A Walk to Beautiful

For those who missed it the first time around, A Walk to Beautiful can be watched online at the below link.

In brief, the film is about:
A difficult journey that begins in hopelessness and shame for thousands of women in Ethiopia ends in a productive new life in this award-winning documentary airing in its television premier on NOVA. Filmed in a starkly beautiful landscape, the film juxtaposes the isolated lives of village women who are outcasts because of their medical condition, with the faraway hospital that offers a miracle after a long and arduous trek—a "walk to beautiful."

It's well worth the time to watch!

http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/beautiful/program.html

Oh Inspiration...

I know I've posted this video before, it's not so much the video that has caught my attention tonight but the song itself. I watched A Walk to Beautiful tonight on PBS. It was a great one hour documentary about the Fistula Hospital in Addis Ababa - wow talk about bringing back some memories! It was a good reminder of what I've been working so hard for since my return. The stories of the women affected were well told and of course tragic, but it was the children in the footage that caught my attention - seeing the eyes of "my kids" in every one of them.

After the documentary I came to the computer as I always do searching for any updates - which of course won't be there but I haven't lost hope... I turn my iTunes on shuffle and this song plays.

"We are who we are and it's more than enough..."

An inspiring reminder that though I constantly and consistently feel as though I will never truly make the difference in the lives of children I intend to - what it is I do is enough. It's so difficult to remind myself of that, especially being so far away. The day will come... until then I'm constantly searching.

The tears that came simply listening to this song were beautiful and the reminder I needed as my ambition and inspiration continue to slip away.

This is for the Moms

The following was posted on the Zambia Adopt group (no I'm not adopting from Zambia, it's work related :) for Mother's Day and I wanted to make sure that everyone could read it here...

This is for the mothers who have sat up all night with sick toddlers in their arms, wiping up barf laced with Oscar Mayer wieners and cherry Kool-Aid saying, 'It's okay honey, Mommy's here.'
Who have sat in rocking chairs for hours on end soothing crying babies who can't be comforted.

This is for all the mothers who show up at work with spit-up in their hair and milk stains on their blouses and diapers in their purse. For all the mothers who run carpools and make cookies and sew Halloween costumes. And all the mothers who DON'T.

This for the mothers who gave birth to babies they'll never see. And the mothers who took those babies and gave them homes.

This is for the mothers whose priceless art collections are hanging on their refrigerator doors.

And for all the mothers who froze their buns on metal bleachers at football or soccer games instead of watching from the warmth of their cars

And that when their kids asked, 'Did you see me, Mom?' they could say, 'Of course, I wouldn't have missed it for the world,' and mean it.

This is for all the mothers who yell at their kids in the grocery store and swat them in despair when they stomp their feet and scream for ice cream before dinner. And for all the mothers who count to ten instead, but realize how child abuse happens.

This is for all the mothers who go hungry, so their children can eat.

For all the mothers who read 'Goodnight, Moon' twice a night for a year. And then read it again. 'Just one more time.'

This is for all the mothers who taught their children to tie their shoelaces before they started school. And for all the mothers who opted for Velcro instead.

This is for all the mothers who teach their sons to cook and their daughters to sink a jump shot.

This is for every mother whose head turns automatically when a little voice calls 'Mom?' in a crowd, even though they know their own offspring are at home -- or even away at college ~or have their own families.

This is for all the mothers who sent their kids to school with stomach aches, assuring them they'd be just FINE once they got there, only to get calls from the school nurse an hour later asking them to please pick them up. Right away.

This is for mothers whose children have gone astray, who can't find the words to reach them.

For all the mothers who bite their lips until they bleed when their 14 year olds dye their hair green.

For all the mothers of the victims of recent school shootings, and the mothers of those who did the shooting.

For the mothers of the survivors, and the mothers who sat in front of their TVs in horror, hugging their child who just came home from school, safely.

This is for all the mothers who taught their children to be peaceful, and now pray they come home safely from a war.

What makes a good Mother anyway? Is it patience? Compassion? Broad hips?

The ability to nurse a baby, cook dinner, and sew a button on a shirt, all at the same time?

Or is it in her heart?

Is it the ache you feel when you watch your son or daughter disappear down the street, walking to school alone for the very first time?

The jolt that takes you from sleep to dread, from bed to crib at 2 A.M. to put your hand on the back of a sleeping baby?

The panic, years later, that comes again at 2 A.M. when you just want to hear their key in the door and know they are safe again in your home?

Or the need to flee from wherever you are and hug your child when you hear news of a fire, a car accident, a child dying?

The emotions of motherhood are universal and so our thoughts are for young mothers stumbling through diaper changes and sleep deprivation. .. And mature mothers learning to let go.

For working mothers.

Single mothers.

Mothers with money, mothers without.

This is for you all. For all of us...

Love is all around us...

I like this...

Street kids and philosophy By Adam Katz May 22, 2005

I don't know where to start here.

The good old United States of America spends approximately $30 billion in foreign aid each year. We spend the same amount, $30 billion, on pornography.

I've been traveling for so long that I've truly forgotten what life in America is like. It often makes it difficult to write as I often leave out critical details because I forget how different life is out here.

Only once in a while am I reminded. My friend George sent out a group email, which listed the items for sale at his garage sale. I was shocked. I could not believe that anyone owned that much stuff. And, that was just what he was selling.

No offense intended toward George - this just shows the difference between the typical American and the typical African.

For the last year and a half, I've lived with one small backpack. Some of the people that I've encountered have owned far less, like the kid who worked in my hotel in the Omo Valley. He owned one pair of boxer shorts and nothing else.

For what are your possessions but things you keep and guard for fear you may need them tomorrow.

And what is fear of need but need itself?

Is not dread of thirst when your well is full, the thirst that is unquenchable?

I grew up cold-hearted in Oakland. I never gave money to panhandlers. Perhaps once a year I'd buy a burrito for someone on the street. But in Addis, I began giving to the beggars every day. I started giving for the simple reason that the locals did too.

I gave embarrassingly small amounts; just a few pennies. But it's a complicated balance between generously giving what you can afford, and upsetting the economic balance. In some countries, educated people like doctors stop being doctors because they can make far more money hustling tourists on the streets.

I did my best to give like a local, and soon I started to feel like I was being treated like a local. The beggars stopped hassling me. They'd just smile and wave when I walked past. If I had change in my pocket, I'd give them some.

But a bigger change came over me. I began to really see the beggars as people. We create whole sets of rules for whom we should give money to. Don't give to able-bodied men, as they should be able to get a job. Give to women with children... but be suspicious because she might just be renting someone else's baby to get more money begging. Never give to children because they should be at school.

When I arrived in Addis, I was thrilled to find a program that sold meal coupons for the homeless. For US$0.50, you can buy 8 meal tickets and give them out to beggars. I bought some and immediately regretted it. I felt incredibly condescending handing out these coupons. I am no better than these people. I should not be forcing them to spend the money that I give them in the way that I wish. They should be free to do whatever they want with anything that I give them. If they want to spend it on booze or drugs, so be it. I myself have wasted far too much money on alcohol. Who I am to judge others?

But it was the beggar kids who really touched me... as they probably touch everyone who spends a while in Addis. It was hard not to laugh when the 5th kid in a row repeated the exact same script, "mother father dead - give money." It was overwhelming, surreal, and there was no way of knowing if they were telling the truth or not.

But slowly, I learned that they were probably all telling the truth. I learned this through becoming friends with some of the smiling beggar kids who hung out on my street. And on rare occasion, the script and tragedy would be slightly different like the girl who told me, "mother dead, father very old, sister sick." I gave her some money.

The view from my balcony looked down upon brothels, but on cold nights it also looked down on a pile of kids huddling together in an attempt to stay warm. It was occasionally tough going to sleep in my nice warm bed knowing they were out there. I regularly gave them small amounts of money. I did consider giving them a large amount of money on my way out of town, but did not think that it would make any long-term difference. The one bright spot was one day seeing staff from my hotel's restaurant giving these kids a big bag of leftover scraps. Those scraps are the only thing that gave me any hope that these kids will make it through this winter, the next one, and the one after that.

And there are those who have little and give it all.

These are the believers in life and the bounty of life, and their coffer is never empty.

There are those who give with joy, and that joy is their reward.

It is well to give when asked, but it is better to give when unasked, through understanding.

Video on Street Life

Here is a video dedicated to people living on the street in Ethiopia. You may not be able to understand the words, but the images can tell you everything...

That's My Little Girl :)

Here is the latest picture of Beamluk! It was taken by one of the girls in the orphanage for me. I have absolutely no idea where it was taken but it would definitely be interesting to find out.

I promise to write more soon. It's been amazingly busy around here but I just wanted to post the picture of my little princess :)