I have just noticed that the dates on the blog correlate with when I create the draft, not when I actually post it. And so, you may want to check to titles instead of the dates of the blogs. I am not sure how to change the internal workings of the blog. I just do what I am told.
For instance, the current blog is Pavarotti, because I created it after I created Humpty-Genie, but I posted Pavarotti first and just posted Humpty today....
Oh, life is such a scramble of stuff....
You figure it out.....
and any advice on the Humpty matter is welcome....
g
Friday, April 24, 2009
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Pavarotti
I understand there were celebrations this month in Prague honoring the legacy of the greatest of all vocalists - at least the greatest in our lifetime. I recently imagined sitting in the audience, listening to the REAL Pavarotti, the one that lived and breathed. I expect the celebration this month was grand, but he wasn't there except in a virtual sense, in a "has-been" sense.
So it was with my travels today. I was in a "has-been" place.
The surroundings today were no less pristine, perfect than a Swiss village. God’s gift of unmatched beauty was draping the landscape. Tvarchali is tucked quietly in a basin with snow-capped mountains surrounding. Spring blossoms everywhere untamed, growing amidst the rubble. It was a wow place, like Pavarotti was a wow singer.
Now Tvarchali is nothing but a ghosted, ghastly bombed-out, burned-down town.
Why (in Russian) ПОЧЕМУ?( pronounced poh-chee-moo)
I don’t understand the reason for Tvarchali’s war death, I understand Pavarotti’s natural death. This town, it didn’t deserve its fate, war is stupid.
I recall a saying attributed to Pavarotti. “A day without tears is not worth living”.
Pavarotti’s wisdom makes sense to me. I shed tears a lot, those of you who know me. . Tears come from love and hurt and laughter and inspiration and calm and from anyplace there is life. Tears come from that non-head place, the heart, the soul, the spirit. I like tears, they help me to cleanse, to breathe deeper, to stop for a moment to find the stuff behind the stuff, beneath the exterior of whatever it is.
Tears came today as I drove to Tvarchali, enjoying the irrepressible bountiful SPRING morning, followed then by the filth and festering wounds of people and homes.
Pavarotti must have had tears many times just realizing the gifts that had been given to him.
My tears were for the gifts given to me, the spring bursting with smells and freshness and beauty, the sweet woman living alone, so grateful for a visit, some food, some life, and the grumpy ol' fella not so demonstrably grateful, but in his own way, I knew he was glad too.
All is good,
genie
So it was with my travels today. I was in a "has-been" place.
The surroundings today were no less pristine, perfect than a Swiss village. God’s gift of unmatched beauty was draping the landscape. Tvarchali is tucked quietly in a basin with snow-capped mountains surrounding. Spring blossoms everywhere untamed, growing amidst the rubble. It was a wow place, like Pavarotti was a wow singer.
Now Tvarchali is nothing but a ghosted, ghastly bombed-out, burned-down town.
Why (in Russian) ПОЧЕМУ?( pronounced poh-chee-moo)
I don’t understand the reason for Tvarchali’s war death, I understand Pavarotti’s natural death. This town, it didn’t deserve its fate, war is stupid.
I recall a saying attributed to Pavarotti. “A day without tears is not worth living”.
Pavarotti’s wisdom makes sense to me. I shed tears a lot, those of you who know me. . Tears come from love and hurt and laughter and inspiration and calm and from anyplace there is life. Tears come from that non-head place, the heart, the soul, the spirit. I like tears, they help me to cleanse, to breathe deeper, to stop for a moment to find the stuff behind the stuff, beneath the exterior of whatever it is.
Tears came today as I drove to Tvarchali, enjoying the irrepressible bountiful SPRING morning, followed then by the filth and festering wounds of people and homes.
Pavarotti must have had tears many times just realizing the gifts that had been given to him.
My tears were for the gifts given to me, the spring bursting with smells and freshness and beauty, the sweet woman living alone, so grateful for a visit, some food, some life, and the grumpy ol' fella not so demonstrably grateful, but in his own way, I knew he was glad too.
All is good,
genie
Monday, April 20, 2009
Putting Genie-Dumpty Together Again
At the end of today, after conflict and concession, argument and anger, I had a crust covering me. The work day was filled with Russian words and emotions, confrontations and compromises and my exterior crust having negotiated, examined and strategized was ready to fall down.
Some days, like today, I feel like the crumbling, crusty buildings around here must feel. Saying "I'm ready to give up, fall down". Most of the buildings have already fallen down. They too have endured more than they were meant to endure.
Humpty had all the Kings horses and all the Kings men to put him back together again. All Genie's friends and all Genie's family put me back together again. Although I have to pretend the hugs and the love are here, because the truth is, they are far far away. I have to put myself back together again, everyday, we all do. The hugs and the love are imagined. They are real in my heart, but most days I have to DO SOMETHING to get myself back together again.
The SEA helps me do that. Every evening, even with the safety concerns some days, I go to the sea. It helps to repair, to cleanse, to empty my crusty, crumbling body that probably looks like some of the buildings.
We are closing the program for frail vulnerable people in Abkhazia, by the end of August. I have been asked to do this. The national staff who have been here doing this work for years, (some for 8-9 years), will be devastated. How could MSF do this “to us”. How could MSF abandon these poor people?
Closing missions has troubled MSF for years. It is difficult to come to an area, be a critical player to assist a crisis and then to assist a community, or county to “take back their duties”. Many are accustomed to the assistance, and expect on-going support.
Peace agreements between fighting parties do not necessarily mean “Normality” will return anytime soon. And in Abkhazia where “peace” is not guaranteed at all, it raises questions about why is MSF choosing to close. Other NGOs (non-governmental organizations)focus on capacity building, ie leaving behind structures, knowledge, skills, and economic opportunities for the communities to work with. MSF has typically taken a more urgent and emergent need-filling role.
I have already had several meetings with International Commission for the Red Cross(ICRC). The local entity ,Local Red Cross, (LRC)will assume much of the social care of these frail, vulnerable folks for whom we now provide both medical and social care. The director is French and speaks excellent English and Russian, thank goodness. It is good to be able to have preliminary conversations without using my translator who would otherwise immediately return to the office and tell everyone the content of our discussions. It would be OK except there are "sensitive" issues. One of which has to do with the director of the LRC in Sukhumi. The LRC’s director is sister in law to the Minister of Labor and Social Welfare (MoLSW) who happens to be a (rhymes with brook, starts with a "c"). GOT THAT? We are obliged to deal with numerous entities in this closure. The good, the bad, and the really bad. Also the LRC is not recognized by Geneva Convention because Abkhazia is not a country, just a territory of Georgia. The ICRC is here to assist this local entity that calls itself a local Red Cross, but really isn't. There are financial issues as we close the mission that complicate the matter further because the Ministry of Labor and Social Welfare wants to take over the LRC in 2010. Do we hand over to an entity that is functioning now, but is likely to function poorly, or not at all in a year?
This is complex, many players trying to juggle a tense, fragile culture, with "brooks" for leaders (as if that hasn’t happened around the world for centuries), no resources.......
Despite the curiosities and frustrations, I remain honored to be apart of this complex mess.
And, excuse me for a while, I am going to the sea to put Dumpty-Genie back together again.
I will catch all your love and hugs you are sending in the sea-breeze………………
Later, g
Some days, like today, I feel like the crumbling, crusty buildings around here must feel. Saying "I'm ready to give up, fall down". Most of the buildings have already fallen down. They too have endured more than they were meant to endure.
Humpty had all the Kings horses and all the Kings men to put him back together again. All Genie's friends and all Genie's family put me back together again. Although I have to pretend the hugs and the love are here, because the truth is, they are far far away. I have to put myself back together again, everyday, we all do. The hugs and the love are imagined. They are real in my heart, but most days I have to DO SOMETHING to get myself back together again.
The SEA helps me do that. Every evening, even with the safety concerns some days, I go to the sea. It helps to repair, to cleanse, to empty my crusty, crumbling body that probably looks like some of the buildings.
We are closing the program for frail vulnerable people in Abkhazia, by the end of August. I have been asked to do this. The national staff who have been here doing this work for years, (some for 8-9 years), will be devastated. How could MSF do this “to us”. How could MSF abandon these poor people?
Closing missions has troubled MSF for years. It is difficult to come to an area, be a critical player to assist a crisis and then to assist a community, or county to “take back their duties”. Many are accustomed to the assistance, and expect on-going support.
Peace agreements between fighting parties do not necessarily mean “Normality” will return anytime soon. And in Abkhazia where “peace” is not guaranteed at all, it raises questions about why is MSF choosing to close. Other NGOs (non-governmental organizations)focus on capacity building, ie leaving behind structures, knowledge, skills, and economic opportunities for the communities to work with. MSF has typically taken a more urgent and emergent need-filling role.
I have already had several meetings with International Commission for the Red Cross(ICRC). The local entity ,Local Red Cross, (LRC)will assume much of the social care of these frail, vulnerable folks for whom we now provide both medical and social care. The director is French and speaks excellent English and Russian, thank goodness. It is good to be able to have preliminary conversations without using my translator who would otherwise immediately return to the office and tell everyone the content of our discussions. It would be OK except there are "sensitive" issues. One of which has to do with the director of the LRC in Sukhumi. The LRC’s director is sister in law to the Minister of Labor and Social Welfare (MoLSW) who happens to be a (rhymes with brook, starts with a "c"). GOT THAT? We are obliged to deal with numerous entities in this closure. The good, the bad, and the really bad. Also the LRC is not recognized by Geneva Convention because Abkhazia is not a country, just a territory of Georgia. The ICRC is here to assist this local entity that calls itself a local Red Cross, but really isn't. There are financial issues as we close the mission that complicate the matter further because the Ministry of Labor and Social Welfare wants to take over the LRC in 2010. Do we hand over to an entity that is functioning now, but is likely to function poorly, or not at all in a year?
This is complex, many players trying to juggle a tense, fragile culture, with "brooks" for leaders (as if that hasn’t happened around the world for centuries), no resources.......
Despite the curiosities and frustrations, I remain honored to be apart of this complex mess.
And, excuse me for a while, I am going to the sea to put Dumpty-Genie back together again.
I will catch all your love and hugs you are sending in the sea-breeze………………
Later, g
Just call me Sherlock
Ah HA!!!!!! The mystery of the bedbugs is unfolding.
Every 10 days or so the housecleaner (yep, a cook and a cleaner) changes the cover of my terrorist comforter.
For 2 or 3 days after that I itch. Here is my theory:
I itch because the Abkhazian bedbugs are disturbed, agitated, pissed and perhaps energized when the cover on the comforter is changed. I surmise, being a great detective, that they creep out of the comforter into the new cover and attack! Yep, hide and attack......happens every 10 days or so.
Guess bedbugs, just like most people, hate change, and when it happens they get downright nasty.
So, do I ask the house cleaner to foreget about changing the cover? Do I just put up with a few days of itching, and let the little buggers finally go back to hiding until the next change and attack?
Or, do I quit wasting your time and mine talking about this stuff?
I vote for the last idea.
g
ps - two days later - I found another comforter in the other house and I am going to try it for a while - wish me well -
the other pastures are always greener, i guess the other comforters are always softer (and less buggie).................
Every 10 days or so the housecleaner (yep, a cook and a cleaner) changes the cover of my terrorist comforter.
For 2 or 3 days after that I itch. Here is my theory:
I itch because the Abkhazian bedbugs are disturbed, agitated, pissed and perhaps energized when the cover on the comforter is changed. I surmise, being a great detective, that they creep out of the comforter into the new cover and attack! Yep, hide and attack......happens every 10 days or so.
Guess bedbugs, just like most people, hate change, and when it happens they get downright nasty.
So, do I ask the house cleaner to foreget about changing the cover? Do I just put up with a few days of itching, and let the little buggers finally go back to hiding until the next change and attack?
Or, do I quit wasting your time and mine talking about this stuff?
I vote for the last idea.
g
ps - two days later - I found another comforter in the other house and I am going to try it for a while - wish me well -
the other pastures are always greener, i guess the other comforters are always softer (and less buggie).................
Angels Work
The birds were chirping early this morning, just before sunrise, those most magical of moments, when the sun has not started its “warming work” for the day, and there is a faint light, not really daylight yet. That’s the best part of the day, for angels I think.
The angels said today “Who will be given an extra burst of wonder?"
"We can also add some beauty in disguise", they say.
Genie, they conclude, will be selected.
As I climb the treacherous nine flights of crumbling concrete stairs, the “elevators” that were present of course do not work. (I wouldn’t get in them even if they were working). I thought, “no wonder Beeva Lubov, (whom I had not yet met), is homebound”.
Beeva was born with clubfeet and other physical anomalies, she has known difficulty all her life. She has overcome the stares directed at her and she has given up on having a lover and a child. No one would choose such deformities to share a bed, a life. The war 16 years ago was just another insult, another loss. She is among the fortunate ones. She still has a tiny flat, 9 stories in the air, in an otherwise decrepit, burned out tenement housing looking place. It smells bad, looks bad, feels bad. Beeva sits on her bed, feet covered, with her threads on a table next to her. She sews. She makes little boxes from old postcards and stitches them together. I have seen these boxes in my office. I wonder if Beeva made them. As I examine, I do not detect any shame or resistance, she has long since made peace with herself. Her little feet are curled and calloused, but they still assist in keeping her upright when she chooses. She hobbles instead of walks. We have a pleasant visit. She is fine.
Miyasnikova Kladvdia is a strong woman, having had a stroke, she said “I get up every day and put a smile on my face”. “That has kept me alive”. And sure enough, I believe it has. Mia knits. She knits thick, strong socks for the sailors that come to port in the winter. A neighbor carries Mia’s coveted socks to the docks and sells them to the sailors. Mia is proud and she is strong. Her blood pressure is a bit high today. I expect her BP is high every day, despite the medicines we give her. She is fine.
Medvinskaiya Zoya is a lovely 86 year old woman, who was very wealthy before the war. She had family, a husband, 2 sons, a daughter. All are dead now. The daughter just died last year with cancer, the rest died in the war. There are pictures, amazing pictures of her family. They were beautiful people. The daughter’s picture was a carbon copy of Kate Winslet. Stunning. Her own picture as a child, whimsical, curly blonde hair, “A tart I was”, she said in Russian. I took a picture of Med with a photo of herself as a child. Her garden was full with tulips. She cut 3 and gave them to me. After she had picked 2 tulips I said “that is plenty”. She said, “Oh no, we never pick 2 flowers, that means death, we pick only 3 flowers, that is for life”. Med is fine.
Efremova Klavdia is 94, bedbound. She too lost her husband in the war. He was injured and died a year later (I wonder what position he held in the war, 15 years ago, when he was 80). She lost her son also. Her grandson, a kind man, is her caregiver. He is grateful for the Pampers we deliver and the dry food. It helps, everything helps. Effie is in bed, cognitively intact, no complaints, just lying there. She offers a small smile. Effie is blind. She asks “who is the new person?” She didn’t see me, she heard me. There is a lovely burst of sunshine reaching into her bedroom, a glow on her face. I ask, as I do with every patient, “May I take your picture?”
Effie shakes her head “yes” and then gently, slowly she removes the tattered scarf on her head that keeps her warm. She takes her hand, as she has done thousands of times, and “fixes” her hair. The mess of glistening white strands on her head, the ones she has not seen for decades become the momentary object of her concern. And so Effie, without much success, conducts this womanly ritual preparing her self for the portrait.
I may not have noticed these moments in another setting, in another place. The language that I do not speak, the words I cannot understand, keep my senses alive. I see things, the resignation on Beeva’s face, the pride on Mia’s face, the lingering beauty on Med’s face and the relentless effort to be a woman, on Effie’s face.
In all of us we find strength and pride and beauty and the relentless quest to be human.
I am grateful for the wondrous, beautiful gifts the angels gave me today.
genie
The angels said today “Who will be given an extra burst of wonder?"
"We can also add some beauty in disguise", they say.
Genie, they conclude, will be selected.
As I climb the treacherous nine flights of crumbling concrete stairs, the “elevators” that were present of course do not work. (I wouldn’t get in them even if they were working). I thought, “no wonder Beeva Lubov, (whom I had not yet met), is homebound”.
Beeva was born with clubfeet and other physical anomalies, she has known difficulty all her life. She has overcome the stares directed at her and she has given up on having a lover and a child. No one would choose such deformities to share a bed, a life. The war 16 years ago was just another insult, another loss. She is among the fortunate ones. She still has a tiny flat, 9 stories in the air, in an otherwise decrepit, burned out tenement housing looking place. It smells bad, looks bad, feels bad. Beeva sits on her bed, feet covered, with her threads on a table next to her. She sews. She makes little boxes from old postcards and stitches them together. I have seen these boxes in my office. I wonder if Beeva made them. As I examine, I do not detect any shame or resistance, she has long since made peace with herself. Her little feet are curled and calloused, but they still assist in keeping her upright when she chooses. She hobbles instead of walks. We have a pleasant visit. She is fine.
Miyasnikova Kladvdia is a strong woman, having had a stroke, she said “I get up every day and put a smile on my face”. “That has kept me alive”. And sure enough, I believe it has. Mia knits. She knits thick, strong socks for the sailors that come to port in the winter. A neighbor carries Mia’s coveted socks to the docks and sells them to the sailors. Mia is proud and she is strong. Her blood pressure is a bit high today. I expect her BP is high every day, despite the medicines we give her. She is fine.
Medvinskaiya Zoya is a lovely 86 year old woman, who was very wealthy before the war. She had family, a husband, 2 sons, a daughter. All are dead now. The daughter just died last year with cancer, the rest died in the war. There are pictures, amazing pictures of her family. They were beautiful people. The daughter’s picture was a carbon copy of Kate Winslet. Stunning. Her own picture as a child, whimsical, curly blonde hair, “A tart I was”, she said in Russian. I took a picture of Med with a photo of herself as a child. Her garden was full with tulips. She cut 3 and gave them to me. After she had picked 2 tulips I said “that is plenty”. She said, “Oh no, we never pick 2 flowers, that means death, we pick only 3 flowers, that is for life”. Med is fine.
Efremova Klavdia is 94, bedbound. She too lost her husband in the war. He was injured and died a year later (I wonder what position he held in the war, 15 years ago, when he was 80). She lost her son also. Her grandson, a kind man, is her caregiver. He is grateful for the Pampers we deliver and the dry food. It helps, everything helps. Effie is in bed, cognitively intact, no complaints, just lying there. She offers a small smile. Effie is blind. She asks “who is the new person?” She didn’t see me, she heard me. There is a lovely burst of sunshine reaching into her bedroom, a glow on her face. I ask, as I do with every patient, “May I take your picture?”
Effie shakes her head “yes” and then gently, slowly she removes the tattered scarf on her head that keeps her warm. She takes her hand, as she has done thousands of times, and “fixes” her hair. The mess of glistening white strands on her head, the ones she has not seen for decades become the momentary object of her concern. And so Effie, without much success, conducts this womanly ritual preparing her self for the portrait.
I may not have noticed these moments in another setting, in another place. The language that I do not speak, the words I cannot understand, keep my senses alive. I see things, the resignation on Beeva’s face, the pride on Mia’s face, the lingering beauty on Med’s face and the relentless effort to be a woman, on Effie’s face.
In all of us we find strength and pride and beauty and the relentless quest to be human.
I am grateful for the wondrous, beautiful gifts the angels gave me today.
genie
Friday, April 17, 2009
I'm OK
I recognize, based on numerous comments from friends, that my last post indicating "all is well" did not transmit. As I've said before, the internet access is a challenge on good days. It's just not working most days. I'm here in Sukhumi, fine.
There was No war, no evacuation, no problems. Russian tanks do parade down the streets of Sukhumi daily, lots of them. There are gunshots heard from my bedroom at night, almost every night. I have no idea the intent of the military movements or the shots.
I did have an uncomfortable encounter with a drunk yesterday. While taking a walk along the sea with a colleague who works in Tbilisi (who has very long bright red curly hair, clearly an anomaly to these dark haired, dark-skinned Abkhazians), the drunk guy approached us, started shaking his fists, yelling, being a typical drunk. The colleague yelled "Do not touch me". There were two other normal-looking guys approaching us. She yelled, "Can you help us?" The two guys did not make eye contact, did not offer assistance. We kept walking while the drunk guy tried to stand in front to block our passage. He was so inebriated he could not keep up with us. His attempt to push us was thwarted by his own poor hand-eye coordination. This is the extent of my difficult threatening events so far. Hope it stays that way.
There is no gun law here, anyone can carry and shoot a gun. Not very comforting. I suppose some of the night shots are random folks shooting their guns. I don't go out at night, except to walk across the street to go to the office which has guards. We have guards at our house as well.
The demonstrations in Tbilisi continue, but with less people, and no evidence of escalation at this time.
Summer is near, and summer is when the wars usually break out. Happened last year. Has happened in summer almost every time there has been a war.
The UN peacekeepers have been testing the airport in Sukhumi and so there is a possibility that we could evacuate via air, but if there is war, although it is not a particularly good idea to be flying when there are tanks below.
But for now, all is well. If there are unexpected movements, and indications that we should evacuate, then we will do so, across the Abkhaz-Georgia border through Gali and into Zugdidi, Georgia hopefully before a full-blown war would break out. Otherwise we will have to go to Russian, although we do not have Russians visas yet.
There is no intent to keep us here if there is war. There is intent to keep us here to do our work as long as things are "quiet". Things are quiet.
Several of you have sent items. I have not received any packages so far. Darn it.
I am safe, well fed with cabbage, beets, greasy meats and other things that I do not know what they are, but eat them anyway.
a bit rambling in my writing tonight,
will send more soon, at least if the internet is working,
genie
I also mentioned that there was "talk" in Paris that I would be in charge of closing down this program. It was confirmed, I will stay until it is closed in early Sept. I will be spending the next several months continuing to care for these folks, and dis-assembling the program. It will be sad, hard and met with resistance from the staff here. More later
There was No war, no evacuation, no problems. Russian tanks do parade down the streets of Sukhumi daily, lots of them. There are gunshots heard from my bedroom at night, almost every night. I have no idea the intent of the military movements or the shots.
I did have an uncomfortable encounter with a drunk yesterday. While taking a walk along the sea with a colleague who works in Tbilisi (who has very long bright red curly hair, clearly an anomaly to these dark haired, dark-skinned Abkhazians), the drunk guy approached us, started shaking his fists, yelling, being a typical drunk. The colleague yelled "Do not touch me". There were two other normal-looking guys approaching us. She yelled, "Can you help us?" The two guys did not make eye contact, did not offer assistance. We kept walking while the drunk guy tried to stand in front to block our passage. He was so inebriated he could not keep up with us. His attempt to push us was thwarted by his own poor hand-eye coordination. This is the extent of my difficult threatening events so far. Hope it stays that way.
There is no gun law here, anyone can carry and shoot a gun. Not very comforting. I suppose some of the night shots are random folks shooting their guns. I don't go out at night, except to walk across the street to go to the office which has guards. We have guards at our house as well.
The demonstrations in Tbilisi continue, but with less people, and no evidence of escalation at this time.
Summer is near, and summer is when the wars usually break out. Happened last year. Has happened in summer almost every time there has been a war.
The UN peacekeepers have been testing the airport in Sukhumi and so there is a possibility that we could evacuate via air, but if there is war, although it is not a particularly good idea to be flying when there are tanks below.
But for now, all is well. If there are unexpected movements, and indications that we should evacuate, then we will do so, across the Abkhaz-Georgia border through Gali and into Zugdidi, Georgia hopefully before a full-blown war would break out. Otherwise we will have to go to Russian, although we do not have Russians visas yet.
There is no intent to keep us here if there is war. There is intent to keep us here to do our work as long as things are "quiet". Things are quiet.
Several of you have sent items. I have not received any packages so far. Darn it.
I am safe, well fed with cabbage, beets, greasy meats and other things that I do not know what they are, but eat them anyway.
a bit rambling in my writing tonight,
will send more soon, at least if the internet is working,
genie
I also mentioned that there was "talk" in Paris that I would be in charge of closing down this program. It was confirmed, I will stay until it is closed in early Sept. I will be spending the next several months continuing to care for these folks, and dis-assembling the program. It will be sad, hard and met with resistance from the staff here. More later
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
BIG DAY TOMORROW
Dearest Ones,
April 9th, tomorrow, is a big day.
Tomorrow there will be a strike throughout Georgia, but primarily in Tbilisi, the capital. Thousand, even more, are expected to strike. All public transportation has been shut down. As you know, I work in Abkhazia, ("independent territory" of Georgia). The Head of Mission for Abkhazia is in Tbilisi, Georgia. Even without a strike, this reality is a problem. Georgians hate Abkhazians, Abkhazians hate Georgians. The strike tomorrow is protesting the President Tschastivelli who was instrumental in promoting the war last summer which involved Georgia bringing military tanks into SouthOssetia and Abkhazia, brutally killing thousands, planning to "take over" the two territories. Russia quickly flexed their military might and stopped Georgia's advances. Russia retains "peacekeepers" (soldiers) at the borders. Last week while I was in Gali, a border town conducting an assessment of the area, anticipating expansion of the MSF program, there were Russian tanks, lots of them, "ready and waiting" if they need to remind Georgia to "stay away from this area".
So, there are several problems that impact all of the MSF expats in Abkhazia. The first problem is that if the strike results in riots, and the riots turn into border skirmishes, and if war breaks out, we must get across a hostile border in order to leave Abkhazia. There is no way to leave Abkhazia other than to go back to Georgia. We do not have Russian visas because Georgia will not allow an American Embassy in Abkhazia, or any embassys for that matter, because it does not recognize Abkhazia's independence. Russia is closer, and is a "friendly" border, but we cannot cross into Russia. We must cross through military posts at the Abkhazia/Georgia border. We may not be allowed to cross if there is active military maneuvers (this happened last year, no expat could leave).
The second problem is that I am the only authorized driver for the MSF evacuation vehicle. The other person is on holiday and will not return until the 24th of this month. I will be the driver of the "tank-truck" if we are ordered to evacuate. Right now there are 7 expats here in Sukhumi, 3 are on holiday. There are other NGOs (non-governmental organizations such as United Nations, International Red Cross....) that have expats and there are provisions that if an evacuation occurs, we will go as a convoy, if possible. Also, recently in the past few weeks, there have been UN flights into and out of Sukhumi's old airport. Don't know yet if there is a chance we could all evacuate on UN aircraft.
There are lots of "what ifs" tonight, not much to do except be prepared to evacuate in the event of military action and a mandate to leave and ask for prayers from my loved one.
So, consider yourselves asked.
The email is not working right now, but I am writing in case this actually gets sent and you can at least stay tuned to world news programs to see if there is blue-eyed- gray-haired gal on CNN driving a white MSF vehicle with the well-recognized logo on the side, across the Abkhaz-Georgia border. I promise I will not be hollering "whahooooooooo ladies and gents, let's blast on passed these nice armed fellas"
I leave you tonight with love in my heart, and hopes for a reunion on another day.
genie
April 9th, tomorrow, is a big day.
Tomorrow there will be a strike throughout Georgia, but primarily in Tbilisi, the capital. Thousand, even more, are expected to strike. All public transportation has been shut down. As you know, I work in Abkhazia, ("independent territory" of Georgia). The Head of Mission for Abkhazia is in Tbilisi, Georgia. Even without a strike, this reality is a problem. Georgians hate Abkhazians, Abkhazians hate Georgians. The strike tomorrow is protesting the President Tschastivelli who was instrumental in promoting the war last summer which involved Georgia bringing military tanks into SouthOssetia and Abkhazia, brutally killing thousands, planning to "take over" the two territories. Russia quickly flexed their military might and stopped Georgia's advances. Russia retains "peacekeepers" (soldiers) at the borders. Last week while I was in Gali, a border town conducting an assessment of the area, anticipating expansion of the MSF program, there were Russian tanks, lots of them, "ready and waiting" if they need to remind Georgia to "stay away from this area".
So, there are several problems that impact all of the MSF expats in Abkhazia. The first problem is that if the strike results in riots, and the riots turn into border skirmishes, and if war breaks out, we must get across a hostile border in order to leave Abkhazia. There is no way to leave Abkhazia other than to go back to Georgia. We do not have Russian visas because Georgia will not allow an American Embassy in Abkhazia, or any embassys for that matter, because it does not recognize Abkhazia's independence. Russia is closer, and is a "friendly" border, but we cannot cross into Russia. We must cross through military posts at the Abkhazia/Georgia border. We may not be allowed to cross if there is active military maneuvers (this happened last year, no expat could leave).
The second problem is that I am the only authorized driver for the MSF evacuation vehicle. The other person is on holiday and will not return until the 24th of this month. I will be the driver of the "tank-truck" if we are ordered to evacuate. Right now there are 7 expats here in Sukhumi, 3 are on holiday. There are other NGOs (non-governmental organizations such as United Nations, International Red Cross....) that have expats and there are provisions that if an evacuation occurs, we will go as a convoy, if possible. Also, recently in the past few weeks, there have been UN flights into and out of Sukhumi's old airport. Don't know yet if there is a chance we could all evacuate on UN aircraft.
There are lots of "what ifs" tonight, not much to do except be prepared to evacuate in the event of military action and a mandate to leave and ask for prayers from my loved one.
So, consider yourselves asked.
The email is not working right now, but I am writing in case this actually gets sent and you can at least stay tuned to world news programs to see if there is blue-eyed- gray-haired gal on CNN driving a white MSF vehicle with the well-recognized logo on the side, across the Abkhaz-Georgia border. I promise I will not be hollering "whahooooooooo ladies and gents, let's blast on passed these nice armed fellas"
I leave you tonight with love in my heart, and hopes for a reunion on another day.
genie
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Announcement
Ta Daaaaaaaa
I am now a bonafide, official OLD LADY. Not because of my graying hair, or the joyful loss of childbearing status. Not because I suffer with bed-head and bad breath, the kind old ladies have. Not because I am the grandest-grand-mother of the most beautiful and intelligent child on the planet, or because my memory is “weak”. No, not even because The Bear called me a babooshka (old woman). And not because when I am in downward dog upside-downedness I discover my knees are wrinkled. Nope, none of these count.
It’s because when it rains, which it does a lot in this tropical paradise, My Right Elbow Aches. A Creaky, Cranky, Old Lady Ache. Formerly injured, causing a lingering tendonitis, my right elbow was “healed” soon before I departed for this mission, according to my orthopedic prowess. But now, every single gal-darn time it rains, which fortuitously for the flowers, and un-fortuitously for my elbow, it aches blasphemously.
So, I think I’ll have a party to celebrate my Old-Ladyship. Invitations will soon be in the mail, and sometimes in the next three decades (you know old ladies don’t rush into things) we will have the celebration, with a PARADE.
I am started Russian lessons last week, and I think I will also consider Old Lady Lessons as well. My MSF colleagues will hear a patchwork of my loud Russian accents, with fierceness, aggression and a frown, and then my delicate, whimpering accents (with my lip curled) and a frown. They will complement nicely, I think.
By the time I get home I should be properly hobbling, cantankerous as all get out, despising all things fresh and youthful, except flowers, grandchildren and men, and incessantly discussing my Colonic Misbehaviors, and of course my elbow. I will likely moan endlessly that for every 2 pounds I loose, I seem to gain three pounds of wrinkles.
Oh, joyous day, oh blessed moment, when every woman discovers she is an Old Lady.
Da’lings, I receive your warm congratulations with humble pride and bountiful gratitude.
No giggling…………..
All's Well on the Home Front
The strike today was attended by 50,000 persons, no riots, no border skirmishes, no resurrected war, no evacuation for now. It was business as usual.
I saw an elderly gentleman with a testicular abcess and cystitis, an 85 year old woman with Parkinsons with a nasty vascular wound, another 86 year old woman we will send for hip replacement, a spry 89 year old, quite frankly with nothing at all wrong, except she is poor and her home is despicable even after MSF has repaired plumbing and windows........and on and on
I did receive news from the Paris desk, that we will be closing this mission, and probably in the next few months. No rationale, just orders to put the transition plan together, and execute. I can do that.
I want to share with you what a patient said, just two days ago. I was planning on sending this last night, but changed to yesterdays news instead. I think it is even more remarkable today.
She didn’t say by love or compassion, not cooperation or negotiation, vim nor vigor. She didn’t say prosperity or peace, power or prayer, not beneficence or balance. Not oration or inspiration.
“The world will be healed by beauty”
But then what is beauty if it is not all of these things? And more.
Today I will think of all the ways beauty manifests in my world, seen and unseen.
Will you join me?
And so, I close tonight grateful for your candles, prayers, beautiful words and the drawing little Dylan did for me with his toy truck dipped in paint and driven across his colored paper as his way of connecting to me and a symbol of his love, all of these gestures of love and hope and just plain goodness were felt all day.
Wow!!!!!!!!
Kidnapped
No, not me, I’m fine. Though I will tell you about kidnappings happening in Abkhazia daily.
Here’s how it works, pay close attention.
Guys: It’s a moonlit night, you are walking along the seashore with your sweetie, stealing a little smooch while holding her close to you (but not as close as Svet was holding me, no not that close). Romantic? Yes. She’s the one? Yes. Ready to pop the question?? You bet’cha. Ready for the big M? (matrimony) You say "Ready as I’ll ever be, gulp".
Next Step. The following day, in broad daylight, you KIDNAP your beloved. You sweep her off her feet, literally, and GO. Go where you ask? Get this, you take her to your mother’s house!!!!
Yep, the guy kidnaps the girl and takes her to his mom’s place. That’s it. No certificate, no license, no justice of the peace or cleric, no ceremony, unless you want to “make a party” in a couple of months, no “I dos”, no rings and things. Done. Once you have kidnapped her and take her to mom’s place, SHE IS YOURS, ‘til death you do part. That’s all there is to it.
Now, what happens if you gals want to ditch the dude? Guys don't need to ditch girls, they just kidnap another gal and add to the collection. According to one woman I spoke to, her approach was rather daunting. She was kidnapped at 16 years of age, a typical age for kidnapping, and by 20 she was fed up with the guy (or maybe his mother) not sure which. She went to the University, became an attorney at law, and filed papers of divorce. There were no papers of marriage, but apparently you make papers of divorce. Go figure. So, gals, if you are not planning on becoming a lawyer in this lifetime, choose wisely if you come to Abkhazia. Otherwise, you and mom-in-law are hangin’ for as long as one of the two of you are around.
There are other questions like “what happens when mom has 8 boys and they all bring home their betrothed, what happens then? Where’s dad in all this matrimony menagerie? Why can’t lovers pick their own digs? Things like that. But for now, I think the basic kidnapping-reality is sufficient to ponder. We will save the rest for another visit. Meanwhile in order house all these brides I'm guessing pops has to get a 2nd job (which given the lackadasicalness of every Abkhazian male it is hard to imagine).
Nighty night.
G
Send pictures of yourselves, all of you! The old fashioned kind, not electronic. We are forbidden to download pictures, on these ancient machines. There’s no way to print them anyway.
Once Upon A Time
a girl walked along the beach.
It was chilly that day, early spring, so foggy that she could not see the sea, just the muddy mist, and while she walked she wondered.
She was a visitor, like all the visitors scattered along that rocky shore. The other visitors were not talking, but telling stories. The girl listened, she didn’t have any choice really, the stories were so curious.
The first visitor was a piece of wood, sculpted with a lovely design. This visitor said, “Oh, I am a visitor from a magnificent ship, I am a banister that caressed and guided beautiful hands as they walked down the stairs to the elegant ballroom. I am a banister, and a proud one. The girl wondered, was this banister-visitor really a broken piece of wood from that house over there, the one bombed to smithereens 15 years ago and has not yet been repaired? Is the visitor-banister ashamed to admit its true heritage?
The girl walks on. The next visitor was a piece of gauze, ragged and wrapped around a piece of driftwood. The visitor said, “I am gauze and I once wrapped the finger of a beautiful little princess who was sailing with her father one day on the
The next story came from a skull bone, human for sure. Actually, a partial skull bone. The girl looked for the missing part, probably consumed by something swimming in the sea. The skull bone said “I come from the captain of a famous ship who sailed the
And the stories from the beach went on and on and on.
Once upon a time a girl walked on the beach and wondered while visitors on the shore told her stories...........
My Room
I am settling in to the everyday routines and the space that is now “my home”. Today I will introduce you to “my room”.
The expat house is a large 6 bedroom, 2 bath, 2 story house. I am guessing 4,000 square feet. Hardwoods with exquisite patterns, adorn the floors throughout, except in the kitchen and baths, which have crappy linoleum. Well worn, the hardwoods are filled with “dirt grout” adding to the mystique of the floors, the linoleum, on the other hand is just plain ugly. Radiating heat from old heaters keeps us warm. At least as long as the electricity is working, which is ¾ of the time. When the power is off, no problem, we use kerosene lanterns, pee-yew, and candles, ahhhhhh.
The lights are flickering right now.
It’s now another day, power back on.
My room, one of four bedrooms upstairs is a former nursery, the wallpaper tells me so. Faded, filthy, it nonetheless is endearing. You’ll soon understand.
In my room is a twin bed, with the dastardly comforter you know well. Many thanks to those of you who have contributed to possible solutions regarding its misbehavior. Safety pins are a nice idea, if I had safety pins, or if they were available to purchase. Putting a sheet over the comforter to "strait-jacket" it down like a crazy person in a mental ward is a great idea if I had an extra sheet. I have no sheet, there are none. So my love-hate affair with the not-so-comforting thing continues. The comforter knows I need its warmth, and so it is at liberty to taunt me with its bad habits, not unlike the national staff who report to me and upon whom I am dependent, trying my kindness and patience daily. These darn Abkhazians, animate and inanimate are testy.
There is a desk in my room. I am sitting at it now. On the desk are a few essentials. A little stuffed bear, a clock, pills (yuck), iPod, a few American medical texts, MSF guidelines and minor surgical procedures (how to treat subcutaneous paronychia, pericardial puncture technique, yada yada).
I like the set of salt and pepper shakers, purchased in Paris, little genderless people in an embrace, reminding me of virtual hugs that I send to you and you send to me.
There is also a box to put clothing in, 3 shirts, 3 pants, 6 undies, and 35 pairs of shoes (just kidding, only 3 pair).
There are three little kitty scenes on the wallpaper, repeating over and over and over.
Scene one: Little kitty boy peg-legged-pirate with his headband and the little kitty-girl-pirate with her eye patch have just discovered buried treasures. They are joyfully dumping coins, jewels, and a magic lantern (genie inside?) on the ground.
Scene two: Three little kitty sailors scrub-a-dub-dubbing in the galley, a skipper in his stripes, the sailor girl with her broom, and the galley boy. Below deck they are gleefully working and singing.
Scene three: Captain kitty at the stern, wheel in his mighty kitty-hand, and the first kttty-mate playing a fiddle, meowing melodiously.
I have an alter-ego that emerges in my dreams and occasionally in reality. That person is a sassy, salty sailor girl. I love all things sailing. And here I am, in my room, enjoying sailors morning and night.
I have moonlit serenades by the first mate. I am awakened by cheerful sailor-scrubbers. Finally, I, like the kitty pirates, have found treasures, here in Abkhazia.
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