Finding my roots in Scotland

Well, it’s been a long time since I’ve done an episode in this diary… I suppose one is well due, I am even considering doing some “post-event” entries, but that’s beside the point.

Something pretty awesome and thought-provoking was going to have to occur to encourage me to write again, as I wasn’t quite sure I could follow up on the last one. Having had so many intense experiences, and being surrounded by both incredibly challenging circumstances, and inspiring people and projects… it just didn’t feel right to post something while I was on my Contiki tour around Europe, seeing all of the beautiful cities, the historic places, the art etc.

Of course there should be nothing wrong with writing these things down, after all it doesn’t change the good that was done while I was volunteering, or my desire to continue doing this work. But I felt that perhaps some people might look accusingly at the juxtaposition of my trip, going from seeing the poorest nations in Europe (Romania and Moldova) and communities of poverty, to seeing and travelling among its richest areas and enjoying my time travelling and experiencing the world.

I think now that perhaps I was the one that felt the most concern about how this would be perceived. I can only conclude that anyone who has put as much thought as I have over the last few months into how much a person should sacrifice and give vs. how much they should reward themselves and the fruits of their labour… must have as many  conflicting emotions as I have at the moment.

Sadly I think there is no answer, and only each individual gets to decide what they’re comfortable with, and hope that when they look back over their life at its end, they’re happy with all they’ve done and given.

So, I’m onto the travelling part of my year off, and as my time in the UK is very soon up due to Visa requirements… there was one trip in particular left for me, that I could not leave without doing.

Over two years ago I visited Scotland when I was on my year exchange with the Canadian Navy, sadly we didn’t end up getting that much personal time to see the place, but I got enough of a taste to promise myself I had to come back. The one thing I was really disappointed about was the fact that I didn’t have the time to search for the town where my grandfather (Ian MacDonald) had been born and had grown up. I’ve always felt connected to Scotland, and often thought the strong-willed, fiery side of my personality comes from this line.

Highland cows on the hills.

My grandfather has played an interesting role in my life, and affected me both as a child growing up, hearing his artfully told tales of adventure, and after his death as an adult.

You see he was also in the Navy, the Merchant Navy, which played a part in my decision to join… where I have just finished four years of service in the RNZN. But, to fully appreciate the significance of this story, I’ll need to go back to the beginning...

Forgive me if I get a few details wrong, the following is a patchwork of snippets of information put together over my life. My grandfather was born out of wedlock to a young Scottish girl, in a small town near Abelour, Northern Scotland. As a baby he was put in the orphanage and spent three years there until he was adopted out to the MacDonald family who lived in Elgin, a small town about 30 miles away. They lived in a small house down an alleyway off one of the main streets, humbly, but were a hardworking family from what I can gather. As he was so young at the time, he had no memory of his early years and believed he was the natural son of his adopted parents (which would later cause anger and a bit of resentment on his side).

Alleyway house was down

Somewhere in his childhood he was fortunate enough to meet the Lord of Pitgaveny, who was a Scottish Lord who owned a large Estate and House in the countryside outside of Elgin. I think perhaps his mother worked in the house for a while, and he would go visiting or helping her? I’m unsure… anyway, the Lord fell for my grandfather’s charismatic charm (as everyone he met did) and soon the two would play games of pool in the Lords house and struck up an unlikely friendship, due to the class differences.

Sooner or later the Lord must have seen potential and intelligence in my young grandfather, possibly encouraging him to join the Merchant Navy to have a chance at a different life out of the small town, though definitely supporting him. It was he who gave my grandfather the second-hand uniforms far too big for him at the time, which allowed him to save enough to get to the Port he needed to to join. And although (implied) my grandfather was teased by the other recruits on arrival and during his duties, through a combination of pure hard work, determination and intelligence, my grandfather became an Officer.

Number 39.

I grew up hearing wonderfully told stories of his travels around the world, one of my favourites being one where his ship was attacked by Somalian Pirates, and he was the first to wake up and raised the alarm when he saw an armed man in the same room he was in… those on the upper decks having already been killed.

Anyway, the shorter version of the long story finds the marriage of my grandfather and grandmother (whom he met sailing into a port in Scotland one day), their immigration to New Zealand, the birth of my mother (the youngest of four) and of course my existence.

Sadly my grandfather died of cancer soon after hearing that I had been accepted in the Royal New Zealand Navy as an Officer, he was very proud. Often I have thought throughout my years in the Navy, how much I would have liked to talk to him of what I was up to, the challenges I was facing, and compare them with his. Still, some things we can’t change no matter how much we wish it.

Walking through the forest to Pitgaveny

So, skipping further to the future, I missed out on the chance to visit where he came from last time, but wasn’t going to a second. After saying goodbye to my wonderful host family in England, I set off on the cheapest bus I could find to Edinburgh and after a few days of enjoying the country there, another to Inverness, the largest city (town really) that a Megabus would go to. From here I caught a local bus to Elgin.

I didn’t quite know what to expect. As I took the hour and a bit bus ride through one small Scottish village after another, my mind was reeling. I wondered whether finding these places would be an anti-climax, whether I would even find them at all, would I be allowed to see the Lord of Pitgaveny? The best answers came when I asked myself why I was even searching at all, in a country on the opposite side of the world, in a town where I had no real connections or relatives to visit.

Side of Pitgaveny House

Turns out I was worried for nothing, and had the most amazing and rewarding day.

Elgin it turns out is a small sleepy town, not really that beautiful or remarkable. I had arrived early in the morning however and it was a beautiful sunny day (first time ever this trip in Scotland), the adventure began with a lovely local lady who pointed me in the right direction (after I discovered the visitor information centre didn’t open for another hour and I only had a rough idea from an Aunts description of how to get to the house he used to live in).  I found the house after some walking around, it was down a small alleyway off a street, a small house behind another, it was definitely occupied, by what looked like a family, so I left quickly.

I headed in the general direction of the countryside where I knew Pitgaveny house would be, with only the hope of discovering where it was at a corner store and perhaps how likely it would be I’d be able to get a look at it. The man I asked at the petrol station had grown up in the area and knew it immediately, after hearing my story he offered to take me to the gate of the Estate. Turns out it was a few miles out of town, and pretty big.

The walk into the house was beautiful, oak trees lining the driveway, forest all around. Thankfully when the road divided I took the wrong turn and ended up at the stables where I chatted to a woman who must have worked for the family, she told me both that the lord had died recently and his son was not using the house, apart from the housekeeper (who she rung and asked if I could look around) the house was empty. So I got freedom to wander around the property, through the gardens and look at the house. It was pretty awesome, almost like having a storybook come to life… seeing the REAL house from my grandfather’s stories. I can see why he liked the place, not only was it a luxurious escape from the small town, the surrounding fields, winding garden paths and forest would have been the perfect place for a child to play in.

Me in the gardens at Pitgaveny

On the walk back in to town I thought about how all of the twists of fate had resulted in both my Grandfather succeeding in life, and me getting to see where it had all started. From being adopted by a good family, to meeting the Lord of Pitgaveny, to getting the chance to travel the world, moving to New Zealand etc. etc. I think God loved my grandfather to keep handing him those wonderful twists in life…

If any one of these chain of events hadn’t occurred, I probably wouldn’t have existed, and it would be a different world.

It goes to show how anyone, no matter their situation or station in life, can achieve amazing things and a great life if they’re willing to work hard for it. I also felt super blessed to be in that town, thinking about how my life was playing out similarly to his (with the Navy/travelling that is ;) I wondered how many of those defining moments had happened to me, where someone had helped me out or had faith in me, taken a risk on me to get me where I was in life. I felt so grateful to my parents and family, and all of those other nameless people who’d had input in my life.

It kinda makes you think about how complex life is, with everyone making their life-changing decisions simultaneously :)

The butterfly effect and all that.

Walkway by the Spey River

So the next part of my trip took me on an even smaller bus where I’m pretty sure everyone ON the bus knew each other, and thus that I was not from around here. There were two old Scottish ladies sitting in-front of me chatting and laughing and it took me about 15mins of intense listening to decipher their “English” :) This time I was heading out to Abelour, the small town where the orphanage originally was.

This time the town was actually really beautiful, placed right next to the Spey River, which wound its way through the countryside with numerous walking tracks and footbridges across it. As luck would have it I asked for directions in the one information centre in town, and the lovely lady there both smothered me in pamphlets about the old orphanage and its history, and a map of the town to get my way around. Following my Aunts instructions again I crossed the bridge to a spot where an old Boat house would have been, which was where granddad was supposed to have been born. The area really was very beautiful.

Next I headed to where the clock tower, the only part of the orphanage still standing. Through this was a memorial of the Orphanage and the Reverend’s who had run it over the years. The statue and site was actually privately funded by a woman who had grown up in the orphanage all her life, afterward going on to marry and live a full life. As I walked around the plaques describing the founding of the orphanage, how it was run and the conditions… I was pleasantly surprised. To my gratitude from all accounts the orphanage was a good one, where those that cared for the children really loved them and cared about their welfare, they were schooled as well as being practically trained when they were older. The Reverend who began the orphanage did so to care for children either without parents or from very poor backgrounds, it said he held the “unpopular belief (at that time) that every child had the ability to grow up and flourish in society, notwithstanding the origins of their birth”, apparently he travelled for hundreds of miles preaching and raising funds for the children, and began annual jumble sales to support the Orphanage.

The monument went on to say a holiday home was purchased in the 30’s which meant every year 450 children would board a special train for a “holiday” by the beach.

Statue and plaques to the Orphanage.

I guess for me, having just spent a lot of time seeing orphanages in Moldova, where the majority are in extremely poor condition and the children are unloved, I had prepared myself for the worst. When I’d heard the orphanage was pulled down I assumed it would have been for bad reasons, but it turns out the overall view of the organisation changed, into small family homes and adopting children out.

I guess in a way this made me feel better about the memory of my great-grandmother, who put my grandfather into the care of the orphanage, I’d always given her the benefit of the doubt, knowing that a young single woman in those times wouldn’t have been able to support a child well, and he would have had even less of a chance in that circumstance… but knowing now that the orphanage had a good reputation in the surrounding towns and even Scotland, makes me feel like she was trying to give her son the best chance at life. Which I guess is what we would all want for a child.

 

So that ended my search for my roots, and after buying a local postcard off a nice man in a corner store (who it turns out went to New Zealand to attend his daughter’s wedding- to a local ;) I bought haggis from the local fish & chip shop and waited for the bus back “home”. After two hours of quite bus-pondering I was back in Inverness thinking of how happy I was the day had gone well.

So, to report what I learned;

Never underestimate the power of a good story and stepping forward in faith… so many times in my hunt I thought I was bound to fail- I had too little information, no maps, verbal directions and here I was with my bright-red-dyed hair and backpackers rain jacket trying to get into a Scottish Lords estate… and yet, at each crossroad my story would win people over and got me closer to where I needed to be. I think everyone I talked to understood. Where you come from is important, knowing how much those in your past struggled and worked to get you where you are this day. I grew up in a beautiful, free country with a good education and opportunities because my grandfather decided he wanted more than a labourers life in that small town. And I’m so proud he took the leap of faith and did it.

Circles… all life seems to be one never ending loop in time. The Reverend who funded the orphanage out of love, trying to prove to others “that every child had the ability to grow up and flourish in society, notwithstanding the origins of their birth”… did so unknowingly, years later with my Grandfather who ended up living comfortably in a beautiful house in Lyttelton harbour, New Zealand, and no doubt countless other children too.

I without realising it, had just spent some of my four months volunteering at an orphanage in Moldova… just loving the children and trying to show them they could hope for more than what their country had told them they could achieve (nothing) for so long. I never thought about the poetic irony of the circumstance, that the granddaughter of an orphan was searching internally for something which would prove to them they could achieve anything they wanted, that it was even possible for an orphan to become something great. There I was thinking there was no way I had a connection to their circumstance and yet the whole time I was living proof I was searching for.

Eilean Donan castle in the Highlands.

I think that perhaps we think too often that we own our lives, that we are owed them. Nothing in this life has been promised to us, no ammount of time, no circumstance or wealth. I think the last few months of my life and the soul searching is leading me toward focusing on serving others more, after all, if any one of those kind people who had an effect of my Grandfathers life, that Reverend, his adoptive parents, the Lord of Pitgaveny, had not helped him… I would not be here.

Perhaps I need to complete the circle and help others improve their future and the future generations.

Visiting a shelter and the subject of human trafficking

Me scribbling in my note-pad/diary at a train station.

So, I’ve actually arrived back in England by the time I write this, but this time I actually have a legitimate reason for posting late.  The last three days of my last Romanian trip were spent visiting a Shelter for Human Trafficking victims. This will be the subject of this blog and it’s not going to be butterflies and marshmallows because it’s an awkward and uncomfortable subject. I promise I’m not writing this to upset you or to ruin your day, and I will probably have a much worse time writing it than you will have reading it, I get a little squeamish talking on subjects like this when they become personal. I mean, it’s easy discussing the facts and statistics, and discussing the techniques being used to combat the trafficking, but when you meet someone who’s been a victim face-to-face, it makes those facts a reality, it becomes personal.

There are some things I can’t talk about, it’s all about keeping the girls protected and safe.  There is of course huge money in the industry, one girl can earn her captor 30,000€, and sadly those high up in the business have connections everywhere, even in the shelter we visited no funding is received from the Government, and the team behind the Shelter refuse to work with many of the police force and Government as over time the girls they have talked to know of their involvement. Informants can be killed, the girls could be stolen back or their families hurt or killed. Unfortunately there are a lot of people out there who single-mindedly focus on wealth, so much to the point that their greed makes them cold and willing to sacrifice lives in a “business” which subjects other humans to unimaginable cruelty… and the penalties… don’t get me started. A head trafficker  can get away with 5 years prison for deeds which in western cultures could be considered kidnapping, rape, torture, murder.

Trafficking can take many forms, these victims are girls who have usually been rescued from situations in which they were either taken forcibly or forced into prostitution.  It’s a difficult concept to get your head around and hard to differentiate between victims… the lines are all blurry. I imagine a few of you reading this might be thinking of it in a more western sense, yes, there are women who will choose to earn money this way and do it of free choice, but the line blurs when you talk about situations where someone has no money or food and believes this is their only option, or when someone is used to make money for another’s gain while being kept in a situation of poverty, or even those literally kidnapped and forced.

If you do a little reading about it you will generally hear most victims come from small villages, are from extremely poor circumstances, usually have already come from broken or abusive families and are lured either by men they trust into bad situations, are sold by boyfriends or their families, or accept an offer of work in a Hotel which will require them to leave the country or be taken into another province, when they arrive at the Hotel or destination they’re then told their only choice is prostitution, for which they will be given shelter and protection. Kidnapping cam happen too, I’ve told a story in an old blog of a woman we met who hopped into a “taxi” with her mother, when they rounded a corner three men jumped into the car with them and drove them out into a forest (they believed trafficking for organs) thankfully for an unknown reason their prayers and tears were answered when the car was stopped for an unknown reason and they were left in the forest to find their way back.

So, how do they find these girls in the first place? They are connected with a few policemen the trust who will inform them if they suspect a situation, as well as a child protection unit who will often pass them minors who have been found in these situations, other times it is just about heading out into the streets at night and chatting with the girls to see if they are trafficked and willing to escape. The really genius idea was a medical centre offering free medical care, often the Pimps are unwilling to spend money on healthcare and so jump at the chance to get it free. Here the staff can quickly judge which girls are at risk and in bad situations, and offer them protection and help.

From here they are taken to the Shelter where they are offered protection, given medical care, counselling, sessions with psychologists, are fed and clothed and given identity papers (these are often taken off the girls to ensure they cannot run away). Sometimes the girls come addicted to drugs and so go through a kind of rehabilitation.

In the shelter they are cared about and in some cases find unconditional support and love for the first time. Often many have not finished high school and so begin attending schools or University, others train for other jobs, during the day they are offered sewing lessons and sell the items they make, many begin learning English to help them in the future… the program focuses on helping and healing them, preparing them for life outside again and reintegrating them. Depending on how old they are and where they are with their schooling they will usually stay a year or more.

The girls at the shelter range in age between 14 (arrived at age 13) and 24, some arrive with young children (which I imagine would have been a large part of the reason they left)… I was surprised at how young they were, half I would say were 16 or under.

Right well lets go back to the beginning to let you in on how I felt about it all, and meeting the girls.

I will admit I was quite nervous and anxious on the drive to the centre. Four of us were visiting Ryan and Andrea (the American couple who have moved to Bucharest specifically to battle Human Trafficking, Andrea having worked for years in a woman and children’s shelter in the US), Leanne and I. It was an extremely hot day (over 30°C and dry) and we found ourselves sweating in the small car with broken air conditioning and back windows stuck in the UP position. We’d picked about a kilogram of mixed chocolate biscuits from a bakery on the way, but we really had no plan as to what we were going to do (dates somehow had gotten mixed up and the director who was going to show us around was out of the country receiving an award for her efforts). I guess I had been trying to mentally prepare myself for the last few months, in reading and hearing stories many spoke of girls who were very withdrawn, shirked from physical contact, were suspicious and distrustful of new people, shy and ashamed of their past (the one they had no control over) and unwilling to converse. I worried about whether I would meet people damaged beyond repair, whether I even could I make their situation worse by mentioning the wrong thing, would I be able to communicate… I felt so unbelievably unprepared and unqualified.

I’m pretty sure I was praying on-and-off the whole drive their, “just please let me find something to talk about with them, let me say the right things, give me sensitivity and not offend anyone. Let them see that I’m here because  want to help, not because I have some ulterior motive or have a perverted interest about their suffering in a world I can’t imagine”.

We drove through the opened security gates and along a long high-fenced driveway to a large House where about two staff and six or so girls sat or stood hesitantly by the door. I’m guessing they were there out of interest and curiosity, watching us carefully to see what kind of people we were and why we were visiting.

Thankfully, my prayers were answered. I just went into “auto” mode. Instead of hanging back awkwardly and waiting for someone to introduce us I just smiled and walked up to the nearest girl offered my hand (to shake) and in my best accent said “buna zewa” which is a casual Romanian greeting (like “good day to you”). My accent must have been rather obvious as it got a few giggles and to my surprise instead of the hand-shake I got a hug and a kiss on each cheek (Romanian custom between two close women), this seems to set the pace for the rest of the day and each of us proceeded to go around all the girls and get hugs and smiles from each one.

Turns out my worries and perception of how the shelter would be couldn’t have been more unnecessary. If I have learned one thing visiting families and people in tough situations over here it is that anyone visiting, no matter how hard the circumstances or how foreign the culture, how disturbing the problem or poverty… if you go in with a genuine heart and countenance, wanting to help and willing to listen, accepting and loving all people, they will see your genuineness and respond to you with kindness and patience.

The whole day was spent just chatting with the girls, 12 in total and a few of the staff who were there. It was mostly small talk, names, music, what they were studying in school, where they came from etc. Three spoke English well, as well as the guy who drove us there (his mother works full-time with the girls as a carer). For sure there were challenges with the language barrier, but we smiled and laughed it off and got by with either charades or one of the others translating. We had a tour around the building and played a few games which didn’t need language, like charades and hand-games. Although the house was nice you could tell there wasn’t much extra funding, and the girls didn’t have any games in the building to play with… this was actually probably a blessing in disguise as we got to spend a lot more quality time with them, as well as the fact that we visited on a long weekend so got to meet each girl.

Again I was shocked by how young the girls were (14-16) although they looked a little older, they were still very evidently teenagers. I think due to the good circumstance they are now in, and perhaps the combination of having girls that have been at the centre nearly a year and were further along the recovery process, even the girls who had recently arrived (2 months) were friendly and interacted with us. For sure there were triggers which seemed to “check” the situation every now and then… just when you would get caught up in a conversation which seemed exactly like one you’d have with a teenage girl back home, you’d see a girl sitting on a couch who was silently rocking herself, or another blankly staring into the distance who, when she’d notice you looking or smiling at her would be brought back into the conversation with a slow smile.

One of the things I don’t fully understand was how much they seemed to seek physical contact, often the girl you sat next to would hold your hand, or stroke your arm, play with your hair or lean their head on your (or the minders) shoulders. Others seemed in personality a lot younger than their age, dependant on others or vying for attention or affection. I’m not a psychologist so I’m not going to try to guess at why this might be. Let’s just say I really liked chatting with them and I think it was good for them too, both in getting a change from their everyday routine (due to security reasons they don’t get many visitors and usually go out with a staff member when shopping or to school etc.), or just in allowing them feel like they were living a normal life again.

One of the good things we heard about was the fact that a group of youth (teens and University students) visits each Friday to hang out with them. We actually met up with the pastor of that church before one of our day visits, he gave us a bit of an interesting insight into how hard it used to be for the girls in the shelter. Apparently they were allowed to opt in to going to a local church if they wanted, unfortunately the church they first attended treated the girls badly, focusing on their past, judging them and isolating them… basically making them feel responsible or bad about their lives (which is the last thing a church should do or what you’d expect). Soon it got to a point where they decided to shift churches to this man’s, and unfortunately because of their previous treatment, he and the people in the new church had a very difficult time at first. The girls stuck to themselves, were loud and rude during the services and would openly scoff and laugh, wore inappropriate gear and treated people badly. Thankfully it seems his church is one of good substance and people, because they continued patiently and just cared about them and continued to help them… In time their trust and friendship was gained, which was when the youth started visiting them by request and more of the girls choose to come to church because they want to, and because their they hear that they are loved unconditionally and that their past is dead and gone. Whatever you believe, it is true that wounds and emotional scars that can take years to really deal with, can (and have been) healed in an inhuman length of time, by belief in God.

I’m trying not to make anyone uncomfortable here, but I’m just writing what I’ve seen…

With each new girl, there is often an adjustment period, but in time most come to see all is done with a good heart, and that those helping them are doing so out of love. The girls who have spent longer in the shelter often convince those who’ve just arrived who can be trusted. This is of course a concept which is extremely hard to grasp, perhaps almost impossible, for people who have been horribly abused at the hands of others, perhaps even family members, and who (some of which claim) have never experienced genuine love and care before arriving.

Unfortunately, as with all programs dealing with such circumstances and trauma, not all girls are rehabilitated. We heard of a girl who early on in the shelter was still addicted to drugs and actually ran away (probably back) one day when she went to high school. Sadly this is why the other girls are now accompanied when they leave the centre.

Although we all delicately avoided talking too much about their pasts (I feel that it would be more appropriate if you’d spent enough time with a girl to earn her trust, when she might talk to you about her past in a one-on-one conversation) I seemed to gather that most of the girls came from poor families who where probably abusive and didn’t really care about them. One time the conversation became very heated when Ryan posed a question about how schools could best be educated about the reality and dangers of trafficking, the youngest girl actually got very angry and argued that although it’s good to try and educate, this wouldn’t happen if they came from good families who cared about them, it’s mostly the families fault… I never heard her talk about her parents.

Not all of the girls were trafficked for sex, although I didn’t hear the full story one girl I got along really well with found herself in Germany without any identity papers, pregnant and living on the street. Thankfully she heard about the shelter and was able to move into the shelter to go through the pregnancy and back to high school, she now has a beautiful 2 month old baby boy.

All in all I thought the girls were lovely and were amazing to have survived situations worse than I can imagine (and quite frankly don’t want to TRY to). They were girls my age and younger… just like me, but who had been put in terrible circumstances, who’d had to deal with situations no-one should have to, where they fought to survive. They seem to have adjusted well though it’s hard to tell from three days, they all seem grateful to be in a place which cares for them.

They are the lucky ones though, who HAVE a second chance at life, have been rescued, are getting an education and are being told they are human beings who are worth something, and that they can dream of a different future.

Saying goodbye was so hard, it’s amazing how quickly you can get close to people and form an attachment. I’d really love to have been able to stay a lot longer, just to hang out and be friends, hopefully help them in some way, show them not all people are bad, and that they can live normal lives and as women are worth much more than they’ve believed for so long.

We must have taken about an hours to fully say goodbye, we hugged and kissed everyone more than once, there were tears from a few, each of us was given a hand-made bracelet of woven yarn as a gift… it was very very hard. I truly want to visit again and meet up with some of the girls in the future, to see how they’re doing, to stay friends.

I hope.

Romania is a tough country… both in attitude and for anyone looking for employment, even those with masters degrees can be found working in grocery stores, counting themselves lucky to have a job… let alone young girls who have already had such a tough life and bad experiences with people… I just pray they are blessed this time around, that they’re not treated badly again, or forced back into the circumstances they were rescued from.

Man… sometimes I just find myself thinking “What IS this?…Is this life, is this the world I grew up in and that I thought I knew?”. Things seem so upside down from life in New Zealand (pun not intended :)

Sometimes I wish I could go back to those days, when the world was fine and people were nice and the good guys always won. But of course there is no going back, and the world hasn’t changed… it’s me, I’ve changed because I’ve exposed myself to its reality… and unfortunately it’s not pleasant.

I think I believe that people are born good, that no-one is born evil… but that too often bad people born before us corrupt us, either by circumstance (depriving others of their basic needs and rights for their own gain) or because somewhere along the line people began “surviving” which is a lot easier to do if you are someone selfish, who has no morals… than someone trying to live with honour, helping others as well.

The root problem and solution lies in the fact that a few evil men and women, rule over and control through their wealth, the masses… but because people are generally good, if we could somehow even the scales, or overturn these few with those of good character, things could change. I have to believe this… because I refuse to believe that people are actually okay with sacrificing many others for themselves… for a Gucci bag for example.

It’s not just bad people who can effect hundreds, thousands, millions… good people can have this effect too. I guess I believe that if you can improve or save even ONE life, that yours has been worth it. And I’d rather spend a lifetime finding out how I can best help as many as possible, than to attend all the fashion shows in the world, to live the life of a movie star, than to own a mansion in the Bahamas and spend each day in luxury.

Perhaps that’s just me, or my personality, the person I was meant to me… I just think each person has something unique to them, that can help others. Perhaps it is being a soccer mum and being the woman the other ladies in the neighbourhood go to for advice and want to have lunch with… but perhaps that woman could also support a program overseas, and speak out against something wrong in the world, perhaps after her children graduate she could visit this program. Perhaps her job working as a receptionist in a Legal Firm allows her to mention an unjust situation to the child she supports, which eventually will get action taken and laws changed… Perhaps.

I guess you never know the effect you have.

The street kids of Bucharest- Teen Challenge

Trian, Leanne and I at the Constanta waterfront.

Our train arrived late (as per) and we were greeted by an American man named Ryan, who we had actually already met during the last trip, he and his wife Andrea have just moved permanently to Romania specifically to work in combatting human trafficking within Romania. They’re lovely people and had set aside their spare room for us to stay in (having just moved into an apartment in the heart of the city). 

Although they mentioned they had to do quite a lot of spring cleaning to get the place as we saw it, I really loved it, the building is quite old, and has that Eastern European carved stone architecture… although it’s in need of a bit of repair (like most buildings here)  it has some serious charm. To get to the apartment you can either take a winding marble staircase or this rickety Titanic-looking elevator where you close a few sets of metal grating doors. I dared to take the elevator with our baggage while the others walked… afterward I was shown the (outdoor) weight and cables which run the elevator… let’s just say I haven’t used it since.haha.

After settling in Leanne and I had a meeting with the directors of Teen Challenge Romania, which is an Organisation focusing on the drug addiction among the street kids and homeless. 

One of those "classy" self-made photo's.

The organisation was started by a Romanian couple who had a heart for the street kids in Bucharest, they’ve now been working in the city for 16 years. It is said there are about 100,000 kids living in sewers and abandoned buildings across Romania, with 3,000 of these in the capital Bucharest. The meeting was jam packed with information, both us were trying to get a feel for all the things they do over here, the challenges they face, the people they work with and how they need help etc. Catalin and Oltita were amazing. They spoke of how they were the only org. in Bucharest providing year round beds for the drug addicts, and have a structured recovery program for them... Romania doesn’t have any rehabilitation centres, you’re either in a Hospital for overdosing, or out, there’s no real way the average person can get medical assistance. They spoke of how readily drugs are available in the capital, and a new drug which is stronger than Heroin, cheap and has disastrous psychotic effects on the kids. 16 years ago when they started working it was mostly glue and heroin, of the thousands of kids using about 1/10 had Aids, now it’s 9/10.

In the men’s centre (ages 16-35, with the average being 22) they take in the addicts for between six months and a year, where they recover and have a schedules program, exercise, counselling and are trained in fields they are interested in to be reintegrated into society. Usually jobs like gardening, a moving business, carpentry. They also have feeding programs, provide medical treatment, and do prevention work in the high schools. 
Through all this though they find those there have difficulty with the structure and authority, many have been living on the streets, canals and sewers for most of their lives… it usually take a few visits by the street teams before someone is really ready to make the decision to give up the life they have.

Some of the country fields in Romania

Unfortunately they’ve found that the Government funding often comes with too many strings attached, and if they use their support, they have to bend their rules (like allowing the addicts to smoke, having visitors and girlfriends visiting during rehab, working around their “rights”) which really defeats what they are trying to achieve in the program. Many similar programs have failed early on for these reasons. There is also whip-lash for those who choose not to take the funding, because there is a feeling that the others are always trying to “prove [we’re] wrong”. 
Unfortunately it’s meant they’ve survived on outside funding for the last 16 years.
They’re currently trying to start small businesses to employ those who have finished the program (same old unemployment issues in Europe), they have a greenhouse of tomatoes and a removal business but are looking for other ideas or philanthropist businessmen who would be willing to help them or train others to start new businesses. 

Sadly the numbers of kids on the street are increasing, as the majority of orphanages were shut down for a poorly organised “foster child program” which has them often abused and pushed onto the streets. They hear all the time of children and people they know dying on the streets, 

Small shacks/tents can be seen from the railway tracks...

particularly in winter. Just a few weeks ago they found out 2 kids they knew were sold for drugs by their mother… she herself was a gypsy girl they met in 1996 and was in one of their centres for a while but ran away, she was “wild” they said, sadly went back to the streets involved with drugs and ended up being prostituted out. She’s now dying in hospital because her blood has been poisoned by the new drugs… they said when they visited her, her head has swollen to twice the size, the only thing which would possibly save her would be a full blood transfusion, but this won’t be “wasted” on her in the hospital.

They described how heart-breaking it was for them to see the generations and  vulnerable and yet wild children. If they have broken bones or horrific injuries they just take more drugs to numb the pain. One 12-year-old boy they found had a wound on his arm so deep the muscle had come off the bone and had started to dry, the husband Catalin took him to hospital, the first refused to see the boy because of where he’d come from, and he had to bribe the second hospital to see him. Because the boy was high and such a big drug user, the anaesthetic had no effect on him, so Catalin lay on top of him during surgery as the boy screamed and thrashed as they first had to cut away the muscle and then sew up his arm. He said there was a lot of blood, but that it had to be done because he would die from infection sooner or later. Afterward the boy just pretended nothing had happened and made fun of the doctors, then it was back to the streets. “He probably has aids by now”… Catalin said shifting his gaze out the window.

The cafe part of Bucharest.

Oltita spoke of a dream she has about creating a multi-purpose centre for the street children. The “kid’s kid’s” as they are now seeing generations born on the streets, are often ashamed of going to school, because their clothes are dirty and old, and do not have lunch. As much as the couples want their kids in school it is hard. She wants the day-centre to provide showers and clothes, lunches, help with their health issues and provide a place where they can help the children with their homework. 
I asked her about how they were received by the people they visit on the streets, she commented that because they’ve been around so long they are known and respected as they have proved they will help and don’t have hidden agendas. “They have great instincts and can spot a fake” she says, many western photographers will have bad experiences because they come and take photos, raise funds… which the homeless never see. If they visit a new area or people they take other street kids they know, to introduce them. Always in groups, and women are never alone… because “it’s very dangerous”. After telling her of how in my first trip I saw an abandoned building with the door open and poked my head in to look and take a photo when I got a really bad feeling and backed out (I saw the next day the door was shut, meaning people lived inside somewhere), she looked at me and with very serious, knowing eyes and said “BEST case scenario you’re robbed…” I trust this woman, and mentally slapped myself for being so stupid sometimes.

I asked how it was that there were orphans so young (three or four) on the streets, the answer I got really gave me an insight into what she has to deal with, and the memories she must have to live with. “The orphans often run away in groups or gangs, or brothers aged 12, 9 and 3 years old. The youngest will be sold by the elder, the middle prostituted or sold for sex, the older addicted.” This is where my brain did a little mental gag-reflex. I asked whether she meant the 3 year old was sold for illegal adoption (wishful thinking) “no, sex or organs”. 
God. What have we (humans) done.

When she talked about the children and adults it was almost as if in two minds, one was the mother, heart broken by the lost potential and young lives, the other told me of how although they’re human they’ve been in survival mode so long they have become wild, harsh, and very hard to work with… almost having lost a lot of what makes up human. Which begs the question, what does make us human? Are we any more human than those who have lost their heart and soul in the fight for survival, if we ignore what is happening or turn a blind eye to protect our 

Gypsy and Turkish suburbs.

lives of comfort, or to protect our own children? All rhetorical questions that perhaps have no answer…

That night we went out to dinner with Ryan and Andrea at a rather nice local outdoor restaurant. We heard of how they are hoping to connect and work with human trafficking shelters around Romania, the Trafficking unit in the Capital and investigate how they can best help. We heard yet another similar story of a girl they’d met and gotten close to, and who was actually pictured on a fundraising newsletter they put out before they moved over… she had a young baby last time they visited and was living on the streets, this time they saw her again without the child, when they asked she said he had been “taken”, though others who knew the word on the streets told them she had sold the child for money. The newsletter more than ever stands for the hopelessness which resides here for many children who have no say in their situation.

So, this was originally written a few days ago, but through a combination of internet connection troubles, and the fact that we were visiting a Centre for girls who have been rescued from Trafficking situations and for security/protection reasons I was told not to write about anything just yet… I have this and another to post after their completion. I’ll write up the other tonight and post hopefully tomorrow. 
Hope I didn’t worry anyone with my comment about not communicating for a while. Yes I am a bit of a risk taker, but I’m collecting experience and am getting more worldly and calculated in the risks I take. I figure many people wouldn’t come here and do the things that I and those I’m talking about are, just because of the danger. 
That’s why I think it IS important I do… because many will hear of what is actually happening out there in the world, who might not normally. Plus it’s for my own good, and hopefully will allow me to change things myself, if I find a job or something where I can be used most effectively to improve some of the things I’m talking about and seeing.

Peace and blessings,
Kendra

Having to say goodbye and heading to Bucharest

View from where we stayed in Bucharest

I left you last time as we were driving back out of the Gypsy and Turkish suburbs, which were extremely poor. From here we drove to the Mangalia waterfront, which is I suppose the “night-life” section of the area… it all looks very modern with water features which children were playing in and families and couples walking down the boulevard, children in rollerblades etc. The marina was full of expensive yachts and pleasure craft and it was a really warm summer day. The only difference I thought stood out from what you’d see in a western culture was both the apartment blocks that lined the road (which were the communist looking buildings which always look like they’re in need of repair) and the fact that the women and men all seemed to be covered up and still wore jackets and long sleeves.

My bed's the one on the right- Bucharest

After a wee walk we went back for some Turkish tea at Faradins house, into the lounge/gathering room which they use for taking music lessons, meetings and Church on Sundays. Although the neighbourhood and exterior looked rough, the inside was very nice and was decorated in nice bright oranges and purples. We chatted for a while, his son and daughter-in-law were there too, talking of the difficulty he has in finding a job, and how he dreams one day of taking his family (they have a young child at the moment) away to Australia, which he has heard a lot of great things about and hopes he could get a job… finding the money for the tickets is the first hurdle to get over.

Among discussing the challenges they have in trying to reach the people, who are very suspicious of anyone not conforming or helping with no foreseeable gain to themselves… The majority of the Turkish population is Muslim, and their

Some awesome graffiti I saw

families threaten to disown them if they associate with Fardin, who is a Christian. It’s all very tiring hearing of Religious feuds, which Europe has almost constantly been in-and-out of for thousands of years. It makes helping those in poverty so much greater… when even if (like Faradin) you have food, clothing and help to give to those who live in terrible conditions, they refuse it because of long-standing prejudices. Sadly I’m sure this mistrust of people has some truth in its formation… no doubt there have been those claiming to want to “help” the poor, but who have hidden agenda in the long run.
It’s difficult for these people who have been abused, exploited and then neglected by so many Races and countries, to trust anyone anymore… it’s a lot easier just to give up hoping and aiming for a better future for yourself and your children if you’ve been constantly disappointed.

The conversation drifted to the local elections, just as it would in the build-up in New Zealand. Apparently the current Mayor (four year term) was suspended a while ago for some demeanour or corruption, all speak poorly of him and the last few years have been very difficult for the whole place, because “he doesn’t care about the people”  those poorer communities have seen no aid, and even those who were at least stable a few years ago are suffering for lack of jobs and money from the recession. Thankfully there is hope, they spoke of a Man who had previously been mayor for 8 years, who did care about the people. He was the driving force in the financial support Faradin and a few other Churches had been given in their projects with the poor, they hope that if he is elected that as mayor this good guy will be able to really change the way things are done, and use the community to help itself.

I hope this guy is elected too, I’d like to hear of Mangalia being given a break from all the difficulties and corruption it currently is battling with.
The night finished with a nice dinner out in a Turkish restaurant which served amazingly delicious food, I had some kind of minced meat and cheese thing rolled in unleavened bread, which I ate way too much of.haha.

Sunday was, as promised, a slower day to process all that had been, I went to two services, one in the morning was a more traditional Romanian service where the majority of the older women wore skirts and head-scarves. I got chatting with the young woman who handing out free coffee and tea and found out that she was heavily involved with a program housing 10 street children. I think she’s a lot like a house parent, cooking and cleaning and helping with homework, that kind of thing… although she said is was very difficult at times, it was great to see the progress the kids were making, and hearing them start to dream about going to university, whereas this was never in their wildest dreams a few years ago. I didn’t ask her about it, but I think that she actually used to be a street kid herself, I was told that there was a young couple working with

Victory Plaza, Bucharest... poorly translated ;)

them who had both themselves been rescued from the street, and that most of the community don’t know this about them.
If they were talking about this girl I think that perhaps her past is a blessing in disguise, because she would be able to connect with the kids in a way others may never be able to, because she had been in their shoes years ago.

The afternoon was stunning, and I ended up reading in the sun outside. Trying to reverse the “English tan” which is three months of pasty white ;) In the afternoon we visited the old town of Constanta, which I think they said had been around since the first century, there are still a few Roman ruins in the area (which is of course why the Romanian language came from). The architecture is really beautiful, but most building were in a state of disrepair… I remember walking down the waterfront and looking out at the calm ocean (and seriously missing the sea for the first time- still adjusting from the Navy days) and seeing the White stone Casino building on the edge of the water... This was one of the only pictures I could find of Constanta when I was doing my investigation of the place in NZ… the building looked stunning in all of its glory on a summers day

Monument in city centre

and the article spoke of how Constanta was a big tourist spot…  Perhaps it was a few years ago, but although the ocean and the sky were the same as in the photo, the building before me had broken windows, peeling paint and was run-down. Apparently it had only been out of use for a few years… but things change quickly here with the harsh winter.

In the evening we went to an International Church made up of mostly English speaking students from all over, Africa, Asia, Switzerland, Germany, they were all really friendly and it was great to see a place where they could come and be themselves. Leanne was asked to speak, which was a great thing being that only last week we thought she wouldn’t even be able to in the training session.
Afterward we went out with the couple hosting us and the main guitar player/singer music leader from Church who turned out to be rather hilarious. We went to a really nice Chinese restaurant and had a great time, sharing stories, joking and laughing… just having a good time. Some local Romanian wine was ordered and it was really good, perhaps one of the best red wines I’ve had.

Not the classiest...

Somewhere in the conversation the guitar player brought up the fact that Leanne had said she was over here trying to find ways Next Level and herself can help to stop the Human Trafficking industry here. He actually shared a rather personal confession that he had been approached when he was younger by a unit that was trying to prosecute those organising the trafficking (Prostitution is actually illegal in Romania and Moldova)… and they asked if he would go undercover/help them. After thinking it over he told them he didn’t want to, because he knew how dangerous it was (he spoke of how they would just take you in a van into a forest and “bang” you’re gone) and he was thinking of his future, that he wanted a family etc. He said life moved on but he always felt there was something missing, and he thought about the opportunity often and wondered...
He talked of how he worked in a business where a few girls would be brought to the building, he wasn’t exactly living right himself at the time but he still had a heart for them and knew what was right, when they visited he would just talk to them in the office and try to “plant the seed” and get them to think about themselves as people instead of just objects. He talked of how many girls from bad or poor homes are taught that prostitution is okay and a good way for them to earn money and survive, and that perhaps they will find a wealthy man who will buy them. They don’t see themselves as having worth it’s almost as if they’ve lost their sense of felling or being a human, sometimes their families sell them into the trade.

My favourite picture of the day- Bucharest

He used to just talk to the girls, treat them like people, he said the best question he could ask was “if you didn’t do what you do now… what would you want to do instead”, which challenged them to think about what it would be like in a different life, that they could actually do something else. Something “clicked” he said, and they came to him instead of doing what they were supposed to, and had begun to think about their lives. Soon after they no longer visited his place of work (there were men/guards with them anyway who didn’t like him talking to the girls) and he never saw them again.

We said goodbye that night and it was really sad for me because I don’t know what my future will bring, I want to work in some kind of job or organisation like I am interning for now, in the future… I want to visit these amazing people again, I want to help them. The man showing us around had already tried to convince me to come back and stay, and I’m sure they would help me and make sure I was taken care of, and there is so much to be done here… but I need to KNOW that wherever I decide to work, will be where I’m most effective and can do the most good. I’ll need to know that I’m called to be there for sure.

Very early the next day we trained back to Bucharest, the only amusing thing

Posters are plastered on every blank wall or fence...

about the journey was that we sat in a carriage with two other serious looking Romanian men, though half way through the ride, just as I was falling to sleep I was woken up by a loud sensual woman’s voice saying “Excuse me darling, you have a message”… all of us in paused a second… and then the bearded Romania guy grabs a cellphone from his tray table… everyone else held it together but I was grinning like and idiot and almost snorted. Haha.

I think perhaps this might be a good time to stop, I’m a little behind in days but that’s okay because soon I’m going somewhere I won’t be able to post for a while… I will when I can ;)

Much love to family and friends