decisions are made by those who show up

Perhaps I’ve been watching too many reruns of West Wing, but I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what America is and what it means to be an American. And while I have significantly more questions and frustrations and confusions, I did come to this conclusion. I believe in the potential of America.

I’m not always at a place where I believe in its current behavior or the predominant conversations happening within the country. I do not believe in the necessity of the 24-hour news cycle or the need to refer to states as “red” or “blue”. I hate the concept of “the real America” versus the other America. I also doubt that any of those things would have fit into the original vision of this republic. I have, in the cycles of my life, found myself embarrassed by the behavior of the government or the behavior of its citizens. I do not always freely own up to my nationality while traveling abroad. And I will admit that most days I wish that the Bartlet administration wasn’t fiction.

However, in the midst of all of that, I believe in the potential. I believe in “we the people”. I believe that while we have not always been excellent at including all persons within the definition of “we” and still continue to falter in that area – the idea of “we” is one that I will throw my vote behind. I believe that we are to form a more perfect union – not a more divided confederation of individual states. I believe that we are to establish justice and ensure domestic tranquility. The whole preamble – I believe in it.

However, there have been some things that have transpired over the past few seasons in our country that are not part of that vision. I speak of the bailout of the financial markets and the misappropriation by the banks of that money. I speak of talking heads on cable networks yelling out their agendas instead of maturely and concisely debating the issues. I speak of our continued struggles with the appropriate definition of ‘defense’. I speak of apartheid schooling and declining rates of educational excellence. I speak of the belief that all right behavior boils down to sexual practice and preference. I speak of this insane belief that the constitution guarantees “the American dream” and that all people deserve to live lifestyles of the rich and famous. I speak of the growing income gap and foreclosure signs. I speak of the use of fear tactics and reactionary politics instead of honest conversation.

As Andrew Shepherd said in The American President, “We have serious problems and we need serious people to solve them.” I’d like to be one of those serious people. I’d like to have the bravery and maturity to engage the issues at hand. I’d like the ability to admit when I am wrong and that the answer that I’d prefer is not the answer that is best for the union. I hope that I can continue to learn to be a good citizen. One that sees it as her right and responsibility to question our leaders and strive for greatness. One that believes that it takes “we the people” in order to form that more perfect union. One that fights for the rights of the voiceless, while being willing to hold in tension the rights of those with voices. One that shows up.

“We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union…”

 

SYTYCD: The Journey Begins

Okay friends. I know you’ve missed my opinions on SYTYCD. While I love having a Fall season (the more Cat Deely, the better) – it does feel as though the auditions took foooooorrrrreeeeevvvvveeeer. I mean, seriously. September 9 to October 27 to get to the Top 20 performance show? Wow.

But moving on, they did take a mini-detour on the journey that I loved. On Monday night, they allowed the dancers to do group performances within their styles. It wasn’t an elimination show, so we simply got to enjoy the dancers doing what they do best. And enjoy it we did. Sarah and I whooped and hollered and giggled with glee at several points.

The opening number may be my favorite Wade and Amanda Robson piece in a long time. It was this concept of a jazz club in Harlem in the 20s with competing gangs dancing. The song is “Comanche” by The Revels.

Our next favorite was the hip-hop number with Legacy, Russell and Kevin. Choreographed by Tabitha and Napoleon and set to “Beggin’ (District ‘78 Remix)” by Madcon.

While all of the other pieces were well done and showed exactly how amazing this Top 20 is, the only other dance that I have watched over and over is the last contemporary piece. Choreographed by Mandy Moore and set to Coldplay’s “Viva la Vida” (which is one of my favorite songs of all time) – Billy, Victor, Kathryn and Noelle.

Now, onto the Top 20 performance show … in which 2 people I didn’t have any emotional attachment to whatsoever got kicked off.

As of right now, I’m going to step out there and say that the biggest collective weakness of S6 is their inability to have chemistry with each other. With a few examples, I felt like we were watching a lot of freshman theater majors try to figure out how to move from monologue to scene. However, saying all of that, there were a few routines that I loved muchly.

Russell’s foxtrot. Can this boy do anything wrong? EW claims no and I have to agree. After his partner Noelle had a knee injury, he was forced to dance this with the choreographer. Aaaaawwwwwwkward. However, he is a vision. Head to this link to see the Foxtrot by Tony Meredith & Melanie LaPatin – “Vagabond Shoes” by Vic Damone

Also fun? Bianca and Victor’s contemporary that was choreographed by Travis and Ellenore and Ryan’s jazz that Sonya did. And while there was something vaguely creepy about watching Nathan and Mollie grinding against each other, their Doriana Sanchez disco bit was entertaining and well executed.

Best dance of the night? Hands down, Legacy and Kathryn’s hip-hop that Dave Scott choreographed. So awesome.

So, Arianna and Brandon went home. Tears were not shed on my part. As for Russell’s presence in the bottom four, I’ll refer you to the above EW article. I agree with Kate’s theory. They just wanted to see him dance.

Until the Top 18 show, I’ll be watching these videos a few more times … but mostly, I’ll be concentrating on the Phillies. Clearly.

 

“women hold up half the sky.” – chinese proverb

I just finished the book Half the Sky: Turning Oppression into Opportunity for Women Worldwide by Nicholas Kristoff and Sheryl WuDunn and I cannot recommend it highly enough. Seriously. Buy it.

The authors contend that progress is achieved through the empowerment of women. Considering that it is most likely that a developing nation will raise itself out of poverty if it spends time empowering the women of their nation, this is a valuable conversation. The authors identify three of the main categories of oppression facing women today: sex trafficking and mass rape, gender-based violence (including honor killings and rape used as a weapon of war) and maternal mortality.

The book is peppered with facts and statistics and also practical examples of women who have overcome great odds to become leaders within their community. It also highlights some truly excellent NGOs that are making legitimate impact upon the lives of people worldwide.

The truth that comes across in the book over and over again is that women have been treated the way they have been simply because they are viewed as expendable. “People get away with enslaving village girls for the same reason that people got away with enslaving blacks two hundred years ago: The victims are perceived as discounted humans.”

Discounted humans.

Women are more likely to be sexually assaulted, more likely to be marginalized, more likely to be forced to exist in a system that is designed for their failure and oppression than men are in every culture. When women are allowed to be fully functioning members of society, history shows over and over again that the entire culture benefits.

When girls are educated, they are able to make more intelligent family planning decisions. They delay marriage and the number of children they have is lowered. They are also often able to delay pregnancy until their bodies are more likely to be able to handle a healthy pregnancy. This leads to less fistulas, less malnourishment and less maternal mortailty.

When girls are educated, they are able to earn their own living instead of being entirely dependent upon the men. They are less likely to become trafficked and they are more likely to provide health care and nutrition to their children.

When girls are educated, they are able to take part in the government of the village. They become voices of power within their structure and all persons benefit. They can become part of the economic structure of the country and the entire GDP of the country is raised.

There are simple tactics to take. Microfinance is an excellent step. While it’s certainly not a pancea, it is a viable option for many. Please visit Kiva to make your own loan (minimum of a $25 microloan).

And, as said before, read the book. Join the movement to help out women of the developing world help hold up their half of the sky.

 

“say hello to your friends”

So, in a recent battle with insomnia, I was flipping through Netflix Instant View and stumbled upon the following gem: (clip inserted below)

Enjoy

OMG, Babysitters Club! God bless a 90’s childhood.

 

UrbanPromise International: A Definition

So, I went to Malawi as a photographer and consultant for UrbanPromise International. So, in order for anyone to understand the programs and the purpose, they must understand UPI itself.

For this large task, I’m going to turn to my research project for a succinct explanation.

UrbanPromise Ministries was started as a spin-off from the Evangelical Association for the Promotion of Education (EAPE). Founded by Tony Campolo, EAPE’s mission statement expresses that it takes seriously Christ’s teaching that Christians are to seek justice for the poor and the liberation for the captives of society. In light of that ideal, Campolo recruited Bruce Main to launch an outreach specifically to children and teens in the city of Camden, New Jersey in 1988. What began as a summer camp run out of a struggling Baptist church has grown into a multi-dimensional organization with programs that run year-round and serve many facets of the community. Programs include after-school tutoring and activity programs, on-site academies for both disadvantaged elementary ad high school students and summer arts programs. The UrbanPromise brand model that has been designed and implemented in Camden has also been taken to multiple other locations, including Wilmington, Delaware, Buffalo, New York, and Mobile, Alabama within the United States, Toronto and Vancouver in Canada and several locations throughout Malawi.

One of the programs that is woven into the fabric of UrbanPromise is the StreetLeader program. Each year, approximately 80 Camden-area students are hired as counselors, teachers, coaches, and role models for children in AfterSchool Programs and Summer Camps. Many of the StreetLeaders are graduates of the AfterSchool Programs and are passionate about being part of the change that they perceive as needed in Camden. They are active participants in the mission and vision of UrbanPromise.

In 2003, a Malawi citizen named William Nyasulu traveled to Camden to study the UrbanPromise model of community development and youth mentoring. Upon return to Malwai, Nyasulu started YouthCare Malawi – a holistic attempt at empowering disenfranchised children and teenagers. Since that time, UrbanPromise Camden has been instrumental in the progress of that organization in Malawi. One of the facets of that relationship has become an intern training program, The UrbanPromise School of Entrepreneurial Leadership (UPSEL). This program is designed to attract students from around the world, including but not limited to Malawi, in order to train them in non-profit administration and community development.  Between five and ten interns from Malawi move to Camden, New Jersey and Wilmingon, Delaware each year to participate in this program.

It’s a broad introduction, but it’ll give you context for the next few blog posts – in which I’ll explain what the heck I did in Africa for the month of July.

 

we are all orphans

Before I begin posting about the programs and activities that I participated in while in Malawi, I want to clarify a common misconception regarding the term “orphans”. We bandy the word about as though it always means the same thing, while, in fact, it’s a multifaceted concept.

I am unsure of the statistics worldwide regarding children considered to be “orphans”, but I know that in Malawi, there are estimated to be about 1.4 million. That’s about 10% of their population. Ten percent of their population. Imagine the ramifications of that for just a moment.

The generic definition for an orphan is someone whose parents can no longer take care of them. This term is often employed to children who have lost both parents to death. However, in developing nations, it can also mean parents who simply cannot afford to take care of their children. The children then leave the home and fend for themselves – some as young as five or six. In Malawi, they mostly migrate to Lilongwe or Blantyre and exist at ‘street children’. They may have perfectly healthy families at home, but they will now live life disconnected from them. Their only ticket back into the home is if they bring income with them. This leads many street children to lives of crime and violence – trying to find ways to survive in a culture that is invariably pitted against them.

There are so many heartbreaking nuances to this problem, of course. What kind of situations could lead a parent to tell a child to leave home when they know the existence that they’ll be subjected to? Some are stories that have been told throughout time and around the world. Famine hits the family farm and there is no longer enough food to go around. If there are multiple children within a family, many of the older children are asked to leave the home so that the meager resources and be used to care for the younger. Or a situation where the main financial provider looses their job. Or when the family has used up all of their money on medication for various family members. These are common stories that one hears throughout the continent.

In most developed nations, the government has means of caring for children whose parents can no longer do so. They’re not usually preferable means, but there are means. Most developed nations have no such program set up and so the children become part of the vulnerable population group known as “orphans”.

Now that we’ve clarified – I want to remind you of what the police officer said to my Dad and I that morning in the station. “We are all orphans”, he remarked. A nation torn apart by poverty, hunger and disease is also a nation disconnected from itself. A nation that is struggling to define itself. A nation of orphans.

This makes the community and hospitality and grace that I witnessed among the Malawian people even more of a miracle. They call themselves “The Warm Heart of Africa” and I can testify that – often despite horrific odds – they truly are.

 

there once was a boy named mohammed

Once upon a time, in a remote village in Ethiopia, there lived a boy named Mohammed. Mohammed’s village was so remote, in fact, that it took one full day of walking to reach a road. Once someone reached the road, it was 250 kilometers to the closest city. From that city, it was still several hours journey by bus to reach the capital, Addis Ababa.

When Mohammed was a small boy, he fell into a fire. His right leg was bent at his knee and the skin of his calf seared itself to the skin of his thigh. His foot, in fact, was attached fairly soundly to his buttock. For the next eleven years of his life, Mohammed lived life with one leg used to walk and the other leg useless.

During this time, his father tried to kill him several times – feeling that his son no longer had value due to the deformity. His mother fought valiantly for him each time – which is incredibly counter cultural – and consistently saved his life.  Upon the father’s death, Mohammed’s mother took him to the closest city, to a Sisters of Charity clinic and orphanage, hoping that someone there would be able to help her son. Having come to a faith in Christ, she trusted that the sisters would be her child’s best hope.

Once he arrived, the sisters in that city knew that his condition was beyond their skills and arranged to transfer him to the orphanage in Addis. From there, a Dutch woman volunteering at the orphanage had heard of CURE International and insisted on taking Mohammed to the hospital in Addis to get evaluated.

After several surgeries and multiple skin graphs, on July 14, Mohammed took his first tentative steps post-surgery. The injured leg is approximately three inches shorter than the other, so there is much rehab to go. But his leg – which was bent behind him – is now straight.

It was a little overwhelming to stand in the hospital and watch Mohammed tentatively walk towards us and know that a friend of ours played a chief role in rehabilitating his life. But it was also kind of overwhelming to watch humanity rebalance itself.  By that, I mean that the sheer number of people who chose to be on Team Mohammed throughout this process is kind of breathtaking. From his mother to the various nurses and doctors to the donors who make CURE a possibility – the universe conspired a little to make this boy’s life better.

In those dark moments, when I feel overwhelmed with the negative choices that humanity seems to constantly make, I plan on pulling up a photograph of Mohammed and taking a moment to breath in the hope and wonder of what humanity is positively capable of.

 

go and do likewise

In the book of Luke, Jesus tells a story about a man beat up on the side of the road. After being left to die, the story goes that a priest walked by and ignored him. However, a man from Samaria – the sworn cultural enemy of the man – stopped and helped him. Taking him back to his house in Samaria, the man nursed the injured man back to health and insisted on taking no pay for his kindness.

It’s a model for how humanity is to act towards each other. That we are never supposed to be “too busy” to help someone in need – regardless of our opinions of them. As is included in many of Jesus’ stories, it’s also an example about how so often the people who are the most “righteous” in the eyes of humankind are, in fact, the ones that fail first.

For anyone who reads this thing regularly or who has ever had a conversation with me about global systemic poverty, you know that the role of the Church in that conversation is the one that I am often the most grieved by. Historically, people who call themselves the Body of Christ have not always been known for treating the world with respect. We do have our shining moments and I know that I do not concentrate on them enough – but I am still trying to rectify some of the damages that I have seen done.

The above photo was taken as we were driving through Addis. I snapped it quickly, trying to just get scenery shots of the streets to paint a better picture of life in the city. Once I uploaded the photos to my computer and began to sort through them, I was shocked by this one. The man in black robes is an Ethiopian Orthodox priest and the man on the sidewalk is someone who we believe is in the last stages of the AIDS virus (those lesions that he has all over him are sometimes seen when one is in the last stages of the illness).

It was so easy for me to jump to judgment of the priest. “How could he simply walk by?” “How could he ignore suffering right in front of his eyes?” “What kind of holy man is he?” All of these are statements that I am sure others will ask upon seeing this photo. However, they are also questions I should ask of myself each and every day.

Although the suffering in both Addis and Lilongwe are overwhelming, so is the suffering in Waco. On any given day, I will drive past five or six people who are standing on street corners begging for food. It would be so simple for me to pull over and offer them a bottle of water or a granola bar. So simple for me to engage them in conversations that restore their dignity as people. So simple. However, instead, I often make sure that my windows are rolled up and I look anywhere but their eyes. I justify it by the money I give elsewhere and the time I spend on projects like Campus Kitchen. But that still does not detract from the fact that this man or woman – right here, right now, right in front of me – is a fellow member of the human race who is hungry and that I have the resources to help.

So shame on me. Shame on me for projecting my stereotypes onto them. Shame on me for assuming the worst. Shame on me for walking by and ignoring the suffering right in front of me. Shame on me for allowing myself to get so overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the issue that I choose to ignore it. What kind of holy woman am I?

 

the lady can only do so much

I think it was about 52 hours that we spent in Addis Ababa – far too short. We were supposed to have a few more hours, but United Airlines conspired against that. However, the short time was wonderful. Full of that great balance between activity and rest, a taste of another culture and – most importantly – a brief time spent exploring the life of our dear friends.

Arriving in the morning on Monday the 13 of July, Mama Gokcen picked us up at the airport and met Wendi, their faithful bodyguard/driver. After a quick shower to freshen up, we immediately went to the CURE International Hospital to see Dr. Gokcen.   There, we got to watch a few minutes of a surgery.

I want to pause here and expound on the surgery that we watched. It was for a twenty year old girl who had clubbed feet. She had spent her whole life walking on the outside of her ankles – painfully creating calluses and not being able to fully engage in life. With the quick removal of an extra section of bone and some deft stitches, Dr. Gokcen and his team were able to give this girl a new version of reality. It’s breathtaking when you think about it. The only reason that this girl was subjected to this life in the first place was because she was born in a country without proper care for newborns. In developed countries, her situation would have been fixed quickly and painlessly at birth. So, in so many ways, the work of CURE is the work of equalizing the world.

After that brief stop at CURE, we made our way to one of Mama Gokcen’s favorite activities, a Sisters of Charity orphanage in Addis. A large, sprawling compound, it held hundreds of beds for vulnerable persons in Addis. It was there that we met Mohammed – but he gets a whole separate blog later.

The rest of that first day was filled with learning about life in Addis. For instance, the Gokcen’s house looses power every other day from 6:30am to 10:30pm. All vegetables and fruits have to be rinsed, bleached and then rinsed again before consumption. The internet only chooses to work at certain times and all communication is completely government controlled. The only place to get soy sauce that won’t cost you $8 is the U.S. Embassy’s commissary and the Gokcens are plotting ways to get in.

Tuesday included a visit to a local feeding program that serves approximately 1,000 hungry persons in Addis every lunch time. Each person needs a ticket to get in and the tickets are sold in packets. For instance, Mrs. Gokcen always has packets of tickets in her car and as she encounters beggars on the street, she hands them a ticket. It’s a guaranteed hot meal. The people file in and sit on concrete benches at long concrete tables. Volunteers pass out bowls of ndjiri (the main Ethiopian staple) and lentils. As one table finishes, the slop on the tables is collected into “the leftover bucket” – the contents of which are served to the last people to show up.

The feeding program (and the orphanage, for that matter) created a difficult question within me. They were clearly serving a lot of people – the sheer number at each place is daunting. Thousands of people given hot meals or safe beds. And I do not want to take away from the excellence of that fact. In a city of abject poverty and a lack of accessible resources, that statement is wonderful. However – neither place seemed to maintain the inherent dignity of the clients being served. It appeared that each client was a faceless entity that filled a bed or held a bowl.

I do not want to detract from the service – the act itself is excellent. It’s just a question I have. Even in places of intense and overwhelming need – is quality something we can loose in sight of quantity? Which is most important? To put it in social work terms – which value is most important: maintaining the dignity of the client, or serving the client’s most basic need? Clearly, the NASW answer is that both should be accomplished at all times. But what happens when one is at tension with another?

But I digress …

We all stayed up late into the evening on Tuesday (after an excellent meal), hoping against hope to make the most of our short time together. Thankfully, the Gokcens are back in the States for August, so we’ll be able to see them in Yardley. On Wednesday morning, Dad and I boarded our flight to Lilongwe and all of the adventures to be had there.

 

the one with the great purse caper

There are so many stories to tell of my journey through Africa and I will certainly tell them. Stories of healing and laughter, stories of hard leadership decisions and easy ones, stories of phoenixes rising out of the proverbial African ashes.  And those stories will all come in time. However, the one that is my story to tell is the story of the Great Purse Caper of 2009.

The short version is that my purse was stolen out of my hotel room by the hotel’s security guard. After 14 short hours, some industrious neighbors returned it to me – contents in tact.

However, the actual story is much cooler.

I discovered the purse missing at around 9:45 on Friday night. We immediately notified the owner who notified the police. After much panicking and profanity on my part, we began to realize all of the contents of the purse and how its absence would dramatically affect our trip. All of our Malawian currency was in there. My passport and drivers license were both in there, along with my journal and the book I was reading. The most important, though, was that both of my digital cameras were in the bag – memory cards full of the photographs that I had taken so far.  The loss of the camera was a palpable grief. Most of my personal responsibilities on this trip revolve around obtaining pictures for UPI’s use throughout the year and I was not sure what I was going to do for the remainder of the trip.

We made plans to head to the Embassy on Monday morning for a new passport and I called my mother to call my bank and cancel all of my cards. When the police arrived (six men pouring out of a truck carrying large guns – ie, things that would not happen in Waco), we answered their thorough questions. The owner (Hakim) and his manager (Fred) also both quickly got personally involved. The next three hours are a blur. Chichewa and English both flying around as we all tried to piece together the story. While Hakim stayed here to take care of things, Fred piled in the van with the police to go chase after the culprit.

(One of my favorite moments of that was when the largest policeman – around my age and with a large Uzi – put his hand on my shoulder and quietly said “My country is not like this.” I assured him that I didn’t believe it was.)

Around 1:45am, they reported back to us that they had been unable to find him. However, they assured us that as soon as the sun was up, they would begin again. They requested that we went to the police station as soon as it was open in order to give our statement. They assured us that my bag would be found. Skeptical but thankful for their intense involvement, we went to sleep around 2.

(Side Bar: During the evening, we all came up with our favorite theories as to what happened. They ranged from legitimate – like how the culprit probably used a wire hanger to jimmy open the lock – to the completely ridiculous. My absolute favorite ridiculous one involves a geiko who crawled into my room, morphed into a giant hippo who swallowed my purse and then morphed back into a geiko to escape. Thank you, Lindsey and Andy for that wonderment.)

Waking up again at 7 for the walk to the police station, my dad and I sat in the police headquarters for that section of Lilongwe and gave our story again. The captain of the Criminal Investigation Department assured me that they would get the bag back – if not by today then definitely by Monday when we were scheduled to leave Lilongwe for another part of Malawi.

We made it clear – over and over – that the camera was full of pictures of children who had been orphaned and we were trying to use the pictures to raise money to help them live. The policemen were all appalled that we – who were trying to help their country – had been violated by a fellow citizen. They thanked us for helping their children and resolved to return my belongings to me.

Upon arrival back at the hotel, we ran into Fred – who was still visibly angry at the events that had transpired. He vehemently told us that he would have my bag back to me today. “I know his father. If we cannot find him, we will squeeze his father until he locates him. I will not let you continue to suffer,” he told me over and over again. I thanked him over and over again for his involvement and his commitment to getting this taken care of and then went into the house to eat breakfast and get started with my day.

It was around 10:30 in the morning and I was in the midst of a meeting with Chikondi. Fred came to find me and summon me to up to the owner’s house. Hakim’s wife was standing there with a large grin on her face, pointing to my purse! “Is this yours?” She asked, almost giggling. I shrieked and ran, pulling open my purse to discover that everything that had been taken (besides our Malawian currency) was returned! The cameras, my passport, everything!

After jubilantly running back to the room where my team was and showing everyone that the prodigal purse had returned, we began to piece together the story of what had transpired.

Originally, Fred and Hakim had two suspects – the guard and a young boy who served as the cook. Upon locating the guard, Hakim insisted that the police throw him in jail for the evening and then the police took off to question the cook. When they did not find him, they notified his uncles that they were looking for the boy. The uncles then got involved – especially upon realizing that while the boy was not involved in the crime, he was also not where he was supposed to be. When they found out that he had gone out drinking, they immediately told Hakim to dock his pay until he had been sufficiently punished for his poor decisions. When they came to the hotel on Saturday morning to tell Hakim this, they also joined the search for the bag.

In the mean time, the guard was behind bars and his placement as prime suspect kept increasing as he kept changing his story. Fred then became convinced that the bag was near the property and – with the help of the cook’s uncles – began a thorough search for the bag. Upon locating it (buried under some brush behind a tree nearby) they returned it directly to me.

There are a few pretty amazing things to note in this story – besides the bag being miraculously returned. The bag was found simply because of the behavior of ordinary Malawians. Yes, the police were involved and helped in the big picture. The thief will be punished for his crime and they played their role in that. However, multiple people who had no obligation to help me whatsoever are the ones who gave up their time and their energy to search for the bag of this random mzungu.

Their involvement and dedication speaks to me intensely of the character of the Malawian people. They refer to their country as the “Warm Heart of Africa” and this incident only speaks to that. The staff of the hotel were grieved and angered by the incident and their decisions and actions honor me.

In a random side note – when my dad and I were in the police station to give our report, we were talking about the organizations here that we’re working with and how they help vulnerable children and those who had been orphaned. The chief’s response? Pointing to the others in the room, he quietly intoned, “We are all orphans”. More on that – and all matters involving realities in Malawi – in a later blog.