Since submitting my essay many months ago, I have continued in my transition to a new career path, while still working at my job in urban planning. Some of my activities include completing four psychology courses at a local college (prereqs for graduate school), and completing a holistic massage therapy program at the World School of Massage and Holistic Healing Arts in San Francisco. I plan to start the first leg of my new career path in January 2005, doing holistic massage and bodywork, and am very excited to see where that takes me. I also attended a 5-day silent retreat entitled "Unity in Diversity" at the Mercy Center in Burlingame, CA, led by Sister Ishpriya, an incredibly wise Catholic nun who lived in the Himalayas for 30 years with Hindu monks and yogis. She is a true spiritual bridge between the east and the west.
I have continued to provide financial support to the orphanage Casa Hogar de Ninos, in Guatemala, and coordinated a $350 donation from a very generous friend of mine living in Mexico. Another friend just donated $100 today. I also had a wonderful opportunity to connect again (via phone) with one very special girl I met there two years ago, Karen. Despite all her life tragedies, I found Karen to be one of the wisest, most aware teenagers I've ever met. However, she is both an old sage, and a troubled girl who needs a mom. Unfortunately, I learned that her emotional needs were not being met at the orphanage this past year, and that she tried to commit suicide. (But did not succeed, fortunately.) I found out a couple months later, and immediately called her. We had an amazing talk full of support, advice, and lots of laughter. (Ironically, it also happened to be her 17th birthday the day I called.) I also sent a care package filled with long letters and several blank journals and pens, so she could have an outlet for her deepest feelings, rather than keeping them bottled inside. Word has it that she is doing much better, and is finally connecting with the other kids and getting along better with the director. I hope she continues to find peace.
One of the (many) beautiful outcomes of participating in Backpack Nation's writing contest, was that I receive several emails from people all over the country. Some shared similar stories from Guatemala, others wrote notes of support and congratulations. All were so kind and enthusiastic. The greatest email of them all was from a married couple who was interested in adopting a child from Casa Hogar de Ninos. I was so moved. Unfortunately, I had to explain that these children are not up for adoption, but I offered options for sponsoring the children financially, or visiting them in person. I was very moved to know my story reached such a compassionate couple.
Thanks Brad and to all affiliated with Backpack Nation. I wish you all the very best in 2005.
(Click Duyen's or Marjorie's name to read original essays)
The story of Duyen and Marjorie is close to my heart.
Marjorie Hamlin was the head of the International Program at Principia College (I graduated from Principia in 1972), and is perhaps the best traveled person I know. Marjorie and her husband led school trips to Africa during which students helped locals build schools and other village projects. I first heard about the Kenyan island of Lamu from Marjorie, who, while visiting Lamu with her family during the mid 1970s, financed and helped to build a sailing dhow for a Lamu local.
In 1993 I ran into Marjorie at a reunion. I told her I had recently finished the manuscript of my book "Take Me With You" and was looking for a publisher. Marjorie asked to read it.
Just a few months later Marjorie was walking down the street in Hanoi, when she was approached by a young Vietnamese man who had been raised in Muong Lay, a rural village surrounded by picturesque green hills 350 miles west of Hanoi. Duyen, the son of subsistence farmers, and the only one of their children to receive the opportunity for higher education, had heard about the greater world out there and wanted to know more about it. Now, during his last year at college in Hanoi, Duyen (the pronunciation is close to zuyEN) cranked up his courage and asked Marjorie, a stranger on the street, if he might practice his little knowledge of English with her.
Marjorie has told me that my manuscript was in her mind the whole 15 minutes that she and Duyen spoke. It was in her mind while the two of them corresponded by letter over the next few years. And when she invited Duyen to live with her family and to study English in St. Louis, Missouri. And while she went through all the formidable hoops of arranging that experience, which was life-changing for both of them. When Marjorie and I talk, as we do from time to time, we often ruminate on the unimaginable possibilities for the world if the spirit behind her invitation to Duyen and my invitation to Tony were to catch hold in the world. And we are very hopeful.
After Marjorie submitted her Phase Two essay, I didn't talk to her for a couple of months -- I didn't want to taint the voting process -- but I was of course tickled when both her essay and Duyen's were among the top five vote-getters. The $2,000 I sent them is going straight to the "For Tomorrow" project mentioned in Duyen's essay.
I have never met Duyen, but we spoke on the phone recently. In December he completed his Master's degree in Business, and in February will begin work as a credit analyst with Commerce Bank in St. Louis. His heart, however, is of course back in Vietnam, where many of Muong Lay's 2,000 inhabitants know the story of his adventure with Marjorie and her family.
Duyen goes back to Vietnam whenever he can, and for 18 months he worked with Red Cross officials who have initiated projects in villages and towns such as Muong Lay, and who will implement Duyen's For Tomorrow project. Duyen says, "I understand that it is important to integrate this project with the local governmental structure."
For the past couple of years Duyen has been saving and raising money for the project. The Phase Two awards topped things off. In February, 2005, the first steps of the project will be initiated. After receiving training in how to produce and sell their products, twenty families in Muong Lay will receive loans that will allow them to buy domestic animals, agricultural products, or to initiate their own businesses. When the loans are repaid, another twenty families will be able to enter the program.
Duyen says there are certain difficulties that can sabotage such projects. "I have seen some projects," Duyen told me, "where before the money comes to the community the people live in peace. Afterwards, there is arguing and fighting. We must be very careful when we try to help others. It has to be done in a way that benefits all."
I have learned similar lessons through Backpack Nation. "Giving" is not as easy and straightforward as it might seem. A dance goes on between "giver" and "receiver" and it takes both, plus a little luck or grace and a generous dollop of goodwill, to make it work.
We'll hear more from Duyen as For Tomorrow develop. Marjorie? She seems very tickled to me, and says she takes great hope from the way all the projects associated with Backpack Nation are unfolding.
How to get money to Russia? To people whose names I didn't know and whose addresses I didn't have.
When Brad notified me that my essay, Wildflowers, was among the top five chosen, I immediately contacted the travel company that had organized the Russian riverboat cruise. I was sure they would be happy to help, once I told them what it was about.
Wrong! They wanted no part in it.
So, plan B. I contacted a Russian woman who lives in the area who just happened to know Irina, one of the tour guides from the riverboat. She had several email addresses, all of them old. But I emailed anyway and found Irina, now working for a different company and living in Moscow.
She said she'd be happy to help. Problem was, Western Union was going to charge 11 percent to send the money. They said it would take from five to eight days to arrive, but the riverboat would leave Moscow for the last voyage of the summer in three days.
After that, the rivers would begin to freeze and the boats would have long since headed south. Without the riverboats to call these women out of their homes, I had no idea where to look for them. Nor did I envision spending $3,000 to deliver $1,000. So I called my bank. No problem, they said. They'd even waive their fee.
Great! I emailed Irina, asked for her bank account and routing numbers. Since we were half a world away, each email took 24 hours to come back. I looked at the calendar again: our window of opportunity was rapidly shrinking.
Irina emailed back. If the money went to her account, she'd have to pay 13 percent tax on it. My $1,000 was looking smaller all the time.
My spiritual teacher, the one who had suggested I write the story in the first place, was in the US for a visit. I called him and asked for his advice.
"Why do you want to send these women this money?" he asked, matter-of-fact.
His question shocked me. How could a spiritual leader ask such a thing? "Because they have nothing," I said, annoyed at his apparent lack of understanding.
"There are a lot of poor people in the world. You can't help them all."
"But I can help these women," I said. But in my head, I was saying something else. In my head I was screaming, Because I looked into their eyes. I saw their faces!
Suddenly his voice softened. "Send me the money. I will give it to a person I trust who lives in Moscow. He will see that it gets to the right people."
Somehow I felt that the benefits of that money reached those old women as he spoke. I mailed him a check that afternoon.
It will be Christmas before I can ask him for details. (Brad's note: Harriet sent this update in early December - I've been very slow getting them posted.) Until then I will have to trust that the Universe read our collaborative intention and delivered the money to the women who most needed it. That's all I can do. I trust my teacher; he trusts the man in Moscow. It's all about trust at this point. It won't be the first time I've walked out into the Void.
But the important thing is, that we look into each other's faces and connect. That we recognize our humanity and that we treat each other with compassion. Because, after all this time, "Brother, what ails thee?" is still the question to ask.
When I found out that I had won $1,000 for my friends in Senegal, I decided that I must see the look on Diène's face when I told him the news. Only two months after I left Senegal the first time, I returned for a short, three-week visit. This is my story.
Even before arriving, I was reminded of being back in the friendliness of Senegal. Standing in the South African Airlines check-in line in New York, strangers greeted each other, exchanged names and wished each other a safe journey. Nearly twenty-four hours later, when I arrived I noticed how the rainy season, which started just after I left Senegal, had transformed Senegal's landscape into a green paradise. The route to Yayeme was nearly unrecognizable; the dusty sand fields that lined it had blossomed into lush rows of shoulder-high millet stalks.
Everything looked so different that it wasn't until I saw Diène that I was sure I was in the right place. He caught me up on two months of news: most people had spent that time in the fields, working long days planting this year's crops. It was also malaria season, and numerous friends were ill. Those that could afford it, would buy medicine and heal within a week's time; others simply prayed and suffered through it.
I was welcomed as warmly as ever. Everyone who I ran into, from the shopkeeper's wife to the neighbors' visiting cousin, remembered my name. The teranga that is the pride of Senegal was just as strong as ever. During my first three days in Yayeme, I averaged about 6 meals a day, not being able to turn down the countless offers to share lunch or dinner with inviting families.
I was excited to tell Diène about the money, but wanted to wait for a moment that would allow him to let it all set in. After all, $1,000 was more than a year's salary for his family, and I imagined my news would bring a reaction nothing less extraordinary than the Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes winners we see on television each year.
The day that I chose was ordinary. The morning was already unbearably hot, and so I spent most of the day sitting under a large mango tree, reading, writing and talking with the visitors who came to say hello. When the heat of the afternoon had chased everyone home, Diène and I sat in the shade as I told him about the contest, the story about his family and the $1,000 for his family.
For a moment I was not sure if he understood me; not much changed in him. His top lip started quivering, but that was the only sign of the elation I knew he must feel. Calmly, he congratulated me for winning and said that it could only be the beginning of all the great things my writing would bring. After that, he just sat there smiling. No screaming, no fainting, no theatrics: only simple words of congratulations and a smile for his friend's success.
During those moments of silence, I wondered how to get him to reveal what he was thinking. Before I got the chance, an elderly neighbor passed outside the campement and shouted over the fence, warning Diène that a thorny tree was too overgrown and hung too closely to the walkway. He needed to remove it before a branch fell or hurt someone. Without thought to anything other than his obligation to the well-being of their small, shared community, Diène thanked the woman for the news, grabbed his machete, and went outside to cut down the overgrown branches. Ten minutes after I shared the news, before he got a chance to let the idea of winning the lottery make him light-headed and woozy, life had returned to normal and he was doing his part to make life better for everyone in Yayeme.
During my remaining two weeks in Yayeme, Diène told his immediate family the news, each of whom celebrated and thanked me for only a matter of minutes before going back to their daily life. Diène continued to notice the needs of his friends, and did what he could to help them out. Now, he surprised children with 100cfa coins instead of 25cfa. He would buy packs, instead of single cigarettes, to share with friends and neighbors. One night, he took out a small group of friends and me for some beers, an event expensive enough that the group assumed I had paid for it. All night long they mistakenly thanked me for picking up the tab and Diène never once corrected them, not even slightly interested in the boastful pride that comes along with being able to take your friends out.
Eventually, I asked him what he imagined he would do with the money. He said that he would build a toilet for his family. After some cost calculating, we discovered that there would be enough left over to finish a half-built well on his family's property and replace the dingy mattresses his mother and sisters shared. With careful budgeting, he may also be able to buy himself a horse and cart, build a veranda on his property, and put away a small sum in his family's first ever bank account.
I know that the N'dours will get their first toilet, and I'm fairly certain they will soon be drinking from their own well and sleeping on new mattresses. However, I am not so sure about the other things on Diène's wish list. It is not shopping sprees or self-indulgent luxuries that I think will drain their money, but the simple cost of living in a culture where nothing is more pressing than taking care of the people around you. It was one of my life's greatest joys to be able to give $1,000 to the N'dours. However, the unexpected gift I gave them was the opportunity to feel that same joy, over and over, as they continue to give to all of Yayeme.
On my trip home, I again found myself in an airport check-in line with a group of friendly strangers. Most of the Senegalese travelers had huge suitcases jammed full of gifts, and soon enough, they were all working together to collectively avoid getting fined for excess baggage. A man with two large suitcases took the smaller bag of the woman in front of him as a carry on; a woman with a large purse stuffed in the small gift boxes of her neighbor. I knew this is exactly the behavior the FAA forbids, what they are trying to crackdown on when they ask you if you have packed your own bags and whether or not you have accepted any baggage from strangers. I smiled to myself in delight, knowing what they FAA does not: among the Senegalese, there is no such thing as a stranger.