Kidnapping in Ingushetia - March 2006

i haven't written you in some time, but something happened last night that merits one of the old womble missives. am currently down in nazran, ingushetia, where our main office is located. it's a stereotypical caucasus backwater town, NGO central, and world vision has a team house which i share with an aussie, a bosnian, and a malawian. it's a big beautiful house. we live on the ground floor and second floor, while the basement is occupied by the landlord and his family. they have their own separate entrance, facilities, etc. so it's nothing like a naivasha homestay. they're a traditional ingush family, greeting us with salams-alekum, inviting us for tea when we both know they don't really mean it, etc.

anyway, they have a 16 year old daughter and two sons, aged 14 and 11. when we came home last night, there were several cars parked outside, so figured they were having some family get together, maybe some mourning anniversary. the mother, lyuba, came up to borrow some chairs, and i asked her what was up. given my poor russian, had no idea what she was talking about, but knew it had something to do with her daughter. i'm thinking, "maybe it's like some debutante thing... her "coming of age" party, or maybe she aced some entrance exam and will get to go to college.

turns out she was kidnapped! now here's the kicker... in the north caucasus, there's a tradition whereby if a guy likes a girl, he kidnaps her, and then his family and friends go to the home of the girl who was kidnapped, assure them she's okay, and try to encourage the family that fred's a good guy really, and they should consider letting him marry their daughter. little marietta is safe, probably being consoled by the female relatives of fred. but she's petrified. i mean, this girl, we know her. we see her when we come home from work... she giggles trying to practice her english with us. she's like our collective adopted niece. and we're pissed! as tim, our aussie, said, it's like when you're at a party, and there's this girl that you sort of like, not really, but then when you find out she's seeing this jerk, it stirs something up inside you, a gnawing at your gut. not that you want to date her, but HIM?? c'mon.

so last night, we're devising plans to rescue this girl. we've got guards... they've got guns. we're watching season 3 of the hit tv show 24 with kiefer sutherland, so we're all in jack bauer mode. we can rescue this girl (and maybe save ingushetia from the deadly cordilla virus at the same time). the problem is, her family, deep down inside, they probably sanction this abduction. hell, lyuba the mother was probably kidnapped too when she was young (you take a look at her husband abukar, and think, "yeah, he must've kidnapped her..." abukar who coughs up phlegm every morning at 6:30 at a decibel level i can hear it two storeys up... lyuba surely wakes up every morning thinking, my knight in shining armor... hack hack, spittle spittle).

but we love marietta, and have big plans for her. she can have the life her mother never had... finish school, learn english, get a job, own a mp3 player. in their house are all these ingush men in sheepskin hats, drinking chai, mumbling and nodding, going through the motions of telling abukar that fred will be a good son-in-law. he comes from good stock, honorable stock. he has cows.

and the four of us are upstaris, wringing our hands, thinking how cool would it be if we took our guards, found out where they were holding marietta, burst in with ingush soldiers, kicked some local ingush ass, grabbed marietta, saying, "it's okay, we're here to protect you."

of course this would violate the ingush traditional code, likely bring shame on abukar and his family, make enemies of fred, his friends, his family, his extended clan, and result in our being beheaded. i've got a R&R coming up the first of april - sharm el sheikh. being kidnapped and murdered would suck.

anyway, that's what's shaking in this little neck of the woods... our surrogate niece was kidnapped, we've got way too much adrenaline watching 24, and the weekend is almost here.

Missing Paradise

Being based in Georgia has been amazing, especially during the last few months when the war has turned the country, and my work, up ended on its head. But never far from my thoughts is my home away from home, Lamu, written about by folks who are better wordsmiths than me. The donkeys, the heat, the fresh tamarind juice, the greetings, dhow rides to Shela, long conversations over shots of strong Arabic coffee, the muezzin's calls to prayer reverberating through town... these are the foundations of my love affair with Lamu, and the why - the what is the what - I choose to return whenever I can.

These days I'm dreaming about Lamu even more than usual. It's the house I recently purchased that I so eagerly want to "make gorgeous," as my dear friends Malik and Norbert encourage me. It's the stress of nearly two months of non-stop work, literally no days off, thinking constantly about where tens of thousands of Georgians are going to spend the winter, what they'll eat, what clothes they'll wear, and how my organization can best serve their needs.

Lamu is my escape. It's where time slows down, where conversations take on more depth, where lying on a rooftop under the stars seems the perfect place to ponder the meaning of life and my place in it, where I dream of friends and family gathered around, sharing this dream I've chosen to pursue.

I'll be there soon I hope, and often...

Georgia Week 5

5 weeks into the relief response and still no days off. Stolen some mornings sleeping in on a random Sunday, but otherwise still cranking, like all the others. Coordination remains a challenge, but excellent work being done by the UN, donors, and aid agencies. Still trying to characterize week 5.

Week 1 - chaos

Week 2 - meetings (and chaos)

Week 3 - writing proposals (and meetings)

Week 4 - the shift

Week 5 - ask me in week 6

Still approximately 40,000 IDPs in Tbilisi, and no indication that number will decrease signficantly anytime soon. Few thounsand in a tent camp in Gori, with all wondering what they're going to do when winter comes. Navigating Russian checkpoints in the "buffer zone" seems to be getting more streamlined.

What on earth is going to happen to the 45,000 inGali? Burning question that remains unanswerable. Kudos to those raising it in coordination and donor meetings.

Musings from the Beslan aftermath

I appreciate the kudos with regard to the media response to Beslan. Truly, I am thankful that WV was able to respond and be involved, and pray that the work we've done to date, and hope to do, will help those who need it. What hasn't been making the news at all, and I wonder if it will, is the state of affairs regarding the post-emergency response. Russia was not prepared for the onslaught of assistance, and still isn't. The day after the attack, the hospitals weren't prepared, they really did need equipment, basic supplies, etc. I think perhaps that stung Mother Russia, a G8 nation, a re-emerging superpower. Now, they are placing layers upon layers of mechanisms designed to control the aid effort. But instead of coordinating and expediting the long term response, it has placed a stranglehold on everything. And has brought out the worst in old Soviet era bureaucracy and new Russian corruption.

I just had a meeting with a young woman named Zalina. She is from Beslan. She is North Ossetian. Her sister was inside the school, and wounded during the siege. In December, Zalina is going to be trained as a trainer in peacebuilding and confilct resolution techniques along with one Ingush colleague and one Chechen colleague through a USAID project we're implementing. She and her two counterparts will then facilitate two workshops - one for students from Chechnya, Ingushetia and North Ossetia, and one for teachers from the same republics. Zalina, whose sister was a victim of the attack perpetrated by mostly Chechen and Ingush terrorists, and who has just graduated from university in journalism, wants to help bridge the differences and heal the wounds. To talk with her is inspiring.

But also terribly depressing. I shared with her some of the obstacles we've faced in Vladikavkaz in an effort to find out first hand how an organization might help. She smiled slightly, a knowing smile. She and her sister went to Sochi shortly after the attacks on a state sponsored trip for the victims and their friends/families. In order to receive this benefit, Zalina's sister had to produce a medical card detailing the extent of her physical injuries and record of trauma counseling from Moscow psychologists. Zalina's sister submitted the original of this medical card to the committee which was responsible for organizing this trip. When they returned from the trip, the committee said that they had no record of the card. It has disappeared. And now, Zalina's sister has no proof of the fact that she was in the school and is no longer eligible for any potential benefits.

No one knows how much money the government Council controls. The Beslan website states that $30,000,000 in local currency has been raised. No one can say what it is being used for. Yet ironically, Zalina told me about a little boy whose mother was killed in the siege. The little boy now lives with his grandmother. When a local journalist went to visit the home, there were no toys. No teddy bears. No cards. The house had only a table and a bed, and the grandmother is a pensioner and has little with which to care for her grandson. There is apparently a warehouse in Vladikavkaz filled to the brim with donated goods. Yet according to one official, because 5 bodies remain unaccounted for, none of the goods have been released. The same official stated that he didn't know how or when this might happen. A Moscow business donated 100 bicycles for children in Beslan. But because there were more than 100 child survivors, and Soviet mentality dictates that all must receive equal, none of the bicycles has been distributed. Zalina says that donated winter clothing is being sold now in the market. C-130s forced the Beslan airport to close shortly after the attacks. The small regional airport had to park all the cargo planes full of medical supplies and equipment donated by the US, Germany, Italy, etc. on the runway for lack of space. But who knows where it all is?

A colleague of mine with a European NGO... Gerhardt... he used to work in Nazran and returned about a month ago just to lead his NGO's Beslan response. They have a few hundred thousand dollars in donations, and Gerhardt's role is to determine how it can be used, then to implement the project. One month later, after dedicating 100% of his time to this one task, and after countless meetings with mayors, councils, committees... he still has no idea how his NGO will help. We all want to do something that is needed. Who would have thought it would be so hard?

Zalina said that the only way to help would be to do a house to house survey, assess the individual needs of each family, and provide directly to those families. I asked Zalina if she could somehow provide us with a list of families that she personally knew about and items they lacked. She said she could do so, but it would be tricky. If the Council found out....

I have caught myself cursing the hostage takers, and feeling guilty because of it. You see, I'm cursing them not only for what they did, the pain they caused to so many, but a part of me that I'm ashamed of curses them also for the logistical nightmare that has been created as a result of their terrible deeds, and I feel so selfish because of that. The donors who have given so generously to World Vision and other organizations to help the Beslan victims have done so out of such goodness in their heart, and that goodness makes me swell up with inspiration. Why then is it so difficult for us to share that goodness? I received a poster from a woman in the US named Donna Russo. Her elementary class had drawn a picture of doves holding a ribbon, and their handprints surrounded the poster. Each of the kids had written a short message of sympathy and love. I showed it to Zalina this afternoon and asked her if she could take it back with her to Beslan, to give it to a child, a family, a teacher, or place it in the pioneer house where the other cards and posters and scrapbooks are being displayed. She was visibly touched by the poster and promised to do something with it for us. Such a small gesture, yet a too rare inspiring moment when we have done something directly for the victims.

Please pray for us, for our response, but most of all for the victims to find peace and hope, and to somehow be shown how much people do care.