to lead is to serve...

So, the wells are finished, the maize is harvested, the farmers have repaid their loans, and the first phase healthcare construction is complete. I have had a bit of a chance to sit back and breathe for a second this past week…kind of a calm before the storm. We have been driving really hard here of late, so I was thankful that I was able to do some badly needed debriefing and reflection of our methods and model – trying to examine the results that have materialized in the community of Kuria, Kenya this past year.

This past year has produced some very humbling – almost shocking – results of empowerment and success metrics that I honestly did not think would be possible in this first year. On my daily walk to work this week, I was able to do a good bit of thinking about why it is that we have seen such tremendous success. What is the “special sauce” in the Nuru model that has enabled hundreds of farmers to realize very concrete steps forward in lifting themselves and their families out of extreme poverty? This is an extraordinarily important question for me to be able to answer. You see, we are about to start an exciting new phase in the Kuria Pilot project…organic scaling. Over the next year, we will be working with our local team to duplicate the model we implemented in the eighteen villages of Nyametaburo and Nyangiti sub-locations in numerous neighboring sub-locations, divisions, and eventually districts – in a sustainable, effective manner. So whatever the special sauce was that we used here in the first villages and sub-locations must be identified and replicated as we scale the project.

I shook my head and laughed on my way to the field Monday as I thought to myself, “Well, I know I can rule one cause of success out – myself.” Success has come to the Nuru pilot project in spite of a series of fumbles and foibles that I have managed to commit this year…in spite of ignorant (at times arrogant) assumptions I made…in spite of thinking that “I know best” when in fact I had no idea what I was doing. Yes…one thing is for certain – Nuru’s early success had very little to do with the helmet leading the charge. Success had come to our project in spite of my many weaknesses and shortcomings.

So what was it? How did this miraculous progress come about? I started sifting through the various parts of the Nuru model trying to pinpoint the answer to my question. Was it our holistic approach to community solutions? Was it our design thinking approach to need finding and solution building? Our focus on rigorous, unforgiving measurement of our results and impact? Perhaps it was our aggressive partnership strategy – taking the best orgs out there and collaborating with them to prevent wasteful duplication of effort. Or maybe it was the fact that we worked so hard to recruit the best of the best out there to be part of the Nuru team? Certainly all of these things did play a part in the early success we have seen, but none of them seemed to hit the nail on the head.

As I neared the end of my walk, I looked up to see Philip Mohochi, the Chairman of our Community Development Committee (CDC), walking toward me to greet me before our morning meeting. Then it hit me all at once. The success of our model did not depend on the latest and greatest poverty reduction theory or specific application of our business model that had been researched and developed at the “hallowed halls of Stanford.” The special sauce directly enabling the success of the Nuru model was embodied in this man walking toward me…humble servant leadership.

Few things in this world can inspire people to overcome tremendous odds like a good leader can. There are many, many different types of leaders and even more theories on successful philosophies of leadership. I have had the good fortune in my life of serving under numerous leaders of all shapes and sizes, and I have been thrust into several positions of leadership myself as well. After learning my lesson the hard way (a seemingly common theme on my life), I have come to believe that the most effective leadership model out there is the servant leader model. What is a servant leader? Servant…leader…seemingly a bad fit in the same sentence. The word “servant” connotes weakness, vulnerability, humility, and lowliness of position. The word “leader,” on the other hand, conjures images of power, authority, strength, and greatness. “Servant leader”…seems like a bit of an oxymoron, but I propose that it is the most powerful model of leadership in the world today, and it represents the special sauce that the Nuru model hinges upon.

In order to inspire people toward a common goal against insurmountable odds, one must build a solid foundation of mutual respect and trust. This cannot be done where the leader assumes the entitlement philosophy of “with rank comes privilege.” This cannot be done by a leader who removes himself from those he leads to maintain a “healthy separation.” People are inspired by leaders they trust…leaders who are willing to “get dirty” with them. They are inspired by a leader who puts his people first ahead of himself every single time – especially when there is a sacrifice to be made. They begin to trust and respect a leader whom they know genuinely cares for them and does not think too highly of himself to do menial tasks that the team is assigned to do. It is a leader’s willingness to humbly assume a lowly position – to become weak – to be vulnerable – to sacrifice all for his people and mission – that inspires a team to accomplish the impossible.

Philip Mohochi is a model servant leader. He embodies the type of leader that we work very hard to train and equip as part of the Nuru model. Servant leadership is teachable. It is replicable. It is scalable. We are working with Philip and his team to teach it, to replicate it, and to scale it. Servant leadership is the special sauce that I believe will empower an army of determined individuals equipped with the Nuru model to move the world and accomplish the impossible.

east of Eden...

“Isire has just killed his brother.
-nelly”

David Carreon (Nuru Healthcare Program Manger) stared in disbelief at the text he had just received from Nelly, the Kenyan Field Manager for all Nuru’s healthcare programs. He looked up at me with a bewildered look on his face, and just handed me the phone without saying a word. I took the phone and read the message. A sickening, familiar feeling began to grow in the pit of my stomach as I read the SMS.

Isire Fanuel is one of the best Field Officers working for Nuru right now here in the project. He is a dedicated, humble servant leader who has been absolutely committed to improving the lives of his fellow Kurians. As a Nuru Health Field Officer, he is personally responsible for mobilizing, training, and implementing Nuru health solutions to improve the lives of about 90 families in the Kuria District.

That morning, Isire had gone to his shamba (farm) very early to plow in preparation for planting his short rains maize crop. As he worked, Isire’s older brother came charging up behind him and attacked him with a panga (machete). His brother swung the panga wildly – slashing Isire across the face and then across the forehead in attempt to kill him. Isire struggled with his brother, wrestled away the panga, and in desperate anger and fear, slashed back at him – cutting him across the face and neck. The blow proved fatal, and Isire watched helplessly as his brother bled out on the ground…his brother.

Why on earth had Isire’s brother attacked him to try and kill him? What could drive him to do such a desperate thing?

Land…Isire’s brother was desperate to have his land. Here, land can mean the difference between abject starvation, poverty or death of one’s children and a promising future for the family.

This sad act that occurred here in our community was an event that is all-too common in areas of the world like Kuria, Kenya. The death of Isire’s brother was yet another sobering reminder to me of why I am here. A reminder about why I feel so strongly that we, as citizens of the developed world, must engage in the war that is being waged all around us in order to stop the unnecessary injustice and insanity in our world today.

Extreme poverty leads to desperation. Extreme poverty strips a person of his dignity, his opportunities in life, and worst of all…his choice. Those stripped of all choice are left with desperation. Desperate situations cause people to commit desperate acts – good people who love people and love life. I have seen it in the eyes of the extreme poor time and again.

…in the eyes of peaceful cowherders turned warriors crossing the Tanzanian border with bows and poison-tipped arrows hunting the bandits who stole their cattle – the one hope for future income and food for their starving families. And when they find them, they intend to burn the bandits alive.

…in the eyes of a desperately poor Iraqi farmer picking up a weapon he has never even seen before or strapping a vest laden with explosives to his body and running headlong into an American position. Why? Is it out of some misplaced/ignorant sense of hatred for the West and all it stands for? No. It is out of love. Love for his 5 year old daughter and 3 year old son at home who are starving to death. A love that compelled him to say yes to the jihadist that darkened his door that day. The jihadist who promised food and education for his children if he would only sacrifice his life by attacking these men from across the ocean he knew nothing about.

The good news is that there is hope for those without choice. Their plight is not “just the way the world is.” The world DOES NOT have to be this way. Their plight is a rally cry. It’s time to rise up and answer the cry – to give a voice to the voiceless – to give choice to noble men and women who have been struggling for so long.

Join a revolution that has begun…a revolution to give choices to those like Isire’s desperate brother…to the poor Iraqi farmer…to the 14 year old cowherder. The time has come to get in the fight. Join us and give choice back to those who have been crying out in weary desperation for too long.

Be hope. Be light. Be Nuru…

words for The White House

I was recently encouraged by a close friend of mine (my brother-in-law) to do something that seemed at face value to be a little ridiculous in today's world...to write a letter to the President of the United States. I laughed for a while at the notion when I first read his email, but over the next week as I walked through the fields with the farmers here in Kuria, his email nagged at me relentlessly.

No matter what side of American partisan politics you have planted yourself on, you have to admit that the election of Barack Obama to The White House has brought new hope to many people...both Americans and millions of global citizens. Nowhere is this more true than in Kenya. I have fielded many interesting questions from our farmers here - everything from, "Will you greet your President for us when you return to America?" to "Do you think that Kenya will become a superpower now that Obama is President of America?" So, in an exercise of blind faith and the belief in the power of a few small voices, I actually did write a letter to President Obama. I am sure that the letter will probably never make it past the third clerk from the left of the water cooler in the basement of The White House, but the eternal optimist in me told me to just give it a shot anyway. I thought I'd share the words that I wrote to him with you as a commentary on America's position in the world as seen through the humble lens of an American in the middle-of-nowhere, Kenya. Here are the words that I sent to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW, Washington, DC 20500, USA. Please take them with a grain of salt.

__________________________________________________________________
1 February 2009

Dear President Obama,

I write this letter to you from a remote corner of Kenya called the Kuria District. I write this letter, as I have so many other letters in my life, from the front lines. This time, though, my letter comes from the front lines of a very different war than I am used to fighting…the war on extreme poverty.

As you read this, I realize that you face more challenges than any President in recent history: a war on two fronts, a global community that has been disenchanted by the once benevolent global partner turned bully that is the United States, and an economic crisis at home that has many Americans looking to the horizon with a great deal of uncertainty and fear. I know that even now, the hopeful expectations of our great nation – and in fact the entire world – must weigh heavily on your heart. I know all of this, but I want to ask you, sir, to pause for fifteen minutes this day to read the humble words of one of the citizens of the nation that you now lead. You taught me to believe again in the power of one voice…a power that you restored to the American people when you were sworn into office eleven days ago, so I ask you now to give audience to one of those voices.

I had the privilege of serving as an infantry and special operations platoon commander in the Marine Corps for seven and a half years from 1998 to 2005. During that time, I led Marines on four operational deployments including two combat tours in Iraq – one as a part of one of the leading Marine Corps units during the invasion in March 2003 and again in 2005 leading my guys in direct action and reconnaissance and surveillance missions just south of Baghdad. My eyes were opened to a lot of things during my days in combat. War is a horrible thing. It destroys lives and does things to people that can’t simply be taken back. I learned the very definition of evil on the battlefield. One of the greatest lessons that I learned on the battlefield, though, is that the war on terror will not be won on that battlefield alone. In order to win the war on terror, we must attack the enemy at the source. I had several very personal, deeply emotional experiences in combat that I feel revealed that source to me…extreme poverty. The job assigned to my men and I was to take out high level terrorist leaders. However, when we did that, someone from the ranks would always step up quickly to take their place. The strength in terrorist organizations lies in the foot soldiers. Foot soldiers are driven into these groups because they have no real choices in life and because of the growing disparity between the haves and the have-nots in this world – fueling a steadily growing hatred. Extreme poverty drives sane, compassionate people to do desperate, horrific things. I was so moved by the lives I encountered that I decided to leave my old job and wage the war against terror from a different angle…by fighting extreme poverty. I left that old life to found an organization called Nuru International that develops innovative, sustainable solutions to extreme poverty in impoverished communities around the world.

I am not naive enough to believe that there is no place in the war on terror for military action. On the contrary, military action is necessary to cut off the leadership and resources of the terrorist movement; however, the true fuel of this movement of hatred is the young men and women driven into these groups out of desperation – like the desperation of parents too poor to send their children to any school other than the nearby madras where they learn very little about the disciplines of reading, mathematics, and the sciences, and a lot about the discipline of hatred. A strategy involving an attack on both flanks is the only way we can win this war. Military intervention without a genuine effort to combat extreme poverty in partnership with our global neighbors is only fuel to further ignite hatred and empower the movement of terror in our world today.

I believe in America. I believe in the idea of a nation where all men and women genuinely do have equal opportunity in life; a nation where freedom is not seen as a precursor to anarchy or just a token catch phrase on a political platform but a founding pillar that breathes life into the people. And I believe that freedom is worth fighting for…even dying for. That is why I chose to be on the front lines in that war. At the end of the day, my Marines – my brothers – and I did not fight for Republicans or Democrats. We did not fight for oil, and we did not fight for a man in a White House. At the end of the day, we fought and risked our lives first for the man on our right and left and to ensure that our families, our friends, and our children would live to experience the bold idea that is America. We fought to give hope and a voice to a people who had none. I have had so many of my friends sacrifice so much…some sacrificing all…defending the idea that all of us human beings – not just American citizens – are created equal and have a right to be free of oppression and injustice. The idea of America is so great – a pillar of light, hope, and strength to the world. Our great country is in a position to do more good and bring more hope in our world today than any other nation.

Sadly, we find ourselves in a situation today where America is not that shining light we were founded to be. Instead, we are seen by the greater global community as a condescending nation concerned solely with our own interests and agendas. America is a global leader, but as I learned in the Marine Corps, leadership is more about serving than anything else. It is the servant leader who, in the end, wins the hearts and minds of those around him and can move people and nations toward a better world. America needs to become a servant leader again. Sir, there are those who will tell you that service and humility are synonymous with weakness. On the contrary, I learned on the battlefield that humility is a fundamental source of strength and influence. In humility, a leader gains the confidence of those around him – inspiring them to follow him anywhere. Why? Because they know he is listening. Because they know that he cares about someone other than himself and that his compassion is not a cloak disguising hidden agendas and ulterior motives.

Mr. President, we need to become a servant leader nation again. You are indeed the leader of the free world now. I write these words to you because I know that in your heart of hearts, you are a man of compassion, humility, integrity, and hope. Hope sir. Hope is no longer a campaign slogan. Hope is now the fuel that we need you to use to restore our great nation. I bring no agenda to this letter. I am not lobbying or appealing to you for any favor of any kind. I write these words for one purpose and one purpose only…to encourage you, Mr. President. I write these words to ask you to remember who you are and why you first sought to take the office you have now assumed. You, more than anyone in recent American history, have been able to unite and move this nation. It will take a very special person and a very unique time to enable America to become a light again. You, sir, are that person, and this is that time. Over the next few months and years, you will encounter events and situations that will bring you and our nation to the breaking point. It is during those times, that we the people need you to stand in the gap and remember the ideals and the hope that got you where you are today, and be the servant leader our generation has dreamed of for so long.

Just last week, we issued a sustainable farm loan to 450 farmers in one of the most impoverished areas of Kenya in Nuru’s pilot project. The loan will change the lives of over 2,500 people in the next year by dramatically increasing their crop yields as much as 500%. The loan will give them hope. Hope and choices. The resources to make that loan happen came from our great nation. It came from Americans who heard about the injustices of extreme poverty…Americans who looked across the dinner table at their children doing their homework dreaming of their futures…Americans who realized that it was time to empower the children of global brothers and sisters to be able to dream dreams too. As I sit here writing this letter to you from the front lines in this war on extreme poverty, I think of the incredible potential that the United States of America has to bring hope to so many like the farmers here in Kuria, Kenya. Your campaign slogan brought us all hope – “Yes we can.” Now sir, it is my turn to encourage you – now is the time for the servant leader to step up and lead our nation to once again be a beacon of light, and Mr. President…yes you can. May God bless you and give you wisdom and grace to lead us.

Best Regards,

Jake Harriman

Hapana

16 February 2009

Hapana is the Kiswahili word for no. Unfortunately, during my work here I have had to use that word probably more than any other word in this beautiful language.

I use the time during my daily walk to work for many purposes. It’s an hour and a half, so it’s a pretty nice chunk of time. Sometimes I use it to process through strategy for the organization or to weigh several different courses of action to implement a new project that we have come up with. Sometimes I use it to talk to God about all that’s going on in an attempt to better understand the indescribable people and situations that I come across here every day. And sometimes, like today, I just reflect about one of the many mind-blowing challenges that we are facing.

“We did this,” I think to myself as I turn the corner that I call “the corner of chaos.” Every day when I walk past there on my way to the field, I am bombarded with numerous asks…for money, food, my watch, my clothes, my backpack, whatever I’m carrying, etc. “Hapana,” I reply and walk past them quickly with a conjured look of indifference on my face.

The colonialists started it. Decades of oppression and forced “enlightenment” led to the beginnings of a culture of dependency that has only grown over time. Independence from British rule should have brought hope and prosperity to Kenya. Instead, an infant government with absolutely no idea of how to run a democracy was left behind to simply “figure it out” on their own.

Next came the world aid organizations. Fifty years of handouts have crippled sub-Saharan Africa. Many have called these efforts “Band-Aid” – a term that describes assistance to impoverished nations that is temporary at best. It refers to the very well-meaning programs that have evolved over the last fifty years to try and combat poverty here. Handouts (giving the poor aid for free) only serve to further complicate the problem. Let me be clear here when I talk about handouts and aid. I am not talking about disaster relief/humanitarian aid that is given in response to a catastrophic event such as a tsunami or mass refugee exodus caused by ethnic cleansing or civil war. I am speaking about development aid – trying to lift communities out of extreme poverty. By giving away food, money, etc. to impoverished communities, you create a crippling sense of dependency in that society that is extraordinarily difficult to recover from. One could even say that the dependency is more of a cancer on the community than the poverty itself.

So how did we end up here? It’s not as if all these organizations are determined to keep sub-Saharan Africa bound by the chains of extreme poverty. It feels good to give things away. It all comes down to being human…it’s hard to say no, and in a life filled with moments and faces of real people, it’s sometimes hard to think long-term. At a very basic level, it is very difficult to look in the eyes of an impoverished woman and refuse to give her money or food that you have an AMPLE supply of. Why not just give it to her? Here’s why… The one hundred shillings you give her will get her food for one or two days, but then what happens when she returns the next day and you are gone? This is admittedly a microscopic example of a large systemic problem, but dependency is often created in these innocent micro level exchanges in a community.

The extreme poor are an incredibly resourceful group of people of enormous potential. They are just like you and me except that they were born into circumstances that stack the deck against them. In fact, from a personal standpoint, most of the poor I have come into contact in my life have been men and women of much more potential and courage than I will ever possess. They have bravely suffered through numerous experiences in this life that would have caused me to quit and ball up whimpering in despair. What the poor need are resources and information to help them reach the first rung of the ladder on the climb out of extreme poverty – then they can climb out on their own and bring their community with them.

It’s hard for me to do that practically, though. You see, it really does feel good to give things away. There is something in us that wants to alleviate suffering immediately. It absolves something within us on a personal level…but I would propose that this is not true love. Loving another human being doesn’t mean me giving a beggar money because it makes me feel good and satisfied that I am a good person. True love is when you crawl down in that hole with the poor, sit with them in it, and then figure out a way with them to reach that bottom rung so that they can climb out of that hole for good.

It’s really hard to keep saying “hapana” to these people. Who knows if I’m actually right. The hard part about all this is that the results from standing firm and dedicating Nuru’s work to empowerment and not handouts won’t actually show for 3-5 years from now. But as far as I’m concerned, it’s worth the wait…these beautiful people are worth the wait. Here’s to lasting solutions…

fighting chronic hunger

Nuru's farm loan program is a critical foothold program for us here in the community. The loan will enable farmers to become totally self-sufficient in food production for their families and increase their family income. Both of these results help win the battle against chronic hunger and malnutrition here in Kuria. This program involves Nuru purchasing high quality inputs to loan our farmers to empower them to take that first step up out of extreme poverty. Sounds pretty simple right? Wrong. This week was input issue week for our farmers - the exciting week where we distribute the fertilizer and seed. The farmers have been working tirelessly the past few weeks in training and preparation of their farms for this week. The events that transpired this week form a story that I would not have personally believed if I hadn't been a part of it and seen it for myself here on the ground. I thought I'd take a few minutes and share it with you. I apologize for the length of the post, but wow...this story just had to be told.

So in October, I began looking for suppliers for fertilizer and seed (inputs) to loan to our farmers in the program. All the suppliers' prices were astronomical, though, due to the impending global food crisis. Kenya itself is on the verge of famine. Because of that, the demand for inputs skyrocketed taking the pricepoint with it. So...that left us with the option of sourcing it from the government.

The government sells inputs to farmers through an government agency called the Cereals Board (NCPB) that has branches around the country. The branches act as depots/distributors where farmers can get inputs and also sell their maize after harvest (NCPB acts as a buyer also).

Seed prices are artificially fixed by the government, but fertilizer prices move with the global market supply and demand. Foreign aid allowed the Kenyan government to announce a fertilizer subsidy. This meant a 40% drop in fertilizer prices below the market rate. While extraordinarily helpful, the pricepoint was still well above what the farmers that we work with can afford. Enter Nuru.

We loan the farmers these inputs (fertilizer and seed) so that they can increse their crop yields dramatically (400%-500%). At harvest, the farmers repay the loan and have plenty left over to feed their families for the whole season (families currently go hungry for half of the season) and reinvest in next year's inputs without the loan. That's the general concept.

We have 450 farmers in the program...that's a lot of freakin inputs to buy up front. I had budgeted for a pricepoint slightly above market rate in 2007. With the spike in prices, though, we were way underfunded for the program. So, I had to turn to the mercy of the government's subsidy. At face value, this subsidy program is a great thing, but, as with most things here, there are complications. The subsidy has caused several problems. Rumor has it that there is currently a scandal going on where MPs (parliamentary representatives) started buying up all the subsidized fertilizer before the subsidy announcement came out to the public in order to control a large percentage of the supply. There was a ripple effect around the country as most NCPB branches began experiencing shortages in fertilizer. There were even instances were riots broke out just north of us because groups of farmers had paid for fertilizer, but when they showed up to pick it up to plant this season, it was gone.

Because of these shortages, scandals, etc., the national NCPB branch in Nairobi was trying to get ANY excuse to cancel large orders of fertilizer. Now, back to our story. When we placed our order in November, we had to submit massive amounts of paperwork documenting every farmer in the program and the amounts they would be receiving. We also had to obtain a letter from the Ministry of Agriculture stating that we were, indeed, serving farmers in the Kuria District, and not just buying the fertilizer to sell across the border in Tanzania for a profit. It took me A LONG time and NUMEROUS meetings with the ministry to get that letter. When I showed up at the Ministry for about the 4th or 5th time (mind you, I have to walk an hour to get to this place every time), I was told again that the Division Agriculture Officer (DAO) had stood me up, so, in classic "me style", I got impatient with the DAO's assistant manager, came within an inch of threatening his life, and demanded that the office stop yanking us around and write the letter. They reluctantly wrote the letter and put the DAO stamp on it. As you will see, my impatience and baffoonery came back to bite me later.

I took the letter to the NCPB and they finally allowed us to place the order - assuring me that the order would be in mid-December. We wrote a check for the equivalent of $50,000 to put a down payment on the inputs and place the order.

I went back to the States for a month to do fundraising to pay the balance on the inputs, conduct staff management and training, and a attend Board meeting - returning to Kenya on Jan 6. I returned to find that, not only was our order not filled, but they hadn't cashed the check yet (very scary because they had "an out" now if they wanted one for denying us the fertilizer we purchased).

I knew that our issue day was Feb 5, so I felt like we had some time. Philip and I went round and round with the Branch and Regional Managers of the NCPB to get the fertilzer delivered and our check cashed. After MANY meetings and phone calls, we finally got the fertilizer into the local branch of the NCPB and they cashed our check on Feb 3. Still no sign of the seed, though, so I made the decision to cancel with NCPB seed order and source a private supplier in a town 3 hours north. Jumping through massive hoops, we were able to source the seed directly with the manufacturer and get it into a holding location in the community on the 4th...ready for issue on the 5th.

I thought we were good now. Just to make sure, I had Philip go to the NCPB and physically touch and see our 800 bags of fertilizer in the warehouse. It was all there. So we finalized the plan for issue day. We ordered the trucks, and mobilized the farmers (an enormous task in itself because only about 5% have any sort of phone).

A little background...our farmers made the decision not to plant tobacco (a cash crop that had been previously harming the environment and their families' health as well as ripping them off financially). By doing so, they were literally "betting the farm" that we would be able to deliver the inputs to them and that the program will succeed. These families are starving for 25%-50% of the year, and our program provides hope that they will have food all year. To complicate matters, there is a relatively narrow window for the farmers to plant maize and get a good yield because of timing of the rains. So...they were betting everything on the hope that we could deliver these inputs on time for planting. We had trained them in proper ground preparation and planting techniques. All 450 families (approx 2,500 people) had prepared their farms and were ready to receive their inputs on Feb 5. My staff and the CDC spent hours in meetings planning and conducting detailed coordination with drivers, laborers, the NCPB, and the farmers to ensure the farmers would get their inputs which included approximately 40,000kg of DAP fertilizer and 8,000kg of maize seed. If we failed them, we would cause great harm to the farmers and their families and lose credibility and buy-in from the community - jeopardizing the whole project.

Morning of Feb 5...chaos. Our trucks showed up to pull the inputs out first thing in the morning at 7:00am. NCPB would not release the fertilizer! They said that the national NCPB branch in Nairobi had ordered them to not issue our fertilizer to us. I was already on location at one of the issue points in Taragwiti village. James, one of our Field Officers that was running the loading operation at the NCPB tried to get ahold of me to let me know what was going on, but I was in a serious cell phone dead spot in the village. He sent a runner to get word to me. When I received the message, I was FURIOUS. Nairobi was claiming that we didn't have the proper paperwork in. I immediately called the national branch. They informed me that they had canceled the order because the letter I had submitted in November from the DAO had the DAO's stamp and all of the required farmer information, but it WASN'T ON THE RIGHT LETTERHEAD! Are you kidding me????? They were looking for ANY excuse to refuse us the fertilizer. It was now 9:30am. The farmers had shown up at 9:00am ready to go. We had to go into crisis action mode.

I convinced the national branch manager to let us send him another letter on proper letterhead. The manager said that it had to be faxed immediately for approval. The DAO was in Kehancha - 30 minutes away from me. I immediately sent Philip there to talk to the DAO. After much persuasion, he convinced the DAO to write another letter - this time with the "proper" letterhead. We now had to fax the letter to Nairobi. The nearest fax machine was 45 minutes away in a town called Migori. Philip raced to Migori to fax the letter. When he got there, the machine wouldn't transmit, and we couldn't get a successful receipt message. Finally, after numerous attempts, the fax went through and Philip raced back. I called Nairobi. They said that they would now release the fertilizer. They faxed a message to the regional NCPB (because the local one didn't have a fax). The local manager also spoke with the national manager on the phone. The national manager said that in order for the local manager to release the fertilizer, he had to SEE THE AUTHORIZATION FAX WITH HIS OWN EYES!!! I just couldn't believe it. It was now 11:30am. The farmers were still waiting. The local manager had to drive the 45 minutes to Migori to read and verify the original message. When he reached there, he read the message and then called the local branch to release the fertilizer to us. FINALLY!

James got the first truck ready for loading, but the other truck was still missing. Andrew (our second Field Officer) tried to locate the other truck. It was "having mechanical problems" and wouldn't be available. Unbelievable. Andrew scrambled to find another truck that just happened to be going by empty. We hired him, and he went straight to the NCPB to load.

At the end of the day, after several other unbelievable setbacks, all the farmers received their inputs, and I was just left shaking my head in utter amazement. They will begin planting this week. It was a true miracle that the farmers received their inputs on time. Everything that could have gone wrong did go wrong - even after detailed contingency planning. I was so proud of the way that the Kenyan staff went into action as everything was falling apart all around us. I am becoming more and more confident in them by the day that they will be able to completely take over and run this project very soon - and lead their people out of extreme poverty forever.

So that is how my week ended, and that is the update on the input issue to the farmers. Sorry...kind of long, but I wanted to give you the full insight into our incredible, miraculous week.

a new year of hope

Well…another year is upon us. The approach of a new year always brings such a mixture of emotions in me – beginning with New Years Eve. Every year is the same…trying to figure out what party to go to or what “event” to be at – all the while holding such incredible expectations that this will be THE event of the year…that it will somehow bring a perfect end to the year. And every year – without fail – I am disappointed. There is no single event that can bring such a satisfied end to a year that has been filled so richly with the numerous ups and downs that life brings our way. I arrived at 2009 breathing a sigh of relief. 2008 was a bit of a tumultuous year – for many people. This year, New Years Eve was a bit different for me. I went back to the U.S. for a couple weeks to do some fundraising for Nuru to meet some of the critical needs that we were experiencing here on the ground. Because of this, I was able to spend the night with my whole immediate family at my brother’s place in Florida. It was a rare blessing because it is very difficult to get all of us in the same place at the same time – ever. Being surrounded by those who love me so unconditionally always puts me in a very reflective mood. For the first time in many, many months, I was able to slow down and take stock of the events that had transpired in my life and in the lives of those close to me – both at home and here in Africa.

2008 was a year of tears and triumph… I learned the joy of real love for the first time and experienced new depths of pain and loss. As I sat with my family play a board game that night, I had so many emotions and thoughts rushing through my head. This past year I have learned so much about myself and the world around me, and I have been inspired this year as never before. This past year I learned the power of hope in the searching gaze of a 10 year old boy that lives next to us here in Kenya. Hope… we throw that word around all the time, but what does it really mean? What is hope? Hope is 500 men and women risking all that they have left in this world – risking everything with absolutely no guarantee or proof of success – to see a day when their children do not writhe in pain in the throws of malaria because the dispensary is out of medicine… a day where they don’t come home to crying babies empty-handed without food or money again because their tired land failed to produce a good crop yield… a day where their 8 year old daughter can actually stay in school and eagerly learn instead of spending those precious hours walking endlessly to collect dirty, infected water for her family.

I returned to the U.S. this holiday season with a very heavy burden on my heart. We were critically short on funding for our program here in Kuria, and I had returned to secure that funding so that we could continue our work into the new year. As I stepped off the plane at SFO, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of the hopes and dreams of 3,000 brave souls bearing down on me. Such trust and faith they have innocently put in me and those working with me. All for what? For that irrational hope that has eluded the likes of me for years from the time when I set it aside to enter adulthood. I must confess that I longed to share their hope and optimism as I stepped off that plane, but the “realities” of a country in financial turmoil hit me the moment I arrived. I began to despair a bit. “How in the world am I going to do this? 500 families…” I just shook my head in silence as I waited on the curb for my buddy Grayson to pick me up. But over the next two weeks, something special occurred… I got over myself and my pre-conceived notions of self-importance, and got out of the way.

I watched my sister role the dice and cheer as she moved along the board in our game. I smiled to myself as I remembered the events that had transpired over the past two weeks. The first week had been miserable…a slew of meetings and conversations that resulted in absolutely nothing but reinforcement of my fears about raising funds in the current economic conditions. Then something happened… you happened.

to the readers of this blog…

to the many who have seen what is going on here in Kenya through the words and stories of my brave companions who are in this fight with me…

to those who looked at all they had been blessed with this past year and said, “I can get in this fight too…”

to those of you who struggled to pay the utilities month to month and yet still found a way to scrape together $50 to invest in hope…

to our family and friends, and friends of friends who truly felt in their hearts the pain of a mother walking 30 miles to get to the nearest medical facility to save her child and crying softly at mile 25 as her child breathed his last breath on her back…

to all of you I want to say…thank you.

thank you for hearing the voice of the voiceless. For answering the call to action to end the senseless suffering and sadness of those who taught me what hope is.

Because of your incredible selflessness, we exceeded our funding goal that I came home to fill. We are now able to provide the farmers our farm loan program that will increase crop yields 400% to 500% this next season – enabling them to be sure of where the next meal for their family will come from every day next season. Your gift will help bring clean, accessible water to hundreds of families…enabling those young girls to envision a life of hope and not just of questionable survival.

“5…4…3…2…1.” I listened to my brother count down to the New Year. I shook my head in amazement as I reflected on your contributions to bring hope to our friends here in Kuria – over $125,000! 2008 brought many things to my life, but one of the most rewarding was the restoration of childlike faith and hope – and it was you who helped restore that for me. You restored my hope in the ability for us to selflessly love one another regardless of differences in country, culture, or politics. I am so hopeful now going into this new year. Thank you for teaching me…for teaching me to hope again. God bless you all. Here’s to 2009…

rainy day...

12 November 2008
Rain can be a pretty restoring thing…

It rains every day here like clockwork. We’re in the middle of the short rainy season. I have never seen rain like rain in the rainy season here in Kenya. It’s crazy – I’m talking Biblical deluge-type rain. One minute, the skies are a beautiful clear blue – and then the breeze begins to blow. The next thing you know, it seems like someone is throwing softball-size balls of water at you. There’s no gentle, drizzle-like introduction – it’s just WHAM! Right in the face – then the head – then…you’re soaked in a matter of seconds.

My new friends would make incredible weathermen. These guys are awesome. They can predict these monstrous rainstorms with the most unbelievable, unfailing accuracy. Of course, in the beginning, I didn’t believe them, and - as seems to be the standard for me - I had to learn the hard way (ie. get absolutely drenched while they laugh at me) to believe in that accuracy. The wind will change direction or a certain cloud will appear on the horizon, and my buddy Andrew (one of the field officers we’ve hired), will suddenly quicken his pace as we make our way across the fields on our rounds. Sure enough, we make it to the next house just in time to seek cover from the “cats and dogs.”

Rain can be a pretty restoring thing…

I had a pretty rough day today. Life can be a little overwhelming sometimes. There is so much going on every single day here - so much to think about, so much risk and small margin for error. I mean, who do I think I am meddling with people’s hopes, dreams, and, at the end of the day…lives? Today was a day fraught with self-doubt and questioning.

Today was also the first day of farmer training – the beginning of a program that we hope will be the start of a long climb out of extreme poverty for these families. We gathered in a small church with dirt floors and no doors or windows – just gaping holes in the walls. Over 400 farmers showed up for training…on time and ready to go. There was so much hope in their faces.

As I walked to training along the small trails scattered across the breathtaking landscape, my mind was swimming with insecurity and doubt: Fertilizer prices keep climbing with no end in sight – slowly eating into the dreams of these farmers right in front of my eyes – and I can’t do anything about it. Nuru’s bank account keeps getting smaller with no sizable donor in sight to step forward and fill our funding gap to get us through to our next phase of development. I have an amazing staff working with me whose contracts are about to run out – staff who have sold everything and left their old life to join me in this fight…and I have no idea how I’m going to be able to take care of them. What kind of leader is that? I still don’t have my next foundation team lined up. How will we continue the project on schedule? I have investors that have contributed hundreds of thousands of dollars to this venture…backing me and my ability to do this – expecting results. And, on top of everything else… today I got a really tough letter from back home that I read before coming out to the training – further reinforcing my fears of failing – of failing these amazing people who have put their trust in me; of failing the generous investors who are hoping for a new day of lasting solutions; of failing my team; of failing those who love and care about me; and finally, of failing God Himself.

As I stood up there talking to the farmers to open the training, all I could think was, “How am I going to keep from failing them? I can’t let them down.” I stepped aside and let Andrew conduct the training we had rehearsed numerous times. As the training began to end, I saw him pause, look outside, and then continue. Then I realized why he had paused…a colossal thunderstorm rolled up out of nowhere and began dumping on the little church where we were holding the training. “It totally figures,” I grumbled to myself. Andrew finished the training shouting above the deafening sound of the rain. He did such a great job. I was so proud of him. The training was over, so the farmers just settled in to wait out the storm – trying to huddle in groups at the center of the church to avoid the sheets of water blowing in through the “windows”.

I stared at the chaos outside – thinking about how closely it reflected my inner turmoil. I looked back at Andrew, “Tutaonana kesho (see you tomorrow),” I shouted above the rain. He looked at me in bewilderment. “Mr. Jake, don’t go!” he yelled. “The storm is very bad, and you must wait.” I turned back to look outside. Thunder and lightning cracked loudly overhead and the wind powerfully buffeted the walls making them creak and groan loudly under the pressure. The thoughts of the day mounted up in my head threatening to overwhelm me in emotion. “Screw it,” I said to myself. And with that, I stepped out into the chaos.

Rain can be a pretty restoring thing… Instantly, I was hit by a wall of water and I was soaked to the bone within a couple seconds. The cold of the water took my breath away. I grimaced, put my head down against the wind, and began to press forward for the hour and a half walk home.

Something happened on that walk. There’s something about feeling the full power of God’s world all around you at once (gale force winds, torrential downpour, and deafening lightning and thunder – yes, I did think about the possibility of getting struck again in case you were wondering – but I didn’t care) that enables you to just get right to it I guess. I don’t know what you believe in or what your personal faith is, but during that walk, I cried out to God to try and figure a few things out… about this project, about this organization, about this life. Those poor farmers living in the community must have thought I was insane. They kept calling out to me in their native language to get me to come in out of the storm…but I was too deep into my conversation to pay attention – to them or the storm. I shouted in anger and cried in utter frustration, but after about 45 minutes of baring my soul to God, I was spent and fell silent…listening to the river of water rushing knee-high down the road all around me and past me as I walked.

Then something happened. A peace that I have only felt one or two other times in my life came on me and I found that I could breathe again. It was as if my mind cleared, and hope slowly began to creep its way back into my mind. I stopped and looked up into the crazy shades of grey swirling in the sky above me as the water poured down over my face. And then I laughed. I was overwhelmed by a new feeling…a feeling that everything was going to be OK. A feeling that God is in control of this whole mess, and He is a good God…a God who loves life…a God who can handle the mess even when it seems too big for me…a God who loves me – even when I fail.

Did all those worries and problems just disappear and the sky clear up into that spectacular blue again?? Not at all. Fertilizer prices were still rising. Funding was still drying up. In fact, it rained and stormed on me all the way home. But I can tell you that when I arrived back at home, I was wearing a smile on my face…a smile of hope sparked by an encounter with a loving God in the rain on a long walk home.