Day Twenty-two; Tonkawa, Oklahoma

Happy anniversary! Today marks exactly three weeks since I left home on this 10-week, cross country fundraising adventure with Gunnar...and I must say it's been a rather thought-provoking anniversary so far.

Right now it is 7:30am. Gunnar is out walking towards the Ponca City YMCA for our afternoon session while I am here waiting at a slightly scary trailer park on the edge of the interstate... celebrating this milestone alone with my pot of coffee. Out my left window, a flashing neon sign at a truckstop is announcing that unleaded is $2.269, diesel is $2.369, and the temperature is only 64 degrees. Out my right window, my "next door neighbor" is drinking a can of beer in his underwear.

For the past hour, what the hell am I doing here? has been the main question running through my mind...as well as why the hell doesn't that guy put more clothes on? It's only 64 degrees, dude. Brrr.

While pondering these deep questions over my coffee, I reflected back to the last time I had a what the hell am I doing here? moment. It was just about one year ago and I was in Iraq being detained in a police checkpoint outside of Kirkuk--getting yelled at in Arabic by four police officers with very big guns. And even bigger mustaches.

Yep, that was an interesting afternoon.

Thankfully, it turned out that I wasn't really in trouble, and that they just wanted to know what the hell I was doing there as well. Apparently, not too many Minnesota women travel around Iraq without military escorts these days. Go figure.

Anyway, I suppose now would be a good time to fill in some of the details of the story?

Soooooo, it was the summer of 2008, and having already adopted War Kids Relief as an in-house CCC program, I had been trying, unsuccessfully, to get something off the ground for quite some time. I had discovered that without a strong partnering organization in Iraq, it was too difficult to reach the children there, and there would never be any real sustainability to our program either.

Not being someone who gives up easily, I decided I would just go to Iraq myself, do some investigating on the ground, find someone I could work with, and not come home until we had some sort of a program in place. So, together with two colleagues, I headed off to Iraq last August.

Despite being stopped at many more checkpoints along the Iraqi highways, we visited several children's centers, government agencies, and local charities until I found a partnering organization that we could work with (which just happens to be Bustan, the Iraqi nonprofit we did our pilot program with last winter, and who we will build the youth rehabilitation center with after we raise money from Gunnar's walk).

While in Iraq, we also had a chance to visit an IDP camp in a region called Suliemanya. IDP stands for internally displaced persons...who are basically refugees that haven't crossed an international border. This was one of many camps providing shelter to the hundreds of thousands of Iraqis who have fled the violence in their cities. In all my traveling adventures, I have been to many Third World villages, orphanages and slums (even spent a night in a Mongolian prison, but that's another story...) but I had never experienced anything quite like an IDP/refugee camp before.

Visually, it resembled images I had seen in the news; hundreds of makeshift tents stamped with logos of the international relief organizations that set them up (now patched together with old plastic bags and metal scraps), huge portable water containers also brought in by the relief organizations, as well as garbage, debris and despair as far as the eye could see.

Emotionally, however, IDP camp life was something that I wasn't at all prepared for.

After receiving clearance as an American NGO to enter the camp, we first met with several families living there to talk with them and hear their stories. Most were from areas of Baghdad that were overrun by insurgent groups and the sectarian fighting that had torn apart their neighborhoods. One family told us they had owned a grocery store in Baghdad. They weren't rich, but had a good life until their store was reduced to rubble, forcing them out of business. They tried to stay in their home as long as they could despite the daily bombings, kidnappings and death threats, but ultimately, the fear was too great. They packed up whatever they could fit in the family car and headed north.

I cannot even imagine.

Some families had been in the camp for weeks. Some months. Some years. None seemed to have any idea how long they would remain there. None seemed to have any idea about where they would go next. And all of them seemed completely overwhelmed with despair.

Whenever I travel for Children's Culture Connection (my nonprofit that is also WKR's parent organization), I always bring plenty of art supplies to do projects with the kids I encounter. It not only provides a fun respite for them, but it's also an invaluable opportunity for them to open up and express themselves in a medium that they feel comfortable in.

After our meeting with the families, we gathered up about 35 kids from the camp into a large tent to do an art activity together. The kids bunched into groups on the floor, and each got a piece of paper, colored markers and watercolors to work with. We just asked them to paint the stories of their lives, and for the next hour they were busy creating, drawing and laughing, and just enjoying the chance to be free for a while.

When they finished, we took pictures of them holding their masterpieces, and then asked each child to share their story. Some had painted the friends and houses they missed back in Baghdad. Some painted pictures of tanks, guns, helicopters and soldiers. One little boy painted a boat, saying he wanted to sail away to somewhere peaceful.

After the projects were completed we had all the kids line up so we could pass out the small toys that we brought for them. However, as the toys were being passed out, things quickly fell apart. The kids just went wild...and not in a good way. Bigger kids stole toys from littler kids, knocking some to the ground. Other kids came crying to me saying they didn't get anything...all the while hiding the toys they did have behind their backs as though I wouldn't notice. It just became total chaos.

I was trying desperately to remain calm and restore order, but before I knew it I was bawling them out, taking toys away, and flipping out like one of those tired parents at the grocery store whose whining kids had just pushed them so far over the edge they would make a scene in front of a store full of strangers.

Another what the hell am I doing here? moment, for sure.

Finally, we got the situation under control and the kids stomped out of the tent, but I couldn't stop wondering how they got like this. One minute they were playful, innocent and adorable, and then suddenly they became downright feral. Was it the stress of the camp that was making them crack like this?

After we caught our breath, the mother of the family we had met earlier came and invited us to their tent for lunch. At first we felt we should politely decline, feeling too guilty to accept a meal from a family who is struggling so desperately, but I reminded myself of people's need to give. No matter what circumstances we may be in, there is a powerful feeling that comes with giving. It is a feeling that transcends our own discomfort, and helps add purpose and meaning to our lives. This woman needed to give something to us to express her gratitude for caring about them. Our job was not only to allow her the opportunity to host us in her home, but to be the most gracious guests she ever met.

After following her back to her tent, we sat on a mat under a canopy outside and chatted with the family while she disappeared inside. Soon, she came out carrying tea served in beautiful cut crystal glasses on a silver service platter, one of the few precious items that she took from their home when they fled.

So here is this family living in absolute squalor in the midst of a war...with no money, no jobs, no future. Nothing. Yet they somehow manage to maintain their dignity as they entertained guests in their "home?" This just blew my mind.

As we ate grilled sheep kebabs and flatbread, we learned more about the family's plight and the fear and uncertainty they live with on a constant basis. When I truly understood how scared, depressed, and confused they were, with barely enough hope to get through a day, it didn't take long to connect the dots as to the disturbing behavior of the children. As the mother of two of my own, I am well aware of how children respond to the energy of their environment...and, especially the energy of their parents. Children look to grownups to feel a sense of security in their world, so how could these kids possibly feel secure when the adults are all living in total fear.

At that moment, my what the hell am I doing here feeling was gone, and I knew exactly what I was doing there. My mission was to find a way for War Kids Relief to reach these children affected by war, to inspire them, to give them hope, and to help them imagine new possibilities for their lives. Having read many reports and books on how vulnerable the disengaged children in war-torn countries were, I already knew what easy prey they were to those eager to lure them into future violence.

Now I had actually witnessed this vulnerability first hand, and it was terrifying. If those kids didn't get turned around, as well as the other children out there suffering from the effects of this war, the future of this whole region will be grave, as well as the future of our world...no matter when the war is declared "over."

***

So this three-week anniversary is an important one for me, because I know exactly why I am here in this trailer park with my beer-guzzling neighbor. I know exactly why I am climbing the walls of this claustrophobic RV, and why I asked my family to bear with me during my 10-week absence.

Some days, Gunnar and I bounce around on a near-hourly basis...from defeated to motivated...challenged, inspired and feisty to exhausted and confused (honestly, it's like having permanent PMS), but we somehow manage to remind ourselves that this is a learning process every step of the way. We aren't just a nonprofit doing fundraising, we are creating a movement, inspiring America to help us as well. Gunnar is teaching as well as walking...and establishing his reputation as our heroic leader, as well as asking for money. It's a complex process we are undergoing (which is why I dig it) and we constantly evaluate and re-evaluate what is and isn't working. We try to stay flexible and adapt without compromising our goals and integrity. And if all this is what it takes to fund our programs so we can start reaching these vulnerable kids to turn their lives around, then that's exactly what I'm willing to do.


Happily.

Stay tuned...




Love, Dina
Will you help us help the kids?