Get Involved!

Several Governments have schemes for supporting international projects through volunteering: probably the AusAid scheme is the one of the best known, and YUM has had several skilled Australian volunteers through this channel.

I recently read in a local  English/French newspaper (Connexion, dec. 2008) that the French government is considering a Volunteering option to military service … “The Volunteers would get a monthly allowance of 650eu. to work with charities where a system would formally recognise the skills and experience they gained’” (my italics)  

This formal recognition of skills and experience is valued by both the volunteer and the project (to say nothing of the financial allowance!).  Let us know if your government offers such schemes, and how you might take advantage of them.

Hesther Bate

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At the SDIA annual general meeting in Amanecer, Colombia, members met and, among other things, discussed the challenge of food security that faces many countries, with devastating consequences for the poorest nations.  We shared our analyses of the food crisis, which members saw as being based on the following causes:

1. Neglect of national agriculture policy in many developing countries — Thirty years of trade liberalization and structural adjustment in many developing countries, particularly in Africa, have weakened government support to their agricultural systems, which now spend an average of only four percent of their budgets on a sector that accounts for 60-80 percent of their citizens’ livelihoods.
2. Donor retreat from aid for agricultural development — international aid donors drastically cut the portion of their aid directed to agriculture starting in 1990 falling from 20 percent in the late 80’s to 5-7 percent today.
3. Expanding meat and dairy product consumption — over the past 50 years meat and dairy consumption have steadily risen in developed countries. At the same time, the use of grain-based animal feeds has also increased. Each kilogram of meat intensively produced requires 3-7 kilograms of grain. Now rapidly growing developing country super-powers (China, India and Brazil) are also increasing their consumption of meat and dairy products although they still lag far behind rich country consumers.
4. Biofuel development — the rapid rise in the international price for corn, soybeans and other edible oils is directly attributable to expanding biofuel production in the US and Europe. There are ‘knock-on’ effects on the prices of other cereals as well. While biofuel agriculture is just beginning in developing countries, in these countries investors are already rushing to grab more land for biofuel production, threatening biologically diverse regions and the access by small-scale producers to land on which to grow food.
5. Increased market volitity and speculation — the liberalization and deregulation of agricultural markets of the past three decades has contributed to an increase in the market price of food.

Solen Lees Gratiet (SD France) and Augusto Ruiz (SD Colombia) shared their thoughts about what we as project leaders and ordinary members can do to help. Some of their ideas included:

• Supporting projects that emphasize local food production and consumption;
• Supporting those countries most affected by the food crisis;
• Creating seed and protein banks so that people can access food supplies they need.

According to a recent FAO Summit of Food Security, medium and long-term solutions include:

• An increase in investment in agriculture at the national level
• Investment in science and technology for food and agriculture
• The establishment of systems that positively contribute to the mitigation of climate change and food security
• Further dialogue on biofuels
• Further liberalisation of trade in agricultural products

In the SD Network there are several projects working in small and bigger ways on Food Security: these include Asociacion Vivir (Ecuador), Child’s Garden of Peace (Brazil), Bellingham Community Meals (USA), Anisha, Sradah and CCD (India), Albadi School and Orphanage (DRC),  Sun for Life (Madagascar) and likely several more.

Do you think we need an SD Food Security Network or Discussion Group? What should be its purpose? How should we communicate? What do you think about the Food Security issue and what are you ready to do in your own Subud group or country to help?

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Myroslava Mykytyn writes about her profound experience with Vida Plena, the Susila Dharma project in Asuncion, Paraguay…

A year ago I remember I was in awe of visiting South America. I wanted to be a pediatrician, and my dream for a long time has been to work down there, even though I had never visited before. So I knew I had to experience it once and for all first, and my plan was to work with a children’s organization to gain experience in my desired field of work.

My father is a member of Subud and suggested I look to Susila Dharma for opportunities of volunteering abroad. After having contacted many organizations throughout South America, I came across Elisabeth Gavilan in Paraguay.

She very generously and openly invited me into her home and allowed me to join her family. She is the director of a small organization called Vida Plena in Asuncion, the capital of Paraguay. Her efforts are directed to helping impoverished children within the largest market in the city, the Mercado Abasto.

Here, these children are given a healthy diet, basic clothing, medical attention, and academic support. Above all, Elisabeth provides the children with a loving and caring environment for them to achieve their full potential and to find refuge in order to relieve themselves of daily stresses imposed by family and school.

The Microscope

Because of my studies in science at the University of Ottawa, Elisabeth asked me whether I would be interested in teaching biology to the children. I accepted eagerly and began to search for donations of microscopes, various other science equipment, and children books as well. I came down with a large suit case packed tight of scientific lab material; one can imagine how much interest Paraguayan customs had in me.

When I arrived, everything was very much a culture shock, especially being a visible minority, it took me a while to adapt and become familiar with my surroundings. I was overwhelmed when I first met all the children, there were so many of them.

The children’s centre is located within the market, a rather industrial area not necessarily where one would expect to find a facility for children, but I soon came to realize that’s where it was needed most.

Many of the children live directly within the market where their parents work. Their main form of activity and fun is soccer. They play barefoot with glass and cut wire on the ground, yet any who falls and hurts himself usually quickly bounces back up, shrugs it off and keeps playing. These kids are tougher than I thought.

I took to them rather quickly, trying to learn everyone’s name and what backgrounds they came from. But I admit, I looked at my microscope and thought “this is the last thing these children need right now”. Few had a good pair of shoes or a warm sweater to wear and it occurred to me that these children have other priorities.

Regardless, the weeks went on and I slowly introduced all the material: binoculars, eye loops, goggles, test tubes, beakers and graduated cylinders, books, coloured markers, crayons and pens, then finally introduced the microscopes. Everything went over very well and enthusiastically.

Learning to Appreciate

At first there were some difficulties sharing and so some things broke or went missing, but the children soon learned to appreciate the materials given. I meanwhile became very attached to them as I got to understand each child individually, their likes and dislikes, and what sort of activities we got along well doing together.

Each day was a mixture of events. I did not structure a lesson plan for them, but instead let their curiosity drive their learning and all I had to do was guide them. Some days all we did was read children’s books and other days we played in the kitchen the whole time baking yummy desserts.

Those few months in Asuncion were probably the most meaningful of my entire life…

The microscopes brought about changes I never could have anticipated. Firstly, many children had lice and so of course that was the highlight of things to dissect and investigate through the lens. They began to take initiative in searching for objects they wanted to examine, namely insects, onion peels, leaves and hair.

To my surprise, even the most rebellious of children took such great interest in the microscope that they started to teach the other children. It wasn’t until that moment when I realized that all these children needed was opportunity and exposure; they just needed to be given a chance.

One boy named Jos, 10 years old, became quite the avid photographer over the months as I lent him my camera periodically throughout the day. Another child I found, Shayla, was a phenomenal artist; all she needed was blank paper and a pen. Marcelo (4) never used to smile at me, but when he saw his own lice crawling under the microscope, he couldn’t help but laugh.

Jessica was a wonderful cook; she took on a leadership role in delegating jobs to everyone in the kitchen to help prepare lunch for the whole class. All of these children have an underlying gift, not all necessarily discovered yet, but with time I know they will.

During my stay I definitely improved my Spanish tremendously and even became somewhat familiar with the native language Guarani, as the children would try to teach me while I in turn taught them some English. I grew to love the Paraguayan culture very much; the people were the best part. Those few months in Asuncion were probably the most meaningful of my entire life and I hope to return one day to see those same kids again.

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Susila Dharma (Britain) received an application from a dance project called ‘The Academy’ which is set up by an organisation called Dance United and runs in Bradford in the North of England.

Bradford is the place where I work and live. I’d heard about the project and became interested in it about a year ago. Their courses are for young offenders and run for twelve weeks, during which time some of their lives are turned around by the experience. I had seen several performances by their students and was inspired to go and talk to them.

At first I thought I would get involved as an ‘expert’. My background and training is in education and young people’s mental health so I thought they might like me to work with their staff team. This was one idea, and there were several more but what seemed vital at the outset was that I became involved with the young people and their teachers.

“Their caring touched my heart!”

I decided to go there on my day off (a Wednesday) and see what happened. The first day felt like I was back at school again. I sat with the staff team as they prepared for their students to come in, listening with interest to the sorts of difficulties they had to face. The students came in in a rush, all ready for their breakfasts, casting a glance at me, but mainly concerned with fuelling up for the day and coming to terms with whatever injuries they had got the previous day. I then joined the dance class. This was a shock! I did a lot of dance when I was young, mainly contemporary and sometimes performing but the years have passed and although I could do the warm up, as soon as we started in on the complicated moves I experienced dislocation of brain and body. That is, one would not keep up with the other and when I got to the floor it was hard to get up again. The young people, all intent on their own efforts, were kind to me, even showing me the steps and saying ‘Come on Pol, you can do it…’ Their caring touched my heart!

So my mission to engage with the cohort and the support and dance team began. We are now coming towards the end of the twelve weeks and it has been a huge learning curve for me. First of all, to watch and listen, keep my mouth shut, stifle my disappointment in myself and my feelings of uselessness and keep on going. I’ve washed up, made drinks, contributed to evaluations, listened to the troubles of support staff and witnessed the transformation of several young people. I’ve had to swallow my pride. Dance is a great leveller. I couldn’t hide behind that huge store of knowledge and expertise I rely on every day because I simply didn’t know.

I am starting to think about what I will do when the next lot of students come through the door in January. But perhaps it may be better to have fewer expectations. One thing which is happening though is a more concerted effort on the part of the organistion to understand what a volunteer programme might look like. I think I can help there.

Polly Skerratt
26/11/2008

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The final account of walking the pilgrim route to Santiago de Compostela Tricastela.

by Raphel Bate

We got up late, 8am, and after breakfast we set out for Samos along the main road for a while, through ancient rural villages, old farms and broad leaf woods. Here in Galicia, following the meandering path through tunnels of trees and dappled light, discovering gushing streams by verdant fields, it all felt more intimate and more of a slowly unfolding story than we had previously experienced in the wide open spaces of Leon and Castille. The secrets of northern Spain’s landscape are gradually revealed through the medium of walking .

Latihan In A Blanket

As evening came on Haris and I were still walking, heading for a specific albergue. Dorinda was walking behind with Pascale, a new friend. We eventually arrived and found that there were no beds left. We waited, but Dorinda and friend did not arrive, so we assumed they must have stopped at the albergue at the previous village. We continued on to the next village, four kms away.

There was a bar and behind it a private albergue, as opposed to a municipal (cheaper) one.

We were the only customers and were shown to the new, separate building in the field behind the bar. It seemed perfect BUT …..on trying the lights they did not work…… it turned out that they would come on when it got dark. OK. We had a meal in the bar and returned to the bunk room. The lights were on, but it was very cold and difficult to get warm. As we were the only residents we were able to have a latihan and the only way to generate enough heat to get the latihan going was to drape ourselves in blankets, which seemed to work.

Our last creative use of the blankets was to hang them over the top bunks to shield us from the lights, which would not now go off!

Walking

By this travelling every day we align ourselves with those who wander the the face of the earth:gypsies, travelling people, nomads and refugees; escaping, searching.

We pilgrims are moving daily towards the light or away from the dark, the rhythm ofour daily ritual of getting up in the pre dawn, getting dressed, packing our bags in the dark with other shadowy figures and setting out under the moon and stars, following our destinies with the help of the scallop shell and the yellow arrows that indicate west.

Yet there is liberation in this lifestyle from work, mortgages, housework: all we have to do is maintain our walking, look after our feet and help our comrades continue to the west.

To be able to walk everyday is liberation, I am alive, I am grateful, what more ?

Sometimes, walking with our sticks clicking in unison; it feels as though we are moving the earth around underfoot rather than walking forward across it, as it feels so effortless. And by this action we bring about the change from night to day.

Santiago De Compostela

In the cathedral of Santiago de Compostella ,at the pilgrim’s service, it is very crowded. The altar is a vast layered gold and silver sculptural affair with many priests in scarlet attending. Part of the mass involves swinging the giant incense burner, the ‘botafumeiro’, originally used to fumigate the sweaty, (and possibly disease-ridden) pilgrims. The long list of countries from where the pilgrims had come, was announced, and it was clear that the need to undertake this tough project was universal.

Seeing the pilgrims arriving straight off the Camino with their packs is very moving, knowing what they have done and that they have arrived. The heart is tenderised at this moment: melted are the hard edges of the difficulties of the trek, the rock, the gravel, the hill, endless mesa are over. .

What drives them? What inner compulsion still motivates people from all over the world to take on this tough project? The religious, the non religious, the young, the old, those who have done this five times before, those who are just trying out part of the route, those who keep walking and, having reached their destination, turn around and return by foot?

This pilgrimage is a gesture against materialism, consumerism, technology, the sedentary life, the meaninglessness of trying to find ourselves in having: it is the affirmation of being.

After a day and night of being in bed with sickness and diarrhoea I emerged and walked across the city to the station. I felt as though I had landed from another planet. I was perceiving aesthetically,not functionally: the pattern of chance association of things stood out, for example the horizontal striped tee shirt of a passing woman matched the horizontal stripes of a louvred door.

Every person is a study in unique energy of themselves. Everything is slightly surprising: it isbemusing, separate, clear, distinct. The last time I felt like this was after I was ‘Opened’ walking down the Bayswater Road from the Subud Hall in London, in 1968.

For once, the end of their journey will be joyous, as joyous as the
”Portico de la Gloria” sculpted in the XII century by Maestro Mateo,
joyous as the secret of Compostela: this empty tomb towards which
they have walked for fifty days, now it is up to them to fill that emptiness.

Pierre Barret and Jean Noël Gurgand, Priez pour nous a Compostela.

Raphael Bate 22.10.08

Traveling the same route to the school everyday, I have started to recognize faces as I pass by. Most people here usually follow the same routine day after day; if they have a job, it is typically a stationary one, and Indians in general tend to live by patterns.

But the more familiar I become with this place, the more real the suffering becomes. The area approaching the school is a very poor area, a small slum in which small stores are just starting to sprout, and most people either live in tiny, dirty homes, under tarps, or on the street. Everyday as I pass by I watch one particular old woman, who can always be seen squatting among the piles of garbage that collect against a stone wall on the side of the street. If she didn’t move occasionally I never would have noticed her in the first place; she is so withered and so small that she is no bigger than a seven year-old, and her clothing, as ragged and filthy as the trash next to her, covers her completely. This morning she was facing the road directly for the first time, and although she was sorting through the rubbish as usual, this time I saw her pick something out of it and put it into her mouth. After seeing her in the trash piles day after day, it is a reasonable assumption that she would be eating from them, but even still it turned my stomach to see her do it. It is one thing to assume and another to witness. How do people survive like that? How much do they end up consuming in a day? How is it that this woman has not died from disease? I wonder at her age, and whether her years or her lifestyle are responsible for her haggard appearance. What was her childhood like? Was she ever married?

As much discomfort as it causes to see people in her condition, it is something that no one can change. But is it humane to accept that this is just how life goes, and turn a blind eye because we are more fortunate? How much do we reach out? It seems like it should be possible to eradicate poverty, but the unfortunate fact is that there will always be people working against our efforts, whether knowingly or not. So how do we try to help these people? What will last?

Coming to India I knew I would have to face myself. Such a departure from my normal life in quiet, comfortable, convenient Maryland would obviously challenge me mentally, spiritually, emotionally, and even physically, especially since it is my first trip to the homeland of my ancestors. It is only logical that my experience here should test me. But the nature of my struggles this year is something that only God knows; and for better or for worse, it is impossible to prepare. All I can do is maintain my peace and observe. Here at the Mithra School there is so much room for creativity. Since I’m here for a relatively short amount of time and I speak fluent English, I am given first priority with the children; whenever I want time with them, all I have to do is ask and twenty minutes later I have a whole class for the afternoon. Ms. Bella and Dr. Joe have asked me to plan a garden and a pet corner, decide where to put the playground, teach and have reading times with the children, and my every suggestion is accepted immediately and with enthusiasm. I can do murals with the children on the whitewashed walls of the new school building, I can organize a reading corner and clubs, play games. But something inside of me stops short, afraid, and I find myself instead spending all of my time inside the school’s little library, organizing books. It is a necessary task, true, because the government will come to check that the titles, authors, publishers, and price of at least 2000 books are catalogued, but by isolating myself in the dusty little room, I avoid what I have come here to do. I can see it happening, and I berate myself for not having the courage to take advantage of the incredible opportunities I have here.

Courage, yes. But what is courage? It is the power to overcome fears, I think. But what fears? What am I afraid of? No matter how I try, I cannot identify what could possibly go wrong. So why am I so reluctant to take initiative? Perhaps it is a fear of responsibility. Maybe a fear of starting something I will never finish. But those seem so trivial; this is a chance to manage a project without feeling overwhelming pressure of approval and to give the children activities that develop creativity, social skills, and the belief in the improvement of their lives. It’s also the opportunity I’ve been longing for to connect with them and become part of their lives. Courage, I decide, is the strength and commitment to follow one’s inner nature. For better or for worse, it is not as straightforward as diving through a blazing fire to save a trapped toddler. It is overstepping fears, even hidden and unknown ones, to act upon that voice that comes from deep within – a voice which, if one is not careful, may easily be muffled by the power of the heart and mind.

And then I realize my block: I am afraid I don’t have courage. Despairingly, I wonder how I can ever proceed without trusting myself to believe in myself. It seems a tight, impenetrable circle determined to keep me afraid and behind closed doors. But there is a satisfaction in knowing the source of my hesitance, and it becomes a challenge; in order to get past my fears, I must have complete and total trust. Not necessarily in my mind, but in my capacity and in my guidance. If I have a sincere intention and faith, things will automatically unfold – even things beyond what I could ever have constructed for myself.

But learning to trust is itself a process, and I must be careful to be patient. I have to believe that all will work out on its own……

It rained again today. A slow, gentle rain. Apparently, in this part of India precipitation in December is almost unheard of, making everyone wonder about the last four days. But to me the rain has a fresh quality, and at the end of the day it clears Bangalore’s polluted skies to reveal a rich blue.

In many ways this is a land of dreams. The women, in their elegant saris and long black braids, have a regal dignity about them; the food is very healthy and, in my opinion, the tastiest in the world; and the art is intricate, elaborate, and exotic. Color is practically worshipped here, and wearing subtle shades is fauxpas (black is believed to attract mosquitoes the concept of “basic black” is just not applicable). People here create their own rainbows and celebrate life in a way I’ve never seen before.

On the other hand, it is here in India that I’ve been witness to unbelievable desperation. In busy marketplaces, extremely disfigured people, barely recognizable as humans, lay on small plastic platforms with rollers, using one arm to pull themselves along as the rest of their limp bodies drag behind. Small children with ratty hair and dirt-smeared faces knock on car windows at stoplights, peering in with such pained eyes eyes that you can’t just wave away because they’re too real. These are not just starving children on TV commercials; they’re in front of you, tapping you lightly on your arm with their tiny fingers, begging you quietly to please, please buy their Q-Tips. Sometimes parents will maim their children in order to make them look more pitiful, and the children must bring home a certain quota by the end of the day or be denied food or beaten.

The day I arrived in Bangalore I attended a human rights competition hosted by the Mithra Foundation. Schools from all over the Indian state of Karnataka presented their knowledge on the topics of women’s rights, the media, and child labor through speeches, songs, and dances. Special guest the Bornfree Art School, an arts school for street children, also gave a short performance and talk on child labor. These kids are survivors of child labor; one had been trained as a tight-rope walker and thrust into a circus at the age of five, and another had been working on construction sites, carrying a hundred kilos of materials on his head everyday since he was seven. I sank into my seat that day, horrified because I knew the jeans I was wearing had been made in a third world country, most likely by children. The concept of child labor was no longer theoretical, no longer a sad occurrence somewhere else, but instead embodied in the bigcheeked boy who handed me a brochure of the Bornfree Art School and in the nine year-old with calloused feet who came and sat beside me. Their stories, their scars suddenly they were all tangible, and I (in my jeans) felt somehow responsible for these children’s tragedies.

I understood that the purpose of the program was not to criticize but to make me aware. People all over the world, myself included, shake their heads in disgust at the practice of child labor, yet in reality we continue shopping at Wal-Mart and Old Navy just the same because it’s convenient. And I can continue to do so, if I choose, but I must understand fully the nature of what I am perpetuating.

With that in mind, I have begun working at the Mithra Foundation’s school for slum children, playing with the kids and teaching them spoken English. Although they may not understand me all the time, they are extremely enthusiastic and crave any kind of contact. They crowd around me, chattering about anything and everything that comes to their minds and try to repeat English words just the way I say them. Although I am a complete novice at teaching and feel like I’m stumbling along, they don’t seem to care, and every time they see me they shout out a thousand Good-Morning-Misses and Good-Afternoon-Misses and Hi-Misses. The teachers-in-training also give me special attention. “I am never talking to a foreigner before,” one of them confessed to me. “It is making us very happy to see you.” They have reached out to me, showing me their town, the best tailor and baker, telling me how much it should cost to have a certain type of dress stitched.

The Mithra Foundation is nearing the final stages of construction of a new school building for the children. It will include dormitories for the children, so they can stay off the streets, a little library, a small concrete stage, and a computer lab. At the moment Mithra teaches up to the sixth standard (ten and eleven year-olds), and hopefully next year it will have the facilities to be able to include a seventh standard. There is quite a lot of good energy at the school, and I’m very happy to take part in it. Mithra also has other centers in Bangalore that deal with vocational training and micro-credit programs for women, and although I haven’t been able to visit them as yet, I hope to soon. And in a week I will be traveling with directors Bella and Joe Rosario to a human rights convention for teachers-in-training.

There is so much that can be done here so many people to get to know, so many children to love and I regret the feeling that I cannot give enough. But in this process I can also feel myself stretching in new and uncomfortable ways, and hopefully these people will teach me to understand how to help them. It isn’t pleasant to confront my own shortcomings, especially when I want so badly to make a lasting, positive contribution to life here, but I’m doing what I can.

The fact that I am actually in India, actually working for a human rights program that reaches out to impoverished, underprivileged people is itself a miracle. Part of me never thought this would happen. I have you to thank; truly, without your support I would not be here. You have reached out to help me, on short notice, in such a way that has completely surpassed my expectations and really touched me. I hope to convey to the children the same sense of goodwill that you have shown me. Thank you so much. Already this has been an experience that I will never forget. For more information on Mithra and Susila Dharma projects in India, go to MITHRA PAGE OF SDIA WEBSITE

Larisa Sunderland lives in New York City with her family, but spent 2 months during the summer of 2007 in Brazil as a volunteer for A Child’s Garden of Peace. This is her description of her experience.

Working For a Child’s Garden of Peace

Carla Franciele & Larisa

This summer, I had the opportunity to work with my aunt on a community project she started in southern Brazil called a Child’s Garden of Peace. When I committed myself to living there with her friends from the community for six weeks, I was ignorant of the enormity of the impact the summer would have on me. The first week I spent in Santo Angelo was the hardest week of my life. I was wrought with homesickness, and felt about as able as a child — I had to turn to my aunt or to my new friend Myra Margolin, who also works for the project, for help in communicating. I was unable to go anywhere by myself and was surrounded by complete strangers. My diary entries from that first week were brimming with wishes for my family, my friends and for English.

By the second week, I was incredibly close with my host sister, Carla Francielli. I suppose our first piece of real bonding occurred towards the end of the first week when we discussed (as much as my Portuguese would allow) an internationally puzzling topic; teenage boys. She had been so warm and welcoming the entire time I was staying in her house, but before that night we hadn’t really had the chance to just “hang out” as girls. After that, things became a lot easier. She became a sort of translator for me — she could better understand my Portuguese, and my ear accustomed itself to her way of speaking. We went everywhere together, and spent a lot of nights sleeping in the same bed, because it was so cold. I still missed my family, but it was a less desperate sort of missing, and I began to really enjoy myself!

These wonderful friends of mine, who have so little, were willing to give so much, because they are such loving people.

As soon as I started working at the school and at the local church with the children creating a garden with my aunt, working on a mural, doing some art projects and teaching a bit of English, I was absolutely smitten with the community. The children were wonderful, always offering a kiss and a hug and willing to try a hundred synonyms on me until I understood some piece of what they were saying. I felt completely comfortable with my host family and had become better at developing relationships without language at my disposal.

When I turned seventeen, my friends in Santo Angelo threw me a wonderful surprise party, complete with a beautiful cake, delicious finger food and luscious homemade candies in ornately hand-decorated papers. It was so touching to see the work and time and money that everyone had put into this party! These wonderful friends of mine, who have so little, were willing to give so much, because they are such loving people. It was so beautiful to be the recipient of such sweetness. They taught me so much about the importance of opening your heart, because the rewards are so great.

Living in Brazil, I learned tangible things like - some Portuguese, rituals of another culture and how much energy it takes to work with children. I also learned a lot about myself, and about the human capacity to love and to care for other people, regardless of language or cultural barriers. I learned a little about how badly money and opportunity are distributed. I saw people work sixteen-hour days, sleeping only for a couple of hours in the afternoon, and living in horrendous conditions. I saw my host mother working three jobs and watched the family give up so much because they don’t have enough money. When I went to Santo Angelo, I was willing to settle for the world as it is. Now I know things need to change.

Elfrida Schragen — Victoria, BC, Canada

Ramadan of 2006 was the most surrendered Ramadan I had observed. I latihaned every morning, read talks every day and was generally less driven in my daily work. I felt waves of joy and gratitude. It was this that I believe was the foundation for the idea for my project. Since my retirement I had felt that I needed to volunteer and give of my time to worthy causes, and I was particularly bothered by the plight of the homeless. Any movement toward action in this area brought on a feeling of resentment and anger, so I just let it go and got on with my art.

A week after Ramadan as I was sitting quietly reading with my husband I received an idea, seemingly out of the blue. I was to paint portraits of the homeless. I got very excited, and at first refused to talk about it in case someone told me all the reasons it wouldn’t work. As the day progressed I began to flesh out some details. I would paint from photographs. The portraits would capture dignity and humanity. All the proceeds from sales would go to charity. Very slowly I began to share the embryonic ideas with close friends. Amazingly, every one was enthusiastic and had helpful suggestions. Two friends were so keen they offered to help and became my promotion and sales committee.

The project quickly became tied to a building fund for Our Place, a building being constructed with 45 beds, therapeutic resources and a drop-in center for the homeless. A price was set per portrait and I started painting so that we would have samples to show. I set a goal for 30 paintings, which if sold would bring in $20,000 at the very least.

The process of going down to the various shelters, approaching strangers, explaining my mission and getting cooperation from people to be a subject was very educational. Many were happy to share their stories, and the stories were all different. I did not find it at all depressing or frightening, and I felt the latihan was guiding me in who I picked to approach. In almost every instance I felt I made a strong contact that went beyond the outer appearances. I would come away and feel my body was full of shivers. At this point I have completed 24 paintings. Of these, nine are now sold. We have raised $7000 already. Each one is unique and contains in the background a reflection of their stories or maybe just how they struck me. It is gratifying to be able to paint as I want and not what might be expected in a commissioned portrait. I have learned that I must go to the studio and paint in a disciplined regular way. But once I start to paint, I need to keep my being open, not be too controlled by the mind, but allow my eyes to play, take breaks and trust. I have had no feedback from other artists and am only slightly nervous about this. All the portraits are photographed, reproduced and a copy is taken down to the shelters. The subjects are pleased.

Good things happen: for example, the framers have given us deals; we are getting free shows at three venues, including City Hall; a printer has donated his printing and material for cards, posters; a designer has offered to design our next poster for free; three paintings brought in more than the asking price. In all it seems like a project that is meant to be. I am happy and grateful for the guidance I have received.

For a much more detailed up-date check out the web site at www.helpingvictoria.ca

Download Elfrida’s flyer here