PG, Pine Beetle, Pasta and Palominos…

From MySpace: 10 Oct 06 Tuesday

PG, Pine Beetle, Pasta and Palominos…
(This is my first blahg attempt..I couldn't figure out that livejournal thing girls. Sorry. But here's a story..)

It's been four years since I was last in Prince George.
I don't remember much from that trip considering it was a whirlwind of tears, old women in black, a language I barely understand and booze, all brought on by the untimely death of my Nonno. For anyone who hasn't heard the story of the demise of Felice Bevacqua, my jolly, spitfire grandfather had a heart attack after beating a thief with his cane when the scumbag burst in on him mid-prayer La Madonna Degli Angeli and tried to rip-off the wallet chained to his polyester brown pants. He lived and died a fighter. He was a great man.
Anyway, as I drove into town with my cousin Mike the first thing I noticed were the colours of the landscape. The low, rolling hills of spruce and pine trees were green, yellow and... red?
How beautiful. Or so it seemed. As we got closer I could see the trees were not red, but rust-coloured and leafless, like lifeless statues of trees put under some cruel mythological curse. Pine Beetle. I'd heard all about the devastating effects of the bug that, in nature's balance, should have had most of its population die off each year in the frigid winters. Even with all the articles and hype about climate change (including a cameo in Al Gore's Inconvenient Truth) I never imagined the Pine Beetle infestation to be such an in-your-face cancer on the landscape.
You'd think it'd be enough to convert the town towards some serious environmentalism. Not really. "Government..s problem."
Everyone's talking about the big boom coming. Oil exploration apparently. "Gonna be the next Fort McMurray, eh." That's what PG needs, more gas money for all the ginormous F-series Fords and trips to Wal-Mart.
Okay, that's enough..
So we get to Nonna..s new apartment and I..m relieved to see all the stuff from the old place downtown is there: black velvet painting of the Last Supper, light-up Jesus statues, Pope plate collection and walls filled from floor to ceiling with family photos.
Nonna's kitchen table is covered in flour and tiny round gnocchi she..s made (potato dumpling pasta.) It's her specialty and she plans to stuff me with it and anything else she can over the next two days: perpeta (deep fried rice balls), pitoli (deep-fried zucchini flowers) and shitty homemade wine from noon until I pass out.
"You hungry, you wanna eat a something, I make a nice a pasta for you, Mange, Mange.." she sing-songs in her shrill accent that has yet to fade though she's lived in this country since 1965.
We listen to Mario Lanza cassette tapes, drink espresso and watch Italian variety shows. She gives me the little nuggets of family history I've come here for.
I find out that Nonno's biological mother had 16 bastard children she left on various people..s doorsteps after her husband left her to go to America and she became the mistress of a well-known doctor. And that her husband eventually came back in his sixties and she took care of him until he died. Even Nonna was shocked. "Why she take him back I no know. E pazza!"
She gives me hell for breaking up with PW and then tells me her friends are coming over to meet me. Panic ensues.
When I was a kid Nonna used to invite her old lady friends over and make me massage the blue rivers of varicose veins on their thin white chicken-skinned legs. They..d say, "Young a hands make a better" and slip me a dollar bill.
But these friends were cool and mostly compared notes about their ailing bodies and gossiped.
The highlight of the trip was an unexpectedly stellar night on the town. I asked my cousin Lisa to take me out for a PG special: Inn of the North, slots at the new casino and I wanted to go to the Generator (that's where my parents met), but we settled on the Cadillac Ranch.
I'd never really been to a country bar and didn't know what to expect. Luckily, it was packed with cute young cowboys, crazy old cougars and had a live band. Our dance cards were more than full before we'd barely stepped in the door.
I learned to two-step by the best dancer of the bunch--a green-eyed wrangler in tight wrangler jeans, a shirt that said "wrangler" on the front and "cowboys rule" on the back, cowboy hat and boots. He wasn't too much of a redneck, but did sporadically "Yee-haw!!" at the top of his lungs and stomp his boots like a crazed gorilla.
(Note to the wise: don't mention Brokeback Mountain any place north of Hope.)
So at one point, the cowboy asks me if I want to go outside and look at his horse. I ask him if that's some kind of cowboy-code line and he says not at all. He really did have his horses outside in a trailer hooked up to his truck (F350, bleh!). Three Palominos and beautiful flaxen pony. What majestic, beautiful, sad creatures.
That was enough of cowboy for me, but I think cuz is a fully converted buckle bunny.

The Telemarketer Blues

* I just found this 2006 Toronto Star piece about my short stint as a telemarketer. Reminds me to appreciate my life now.

George tells me to call him at his phone on the other side of the
table and run through the script. It's a sink or swim exercise, he
says.
"Hello my name is…I'm calling on behalf of…can I count on your support
of $250 tonight?" I blubber into the phone.
When I'm done, George walks over and says, "That was the best cold
read I've ever heard. Congratulations, you're going to do well in this
business."
This is how, at 27-years-old and six weeks shy of graduating with a
second university degree, I became a telemarketer.
Working for minimum wage six nights a week at a crap job after a full
day of school or work is an act of survival.
I'd managed fine in the land of the privileged through student loans,
scholarships and bursaries. But a clerical mix-up on my loan documents
in the fall delayed the cash a few months and before I realized it I'd
racked up nearly $7, 000 on my credit card, had no income and less
than a hundred bucks in the bank. I completely freaked and hit the job
boards.
I found the telemarketing job advertised on craigslist as "a chance to
support valuable arts institutions." Essentially, it was a call centre
asking for donations for museums and galleries across the country. Not
a bad gig in the telemarketing world.
I have a friend who sold cell phone minutes from a call centre on the
outskirts of Ottawa. He couldn't leave his desk or even pee without
asking someone for permission. He said everyone he worked with spent
their time trying figure out ways to screw the company– stealing pens,
faking calls and getting high – in sheer revenge for the thankless
monotony of the job.
My first night of telemarketing went better than expected. No one I
called yelled at me. Only two hung up. I brought in $250!
Even better, the people I worked with were really nice. They
high-fived each other when a donation came in and gave thumbs-ups.
Mark, an out-of-work photographer delivered a heartfelt speech about
how his co-workers helped him overcome the recent death of his dog.
Sue, a retired grandmotherly-type, left lozenges at every body's
station in case our voices went hoarse.
I sat beside Teresa, a friendly Filipino woman who was always late
because she worked at a coffee shop all day.
The worst part was the walk home up Parliament to my apartment at
Dundas past the druggies, prostitutes and leering perverts. I'd just
read in the newspaper a woman my age was grabbed by a stranger along
the same route, raped and beaten badly. At least I had my pepper
spray. Damned if was going to spend an hour's earnings on public
transit or a cab.
It didn't take long for the sub-human tag of being a telemarketer to
sink in. I was calling people who'd willingly given their phone
numbers to the gallery we were fundraising for, but many still
insisted on being jerks – slamming down the phone, interrupting
mid-script or going on about how dare I disturb them at home.
Excuse me. I'm sorry I took two minutes from your Pilates workout or
beer on the patio to ask for a charitable donation. Go ahead. Take out
all your frustrations on the starving student making less than eight
bucks an hour doing this.
For the most part, people were gracious and generous. Thus proving my
theory there are two kinds of people in this world: the good
(inherently kind enough to be nice to telemarketers) and evil (those
who are not).
I'll admit, knowing I'd eventually get my loan and bursary money, land
a salary-paying job after graduation and be done with telemarketing
didn't make me a poster girl for poverty-line living.
I was a visitor to this world. Not like Teresa. She got fired for not
bringing in enough money. I felt sorry for her coming in to work
already exhausted every night, having the people she called always ask
where her accent was from and if she was calling from India or some
place that took jobs away from hard-working Canadians.
I lasted eight weeks as a telemarketer, long enough to pay for food
and rent. I quit the day I received a bursary cheque from my school.
In the end the only thing I stole was the address of a very depressed
elderly woman I'd spent at least half an hour with on the phone. She
told me she was broke, lonely and felt invisible at her senior's home.
I was the first person who'd called her in months. A few days ago I
popped a gift for her in the mail – a colourful book by crazy-haired
hippie lady called Wild Succulent Woman. I hope she likes it.

World Aids Day

It's World Aids Day...Please check out Caia Connection - a Mozambique orphan and palliative care program recently adopted by Victoria's Kapasseni Project, Gettin' Higher Choir and the amazing Alfazemas.
Nothing has affected me more - personally, professionally and spiritually - than witnessing the horrific toll HIV-AIDS takes on a person and their communities.
My soul was awakened seeing the dignity in suffering, community spirit and desire to help in Mozambique and Rwanda in 2008.
If you want to help, I am looking for someone to takeover posting the stories of Rwandan children survivors. A new blog or site would be best, something easy they can update. This would be in English, French and possibly Kinyarwanda - I have a student translator in Kigali helping.
Please contact me.
Peace,
Sarah
http://www.caiaconnection.com/

Rwanda Clinic: Are Words Enough?

Last year, I reported in Rwanda for the Times Colonist on a fellowship from the Jack Webster Foundation.
I met Josee Mukamusoni at the We-Actx clinic where she worked. In bits of English, French and Kinyarwanda she told me the her story of the genocide - in which her husband and child died in her arms, how she was raped and contracted HIV and the years of fear and poverty after. Her job at the clinic is to listen to other women's stories and help them get their lives back. She asked me to share some of their stories. Here is the text and photos she sent.

STORY ABOUT SHAKILA.


An other patient I received is called UWAMAHORO Shakila ID 223825 ASS SWAA,She is 20 years old, she has various social problems, her parents are both dead and stayed with 4 young sisters, she does not study and has no job.
After the death of the parents, these children joined the friend of their mum but this one was also HIV/AIDS infected and died very shortly.
The husband of this woman started having sex with this girl by force and slept with her many times. When he knew that it has been know by the public, he threw her away. she went to live with her elder sister who was already married and she was living with the other 4 young sisters.
After arriving there, her elder sister has been arrested and been prisonned while his husband exiled and none knows where he is.
This girl is responsible for her 4 young sisters in addition to other 3 children left by her elder sister.
They are now 8 children; they had no money to rent the house and the owner made them get out. Shakila along with all of these children went to the friend of their sister who is now in jail. This friend who received them sells Avocadoes and tomatoes on illegal basket.
All of these things happened when she was only 16 years old, she got tested in WE_ACTx and and her result was Positive, she live with HIV/AIDS and she is under ARVTreatment, she has no hope for tomorrow, she is always unhappy; even though we advise her but her life is not good.
That’s all about her

MUKAMUSONI M.Josée


REPORT OF February 5th, 2009

I have received a patient called IYAKAREMYE Felix, ID 222614/ASS he is 12 years old and now studying in 2nd year of primary school and under Bactrim treatment.
This boy has only his mum because his dad is dead.
He has 1 brother and one sister called MUNGANYINKA Jeannine who is 14 years old studying in 4th, but his sister is not HIV/AIDS infected.
In fact one his brothers got lost so long time like 10 years ago, they are now
Their mum is 40 years old but she has got a boyfriend of 20 years old, they are all tested in WE_ACTx but this woman is HIV/AIDS infected unlike the boy who is Negative but their relationship remained the same. As they were living as married ones, the woman was already pregnant.
Finally, they both decided to live together but not with the children; the woman sold every thing they had including their land, on the day of leaving these children though that they would go together along with their mum’s boy friend but he made them get out of the car by force and started leaving together with their mum.
The children had to do nothing else than crying and calling their mum but she was already gone.
They went to see a friend of her mum and stayed they for 4 days as she was not able to feed them and care about them, she sent them to their grand mother(the mother of their mum) who was 85 years old, she weaves the handcraft object to earn her lives.
This girl cares about her brother does not study any more.
This is all about what he told me.

Rwanda Clinic: The original story

The original story:

From despair to dignity
In Rwanda, a bustling clinic propels women's recovery from rape, effects of genocide

Sarah Petrescu
Times Colonist

Sunday, April 20, 2008

Friends Maria Bahizi, left, and Miriam Jean work on colourful items for sale at the We-Actx clinic in Kigali. The work initiative is a project of the clinic that helps women dealing with HIV.
CREDIT: Sarah Petrescu, Times Colonist
Friends Maria Bahizi, left, and Miriam Jean work on colourful items for sale at the We-Actx clinic in Kigali. The work initiative is a project of the clinic that helps women dealing with HIV.

Dozens of women chatted while toddlers played and babies cried in the waiting room at the downtown Kigali health clinic run by the U.S.-based Women's Equity to Access for Care and Treatment, or WE-ACTx.

The bustling, cheery atmosphere of the clinic contrasts with the grim reason it exists -- to bring treatment and dignity to women raped and infected with the HIV virus during the country's 1994 genocide.

"We see about 100 patients every day at this clinic," said Joseph Hakizimana, 29, the organization's country clinical co-ordinator and one of its founding employees. With three clinics and two mobile units, they serve almost 5,000, nearly half of those receiving free, life-saving, anti-retroviral medication. "We can still do more, especially in the rural areas where women and men don't even know to get tested."

Hakizimana is passionate about community-driven action in addressing HIV/AIDS in Rwanda. He will be in Victoria this week to speak about the power of grassroots women's organizations in creating access to care and treatment of HIV/AIDS, a pandemic that affects all of Africa.

"Because of a lack of doctors, nurses, infrastructure and the aid organizations who concentrate themselves in cities, many people are not being reached," Hakizimana said.

Hakizimana was a high school student in Butare during the 1994 genocide, in which 800,000 people were killed in 100 days, and 250,000 brutal rapes occurred. The trauma and the aftermath moved him to study nursing at university and to volunteer to work with his mother's organization IMBABAZI, helping AIDS orphans and widows in the rural Cyangugu province, the farthest from Kigali.

"I loved it. That was a huge motivator for me," said Hakizimana.

His ensuing work with genocide-survivor groups led him to become one of WE-ACTx's first employees in 2004.

The organization formed after American journalist Anne-Christine D'Adesky was contacted by a group of Rwandan women who were raped and infected with HIV during the genocide. They were dying while the men who raped them were being treated in jail awaiting trial.

D'Adesky made international news of the injustice but said it was, "a time when words were not enough."

With the help of two friends -- a scientist and a doctor -- and the collaboration of grassroots women's groups and the government in Rwanda, they were able to form the clinic, which has been a hub for research, primary health care and family support since its inception.

Hakizimana said he is in awe of the women he works with. "They led this movement. They are very active," he said. "To be raped or cut by a machete and then find out you are sick from it. To have to explain this to your children who are now old enough to know how HIV is transmitted and want to know why they are positive, this is not easy."

Several of the women who came to WE-ACTx as clients now work there.

Josee Mukamusoni's gleam when she talks about her work in the family programs belies the hell she went through during the genocide.

"My goal is to have all the families I work with get tested and know their status," Mukamusoni, 42, told me in Kinyarwanda through a translator. "I have so much gratitude for this work. I was rock bottom and now that past is fading."

Mukamusoni and her husband, a petroleum product salesman, lived in Butare with their three children before the genocide. He was killed along with most of their relatives.

Mukamusoni broke into tears as she described the night her daughter died.

"I had two of the children on me, one on each hip like this," she gestured. "The military men came and she was shot in my arms."

Mukamusoni is also a victim of rape. She suspected she might have HIV when the man who assaulted her died of AIDS in prison in 1998. The stigma of rape and HIV prevented her from getting tested until 2004, when she came to WE-ACTx and found out she was positive.

"Rape was just a weapon of war for them, to cause a slow, painful death of disgrace. Women were treated like animals, abused in their own houses after the men were killed," said Mukamusoni.

"I feel sad hearing these stories. They remind me of my own. But helping gives me a way to do something and, at least, help pay my rent. Life does go on."

Generating income is another leg of the WE-ACTx project, with an inventive 25-year-old, Frank Mugisha, at its helm.

"Everyone was coming here saying, 'Frank, food, we need food,' because poverty is a real issue and it's hard to treat people who have nothing to eat," said Mugisha, who co-ordinates the income-generating craft co-operative, Ineza. "We needed to do something sustainable, that didn't cost a lot of money."

Mugisha insisted I see the project for myself.

"It's very cool," he said. So we took a taxi across town to a small gated house where a dozen or so women sat side-by-side sewing everything from yoga bags to little brown dolls on antique foot-pedal sewing machines.

"The designs are the best ever," Mugisha beamed, showing off the reversible purses, lap-top bags and aprons he designed with the head seamstress, Sophie Nyiranawumuntu. They looked to western tourists and magazines for inspiration.

"You won't see anything else like this here. Even the fabrics are the most beautiful and rare we could find."

The women in the co-operative receive weekly wages, transportation, food and yoga classes. A constant stream of international visitors and aid workers purchase the items, as well as retailers in the U.S. and now at the online store at www.manosdemadres.org.

spetrescu@tc.canwest.com

Sarah Petrescu travelled to Rwanda and Mozambique as a winner of the Jack Webster Foundation for Journalism 'Seeing the World through New Eyes' Fellowship - a partnership with the Canadian International Development Agency for emerging journalists to report from developing countries.

FACING AIDS

IN RWANDA

Some of the latest statistics compiled from the UNAIDS 2006 Update on the Global AIDS Epidemic and the United Nations 2008 Country Report

- In 2006, about two-thirds of all persons infected with HIV (about 25 million) were living in sub-Saharan Africa.

- AIDS deaths in sub-Saharan Africa represent 72 per cent of global AIDS deaths.

- People living with HIV/AIDS in Rwanda: 190,000

- AIDS deaths in 2005: 21,000

- 75.8 per cent of women never tested for HIV.

- 78.1 per cent of men never tested for HIV.

It is hard to explain the juxtaposition of joy and suffering in Africa. But you can feel it through beautiful music and dancing.

Sanitation Salvation

When I was traveling through the Mozambique backcountry during the flood season last February, one of the biggest concerns in the displacement camps was over sanitation. Thousands of people lived in and around the murky stagnant waters, their latrines seeping into their wells. They used the nets given to them by NGOs - to protect against bug bites and malaria - for fishing in the putrid ponds. It was a disease disaster waiting to hit. A week after I left five people died of cholera.

Now Manuel Miandica - my guide, translator, local aids educator - is taking action. He is building a public toilet for people to use but also to educate them about sanitation safety. If this one is successful, we'll help him fund raise for more.