tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-300953502024-03-07T05:05:38.469+00:00drennersThoughts that were cluttering up the inside of my head...Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger139125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30095350.post-64397556095920713062014-04-10T14:05:00.001+00:002014-04-10T14:43:41.767+00:00I Know Who I Am<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0rSEBtWZm40p218xoYBW0H8NlhKLjQ13_NVIHtzJWcOBnTX7izxBWh5RsGNHJw53Mz_PSuYhGUBzLKUIc2_cORpT-ZnNyg_DQ32mv0A-rqi2A9BLfw8Oj-Cfm1uCAtMM9WBb8hg/s1600/Daphless+Close.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0rSEBtWZm40p218xoYBW0H8NlhKLjQ13_NVIHtzJWcOBnTX7izxBWh5RsGNHJw53Mz_PSuYhGUBzLKUIc2_cORpT-ZnNyg_DQ32mv0A-rqi2A9BLfw8Oj-Cfm1uCAtMM9WBb8hg/s1600/Daphless+Close.jpg" height="290" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>“But you are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, a holy
nation, His own special people, that you may proclaim the praise of He who
called you out of darkness into His marvellous light; who once were not a
people but are now the people of God, who had not obtained mercy but now have
obtained mercy.” – 1 Peter 2.9</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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When I arrived in Uganda I was met at the airport by a very
nice guy with a sign which had my name on it. I travelled up to
our ministry site in Lira with a lot of excitement about seeing old friends and
new with my feeling of being one seriously lucky traveller only being increased
when Richard, who was driving, said, “We are about to cross the Nile.” Having
already seen Lake Victoria that morning I couldn’t really believe that the Nile
was also on the list. I strained my neck to see as much of the furiously
rushing water as I could, taken aback somewhat by the power of this famous
river. In its youthful arrogance it was pushing forward as fast as it could like
a sprinter who had inadvertently found himself at the start of a marathon and
hadn’t yet realised. It would be three months before that water reached its Mediterranean
destination. We joke in Sierra Leone
about how Uganda is paradise. The stories that we hear from there and from
those who have visited are always so glowing. My introduction to the country
did little to dispel the myths.<o:p></o:p></div>
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At Children of the Nations we enjoy honouring our guests
with little welcome and farewell programs, bookending their stays with words of
thanks and songs of appreciation. If you’re lucky maybe even a dance of
awesome. I arrived on the same day that some dear friends were also leaving and
so their farewell and my welcome were combined. We sat together in the middle
of our home in Uganda and I had the opportunity to hear from and speak to
members of my family I had never met before. When I introduced who I
was and mentioned who my brother was there was a ripple of recognition and a
few bursts of the shrill cry East Africa uses to express excitement. We were
about to finish when one of my friends who was saying her fond farewell put in
a song request. And boy, am I glad she did. <o:p></o:p></div>
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What happened next will stay with me for a long time. All of
the kids and staff present got up and treated us to a rendition of a song that
I had never heard before. Excitement and joy seemed to build with every line
and the kids danced as they sang. The lyrics pounded on my heart, their truth
only highlighted by the stories of those singing:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>We are a chosen
generation<br />
Called forth to show His excellence<br />
All I require for life; God has given me<br />
And I know who I am</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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At COTN we believe that we were called because children in desperate need
prayed. And in response to their prayer, God chose to use COTN as part of how
he would answer. It started with the faith of the children. The rest of us are
seeking to be obedient to the call that they initiated. And when we are successful
in doing so an amazing thing happens. These children orphaned by war, injustice
and brutality, become children once again. No longer orphans, they once again
live as part of a family. They discover who they are and they are known by
others. They belong. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>I know who God says I am; What He says I am<br />
Where He says I’m at; I know who I am,<br />
I’m working in power; I’m working miracles<br />
I live a life of favour, Cause I know who I am</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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When I then travelled to Malawi I was once again welcomed
with a number of programs and once again, I was welcomed by name and with
warmth. I was known. I had been expected. I was welcome. And once again in
Malawi this song was sung and danced as part of that welcome. Later, one of the
school choirs, “Citizens of Heaven”, would treat us to their own rendition and
they went down a storm when they sang for a big, local church. The COTN choirs
are pretty amazing in Malawi and these girls are no exception. At my favourite
part, Daphless (pictured above) strains her voice to cry, “Everybody shout out,” and the girls
join in with “oh oh oh, I know who I am!”, knocking their chests as if to dare
anyone to challenge them. Then everything gets taken down a notch as we hear
just who it is that they are…<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>I am holy<br />
I am righteous, oh<br />
I am so rich<br />
I am beautiful</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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Orphans? Destitute? Poor? Hopeless? Broken? No. These are
young, confident, African women who know that they are the children of God.
Daphless steps forward to cheers from the crowd and raps a little more
explanation...</div>
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<i>Take a look at me, I’m a wonder</i><br />
<i>It doesn't matter what you see now<br />
Can you see His glory?<br />
Cause I know who I am!</i><o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30095350.post-10658938346706264522014-03-22T08:23:00.000+00:002014-03-22T08:28:39.924+00:00Shouldn't I Be Taller?<div class="MsoNormal">
Saturday morning in Africa. You have your seat on your
veranda, your coffee in hand and some reading material in your lap. These are
the things that bliss is made of. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Today’s location is Njewa, Malawi and my soundtrack is Malawian
hip hop blasting from a sound system set up to entertain the students of
<a href="http://www.cotni.org/" target="_blank">Children of the Nations</a>’ boarding school, the International Christian Academy, as
they go about their morning chores. Moments of solitude and real soul rest have
been in short supply as I have travelled from west to east Africa over these
last few months both because of squeezed schedules and my desire to do as much
and meet as many as possible. </div>
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Today is to be different…<o:p></o:p></div>
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My reading material is an old Relevant magazine and I am
turning the pages and see a familiar face – Justin Zoradi, founder of the
non-profit, <a href="http://www.thesenumbers.org/" target="_blank">These Numbers Have Faces</a> and fellow alumni of DV’s volunteer/intern
programme and Capetownship. As I have been living out my thirtieth year of
fallen-ness one of the things that I have noticed myself doing is comparing my
position in life with that of others. Whether it is the friend with the wife,
the house, the career and the kids or the one with some other perceived significance
or recognition, I am tempted to stand with them back-to-back and see who is
taller – a test I have never done well in. It’s a pretty human thing to do
given the perpetual dissatisfaction of a creation made to look upon the divine
when they choose instead to look upon the earthen. NGO/ministry types are
always at it – quietly comparing each other’s “impact” and judging who is the
most innovative, sustainable, indigenous or whatever is the most current
measure of success. So I first have to shake that off before seeing what JZ has
to say…<o:p></o:p></div>
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What I have always appreciated about Justin is that he saw
what scores of us who went on Capetownship had seen before but was not
satisfied with allowing it to be a mission trip that he came home from.*
Instead he was broken down, re-formed and inspired to make his home amongst the
challenges that he had seen. He writes that he was tempted to give up on the
vision he had had and I am sure that this was the problem of so many that had
gone before – sparks of inspiration got dampened. I might send a brief but accusing
glance at our culture’s tendency to politely discourage the audacious,
enthusiastic, optimistic attitude of an individual who has the arrogance to
suggest that they might be a solution. In Northern Ireland it seems like everyone
must start off with the baggage of a prophet in their own town. Thankfully
Justin ignored those thoughts that would cry down his vision and These Numbers
was born and grew. <o:p></o:p></div>
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What then is the point Justin is making in Relevant which
has inspired me to type? Simply that the answers we can personally provide to
life’s problems will never be complete. We are but part of the redemptive plan
that God has for the world. There is no perfect life, no perfect ministry.</div>
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<i> “There
is liberation in understanding that you are meant to do incomplete work… You
are the worker, not the master builder… Being the worker means your fumbling
progress is a step along the way, leaving open the opportunity for God’s grace
to show up and do the rest.” </i></div>
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Chris Clark, co-founder and President of Children
of Nations, tells the story of how his mother once said that God was not in
need of great men but rather men who would point to his greatness. As I seek to
play my part in raising children who transform nations, this is an important
reminder of my own limitations and the idea that although I should constantly
strive to do the absolute most with what God has given me, there will be a
limit and in that limit I can find peace not dissatisfaction. The Bible’s way
of putting it is that God’s strength is made perfect in my weakness. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Justin ends with the story of Cardinel Danneels of Brussels
and so shall I. He said:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>When I get home after a long day, I go to the chapel and
pray. I say to the Lord, “There it is for today, things are finished. Now let’s
be serious, is this diocese mine or yours?” <br />
The Lord says, “What do you think?” <br />
I answer, “I think it’s yours.”<br />
“That is true,” the Lord says, “it is mine.” <br />
And so I say, “Listen Lord, it is your turn to take responsibility for and
direct the diocese. I’m going to sleep.”</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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In Liberia they say that God never sleeps. That’s good. Because
I'm always doing it…<o:p></o:p></div>
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*<i>Notable exception to this would be Stocki whose vision of
how to partner for change was Capetownship itself – a now somewhat forgotten
ministry except to those whose lives it utterly changed forever! I also
acknowledge that there were a number of Capetownshipers there from the
beginning, sharing and supporting in the vision of TNHFs. </i><o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30095350.post-8291322449259489912014-01-04T16:51:00.000+00:002014-01-04T16:52:59.253+00:00Guided Tour of Banta: The Update<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgnhZpC29KTFk3qyQxV0aD7Ke-eUFaIEzuWd_I6JRGnPUeT0SzIhWlc3zKtiFlOCqJaJMcexszXH7tsYEmbrAsfRPXGm13P4ti-AqZ_JwyPK_Dj1Ie1JJe2iUkMBNSQ0XYP8tM2Q/s1600/Picture1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgnhZpC29KTFk3qyQxV0aD7Ke-eUFaIEzuWd_I6JRGnPUeT0SzIhWlc3zKtiFlOCqJaJMcexszXH7tsYEmbrAsfRPXGm13P4ti-AqZ_JwyPK_Dj1Ie1JJe2iUkMBNSQ0XYP8tM2Q/s320/Picture1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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One of the most popular posts I have ever put up on this blog was a series of pictures showing exactly where Children of the Nations' ministry site is located in Sierra Leone. I was able to show lots of satellite images of the surrounding area including the villages where our children live. However, the images were actually taken before COTN moved to Banta and so I wasn't able to show you where I live! We can now have a look at an updated version of some of those images. The most recent hydraform construction at COTN is not visible yet though - google can't quite keep up with our community's rapid growth! If you click on the pictures you can get a better look at each.<br />
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So we start below by focusing on the southern region of Sierra Leone, Moyamba District to be exact. Find the blue lakes of the Rutile mining operation as that is where we will go next.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbCrITlpohqeswcbNxQlbECPfe2A0HrC-rAtTE218rCamuNyp3dRnfEz7Q4sGohOtddoM29GwpmCQaEU_YJ0BILhyotTEhKlT4IQ9vwn0CsipzYpd_SdZx7pWlpzZq8XFbNkglbA/s1600/Picture2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbCrITlpohqeswcbNxQlbECPfe2A0HrC-rAtTE218rCamuNyp3dRnfEz7Q4sGohOtddoM29GwpmCQaEU_YJ0BILhyotTEhKlT4IQ9vwn0CsipzYpd_SdZx7pWlpzZq8XFbNkglbA/s320/Picture2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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On the left of the picture below you get an idea of the scale of the rutile (titanium ore) operation - one of the biggest businesses in the country. The lakes are created to allow the earth to be dredged and the rutile extracted. The brown area on the right is the washing plant of the bauxite (aluminium ore) mine - another big employer. Running through the middle is the Taia river which provides the local community with fish and is a great place for a swim....e-coli notwithstanding... The right side of the shot shows lots of the Upper Banta Chiefdom.<br />
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North from the bauxite mine, travelling up the mining road, we have Ngolala.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPIPLmTPp35x_2Ga3GgWQU9rvsGm1B3cRLppN-EkE0gl40_3SqDfiDn4sn-nXVyTDWGDyKPZ4IVc45ehMK5L5IbjcKUaSc7YAlL8f6guxZZ1ZrPHph0uOf2XM2-WMJuI0FHpgwRg/s1600/Picture3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPIPLmTPp35x_2Ga3GgWQU9rvsGm1B3cRLppN-EkE0gl40_3SqDfiDn4sn-nXVyTDWGDyKPZ4IVc45ehMK5L5IbjcKUaSc7YAlL8f6guxZZ1ZrPHph0uOf2XM2-WMJuI0FHpgwRg/s320/Picture3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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And there it is - COTN's Ngolala Ministry Site, Ngolala Junction Village and Ngolala Village. This area, particularly Ngolala Junction Village, is continuing to experience rapid growth and so if you travelled with me there tomorrow you would see many more houses than what is pictured below.<br />
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Below is Ngolala Village, often called the "Old Town". To the north is the football field, to the east is Pa Kobba's palm plantation and the village of Senehun. Many of the children in our Village Partnership Program in Sierra Leone live in those houses pictured.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiaBwiIHWBOgdi_dip34Rq5cD4rQtSj2xMoZIMJMhpdezA3WQveq0C7msLh_ux_GRxu1epiYDbWgG9k4-5ZJ852EE3-KAaOdeK6C0gSjDhDUWMAPyQ5pHpU5Xuf2w4ZGXtbdjajQ/s1600/Picture5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiaBwiIHWBOgdi_dip34Rq5cD4rQtSj2xMoZIMJMhpdezA3WQveq0C7msLh_ux_GRxu1epiYDbWgG9k4-5ZJ852EE3-KAaOdeK6C0gSjDhDUWMAPyQ5pHpU5Xuf2w4ZGXtbdjajQ/s320/Picture5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Below we have COTN - the community gifted us with 100 acres to use for the care of their children. Along the southern boundary of the property we have the village of Ngolala Junction which is rapidly growing up around us. The land rises fairly steeply up hill from the western end of the property to the road which makes up the eastern boundary.<br />
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Below is our main "public" area - in the bottom right, by the road, we have our offices and our medical clinic. In the bottom left we have our primary school which has had three buildings added to it since this picture was taken. These buildings house our science lab, remedial classroom, library and nursery classrooms. In the top left we have our Skills Training Centre and to the right of that we have our secondary school classrooms. In the middle we have our football pitch! We have at least 700 children on this site every day!<br />
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And this is where our children live - our Children's Home. In the ten houses in the middle live about 100 children and it is one of my favourite places in the world. Surrounded by our farmland (you can see the piggery buildings on the far left), I stay in the house on the bottom left of the Home's horseshoe although a new building is being put up behind the Home. International staff will move in to that house freeing the current house up for the use of our children. On the top right here you see some of our staff houses. Across the road from this is where our new staff quarters have been built as well as our guesthouse.<br />
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So that's where it all happens. Where we raise children who will transform nations!</div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30095350.post-71102759963951223802013-07-31T18:30:00.000+00:002013-07-31T18:56:05.532+00:00The Top Ten<div class="MsoNormal">
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What are the top ten
things that have happened with Children of the Nations – Sierra Leone so far
this year that I should be excited about? </div>
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Ready? </div>
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GO!</div>
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<b>ONE – Solar Power</b><br />
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We now have solar panels on all of our children’s houses and at our school. This means light at night and charge for phones and laptops! With a new diesel generator and more solar systems on the way we are feeling pretty good about our ability to keep the lights on! </div>
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<i><u>What's this got to do with raising children?</u> It means that Fatima can study at night!</i></div>
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<b>TWO – Wells</b><br />
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Working with a partner organisation, we are going to see the
installation of wells in NINE local villages this year. Added to the Ngolala
Junction well already dug and another we helped repair recently, this all means
clean water for an estimated<u> 3,800 people! </u></div>
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<i><u>What's this got to do with raising children?</u> It means that Jack won't have to drink water from an e-coli filled stream!</i></div>
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<b>THREE – New Leadership</b></div>
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We have added FIVE new members to our National Board and ONE
new Country Director. These professional Sierra Leoneans are passionate about
what God is doing through this ministry and it has been a joy to see them
settle in and plan for the future. </div>
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<i><u>What's this got to do with raising children?</u> It means that the gifts, talents, experiences and knowledge of more people is being tapped to provide Massah with greater opportunities!</i><br />
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FOUR – House Farms</b></div>
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We have been planning for some time to get the kids in
our Children’s Home more involved in growing their own food, to learn lessons about sustainability, work ethic and teamwork. This planting
season we did it! Each house has their own signposted plot and will enjoy the fruits of their labour come harvest time. </div>
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<i><u>What's this got to do with raising children?</u> </i><i>It means that Patrick will grow up knowing how to provide for himself and that when you work hard you give yourself more of a chance of eating well!</i></div>
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<b>FIVE – COTN Money</b></div>
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Another way we have helped our kids participate in their own
care is through giving our teenagers COTN Money. Nicknamed “Clarks” after our founders, they
then use this at the COTN Shop to buy their basic toiletries and, if they save
wisely, other more fun items! </div>
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<i><u>What's this got to do with raising children?</u> It helps Hawa learn about budgeting and handling money so that when she is looking after herself in a few years she will be better prepared. </i><br />
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SIX – Staff Housing</b></div>
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It is not easy for our national staff to live and serve in
an area like ours – often far from family and with few amenities. We are in the
midst of building a senior staff quarter which we are hoping will be the first
of a number of buildings to provide our staff with a much more comfortable
living situation.</div>
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<o:p><i><u>What's this got to do with raising children?</u> It means the staff taking care of Julius will be more motivated to give him their very best!</i></o:p></div>
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<b>SEVEN – GO Teachers</b></div>
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Come September we will have THREE international teachers
join our school staff for the whole academic year - a wonderful
opportunity which will have a really positive impact on the quality
of the education we are offering. The GO Teach program will continue for the
next THREE YEARS at least, so if you or someone you know would be
interested…you know where to find us!</div>
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<i><u>What's this got to do with raising children?</u> It means that Amidu, who works SO HARD at school, will be given more of a chance to do well. </i></div>
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<b>EIGHT – University Places</b></div>
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Next month two of our girls will travel to Uganda to go to
university! These girls have served COTN for the last year in our GAP program
and have earned scholarships. We are also excited to
support a former student of ours who we hired as a student teacher at the start
of this year to go to teacher training college. This will bring us up to a
total of FIVE students in college and university – amazing!</div>
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<i><u>What's this got to do with raising children?</u> It means that N'gardy, Susan and Henry step closer to dreams of being able to take care of themselves and their families and gives Hawanatu, Marie and Jacob role-models to look up to and seek to emulate. </i></div>
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<b>NINE – Spiritual Care</b></div>
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This year there have been so many different opportunities to share Jesus with our communities. Whether this has been through kids camps, school activities or by praying with and for our Muslim friends and neighbours, it is always exciting to see God at work. We are excited about recent initiatives in our church and bible study
programs as well as a newly hired Youth and Children’s Pastor. Watch this
space!</div>
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<i><u>What's this got to do with raising children?</u> It means that Becky is learning about how much Jesus loves her EVERY DAY!</i> </div>
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<b>TEN – Mokpangumba School</b></div>
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While we are still far from breaking ground, a lot of the
prep work has been done which will allow us to begin work on a school building
in the village of Mokpangumba. We have about 80 kids attending school daily and
a really committed teaching team but no building! It is going to be really exciting
to see that change!</div>
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<i><u>What's this got to do with raising children?</u> It means that Maseray will have an opportunity of learning in an environment which will help her excel. </i></div>
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<b>And Finally...</b> </div>
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Sorry - I needed another point to tell you about the two profoundly deaf boys we were able to secure places for at a specialist school for the hearing impaired. Through this completely life-changing opportunity they will learn to lip read and will work their way through primary and secondary school!</div>
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Okay that was just half a year. Let's see what the rest of 2013 has in store...</div>
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<i><u>What's this got to do with raising children?</u> </i></div>
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<i>If you want those children to live out stories which will transform? </i></div>
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<i>Everything.</i></div>
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<a href="http://www.drenners.blogspot.co.uk/2010/09/you-make-beautiful-things.html" target="_blank">"You make beautiful things out of us"</a></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30095350.post-81332658909266363732013-01-30T13:44:00.001+00:002013-07-31T19:12:40.325+00:00English Club and Resource Centre<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Here for the <a href="http://drenners.blogspot.co.uk/2013/07/the-top-ten.html">TOP TEN? CLICK HERE</a></span></div>
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One of our teenagers, Yusif made a comment a while back about his Uncle Mark that stung a little bit. "Uncle Mark used to play football with us. But then he got too busy." As responsibility increases so does the proportion of time you spend in an office or at a laptop. There is a balance to be struck and I was helped in this during my last spell in Sierra Leone by the launching of two new initiatives - "English Club" and our Resource Centre.<br />
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Every Saturday, with the office officially closed, I was able to give my time to our Education Department and work directly with our kids. The mornings were spent at "English Club" - it's simply an extra English lesson for our older secondary students but we made it a club to try to fool everyone in to thinking that learning can be fun! We read together, worked on vocabulary development and played word games. During one class (pictured above) I got to teach a poetry lesson on Tennyson's "The Charge of the Light Brigade". It was wonderful to see the kids really get in to the debate the poem inspired about the meaning of courage. The kids all wrote poems of their own and some were really impressive.<br />
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On Saturday afternoons I would go up and open the Resource Centre. This is an incredible addition to our education program - a really well stocked library. The kids come and have a quiet place to study books on every subject as well as encyclopedias for further research and novels for when you get tired of textbooks. It was an incredibly peaceful way to spend some time - reading, shushing people like a proper librarian and fielding questions on everything from T.S. Elliot to the periodic table of the elements. Both these programs continued in my absence and the Resource Centre has gotten bigger and better! I really look forward to my Banta Saturdays and am travelling back armed to the teeth with notes on poetry, literature study guides and a huge bundle of science resources given to me by teachers from a Belfast Grammar School!<br />
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Maybe learning CAN be fun??Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30095350.post-86783952334235085112012-10-29T11:31:00.001+00:002012-10-29T11:42:40.120+00:00How We LearnHow do we learn?<br />
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That is the question that has been on my
mind of late. We are trying to educate over 1,000 children in Sierra Leone and
we are now at the point where we are really seeing just how well we have been
doing – kids are sitting secondary school leaver exams. We are learning lessons
all the time and I am determined for us to be a group of people who take our
knocks and celebrate our successes but above all else learn from every
experience. </div>
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Learn. Develop. Improve. And learn some more. </div>
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Recently our Education Specialist and I, along with various
other members of staff, have been seeking to learn from the experiences of
others and it has been a thoroughly thought provoking exercise. One thing has
been clear – everyone we talk to struggles with many of the same things that we
do. They share many of the same frustrations and, while everyone is approaching
things in their own ways, they have yet to find any silver bullets either.
Another thing is clear – there are some exceptional people working in the area
of education in Sierra Leone, both national and international people of
knowledge, experience and above all else, devotion. Conversations with these
people are edged with a sense of potential that sends the slight hint of a
tingle up my spine. The Irish Catholic Sister who has been here for more years than I have been alive and shares from those experiences with generosity, honesty and humour. The
Sierra Leonean teacher trainer who responds to questions by sitting forward and
pointing at you with a smile and a widening of his eyes as if this was exactly
the thing he was hoping you would ask. The American non-profit founder with the
quirky, slightly bohemian sensibility and the ability to see genuine successes
and progress where others might be too near-sighted to find anything other than
disappointment. Our own Education Specialist whose slender frame and patient,
polite demeanour seem to stand in contrast to the tenacious love and ferocious
determination that underpin the steadfast endurance of her service to our
children.</div>
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Another thread woven in to each of our conversations has
been that there are many things which, be they systemic, cultural or otherwise,
would seek to impede us and cause us to despair. How then have these people
with greater experience than I managed to keep going? When I first met our
Irish Sister, she shared the story of a priest who had served here for a
lifetime - “some really great work” was her summary. On his deathbed he had
expressed his disappointment that, though he was unsure of what they were, he
felt that mistakes must have been made because he did not see that things had
gotten any better. When asked how she managed to stay clear of the emotions of
the jaded, she smiled. Someone else in the room suggested, “The Spirit of the
Most High God” and she smiled again. “I hope that that is part of it, yes”, she
commented. But she then continued with a particularly honest earthiness I have
seen in a number of Catholic leaders saying, “Although when I am in a bad mood
that can sometimes go out the window!” She collected her thoughts for a second
before turning to me and answering, “It’s the children.” </div>
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And so I come back to the original question and the question
that automatically follows. How do we learn? And, that being the case, how can
we help the children? Our schools are focusing on improving the way we teach
English and I have been involved in extra lessons for our older students we are
calling “English Club”. I have been learning a great deal from our Education
Specialist and another Education Consultant currently serving with us as well
as these many other conversations and experiences with students about the
structures of a language I always just “knew” and never had to really “learn”.
And how do you succeed in building critical thinking skills in others? Anyone
who has seen a Sierra Leonean jerry-rigg a vehicle or a generator with a piece
of a t-shirt and the hammering of a rock knows that problem solving skills are
present but to truly think critically, reflectively, our students need a lot of
development. It’s fascinating thinking about how to impart such knowledge and
skills on to others, a task which comes with a burden of responsibility that
weighs heavily. But we are learning a lot about how to proceed. </div>
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Learning.
Developing. Improving. And then learning some more. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30095350.post-34123313867968469642012-01-05T23:43:00.004+00:002012-01-06T00:34:27.142+00:00Sometimes in April<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs9OtPaupToJ_eb1OiUJeBhyTVETkiIOPsHkZkiOjNqbdeFVS-g8pshcaM5S4DC38x0tRDBJ6Ec-6e-zcMi-BOzpvzXDaMC5PUQKSAhyEgJzn-5JXRJTBpKWxKMoBAuwaFKyK0wg/s1600/_40014823_070404gaillard203.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 203px; height: 152px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs9OtPaupToJ_eb1OiUJeBhyTVETkiIOPsHkZkiOjNqbdeFVS-g8pshcaM5S4DC38x0tRDBJ6Ec-6e-zcMi-BOzpvzXDaMC5PUQKSAhyEgJzn-5JXRJTBpKWxKMoBAuwaFKyK0wg/s400/_40014823_070404gaillard203.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5694301073744489954" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">I once wrote a now lost essay in which I tried my best to lay out certain aspects of the Rwandan Genocide and the Sierra Leonean Rebel War side by side in the compare and contrast style enjoyed by academia. A ridiculous challenge of an assignment for sure but my reward would be an incredibly moving research experience. Maybe, given where I have started to spend so much of my time, the impact of that lingers still. And amongst the horror that seemed to intensify with the turn of each page, I learned the names of people who I would now list amongst my “heroes”.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Have you ever heard of Philippe Gaillard? Born in Switzerland in the 50s this literature graduate was head of the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) delegation in Rwanda during the genocide. He wouldn’t expect you to recognise his name. Not exactly a huge fan of the spotlight which would inevitably shine his way for a time in 1994, he once commented, “I wish I were never visible again.” His time in Rwanda however would be the first time the ICRC would be active in the midst of a genocide and an estimated 65,000 lives were saved.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">How was such a thing done? The ICRC stayed when so many others left and ran a makeshift hospital for the wounded or the "not finished off" as Gaillaird prefers to call them. Only a few of their expatriate staff remained but that was enough to protect the 120 national staff members who were then able to help so many of their fellow Rwandans. As Gaillaird says, “We went, entered and stood our ground, instead of clearing out. We spread out, instead of locking ourselves in. We conversed and, in the hell that was Rwanda, we spoke to all the devils.” The power of dialogue is something Gaillard believes in implicitly, explaining matter-of-factly that, “the best way to save people is to talk with the people who want to kill them.” I cannot imagine the intensity of these conversations, so often at road blocks manned by Interahamwe militiamen like those who had at one point emptied a Red Cross Ambulance and “finished off” all those inside. Gaillard describes a heated exchange he had with one of the genocide’s architects, Colonel Bagosora like this: </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:36.0pt">I told him, "Colonel, do something to stop the killing. This is absurd. This is suicide." And his answer was -- there are words you never forget -- his answer was, "Listen, sir, if I want tomorrow I can recruit 50,000 more Interahamwe." I took him by the shirt-- I'm 58 kilograms and he must be 115-- I took him by the throat, looked in his eyes and told him, "You will lose the war.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">What Gaillaird shares when he considers the nature of the ICRC’s impact is powerful. Pondering the numbers, he once commented, “Ten thousand people is nothing in a conflict that saw almost a million die in under three months, it is just a millimetre of humanity in kilometres of horror.” But what precious space. Somewhere else he said that, “There is not one millimetre of humanity in a genocide.” And so it was the job of the ICRC to create a millimetre of beauty. As Gaillard himself puts it, “Yes, this is our job, to find beauty, create beauty in the very core of horror”. He invokes Keats, “A thing of beauty is a joy forever." He is quick to re-emphasize the vastness of the horror, the utter barbarism that surrounded everything but there was something crucial about being able to find that tiny space of the still human.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Gaillard tried to create a human space for his staff during the days of killing by reading them poetry – Rimbaud’s “A Season in Hell” - at dinner every evening. He said, “You have to find a way to pray.” Talking about the negation of humanity by genocidal horror he comments that, “Whenever you can reduce this negation it is a miracle. And the memory never forgets miracles.” It is these memories now that Gaillard struggles to cope with. The millimetre of beauty which the ICRC and others were able to create. He says now that he will never return to Rwanda. “Not at all because this would remind me of awful things”, he explains. “I don't want to meet again with people we have saved, because it's too strong. It's unbearable. It's too beautiful.” <o:p></o:p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30095350.post-22101727009467320572011-11-09T11:20:00.006+00:002011-11-09T13:41:06.851+00:00Guided Tour of BantaWhen I first went to Sierra Leone all I had were some pretty dodgy maps to try to piece together an idea of where I was going. While there it was hard to build up a picture of the geography of the place from my 5-foot-something-small vantage point. Since that time I have been able to look at better maps and now, with the help of google, we can see what it all looks like from space. What is really interesting about what is currently available on google is that it is all about 6 years old so we can see what Banta looked like before there was Children of the Nations.<br /><br />So let's take the tour...<br /><br />I am going to assume you know where Sierra Leone is in the world and so let's start with a shot of the whole country. As we go through these pictures you can have a look at any one of them in more detail simply by clicking on it.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRw90TGiVv8tsksVfEq2q-2lsaq_0WDUzXFvgtKS8xhuIpD9XzuBnXdA2Vu3pLxOkNpYdzd2Ry9b_aYiMPUGqWbjNMfmu-WsoSmMJ0Wo98d2yoFTalE8jJaiXTmCUWSN8O1E4vnQ/s1600/SL.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 393px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRw90TGiVv8tsksVfEq2q-2lsaq_0WDUzXFvgtKS8xhuIpD9XzuBnXdA2Vu3pLxOkNpYdzd2Ry9b_aYiMPUGqWbjNMfmu-WsoSmMJ0Wo98d2yoFTalE8jJaiXTmCUWSN8O1E4vnQ/" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672967636775980658" /></a><br />So if you were flying to Sierra Leone you would land just north of Freetown, across the bay, in a place called Lungi. That's where every journey begins. If we look further south we will find Moyamba District.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijHz0nn3fi0jOy_j8JWLbhQiOK737PCrtNNyxFFnAUx41wATt0R47T_4cPx7UvNOXVXIOLV0VdpRGUeHwHvBcJcWQQJhYp0p3Qa52TO1DTq6Q5mYYlH3EvDigRSTiuIkm0GsRaHQ/s1600/SL+SW.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 313.5px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijHz0nn3fi0jOy_j8JWLbhQiOK737PCrtNNyxFFnAUx41wATt0R47T_4cPx7UvNOXVXIOLV0VdpRGUeHwHvBcJcWQQJhYp0p3Qa52TO1DTq6Q5mYYlH3EvDigRSTiuIkm0GsRaHQ/" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672969042216441490" /></a><br />You will see Bo city over in the east there and if you look right in the middle you will see a little area of blue, what look like lakes. Now we're getting very close to Banta because these lakes are what has been left by the mining of rutile. People in other parts of Sierra Leone don't generally know where Banta is but if you tell them you are from "the rutile area" they know where you mean. It is suggested that one third of the world's rutile, a mineral used in paint and welding rods amongst other things, is under the soil of this part of Sierra Leone.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK1hO_xICltC2I_R3qRnt_M1aWaMRNvW8a4LvPcBCQ0l7akYeSrc6Oj7w4kQzaKs8adFrwz4FMKOvCZ-gUtXdaT6Rp0YDE2FCDcNTPFeXMN4kfVTos7iLkVN7nj9ooJHQpbzbKmw/s1600/1+Wide+Angle.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 309px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK1hO_xICltC2I_R3qRnt_M1aWaMRNvW8a4LvPcBCQ0l7akYeSrc6Oj7w4kQzaKs8adFrwz4FMKOvCZ-gUtXdaT6Rp0YDE2FCDcNTPFeXMN4kfVTos7iLkVN7nj9ooJHQpbzbKmw/" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672961658443268978" /></a><br />Anyone who has been to Banta will be familiar with the river in the eastern side of this picture as it is the river that runs past Mokpangumba, Wubangie, Mokele and others. And you will see that google and I differ on the spelling of Mokpangumba. Look out to the east and you will find Serabu, our nearest hospital.<br /><br />Now, find Mokpangumba on the river and look over to the east a little and you will see the bauxite mining plant owned by Vemetco. Which means our next picture is going to be of Banta itself and is going to feature a little village called Ngolala. If you have been to Banta look at the below picture, follow the road up from the mining plant and see if you can find Ngolala for yourself before moving on down...<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8C-x45YJ3S_zu8ncuqjCGUubOs2Fnp8-chXtVUGsKJxiZvKT_kqsZ_p4DI_xdodibeADB2zhbncT0dwfbu8MuHgzKSuzo4fBjJeIZZYZIe5oJqaMhh-pn2-HaPzBHfbEGWH6HMA/s1600/2+Wide+Banta.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 361.5px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8C-x45YJ3S_zu8ncuqjCGUubOs2Fnp8-chXtVUGsKJxiZvKT_kqsZ_p4DI_xdodibeADB2zhbncT0dwfbu8MuHgzKSuzo4fBjJeIZZYZIe5oJqaMhh-pn2-HaPzBHfbEGWH6HMA/" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672972325355552706" /></a><br />If you aren't sure where to find it, look at the middle of the above picture near the top and just east of the road you have the village we know and love. The below picture gives you a better look.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4_zjKLPNhyphenhyphenC8Xgh70koNwP0tXeKP50CNKfz61svtyvoY_FPY62YhJ91rm3iD9NzkcE_dEoI5eTfeXHuL5NktOGAUXCK1YoKKC0mXtrpDZdUK62u0kJ4-q9uaoIVEqO4OXKMR68w/s1600/3+Ngolala+and+Senahun.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 280.5px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4_zjKLPNhyphenhyphenC8Xgh70koNwP0tXeKP50CNKfz61svtyvoY_FPY62YhJ91rm3iD9NzkcE_dEoI5eTfeXHuL5NktOGAUXCK1YoKKC0mXtrpDZdUK62u0kJ4-q9uaoIVEqO4OXKMR68w/" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672973850230510562" /></a>Let's take a closer look at that...<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdORYz55wshgprSzHAU-3_u7faqvgN5uh7IfRYxHtnad_c3XEcaQyc-WA47NQR6WrI4hD_wcozFDERZNGxJVr-AoGWrTODKWK0qFgZgFzNnEatcw1gmaJy4ROP3ZBesqisNJwYHA/s1600/4+ngolalaandsenahun.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 268.5px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdORYz55wshgprSzHAU-3_u7faqvgN5uh7IfRYxHtnad_c3XEcaQyc-WA47NQR6WrI4hD_wcozFDERZNGxJVr-AoGWrTODKWK0qFgZgFzNnEatcw1gmaJy4ROP3ZBesqisNJwYHA/" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672974332230803170" /></a><br />Finding this was all pretty exciting for me. Ngolala has grown a lot since this picture was taken with many more houses built, especially up at the top of the village. You can see the cleared area at the top which is now "Ngolala Field" football pitch. And, beginning back down in the heart of the village, you can follow the path out to the east through Chief Kobba's palm tree plantation and take a right off the path, heading south across a swampy area to the beautiful village of Senehun, one of my favourite journeys. You can find Senehun at the bottom right corner of that picture.<br /><br />Let's look more closely then at Ngolala, which from above looks like it has taken the shape of a tear drop.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmSWp2mgJKixFMqgslqxZsL8JBuqECWuBOd9rouwIV0VgSvYu5kSV6XG4zHBJyCn0QtdcNEtXIWFu7GZpnaU_gF1XohXYJlkfMeZcaJ1cyEROrDn7hc-uUlPpAYyiU3ReXKtLwJg/s1600/5+Ngolala.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 306px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmSWp2mgJKixFMqgslqxZsL8JBuqECWuBOd9rouwIV0VgSvYu5kSV6XG4zHBJyCn0QtdcNEtXIWFu7GZpnaU_gF1XohXYJlkfMeZcaJ1cyEROrDn7hc-uUlPpAYyiU3ReXKtLwJg/" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672976384118349282" /></a>And here is Senehun.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPPdActcu-2bRETy4vbytHdjhcWasPekCGfatHtL3NHRsiI8J39kb0iXoBW4nrkRECOAOxphrFvo5ZJpdXaCnffdKKaGlsgO73MKJiYWIknUBM9TKPg_4DFnZUR7TnAFB3ehqmkQ/s1600/6+Senahun.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 323px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPPdActcu-2bRETy4vbytHdjhcWasPekCGfatHtL3NHRsiI8J39kb0iXoBW4nrkRECOAOxphrFvo5ZJpdXaCnffdKKaGlsgO73MKJiYWIknUBM9TKPg_4DFnZUR7TnAFB3ehqmkQ/" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672976847881212482" /></a><br />And if we passed Senehun and went round the corner of the mining road we would find ourselves at Jiminga. All of these villages have grown since these pictures were taken, it looks like there were no houses between the central part of Jiminga and the road at this time.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUJN7y0QSxK1ndSq4R1LWzw75dtbKg5fqQYce5ALHzstfVl2yMvHZ6WUMeWiPCepHwglOBSoKBZrlhacOIs0H1cVn2G-aKI8bkC66kvl7la3aFyI6L5yNraARehhilHg87YlLezw/s1600/7+Jiminga.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 355.5px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUJN7y0QSxK1ndSq4R1LWzw75dtbKg5fqQYce5ALHzstfVl2yMvHZ6WUMeWiPCepHwglOBSoKBZrlhacOIs0H1cVn2G-aKI8bkC66kvl7la3aFyI6L5yNraARehhilHg87YlLezw/" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672977377241604578" /></a><br />None of these villages can match the growth of Wondie however. At the time of this picture below, what is now referred to as "the old village" seems to have actually been "the whole village".<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_C9DNY_2vvcneitbq6UvS2u61sYmeIL3MQzd24q7qoMf4dqtMOac7wpkuyyMS55kZFumdG8LWXk19J2OwORSj9LXt651f-p7Fv_VRIRVokTB1R32z2YlUjIYHrMmUuzJeEBMNkw/s1600/8+2+Wondie.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 387px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_C9DNY_2vvcneitbq6UvS2u61sYmeIL3MQzd24q7qoMf4dqtMOac7wpkuyyMS55kZFumdG8LWXk19J2OwORSj9LXt651f-p7Fv_VRIRVokTB1R32z2YlUjIYHrMmUuzJeEBMNkw/" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672978474200928946" /></a><br />Then we have little Mogborie, surrounded by bush.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi7tnXkDnzE-paOQujMTvDPxeYI5U2lfAhQXRRQ7XgTIsfQtG_6vGLh-6E2CgpPOZhFD-KQ5tLa6-8scOowjwumiGHK0Of6TvITgUbLEDzsOFeUdHbwNJf6OUZioNz7roncob8OQ/s1600/8+Mogborie.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 247px; height: 260px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi7tnXkDnzE-paOQujMTvDPxeYI5U2lfAhQXRRQ7XgTIsfQtG_6vGLh-6E2CgpPOZhFD-KQ5tLa6-8scOowjwumiGHK0Of6TvITgUbLEDzsOFeUdHbwNJf6OUZioNz7roncob8OQ/" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672979014422936338" /></a>And Monicawe, by the road.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilqJcJajKo2aurptFfI_3cnD36wq26tRugWDY8aBre1dcs4ETPpOtIljR_rK7avDN5a1asjEtV6-bNsmJ9__VUUh0iuQinuXAKw3j_hNwKPc9DBUsDjZoLl4ugR8rl2wyVr-2jMg/s1600/9+Monicawe.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 306px; height: 387px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilqJcJajKo2aurptFfI_3cnD36wq26tRugWDY8aBre1dcs4ETPpOtIljR_rK7avDN5a1asjEtV6-bNsmJ9__VUUh0iuQinuXAKw3j_hNwKPc9DBUsDjZoLl4ugR8rl2wyVr-2jMg/" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672979114364820242" /></a>Let's go back across the river to get a closer look at Mokpangumba...<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi41QFDycqjQVcYSPpUDMUa89fUMMJYHdZ3S7sA7IurIDBengcAW2TlUj_9QV5eXFMKR0XKEcQbuzUCzEKzq2qtNXNiqii07OMJqsKqG7JiJ8OMM-7J9xUjNJ_frMhuWyd7_6mmbQ/s1600/10+Mokpangumba.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 309px; height: 600px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi41QFDycqjQVcYSPpUDMUa89fUMMJYHdZ3S7sA7IurIDBengcAW2TlUj_9QV5eXFMKR0XKEcQbuzUCzEKzq2qtNXNiqii07OMJqsKqG7JiJ8OMM-7J9xUjNJ_frMhuWyd7_6mmbQ/" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672979688494143602" /></a><br />And then this picture of Mokelle. The little village to the north, at the top of this picture is where you get the boat to cross. If you are taking a dugout canoe you will probably cross more or less straight over and walk down to the village. If you are lucky enough to enjoy the bigger boat with the outboard engine you will travel south, up-stream to the village proper.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA10uz-GXjbSHSydmHmlLrZj4PCirLA55iZOr957zTKEt19BFloHP-uLccVeMjAYWSZ1LfAFVI7T9B2h4NXhirwkYIbDc-X0IQcSShpMVzTDVjtxVlimEC9DebCqGNrrUpyCmIEw/s1600/11+Mokele+1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 517.5px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA10uz-GXjbSHSydmHmlLrZj4PCirLA55iZOr957zTKEt19BFloHP-uLccVeMjAYWSZ1LfAFVI7T9B2h4NXhirwkYIbDc-X0IQcSShpMVzTDVjtxVlimEC9DebCqGNrrUpyCmIEw/" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672980420734988962" /></a><br />Let's go back to this wider shot once more so you can get your bearings again.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8C-x45YJ3S_zu8ncuqjCGUubOs2Fnp8-chXtVUGsKJxiZvKT_kqsZ_p4DI_xdodibeADB2zhbncT0dwfbu8MuHgzKSuzo4fBjJeIZZYZIe5oJqaMhh-pn2-HaPzBHfbEGWH6HMA/s1600/2+Wide+Banta.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 361.5px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8C-x45YJ3S_zu8ncuqjCGUubOs2Fnp8-chXtVUGsKJxiZvKT_kqsZ_p4DI_xdodibeADB2zhbncT0dwfbu8MuHgzKSuzo4fBjJeIZZYZIe5oJqaMhh-pn2-HaPzBHfbEGWH6HMA/" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672972325355552706" /></a><br />Find Ngolala at the top and in the middle of the above picture. Look left to the road from Ngolala and then about the same distance to the left again and you will see the little brown circle of Mogborie. Nowadays there is something pretty big that should show up in the space between these two villages. Nowadays the picture below would be a great shot of Children of the Nations...<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5ehp4g46WkqnVywu4nBECig0Nidj6KygEIE_J2ipVD-5t54aaSJbA_3xq3IkD5P-SAHKb8VZ7ZUuX86jW_htAm6k2vpj94mwtfmAUv8AoG1AFojTv4uOFfqi7H35rULN6nM8xig/s1600/12+COTN.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 324px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5ehp4g46WkqnVywu4nBECig0Nidj6KygEIE_J2ipVD-5t54aaSJbA_3xq3IkD5P-SAHKb8VZ7ZUuX86jW_htAm6k2vpj94mwtfmAUv8AoG1AFojTv4uOFfqi7H35rULN6nM8xig/" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672982895021035010" /></a><br />Mogborie is there in the top left corner and you can see our swamp to the south of that. Notice that there is just one hut where the village of Ngolala Junction has now grown up. This is an incredible image when you think about what this patch of green jungle has become. I look forward to google updating their images so we can put the before and after side by side.<br /><br />If you want to search google's representation of this part of our world for yourself then here is a link to start you off: <a href="http://g.co/maps/9nycp">Banta on Google </a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30095350.post-11261324941421932682011-11-06T13:02:00.003+00:002011-11-06T13:08:05.494+00:00MTV Wrecking Belfast<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr2HWQ1FXJz0Whf67pZhYkHgIdSI64DMbaQT_fFwBxDTu7IZPhPoZnLXZbQrvgXNRQRSWxfSZ0i52jH_4HGWqlcTPWhng395TAQoGYS-FuYf-aozej-1UL5_7NGD56Y8hemCv7OQ/s1600/EMA_2011_Rihannanow.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 188px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr2HWQ1FXJz0Whf67pZhYkHgIdSI64DMbaQT_fFwBxDTu7IZPhPoZnLXZbQrvgXNRQRSWxfSZ0i52jH_4HGWqlcTPWhng395TAQoGYS-FuYf-aozej-1UL5_7NGD56Y8hemCv7OQ/s320/EMA_2011_Rihannanow.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671868428526170370" /></a><br /><div>As preparations were being made for Snow Patrol's open air gig at Belfast's City Hall...disaster strikes...</div><div><br /></div><iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/Qi0lxT3Hn3E" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30095350.post-70438171393064682602011-10-20T13:54:00.003+00:002011-10-20T13:58:44.773+00:00The Gospel in ChairsGet your theological gears working while considering a different perspective on the old, old story...<br /><br /><iframe width="480" height="360" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/Wnj52gaauBs" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30095350.post-84542715167166845282011-10-03T09:05:00.001+00:002011-10-03T09:25:46.436+00:00A & JI sat and watched Akay as she cradled Jack. They are a gorgeous pair. Akay, with her perfect ebony skin and high cheek bones is a stunningly beautiful young woman. Jack's big dark eyes and his round face are handsome but its when he lights it all up with a smile that you realise just how handsome. Akay holds her young son close, leaning forward and rubbing the front of her chin on his forehead making him giggle. <br /><br />Akay's brother is sitting next to her mother on the bench beside me. I don't say much on visits to their home like this one. Theirs is a family of storytellers and so I just enjoy the free flowing entertainment. A lady from the village comes to sell some really nice traditional clothing and before his mother knows what is happening, Akay's brother is trying on his favourite. He sends a joke in Jack's direction about how much more handsome he is than his little nephew. Akay sucks her teeth in disagreement and points out Jack's smile and his red lips to back up her argument. Her brother looks at his mother and says, “Aren't you going to speak up for your son, Ma?” She looks at her teenage boy and sighs. He laughs good naturedly and, referring to how much he looks like a young version of his father, says, “Mama says that Papa has gotten old and ugly and that I have stolen his body.” Akay joins the joke now, flashing her own broad smile and laughing, “Oh, Mama looks at you and she remembers those days!” They both clap their hands, hum a beat and pretend to dance, laughing hard at the idea of their parents doing the same in their younger years. <br /><br />Akay lives in a mud hut with no electricity and no toilet. She gets her water from a stream behind her home which is where people from her village also bathe. I didn't tell you that at first because I was afraid you would make her an “African” in your head, a cardboard cut-out that was decorated for you by oversimplified news stories, one dimensional charity advertisements and half remembered school projects. I believe that one of the biggest barriers to people's compassion towards the absolute poor is their inability to understand them as real, living, breathing, teasing their sisters and laughing at their ageing fathers people. People just like you. Akay and her brother are two particularly powerful examples of the world's inequality of opportunity. If they had been in your class at school they would have not only been the coolest kids in the place but quite possibly amongst the most successful afterwards. They just brim over with talent and potential. With the help of COTN, their parents and others who care for them, the prayer is that they will defy the odds and live the kind of lives they might dream of. Remember the kinds of dreams you had as you entered your last year of school? Yeah...lives like that...<br /><br />With the sun beating a hasty evening retreat, and no torch in my bag, I got up to say my goodbyes and go home. Akay got up to “leave” me, which means walk with me a little of the way back, but as she moved she tripped and fell forward. After regaining her balance, she turned to me, stood up perfectly straight and smiled one of those embarrassed little smiles which say, “Ahem...let's pretend that didn't happen...” <br /><br />Which I thought was cool because that's exactly what you probably would have done...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30095350.post-9428037864225342602011-09-03T20:31:00.002+00:002011-09-03T20:40:24.858+00:00Fatherhood and friendship bracelets...Sitting on the end of the hospital “bed” (little more than a mattress sitting on the grubby, tiled floor), the pink bracelet on my daughter's wrist taunted me.
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<br />I looked around the ward – some mattresses with women lying prostrate, mosquito nets tied above them and ceiling fans and lights which would never come on. The only thing which could have been labelled as “equipment” was the drip stand which was now feeding drugs in to my girl's bloodstream after a number of painful, abortive attempts by unskilled fingers to find a vein. In this we were lucky, another patient's IV was tied to one of the bars on the window beside their mattress. Our daughter was crying out to me and to the others around me in pain, panic and fear. The doctors reckoned they knew what was wrong but qualified their confidence by explaining that the tests they had the ability of running were severely restricted.
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<br />My eyes fell on that pink bracelet. A gift from a friend who works as a doctor in some excellent hospitals. The unfairness of our world screamed in our faces. I could feel anger swell up within me but it was accompanied by something I hadn't felt before in moments like this – it was a sense of guilt or maybe shame. I was being confronted with the question, “Is this the best you can do for your daughter?” I felt a pathetic sense of powerlessness intensified by what that bracelet represented – everything that was needed existed and was available to me. It was just somewhere else.
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<br />As I travelled home that evening I wondered if this was what my life was going to be like. Trying to care for people I love in a place that does all it can to prevent you from doing just that. Obviously I was feeling a little sorry for myself. But I don't really feel like I chose this. We are born in to our families. We don't choose them. That's how I feel about our ministry here. Like I didn't choose it any more than I chose my surname. There are times when I panic about money or get frustrated and get to feeling sorry for myself and I wonder about whether this is the place for me or not. And in those moments I could almost get annoyed about that familial connection. Because it refuses any attempts at shaking it off. This doesn't mean that my place in the family will never change but it probably means that I'm going to care about it for ever. Whether I like it or not.
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<br />Irritating really.
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<br />(And yes, she did get better, praise the Lord and the doctors doing lifesaving work in the bush.)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30095350.post-76153604275475757432011-09-02T23:31:00.003+00:002011-09-02T23:40:16.658+00:00Shorts: The SeasideTwo Chinese men went to the beach. They paid a man so they could park their car. Then they paid a man so that they could sit on the sand at a nice table with a nice beach umbrella. They paid another man so that they could enjoy a drink and watch the waves. Then one of the Chinese men paid yet another man and he brought over two young women in swimming costumes. One of the Chinese men disappeared with his girl while the other sat at the table he had paid for with the drink he had paid for and the woman he had paid for. And so they had a nice day at the beach.
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<br />(Though the men in this story were Chinese they could as easily have been from anywhere else in the world. The girls are always African though.)
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<br />–
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<br />“Dooong!” The bell sounded and I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what it must have sounded like to the slaves it was originally used to call to attention. I was in the village of Dublin (!) on Banana Island, once used as a kind of holding site for slaves before they made their long journey to the Americas or Britain. I looked at the canons that were used to “protect” the slaves from pirates in the way a supermarket security guard protects the potatoes and tried to imagine how the slaves would have felt about them. I walked the trails of the small island, trails that probably haven't changed since slaves were marched up and down them before they were shipped across the Atlantic and tried to imagine how they must have seen this place – to you and me a tropical paradise, to them perhaps the very gateway to hell.
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<br />I tried to imagine. But I couldn't.
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<br />–
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<br />Far out enough that they would be difficult to see from the shore, the local fishermen paddle their small, one-man dug-out canoes despite the swell of the ocean waves. They have a line in the water and hopes of a decent catch, repeating a scene that hasn't changed for hundreds of years. You just have to watch and wonder.
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<br />–
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<br />We had fought the usual Freetown traffic down one of the busiest streets in the city, Kissy, a hive of people, market stalls, all kinds of vehicles and some more people, but had to walk the last part because a container truck had blocked the road. It was an unremarkable Freetown day as the city sweated, shouted, honked its horns and tried to sell things to itself. Then the next thing we knew we were in what looked like an airport lounge in an American city with people offering to buy us Starbucks coffee.
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<br />We were visiting the Mercy Ships floating hospital, Africa Mercy, where one of our kids had surgery earlier this year and where we had a few contacts and wanted to make a few more. I spent a lot of the time just gazing around. Everywhere you looked Americans and Europeans were tapping on Macs or draining coffee cups. These people all contribute to some really amazing work but spend the bulk of their time in this weird western microcosm. I wondered if any of them ever really get to begin to understand where they are. Then our visiting hours were over and we headed back to Sierra Leone and walked up the bustling Kissy Road trying to work out what had just happened.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30095350.post-62071555865132034892011-08-19T22:47:00.004+00:002011-08-19T23:14:27.353+00:00Internship No. 5We left the interns off at the airport, got back in to our car and headed for the ferry. A dark Freetown awaited us at the other side of the bay. Amie, one of this year's national interns, called me to let me know that she had arrived to her own home safely. “Ah bo,” she sighed. “All man don scatter.” This year's Global Internship was finally over.
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<br />Two months before I had been loading on to this ferry with three young Americans (a fourth was to come later after fighting her way through the aviation black hole known as Accra, Ghana). The eight weeks in between had seen our group of eight (Four Americans, two Sierra Leoneans and two leaders) involved in all kinds of activities - organising early morning exercise, reorganising our store full of resources, facilitating seminars on leadership, teaching Sunday School, hosting bible clubs for about 700 children in various villages, running camps and retreats for young adults, taking over the running of our Children's Village for a weekend, spending time with local families on their farms and in their homes, teaching biology, helping with our Sponsorship program's constant flow of correspondence and so on and so forth. This year's group did an excellent job, bonding as a team and developing meaningful relationships with the children and young people they came to serve.
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<br />One of my own personal highlights of this time saw us reach a village called Wubangie with a three day bible club for kids, the first time we have ever tried that there. Wubangie is a big enough village to make you ponder whether you should describe it as a small town and the Chief, though a Muslim himself, was incredibly welcoming and gracious towards us. Over two hundred children were there to excitedly greet us each day and we shared the story of Jesus with them in three parts. Children in Sierra Leone are excellent at mimicking the actions of anyone put in front of them, something encouraged within the education system here where rote learning is king. When you realise that 200 kids are ready to naturally repeat your every action it helps break language barriers in half and makes game time a whole lot of fun. We would bring all the older kids for games to a dirt football pitch and there were times when you felt like a kind of human puppet master or maybe the Pied Piper of Hamlin – running, jumping, dancing and singing with your every movement copied by over a hundred kids. The kids brought so much energy to what we were doing, something which we fed off, ensuring three exhausting but memorable days.
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<br />A part of the internship I always enjoy is called New Skills. This sees us connect interns with children in our Village Partnership Program and their families. The intern will hang out with their new friend and their family a couple of times each week and do whatever they are doing – fetching water, cooking, doing laundry, farming, hanging out. Each year I discover new relationships with families in the villages where we have placed interns and this year was no exception. On one day I joined the two interns serving in Ngolala for a hike to their New Skills family farm where we had planned to plant groundnuts with the boys in the family. We left Fanta, the older girl, cooking the day's dinner, something she does every day after school. It was pretty hot and when we reached the village to meet up with the boys I realised that we had probably seriously underestimated how much water we would need. The farm ended up being miles away, even though the boys would keep assuring us that we were almost there, and we relied on the milk of coconuts we cut down on the way to fend off dehydration. We planted our groundnuts, hung out with the boys, kept an eye out for coconuts and had a pretty great time doing it.
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<br />It's funny to think that this is the fifth intern group I have been directly involved with. They are always different and I have learned a whole lot from one group to the next. I won't be involved in quite the same way next year but right now I feel like the last two months were good ones to end on.
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<br />"Pujei!"Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30095350.post-57960132755784073052011-07-28T23:38:00.002+00:002011-07-28T23:46:44.433+00:00Cabin TimeIt's youth camp and I am sitting down with my group of older boys talking to them about their day and seeing what they thought of some of the lessons taught. This room is usually used to house our primary school's Class One but we have converted it to a camp dorm by putting palm frond thatch and old mosquito nets over the windows. My group is sitting on a thin foam mattress which will later be used by at least three of them to sleep on. Some of the others have just a cotton <em>lappa</em> spread on the concrete floor which won't do anything to make them more comfortable but will keep the floor's dust off them as they sleep. Another <em>lappa</em>, shared of course, will help their snuggled bodies keep warm during the cold rainy season night. We are talking about peer pressure and nature, a strange combination guided by a little piece of paper of scribbled questions someone placed in my hand. My boys are tired after a day of games and songs and rice dinners but they are interested in the conversation. One of them translates in Mende for another struggling to understand my Krio. <br /><br />Suddenly we hear a loud crash and we exchange brief puzzled glances. Something must have been dropped or have fallen in one of the other primary school classrooms. There is a beat of what would pass at camp for quietness and I am about to continue with a question when the sound of a host of people shrieking together rises up from somewhere else in the building. The sound increases in intensity, is accompanied by the sound of feet pounding on concrete and seems to be rushing in our direction. For a second panic stretches time out between its white knuckled fists and my head spins with unanswered questions. What is happening? Is someone hurt? Is there fear amidst these cries? What is being run from? What can I do? <br /><br />Suddenly a huge rat bursts through the door to our room and relief washes over me as the pandemonium intensifies. Memory always balloons the size of animals in these kinds of stories but this was a big brown beast of a thing and it was darting around the room desperately searching for a way out that ceased to exist the moment one of the boys slammed the door shut behind it. The hunt was on. <br /><br />Our neat little groups of boys burst apart as some people dived out of the way of our furry intruder while others dived after it. Chaos soared around the room as frenetically as the rat scuttled and the boys kicked, stamped and tried to catch. One of my interns hurdled the animal as it made its way to a corner where about four boys threw themselves down on it only to see it slip through their frantic fingers. Adrenaline was pumping through everyone but none more so surely then our prey who was now making his way in my direction. Stepping back I aimed a toe poke to the face in his direction which knocked his solid body off course but did little to halt his determined but panicked progress. Another kick sent him amongst the mattresses and a boy threw a bundled sheet on him which a third stamped on. The rodent warrior kept going and sprinted around the corners of the room until finally, finally, he felt a jerk from behind. One of the boys had thrown himself to the ground and come up with a tail in his upper hand. With a yank and a swing of his shoulder, Gogra windmilled his terrified target face first in to the floor. Once. Twice. <br /><br />This was the peak of the action and details were confused by the amount of sweaty bodies that were jumping and running and throwing and the amount of dust and noise that was kicked up. Samuel, with a piece of lumber in his right hand (pulled from who knows where), would also claim the kill but it was Gogra who held the brute aloft to the roar of the crowd and marched it out of the room. It would be handed over to a security guard and eventually find its way in to a cooking pot somewhere. The laughter, shouting and retelling of the story lasted for a few more moments and then the boys reformed themselves in to their groups. Bedlam disappeared almost as quickly as it had arrived and we settled back down on our mattresses. <br /><br />“So, where were we?”Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30095350.post-83747645686599816472011-07-28T23:36:00.000+00:002011-07-28T23:38:32.826+00:00Old Watering Holes<strong><em>Return to old watering holes for more than water – friends and dreams are there to meet you.</em> <br /><br />African Proverb</strong><br /><br />I wish I could have met Hilary Lyons. She was born in Mayo, in the west of Ireland, but she lived a large part of her life serving as a doctor and a nun in a place called Serabu in Sierra Leone. It just so happens that this is down the road from my home in Ngolala and the hospital which Sister Hilary helped build up between the 1950s and the 1990s is where we take our kids when they get sick. Her book, “Old Watering Holes” paints a great picture of a life's journey I connect with deeply. Sister Hilary even contributed to the training of our own head nurse in Ngolala, one of my African mothers, Mummy Jombla. <br /><br />One of the things Sister Hilary's story leaves you with is an expanded idea of the destruction the war brought to Sierra Leone. So much of what could be said to be Sister Hilary's life's work was destroyed when the convent and hospital were burned to the ground in 1995 by, in the words of Mummy Jombla, “those stupid boys.” The destruction was far wider than this however as the barbaric violence of those years would also have disastrous consequences for so many of the people Sister Hilary had trained in her hospital and partnered with to create community health committees. You are left with a deep sadness for a place so brutally dragged back to a kind of square one, a sadness intensified by the knowledge of how long lasting and painful the consequences of that have been for this part of this country.<br /><br />When in Serabu with one of our children recently I took some time away from her sick bed to walk around the grounds. The burned ruins of Sister Hilary's convent and some of the other buildings around it are still there and I stood amongst them for moments which felt edged with a kind of holiness. The utter peace of what was a natural memorial garden stood in sharp contrast to the violent way in which it was created. Small, swallow-like birds were sailing through the air and I tried to imagine the place as Sister Hilary would have seen it. She describes with great affection this part of her world, its flowers and its soul soothing serenity. I wondered about how God feels when he looks at what we do to one another and to the artistry of his creation. It is strange to feel such sadness and such beauty so palpably in the same place and at the same moment but, as Sister Hilary would have known better than me, Sierra Leone has a way of bringing those feelings together.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30095350.post-73672376782717169452011-06-05T21:13:00.002+00:002011-06-05T21:22:09.127+00:00Time Goes ByI'm not really sure where the time has gone. <br /><br />I have been back in Banta for about a month and a half. It feels more like a few days. It feels more like a lifetime. <br /><br />I have celebrated 50 years of Sierra Leonean independence, an overly honoured guest of the Paramount Chief. A new Paramount Chief's staff was unveiled, a gift from the Government to replace the one given by the British in the days before Independence - finally, he joked, the Chiefs too were free of their colonial master's influence, the staffs which represent their power were no longer branded with the Royal Coat of Arms. <br /><br />I have enjoyed the company of four different teams and COTN's founder and International President. I got to marvel at my friend Jattu who so faithfully returned to her little brothers and sisters and shared a team of her friends with them – a team described by some of our children as “the best yet”. I saw the sweet sorrow of Julius as he was parted from his friend Matt – one a child, the other his short term tutor – neither able to look the other in the eye without coming close to weeping as they said goodbye. I spent a weekend in Senehun village with Matt and some other American friends, narrowly avoided a scalding when taking our nightly bucket baths before working up a sweat by dancing in the dust for hours.<br /><br />I have bounced around on poda poda journeys, hung on for dear life on Freetown motorbike taxi rides and glided over rivers in dugout canoes. I have been bitten by black flies, mosquitoes and ants but thankfully the bat we found in our room didn't get its teeth in to me and the snake outside our house was too small to defend itself from being stoned to death. I have offered swimming lessons in the Jong river and tested to see how clean its water is. I have watched as new buildings are constructed which will bless our children for years to come. I have met with our national board and spent great lengths of time discussing the ministry with our national staff. I have spent time with my newly married friends, Mr and Mrs Ngoneh, enjoying stories and photographs recounting all that has happened since we were last together. I have spent time with Romanian miners and their drunken monkeys. I have darted about the streets of downtown Freetown on messages which on paper looked like taking five minutes but in practise stretched out for hours.<br /><br />I was with our children as we broke the news to them of the death of a man who could be described as being a kind of grandfather to many of them. Much time has been spent since telling and retelling stories from his life and his funeral in Freetown was packed with people. Little Fatima had told me that I would be in trouble if her sister and herself didn't get to go to the service, precociously closing one eye and looking with the other down the finger she pointed at me. I made sure their names were on the list – they were special favourites of their grandfather who would always look for them on visits and sneak sweets in to their hands. Another of those close to him, Abi, held me tightly after the service, taking my arms and wrapping them around her little neck.<br /><br />I have marvelled at the utter beauty of the children I am here to serve – from the adorably cute smiles of Senehun's Jaminatu to the growing beauty and strength of some of our older “children” like Theresa and Karim. I have praised and scolded them, broken up fights and smiled at forming friendships. I have had dinner on the beach with our impressive undergraduate, Precious. On my arrival I was greeted incredibly warmly. On my arrival one girl refused to speak to me for two weeks. I have been told that I am fat more times than I care to remember. The sun has ensured that I have lost weight so such comments have become less common! I have been told that I need to try to marry more times than I care to remember. If I am not careful no woman will want me because I will be too old. <br /><br />I have again enjoyed the space this place creates for the spiritual, my better angels being encouraged to stretch a little, my bible suddenly seeming to spring to colourful life. I have seen God in thunderstorms of worship. I have seen suffering in wounds which refuse to heal. I have been reunited with toddlers that were babies, teenagers that were children, widows that were wives, mothers that were girls. And so life continues. Though I don't really know where the time goes.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30095350.post-25285804257663153202011-04-14T14:59:00.005+00:002011-04-14T15:14:39.001+00:00Online LiberiaCheck out the following two presentations of Tim Hetherington's photographs of Liberia during its violent "crisis".<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://lens.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/06/02/showcase-2/">Liberia Retold</a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.hrw.org/en/video/2009/06/12/liberian-graffiti">Liberian Graffiti</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Hetherington was also involved in filming the below documentary which details the end of the violent conflict in the country about eight years ago.<br /><br /></div><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" width="560" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/DGbob5O2pbE?hd=1" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" width="560" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/BjJvDEnMuBw?hd=1" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" width="560" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/VaOzLXS4cDo?hd=1" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" width="560" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/PyWIIMDG_Fg?hd=1" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" width="560" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/WElOBbAkpXw?hd=1" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30095350.post-74494015361003683462011-04-12T10:57:00.003+00:002011-04-12T11:34:53.081+00:00Fourth, Morning Mocha<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMjspLHJP4PxA6Z9Uwu9fKzdkWYg_nCkZRlpZZ3yA77B4fsxFvX8AupDSrKPJudpT1l1u5qQKeYuwLFDL8M05GwiMwWYPaRtB6X-dpUe_kaRzM3cojyn2i26zgmYVEWdwRyO6A_Q/s1600/images.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 206px; height: 245px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMjspLHJP4PxA6Z9Uwu9fKzdkWYg_nCkZRlpZZ3yA77B4fsxFvX8AupDSrKPJudpT1l1u5qQKeYuwLFDL8M05GwiMwWYPaRtB6X-dpUe_kaRzM3cojyn2i26zgmYVEWdwRyO6A_Q/s320/images.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5594659086807861282" /></a><b>Step 1:</b><br /><br />Wake up to an African children's choir. This can be energetic and soulful. If a less vocally talented kid is asked to lead it can also be energetic and awful...but in a cute way.<br /><br /><b>Step 2: </b><br /><br />Untuck mosquito net and crawl out of bed. Shorts, shirt, flip flops...ready.<br /><br /><b>Step 3:</b><br /><br />Greet anyone you may see in or around the house.<br /><br />"Good morning."<br /><br />"Good morning. How did you sleep?"<br /><br />"Fine. And you?"<div><br /></div><div>"I say thanks to God."<br /><br /><b>Step 4:</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Take plastic, purple mug. Scoop in one teaspoon of Nescafe instant goodness.<br /><br /><b>Step 5:</b><br /><br />Open tin of milk powder. If tin is empty find Nancy who might let you in to the store eventually... Scoop two heaped teaspoons of milk powder in to purple mug.<br /><br /><b>Step 6:<br /></b><br />Open sugar. Allow sugar ants to disperse. Silently grumble about the person who didn't close the sugar properly allowing the sugar ants excited access. Drop two sugar cubes in to purple mug.<br /><br /><b>Step 7:</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Open cocoa powder. Scoop one teaspoon of cocoa in to purple mug.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Step 8:</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Add hot water from the flask to purple mug half full of powder. Stir. Continue to stir.<br /><br /><b>Step 9:</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Bring purple mug of mocha magnificence out on to veranda and sit in the cool(er) morning air. Watch this little world go by. Greet the farmers as they go past. "Buwaa". Greet the kids as they bustle around doing their morning chores. "Morning Uncle!" Greet the little groups of Mogborians who pass by on their way to school with their little green uniforms and their little black plastic bags which might have a worn out copy book, a pencil and probably a razor blade* inside. "Kahuin ye na?"<br /><br /><i>*The razor blade is for sharpening the pencil. And may have already been used to give a boy a haircut.</i><br /><br /><b>Step 10:</b><br /><br />Repeat process during cool of evening. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30095350.post-19993989654945915492011-04-10T17:37:00.003+00:002011-04-10T17:54:43.686+00:00Third, the 4th JulyThere is a whole bunch of people who think that 4th July is the day when a nation celebrates the overthrow of its colonial masters and the declaration of its independence. <div><br /></div><div>What a load of nonsense.</div><div><br /></div><div>The 4th July is the day we celebrate the birth of a girl called <a href="http://drenners.blogspot.com/2009/01/massah.html">Massah</a>. Because she makes the world a more beautiful place. </div><div><br /></div><div>Stick that in your firework and smoke it.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30095350.post-54607643975492377992011-04-07T11:02:00.005+00:002011-04-07T11:19:48.061+00:00Second, Peemeh<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguqCV_devtvBWmW2nx79B6rXp94ZN70A0u-BcoCm7oFIZafjg44x-yFLvx62bg4uEpvc7_Tqg8KrGm3H_WRJEAXrOJPvv7EELvRzXF69d5FxJfjQ69qmnfdlOfkD_go-kthkDfew/s1600/ScottCookPhotography_SL-626.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguqCV_devtvBWmW2nx79B6rXp94ZN70A0u-BcoCm7oFIZafjg44x-yFLvx62bg4uEpvc7_Tqg8KrGm3H_WRJEAXrOJPvv7EELvRzXF69d5FxJfjQ69qmnfdlOfkD_go-kthkDfew/s400/ScottCookPhotography_SL-626.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592798371216936578" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">I was in a small poda poda mini bus on the way to Banta trying very hard yet failing really quite spectacularly to grasp the most basic mende greetings. I don’t know if it was the 5 am start from Freetown that was making my mind sluggish. I had really been quite on edge when I squeezed on the bus that morning with my team of American interns – I just had no idea what I was doing and the reality of a year in Sierra Leone was stretching itself out in front of an intimidated me. I found myself seated next to one of my team leaders, Laura and a Sierra Leonean poda poda “apprentice” called Francis. My conversations that day with both Laura and Francis would be the start of my finding my feet in a place I quickly grew to adore.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Francis would say something really basic like “Hello” – “Buwa”. And I would repeat it. And then my mind would take that little piece of knowledge, crumple it up in its hand and nonchalantly toss it over its shoulder. </p><p class="MsoNormal">“I’m sorry Francis, what was it again?” </p><p class="MsoNormal">Looking back that turned out to a blessing disguised as stupidity because it gave Laura the kind of idea that occurs to a lover of exclamation marks and the word “awesome”.</p><p class="MsoNormal">“Let’s make a song out of it! And that’ll help us remember!!! This is going to be awesome!!!” </p><p class="MsoNormal">I can tease Laura because she knows I love her but it actually worked a treat and turned in to a ridiculous rap which we performed to the great hilarity of our children when we arrived. Imagine your reaction if a bunch of West Africans came to your house and started (badly) singing at you with a broadly smiling enthusiasm which you can tell is putting exclamation marks after everything in its head while warbling and rapping the following - </p><p class="MsoNormal">“Hello! Hello! Hello!<br />Thank you!<br />How are you!? I thank God!<br />What’s your name!?”<br /><br />The kids still sing it at me from time to time.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Francis also gave me a quite precious gift on that dusty and slow road to Banta. He gave me my name. Visitors to Sierra Leone will not have to wait long before they are renamed and for me it was Francis who did the honours. He called me “Peemeh”, the man who runs. And Peemeh has been my African alter-ego ever since. </p><p class="MsoNormal">I have yet to meet another Peemeh which just makes the name all the more “mine”. Since the locations and circumstances around them are so different so there are differences between “Mark” and “Peemeh”. They dress differently, speak differently and spend their time differently. Probably the biggest difference is how much time I spend with children as Peemeh. There are few things I find as joyful as playing ridiculous games, singing silly songs and literally making fun with a group of kids. I was leaving from Belfast City Airport to fly to Freetown via London last year and while I was queued up at security the wee girl in front started playing a little game where she would take her bag and nudge my hand luggage until it nudged back. She seemed to think this was just hilarious entertainment until her father informed her that she wasn’t behaving herself. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And I realised that I hadn’t really spent any time with children when I had been at home in Belfast. And how that was about to change. Because I was about to be called “Uncle Peemeh” again.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Alright then, who wants to play Balance Ball?</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30095350.post-29582534540752631862011-04-04T10:28:00.006+00:002011-04-04T23:50:08.786+00:00First, The Mango Tree<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh79b0KZ1e6ADfxyrQwfmkEt1bYIvQCHCO7p3YIKZHo8e1Toq7xYNML1ldWgCVbPh4za58jFNGc3jB-CUEn-qqeEhdbC_Zp0m-xaqNmDW2ufsL88Ez5dyaup-eB9j_wlxNy08LPIg/s1600/mango_food-5519.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh79b0KZ1e6ADfxyrQwfmkEt1bYIvQCHCO7p3YIKZHo8e1Toq7xYNML1ldWgCVbPh4za58jFNGc3jB-CUEn-qqeEhdbC_Zp0m-xaqNmDW2ufsL88Ez5dyaup-eB9j_wlxNy08LPIg/s320/mango_food-5519.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591878930992630098" /></a><br />In two weeks time I will be packing my bags, frustrated about why I always leave things until the very last moment and wishing I had an intern to bail me out like last August. In two weeks and one day I will be on a plane to West Africa full of Sierra Leoneans flying home to celebrate 50 years of independence. <div><br /></div><div>And so the adventure will continue...<br /><br />As we entered April it struck me how soon all of this was going to happen. Today a nurse stuck a needle in my arm to restock my supplies of resistance to typhoid, something which also makes future travel feel close. And so over the next few days I will be blogging about the things I am most looking forward to. Of course I could tap on my keyboard about the many things I will miss about being with my family and friends in Belfast and some of the things I won't be excited about finding myself once again in the midst of...but let's be positive here...<br /><br />First, The Mango Tree.<br /><br />I am looking forward to the journey to Banta immensely. Sitting in the van watching the jungle and villages rush past. Waving to kids amused by my funny coloured face. Testing out my rusty krio and even rustier mende on women and kids selling on the side of the road. I love taking this trip with interns and answering their wide eyed questions, pointing things out as we drive and feeling their nervous excitement but I am actually looking forward to travelling alone this time around and just being able to focus on my own feelings of being back again. And then we'll reach Mosenesi Junction and suddenly I'll feel like a coiled spring.<br /><br />The road from Mosenesi to Ngolala isn't particularly long but my mind plays tricks all the way along as it flicks through memories of numerous past journeys, trying to recall exactly how close that particular corner or village now makes us. Staring out the front window and wanting to see one thing - the mango tree. Ryszard Kapuściński writes about how where you see a mango tree you can often be confident that there will be a village nearby - these trees are so often used as meeting places as people enjoy the shade they provide not to mention the annually amazing season of fresh fruit. The mango tree I will look for sits almost directly opposite the entrance to my African home - Children of the Nations' Banta ministry site.<br /><br />When I last arrived I stepped out of the van and knew I should wait until everyone else was ready so that we could greet the children, who had all lined up at the gate, together. As the team of interns I was with unloaded from the vehicle I sneaked a peak around its corner. Maseray was stood at the gate post beside Marie Marrah and I could see her do a shy little smile and mouth, "It's Uncle Mark!" I pulled a silly face at her and hid behind the van again. Checking that everyone was ready I turned around to lead them through the gates to where the children were starting to sing their greeting to us.</div><div><br /></div><div>"<i>You are welcome, welcome now!<br />You are welcome, welcome now.<br />So you are welcome.<br />And I am welcome.<br />And you are welcome, welcome now!</i>" </div><div><br /></div><div>But as I turned around I almost tripped over Pastor who had broken from the ranks to wander over and say his own personal hello. He looked up at me and wordlessly jumped up in to my arms.<br /><br />I was welcome.<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30095350.post-39257623856802837092011-03-27T20:42:00.008+00:002011-04-04T10:14:55.840+00:00Blink Eleven<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyLfghYf9BSZtmuRqk33DObFBX1FyPlQQ-HVoIF-FYf-8H-MEOEDNRwU3uQ_HZgF_oCHlCl1B7FAhdvCwpl-6TrdzEvXS_dFpeBbXoPPxLynVG04qsT0mDD5sFLnPOVPFQr-dxSg/s1600/AD20110402891072-Emma+Thompson+a.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyLfghYf9BSZtmuRqk33DObFBX1FyPlQQ-HVoIF-FYf-8H-MEOEDNRwU3uQ_HZgF_oCHlCl1B7FAhdvCwpl-6TrdzEvXS_dFpeBbXoPPxLynVG04qsT0mDD5sFLnPOVPFQr-dxSg/s320/AD20110402891072-Emma+Thompson+a.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591507998922958610" /></a><br /><div><i>I reckon this will be the last one of these I do for a while - I will soon be switching to a less internet friendly environment. Blogging will continue but blinking will be on pause.</i><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>So then...here goes... Stories from West Africa you may have missed.</div><div><br /></div><div>Emma Thompson has an adopted son from Rwanda and they both recently visited <a href="http://www.thenational.ae/news/worldwide/africa/emma-thompsons-harrowing-tale-from-liberia?pageCount=0" target="_blank">Liberia</a>. </div><div><br /></div><div>The situation in Ivory Coast is ever changing - here are some pictures from <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-12947577" target="_blank">Abidjan</a> and others from amongst refugees in <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/global-development/gallery/2011/mar/30/ivory-coast-refugees-liberia-in-pictures"target="_blank">Liberia</a>. </div><div><br /></div><div>The state of <a href="http://www.ipsnews.net/news.asp?idnews=55107" target="_blank">teenage pregnancy</a> in Sierra Leone.</div><div><br /></div><div>I think this is a great example of the kinds of difficulties which you can run in to when<a href="http://arts.nationalpost.com/2011/03/27/on-trying-to-help-a-liberian-pop-star/" target="_blank"> trying to help someone</a> from a great distance on your own rather than with the help of a person or an organisation based locally. <div><br />The story of a compassionate entrepreneur from Liberia - <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/david-weiss/meet-christine-tour-the-f_b_838373.html" target="_blank">Christine</a>.<br /><br /></div><div>An interesting article looking at poverty and development in Africa - some grim reality but also healthy amounts of <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/23/business/economy/23leonhardt.html?src=busln" target="_blank">hope</a>. </div><div><br /></div><div>The story of a <a href="http://www.worldvisionacts.org/saturday_story_part_1" target="_blank">child soldier</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>And finally...</div><div><br /></div><div>The latest famous type I have discovered is really a Sierra Leonean (others being your man from Grey's Anatomy and Ryan Giggs!) - <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/culture/2011/apr/03/the-god-in-idris-elba" target="_blank">Idris Elba</a>.<br /></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30095350.post-44998455480992208062011-03-23T14:40:00.006+00:002011-03-23T15:43:26.212+00:00Aradhna - "adoration"I came across this band when I was working on all things Indian in London. With one member being born in India and the other growing up in South East Asia, they blend guitar with sitar and a love of bhajans - a classical form of devotional song in India. As they have released an album with accompanying music videos it is time to share!<div><br /></div><div>"Blessed are the merciful for they will be shown mercy<br />Those who are poor in this world</div><div>Blessed are they, blessed are they<br />For the kingdom of heaven is theirs</div><div>...</div><div>Those who make peace will be called the children of God - Sri Yeshu Ji"</div><br /><iframe width="480" height="295" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/H2UI25sayXk?fs=1" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe><br /><br /><div><br />Of the next video, the director says this:<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">The diya, or Indian oil lamp, a symbol of worship,is floated on the Ganges river early in the morning. The vastness and power of the swollen river is a reflection of God who created it.<br /><br />Not far from this tranquil scene, just up from the river's edge, there is a deep well called the Lolark Kund whose stone steps form the shape of a cross.It remains closed, except for one day in the year.<br /><br />On this day, thousands of married couples in their last hope to be granted a child by God,descend the steps together break their glass wedding bangles, throw off all visible signs of their marriage,and plunge five times into the claustrophobic waters. They emerge and remove the drenched and cursed clothing, changing into new clothes and climbing the steps with renewed hope.<br /><br />This is worship. To be content, but to also weep with longing.<br /><br />God embraces us in either case.</span><br /><br />"Truth, we greet you.<br />In you the whole Universe is held together<br />...<br />One without second, we greet you<br />Your Great Liberation brings us loving oneness with you<br />As though no separation exists between us.<br /><br />Oh Supreme One, we greet you<br />All pervading and eternal."</div><br /><iframe width="480" height="295" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/c4IsuYFQazA?fs=1" frameborder="0" allowFullScreen=""></iframe>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30095350.post-61586583862282109802011-03-17T14:16:00.007+00:002011-03-17T15:22:17.773+00:00Blink Ten<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0xGA1KTbaKm3xuZz2ih3USHyiI42KPNvbIB1UcQgERfbEpireqY3jvP6E5JtctjvwVY-ZK4Q8oDcF2rUOfKB0pWDsj2nUPul-iQthOCOgmRF3rigzAoYYx5mjFiDfX_mJwYUArQ/s1600/SL_-_Susan_Ibrahim_2.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0xGA1KTbaKm3xuZz2ih3USHyiI42KPNvbIB1UcQgERfbEpireqY3jvP6E5JtctjvwVY-ZK4Q8oDcF2rUOfKB0pWDsj2nUPul-iQthOCOgmRF3rigzAoYYx5mjFiDfX_mJwYUArQ/s320/SL_-_Susan_Ibrahim_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585068344754556930" /></a><div>Stories from (mostly) West Africa...</div><div><br /></div><div>Susan is in Silverdale! </div><div><br /></div><div>Here is the story of the moment when this <a href="http://www.kitsapsun.com/news/2011/mar/11/sierra-leone-teen-surprises-poulsbo-sponsor-with/" target="_blank">young woman from Sierra Leone met the sponsors</a> who have been caring for her for years (and here's a <a href="http://vimeo.com/20070112" target="_blank">video</a> showing that moment too!). </div><div><br /></div><div>Susan speaks for herself further on down...</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>What can you buy for $0.03? That depends. Are you in <a href="http://www.trust.org/trustlaw/news/liberian-teen-prostitutes-face-abuse" target="_blank">Liberia</a>?</div><div><br /></div><div>A point of view: Filippo Bozotti from Tribewanted after 6 months on a Freetown beach. <a href="http://www.takepart.com/news/2011/03/14/taking-tribewanted-from-an-eco-tourism-project-to-global-model-for-sustainable-communities-" target="_blank">Have a read.</a></div><div><br /></div><div>Sad news from Africa Mercy where <a href="http://www.kiiitv.com/Global/story.asp?S=14204427" target="_blank">11 people were hurt and one person died</a> in what sounds like a scrum to get medical treatment from Mercy Ships staff.</div><div><br /></div><div>UNICEF reckon that the number of children who aren't 5 years old yet but are living in Sierra Leone without enough food to eat is <a href="http://english.peopledaily.com.cn/90001/90777/90856/7318265.html" target="_blank">300,000</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>Tensions continue in Ivory Coast as there seem to be growing fears about how this will impact the rest of the region. Particular focus has been on Liberia - many of the refugees have fled there and some fighting has taken place <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/worldservice/africa/2011/03/110307_liberia_icoast_border.shtml" target="_blank">quite close to the Liberian border</a>. In the words of Liberia's President, "<a href="http://www.foreignpolicy.com/articles/2011/03/11/west_africa_lurches_toward_war?page=0,0" target="_blank">May God give them the courage not to follow our path, because we know what that means</a>." </div><div><br /></div><div>Charles Taylor's trial is <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-12701803" target="_blank">finally over</a> and so the verdict will be given in about 4 months.</div><div><br /></div><div>The University of Michigan is partnering with two Liberian universities to develop programs in <a href="http://www.rdmag.com/News/Feeds/2011/03/general-sciences-new-usaid-grant-rebuilding-liberias-universities-/" target="_blank">engineering, science, technology and agriculture</a> while the US State Department organised a delegation to look in to encouraging women in both Sierra Leone and Liberia in their use of <a href="http://www.thedailybeast.com/blogs-and-stories/2011-03-09/west-africas-tech-revolution-for-women-and-girls/" target="_blank">technology for empowerment</a>.</div><div><br /></div>Also...<br /><br /><div>What has been happening in Japan is <a href="http://www.abc.net.au/news/events/japan-quake-2011/beforeafter.htm" target="_blank">too big for any words</a> I can think of trying to lay beside it. I just cannot imagine what those in the middle of it have been through no matter how incredible the <a href="http://www.boston.com/bigpicture/2011/03/japan_-_vast_devastation.html" target="_blank">images</a> or frightening some of the <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-pacific-12735023" target="_blank">footage</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>And finally...</div><div><br /></div><div>While I don't like the suggestion that today is but a Catholic holiday, I liked how Donald Miller rounded up his <a href="http://donmilleris.com/2011/03/17/happy-st-patricks-day/" target="_blank">St Patrick's Day blog</a>... </div><div><br /></div><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" width="640" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/YoPSb_vmmNo" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0