The Mercy Corps Blog

Blog Post Posted November 23, 2009, 8:10 pm by Piva Bell

Leaving the past behind

Safuati looks from the doorway of Lamteungoh's women's center, built by Mercy Corps, toward the ocean where the tsunami rose nearly five years ago. Photo: Piva Bell/Mercy Corps

If you come to Lamteungoh village in Indonesia's Aceh province for the first time without having any knowledge about the Indian Ocean tsunami, you will feel that there is nothing wrong with this village. It looks so normal and beautiful, where the sky is so blue and bright, herons seem so peaceful flying around with the sounds of splashing waves along the coast, and the scenery of a little island called Pulo Aceh right in front of your eyes.

Well, the truth is that much of this nice image of Lamteungoh village is the result of tsunami rehabilitation and reconstruction programs done by various non-governmental organizations, include Mercy Corps.

When the tsunami hit this area in late December 2004, the people of Lamteungoh village were not as lucky as their neighbor villages, Tutui and Lambaro Neujid. Those two villages are situated at the foot of hilly areas, and so much of the population ran to the hills and survived. Most of Lamteungoh village didn't survive, because the tsunami waves hit them when they were on their way to the hills, crammed on small roads crowded with people. That’s why there are only a few survivors left and Lamteungoh village was flattened to the ground by the tsunami.

This nightmare, which has always haunted Lamteungoh's survivors, is starting to vanish along with the time that passes by. Many of the things that were destroyed before — such as the community center, houses and other facilities — have been rebuilt, encouraging the villagers to start their normal life and activities again while trying to cure all their sorrowful memories.

In particular, the women of Lamteungoh village are grateful for the local women's center built by Mercy Corps. Because of it, now all the women in this village have a place to gather and to do their activities, such as meetings, trainings and business activities, as well as a place for monthly health check-ups for their babies.

Wihidah, the treasurer of the Lamteungoh women's group, sits beside the equipment they use for their small business and also rent out for ceremonies and other special occasions. Photo: Piva Bell/Mercy Corps

Mercy Corps has also given the women here some equipment to start a small business: plates, glasses, bowls, frying pans, cauldron, and tents for outdoor activities. No wonder women in this village are so active, and really contribute big support for every activity in the village. Today, they are lending their expertise in cooking and decorating to various parties and ceremonies in the area. Safuati, a 27-year-old member of this women's group, proudly told me how happy she is to prepare meals for local events, and to know that all the guests really enjoy and appreciate her group's delicious cooking. It’s really meaningful for her.

Safuati's women group earns additional income by rent out the cooking equipment for $25 per day to people from other villages and $15 per day for their neighbors in Lamteungoh village, and they also rent out the large outdoor tent for $15 per day.

Wahidah, the 34-year-old treasurer for the group, said that any income these equipment rentals goes right back into supporting their group activities.

They are so proud with what they have and what they're able to do now, and smiles have come back to their faces. Their new lives have begun, and these women of Lamteungoh village are so thankful to Mercy Corps.

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Blog Post Posted November 23, 2009, 2:58 pm by Roger Burks

Thanks to Indiana Jones

My translator Bayar (right) and I drink airag — fermented horse milk — in Mongolia. Photo: Thatcher Cook for Mercy Corps

Let me just admit it right now: half of the reason I’m in this line of work is Indiana Jones. More specifically, there’s a scene in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom — which I saw when I was 14 years old — when he’s sitting, cross-legged, in a poor village in northern India. A small portion of unappetizing-looking food is brought out to him, buzzing with flies. His companions turn their noses up at the offered meal, to which Dr. Jones simply says, “That’s more food than these people eat in a week. They're starving.” Then, without hesitation, he uses his fingers to scoop that food into his mouth without changing expression.

"I want to be that kind of man," I thought right then and there. And while I don’t brandish a whip when I travel the world and can’t quite pull off wearing a fedora, I have had the chance to eat quite a few really exotic — and mostly delectable — things in some far-flung places.

Wherever I go, I am amazed by the generosity of families who obviously don’t have much to spare, but still invite me into their homes to share whatever they can offer. Some of my most memorable meals have been spent sitting around a table with the courageous and hospitable people that Mercy Corps is helping.

And I always feel like they’re giving me much more than I’ve brought them.

Stepan (center, in Puma sweatshirt) sits with his father and two neighbors, a few empty glasses as evidence of our festivities. Photo: Roger Burks/Mercy Corps

One of the best lunches I’ve ever had in my life was at the rustic cottage of a 26-year-old dairy farmer named Stepan near the town of Brus, Serbia. Stepan and his wife laid a feast across a wooden table and invited me, my colleague Rados and several local dairy farmers to join in. Over the course of a couple hours, we talked, laughed and partook of local cheese, homemade bread with kajmak, pickles, eggs and chicken fried steak. Having been raised in the American Midwest, I know how to appreciate a good chicken fried steak — and I did, a couple helpings’ worth, in fact.

After we’d all finished eating, Stepan stepped into the kitchen and reemerged carrying a tray laden with three bottles of rakija – local plum brandy - and the tallest shot glasses I’ve ever seen. “Careful,” Rados whispered, “these guys drink like Russians.” So they did. We all did. And, besides this picture of Stepan, his father and two neighbors, I don’t have any evidence of the aftermath — just a great, if somewhat patchy, memory of a noontime meal spent around a rough-hewn table in rural Serbia.

Moni Das grinds tiny grains to prepare a meal in India's Assam state. Photo: Thatcher Cook for Mercy Corps

A year and a half later, I enjoyed a somewhat less bountiful, yet lovingly prepared meal around a lot smaller table inside a tea plucker’s house in India’s Assam state. Our hostess, a kind and hard-working woman named Moni Das, brought us small plates that were adorned with dollops of colorful vegetables and sauces around a mound of rice. With the exception of the rice, all of the food she served us came from her own garden or the nearby forests. Though I didn’t know what most things on the plate were, her warm welcome and proud smile let us know that this was the very best she had to offer. And it was amazing.

Just a few months after that, I found myself in an environment that was the very opposite of Assam’s humid lowlands: Mongolia’s Gobi Desert. The food there was — in the spirit of Indiana Jones — an adventure.

I sampled airag, fermented horse milk, from tiny paper cups and ornate silver bowls. I ate buuz, mutton fat dumplings, at meals alongside just about every nomad family we visited. From strong yogurt to something called “black soup,” I was always prepared for whatever food Mongolia laid before me.

That is, until one day inside a nomad family’s ger — or portable home — in the countryside of Mongolia’s Arkhangai province. I was sitting with our translator, Bayar, when our hostess brought out a big plate of what I thought were cookies. I took a big bite — it was pungent and crumbly. It filled my mouth with a stinging sourness that didn’t taste at all like flour and sugar.

These aren't cookies. Photo: Thatcher Cook for Mercy Corps

“Camel’s milk cheese,” Bayar said as he tried not to laugh, taking a bite of it, too. “I bet you didn’t expect that.”

The taste wouldn’t leave my mouth. Thankfully, a cup of hot tea had just been placed in front of me, so I took a swig. Unfortunately, the tea was thick, greasy and salty.

"Mutton fat tea," Bayar explained. "I'm not kidding."

And so, inside a ger in the Gobi Desert, I finally had my Indiana Jones moment, and I smiled.

As Thanksgiving Day approaches, I am thankful for all the generosity that I’ve been shown, from fried lake-caught fish in a Honduran village to a tiny cup of water in Congo’s displacement camps. I am thankful to all of the families who have invited me into their homes to share something meaningful and — usually — delicious.

And I thank Indiana Jones for getting me started on my way.

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Blog Post Posted November 23, 2009, 1:23 am by Farida A Erikawati

Panic in my neighborhood

It was Sunday, September 27, 2009 and I was rather sad. That morning, my family and I intended to visit some of our extended family in another city, but our car stalled. I was disappointed, because I kept imagining that they wouldn't be able to meet the newest member of our family, my 40-day-old baby girl. “But it’s fine,“ I said. “We'll just go another time."

The weather was very hot that day. After my morning of disappointment, I remembered looking at the clock and seeing the time was 11:30 AM — almost time for Muslim prayer. But suddenly, many scattered crowds of people rain through our neighborhood while shouting “Fire...fire!”

This is how Penjaringan, an impoverished neighborhood in north Jakarta, looked two days after a fire gutted the area. Photo: Yayat Hidayat/Mercy Corps

I know that the adjacent neighborhood of Penjaringan is indeed located in an area of extreme fire danger. That neighborhood is very densely populated and poorly arranged, with mostly semi-permanent houses and bad drainage in times of flooding. Penjaringan's chaos had increasingly crept into my own neighborhood.

And the chaos grew that late September Sunday. ”Fire...fire!” The sounds were increasingly loud and made everyone panic. Many people tried to rescue their things, but most could only cry over what they'd lost. I began to feel the air get increasingly hotter.

My 40-day-old daughter, who was not usually fussy, was obviously feeling that something was happening. The air around us kept getting hotter. Everyone shouted, running while crying and looking for their children and their families. That's when I got involved, wanting to help however I could.

I was confused as where to run first. My thoughts went back to the past about a similar incident that happened a year ago. Yes, not much time had passed since the last time this happened.

I was thankful that my family and house were safe, but soon found that dozens of other houses were burned. Out of six breastfeeding motivators in the area, mine was the only house left standing. I imagined all of my friends in the area who had new babies, all the breastfeeding mothers and how they would be affected by a disaster like this.

I was separated from my baby girl for more than three hours. But, after the shock and stress of that day wore off, my worry went away and my enthusiasm returned. Although the situation in these neighborhoods is uncertain after the fire, I will continue to try and motivate my friends and local mothers to provide their babies with early and exclusive breastfeeding.

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Blog Post Posted November 21, 2009, 2:44 am by Seth Rue

We're all the beneficiaries

A sunset view of Jerusalem's Old City — with the gold-topped Dome of the Rock near the left center of the photo — from Mercy Corps' office on the Mount of Olives. Photo: Seth Rue for Mercy Corps

Mercy Corps' offices in Jerusalem rest at the very top of the Mount of Olives, in a grove of olive trees that are hundreds of years old. Looking to the west, you can see all of the Old City and beyond and, at dusk, the sky is flooded with vibrant oranges and deep purples. The Dome of the Rock, in that light, seems to glow quietly from within.

When you enter the Mercy Corps office, you're greeted by a huge painted tile mural of an olive tree and a message below that reads, "Dedicated to Landrum Bolling — In recognition of a lifetime of work on behalf of peace and justice for the people of Palestine." It's a building filled with natural light that seems to pour in from every facade.

I was excited to finally meet the people I'd communicated with over the previous ten months, putting faces to email tone and style. That way, the next time I received a last-minute request for an executive's signature on an agreement or for a review and edit of a 70-page report to be submitted six hours later, I could picture — in vivid detail — the target of that day's silent grumpiness. Unfortunately, the staff were all charming and quite friendly, which made it frustratingly difficult to even set aside a bit of grumpiness for the future.

I settled in quickly and got right to work. My first task was to assist in the coordination of a major conference during which the aforementioned 70-page report would be presented. In the West Bank, Mercy Corps has been making use of funding from the United Kingdom and the European Community to spur development in the Palestinian information and communications technology (ICT) sector. The "Investing in Peace" program helps to stimulate economic growth in Palestine by facilitating partnerships between Palestinian ICT companies and those across borders.

In preparation for the event, I was able to travel into the West Bank — for the first time — to the city of Ramallah. I found there some relief from the weight of the tension I felt between people in Jerusalem. Edges softened and defensiveness eased. I met enthusiastic IT executives and entrepreneurs, undeniable cutting-edge experts in their field, eager to engage in new partnerships with other companies. The spirit at the conference was surprising for me. There are so many external factors that have acted as impediments to the growth of the Palestinian ICT sector in the West Bank and Gaza, yet the people in attendance were anything but resigned to that. The questions they asked were challenging and rooted in optimism, and the responses — honest and direct — only affirmed their hope.

This was the first time I'd met any of our "beneficiaries" or actually seen where your donations go. Sometimes, at headquarters, it's hard for me to understand how the support of a generous public and the work of our dedicated staff end up actually helping anyone in need when all I see are numbers, statistics and stories about strangers.

On this day, something in my head clicked. Our "beneficiaries" have names and faces and pasts and futures on their own, and we're not responsible for any of that. What we are responsible for is listening to them when they teach us how to help them level the playing field.

Whatever injustice it is that has prevented them from being able to live in security or contribute productively to their communities, they've already identified and made steps to address. We can only offer certain resources and experience in similar situations and ask if they might be a good fit in moving forward.

I realized then that we're all the beneficiaries. But the IT executives here, the fishermen in Gaza, the young women applying for university in Iraq — they're our mentors.

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Blog Post Posted November 19, 2009, 10:10 pm by Alique Nursholiqin

Faster is better

Ridwan and two of his children. Photo: Alique Nursholiqin/Mercy Corps

Every morning at 3:30, Ridwan starts making tempeh. He’s been doing this for almost 18 years.

“I was making tempeh when I am not yet married. It was in 1991,” the 39-year-old remembers. Today, he’s married to a 35-year-old woman named Isniyati and they have three children; Riski, Riska and Restu.

He feels pride as a tempeh maker, and also sells the tempeh that he produces. “Tempeh is from a Javanese ancestry tradition,” Ridwan says, adding that he originally came from Pekalongan, a north coastal part of Indonesia’s Central Java region.

Not long ago, I went to visit Ridwan at his house in the city of Bekasi to check on the new stove that he’s been using for almost two weeks to cook soybeans. This stove was built at his house as part of a pilot project for Mercy Corps’ Value Initiative Program, which helps small producers save costs as well as protect their environment.

The stove — which can burn using coconut husks and scrap wood as fuel — cooks food in about half the time as traditional cookstoves used in the area. This saves not only firewood, but time for small businessmen like Ridwan.
According to his wife Isniyati, who helps him cook the soybeans that go to make the tempeh, what once took three hours has now become an hour and thirty minutes. But Ridwan slyly insists that he can prepare a batch even more quickly, in as little time as an hour.

For a hard-working couple like Ridwan and Isniyati, who do all the work themselves as well as take care of the children and perform other household duties, every little bit helps. After all, making tempeh is an intensive three-day endeavor. The first day is the process of washing, cooking and packaging. The second day is fermentation process. Then, on the third day, the tempeh is ready to be sold.

While working in his tempeh kitchen, Ridwan talks to me about his work, and how he came to rely on tempeh making to earn a living. In the beginning, he was only as a worker who helped his relatives. He began to learn much about the process of making tempeh in these days, with an eye on one day starting his own business. Working hard for a few years, Ridwan was finally able to save and buy his own tempeh making equipment.

Tempeh and tofu making is a major industry around the city of Bekasi, Indonesia, with enterprises ranging from factories to small family businesses. Photo: Thatcher Cook for Mercy Corps

Today, his tempeh production capacity is 100 kilograms of soybeans per day. Comparatively, this is a small production level for local tempeh makers. That amount of soybeans can make tempeh for 22 trays, each of which contain 24 to 26 pieces He sells his tempeh for 1,500 Indonesian rupiah — about U.S. $0.15 — per piece.

If he all his tempeh sells out in a day, he can bring in 850,000 rupiah — or around U.S. $85 in gross income. The cost of production lowers his revenue to about U.S. $66, still more than enough to feed his family, provide for household needs and save a little.

“The rest is for our children’s future," Ridwan says.

Through introduction of these improved stoves to small producers in the area, Mercy Corps is helping save time, money and the environment — which is making a difference for tempeh makers like Ridwan.

“I feel satisfied with the new stove that it is faster and better, with less time to cook soybeans that can reduce my work time to make tempeh,” he says. “Now I can rest more and be with my kids”.

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Blog Post Posted November 19, 2009, 4:29 pm by Seth Rue

Tunnels, walls and stones

I must admit, I found it a bit disappointing that I'd passed so easily through the infamous Ben Gurion International Airport passport control. After I picked up my bag I didn't really know what to do with myself — the flight had arrived early, and I wasn't being held up for questioning. I had some waiting to do until my ride would arrive. I spoke to one of the Palestinian men on the flight after we'd retrieved our luggage — a warm and soft-spoken man who made my first real interaction in Israel a reassuring one.

I found the cab ride to the guest house where I'd be staying more difficult. Up until this point, I'd only read about "the wall" that partitioned the areas around Jerusalem, separating Arabs and Jews, Arabs and Arabs, and Arabs and their livelihoods. A tunnel was built under the new highway that "Arab Israelis" can use to access their fields, transportation or families and friends. The tunnel is open for at least 20 minutes, at least once a day, so as long as one's business isn't at all time-sensitive or enduring, this set up is accommodating.

The driver described all this in detail with barely a hint of resentment, but only continued to reinforce his hope that one day Jews and Arabs could live in peace, once again, with one another. I don't think it was that his anger had finally retreated over the years into resignation and hopelessness, but that his optimism was simply more powerful. "It is our self-serving leaders that create these problems," he said. I sensed that he referred to people and problems on a greater scale than just those that he lives amidst.

As we approached The Old City, I tried to picture all that had happened there, and all those that died to defend it or conquer it. I imagined Salah ad-Din and his scores of cavaliers holding patiently outside the city gates, waiting for word of surrender from the Crusaders that never came. Then I imagined the ensuing carnage, and the blood that stained the earth, then the stones that were laid atop that earth as the city was rebuilt — again and again.

We climbed the Mount of Olives, just east of The Old City; Mustafa, the driver, deftly weaved through the crowds of tourists who crossed the street anywhere but at the crosswalks, the parked cars and buses taking up much of the driving lanes, and the young boys selling their window washing services. We passed the Church of all Nations and the Garden of Gethsemane. As we went further into East Jerusalem, faces turned more to shades of olive and brown. Garbage began to crowd the streets and sidewalks. Smells were stronger and more offensive here. This place was no one's priority.

We slowed in front of a four-story building surrounded by a high gate. I thanked Mustafa and greeted the children playing beside the car. Dust made the air feel thick, but the pure, youthful tone of al Aqsa's muezzin, reminding of maghrib prayers, carried easily. I opened the gate, picked up my bags and entered.

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Blog Post Posted November 19, 2009, 5:07 am by Bija Gutoff

Mama na come

Liberians have lots of great expressions, and I've enjoyed learning some of them as we traveled the country. I've shared a few of them here on my blog — how da body, tryin' small, a fish cup of rice.

My ear got used to the patois after we'd been here a few days, and I was happy to be able to rely less and less on our translators. I found myself slipping into Liberian English enough so that I could understand what people were telling me. I even was able to adapt my own spoken English with a touch of patois so that they could better understand me. It was fun and satisfying to connect with people through our talking, listening — and our shared language of simple human caring.

We met so many strong, proud Liberian people who are digging in to do the hard daily work of rebuilding their ravaged country. On this trip, we made a point of talking with lots of women. Most of the one-on-one conversations I had were with the grandmothers and mothers, sisters and daughters whose bright outfits often provided the only spots of cheerfui decoration against the drab browns of their mud-brick huts. Their personalities were as colorful and distinct as the fabrics they wore.

The fortunes of Liberia's people are being raised by hard-working businesswomen like Tetee, who has been supporting her family for two years by selling goods in her small shop. Photo: Nancy Farese for Mercy Corps

Liberian women are the cocoa farmers I met, like Mary and Samah and Annie. They're vegetable farmers who have also been trained in secretarial skills, like Isabella. They're businesswomen, like Tetee (in this picture), who has been supporting her family for two years by selling goods in her small shop. Many of them, like Wadey, have horrific stories of their experiences during the war years. It was hard to hear their stories of the violence that has scarred them.

And yet, they are looking forward with hope. That's the thing that stays with me the most from this trip.

To a woman, they talked about education — their number one priority for their children and themselves. "When there is no education," said Isabella, "you are blind. You can't do anything. Education is the key." They're earning their own money and counting every penny to try to save enough to pay school fees so their children can learn to read and write. They're absolutely ecstatic about the Mercy Corps literacy classes and other training that are helping them acquire the basic skills to get ahead.

They're also applying their own sweat and muscle to the hard slog of farming. They're eagerly absorbing new methods of planting, mulching and composting to improve their yields.

And the many people who have had Mercy Corps training in community-building are showing how much they have absorbed those lessons. Clearly, they deeply value respectful dialogue and inclusive democracy. At every village meeting I attended, people packed into the palaver huts to participate and listened with the utmost courtesy and attentiveness as each person spoke.

These are the some of the images and memories that will stay with me as I wind up this trip. I'm thinking about one expression I learned: "Papa na come." It means, "Things will be good," as in "Papa's gonna come." I think Papa here is meant to signify any family provider.

But after this trip, I've coined my own version of this saying. It's "Mama na come." Because I think the women of Liberia — the same women whose uprising helped lead the country away from a cruel dictatorship and towards a democracy led by a woman president, Ellen Johnson Sirleaf — are showing the way to this beautiful country's future. I'm betting on their success, because I've seen with my own eyes what they're accomplishing.

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Blog Post Posted November 19, 2009, 12:00 am by Dan O'Neill

Thirty years ago today...

Thirty years ago, the Cambodian refugee crisis was the catalyst for a relief effort that would later become Mercy Corps. Photo: Jon Warren for Mercy Corps

A friend recently shook my hand vigorously saying, "Congratulations on celebrating Mercy Corps' 30th anniversary!" I thanked him and went on to say that I would phrase his comment a bit differently. But I'll get back to that later in the story.

As the decade of the 1970s came to a close, a horrifying slaughter swept the country of Cambodia capturing the rapt attention of the world in what would come to be known as the "killing fields." The radical communist Khmer Rouge launched a massive wave of barbarism across the stricken nation, killing as many as 2.2 million innocent men, women and children while forcing more than 600,000 refugees into exhile, mostly into Thailand.

Week after week images of the dead and the dying filled the global media. "How could this be allowed to happen before the eyes of the entire world?" I wondered. In November 1979, First Lady Rosalynn Carter traveled to the Thailand-Cambodia border to witness the devastation first hand.

At the same time my wife, Cherry, and I agonized over what we could do if anything. After all, what can one or two people do in the face of such an overwhelming human catastrophe? We approached Cherry's father, entertainer Pat Boone, suggesting that he approach his extensive network of friends and industry colleagues to provide emergency aid to the suffering multitudes. Pat immediately said, "Dan, use my phone and rolodex to convene a group of concerned friends." His wife, Shirley, added, "We'll open our house for a dinner to discuss what we can do together."

I jumped on it, naively placing a call to the White House asking to speak with Mrs. Carter. To my utter amazement, she took my call and offered her support. She dispatched The Reverend Doctor Bob Maddox, a Special Assistant to the President, to our November 19 dinner event. More than 60 leaders from various sectors attended the dinner, which was covered by network TV news and print media.

The meal consisted of rice and dried fish on paper plates, the same diet as most of the Cambodian refugees. By the end of the evening, it was unanimously decided that an urgent fundraising drive would be launched and that I should lead the effort we called Save The Refugees Fund.

Graciously, Mrs. Carter invited me to the White House and requested that I serve on the Cambodia Crisis Committee. I opened an office in Seattle and — supported by the dinner guests and Mrs. Carter — raised nearly a million dollars to send help and hope to countless refugees.

At the end of the year-long project, I was convinced the effort should continue by reaching out to assist in other disasters and refugee scenarios. So in July 1981, Save The Refugees Fund was permanently incorporated as Mercy Corps. Since that time we have worked in 107 countries providing nearly $2 billion in assistance. Today, more than 3,700 staff are on the Mercy Corps team in 40 countries, helping those who are numbered among "the bottom billion" people on the planet.

And it all began with a handful of committed volunteers determined to make a positive difference 30 years ago.

Do we celebrate our anniversary? Let me put it this way. Because incalculable death and suffering heralded the occasion of Mercy Corps' founding, it is difficult to say we celebrate it. We mark it like a somber memorial, redoubling our determination to make the world a better place. The challenges are many but, with the help of caring friends and partners like you, we will continue upward and onward!

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Blog Post Posted November 18, 2009, 8:47 pm by Janice Setser

Six days on the road

I'm both exhausted and exhilarated by my six-day journey through the red clay rocky back-roads of Tajikistan's border area with Kyrgyzstan in the Rasht Valley.

Moving village to village to meet with women who have been patiently awaiting my arrival for six months, I feel humbled by their expression of enthusiasm upon seeing me. They greet me with near-celebrity status, and are utterly unaware of how much I am awed by them, completely inspired by them.

Photo: Janice Setser/Mercy Corps

These women, who have somewhere between a third and seventh grade education, live with their large families in a highly mountainous region where unforgiving winters last between six and seven months — severely shortening the growing season — and where they are miles from any market or hospital. Getting to a market or hospital in the winter time isn't generally an option anyway, except on foot or by horse. Occasionally, a government plough will clear the roads and, in a streak of good weather, it may be possible by car.

Electricity is also scarce and unregimented; houses are heated with wood they collect themselves or coal they buy, if they have the money. These women are the first to rise and the last to go to bed, providing the care for their children, their husbands, mothers- and fathers-in-law, the livestock and the land attached to the house. They stoke the fires, keep a constant pot of tea boiling and cook their one or two hot meals a day; they are the back bones of a large family, starting from the young age of 17 or 18, when they enter into an arranged marriage.

After three days in this Central Asian outback, my cuticles are split and bleeding and I'm constantly applying my $20 wheat germ oil to try to salvage my parched skin. Meanwhile, they are in and out of the house, to and from the detached kitchens, moving through the harsh elements — wind, rain or snow. There is no indoor plumbing, and sometimes the only running water is blocks away. Whether it is clean water or not is another issue.

The women thank me profusely for coming and I am at a loss to express my respect and admiration for them sufficiently. Even though it is my dream to live off the land, build my own house and have my own food forest, when I look at these women and their lives I wonder, could I ever do what they do? Could I ever really live as they live? Would I have the strength, the stamina, the fortitude to endure this beautiful but cruel environment such as they do?

I am grateful to these women, in this environment and with their workload, for actively participating in our program of health and agriculture education — some coming from long distances to meet together and hold discussions. This is a new habit for them, and the health and agriculture village educators who volunteer for us tell me that it was very difficult for them in the beginning to convince the women to come.

Photo: Janice Setser/Mercy Corps

Now, however, they come willingly and faithfully, eager to learn and discuss the topics of safe pregnancy, breast-feeding and supplementary feeding of children over six months. They tell me with fire and passion all of the different details that they know and have learned from Mercy Corps on these subjects. They tell me how the greenhouses have changed their lives too — eating tomatoes and cucumbers that they have produced themselves when they previously thought it was impossible in their region. They also express their gratitude that the jars that they have canned with fruits and pickled products are no longer exploding and being lost because of improper canning methods — now they are able to keep their jars and use them through the winter.

They are also grateful for the social time — the brief respite away from their large volume of tasks in the house — to meet together and exchange information, share problems and support one another in a forum that was previously unavailable to them.

Over and over their pour out their gratitude and appreciation to Mercy Corps for starting this program in their communities. I tell them that, in the Garm office alone, we have 74 staff that are all working for them and that, without them, without their participation, we would not have a program. I thank them, but I am thanking them for much more than just their participation. I am also thanking them for being amazing teachers of strength, capacity, warmth and extraordinary generosity — even though I fail to properly express this with my faltering language skills.

I hope they get it on some level — I hope they understand that they are the reason that I am here.

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Blog Post Posted November 18, 2009, 4:21 pm by Mary Tam

Heritage and hope

It has been a year and a half since the devastating Wenchuan earthquake struck China. Being half Chinese, I felt particularly impacted by this event. Many decades ago my Tai Tai (great grandmother, also Taipo) emigrated to Hawaii from Macau, China. While Macau is not part of Sichuan Province, after the earthquake I couldn't help but wonder what distant relatives of mine might have been affected by the disaster.

Photo: Norman Ng for Mercy Corps

One thing I did not have to wonder about was how to help. I knew that Mercy Corps was working with local partners to provide immediate aid to the survivors, and that the organization would continue to offer ongoing support to the people of China, long after the topic disappeared from news headlines. Recently the San Jose Mercury News posted a video featuring children dealing with post-earthquake trauma. Naturally, after witnessing such devastation, children found it hard to concentrate in their daily lives. With images of crumbled schools and lost friends in their minds, they acted out in class and had trouble sleeping at night.

It is wonderful to see how Mercy Corps' recovery programs are truly helping them cope so that they can enjoy being children and continue getting the most out of their education.

While China is experiencing significant economic growth, there are still many people who have limited access to jobs, land and public services. Since 2001, Mercy Corps has been addressing these needs by working with local partners. As Thanksgiving approaches, I am sincerely grateful for Mercy Corps' ongoing programs in China, and for all the people whose generosity has made these programs possible.

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