The Edge of Humanity

I spent last week in Kakuma refugee camp in northern Kenya, close to the border with South Sudan. The camp now has 150,000 people from more 10 countries, with South Sudanese and Somalis each making up a third, and the rest coming from all over Africa and the world.

Kakuma is, for a start, the single hottest place I have ever been. Imagine Texas, during a heat wave, with no air conditioning, and all dust. When it rains, the dust turns to huge sloshing mud, and water flows right through the floor of the tents where new arrivals stay. When it doesn't rain, there are dust storms so thick you can't see ten feet in front of you.

Yeah - it's miserable. No wonder Kenya is happy to lease the land to the UNHCR. This is a place for people who have nowhere else to go.

On Monday, C and I got to visit a screening FilmAid was putting on at the reception centre for new arrivals. Between 300 and 700 people arrive every day fleeing violence in South Sudan. However they get themselves to the border–by foot, bus or car–the UNHCR then picks them up in huge trucks, that travel along a paved road to Kakuma. At the reception centre, they are registered, provided meals and tents, and health care as needed. In a few days they will be moved to Kakuma 3 or 4, sections on the outskirts of the camp, to live in big white UNHCR tents.

It had just rained when we got to the centre, and the place was overrun with children ankle-deep in mud and dust. Everyone there had left their homes somewhere between two days and a few weeks earlier. The adults in particular looked exhausted. I tried to imagine what was going through their minds.

What was the final straw, that led them to make the decision to leave? Who did they leave behind–too sick, too stubborn, or without money to afford the bus ticket to the border? Who is missing–on the front lines, in hiding, or dead?

This is the edge of humanity–of what it means to be human, to stay human, when all is lost. Of what it means for humans to help each other. In some sense I felt like I was looking at foreign policy turned inside out. These are our mission statements, our international conventions, our tax dollars in play. I felt at once proud to be a part of this response system, and so sad that this is the best we can do.

We are all the same. This could happen to any of us–persecution or danger chasing us out of our homes, jobs, communities, everything normal. How would we want to be treated then?

***

Not everywhere in Kakuma is in crisis. In fact, the majority of people in Kakuma have been there for a long time–several years, and longer. Some people have been there since the camp was opened in 1992. Some were born and have lived their whole lives in the camp.

This is how a refugee camp works: the UNHCR has a mandate to provide specific services to refugees, like food, shelter, education, health services, water and sanitation infrastructure, etc. It partners with the Kenyan government and international NGOs to get this work done. To a large extent, life for refugees is structured around these services.

But on top of that, Kakuma operates with its own economy and society. People come to a refugee camp from all economic and social backgrounds. So people who had wealth in their former lives are able to start up businesses and pay for extra services on Kakuma's private market–extra food, power, supplies, whatever it is. All kinds of goods are imported from Nairobi and East African neighboring countries.

Life here is not what you'd expect.

For instance, over the weekend, C and I joined some other humanitarian employees for Ethiopian food, owned and run by Ethiopian refugees, in groovy, brightly painted restaurant. I also got to attend a training for one of many community theatre groups that create and perform skits in their communities on social issues. And you might not know that Kakuma is home to extremely talented and competitive hip hop dance troupes. Check it out. 

It's an inspiring place, and like any other–people bring their talents, their passions, their resources.

***

Here's the thing about a refugee camp. People here are extraordinary.

Refugees, by definition, are people who are fleeing persecution "for reasons of race, religion, nationality, membership of a particular social group, or political opinion." C and I had many conversations with one person, M, who fled his country because he had led an organization criticizing the government for violations of human rights. He is much younger than me, and has accomplished incredible things. And for that, he was kidnapped twice and received death threats, and is now living in Kakuma until he can pursue higher studies or be resettled to another country.

Every single refugee, or someone in their family, faced extreme and unsafe conditions in their home country, and had the guts to pick up and leave. Each person I spoke with has an amazing story. And story, it seems, carries more power here. Your story, and how you tell it, is what gives you the chance for resettlement through the UNHCR. Your story might put you in danger. Your story might save your life.

And stories can take your mind off things for a while.

Enter FilmAid. We do a lot of things in Kakuma–training refugees as filmmakers, creating films on issues from cholera prevention to violence against women, running education workshops and investing in local arts groups... The list goes on. Essentially we are a communications organization that works in the crazy niche of humanitarian operations and refugee life. In this setting, information can be life saving, and entertainment can be its own form of relief.

FilmAid's original and favorite activity is evening screenings. We set up a huge screen on the side of a truck and project cartoons, PSAs on health or protection issues, and full-length "family favorites." Thousands of people gather as it gets dark, the stars come out and the screen lights up. When I was there one of the movies we screened was Airbud. Imagine the sound of a thousand kids cheering when a golden retriever scores a soccer goal. Ridiculous? Perhaps. But also just amazing. You have to smile.

***

I'm not sure what exactly I'll take away from this experience. One response is a resounding "What the [fill in the blank with your favorite expletive]." How is this possible. How is this real. How have I never understood to this extent, that humanitarian crises have a profound implications not just for people who are living through them, but for all of us.

I'm thinking about how I can live in response to this deeper understanding. I think faith can play a big role. Not to give explanations, but to open the space for questions. Perhaps most importantly–How can we help? I know that churches, for instance, have served a lot of South Sudanese refugees in the resettlement process in the United States. I know that Lutheran World Federation provides essential services in Kakuma. There is always room for more partners, more funding, more prayer and mindfulness of those who are suffering.

It can be overwhelming to take in what's really happening in our world. It's so much easier to turn off to the news, to think of some reason why people must have brought suffering upon themselves, to forget about what's not right in front of our eyes. I know I will again.

Let this be one more reminder. We are all the same.

Aesthetically Speaking: Nairobi

There's a blog post bubbling up here, and I'm not sure how it will take form.

I want to write about the aesthetic experience of traveling, of Nairobi, of now. The small spaces I'm getting to know intimately. Like memorizing the back of a cereal box as a kid. It's all in the detail.

Let's start easy - the smells, the tastes, the colors. Smoke and exhaust. Lentils, papaya, and boiled water. Red, red, red mud and dark rain clouds.

At home: Tiny fruit flies flying out the sink from unwashed dishes the night before. Damp laundry on the line. Waxy bar soap. Tooth paste that is pink and tastes like baking soda, with writing on the back of the tube translated into six languages. Tucking the mosquito net under the mattress.

On the weekends: Hot sun on a long run, cooking with black beans, listening to Wait Wait Don't Tell Me, eating chocolate after breakfast. One adventure a day. See monkeys like squirrels in the park.

At friends' house: Miss brekkie? No wuzzas, have some homemade gluten-free bread with Vegemite. Learn the rules to Australian football. Cuddle up with the friendly cat named Fish.

On the street: Awareness of my color, my wealth, my everything. Looking up from tree trunks to see how high they go. Huge puddles from rain the night before. Eye contact with strangers, and feeling strange.

At work: Greeting every coworker with a handshake. Obsessing over Dropbox. Sweet-talking harddrives. Endless photos of refugee camps -- crowds, kids, filmmaking. Indie music. Asgeir's Leyndarmal on repeat. On Friday afternoons, Indestructible African Beats and UK's Top 40 of 2004. Procrastination in the form of bookmarking progressive Christian blogs. Tea in the morning, tea in the afternoon.

A sense of falling out of myself, and falling into myself.

Especially as I pass the middle-mark of my time in Nairobi, I crave to experience new things each day. And hand in hand with that, there is occasional exhaustion – and getting lost in thoughts.

And writing them down. For you.

Reunions, Mountains, and an Archbishop

Every day in Cape Town was full with some kind of adventure.

As it turned out, my FilmAid boss S was in Cape Town for three days while I was there. She came for a conference on "video for change" in Africa, organized by Witness and STEPS. I got to join her there. It was interesting to learn from different organizations using video in sub-Saharan Africa, and get a feel for how FilmAid functions in comparison. In particular I got to know Nuba Reports, which trains journalists in South Sudan to document bombings and atrocities in the civil war there.

I also spent some time helping M, the University of Cape Town drama professor who co-founded the Magnet Theatre. Between the conference and going to M's office, I was fairly busy Monday through Wednesday, a nice compliment to the unstructured touristy fun to come.

I also got to spend time seeing friends. S, who worked at the Magnet while I was an intern, told me that she was pregnant on my last week in Cape Town in 2010. Now, she has a beautiful and rowdy 3 year-old and an infant of two months. I got to spend one afternoon and evening at a mall with her whole family, and had the 3 year-old attached to my back by the end of the day. I may have grown a lot in the past four years, but I'm not the only one.

I also saw S, the wife of T, who founded and runs the Stanford program in Cape Town. And J, the service-learning professor for Stanford students. Both of whom were such gracious and supportive figures. We hashed over old memories and friends -- and, as usual, it was an interesting experience to share about my path ahead. I never know how people will react when I say the word "pastor." Telling someone about my own experience with faith, even a little bit, often brings the opportunity to learn about theirs. …But that's a topic for another post.

One highlight from the week was seeing "Passage," a play co-produced by the Magnet and the Baxter Theatre. It was about male rites of passage, in Magnet Theatre's style of "physical theatre." You can go back to my posts from 2010 to read more about that -- but in short, it was an incredible performance. I am entirely biased, BUT -- I don't think there is any better theatre on the planet. My boss S came with me to the show. And in her words, it was a-MAZ-ing (wish you could hear the Kenyan accent).

That was the night after the conference ended. So the next day, S and I had a day of vacation together. We took the train down the coast of False Bay. There were stunning views all down the coast -- mountains close on one side of the train, and beach starting just after the tracks on the other side. In Muizenberg we stopped to walk along the beach. In Kalk Bay we ate huge chunks of fish, walked along the wharf and saw sea lions. Finally at Simon's Town, we walked to Boulders where the penguins are, and got to walk right up to them on the beach.

The last two days I spent with D, the Australian cricket journalist travel buddy who I had been staying with. The test match between Australia and South Africa ended on Wednesday (note: Australia won), so we were free at the same time to get some serious hiking in.

On Friday we hiked Table Mountain, starting in Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens and hiking up Skeleton Gorge -- one hour straight up. Then suddenly you're out of the trees, and beautiful views of Cape Town and surrounding suburbs are endless… at least until the fog rolls in. Thankfully we had clear skies all the way across the mountain. Once across the top, we took the cable car down, and headed over to Lion's Head - our second hike for the day!

We scrambled straight up, into the fog that was now swirling all over the city. Usually Lion's Head is famous for its 360 degree views of the Atlantic, of Table Bay, Table Mountain, Camp's Bay, and the city bowl. But at the top, all we saw was white fog. It felt like the end of the world. Although it wasn't the sunset we hoped for, it was a surreal and peaceful experience in its own way.

My last day, we went down to Hout Bay, over Chapman's Peak and finally to Noordhoek, where D's (cricket journalist) friends live. There we walked along the river in Silvermines Park (there's no silver, but it is beautiful), and up to a large, beautiful dam. D's friends had a big friendly dog who they take swimming in the dam every day (or close). Lucky dog.

Lucky me. I've saved the best part for last.

C, who works at the Stanford Centre, knows Archbishop Desmond Tutu through her family. She shared on Thursday night that Tutu would be presiding over mass at St. George's cathedral on Friday at 7:15am. I was there! It was a fairly small service in a side chapel, with maybe 100 people. True to form, Tutu was a delight. He was silly, lost his place in the service, made faces and side comments throughout. One particularly beautiful moment was when he prepared the Eucharist in English, isiXhosa and Afrikaans seamlessly.

Before serving communion, Tutu asked all visitors to stand up an introduce themselves. There was a funny moment. Apparently Tutu is a huge cricket fan. When D said that he was there to cover the Australian team, Tutu said, "Forgive me if I try to strangle you slowly." Never thought I'd hear those words from an icon of peace! (He followed it up with, "We love you.") After the service, Tutu greeted everyone on their way out. I shared that I was going to study to be a pastor. He asked which denomination and said "we're together" - meaning Anglicans and Lutherans - then "God bless you."

God bless you too, Tutu. It was a moment I'll remember forever. All of the music for the service where a cappella chants from the Taize community in France, where I hope to go on retreat in June. I love the resonances. It feels like the start of something new.

I feel sad to leave South Africa again. But at the same time, it's nice to have some closure, and to make space for new ways to grow. I am optimistic that I will come back some day. I'm sure I will be a different person then.

In the summer of 2010, L, L, J and I used to sing a song "Heart of Mine." The words always take new meaning. At the risk of being entirely too cheesy, I'll share the chorus.

The walls are coming down and down and down
And life is going round and round and round
And love it will be found and found and found
It's all inside of you

Sobonana, South Africa. Until next time.

PS Check out the Instagram feed on the right side... now you can see my most recent photos!

The Birthday Post

If it's possible to be infatuated with a place, that's how I feel about Cape Town. A little tipsy, heart racing, adoring. If you were here, you'd feel it too.

Everything is dramatic. Cape Town doesn't bother with much middle ground. The mountain is next to the sea. Poverty next to insane wealth. Boutique health food stores, and the highest HIV rate in the world. Diversity in every dimension. A vibe that is at once peaceful and in-your-face.

My name is Liesl Spitz, and I love Cape Town.

It's remarkable to land in a place so far from home, and feel such familiarity. I know the streets. I have memories everywhere I turn.

The bar where Matt and I watched World Cup games, the restaurant where I first ate Koeksisters, the walk through Company Gardens, the view of Table Mountain from the taxi park, the storefronts on Main Road, the QuickSpar grocery store in Observatory, the boxes of Five Roses Tea on the shelf.

And of course, the Magnet Theatre, where I interned for my five months. I spent most of my waking hours there, day after day, organizing, cleaning, hanging, unfolding and refolding, inventory-ing, filing, mopping, doing whatever remotely helpful or unattractive task I could find – a bargain. Because in return, I got to watch the making of brilliant theatre, form friendships with artists, and gain a whole lot of perspective on life in South Africa.

This morning I got to watch a run-through of Boom Umthi, a production for children that the Magnet is taking to a festival in Italy this week. Afterward Margie, my former supervisor and (current) life coach, took me to cheese cake and cappuccinos with her husband and daughter.

No wonder I love Cape Town. It's not the cheesecake, or the beautiful weather (it is summer here, sorry East Coast), or the constant view of Table Mountain. It's the relationships I made here, and the intense growth I experienced here.

If today I feel that I know myself, it's in large part because of the work that happened here four years ago.

Every day I thought about identity. I thought about my grandfather's experience in South Africa decades earlier (hi Grandpa!), and how my family's history ties into my personal story. I thought about culture as identity; about identity as performance; about performance as ritual. I thought about service, and about relationships, and how inextricably linked they are.

I thought a lot about beauty.

Interestingly, I didn't think much about God. My four months in Cape Town was probably the longest time in my life that I haven't gone to church.

Later I came to understand that I was growing spiritually, in a big way. That we don't (necessarily) encounter God in religion, but in relationships and experiences. That will always be true. And perhaps more true -- that seeking God is not our job. God seeks us.

So many truths that carry me through these days, I learned then.

Cape Town was also the first time that I lived on my own. (Although I don't think I have ever lived truly on my own.) My schedule, my groceries, my health, my safety–my responsibility.

It's only four years later, but I feel ten years older. Here I am, and I love myself. For my birthday, humor me. Own it with me. Self-love is so important. It looks different every day.

Today, self-love looks like nostalgia, adventure, and a bit of indulgence.

After cheesecake with Margie, I visited the Stanford house on Herschel Road. Then I took a taxi to the Newlands Cricket Stadium, and saw my first ever cricket match. (The friend I'm staying with here is a journalist who's covering the game.) I took the train back to town, and took a long bath complete with rice crackers and Camembert, a view of the fog creeping over Table Mountain, and Beyonce's newest album.

***Flawless.

Today is Quarter Century Day. I feel grounded, and unbelievably lucky. When it's cocktail hour in your time zone, join me in raising your glass to the road well-traveled and the road ahead. Here's to however we know (and likely love) each other. This is the stuff of life.

Doing, Not Doing

Suddenly, work is picking up, trips and friends are multiplying in number, and time is flying. As it should be. Times like these call for bulleted lists.

In case you wanted to know more of my day to day experience -- this is for you!

Things I am Doing

• Developing FilmAid's Dropbox account (SHOUT OUT to Matt Spitz for being awesome; ask him why!) and Salesforce database, for use across our teams in London and Nairobi
• Project managing the writing and design of our annual report
• Working through transition of staff in my office, trying to plan out how work (particularly communications) gets done with not enough staff. Aka working at a non-profit.
• Getting to know my way hip, super hard working and impressive Kenyan colleagues.
• Hanging out with loads of wonderful Australians and picking up their patterns of speech.
• Making friends with some open hearted, deeply empathetic and inspiring individuals. Wow.
• Listening to a lot of people's stories about their religious and spiritual backgrounds (If I speak to someone for more than 20 minutes, the conversation will get there 75% of the time)
• Eating the same thing for lunch every day: dengu (lentil stew) with rice or ugali (maize mash), a side of kachumbari (tomato and onion) and fresh juice (if the blender is working! not often the case but I ask every day!)
• Getting out of Nairobi to see beautiful countryside and wildlife (pictures coming from this weekend!!)
• Dancing to Beyonce and learning songs on ukelele
• Loads and loads of yoga with Samson, a teacher from Africa yoga project
• When I'm in town, going to Catholic church with a young American family also from the Bay Area, then joining them for brunch!
• Washing my underwear in the sink
• Relying on a few very kind and trustworthy taxi drivers, who make navigating the city possible in the day to day

Summary: I am living a very comfortable and fun life, getting to know interesting people, and generally having a great time.

Things I am Not Doing

• "Serving," not really. FilmAid is a NGO doing both humanitarian and development work. But I'm working rather than volunteering. For that and other reasons, my mentality is very different from my time in Cape Town. I'm less critical, more sure of my role. For better or worse, I feel that I have something to contribute here, based on my experience working for FilmAid in New York for a year, and given prior relationships (even from afar) with my colleagues.
• Getting stressed out about work, so far - yeah! Something about the atmosphere here, even if things are extremely hectic, is far more laid back. Either it gets done today, or the next day. Maybe I'm on tourist mode or maybe I'm not picking up on how Kenyans deal with stress, but I'll roll with it for now.
• Fully sharing my beliefs/identity, unless I am clearly with like minded company. Kenyan society is very conservative, very Christian, and people perceived as outsiders aren't necessarily viewed or treated well. (Sound like any other places on the planet, near or far?) That being said, I haven't had any negative experiences.
• Going for any night time walks. Security and safety issues in Kenya lead to a more restricted lifestyle -- there are rules about where is safe and what is okay -- but within that, I do feel free. I'm lucky that I have a salary which covers living in a nice area, and taking cab rides whenever I need them.

Summary: I'm navigating day by day and person by person. It's been very interesting.

Coming up in the next post -- Pictures from Lake Naivasha!

Remembering

Now a moment away from Nairobi.

This Friday will be eight years since the death of my Aunt Ruth. The next day will be two months since the death of her daughter, Tiffany.

I miss them.

Certain images have come to hold significance, as I process their lives and their story in my family. Angels. Purple. The Organ. And now- Stars. Candles. Country.

It is strange, yet very real, how these images weave their way into my experiences and come to create meaning. When B, the admin manager in Nairobi walks into the office with purple scarf and shoes, and a bright smile. Ahh, purple is my favorite color, I tell her.

Moments like this seem to come especially when I need them. I think stories and miracles in the bible take on meaning in the same way, as themes and images resurface throughout to tell a bigger story.

On the plane ride here, I read the first chapter of Mark, knowing that my fellow congregants St. Lydia's would be reading the same in the coming month. A few images were striking that I want to share.

First, of the voice crying out in the wilderness. Tiffany's husband shared how "O Come Emmanuel" has taken on new significance for him, as grief feels so much like "mourning in lonely exile." We have found ourselves in an empty, lonely place.

The wilderness: far from civilization. The wilderness: no screens, no distractions. Where you are left with your mind, and your survival instincts. Where a voice cries out, prepare the way of the Lord.

Jesus shows up in Mark not as a baby, but as an adult receiving the Holy Spirit. And just a few verses later, he is driven into the wilderness to spend 40 days with the devil.

Here is where I lost it. While Jesus is in the desert, it says:

the angels ministered to him.

The day I left New York, it had been 40 days since Tiffany died. Sitting on the plane, I thought of my time in the wilderness and the angels who ministered to me. So many friends, some very close and some unexpected, who held me together. Sleep overs, serious conversations, meaningless conversations, salads, desserts, text messages, phone calls, and one letter.

My good bye party in New York had been planned for the same weekend I flew to Minnesota for Tiffany's funeral.

More than a month later, I was able to invite friends over for a potluck brunch during the 12 hour layover I had between San Francisco and Nairobi. And they came - so many people came. With food, and smiles, and music. I left for the airport while many people were still at my house. They formed a tunnel and cheered me out the door.

I don't know if Jesus got a tunnel of angels on his way to the airport, but I bet he would understand the feeling.

This is the feeling:

There is love, there is love, there is love.

Mt Longonot

My second week was ALSO about meeting people, gee whiz. I saw an old friend from Stanford, a new friend whom I had met at N's party, went to delicious Ethiopian with my work colleague A and her friends, and finally to drinks with work colleagues on Friday (which included dancing to a live funk band... amazing). Social life!!!

But also about getting a little more settled. I've moved from Chris's apartment to a new place with a family. The wife is Swedish, the husband is Kenyan and their four year old daughter is Adorable.

Today I went hiking with some Australians and Americans, to Mt. Longonot - an inactive (I think) volcano about an hour and a half outside the city. Turns out, as soon as you leave the city you are in beautiful, green countryside. Wow. We saw a black and white monkey in a tree, and baboons crossing the road almost immediately. On the way down from the hike, we also saw a family of giraffe, and a bunch of zebra and elon!

Longonot was a very steep climb up, but then a really beautiful hike around the ridge. Here are my favorite photos. The last one is of three Australian buddies who were on the trek.