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April 22, 2007

Death has been showing his unwelcome face around the world a lot these days. I totally understand that he has a job to do, but I just don’t like the way he acts sometimes. I mean, let’s face it, when you gotta go you gotta go but a violent death can really spoil a great day and good life.

I’ll be fair by saying that death can be pretty forgiving sometimes. Especially if the person is suffering a lot. I have seen it with my own eyes. I had a little five-year-old friend in the hospital a number of years ago. Her name was Renee. (See picture above. The man pictured with Renee, who looks like he is desperately trying to audition for the band REO -Speedwagon, is me, a short while before my midlife-crisis-haircut and moustache-removal.)

Renee was a beautiful young girl whose childhood was robbed by cancer. I was visiting her in the hospital one day and telling her a story. She kept on slipping in and out of consciousness. Her life was balancing on a thread and I stroked her bald little head as I whispered the story to her.

It was hard for me to concentrate because death was hanging around the doorway like an impatient child.

He was restless.

Shifting from one foot to the other.

I knew that he was impatiently waiting to get down to business.

“Can I have a few minutes?” I asked him.

He turned.

“Alone.”

He stepped out of the room.

The second he did, Renee regained consciousness.

“Renee?” I said softly

“Hmm,” she said.

“Can you do me a favor?”

“Hmmm,” she replied. (Renee could not speak at that stage and was barely conscious.)

“I want you to imagine that you are a beautiful butterfly,” I said.

I think a smile tickled the corner of her mouth but I can’t be sure.

“Imagine that you have wonderful big wings.”

I looked over at Renee’s mother Marcie. I wanted to say more to Renee but I needed her mother’s approval.

Marcie nodded.

“Renee, you don’t need to wait anymore.” I whispered in her ear. “We are all going to be fine and we will be sure to take good care of your mom.

You don’t have to suffer any longer baby. It’s okay. You can fly.

Fly sweet girl.

You are the most beautiful butterfly.”

She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.

A movement at the door caught my eye. I looked up.

Death was back to fetch Renee. But he was too late.

She was gone.

He rushed over to the open window just in time to see a gorgeous Monarch butterfly take off from the windowsill into the deep blue Texas sky.

Posted by trevor at 02:25 PM | Comments (1)

April 21, 2007

Posted by trevor at 05:07 PM | Comments (0)

April 15, 2007

The most amazing things happen when you least expect them to. I was at an orphanage in Bujumbura, Burundi (Central Africa) last month. I was working with a group of boys many of whom had lost their parents in the war. Some of the boys were ex child soldiers.

The orphanage has a group of boys who play the drums. Burundi drummers are world famous for their incredible precision drumming. I was totally fascinated by the drummers on my first day at the center. The drummers were practicing for a welcoming performance the next day for the United Nations Special Representative for the Secretary General, Madam Coomaraswamy. (I was traveling with Madam Coomaraswamy and a UN delegation representing the office of Children and Armed Conflict.)

I asked one of the drummers if I might possibly play with them for two minutes the next day just to see the surprise on the delegation’s collective faces when they spotted me drumming. (I have played the drums in the past and felt comfortable with the drumming style.) The drummers, ranging in age from eight to sixteen, heartily agreed. I practiced with the drummers and learned my drumming part. The next day I went to the orphanage early to get ready. I was greeted with great enthusiasm from the guys. They whisked me off to one of the huts in the back and proceeded to dress me in one of the green, white and red robes worn by the drummers. Beaded bands were tied to my head and arms and a sacred necklace was placed around my neck. I asked about the necklace and was told that I was going to be the drum leader for the day and the leader always wears the necklace. What an honor. All I wanted to do was play for a few minutes just for fun and they made me the drum captain. While dressing me, the drummers said a small prayer for each part of the outfit. I was on the verge of tears the whole time because I could not believe what an honor they had bestowed upon me. I was the first white person that has played with that group.

Suddenly there was a flurry of activity as word spread that the UN contingency was arriving. I realized that I really wanted someone to film the event because it’s something I want to remember for the rest of my life.

I asked if anybody could use a camera. Only one boy in the group named Pascal could speak English. “No”. He said. “But I pray to be a journalist. I will do it.”

“Okay”, I said. “You are now a journalist. Please make me look good.”

I placed my very expensive digital camcorder in his hand and showed him how to hit the record button.

He was beside himself. He had never held a camcorder before. “Thank you sir,” he said. “Thank you so much.” He then started filming. Badly at first because he got a little too excited with the zoom control. He got the hang of it later though and took some nice footage of me playing with the group.

Playing with the drummers was one of the most powerful and moving experiences I have ever had. I wanted to move away from the drummers after playing for a few minutes but they kept of pulling me into the circle. I continued my important job of being drum captain with a spear and a shield in hand. (The movie will be coming to a blog near you soon.) My dancing was something horrible but it was totally overshadowed by the acceptance and warmth of the “boys in the band”.

After the performance one of the councilors from the center said. “Trevor, you will not believe what you did today.”

“What?” I said, horrified. Fearing that I had offended someone.

"When you made Pascal a journalist you gave him the best gift he has ever received."

“I did?” I said.

“You gave him your trust. It is worth more than you will ever know. He will soon be leaving this orphanage and who knows what he would have done. I really think he could be a journalist. It’s something he has been talking about for a long time because many journalists from Reuters and United Press International, they come here.”

I did not realize what impact my simple gesture made.

I looked back over my shoulder as we drove away from the orphanage toward the center of Bujumbura. In the dust behind our UN vehicle I could see the boys from the orphanage crowded around the gate-waving goodbye to us. I scanned the crowd and my eyes found Pascal. I could see him mouthing the words, “Thank you.”

I cried softly all the way back to the hotel.

An e-mail was waiting for me upon my return to the United States:

Dear Trevor,

I am sorry for the mistakes that I will make in this message. How is it nowadays?

I want to greet you very well and I am ok. I have an exam tomorrow because we are in the end of second term.
Other day I will write you many thanks for your trust and for giving me the chance I will remember forever. Have a nice weekend and I will never forget you.

It is Pascal (journalist) from Bujumura Burundi.

I was amazed. There is an internet connection at the orphanage! I wrote back to Pascal and got this message in return:

Dear Trevor, hi!

I am so happy for this moment to write to you. Let me first of all thank you because you always answer me whenever I send you a letter. May God bless your kindness to exchange news with me and I hope you are doing well as I am too! Not so?

The other Pascal and my older brother are fine and they convey you greetings and best wishes. How I wish we will meet again! I pray God that he gives me that chance once again.
Concerning my admission to the center, it’s quite complex. But in few words, I came to the centre because all my parents passed away because of the 1993 civil war. Then I had nobody to care for me. I couldn’t even think of studying, but thanks be to God I now study. May God continue bestowing blessings on people like you who help others.

I COULD have written much more if I were to use the ordinary way of the post. You can give it to me so that I write more.

Let me wind up here wishing you all the best, see you.

Pascal (journalist) from Bujumura Burundi.

Posted by trevor at 09:45 PM | Comments (0)

April 08, 2007

It really amazes me how the universe knows how and when to put people in their place.

Last year in my journal I wrote:

"I have been so caught up in myself just lately. The letter “I” has been dominating my vocabulary a little too much.

Apparently the universe agrees.

I bent down to pat a cute little dog in the neighborhood the other day and, yes, he peed on my leg.

He did not care about all the books I have written. He couldn’t care less about my video awards. He couldn’t give a hoot that my jeans, upon which he peed (a lot) cost ninety three dollars.

He did what he needed to do and in the process brought me down to earth…and gave me a huge laugh.

Thank you little dog for reminding me that I am not as important and I sometimes think I am."

Posted by trevor at 08:27 PM | Comments (0)

April 04, 2007

I met an incredible Zulu woman in Kwazulu-Natal (South Africa) during my trip last year.

Unfortunately I never learned her name.

She works at the hotel where I was staying.

One afternoon I was sitting under a thatch awning on the hotel patio drinking a cup of tea and watching the dull, grey sea. She was the waitress who served me.

The warm afternoon rain had sent most of the guests indoors and I was the only person on the covered patio.

“I’m sorry that it’s raining,” she said, pointing at the sea. “Is the rain spoiling your holiday?”

“No, I said, smiling. “I actually love the rain. It’s very cleansing. I like to imagine the rain rinsing out my mind. ”

“Yebo,” she replied. (Yes.)

She stared out at the sea and I saw hear chest heave with a silent sigh.

Neither of us said anything for a few minutes. We just looked out to sea, mesmerized by the breaking waves.

I don’t know what prompted me, but I turned to her and said, “Are you sad?”

“Yes,” she said. “I am sad.”

I looked at her and felt an overwhelming sense of compassion because she had tears in her eyes and swimming in those tears I could see a deep sadness.

I pulled out a chair and invited her to sit. I knew that it was against hotel protocol for the wait staff to actually sit down during their shift, but because it was raining and none of the managers were in sight, I thought it would be okay.

"I'll sit for a minute," she said. "The boss does not like us to talk to the guests too much."

"I won't tell," I said, winking at her.

I poured the remaing tea from the pretty floral teapot into my cup and handed the cup to her.

She drained the cup and handed it back to me.

“Ngiyabonga kakhulu, ubaba,” she said. (Thank you very much, sir.)

She looked out to sea again.

“My husband, he passed away,” she said. “Last year. UDezemba inyanga. (Last year in December.) I was three months pregnant.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Yebo. He died and after six months I had two boys. Twins. They were both dead when they were born.

That’s terrible,” I said, putting my hand on my chest. “I am so sorry.”

I felt awful for this poor woman. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to hold her or give her money or run away. Run away with shame because I was sitting like a king at the hotel being served by someone who earned a pittance and who should have been at home grieving instead of bringing me tea and only making a few dollars a month doing so.

“Would you like another pot of tea?” she asked, getting up.

“No thanks,” I said. “I’m fine."

She picked up the tray and walked toward the door of the hotel.

“Can I help you at all? Is there anything I can do?” I said, trying to assuage the horrible guilt that was pummeling my insides.

She turned and smiled.

“You already did,” she said

Posted by trevor at 04:53 PM | Comments (2)

April 01, 2007

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