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The Pursuit of Hope in Global Health

By Esnatt Gondwe

My brother in-law recently shared this quote with me:

“Hope is not the conviction that something will end well, but that it makes sense, no matter how it ends.”Vaclav Havel 

When I read this quote, it made me think about my fellowship year.  Before starting the fellowship I didn’t know what to expect. I entered the fellowship year with hope, faith, and excitement, but each of these emotions has been challenged over the course of these first six months. My hope was challenged by the question of whether the health care system in Malawi will ever evolve; my faith was challenged when I was exposed to darker sides of people and the complexities of working with them, and my excitement was challenged by high ranking individuals who found it hard to accommodate innovation and creativity. Throughout the first six months I had hope that all the challenges we faced would be resolved, and they were. But hope should not only end at the belief that challenges will be resolved, it should transcend to the understanding that even if the resolution does not happen in the way we had hoped, it is still the best possible outcome.

I like to control situations. It gives me a sense of security. Every day I learn that control stops you from growing in hope, because it forces you to put conditions around how a situation should evolve, whereas hope requires you to be more flexible.  There are certain things I can change today, and there are certain things that will have to be taken on by someone else. Control pushes me to want to do it all, but hope provides me with the knowledge that I can’t do everything, and that someday resolutions will come even if I am not directly involved.

We were recently coordinating a fundraising drive for Bwalila Hospital’s Maternity Ward- a very busy, underserved, community hospital in Malawi. We were able to raise money for some items, but while we were placing an order for mattresses, it hit me that there would not be enough matresses for all the women in the maternity ward. This realization filled me with a great sense of sadness and  failure.

I forgot the victory of being able to get some money to buy items for the hospital, and focused on the fact that it didn’t cover all the needs.  I have now learnt that it is necessary to look at what needs to be done, but it is essential to accompany that with looking at what has already been achieved.

We are currently in the processes of writing a proposal for a partner organization that has shown interest to provide the hospital with a grant to cover the remaining needs after the fundraising drive. This may or may not work out, but I have realized that I do not have control over the outcome. I can assist and play a key role, but I cannot guarantee the end result. What I can guarantee however, is that in all the work I do this year, I will give my all, and that will be enough.

We can all collectively strive to carry hope for the future- hope that everything will work out, and hope that however it works out will make sense and will be for the best!

Mid year Retreat
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Telling Our Stories, Raising Our Voices

A man far wiser and braver than I once said: “there will be times when we will be powerless to prevent injustice but let never be a time when we fail to protest.”

The reason I am busy doing something every day of my life is because it keeps me in balance. In everything we have talked about during the GHC quarter workshops beginning from the orientation at Yale training, quarter one workshop, mid-year retreat (and likely at Q3 and the close out retreat) there has been some kind of balance. It’s just nature. In nature there is balance and in that balance there is justice. This is in addition to what my upbringing holds. These are virtues I have believed all my life so far and have been amplified by this community. My mother and the environment taught me most of it as she always refused to be broken in the hardest places. She died 5 years ago; she never even had any better health care system apart from the poorly supplied public hospitals and clinics. I remember her being given a 6 months appointment at University Teaching Hospital (UTH).

She underwent a crucial moment and I knew she was never going to make it. One minute she was talking to me and the next second she was gone. And then she died. The last thing she said to me while dying on my lap at home, not at a hospital, was “take care of each other son”. But maybe I need to start thinking about how to forgive the government, governing system, UTH and the doctor(s) for failing the health system in Zambia where people die anyhow for lack of proper medical care. The question is how many people out there die every day because there is no proper justice, because they can’t afford proper medical care. Where is the justice system?

Four years later I lost my dad. The day I found out dad was dying was like any other day. I was sitting in my office working when the doctor called. My first reaction was panic as I was told he had cancer of almost everything. I reached the cancer research building to try and help them find a cure for what was going to kill my dad in less than two months. But I realized right then that there was no use. It was too late. And so I just stood outside the door and got angry. I hated God with a passion for doing this to me. Everything that was dear to me came to an end that day. I lost my friends who I pushed away, I blamed my brothers and sisters, and I went completely broken all within minutes. Just as Pastor Nemoellor came out of the Nazi death camp to say,

“They came after the Jews, and I was not a Jew, so, I did not protest. They came after the trade unionists, and I was not a trade unionist, so, I did not protest. Then they came after the Roman Catholics, and I was not a Roman Catholic, so, I did not protest. Then they came after me, and there was no one left to protest.”

As stated in the opening statement, we have a right, even a duty, to protest against unjust laws and systems which support the status quo that violate the freedoms of the voiceless in our societies, our mothers, fathers, grandparents and even the posterity to come. The first lady has been championing funding for cancer research but I hold nothing against anyone anymore because I don’t want to go to my grave holding bitterness in my heart towards anyone. Today I have set aside prejudice and politics to make room for compassion and sound policy.

I have many stories but this one fits the scenario. When Golden Wilson’s daughter was wounded by a bomber – his daughter’s dying words were “I love you so much dad”. At the hospital, he chose something unexpected; he chose to publicly forgive the bombers for killing his only daughter. And when he forgave them, others who had lost loved ones took a step back and it changed the course of relations for everyone. The bitterness ended and the war almost came to a close.

We still have war, famine, hunger, ailments because very few are willing to stand up because very few have learned to love and feel empathy, to empower others to stand up for their constitutional rights in the midst of intimidation; we have stood looking while our friends have suffered victimization, humiliation, and loss of employment all because they have protested for the rights of “us”. All of us are the world’s problems and until we look into the mirror and see ourselves as the problems we are never going to get anywhere. And so it is easy to develop anger, frustration, and hate for those who either hurt us or hurt our loved ones, but it’s much harder and much more significant to take a stand and start being an answer to the world’s problems. Isn’t this what my mother and father would have wanted to see me do?

In December 2013, the Zambian government dismissed over 100 nurses at the biggest hospital in the country (http://www.lusakatimes.com/2013/12/03/100-nurses-uth-fired/) for protesting against what they purported as poor working conditions. We are told many patients who entirely relied on the poor hospital and clinic conditions died; women gave birth on the floors of the clinics and hospitals, and men and women who were on oxygen supported machines suffocated to death. Whether the nurses were right to demand an improvement in their conditions of service in this manner that resulted in the death of so many patients is for you to judge, and whether the government too was right to punish this huge number of nurses considering Zambia has an abnormal patient nurse ratio, is for you again to judge.

I have no problem with anyone finding an appropriate definition of who Ladislas is, but the question I have for you is who are you? What will you stand for? Is there any meaning you have found to life? What are you willing to still live for today? If you define me as a frustrated and disgruntled young man who has lost his mind for civil and social justice; it is fine. I will live with that tag. You get to choose your choices. If you will try to stop me as I pursue this path, I will surely disappoint you. But if you join hands with me, I will welcome you, and together we shall sound the loudest trumpet that will break the loudest silence of civil and social injustice, for we are all equal but simply different. As the saying goes, “If you want to go fast, walk alone, if you want to go far, walk together; also nothing extraordinary is achieved through ordinary means”. Surely with this global movement for social justice, I am not alone and together, we will reach far.

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Guest of Honor

At the age of fifteen I very much wanted to be an important person in the community. Think of those given front row seats labeled ‘reserved’ at functions, escorted to the front in case they took seats in the back, the ones who were given a microphone to speak last.  And they seemed to have all the answers; they moved with so much esteem and displayed a high level of authority. When I grew up, I wanted to be a “guest of honor”. Today I can say I have achieved my dream, though I’ve taken another direction in understanding who a “guest of honor ” really is.

After college I trained as an orthopedic officer, not any where near my dream as I was still never labeled as “important” to the community. I was always some where in the hospital fixing broken bones and back aches. I wanted to be a part of the prevention team so we could have fewer cases to manage. I also wanted the few people coming to the hospitals to receive quality services. I then headed to Health Services Management.

During my training as a Health Manager, I realized that my dream of being more important was finally headed towards achievement. I still saw many people coming to the hospital for preventable diseases, and realized that some people didn’t have access to proper services due to issues such as proximity to their geographical locations and scarcity in human resources. “I won’t be important until this is rectified,” I told myself. But how was I able to do this knowing that I am just one individual, not any where near the policy makers, the “important” people, the guest of honor?

One lovely day, I got a newspaper and Global Health Corps was advertising. They seemed to have solutions to all the issues I dreamed to solve in my endeavor to become “important”. In practical ways they talked about mobilizing  young leaders with diverse professions all working toward health equity. I immediately knew that if I got to be a part of this team, my dream would be achieved. This is my dream team.

It has been 6 months since i joined this team, and I am happy. I know that I am as important as the guest of honor. I don’t have to be at the front, or have any major introduction. I now feel like a winner; I am a winner, being a part of a winning team makes me a winner. I am proud to be a fellow.

Being here has taught me practical ways to influence the health sector in my own community and country at large. The trainings I have received have given me good insight. I’m concentrating on attaining all the knowledge and skills I need to better public health and global health. I am doing my part, but what about you? This is indeed a great way to become a “Guest of Honor”.

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The Role of the Community in Reducing Vulnerability Among Children

It has been six months now since I started my quality improvement work with URC USAID-ASSIST project Uganda. I joined the project in August 2013 as a Global Health Corps fellow working under the Orphans and Vulnerable Children (OVC) program. The USAID –ASSIST OVC program aims to improve the quality of services offered to OVC by USAID funded Civil Society Organizations (CSO’s). The program also works hand in hand with the Ministry of Gender Labor and Social Development (MGLSD) – the Ministry charged with children and gender affairs in Uganda. Together, the MGLSD and the ASSIST OVC program aim to reduce vulnerability among the OVC through ensuring that quality services are provided by both the CSO’s and  government programs directed to ASSISTOVC. The program is currently being piloted in the four districts of Rukungiri – Western Uganda, Mukono – Central Uganda, Busia – Eastern Uganda, and Amuru district in Northern Uganda.

There is a lot of work being done with the partners to improve the quality of services they provide, but my major interest is on how we have been able to work with the community and government structures to improve the quality of services provided to the OVC. When I joined the ASSIST project, the OVC program was at its inception. We were still trying to figure out how we could improve OVC service delivery and also ensure that the right services were given to the right children. After a couple of consultations, we realized that there was a Sub-county Orphans and Vulnerable Children Committee (SOVCC) at every sub-county which was charged with children issues. The problem was that this committee was too small to monitor OVC in the entire sub-county. We then realized that having other Child Protection Committees (CPC’s) at the village level would be more significant in impacting the community. We supported these communities to form CPC’s.

These committees were charged with:

  • Identifying and registering OVC households
  • Identifying OVC needs
  • Mobilizing the community to vet the identified children
  • Providing services to the vetted OVC for the needs they can meet
  • Reporting to the SOVCC so it can match the vetted children with service providers like the government and other non- governmental organizations to assess the needs the community cannot handle.

We have since then been working with these committees to ensure that they come up with a comprehensive list of OVC and their needs in each village. This list is then shared with the Community Development Officer (CDO) at the sub county. We coach these committees every month, help them identify gaps, and also suggest solutions for the challenges they face.

A number of advantages have been realized as we work with these communities:

  • Communities are now responsible for their children. They have come to appreciate that the children belong in the community and the community members have to work together to improve their children’s lives.
  • We have also realized an increase in the number of children who are going back to school. This is partly because the CPC members have sensitized parents on the importance of education and have encouraged parents to take children back to school rather than sending them to farms and gardens to cultivate.
  • Finally, there has been a shift in child protection. With the presence of the Child Protection Committees (CPC’s) in the villages, abused children have been able to find a safe haven in these committees and many of these cases are starting to move up to the sub- county level police to begin the justice process.

We keep seeing a lot of improvements happening in the communities where we operate, and we are working hand in hand with the government structures so improvement practices can take root and be spread to other communities.

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Does Aid Work? Is That the Right Question?

A group of young professionals working in the international development industry sat down to discuss questions that have been debated for years by academics and practitioners such as Jeffrey Sachs, Dambisa Moyo, and Bill Easterly. Have international development organizations been successful? Does foreign aid work? The young professionals launched into a lively debate, with some defending aid as a worthwhile investment that has improved the lives of millions of people living in poor countries, and others condemning it for causing dependence and breeding corruption.

With traditional donor countries in North America and Western Europe facing budget constraints, the debate over the effectiveness of aid is likely to intensify. But before this issue is debated, we need to first establish what the purpose of aid is, how the impact of aid and international development organizations should be evaluated, and what types and amounts of assistance are most beneficial in each circumstance.

Firstly, aid and other development assistance can serve two general purposes. One of these purposes is not to turn poor countries into rich countries. The process of development is incredibly complex, and often involves the complete political, economic, and social (and sometimes cultural) transformation of a nation and its people.  There is still much debate on the causes of development, but in my opinion, domestic governments, businesses, and social groups, not foreign donors, are the driving forces of development.

What aid can do is to a) contribute to the process of development through small, yet important contributions at key moments to feed a virtuous circle, or b) help to relieve the suffering caused by extreme poverty. Contributions that spark a virtuous circle may include the transfer of technology or training that improves agricultural productivity, lays the foundation for start-up businesses, or drastically improves the ability of government ministries to do their jobs. The additional income from agriculture or a new industry, or better public management could lead to better policy, increased economic growth, and eventually development and poverty reduction. Interventions that relieve the suffering of the poor include the elimination of infectious diseases, programs to improve and expand education, and micro-lending to help poor people start small businesses. In one example of this type of aid, I am working on a program to reduce the burden of Elephantiasis and other tropical diseases in Latin America as part of my GHC fellowship at the Inter-American Development Bank.

Now that we have defined the purpose of foreign aid, we need to change the way aid is evaluated. The effectiveness of assistance programs should be measured on an individual basis through randomized trials and other evaluation techniques. Policy-makers should ask if each program has achieved their objective: Has it created a virtuous circle of development? Has it relieved the suffering of the extreme poor? Foreign aid should not be evaluated based on how many countries “graduate” from poor to developed. Aid alone cannot achieve such an ambitious goal, and that is not its purpose.

Finally, understanding the purpose of aid should make it easier to determine what type of foreign assistance should be deployed in which context. I argue that aid to spur a virtuous circle should be reserved for countries that are poor yet relatively stable. The virtuous circle of development requires a peaceful and somewhat orderly environment that would allow local businesses and the government to take advantage of foreign assistance. Very poor, conflict-ridden countries and middle-income countries should only receive aid meant to relieve the suffering of the extreme poor. Conflict-prone, wildly unorganized countries are unlikely to be able to benefit from transfer of technology or capacity building. Middle-income countries already have strong and growing economies and capable civil servants, and do not need transfers of technology and capacity building. Aid can still be used, however, to improve the lives of poor and marginalized populations that are not benefiting from economic growth.

Hopefully the next round of debates on the “success of international aid” will start with a discussion on the purpose, types, and limitations of aid.

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Living Your Story

While reflecting on 2013 over the past couple weeks, I took some time to review my blog posts from my time last year as a GHC fellow in Rwanda. This is a post from about 8 months into my fellowship experience and right after my birthday (with some new alterations to post here). Looking at it now, I want to share with those considering applying for this fellowship. Hopefully it will inspire you to click submit.

(From March 2013) I’ve taken a couple weeks since my birthday to reflect on the challenges I’ve faced and progress I’ve made over the last year. Over a year ago, a friend of mine loaned me a book by Donald Miller – A Million Miles in a Thousand Years. I was at a low point in my short life thus far – busy working retail to pay [some of] the bills while receiving rejection letters frequently from applications to numerous global health opportunities. I had my newly earned MPH in hand, but none would have me. As the rejections rolled in, I slowly lost sight of my passion and slumped into a cycle of eat-sleep-couch potato-sell clothes. A far cry from my high expectations out of graduate school, I gained weight, lost hope, distracted myself from my convictions of serving the poor by shopping on my lunch breaks (hmm…I know, right?), and slowly realized how much of my self identity was dependent on external factors.

When I started reading this book, I identified strongly with the author, who also had lost sight of his story. He asks hard questions from the beginning: “What’s your story? Are you hiding from it or living it? What if the story burning inside you, if lived, could dramatically influence the lives of others?” As I read, a small shudder rose inside of me. The author talked about taking the risk to live your story by first willingly participating in it, saying “we have to force ourselves to create these scenes. We have to get up off the couch and turn the television off…” and be open to new experiences. Pretty soon that feeling grew and revealed its true form: full blown fear. I put the book down and couldn’t make myself go back to it. I dismissed it with the thought that I couldn’t dramatically influence the lives of others – and I certainly couldn’t see myself creating a scene in which I would even get the opportunity to if I couldn’t even get a job in my field. These lies failed to overshadow the deep truth I knew inside me, that something was coming – an open door that I would have to go through to shake myself loose from the rut and dive into my story. It was too frightening to think about, so I locked it away.

I stumbled upon the GHC fellowship and was excited by the inspiration of others making a difference, and given a chance to grow as leaders in the field. I applied, knowing it was a great fit for me, but still excusing the act with the thought that just as every other fellowship and job application, this too would never amount to anything. But something was slightly different this time. I felt scared by the prospect of applying to this one. I felt invested in it too. I cared deeply about my answers to the application – much more than others I had previously written, and I realized I was taking this application much more seriously than others. The thought that I had dreamed of working in Africa for the past 10 years crossed my mind over and over again. Could this be that the time had finally come?

When I clicked the ‘submit application’ button, that fear briefly surfaced again, but I dismissed it and went on with my day. Soon I found myself in the midst of interviewing, as a semi-finalist, finalist, and finally was offered the fellowship. At each phase of the process in moving towards the opportunity of Rwanda, both confidence and surprise equally grew within me. They would consider me? I was good enough? Maybe I really could make a difference?

The moment I got the offer email, the fear I had pushed down for those many months reared its ugly head. Instead of celebrating, I frantically called my friend crying. All of the work paid off and my excitement for the adventure ahead was cast aside by the overwhelming fear of facing my unknown story. This was the chapter of my story I knew had been coming for years – the part where Tiffany moves to Africa. My friend calmed me down, and celebrated for me on the other end of the phone. “Don’t you realize this is what you’ve been dreaming of and working towards? You’re finally here!” she said. The right door had finally opened, and yet I found myself at a loss for how to proceed.

It was in that instant that I realized I had a choice – one that I had been making all along without ever noticing it. I could turn the other direction, hide from my fear and sabotage myself from living out my story. Or I could face it head on, trust that I wouldn’t be abandoned in the darkness of the unknown and welcome the opportunity. I went back to Miller’s book that day, and this time I actually opened it again. I reread and noticed an important point I dismissed before. He says “fear isn’t only a guide to keep us safe; it’s also a manipulative emotion that can trick us into living a boring life.” I was afraid – but the reality was that I was bored, much more so than I was afraid. Once I was able to accept this truth, I knew there was no going back.

The power of a story – of my story, the story of global health equity, the story of branching out my experience to overcome my singular stories of others and of Africa- has been an ever continuing theme in my life since then.

I now am the willing participant instead of the victim in my ever growing story. Each day I conquer the fear of the unknown, the uncomfortable, and the inconvenient and eagerly shape my story as a leader in global health equity. Even more so, now I actively plan it, and feel equipped by the knowledge and skills gained in this fellowship experience to do so. I don’t regret a day of the fellowship, and neither will you. My year as a GHC fellow was much more than just a professional success for me. The fellowship also focused on interior formation and intellectual exploration, which equally prepared me to successfully contribute to the global health equity movement. Miller reiterates that “good stories don’t happen by accident… They are planned.” Though I know I can’t plan everything and there is a lot of unpredictability I can’t control, I am laying plans with an open heart and a willingness to serve.

So click submit. For a new adventure and a great opportunity for growth. You may even pick up some amazing friends along the way. I know I did.

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Havel Plays

Lest one brook misapprehension at nomothetic developments in Kampala, the government of Uganda must rightly attend to myriad problems that indeed do pose serious threat to the diverse and growing populace it represents.

Despite the country’s well-publicized success in reducing HIV/AIDS prevalence since the 1980s, Uganda continues to suffer among the highest rates of this and many other communicable diseases. So too does it face a growing burden of noncommunicable disease which has accompanied sometimes tepid and often uneven economic growth. On the security front, the successful campaign to evict warlord Joseph Kony’s militia has been tempered by the specter of civil war in South Sudan and the Democratic Republic of the Congo (to the north and west) and terrorist attacks in Tanzania and Kenya (to the south and east).

The Ugandan people should be commended for their ability to bear all forms of hardship with a steadfast “tofayo” (“don’t worry” in the Luganda language). At the least, they deserve a government that maintains a stalwart defense of basic human rights in light of innumerable hardships. They deserve political plays that champion personal freedom. They deserve investment plays that promise sustainable prosperity. They deserve Havel plays.

Václav Havel, the Czech playwright, leader, and humanist, was masterful in making the kind of moves that helped his country emerge from decades of unmet potential. As adept as he was at crafting theatrical plays, he was equally skilled at making political plays advancing human rights, democracy, and a pragmatic approach to sustainable development. These are the kind of plays the Ugandan people need.

(A bright equatorial day in Kampala and an idyllic early winter morning in Prague. Original Photos.)

Splendidly perched above an important inland waterway, Kampala can and should become to East Africa what Havel’s Prague became to Central Europe: a symbol of not only aesthetic beauty, but also freedom, peace, and prosperity. Development along this path is most effectively supported by the kinds of human rights guarantees that Havel advanced, from healthcare to economic rights to political freedoms.

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13

It’s 2014….already?

I can’t even begin to discern (says the good Jesuit in me) what 2013 was or the ways in which it changed me.

But, here’s what I may have learned in 2013…

1. Kindness is the most important currency the world has to offer.

As I have wandered into places far from my home and radically different from what I have known, the kindness and love of others has always made me feel at peace in spite of chaos, difference, and discomfort. Be it the man on the bus from Kasese who shared with me his peanuts that he bought with the only 100 shilling coin he had left to his name or the love of my neighbors who sat with me for hours as I learned to hand-wash my clothes, secretly re-washing everything once I left. We often get blindsided by pettiness, tasks, or time and forget that kindness and love towards others is the ultimate goal in this world.

2. Capitalism isn’t so bad.

I was right alongside the 99% in protesting Wall Street and I still fundamentally believe in equity, the need to correct structural injustices, and the power of community—but I also believe in the power of business. I believe business can move people from subsistence to profitability, impacting educational attainment, gender equity, and health in profound ways. I believe that while charity is in theory, business is good in practice even among the poorest of the poor. Capitalism, if practiced with others in mind, isn’t so bad. So maybe we can have a soul and still be corporate…

3. The best way to see the world is by foot.

In the last year I have travelled across countries and continents by plane, train, automobile…and foot. The cities I love the best and the places and people I’ve felt most connected to I’ve met when wandering by foot–they are the places where I can tell you the smell, the feel, and the taste of the air.

Be it my treks through the highest mountains in Africa, my meandering through the spice markets of Zanzibar, or my strolls through the broken and bustling streets of Uganda, I have seen places off the beaten path that would otherwise be hidden behind the bus windows or missed entirely from the heights of a plane.

4. Women deserve better.

I have always been a feminist of sorts–a fervent believer in women and their power. I have tried to be incredibly sympathetic to the different cultures and beliefs of women across the globe, understanding their practices as often empowering instead of limiting. I have had conversations with my Ugandan colleagues on why women must marry, sport skirts below their knee, and wear burkas.

And while I do understand differences, I still think women deserve more. Women do not deserve to be beaten by their husbands no matter how pervasive or accepted it is. Women deserve the right to family planning, education, and menstrual pads. Women deserve respect and, more importantly, self-respect. Women simply deserve better–period.

5. Cooking (and cakes!) create community.

From Uganda to Kenya, the single-handed strongest force in uniting people I have witnessed has been cooking. Be it slaughtering a goat to celebrate newcomers, or cake lessons among friends, cooking creates community. I stand by the fact that most of my friends in Uganda came as a result of my cakes.

In Kenya, our bi-weekly “family dinners” create a space for intentional time together among my neighbors and my colleagues. Everyone loves food–it’s the easiest way to bridge cultures and build community.

6. Color matters.

As the late, great Nelson Mandela said, “No one of born hating another person because the color of his skin or his background or his religion. People must learn to hate.” While I agree with Mandela wholeheartedly, I do believe we still learn to hate. As much as we are beyond an era of blatant discrimination, we still very much see in black and white. And color still matters.

Racism is alive and well, perpetuated both by those that benefit as a result of it, and equally by those disempowered by it. I hope we, particularly development practitioners and those communities they serve, can one day move beyond a doctrine of black and white and instead be “taught to love” as Mandela says, “for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite.” For now, however, we cannot ignore the fact that color does matter whether we want to recognize it or not.

7. Love letters should always exist.

Be it a love letter to a friend, a person we admire, or a lover, love letters express what we often fail to say to the people we care about–that they are loved. Enough said. Write some.

8. We create suffering.

One of the most profound realizations I have had in the last year is that we create suffering. This is not to say profound human physical suffering does not exist. I have met women who walked 6 miles while in labor, only to arrive at health centers and lose their babies in birth or families who lost all of their children to AIDS.

But their suffering does not startle me in the way I would expect. And it is not because it isn’t horrific—it is—but it is because they embody a level of resilience and optimism that does not allow for sympathy. They are not defined by their tragedy, but by their ability to thrive in spite of such tragedy. They laugh more than most, candidly speaking of their history and struggle. The people I see suffer the most are people who internally continue to torture themselves, debilitating themselves by ideas, philosophies, or circumstances out of their control. Circumstance does not create sadness, we do.

9. If you believe in securing the future of our earth and our citizenry, you must believe in family planning.

If we want to empower women–provide family planning. If we want to improve the health of our citizenry–provide family planning. If we want to improve educational attainment–provide family planning. If we want to reduce unsafe abortions–provide family planning. If we want to prevent maternal and child deaths—provide family planning. If we want to improve food security–provide family planning.

10. Dancing makes life better.

I have never been one to love dancing. I do it (poorly), but often out of circumstance rather than desire. But seeing everyone from five year old girls to their 80 year old grandmothers dance without a care of who is watching, I cannot help but feel dancing is a necessity. It makes life better. I wish we all danced more often and without a care in the world. I think we’d be happier human beings.

11. Our actions define our values, not our titles or our talk.

From the government of Uganda to the aid workers I’ve met, the single greatest failure of us all is that we do not walk the walk. We talk the talk (quite well!), but often fail to embody our values in our actions, relegating that to our words and rhetoric. If we truly believe in respecting the dignity and potential of all people as we so fervently preach, we owe it to the children on the street corner to reply when they yell out to greet us or spend our time supporting the people who we believe in. It is not enough to use lofty rhetoric or live our values just from 9-5, we have to be cognizant of the fact that our actions speak much louder than our words.

12. ““There is no passion to be found playing small – in settling for a life that is less than the one you are capable of living.”

A.K.A Do it up big. Thanks, Mandela.

13. Laughter is always necessary–in good times and bad.

I have never been a person with a hearty and infectious laugh. In fact, my high school nickname was “ice queen” for my harsh demeanor. But in recent times, I have laughed more genuinely and more often than in the entire last decade of my life. I have laughed in moments of crisis, for no reasons at all, with others, and in the most frustrating and saddening moments I could imagine.

I have learned from those people I’ve been surrounded by (insert: Rehema) that laughter cures almost everything. We should all take ourselves a little less seriously–we’re not that important after all–and find time to simply laugh, in the good times and, more importantly, the bad times.

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Mental Health and Illness: At home and abroad

Nick Kristof really hit the nail on the head in his Sunday column in the New York Times “First Up, Mental Illness. Next Topic Is Up to You,” where he called out mental illness as one of the major issues systematically neglected to be given the seriousness and attention it deserves.

Mental illness is still the black sheep of the health world, both domestically and internationally. Like Kristof mentioned, the only time mental health comes up in American public discourse is in reaction to analyzing a human atrocity, usually a mass shooting or serial killer, only further stigmatizing it as a disease “crazy” people suffer from.

It will always be unclear to me as to why we give so much attention to diagnosing and treating physical ailments and forget that the brain is a physical part of the human body, and needs to be taken seriously and treated accordingly.

And just as it is neglected in domestic conversations on health, it is also a last priority in international health work. At the risk of sounding crass, what is the point of pouring all these resources into keeping people alive without also making sure they can go on to live full lives? This is particularly true when treating people living with and coping with life-long diseases like HIV.

This struggle was a theme I noticed over and over again while working with a group of youth living with HIV in Malawi. Yes, it was great that they were able to access antiretroviral treatment, certainly a huge improvement from only a few years ago when even that wasn’t widely available, but that is still not good enough. I explored some of the issues they face in my blog post from 2012, Psychological effects of being born with HIV for emerging adolescents, where it was clear that so many of the adolescents I worked with were suffering from depression and anxiety.

There are few organizations or institutions who measure the number of people suffering from mental illness in developing countries and suicide goes mostly undocumented. It is as though we think that depression and other mental illnesses are diseases only suffered by the privileged, who pay $250 a therapy session. But as far as I’m concerned, if we are going to care for people, we need to care for the whole package, not just pick and choose. The human mind is just as vulnerable as the human body, and both are equally as important to provide care for.

In response to the deficit of mental health providers in Malawi, I helped found an organization called Teen Support Line that focuses on providing psychosocial support for adolescents living with HIV. While we are focusing on a specific demographic, what we’ve found is indicative of what all people need to live mentally healthy lives – someone to talk to; someone who will listen; someone to help them process difficult situations; someone to stand with them; and sometimes medical treatments to target chemical imbalances in the brain. The human mind is just as vulnerable as the human body, and both are equally as important to provide care for, and should be integrated into all treatment plans, no matter where in the world you live.

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A Deadly Dinner

Normally when people talk about global health and, more specifically, environmental health, they tend to focus on the big, flashy threats – floods, droughts, and toxic waste pollution, to name a few. But sometimes the most innocent and hidden/silent of activities can cause the greatest harm.

For the greater part of my life, especially my life in Uganda, I have been touched by how health related effects caused by the traditional (crude) cooking technologies used among the rural folks are taking away our innocent people. In fact, Uganda derives over 90% of its energy needs from biomass – mainly firewood and charcoal. An estimated forest surface of 115 football fields is used for cooking every day – either in the form of firewood or charcoal. Biomass resources are constantly being reduced because people are not replenishing the cut down trees. This will also support increased environment degradation, accelerating global warming, the rate of desertification and subsequently their related health effects. On a global perspective over 40% of the world’s population still burns various forms of biomass to cook – coal, wood, charcoal, and more. The smoke inhalation caused by burning these fuels results in nearly 4 million premature deaths each year, caused by a range of deadly chronic and acute health effects. Diseases like child pneumonia, lung cancer, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, and heart disease plague communities in which mothers and children primarily are regularly exposed to cooking fumes. When you add all those deaths up, a simple act like cooking dinner becomes the fourth greatest risk factor for disease in developing countries.

Traditional/crude cooking technology in one of the primary schools in remote/rural Uganda.

                Improved cooking technology at the same primary school.

Photos provided by; Edward Otim, Program manager/Global Health Corps fellow at USAID-SDS Program.

In addition to these serious health effects, this method of cooking also has serious environmental implications. Traditional cooking fires and stoves are highly inefficient and contribute significantly to the rapid depletion of local natural resources in these areas. This depletion can contribute to climate change thus posing significant health effects including irregular water supply and malaria out breaks as a result of flash floods. Subsequently, this forces rural and impoverished families to resort to drinking the dirty, sediment and parasite laden water that sits in puddles and small pools on the surface of the earth.

The great thing is that there is an incredibly easy solution. Cleaner stoves and high-efficiency stoves as indicated in the above photo are cheap and available to families across the world. The adoption of these cleaner stoves will not only save millions of lives a year, but will also reduce the risk of natural resource depletion and its associated health consequences.

In the meantime, families can work to transition their cooking environments to cleaner and healthier areas by using chimneys, insulated heat cookers, increasing indoor ventilation, and cooking outdoors. While these simple solutions won’t solve every problem, they are an important step towards protecting those in need.

If we are to concretely ensure that global health equity is achieved by all, we should start to re-channel a greater percentage of our efforts to these so called “innocent” and “silent” activities that are eroding a big part of our populace rather than investing all of our focus on the rather obvious causes.