My Journey Back to the DRC by Judithe Registre

It is strange being back in Eastern DRC. Indeed, it has been well over a year since I last visited our program sites in Bukavu and Goma. Being back feels strange—how little things have changed and yet how much things have changed. What is it that has changed and what has not? An element that has not changed appreciably is represented by the internally displaced camps located outside of Goma. The IDP and refugee camps are not easy places to visit. In fact, I am not feeling just one emotion; rather, I am twisted. I visited these IDP camps in 2007, which was the last time I was in Congo. As I see the people in the camps struggling to achieve the dignified life that these camps cannot provide, I am left with a bleeding heart. Why is it that we must have such state of pain and suffering, when it can be so easily prevented? It is hard for me to witness these conditions knowing that something can certainly be done—we live in a world that has the potential to end these types of injustice and atrocities.

What has changed are some of the women I met the last time I was here. Many of them were new in the program. A few of these women have become trainers of other women in the program. Thus, here I am with women who are striving for change in order to improve the lives of their families and ensure the next generation of Congolese escapes the fate that is outlined by the unthinkable sociopolitical reality that has marked the underdevelopment of Congo from inception to date. I am completely amazed at the development that is taking place among the women we served; the changes, how they are making hope a tangible reality.

As I stand somewhere between optimism and despair, I am reminded constantly that I am the same as the women in the program; I am them, they are me. As I encounter their humanity, I see mine as well as the humanity that exists globally. My heart is strong—but not strong enough in the midst of such suffering. My heart bleeds and it cries as I hear the retelling of the story about a young woman who was raped by 17 men. The total destruction of her internal organs has rendered her genderless.

I am enraged by the lack of acknowledgement for the unnecessary suffering that fails to recognize the humanity in the face of this young woman as well as in the faces of the women I meet and see, or the elderly and the children I encounter in these camps. While my heart cries out as I experience the inhumane conditions with which these people are faced as they struggle to survive and live a rewarding life, my tears are wiped away by the hope I see in the faces of the women when they walk into the Women for Women training center. As well, my trust in humanity is renewed—as it has been countless times when I meet the women we served—seeing the confidence in their movements as they walk into the compound and watching how lively they become at the prospect of gaining skills and acquiring new knowledge. How engaging there are; how eager they are eager to share their stories with each other and to share their knowledge with others. They are eager to give advice to one another about the need to be strong and remain active in these trying times.

While there is a tremendous amount of suffering and injustice occurring in this corner of the world, there is still astonishing hope to be found in Eastern Congo. This is not the kind of hope that lies dormant; rather, it is the type that is active. It is not the kind of hope that prompts people to ask for pity or charity; instead, it is the kind that prompts them to seek skills and training. Clearly, this is not the kind of hope that compels people to ask for handouts. Quite differently, it is the kind of hope that prompts them to ask—always courteously—for a hand up. What a delight it is to see this tangible hope in a place where few people can see the light.  Being in the Congo again has been deeply painful for me as my heart is too sensitive to bear witness to injustice of any kind. Still, my heart delights as I realize how we as an institution continue to make hope a reality for so many deserving people. This is the reality that I see, smell, touch, and feel. I can see it with each smile on the faces of women and children as they participate in our training.  Simply to be able to witness this expression is a reward in itself. It is indeed a privilege and a gift to see the lives that are being transformed.

I am reminded that there is always hope even in the midst of dire uncertainty, and the women with whom we work, in places like the DRC, have reminded me of this many times. With that reminder, I am once again moved by the way these women face the uncertain situation in their country. They face it with exhilarating clarity and the strong conviction that they can make a difference within their sphere of influence at the grassroots level—and they often do. They are successful in this because they believe they can indeed make a difference. Thankfully, we at Women for Women International help them achieve those beliefs and those outcomes.

My Journey back to Rwanda by Judithe Registre

I first worked in Rwanda in 2001. Since then, I have had the privilege to travel through the country on numerous occasions.  Each time I am in Rwanda, I am moved to see the transformation that has taken place and continues to occur as Rwanda redefines itself.

We hear a great deal about how corruption is rampant in Africa, how African states are useless to their population, and how poverty is eating away at people’s dignity. I can go on with this list that so typifies the illustration of Africa, but that is not my goal as I reflect on my visit to Rwanda. Yet I will make this one point before I proceed. There is too little being said in the discussions that lump Africa into a single country about how a country like Rwanda is defying all of those odds that are given for the African Continent all too often.

The leadership’s commitment to womens involvement in all aspects of Rwanda’s development to the rebuilding of its infrastructure and human resources development are just a few of the things that move me as I encounter Rwanda again. Despite all these things, I am most startled by what I have witnessed through the Women for Women Program. Building Rwanda’s infrastructure, such as roads, homes, schools, and myriad others is perhaps the easier thing to accomplish based on the commitment and available resources. What is significantly more difficult to do in Rwanda because of the conflict is to refresh people’s souls and help them regain their trust in each other. This, I know all too well, is a long journey and will continue with each succeeding generation. Yet clearly, the group in society with the greatest potential to contribute to the rebuilding of trust is without a doubt the women of Rwanda.

At Women for Women International, the groups of women that come together to participate in the comprehensive educational and vocational skills training do so despite their different backgrounds. What they have in common is a willingness and determination to change their lives and those of their families and communities. We support them in that mission. In Rwanda, seeing women from different ethnic groups mired in that drive to transform their communities is the beacon of light that helps one understand the possibilities that exist for continued growth and stability in Rwanda. Forgiveness is not often granted without understanding, and with each group discussion, understanding is generated. You often see women building those bridges of trust. Indeed, such bridges are absolutely vital to Rwanda’s future. To hear a woman—a total stranger who has never met me before—say that she loves me and wants to see me to do well, motivates me to find the strength I need to love my neighbors. Hating does not help the pain go away; it never will. Her realization is perhaps that forgiveness might help lighten the load of the pain she bears. And with each burden that is laid to rest, the women find the peace and understanding they need to consolidate the foundation of the bridge of trust.

While in Rwanda I am reminded, that we do more than simply help women rebuild their lives by gaining skills and knowledge. We help them build trust through understanding, which is an ingredient that is perfectly essential to peace and nation building.

Zainab’s Al-Mutanabi Street Visit by George Nichola

Al-Mutanabi Street is a place where books of all kinds (political, historical, social, economical, medical, psychological…etc) are sold. Al-Mutanabi is a small and old district on eastern bank of Tigris, it consists of ancient buildings on each side and they are extended along the street; you can clearly see (Tigris) when you reach the bottom of Al-Mutanabi Street. Most of the apartments in these buildings are book stores or book shops. Al-Mutanabi Street is regarded as one of the renowned places in Baghdad as it refers to the cultural treasure of Baghdad in particular and Iraq in general…

One year ago, in 2007 this street was subject of an explosive car, about 100 people were killed in that explosion which targeted the humble, educated and cultivated level of society. Students, teachers, professors, press and regular people who are interested in reading gather there in order to look for books, thesis, magazines…etc of their interest. People lost their sons, daughters, kids and even fathers or mothers in that explosion, some book shops owners lost 4 or 5 of their children in that day.

The explosion created fear, sadness and damaged the old buildings as well as in the old street. The street was shut down for several months yet Nori Al-Maliki (Prime Minister) ordered to fix the street and revive it once again. After it was fixed people were scared to go there at first, yet day after day as the security in the whole city of Baghdad and Iraq got better people started coming back to visit that old Street, this street was once again crowded with people, exploring, buying and searching for what they need of books as usual.

Today, Zainab and bunch of staff met near the river (Tigris) and started an amazing tour in one of the most famous streets of Baghdad. We started our tour  in “Gahwat Al-Shabandar “, “Gahwa” means coffee  shop, Baghdadi old coffee is a place where cultivated persons gather from all parts of Baghdad to see each other, as well as to sip tea “Istikan”. “Istikan” is similar to the cup but thinner from the middle and smaller in size than the regular cup of tea.

After taking pictures by an old photographer and having a chat, we left the place and started exploring books; Zainab was very happy, her eyes were glittering to see the old street been revived, people almost happy and less tension. Zainab bought couple of books about history of Iraq. She was peeking on all the books, there are book shops, books arranged on the floor or on tables or scattered books on the floor where you must dig and look for books by your own… Zainab stopped for about 10 minutes near a guy who sells old pictures of rulers, famous places, tools and transportation means of Iraq in (20s -60s) they were very interesting. Zainab bought couple of these pictures…

As we were moving among the crowd we noticed three guys with camera, they were interviewing people in Al-Mutanabi Street. They as we were passing beside them, one of the crew asked Ibtesam (IG officer) to interview her. They wanted to convey to the world that not only men in Iraq read and not only men are interested in books and literature… Actually women are interested also in reading in Iraq, there is a great number of women in Iraq who are interested in books and reading… Ibtesam with confidence made the interview successfully and she gave her opinion about why she chooses to cut her holiday on Friday and comes to visit Al-Mutanabi? Her answer was: to explore and update my library at home with everything new, my daughters like to read during summer holiday, especially those books that improve their English language.

After books shopping, we had a short visit to the “Souq” the old public market; in the souq you can found all kinds of goods: clothes, Accessories, ancient tools and status that refer to Iraq famous figures and places…etc.

Then we have a stop at the Tigris banks where a singer accompanied with “Al-Qanon” player surrounded with people mostly men, there were few women as well, clapping and cheering the singer.

People, in Al-Mutanabi, old Souq and on Tigris bank sound as live is getting back to Baghdad in particular and Iraq in general gradually. That is important and cheerful thing yet we need to move, to do something in order to achieve a balance in society.

As we were crossing the river to the other bank (Al-Karkh) western bank of Tigris in a small boat, Zainab eyes were filled of tears as she was happy to see happy, cheerful and hopeful people along with others busy searching books, others trying to make a living, some other praying in mosques, all together composing the Iraqi society in peace and harmony regardless of their religion, political perspectives or areas where they live.

May 18, 2009: Baghdad – By Zainab Salbi

I lay down at the end of my first day in Baghdad in the deep darkness of a night with a beautiful summer breeze, the sound of crickets, and the smell of the Tigers River.  There is no electricity in the house, though everyone is happy with the improvements in the number of hours they are getting electricity which amounts to about 12 hours a day, give or take one or two hours, depending on the neighborhood.  Much has changed since I was last here in February of 2008.  The airport looks more organized, the staff are polite, doctors check passengers for any fever, something that looked more silly than cool, but it was still a change to a more professional airport, and nice, uniformed taxis are waiting at the airport door.  The streets are pale and dusty but there is something about the sand of the desert contrasted with the green of the palm trees that brings a soft breeze to the heart…a combination of sadness, nostalgia, and hope for the future.

Life seems to have relaxed a bit in Baghdad.  As I pass by the University of Baghdad, its doors are full of students, women and men, chatting, mingling, and flirting with each other; women drive in their cars, walk without a headscarf in the streets; scenes that were common throughout my life in Iraq but have become rare in the last few years before the security situation deteriorated in Baghdad. But that calmness is not without the presence of military, with the tanks driving through the city, men at the top with a machine gun that rotate as the soldier check out the streets.  Check points are still all over but with soldiers who are getting more of the people’s respect than ever in the last few years.  People are more willing to visit different neighborhoods where they were not willing to take such risk the year before, though the question of who controls that neighborhood is still asked.

On the way from the airport, I ask my colleague Ali to stop at a local bakery so I can get Samoon, a kind of bread that is a specialty in Iraq and many other parts of the world that was once controlled by the Ottomon empire.  I find the taste of home in it and it brings back my childhood memories.  More than that, there is a an Iraqi saying that when two people share a piece of bread together they are to be friends forever. I no longer know how much is left of such a concept of generosity and kindness in the country.  People here have gone through more 30 years of wars and some have not seen life other than in a war zone.  How much the people have changed, I no longer know.

By the time I finish eating my piece of bread, I enter our office.  Three security guards who staff our office, along with every house and office in the city, open the door for us.  That’s when I meet my colleagues who have been working with Women for Women International since 2003.  They have endured so much danger and insecurity.  They have seen bombs and explosions and continued to do work despite all odds in a country that that has terrorized half of its population.  Despite this, they have persevered, serving a total of 3,274 women since Women for Women International started its work in Iraq. We all get emotional, crying and embracing when we see each other. They, like all Iraqis who have stayed in the country, need a witness to their pain and to their work and determination and I am the only witness who can come and see that first hand from the HQ office as it is dangerous for others to visit.

I go around, hug and talk with all of our staff, and see the reports of our expansions in Baghdad and our work with socially excluded women here.  I am told of a woman who lives in a small room under the stairs of a building with her four daughters and how she is petrified by anybody around her.  As a single mother with four single teenage daughters, they are all vulnerable to various kinds of abuse.  So she hides in her hole, cleans some houses for money, and is too afraid to even join an organization that is trying to give her assistance.  The staff have been visiting her for weeks until she can trust them and join the group.  In a country where there have been so many killings, so many kidnappings, so many bombings and suicide bombings, and so much corruption, it is not easy to get the trust of anybody and it takes quite a lot of work just to convince vulnerable women to trust that there is someone out there who indeed wants to help and not hurt them.

I finally head to my family’s home, a ride that ends up being about two hours, as opposed to no more than twenty minutes six years ago. When I arrive there, I feel I am in a safe haven.  There is the Tigers, with fisherman calmly hoping to catch some fish to feed their family and maybe sell, there is the beautiful garden with flowers, and, yes, there is even a pool.  I sit with my family by the river, smoking Sheesha with fruit flavored tobacco, my uncle drinks his whiskey, a friend of the family sits with her headscarf and black robe as she mourns her deceased husband, and my cousins and their wives.  Just a small family and friends gathering in a summer evening in Baghdad includes Sunnis, Shias, and Kurds, and not one of us talked about this issue that seems to consume more attention from the outside world than in our own internal world.  The debate was anywhere from Bush’s policy towards Iraq and how some liked it and some didn’t, to how much Iraqis love President Obama, to Malaki and how Sunnis and Shia’as alike are starting to be comfortable with his policies, regardless of his own personal sect.

In the midst of our political discussion, there was a sound of a huge explosion.  There was a silence for only less than a second. We wondered where this bomb could be coming from and we resumed the conversation as of nothing happened.  My mother’s friend picked up her cell, called her family to check if they are alright and continued to join us in the conversation.  “We are used to that,” she said.  “We rarely stop life because of a bomb. Often activities resume, windows are replaced and the stores are reopened within no more than 20 minutes from any bomb [going off]”, she continued.  “The only exception”, she explained, “is when my brother saw dead bodies in the last bombing in Al Kademmya where 60 people were killed.  He saw many parts of people’s bodies and he was really affected and couldn’t eat anything for two days”.

It is amazing how life resumes back so fast, I comment.  My cousin, who never left the country, looks at me and says, “It never stopped Zainab throughout all these years”. In all of the discussions of the Iraq war, we have mainly discussed things from a front line perspective. I wish more efforts were taken to understand the back line discussion of what war is and what peace means for Iraqis.  Perhaps things would not be as destroyed as they are today.  I go to bed knowing there is hope in people’s hearts and I pray that we don’t lose one more opportunity of transferring hope to tangible improvements in people’s lives.

Rwanda – GAKO Farm – by Sara Sykes

April 3, 2009

GAKO Farm

I have never before felt such a strong connection to the Earth as I did visiting our CIFI program at GAKO farm in Kabunga, about a 30 minute drive from Kigali. Everything about GAKO vibrates—the clean air, green, fresh and alive with the hum and churn of organic processes and people. Our women learn so many amazing skills, from sack and kitchen gardens to animal husbandry and crop management. Mr. Richard, our technical partner and the founder/managing director of GAKO, his wife, Francine, a trained agriculturalist, and their lovely children were our gracious tour guides, showing us the incredible capabilities, power, and true worth of sustainable, organic farming.

Since land in Rwanda is so scarce (.6 HA for each family), skills such as sack and kitchen gardens are vital for our women to learn.

Small groups of our women train intensely at GAKO for six days at a time, living in dormitories and applying what they learn in the classroom to the demonstration gardens and fields that are GAKO. The result is stunningly beautiful—women, working as a unit, reusing and recycling all materials produced on the farm to feed themselves, the workers, and sell at market. The effect is so true and resonates so loudly, one realizes that the very worth of an education and training in organic farming and agriculture is infinite. These women are learning the very art of survival—food production and management—and, in turn, bringing those skills back to support their families and communities.

One women in our program explained that after returning to her home with her newly acquired skills, her neighbor said, “I want to know how to do that! Can you teach me?”

After showing us one demonstration farm on .6 HA, Mr. Richard explained that the particular family living on that farm brings in $400 a month. The goal of the Rwandan government is for every family to be making $900 a year. For a moment we were all shocked into silence.

Our concept of circles at Women for Women is truly circuitous onto itself. The circle of women gathering, learning, and then sharing creates better communities, families and nations, circles forever linked. Our CIFI program deeply epitomizes this and looking out amongst the thousand hills, the women and men working side by side, the bean, carrot, cassava, and chard growing neatly, yet inhabiting a wild quality all the same, allowed me to feel a true connection, depth, and spiritual meaning to the work we do.

Perhaps this is my circle, or, just the beginning, in Rwanda.

Congo – Day 4 – By Sara Sykes

If I could do it, I’d do no writing at all here. It would be photographs; the rest would be fragments of cloth, bits of cotton, lumps of earth, records of speech, pieces of wood and iron, phils of odors…A piece of the body torn out by the roots might be more to the point.

–James Agee, Let Us Now Praise Famous Men

If Rwanda is small warm flame burning through my heart, Congo is a burst of mad fire, bathing everything in a bright light, faces agape, eyes bright with shock and wonderment, nothing left to hide in the shadows, all exposed.  The night before we entered Congo, I put my toes in Lake Kivu and turned twenty-nine. To my right was Goma, the bright boasting lights of the wealthy on the shore. To my left, sparse pinpricks of the lights of Gyseni, Rwanda. And, in front of me, in the middle of the lake, the methane processing plant, working to provide power for my surroundings, a looming reminder of all the wealth and power that lies in the soil here.

Crossing from Rwanda into Congo is more than a physical act of the body. It is the shifting of energy inside your heart, your gut, your very base. The Congolese have eyes filled with hunger, sharp pains that start at the ground under their feet, spilling out of their thirsty, beautiful faces. There is a chaos, a lack of logic, a rampage, an indescribable need for survival that flattens itself against your chest and pulsates until the second you cross back. You are moved along and jolted with the ebb and flow of it, the stop and go go go of it, the rock and roll of it, the contradiction and madness of it. Everything  an irony, a hypocrisy, a metaphor, a lament, a tiny joy, an absence of air, a fight, a small victory, an aching want. Never have I had more of an inner struggle with my own thoughts and feelings before. Never have I felt the need to take a whole country in to my arms and weep for it. Never have I felt so spoiled, so privileged, so unworthy. Never have I felt such hope and pain, spiraling around each other, a twisting double helix, churning against the walls of my heart.

How can I describe the act of driving to see the IDP women at our training center in Goma? The act itself exhausting, the road potholed, dangling on a precipice, a cracked film of suffering, hurrying, surviving, sharp black-gray spectrum of volcanic rocks, black dust, selling and hustling, all piled on top of each other. Motorbike taxis crammed three deep across behind and in front of us, a hand reaching in the back window to snatch Zainab’s video camera, a vacant look. Looming volcanoes, smoking and threatening. Military and police with AK-47’s on every corner. My body feeling thoroughly shaken and disjointed, my head, numbed, floating above my shoulders.

There are five IDP (Internally Displaced Persons) camps in Goma alone. Women for Women International supports 1,000 of these women from one of the camps. These women have just started our program, they are so new, so green, so despairing, that I am at a loss to anticipate what we will find at the training center, about a 15 minute drive from our Chapter Office. Just as in Rwanda, the training center is surrounded by high walls with a locked gate and security guards (40% of our DRC staff are security alone). As has been the theme of my experience here, we approach the gates, they start to open, Zainab turns and says, “Brace yourself” and I’m overtaken with a surge of joy and heat and energy. The women are crowded at the entrance, hundreds of them, a sea of colors and singing hearts. They are dancing, clapping, rejoicing at our arrival. Some are trying to touch the car before we can even get out, some are crying with happiness. The manual trainers are trying to hold them back as they themselves try and snap pictures of us at the same time. Tears fill my eyes now, as they did then, writing this two days later on the plane, and I can hear the cries and voices loud and piercing, their notes have a different feel and soul to them, their singing like all the violence and destruction and rocks and dust, once crammed in their throats, is now escaping, breaking the silence, pulsating out and over this place.

Congo – IDP Camps – by Sara Sykes

IDP Camp

After experiencing the Women’s Rights Training and listening to their stories and shared learning, our DRC Country Director, Christine Karumba, took us to the one of the five IDP camps where these women are all living, some for three years now. Trying to wrap my head around these women’s reality—being forced from your own home, displaced in your own country, with no way of knowing when and if you can return—made my eyes tear in angry confusion. I feel as if I experienced the camp in short films across my eyes, each one it’s own, yet connected to the others. For this reason, I cannot write a narrative, only the short reels that could not and will not ever do these women justice. My only hope is to share this horrific yet beautiful moment in my life that forever will be burned into the flesh of my heart.

A four year old girl carrying a stack of wood, three times as long and heavy as she, on her head. She has on a faded Big Bird shirt on.

The ground is a chaotic wreck of jagged volcanic rocks piled at unstable angles and we must go slowly, carefully, and anxiously across the camp. More than once I stumble, scrape my foot or lose my balance.

Children with clothes so dirty you cannot tell what their original colors or designs were, some with their clothes hanging off them by a thread, naked underneath to expose their swollen bellies. They are curious and follow us through camp, we gather more as we moved along, giggling and smiling.

A young boy about 2 years old with a ball made of rags. I kick it to him.

Rows of shelters, tightly packed, harsh rocks piled around their perimeters to keep them in place, tattered plastic sheets cover their frames, some have wooden panels, tin, cardboard; rags hang in the entrances, a makeshift door. They no more than 8-10 feet long, 3 or 4 feet wide. I cannot stand up in them.

We are greeted by the camp manager. He explains there are 7,000 women in this camp, 5,000 children, and 2,000 men. I wilt to think about the other 6,000 women.

A market has materialized in the center of the camp. Potatoes are stacked high on concrete platform where a woman gets ready to wash them. Other women sit in small groups, selling grilled cord, reused pain cans full of orange cooking oil; a smoking fire, a boy with no pants. The smell of smoke, something rotting, human waste, fills my nose. I think about vomiting.

The sounds are deafening: babies are screaming, wailing and crying; people are talking hurriedly; women wash dishes and clothes at a wash states; little boys drink out of water spickets; mud sticks to the bottom of my shoes. A young girl, face down on a bed of jagged rocks, wails, her arms limp at her sides; no energy to move. I give her a banana. She immediately stops. She is starving.

I notice no men, just young boys and toddlers.

Long lines at the humanitarian aid tent. Christine explains that goal is to provide a Women for Women International tent inside the camp, as soon as possible.

I see our women, gathering with their notebooks clutched to their chests from the Literacy Training class. They have made the long walk and want us to see their homes. I watch how they never release their notebooks, even when they are talking to each other. They bow their heads with a shy grin when I smile at them and say, “Jambo” (Good morning).

A woman’s home, her tent, her seven children spilling out, their bodies entangled. Her t-shirt reads in French, “I want kisses.” The irony is crushing.

We are all in a small alley, about 5 feet across, separating one row of tents from another. There is hardly any space between them. A young boy across the alley washes a bowl in soapy water, staring at us, two babies peak out of the tent he’s in front of. I feel squeezed in. Our women surround us, excited and so happy we have come. Children are under our feet, their hungry eyes breaking my heart into a million pieces. I wish I had more bananas. I think of Judithe’s home in Rwanda.

A stunning young girl is in front of me. Her t-shirt is powdered blue. It reads, “Girls Rule With Love.”

One of our women explains she doesn’t know when she can go back to her home. Her dreams are to build a house, but she is scared for her life. She has been at this camp for three years, but she has hope.

Christine translates a large sign for us, posted near the center of camp. It has pictures of men with guns, in military uniforms, arresting other men with no shirts on. There are women in the background raising their arms and yelling. It says that rape against women will not be tolerated in the camp and will be punished. I think about this sign anywhere else.

I think of the other 6,000 women in this camp, their 5,000 children.

I think of the four other IDP camps in Goma.

I think how, in the women’s rights training class, the women said they keep their letters under their heads at night.

I think how our women learned A, I, and O. I think how they will clutch their notebooks.

I think I am hollow.

This is the kind of home that women, children and their famillies live in in the IDP Camps

Day Two – Sarajevo & Zenica – Alison Wheeler – Director of Online Marketing

Sahzija – I am the definition of a new business woman

The next morning Seida and her team picked me up in front of the National Theater in downtown Sarajevo and we headed to Vogosca on the outskirts of Sarajevo. We stopped in front of Vildana salon, a freshly painted small building surrounded by a neat white fence. Upon walking in the door, we were greeted by Sahzija Brkanic, a microcredit client with Women for Women International for nearly 4 years. She lost her husband during the war and had to find a way to support her two children, rebuild her home and her life. She stressed to us just how hard things were for her in the beginning. But now, after much hard work, she has opened three beauty salons. Her two daughters run the other two salons and she runs this one.

Solidarity Group Meeting

As we pulled up to our next stop, I noticed two buildings. The one on the right, a bombed out building, had no windows and UNHCR (United Nations High Commission on Refugees) plastic covering what was once the roof. This is how most buildings in and around Sarajevo looked after the war. Then I looked at the building on the left, completely rebuilt with flower boxes hanging on the windows. We went into Sifa Kadric’s home, a client of Women for Women International’s program for 8 years. Inside were nearly a dozen women meeting to make their microcredit payments, talk and support each other – financially, if necessary, and emotionally. One of the women told me about her cosmetics and tailoring business. Another one spoke about growing and selling agricultural goods. As many of them spoke, I kept hearing the same theme. Because of this program, I was able to rebuild my life and put my children through school.

 

 

Gordana – A Woman of Courage

After many cups of coffee (the Bosnians often drink a thick, strong coffee very similar to Turkish coffee), we left the solidarity group meeting and headed to the outdoor market on the outskirts of Sarajevo. We met Gordana, a tall blond Serbian woman, selling shoes in the open marketplace. She told us she had sold goods in this market before the war, during the war and after the war. When Serbs were forced out of this part of Sarajevo, she refused to leave. She didn’t leave during the war and she wasn’t going to leave after the war. This was her home. And as she put it, “Courage. I have courage. I am courageous.” Indeed you are, Gordana.

The Building Blocks of Business

From Sarajevo we then headed to Zelenica, an industrial town an hour north of Sarajevo, to join classes in the core program. In one of the smaller rooms in the Zelenica office, we met a group of women participating in hands on jobs training. About 10 women were watching the instructor trace a pattern and sew a skirt.

In the larger room, we sat with 20 women as they discussed a lesson from the Women for Women International manual, Women in Economics. The women discussed the volume and type of housework they do at home. Then the facilitator asked the group of women, “What are skills you do everyday that you could professionally outside of the home to earn an income?” The women broke into small groups and determined how much they would earn if they provided services such as cooking, cleaning or caring for children. For the next lesson in the program, the woman would be forming small groups and developing a business plan around the services they had identified. They were laying the foundation to start their own business and support themselves.

 

 

 

 

In the larger room, we sat with 20 women as they discussed a lesson from the Women for Women International manual, Women in Economics. The women discussed the volume and type of housework they do at home. Then the facilitator asked the group of women, “What are skills you do everyday that you could professionally outside of the home to earn an income?” The women broke into small groups and determined how much they would earn if they provided services such as cooking, cleaning or caring for children. For the next lesson in the program, the woman would be forming small groups and developing a business plan around the services they had identified. They were laying the foundation to start their own business and support themselves.

Day One – Sarajevo, Bosnia – Alison Wheeler – Director of Online Marketing

I had been looking forward to my trip to Bosnia for a long, long time. Nearly 10 years ago I became friends with a few people from Sarajevo. They had left the besieged city during the war and made their way to Washington, DC. I had heard each of their stories over the years and wanted to see their beloved city for myself. So when I joined Women for Women International in June, I was already planning a trip to Bosnia with these friends and my family. So a visit to the Sarajevo office was included in the itinerary.

 

 

I spent two full days with the Women for Women International Bosnia teams in Sarajevo and Zelenica and came away with a deep respect and admiration for the women in the program and appreciation for the dedicated staff in each of the offices. Here are their stories:

Better to Belong to Something or Someone Than to Buy A Pair of Shoes

 

 

 

I think I truly came to understand the power of the letter in our sponsorship program during my visit with Renata Raus, the sponsorship coordinator in the Sarajevo office. She told me the participants in the program are “proud of their sponsors.” Just as a sponsor may tell a friend or family about a woman they are supporting in another country around the globe, these women in the field share the stories and lives of their supporters. And they wait and wait for these letters to arrive. They want to hear about what their supporters do in their daily lives. It doesn’t matter to them if they get a whole letter, just a few sentences, just a postcard to know they are connected to their sponsor.

 

 

And the beneficiary of the letter is not just the women in the field. A sponsor got to the heart of this in her letter to her sister in Bosnia, “Better to belong to something or someone than to buy a pair of shoes.” Really, what is the cost of sponsorship? The sponsor continued in her letter, “What is the value of something if others are suffering?” The sponsor gains so much from the relationship, if not more…

 

The Entrepreneurs and Organizers of Olovo

 

During the afternoon of my first day, we sat down to a working lunch with women from our program in Olovo. While munching on burek (meat pie), zeljanica (spinach and cheese pie) and the Bosnian version of Italian panatone (alcohol infused fruitcake), I listened to these women tell their stories of bringing home their first paycheck. There was Ramiza Kricic who was selling milk to neighbors in her area. The staff of Women for Women International introduced her to a dairy factory, Milkos, and now the milk from her farm supplies a factory in Sarajevo. And now 82 families are registered to supply to sell milk to this factory! As Ramiza Kricic said, “It is such a good feeling to go to the bank and get a salary….to know you have done something useful.”

 

 

Despite the doubt of her husband and family, another woman, Senada Imsirovic, started to collect herbs to sell in her spare time. Women for Women International matched her with a buyer, Boletus, and her herbs are now used in teas and creams sold locally and internationally. Now her whole family has joined her business.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Judithe Registre’s Journal: Behind the Scenes with 60 Minutes

In early November 2007:
Women for Women International received a call from CBS’s 60 Minutes notifying them that they would like to do a piece on the epidemic and effect of rape on women in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. They specifically wanted to visit the program office and speak to the some of the participants for first hand accounts of what they had seen and endured as women living in the DRC.

Saturday, November 10th:
Upon landing at Kavumu airport in Bukavu from Goma; the 60 Minutes crew came directly to the Women for Women program office to start filming. They shot inside the ceramic studio where participants were actively making tiles, as well as participants in rights awareness groups, literacy, cooking class, sponsorship payment, letter writing, etc.

They interviewed several participants in the program and heard them read letters from their sponsors. They talked with Judithe Registre from Women for Women International about what life is like for the women in the program, and what Women for Women International is doing to help.

Sunday November 11th:
The crew arrives in Walungu at 7:00 am. The road is slippery as it is another rainy morning followed by a rainy night.  They begin to interview women, one in particular stood out – her name was Lucienne. She spoke to Anderson Cooper about her life in the DR Congo and about her participation in the Women for Women program. She also spoke about her sponsor, Deborah Nicholson, and the letters they exchanged.

That night Judithe has dinner with the crew, including Anderson Cooper.  She recalls that “It was light and interesting; Anderson tells some funny stories about his travels and work. Also, she enjoyed hearing one of the cameramen describe how amazing it was to see Lucienne light up when she joined her group.

Monday November 12th:
The producer, Michael and Anderson Cooper leave in the morning, after filming last minute scenes in the morning at Panzi hospital with Dr. Mukwege. The associate producer is also following up with the letter translation process; from the writing/translation of the letters, to the packaging and shipment to Headquarters in order to get a sense of how the Sponsorship program works.

“We are overwhelmed with the sincerity and interest the crew took in our DR Congo Program and with the women and men who participate in it. We look forward to having our story told.”

Judithe Registre, Women for Women International