suffer their loss. Just a few thoughts for today. In a few weeks I get to head over to TKU, for Tanzania, Kenya, and Uganda.

Room to Read school: we did it!

Over the past two and a half years, through generous contributions of friends and family, and especially with the push over the past month, collectively we raised more than enough funds to build a school in Nepal--this is awesome! Below is a flavor of who you all are.


A little bit more about you


You may have been there at the first fundraising event I held way back in May of 2007 at the Tattered Cover in downtown Denver. You saw me give my first presentation about Room to Read, and got a better sense of who is behind Room to Read by seeing John Wood appear on Oprah.

Or maybe you were combing through all of your hours and hours videos from years of visits to Nepal, extracting the best shorts of kids playing or singing around their villages as they raised money to support their school. Working with me to edit the shots down to a few that would work well together.

Maybe you were the one who left the signed copy of John Wood’s book “Leaving Microsoft to Change the World” on the counter, ready for me to pick up and start to read when the power went out that one day in January, almost three years ago. Maybe you were the one who sat with me at Sherpa’s in Boulder, brainstorming many times about how to raise money, about how not to fall short, not to give up, but how to go the whole way and inspire people to act.

Maybe you were there at my Shishapangma slideshow, hearing about my adventures in “Higher Education.” Maybe you were the one who gave me the idea of the title “Higher Education.” Maybe you saw my film about Everest, and shivered with me as I climbed the Lhotse face or the Hillary step. Or maybe you sat with me during one of many video edit sessions, pushing me to tell the whole story, to tell the right story, to not be constrained by time, to continue to be creative.

Maybe you were the one who took me to see Room to Read’s work in Nepal firsthand, encouraging me to keep fundraising, even if it is hard. Just maybe especially because it is hard.

Maybe you gave a little money at the door of a show, maybe you gave me what you had in your back pocket at a party, or maybe you were able to dig really deep into your own pockets. Maybe you were able to get your company to put money toward our effort, maybe you designed your very own search engine that would continually bring in more money for Room to Read. Maybe you were the anonymous donor who matched funds this holiday season. Or maybe you were unable to give much financially, but instead spread the word in different ways. You interviewed me, wrote about the effort on your blog, talked about it with your friends.

You might be an MIT alum who’s heard my stories about climbing and Nepal over the years. Or you might be a 5th grader at Mesa Elementary in Boulder who saw a little of my adventures and saw more how to be creative and brainstorm yourself how you could hold a story contest or a bake sale or a read-a-thon to raise money from your fellow students. Maybe you were inspired to reach out to your fellow high school students in Rhode Island and as your senior project you raised money for the school in Nepal.

Maybe you saw me at a big Neptune or CMC show, maybe it was a smaller show in Dillon, or maybe it was a personal one at your or my house. Maybe you were part of that book club reading John’s book, and heard me talk about Room to Read and Nepal and the great experiences in all.

Maybe you are my best friend. Maybe I’ve known you since we were 14, maybe you’ve known me since I was born, maybe we’ve worked together, maybe we’ve climbed the highest peaks in far away countries together, maybe we’ve only recently connected. Maybe we’ve taught or skied or climbed outside together, maybe we’ve read and discussed and echoed inside together, sat eating foreign foods and dreamt ideas about how to help the world together, or wrote notes to each other, communicating the necessities on our silent meditation day. Maybe you were a stranger until you happened upon a show of mine, or someone forwarded an email about this project to you. Maybe we were friends and you have moved away physically, but not in our thoughts. You are my friends, you are my family.

You are one hundred and eighty persons strong and I thank each and every one of you. As Room to Read says, “World change starts with educated children.” Yes, but there is more. It begins in your heart. Thank you for being part of this.

Help build a school in Nepal!

Can you donate to help build a new school (and donate in November)?

During the month of November only, Room to Read has an anonymous donor who will match all on-line contributions. This is huge news. So, if you donate $100, $200 gets credited toward our project. If you donate $20, $40 gets credited. I am very excited about this opportunity, and I hope you are too.

Let’s use the matching opportunity to raise the rest of the funds during November. Could you donate $100 today? Can you donate more? If not, could you donate $25? Everything single dollar helps. Here’s what to do:

To donate and get credited toward the school (this is important), use this link: https://www.roomtoread.org/SSLPage.aspx?pid=184&source=PS-Hovland07
Donate by November 30 to double your money-go ahead and make a tax deductible donation today. Once you click the link, select the amount you want to donate, put in your billing and payment information, and you’re done!

Please email me if you donate so I can make sure it gets counted toward the school

Namaste,
Val

Stories about education from Nepal (spring 2008)

There were five of us crammed into a tiny little white car, journeying a few hours into the countryside of Nepal, just outside Kathmandu. We were going to visit a few schools and libraries that Room to Read has created over the past decade. ‘We’ included Rajeev, in charge of libraries for Room to Read across all of Nepal, a new Nepali woman in charge of monitoring and evaluating how the schools and libraries in this region are doing, and me. On the way out of town, we drove past gas stations that had lines of cars waiting, occupants waiting almost a day to get fuel. Slowly we left the craziness of Kathmandu and began to see more and more space. Fields of green appeared, growing beans or corn, wheat or sugarcane. After all, three-quarters of Nepalis are dependent on agriculture for their living, so you would expect to see a lot of it.

We wound through one small town, back into the countryside, and again into another town. The paved road became bumpier. Eventually we turned off of the paved road onto a dirt road. Then the dirt road became bumpier. So eventually we stopped and got out on foot. We were on our way to see a Room to Read library. Along the way we saw women working the rice fields, a group from the village all working together in a line, wearing brightly colored dresses, their feet in water. A few boys were nearby, working an ox to help plow the fields.

After walking for another half an hour along the road, ducking into the nearest building for a little cover from the rain shower for a few minutes, we made it to the library. And that is where the little girl in red in the attached picture likes to hang out. She lives in this remote village, her parents undoubtedly farming nearby. She had access to a school, but until Room to Read helped out, she used to have almost no access to books. Do you remember when you were little and got into reading for the first time? Maybe you were reading in your kitchen to your mom, or outside in the sun reading about an adventurous young girl or boy, or maybe you were engrossed in a book sitting your school library. Now the little girl in red has the same opportunities. The library had its own small ‘block’ for a building, that being donated by the community as part of the community challenge grant (where Room to Read partners with the community, both parties putting effort into realizing the school or library). Most of the books were in Nepali, but some were in Nepali and English. Hundreds of books had been checked out and checked back in. From colorful ones to engage younger students through technical ones to help the teachers and community members learn more and change the way they do things. Many little things add up to big things. And the sign on the wall with colorful elephants and tigers and a little girl says, “All of the animals are in the library reading books. Where are you?”

In another village, there was a school. A newly reconstructed Room to Read school. The old school had been almost falling down. Can you picture going to school and trying to learn in a room where if it rains, the incoming water might make you stop? In global education-speak, the quality environment just wasn’t there. In a country where almost half of the people are unemployed, and almost a third are living below the poverty line, it can sometimes be hard to keep up a school. But the desire to do so is great. And that is where Room to Read came in. In conjunction with the community to help reconstruct the school and with Nepal’s Ministry of Education to provide the teachers, Room to Read built a new school in 2008. It was a primary school, complete with a room for every grade, bright colors on the walls, a stocked library with sections for young kids, older kids, and resources for the teachers. They even thought of little things like having a shorter chalkboard for the first grade class, so the children could reach it and see it easily. And that school is where the kids in uniforms
with the huge smiles on their faces in the attached picture went to school. We were there during a time where almost all other schools were not yet in session as they should be-this was due to a delay in books being delivered to the schools because of Nepal’s national election in April 2008 (resources had been diverted from printing school books to printing election materials instead). So at a time when almost no other kids were in school, these kids were in school. They were lining up to go into the library. They were studying in their classrooms. And as we could see, they were really happy to be there.

A different span of a day

5:20pm, Day X: Speeding down the hill from Marangu, Tanzania, no seatbelt in sight, listening to Kenny Rogers in the bus (reminds me of my grandpa, "you got to know when to hold 'em"), getting slightly spit on by the rain coming in through the window, feeling soooo happy to be off of my feet (it was a long hike down 9,000 feet that day), and drying out (again).

5:20pm, Day X-1: Arriving at Gilman's Point, around 18,500 feet above sea level (or so). The steep part of the climb is over, and the first view of the dry, moon-like crater of Kilimanjaro appears. There is only a hint of a glacier across the crater, most of the 'snows of Kilimanjaro' having disappeared in the span of a few years. The sun is low, but still bright, and the ridge to the summit looks fun!


3pm, Day X: Hiking down. From Kibo past Horombo past Mandara, but not yet to the gate. From snow to rock to dirt (no longer dust). From the alpine desert through the moorland and into the forest. It is humid and smells so good (especially those little white flowers). The ferns and moss are thick on the trees. Unfortunately, . . . it just started raining. Again. Like Africa forgot that I already knew what it was like to be wet, hiking down from a big mountain. This time, of course, I was both more prepared and more willing (in a way). The big yellow plastic rain cover comes out (immediately) to cover me and my pack. The sleeves get rolled up past my elbows to avoid the drip when you're hiking with poles. And that part of my pants below mid-thigh? Easily accepted that it will be just plain wet and stick to your leg in that annoying way. My feet hurt from hiking down sooo much today (you know the feeling when you're almost getting blisters on the bottom of your feet?), but other than that, the rest of my body feels good. Sometimes, though, you really really want that last two miles to just disappear.

3pm, Day X-1: We're on the way to the summit. We being me and Alex, my local guide on Kili. The national park requires that you have a guide, and mine was great. Especially since he suggested changing up the typical approach toward when we climb, which is why we are here now. Most people climb up to Kibo hut (15,400 ft) on one day, then rest for a few hours, get up at 11pm, leave at midnight for the summit, and get a sunrise view from the top. Problems with this approach: 1) your sleep schedule is disrupted, 2) you are climbing when you are sleepy, 3) you have less energy in the middle of the night, 4) on your return, you only get to sleep a few hours before descending to a lower altitude, ... but the biggest problem is 5) everybody and their brother goes at this time. And the hidden problems that we actually didn't know about until the next morning: 6) a storm will roll in that night putting snow and ice on the route (not making it dangerous, just more of a pain), and 7) a huge lenticular cloud with its associated high winds will descend on the mountain, masking the views of the 'sunrise' anyway. Fortunately, instead of the traditional approach, Alex suggested that since we're fast (strong like lioness), that we rest for a few hours at Kibo, then continue on up to Uhuru (the summit) on the same day. Unfortunately (for some reason), Africa likes to hail on me at 16,600 feet. Just like on Batian climbing in the Amphitheater. So it is hailing on me. Let's put on the coat and pack cover and give it an hour (it'll stop, I know it will).


12pm, Day X: Hiking down, just below Horombo. You've left the snow and lenticulars behind, and have had a last lunch at the huts at Horombo (and even used Alex's cell phone to update the blog, but are tired of typing in 10-digits).

12pm, Day X-1: Almost ready to sleep for an hour. At Kibo hut (15.4k), there are 12 bunks in your room (and yes the 5 that are filled will all wake you up in 12 hours time when they are going for the summit). You've just eaten your lunch, and are changing and packing for the summit push. Packing while ensconced in your sleeping bag of course, because it is cold in here, and your fingers have a tiny tingle due to the cold and altitude.


9:15am, Day X: Hiking down, at the "last water point," around 14,000 feet or so. The snows used to reach down here, but now it is dry from here to above Gilman's point. There is a crew of three building a new toilet facility (upgraded from the pits), listening to music.

9:15am, Day X-1: Hiking up, at the "last water point." The morning started with a good breakfast of an omlette, tea, avocado, and toast. Say "Jambo" and dance a little with the construction crew.

...

6:20pm, Day X: Back in Moshi, at the Kilicrane hotel. Your feet are finally up, done hiking for the meantime. Time to relax.

6:20pm, Day X-1: At the roof of Africa: Uhuru point, 5895 meters, or 19,340 feet. The summit of Kilimanjaro. The sun is just about to set, and has its characteristic strong orange glow. A glacier is to the left. The last ridge from Gilman's point was fun: you alternated between "speed racer" when the ridge offered a down section, and "well, faster than a snail, but..." when the ridge went up. But in total you made good time from Kibo (4:15). An awesome part about the climb is that it was just you two--no one else on the mountain at all; a treat. Right now, though, it is getting colder, starting to snow (it'll keep it up the whole way down), and it is time to head down. Back home.

Sunset from the roof of Africa

Yesterday afternoon, we bucked the trend & climbed to the summit of Kili (instead of climbing in the night)! We were rewarded with a mountain entirely to ourselves and a beautiful sunset ... & light snow the whole way down. Back to Moshi tonight. More later!