Flyer Fool

My sister recently left her sprawling country acreage for the densely populated and buzzing city of Montréal. She was heading east for job-related training. When I found out, I felt this sagging heaviness right at the bottom of my rib cage. Training? Montréal? Again? Oh.

I am yearning to be sent away for job-related training (by myself). I am feeling a wee bit jealous. But, according to my kids—I don’t even have a job. And even if I did successfully debate that topic with them, it isn’t a job with training in Montréal, or Narnia for that matter. Nope. I have to stay right here. All my training is, on-the-job. The exhilarating thing about my job-related training is that I often land in the midst of it, as if I were dropped straight down a rabbit hole!

Recently, some fool in our house found a notice in the mailbox, it read:

            CARRIERS WANTED FOR DELIVERIES IN THIS AREA

            ADULTS – Great exercise, lose weight and pay off those credit cards.

            CHILDREN – Learn responsibility and earn extra money.

            FAMILIES – Great for family bonding, earn that vacation together.

That same fool placed it in the kitchen where the kids might notice it. The two youngest were enthused about the prospect of getting a job, and making money. They begged me to inquire. And, so I did.

The one who is married to the fool arrived home from work, and was bombarded by the enthusiasm of two kids who were prospecting about their first job. A job? Wow! They gave him their ten- and eleven-year-old version of the job. “All we have to do is deliver some flyers and we get a hundred and fifty dollars a month!”

He casually strolled into the kitchen as the kids peppered him with the details of their new adventure. There, he found the fool at the counter, sorting through the debris of family life. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Do you think this is a good idea?” he asked.

“Of course it is!” replied the fool, “It will be good for them to see how it feels to work and get paid. It will be exciting!”

The one married to the fool raised an eyebrow, and muttered, “I wonder who will be delivering the flyers after the first week.”

The fool?

That same fool has been known to sing or sigh the parenting mantra:

♫ ♪   There is no life like it. :(

Motherhood provides amazing opportunities: challenges, for which there are no training facilities; situations that no policy and procedure manual could possibly cover and (yes!) opportunities that will require self-sacrifice.

So, in the confines of my home, while my sister was cavorting with intellectual beings in Montréal, I was being debriefed on the nuances of delivering flyers…one hundred and twenty-seven of them.

The flyers arrived outside our garage on a snowy day; the temperature had peaked at -14 C. After school the kids loaded the bundles of flyers into our van. It filled the entire back section—with the seats down. (Okay, I thought…so the wagon is out.) I made the assumption that the flyers arrived bundled and ready to go.

On the night before our first run, our oldest son Fraser and his girlfriend Chelsea came over. The younger kids enthused about their new job. The optimism of Laurèn and Yohannes had perked an interest in their older sister Faven. So, all three kids were on board.  During the chatter, I heard Chelsea say, “We did flyers when we were kids too…the hardest part was sorting all of the flyers into packages.”

Wha…? Huh? Hold on.

The following morning I woke up with a gnawing anxiety. Was there a step that I had missed? I checked our distribution list, which listed the thirty-seven flyers that were in the bundles. Then I went to the van to check the contents of the bundles. Sure enough, there were three different bundles. My chest heaved. I carried all the bundles into the house; I sorted them into piles; I cut pieces of yarn to tie them up with, and I began the onerous task of sorting and stacking the flyers into bins and bags. Two hours later, after my second cup of coffee, I was not yet finished. I parceled out the packages of flyers into groups of ten; a bundle of ten (stuffed) flyers weighed twenty-seven pounds. I had moved over 300 pounds of paper (twice) that morning—and we hadn’t even begun the delivery!! 

The afternoon of our first delivery arrived. The temperature gauge had risen to a pleasant -1 C, however, the brisk easterly wind made it feel more like -15. We arrived at the beginning of our route just after 4:15 pm; we clambered out of the van. I gave each child a cart, filled with flyers, and a map. They looked at me, they looked at the map; they looked left, and then right—and then their whole bodies asked the unspoken question, now what?

I had overestimated my children’s abilities. Only one out of three could actually read a map. Another one was so distracted that the fast pace I had envisioned – disappeared like mist. It became apparent that I was quickly being demoted from foreman to front line worker. I grabbed a bag of flyers and we set off. Slowly, my map-reader got it, and I could release two of them to cover one street. My highly distracted (but most enthusiastic) worker kept wandering off task, and off road in every direction possible. Moreover, he had lost his map, and had become completely dependent on me.

And then, the unthinkable happened—the sun went down. My list, which was an 8 or 10 font, became completely unreadable to me. I became reliant on my wandering partner Yohannes. He read out the house numbers, and then we each had to memorize our numbers. As I walked along my section, chanting the house numbers out loud so that I would remember them, he yelled at me from his section, “Was it 56 or 46…or 34?”

Just when I was about to pitch headfirst into a snow bank and end it all – my husband’s little red car appeared, as if by magic. (I still have no idea how he found us—wandering in the dark, camouflaged in winter gear, miles from our house). He lowered the window and asked me if we needed any help. I was speechless. I admitted that I had lost the girls, but pointed in the direction that I had last seen them, and sent him to find them.

Almost two hours after we had left our house, we completed our route. Well, almost completed it; somehow we ended up being eleven flyers short. I wondered if that would be cause for dismissal.

In the end I guess I am the fool, but I am a fool with a plan. My plan is to assist and empower my kids in the hope that someday they will be responsible, independent, and proud. And ultimately, I hope that the day will come when they are standing in the freezing cold supporting their own child to do something of value.

Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, Nov. 4th...Home

Can we make a difference?

It is not an uncommon question. We all ask it. How can we make a difference in the lives of our children? What can we do that will make a difference in the lives of our students? How can we reach out and help someone who is struggling? Why do we do the work that we do, and how is it making a difference?

The commonality across all scenarios is the individual.

I arrived at Kid’s Hope Centre in Guelele on my last afternoon in Ethiopia. Three of us were facilitating a sewing project with some of the older kids. This was my fourth time to Guelele in the last seven years. On our first trip in May of 2006, we were introduced to Canadian Humanitarian, and to a group of forty young children, who were just learning about sponsorship. After some singing, dancing and playing games with the kids, I asked if there were any children there who still needed a sponsor.

We were introduced to Mekedes.

Mekedes in May 2006

She was twelve or thirteen years old. She was a gangly teenager. She had a spark in her eyes, and a quick smile; she said that she wanted to be a doctor (they all did).  The Guelele sub-city where she lived is a very poor area where local markets sell basic foods, old clothes and fresh produce. In 2005, a local NGO called YTH, partnered with Canadian Humanitarian to develop a community-based approach to caring for children in need.

That year, Mekdes was identified as one of a hundred orphaned and vulnerable children in the Guelele area. Her parents had died. She lived with her grandmother, who also cared for four other children. Her grandmother was a day laborer, and her income was inconsistent. The family had to live without basic essentials. When there is not enough money, boys are sent to school and girls are kept home. It is the role of the girl to take care of younger children, chop wood, collect water, go to the market and help their mothers, aunts and grandmothers. In times of desperation, prostitution may be the only way to make a living. Adolescent girls are at great risk. 

Canadian Humanitarian and YTH had resources (in 2005) to support fourty of those vulnerable children in the Kid’s Hope program, and Mekdes was chosen. Children were selected based on their personal circumstances, but also on the desire and motivation of the child.

Initially, the Kid’s Hope program provided the funds that allowed Mekdes to go back to her community school. It was a simple gift. However, over the ensuing years, Kids Hope has undertaken the challenge to break the cycle of poverty while helping children to find what they need to meet their unique potential. To increase the likelihood of success, CH uses a child-centered model that addresses the whole of the child’s life. This includes support in the areas of: education, family life, medical, dental, nutritional, social, emotional and mental support, life skills, programs for the guardians, research and expeditions that bring volunteers into the country.

Mekedes (left) in Feb. 2008

Mekedes in October 2009

Mekedes in 2010

Mekedes in 2011

As a sponsoring family, we are unusual. Members of our family have seen Mekedes in Ethiopia in ‘06, ’07, ’08, and ’09; so we have been able to observe the kind of change that occurs over time. Moreover, Mekedes has understood that there are people across the world who are pulling for her. Hope.

On my last day in Addis, I met the manager of the Kid's Hope Guelele Centre, and told him that I was part of the family who has supported Mekedes these past seven years. I knew that she had just started University, and he asked me if I wanted to phone her. He led me to his office and picked up the phone, dialed, made a number of requests in Amharic, and then simply handed me the phone.

“Hello,” I said.

“Hello” she replied.

“Mekdes! This is Wendy from Canada!”

“Oh! Hello. How are you?”

“I am fine. How are you?”

“I am fine.”

“You are at university.”

“Yes.”

“Are you happy?”

“Yes.”

“I am in Addis right now, I am sorry that I will not see you.”

“You are in Addis?”

“Yes, I have been here for three weeks.”

“Oh. How is Kristine?”

“Kristin is fine. She is at university too. She is not here.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Mekdes, I just want you to know that we are so proud of how hard you have worked.”

“Oh. (giggle) Okay. Thank you. I love you.”

“We love you too…. Continue to work hard. . . . Goodbye.”

“Okay. Goodbye.”

One day near the beginning of the expedition, I sat with a fellow volunteer on the bus, wondering how we could possibly make a difference when there were so many challenges. He shared the basics of a story with me, and now, I would like to share it with you.

While wandering a deserted beach at dawn, stagnant in my work, I saw a man in the distance bending and throwing as he walked the endless stretch toward me. As he came near, I could see that he was throwing starfish, abandoned on the sand by the tide, back into the sea. When he was close enough I asked him why he was working so hard at this strange task. He said that the sun would dry the starfish and they would die. I said to him that I thought he was foolish. There were thousands of starfish on miles and miles of beach. One man alone could never make a difference. He smiled as he picked up the next starfish. Hurling it far into the sea he said, “It makes a difference for this one.”

Loren Eiseley

Faith is believing in something you can’t see.

Patience is waiting to see what will be revealed.

And wisdom is knowing that change is not always better, only different.

Salam.

Yohannes in Ethiopia, in 2006

Kristin and Fraser reading with Yohannes, in Ethiopia '06.

Lauren and Faven playing jacks with the kids.

Lauren and Faven with Aunts Tagegne (L) and Mali (R), in Harar.

Cousin Abee with Faven at the Rift Valley.

Abee and Yohannes at the Rift Valley

Grama (Bekela) with Faven in Harar.

Gifts of mattresses, bedding, cooking supplies and food for Dagim and Buziyay, in Dire Dawa.

Sheshemene, Ethiopia, Oct. 30-Nov. 1

We ran medical clinics for three consecutive days, at the Canadian Humanitarian programs near Sheshemene, about two hundred kilmometres south of Addis Ababa.

On the first day, our bus stopped at the side of the highway, and we walked across the highway to the community "Health Clinic". The metal gate opened onto a grassy area with a large Warka tree. The tree sat like a wizened elder overseeing the activity. The gnarled and twisted trunk was the color and density of an elephant's leg. Its branches spread like an umbrella across the lawn, providing much needed shade for the many children that had followed us there. 

There were buildings scattered across the lawn, as if they were dice--randomly thrown. The main buildings were concrete that had been painted butter yellow; the roof and doors were metal. Without electricity, the small carved window was the only light we had. There was no running water. The examination rooms were set up across the site. One was initially set up in the shade of a tree; however, when the sun lifted, they re-located to a nearby building made of sticks and tin, with a dirt floor, which we named, "the barn".

I was the assistant and runner to Ward, and we had a translator with us. His name was Ahmed (Ah-ha-med), and he was a nurse. He told me bits of his story throughout the day. He is part of a large family. His family is very poor, so instead of marrying and starting his own family, he told me that he is in service to his family. He works to support his parents and siblings. He is a remarkable man and I was humbled to work alongside of him.

We fashioned an exam table by joining a desk and a sewing-machine-table together. We covered it with a vinyl table cloth decorated with large green flowers. On a chair by its side sat Ward's tools: a stethoscope, an otoscope (which doubled as a flashlight when needed), some tongue depressors, alcohol swabs and hand sanitizer.

One-by-one they came. First adults and then children. We were not entirely sure what we had to offer. In fact, truth be told, we were pretty sure that we didn't have much of anything to offer. Still, they came. 

A petite woman was brought to us. She waited in the chair outside our door, carrying only the piece of paper that she had been given. She was the quintessential Ethiopian woman. The lines carved into her honey-brown face revealed a map. Her cheeks sagged under prominent cheekbones, and her dry lips curled over toothless gums. Her bony shoulders heaved slightly when she breathed. She wore a long, flowered dress that was gathered at the waist, and hung loosely. A couple of wiry, silver ringlets escaped the cream-colored scarf encasing her head. Her tiny, dirt-stained feet were framed in orange plastic shoes. 

Her complaints were many. Ward focused on two: frequent headaches and diarrhea. A stool sample was ordered, to check for ova and parasites; we had no idea if, when or how this test would be done. The test cost money, but the treatment was free. In an ideal situation, one might try to find the cause of an illness, and provide support for the removal/withdrawal/treatment of the cause. Here, that is just not possible. Just in this short afternoon clinic, we saw people with scabies, lice and worms--things that are rarely seen at home. We cannot eradicate this area of disease, it is endemic. 

Nonetheless, as we sent this tiny elder off with a bag of Tylenol for her headaches, and a script for a stool sample - she walked a little lighter. I walked her back out into the grassy courtyard, and she took my hand and kissed it. I introduced her to Lauren, "Setlej", I said, and she also kissed Lauren on the back of the hand. I leaned down and gave her the traditional three-cheek kiss, and she grabbed me into a mama-bear hug. The universal language.

The thing that was amazing about this particular clinic was that our family all participated. Faven was taking photos of all the children who were in the CH projects, and getting height and weight on all patients. She worked with another volunteer, and there was a lot of laughing and hooting over there. They were virtually surrounded by members of the community, like paparazzi. Lauren worked with two nurses in the intake and triage; at first she was recording vitals, and throughout the day, she had learned to take some basic vitals, and was doing blood pressures (on the nurses) by the end of the day! Yohannes was escorting patients to and from the five clinic rooms that were spread across the yard. Both Yohannes and Lauren were also running between rooms to check on the doctors, and run prescriptions back and forth to the pharmacy, which sprawled on the veranda of the larger building, in hockey bags and Rubbermaid bins.  

By the end of the day, we had all received many kisses, hugs and expressions of thanksgiving. Almost everyone was glad that we had come. Moreover, the fifteen of us volunteering that day (plus our translators) had worked as a team. There were moments when two or three of the doctors had to collaborate to figure out what was presented, and what could be done to support an individual. 

It may, or may not have been about medical care. I'm still not sure. However, there was something going on. We worked together as CH volunteers, but we also collaborated with inspirational and dedicated Ethiopian leaders. It is these mentors, educators and visionaries who will remain in Ethiopia, attentive to the needs of each community. Something new has begun, that will affect all those involved: me, my family, and strangers in a country that is so beautiful that vision replaces words. 

Gindo Town, Ethiopia, October 26-29

Waliso

We pulled into the narrow back alley behind the Waliso Hotel. From our vantage point, we could see straight into the homes of the locals, who were sitting on the floor, eating injera and w'et.  This hotel was new, by Ethiopian standards, only built a couple of years ago. We clambered off the bus to the familiar chant, "Ferenge, ferenge, ferenge."

When we entered our room, a beetle crawled across the floor in a manner of greeting. I stepped forward without hesitation, responding to his unwelcome greeting with the bottom of my runner. Beetles are normal at this time of year, we were told, because the rainy season has just ended. Lucky for us, I thought, that we weren't visiting during the rainy season! The sun was already setting, and the room was cast in a gloomy green glow. 

The west end of the room had a smell not un-like an outhouse; a door was propped open that led to the bathroom. As the door swung in, I could see the toilet, with no seat or lid, and a drain in the floor.  There was a shower head poking through the reconstructed, mudded and seeping wall. The ceiling over the closet was not finished, and was open to the rafters. Later, we would hear the scurrying sound of... what??

By 8 pm, Lauren had broken out in a rash. By midnight, Ward was visiting the seat-less toilet with increased frequency. 

Gindo Town

Gindo is a rural area of Ethiopia that is gravely affected by lack of water, food, and education, and has a high incidence of disease, such as malaria, tuberculosis, and HIV/AIDS. One could say that they were desperate for a leg up. In May of 2012, six middle-aged, energetic, compassionate individuals began a bike ride across Canada, in a ride called, "Chain Reaction". Along their way, they raised awareness for Canadian Humanitarian, and raised the funds to build an education centre in Gindo. The inspiration for the "Chain Reaction" ride came from Vern Hyde. Vern is volunteering on this expedition, along with us. He was about to see the centre that he and his wife and friends had ridden uncountable miles for. He was steeped with emotion.

The fifty children that are part of the CH program here, were quietly waiting for us to come off the bus and into the gate. We arrived sporting Ray Ban's, Maui Jim's, Nike, Merrel, and Columbia. They sat with missing buttons, tangled hair, white shirts dusted with red earth, plastic shoes, and an odour that could curl the fine hairs of one's nostrils. There was an air of excitement at the Gindo Education Centre as preparations were being made for the official opening ceremony. Indeed, yesterday there was a noisy, rust colored ox tied to the fence; today, not even the rope remained. Instead, there were mounds of cut up meat as the women worked to prepare a celebration meal, in our honour. 

Along with us, the guardians were gracefully flowing in. When they reached forward to shake our hands, they did so with one arm supporting the other at the wrist, and their heads bowed ever-so-slightly. We each marveled at the other. After the ribbon-cutting was complete, we filled the hall to capacity. The program was lengthy as voices in English and Amharic told of the many strengths of the program, as well as the journey to this day, which began over three years ago. We were then entertained by loud, pulsating music together with body gyrating dancing. One could not help but notice the flies that danced and dipped to a rhythm all their own. Much later, I would come to realize that there were also invisible dancers; fleas were jumping from body to body, enjoying the diverse dining.

Faven and Lauren with the child we sponsor - Mebret.

A guardian of the program- a proud grandma.

Gindo is like no other place I have been. The community has an edge to it that I cannot find the words to articulate. The children who live there, particularly those who are not in the CH program are aggressive, rude and misbehaved. I suspect that there is conflict within the community, and I also saw that the children were somewhat desperate - for what? - the abundance symbolized by the white person. They pawed and groped at us, as one who is jailed might reach forward to touch a passerby. They tried valiantly to relieve us of our watches, bracelets and rings; they pinched us on one side, while on the other, a small hand slipped into our pockets; they formed a human wall as we tried to enter our bus and grabbed what they could as we passed through, and in the end, when they were not rewarded, they spit at the backs of our feet. 

Desperation.

On our third day at Gindo, I could not stop the sobs that wracked through my body and choked my words. It was to be a fun day for the children (and us). It was hot, and the air was still. The clouds were aloof - allowing the sun to shine all day. An "incredible race" was prepared (a relay race, with alternating exercises  and running). We all moved to the large field adjacent to the Centre. Lauren and I were to "captain" a team, (one of six), which essentially meant that we were to keep them behind a marked line, and keep them in order within our team. Sounded easy.

As the race progressed and the children all realized that this was a race, the tactics started to change. Small kids were pushed to the back and not allowed to run. Girls were pushed out of the way when their turn came up, and the boys would go instead. After the first round, we paused and tried to remind the children of the rules. However, on my team, things got out of control. I had no authority over these kids, and therefore nothing that Lauren and I tried would make them follow the rules. Girls were being pushed, shoved, hidden and thrown out. It was horrifying. The thing that 'did me in' was when we paused to give the kids a water break. There were six teams of either 7 or 8 kids. There was one white man with water. Chaos ensued. 

They were sent back to their team line-ups and told to wait their turn. However, the kids were line jumping and trying to steal another child's turn. A boy on my team that had been physically aggressive throughout the competition, grabbed a small girl (also on my team), and put her into a head lock and began to hit her, on the top of the head, so that she would step out of line, and allow him to have her water. No one helped me to control this behavior - and we were told ahead of the expedition, that we were not to discipline the kids. I felt helpless. Of course, I yelled at him - and he finally stopped.

We started the last round of the race - and I was physically shaking. Lauren was also quite upset. Our team was unruly and impossible to manage! At the end, I tried to tell the facilitators what had happened - and they were not initially supportive. Ethiopians want competition they told me.. there was no other way.

I was exasperated and upset. I went over and grabbed Ward's hand and pulled him away from the crowd just as the sobs ricocheted out of my body. I was - perhaps - more emotional than I needed to be, it had been a tough three days on many fronts. My outpouring drew a small group of bystanders from the program. Kids stared at me, as if they had never seen a white person cry before. Perhaps they hadn't - as there is a lot of forced smiles and joy-spreading on these expeditions. After many minutes of crying, I felt a tug on my leg. I looked down. Standing at my side, with tears pooling in her eyes was Mebret. Mebret is six-years-old; she is the child that we sponsor in this program. We had met her two days before. I wiped my eyes, and reached my hand out to this pitiful sprite of a girl. She took my hand and smiled. I smiled. We walked around the building, Ward holding one hand, Mebret holding the other - and it was perhaps one of the sweetest moments of my life.

(This was not the experience of every volunteer on that day. All 25 of us were involved in the race, and many had the time of their lives.)

I am not sure what we are doing here. It is hard. It can be sweet. There is so much that I don't understand. We cannot help every child who suffers in Ethiopia--but maybe we can help one.

Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, Oct. 25

It is Friday morning here in Ethiopia. We started our Canadian Humanitarian (CH) orientation on Wednesday, and were out at our first projects yesterday. It was such an amazing day - there aren't really words to describe it. All five of us were on different sites, doing different projects. Ward was doing medicals while I was doing a sewing project with two other women. 

Lauren went with the Self-Esteem team, and led her own group of 7 and 8 year olds, with a translator. She read a book with them (english - amharic), she did some art work and made brochures with them about what they liked about themselves, and then what they liked about each other. (Phenomenal - she was so pumped when we met up with her later at the Guest House, which was cloaked in darkness, as the power had gone out).

Yohannes went with the Infection Disease team and did some games and teaching around disease prevention. He also had a lot of fun - and was a great addition to the team. Not surprisingly, he is taking everything in stride! 

Faven went to help with doing intake for all the kindergarten-aged kids that needed medicals. She partnered with a man named Vern (who says that his passion is children - he has six children and six grandchildren). Faven and Vern had to take a photo of each child, and do the height and weight. All of the kids loved her, and apparently were 'chanting' her name, and hanging at the windows to get a glimpse of her. She was so happy when she returned! Her stress level has gone down significantly since the CH group arrived, and we do not have to talk about, or deal with her 'story' and her birth family. She is still having a difficult time with all of the poverty, and the extremely different way that people live here. In many ways, it is as if she has never been here before. 

Today we leave for Gindo Town, which is about three hours southeast of Addis. We will be out there until Monday night. We will be running programs out there - Medical, Infectious Disease, Sewing, Self Esteem, Drip Irrigation and the "Incredible Race". Also, there will be an official opening ceremony for the Gindo Centre - so we will be celebrating with them - and eating, singing and dancing! We will be busy.

Our first couple of days with the group of 27, have been such a blessing...... I cannot believe that we have been given this opportunity, amongst a very interactive and caring group of volunteers, to provide this 'kind of' volunteer (on the ground) work to our kids. They are truly blossoming, in ways that I could not have even imagined. Though we have only been with the larger group since Wednesday morning, the whole group is enamored with them (which certainly makes us proud) - and moreover, the responsibility for them has really been undertaken by many members of the group.

Yesterday, right in the midst of our volunteer work, Ward and I were separately interviewed by Rick Castiliogne (there is a documentary being made while we are here). He wired me with a microphone, the camera man pointed his camera and lights, and they told me to continue interacting with the kids, AND answer the questions that they asked without really looking at the camera. I was at a table covered with sewing materials, I had (at least) four girls working with me at that table, very excited to show me their stitches, and right behind me, someone was making animal balloons for the boys (who were not sewing) - and there was LOTS of loud shrieking and the sound of many popping balloons. To say that I found it difficult to focus, gather my thoughts and make coherent sentences - is an understatement! However, Rick reported later that both interviews (mine and Ward's) were "gold", especially Wendy, he said, who almost made me cry with her responses that were right from the heart. Rick ended my interview by saying, "I think the saying on your shirt really sums up what you are trying to do." I said, "Yes--Be The Change!" (It was a shirt that I got at We Day last October - almost a year ago to the day!)

We remain healthy, and lucky for us - we are not dealing with jet lag, as many of our fellow volunteers are. There is not a single day that I am not moved to tears by the sights, the people, and the stories. For example, at orientation, one of the social workers told the story of a girl in the projects who lost both parents when she was three; she witnessed their dying and remained with them until found later by her aunt. That girl is now thirteen - and through rigorous work with the social work team, she has found her voice (she would not speak for years after the incident). We heard another story today about a boy named Teddy. His mother died when he was six, and his father abandoned him. He lived on the street, making a life for himself by shining shoes, being a parking attendant, and then organizing construction work (as a kind of contractor) until he was "found" by CH, and taken into one of the projects. He is now 17 - and claims that he would like to be the leader of the country one day. When asked how he has remained so positive over these very difficult years, he responded by saying that it is simply his nature - "I could be happy or sad - but it wouldn't change my situation, so I may as well be happy." 

Each day our facilitator - Deborah Northcott - starts our day with a saying. This morning, the quote was this:

Things turn out best for the people who make the best out of the way things turn out.