Wednesday, June 26, 2013
Not Quite Done
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
And So It Ends
Nikom and his family got their new house today. Though I wasn't there in person, I know it was a very moving moment--for Nikom and his wife, who have greater hope for their children; for their children, who have a sturdier place to live; and for our team, who arrived 10 days ago, helped build a house from the ground up, and is about to leave.
Like most new homeowners, Nikom also has a mortgage. He needs to repay Habitat for the materials and the skilled labor needed to build his house. The terms are manageable, but they are still a debt. But he doesn't have to pay anything for the labor our team provided. That was our gift to him and his family. And to ourselves.
15 years ago two friends stood up at meeting and announced an ecumenical group was forming to help rebuild black churches. In the mid-90's, there was a rash of arsons of black churches in the Deep South, and groups were organizing all over the country to help rebuild them. I joined immediately. It was a disparate group religiously--mostly Jews and Catholics, a few Presbyterians, two Quakers, and one secular humanist (which I guess is a sort of faith.)
We journeyed to Johnston's Station, Mississippi to help rebuild the Rocky Point Missionary Baptist Church. The church had been burned down on the 25th anniversary of Martin Luther King's assassination. Two teen-age white boys from the community were arrested, convicted and serving time in prison. It was now time to help rebuild the church.
We went, we worked, and we found a new vocation--one that combined our interest in travel, meeting and connecting with other communities, and being of service.
Annually thereafter, many of us journeyed again to do the same. In alternate years, to El Salvador. In between, in Philadelphia, where most of us lived (I had quite ironically moved to Mississippi) and knew that people and communities needed us at home as well as abroad.
And then I discovered Habitat's Global Village program. I had worked on Habitat locally but had never known they had a global program, in 100+ countries, that combined my interests in travel, meeting and connecting, and serving. And so began the next iteration in my vocation.
Over the years, I've been on 15 Global Village trips. Taking me to places I couldn't pronounce or spell (Kyrgyzstan) or had a nomadic allure (Mongolia), to more typical places like Ecuador, Chile, Mexico and Guatemala, to Zambia with my long-time best friend, to India with my niece, and to other places as well.
In between, I also went back to New Orleans, a city I had grown to love (and still do) when we lived in Mississippi. We knew it pre-Katrina, and I wanted to be of service post-Katrina. And what better way, in the City of Music, than to participate in helping to build the Habitat Musician's Village in the heart of the upper 9th ward.
Eventually, after resisting for several years, I decided to volunteer to be a team leader. (I used to say I was in a 12-step program of recovery from management and was only in the 1st step.) I realized the Global Village trips only work when leaders step forward and volunteer, so I finally decided I had taken enough (11 teams as a participant) and it was time to give back (as a team leader.)
And it was what I expected it would be---a different experience. I was management rather than participant. I had to hold back and manage, forming the team, informing them, managing team dynamics and workplace issues (amazingly enough, they exist on a volunteer work site!), etc. And I grew to realize that the fun/not fun quotient was declining, as it did for me when I was working for money. While some of the same aspects were present (travel to fascinating places, connecting with "real" people that you simply can't do when you're a tourist, being a traveler rather than a tourist as one team member said), it was beginning to seem more like work and less like fun. And while I still always derived some of the same pleasures, I had to do them through others and their stories, rather than directly. Sort of like through my "students" rather than directly. But I wouldn't trade any of this--even my most challenging experiences--for anything.
And so, after 20+ build trips, to 17 countries on 5 continents (I've missed Antarctica, "and don't forget Australia."), it is time for me to find a new vocation.
My rear car bumper has an array of flag decals from the countries where I've built. With the latest decal from Thailand, the bumper will be full. Some time ago Anne asked "what will you do when the bumper's full--get a new car?" No, I'll get a new vocation.
Like most new homeowners, Nikom also has a mortgage. He needs to repay Habitat for the materials and the skilled labor needed to build his house. The terms are manageable, but they are still a debt. But he doesn't have to pay anything for the labor our team provided. That was our gift to him and his family. And to ourselves.
15 years ago two friends stood up at meeting and announced an ecumenical group was forming to help rebuild black churches. In the mid-90's, there was a rash of arsons of black churches in the Deep South, and groups were organizing all over the country to help rebuild them. I joined immediately. It was a disparate group religiously--mostly Jews and Catholics, a few Presbyterians, two Quakers, and one secular humanist (which I guess is a sort of faith.)
We journeyed to Johnston's Station, Mississippi to help rebuild the Rocky Point Missionary Baptist Church. The church had been burned down on the 25th anniversary of Martin Luther King's assassination. Two teen-age white boys from the community were arrested, convicted and serving time in prison. It was now time to help rebuild the church.
We went, we worked, and we found a new vocation--one that combined our interest in travel, meeting and connecting with other communities, and being of service.
Annually thereafter, many of us journeyed again to do the same. In alternate years, to El Salvador. In between, in Philadelphia, where most of us lived (I had quite ironically moved to Mississippi) and knew that people and communities needed us at home as well as abroad.
And then I discovered Habitat's Global Village program. I had worked on Habitat locally but had never known they had a global program, in 100+ countries, that combined my interests in travel, meeting and connecting, and serving. And so began the next iteration in my vocation.
Over the years, I've been on 15 Global Village trips. Taking me to places I couldn't pronounce or spell (Kyrgyzstan) or had a nomadic allure (Mongolia), to more typical places like Ecuador, Chile, Mexico and Guatemala, to Zambia with my long-time best friend, to India with my niece, and to other places as well.
In between, I also went back to New Orleans, a city I had grown to love (and still do) when we lived in Mississippi. We knew it pre-Katrina, and I wanted to be of service post-Katrina. And what better way, in the City of Music, than to participate in helping to build the Habitat Musician's Village in the heart of the upper 9th ward.
Eventually, after resisting for several years, I decided to volunteer to be a team leader. (I used to say I was in a 12-step program of recovery from management and was only in the 1st step.) I realized the Global Village trips only work when leaders step forward and volunteer, so I finally decided I had taken enough (11 teams as a participant) and it was time to give back (as a team leader.)
And it was what I expected it would be---a different experience. I was management rather than participant. I had to hold back and manage, forming the team, informing them, managing team dynamics and workplace issues (amazingly enough, they exist on a volunteer work site!), etc. And I grew to realize that the fun/not fun quotient was declining, as it did for me when I was working for money. While some of the same aspects were present (travel to fascinating places, connecting with "real" people that you simply can't do when you're a tourist, being a traveler rather than a tourist as one team member said), it was beginning to seem more like work and less like fun. And while I still always derived some of the same pleasures, I had to do them through others and their stories, rather than directly. Sort of like through my "students" rather than directly. But I wouldn't trade any of this--even my most challenging experiences--for anything.
And so, after 20+ build trips, to 17 countries on 5 continents (I've missed Antarctica, "and don't forget Australia."), it is time for me to find a new vocation.
My rear car bumper has an array of flag decals from the countries where I've built. With the latest decal from Thailand, the bumper will be full. Some time ago Anne asked "what will you do when the bumper's full--get a new car?" No, I'll get a new vocation.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Thailand: Nikom
Team up bright and early, ready for our first day at the job site. Hop in unique wildly colored open-air Thai vehicles, drive out to the outer edge of the city (land's always cheaper there), down a lane, and stop. Brief welcoming ceremony, primarily introductions of Habitat staff, ourselves, and Nikom, the owner of the house we'll be building.
Nikom is a 41-year old Thai, married with three children. He was there with his wife and youngest child, the other two being already in school. He is a junkman--finding valuable (i.e. marketable) waste around his immediate neighborhood and selling it. Recycling before it became big business. The family lives in a small house, shared with another family. The "house" is shelter, but only that--impermanent walls, corrugated metal roof, dirt floor.
Like most parents, Nikom hopes his children will have a better life. So some of his income goes to school fees for them. The government pays the basic costs of education, but parents have to pay for books, supplies, school uniforms, etc. His father has given him some land on which he can build a better house. But with his modest income, the costs of children, etc. he can't get far. And so he applied to Habitat Udonthani, qualified, and was selected. And today, a team of 16 arrived from America, Bermuda, Canada and Hong Kong to help him build his house.
The house already was started--the support columns were in place, the metal roof already forming a welcome canopy from the sun and any rain. This is a first for me--it has always been the opposite. The roof has always gone on last. (And I was just a little disappointed, since I especially love to do roofing.)
The house is the typical Habitat Global Village house. About 18 x 18 (a little smaller than a typical 2-car garage), divided into four equal rooms, with metal-frame windows and doors. It also has an appendage for the toilet (a first in my experience!) which will connect to a small septic tank we have to dig and line with concrete block.
Lunch each day is prepared by local women, brought to the build site, and eagerly consumed by all. Real Thai food, cooked by real Thai women, in their simple homes. No stainless steel appliances, Viking stoves, island kitchens, etc. Cooking pots, fires, and skill.
Our task for Days 1 and 2 was to tie together the re-bar, put the forms in place for the ground beam, mix and pour the concrete for the beam, dig the hole for the septic tank, and leave. We did all of that, and finished ahead of schedule on the 1st day. Impressive. Even they were impressed. Neighbors watch. Nikom comes home from work. And smiles.
Day 2 came, put soil back in the rooms to prepare for the eventual poured concrete floor, carry block and brick, mix concrete, and lay the first five courses (rows) of the walls. Again, accomplished this in one day, scheduled to take three. Nikom's oldest son (11) joins us after school, pleased to learn a new skill, proud to be able to help build his house.
Day 3 came, more concrete-mixing and block-laying, this time on some scaffolding (not OSHA-approved, but better than many I've seen elsewhere. And climbed.) Two walls completely finished. Window and door frames installed. Not supposed to happen until Day 6. Our scheduled Saturday half-day of work is cancelled, for obvious reasons. A full-day trip to Laos is substituted. Nikom's wife, all smiles, joins in on the work as well.
Day 4 came, continue to build walls, leaving little left to complete the walls. Ahead, after the weekend, we'll level the dirt floor in all four rooms, then (with the merciful aid of a rented cement mixer) have a marathon of concrete making/pouring/leveling of the floors. And the house will be finished, we will have a dedication ceremony, and we will leave.
And Nikom and his family, and especially his children, will have a safe, solid secure home to live in--and to do their homework.
Nikom is a 41-year old Thai, married with three children. He was there with his wife and youngest child, the other two being already in school. He is a junkman--finding valuable (i.e. marketable) waste around his immediate neighborhood and selling it. Recycling before it became big business. The family lives in a small house, shared with another family. The "house" is shelter, but only that--impermanent walls, corrugated metal roof, dirt floor.
Like most parents, Nikom hopes his children will have a better life. So some of his income goes to school fees for them. The government pays the basic costs of education, but parents have to pay for books, supplies, school uniforms, etc. His father has given him some land on which he can build a better house. But with his modest income, the costs of children, etc. he can't get far. And so he applied to Habitat Udonthani, qualified, and was selected. And today, a team of 16 arrived from America, Bermuda, Canada and Hong Kong to help him build his house.
The house already was started--the support columns were in place, the metal roof already forming a welcome canopy from the sun and any rain. This is a first for me--it has always been the opposite. The roof has always gone on last. (And I was just a little disappointed, since I especially love to do roofing.)
The house is the typical Habitat Global Village house. About 18 x 18 (a little smaller than a typical 2-car garage), divided into four equal rooms, with metal-frame windows and doors. It also has an appendage for the toilet (a first in my experience!) which will connect to a small septic tank we have to dig and line with concrete block.
Lunch each day is prepared by local women, brought to the build site, and eagerly consumed by all. Real Thai food, cooked by real Thai women, in their simple homes. No stainless steel appliances, Viking stoves, island kitchens, etc. Cooking pots, fires, and skill.
Our task for Days 1 and 2 was to tie together the re-bar, put the forms in place for the ground beam, mix and pour the concrete for the beam, dig the hole for the septic tank, and leave. We did all of that, and finished ahead of schedule on the 1st day. Impressive. Even they were impressed. Neighbors watch. Nikom comes home from work. And smiles.
Day 2 came, put soil back in the rooms to prepare for the eventual poured concrete floor, carry block and brick, mix concrete, and lay the first five courses (rows) of the walls. Again, accomplished this in one day, scheduled to take three. Nikom's oldest son (11) joins us after school, pleased to learn a new skill, proud to be able to help build his house.
Day 3 came, more concrete-mixing and block-laying, this time on some scaffolding (not OSHA-approved, but better than many I've seen elsewhere. And climbed.) Two walls completely finished. Window and door frames installed. Not supposed to happen until Day 6. Our scheduled Saturday half-day of work is cancelled, for obvious reasons. A full-day trip to Laos is substituted. Nikom's wife, all smiles, joins in on the work as well.
Day 4 came, continue to build walls, leaving little left to complete the walls. Ahead, after the weekend, we'll level the dirt floor in all four rooms, then (with the merciful aid of a rented cement mixer) have a marathon of concrete making/pouring/leveling of the floors. And the house will be finished, we will have a dedication ceremony, and we will leave.
And Nikom and his family, and especially his children, will have a safe, solid secure home to live in--and to do their homework.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Thailand: Trainin'
Defenders of the Italian dictator Mussolini are supposed to have said "he kept the trains running on time." My one experience with the Thai Railway: they keep the trains running on time. Without a brutal dictatorship. Or a world war.
Got to the train station in plenty of time. A cavernous building, straight out of the 1930's. Large waiting area, plenty of seats, people of all ages and luggage situations, kiosks selling everything (even Dunkin Donuts!)
Suddenly, our train is posted as having arrived. Hustle everyone and everything together, charge down the track, find the car, climb on, barely get on....and the train departs. Exactly on time. (In fact, our Habitat person barely got off before the train started moving.)
So there we are, occupying most of the car, 2nd class section (but with A/C--that was an option that Habitat apparently thought was worth the extra cost.) Car may well have been 50+ years old, but seats were comfortable, reclined, had more leg room than planes (unless you're in business class). Trainman quickly discerned that I was the leader of the group (I had all the tickets) and took me under his wing (he recognizes "dumb" when he sees it.) Each time he passed by, he gave my arm a little squeeze--the kind you give to older folks to say you'll take care of them. Which was nice, since otherwise, we were entirely on our own.
Train moved fairly slowly, with frequent stops, as it went through the density of Bangkok. Density diminished, stops got further apart, then vista changed. Rice paddies, vibrant green, some with water buffalo pulling the tiller, others with a man with a mechanized tiller.
Occasional stops at small towns with their iconic train station, complete with a photo of the smiling (and much younger) King. Flowers, some religious symbols in some of them as well.
Rice paddies ended, land dried out and got a little hilly. Clearly agricultural, but don't know what crop. And then the rice fields returned, also perhaps with fish ponds but I can't be sure.
Vendors came through the car periodically selling various kinds of food, snacks, beverages. We had (wisely) brought our own supply of water plus a box lunch that Imp had had prepared somewhere near our hotel. So we didn't have to venture/risk the food on board.
Boredom set in about 6 hours into the journey, which was problematic since the schedule called for 10 hours and Imp told us to expect more. A little later, the trainman came past and held up 2 fingers. We guessed that meant 2 more stops before ours, hoped it didn't mean 2 hours more, and knew it didn't mean 2 minutes more. Then 1 finger. Then "now." Gathered our belongings quickly, emerged from the car....to a small group of people holding a Habitat sign welcoming "John's Team" for an Adult Build. Greetings, introductions, get into the vans, short ride to the hotel. And we're here in Udonthani.
Train station was right by a large, outdoor "night" market that was quite active. Must check it out some night. Also noticed, bright as can be, a McDonald's sign.
Though a little longer than we would have chosen, everyone agreed the train was a better choice than flying--a more leisurely way to make the transition, see a little countryside, get a little sense of people and place. But no one is complaining about taking the 1-hour flight back instead....even though the Thai trains do run on time.
Got to the train station in plenty of time. A cavernous building, straight out of the 1930's. Large waiting area, plenty of seats, people of all ages and luggage situations, kiosks selling everything (even Dunkin Donuts!)
Suddenly, our train is posted as having arrived. Hustle everyone and everything together, charge down the track, find the car, climb on, barely get on....and the train departs. Exactly on time. (In fact, our Habitat person barely got off before the train started moving.)
So there we are, occupying most of the car, 2nd class section (but with A/C--that was an option that Habitat apparently thought was worth the extra cost.) Car may well have been 50+ years old, but seats were comfortable, reclined, had more leg room than planes (unless you're in business class). Trainman quickly discerned that I was the leader of the group (I had all the tickets) and took me under his wing (he recognizes "dumb" when he sees it.) Each time he passed by, he gave my arm a little squeeze--the kind you give to older folks to say you'll take care of them. Which was nice, since otherwise, we were entirely on our own.
Train moved fairly slowly, with frequent stops, as it went through the density of Bangkok. Density diminished, stops got further apart, then vista changed. Rice paddies, vibrant green, some with water buffalo pulling the tiller, others with a man with a mechanized tiller.
Occasional stops at small towns with their iconic train station, complete with a photo of the smiling (and much younger) King. Flowers, some religious symbols in some of them as well.
Rice paddies ended, land dried out and got a little hilly. Clearly agricultural, but don't know what crop. And then the rice fields returned, also perhaps with fish ponds but I can't be sure.
Vendors came through the car periodically selling various kinds of food, snacks, beverages. We had (wisely) brought our own supply of water plus a box lunch that Imp had had prepared somewhere near our hotel. So we didn't have to venture/risk the food on board.
Boredom set in about 6 hours into the journey, which was problematic since the schedule called for 10 hours and Imp told us to expect more. A little later, the trainman came past and held up 2 fingers. We guessed that meant 2 more stops before ours, hoped it didn't mean 2 hours more, and knew it didn't mean 2 minutes more. Then 1 finger. Then "now." Gathered our belongings quickly, emerged from the car....to a small group of people holding a Habitat sign welcoming "John's Team" for an Adult Build. Greetings, introductions, get into the vans, short ride to the hotel. And we're here in Udonthani.
Train station was right by a large, outdoor "night" market that was quite active. Must check it out some night. Also noticed, bright as can be, a McDonald's sign.
Though a little longer than we would have chosen, everyone agreed the train was a better choice than flying--a more leisurely way to make the transition, see a little countryside, get a little sense of people and place. But no one is complaining about taking the 1-hour flight back instead....even though the Thai trains do run on time.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Thailand: Where Am I, and How Do I Know?
I love walking around cities. The sights, sounds, scents. Getting a feel for the pulse of a place in its people, shops, businesses, traffic, etc.
Have spent various hours strolling around different parts of Bangkok over the last couple of days. It's a large (9-10 million), modern (high rises, clogged expressways, urban transit lines), and busy city, even on a weekend. There are some particular places of interest--the Grand Palace (formerly the monarch's home, now just a tourist attraction) with magnificent temple and other buildings and an emerald Buddha and gold-leaf sleeping Buddha, Lumphini Park (a quiet oasis in the heart of the city, where you can get a respite among plantings, benches, a lake where you can take a swan boat ride, cycling and walking paths),Silom Road and endless streets filled with shops and sidewalk vendors selling everything imaginable (and many things, foods especially, that I have no idea what they are), representatives of our global economy (JPMorgan, Toyota, Subway, KFC, Starbucks), shopping centers and rows of little individual shops. Pretty much the norm for major cities that I've visited in many parts of the world.
So as I've been wandering around, I began to think "what have I seen that makes this distinctive--something different from other cities? How would I know I was in Bangkok rather than any other place I've been? Language, of course. The sight is particularly different because the alphabet is not ours so all of my visual clues don't work, even when they've printed the Thai word in the Roman alphabet, since Thai isn't a Latin-based language. And size and appearance of people. I'm aware of standing out on both counts, just in case I thought I was invisible. But I've found a few other things so far that together, make this a very different place in my mind.
No litter. Amazingly clean streets, everywhere, not just in the park. Yet no visible sign of trash cans (except in the park.) I finished a bottle of water, tried to figure out where to put it. Knew I couldn't litter even I wanted to (no littering breeds no littering) so I carried it for a while. Then a woman sidled up, got my attention, signaled for me to put it in the bag of trash she was collecting. Don't know whether she was employed or being entrepreneurial. But problem solved.
Motor scooter taxis. Scooters buzzing all around, then notice ranks of scooters along various streets, with drivers having the same colored vest over their shirt. Person walks up, negotiates destination and rate, hops on the back...and hangs on. Seems like an efficient way to get around. If I were more adventurous, I'd do it, just for the experience.
And endless massage parlors. Seemingly every storefront, every poster, shops in shopping centers, every street-hawker, all parts of the city where I've been, offering massage services. Printed papers, calls, whispered offers, etc. Can't decide whether everyone here spends all of their time getting massages, or whether there is a tremendous excess supply with a paucity of "happy endings."
And older Caucasian men, walking along with young Thai males. A friend who had been in Thailand recently said she found this to be one of the most offensive things about Bangkok. I don't have an opinion about it yet, just an observation.
And a stray dog bit-and-run. Another friend of mine some years ago had one of those annoying little dogs. It was wagging its tail, so I reached down to pet it. Ellen quickly said "don't pet it if it's wagging its tail--it bites then; pet it if it's not wagging, then its friendly." I hadn't even noticed the dog here, just was strolling past, so I don't know whether it was schizophrenic like Ellen's, or just a random biter. Regardless, a quick bit-and-run, and it was gone. A couple of street vendors hustled to a store, bought some saline solution (I was rinsing it down with ice, they said "no, dirty water") and a bottle that looked like mercurachrome, applied it, and off I went.
And so ends Bangkok for now. Up early tomorrow morning for a 10-hour train ride to Udonthani, where we'll be doing what we came to do--helping build a house. More then.
Have spent various hours strolling around different parts of Bangkok over the last couple of days. It's a large (9-10 million), modern (high rises, clogged expressways, urban transit lines), and busy city, even on a weekend. There are some particular places of interest--the Grand Palace (formerly the monarch's home, now just a tourist attraction) with magnificent temple and other buildings and an emerald Buddha and gold-leaf sleeping Buddha, Lumphini Park (a quiet oasis in the heart of the city, where you can get a respite among plantings, benches, a lake where you can take a swan boat ride, cycling and walking paths),Silom Road and endless streets filled with shops and sidewalk vendors selling everything imaginable (and many things, foods especially, that I have no idea what they are), representatives of our global economy (JPMorgan, Toyota, Subway, KFC, Starbucks), shopping centers and rows of little individual shops. Pretty much the norm for major cities that I've visited in many parts of the world.
So as I've been wandering around, I began to think "what have I seen that makes this distinctive--something different from other cities? How would I know I was in Bangkok rather than any other place I've been? Language, of course. The sight is particularly different because the alphabet is not ours so all of my visual clues don't work, even when they've printed the Thai word in the Roman alphabet, since Thai isn't a Latin-based language. And size and appearance of people. I'm aware of standing out on both counts, just in case I thought I was invisible. But I've found a few other things so far that together, make this a very different place in my mind.
No litter. Amazingly clean streets, everywhere, not just in the park. Yet no visible sign of trash cans (except in the park.) I finished a bottle of water, tried to figure out where to put it. Knew I couldn't litter even I wanted to (no littering breeds no littering) so I carried it for a while. Then a woman sidled up, got my attention, signaled for me to put it in the bag of trash she was collecting. Don't know whether she was employed or being entrepreneurial. But problem solved.
Motor scooter taxis. Scooters buzzing all around, then notice ranks of scooters along various streets, with drivers having the same colored vest over their shirt. Person walks up, negotiates destination and rate, hops on the back...and hangs on. Seems like an efficient way to get around. If I were more adventurous, I'd do it, just for the experience.
And endless massage parlors. Seemingly every storefront, every poster, shops in shopping centers, every street-hawker, all parts of the city where I've been, offering massage services. Printed papers, calls, whispered offers, etc. Can't decide whether everyone here spends all of their time getting massages, or whether there is a tremendous excess supply with a paucity of "happy endings."
And older Caucasian men, walking along with young Thai males. A friend who had been in Thailand recently said she found this to be one of the most offensive things about Bangkok. I don't have an opinion about it yet, just an observation.
And a stray dog bit-and-run. Another friend of mine some years ago had one of those annoying little dogs. It was wagging its tail, so I reached down to pet it. Ellen quickly said "don't pet it if it's wagging its tail--it bites then; pet it if it's not wagging, then its friendly." I hadn't even noticed the dog here, just was strolling past, so I don't know whether it was schizophrenic like Ellen's, or just a random biter. Regardless, a quick bit-and-run, and it was gone. A couple of street vendors hustled to a store, bought some saline solution (I was rinsing it down with ice, they said "no, dirty water") and a bottle that looked like mercurachrome, applied it, and off I went.
And so ends Bangkok for now. Up early tomorrow morning for a 10-hour train ride to Udonthani, where we'll be doing what we came to do--helping build a house. More then.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Poland: Two Women
Alexandra and Magda are two attractive young Polish women. Probably in their 30's (everyone's young as far as I'm concerned.) They are social workers, have been working with the homeless population. There used to be two shelters for homeless women in this area. One was forced to close--didn't meet fire safety regulations, and either couldn't (or didn't want to) come up to code.
So Alexandra and Magda started a foundation. Began searching for a place and money. Operating money can come from the government. But not for the building. Found this building, which needed substantial renovations, but had no credit to be able to borrow the funds to renovate it. Partnered with Habitat, and together, their vision is (closer to) becoming a reality.
They have come each day to the build site. Big smiles on their faces as they see the progress we have made. Still major hurdles ahead--the leaking roof requires much money, they don't know where it will come from, etc. But still they smile. Have energy. And dream.
They came again today, our last day on the build. Lots of smiles, many pictures, and a few glistening eyes. We've finished 5 bedrooms, done some major demolition work in the basement bathroom, and scraped and painted an incredible number of window frames. And had a lot of fun along the way.
I came back to Poiand to see what 46 years have brought to them. Soviet era the last time, EU and NATO membership this time. Some of the changes are very obvious. It feels much more like a Western European city than it did in the 60's. People seem to be more open, more relaxed. They can travel freely throughout all of the EU. And do. They are more affluent (generally) and don't have to fear criticizing the government or wonder who's reporting them.
And some changes are less obvious. More economic insecurity, giving rise to homelessness. And much more income inequality. Giving rise to people like Alexandra and Magda--the opportunity for them to create a vision, start a foundation, and meet the need of those left behind. Like Mother Eva did more than a century ago when she started the orphanage whose building we worked on.
Mother Eva was rich. She used her family's wealth to help others. Alexandra and Magda are rich in another way. And their vision and energy will create new hope for others. And a rich opportunity for people like me to get to know them just a little bit.
My "adventure" travel began in Poland 46 years ago. My return completes that circle. For now. Time to head home.
So Alexandra and Magda started a foundation. Began searching for a place and money. Operating money can come from the government. But not for the building. Found this building, which needed substantial renovations, but had no credit to be able to borrow the funds to renovate it. Partnered with Habitat, and together, their vision is (closer to) becoming a reality.
They have come each day to the build site. Big smiles on their faces as they see the progress we have made. Still major hurdles ahead--the leaking roof requires much money, they don't know where it will come from, etc. But still they smile. Have energy. And dream.
They came again today, our last day on the build. Lots of smiles, many pictures, and a few glistening eyes. We've finished 5 bedrooms, done some major demolition work in the basement bathroom, and scraped and painted an incredible number of window frames. And had a lot of fun along the way.
I came back to Poiand to see what 46 years have brought to them. Soviet era the last time, EU and NATO membership this time. Some of the changes are very obvious. It feels much more like a Western European city than it did in the 60's. People seem to be more open, more relaxed. They can travel freely throughout all of the EU. And do. They are more affluent (generally) and don't have to fear criticizing the government or wonder who's reporting them.
And some changes are less obvious. More economic insecurity, giving rise to homelessness. And much more income inequality. Giving rise to people like Alexandra and Magda--the opportunity for them to create a vision, start a foundation, and meet the need of those left behind. Like Mother Eva did more than a century ago when she started the orphanage whose building we worked on.
Mother Eva was rich. She used her family's wealth to help others. Alexandra and Magda are rich in another way. And their vision and energy will create new hope for others. And a rich opportunity for people like me to get to know them just a little bit.
My "adventure" travel began in Poland 46 years ago. My return completes that circle. For now. Time to head home.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Poland: The War & Holocaust
Most conversations with Poles include references to The War (and it's always spoken of in that way--capitalized.) And of course for them, the reference is singular since it's the only war that truly has mattered.
I think about this when I encounter Poles of my vintage as I'm walking around. Thinking about their life history, as I understand it, compared to mine. They were born during, or perhaps a little before or a little after, The War. They may have some very early memories of it affecting their family, their home. Or they just may have memories of their early years, say when they were kindergarteners, hearing their parents talk about it. They may have grown up with the sounds of machine guns, artillery, planes flying overhead, perhaps bombs (if they lived in other parts of Poland, further from the concentration camps.)
And then the end of The War came. Their families may have moved (or been moved forcefully) to or from another part of the country as the national boundaries changed. Or they may have stayed in the same village but changed nationality (German to Polish, or Polish to Russian.) Regardless, there must have been a feeling of some relief as the active battles ended, soldiers came home, families reunited (or not).
And the Soviet era began. Stalin's ruthlessness was expressed in Poland as well, and affected their family's life. And theirs. It changed what was taught in school--Russian rather than German--and what could be expressed. It restricted their religion, their travel, their thought. They grew up being far more cautious, more circumspect in what they did/thought/said and whom they did it with.
And Stalin died and there was an easing of the repression. But only an easing, not an end. They finished their schooling and went to work. The economy was closed, the state was all powerful, and there was security in that. There was a public security net holding up everyone at a very low level and a ceiling limiting anyone (except party members) from getting too far ahead. This was Poland in the 60's, the last time I was here.
They came of age in the 70's and 80's, had their children, raised their families in a country that was gradually opening up. They watched as the world became more open and envied what they were seeing/hearing. A few took leadership, at great personal risk, in such things as the Solidarity movement. But most (and I would be one of these) laid low, kept their heads down, and hoped things would get better for their children's generation.
And then the 90's and 00's. Great opening up politically. Boom/bust/boom/bust economically. Individual freedom coupled with decreasing economic security as the public safety net fragments just as they're reaching older age. Their children embracing the political, economic and intellectual freedom that globalization brings. Some of their children emigrate to other EU countries because of economic opportunities, then return during the bust when those opportunities disappear. Disillusionment about the glories and benefits of globalization and what lies ahead for their children, and their grandchildren. And even for them.
And the Holocaust, much of which occurred on their ground. To some of their people. And to virtually all of their Jewish countrymen. And to thousands of others from all over Europe.
I expect there isn't anyone of my generation who has not had a family member or very close friend killed or wounded in The War or the Holocaust. It is a constant memory and reference point.
Through all of this, I lived in a very different world. The War was historical, not personal or visceral. Postwar meant Cold War, Red Scare, communist under your bed, bomb drills at school (crouch under the desk), homemade bomb shelters and sermons on "should you share your shelter with your neighbor?", the unleashing of economic opportunities for my generation in the 60's when everything was possible and we dominated the world and had it all. We have experienced none of the deprivation, insecurity, or limitations that our generational counterparts felt in Poland. Or the displacement, politically, intellectually, or geographically.
And for me, the Holocaust is also historical, not personal. We toured Auschwitz and Birkenau today. The weather was appropriate to the occasion---penetratingly cold (50's), wind-driven rain at 45 degree angle, leaden sky, and most of the 3+ hour tour outdoors.
I remember visiting here before, in the 60's. I felt humanistic horror at the venality of humans to other humans. This time in addition, I was also cognizant of my German heritage and the fact that my cultural ancestors were capable of perpetrating this.
Despite having been here before, and despite having been to the Holocaust Museum and Yad Vashem Museum in Jerusalem, there is nothing that prepares me for the scale and scope of Auschwitz and Birkenau as they have been preserved. I remembered things from before but saw many more today. And this time, I paid more attention to the conditions for the living-while-dying (since virtually no one left alive.)
There is the "standing room" at Auschwitz. A small space, entered by crawling through a small opening at floor level. People who were being punished were crammed together in the standing room--4 or 5 in the size of a telephone booth--and had no choice but to stand all night, then work their 11-hour shift, then go back to the "standing room"....for days or weeks on end.
And the "dark room" at Auschwitz. A small room, completely devoid of any light, where 30-40 people were crammed together for days or weeks, some of them suffocating because of the close quarters, as punishment for violating some rule (perhaps sharing some food they found, or helping another prisoner, or anything else the guard didn't like.)
And at Birkenau, the sleeping barracks, using the design of a stable for 52 horses, where 800-1000 people "slept" on triple-stacked wooden pallets were the. 6-8 people lay on each pallet, crammed together so tightly, like packaged hot dogs, that it was impossible for anyone to turn over. The top "bunk" was preferred; human waste flowed down because of "accidents" during the night from people with disease or simply those for whom the scheduled two 5-7 second visits to the bathroom each day (one every 12 hours) were not enough.
I need space, light and the ability to move. These images make my heart pound and leave me gasping for air.
The War and the Holocaust can never mean to me what they mean to Poles and Jews. I did not experience war in my village, the loss of family members or friends. I did not face death solely because of my ethnicity and the desire of a world leader to wipe my people off the face of the earth.
But by listening, looking and living here briefly, I get just a little hint of what they mean. And how privileged my life has been, in so many ways.
Happy Independence Day. It is good to be able to return to scraping and painting.
I think about this when I encounter Poles of my vintage as I'm walking around. Thinking about their life history, as I understand it, compared to mine. They were born during, or perhaps a little before or a little after, The War. They may have some very early memories of it affecting their family, their home. Or they just may have memories of their early years, say when they were kindergarteners, hearing their parents talk about it. They may have grown up with the sounds of machine guns, artillery, planes flying overhead, perhaps bombs (if they lived in other parts of Poland, further from the concentration camps.)
And then the end of The War came. Their families may have moved (or been moved forcefully) to or from another part of the country as the national boundaries changed. Or they may have stayed in the same village but changed nationality (German to Polish, or Polish to Russian.) Regardless, there must have been a feeling of some relief as the active battles ended, soldiers came home, families reunited (or not).
And the Soviet era began. Stalin's ruthlessness was expressed in Poland as well, and affected their family's life. And theirs. It changed what was taught in school--Russian rather than German--and what could be expressed. It restricted their religion, their travel, their thought. They grew up being far more cautious, more circumspect in what they did/thought/said and whom they did it with.
And Stalin died and there was an easing of the repression. But only an easing, not an end. They finished their schooling and went to work. The economy was closed, the state was all powerful, and there was security in that. There was a public security net holding up everyone at a very low level and a ceiling limiting anyone (except party members) from getting too far ahead. This was Poland in the 60's, the last time I was here.
They came of age in the 70's and 80's, had their children, raised their families in a country that was gradually opening up. They watched as the world became more open and envied what they were seeing/hearing. A few took leadership, at great personal risk, in such things as the Solidarity movement. But most (and I would be one of these) laid low, kept their heads down, and hoped things would get better for their children's generation.
And then the 90's and 00's. Great opening up politically. Boom/bust/boom/bust economically. Individual freedom coupled with decreasing economic security as the public safety net fragments just as they're reaching older age. Their children embracing the political, economic and intellectual freedom that globalization brings. Some of their children emigrate to other EU countries because of economic opportunities, then return during the bust when those opportunities disappear. Disillusionment about the glories and benefits of globalization and what lies ahead for their children, and their grandchildren. And even for them.
And the Holocaust, much of which occurred on their ground. To some of their people. And to virtually all of their Jewish countrymen. And to thousands of others from all over Europe.
I expect there isn't anyone of my generation who has not had a family member or very close friend killed or wounded in The War or the Holocaust. It is a constant memory and reference point.
Through all of this, I lived in a very different world. The War was historical, not personal or visceral. Postwar meant Cold War, Red Scare, communist under your bed, bomb drills at school (crouch under the desk), homemade bomb shelters and sermons on "should you share your shelter with your neighbor?", the unleashing of economic opportunities for my generation in the 60's when everything was possible and we dominated the world and had it all. We have experienced none of the deprivation, insecurity, or limitations that our generational counterparts felt in Poland. Or the displacement, politically, intellectually, or geographically.
And for me, the Holocaust is also historical, not personal. We toured Auschwitz and Birkenau today. The weather was appropriate to the occasion---penetratingly cold (50's), wind-driven rain at 45 degree angle, leaden sky, and most of the 3+ hour tour outdoors.
I remember visiting here before, in the 60's. I felt humanistic horror at the venality of humans to other humans. This time in addition, I was also cognizant of my German heritage and the fact that my cultural ancestors were capable of perpetrating this.
Despite having been here before, and despite having been to the Holocaust Museum and Yad Vashem Museum in Jerusalem, there is nothing that prepares me for the scale and scope of Auschwitz and Birkenau as they have been preserved. I remembered things from before but saw many more today. And this time, I paid more attention to the conditions for the living-while-dying (since virtually no one left alive.)
There is the "standing room" at Auschwitz. A small space, entered by crawling through a small opening at floor level. People who were being punished were crammed together in the standing room--4 or 5 in the size of a telephone booth--and had no choice but to stand all night, then work their 11-hour shift, then go back to the "standing room"....for days or weeks on end.
And the "dark room" at Auschwitz. A small room, completely devoid of any light, where 30-40 people were crammed together for days or weeks, some of them suffocating because of the close quarters, as punishment for violating some rule (perhaps sharing some food they found, or helping another prisoner, or anything else the guard didn't like.)
And at Birkenau, the sleeping barracks, using the design of a stable for 52 horses, where 800-1000 people "slept" on triple-stacked wooden pallets were the. 6-8 people lay on each pallet, crammed together so tightly, like packaged hot dogs, that it was impossible for anyone to turn over. The top "bunk" was preferred; human waste flowed down because of "accidents" during the night from people with disease or simply those for whom the scheduled two 5-7 second visits to the bathroom each day (one every 12 hours) were not enough.
I need space, light and the ability to move. These images make my heart pound and leave me gasping for air.
The War and the Holocaust can never mean to me what they mean to Poles and Jews. I did not experience war in my village, the loss of family members or friends. I did not face death solely because of my ethnicity and the desire of a world leader to wipe my people off the face of the earth.
But by listening, looking and living here briefly, I get just a little hint of what they mean. And how privileged my life has been, in so many ways.
Happy Independence Day. It is good to be able to return to scraping and painting.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)