South Sudan is Power

Mayom Adhal: Photo: Daryl Crowden

As I enter the school compound I am welcomed by most of the 1,000 students led by tall, strong, proud looking young women resplendent in purple uniform shirts. In 4 abreast marching formation, from tallest to smallest they march around the compound singing and repeating amongst other words I understand: "South Sudan is Power... "

WV has been working in this school in Mayom Adhal (Aweil North), and 32 other schools across the County, for almost three years supporting WFP school feeding programs. In a lean-to shack behind one of the classrooms three women, Mums who have been trained by the WFP program to cook and deliver food hygienically and safely, tend to two fires burning under huge pots of a porridge of sorghum, beans and lentils.

Mayom Adhal: Photo: Daryl Crowden

Like a number of other states of South Sudan, Northern Bahr el Ghazal is severely food insecure. (IPC4: At least 20% of households face extreme food consumption gaps, resulting in very high levels of acute malnutrition and excess mortality.) As I met with Council officials I am told "People are hungry". This WFP/World Vision feeding activity is helping, children are receiving at least one meal which is packed with nutrition. But until now, they came to a school with no, or very bad sanitation facilities and no clean safe, water. As a result of the lack of latrine facilities many young girls stay away.

The introduction of the Australian Government (DFAT) funded Humanitarian Partnership Agreement South Sudan response (Africa) has allowed for the opportunity to design a wholistic program of health, dignity and wellbeing.

• With a local partner we are building latrine blocks that will be private, disability accessible and gender segregated.
• Around the school colourful posters raising awareness of basic hygiene practices remind the community of the importance of hand washing and other the dangers of open defecation. We hope that these latrines will also bring young women back to school.
• We are also providing LifeStraw Community units to each classroom and two for common/community use. Children and teachers bring their own container of (mostly contaminated) water to school each day, empty it into their classrooms LifeStraw and throughout the day they have clean, safe drinking water.

Mayom Adhal: Photo: Cecil Laguardia

These complementary WFP/DFAT/WV programming activities are essential to addressing the needs of the community, and most importantly to improving the wellbeing of children through the provision of their basic rights. If this means that children are happy, safe and healthy at school then South Sudan has a generation of educated children to look forward to and the hope of a peaceful and bright future.

I Can Buy Shoes

Over the years I have often found myself humbled and embarrassed by the welcome afforded me as I arrive in communities where the organisation for whom I work is working.

Yesterday, I headed out into rural North South Sudan (Northern Bahr el Ghazal). After driving for hours on and off dirt tracks that would challenge any cartographer or four-wheel driver, through numerous informal checkpoints and communities constituted of a couple dozen mud brick/thatch houses and a few cows, we turned a corner to find a mob of people brandishing gardening tools blocking the road. One of my colleagues suggested we should slow, only to be told by our driver (laughing) that this was our welcoming committee.

I was instructed to get out of the vehicle and walk to meet the menacing crowd, some wearing Australian Aid and World Vision branded shirts, all singing and dancing, some waving sticks and others sharp looking hoes and green plastic watering cans as they advanced towards and then around me. Every now and then, in amongst the Dinka singing I heard the words “World Vision” while together we danced and sang our way down the track to a demonstration garden and the community gathering tree.

This community is one of seven sites in this region where World Vision, with local government and DFAT funding is working to improve food security and livelihoods through the provision of gardening and fishing kits. Over the past few years World Vision Australia has used funds donated by Australians to support World Food Program (WFP) projects in the region. These have provided short-term food interventions, but this Australian Humanitarian Partnership Famine Response (AHP) project complements the WFP work and builds sustainability by teaching women and men new agriculture techniques and introducing seven new crops that have been chosen to improve nutrition and diversify the existing (inadequate) crops.

Among the women who welcomed me today were two women with a disability; one with congenital blindness and the other an amputated arm as a result of the war for independence that caused most of the people in this area, close to the Sudanese border, to flee. But now, back home, these two women are amongst the group of 20 women Lead Farmers who have been trained to design gardens and grow crops – and to teach their communities to do the same in home gardens.

One of the women tells me that when she was chosen by her community to be one of the people involved in the project she was nervous, afraid of leaving home, but the day she received her gardening kit, which included seeds for the seven different crops, was “the happiest day of [my] life”. As a result of her involvement in the project she says: “I have bought myself shoes; my daughter is at school instead of at home; and my husband and I are not fighting anymore – we work together on our own garden at home. My garden gives me hope for my little girl”.

The funding for this project will finish at the end of this year, but by that time World Vision, with our partners, will have worked with about 2,000 households (about 12,000 children, women and men) to improve their food security and livelihoods – and provide hope for an improved future.

You are Welcome to South Sudan

It happened without warning, you’re always told it will. Horns were blaring, sirens wailing and people shouting. Chaos erupted around us seemingly out of nowhere. My security training told me - you shouldn’t be here - but what do you do when you are already in the middle of it.

But as quickly as the muscle memory of my security training was kicking in, I knew, or maybe just felt, that there was nothing to fear here. Apart from the fact that people and vehicles were coming from all directions - nothing unusual in Juba - flags were waving, and vuvuzelas blasting. This was not a belated World Cup celebration, this was a celebration protest.

The colours of Ethiopia and Eritrea, flags not often seen together in recent years, were leading the smiling, singing people. This was a celebration of the recent peace deal between Eritrea and Ethiopia (of which there is a large population in Juba).

For the first time in years the closed borders are open. 20 years ago families were torn apart by the conflict between the two states - today, my colleagues tell me they are planning trips into Eritrea to visit family they have never met.

So, as I sit on the banks of the White Nile discussing South Sudanese politics, its terrible impacts on millions of people and World Vision’s part in response, I hear myself praying that maybe this could be a sign of hope for the people of South Sudan - can we dare to pray that peace and hope could spread across the continent?

Localisation Pick ‘n Mix

It’s easy and comfortable sitting in Headquarters passionately advocating for a commitment to localisation. After all, the theory of a localised approach to humanitarian action makes sense, we all agree that making our humanitarian action as local as possible and as international as necessary, will better address the needs of affected populations. That by engaging with local and national responders in a spirit of partnership and aiming to reinforce rather than replace local and national capacities we will deliver a more sustainable impact.

localisation means recognising, respecting and strengthening leadership and decision-making by local and national actors in humanitarian action, in order to better address the needs of affected populations.

Aligning our strategies with the World Humanitarian Summit imperative and ensuring a commitment by humanitarian actors to deliver on the theory is easy. It really does make sense and it is not as if it is a new initiative or principle. Governments and academics may have coined a new term and re-defined the principle – but most humanitarian actors (and many faith communities) have been committed to the principles of local ownership and action for decades. (Conversely, and in truth, as many governments and actors have not – a paternal, colonial approach is much easier and quicker.)

But then, one day the academic, the politician and the strategist visit the field! They spend time in a disaster-prone community, they meet a school principal who regularly evacuates his school because of flood, they meet with groups who support women who have experienced intimate partner violence. They meet real people, living in difficult and complex real-life contexts, within a community that is not as structured and supported as home. And, almost instantly, the champion of inclusive localisation theory, the passionate advocate of self-governance and ownership transforms into a paternalistic colonial. “Why are they still operating in that area if it is flooded regularly? Why haven’t you (the NGO) moved them? Why are you not making the government department move them?”

The gap between theory and practice is revealed in the field. I am a passionate advocate for localisation, always have been, whether we called it that or not, but it’s not as easy as you might think, and want. While it is a principle that can be mandated by donors and international stakeholders – it is not a practice that can be assumed, a mindset easily adopted or even believed in by all humanitarian professionals. When faced by the realities of injustice and inequity localisation is not often the first principle to jump to mind and practice.

You can’t pick ‘n mix what parts of localisation you like. You can’t mandate that all funds will go to local actors, but their decision on how to spend it will be subject to donor approval. You can’t pretend you are empowering the local government but then dictate how and where they will build facilities.

The principles of localisation are good and right, as international actors we must work to operationalise the theory, but let’s not pretend it’s easy and that we will always get the results we want, or think they should have. (Nor should donors imagine they will always get the quality of compliance or transparency they demand if they require localisation.) Giving people ownership, ensuring that they choose their priorities requires giving up my control and trusting them, even if I don’t agree. (And maybe working on informing their decisions and priorities through relationship and trust – not compliance.)

REFLECTIONS ON A POTHOLE

It’s about 10 meters long and 10 meters wide, it’s unavoidable and it’s infamous. It’s outside the Rove Police Station in Honiara (Solomon Islands) and it’s the reason why it takes over an hour to travel 6km home.

There is only one road through Honiara, west to east, and this is a section of it. So, when, because of the latest downpour it takes on the nature of steroid infused swiss cheese, when there are more potholes, (that is, craters) than there is road – drivers are forced to a go-slow – around, through and head on - in both directions. Until, one day the road is graded and, while it could not be called ‘carpet road’ it is flat and easily navigable.

There is now need for excessive caution or potential head on collision at 5 km/h and yet despite the fix, drivers still go slow, and meander erratically - as a result there is still a backup of traffic.

I have plenty of time to contemplate the pothole, and I wonder: are there some lessons to learn from the pothole for the industry in which I work? I think of a couple:

1. The road is apparently a never-ending cycle of repair and despair. Instead of a once and for all fix more sand and gravel is tipped in and flattened down; for a time it looks and feels good. The art of the quick fix.

If only it were that easy and yet despite the logic and the benefit of experience we do the same in the world of aid and development. It is so much easier and quicker, and often looks good on the nightly media round-up to lay down some dollars – feed some people, build a facility, pay off some debt. 

To fix the root cause and to invest in the foundation takes more time, more effort and potentially upsets some power holders. It is so much easier, and cheaper, to avoid upsetting the system and just fill in the potholes. Even if changing the system, addressing the root cause, building strong foundations, (sealing the road) could result in sustained and beneficial life change, (and in the end actually be cheaper). 

2. What fascinates me about the driving conditions after the road repair is that despite the fix drivers still slow down to crawl through as though nothing has changed. What does it take for people to trust the fix after so many false starts?  

People are desperate for help, desperate for hope - but frightened to trust, frightened to believe that anything has changed. Do people just become so used to the way life is that even when they can see a fix they are more comfortable being cautious? Making things look good is easy, changing behaviours is the harder route – it requires a reason, time and trust. 

Until we can convince people that the fix, and we, can be trusted why should they change their behaviour? (And here in Honiara, all we have proved is that the road fix cannot be trusted – two days after the fix the road is as bad as ever as the rain washes away the fill.)

Our job is to push back against the quick fix with the associated media grab and brand boost. There will be no lasting hope without trust and there can be no trust without results.

The Star Thrower

795,000,000

people were suffering from chronic undernourishment in 2014-2016 (UNFAO)
66,000,000

forcibly displaced people worldwide
22,500,000

refugees, over half of which are children under 18 years old
3,100,000

45% of all child deaths, in 2011, were the result of undernutrition
28,300

people a day are forced to flee their homes as a result of conflict and persecution

THE WATER is a little choppy in the lagoon as the tide begins to turn, but I am determined to keep going – to reach my predetermined goal, before I turn around. Other than the sound of waves lapping against the paddle-board there is nothing, and no one, out here. The water is a translucent silver-green and below me I can see to the sea bed where brightly coloured and oddly shaped fish dart quickly from my shadow. In contrast to the manic fish, static among the coral and scattered like coloured confetti, are a multitude of star-fish - bright blue, red dotted, orange, green and brown - as far as I can see and for as far as I venture.

I am a long way from Darling Harbour Convention Centre in Sydney were recently I addressed a group of scientists on the subject of feeding the hungry in a complex humanitarian crisis. As part of the presentation I was asked to set the scene – to outline the scope of the global need. The numbers (above) are enormous, overwhelming and incomprehensible. The need is unprecedented in our history. As a result, for most, because the need and numbers are unfathomable we prefer to ignore, or at least excuse ourselves from the solution because ‘my little can’t possibly make a difference’.

Describing the context and rattling off the numbers in the comfort and excesses of Darling harbour is a far cry from where I am now, and where I have been in these last weeks. The statistics become personal in the eyes of the East Timorese child who will eat one meal a day, walk five kilometres to school and then go home to collect water from the river before helping her mum collect fire wood for sale the next day. Or in the story of the young Fijian boy who because of his disability was unable to get into the evacuation centre when the cyclone hit his village.

Four million Pacific Island people live in poverty – almost half the total population. Poor child and maternal health care, contaminated water, poor sanitation and a lack of education about nutrition are wasting opportunities, wasting lives and killing people. (Oxfam)

As I glide across the water with the uncountable number of star-fish below me, the sea breeze picks

up and I find it harder to make progress into the waves and the wind. I am reminded of the story of the Star Thrower (Loren Eiseley) and I am almost overturned by the prompt that I have a decision to make (again – because it’s a recurrent prompt). I can choose to be overwhelmed, throw my hands in the air with despair and ignore the need because the numbers are just too mind boggling, and the needs way to complex, or I can try to make a difference for that one boy, or that one girl that play in the dirt in front of me now.

So, like I did on the water, I keep going – often against the tide and into the wind – and I choose to make a difference – for that one.

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'It made a difference for that one'

Once upon a time, there was a wise man who used to go to the ocean to do his writing. He had a habit of walking on the beach before he began his work.

One day, as he was walking along the shore, he looked down the beach and saw a human figure moving like a dancer. He smiled to himself at the thought of someone who would dance to the day, and so, he walked faster to catch up.

As he got closer, he noticed that the figure was that of a young man, and that what he was doing was not dancing at all. The young man was reaching down to the shore, picking up small objects, and throwing them into the ocean.

He came closer still and called out 'Good morning! May I ask what it is that you are doing?'

The young man paused, looked up, and replied 'Throwing starfish into the ocean.'

'I must ask, then, why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?' asked the somewhat startled wise man.

To this, the young man replied, 'The sun is up and the tide is going out. If I don't throw them in, they'll die.'

Upon hearing this, the wise man commented, 'But, young man, do you not realize that there are miles and miles of beach and there are starfish all along every mile? You can't possibly make a difference!'

At this, the young man bent down, picked up yet another starfish, and threw it into the ocean. As it met the water, he said, 'It made a difference for that one.'

So, can I encourage you to take the time to do something that will make a difference to someone else's life ... and it doesn't have to be much and they don't need to know. Just take a moment, do something special.

[Adapted from The Star Thrower, by Loren Eiseley (1907-1977)]

The Impact of Water

 A lack of rain, resulting in a dry and dusty drought has become the norm for most of the inhabitants of Timor Leste and has resulted in a drastic change of lifestyle for many.

After travelling 70km, which took three hours along terrible roads (when does a road lose the right to be called a road?) with some stunning views, I arrive in the district of Baucau, in the sub-village of Caicua. The greeting is warm and the coffee is sweet, and as we sit speaking about the challenges and the past, Luis, the Caicua village chief, expresses thanks to World Vision and the Australian people for the (literally) lifesaving interventions that have meant, among other things, that water is available for some within ten meters of their homes.

In years past, the majority (80%) of Timorese people were engaged in agricultural livelihoods, with most of these working their own subsistence farms. (In 2009), about 67,000 households grew coffee, with a large proportion being the poorest. Before the drought, when there was water, many in Caicua grew rice which fed their families and supplied some extra income. But when the rains stopped, so did the paddy field yields. Today most of the village relies on gathering firewood to sell in larger markets and the harvesting of palm tree products for building materials and consumption.

Life has changed for the villagers; those that stayed have adapted their lifestyles to the new reality, but many have left and moved to larger towns where water is still available.

World Vision, with Australian Government (DFAT) funding began operating in this district in 2009, before the drought, but in the last two years together with the community World Vision has established new water points, trained people in appropriate farming methods, value add food processing, and financial management through savings groups.

The impact of the supply of water should not be underestimated. Following one of the possible

‘impact chains’ reveals that the results of the water include: adequate water supply for household needs (drinking, cooking and cleaning) and home garden use: resulting in increased and diversified garden yield: which improves family consumption and health (increased vitamin A, iron and protein) and provides surplus yield available for market: which increases household income: ‘extra income’ can be invested in village savings groups (70% of members are women): meaning that children can attend school because parents can pay for school uniform and school resources. Impact? Children are educated: children are healthier: Children and their parents have better likelihood of living life in all its fullness.

Inexplicable Kaleidoscopes of Emotion

I was standing on a rise overlooking line upon line of domed blue and white tents connected by a maze of narrow rocky roads and a spiders web of electrical cables hanging symmetrically and swinging rhythmically from metal poles. Outside some of the tents small satellite dishes pointed hopefully to the sky some sitting atop 44 gallon drums of kerosene – a families fuel for cooking and heating. Water connection points dotted the campscape and communal bathroom facilities rose above the tents marking out the symmetry and revealed an allegiance to international standards of IDP camp design. In the distance a water tower the size of a small apartment block interrupted the picturesque mountain-scape that dominated the far distant horizon. 

There is a harsh permanent beauty to this place that has been overtaken by uncertainty, fear and incomprehension. In the far distance snow capped mountains guard the valley and feed a small stream that meanders around the mesh and razor wire fence. Contained within the fence, thousands of families – most arrived within the last 5 months, some in the last days – are trying to make sense of the latest, and what looks like a more permanent eviction from their homes and neighbourhoods.

Mosul is about 20 kilometres away, and as I sit listening to another story of displacement I ‘feel’ and hear the whump of exploding air ordinance. The people around me don’t even flinch. They speak of running from homes as bullets explode in walls around them and as aircraft scream overhead firing rockets into the neighbourhood. Some had a day or two to get out – reading the signs, watching the news – hoping that it was not as they heard – but eventually and reluctantly getting out before all hell broke loose. Others got caught in the crossfire or the unpredictability of a war – escaping as soon as they could and mostly by cover of night. Many, many were not so lucky. 

I met families (and church leaders) who spoke of thousands of Yezidi women still held captive by Islamic State – including their relatives – girls as young as 7. I heard stories of bravery in the face of fear, of neighbour supporting neighbour and of people from surrounding cities such as Erbil driving their own cars toward the fighting to pickup strangers who had fled on foot – bringing them to safety and temporary housing in their own communities. 

I wonder how I can describe the scale and the ‘feeling’ of these fenced off places; but more importantly how can I convey the stories of the people who survive here? How can I convince the world, or more realistically the people in my sphere of influence that this is not right, this is not something we can ignore, this is not ‘other’? One of my roles is surely to communicate the unfairness and injustice; the overwhelming and insatiable need; the disappointment, the anger, the frustration, the gratitude, the fear, the hope, the confusion? Theirs is an inexplicable kaleidoscope of emotions and response. But, I don’t have the words to do this description justice. 

I sit with a family in their (tent) home: there are twelve people, three families in these two tents. A new baby was born to the family just last night, in the tent next door, without proper medical support, (Mum and baby are in care now doing alright but the baby is jaundiced). A one year old cries for Mum; two beautiful teenage girls sit quietly, almost on top of their dad; an 84 year old grandma sits in the corner wrapped in blankets, she says nothing; a young man and woman arrive to join us – announcing that they have just got engaged – they offer us sweet tea, and lunch, hospitality they can hardly afford. 

But when asked about their feelings about the future – they have little hope that they will go home anytime soon. If they had the money they would get out of Iraq – “to America or Australia” where they have relatives – and what was there to go home to anyway? 

Mosul was a big multi-ethnic city. A major economic, educational and cultural hub. One person I spoke with (who has family in Australia and has visited them) called it the Melbourne of Iraq. Can you imagine if Melbourne was attacked in the same way? If the East of the Yarra was systematically and deliberately destroyed by heavy artillery and street by street warfare, if snipers located on roofs on the West bank were shooting at any movement on the East. If over three quarters of the population had to flee east and north and live in tents throughout winter? 

I honestly can’t imagine it, it seems inconceivable - and yet to these displaced residents of a once proud Mosul it was equally unlikely - and yet that is the equivalent.

Azraq Refugee Camp - The Jordanian Desert

When he lived back home in Syria, Faisal was a semi-professional basketball player, a personal trainer and a sports coach. With his wife and three children he lived in a nice house, in a normal neighbourhood. He had work, he and his family were doing well. But that was 4 years ago – then one night the bombing and the fighting started. And it didn’t stop for days. When it did, (temporarily as it turned out) one of Faisal’s brothers was dead and he was injured. It was that night he, with 5 of his brothers and their families decided it was time to go. 

What followed was a journey that Faisal says he will never forget. His wife and he, with their 4, 3 and 1 year olds, walked away from their home, taking only what they could carry. For six hours, through the night for fear of being attacked, they walked through the desert to the Jordanian border; they were then lucky to be picked up by a passing trucker who let them ride in the back of his truck for a further 6 hours before they arrived at the border where they were ‘welcomed’ by the Jordanian military. 

It was much easier back then, Jordan was open to Syrian refugees – after all it was only going to be for a few weeks, maybe a few months, and then they would all be going home. And so, after two days of processing, they were transported to Zaatari Refugee Camp where they lived in a tent for six months before deciding to rent a place in the community. 

Unfortunately, not all Jordanians welcome the Syrians, and so after 18 months Faisal moved his family into Azraq Refugee Camp, where his fourth child, a little girl was born. This is like no other camp I have ever seen before. Mainly because it is located in the most desolate, isolated environment imaginable. Literally in the desert, in the middle of nowhere, the Jordanian government, learning lessons from Zaatari has, with UN and international partners, built a fit for purpose camp. 

38,000 people live here now, in row upon row of white corrugated iron sheds, in four ‘villages’, but there’s room for more. The camp is approximately 8km x 4km of barren, dusty desert. There are no trees, and the only (artificial) green in the whole place is three small, enclosed soccer fields that World Vision has built. These are the home of a very well organised soccer league, coached by premiership coaches and under the patronage of HRH Prince Hussein of Jordan – these games are serious business. (One of the fields in enclosed in maroon tarps for the girls and women to play.)

World Vision has been working in Azraq since its opening in April 2014 when, with local partners, it built the roads, and laid the original water and sanitation infrastructure. Today World Vision funds and operates a kindergarten for 5 year olds where 300 children a day (for a semester) are given tuition and basic life skills to assist them in preparation for entry into school. In parallel with the tuition the children are carefully monitored and basic psychosocial support is given, or if needed they are referred to partners for more specialised care. 

In addition to this, and funded in part by World Vision Australia, we partner with the World Food Program to distribute school lunches to over 7,000 children in six schools, every day. This is a vital part of the health program in the camp – and the kids love it! 

I sit on the floor in Faisal’s home after visiting these programs in the camp. His wife has brought us coffee and sweet cakes, and we sit talking about life here in Azraq. Obviously he wants to be back home, in his house – if it still exists – but since that’s not possible he says, “you have to make life, you have to be happy”. Two of his children are at school and happy, his wife has friends around her and they support one another, he has some work (which subsidises the UN allowance) with one of the UN agencies. He is coaching sports and this coming weekend he will run his second marathon in Aqaba – a refugee entrant. Outside his house he has plastic containers with green plants hanging off the walls – this garden is his statement of hope in a restricted world. 

Don’t misunderstand me, this place is not nice: just a few weeks ago it was freezing cold, wet and muddy, in a few weeks as summer kicks in it will climb up to 50C outside, but for too many people this (and places like it throughout Jordan, Lebanon, Turkey and Iraq) is home. 

The Syrian conflict enters its seventh year this month and there is no end in sight. The selfish politics and greed of too many stakeholders seems endless and uncaring of the cost on ordinary Syrians. Faisal doesn’t believe he will be taking his family home anytime soon, and is thinking of how he can get them out to another country where there are opportunities and hope for the children. In the meantime, they continue to need our support to ‘make life and be happy’.

Shining a Light on the Future for Vulnerable Children

The classroom was bright, colourful, ordered and alive with energy – a stark contrast to the vast dusty beige and confusion of the environment outside the high concrete walls of the school.

Ahmad, with 24 other children, was sitting at a brightly coloured table sticking felt eyes on a plastic plate forming a smiley face. Lifting it up in front of his face he smiled shyly from behind the mask at his Mum, Aaliyah, and she smiled back. Life had changed dramatically for Ahmad and his classmates in the last 4 years. 

Three and a half years ago, as a result of the war coming to her home town in Syria, Aaliyah and her husband had fled their home with a one year old boy. ‘We were scared, our family and friends were being killed by bombs, we didn’t understand what was happening, but we had to leave’. They left everything they owned except what they could carry and crossed the border, (nit as easy as it sounds) with thousands of others, into Jordan.

Today, they live in the Rusaife community, life is difficult, Aaliyah rarely has enough food for the family, which now includes a little girl, but the issue that concerned her most was the wellbeing of her little boy. Ahmad may have only been one when they fled their home in Syria, but Aaliyah believes the things he had seen and heard affected his life - he was withdrawn and quiet. 

But when, twelve months ago, World Vision commenced the NOUR project in Atika School Ahmad was one of the lucky ones. With fifty other children from a waiting list of hundreds Ahmad was selected to join the 2016 intake. Today he attends the preparation classes that will give him the best chance possible to be ready for grade one in the next school intake. In parallel with the Jordanian school curriculum he receives some support through a children’s psychosocial program, and Aaliyah is enrolled in ‘parenting classes’ where she learns some tools to help her support her children to flourish.

Many Syrian refugees live in host communities throughout Jordan. With the huge influx of Syrian’s into Jordan (More than one million people) over the past 5 years, the education system has been overwhelmed. Together with the Jordanian Ministry of Education, World Vision has begun the “NOUR” programme: Arabic for Light, the program will seek “To shine light on the future of vulnerable children, their families and communities”.

The Education component of this multi-sector program will will assist 2,000 refugee and host community girls and boys to access gender and child friendly education. We have established four Early Childhood Care and Development (ECCD) centres in four governorates of Jordan, building forty classrooms and renovating facilities in six schools. World Vision will train 200 teachers in child friendly methodologies and will form ten child parliaments. 

As Aaliyah speaks with us today, she says thank you, over and over again. Her boy smiles, he plays and he is learning – ‘I cannot ask for more’ she says.

I Can't Help Everyone: But Everyone Needs Help!

How many of you remember this image?  For those not as chronologically mature as I am this was a state of the art electronic arcade game. For many, it was the scene of many misspent teenage hours.

I’ve been in Amman for a few days now, working alongside colleagues in the Jordan, Syria and Regional offices. Each day my day starts with a short walk from the hotel to the office. It’s not far, but due to the absence of footpaths, the apparent disregard for road rules, and the chaotic traffic, it reminds me of Frogger. Except that Frogger was ordered and there was a pattern! There is no pattern here, there are lanes, but they are ignored — but when you cross the roads it is like you have been transported (ala Tron) into the (badly) pixelated world of dodgem cars. (You know how they tell you “do not intentionally hit the cars”, but let’s face it that’s why you drive a dodgem car– there’s no dodging, there’s only revenge!)

But I noticed this morning that where there was hesitation on day 1, there is now an inherent confidence almost an arrogance in my stride as I step out boldly into the traffic to cross the road. If you wait on the side for a break in the traffic, you will go nowhere; but calculate your best chance, step out with confidence and it’s almost as if the cars bow their heads and say — well done, you win!

These random thoughts were milling around in my head this morning as I was contemplating the state of the world and trying to work out how I balance the seemingly unending needs of the world with the resources available. Part of my role is to advise the organisation in its response to complex humanitarian crises; to weigh up the needs with the resources, to understand the organisations global response, identify the gaps and determine if there is a part that we can play.

Today we have famine declared in South Sudan, potential famine in Somalia, Nigeria and Yemen. Ongoing conflict in Syria, Afghanistan and Iraq. We have drought and weather crises in Southern Africa; earthquakes in Haiti and Solomon Islands; floods in Sri Lanka and Peru, wildfires in Chile, and a historically unprecedented number (65M) of displaced people. (And that’s not all!)

It feels like Frogger: all shapes, sizes and conditions of vehicles bearing down on me, on us, and not in nice neat lines, but from random directions and with varying velocities. No sooner have you dodged one than another lines you up for the strike.

In my role, perhaps my hardest decision is trying to work out who to help. How do we decide whose need is the greatest? I appreciate that we need to prioritise and strategise; I understand that we have limited resources and we need to focus on where we can have the greatest impact. But in making these subjective choices (albeit informed by our best data and knowledge) it still means that there are desperate people (asking for help) that we choose not to help. I can define my value proposition and I can couch this ‘prioritisation’ in all the best strategy speak I like but in the end it is a choice I make (we make) - do I help her, or him?

When I am given a dollar, how do I choose that the priority is to help the boy who fled Mosul and now has no home or prospect of education rather than the Somali girl who is desperately hungry because the rains have failed and the crops are dust? And what about the child that lives in the country I can’t even access because the risk is too great because of war — how is that fair, or right?

As I thread my way through the 5 ‘lanes’ of traffic I eyeball the guy that inches forward just as I step in front of him and I hear myself saying: I can’t help everyone; but everyone needs help! I can’t do everything; but everything needs doing!

And so today, I sit with colleagues hearing again of the immeasurable and unfathomable cost of the Syria conflict, the children who are frightened, hungry, alone and their need for more — more cash, more time, more food, more water, more advocacy, more hope... and at the same time my inbox fills with pleas for help from others who feel hopeless to respond to the growing needs in Somalia, in South Sudan and... 

I am called to be a change maker — that call came for me a long time before I joined World Vision, but today my thoughts are with the multi-millions who need our help. I am not suggesting we shouldn’t spend time developing our best strategy and choosing our priorities — we need to be smart otherwise we risk being ineffective — but I am saying it is never that easy. I wish it were as easy as making a strategic decision and enacting it — but then I remember that child: the one I met in a freezing cold tent in Lebanon; the one I buried in Sri Lanka; the one I played soccer with in Mongolia. When I translate the strategic decision into a face, a name, a story, when I look behind the data to the person—then it becomes raw and real.

My experience is that being a change maker always comes at some cost! There will be a cost to me personally, but it is only as, and if, I make the decision to be an agent of change in my sphere of influence that the organisation stands a chance of being influential and transformative and it is only then that I can honestly stand before those that support us and say — we are doing our best.

But before you think that it is all cost, gloom and hopelessness — let me hasten to add that there are also times of amazing fulfilment and joy as you see lives transformed, communities empowered — children laughing, smiling and dancing - because of the work and the choices that you are part of.

We stand on the side of the road watching the traffic stream toward us; we can choose to stand there paralysed by the chaos and risk, and in so doing be impotent to effect change, or we can watch for the ‘gaps’ and step out tentatively, confidently, arrogantly — we can risk doing something or nothing, we can risk messing it up or making it good — but one way or another we will be Change Makers.

[Daryl Crowden: February 2017]

IMPOSSIBLE DECISIONS

His eyes filled with tears as he spoke passionately about the impact of reducing Aid budgets. He spoke of the effects of the worst drought in 30 years; of one community rationing themselves to 1 litre of water a day (which the women and girls collect in 25l jerry-cans from between 500m and 3km away); of another where 99% of children under 5 are malnourished, about 60% chronically; of another where conflict has surfaced because one has a shallow well, and the other an open source.

Let’s face it, no matter how you do the maths, no matter what data you use, no matter what the method of analysis used to make the decisions and choose priorities, the outcomes and the life choices are “sub-optimal” – or just plain lousy!

How do you tell the mother of a vulnerable, hungry child that you can’t help support her with nutrition supplements anymore because Australia’s funding has been reduced and from now on we are only able to support the most vulnerable, the chronically malnourished? How do you tell one community that you cannot support them with water source rehabilitation because at least they have some water, (even if it is shared with their livestock) and with the money available we have to narrow our focus to the neighbours who have less water and more people? How do you decide to close out of education programming in favour of water and food – because they are lifesaving as opposed to life-skills?

How do you tell the people with whom you have been working, and to whom you have made commitments that as a result of funding reductions you can no longer deliver on those commitments because the donor has reduced the funding - instead you will narrow the focus of your programming? How do you break promises, without breaking relationships and hope?

“We build relationships with the people, we make promises, we deliver and they trust us! Now, I have to break my promises. I don’t care so much about what the government thinks, I care about the children and I feel like I will let them down.”

From the distance of my comfortable office in Australia I can tell these passionate and committed community development workers that they should never make promises (Community Development theory 101). But, let’s be realistic – development practitioners make a promise of commitment and relationship when we walk into a community. We pride ourselves (as we should) on a development model that demands we build relationships of trust with our community partners, we work hard to ensure that they own the process, that their voices are heard and that they make the decisions of priority – we make a promise to be an along-sider.

Let me be clear, my colleague is a smart man, he appreciates the political and economic landscape in which we are operating, and he recognises the complexity of our decisions. He gets the theory, he knows that governments make political decisions, he understands the fiscal realities. But, in the end, it’s he and his team that have to make the tough decisions about who and what they will focus on, and communicate those decisions to the people with whom they work – a people who (for the most part) do not care about the politics and financial positions or forecasts.

“Right now, our government is investing the least we ever have in Australian Aid” ww.australianaid.org/ #AustralianAid