I hate the word “hero”.  

A hero is perfect.  A hero must do the right things at all times.  A hero is infallible.  

Modern humanitarians I’ve admired like Somaly Mam or Greg Mortensen were elevated to superhuman hero status one day, then branded as “fallen heroes” the next, after proving capable of human fallibility (even gross misjudgment); while the work they did to empower vulnerable girls - which is what was truly heroic - was tragically forgotten.

So, I pause before using the word “heroes” when describing Nicolas Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn and my brief yet inspiring interaction with them in Berkeley last night. But I’m jumping ahead.  Let me back up.

It was around 2010.  I bought Half the Sky at an airport bookshop. “Turning Oppression into Opportunity for Women Worldwide,” the blue cover said.  Back in those days, I was still working in finance.  My head was full of forecast figures and corporate ambition.  I opted for some lighter David Sedaris humor.  The book sat on my shelf and collected dust. 

Fast forward to early 2012.  I had just quit my corporate job the year before, on the back of reconnecting with my biological Korean family, discovering I had been kidnapped at birth to an orphanage, and that my Korean mom was orphaned by the North Korean army who killed her parents when she was six.  I mentioned my story to a friend, how I was planting the seeds of the Global Gratitude Alliance with my co-founders, and how our mission was to empower women and children.  “You have to read Half the Sky,” she insisted.  


I dusted off the blue book cover and spent the next two days on the couch in my pajamas until I finished it.  I’ve since read it several more times, marking it up with post-its and highlighters.  I reference it often in my grad school global studies courses.

What inspired me so much about this book was what the research brought to life.  The stories of real people who have survived sex trafficking, community-prescribed gang rape, and extreme poverty only to come out on the other side to give back, empower others, and create new legacies for their communities.  

Like Tererai Trent from Zimbabwe, married off at age 11 to become a poor cow herder and survivor of domestic abuse, but with a dream to get an education.  With the assistance of Heifer International, she has since earned her undergrad, masters, and Ph.D. in the U.S.  Today, through her foundation called Tonogona (Shona, for “it is possible”) she’s building schools, giving the gift of possibility to other Zimbabwean children.

These stories affirmed not only our focus on women and children, but also our approach of working at the grassroots level - partnering with locals who already know what their communities need.  I noted the story about female genital mutilation, and how cutting was a better term to use when talking to communities who might otherwise feel judged by paternalistic outsiders.  I vowed to only apply culturally informed and community-led approaches in our work.  

And the Senegalese men who felt angry and disempowered when aid workers came to their village to talk only to the women about their rights.  They needed to be included in conversations and as part of the solution.  I remembered what Jacqueline Novogratz said in a TED talk: “…the girls and women are most isolated and violated and victimized… in those very societies where our men and boys feel disempowered…”  And so, we include leadership programs and mentoring for adolescent boys and young men in our scope as well, preventing another generation of child soldiers, gender-based violence, and inequality.

I’m now reading the latest Kristof / WuDunn book, A Path Appears.  The chapter on the neuroscience of giving speaks directly to our core message: giving with gratitude, not guilt, is good for our own health and wellbeing and can empower ripples of change around the world.  

Seeing these two incredible writers, researchers, and humanitarians speak live in Berkeley last night was surreal.  Getting a chance to thank them in person, if only briefly, for the inspiration, guidance, and affirmation of our work with women and children – and my life’s purpose – was exhilarating.  And, having my humanitarian friend, Ann Dretzka, take a photo of us together will be proof that this really did happen when my brain later tries to trick me into thinking it was just a hallucination (perhaps from overeating eggplant curry just before their lecture).

I still feel funny about the awkward, apologetic exchange of my business card during the book signing.  “Errrrr, here is my card…”  But, I’m just going to let that one go.  Because at the end of the day, we are all just humans – even imperfect ones – trying to do our best for the world. 

One of the biggest lessons that I’ve had to learn in life – and in the world of international development work – is to let go.  

I’m a Type A control freak so this lesson isn’t one that comes easily for me.  Rather, it’s a constant process. 

For those who knew me in my former life as a finance manager, with my color-coded spreadsheets and perfect PowerPoint slides, this comes as no surprise.  For those who don’t know me – you’ve now been warned.

This type of control makes me feel safe in a world of chaos.  

So, when our beloved Elayne and dear friend and volunteer Kim called me yesterday to tell me that the online booking agency or the airline or both screwed up and never booked her outbound flight to Kathmandu despite the confirmation email we got, the control freak in me froze up.

What?  We have to postpone the trauma healing staff training?  But we’ve already delayed this training once before (panic sets in). 

What about the teachers’ training schedules?  And, the pre-training evaluations?  And, the eBay Foundation grant?  And, the kids?  And, this thing… and, that thing… and… and… and…

And, then I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.  

I remembered the time when I was about to board my flight to Nairobi for a month-long journey of field work and getting a phone call at the gate that the Nairobi airport had caught on fire. 

Or, Elayne getting a nasty flu in the Congo that was so debilitating that she was in the hospital on an IV drip and had to conduct part of the training with the caregivers gathered around her bedside.

Or, the running water going out for several days in Ethiopia.  Or, the daily power outages in Nepal.  Or, getting bumped off my flight from Nairobi to Addis and spending half the night in the airport.  The examples are endless.

Life IS chaos.  

Despite all of our good intentions and careful planning, things happen.  

The Western world doesn’t tend to cope well with uncertainty and hiccups in our well-laid plans.  Surely if something goes wrong, it’s someone’s fault, could’ve been prevented, and we need better contingency planning in the future.  People tend to fall off the rails, lose their cool, and still – it doesn’t change anything.

However, the rest if the world has something to teach us about letting go.  

Whether it’s the oft said “hakuna matata,” meaning “no worries” in Swahili or the many mantras and themes of “letting go” in Buddhist, Taoist, Hindu, and Yogic texts, it’s all about realizing that there are things in life that we just can’t control. 

In the end, it’s all about how we choose to deal with it.  And, practicing gratitude for the breath we are still breathing and the lessons we can learn. 

Nepal will be there tomorrow.  As will the children’s home, the kids, the staff and the teachers.  With a refund for the botched flights, the funding is still there.  

We’ll just have to reschedule.  

And, so it is.

NB: The Nepal trauma healing training has been rescheduled to January 2015.

​By Amy Paulson (Reposted from The Gracias Foundation, now called Global Gratitude Alliance)

I remember when I first read Long Walk to Freedom, the epic autobiography of Nelson Mandela.  It was 2006.  I lived in a 100-year old house in Germany that had poor heating.  I tried to keep warm by soaking in the bathtub every day while reading his book.  If you’ve seen it, you know that this particular book is thick and heavy.  You can imagine the number of times it fell into the tub by accident.  

This book had been on my personal reading list for years.  I’d put it off because it seemed too intimidating. But, at some point, I bucked up and decided that if Mandela could spend 27 years of his life imprisoned for fighting a system of institutional racism that was so morally wrong that in 1973 the UN declared it a crime against humanity, then the least I could do was spend a few days reading his book.  

Wow.  I’m so glad I did.  Here’s why this man became my hero:

• He was the first of his family to attend school. He finally completed his law degree while in prison in 1989.

• His actions followed his words: “Rhetoric is not important. Actions are.”

• Even in prison, he continued the struggle, organizing debates, studying law and even Afrikaans - the language of his oppressors, surviving solitary confinement for possessing news clippings, and fighting against racism within the prison system.

• After he was released from prison at the age of 71, his message to his countrymen was one of peace, forgiveness, and reconciliation: “As I walked out the door toward the gate that would lead to my freedom, I knew if I didn't leave my bitterness and hatred behind, I'd still be in prison.”

• He continued to campaign for peace, human rights, education, and HIV/AIDS advocacy (his son died of AIDS in 2005), well into his 90's.

Mandela proved to the world that humans – even fallible humans like him – are capable of changing the world. 

It may sound cliché.  But, reading that book in the bathtub sparked my interest in the work I do at The Gracias Foundation today.  It helped clarify what I wanted to do (the courage and the plan for how to do it would come many years later) and reminded me that I, even as one person, have something to contribute to global humanity.  While doing nothing at all would be akin to accepting the status quo.  

After hearing about the passing of the beloved Madiba yesterday, I felt heavy, depressed, and fearful.  And then I took a deep breath and remembered that I am still alive.  And what washed over me was a renewed sense of purpose, commitment, hope and gratitude... and the realization that the best way to honor his life and struggle is to continue, in my own modest way, to make a difference.

Today is the international day of peace.  And, as I sit here watching stories of violence in the news, whether about systematic violence in Syria or domestic violence in America, all I can think about is one place where violence has been raging since the mid-1990s: The Democratic Republic of Congo.

After the holocaust, the world said: Never Again.  

After Rwanda, the world said: Never Again.

After 16 years, the genocide against women in the DRC continues. 

Dubbed the rape capital of the world by a UN official, the DRC is known as the most unsafe place in the world for women and girls.[i]  The conflict is complex, resulting from ethnic, political and economic tensions as well as the fight for control of precious minerals – many used in the manufacturing of electronics like mobile phones and laptops.[ii]

In the DRC, atrocities happen every day – things that we can’t even fathom in our darkest nightmares: girls, even babies, are gang raped, tied up like animals for weeks, their vaginas mutilated – with broken bottles, chemicals, and gunshots.  Fathers, brothers, husbands are forced to watch their children, sisters, and wives get raped and tortured, then killed themselves.  Children are kidnapped, forced to become sexual slaves or child soldiers.  

5.4 million people have died between 1998 and 2007 alone.[iii]  Nearly 1.8 million women and girls have been raped.  Roughly 10% of those are girls under 10 years old.[iv]

In the darkness, however, are stories of light:  Our fearless co-founder, Elayne Doughty, just returned from her fourth trip to Eastern Congo where she trained caregivers and survivors on how to heal the deep traumas within themselves and their communities – even if the horror happens to them again and again… for we know that if survivors don’t find a way to heal their pain, they will pass on the trauma to their children and continue the cycle of violence.  

And, our hero, Dr. Denis Mukwege, founder of Panzi Hospital in Eastern Congo, continues to repair the wounds of survivors with extreme physical trauma and genital mutilation – even after an assassination attempt by armed men outside his home.  Every day, Dr. Mukwege risks his life in service of women survivors in his country. Survivors who, in deep service and gratitude, have vowed to ensure his security by guarding him day and night in groups of 20 at a time.[v]

Today, on this international day of peace, it’s time to say: Never Again.  It’s not about their country versus our country or who has bigger problems.  It’s about remembering that we are all a part of the human race, sharing the same planet.  

It’s about teaching a lesson to our children that we will not stand for violence, whether in our homes, our communities, or across the world.  

It’s about standing up to our international leaders and demanding that all human lives be treated with dignity and respect. 

If we do, we will create a safer world for ourselves, our children, and indeed the future of humanity. 

------------------------------

References

[i] UN official calls DR Congo 'rape capital of the world". BBC. (April 28, 2010). Retrieved September 12, 2013.  http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/8650112.stm

[ii] Dias, E. (2009). First blood diamonds, now blood computers?. Time World, Retrieved from http://content.time.com/time/world/article/0,8599,1912594,00.html

[iii] Coghlan, B., Brennan, R., Ngoy, P., Dofara, D., Otto, B., Clements, M. and Stewart, T. (2006). Mortality in the Democratic Republic of Congo: a nationwide survey. The Lancet, 367 (9504), pp. 44-51.Top of FormBottom of Form

[iv] Peterman, A., Palermo, T. and Bredenkamp, C. (2011). Estimates and Determinants of Sexual Violence Against Women in the Democratic Republic of Congo. American Journal of Public Health, 101 (6), p. 1063.

[v] BBC News Magazine (2013). Denis Mukwege: The rape surgeon of DR Congo. [online] Retrieved from: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-21499068 [Accessed: 21 Sep 2013].

At 6.30am on September 5th, I landed at Zurich airport after an ultra intense three weeks of field work, monitoring and evaluations, diligence, project research, and more – not to mention manual farm and house work, and more importantly, spending precious time with the local kids.

It’s now one week later and I’m just now starting to clear my head.

Traveling in Africa can be an overload of the senses and the emotions.

In the rainy season, things just smell differently than they do in the dry season.  My nose sniffs out the scent of dampness in the air, the earthiness of mud puddles all around, peppery spices and rich vegetable stews, and coffee beans roasting over hot coals.

I see and hear goats whining as they walk down streets, competing for the right of way (and winning) over cars and people.  Chickens piled up on the top of a van shriek defiantly at their fate.  And, there’s always a faint sound of music wafting in the air – maybe drumming, maybe hip hop or traditional, maybe just a passerby humming something beautiful to herself.

But most of all, it’s the emotions that overwhelm: Stress from travel delays and traffic jams putting dents in my daily jam-packed work plans.  Frustration then quiet acceptance that doing something seemingly simple, like getting connected to the Internet, can take 6 days of work experimenting with different devices and carriers.  Pride when seeing children shriek with pure joy and laughter, in a way that I’d never before seen from them, during dancing, drumming, or acrobatics classes – programs that our generous donors sponsored to give them a sense of purpose, self-esteem, and belief in their own potential.  And, longing – to do everything necessary to ensure that the incredible people that we serve have the necessary opportunities available to create dignified and independent lives.

Finally, intense gratitude for the gift of this work that I get to do every day.

All these thoughts, senses, and emotions swirl together while my tired brain tries to process everything (steam coming out of my ears) until my body finally fights it, telling me: Stop. Rest.  Be still.  Clear your head.

It’s now a week later, and I’ve done just that.  And, I’m now ready for more.

Every day we take the beauty of our access to technology for granted.  We don’t even think twice about the ease of posting a Facebook update to complain about the person who just tried to cut in line at the cash register seconds after it happened.  Or the technological miracle of receiving real time traffic notifications on our iPhones, telling us that there’s a jam on the highway and we should take another route.

It’s after midnight. I’m sitting in my tiny room at the guesthouse run by the children’s home in Ethiopia.  I've just spent the last 2.5 hours trying to talk to my husband in Switzerland.  First we tried Skype.  Then we tried Google chat.  I couldn't even get Gmail to load.  Somehow, Facebook messenger worked for about 5 minutes in total, but interspersed with long breaks of disconnection.  Failure. 

Meanwhile, in the past 10 days I've visited 7 different mobile and internet shops in 2 countries, bought 7 different SIM cards, tested 5 different modems, and have spent over $300 of my own cash trying to get a reliable connection to the internet.  

Many parts of Africa have leapfrogged in technological advances, and people are really benefiting from the innovations in technology - some of which are more advanced than we have in Switzerland.  Mobile technology on the continent is contributing to education, activism, disaster management, agriculture and health.* Everyone in Kenya uses M-Pesa, a mobile payment system, for everyday transactions at shops, restaurants, and even when sending money to a friend or loved one. But it’s also true that some rural areas still lag behind and devices haven’t yet come down in price.

The good news is that I finally resolved the issue in Kenya.  And, after getting bumped off a flight in Nairobi and put up in a hotel with free hi-speed WI-FI, you can bet that I had all 32 GB of photo and video documentation from field work at Maisha home syncing up to the cloud.  The sacrifice of 3 hours of sleep was well worth it!

I’m hopeful that with a bit more time and money, I’ll be able to set up a faster connection here in Ethiopia as well.  Fighting slow connections sometimes feels like precious time lost.  But providing updates and evidence to our amazing supporters is an important aspect of the job.  And reading the supportive comments beneath the posts makes it worthwhile. I’m also looking forward to continuing innovation in Africa.  And in the meantime, I feel immense gratitude for the hi-speed technology I am blessed to have in my daily life back home – making our lives easier and more comfortable while stimulating innovation and economic growth. 

*CNN - Seven ways mobile phones have changed lives in Africa ​

​Arriving at Maisha Children’s Home is always a fun adventure.  Sheets of rain poured down over Ruai, so by the time I arrived kids, dogs, cats, and aunties were scattered everywhere, trying to avoid getting wet while getting yelled at to take their muddy shoes off before entering the house. (Tomorrow morning will be spent mopping the mud-tracked floors). 

After hugs and high fives from all the kids and staff, I got straight to unpacking and distributing all the donations for the kids (generously provided by super ambassador, Giulio, the Lego Foundation, and a handful of other Gracias activists):

•       Books
•       Kids’ magazines
•       DVDs
•       Games
•       And, of course, the famous Legos – about 5 XXL vacuum packed bags, along with containers to store them in.

The kids went straight for the books, unsure of what to do with the Legos.  

A little later, after a quick and tasty meal of rice and potatoes, one of the kids finally looked at the airplane Lego parts and asked me if I knew how to build one. “Uh yeah, sure”; when I was a kid there weren't any fancy airplane kits, just the standard red and yellow bricks.  I got started and was soon scratching my head trying to figure out how to build a cockpit, so I had to get the kids to take over! Within seconds, all the kids were fully engaged, digging through the pieces, building bridges, putting little plastic hair on little plastic heads, and ironically, putting together Harry Potter Lego sets while watching the Harry Potter DVD.  Even the littlest one was so proud of himself for building a tower – calling my name after adding each brick so I could see how great his building skills were.

One of the kids – a 14 year old who wants to be an engineer and who fixes all the electronics when they are broken – starting looking at all the little pieces, the non-brick parts which join things together or act as steering wheels, flag poles and handlebars. 

“I’m going to build a helicopter,” he said.  “I am an engineer. I can build anything…” 

He started putting a few pieces together and soon had something that resembled a satellite. Then, turning around, he saw that the other 2 oldest teenage boys (16 and 17 years old) were retiring to their sleeping “shed” to hang out. 

 “… but not today, tomorrow” he decided, and followed suit.

I can’t wait to see tomorrow’s creation.

​By Amy Paulson (Reposted from The Gracias Foundation, now called Global Gratitude Alliance)

Something about embarking on international travels always excites me. But this trip to Kenya and Ethiopia has given me a lot of stress.  Maybe it's because of the Nairobi airport fire – though I know that isn't the whole story as the "stomach issues" I had last night were the same ones that I had the night before I was scheduled to leave last week. I think it's partly because I'm traveling without my husband on this trip and nearly a month is a long time for us to be apart. Also, it’s because I have so much to accomplish and I'm nervous that I won't get it all done.

I can plan and plan and write multiple check- lists and post- it reminders about all the stuff I need to do (and I did all these things). But if there’s one thing I've learned from so much travel, it’s that sometimes it’s best to accept that I cannot control everything. So I’ll just roll with the punches, achieve what I can and try to keep a good sense of humor. Because a wry smile or a belly-laugh might just relieve the tension and enhance my sense of well-being and enjoyment.

​By Amy Paulson (Reposted from The Gracias Foundation, now called Global Gratitude Alliance)

I was at Zurich Airport on Wednesday waiting for my flight to Nairobi. I was tired, from a 5:30am start and my stomach was churning from excitement and some anxiety about traveling alone to Africa for a month long trip to our projects in Kenya and Ethiopia. I’d already called my parents the day before, checked three 20 kg bags of luggage (including a huge Lego donation), kissed my husband goodbye and had a cry when we parted ways at airport security. 

I made my way to the gate and was getting in line for some much needed coffee when I got a text from my friend: "I suppose u know that there was a big fire at Nairobi airport…"  

Seconds later, I got a call from Maisha founder, Beatrice, whose mother, Mama Maisha, was calling her from Kenya and updating her on the situation. A fire had swept through the international arrivals hall at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport.  Flights were being rerouted to other airports in Kenya and in East Africa.  

Suddenly, I heard people around me saying, "Fire at Nairobi airport!" I stepped out of the coffee line and tried to look for news on my phone, when the SWISS staff finally made an announcement:  Fire at the airport… more info at 9.30am - the time when we were supposed to depart.  

Realizing I might not be able to leave after all and would have to wait for additional news, I got back into that coffee line.

Confusion, fear and stress. The options soon became clear: fly to Dar es Salaam, Tanzania and try to find a hotel and onward travel to Nairobi from there - without any further support from the airline. Or rebook my ticket. Looking back over that strange day, I can see some positives:

·         I can cope with a crisis, make decisions and be resilient. After a couple of calls, I decided to rebook my ticket. I managed to run like the wind to get third in line at the transfer desk and rebook a flight to Mombasa for Sunday. I'd still need to figure out transport to Nairobi but at least that would buy me some time.  I’ve since been able to rebook a direct flight to Nairobi on Tuesday - much less hassle with those three massive bags.

·     I can extend my time in Nairobi and now review three extra days of Gracias-sponsored tutoring taking place at the Maisha Children’s Home. A teacher's strike last month meant that the tutoring wouldn't start until a day before I was originally scheduled to leave Nairobi.  The first day of any new activity is always a bit chaotic; these extra days will give teachers and kids a chance to organize themselves and start benefiting from the learning activities while I evaluate the progress.

·         I can spend more time with my husband (who'd just returned from a weeklong business trip), friends, and cat.

·         I caught up on some much needed sleep Wednesday afternoon (4 hour nap, anyone?)

·       I’m using the extra time to catch up on some pending tasks, take publicity photos and update the website.

Today I’m feeling extreme gratitude for all the above, that no one was seriously hurt in the fire and that I'm "stuck" at home (with no scheduled meetings - yay!) instead of stuck and desperately seeking shelter in another country.  As I wrote on Facebook on Wednesday, “I dodged a big bullet!”

 Photo courtesy of crschmidt