Leadership

There are many things we take for granted. The thing I realized today is that we take opportunities for leadership and advancement totally for granted. In the US, almost every single job has some way to advance. If there's no advancement in the job, then it's seen as a stepping stone to some other job. But as an impoverished farmer, there is no advancement. Either for you or your family. You really need to go to extreme measures even to get your kids out of poverty. One of our CDC members is saving 90% of he and his wife's combined income to send their kids to university. Other than that, there's not much hope. You could be a farmer. And, well, you could be a farmer who gets a bit of money on the side.

We thinking about going from 700 farmers to 2500 farmers by the end of next year, more than a threefold increase. We are creating jobs, but more, we're creating career tracks. There is a clear path from representative to field officer to field manager to district manager. Like any career, not everyone makes it. But some do. And because some do, there is hope. Real, tangible hope. As in "Be light. Be hope. Be Nuru." We are blasting a path through the mountains of poverty.

Beyond simply creating jobs and career tracks, Nuru is building leaders. Nuru has a radically high view of the poor. They're not lesser people. Really. We really believe that. They're actually equal to Americans in value and potential ability. They could be powerful leaders given the opportunity and a bit of training. For reals.

Already we've recruited a nine-member Community Development Committee who are leading our five program areas. Under them are about thirty field officers. Under the health and WatSan (water and sanitation) field officers are about 70 representatives.

All these people used to be poor people. Most of them were farmers earning what they could. My Field Manager, Nelly, was a fully trained nurse working for no pay at the health center. They were poor. But we Nuru told them they were leaders and began training them as such. And not just leaders, but servant-leaders. And guess what? They've become leaders. Fully-fledged, real life leaders. And another thing: they're now inspiring the people under them to be as they are.

I admit that I used to think that poor people were poor because they couldn't think like leaders. In my elitism (and when I read Plato), I am tempted to believe that this is only a result of nature. But that is a lie. The reason Nelly was not a powerful community leader last year was because there was neither leadership opportunity nor example. For our field manager,s it was an issue of circumstance, not natural ability. The team before us did an incredible job of finding those in whom the ember of humble leadership resided, but it would never have produced a flame if it remained buried in the clay of Kuria. Nuru has been able to fan it, fuel it, and now, even to spread it. In spite of their lives of extreme poverty, our people have become powerful leaders in their community and have begun to teach others as well.

Are leaders born? Or are they made? I say both. A seed of leadership needs to be present, but that seed must be planted in a soil which allows for growth, and watered with training, mentorship and experience. And like a great tree leaders grow. In due time, they will yield sweet fruits which can themselves be planted.

Perhaps the answer to the desert of poverty is not to shower it with more aid, or clear it of the rocks of bureaucracy, or limit the runoff of corruption. Clearly all these are good things. But maybe the key to turning the desert into a paradise is cultivating leaders like trees; tiling the soil, fertilizing it, and then planting good leaders from native seed. Then carefully watering, not the vast and burning sands, but the soil around these tender plants. And after a few are established, no further gardening will be needed. The water from the rains will be retained, and the roots as they go deeper will draw up water from below; the shade of these trees will provide a pleasant refuge for others who would grow up. An oasis in the desert will form, and then continue to grow until there is no desert left.

The Great War

[I'm departing this week from program updates. Partly because there is not one narrative which stands out as in previous weeks and partly that program updates will soon be housed somewhere else.]

Over dinner, I realized that I am incredibly blessed. I'm 24 years old and I've been given the commission to improve healthcare in a community. Not with any pre-concieved list of tasks I've got to carry out. And I don't even have to pay to do it. In fact, thousands of dollars are available for me to direct.

My boss is an awesome guy who is incredibly capable and, on top of that, humble. I mean, who else's boss cleans their toilet? In addition to him, I get to live and work with two other people who are able to help nurture new ideas and, on top of it all, cook really well. And all I have to do is be constructive about their ideas and do the dishes.

I feel like I'm riding the wave (if I surfed). God put me in "such a time as this" where I could apply for such a job. Nuru was in a place where it would hire someone like me.

I like Jake's phrase/Dad's phrase (must be a Marine thing): we are the tip of the spear. It's true in a lot of ways. Nuru is out in front of other organizations in figuring out how to eliminate extreme poverty. We, the Foundation Team, are at the tip of Nuru. All else is support for our success, helping us to be healthy, well-funded, well-staffed.. It is sobering to realize the gravity of our positions. If we fail, if the spear point is dull, then Nuru will fail. And if Nuru fails, it's a significant setback to this fight.

And if we succeed, if we are sharp, and the shaft behind us is strong, then this spear will pierce the heart of Poverty. And we will have been blessed with participating in the greatest War of our generation.

Let us not be like our great grandparents who fought one World War but planted the seeds of another which their children would reap. Let us end it well with justice and mercy as our weapons.

When we are older, when our bones ache from years of riding on dirt roads and when our skin is aged and weathered, our grandchildren will ask us, "Did you really see extreme poverty? What was it like? And did you really fight in the Great War? Did you really beat it?"

And I pray that on that day, I will be able to say, "Yes I fought in that War and I fought as hard as I could. But I only played my part. It wouldn't have been won without many others on the front lines like me playing their parts, and many more back at home supporting us playing theirs. Yes. Together we fought and together we won that War."

Pride Goeth Before Destruction – Part III of III

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The second load arrived, and I was ready to go. The unloaders began to offload the truck, somewhat slower as we had lost Jake to another site by this point. We also had lost some of the movers. It was me and two others. Many of the farmers had arrived at this point (probably with idlers mixed in), somewhat impatiently awaiting their seed and fertilizer. The two others movers carried the first bag together. I walked up to the pile of fertilizer, and there was no one to help. I looked around at the faces, and there was a bit of incredulity; I assumed this was disbelief in my capacity to do manual labor. Maybe I was wrong.

Up to that point, the majority of my motivation was good and clean and pure. But then the crystal spring of goodness was tainted. The weed of pride broke through, cracking the straight and narrow road of humble service. My desire to express manliness by diligence and exertion mutated into a dark pride in that which would have been virtue but for pride. I wanted to prove that I was a man who was strong, rather than a man who was humble. I wanted those who stood by to believe that I was strong, not that I was their servant. So, with my spirit puffed up within me, I squatted down and lifted the bag of fertilizer. I single-handedly carried it to the pile, arrogant in the strength which let me do the work of two men.

The other two (clearly not aware of the feat which had just been accomplished) continued working as if nothing had happened. So I went back to the pile, squatted down and lifted. Only this time, there was a deep pain in my lower back. Not a sharp pain, but diffuse throughout it. I set the fertilizer down and walked aside, holding my back. I decided to take a break, and the two others finished stacking the fertilizer. As I stood, the pain rose and my mobility fell. I got stiff if I stayed sitting or standing too long. It was a pain similar to what I had known many years before, my old back injury that I though was behind me. But it was somehow unique; I had not remembered the inflammation of my back muscles.

I took it easy the rest of the day, and suffered through the humility of sympathy. Sympathy is good for things that are accidents, but this was due prideful foolishness and I deserved nothing but contempt. I was able to walk, and in fact walking felt quite good; it kept my back stretched out. I expected other modes of transportation would be excruciating. So after the day was through, I walked home.

The walk was about an hour and a half. I needed the time; I had a lot to speak with God about. We hadn't spoken for a while; after all I was so busy. And I hadn't been reading my Bible, either.

I was quite concerned and I told God as much. I didn't know how bad the injury was. If it was degenerative, I wouldn't be able to stay in Kenya. Those who depended on me would be let down both my team and the people for whom I am here. My pride might sabotage even more than my own work. After half an hour of such reflections, I repented of my sin. As I walked along the way, the arms of God wrapped around me and He forgave me. A tear came to my eye as I beheld God's light shine down before me:

“The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light: they that dwell in the land of the shadow of death, upon them hath the light shined.” - Isa 9:2

I continued my painful and (I think) therapeutic walk. Last week, I had started reading the book of Job with no reason other than it felt right. I reflected on what I had read: “the LORD gave, and the LORD hath taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD” (Job 1:21). Either here or in the US, in failure or in success, with pain or free from it, God is in control. And He loves me. Even in the face of my foolish pride. I begged Him to let me stay and continue my work.

I got home. I apologized to Jake. He rejected my need to apologize and told me it was fine. We shook hands. That handshake communicated more than words ever could have: I was forgiven. We were reconciled.

I slept and woke. And I was slightly better. After stretching, I was able to walk at a normal pace. And it hurt slightly less than the day before. I was able to sit and work for most of the day. Praise be to God! Though I must bear weeks or months of pain, the complete failure which I feared will, God willing, be averted! He has heard my prayer and answered the cry of my heart!


As a closing thought, I really wish I would have listened to Merlin (Howard Pyle's Merlin, at least).
Something he taught Arthur was that not all men are free to pursue honor; moreover honor is not even the highest ambition. Arthur, upon finding out that the sheath of Excalibur made him invulnerable, refused to use it because it took the honor out of his fighting. Merlin told him that he must because he was no longer a knight errant whose only aim was to heap up honor for himself. Merlin told Arthur that he was king, and he was now a servant of the people; the good that he could do in a long life of service was far more important than the personal honor that he would lose for himself. He consented to sacrifice personal honor for humble service. I should have done the same.

Pride Goeth Before Destruction – Part II of III

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The truck had arrived. It was go time!

We were issuing to the farmers one bag of CAN, one bag of DAP and 10kg of seed (or double that for some of the larger land-owners). And by 'bag,' I mean 50kg BAG of fertilizer (for those of you who are twenty-first century Americans or seventeenth-century Englishmen, that's 110lbs). Jake and another Nuru-ite were on top of the truck, tossing the fertilizer into a pile below.

For those of you who don't know, Jake is strong. I knew that (people who were in the Marines are, as I have found, in general, stronger than those who were not in the Marines). But knowing a piece of information is a very different thing from seeing the man fling 110 pounds around like it was...was...was … something very, very light that would ordinarily be easily flung. [Note to self: if I ever get the time, I shall have to pontificate on the Philosophical differences between intellectual knowledge and experiential knowledge such as this].

Anyways, I was part of the moving team. I was so eager for the first bag, I just dragged it into place; from on top of the truck, Jake said it'd be faster with two people, and I found out he was correct. The field officers and I took the flung bags, two people per bag, and piled them in a line, awaiting the farmers. It was hard work. Really hard work. And I loved it!

I never get to exert my body in the service of others; this was perhaps the most meaningful menial labor I have ever done. In Boy Scouts, we did 'service projects,' but rarely for needy people. It was a superb thing to do when you're twelve. But now I was a grown up and I was actually helping someone provide food for their family (albeit in a small and exchangeable role; that is to say, anyone could have done what I was doing).

As further background, I've long believed physical strength to be a part of manliness, and one that I am rarely able to express. Both because of modern society and because of my position in it, only rarely have I felt the triumph of conquering a mountain or (rarer still) overcoming an opponent in a sport. The unique fulfillment of a hard day of physical work is for me is uniquely fulfilling and far too uncommon an occurrence.

I worked at double speed, making sure to push myself to the limit to not miss out on any of the labor. The field officers, accustomed to hard work, knew that it wasn't going anywhere. But I was greedy for it. The idlers, eager to get overpaid for work, were circling like vultures. The rapidity of our work also did much to communicate, “We don't need you,” to those who could potentially extort money or cause trouble. The first truck was unloaded of about ten thousand pounds of fertilizer in around fifteen minutes. Go team!

Then we had to wait. The seed and remaining fertilizer would have to come in a second load. It was a hot day, but we had shade, and in this we waited and conversed.

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Pride Goeth Before Destruction – Part I of III

Another amazing week has come and gone. The only thing this week had in common with my past weeks here is that it was different from every other week. Most of this week was planning. We planned and planned and planned. Five year plans. Five year budget. One year roll out plan. One year budget. Season work plan. Whew. Roughly 1.34 gazillion Excel cells were filled with important and detailed plans about what healthcare here will look like the next four years. These were all submitted to the boss about an hour ago. We were then called into his office/bedroom to explain ourselves (living together really blurs the lines between work life and personal life). To my surprise, he was impressed. Though I do not believe him, he too claims to be an Excel nerd (what he means by the term is that he is proficient in Excel; I mean that I enjoy playing with formulas and colored boxes). At least he appreciated the nice job I did with the borders of various widths. And I suppose the vision Janine and I set to heal the people of Kuria.

That was Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday's work. But what about Thursday? What happened on Thursday? Sit right back and you'll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip, that started on a … well that's about as much of the song as is relevant. The tale I will tell is a tale of great drama and tragedy. Thursday, August 6, 2009 will be a day that will live in infamy.

So Thursday was Input Issue Day; the day that some absurd number of pounds of fertilizer and seed were to be loaned out to our 680 (I think) Nuru Farmers (at least those who paid back the last loan; with a 400% increase in yield, you should be able to pay back your loans). Jake had an elaborate logistical plan for the distribution in place. For once, all I had to do was show up. I can't remember the last time complicated logistics happened near me without me. So I was supposed to be at Gukipimo, a border town that, because of weak border enforcement with Tanzaniza, is where all the trucks go to transport grain into hungry Kenya.

Gukipimo is a bit of a tough place, where all the non-farming young men go to hire themselves out as loaders and unloaders. They do this as long as their strength lasts, getting overpaid during harvest season by grain transporters who, especially during the present famine, are making a killing. These men are called 'idlers' by the farmers, probably because their high pay rate allows them to sit around for a vast majority of their lives. As it is said, idle hands are the devils playthings; the men amuse themselves by alcohol and ruckus (and vice-versa).

Nevertheless, Gukipimo was near where many of our farmers lived, so Jake had decided to set it up as an input issue site. Janine and I arrived there ultimately at 9:00am. The entire logistical operation would be handled by a single medium-sized truck. It arrived, with Jake and a few other of our officers riding along, the back of the truck filled with fertilizer and seed.

The adventure was about to begin!

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