Sarah Mawhorter is a volunteer graphic designer for the IHF. She has designed, among other things, JustApparel.org and the IHF’s 2008 and 2009 Catalogs for Change.
I recently became a graduate student, and my life became (if it’s even possible) busier than when I had a full-time job. I seriously considered cutting out my work for the IHF. For a moment. Volunteering means giving, and often giving up, but I volunteer very selfishly. I feel a tinge of shame accepting thanks for my work, because I know I’m not making the sacrifice that generally accompanies volunteering. The IHF gives me more than I give it, and not in some wishy-washy esoteric way.
The IHF brings me comradeship with a woman I’ve met on only three occasions, someone who gets up every day and works constantly so that women in Guatemala can support their families under fair labor standards (one of Heidi’s many goals). We can only be glad that she doesn’t follow the same labor standards she champions. Our friendship has grown out of hard work, and I would hazard that we trust each other more than friends who have spent years in the same place.What’s more, I’ve found it freeing to work for free. The only thing that matters is the results, not what someone else thinks of my work. I can be adventurous, I can make mistakes, I can be exactly who I am with all my talents and deficiencies, and I’m still the best person for the job because I’m doing it. In this aspect of my life, I always measure up, and no one else measures me.
Incidentally, this is one of the drawbacks of volunteers: we’re notoriously difficult to manage. I am just now not-quite-meeting a deadline for the design of the IHF catalog (coming soon!). Tomorrow morning I’m definitely not going to go feed the homeless in downtown Los Angeles at 5:45 am, and I don’t feel much compunction. You see, the more responsibility I have for results, the easier it is for me to meet those ‘optional’ deadlines. The IHF is brilliantly set up to delegate real responsibility rather than merely offer pre-packaged, simplified activities.The IHF gives me true friendship, fun design and writing work, and the feeling that I am good at what I do. It’s the type of thing I might do regardless of its purpose.
I’m also highly separated from the purpose and the people I am supporting. I don’t speak their languages, and in most cases I’ve never crossed paths with them. The work I do supports the people who support the people in the field. Consequently, I don’t have many of the traditional satisfactions of those volunteering in developing nations; I am the opposite of the ‘volunteer tourist’. Another trip to Guatemala is definitely in store for me, but realistically I can be more useful from my computer in Los Angeles than in Santiago Atitlan.Still, the only reason that I am still spending my time with the IHF is the reality of people in need, the reality of the problems they face.
To me, the IHF is distinguished by how realistically it confronts the world. I don’t have a personal connection with the people I’m supporting, and that’s just fine. What I do have is time and the resources to be of service, and a job that needs to be done.I’m curious about other volunteers’ experiences with the IHF. What unexpected aspects make it worth your time? If you’re not an IHF volunteer, what types of work might make you happy, and what have been some of your best experiences volunteering for other organizations?
With the growing threat of global warming and health concerns due to harmful emissions, the public may want to consider seeing what Bogota, Columbia is up to, as outlined in this New York Times article from a little while back.
As the article points out, one popular street, Seventh Avenue, illustrates a polluted, loud, and unhealthy approach to travel. We see this sort of image all over the world in major metropolitan areas. But less than a few miles away from Seventh Avenue, there is an example of a dramatically different way of dealing with traffic flow, noise pollution, and contaminated air. On the four center lanes of Avenida de las Américas, there are large red buses operating on a new transit system called B.R.T. (Bus Rapid Transit). Similar to a subway system that operates above ground, these buses are efficient, clean, and have low emissions.
Bogota’s B.R.T. (called TransMilenio) is less expensive than building an entire underground subway system, and is an indicative point that the country is moving in the right direction towards environmentalism and public health. TransMilenio averages 1.6 million trips a day, and has been the leading reason why over 7,000 private buses have been removed from the roads. Emissions from buses have been reduced by close to 59% since the opening of TransMilenio in 2001, according to this NY Times article. Following in similar steps, communities in
This got me thinking…we hear a lot about developing countries not wanting to reduce CO2 emissions, but here’s an example of an emissions-reducing, money-saving, growth-promoting move. Perhaps the work of grassroots advocacy is to identify opportunities like this and push for them. Although not as effective as an underground subway system, the B.R.T. is a climb in the right direction and much cheaper—and anything can help. It seems to me that this underscores that as responsible citizens, we need to be proactive and, especially, realistic in regards to environmental initiatives.
The IHF just launched its $20.09 Stimulus Campaign, an effort to stimulate sustainable development by investing where it matters most: at the grassroots in developing communities around the world. As the IHF team has talked over this campaign, we’ve gotten to thinking a lot about what makes $20.09 so much more than just a catchy idea. Everyone from Domino’s to your local car dealer has played on the stimulus theme, but the IHF $20.09 Campaign does more than just riff on a popular concept - it actually does some good in the world economy. As we move ahead with the campaign - and as you consider joining our facebook group, following us on Twitter, or donating - here are a few thoughts about what takes this effort beyond gimmicky to dynamic and life-changing.
1. Economists emphasize the importance of investment for long-term growth and economic prosperity. Investment, of course, can take a lot of forms. It can be, say, the purchase of a new machine at a factory - investment in physical capital. But at least as important is investment in human capital, the skills that people have at their disposal to use for the benefit (or detriment…I’m looking at you, Bernie Madoff) of the world around them.
You can think of it like this. All economic products are made up of “stuff” and “ideas” (or particular ways of using “stuff”). A table, for example, is made of wood (its “stuff”) cut and put together in such a way that you can put a fruit bowl on top without it falling off and sit around it comfortably (the “idea” of a chair). Since there is only so much “stuff” in the universe, economic growth depends on the production of new ideas that make possible more or better uses of stuff. Investing in physical capital is using an idea to turn stuff into desireable things. Investing in human capital is creating the conditions necessary for new ideas and new uses of things. In the long-run, all economic growth depends on the growth of human capital.
The IHF invests in human capital in our partner communities by supporting early childhood education in Mexico, helping young people earn secondary school diplomas in Guatemala, training Indian craftsmen to make health-enhancing ventilated cookstoves, and more. In the short-run, these investments benefit the people who receive them directly, but in the long-run, the skills that those people gain improve the lives of their entire communities and make an impact on the world as a whole. Where once it was impossible to build a ventilated cookstove, it now becomes possible. The people who live healthier lives because of that stove can now devote themselves more fully to improving the conditions in which they and their community live. The community as a whole can contribute new skills and ideas to the broader world. And…you see how it goes.
2. This all seems well and good, right? But, I can imagine someone asking, since this is a down time in our country, shouldn’t we keep as many resources here as we can? Now, I’m inclined to make the moral argument for why that’s not the case. And I hesitate to make the case for why it’s in the best interest of Americans to contribute money to projects for people in other countries, because I think we should do it regardless of whether it’s to our advantage. But with that caveat, let me briefly suggest why, in the end, it might work out better for all of us if those of us in more prosperous countries keep giving to projects like the IHF’s even when we’re down.
First, the long-run growth of economies in the Global South is important for the health of wealthier economies like America’s because the latter produce primarily complicated products and services that are relatively high-cost. If people in, say, Nicaragua can’t afford anything that the American economy has to offer, the US loses out on export possibilities. So, when developing economies grow, so do markets for American goods and services.
Second, improving living conditions in the Global South, like the IHF’s projects do, will speed up the adoption of environmentally friendly technologies and reduce many types of environmental degradation, such as deforestation for the collection of wood for heating and cooking, which removes carbon-cleaning trees and increases the risk of natural disasters like the 2005 mudslide in Santiago Atitlan, Guatemala.
So, there you have my thoughts about why the IHF $20.09 Stimulus Campaign makes sense. I’d love to hear what you think. Do you have questions? doubts? other ideas? Stick them in the comments below.
The TED lecture linked below is fabulous. It has some of the better data visualization I have seen. And the story told by the data is narrated wonderfully by the speaker, statistician Hans Rosling.
http://www.ted.com/index.php/talks/hans_rosling_shows_the_best_stats_you_ve_ever_seen.html
Dr. Rosling’s story centers on two truths. First, his analysis demonstrates that the so-called ‘third world’ is anything but monolithic. Indeed, it is unrealistic to think of regions, or even of countries, possessing similar development characteristics. See Rosling’s demonstration of child mortality in South Africa, Uganda and Niger at about minute 14. This display really brings home that development is a community issue. Money quote – “the improvement of the world must be highly contextualized.”
The second truth that Dr. Rosling testifies is the importance of bringing this insight to students around the world. He states how excited his students become when faced with data that allow them to grapple with the enormous complexity of development in a focused, coherent manner.
These two truths connect deeply with the insight at the heart of the IHF’s mission – that communities must take the lead in their own development; and that immersion in community-led development, supported by leadership development and education, will produce the next generation of leaders for the development sector.
We met Natalia in 2005 when the IHF was working primarily with children in Santiago Atitlan. Natalia was the mother of one of the youngest children we received in the after school program and one of the biggest pains in my neck. Chonita, then 2.5 years old, was always crying, screaming, and hitting the other children. Despite the fact that her older cousins were always there to help her, she was never pleased. Finally, I got the chance to speak with her mother, Natalia, one of the best female Spanish speakers in this predominantly Tzutujil speaking community (most women in the community don’t understand the national language of Spanish). Natalia told me that Chonita didn’t talk much yet, but when she did, she was always complaining about how much her tummy hurt. “Ok, why don’t we just take her over to the hospitalito and have her stool tested?” I said with a knowing tone. I myself had just tested positive for giardia, a common parasite in the area. “No,” Natalia said, “We just don’t have enough money.” I proceeded to convince her not to worry about it that the Hospitalito was sponsored by other foreigners and they would give her a significant discount. She was only persuaded when I promised to accompany her and Chonita to the hospital. While we were in the waiting room, Natalia explained why it was that didn’t have enough money — her husband was one of the town drunks and drug addicts and he stole from her every time she had a few quetzales — he even stole her clothes and sold them for money!
After the positive parasite diagnosis came back, the final cost of the test, consultation and medicine was Q12 (about $1.60). Natalia only had Q2 to her name (about $0.27), so I told her not to worry about it and paid the tab without thinking twice. I then made sure I explained thoroughly to Natalia how to avoid contracting parasites yet again.
The next day she brought me two frog keychains made out of beads. She told me that she had made them for me since she couldn’t pay me back in cash. Maybe, she argued, I could sell them in the United States for more and make some money. Over the next few weeks, Chonita quickly became my favorite among the kids. She was always laughing, playing, and giving out hugs.
On a public health mission I went to the town market with two municipality officials and one of the centro de salud staff to see what recommendations we could make. Santiago´s market appeared to me fairly typical for a market in Central America. Crowded, full of people sitting on the floor selling fruits, nuts, crabs, fish, fish heads, and pretty much anything else that you could need. 
But on this trip, we focused on the stands that sell food. Picture a booth at a carnival or farmer´s market where you can buy a plate of tortillas, beans and rice. Or soup and a soda.
The town of Santiago is starting a new program in improve the sanitation of the market so our task was to go from stand to stand and make suggestions to them about how they could prepare food more safely. At every stand we asked to see their official permit allowing them to sell food, and the ‘Tarjetas de Salud’ (health cards) which every employee is supposed to carry stating that they have tested negative for TB. And at almost every stand people told us ‘Oh yes, we have those, but we keep them at home.’ I was actually surprised at how many store owners told us honestly ‘No, we don’t have those.’
The other recommendations were pretty basic. My major contribution was to point out that no one had any real way to wash their hands (definitely needed my master’s to notice that one) and that maybe the best place to store the vegetables wasn’t on the ground.
But here is the really funny thing: When I got back home I realized that the stands we visited probably weren’t the main threat to public health in the market. A much greater nidus for infection and vermin is probably the unrefrigerated fish, fruits and vegetables sitting on the ground. And those are the poorest vendors, who don’t pay license fees and who couldn’t afford to if they were charged. So I wrote my notes up for the centro de salud and in it I explained this, but it is a hard line to walk because on the one hand I don’t want suggest taking away the livelihood of the poorest people in the market, but reforming the rules for who can sit on the floor and sell without doing so would require money from somewhere.
Ma’jo’n is the Tzutujil word for ‘there isn’t any’ and this week it’s been the most common word I’ve heard at the centro de salud.
Coming from the US there are things that I don’t understand immediately about health care here. The centro de salud is a government run organization, and every week sends its requisition forms in requesting the medicines that they need. But they don’t actually always get them. In fact, a good percentage of the common medicines we give out daily we are currently out of. We have been out of albendazol syrup (for treating parasites in kids too little to take pills) since I arrived. This week we ran out of amoxicilin pills, trimethoprim pills and syrup. In fact the only antibiotics we have are donated amoxicilin syrup, donated cipro, and a few courses of a cephalosporin. We ran out of folic acid last week (which we need to give to every pregnant woman) but were luckily able to get some donated.
The donations come from private organizations such as Save the Children, and I honestly don’t know what the centro de salud would do without such donations. But running a clinic with donated medicines has its problems. For one thing, the doctors never know what they have to offer. For another, there coordination between supply and demand is far from perfect. While we have very little in the way of antibiotics we have quite a lot of alka selzer, zyrtec and osteo bi flex.
So after 10 houses and 3 kids vaccinated it almost time to return to the centro de salud. We stop at one more house and a woman standing nearby sees us, takes off running and returns running, pulling behind her a very reluctant 4 year old. He digs his heels in, but his mother prevails delivering him and his vaccination card to us with a flourish. The nurse takes care of him and then does something remarkably resourceful. Frequently after they get a vaccine kids will have a slight temperature, part of the body developing an immune response as it is supposed to. But to keep them comfortable its generally recommended that they can have tylenol. Now this mother did not have any tylenol so the nurse I was with took the sterile wrapper from the syringe she had just used, dropped 2 tablets in it, folded it over and had a clean bag of tylenol to give the mother. I was impressed.
So as we head from house to house spreading the joy of vaccines to the small children I learn a few things about the public health system here in Guatemala.
First off, unlike in the US, vaccination here is not an obligation. Rates of vaccination for polio and measles are in the 50-60 percent range in this district. (The WHO estimates that for all of Guatemala the numbers are closer to 91 percent for measles and 85 for polio). In contrast, in the US rates are around 92 or 93 percent.
So in a country where the government sends people door to door to give vaccines and balloons out I am surprised when a few of the households we stop at state that they do not want the vaccine. I ask why expecting an answer that involves government conspiracy, or as at home, fear of long range developmental side effects. But the nurse I am with says that no, the families just think the vaccines cause fevers and they do not want them.
This, she says, is a population we need to work more with.
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