Off to Japan to help in earthquake and tsunami relief efforts

First, sorry for the long absence. Took forever to figure out how to access my blog again. So, now that I'm back on, I want to let you know that in two days I will be heading out to Japan, to support the Japanese Red Cross communications team in the aftermath of the devastating earthquake and tsunami a week ago.
I am excited about the opportunity. A little concerned about the threat of nuclear contamination, but I've done my homework and feel it is safe enough to go now.
It is going to be heartwrenching for sure. I've been in quake zones and tsunami zones before, but I think it's safe to say that the damage I am about to see will be beyond compare. I can't wait to get there and to start sharing some of the stories of those who have lost, but also those who are somehow surviving. It is through this story telling that the entire world gets to know the Japanese survivors. It is through this story telling that the world can decide to help.
I'm going for at least two weeks. Will update if I can. If not, you can always check out the IFRC website where I will be posting my material. www.ifrc.org.
Cheers,

The Man Who Fixed My Shoe

In this season of greed that we call Christmas, I find myself, once again, amazed at the generosity of those who have nothing. I was recently in Sindh province, Pakistan, trekking into a village that had been hit by the monsoon floods last summer. It looked like an earthquake zone. Houses were crumbled. Stagnant polluted water was everywhere. It was the first time any aid agency had come to help the few families that had braved the conditions to return to what was left of their homes.
While walking through the foot-high mud, my sandal got stuck. When I tried to pull it out, it broke. That's when Mumtaz Ali Jarwar sprung into action. "You are a woman in our village," he said. "We respect you and cannot allow you to walk around without shoes." He found a twig and some string and managed a temporary fix. Unfortunately, it was temporary and did not last long.
He then offered me shoes from one of the village women. Remember, these are people who lost everything, and I mean everything in the floods. I didn't know what to do. I did not want to insult him, by refusing the offer. But I also did not feel comfortable taking his meagre belongings. So, I finally compromised and agreed to wear the shoes until I got back to the Red Cross car, at which point I would give them back. In the meantime, he took a second stab at fixing my sandal, and to this day, the fix is working like a charm.
I guess I should not be surprised at people's generosity, but I am. Especially in this season when it's all about buying that bigger and better item, stuff we really don't need but feel compelled to buy.
I am glad there are people like Mumtaz in the world. He is a real reminder of what humanity looks like.

Off to Pakistan

Today I begin my journey to Islamabad Pakistan. My emotions are all over the place; excited, nervous, overwhelmed. And my stomach is churning this morning. Right now it's the waiting that is driving me crazy, and the unknown. I think once I get going to the airport, and once I get my briefings from the Red Cross in Ottawa tomorrow, the picture will begin to get a bit clearer.
One of the big issues? Packing! I have piles of stuff all over the place. Trying to weed things out so I only need to bring one suitcase. We'll see.
I'll try to update as soon as possible. Ciao!

A Thought-Provoking Book

I am at the cottage this week and have devoured a couple of books. One really took my breath away. Called "Sarah's Key", it's about the round-up of Jews in Paris on July 16, 1942, by the French police, under orders by the Nazis. The story is of 10 year old Sarah, who is one of the 13,000 Jews rounded up and sent off to camps near Paris (one of these camps has since been turned into affordable housing---can you imagine living there, knowing its history?). Most never returned. Sarah, confident she will return home shortly, locks her younger brother in their secret hiding compartment in their apartment. I won't say what happens in case you want to read the book.
What I will say is that the book alternated between hearing Sarah's voice, and a journalist's voice, who was researching the event 60 years later. I have to admit, I was disappointed when we stopped hearing Sarah's voice. I desperately wanted to hear more of her life and experiences, from her own mouth.
I am also ashamed to admit that I had never heard of this round-up before. Called La Grande Rafle at Vel'd'Hiv, these Jews were all herded into a velodrome used for cycling races, where they lived for days in unmentionable surroundings.
Why did we not learn of this in school? Was it because the French did not admit their complicity in this horrendous event until decades later? Was the Canadian government afraid of offending the French by teaching this history? I realize many countries committed atrocities during WWII. We all learned about the Holocaust---where are the history books on this?

Mon voyage into French immersion

Well, sink or swim, I am now taking a French immersion course in Trois Pistoles, Quebec. I drove as far as Trois Rivieres last night (in between Montreal and Quebec) and felt pretty proud of myself for being able to have conversations with the hotel people, gas station people, restaurant people and just ordinary folks.
Today, that confidence has been zapped. Drove the final four hours to get here and I am feeling totally out of my league and my comfort zone. Guess it's always good to challenge yourself. I will definitely be doing that this week.
On a positive note, I will be going whale watching on my birthday!
On a not so positive note, Quebec is part of Canada and I am proud to say that it is and hope that it will remain so. But, I felt somewhat compelled to take my Canada flag off of my car before I crossed the Quebec border. I'm sure the larger cities would be fine, but all I would need is some idiot to take exception to it, and scratch the vehicle or worse. It's a sad comment about not feeling comfortable flying the Canadian flag in my own country.
I have been keeping an eye out for Canadian flags here and I have only seen one. But then I have only seen one Quebecois flag too, and both were on a government building.

I can't believe I've been home for 3 months already! I am officially an unemployed bum but I have never been so busy! I don't know how I'm going to fit a job back into my schedule. :) So, this is the plan for now. Take July and August off. But start looking for a new job in August, with the hopes of landing something for September/October. I've had a paycheque coming in ever since I was like 14, so not getting paid on a regular basis is definitely taking some getting used to.

Tomorrow I head up to Barrie for my one niece's graduation from grade 8. People go so whole-hog on a grade 8 graduation these days, what the heck will they have to do to top it when it comes to graduating from high school or college? I mean, I understand it's a special achievement and should be celebrated, but spending hundreds of dollars on an event that everyone achieves? I guess that's just the pragmatic and frugal German side of me coming out.

So far, it's great being back. I love just hanging out in my yard, working on the garden, or swinging in the hammock at the cottage. Very relaxing. But also missing my buddies from Indonesia.

That's it for now from the KM household.

Home Sweet Home

There's no place like home, and nothing could be more true. I am now sleeping in my own bed, surrounded by all my 'stuff', and am reconnecting with my family and catching up with my friends. I love it! It has been a bit of an adjustment being home, getting used to Western living again. One good thing--I have lived on so little the last 18 months that I am now in full spring-cleaning mode. I am throwing out so much 'stuff', realizing that I don't need it all.
Friday I will go see my youngest niece play in her final basketball tournament... Next month I will go speak to another niece's class. There's also a confirmation in there to attend. Over the next week, I will go see my dad. All things I could not have done had I still been in Indonesia.
Don't get me wrong, being overseas was an experience of a lifetime, and I'm not about to give it up. But I also realize that I need some time to be at home and to get back in touch with the people who are important to me. Although I need to ask the question, does everyone's family drive them as crazy as mine sometimes does? :)

Human behaviour

I don't get human behaviour sometimes. My brother's ex is putting him through hell right now, denying him access to his 5 year son. She's accusing him of beating her, is threatening to tell the little boy about it, and in general loses it in front of Rudy quite regularly. God knows what lies she's telling him about his father. I don't care how much she may hate Paul---doesn't she realize how much she's hurting Rudy, her own son? Rudy loves his dad. They have a great time together. And now all of a sudden dad isn't there. He doesn't know why. All he knows is that dad has stopped coming around.
Paul has finally got the lawyers involved. The laws in custody disputes still favour the mother in Canada. Supposedly they are more nurturing. So Paul has an uphill battle on his hands. But the cops seem to be in his corner. And the judge seems fair. But until a ruling is handed down, it could really go either way. Something needs to happen to our laws. It's not right to just assume the mother is always the more appropriate parent for a child to live with. Each case needs to be looked at on an individual basis. Hopefully in this case, that happens.

Canadian Pride

I managed to catch part of the opening ceremony of the Olympics while at the gym today. I have to tell you, I was really gushing with pride. Even teared up a few times. What I saw, I thought was tasteful, varied, talented, and accomodating to many of the different nationalities that make up our great country. I loved seeing so many maple leafs! And KD Lang. What a voice! And in light of the horrific death of the luger from Georgia, everyone in that stadium did Canada and the Olympics proud with their respect.

It disturbs me to see people looking to find fault. I'm hearing comments that there was too much French. That English should have been spoken first, before French. Why do we have to complain? Can we not just, for once, celebrate our amazing country, and take pride that for the next couple of weeks, we get to shine in the world's spotlight?

We have so much to be thankful for in Canada. For some, maybe they should leave the country for awhile to see just how good we do have it. Then, maybe some of the frivolous whining will stop about which language should come first.

My own special Christmas

Well, I had an unexpected surprise today. I got a Christmas present! My mom had put a parcel into the post for me last November! We thought it had been confiscated, or just plain lost. But lo and behold, today, in walked the delivery man with the box tucked under his arm.
I was SO excited! You cannot imagine how it feels to be so far away from home, and then to receive this package all wrapped up in love and warm thoughts.
She clearly put a lot of thought into it. There was a penguin tree ornament (I love penguins), a key chain of a teddy bear with my name on it, a fridge magnet, cow candies from Poland (yummmm), a card, some chocolate, a tape dispenser shaped like a highheeled red shoe (don't ask), and, courtesy of my sister, Little Moo, a bag of Bran Flakes!!
Yippee!! These little bits of home go such a long way to making my time away less lonely.
I feel so loved today. And that is the best Christmas present in the world!

Holiday thoughts

What a whirlwind this holiday season has been. Hopped over to a nearby resort island for Christmas and enjoyed a fantastic turkey dinner (my first in more than 2 years!), courtesy of Freddie. Then to the city of Jogyakarta for a few days over New Year's. More on that to come. Then into the jungles of Borneo (Kalimantan) to hang out with the orangutans and the people of the local Dayak tribe (apparently they are head hunters!).

My senses were overwhelmed, visiting so many worlds so close, yet so far apart from eachother. The bright lights, noise, crowded markets and pollution of the big city, compared to the sounds of the jungle lulling us to sleep at night, fresh air, and inability to communicate with the outside world.

I will write more in the coming days. Just wanted to let you know I am still kicking!

Witness to a Slaughter

To watch or not to watch. That's the dilemma I faced on Idul Adha, a big holiday in the Muslim calendar. The wealthy are encouraged to slaughter animals and distribute the meat to the poor. I visited one neighbourhood where preparations were underway for the killing of 2 bulls, one cow, a water buffalo and 5 goats. The men were sharpening their knives. The young boys crept closer for a front row seat. I forced myself to watch. It took the strength of 12 men to bring one bull to the ground. But they treated the animals humanely and with respect, inflicting as little pain as necessary. The Imam recited a prayer before slicing the throat of each animal. The hardest parts for me were the sounds. The cow gasping for breath. One goat in particular screaming so loud he sounded like a little kid who knew what was about to happen. But I grew a little through this experience. We in the West are so insulated from the realities of food preparation. Not everything in this world comes prewrapped in tidy little celophane packaging. And these animals, although they suffered briefly, did not live worthless lives. The meat they provided is enough to feed 400 families. And that makes my witness to a slaughter, as difficult as it was, worthwhile.

Back from a disaster zone

So many memories and experiences to write about. I'm just back from spending 18 days in an earthquake disaster zone. My first big disaster. Thousands of people without homes. Thousands dead, some crushed when the buildings they were in collapsed, like pancakes on top of them. Others buried alive in landslides. I met some incredible people. Survivors like 82 year old Rosna who is all alone. Her house is destroyed. Her kids are trying to get her to Jakarta but they are poor and she doesn't want to become a burden. She cries as she tells me this. Survivors like Yuhendri who lost his wife when she ran back into the house to save their 6 month old son.

And the aid workers. Like David from Britain who for years has dashed away from his home life to help others in need. Like Kurniawan and other Indonesians from across the country who come to volunteer their time. They leave jobs, families and friends behind to help strangers they also consider family.

But it's the kids who hit me the most. Some still aren't sleeping through the night. Others aren't eating. But they are starting to laugh again. I shared many a giggle with the little ones, trying to make myself understood. It isn't much, but if I can get the kids forgetting about the hell they've been through, even for just a little while, well, in my books, I've had a pretty good day.

Home is where the heart is

I am confused. You see, I am going home. Or at least I think I am going home. However, I also just left home, or at least what I also consider to be home.

Being an international aid worker, I’m not really sure where my home is anymore. Yes, I have a “home” in London, Ontario, and there’s no doubt about it, I love it. But I also have a “home” in Banda Aceh, Indonesia. I have spent more time there over the past year than I have at my Canadian home.

It sounds so cliché to say the world is now my home, but I guess in a way it’s true, especially in this day and age, when modern travel means I can pretty much get where I want to go within a couple of days.

While home on my R&R, I found myself referring to Indonesia as home. When in Indonesia, I refer to Canada as home. While I really enjoy living overseas, Canada has something that no other place in this world has: my family and really good friends.

It’s because of my mom, dad, brother, sister and gaggle of nieces and nephews that I had a stellar vacation. My brother Paul says he misses me more than he thought he would. It’s the kind of comment you’d expect from a younger brother. But I know what he means by it, and am extremely touched. Frankly, I think it’s one of those comments that I think I will remember for a long, long time.

My friends were also huge supporters of me being home; very enthusiastic to have me back. I don’t think I’ve ever been so popular. And it’s a reminder to me that when I do feel homesick, or lonely, that I am never really alone. I have all these wonderful people back home, ready to wrap me in their arms and give me the many hugs I have missed while away.

I write this as I sit in the Singapore airport, waiting for my connecting flight that will take me back home to Indonesia. It feels strange in a way but it also feels comfortable, kind of like pulling on an old sock. I know this is the place I am meant to be at this time in my life. I am looking forward to seeing the friends I have made here. And maybe that’s how you define where home really is… wherever it is you feel loved and cared about.

Home is where the heart is...

I am confused. You see, I am going home. Or at least I think I am going home. However, I also just left home, or at least what I also consider to be home.

Being an international aid worker, I’m not really sure where my home is anymore. Yes, I have a “home” in London, Ontario, and there’s no doubt about it, I love it. But I also have a “home” in Banda Aceh, Indonesia. I have spent more time there over the past year than I have at my Canadian home.

It sounds so cliché to say the world is now my home, but I guess in a way it’s true, especially in this day and age, when modern travel means I can pretty much get where I want to go within a couple of days.

While home on my R&R, I found myself referring to Indonesia as home. When in Indonesia, I refer to Canada as home. While I really enjoy living overseas, Canada has something that no other place in this world has: my family and really good friends.

It’s because of my mom, dad, brother, sister and gaggle of nieces and nephews that I had a stellar vacation. My brother Paul says he misses me more than he thought he would. It’s the kind of comment you’d expect from a younger brother. But I know what he means by it, and am extremely touched. Frankly, I think it’s one of those comments that I think I will remember for a long, long time.

My friends were also huge supporters of me being home; very enthusiastic to have me back. I don’t think I’ve ever been so popular. And it’s a reminder to me that when I do feel homesick, or lonely, that I am never really alone. I have all these wonderful people back home, ready to wrap me in their arms and give me the many hugs I have missed while away.

I write this as I sit in the Singapore airport, waiting for my connecting flight that will take me back home to Indonesia. It feels strange in a way but it also feels comfortable, kind of like pulling on an old sock. I know this is the place I am meant to be at this time in my life. I am looking forward to seeing the friends I have made here. And maybe that’s how you define where home really is… wherever it is you feel loved and cared about.

Aunt Kathy visits Keude Unga

I don't know about you guys, but this story just thrills me. I don't see myself ever having kids, but I love who I am when I am around them. I become a big kid myself, acting all goofy, not caring what others think.

To a group of young children in a small Acehenese village in Indonesia, I am now known as Tante Kathy (Aunt Kathy). I visited Keude Unga this past week, a village of 109 homes, to oversee the official handover of houses to the residents. The day before the ceremony, during the set-up, I ended up spending quite a lot of time with a group of girls, all about 8-12 years old. A few boys ended up joining us. We had the best time. They first honoured me, one by one, by grabbing my right hand with theirs, and touching it to their forehead. It's a respectful gesture for elders. Then we got into the fun stuff.

They wanted to know things like if we have strawberries in Canada, and could I please bring some the next time I visit. They wanted to know if I was married, and almost fell off their chairs when they heard I was 42 years old! I asked if they had boyfriends (knowing full well what theire reaction would be), and they didn't disappoint. Cries of "ewwww" echoed all around, both from the girls and the boys!

They would all start talking at once, all of them trying to get my attention. Now, you have to remember they're talking to me in Bahasa, so, for the most part, I have no idea what they are saying. Thank god for my coworker Dewi who acted as translator! I taught them how to sing If You're Happy and You Know It. They all burst into singing Happy Birthday, even though it was no one's birthday.

We got our pictures taken together, then the children had to go on stage to practice a traditional dance they were going to perform. I'd catch their eye and they'd break into large smiles. They seemed so proud. And then, before leaving for the day, they asked if they could call me Tante Kathy. I tell ya, my heart just about burst. I am an aunt to 5 nieces and nephews back home and I love them to death.

But having these little ones wanting to be my friend, well, it reconfirmed for me that I made the right decision in coming here. There will always be office issues, regardless of what office you work in. The bottom line is, it's the people who count. The people we are here helping. And although I won't know these little souls very well, perhaps years down the road they will remember me and smile. I hope that I can have as good an impact on them as they are having on me. And the next time I visit Keude Unga, I will try to remember to bring some strawberries!

Homesick

Well, it took awhile but it's finally hit with a vengeance. I am feeling really out of sorts this week. Very very homesick, missing my friends and family back home. Sometimes a really good hug is the best therapy, and there is no one here I can turn to for one.

But, on the bright side, I have been approved to come home in the summer for about 5 weeks! Yeah!! I can't wait. Maybe that's why I'm suddenly feeling homesick. It will be soooo crazy busy, running around seeing everyone in so many different cities. But that's okay, the 2 day trip back here will give me lots of time to catch up on my sleep!

So, 45 days and counting!!

SCENES FROM INDONESIA

MY DATE WITH A CHICKEN

I had been here a couple of weeks and desperately needed to eat some meat, so off I went, hunting for some chicken parts. I passed several markets where the chickens hung, ready for purchase, but just couldn’t bring myself to go that route. Growing up in Toronto, I know nothing about how to defeather and gut a bird, never mind trying to behead it.

I found what I thought were chicken pieces at a store that caters to Westerners, only to find that when I got it home, it was a whole chicken. No big deal. I buy them back at home. Except that unbeknownst to me, this chicken still had its head hanging on by a thread, its feet nicely bound and tucked up inside.

“I can handle this,” I thought. I’ll just ignore the head area, and work on cutting off a leg to at least salvage something from the purchase. Trouble is we didn’t have anything resembling a cleaver, so there I was, sawing away at this bird, trying to detach one of its feet. Needless to say, there was no severing to be had this night. Instead, I bagged up the chicken and gave it to my cleaning lady for her family. It was probably the right outcome, as I was told the next day that chances are if I had managed to get past the head and the attached feet, the organs would have likely still been inside.

So, what am I surviving on? I have to admit I’m staying away from a lot of the local food, not because it doesn’t taste good. It’s SPICY! One bite and I turn red and start sweating. Even when they tell you it’s not spicy, it is!

I have experimented with some deep fried squid and deep fried crab. That may not sound exotic to you, but as a kid, my only exposure to fish was canned tuna or fish sticks, so yes, deep fried squid, to me, is a little outside my comfort zone. But I have to say, I enjoyed the squid in particular and would order it again. Or perhaps it’s just that old saying that everything tastes better when it’s deep fried!

There’s certainly no shortage of deep fried goods here. The roadside stalls, warungs, thrive on selling greasy goods. There are deep fried bananas, deep fried tofu and, my favourite, deep fried tempe or soya beans. We can fool ourselves into thinking we’re eating healthy because the food underneath all that batter is actually good for us. And if we do want to eat well, there are plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables to be had. In fact, close to 80% of all waste here is organic. And it’s not just your run of the mill oranges and apples. You can come home laden with guava, papaya, mango, and if you’re brave enough, the dreaded durian. It kind of looks like a pointy cantaloupe, but stinks to the high heavens. I haven’t worked up the courage yet to try it. I think my first challenge will be to get into a real meat market and try for another date with a chicken.

Ever wonder what dog tastes like?

Betcha that got your attention!

I can't say that I have ever been even remotely curious about wanting to to know what dog meat tastes like. However, some people in this part of the world are, and in fact, eat dog kind of like others eat chicken.

I'm not kidding. I had dinner the other night with some of the national staff I work with. They come from other parts of Indonesia. For some reason we got talking about eating dog. This one friend's uncle and his family eat dog. Apparently black ones taste the best.

I was told they're not allowed to have dogs as pets. They can have them as guards for the house. But they're not allowed to pet them, or touch them, unless, I guess it's time to kill them and throw them on the barbeque!

When I asked what it tastes like? I was told---chicken. Why does everything always taste like chicken?

Maybe if I didn't know it was dog I was trying, I could eat it. Although I'm sure I would immediately gag upon hearing that I was eating someone's favourite pooch.

Makes me think twice about the rat I caught in my kitchen last night. Perhaps I should find a skewer?