The Sandford Link Summer 2020 Issue 158
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The Sandford Link Summer 2020 Issue 158 This is the front cover of our national WI magazine, ‘WI Life’. It says it all really – ‘WE CAN DO IT!’ and ‘ADAPT, SURVIVE & THRIVE’, and boy, did we! Editor: Hazel Douglas — Email:1 [email protected] Contents—Parish & Church News / Talking Shop / Village Events / Festival / Classified ads / WI / Local News / Activism. Lock-down through a Development / Humanitarian worker’s eyes — Jo Zaremba – May 2020 Day one: Up at dawn. The birds are already busy, arguing and shouting loudly in the garden outside. I join them with my mug of tea, blinking in the sunlight as I step outside on the veranda. A slow stretch, a walk around the garden, and then I’m at my computer, hunched over a raft of e-mails that have flooded in over-night. Carefully separating the priority ones from the advertisements and announcements, my mind is now fully awake and it is not yet 7 a.m. Within an hour I stand up to take a break – a stretch, a few sun salutations, and a shower before throwing on a loose pair of trousers and shirt. The meetings begin, project updates, logistical questions, a status report on the current situation - I’m grateful the wi-fi connection is working. The day continues – documents to review, emails to answer, calls to make; mid-day soon passes and the sun starts its descent. At some point, I circle the garden again, taking in the changing shadows that fall from the trees onto the path. Then it is dark. My computer screen casts an eerie light onto my dinner. I close the lid, finish the last spoon-full and pack away my things. Padding across the linoleum floor to the bathroom and then my room, I fall into bed exhausted, and the next day repeat the same again. Page 2 This isn’t lockdown – it’s day one in Jijiga, Somali region of Ethiopia where I spent over a month on a humanitarian assignment. Sitting inside the Save the Children compound that houses a guest house, offices and warehouses, my work involved organising, overseeing and analysing field research which others carry out. I hardly go out. All the work was conducted from within the compound, human interactions carried out at a polite and respectful distance, the social life even at weekends was non -existent. Lockdowns, isolation and limited mobility are common features of anyone working in humanitarian or development concepts. We leave our freedom – to walk about freely, to go where we wish, to be who we are and exchange it for a new set of rules, norms and ways of living a daily existence that most people back home would find hard to imagine, much less endure. Until now, that is, when the Covid-19 crisis has everyone ducking for cover. It takes me back to other assignments, or missions as they are often called in many circles. Vavunya - Rolls of razor wire, machine-gun wielding soldiers and a wind-swept landscape engulf us as we leave the lush, tropical and fertile green of southern Sri Lanka behind us. We get out of the vehicles after the eight-hour drive, departing at 6 a.m. to enable us to get through all the check points and this final ‘border’ with the rebel north, before curfew. The final check-point is by foot, the vehicles taken aside for a complete search. Our bags are searched. We are searched, passports and documents checked – and then we are through. Radio call back to base – Tango, Charlie, Igloo – 3 arriving in Vavunya, 16:15, over. Straight to the hotel – still functioning to service the humanitarian and military clients, an enclave within the border town which sits near the heart of the armed conflict. We spend the evening exchanging and hearing stories, of people holding out with under fire for 24- hours, of the camps and of lost lives. In the day-time we visit households displaced, families torn apart and broken, livelihoods devastated. Our project is building up women’s livelihoods through dairy – the women receive a cow that they feed, tend and milk. When the cow calves, the off- spring is returned to the project to help other women. Our project assists the women to sell their milk and overcome other challenges to produce and sell milk. We are listening to a group of women explain how their milk-deliveries are regularly rejected by the collection points due to the practice of the military checking the urns being transported using sticks and batons, and thereby contaminating the entire consignment. The project manager, fondly called ‘Milk-man’ is just jotting down notes when we hear the undeniable crackle of gun-fire. Heads down, we pack into our four-by-four and race back to the hotel, leaving the community to fend for themselves. We hunker down in our hotel, laptops in one hand, a beer in the other, tapping out notes, safe within the heavily guarded compound in the government enclave. The communities have but meagre huts to hide in, and we can only wish them the best in surviving another night of fear and anxiety. Across the world, millions of women suffer isolation and social exclusion on a daily basis. Sometimes they are victimised and singled out for violence right in their homes. Others are simply limited to the confines of the households by the ties of marriage, ritual and customs, or due to the heavy burden of household chores, caring for young and old, and of poverty. Without anyone to share their worries or fears, or even joy and hopes, they can lead lonely lives. Many of the projects I’ve worked on support collaborative initiatives that bring women together for economic, mutual support and self-help outcomes, forming ‘Village Savings and Loans’ or ‘Mothers’ groups which provide them with the justification to join with others, improve their lives and prove their worth and abilities in their communities and households. These projects are not confined to women’s groups, and we work with entire communities to help build or re-build lost lives and livelihoods. DRC - Over 40 armed militia groups operate in Eastern DRC in the areas butting onto Rwanda and Uganda. Many are small gangs, led by thugs attracting disenfranchised 3 youths without work, hope or anything better to do. Their demands may be erratic, unreasonable, sometimes deadly. Few have a mission such as the larger, organised M23 which formed in 2012. All have caused ongoing havoc, forcing people off their land, to abandon their homes and livelihoods and crowd into the camps around Goma. We fly into Kigali in Rwanda, and race down 155 kilometres along the EU-built highway to Giseny where we cross the border on foot into Goma. A purple four-by-four is waiting and we bump away, pitching side-to- side on the impossible roads. For the next few days we move between soon-familiar points – Guest House 1, Guest House 2, Office, Guest House 3, Office – the gate opening to the advance call through by radio. Eventually, clearance is granted to visit one of the camps for internally displaced persons (IDPs), perched precariously on the lava-stone moon-like landscape. Make-shift tents tip on spiky rocks, and rivers of filthy water ooze between the many cracks and canals snaking their way around one compound. In another camp, UNHCR plastic flaps in the wind over make-shift tents. We pass tiny, informal camps in back-yards, abandoned lots, in seemingly uninhabitable crooks and crannies – 100,000? 200,000? I lose count of the Situation Report (SitRep) updates which themselves cannot keep up with formal and informal arrivals from surrounding areas. Goma, which became a magnet for refugees during the Great Lakes Crisis, continues to this day to house hundreds of thousands of displaced persons – to my recollection, there were more than five camps, established or being set up, around Goma in 2012, vying for resources like water and food – and many, many more informal settlements. The camps become people’s entire universe. They live, sleep, shop and try to earn some money in them. IDPs have the legal freedom to move around their surroundings, but often find it difficult without any money, local contacts, or social status. Some take perilous risks, returning to try to recover lost harvest or property, sneaking through the bush under cover of the night, fearing being captured by the militias who chased them away. Others engage in petty trade, crossing the border between DRC and Rwanda to earn a few coins or ears of corn. Most, however, stay close to their make-shift shelters, tending to their children and waiting for something to change. For refugees, the situation is markedly more difficult, and camps become the de facto country to which they belong. Denied rights in many countries, the right to movement, to work and earn a living, their circumstances truly do resemble a protracted ‘lock-down.’ South Sudan – a new country, new hopes, new horizons, shattered all too soon. Before the latest civil war, development and humanitarian efforts were scrambling to rebuild the country. In the north, returnees from the newly divided countries were trying to piece together lost lives in new expanses of refugee camps. We flew into dusty Malakal on a UN-flight from Juba, a town that itself was only starting to rebuild. Malakal seemed to offer nothing, a few dusty vegetables growing in our tiny compound, and empty dusty streets lined by tall walls behind which buildings cowered from the sun.