ADRA

Paulo Lopes has a confession to make: "The more challenging the position, the more I like it." And he has had his share of challenges—blessings too—since accepting his first job with ADRA fifteen years ago.

Listen to an Audio Interview with Paulo Lopes

A challenging initiation

Paulo received a baptism of fire on his very first day on the job in 1992, when he joined ADRA Angola as its finance director. With a civil war churning and foreigners fleeing, the country was an extremely difficult place to live. "I remember my very first night in Luanda, the capital city, like it was yesterday," he says. "Seven kilometers away from where I was staying, a huge blast woke me up in the middle of the night. The blast was so strong that the house trembled as it would during an earthquake. Later on, I learned an ammunition storehouse had exploded."

Six months later, his wife, Edra, joined him in Angola, holding their infant son Lucas in her arms. They arrived in an almost empty plane; most everyone else, it seemed, was determined to avoid the country all together. At the airport, security was rigorous and brutal. Walking towards Edra tangled up with baby and suitcases, Paulo made a step past a location guarded by the Angolan army. "If you make one more step, I'll kill you!" warned a heavily armed soldier. Paulo knew by the soldier's tone that it was not an idle threat, and served as a reminder of the harsh reality into which his family had arrived.

Food was scarce. Electricity had been cut months before, and water from the tap was non-existent. The family had to buy muddy water from local vendors, then boil and filter it before use. Often, they had no milk for the baby.

With armed patrols at every street corner and frequent night bombings, life was stressful. Only one week after the family's arrival, the airport was shut down and the civil war erupted, making travel out of the country impossible. Six thousand people were killed in one single week.

After nine months of serious discussions, United Nations representatives allowed Paulo—representing ADRA— and UNICEF staff to fly to the town of Huambo, a civil war hotspot in the center of the country, to assess needs, evaluate logistic challenges, and meet with the rebel forces. As a result of weeklong negotiations, Paulo and the others established a trust with the rebels and organized the first food distributions. ADRA's food distributions, coordinated with the United Nations' World Food Programme, continued for a full year. Each week, seven planes brought desperately needed food to the region, feeding hungry Angolans.

"I knew God was using me to help in this crisis, despite the dangers and difficulties," remembers Paulo. "Those were my best years with ADRA."

From nursing to numbers

Growing up in Brazil, young Paulo's ambition was to be a nurse. However, he soon found out that he didn't much like sciences. Instead, he focused his studies on accounting and theology, and made plans to become a pastor. Though he liked theology, he realized that he preferred budgeting and analytic accounting. In college, the decision to study business came naturally, as did the decision to begin dating Edra, whom he had met in high school. The couple married immediately after graduation and Paulo was hired as the college's cashier. Later, he held high-level accounting positions in different areas of Brazil.

After those first two difficult years in Angola, the family moved to the ADRA office in the neighboring country of Mozambique, where ADRA managed large post-civil war projects that included food distribution operations funded by USAID. The program was complex and challenging and again, Paulo’s special gift for finances was put to good use as assistant finance director for ADRA Mozambique. It was during their six and a half years of service in Mozambique that baby Marcos joined the family.

From Mozambique Paulo moved to finance positions for the Adventist Church in Armenia and Irkutsk, Russia. What a challenge it was to adapt to the harsh climate with long freezing gloomy winters after nine years of work in Africa! Learning the Russian language presented another challenge. So far, the family had served in countries where Portuguese, their native language, was spoken. Now in Siberia, they had to learn Russian to communicate. As expected, the children learned it easily at school and adapted quickly to their new environment and culture. Paulo and Edra struggled a bit more.

After two years in Siberia, they moved to Zaoski near Moscow, where Paulo worked as finance manager for the Adventist Publishing House.

Pray and trust

By the time the Lopes family left Russia a few years later, they were fluent in Russian. Paulo, however, admits that during the years he worked at the publishing house, he truly missed working with ADRA. "I visited ADRA's Web site almost every day!" he says. Consequently, the family asked God to open up a position at ADRA.

As they waited for an answer, they planned to return to Brazil, their home country. Tickets were booked. Cardboard boxes multiplied. They grew anxious to see their families again, their thoughts already centered on Brazil.

However, just one short month before leaving, Paulo received an unexpected phone call from Heriberto Mueller, at the time director for the ADRA Asia Regional Office. The Indian Ocean tsunami had struck India and several other countries a few months before, in December 2004. With significant tsunami emergency and recovery programs developing, ADRA India was eagerly looking for a good finance director; Paulo's name was at the top of a list of potential candidates. When Heriberto asked if he would be interested, Paulo was speechless from shock. God's answer was so evident and so perfectly on time! But, the family still had to agree. . . .

The decision to accept the job in India took the family less than ten minutes. God's answer to their prayers was simply too clear to ignore.

A Passage to India

In July 2005, six months after the tsunami, Paulo started his new position as ADRA India's finance director. Though it demanded much time, energy, and travel, Paulo relished his work organizing and managing the finances of the tsunami-related projects. After a first phase of relief and rehabilitation projects (mainly housing reconstruction and water and sanitation projects), the programs naturally evolved into a post-tsunami recovery phase with more income-generating and agricultural projects.

In March 2007, Paulo was promoted to country director, a role that allows him to direct not only ADRA India's tsunami recovery program, but the office's projects throughout the country. He notes especially the recurring polio eradication projects in northern India. "India is a huge country with huge needs, especially in the health issues such as HIV and AIDS, tuberculosis, and maternal/child health," he shares. The office also responds to seasonal emergencies, such as the recent severe flooding in the eastern portion of India.

While Paulo keeps busy directing ADRA, Edra continues to be very much involved in the church and also enjoys her teaching job at a local kindergarten. She's finally had her chance to learn English, and the boys, Lucas and Marcos, are now perfectly fluent in both English and Hindi. Though they have spent their childhoods in far-flung countries, the boys maintain a thoroughly Brazilian love for soccer. However, this has not prevented them from also becoming expert players of cricket—the national sport in India.

Married to his work?

Edra is very supportive of Paulo's passion for and dedication to the work of ADRA: "In all the countries we lived in we were always able to find help when needed. Sometimes a neighbor, other times a church member or a local friend. We always had our angels taking care of us."

And then Edra smiles and winks as she says, "Paulo really has two wives, both with very similar names: Edra and ADRA!"

We are at SMP4 Junior High School, and 545 students are lined up in the school yard listening to speeches from ADRA, a representative of the district education department, and their headmaster, Mr. Zainun Zakaria.

The headmaster delivers a powerful motivational speech to his students, urging them to be strong. They are survivors and should not let the tsunami ruin their lives. They need to look forward and rebuild their future through education. He reminds them of the two bombs that destroyed Japan at the end of World War II. The students should look to the Japanese to see how successfully they rebuilt their country after their disaster. It was through education and determination that Japan rebuilt a strong economy.

He wants his students to get on with life. He believes that through school the children can return to some sort of normality in the midst of personal tragedy. They have this opportunity because of the work ADRA is doing in his school. He expresses his gratefulness for the many NGOs and in particular ADRA. He urges his students to learn from ADRA and the other NGOs that have come from the other side of the world. He tells them that they are important. The world cares about them and their future. In return, they must do well in school and rebuild their lives.

These are strong words for children who have recently survived earthquakes and a tsunami. After the formalities, the children receive their new bags. I catch up with Mr. Zakaria. He shares that he has worked 34 years as the headmaster of this school. He pulls up his trousers to show me the marks, scars, and discoloration on his legs. “Tsunami—tsunami,” he proclaims. I quickly get a translator so I can understand what he wants to tell me.

On December 26, 2004, Mr. Zakaria had attended teacher training at the school and was on his way home. As he got to the bridge in town, the earth shook. He quickly jumped out of his car and lay on the ground, holding his arms around his head. When the large earthquake stopped, he hurried back to his house to make sure his wife and daughter were fine. Confirming that his family was all right, he went to the mosque to gather information and see if someone needed help. Not many people were in the mosque, so he returned home. On the way, he met people screaming about the rising water levels.

He ran to find his daughter and tell her to go to her grandmother, who lived farther down the coast. The daughter, like any teenager, wanted to change her clothes and pack a bag. Both Mr. Zakaria and his wife urged her to leave on her motorbike. Finally, she obeyed her parents and drove off. His wife ran over to the neighbor’s two-story house, bringing a small bag of documents. Mr. Zakaria watched his family leave. The water level was rising; by now it had reached the side of his house.

He got on a motorcycle and tried to drive off, but the bike stalled because the water level was too high. Everything happened so fast. Suddenly he found the water carrying him away. He tried to grab hold of something, anything. He grabbed on to a jeep. The car was tossed around, and he was back in the water. Struggling, he tried to grab hold of a building, but the current was too powerful and he was swept away. After an hour of struggling, he was finally able to grab the roots of a Beringin tree. As he pulled himself up onto the tree, he found that he was not alone. Also clinging to the Beringin tree were a civet with three of her kittens, two mice, and a chicken.

For hours, they clung to the tree, not seeing any other living being. The water was filled with dead people. It was pulling back to the sea at a stronger and faster pace than it had come in. All Mr. Zakaria could do was sit and wait. The sun was scorching hot and burning him, but he thought only of his wife and daughter. Where were they? What was happening to them?

After four hours, he decided to try to reach a patch of dry land that he saw in the distance. He removed his shirt and trousers. He tied his trousers around his waist and his shirt around his head. He knew that his clothes would slow him down. He estimated that it would take about 15 minutes to swim to land, but the current was strong and he was weak. He swam from branch to branch. He found a board and pushed it ahead a bit and then swam to it. While he was trying to swim, he was afraid that another wave would come.

 At some point, he realized that he had lost his clothes. He felt pain in his leg and saw that it was cut in many places. Finally, after an hour and a half, his feet touched dry land. Mr. Zakaria was tired and worn-out, but determined to find out what had happened to his family. He staggered to his relative’s house, which was situated in an area that was unaffected. There he was able to rest for some time and eat some food. His thoughts were with his daughter and his wife. He was particularly concerned for his daughter; had she done as he had told her? If so, he knew that there was little chance that she had survived, as her grandmother’s house was close to the waterfront.

Regaining some strength, he started his search. He walked around the city and saw destruction and dead people. He ended up at the mosque, and there he finally met his daughter and wife. It was around 4:00 p.m.; he had seen them last at 8:30 a.m. For once, he was glad that his daughter had done what she thought was best and had not followed his directions. Had she obeyed him, she would not be alive.

Mr. Zakaria still smiles; he knows that he is lucky and is grateful that his family is safe. All the material positions they have are the daughter’s motorbike and the small bag his wife took. However, this is not important; they have each other.

After hearing his story, I understand that his strong speech to his students was not out of insensitivity to the children’s experience, but out of care and to motivate them to continue life. Seeing the work ADRA is doing to rehabilitate the children’s school and give them back a future, I too smile with Mr. Zakaria and promise that ADRA will not forget him or his school.

After building enough trust and rapport, we initiate a conversation with her and encourage her to speak about her experience of the tragedy of December 26, 2004. The very word “tsunami” makes her sigh, and she is in tears, as she lost her daughter and granddaughter on that day.

Arjunadevi, in her late 50s, has been in Thazhznganda village ever since she married an inhabitant of that village. They had two sons and one girl. The girl was the last in line; hence, she was pampered by everyone, and in turn, she was affectionate and kind to everyone in the family. The eldest son is involved in fishing; the youngest is an engineering student.

Her daughter had been highly educated, and even had been working as a teacher. This was unusual, as girls of this village don’t go for higher studies, and no one at all goes for work outside the village. Arjunadevi had the pride that her daughter was the only female in the whole village who had been highly educated.

Arjunadevi adds, “My daughter, Arun Jelitha, aged 27, worked as a teacher; she always had the thirst to study more and more. We spent quite a sum of money for her education. She was a model to this village. On seeing her, many other girls too started going for higher studies. She was so kind toward everyone in the family, even close to her sister-in-law. She took care of her brother’s children so well and bought for them what they liked. She had brought two of her friends to her home during the holidays that December.”

Arjunadevi always gently insists on having a glimpse of her daughter’s photograph, now enlarged and decorated with flowers and lights. She takes us into the house and silently takes a deep look at it, even as we watch her and the image. Confirming that we have had a good look at the graceful person that her daughter was, she starts bringing out the gory story of her daughter’s demise.

“On that fateful day, before anyone could realize that a tidal wave was approaching us, all of us were caught in the tsunami wave,” she explains. “My daughter was just screaming to save her friends who had come for their holidays. She wanted to ensure that, because they were outsiders and guests, no harm should happen to them in the village.

“My daughter-in-law was holding my granddaughter and trying to escape, and I remember only that, because I was struggling in the water. After the wave retreated, we found that our daughter and granddaughter (the one who was in my daughter-in-law’s hands) were missing and later found to be dead. I just could not believe that my daughter was no more. She wanted to study, and we spent a lot for her studies, and now what do I see of it? Though she was 27, she wasn’t married yet; maybe if she had been married, she would have been somewhere else and she would not have died. Only because she was here she has died. As I sit alone at home, I just recall each and every movement of her and the moments she spent with us. I am not able to forget her even for a single second.”

Arjunadevi is a wreck now. Having lost her grown-up daughter in the killer tsunami waves, she has suddenly found her life emptied of all meaning. The world has become a meaningless place all of a sudden.

Her husband has hardly taken responsibility, even during the days before the tsunami consumed her daughter’s life. Now he is even more devastated.

Her house is located not far away from the shores and easily bore the brunt of the tsunami.

Arjunadevi still recalls the fond connection she had with her daughter, remembering her daughter by spelling out each and every activity in which she was engaged when alive.

They had an intense bond with each other, and Arun Jelitha grew up enjoying the intense love of her mother.

Now she is alone, as her truant husband hardly returns home and her sons spend few hours at home. She cooks for herself and for her sons—only one single meal a day. But her desolate and wrecked nature hardly excites her sons to come home. Her relatives come and spend some days with her, but they cannot help beyond that.

The panic level seems to go up every now and then these days, thanks to false warnings from people around her. After the news about the earthquake in Andaman, people were more scared, but such signs did not affect Arjunadevi, as she is no longer scared of death. Indeed, she says that if death would unite her with Arun Jelitha, she would embrace it willingly.

Nowaways, Arjunadevi sleeps little; she hangs around the seashore, wishing to meet her daughter in the form of her spirit. Her belief in the afterlife and ghosts has given her renewed strength as she hopes to meet her daughter one day on the shores of the sea that gobbled her up.

It is very significant that she does not even refer to her daughter without attaching due respect to her. She says that she did that even when Arun Jelitha was alive. They were more like equals than mother and daughter. She remembers her good deeds in the finest detail: how she woke up, how she spoke, how she performed her household chores. She remembers her gait and vividly can reconstruct the details of her returning home as she would appear on the faraway road visible from Arjunadevi’s house.

From what Arjunadevi says, Arun Jelitha was a responsible and loving girl. The entire family and the life of Arjunadevi were anchored around the existence of Arun Jelitha, as she is the one who remarkably completed her Bachelor of Science and Bachelor of Education degrees. She became a teacher in a school in the nearby town (Cuddalore) and worked from home after a short stint with hostel life, which her mother discouraged because she could not bear to live separately from her daughter. Life was fine till the tsunami struck the village.

Ever since losing Arun Jelitha, Arjunadevi contemplates suicide and needs to be counseled against it. She says that after her daughter’s demise, there is no point in living her life.

When she found life meaningless in the company of her irresponsible husband, who gets drunk often and returns home after two or three days of inexplicable absence, she found meaning only in raising her daughter and showering intense love on her. This made more sense to her than doing the same with her sons, who grew up working away from home and going fishing.

In this context of meaninglessness, it was her daughter who gave a tremendous sense of meaning and purpose to her life. That’s why she wants to live with Arun Jelitha in her imaginary life, conversing with her to fight her emptiness and relating to her as if she exists in flesh and blood now.

She has not demonstrated any sign of psychological abnormality as she carries out her everyday routine, such as bathing, eating (though very little), cooking, etc. But she needs a lot of support and encouragement.

ADRA’s psychosocial officer is working with her in regular intervals, but that is not enough. We could train or encourage some village volunteers to work with her to bring her back to a certain sense of normalcy, as such volunteers could make daily contact with her.

They won’t be seen even during the village festivals. They are not part of the village, yet they are in the village. In other words, they are in the village, though they are not of the village—they don’t even possess a ration card. Only when you make a special effort will you see them or meet them.

That is exactly what we did. As we waded through the casuarina trees that cluster thickly around the hinterlands of the village, we reached a ground beyond its borders that has been cleared of the trees that otherwise abound. There lay some thatched houses. They are so low that to enter into them, one has to virtually crawl. Some 10 people, the majority of them women and children, were milling around, with a few among them only visible as hazy shadows behind the line of tree trunks.

They are the Telugu-speaking, oppressed caste members whom the mainstream village used for providing services, such as guarding the villagers’ groves or cleaning the village temple premises when the festival approached. In return for the services they rendered, they were paid a paltry sum or in kind in the form of 66 pounds annually of rice and other grains. Other than that, they were not the recipients of any other rights and privileges from the mainstream village. They normally resided in the secluded confines of the groves, at peace with themselves. Their other source of income was fishing, though they normally did that with a hook in the shallow waters of the sea. The women would sell the fish in the Cuddalore town if the catch was good and would buy vegetables and groceries from the money earned by selling the fish.

When the tsunami hit the villages, they survived thanks to their folk wisdom—they always settled on the elevated terrain since that was the safest place given the fact they lived just 66 feet away from the backwaters. While the main village suffered a huge loss, this community lost just a few belongings—or lost all of it, depending on how you look at it; the truth is that they did not have many belongings. The fact that they were utterly poor has victimized them by not inviting the attention of relief providers and rehabilitation workers since they have not ”lost” anything—their ”normalcy” need not be restored, as poverty was their normalcy.

Yet they were seriously affected by the tsunami, for their lives depend on the payment from the mainstream villagers. When the latter lost their principal livelihood, namely fishing, due to the tsunami, the village economy came to a standstill. With fish catching  having dwindled alarmingly and villagers unable to patronize them, the Telugu-speaking community members have been suddenly reduced to the status of beggars, as they themselves state tremblingly. Now they survive on the leftover food given away by the villagers.

Sadly, they were never the beneficiaries of the relief and rehabilitation measures by any of those who cared to come to the villages. They said that even on normal days, they never received any of the development efforts or schemes, and during the post-disaster days, it could only get worse. Hence, health, education, electricity, or any other development good has never touched them.

Infant mortality and maternal morbidity are very high, partly thanks to the superstitious practices. That is what is confirmed by the life of Valli, who has been living in the soukku groves for the past decade or so with her in-laws’ family.

Valli’s first marriage was a disaster, as her mother died young and her father was never a responsible person. Indeed, it was her father who poisoned her mother to death, and even Valli could have died. At the young age of 13 1/2, she was married by her mother’s sister to a man from her village. But he left her after giving her a child. The child too died due to poor health. It was then that she met Selvaraj, whose family migrates to other villages in search of work (guarding work); they decided to live together. Since then, she and Selvaraj have married and have returned to Sothikuppam. Valli has two children—one daughter named Vasantha and a son named Chinnathampi. In fact, these two are the only surviving children of six in the past 12 years. The rest have died of one illness or the other, mostly from diarrhea.

Valli does not even recall that well the reasons they died. All that she can guess is that they died because of the curse of a goddess. However, as an afterthought, she would correct this by saying that they died because of poor health and health care. She says that the health care was so costly and so distant that she could not afford to access it frequently, even when her children were suffering from runny bowels. Indeed, even today, the pregnant women in her habitation area deliver their children in their respective homes supervised by their mother-in-law and assisted by their husband. Valli’s delivery too was attended to by her husband, Selvaraj, and mother-in-law, Laxmi. Angalai, Valli’s neighbor, told her that an institutional delivery was not advisable. If she and her baby were in the hospital, she wondered who would take care of them and who would feed them good food. At least at home they could get good food and receive care from her husband and in-laws, who could afford to attend to their needs. In fact, their idea of a hospital is a place where the staff members give some colorful tablets and are grossly indifferent to them. It is far away from their reach, as they do not have reserve money, leisure, and time to go to the hospital. Over a period of time, they have learned to live without institutional health care. They have evolved their own defense mechanisms and belief systems and also alternative medical practices that are hardly effective.

As a result, Valli’s surviving children, Vasantha and Chinnathampi, look visibly malnourished. When ADRA was organizing its medical camp, it made a special effort to bring Valli and Selvaraj to the camp with their children. The ADRA staff put them across from the village health nurse. The small exposure Valli received that day and the gentle admonition she got from the visiting nurse are reasons that she now underplays the curse of a goddess as the cause of her children’s death and attributes it to poor health care or to an unhygienic water source. Their only source of water is the small fount they dig; though the water is tasty, it could get easily polluted.
 
Ask her now why her children died, and she would say that they died of “loose motion” and she tried her best to save them, which meant taking them to the government hospital. But diarrhea continued despite that, and gradually she gave up on them and left it to her Kula (traditional) goddess to decide their fate.

Now, with some awareness being built in her, she vows to protect her surviving children by ensuring adequate health care. But Valli is not to be blamed for that. Only when there is a comprehensive social change that ensures that there is an overall development in their lives will they access these services. But as it stands now, their future generation too risks repeating the same social and economic disasters that their parents and forefathers were victims of.

“Praise the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits—who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases.” ~ Psalm 103: 2, 3 (NIV)

It was a bright, sunny Togolese national holiday morning as I walked out of my apartment to go to the villages for one of our project visits. Kofi, the driver, Mawunyo, the project coordinator, and I were on our way to the village of Donomade. I wanted to know if Donomade had any spectacular meaning. Yes, it had! And that was, “the village is so far that a sick person can never get there.” Upon our arrival in the village we saw a group of women under a big tree involved in a health training session facilitated by Chantal, the ADRA agent for this village. Their faces beamed with joy as they welcomed us, shaking our hands warmly. They quickly realized that I did not speak the local language because I did not know how to respond very well to the local greeting.

Suddenly, a mentally challenged man with a broad, genuine smile interrupted the meeting and started questioning why some people were speaking in English. He seemed curious and wanted to be my friend.

The shock of the day came when, on saying good bye to the community members, the man came close to me, and as he held my hand to say goodbye, he gently lifted it to his cracked lips and kissed the back of my hand. I reassured him that I cared about him, too. As we drove back to the city of Lome, his parting words filled my mind as I was reminded of my new buddy in the village.

I learned lessons from this precious child of God. We each desire to be loved. Thank God that His love is unconditional at all times, and when we need His attention He is always there. More so, He is the great physician who not only heals physical diseases, but the spiritual, too. And in Donomade, “where sick people cannot reach,” there was a mentally challenged child of God. I’m thankful that God can always reach Donomade, regardless of the distance. And as God’s arms and hands, ADRA is reaching out to people, even in villages considered too far. I love being part of the ADRA family!

“Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it.” Proverbs 22:6 (RSV)

Ella, a 13-year-old girl in the village where I work, had just finished primary school and had gotten her certificate (after passing the test). But her mother did not want her to continue her studies. The little girl, who was very unhappy about this, told me about it and pleaded with me to help her convince her mother to let her continue school. I went to their home and spoke to her mother about it; but her mother did not agree and would not be convinced. She responded, “I do not want her to continue her studies. The purpose of a girl is to work in the kitchen, on the farm, and to have babies. Me, I didn’t go to school but I eat and do everything just like those who have been to school.”

The situation was tense but we did not give up. I tried all the different means to bring her to reason. One evening after dinner when the three of us were all in the same room, I started to tell a story, a story about a woman doctor who had saved the people of her village from a terrible disease. The mother listened attentively without saying anything. However, the next day she came to me and asked if I thought that one day her daughter would be able to become a government official. I said “Yes, but only if she continues her studies.” With that dream, her mother was convinced.

One week before school started, all was ready for the girl to start school. Her mother came to visit me and excitedly reminded me, “My girl is going to school.”

ADRA strongly believes in empowering young people to reach their dreams. And education is a necessary tool to breaking the poverty cycle. I’m reminded how rewarding this work is every time little Ella happily thanks me—and ADRA—for our help

“Think how you have instructed many, how you have strengthened feeble hands.” Job 4:3 (NIV)

The view from the top of Mt. Muhavura, an inactive volcano in Western Uganda, is overwhelmingly green. It is a jungle of intertwining trees, hillsides covered with swaying banana plants, and a valley blanketed with the delicate hue of tomato vines, cabbages, onions and potatoes. But the tiny pygmy huts that are scattered throughout the region are largely invisible.

Walls of mud and roofs of palm fronds give shelter to one of the most marginalized groups in Uganda. In 1991, the Batwa Pygmies were evicted from their forest home in order to create Mgahinga National park, one of the few remaining habitats of the mountain gorilla.

Without land, the Pygmies have been forced to become squatters. They have no permanent home, no gardens to grow food and for many, they have no hope. Standing next to the huts, the children’s eyes are large with sorrow and hunger. Their bare feet are cracked, their bellies distended from malnutrition. Their clothing is colorless and filled with tears.

But ADRA Uganda has been making a difference by building the Mabuyemeru Primary school. Now Pygmy students have a place to sleep, access to clean water, regular meals, school uniforms and, most importantly, a life-changing education. In a district where the illiteracy rate is 67 percent, the Pygmy children are learning how to read and write. They are also gaining skills like tailoring, weaving, and farm maintenance.

In the past, Pygmies were so discriminated against that their children could not attend local schools. But at Mabuyemeru, Pygmy children stay in the same dormitory as non-Pygmy children. They share clothes, school supplies, and dreams for a better future.

Alice Nyamihanda is fourteen years old and the first in her village to finish primary school. Her shy smile belies a determined spirit. Alice dreams of graduating from secondary school. Right now, she is halfway through.

ADRA is giving Alice and many children like her a priceless gift—a chance for a better tomorrow. “Please tell ADRA to continue their compassion for the destitute,” said the leader of the Kanyabukung Pygmy community. “Please tell ADRA that they give us hope.”

“. . . we went through fire and water, but you brought us to a place of abundance.” Psalm 66:12 (NIV)

It was the worst flooding in Hanoi since 1984. The water crept up the steps leading to the ADRA office. This had happened before, but the water had never come through the doors. As the rain continued, we were alarmed to see it inching under the doorways despite our best efforts. We moved computer equipment and file drawers from the floor to tops of desks and tables.

Later, one of the men brought used bricks and buckets of red clay to build barriers at each of the four doorways. Now it was possible to use buckets to remove water without it immediately returning. The rain slowed, and then stopped. There was concern that, if another storm came very soon, it would be worse. By evening, the office was nearly cleaned up, but outside the water still lapped just below the porch floor.

The light rain predicted for Saturday began on schedule, but it increased about 5 AM. At the office, water poured over the "mud/brick dams" that had been built. Closed doors slowed the flow, but water gurgled up through the floor drains of the bathrooms and leaked through gaps between floor tiles. We emptied lower shelves. Just before the water reached it, the bed in the guest room was raised onto a couple chairs.

With the water rising, about 35 people moved office items to the second floor. The rain continued, off and on, throughout the day. While lighter than during the night, it was enough to keep the water about the same height. By late afternoon, boats had ferried many things to a new location.

We have decided to stay, at least for the moment, in the new location. According to the "authorities," there could be additional flooding this year. We are not prepared to go through this "moving experience" again anytime soon. While still anything but organized, our office is beginning to take shape again.

As we provide aid in the future, we will be able to better understand the feelings of helplessness and loss when flooding strikes.

“So the poor have hope, and injustice shuts its mouth.” ~ Job 5:16

“The first thing they did was shoot my husband,” she (pictured below) said, looking down at the mat as I gripped my pen a little tighter. Her eyes met mine and I could see they were full of tears. I glanced around the hut, where 20 women sat detailing their lives before and after arriving at this refugee camp in West Darfur, Sudan. As the stories poured out they were similar in their tragedy—full of pain, murder, rape, and pillaging.

My tears started to make it difficult to write. I thought about my closet full of clothes and shoes, the half empty water bottle I threw away, and the comfortable bed I would be sleeping in that night.

The dust blew in my already irritated eyes as I rode in the back of the pickup to the ADRA compound. We were quiet and absorbed in our thoughts, overwhelmed by the enormity of the task—1.2 million displaced people with similar stories and lacking basic necessities like food and water. “How can man be so cruel” I thought? “Where is God?”

“Inasmuch as you did it unto the least of these, you did it unto me.” The words rang through my head. As our brothers and sisters in Sudan call out to God for help, ADRA responds. It is here in the midst of the largest humanitarian aid crisis in the world—building latrines in the hot sand, digging wells for water, and giving friendly smiles—ADRA is bringing hope to those who are without, bringing aid to the least of these.

“Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your body.” (I Corinthians 6: 19 20, NIV)

I arrived at Ajakuac Payam on graduation day for 43 Guinea Worm Eradication Program (GWEP) volunteers and supervisors who completed ADRA’s three-day workshop in Twic County, Bahr El Ghazal. Walking to our vehicle, an elderly man came beside me, chatting away in the Dinka Language. I could not understand a word, so I smiled. He continued chatting away and held my hand. I called one teacher who could speak both English and Arabic who translated, “I am impressed because this young lady knows ‘the pen’ well. Because she knows ‘the pen’ well, I am willing to marry her and pay her parents 50 head of cattle just for her pen and 100 head of cattle for her to be my wife.”

I was greatly impressed! Not because a man in Ajakuac Payam was willing to pay 150 heads of cattle for a bride price; but because I realized that ADRA South Sudan’s hard work to promote girl’s education was paying off.

Community members in Twic County are pastoralist, and value cattle very much. Here, wealth is measured by the number of cattle one has and the number of wives one can afford to marry. Happy is the man who has many daughters, for his kraal will always be full of cattle.

The fact that girls in this community are sold off for a bride price at a very tender age, poses a great challenge in the area of girl’s education. ADRA South Sudan, through community mobilizations, workshops, and meetings has been encouraging the community to send girls to school since 1998. Statistics throughout south Sudan shows that only 26% of the pupils enrolled in school are girls in spite of the fact that female’s make up over 60% of the total population of south Sudan. Retention of girls in school is also a great challenge.

The fact that the old man was willing to pay 50 herds of cattle just for ‘the pen’ (equivalent to USD $10,000 encouraged me that the community is gradually changing and placing a high value on girl’s education.

ADRA believes in the importance and value of girls and women and works to uncover that value in societies where it has been clouded. And just like Christ, ADRA believes every man, woman and child has inherent value. I’m glad ADRA is able to show God’s loving face in societies where some genders or ethnic groups have never had their value affirmed. And just as a valued bride is bought with a great price, it reminds me that God bought us with a great price because He, too, values us so intensely.

“…The LORD, who remains faithful forever. He upholds the cause of the oppressed and gives food to the hungry…” ~Psalms 146 6 - 7 (NIV)

Recently, I visited Camp Ded Madi Okollo in Arua, Uganda, and met with a small group of refugees that had lived there for the past five to six months. This was their third camp and most had been refugees for at least 10 years.

The life of a refugee is a challenging one. The food rations which are per person, per month, are 26 lbs. of maize flour, 4 lbs. of beans, and 0.6 liters of cooking oil. There are no supplemental foods for babies. There are two working boreholes for a camp of more than 7,000 people. To get to the borehole water, you have to walk nearly a mile each day. Usually, it’s the women who bare this task.

Imagine all your possessions fitting in a small shelter structure with a “United Nations” tarp over the top and thatch walls at each end. A family of 10 might live in a shelter like this. All your worldly possessions were probably lost in your last move. You are faced with limited rations and water and are located in an area without employment opportunities or schools and with limited medical facilities. The only way to earn a living is by selling your meager rations. These are conditions most of us cannot even fathom.

Compare this with your life. How many cars do you own? How many square feet is your home? How much junk do you have stored in your garage that has not seen the light of day since your last move? Think of the health care that is a short distance away.

How do people become refugees? It is usually associated with violence, and/or freedom of expression. For most of us who live in societies where we are not subject to threats, conflict or acts of violence and who can express ourselves pretty much as we please, these situations are remote. Yet in parts of the world they are common daily experiences.

On June 20th of this month, the world commemorates World Refugee Day. I’m reminded of the small group of men and women I met at Camp Ded Madi Okollo. What should our response be as Christians? It is easy to say we should feed the hungry, clothe the naked and aid the sick, but it is probably a different story to stand up and fight for just treatment of people. It requires activism on our part. I believe that Christ calls us not to be “couch potato” Christians, but activist Christians who get involved in helping support those who are in situations—like refugees from Sudan living in a camp—where our voices might be the only ones supporting them.

“Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves, for the rights of all who are destitute.” Proverbs 31:8 (NIV)

People with leprosy have been outcasts for centuries. Shunned by society, they have huddled together on the edges of communities. They have not been able to enjoy what many of us take for granted—protection from rain and snow, privacy, or health care.

While on a trip to visit projects in Asia, we spent a day at the Khohana Leprosy Community, located near Kathmandu, capital of Nepal. ADRA and other organizations have provided a variety of activities over the years, including a school, technical college, and a home for elderly lepers. Currently, fifteen university students from Japan are constructing two houses in Khohana Leprosy Community. While visiting the construction site, I discovered the meaning of labor when I carried a cane “doko” of bricks on my head and learned how to lay the bricks as part of the walls of the new homes.

Then I met a grandmother named Phema Gyaljin Lama. The building project took on a whole new urgency. She is one of 70 people still living in a multiple level barracks built for lepers in 1857. That’s right—145 years ago. At one time, hundreds of people were crammed into the structure. Picture a whole family forced to live in a space no larger than a closet with a low ceiling. When electricity was introduced to the community, wires were laid along the floors and walls with no protection.

Phema Gyaljin Lama had lived nearly her entire life in this aged building. I looked at the external factors and saw the limitations, but to her it was a home filled with memories. Smiles wreathed her face as she described the house to which she and her grandchildren would be moving. For the first time in her life she would live in a house--one to which I had added bricks just moments before. While the house would be small by many people’s standards, the two bedrooms, kitchen, and outdoor toilet was a dream come true for this grandmother. Luxury for her would be the outdoor water faucet that would be shared between three houses.

As I pondered this grandmother’s joyous anticipation of a new dwelling, my heart broke as I realized that funds are yet to be found for the remaining 25 homes needed to completely empty that ancient, crumbling barracks.

Before dawn one morning, I got up to see the sunrise. As the rays of morning light transformed the inky black night, I was reminded that ADRA’s work is like a ray of light as it encourages hope and change in people who live in the inky black night of poverty and pain.

Jesus left there and went along the Sea of Galilee. Then he went up on a mountainside and sat down. Great crowds came to him, bringing the lame, the blind, the crippled, the mute and many others, and laid them at his feet; and he healed them. (Matthew 15: 29-30, NIV)

At the leprosy commune in Khokana, Nepal many eyes are blind, inflamed and infected. Eyelids are devoid of reflex. A special eye team has come with an aircraft specially fitted to perform eye surgery and diagnostic procedures.

The surgeon, a compassionate gentleman from Great Britain, carefully and gently looks into each eye of the patient, as some two hundred wait their turn. Some are told nothing can be done, the damage is beyond repair. For others, simple care and a little bottle of "Liquid Tears" would be enough to lubricate their eyes and maintain vision. If only we could put forward a hand, and do it again, like our Lord.

Anxiously one patient pushes forward and, with obvious despair, shows us his rotting, aching tooth and pleads for relief. But our time has gone and the team must move on.

We reach our vehicle and a mother pulls us to the hut nearby. On a mat is a girl of about 12 years of age near death. The eye team examines her and recommends she be transferred to a hospital immediately.

Although at the end of a long day, we drive to the hospital. Quickly the doctor starts an IV and drug treatment. The diagnosis: Typhoid fever. Leaving the young girl in capable hands we head home.

But what about the man with tooth pain? We can't leave him. We started back to the commune and found him huddled in a corner. He seems bewildered that we remember him and returned so late at night. The tooth is extracted, and pain killing tables take their effect. He can sleep tonight. A welcome smile is good any time, but especially from a man who'd been in agony with a rotting tooth. We rejoice knowing that "The Lord has done it again."

Two days later the medical director of ORBIS rang our ADRA office to say they are willing to send a team of doctors to the commune to help. It is a miracle. "Thank you, Lord, for doing it again."

Our girl at the hospital is showing signs of improvement. Her mother grabs our hands as we leave the bedside and breaks down with emotion. Her face radiates joy and thankfulness. "You have done it again, Lord."

It only takes a willing servant and miracles can be seen. "Do it again, Lord." Many more need to see your healing hand. Let your miracles of mercy never end.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of shadow and death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me." Psalm 23:4 (KJV)

We were on our way to Tipo, a distant Cambodian village where security had not always been the best. Issuing all the needed security clearances, the District Leader assured me that the Khmer Rouge had not been in the area for a long time. Nevertheless, I felt uneasy and irritated with our police escort who went ahead, rather than accompany us.

When we arrived in Tipo, the local clinic workers already had distributed vitamin A. After discussion, the ADRA team decided to distribute vitamin A at nearby Samroung Village, the poorest village in the area. Then the local health worker asked us to check a few people. As the examinations began, I took the opportunity to explain to the villagers that vitamin 'A' helps overcome night blindness, prevents childhood blindness, and protects against diarrhea and respiratory disease.

As I was teaching, I noticed something strange. The people were too silent, listening too intently. That had never happened before. Cambodians keep up a running commentary among themselves whenever any of us teach. This time no one talked about my white skin or my "beautiful" nose. "Lord," I asked silently, "Is there a special reason why these people need to hear my health information?"

When I finished, they stood unmoving and still silent.

Seeing some men in the group smoking, I jumped into one my favorite topics. When I finished that lesson, my team members said, "Cheryl, there's not enough time to go to Samroung Village. Let's just go to a small village on the way back."

At the next village the people swarmed around us, chattering among themselves like every other normal group of Cambodian villagers.

We finished that trip and continued our normal ADRA routines. Some time later, one of the health team workers rushed up. "Cheryl!" she exclaimed. "Remember our trip to Tipo? That same day the Khmer Rouge attacked Samroung Village and killed two people." She paused briefly, "The only reason we didn't go that day was because you taught too long."

Realization came as a whisper, and a sense of awe filled me.

“Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” Matthew 11:28 (NKJV)

Recently I had the amazing opportunity to visit the country of Myanmar (Burma). Myanmar is unique in that the lower part of the country around the capital, Yangon, is wet. The upper part of the county, around Bagan, is desert and referred to as the dry-zone.

Life is tough in the dry-zone of Myanmar. Every day community members walk miles to collect water for that day’s use. They asked ADRA to help them find water and to dig wells near their villages so they can use the time spent getting water on other vital tasks such as gathering firewood for cooking and finding food for their families. ADRA is now partnering with them to bring clean water to their communities.

Others, laboring feverishly over hot open fires to make Jaggary (sugar lumps), asked ADRA to supply them with energy-saving stoves to help them increase their production of jaggary. This provides them with increased income and, in turn, a better way of life.

Day in and day out the people living in the dry-zone region toil and struggle to survive. They labor for pennies a day to try and make ends meet and usually the ends don’t meet.

My visit was a great inspiration to me as I witnessed the impact ADRA is making and has made in many villages. I felt blessed and honored to visit with the people of Myanmar and to learn that ADRA is making a difference in their lives.

Please pray for the people in Myanmar in their daily struggle to survive. Please pray, too, for ADRA and its staff as they continue to work in this country.

Heavy, humid air enveloped me as I walked onto the tarmac at Vientienne airport, in Lao People’s Democratic Republic (PDR). En route to Luang Nam Tha province, tucked into the northernmost corner of Lao, and landlocked against China, I climbed the stairs and scrunched down into my seat on a tiny, 12-seater plane.

The aerial view showed terraced rice paddy fields dotted with men, women, and children—knee deep in muddy water, and backs bent in the heavy labor demanded of planting rice. The rainy season had arrived early, leaving the land muddy, but the vegetation green and lush. It is here that generations in Luang Nam Tha have labored valiantly for their survival.

ADRA is present in this “land of friendship” because 40 percent of its nearly six million population live below the poverty line—73 percent receive less than $2 per day in income. Only 37 percent have access to safe drinking water and less than half the population have access to sanitation facilities. Many are hanging on, to economic and physical survival by a thread. Literally.

Ironically, it’s with a thread that ADRA is reversing those statistics. The villagers of Luang Nam Tha are widely known for their production and weaving of natural silk. Through moriculture (mulberry cultivation) and sericulture (the commercial breeding of silkworms) projects, ADRA aims to increase household income, reduce poverty, protect the environment, and provide employment for women while maintaining and reviving local tradition, identity, and pride.

As we slowly edged our truck up a steep, muddy road, I found Onkeo, a 33-yearold mother of four, weeding her mulberry plantation. She courageously tried a new hybrid of mulberry saplings that ADRA introduced. Feeding her worms the new mulberry leaves and using a new “out of pot” technique for pulling thread and a spinning wheel, has helped to make her thread stronger, thicker, and less sticky.

ADRA trained her in new silkworm rearing techniques and mulberry planting, fertilizing, and pruning techniques then gave her a loan for fencing around her plantation and the saplings. ADRA also provided loans for silkworm cabinets that keep insects out of the silkworm rearing baskets. Onkeo’s family income has increased due to the higher quality of thread, enabling her to meet her family’s needs and save money for a paddy-tiller.

Just before leaving, I stopped at the ADRA Training Center where women gather to learn the new silkworm rearing and weaving techniques. A woman was hunched over a loom, busily stamping out an intricate silk scarf. The loom ADRA is training her on is more efficient and offers greater pattern variety than the traditional loom. On hand is an ADRA weaving trainer to ensure that materials produced are high quality, and an ADRA marketing manager who cultivates markets for the women’s silk products.

ADRA is also targeting vital health needs in this province. Through the Luang Nam Tha Rural Water Supply and Sanitation Project (LWP), ADRA is constructing latrines and gravity flow water systems, including maintenance training and a maintenance fund.

Targeting the same communities as the LWP, ADRA’s Responsive Education and Action for Community Health (REACH) project is reaching 12 villages with health education and a mobile clinic. Village health volunteers are trained to offer basic medical treatment and conduct health education activities in their villages. An ADRA-supplied medical kit enables villagers to purchase medical supplies quickly from the village health volunteer, creating a revolving drug fund.

These health projects are benefiting more than 3,000 people like Boua Kham, an ADRA village health volunteer. She has a deep passion for her work. Boua’s given birth to seven children, but she lost four to preventable causes. “My children would probably be alive today if I had known what ADRA has taught me,” she said sadly. She is an avid promoter of ADRA’s “3 Cleans!” campaign: eat clean, drink clean, and live clean. Every day, her work is dedicated to preventing other mothers from the loss she has borne.

In Lao, lives once knotted in poverty and illness now weave dreams of a healthy, prosperous and educated future because of ADRA. But more remains to be done. Many others wish to participate in the silkworm rearing and mulberry plantation project and many villages desperately need health assistance. “For many communities ADRA is their only hope,” the ADRA health staff stated. “When we have knowledge that can save a life, and the power to share it, we have a responsibility to share it.”

It’s a responsibility that ADRA and its staff carry courageously. It’s a responsibility we see demonstrated in the compassion and generosity of the faithful donors who make all of this possible.

And with your help today, ADRA will be able to do more to make Boua’s words come true for other mothers. “My children would probably be alive today if I had known what ADRA has taught me…”

Thank you for donating today!

There was one sheikh and Mosque speaker in Baqim, who was against the midwife training ADRA, was conducting. He told the people the training was dangerous for the girls and that it was against their habits, customs and the Islamic religion. He refused to let his family receive services from the trainers and trainees.

After months of midwife training, the trainers were called for a home delivery. They went to the house and delivered the baby, providing all the services the mother needed. The new mother happened to be the sheikh’s niece. Sometime afterwards, the Sheikh attended a meeting in the training center with the government health director.

When the meeting was over, he asked the trainers if he could see the training material. He was given the training posters and curriculum and all other information he requested. The sheikh apologized and agreed that the girls should participate in the ADRA training program.

The sheikh started speaking in the mosque about the advantages of the ADRA Midwife Training Center and how ADRA is helping the district by teaching the girls and helping the people in the areas of reproductive health services.

One of the Community Midwife trainees shared with me how taking the ADRA Midwife Training had impacted and changed her life for the better, she said: Before I attended this training I was very shy, I could not talk to other people. I started the training, but my family and some of my neighbors were against me. After a while I was able to share some health education with a family member who was a very heavy smoker and had had a small baby, which was malnourished. I asked her to breast-feed the baby and stop smoking. I told her about the risks to her baby and herself if she continued smoking. She listened to me and told her sisters and others, they too stopped smoking and started asking me for advice. They also started taking better care of their children. Now my neighbors come to me for medications or counseling, they trust me and encourage me.

I could not believe myself after the training, I felt like I was dreaming. I can’t believe that I can talk with others, and give counseling to them for family planning. The difference between how I was then and how I am now and the confidence I have gained, is because of the training I received.