The best we can

A few days ago, after waiting with my mother in the kitchen and talking, I go upstairs to check where my father is? He has promised to make us his famous coffee, using the very loud coffee machine. I find him in his office, sitting by his computer, and looking hard at work. I glance at the screen over his shoulder to see what has delayed our caffeine intake, and I am perplexed by the different graphs adorning the computer screen. “These are all my test results, layered on top of the treatment cycles, and the other indicators.” I try to understand. “See over here,” he says while pointing at an intersection, “that’s now, when I feel pretty well.” Eventually, we get our coffee, and it is good, very good. In thinking about my dad’s graphs and enjoying his professionally brewed coffee, I think that he has responded to all of life’s recent mysteries in the most authentic manner, in a way that is so exactly him. When there is a challenge, he tries to understand, and this time around, he is trying to understand what is happening inside his cells. When we need support, he is always ready to give, a kind smile, an uplifting cup of coffee.

Just yesterday, I attended an event called “Crisis, Creativity, and Courage,” organized by Physicians for Human Rights (http://www.physiciansforhumanrights.org/), in honor of International Women’s Day. Throughout the symposium we hear from artists who share poems, stories, songs and music related to the challenges faced by women around the world. Two women with beautiful voices sing a song of solidarity for women in Darfur. “We are all connected,” they sing with confident and emotional voices that carry loudly across the auditorium and fill the otherwise cold room with emotions. Another artist reads monologues by women. Although she is portraying women from far away places with experiences that seem farther than imagination, her ability to act takes us all outside our homes, our skins, our realities, into the lives of these women: a young girl in Morocco who is forced to marry at age 15, an Afghani mother in Holland who is a refugee with her children. The author of Monique and the Mango Rains, Kris Holloway, shares with us her experience of living in Mali, and why 20 years later she still feels passionate about community work in her host village. She reminds us all that if we define community as the people we love and care about, than there is no reason to stop our caring at the end of our street, or town, or country, or even continent. Towards the end, a group of young women share their stories of human rights work, and I feel honored to be among them, sharing what I have learned from the girls of Northern Uganda: the importance of hope and livelihoods in a human rights framework. In the evening, we are all treated to beautiful classical music, played passionately by the Longwood Symphony Orchestra, composed of physicians-musicians who in their work add years to life, and with their music, give meaning to years.

Listening to the beautiful orchestra, I look at all the talented people around me, and I can’t help but be thankful for the diversity. We all deal with the good and the bad events in a personal way, in a manner that makes sense with who are, our talents, skills, and passions. We often think, desperate times call for grand measures, and I think that pressure can lead to inaction. The best we can ask of ourselves is to respond in the best way we can, in our individual way, which is unique, and different, and important.

In response to the post-elections violence in Kenya, I have been involved with amazing groups of people that in the face of crisis have responded with creativity and courage. With the power-sharing agreement signed between the government and the rival parties, it is more important than ever to keep the momentum for peace, non-violence, and reconciliation in Kenya. Kibera is Kenya’s largest slum and like other slums in Kenya, it has borne the brunt of post-election violence and destruction. Home to an estimated one million inhabitants of mixed ethnic descent, the violence has polarized communities that have lived in peace for many years. Youth in Kibera want to shine again in the best way they can. They want to play football (soccer) and run across the fields with joy that showcases that friendships outlast violence and joy resurfaces from the worst of times. They want to sing and dance and share messages of what is important to them, to their future.

In response to these needs, I have worked with friends to support the Coalition for Peace in Kibera, a consortium of community-based organizations and interested individuals, led by the Community Support Group, who are committed to restoring peace and multi-ethnic harmony in Kibera slum in Nairobi. The Coalition is organizing a football tournament for peace on April 17-21, 2008. The football tournament for peace will be a great opportunity to bring together residents of Kibera in the spirit of peace and reconciliation. Youth will play football games in mixed ethnic teams to showcase reconciliation and enjoying together. Most importantly, youth will not only play football, but also present messages for peace. Youth will be engaged before the tournament to design peace messages, thereby building their skills as mediators and representatives of peace in their communities. The event will also showcase leaders who promote peace, as well as provide an opportunity for organizations working in Kibera to showcase their services. The planning for the tournament is well underway, and we need your support, in any way you can, by making a donation, by telling your friends, by sharing ideas with us about peace initiatives and youth programs. To make donations go to https://www.kiberafoundation.org/communities_together.asp and make sure you write “Kibera Football Tournament” in the comment box to designate your donation for this event. Every little bit helps, and with your support, I am hoping to raise $1000 for peace education in Kibera.

When I think about my dad’s graphs or about people who have suffered in Kibera, I wish with all my heart there was more I could to help, that I could solve complex scientific questions or compose music of peace. But my way is to write, and it is the best I can do. And as I write, I hope that the words dance in front of your eyes with various experiences; that words sing in your ears memoirs of a distant friend; that these few moments of reading heal a hidden scar that perhaps we share. As I write, I hope that these words connect us, collect us from chair in front of computer screens, and transport us to a future where we dare to imagine the beautiful potential of humanity, and future where we all care about each other.

Thank you for being in my life,
Inbal


Some pictures from my time to Kibera in June 2006