3) Malaria will be the cause of the year, centered on the World Cup in South Africa. The Malaria No More campaign, backed by Bill Gates and a bunch of corporate sponsors including Rupert Murdoch’s Newscorp, has been gathering momentum in 2009 and its publicity is due to peak around the global media event of the year in the summer of 2010. With the world focused on Africa, political leaders and the continent’s super-rich will be under pressure to show that they are committed to the fight to stop this preventable disease that kills a million people a year.

via Philanthrocapitalism » The Year of Giving Dangerously.

It’s going to be a good year. :)

Slum tours offer travelers an authentic, offbeat look at foreign cultures—and locals a new way to make a living.

Authentic? Sure! Offbeat? How can 1/6 of the earth’s population’s lifestyle be considered “offbeat”? To her credit, the author does point out this fact. She doesn’t sound like the kind of visitor to a foreign country that makes many of us cringe, but the tour that she describes definitely gives me that feeling. Imagine the marketing that these slum tour operators must use: Come see the REAL Rio! You’ve seen the Taj Mahal, now see how millions of impoverished Indians live! Hideous capitalist mindsets run amok? I doubt it. These are regular people trying to make a living, and their product is hot.

The photo that accompanies this post is of my “impact assessment team” (me and Mark Mann) from The 1010 Project moving through the Korogocho slum of Nairobi, Kenya. Korogocho was the toughest spot I had seen in Kenya – open sewers, schoolchildren eating and learning in chicken coops, and sheet-metal homes. A few days later, my team went to Kibera. That’s the big one. Smaller in size only to Soweto in South Africa, Kibera is the slum featured in the (awesome) film “Constant Gardener”. In many ways, Kibera was a lot like Korogocho: packed to the gills with people, poor, and dangerous (like any city). But when I left Kibera, I found myself absolutely drained emotionally. That’s not an easy thing to do.

I cannot imagine poorism being a rewarding trip for anybody. Dive-bombing into an impoverished community and moving on after snapping a few interesting pictures can be spiritually dangerous. Having a sustained relationship with the slums and favelas of the world would ameliorate this, I feel, and provide the “locals a new way to make a living” that is founded on up-to-date understandings of humanitarian assistance, compassion, and friendship.

Service provider for soul and body

A previous post addressed the religious imperative against malaria from the standpoint of those of us in the US, UK, and Canada. So why is the Faiths Act campaign so explicit about the work of churches and mosques on the ground in sub-Saharan Africa? As it turns out, religious communities in the developing world are in a unique position to affect change, especially on the issue of malaria.

Health systems in sub-Saharan Africa are, to sound like a generalizing imperialist, stressed. Doctor shortages, drug shortages, political graft, distribution issues in remote areas (geography + the previous problems), and other bits, combined with the overwhelming numbers of people who need help, have stretched some systems to the breaking point.

Whereas health systems simply can’t be everywhere, religious communities are almost ubiquitous. Even very small villages will have a church or mosque. Imagine faith communities as an extension, not a parallel, of the health infrastructure in a given country. Consider this example of the role of religious groups in a village in Zambia:

…”[the village] may have no permanent structures but it does have a functioning Christian congregation and a traditional healer. Christian relief organizations are providing food, and a Muslim organization has dug the first well for the community. This is not unique…various church health associations in Africa are outstanding examples of community-level, or intermediary, organizations; they have some degree of central structure and organization so that they can pool disparate resources and provide some administrative and logistical support to programs on the ground; they have member congregations in most communities, both urban and rural. They are large enough to secure funding from large relief organizations, but decentralized so that such resources can flow to far-flung locations. They share common goals, but do not require uniformity in regard to doctrine or practice.” [emphasis mine]

The United Nations Program on AIDS (UNAIDS) is also no stranger to the intersection of aid and religion. UNAIDS “prioritizes work at the global level with large networks of FBOs [faith-based organizations], religious leaders, and networks of religious leaders living with HIV.” They partner with Caritas Internationalis, the Ecumenical Advocacy Alliance, Islamic Relief, and the Sangha Metta Project, to name only a few. We should all recognize the great place of faith as a driver for international development work.

What remains to be done is to connect faith communities in the “West” or, for the purposes of my work with the Faiths Act Fellowship, the US, UK, and Canada, to their co-religionists in sub-Saharan Africa. Religious communities “over there” can bridge the health services gap while religious communities “over here” bridge the resource and advocacy gap.

Key to this work, and to the mission of the Faiths Act campaign, is that we do so from an explicitly interfaith standpoint, e.g. churches, mosques, synagogues, temples working together. Management consultants used to call it synergy. We call it common sense. Mosquitoes don’t care who you pray to.

The Russian River in California

Hafsa and I have been settling into our office within the offices of the Islamic Networks Group for a few days. The Faiths Act Fellowship officially launched last Thursday, the first day of work for the Fellows. It’s an odd feeling to know that Hafsa and I aren’t only working by ourselves; in cities across the US, UK, and Canada the Fellows are collaborating and building the next step in our work to eradicate malaria deaths. It’s a strange feeling knowing that we are an independent-but-connected portion of the Fellowship; reassuring in that we have a large network to collaborate with, but also sad in that we are thousands of miles away from our dear friends.

I returned from Tanzania only a month ago. In those three weeks, I lived and breathed and laughed and cried with eight other Fellows. In the weeks before heading to East Africa, we had spent two weeks with the whole Fellowship, learning our stories and sharing our experiences. And only two weeks ago the entire Fellowship was living in Chicago and figuring out how to execute our mission.

It was sad leaving the other Fellows at the end of our six weeks of training. These are strong, smart, and dedicated individuals that I have come to trust and love. But I suppose it is helpful to imagine that we have gone from a tightly-concentrated group of social entrepreneurs to a very wide [mosquito?] net that can now do better things on a much larger scale.

We’re all self-directed social entrepreneurs with a mission. We may be scattered around the world, but we know what we have to do. And even though we are separated by many miles and time zones, we are now starting our work. Together.

Church and mosque next to each other in Zanzibar

Today I leave Chicago along with twenty-eight of the other Faiths Act Fellows (my site-partner Hafsa lives in the city). I’m not flying home since home for me is only 100-odd miles west of Chicago. Tonight I’ll meet up with some of my old professors, mentors, and friends from Aurora University to play catch-up on the last nine months of our lives. Later tonight, I’ll make the hour drive out to my family’s farm in the countryside. Then I will sleep the sleep that only comes after seven rigorous weeks of training on three continents.

On July 30^th, I walked into a room on the campus of University College London and met the people that I’ll be sharing the next eight months (and beyond) of my life with; learning, collaborating, commiserating if necessary, and striving towards a goal that at first glance appears incalculable even to a western audience. The Faiths Act Fellows are going to lay the groundwork for an international coalition of people of faith focused on promoting the Millennium Development Goals (MDGs); specifically MDG 6, which concerns the eradication of malaria deaths.

In such work, there are many stakeholders: policymakers see the MDGs as promoting political stability; international development professionals aim to raise the standard of life for billions; business people see investment and growth opportunities in fresh markets. Each group has an equally-valid impetus (yes, even the capitalists) for their work. What, then, is the “hook” for religious people? Why are the Fellows tasked with building ties between and among faith communities in the United States, United Kingdom, and Canada?

For people of faith, there is a moral-universal imperative to advocate for the downtrodden, to shelter those without homes, to feed the hungry, to clothe the naked, and to do everything within one’s power to make this planet a more just place. These are the people that we need on board with our work; faith communities inspire hope and carry the vision of a better tomorrow.

The Faiths Act Fellows all come from very different religious traditions and different backgrounds, but we all have one goal: foster a new international coalition of churches, mosques, temples, governments, and NGOs to make the scourge of malaria a thing of the past.

As it turns out, the priest and the imam met after a town meeting some years ago. Father Mpinge offered to drive the imam home afterwards. Since that day, they have been fast friends, meeting regularly and even seeking each others’ advice about community issues. We see many of these friendships in Tanzania – they’re what I call “de facto interfaith” – people here work and interact with each other because it’s a religiously-diverse area.

It’s strange, really. When we ask about religions working together to educate their followers about malaria prevention and treatment it’s like we’re describing something completely foreign. The idea is always met with excitement and affirmation. We want churches and mosques in sub-Saharan Africa to collaborate towards eradicating malaria deaths. The real test of our work will come when faith communities here move from “de facto interfaith” to “interfaith action for the common good”.

For years I’ve heard of this mythical island out on the Indian Ocean off the coast of Tanzania. It’s called ZANZIBAR, and it’s quite nearly as awesome as I thought it would be. Zanzibar is 99% Muslim, which is a bit of a departure from the mainland where things are more mixed. This is reflected in the architecture and of course, the people. We’ll watch the sunset tonight while we eat dinner.

We landed here after a rocking 2-ish hour ferry ride from Dar es Salaam. Tomorrow we meet with the island’s Malaria Control Programme leadership. Malaria is almost gone from this place – when I explained the reason for our visit (learning about malaria) to a local, he looked at me funny. :)

We’ll be here for two days, long enough to take in some ruins (the oldest Catholic Church) and maybe visit some beaches.

Then we’re back to Chicago for two more weeks of training with the Faiths Act Fellows. I think I’ve learned more about malaria and public health in Africa in three weeks than most people might do in a few years at school.

I can’t wait to meet up with the other Africa teams in a few days to plan the next eight months of our interfaith coalition-building against malaria.

Abdalla was sick – vomiting and in pain – so she took him to the doctor. He’s two years and three months old; children with malaria don’t tend to have very high fevers, so any illness has the potential to be malaria in disguise.

The medical officer I was with asked some questions of his own and informed me that she didn’t understand where malaria comes from. Or rather, she did, but could not connect the vector (mosquito) with the disease. She and Abdalla sleep underneath a bed net every night, yet he still has malaria.

“How is this possible?” she asks. This is a story that I’ve heard before. People are told that bed nets will protect them from malaria, but unless you are completely vigilant about when you travel and how you conduct yourself in the evening hours, mosquitoes can find you. It’s a contradiction that causes people here great confusion. Health education, in Asma’s case provided through her local mosque, could explain that contradiction and help people like her learn proper prevention methods.

I asked what made her happy, or what she looked forward to. She is still mourning the death of her husband this past April, but she is excited for the future. He left her with ownership of a small plot of land. It stands empty now, and she plans to save money until she can build a home there for her and her son. She says she knows that in that home, she will be very happy.

In short, yes. Leprosy is still around, and it still causes much suffering in the world. Not a whole lot, mind you – the World Health Organization estimates that 2 or 3 million people worldwide are permanently disabled by leprosy. The good news: new cases decline with each year. It’s a disease that is on the way out, but it’s not out yet. For that reason, there are communities located around the globe where people with leprosy can seek treatment and, fortunately, solace from a world that in many cases attaches social stigma to those affected by the disease.

We were invited to tour the Nazareth leprosarium, essentially a modern-day “leper colony”. This place wasn’t so much a colony as it was a collection of buildings in Ifakara town here in south central Tanzania, one of the few countries with enough cases of leprosy to necessitate the presence of such a place. We met Enoch, the proprietor of the joint, and he explained to us the various epidemiological features of the disease, the tests employed to diagnose it, and the treatments necessary to cure it. He’s a very funny man, and we learned a great deal about leprosy from him.

Nazareth was built by the local Catholic diocese many, many years ago. Enoch (who’s been there for 25 years) is paid by the district government, but he’s also the only real staff-person; all the other workers are volunteers or employed by the diocese. It has a small chapel on the campus, and is visited twice a month by the local parish priest, Father Mpenge, whose home we had dined at a few days previous. It’s a beautiful example of “faith in action” for reasons that may or may not require explanation.

As we began our tour of the facilities, I knew what we would encounter. Leprosy is a bacterial infection that essentially devours the peripheral nervous system and then starts on the skin. It’s not a pretty illness – opportunistic infections often lead to finger and toe amputation (perhaps even more bones) and massive skin lesions. The facial nerves stop responding so the eyes can’t close. Dust and other debris attack soft optic tissues, causing blindness. We were told to steel ourselves.

The first resident we met, whose name I did not learn, had no fingers or toes. Enoch asked him to join us on the patio and he shuffled over holding a bag slung over one of his destroyed hands. The bag contained a fork, spoon, cup, toothbrush, and comb. Enoch demonstrated the ingenuity of the Sisters at Nazareth – he wrapped a velcro strip around the man’s hand and showed us how he could feed himself, brush his teeth, comb his hair, and drink water by attaching the tools to the strap. The man smiled the whole time and laughed with us. It was a happy encounter.

We spent the next hour visiting the wards and speaking briefly with the people who were staying there. In every new room, I felt welcomed. This was not a place of suffering or worry, it was a home for people who might not have a place to call home. Many of them were severely disabled – imagine having no fingers or feet. But the residents weren’t really helpless. They engaged with us and laughed and opened their home to us. They don’t get many non-family visitors, so we must have been a welcome break in any case! We visited a large garden that provides fresh and healthy food, and we found that many of the volunteers were themselves disabled in one way or another by past encounters with leprosy.

As we walked across the courtyard, an odd thought popped into my head. “Kingdom work” is a phrase that my evangelical friends use to describe a variety of their activities: mission trips, soup kitchens, drug counseling, etc. The idea is that in ministering to those less fortunate, they can hasten the coming of Jesus Christ and the Kingdom of God on earth. I might say that until that day in the leprosarium known as, of all things, Nazareth, I hadn’t found an example of Kingdom work that resounded deeply with my own drive to help others.

Watching Enoch interact with the residents and seeing them smile as they greeted us brought me to a place of great peace. I can’t accurately describe it; I think I was spiritually excited that Nazareth existed, and I was actually sad to leave. There’s a story in the Bible where Jesus heals a leper by touching him, something that in his age would have been unthinkable (lepers were considered unclean). I’d prefer to let Jesus pick his own timetable for returning, but I’d also like to think that the folks at the Nazareth leprosarium are doing a bit of Kingdom work in creating a safe and healthy place for those who may have nowhere else to go.

Here in Tanzania, as I speak through interpreters, I really can tell that I’m missing something. I wouldn’t know what to name it if I could so for now I will refer to it as “small talk”. Yes, small talk. It’s what happens when you stop by and visit a family cooking dinner outside their home. You can sit down and shoot the breeze for a while. Ask about the weather, make funny jokes, etc. Then, when you’ve become something more than passing acquaintances, you can ask important questions; in my case, about malaria.

I know that there are important stories and observations, anecdotes and humor that come from conversations that have been built on small talk. You don’t get that with a translator. When we travel as a large group of Westerners, it’s hard to have a conversation that doesn’t appear transactional; indeed, many of them end in our interviewees asking us for “support” in one form or another. If we were able to first establish a friendly atmosphere by employing the local language, that relationship would turn our question/answer sessions into…actual conversations.