September 22, 2002

Anyone on this list is a close friend or family member that I love and respect. Most of you are even exemplary figures in some aspect of your everyday life whether you recognize it or not. However, I challenge each of you to consider the following: When is the last time that you helped someone else out when it was not convenient for you?

The problem time and time again that I grappled with last week during my Girls' Life Skills Camp was the lack of support from others. Facilitators canceled their commitments to my project, and I was left in a very difficult situation. I wondered why there was such a lack of support and compassion to support such an important project -- girls' education and empowerment. I encourage each of you to say 'yes' to someone's request in the next month when they ask for help at a time that is not convenient for you. Think of those times when you needed a friend to look over an important document for errors, when you moved and lifted those boxes alone, when you refurbished part of your house and wished you had a helping hand, or when you needed a ride home from a medical appointment. These are the times when each of us needs to reach out and offer help to others, even if they do not ask. These are the times that community support would have made my Camp 'amazing' instead of just 'good.'

As I had anticipated, I showed up the first day of the Camp and forty-five teenage girls were in attendance. Yes, 45. I was in awe and overwhelmed with setting up my props while contemplating how my supplies for 30 would stretch for forty-five. Luckily, I immediately thought to occupy the girls with a fun game while I ran to call my counterpart and see how I could eliminate girls in a fair way. I knew that with such a large group each task would be daunting, and maintaining order would be difficult. We eliminated the girls that were not in the initial group that received an invitation, and I was as sad to see them leave as they were to be losing such a great opportunity. The group, however, only diminished to thirty-six, and would remain that size the entire five days.

Day 1 was filled with team building games and life skills activities to make them contemplate gender roles in Cape Verde, and the meaning of love. A fellow Peace Corps Volunteer facilitated the sessions while I ran around organizing meals, transport, and the events for the following day. The girls, meanwhile, defined characteristics they expect from someone they love, what kind of person they respect and hope to marry, and what relationships they see around themselves. I was inspired to hear them yell in unison, 'Of course we will!", when asked if they think they will find good, faithful men when they are older. I hoped that they would not fall into the footsteps of their peers who often arrange boyfriends who are abusive and unfaithful, leading to even worse marriages.

I was supposed to have a woman leader from the community assist me on Day 2, but, to no avail, I ran the Camp solo. There was a lot of confusion because the town hall, where the Camp was being held, said they would provide support through water, gloves, bags, and a back-up car for a clean-up campaign on Day 2. However, the driver kept telling me he was going to buy the supplies and never returned with them. I decided to have the girls skip the clean-up and paint designs at the local pre-school. I was proud that so many girls learned so much and stared in awe as I explained the color wheel, how to mix colors, and how to transfer a design from a book onto a wall. The girls marveled at their peers who mixed red and yellow to make orange, and blue and red to make purple.

At the pre-school, I put the girls that were experts at mixing colors and design as the leaders of 7 groups painting 7 designs around the small building. I didn't bring enough brushes for every group purposefully because I know that youth often take art supplies for granted and don't clean them properly, ultimately ruining them. The shortage of brushes, however, created a huge problem because groups became competitive and argumentative over who would paint first. I was spinning as girls pulled my arms and beckoned me into the room where they were painting, "Elektra, come see our fish, the design is not working out! Elektra, where is the paint thinner? Elektra, they won't let our group use their small brush! Elektra, I got oil paint on my clothes, will it come out? Elektra, did we do a good job?" I had already explained that oil does not mix with water, oil does not come out of clothes, and the other rules of using oil-based paints. However, they often forgot and then I found oil paint on the sinks, as they tried to wash oil off their hands with water. The project was really too huge for me to handle, and the cleaning agent ran out too fast. I vowed to never do such a large painting project again. A group of 5 people total is always best to maintain quality and control. I was impressed by our results though, given that this was Design 101 with girls who had never taken art in school or even made a craft at home.

By the end of Day 2, I was exhausted. In general, facilitators were not showing up, transport was arriving late, girls were too demanding, and I was resentful of having to do so much with little appreciation coming my way. In the afternoon, as the girls sat in the van waiting to head back to our valley, I quickly called my scheduled facilitators for Day 3 to confirm. Every one of them canceled, including the Peace Corps trainees that were supposed to attend. As the frustration and anger welled up inside me, I contemplated how I would handle another day alone organizing, facilitating, and leading events for 36 girls from 8 - 4 p.m. I cornered the highest woman leader at the town hall and demanded that she find woman leaders from the community to facilitate the following day or I would cancel the Camp. After all, 18 of these girls were from the communities immediately surrounding the town hall, and my village was part of the same district the town hall served. She rattled off excuses about how women leaders were too busy to help, with too many demands in their jobs that week.

I was about to explode at this point and gave her, perhaps, one of the most emotional speeches of my life, tears welling up in my eyes: "You don't seem to understand Elsa, 80% of these girls are not in school. It's taken me a year to convince their mothers to let them participate in events outside the villages. This may be the only time they get this crucial information about relationships, pregnancy, self-esteem, career choices, and their futures. If you don't think that their education is important, then there is a serious problem here. I need the support of local women leaders because I can't do this alone. Besides, they don't want to see a white American woman lecturing to them day in, day out -- someone who is almost their same age. They want to hear older women leaders that they can look up to and follow, women they see everyday. This should be the most important priority for all women in the community this week. If I don't have two women leaders show up tomorrow to facilitate, then my Camp obviously has no value in the community. Don't disappoint the girls. Don't disappoint me. I can't do this alone, and I shouldn't have to."

At this point, the girls had been waiting for an hour in the van outside with the driver, and I grabbed my bag and ran out the door to meet them. They stared at me in silence, as I wiped the tears from my cheeks while also scolding the driver for being consistently late everyday and his demonstrated lack of respect. This had been one hell of a day. On the ride home, the van slid around the coast, in and out of coves, and my thoughts wandered from frustration to inspiration. I could do it alone, I just needed to be more firm and demanding of the girls to take some of the work load off of myself. I would survive.

The next morning, we filed into the main room at the town hall, and sitting at the table was a woman leader named Xia, the head of the pre-school program in the district. "Elsa, sent me," she said, "I'm here to help you in any way that I can." I smiled and thought to myself, "Thank God, my prayers were answered. I guess I got my point across." I quickly explained to Xia the life skills activities that I had planned, one based on role models and the other on behavioral change. We began the role model discussion by defining the term 'model' in Portuguese. The rural girls leaned over their notebooks, copying the terms, while their urban counterparts from the beach town raised their hands and offered definitions. This was indicative of the first 3 days, for the most part, the rural girls quiet and complacent. The urban girls loud and high maintenance. Even at lunch, I always found myself asking the urban girls to sit with the village girls, " I know you all are obviously friends, but this Camp is not meant to exclude girls. I would appreciate it if you would switch tables and sit near girls you don't know." They would nod their heads in agreement, but, ultimately, remain at their tables with their same friends.

Xia spent the entire morning discussing the importance of role models, and the groups role-played how negative behavior can be changed with positive behavior to create a positive future. Girls tripped across the small stage in the room with plastic cups in their hands downing imaginary liquor, their wives at home caring for the children, the teachers breaking up fights, the church offering advice. I found theatre to be a very successful medium for addressing cultural norms. In the afternoon, Elsa presented a session with the female president of a nationwide agricultural NGO. They drew images of their perceived futures and defined 'short term' and 'long term' goals. I slipped out to check email and confirm events for Saturday in the capital city.

On Saturday, everything seemed to go wrong again. The driver showed up at 8, instead of 7:30, the girls showed up late, too. Starting off late set the entire day's schedule off. By the time we left the valley and reached the town hall, the urban girls had been waiting for an hour. The two vans slid out of the Calheta and sped along the road to the capital -- we were going to be late for the family planning session. Once we reached the family planning clinic, we were actually back on schedule again. However, the nurse, our facilitator, did not show up to work that day. She was supposed to be there an hour earlier, and the only person in site was the maid, who was busy mopping the floors. I used their phone to call the woman at home and on her cell. No luck. I called Peace Corps and reached my boss on a Saturday. I panicked and asked him to call our PC nurse to see if she could give a one hour session on teen pregnancy. Time was ticking away, and I suddenly felt like the most important session might not happen.

Statistically, 8 out of every 10 girls in the Camp would be pregnant by 18 years old. I was trying to change that. They had options, they had futures. It was my job to show them that even if they did not have money to attend school or leave home, they didn't have to feel obligated to have a baby or follow an abusive boyfriend. The speaker showed up an hour late, and I quickly left with one driver to go buy food for lunch and the weekend. When I returned, the nurse finished her session, and the girls applauded. A video on the TV was ending, 'You can't get AIDS by hugging. You can't get AIDS by sharing lipstick." As they wandered out to the vans, the nurse briefed me on the questions they asked and how wonderful they had been in asking so many questions.

We quickly had a tour of the commercial area, and then sped over to the US Embassy picnic area for our lunch with women leaders of the capital. The women were waiting when we arrived, and, again, the food was late. The woman I had paid to cook was sick, so the Peace Corps nurse felt obligated to prepare the meal for 40 guests. It was sheer chaos as the women leaders served the girls, who were complaining and paying little attention. It was hot, the food was late, and the leaders were doing much more than they were supposed to. Four women recounted their successes and failures along their career paths, and then the girls guessed what they did for their job. I noticed many of the rural girls tuning the conversation out, picking at their hands, staring off into the distance, leaving for the bathroom. I pulled one of the leaders aside and asked her to address the fact that most of these girls are not in school and how they can change their futures. She quickly changed the topic from her success to how a girl with few options can change her life and follow her dreams. Out of 40 girls in attendance, only 10 raised their hands when asked how many of them thought they could really achieve what these women had. The conversation continued, and she encouraged them all to set goals and stick with them, no matter what. Anything was possible.

That night, we all traveled back to my village, Hortelao. Girls sang in unison in the car to the popular songs of this summer, and reminisced about the Camp. The rain started pouring down when we reached the valley, and we carried in our bags to the community center, lighting candles in all rooms. The bonfire was moved indoors, and the girls lit candles in a bucket of sand. I prepared hot chocolate for everyone with some girls, as villagers trickled in and watched the traditional dance taking place. Bottoms gyrated in sync with the drumming on tables and buckets. Candlelight flickered off of window panes, and the warmth of community billowed from the main room. Young mothers nursed their babies in the shadows of the room in awe of the young girls with so much freedom.

On Sunday, I canceled most activities because the urban girls wanted to go explore the streams and forests. They slipped into their bathing suits and went off to bathe in the waterfalls while the rural girls stayed in the community center playing games. The rural girls knew that if their mothers spotted them outside, they would demand they come home and start doing chores again. By the afternoon, a deluge of water came pouring down the river bed because the rain in the mountains above had been substantial. Girls worried about whether they would be able to go home. Would the vans be able to pick them up?

Theatre skits were the highlight of the afternoon. Small groups pulled papers from a hat that told them an issue they had to address in their skit. Only two groups performed, the remaining girls standing outside watching the river rise quickly. The rural girls preferred to play more silent roles, while the urban girls chose the more salient roles of the unfaithful boyfriend and uneducated mother. Their stories were ones that each girl could relate to, a boyfriend who offers his gold ring to a girl if she will sleep with him, the girl later finds out she has HIV. The mother who tells her daughter to be careful, but the daughter gets pregnant and has a illegal abortion. The son that drinks too much and skips school, but is respected by his family because he is a male. The vans pulled up 100 feet away from the community center and the girls grabbed their stuff and ran to the cars. Chaos ensued, and it was difficult for me to organize them for a few final words. A few of the most difficult urban girls approached me before leaving and offered thanks for the week. I was disappointed at the lack of appreciation, and gathered my stuff to head home. That night, I noticed the grim faces of my neighbors, the three girls that had participated in the Camp. They silently gathered water from the river for their cattle, and carried it back to their houses. It was hard to feel empowered and then to feel disillusioned with their realities.

The next day, I went back to the beach town to pay the drivers and the restaurants that catered for us. I passed three houses with girls from the Camp that I had not previously known. One was taking a bath, and two others sat in the shadows of their fathers that played cards and shouted orders for cold drinks. I entered one girl's house that is notoriously poor. Cinderblock walls, six children in two rooms with a mother and the grandmother. Every child shows signs of malnutrition, swollen feet and bellies. They sell liquor shots for 10 cents, and Adelsa, who had participated in the Camp, shouted at a male customer in their dining room. She had a newfound sense of self-confidence, telling him that it was his fault the liquor had spilled. The mother Fatima beckoned me into the back yard to see the new room that had been built. I had helped them acquire funding through the town hall and Bornefonden to finance a third room just weeks earlier through the 'Fight Against Poverty' program. She smiled in awe at its splendor while I stared and imagined the fate of their family.

Back in the main room, a drunk man shook my hand and rattled off, "You did a great job with that camp. My two daughters were in it. They really liked it. You did a great job." As I walked back to the town hall, I passed several more houses where girls from the Camp waved and smiled for a brief moment and then their faces immediately altered to reflect their everyday realities: wet laundry hanging from the line, a naked child crying for food, the searing heat of summer without shade, and thoughts of the fields the next day, not school.

End Note: I had a meeting with UNICEF this week, and there is apparently a lot of funding from Norway to pay for girls to attend school. I will be focusing on finding a clean water source for my village this month and next, but girls' education is the next priority, even over solar energy.