T is for Teachers and Teaching

This graduation season I believe T stands for both Teachers and Teaching. Teachers…those amazing people that impart knowledge and feed our sense of wonder…well, ok not all teachers, but hopefully we all have had at least a few amazing teachers in our lives.  We all remember those teachers who pushed us just beyond our comfort zone to think a little deeper. The first teacher I remember who pushed me a bit further was Ms Hanna in 5th grade. I submitted an essay on the Ku Klux Klan. All my facts were correct; I had references as required but she still sent it back to me for a rewrite. Go deeper she said, what did these people think, what were their beliefs, how did they get to the point of such hate?  Move beyond the facts and into the why. I did and I ended up with only a B+ for my effort but never forgot the push to go deeper.

For most of us in the US our educational process includes being taught to think, to question, to inquire. I attended 14 years of Catholic education and inquiry was at the core of most of it. It wasn’t always easy being pushed to ask why?  how,? or what caused what? We couldn’t simply answer for X; we had to show how we  got to the X.


 As my education continued my teachers increasingly engaged in a Socratic Method of teaching…debate, disprove to prove.  As frustrating as it was at times, without those teachers pushing me to think for myself I wouldn’t have achieved the life I have now.

But for many students growing up in developing countries the educational process is extremely different.  The basis of education for these students is learning by rote; teaching focuses on the memorization of subjects. I am not talking about phonics, the alphabet or multiplication tables where memorization is crucial, but rather all subjects. Students are taught to memorize everything with little or no inquiry into why of the subject. Dates and names are the focus. There is no exploration of process, no discussion on the evolution of an event in history or even how a scientific fact came to be. These are not classrooms filled with discussion let alone debate. The goal of teaching is strictly to impart basic knowledge.  And nowhere is this truer than in Haiti. 

The adult literacy rate for Haiti is about 52 percent.  Less than 30 percent of Haitian students complete 6th grade and only about 20 percent of eligible students attend high school. 


This data became important to me when I recently visited a nursing school in Leogane, Haiti. I know I mentioned this in a previous post, but I think it’s worth some additional space. The school is the only baccalaureate nursing program in the country. The other nursing schools are either two or three year certificate programs.  The most significant difference for FSIL*  is that it teaches its students to think; the school promotes the development of critical thinking and problem solving skills. It is a major shift in the education of nurses; it is empowering these students to be leaders as well as amazing healthcare providers. 


The transition to this type of learning isn’t easy for some students even for those who have defied the odds and graduated from high school and have gone on to pass the schools’ entrance exam.  Unfortunately more than a few students drop out during their first year.


I don’t want to paint the Haitian education system as Dickensian, it isn’t. The teachers know they have only a short period of time and they use that time, many would say wisely, to impart as much of the basics as possible before the students leave school at very young ages. The high dropout rates are largely due to the fact that families simply cannot afford the school tuition and fees. All schools, public and private, charge tuition and in addition to other fees for such things as books.



For the most part, nurses in the developing world are taught by rote and taught to the task. In other words they are taught to insert an IV, take blood pressures, and distribute meds and the like. It is an education focused on the technical.  In some countries chemistry is not required for a nursing certificate and the biology taught is often equal to that taught in most US high schools. Few nurses in emerging nations are taught anything about holistic health…looking at the whole body for illness as well as strengths.  What is missing is teaching diagnostics, the ability to assess a patient, to look beyond the task and into the needs of the patient and to engage that patient on his or her own behalf.

The FSIL baccalaureate program in Haiti is changing all that; About 100 nursing students in Haiti are now learning to problem solve, to do research so they can learn more and continue their own learning outside the classroom. Many of the faculty at the school are alumni as too few nurses in Haiti can teach to this level. Some of the classes are also taught by Americans who take time out from their own work to supplement the school’s teaching capacity. We are trying to raise funds to launch a Master’s program in collaboration with Rutgers to advance faculty education. To continue the school’s high standards for education the school needs a cadre of highly trained Haitian educators: teachers who know how to teach others to think for themselves.

Unfortunately, most folks are too wedded to the idea that the basics are good enough…it’s a rather condescending view of both the capacity and needs of people living in the Global South.
*Faculty of Nursing Science of the Episcopal University of Haiti

The Story of Ger In Ten Objects

100 or 10 items…what does it take to completely describe a person, a place or even the entire world?
The British Museum has featured an exhibit entitled The History of the World in 100 Objects. The exhibit is now a show on NPR. The objects include tools, pots, artwork, coins, weapons and even a solar lamp.  Each item reflects a particular achievement or other event of historical value.  Can we capture the world in 100 objects? Can I capture my life in a finite set of objects? Hmmmm…lots of different things come to mind. I would probably choose things that are connected to people as the priority for my list.

I will  start with my wedding bands, my own and my maternal grandmother’s which I wear together. My life as part of a couple shapes most of what I do every day. Marriage is joyous, fun  but also at times requires a bit of work, a lot of patience (never my strong suite), and love…love that fills your heart to the point of brimming but also love that sometimes needs to be nudged back to the surface.  Anyone who has ever been married will know that I am not being negative…I am being honest and simply being someone who is in love and wants to stay that way for many years to come. I never lost my individuality when I became a couple, I just added to it... and that addition has been tremendous and one for which I am truly grateful.

As I write this is it clear that my laptop is a must for this collection. It is how I do most of my writing, all of my research, and a significant means of my communication with family and friends.  It also reflects my job. I just left the freelance world which I wasn’t very good at (well not good at getting freelance work, once I got a job I was good at the work) and am now working for one organization. I do fundraising and program development with an international non-profit (no I am not a nurse as other’s thought based on my last post though I do work within healthcare).

Let’s add a bookshelf to this collection. I haven’t gone electronic yet with my books; I am sure that will happen soon enough but I doubt I would ever want to give up “real” books.  I love holding a book in my hands, I also have been known to write in books (gasp goes the crowd...the big crowd of about four people who will read this). Yes, I have been known to write in books of non-fiction. The bookshelf represents reading and learning, both of which are so important to me.

 Another contender for the exhibit would be an oversized antique steamer trunk. I store blankets in it but it would represent a connection to things past. If you read this blog then you know how important that connection is to me.  The steamer trunk was always in my basement when I was growing up; I am pretty sure my mother kept blankets in it as well.  I also believe that the trunk came from Italy with my paternal grandmother when she moved to America as a young bride. That must have been some adventure. 

Speaking of travel and adventure, my own passport will make this list as it would obviously reflect my love for travel but also my interest in other cultures…especially the food from other cultures! Is there such at thing as a food passport?  And along those lines I would include my dining room table; I love to entertain, especially love to have our family and extended families over for dinner.  It’s getting harder and harder to have all three kids over at the same time but it is fun when it does work out. The two boys have gotten into cooking so I have turned my kitchen over to them on occasion and that has worked out quite well!  Elizabeth, my (step)daughter doesn’t really even boil water but she is a doctor so she can afford to get take-out whenever she wants! Besides, working a 12 hour shift is not really conducive to coming home and cooking.

My husband’s desk would be a featured item. It reflects many things, not the least of which is my husband himself! It also reflects his tremendous work ethic, his actual job which has afforded me the ability to be unemployed at times. The desk also reflects intangibles as well such as the feeling of contentment that comes with those moments when we are both working from home, both computers going… sweet.

I have two crucifixes in my house that have great meaning for me. One comes from Peru, a gift from my father and the other from Brazil, a gift Elizabeth brought back from Semester-at-Sea. The connection to my faith and to the people who gave them to me is what makes them special.  Unfortunately the crucifixes are just so, well, Catholic, and my faith isn’t limited to the church I attend each Sunday. I grew up with the crucifix as THE symbol of my religion, grew up wearing one around my neck but the problem I have with the crucifix is that it doesn’t reflect the Risen Christ; it doesn’t reflect the amazing hope that comes only because of the Third Day. OH well, just the same, they are included as one object (I am counting them as one) in my Story of Ger in 10 Objects. I probably wouldn’t include a Bible despite its importance to me. I feel rather like a heretic making that admission. Much of what fills my soul in relation to the Bible comes from study, from commentary and books that put the Bible in context…now that is very Catholic! 

An item that definately represents fun is a beach tag, specifically a beach tag from the Erskine Lakes Property Owners Association—ELPOA. The tag lets me into a small lake a few “blocks” from my house (we don’t actually have blocks, or sidewalks for that matter, but you get the idea). I spent every summer of my childhood on/in/near this lake and it is the definition of home to me.  I am related to about 35 people within a few miles radius of my house.  I was a lifeguard on this lake way back in the day. Yep, definitely will include a beach tag in this exhibit.

So far I have included items that reflect my family (past and present), work, faith, fun…what else, what should I include for my tenth item? I JUST turned 51 years old so what would be appropriate would be my eye-glasses but those just depress me. Any other suggestions? What are some of your items?

You are welcome to visit the “exhibit” anytime by just walking around my house, you can come for dinner.

S is for Starbucks, no really…

Last Tuesday I was in Leogane Haiti, a small town about 2 hours outside Port au Prince, two hours on a good day; It can take up to four hours or more depending on the rain, traffic, protests and what-have-you.  Actually it can take up to two hours just to get from one point to another within Port au Prince. Our first meeting in the city was at 8:00 am so I had to leave the guest house at around 5:00. The electricity went off the night before in the guest house so no fan and extremely hot sleeping…well, really no sleeping. 4:30 am rolled around and all I wanted, needed was a cup of coffee…not to be had!  No Starbucks along the route to Leogane.

The sun was coming up as we got in the car and with the sun came many of the people along the way. One of the things that struck me on this trip versus the last was the commerce; everyone seemed to be selling something. My last trip I was much further away from the capital and people had nothing, literally nothing.  But all the way to PaP people were selling something…mangos, bananas, beans, corn soap, combs, sunglasses, bags of water and juice, and even some books.  Most of the non-perishables come from the Dominican Republic and many of those things come from the US. Some of the stuff includes clothes that those of us in the States throw into those donation boxes around our towns. Companies sell that stuff either for rags or in bulk for re-sale to the developing world…so tons and tons of old clothes are cleaned and made ready for re-sale in Haiti. Everyone was busy selling something but of course no one was selling coffee. It was kind of amazing.

Only a few items are sold each day by these vendors so despite the constant commerce only a very little income is generated. But this is the only job in town.  Everyone is busy borrowing some money to buy stuff so they can sell it…All along the way were small huts, wheelbarrows, or baskets-on-heads serving as shops.  The closer we got to PaP the more clogged the streets became with these individual “shopkeepers.”    Unfortunately, this vast system of commerce exists outside any formal infrastructure. Understandably there will be no taxes, no rents, no real way of using this system to help rebuild the country.  It will keep families alive but do little more than that.

Here in NY you can’t swing a short stick without hitting a coffee shop (be it Starbucks, a diner, or deli). Just across the border in the Dominican coffee is grown and sold.  But “just across the border” is an entirely different world; while of course there is poverty there is also wealth, a middle class, lots of baseball, and great coffee. So I was forced to travel in the early morning hours without my trusty to-go-cup.  But what I was missing was made up for by the rich views of Haitian and Creole culture. In some respects my cup did in fact “runeth over” with some humility for all I had including constant access to quite a variety of drinks such as clean water (which makes good coffee).

All along the way was evidence of the earthquake: piles of rubble, houses missing walls, small tent communities.  The closer we got to PaP you would see more and more people missing a limb or in a wheelchair—victims of the quake. And dust and mud was everywhere…dust was constant and the evening rains turned the dust into mud making travel even more challenging.  We had a number of meetings so lots of in and out of the car…by the time I returned to the guest house that night I was pretty much covered in a film of Haiti’s brown dirt. 

Answers to rebuilding Haiti are complex and well beyond my ken. But I do believe that education will key if not the key. Unfortunately, few Haitians complete even primary school as the school fees are too costly for most families. At best, many families are able to afford the fees for one their children to complete high school.  Despite the challenges or maybe because of them, Haitians revere education.  All primary school students and even some high school students wear uniforms. As I was driving around I got to see a couple hundred kids heading off to and coming back from school. For the little ones, their uniforms included a white blouse and white sox.  And boy were they WHITE!  Amidst the dirt and poverty, no electricity, little water…somehow mothers made sure those uniforms sparkled. This is not out of vanity but out of pride in sending off their kids to school….I don’t really know how the clothes stayed so white, I felt it would be really condescending to ask…but all those kids in their uniforms…that is the hope of Haiti. 

I was in Haiti in part to help support a nursing school.  All of those students were also in uniforms.  This is a country where nurses still wear white at the hospital including their white caps.  There are about 100 students at the nursing school…all are the first in their families to attend college…for many, probably the first to compete high school.  When I was there they were preparing for the “capping” ceremony. At the end of their first year, they would get their caps and be able to wear them when they started their clinical experiences in the local hospitals.  Parents and grand-parents from around the country would attend this ceremony; it would be almost as important as their graduation. 

When employed these nurses would probably make around $650 annually. With that they will be expected to help support their families and extended families as many of these family members chipped in to send them to school.  But these students would also help create a middle class in Haiti…a key sign that a country is stabilizing.  A large middle class anchors a country…turns out it really is all about the 99%!!

I am not sure Haiti will be stabilized in my life time, sorry to say. But individual families will be better off because of these nursing students. They will provide amazing healthcare and they will be able to support their families…it’s a multiplier effect. These nursing students will probably never get the credit they deserve for really helping to transition their country, but I believe that is the case and now you know it too.

(oh by the way, our first meeting was at the US Embassy. As I passed through security and entered the main building…what was that lovely aroma? Ah yes, coffee… I headed to the vendor and bought a large cup of Dominican coffee and NOW I was ready to face the rest of the day…)

R is for many things

Reaction, Realization, Response and Redemption

As I was getting myself ready for this most recent trip to Haiti I blundered into some huge mistakes, on my part and on someone else’s, but in the end that latter really wasn’t what mattered.  I am working for a new organization and I don’t have relationships with the folks I would be meeting with /working with throughout my trip. I began to exchange emails with the primary person I would be dealing with once I arrived in Haiti. I was going to work with her on behalf my organization…we will call her H and my organization Morg.  H is Haitian though lived some of her life in the States; she is well educated and a  leader of an organization in Haiti. And at first she seemed somewhat eager to meet with me.  I was going to help her develop partnerships with other NGOs (nongovernmental organizations) as well as with the US government in Haiti.

So in typical American fashion I began my relationship with an email. Then followed up with another email that included a list of info I needed for my trip along with a bunch of requests for info or actions that I needed H to do.  And in typical Haitian fashion I didn’t hear back for several days…and again in typical American fashion I shot back another email asking if she got the first email and where was she on my list (more or less) and in typical Haitian fashion she responded a few days later indicating that she was working on things…then she went radio silence for another week.

In addition to partner development I was going down to see firsthand the program and gather some info to bring back to the new director of the Morg.  The organization I am working with helps fund H’s work which is a nursing school.  I had traveled to Haiti before and over the past seven years have traveled to other developing countries as well.  In most of my travels my colleagues or contacts “in-country” always made most if not all of my in-country arrangements: places to sleep, transport to/from airport, transport around the country, set up meetings, etc.   So naturally I assumed this would be the case this time as well, naturally.

I continued to send H emails with the list of “my needs” for the trip and again assumed she was on board.  And again days would past before I would receive any response; whatever response I did get was never complete. H would pick one or at most two questions for a response.  As an American I am used to getting email responses back with hours if not minutes and having each email respond to completely; even if all items couldn’t be answered, most American responders would note that they were working everything and often indicate when things would be complete. 

Two nights before I was to leave I began to feel like something was wrong…I hadn’t heard back about most of my questions including questions about my “accommodations.”…Hello H, can you PLEASE (yes in caps) respond to this email, with Please respond as the subject line…lovely.  Was I getting picked up at the airport and where was I staying?  I received very short response from H the guest house picks you up from the airport…Uh, what guest house?…Hello H, WHAT GUEST HOUSE? DID YOU MAKE MY ACCOMODATIONS????  Well maybe not both bold and underlined but definitely capitalized. 

A very short response…I didn’t make your reservations…ahhhh.  And, if you are not guessing already, this is where things really fell apart. 

I checked with other colleagues in the States…did they think she was supposed to make my guest house reservation?  Yes they did. What is with this chick…I am coming down TO HELP HER for crying out loud!  Why wasn’t she immensely grateful and the least she could have done was make my guest house reservations. Great attitude uh? .

A couple more emails…from me…PLEASE make the reservations, from her…here is the info to do so, not my job (more or less). From me to my boss…can you believe this chick, why isn’t she doing her job…another email from me about the reservations and  well, lets just say her response wasn’t pretty pretty…no not pretty at all.

(Insert here the sound of a car hitting the brakes)….ok, we need to take a pulse here, what is really going on. The following morning I got a call from H’s boss, an American who helped me understand some of my cultural transgressions. She was extremely gracious and apologetic. Some poor communication and culture issues clashed to create a real mess. She helped me step out the issues.

First of all, my goal of “helping” H was never really explained to her…all she knew was that I worked for Morg and was coming down. As I mentioned, H is the dean of a nursing school in Haiti and as such is extremely busy.  She is also extremely well respected both in Haiti and in the States.  My transgression # 1: asking her, a leader, a Dean, to make arrangements for me was extremely condescending in her opinion and especially in her culture. It came across as an arrogant American treating her like some sort of flunky. Ouch.

Transgression 2. Not really explaining to her my role and some changes that Morg was pursing. H’s job has never really entailed fundraising or partnership development. Morg is changing its expectations of its partners which now includes an expectation that our in-country partners increase their role with fundraising….  Transgression 3 was cultural. I know this may sound awful but it is very Haitian to assume that Americans will take care of the details with projects like arrangements, etc. It comes from years and years of Americans basically telling them what to do. Americans and others have been pouring money into Haiti and basically telling them what to do with it rather than helping them come up with their own solutions.  It’s a complicated and long history which includes colonization, a few wars, US occupation of the island and a boat load of  oppression from a lot of sources including the US.  Transgression 4 also cultural. H prides herself on knowing a great many people throughout Haiti, important people.  I sent her a list of people/agencies that we needed to connect with.  H didn’t know any of the people I wanted us to meet with…that didn’t faze me. I actually assumed she didn’t know them…the idea was to help her develop new relationships ( I knew the agencies but not the specific in-country people).   But from her perspective I pointed out that she didn’t know some “important” people…this shamed and angered her.  My organization helps to fund her organization and in her eyes I was pointing out her weak areas; I embarrassed her…doesn’t matter if it makes sense to me or not. What matters is that I insulted her big time.  Oye!

If Haitians are not comfortable with a situation, especially with Americans, they may tend to ignore the questions or simply say yes and hope it all goes away. As time went on and I wasn’t getting info back from H about the schedule for meetings and other arrangements I became increasingly frustrated. So I decided to set the meetings up myself…and told her so…again more frustration and more emails and  a lot less relationship building.

I approached this assignment in typical American fashion, develop a list, get the list out to people who needed to do some tasks on the list and send it all out via email and expected quick and efficient responses.  Chop Chop

Well chop chop is not not Haiti or Haitians.  It’s a slower pace and a slower world. The internet is iffy and email isn’t always available. It isn’t part of their culture to reply immediately, sometimes days or a week can go by before you hear back. 

I needed to redeem myself…I needed to stop reacting and begin to realize what was really going on. It was critical that I recall my own redemption and what that meant for my life. I apologized, I packed some chocolates as a peace offering, I turned off the New York speed and tried to slow things down. And most importantly I altered the purposed of my trip…I become the learner, the follower. There will be other times when I can set the pace (hopefully) but not this first time.

I am writing this in the airport on my Haiti.  We’ll see how it goes.  Be fluid, that is the phrase I was told would make any trip to Haiti easier…

Q is Quite

Just a short post for this week’s meme…
My husband and I just returned from Grand Canary Island. The trip was for my husband’s work. He has a meeting twice a year with a group of international attorneys.  The meeting is held in Europe and always at a lovely hotel.  Grand Canary Island is a big resort for Europeans, especially Germans. Honestly, I don’t think the Island is especially beautiful, it is quite rocky and brown but the weather is always warm and often sunny which I guess for Europeans that’s a big draw.

English is the “official” language of this association but when you walk into the room you will hear a mix of Spanish, Italian, German, Polish, and on occasion, a bit of Russian. The English comes in several varieties as well…American, British and Australian.  Everyone in the group speaks several languages…that is everyone except most of the Americans (unfortunately I am included in that last category).  I doubt that any of these people will ever feel the need to spend political energy in a fight to declare an “official” language for their country.   These are folk who move comfortably and frequently across borders and into other cultures.  Many of the locals, “Canarians” as they are called, whose native language is Spanish, easily slip into German as needed (the result of many German tourists coming to the island).  German with a Spanish accent certainly put a smile on my face.

The event is as much for socializing as it is for business. Each evening we attended a cocktail party where good Spanish wine was flowing along with delicious hors d’oeuvres  (or starters as the Brits would say). The time was spent catching up with old friends and meeting new people. With each conversation we would pick up a few words from another language and incorporate those words into our personal lexicon. Es it gut ya? Ya! Il problema con gli adolescenti…ah yes, the problem with teenagers, all the parents in the group had a story or two about this shared experience.  My morning chant was café con leche por favor.

With each conversation the distance between cultures decreased and the world became a little smaller, a little more personal, and a little more hopeful.

This is most assuredly a secular group but the relationships built over the years have opened the door a bit to sharing faith.  More and more we are comfortable saying I will be praying for you. It matters not that we don’t share a theology, what matters is the gratitude that is expressed for the concern, for the prayers. And with this concern, with this gratitude, with these prayers, we each are filled with a little more of the Divine.  Quite remarkable indeed...
off to Haiti next week...quite a different sort of trip...more to follow...

P is for Past

Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it. George Santayana

Does the past shape us? Or maybe the better question is to what extent does the past shape us?
I used to love holding my grandmother’s hands. I always felt that by touching her hands I was touching the past, reaching directly back into history. My grandmother died when she was 101 and I loved all the history that she held in those hands…history that belonged to me, especially when her hand was in mine.

In my life I have two very opposing perspectives on the role the past plays in our present. My husband believes we are solely responsible for our present, more specifically he believes that we are solely responsible for our behavior in the present. Our past makes for good and sometimes not so good memories but memories don’t define us nor control our behavior unless we let them. He believes that as adults we know right from wrong, even if we weren’t taught some of those lessons in our youth and that blaming our youth for poor decisions is simply a cop out.  On the other hand is my best friend. She believes that our past is 100% responsible for our present and that unless we closely examine our past and heal old wounds we can never fully grow up and live in the present.

I am somewhere in the middle. I know that my past shapes who I am.  I carry all those experiences of my childhood, youth and all the years through yesterday into my today.  Those experiences influence my beliefs, my hopes, what weighs me down and yes, even at times influences my behavior. And I actually love knowing that.  Some of those experiences in my childhood were difficult. I was bullied when I was in the sixth grade and think that experience led me to be a bit of a bully myself at times. Nothing I am proud of.  Thinking about those times when I was bullied still makes my stomach knot but I can choose not to be a bully despite that pain (and I am succeeding).  But not being a bully did require a bit of thinking about my past to determine what may have been pushing my buttons in my present.  The difference between me and my best friend is that I don’t dwell in the past.  I don’t think every decision I make today is controlled by my past nor do I believe that every childhood hurt has to somehow be healed before I can move on. The difference between me and my husband is that I acknowledge how the past does influence my present, actions included, and that at times, that’s really a good thing.

Another aspect of the past that I love thinking about is my family’s past…my ancestry.  My mother grew up very close to her cousins so I grew up very close to my grand aunts and uncles as well as my second cousins.  I never knew my great grandparents but I heard some of their stories, stories of hardship and stories of love. When we were in Sicily, my mother and I went to my great grandparent’s church in the little town of Sambuca (not the town famous for the liquor).  I loved touching the pews where they may have sat, touching the past, my past.   I loved knowing that somehow I was connected to that church, to that town.  I think of my ancestry as this amazing group of people standing just behind me, people whose strength is my strength, whose story is my story.  One of my sister-in-laws is especially good at instilling a gratitude for the past in her children. They bake things their grandparents and great grandparents baked; they celebrate holidays with some traditions pasted down from long gone relatives.

When people ask where I come from I still say Brooklyn even though I have lived away from that city for more years than I actually lived in it.  But it IS where I am from even if it is part of my past.  I think each of us carry our past into our present, the good, the bad, and everything in between. It’s what we do with it that matters. And just maybe taking a look at our past will open new possibilities for our future.