This afternoon, the trainers (or formatrice, in the local French) discuss their favorite sessions and least favorite sessions to deliver. We know the sessions that the participants tend to enjoy most from their evaluation forms (women in the economy is the overwhelming favorite), so it is interesting to hear what the trainers have to say.

Most trainers enjoy delivering the health and wellness sessions. It can be amazing how little the women we serve know about their bodies and basic things like basic hygiene and nutrition. Their poverty makes it difficult to effectively manage their health. When you live in a mud hut with a thatched roof, no indoor plumbing, and no electricity, how healthy can we reasonably expect our program participants to be? It isn’t surprising that the trainers enjoy delivering this module. Its impact is immediate and visible, and makes the trainers feel good about their jobs.

Further discussion reveals that there is a split on the Stress, Post-traumatic Stress Disorder, and Stress Management session. Many trainers enjoy delivering this session because they know that their participants suffer from varying degrees of stress. All of our women face stress from being poverty-stricken in their daily lives. Then there is the stress that comes from difficult family situations; many of our participants suffer from domestic violence. Finally, there is the overwhelming stress that comes from the unstable security environment. Many participants are displaced, living in IDP camps, or are returnees who have to rebuild their lives from scratch. They have lost family in the conflict. Many have been raped or otherwise exploited as their communities have been destroyed. Several of our trainers, including the very vocal Mai (from Bukavu) and Josephine (from Goma), enjoy delivering the Stress and Stress Management session because they are well aware of how desperately their women are in need of relief.

Others disagree, and it is interesting that they dislike the Stress and Stress Management topics for the same reasons that their fellow trainers enjoy it. Denise, one of our Bukavu trainers, says that her participants are so traumatized by the conflict that they cannot handle this session. They start weeping in class, and Denise is often at a loss for how best to comfort them. Marie Claire, another Bukavu trainer, agrees. The unstable environment affects all the women, and there is unfortunately no end in sight.

Mai adds to the discussion. She enjoys delivering the stress session, but she dislikes the sessions on women and politics. She says that this is because she, as well as the women she trains, blame Congo’s local and national politicians for their poverty and suffering. She isn’t wrong. I’ve only been here a few days, but I can already see that there is little infrastructure and even fewer facilities.

Mai goes on to say that there is only one trained psychologist in the Bukavu area. How can one psychologist provide for thousands of women who are in such great need of counseling? She understands her colleague’s frustrations; there is only so much that our trainers can do for their women.

As it turns out, Mai was a trained HIV / AIDS counselor during her former career as a nurse. She suggests that the trainers with a background in health receive additional training in trauma counseling to help our own WfWI participants with their unique needs. Nina and I ask how many trainers think this would help their women in need, as well as help them deliver the stress sessions more effectively. All 37 trainers raise their hands. Mai and Josephine make it their personal mission to hammer this point home to Nina and I for the rest of the week. I understand, and hope that we can strengthen trainer capacity in this regard. No one can deny that they in DRC, trauma healing is vital to out success and to our women’s recovery from the conflict.

WfWI-DRC has the largest program in the Women for Women International network, serving over 7,000 women this year. Looking at a map of the country at large, the areas in which we work seem rather close in vicinity, especially relative to the size of the country (nearly the same landmass as Western Europe). However, looking at the prominently placed map of DRC in the Bukavu headquarters, it is clear that the communities WfWI-DRC serve are nowhere near each other; from North to South, Goma, Bukavu, Baraka, and Uvira are hours away from each other. It is a 13 hour drive, north to south. Unfortunately for me, it means that my time in the country will be primarily limited to Bukavu. Luckily for me, the training staff from all the sub-offices are here for the Training of Trainers (ToT).

The ToT’s purpose is to give an in-depth orientation to the newly deepened Women’s World Manual Curriculum, help the Renewing Women’s Life Skills trainers improve their facilitation skills, and most importantly help them solve problems so they can more effectively serve the women participants. I already knew that the DRC training crew have significant challenges, but I also know that they are uniquely placed to have a great impact on the women we serve. Having worked on the curriculum revision for two years as WfWI Program Coordinator in DC, I am very excited and happy to be here.

This is also a unique opportunity for the trainers; such great distances mean that they have little opportunity to interact, share experiences, and focus exclusively on their training techniques. They seem especially excited that Nina and I are here to focus on their important work. On the first day of training, it seems quite a lot like the first day of “school”; the ReneWLS trainers stick with the people they know. The Bukavu group sits together, the Goma group sits together, and the Baraka/Uvira group sit together. I know they are excited, but they also seem nervous. This is not surprising; having worked on the revised curriculum for a long time myself, I know that the new manual is more than double the size of the original, which makes it imposing before you even open the book. But, as lead training consultant Nina Nayar says as she introduces the curriculum, we have complete confidence in the training staff. We know they can master the new material. All that is really new is the methodology, and I am more than confident that the trainers can learn from each other and teach Nina and I things as well.

Nina introduces herself, and then gives me the floor. I tell the trainers about my work with WfWI, and I also tell them that I am a first generation American whose parents are from Nigeria and Ghana. This is my first trip to Africa since I was a child. This brings lots of smiles and applause to the room.

Then the 37 trainers, plus office and sub-office staff introduce themselves. The youngest trainer is 22 – the oldest trainers playfully decline to give their age. The trainers are young, mature, married, widowed, divorced, single, and have training in many different fields. There are trained teachers, nurses, lawyers, and agronomists in the training staff. Also present is Honorata, the prime example of WfWI successes, is present among the Baraka group of trainers. As we finish introducing ourselves and begin dividing up sessions and exercises to practice, I am certain that WfWI-DRC has the best trainers to be had in the country. I am excited to see what they make of the new material.

WfWI-DRC has the largest program in the Women for Women International network, serving over 7,000 women this year. Looking at a map of the country at large, the areas in which we work seem rather close in vicinity, especially relative to the size of the country (nearly the same landmass as Western Europe). However, looking at the prominently placed map of DRC in the Bukavu headquarters, it is clear that the communities WfWI-DRC serve are nowhere near each other; from North to South, Goma, Bukavu, Baraka, and Uvira are hours away from each other. It is a 13 hour drive, north to south. Unfortunately for me, it means that my time in the country will be primarily limited to Bukavu. Luckily for me, the training staff from all the sub-offices are here for the Training of Trainers (ToT).

The ToT’s purpose is to give an in-depth orientation to the newly deepened Women’s World Manual Curriculum, help the Renewing Women’s Life Skills trainers improve their facilitation skills, and most importantly help them solve problems so they can more effectively serve the women participants. I already knew that the DRC training crew have significant challenges, but I also know that they are uniquely placed to have a great impact on the women we serve. Having worked on the curriculum revision for two years as WfWI Program Coordinator in DC, I am very excited and happy to be here.

This is also a unique opportunity for the trainers; such great distances mean that they have little opportunity to interact, share experiences, and focus exclusively on their training techniques. They seem especially excited that Nina and I are here to focus on their important work. On the first day of training, it seems quite a lot like the first day of “school”; the ReneWLS trainers stick with the people they know. The Bukavu group sits together, the Goma group sits together, and the Baraka/Uvira group sit together. I know they are excited, but they also seem nervous. This is not surprising; having worked on the revised curriculum for a long time myself, I know that the new manual is more than double the size of the original, which makes it imposing before you even open the book. But, as lead training consultant Nina Nayar says as she introduces the curriculum, we have complete confidence in the training staff. We know they can master the new material. All that is really new is the methodology, and I am more than confident that the trainers can learn from each other and teach Nina and I things as well.

Nina introduces herself, and then gives me the floor. I tell the trainers about my work with WfWI, and I also tell them that I am a first generation American whose parents are from Nigeria and Ghana. This is my first trip to Africa since I was a child. This brings lots of smiles and applause to the room.

Then the 37 trainers, plus office and sub-office staff introduce themselves. The youngest trainer is 22 – the oldest trainers playfully decline to give their age. The trainers are young, mature, married, widowed, divorced, single, and have training in many different fields. There are trained teachers, nurses, lawyers, and agronomists in the training staff. Also present is Honorata, the prime example of WfWI successes, is present among the Baraka group of trainers. As we finish introducing ourselves and begin dividing up sessions and exercises to practice, I am certain that WfWI-DRC has the best trainers to be had in the country. I am excited to see what they make of the new material.

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.

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.

The most three common phrases that we do here frequently everyday are; “Its to unsafe in Iraq’, “dangerous nationality” and “Look how savages are the Iraqis”. I myself sometime follow the echo of these words, some of my close friends do already believe so…

I was about to believe these three awful phrases, but each time I discover that Iraq is not safe yet its people “the original ones” are kind, tender and supportive… yes believe me when I say this, perhaps you hear or see things about Iraq, which can be true or can be not true all the prospects are possible, some of you will not convinced with my idea and you may think that I am trying to decorate the Iraqi scene; I am not and sometimes I do agree with these three phrases yet sometimes I found myself not so sure for  particular events appear on the ground that make me not sure of what I feel towards Iraq. Well try to follow me in order to see whether there is good Iraq or it’s bad from the start…

One day as friends of mine and I were in our way back to home from work, in one of the most hot and sunny summer days of Baghdad, the car we were riding broke up suddenly in an area crowded of workers and simple people who gathered near my window looking curiously at us, my own concern was the ladies that were with us, how should I act? Should I send them by taxi home by their own selves? Or accompany them? Should I leave the driver who is my friend alone facing these people? I was truly confused the heat of the sun increased my tension… Suddenly, one of these who come too close and examined the hot parts of the car which were burning, trying to touch them by his bare hands… while everyone around us were laughing at him as he suggested to fix the machine after he knew that there was something wrong with the gear of the car, he at once asked one of the crowded guys to bring a peace of clothe in order to catch the hot parts; at first I did not believe he could help us and that he is massing up but what can I do I can not go and see what he is doing as I was standing near my colleagues window for other guys were getting close to the windows in an attempt to look inside the car, these humble people were too curious which annoyed me a lot, so I was like a guard watching the guys and the car as my friend disappeared, I terrified and I asked about him a boy who was standing near by me, he responded with a smile that he went to by Hydraulic acid for the gear…

Satar was the name of the guy who offered to help, he insisted on helping us while I and my friend asked him just to show us from where we can get a crane to lift the car to the mechanical; he was young guy about 29 – 30 years old, so active and optimistic that he insisted to have a shot to fix the car…

From time to time I was hearing “Ouch.. It’s burning… I can not affix this… hot to hold…”, while I was watching the guys, I was afraid that they would rob anything from the car or even from my friend’s pocket, I expected anything from them accept being good to us. After about quarter of an hour, the sun heat was still striking straight on my brain, sweating from every part of my body, I heard Satar saying I fix it… I could not believe that until did my friend drive softly in the road…

My friend offer or tried to give Satar any amount that he would demand but he refused to take anything, anything at all… while he was looking like need some.. he was a driver “services cars driver”.

I guess no one would do such help, exposing his hands to heat and they were burned several times and laid on the hot pitch of the road, which seemed to be burning for nothing…Do not agree with me?

Iraqis my friend, are well known maybe not in the western world but in the eastern world in general and the Middle East in particular with their pure spirit and their eagerness and readiness to help not only the native citizens but the strangers as well, perhaps they do help them more than they do with the natives, so my friend I do not know how to explain what is happening now in here… but I can tell you only this Iraq still had his own original feature, that’s why I still love my country, still need to smell his soil and try to help in restoring his old glory…

These guys I expected nothing good from them, I was thinking they may harm us but the fact was something different… Perhaps there were bad guys who wanted Iraq and it’s people to look savages but always the truth appears on the surface. The truth that Iraqi people are helpful, peaceful and like to live in harmony with each other;

I know some will not agree with me, for those I may say: its ok time will prove my words… yes it will!

]]> http://wfwnotesfromthefield.wordpress.com/2009/06/02/rays-of-hope-a-social-report-from-iraq-by-george-nichola/feed/ 2 wfwnotesfromthefield http://wfwnotesfromthefield.wordpress.com/2009/06/02/zainabs-al-mutanabi-street-visit-by-george-nichola/ http://wfwnotesfromthefield.wordpress.com/2009/06/02/zainabs-al-mutanabi-street-visit-by-george-nichola/#comments Tue, 02 Jun 2009 14:42:17 +0000 wfwnotesfromthefield http://wfwnotesfromthefield.wordpress.com/?p=258 ]]>

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.

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.

Sister to Sister in Rwanda

April, 2009

The trip from Kigali to Rwamagana is a little more than an hour’s drive along a surprisingly well‑paved two-lane highway.  From my open window in the van I see lush green rolling hills and red earth, small mounds of farmland, banana trees, and wetlands filled with stalks of sugar cane and squat tea trees rushing by me.  Along the sides of the road many people are walking, all of them balancing something on their heads – baskets of deep red tomatoes or dusty brown sweet potatoes, plastic jerry cans filled with water, long thin branches of firewood, bundles of thick sugar cane or dark green cassava leaves – and everywhere the smoky scent of cooking fires permeates the air.  The beauty of Rwanda mystifies me.

At a crossroad in Rwamagana we leave the paved highway and drive several miles on a rutted, kidney-jarring, dirt road; ten of us bouncing along in the Women for Women (WFW) International van, the local children running alongside waving at us, the women hoeing their small plots of land gaping at us as we drive by, wondering who we are and where we are going.  I am traveling with the trainers from the Kigali office to enroll women from this rural area into the program – and to meet the woman I sponsor.  She has no idea I am coming.

More than one hundred women wearing long dresses and headscarves in brilliant African prints and infants tucked in their laps or swaddled on their backs are waiting patiently for us on the grass under the shadows of shade trees and brightly-colored rain umbrellas.  They study us curiously, especially me, the only white woman in the group.  Later I would learn they had many questions about me, wanting to know if I am “a woman or a girl;” meaning, if I am married or single, among many other things.

I sit on a wooden bench next to the WFW staff in the warm April African sun as one of the trainers translates Kinyarwanda into English for me.  The trainers finish telling the women about the program and then direct them into smaller groups.  My sister, Marie Odette, is called out of her group to meet me.  My first memory of Marie is of a young woman in a long brown print dress carrying a wooden bench for us to sit on and placing it under a shade tree.  We hug each other as though we are old friends who have reunited after a very long time apart.  Marie is a pretty, shy woman with a quiet demeanor, but she carries the look of sadness in her dark eyes.  Through my interpreter I learn that she and one brother are the sole survivors of a family of thirteen; she lost the others to the 1994 genocide.  She points to a small cemetery on the side of a hill where they are buried.  She tells me she had once planned to enter the convent to become a Catholic nun, but after her family was killed she lost faith and grew frightened of living alone and wary of the soldiers who drank heavily and congregated in her village; so she took a young man as a husband for protection.  She says he is a good man and tells me they make and sell banana beer to earn a living.  Then she smiles and tells me proudly that she has started her own business making donuts.  I ask her if her donuts are good.  Her smile turns into a wide grin and she says, “Yes, they are very good.”

Linda and her sister, Marie

Marie Odette, my sister in Rwanda

We pass the afternoon asking many questions about each other; Marie wanting to know where I live and what I do for my work, and if I have children.  She tells me she keeps losing babies and that it makes her the subject of gossip among the other women who seem to have little problem bearing many children.  We encourage her to go to the medical clinic for an examination instead of continuing to seek the advice of the traditional healer in her village; before we leave she promises she will go to the clinic and get the needed treatment.

All too soon the time passes, Marie thanks me for traveling such a long distance to meet her and is very grateful for the small gifts I have brought her; little practical things that are so commonplace to me are very special to her.  And she thanks me for supporting her so that she can complete the program and grow her little donut business and someday open a small shop.  And I feel it is the least I can do to help her accomplish that dream.

Women pause so that I can take images of them with their umbrellas. They remind me of African "Geishas"

The groups begin to break up and the women start to leave to walk back down the dirt roads to their mud houses to resume their daily chores – planting fields and carrying water, cooking meals, washing clothing, and tending to small children.  But here in the late afternoon sunlight as they cross the threshold between the grass and the red earth they appear like African geishas twirling their open umbrellas, their babies tied on their backs with wide swaths of padded cloth.  They pause graciously so that I can take their photographs.  Then Marie stands hand-in-hand with of one her friends and more women come to join her.  As they stand arm-in-arm and hand-in-hand and smile at me with their beautiful wide-open grins and I smile back at them, at once I feel we are all connected.  That we are universal sisters with the same hopes and desires, loves, and dreams, and that day by day we are changing and enriching each others lives through this connection.

I would like to thank the staffs in both the Washington, DC and Kigali offices for making the arrangements for me to meet my sister, Marie Odette in Rwamagana, Rwanda.  It was truly an extraordinary experience that I never dreamed would have come true nearly two years before while I was still living in San Francisco and first started sponsoring a sister through WFW after learning about the organization by watching a 60 Minute segment by Anderson Cooper about the brutal rapes of women in the DRC.  Marie is the third woman I have sponsored.  Thank you to Priscilla and Sara in DC and to Peace and Berra and all the staff in the Kigali office who picked me up at my hotel, allowed me to hitch a ride to the rural villages and attend workshops at the Kigali office, and for enthusiastically translating for me.  They always made me feel welcome.  Thank you to my fellow Tuesday night volunteers in the DC office who enthusiastically supported my trip and wanted to hear all about it upon my return, and for their patience when I repeated the same stories to others over again.  And most importantly, thank you to Zainab, for her tireless effort in raising the consciousness of people all over the world to the plight of women in war-torn countries who still live under deplorable conditions and suffer unspeakable inhumanities and indignities that no woman should ever have to endure.  And to Women for Women International for improving the lives of thousands of women through their innovative sponsorship program.  For in the end I do believe that if we can improve the life of at least one other woman in this world then we have truly done something significant and good with our lives.

Day 1 – 3 May 2009

I arrived this afternoon in Sarajevo to see – for the first time- the actual work of Women for Women International on the ground with my own eyes. On the way from the airport, we passed many buildings with numerous bullet holes large and small, an immediate and very visible legacy of a war that has been one of the worst in recent European history. Later walking through the old part of Sarajevo, I was trying to imagine what it must have been like to have lived through the years of war in Sarajevo (only 15 years ago) – caged in by beautiful mountains which meant you could not get out and I wondered what other legacy this terrible war has left.

In the evening we met a few of the Women for Women staff and Seida, the country director. All together we watched ‘Grbavica’ (Esma’s secret: Grbavica) (Grbavica is an area of Sarajevo where the initial war started and where everyone who was not Serb was killed or raped) and all together we cried. The film, produced in 2006 and winner of the Berlin International Film Festival gave me the answer to my question about the legacy of the Bosnian war. It is a story about a young girl who asks her mother who her father was, whilst initially pretending he was a war hero, at the end the mother tells her daughter that a soldier raped her. The pain and suffering of the mother, all the lost opportunities, the destruction, the denial and the impossibility of actually coming to terms with one of the worst war crimes – rape –  and its legacy is painfully depicted in this amazing film.

Later speaking to one of the staff, Razija, who has been with Women for Women since 1998, she said to me that even though she has seen the film many times, it continues to make her grief to think of all what women have had to go through. Her translator, Edina, a woman who also translates the letters that sponsors and sponsor sisters write to each other, was also visibly shaken by the film and together they told me about the women that Women for Women International works with and helps. One woman she told me about had lost her parents, husband and her two children in Srebrenica. After graduating from our programme she decided to go back to Srebrenica ‘to walk where her children’s feet touched the ground’.

Right now I cannot believe the pain and suffering that this nation has gone through, it seeps through everything, and yet there is the amazing strength of women who survive and become active citizens, speaking out about the most horrendous atrocities of this war to make sure that it will never happen again. More than ever before am I convinced that one of the most important things we can all do is say no to war and violence.

Day 2 – 4 May 2009

This morning we left early and drove through Sarajevo to get to the other side, to visit Women for Women’s offices. On our way there, I saw the Memorial for the dead children of Sarajevo in the centre of Sarajevo. Our driver told us it was to commemorate the huge number of children who died in Sarajevo during the war. At the offices we learned a little bit more about Bosnia’s recent history. 200,000 people were killed in the war. It is estimated that 20,000 women were raped during the war (1992-1995) but only very recently has the government actually began to allow rape to be a criteria for war compensation. But actually the process for qualifying for such compensation is such that it re-victimises the woman all over again. Therefore, unsurprisingly not many women will go and register and give testimony as it involves speaking out in front of 3 male commissioners….. In fact so far there are ‘only’ 3,000 women officially registered.  The shame associated with rape is huge when the men in the family and community elders don’t accept the women back. Seida told us about one woman who was raped and told her husband. He wanted her to put the hand on the Koran and swear it had not happened, she was not able to do this and he left her.

The Dayton agreement ended the war but it also has reinforced the divide between the Federation and the Republica Serbska. Some people who lived in the territory of what is now the Republica Serbska, who are not Serb, have decided to sell their property and not go back. I can see now that the divisions which gave rise to the war and were intensified by it are still there and not enough is being done to address them. I could sense real fear that history could repeat itself.

In addition to the political situation, I also heard that at the moment official figures state a 45.6% unemployment rate. 35,000 people alone lost their job at the beginning of 2009 due to the economic recession.

I am beginning to really see why Bosnia was the country where Zainab started the organisation in 1994. Zainab could not believe that women were being mass raped, everyone knew about it and yet no one was doing anything. So she first went to Croatia in 1993, because at the time it was very difficult to get into Sarajevo. In 1994 she managed to get into Sarajevo, by travelling as a journalist which meant she could get on a UN flight – the only way to get into Sarajevo at the time. She met there with Farida, who I am going to meet tomorrow, and started the sponsorship programme where women and men sponsored a woman in Bosnia every month and wrote letters of support, which at the time had to be smuggled through a tunnel to reach besieged Sarajevo. When the Dayton Agreement was signed Women for Women International had 600 women sponsored. In 1997 the organisation started to make microcredit loans available to women to help them stand on their own feet and in 1998 Women for Women started our core programme in Bosnia, which consists of rights awareness, leadership education and vocational and technical skills training. At the moment there are 3,400 women in our core programme in Bosnia. Women also get job skills and if they are interested they receive comprehensive business services designed to help them start and manage their own microenterprises. The microcredit programme then gives women access to capital. I was so interested to learn that the microcredit programme is based on the solidarity model of the Grameen Bank, which incidentally was the first donor for this programme.

The way this model works is that solidarity groups provide a guarantee for each other, they live in the same neighbourhood etc. WfWI provides them with training and assists them to fill in the application form, we then do regular field visits house to house, to accompany the women.  So once the women in a group have gone through a few cycles, and an individual woman does well, then she can also ask for an individual loan, which we also provide.

Seida said that the micro credit is worrying her right now, with the global financial crisis. In Bosnia WfWI micro credit institution is small in comparison to others in Bosnia and for the first time we are seeing that women are not repaying their loans – only 10% at the moment, which is still very low, but it is a completely new phenomenon. For me it is a clear sign of how the global financial crisis is affecting women in the countries where we work.

Having heard so much about the work, we spend the afternoon visiting a few of the women who have been able to set up their small businesses with the help of the microcredit loans. One woman was proudly standing behind her beautiful counter selling eggs. Her business employs her and her husband.

We also saw a few women who are part of the same solidarity group and have managed to all have their stands together in a small market. They have ensured that each one covers a different market need to make sure that they are not competing with each other.

This woman sells children’s clothes.

The day ends with attending a graduation ceremony of 70 women who have completed the year long course. We hear from one woman who specialised in herbs. When she started the programme she was unemployed. During the programme she became interested in collecting herbs for medical use. So she collected herbs, dried them and started to use them. She now has a successful small business that employs her and her husband. It was so moving to hear her speak and see her husband standing amongst the hundreds of people who had come from the neighbouring villages to support and celebrate the success of the women graduates. I could see the pride with which he was looking at his wife. Later on, after we had tasted the wonderful food that everyone had brought for the celebration and I had danced with the women a traditional Bosnian dance, I visited the small bazaar that the women had put up exhibiting their products and I tried some of her different teas. The energy in the room was so positive and encouraging, everyone had a smile on their lips. When a journalist from one of the national newspapers and radio channels, who wanted to cover the event, asked me whether I thought that there was hope for the women of Bosnia and whether I really thought that programmes such as these make a difference, I knew exactly what I wanted to say. For me there is no doubt that the situation in Bosnia is enormously challenging, because of the legacy of the war and because of the economic situation. But it is clear to me, having seen our women today, that they have hope and skills and the will to make their lives and as a consequence the lives of their families and their community better, for the sake of their children and in hope for a better future. Our work in Bosnia is changing women’s lives, one woman at a time and I feel so privileged to witness this myself.

Day 3 – 5 May 2009

We left very early this morning because today we are going to Srebrenica, which is only about 160km from Sarajevo, but because of the roads, it takes about 3 hours. I was in the car with Farida, the first Women for Women director in Bosnia, who helped Zainab to set everything up. She told us a lot about what it was like to live in Sarajevo during the years of the siege. Whilst I listen to her I look out of the window and admire the beauty of this country. Everything is green. We drive for what seems forever up and down mountains, there are large stretches with no houses at all. Then suddenly we pull in and I see a huge abandoned factory building, the windows are partly shattered, it looks completely deserted and I wonder what we are doing here. Then I realise this is Potocari, the old battery factory where the Dutch peace keeping force was stationed and where the genocide of July 1995 began to unfold, which has now been turned into a museum. I simply cannot describe the atmosphere of that place. You can feel the desolation, the death and despair. For the next few hours a young woman working at the museum told us exactly what happened in Srebrenica. I had no idea that of the ca 8,000 people who were killed here in the space of five days only about 2,000 have so far been buried. The museum guide herself shared her story with us, her brother and father and grandfather were killed. For years they did not find the remains of any of them until a year ago she got a call to inform her that they had now been able to literally ‘piece’ her father together (from three different sites) and that they were 95% confident it was her father. She said that that day she felt not ready and for a moment I didn’t know what she was saying but then I realised that it was only at the point of actually having a body and knowing for sure that it was him and that he had died and knowing how he had died because of the marks on the skull etc that it became real and she could start the proper grieving process. Later when we walked together to look at the war memorial, I talked to the guide about how important it is to have this memorial. She told me about how dedicated and committed she is to the museum and speaking out about the atrocities that happened here. But she also talked about her young baby and how she does not want her to grow up in Srebrenica, surrounded by this grief and this horrible past. For me that was echoing a question I was carrying around with me, which is how can we start to recover if the legacy of mass rape and the fact that entire families have not been able to bury their dead is staring us in the face every day no matter that the war ended 15 years ago. Here in Srebrenica it feels raw and present.

And then in the afternoon we visited some of the women who have been through our programme in Srebrenica and have also received microcredit loans. And that was when I met Safia and actually realised that she was the woman that Razija had told me about on the first evening after watching the film, the woman who decided to go back to her house to ‘walk where her sons had walked’. And she showed me the tree in her front yard where she had seen her two sons, then 16 and 22, for the last time before they ran off with their father into the woods to escape from the Serb soldiers.  She also has not yet been able to bury her sons. She told me her whole story and I began to wonder how she was able to survive with what she had been through. But then she told me about the Women for Women programme and what it had meant to her. She told me that receiving letters was an incredible feeling, to know that there is someone who cares and is interested. She also told me about the skills she learned. She was trained in chicken rearing and received help to build a proper enclosure for them. With the micro credit loan she was able to rebuild her house. But most importantly perhaps, she met three other women through the programme who she still stays in touch with. In fact they were there when we visited. They all said that thanks to Women for Women they have been able to speak about all the horrible things that have happened to them and they take comfort in the knowledge that they understand each other. I think to myself that this must be the most important thing anyone can ever do – to provide a lifeline, something that will help women to live through the worst atrocities and move from victim to survivor to active citizen.

When I started my journey all I thought was that Bosnia was probably relatively advanced in how it has come to terms with the war in comparison to the other countries where Women for Women works, but actually, I am leaving absolutely determined to raise awareness of the horrendous and terrible legacy of this brutal war and to do my bit to ensure that women in Bosnia get the help and support they so desperately need. And in Safia’s words: I hope this will never happen again to anyone…