Posts from the ‘Burma’ Category

Jun 12

When do I hear my neighbor sing?

I have been working on translating my book, Picking Flowers on Dusty Roads, into Norwegian. It is a long, and boring task.

Since I am in the mood of the book, I have decided to share a few paragraphs here. Perhaps you will like it and want to get the whole book. Nothing would please me more!

“It’s no secret that we in the West are masters at spending our lives running for the wrong reasons. We’ve entangled ourselves in a net of expectations and commitments that’t harder for us to get out of than it is for a fly to get out of the spider’s web. We all know that we need to stop before the spider eats us alive—sucking all the juices out of us until we’re dead.”

“I was sitting in a Karen village watching life unfold. I was an outsider and was able to observe without really taking part. The challenges of survival were more complex and involved than I probably understood. Only a few kilometers away the Burma Army loomed, carrying with them the threat of death. Minutes earlier I had talked to a villager who had shared the burden of not having enough to eat and not knowing if they’d survive the year with so little rice. The children were poorly dressed, and many had runny noses and coughs. And yet I saw joy and heard laughter. I felt a sense of peace that maybe was divine.

I always heard singing and it came from everywhere. Not exactly Elf-like, but honest and unpretentious songs that I imagined were about love and bravery. Men who were working the fields or walking through the jungle, women who were doing the laundry by the river, or carrying their babies up the hills, and children who were just running about, being kids, sang. I have never heard as much singing as I have in the presence of the Karen. I wondered, When did I last hear my neighbor sing, or my colleagues as they came to work on Monday morning? We have a reason to belt it out. We live in a free country, we have pantries full of food, microwaves, and walk-in closets, but the song coming from us often lack tunes.

On this evening I heard the singing coming from simple huts on the hills while I stood outside watching the myriads of stars dancing on the dark sky. There were no other sounds than the sounds of the jungle and the little piggy-snores coming from three piglets that were huddling together in a ditch in front of one of the houses.”

If you want to read more, you will have to get the book. You can do that here. If you rather buy it on Amazon, it is available there as well. Here is the link.

May 16

1 Comment

A glimse of courage to live.

I am going to quote a new friend and staff member, R ( I cannot use his name for security reasons). He sent me this reflection this morning and it moved me.

R is young and has just joined our staff. I am glad that he chose us, and even more glad he has chosen the people who are unloved and unwanted by so many.

“It’s my first day here, and we wasted no time, heading straight into the camps – a very serious situation, one that I really had to see to understand – knowing little of the situation and history here, it’s a very fast and real eye opener.

I have never met a friendlier people—a heart warming openness to our presence. I saw a people deemed insignificant by ‘authorities’, yet significant in that I personally know that they are loved and cared for, if not by those that should – by us as a team, and most importantly, God.

There is no greater joy than seeing a smile in such darkness, giving a glimpse of the will to stand up for themselves, above a life weighed down by heavy burdens and a self-worth beaten and broken – a poor spirit so disturbingly walked over, because of an unreasonable hatred towards them – the words spoken from the people themselves that really hit my heart: ‘we are ready to die here’.

It was comforting knowing that they were so open to our presence, so willing to have us, but as the storm still approaches, for me personally it comes down to faith, trust in God, and the strength of a community.”

The good news is that it seems the storm has passed, and that only minimal damage was done in the camps. The bad news is that the refugees still have to stay there, in the dirty camps without much to eat, if any.

I am glad they have people like R working on their side.

May 14

10 Comments

A God who obviously doesn’t care

Something provoked me today.

Actually, a lot has provoked me recently and I am not going to go into the details.

Let me start at the beginning.

There is a cyclone coming to Western Burma, right. I already shared that. So those of us who are not in the area where the cyclone is supposed to hit are sitting around biting our nails wondering how big the devastation is going to be. It’s ironic, because the devastation has already happened. There are 140,000 people in Western Burma right now who are homeless, sick and starving. My husband, Steve, and our team leader, Brad, are literally running rugged trying to be that little drop in the ocean that can mean a difference to some of the ones in need.

What got me provoked (in addition to hearing of the lack of care and response of the Burma government) was when one of our staff members asked people to pray on her Facebook page. And somebody commented: “What about sending something that actually works instead of praying to a God who obviously doesn’t care.”

It stung all the way to where I was sitting.

This is why:

We are sending everything we have, including our husbands and wives. We are using money that people have given, every bit of it, to help where the help is needed. Yesterday, for example, we were able to feed 5000 people who had not eaten for five days. They food will only last them for some days. But at least it was food.

See this woman and her seven kids? They had not eaten for five days. So we gave them food. Not enough of course, but we gave what we were able to. Wish that the rest of the world would do the same. If they did, people would not starve.

Our team is sitting with these people in the pouring rain, assisting them, loving them, speaking on their behalf, trying to protect them, trying to comfort them, trying to give them what nobody else seems willing to give.

Who dares to say: Send something that actually works? I wanted to ask that person: What more can we send than what we are already sending? And: Why don’t you give up your comfort and wealth instead of pointing your finger to us?

And how dares anyone speak about a God who does not care? Is the suffering in the world caused by God now? Is he the reason state leaders allow innocent people to suffer? Is he the reason people in the West are more concerned with Angelina Jolie’s boobs than with the fact that thousands are facing death? Is he the reason we would rather spend more money on ourselves than on children who have nothing to eat?

I have seen a lot of suffering over the years. Much of it has brought me to tears. Much of it has left me depressed and overwhelmed. But it has not made me blame God for the suffering. Because I have seen where the suffering is coming from. It is from people. I have asked victims of violence how the suffering affects their faith, and this is what they have said: “How can we blame God for this? He is not responsible for this. Man is. If you take our faith in God away from us, then we have nothing.”

And that pretty much sums it up.

PS. By the way, feel free to give to Partners. We need your money more than ever. I know this is tacky, but it is true. You are not giving to me, but to people who don’t know what they are going to eat tomorrow. This will take you to a donation page. Good luck!

May 12

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A cyclone in my heart

I don’t know if he will be alive in a few days from now. He lived right by the ocean, in a shack made from bamboo and a plastic tarp.

I have been hearing some really bad news the last few days.

The Rohingya people that I have been writing so much about, whom I have visited on two occasions this year, and whose lives and stories have grabbed my heart are now faced with another enemy: A cyclone.

Left to themselves on the beaches of Western Burma their conditions are already horrific. I have told you, in earlier blogs, about their lack of food, their lack of shelter, their lack of medicine, their lack of security, their lack of schools for their children—their lack of hope. Before getting to this sub-human way of living, they have also endured hell on earth. Violence, torture, death are words that describe each one of their stories. Their government refuse to help them, and even refuse to grant them the right to be alive in their land. So what could be worse?

That a cyclone hits the shores of the beaches where they are living in dilapidated shelters. And this is what is about to happen in a couple of days’ time. (You can read about it here.)

My husband is there right now and he says he is overwhelmed with the needs of the almost 200,000 people all around him. He is at a loss for words when he describes the attitude of local and central governments and their unwillingness to help the refugees (IDPs) evacuate to a safer place, and much less to give them food so they don’t starve in the meantime. He is also in shock over apparent lies told by some organizations who are taking the side of the government and claiming that the needs are not as bad as they actually are.

I am at a loss too. What to do when I am sitting at home in Norway, knowing that the people I recently spoke to, ate with, listened to, played with, held, hugged, took pictures of and fell in love with are in a few days time going to face a force much bigger than they have faced before.

Please join me and pray. Please join me as I am contacting the politicians and leaders I know to tell them what is happening. Please join me as I contact journalists and ask them to write the story for the world to see and hear. Please join me as I ask myself how much I can give in the relief effort that Partners is staging, and send the money here

I am going to bed with a heavy heart.

Apr 29

1 Comment

Like an anemone in spring-time

It has overwhelmed me to see how many have read the story of Masuda, and who have contacted me about it, or written comments on Facebook, Twitter and my blog. It has made me feel like in this world there is hope. You have given me hope.

The story I shared about Masuda was the saddest story I have ever heard. I sat with her, three Muslim men and my Rohingya friend and translator, Nina (not her real name), and listened to her story. When she was done sharing, I did not know what to do or what to say. What exactly do you say to a person who has lost 29 relatives? What do you say to a person who not lost her whole family, but who saw them get brutally murdered? What do you say to a person who has no home any more, nothing to live for, no reason to get up in the morning?

I did not have anything to say to her. I could only cry with her. I could only tell her that I can’t understand what she is going through. I could embrace her. I could look her in the eyes and tell her to not give up although it is tempting. But I will never be able to give her her family back.

It’s hard not to feel phony. One has to wonder if one’s presence is worth anything at all. But I have to believe that what we do does matter. If not, then what are we doing here?

Like a bright sun

In Norway we are now, finally, experiencing early spring. Everything is still brown, grey or black around us. The snow has melted, but it is too soon to see green grass. But in the middle of all the dead leaves and grass, some brave, small flowers have the courage to stick their heads up above the ground. Two kinds of flowers come first, the yellow Coltsfoot that we call Hestehov, and the blue Anemones that we call Blåveis. They shine like specks of color in the brown landscape.

The other day I was talking to my friend, and my neighbor. She said this: If the Blåveis had bloomed in the middle of summer, we may not even have noticed it.

I agreed. In the summer there are wild-flowers galore. There are so many colors that we all want to become painters to capture the beauty. There are flowers so bright, and in so many different shapes and sizes, and with the most tempting fragrances. Compared to many of those flowers, and to the plethora of colors we may not think the timid Blåveis is much to look at. But now we do. It gives us the hope that a new season is on the way. It shows us that after a long, dark and cold winter, there is a new time coming.

When she said that I thought that perhaps for Masuda I was like the Blåveis in the early spring. And I thought that you too may be that one little flower in a field of brown and dry grass to many who have lived through a long, dark and unmerciful winter.

Apr 23

7 Comments

When your only goal is to die.

Mosuda

I have been putting it off long enough. As I am sitting in my living room, contemplating what to make for dinner, and how to get the house clean, the media is full of stories of politicians sexually assaulting minors, of lone rangers making bombs that they intended to use for killing many, of financial crisis and of other stuff that I really wonder if many are interested in reading. But people surprise.

Nobody talks of Mosuda. Her story has not been shared world-wide. It is upsetting, but not surprising. The world wants Justin Bieber and glamour. They don’t want to hear stories of women who sob. Especially not Muslim women who sob. Especially not Muslim women who sob that belong to a despised people group.

My blog is not an arena that gets visits from thousands. But perhaps you who read the story can share it. Perhaps Mosuda’s story can challenge the world to think about different matters.

Mosuda was wealthy. Not wealthy in money, but wealthy because she was the mother of many children. She had eight daughters and sons. And she was blessed with 18 grandchildren. All of them full of life and energy. The voices of her family members could be heard all over her village. Her life was full.

On October 24, 2012 her life ended.

There had been rumors of attacks for a while. They had heard of other villages being attacked, of other Rohingyas being killed, brutally and violently. She knew that her Buddhist neighbors did not appreciate hers, or her people’s, presence. But what could they do? Could they change their skin color? Could they change the fact that they were born into a country that wanted them gone? Where were they supposed to go to? And, besides, her village was the only place she had ever called home.

Her neighbors in her village walked anxiously around, not sure what to do to protect themselves if an attack happened. Mosuda talked to her sons and daughters, and together they decided to get away while there was still time. Better to escape before it was too late.

Their village was by the water. There were many boats, and they got four middle-sized boats to take them up the river, to a safer place. One hundred of them crowded into the four boats, and at 11.00 a.m. they were off with a few of their belongings. Mosuda thought that the most important thing was that she had her whole family close to her. It would be sad to lose all their belongings in the village, but at least they had each other.

At 1.30 p.m. they spotted a boat approaching them. It was a lot bigger than their four boats. Mosuda’s heart sunk. She had a bad feeling about the people on the boat. She recognized one man on the boat. He was the owner of the biggest hotel in town, the Noble Hotel. He shouted to them to go to a village near by. “Go to the Rakhine village,” he urged them. But why would they go to a Buddhist village, when it was the Buddhists who wanted to kill them? They did not do as they were told. Instead they tried to make the boats move faster. Instead they tried to get away from the hostile people on the big boat.

But it didn’t work.

When they did not obey the commands, the big boat rammed into Masuda’s family’s boats, causing all of them to capsize. As the people fell into the water, it was like they were considered fish to be killed. With spears and swords the Buddhist rebels started killing them one by one. To make sure nobody would get away, they called their friends over to come and help finish them off. Soon more boats arrived, all of them full of people intent on killing the desperate people who were trying to save their lives. Some of them managed to swim to shore, hoping they would be safe there. But they were not. On the shore were others waiting with swords, spears and knives. All the villagers were all hacked down.

Mosuda held on to a plastic container that had ended up in the water. It worked as a floating device. Her daughter and daughter in law held on with her. They waited for the final blow. It came. Mosuda was stabbed in her neck and in her side. Right before she passed out she saw her daughter and daughter in law getting dragged onto the enemy’s boat.

She woke up many hours later and did not know where she was. Desperately she hoped she had just had a terrible dream. But then she felt the pain, and she noticed the blood. As by a miracle she made it to shore where friendly Rohingya cared for her. But there was no joy in her survival. She soon found out that all her family members, her children, her grandchildren and her sons and daughters in law had been killed. 29 of them were gone. Of the 100 people on the boats, only three survived. She was one of them.

There was nothing else she could do. In a haze she let her neighbors from her village take care of her. They put her on a new boat. This time all the villagers, 70 boats all together, had decided to leave the village to escape attacks and more death. They went the same way Mosuda had gone the day before. As they got closer to the place of the massacre Mosuda, to her horror, saw that the bodies of the dead were still floating in the river. It was like the most terrible nightmare. Her neighbors wanted to take the corpses out of the river and give them a proper funeral. This was the least they could do for their fallen friends and neighbors. But even this was denied them. As soon as they tried to pull a body up, the navy officials told them they were not allowed to. In fact, they were told that they were not allowed to move further. They would have to stay in their boats, at the exact same spot until they got permission to leave.

So surrounded by corpses and hostile government officials they started their long wait. They were all so afraid that they could hardly contain their fear. What if they were waiting for a new massacre? The children cried. The adults tried to act brave, but it was not easy.

Some of the village leaders took up their mobile phones and called some of their Muslim friends in the capital and begged for help. “Whatever you can do to help us!”

The next day they were allowed to leave. But they heard that their Muslim friends had given a considerable bribe for their release.

When Mosuda was done telling her story she just looked blankly into the air. “I cannot sit down. I cannot do anything anymore. I cannot sleep. I just want to go to my children,” she said. “Sometimes I walk down to the river and there I hear the voices of my grandchildren calling me.” “Why did I not die with them? What is the point of me being alive any more? There is no point in my being here.”

Then she broke down and sobbed.

Apr 8

2 Comments

Getting spring into my heart

After three very busy and intense weeks in Burma and Thailand I am finally back, to my kitchen table and my piles of work. I am overwhelmed. I don’t have enough hours in my days. I have too many things to do on my list. The dishwasher broke. The dog has an ear infection. The girls are cleaning their rooms, which means they leave their crap in the stairway. There are too many emails to reply to. The bills have to be paid before the bank repossess my house. My feet are cold. I need slippers.

It’s hard to be in a bad mood when this is your view.

But outside the sun shines, the snow is melting, it is light until 9 pm, at least. There is spring in the air. There is the hope of a better future.

I need to look outside every time desperation threatens to overtake me. Then I am reminded that in the big picture dirty dishes don’t count. Perhaps unpaid bills do, but they don’t need to control my mood.

This is a boy we met in Mae La refugee camp. A refugee camp is a place of poverty and sorrow, but also of laughter, resilience, kindness, imagination, forgiveness, courage, generosity and love.

I am trying to get my thoughts organized and get my head around all the stories I encountered in Burma. It seems like it is a life time away. In the days and weeks to come, you will be hearing more from my trip. The good and the bad, the fun and the sad. Hope you will stick with me.

I need you.

Mar 23

A room full of heroes.

Since I last wrote a few things have happened:

The day I held my speech for Women’s day I was actually voted Woman of the year in my hometown, Levanger. That was a huge honor, and something I am still trying to understand fully. I don’t exactly feel like a Woman of the year.

Then I went to Burma and met my friends, the Rohingya again. Sadly, their situation is not getting any better. In many ways, it is getting worse. While there we heard rumors of new attacks, and as soon as I had left, the attacks did indeed resume. I can only try to imagine the fear and desperation.

With some of the beautiful Rohingya children. This photo was taken by Josh Rogers, a man I met in Sittwe who ended up buying tarps for some of the families without shelter.

I went from Burma to Thailand, and I am currently in Chiang Mai, enjoying day two of our annual staff retreat. It has been a time of great blessing for me. The biggest blessing being able to talk face to face with so many of our staff, and realizing that the people I work with are some of the most amazing people in the world? Why? Not because they are so beautiful, strong, smart and fit, although some are that too. No, they are amazing because they stick with it. They work hard with little resources, such as money. They work in difficult conditions, for many of them this is a foreign country. They work against the tide for the most times. Many of them work alone. Many more work without any salary at all. Many consider going to Starbucks a luxury that they can’t really afford.

Some of our wonderful staff dancing at last year’s staff retreat.

I look at them and I am so thankful that God has put them in my life. Some of them can be annoying at times, but so can I. Some of them blow it at times, but so do I. Some of them are not qualified for the job they are doing, but neither am I. The main thing I like about them is their commitment and their courage. They are my heroes.

Feb 28

5 Comments

Money is more important than people

Yesterday my friend, Dougal, sent me this photo.

It made me happy and sad at the same time.

Happy because I remember this baby well. He was so cute and he kept sticking his tongue out at me. I just wanted to hold him and hug him forever.

Sad because he has no safe future. He is a nobody in the eyes of his government. He does not have a citizenship. In the eyes of his country he is a person who has entered the nation illegally. That his parents, grandparents, and ancestors before that were also born in Burma seems to be of no consequence. He will not have the right to own any land. He will not be allowed any jobs in the government. He will need a permit to get married. He will not be allowed more than two children. He will be barred from higher education. He will most likely be among the 80% of all Rohingyas who are not able to attend any school at all. He will be subject to forced labor. He may not even be alive next time I go to the camp where he is currently living. Because when I was there, the people were begging for help. They had no food, and lacked shelter. They had fled their destroyed villages. “If food does not arrive soon, we will all die,” the people lamented in fear.

Yesterday the President of Burma, Thein Sein, was in Norway. He was welcomed like a hero. He got to have dinner with the prime minister and other dignitaries. Next to him by the table was the Prime Minister, and the CEOs of the nation’s two leading businesses. The Telenor, a giant telecommunications company, and Statoil, Norway’s oil company #1. They want to go to Burma to invest. I assume there was no talk about this little boy and his people by the dinner table. That would have been uncomfortable and awkward. It may have made it so that they would not get a lucrative business contract after all.

The Prime Minister said: “It is a strong signal that he (Thein Sein) has chosen to visit Norway as the first country in Europe. We hope there are possibilities to strengthen the economic ties between the nations. The president told me there are about 7% of the population with access to mobile phones, but that he would like to increase it to 50%. Telenor (The norwegian telecommunication giant) is a big telecom company that can help reach that goal.”

When asked about the Rohingya, he simply said: “We brought up this issue (the conflict in Rakhine), of course. It is a serious situation. We ask that all people who live in Myanmar are treated with respect according to the human rights. But there are disagreements regarding citizenship. In that regard we have encouraged dialogue, but we will not demand that Myanmar’s government give citizenship to the Rohingyas. “

I don’t know what you think about this, but this is what I think this illustrates: Money is more important than people, especially if the people happen to be dark-skinned, poor and Muslim, like the Rohingya. Would our leaders look this little boy in the eyes and tell him that, I wonder.

Feb 12

1 Comment

Be nice or you will get a big nose

Among many other things the past week, we have enjoyed watching a theater Naomi, our middle daughter, has been a part of. It is a very local, very young and very enthusiastic group of actors and directors.

Naomi has the role as Limping Lina, and she is angry, bitter and mean. Mostly because people are always making fun of her and teasing her. She is actually a witch. But even mean witches had feelings at one time, and even witches can be made nice with love.

Naomi, the mean and bitter Limping Lina.

The one child who teases Limping Lina the most, her tormentor above other tormentors, is a girl named Lissa. Because she is so mean, her nose grows unimaginable large.

I liked watching the theatre. Mostly because Naomi did such a great job, and also because I knew a lot of the other kids. But I also liked the story. It had a good moral:

If you are mean to people you will get a nose that looks like a trunk.

Be nice or you will get a very long nose

Many people become unlikeable because people have been mean to them first. If you just show them some love, they will most likely become nice people.

People are followers. They will follow people who tell them to do mean stuff and they will follow people who tell them to be nice. It is a lot better to lead the world into doing good than to lead the into being bad.

People are followers

As I think about the situation I have encountered in Burma (as well as the injustices I hear about from around the world), I have thought that a good solution would have been to let the tormentors get big noses. There ought to be some kind of natural law that automatically makes noses grow huge when you break the law of human dignity and treat people meanly. I would even vote for letting the noses have worts if they do such horrible things to innocent civilians as they for example do to the Rohingya, as well as to many other ethnic groups in Burma. Then they would walk around at the markets, to their gala dinners and to their political meetings, and all people would look at them knowingly: “Aha, there goes a human rights violator, a person who is mean and dishonest, who will take advantage of others in order to get what he or she wants. That nose serves him or her well!”

It is unlikely that it will happen, but it is an interesting thought.

My thoughts as I am trying to navigate life—learning to love, laugh and live.

Posts from the ‘Burma’ Category

When do I hear my neighbor sing?

A glimse of courage to live.

A God who obviously doesn’t care

A cyclone in my heart

Like an anemone in spring-time

When your only goal is to die.

Getting spring into my heart

A room full of heroes.

Money is more important than people

Be nice or you will get a big nose

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