She says….a heart struggle of living here.

*Just a warning that this blog isn’t funny. I’m not falling apart, just struggling with some life issues and keen to share with you, our readers. I’ll follow up with a lighter-hearted one soon :)

Every few weeks I go through a time of noticing my personal wealth and privilege, especially when living in this part of the world. I feeling disturbed by what I deem to be the injustice of me being raised and educated where and how I was, while the girl next door was raised in poverty, fled violence, had no chance to learn about anything other than what she could see, is the mother of 3 kids at 24, illiterate and unemployed, and sees no opportunity for change. Something triggers my thoughts again, I ponder it for a while, maybe discuss it with a friend or two, talk with and read the big man’s words, and then carry on with life, sometimes with a small change in my behaviour. Until the next time my heart lurches and begins grieving again.

Recently, I’ve been feeling quite overwhelmed by it and I reach out here, seeking your support, advice, admonishment, wisdom and whatever comes. We live in a country that is suffering deeply from poverty, oppression, extreme weather, isolation and violence.  Living in a major city (without permission to leave the city), I’m mostly protected from seeing the violence and oppression, but like anyone, I see the news, read books, listen to those who travel to other areas and speak with local friends about it.

I’m always challenged by beggars on the streets. Mothers with young babies, or dirty, half-dressed children who look hungry, seem to suck my heart strings right through the window of the car. The man with no legs who crawls onto the 50 degree road to tap on the car door while I’m waiting at an intersection in my air-conditioned car, with my husband and well-fed puppy. I made a decision a long time ago to not give money to beggars, primarily because I don’t believe it offers any lasting aid or improvement, often because I doubt the money would be used for food, and also because many of the beggars (here) are professional and 'managed' by others. I struggle with my decision when I see people who are obviously limited in their capacity, or even incapable of earning an income, especially in a country where there is no form of welfare and so many widows.  I try to remember to carry food with me, muesli bars and the like to give, but I only remember some of the time. The rest of the time I smile and say sorry, pretend to not see them, quickly pray for them, tell the kids they should be in bed or at school (you’d be amazed at the 8yo kids who wander intersections at 10am during school days or 10pm at night), knot up inside and feel upset.

This week, I was caught by surprise by Him with a new issue.  We have been preparing to go away for a long weekend in Dubai for our wedding anniversary.  We decided to offer a small financial gift to some of His staff to stay at our home and care for Rhodes while we are away. After they kindly agreed, He came to me to ask how we could expect them to feed the dog fresh meat three times a day when the couple can likely only afford to eat meat at home, at most, occasionally. I’ve rarely, if ever, cried with grief over poverty or such issues, but this one knocked me off the ground. This couple is employed by us, earning one of the lowest, but still a reasonable salary for locals (horrifyingly low by our standards), but like many people here, struggling to survive, let alone thrive.  It's a reasonable diet for dogs where we come from,  but how on earth can we justify it here? I don't believe that having a pet is harmful to the millions in poverty….but, what to do, or say?

This dog food drama came on the same day that I had the following comment from a local friend who is a new medical graduate; "I work at a Cardiopulmonary hospital. If someone has a cardiac arrest, we don't try to resuscitate them, they just die. Someone might possibly try a very ineffective, poor technique CPR. The Defibs are usually broken. The likelihood of a cardiac arrest victim surviving is so minimal, of surviving with a quality of life even less, and the family being able to afford ongoing care requirements, next to nothing.” What a place we live. What a world we live in that accepts such inequality, albeit with many attempting to fight and change it. I want to run into that hospital and teach them CPR, pay for the Defibs to be fixed, teach them about rehabilitation, share the love the big man has shown for us and why we should value life etc., but none of that would help the situation, improve or change the fatalistic view of their deity’s will, cause the authorities to provide more money for healthcare. That doesn’t mean I should do nothing. Sure, a little part of me wants to save the world! What if I can save one person? I could perform CPR on someone that consequently leads to his family’s worsening poverty as they are unable to ever pay the medical bills (of course, I could also perform CPR on someone who goes on to do wonderful things with his/her life, but the probability of this happening here is a lot smaller…..but should that affect the decision at all?).  I could speak out about the lack of healthcare funding and get ‘asked' to leave the country, drawing Him from his job and the help He is providing for so many. The only thing I’m sure of is that I will keep talking to my friend about bioethical issues as she ‘finds her feet’ as a Dr, with both of us raising points from our own worldview.

I haven’t decided what to do about the dog food (we can buy regular dry dog food here but it’s actually more expensive than the meat we feed him, which to give you an idea, costs about AUD1-1.50 a meal). I know the family caring for Rhodes would never say anything to us about it, but I actually feel sick about it. I have no conclusion to draw. I still have a big knot in my stomach but I don’t want to feel peace about it. I want to do something, I just don’t know what. Whenever I’ve been in that situation in the past, I’ve stopped and spent time with the big man, and that’s what I should do….but I’m even struggling to do that at the moment.

He says....Turning the corner.

It must be time for a new blog entry.

Since we last wrote, we went on holiday to Zimbabwe. It was fantastic. So fantastic that we nearly decided to miss our flights home. So fantastic that we are planning on showing the Jesus movie on our roof (using the projector from work and some loud speakers) every night to co-incide with the call to prayer.

We had a great time in Harare catching up with old friends, eating bacon, drinking South African red wine, buying appliances (cue Hot Club Sandwich) and eating bacon.

We spent the second week in the Eastern Highlands with some good friends at a cottage called Loudwaters. No internet, limited cellphone network and lots of peace and quiet. The only noise, as the name suggests, is the steady, calming sound of the stream that flows next to the house ( with some cameot preformances by one Peter Raymond Simpson).

During the week we managed the odd outing to Troutbeck, Lepoard Rock and the obligatory visit to Tony's for coffee and cake. Otherwise, we spent most of our time  migrating between the verandah and the fireplace depending on the very changeable weather. It was a  week of great company, good conversation, amazing food and plenty of bacon. What else could we have asked for?

Thank you Jono, Kath and Peter (and Kath's grandparents) for being such generous hosts. We really enjoyed our time with you.

On my last night in Harare, our friends (David, Andrea and Lawrance Whatman) organised a 'blessing and braai' at their home so that my good mate Farayi could get a chance to give his long overdue wedding speech. It was a wonderful night  and we were both humbled by the friendship and support of our Zimbabwean friends. If the Jesus movie thingo goes to plan, we might see you soon?

With a heavy heart, a humidifer and a Singer sewing machine (you can find them for $180 near Shinda Corner on Harare Street) 'he' headed back to the mine in Siberia. In the words of the seven financially indebited dwarfs, I owe, I owe, so often to work I go....

The most important purchase in Harare was that of our three month old golden cockerspaniel. He has a slightly politically incorrect name (Rhodes) for a Zimbabwean dog but we promise you he's very cute. If you're even remotely connected to the internet you'll see that 'he' and 'she' have both been busy turning Facebook into 'Doggybook'. Given we have endured most of you turning Facebook into 'babybook' we thought you too would want to see endless photos of our adorable and highly talented little guy...

I told you our boy is highly talented. Rhodes can piddle and diddle in four different places on the floor before you've had time to even locate the paper towel and the bucket. It also turns out that he may be a vegetarian. Much to our consternation, he refuses to eat either chicken or tuna. So much for the raw diet we had designed for him. Rhodes obviously didn't get the memo. He is more into kibble.

For two middle-aged individuals who like their Friday and Saturday morning sleep ins, having to take Rhodes outside at 6:30am each day for a spot of fetch, and the obligatory piddle and diddle session, has not been very much to our liking. By this morning 'he' was ready to put an ad on the local Facebook page for a cute little puppy with a serious attitude and a loose bowel.... Thankfully 'she' is a little more patient than 'he'.

Our landing back in Siberia has been smoother than that of Ethiopian airlines ( their pilots mostly come from the airforce where they don't do finesse). 'He' is busy with work and chasing after the endless piles of piddle and diddle.

'She' has done more than her fair share of the parenting and at the same time may have found herself some meaningful employment and some new friends. I'll let  'her' tell you more...

For both of us there is the shared optimism and feeling that perhaps we have turned the corner. What was once strange, new and exhausting has become more familiar. Perhaps this place, with its endless heat, dust and crazy drivers  is starting to feel a little like home.... Who knows? We might even delay the premier of the movie night a little bit longer....
 

She says.....Blackout, Sandstorm and GummyBear

Scene: 830pm, sandstorm raging outside, bedroom cinema lit by lamps, The Blacklist screening on the bedroom wall, she with craft in hand, he winding down from a busy week, grateful for an evening at home. 

Power black out. 

They redress and traipse down to flick the 15 different knobs to activate the generator...but notice on route that the building electricity is still on. 

Returning to apartment they discover their own electricity has run out. Frustration at each other simmers, for not noticing the meter was low. With flash-lit heads, they return to the bedroom to hunt down the spare power voucher. 20mins later, they have not found the safe place it had been stored. 

Emergency call to a friend revealed that they could purchase a voucher 24/7 from a company 10mins away. 

Attempt #1

Meter # recorded on paper, they redress appropriately, by flashlight, and brave the sandstorm. Feeling slightly happy that the power office is next to an icecream store, they began to consider the flavour options. On arrival at the office, after avoiding multiple collisions with vehicles, people and donkeys, she is asked for the meter #. Neither she, nor he had brought it. 

Storming out of the office, they return home by car, with decreasing visibility. Gate unlocked, two flights of stairs, empty water bottles grabbed for exchange, meter # obtained, they depart once again for the power office.

Attempt #2 

On arrival at the office, all vehicles, animals and people intact, she joins the queue with the other 20 people purchasing power in a sandstorm on the last night of the working week(!). The attendant informs her that the meter # is a digit short. She begs said-attendant to try all other numbers before and after but the attendant refuses. She storms out to the car, she makes him return to a different counter to try another number. The attendant is suitably helpful, but to avail. 

They return home in loud silence. Correct meter # recorded, they return to the car, wishing they were driving a tank to brave the sandstorm and traffic. 

Attempt #3

Following another loud, silent drive, she enters the office and stands politely in line behind a man being served. Enter woman (hereafter known as GummyBear) from her left, moving as rapidly as locals only do when driving, and moves in front of her. She exclaims (loudly) in Siberian that GummyBear, as lovely as she is, needs to wait her turn. Ignoring the advice, GummyBear pushes the man being served out of the way, shoved her iPhone, $ and meter # on the counter. The man being served collects his things and leaves. She repeats her indignant exclamation and the attendant agrees and ignores GummyBear. GummyBear is in front of the 10cm X 10cm window and the attendant can't hear her saying the meter #, so she asks GummyBear to move. GummyBear moves 1cm to the left and then shoves her with her hip! She yells again (politely) and GummyBear looks straight at her and grins a gummy, toothless smile. One of the few times in her life when she has wanted to slap a woman. She pushes GummyBear out of the window and re-submits the meter #. GummyBear immediately reclaims her territory. 

The attendant and his boss look suitably sympathetic, they yell at her through the barrier (because the window is stuffed full of GummyBear) and tell her she needs an extra 125 Siberian pounds to pay 5mths water rates too. Of course, she only has an extra 100 on her. 

Heavy footed stomping, holding back tears to the car, she requests more $ from him and tells him he'd best be prepared for violence in the office. As she turns around, the manager walks out of the building with the power and water tickets and thrusts them at her with an apology and instructions for how to enter the details. Trying to pay the remaining cost (approx AUD2), the manager insists it has been paid. 

On the third, loud, silent drive home, after conspicuously avoiding entering the icecream store, she sends her Mother an abbreviated version of the evening’s events. Mother suggests a glass of the precious red stuff that they have for an emergency occasion. She suggests she'd be more likely to whack the bottle over his head than drink it…..he says (in the light of a new day, in a powered-home), that would be a terrible waste of a good red.

She says...3 months and a numerical breakdown

He has written so eloquently, and honestly summarised our thoughts and emotional state at the end of our first 3 months in Siberia. We're happy to be here. We're still hopeful that we can have a positive impact in an incredibly difficult and frustrating place.

We're acclimatising, but I continue to be told often that we're so lucky that it hasn't been hot yet - in context, it has hit 44C and is usually 39-42C each day, and 30-35C overnight. #notlookingforwardtosummer 

Our apartment feels like home. 

We're making friends, slowly. I'm uncomfortable in the unemployed-expatriate-wife-but-not-a-mother role, partly because I haven't met another here yet, but I'm persevering with the stay-at-home-expatriate-wife-and-mother group. Everyone should meet for 3 hours a week to make craft to sell at an annual bazaar and raise money for charity!

We've learned that Siberian ants don't eat honey or sugar, but LOVE home-made bread. 

We sleep to the sound of a fan, an air conditioner, our mosquito net flapping and small geckos chirping with delight at being near our air conditioners. We awake to the prayer call sometimes, but more often to an unintelligible man screaming into a megaphone as he drives by trying to sell something from his cart at 6:30am.

We've learned to be careful to avoid including the bedroom air-conditioner-remote in the washing machine. 

We speak of 'kissing' in terms of cars, SUVs, trucks, motorbikes and rickshaws colliding when there are 8-10 possible routes at an intersection that would have only 3 in Australia. I might have heard Him mutter "so, you want to kiss ME?" to a rickshaw when driving.

We're growing a lot in our young marriage and He nailed it when talking of our shift from independence to interdependence being the most significant change. This has been particularly difficult for me with my fiercely independent and stubborn nature (yes, I can hear you snorting and giggling).

I've come to feel like everything changes regularly and little is permanent; I am so incredibly thankful for the Big Man's word and faithfulness which never changes. A little numerical breakdown demonstrates the difficulty I've been facing in coming to terms with the permanency of marriage and expecting to live somewhere for at least the next 3 years. 

In the past 5 years I have: 

• moved home 5 times between the Middle East, Siberia and Australia 
• lived with 3 families, 9 women, 3 men and 2 boys
• adopted 5 cats (1 since deceased, 4 now cared for by various people!)
• studied faith and language formally, relationships and faith informally
• been employed 6 times; Case Manager, English Teacher, Clinical Policy Reviewer, Research & Evaluation Analyst, International Health Coordinator
• been hospitalised 3 times, swallowed approximately 20,000 pills and received 50 injections
• welcomed 12 nieces/nephews to my world, with the 13th due in late May.
• grieved the loss of 3 dear grandparents

This week, I'll continue my Siberian lessons with my Nuclear Engineering/German-studying neighbour. I've only had one lesson so far and it was both depressing and encouraging....the grammar is mostly the same in the local dialect but vocabulary is incredibly different. I've learned 3 dialects previously and the vocab is different from all of these :S. Fortunately, locals understand me when I use other vocab, but I don't understand them....so perserveremustI.

I'll also work three days for the Dutch Consortium of Rehabilitation trying to draw an incredibly messy report into a readable and meaningful report, and prepare and interview for an almost dream job with the Federation of the Red Cross (on Tuesday for those who talk to the Big Man!). I'll make lots of bread in our wonderful bread maker, knit some and attend the craft group.

Now, if you've made it this far, congratulations. Write back to us! We miss you all and want to hear your news too - more than stalkbook updates and SMS (tho we appreciate those too!). Book in a Skype or FaceTime call with us - our weekend is Friday/Saturday which means we're nearly always available late afternoon/early evening your time on those days.

He says, "Three months in Siberia"

It's been a while since I last posted on this blog. The days have quickly merged into weeks and have become months. I wonder where the time has gone? 

Those who know me will know this is a common theme with my blogs. I start strongly but struggle to keep up the enthusiasm after a few posts. My mother would say it is a pattern. Life is full of such patterns, both pretty mosaics that we hang on our walls and those that we are less proud of. The key is to break the destructive patterns and to turn them into beautiful ones. If only it were that simple.

I digress...

It has been three months since we arrived in Siberia. I thought it would be good to give you the highlights, or in many cases the lowlights. If you're looking for good news and happy endings you might want to stop reading now and check your Facebook.

The situation out there has got worse. The number of people affected by conflict during the first three months of 2014 is estimated by the UN to be almost 250,000 people. This level of displacement is similar to that which caught the attention of the world's media ten years ago. However in 2014, there is no George Clooney and no world media headlines.

There is a clear trend that government is again using the armed militia to forcibly move the population into camps in order to free up natural resources and land for those tribal groups who have  either the right ethnic background or support the government.

Mum would say it is a pattern...

At the same time, the operational space for NGOs is non existent. We are being denied access to those who most need our help. Throw out any notions of impartiality, neutrality or any of those lovely documents written by Europeans in Geneva. They never made it the mail to Siberia. We work as an extension of government, we follow their rules and they control every aspect of our operations. Being pragmatic, the only reasons NGOs are still here is because there are donors who want to give us money. If you can't stomach that realty, the NGO world is not for you. The positive side of the donor / money equation is that we can actually help people, but I'd argue the impact of our interventions is limited because of the limitations placed on us by government.

Internally, my organisation is a bit like a dog's breakfast. There's mess everywhere.  I have spent most of the first three months extinguishing fires and trying to prevent new ones. I would like to tell you about all the impressive changes I have made to the organisation but, if I am honest, I think there has been very little progress.

However, every now and then I see something positive, like a colleague using a whiteboard to plan their work, or doing a work review with a subordinate and I smile. It makes me realise that people do watch how you work and that the best leadership is not done by words but by actions.  Still, the victories seem small compared to the challenges that lie ahead.

What about us?

Let's get back to my mother's mosaics. There are some old patterns re-appearing and some new ones being created.

I feel incredibly tired, both emotionally and physically. Maybe it is the constant heat or the ever increasing workload?  Probably a combination of the two. We went to a five-star hotel last weekend for a bit of a break. It was heavenly. But just one week later I feel exhausted again as does she. We are really looking forward to taking a break in Zimbabwe at the end of April.

I feel disconnected from family, friends and community. It is mostly my own doing. I simply don't have the emotional energy to try and explain everything that is happening to me, both internally and externally. Interactions on Skype, Viber and Facebook feel simplistic and stuck at surface level. I feel like our interactions have been reduced to the 140/160 characters of an SMS. How do I explain the situation here, or in a way that you can understand?

The hardest challenge has been the lack of a faith community. We don't have a faith community here and the connection with our faith community in Melbourne has been tenuous at best. We continue to be cautious in attending anything publicly here, because of the experiences of my predecessor and also our own issues that we faced earlier in the year.

Being married has seen the beginnings of a new pattern in my life, one of which I am very happy about. Our first year together has been a bit of learning curve, but one for which I am very grateful. She is a wonderful companion, friend and listener. We have both had to learn to lean on each other and to work together rather than trying to do things on our own. It's not easy when you've been single for the past 35 years!

'She' has had it much rougher than I. No job, lots of time on her hands and social restrictions that make it more difficult for her to be independent. I have seen her struggling to work through it and I have felt very powerless to do anything about it.

I fear that this entry has become rather negative. Perhaps I am just tired, or feeling particularly introspective tonight. I don't want to lose sight of the fact that our being here is a good thing, both personally and corporately.

I may feel stretched and pulled in every direction, but also see the personal growth that these experiences bring.

I know the skills and experiences that I have are needed by the organisation for which I work.

I know that despite all the difficulties we face as an organisation, that we can make a small difference in a larger situation that is beyond our knowing and control.

I know that our marriage is being built and strengthened by having to work together and to face issues which at times seem insurmountable or beyond our understanding.

I know that we are a piece of a much larger mosaic, a new pattern that is slowly being created, that will change everything, both now and in eternity.

She says...Thank you Habibi

My amazing, generous, loving husband brings me coffee in bed almost every single morning. That is all. 

She says.....pondering fasting and being thankful

I am very happy to report that I was granted permission to return to our home in Siberia and I'm writing this whilst listening to the, now familiar, hum of fans and air conditioners. It was an emotionally difficult time being away, partly due it being forced rather than by choice, partly because I was sick most of the time, and partly because He and I don't communicate particularly well when we're apart, despite our abundance of experience..... needless to say, I am very, very happy and grateful to be home. I did have some wonderful catch-ups with good friends in Amman and it was a funny back-to-front experience being in Jordan this time and finding it a paradise of provisions after the limited availability of items here in Siberia.

After such a break from writing the blog I feel as if I should write something funny to entertain our readers....but the thing that currently occupies my thoughts isn't funny at all, sorry! Today is the first day of Lent, a 40 day period (excluding Sundays for rest) of Xn preparation before Easter. Some of you will have seen my question on stalkbook, asking about the thought process behind your chosen sacrifice for Lent. I've been aware of many friends participating in Lent in some way, most of whom are not C'lic. Common activities that I've heard are giving up coffee, alcohol or chocolate for a month as a sacrifice, designed (I think) to draw one's attention towards the big man and the meaning of Easter, and remind us of the big man as our provider in every sense.

I've never participated in Lent, but I have fasted occasionally through the 40h famine, for personal time with the big man, and perhaps somewhat unusually, during the day through the Ramadan festival. The times that I've fasted have always been because I want to focus my prayer on something specific or seeking wisdom; fasting from food has given me a constant reminder (hunger) that I want to be praying, and dependent on the big man. When I've fasted during Ramadan, it's been for those same reasons and for reminding myself to focus my prayer on our cousins during this special season for them. I've also done it so that I have some common ground with those who are doing the same activity, who seem to be more open to discussions during the period, and are usually unaware that Xns are also called to fast in our holy book.

I want to confess that one of the side effects I've found when fasting during Ramadan has been frustration and intolerance of the few cousins who complain bitterly about their suffering during this period and do very little (if any) work during work hours which are reduced by law during the period anyway....a little hard to take when I'm fasting and working normal hours and at normal pace. It leads to the opposite attitude to that which I seek when fasting, not exactly conducive to quality prayer, nor more importantly, is it big-man honouring. I also confess that when I'm fasting on other occasions that whilst hunger does prompt me to pray and I have felt more certain about decisions I've prayed about at such times, my attitude is still pretty poor and my attention span is limited. I remember reading a great chapter in Richard Foster's "Celebration of Discipline" about fasting methods...must have a look at it again.

I saw a stalkbook post today recommending using the Lent period for beginning a new habit of recording 3 things each evening that one is grateful for in a notebook, and sharing one with friends for both encouragement and accountability. It's something that a good friend and I have done daily for the past few years via daily SMS in addition to sharing one thing we're praying about, although 2014 is demonstrating less commitment to our long-term habit! We started doing it during a period of time when one, possibly both, of us was really struggling with life and needed some big man-given perspective. It really, honestly worked. Over the years I've had many days where I have genuinely struggled to think of one thing that I'm grateful for (that is without resorting to things I could say on any day such as food, shelter, friends, the big man's son etc.), woeful I know. I've also been honest when I haven't prayed or felt like praying. Sometimes the prayers that I'm praying would be better named "things I'm ungrateful about", but it is all a part of an up and down emotional life, periods of constancy and periods of change....I'm comforted by the many different kinds of prayers found in the book and the confidence that gives me in coming to the big man, no matter how I'm feeling.

So, Lent. I'm going to re-read another book by the author I mentioned above called "Prayer". I'm going to take some time in our weekly 'meeting' to read and talk with Him about Easter, and I'm going to fast from food on that day and structure the day around times of prayer when I usually have my 3 meals. Please hold me accountable and ask how I've gone.