Who does Inclusive Education include?

Katarina Tomasevski, in a study of government reports to the Convention on the Rights of the Child, listed no less than 32 categories of children that are particularly likely to be excluded from education:

abandoned children; asylum seeking children; beggars; child labourers; child mothers; child prostitutes; children born out of wedlock; delinquent children; disabled children; displaced children; domestic servants; drug-using children; girls; HIV-infected children; homeless children; imprisoned children; indigenous children; married children; mentally ill children; migrant children; minority children; nomadic children; orphans; pregnant girls; refugee children; sans-papiers (children without identity papers); sexually exploited children; stateless children; street children; trafficked children; war-affected children and working children.

Just something for you to think about.

Community Based Rehabilitation

The rain gods were in our favor today. The sun was bright. The paths into the villages not washed away. Together with the community based rehabilitation worker from the Creative Self Help Centre and physiotherapy students from Divine Word University, we headed into the villages.

The first client we visited was a 5 year old boy with cerebral palsy. While the physiotherapists completed their evaluation measuring his range of motion, elasticity, etc, I observed his social skills, interactions between himself and his family, and some simple cognition skills. He was able to make eye contact, reach out for the balloon, and follow simple commands. He was smiling and responsive. His parents want to work toward the goal of him sitting independently. We took measurements to make him a chair and I urged the parents to continue to talk and play with him.

This compound was filled with children. No shirts or shoes. No school. No toys. Skin rashes and diseases. Extended stomachs. Thin and frail arms and legs, like toothpicks. Inclusive education targets not only the disabled, but the disadvantaged too. Its heartbreaking, but we can't save them all.


Our second client presented more challenges. When completing village assessments, the most valuable information is gained through observations. This picture is worth a thousand words.

This 10 year old boy was adopted by his aunt. His parents did not want a child with a disability. Just like his wheelchair, this child has been left out. Due to lack of stimulation and other treatments and therapies, this child has multiple disabilities. In addition to his inability to hold his head up, make eye contact, or interact in any way other than crying, he has limited range of motion when assisted and presents with an inverted sternum.

This family lives near a lagoon and the CBR worker plans to provide water therapy in an effort to increase independent body movements. I modeled social interactions for the family and encouraged them to talk, sing, and play with their adopted son.

Friday, the CBR officers are conducting a workshop on making cardboard chairs. The physiotherapy students and I will make chairs for these two boys which will allow them to sit up and be a part of the daily interactions of their families.

In addition to providing therapy services to these children, another goal of outreach visits is to increase the awareness of disability rights. Helping them to understand their child and assuring them that their child's disability wasn't punishment from their wrong-doings or from the gods. Showing these families that their child can smile, laugh and play like their other children is the most important component of our visits.

Community based rehabilitation and inclusive education are the future in PNG!

Rascal Rain

The pump from the rain water tanks at my complex is having some major issues. The pipes howl and shake. The faucet viciously spits. If there is water at all. You never expect it. Sometimes it returns in 5 minutes. Sometimes 5 hours. Bucket baths. Nalgene mouth rinses. Always having buckets full. Soapy clothes left behind. Dirty dishes in the sink. Not a great idea when the daily question is “I wonder if that’s gecko poop or rat poop?” The flat manager promises repairs week after week, “The part is on order from Lae.” We’ll start digging this week.” No shower today. One plate left. Guess I can’t be too disappointed; we finally got a security guard. It only took seeing the landlord in a social setting and explaining ‘rascal rain’. Heavy rains are great for opportunistic rascals. Noises are easily hidden behind the weight of the rain pounding the earth. Two weeks before my return there was a break-in in the apartment below me. Jeremiah, who says he must be12 or 13 years old, was woken by the noise and grabbed a knife. Jeremiah stabbed the guy as he was running out the door. The next night the wontoks of the injured intruder returned and threw stones at the house in retaliation. Typical PNG, a rascal seeking compensation for being injured while committing a crime. I stack my furniture in front of my doors and jump at every sound, even when it’s just the pipes.

Two women I know were beat by their husbands this week. I stopped to greet her, the teacher who lives in the neighboring complex as I passed the afternoon crowd gathered around Christopher’s buai stand. I did not notice at first, I was standing on the other side. I could tell something was different about her today. After the usual small talk, from where are you coming, where did you spend the holidays, and will the rain come again tonight, we turned to leave. That’s when I saw it. A black eye. I asked again “Are you sure you are okay?” I did not expect her to open up to me. Our relationship has not gone beyond the simplicities of comings and goings. She confided, “No, I am not okay.” She did not want to talk about it then and took me up on my offer for a coffee on my veranda other time. That was three days ago. I’ll go to her school tomorrow.

My young neighbor confided that her husband beat her with a stick because she wore a thin dress while swimming in the sea.

I join many women in PNG by wearing black on Thursdays to silently speak out against domestic violence.


Today I met with the Regional Standards Officer, who is the director of all the inspectors in 4 provinces. This is a new position aimed at the decentralization of the National Department of Education. It was a good conversation and he affirmed his support for inclusive education efforts in the region and appeared genuinely eager to learn more. So Monday when I meet with the Provincial Standards Officer, I will have some weight behind my project proposal.

This one elicited a response from Dad....

I never really know which stories to share, but my Dad seemed to remember this one from one phone call to the next, so that has to be saying something.

When I came home from my travels my apartment was covered in mold and mildew. This isn't your ordinary soap scum in your bathroom. This is furry, green and yellow mold growing on walls, between sheets and on every piece of clothing in the closet. This is the mold that lingers in the air, infiltrates the mattress, and never goes away.

For two weeks I have lugged my less than comfortable spring mattress down my more than hazardous spiral staircase. I have heaved it above my head balancing it on the clothes line in hopes of the sun killing the bacteria. The neighbors do it and if I learned anything from my life in Chadiza village....do what the neighbors do.

I have washed my entire wardrobe TWICE. I have bleached the walls. I have scrubbed and disinfected and I still have mold. I bought some 3-In-1 imported spray. I tried everything, so what if I cant read the Chinese label, this is my last option and it had to work.

The furry mold is no longer visible, but the smell lingers. I still sleep on my couch and I turn my head each time I open my closet. I hope the smell of buai and sweat of my National counterparts overpower the smell of my moldy clothes in meetings.

Representing the United States

The United States Ambassador, Leslie Rowe, formally opened the mathematics lab at Divine Word University in Madang. While she was in town, she and her husband welcomed all U.S. citizens as well as all Papua New Guineans who studied abroad in the States to dinner.

It was an intimate event with the Ambassador, her husband Tim, 4 VSO American volunteers, 3 DWU lecturers, and an interesting (yeah…interesting… that’s what I’ll say) Irish-Australian. (I’m not really sure how she fit into the picture, but she definitely added an element to the event.)

Over the main course of filet and lobster (and I thought we were in a financial crisis), I was able to discuss the details of inclusive education with Tim. As a Peace Corps volunteer, he taught English in the Philippines during the late 60s. It was interesting to discuss the similarities and differences of our services. We shared our ideas of job placement, vocational services, and internship programs to help PNG vulnerable youth. We discussed books and recommended our favorites. We shared our concerns with development projects.

I had to ask myself, how does a girl from Springfield, TN manage to attend an elegant dinner party with the U.S. Ambassador? And more importantly, was I really able to hold an intelligent conversation regarding development issues? I surprise myself daily. I am truly thankful for enriching moments such as these.

Through Mikal's Eyes

This post is taken from my friend, and fellow VSO volunteer, Mikal's blog as she describes our trip from Flores to Bali, Indonesia.

From here to there by…
Airplane
Bicycle
Bus
Bemo
Coach
Donkey cart
Ferry
Motorcycle
Small boat
Taxi
Van
… and foot.

I knew it was going to be a long trip. And we weren’t taking the easy route. Nevertheless, each leg was defined with unexpected turns and adventures. Luckily what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger... next feat, conquer the world.

Perhaps this was an omen of the events to come. Our bus trip to the village for an introduction to the world of cashews.


Now keep track, here commences the journey from Bajawa to Ohio. It all begins with a benevolent lift to the bus station (very inconveniently locate out of town) with Sanne on her motorcycle.


Bus #1 – 10 hours cross Flores… Bajawa to Labuanbajo
Norah Jones got the soundtrack started right with, The Long Way Home

Charlye (my travel companion in this tale and fellow VSO volunteer from the States assigned in neighboring Papua New Guinea) had gone a day ahead to Labuanbajo after several days exploring with wonders of Bajawa complete with cashew processing lessons.

Ferry #1 – 10 hours Labuanbajo, Flores to Sape, Sumbawa (island)

Motivated by the sense of adventure. The want to be environmental conscience, keeping our potential ecological footprint to a minimum. The budget of volunteer life. We go by bus. We go by boat.




Our seafaring seats… prior to the crowds chickens, goats, and smoking men.


Bemo #1 – 2 hours Sape port to Bima, Sumbawa
Met at the port by a guy with picture of the bus on our tickets… “SAMA!” (same) He shouted grabbing my hand. We pile in with the chickens.

Coach Bus – 13 hours to Lombok
Coach buses in Indonesia… who knew!?

1:00 AM stop for… Dinner? Breakfast?

Ferry #2 – (not sure how long… slept through it) Poto Tano, Sumbawa to Labuhan, Lombok
Snooze.

Continue on bus Labuhan to Mataram, Lombok

Bemo #2 – 30 minutes Bus station Mataram to Bangsal, Lombok
Our first steps on Lombok, and in agreement, we were ready to get back on the bus to avoid the hawkers. Swarmed by drivers and their helpers trying to get us to our destination (our their destination) with tremendous inflation. Finally. We figure out a Bemo, bursting at the seams with locals. Seems to be a pretty big deal that I refuse to pay until we get to our stop… but after much negotiation, we’re off. I in the front with 4 chain-smoking men. Charlye on a stool clinging to the open door. Goats on the roof.

Donkey cart – 10 minutes Bangsal, Lombok to harbor for Gili Islands
A donkey cart conveniently awaits to take us from the main road to the harbor. Wanting to get there. It’s hot. The backpacks heavy, causing the cart to tip and drag and the donkey look near death. A driver and his… I think ‘pimp’ best describes it. The cost of 3,000 rupiah per head as listed in our LonelyPlanet seems to have jumped to 40,000! Inflation they say. I don’t think so, buddy. We offer 5,000 taking into account ‘inflation’. They refuse it.

Banter, banter.

Still refused. The pimp says to get back in the cart and he’s taking us back. Whatever. We’re leaving. The driver looks fearful and takes the money.





Small Boat #1 – 30 minutes Bangsal harbor to Gili Meno
We wait. For the boats to fill. Two hours, later and still not full. Nevertheless, we’re headed to the sandy islands.




5 minute walk on foot (with backpacks)

Bicycle
Tandem? Perhaps, we’ve over estimated our abilities.




Small Boat #2 – 30 minutes Gili Meno bacl to Bangsal harbor

Donkey cart – 10 minutes Bangsal harbor to Bus stop
This donkey cart duo, has no problem with accepting our 5,000 rupiah.

Bus #2 – 2 hours Bangsal to Senggigi, Lombok
A tourist shuttle. Have we sold out? It’s quicker, and the awaiting luxury of Bali calls.
Walk – 5 minutes Bus stop Senggigi to Beach

Small boat transfer to Boat – destination Padangbai, Bali
First boat and second boat in distance


Bus #3… almost – Padangbai harbor, Bali
It’s a package deal from Gili Meno to our destination in Bali. We confirmed when we bought the tickets that they’d drop us. Handing our backpacks to the bus driver, I tell him “Denpasar”.

“Ok, airport”

“No, Denpasar” (the airport is technically in Denpasar but a long ways from the city… and our destination, VSO offfice)

“Ya, ya. Airport.”

“No, kota (city)”

“We don’t go to Denpasar.”

“What?” We’d definitely checked on this and the ticket office even called… somewhere. Frustrated and wet from rain, we try to work it out with a guy (not the driver)… then the bus is leaving. Leaving us. Leaving us.

No taxis. No public transport.

Van – 1 hour Padangbai to Sanur, Bali
We managed to persuade the guy to give us partial refund (a small partial) but still not really enough to get to the city. A lot of unsuccessful haggling takes place. Finally, we find a taker. To the VSO office in Denpasar and on to our hotel in Sanur… it’s even a better deal than with the tour company.

Walk – 5 minutes to hotel
The driver decides to go for more money once he heard the name of our hotel… so we walked the last several meters.

Taxi – 45 minutes Sanur to airport
Thank God for metered taxis at our beckon call.

Airplane – 2 days… destination ‘home’
Bali, Singapore, Hong Kong, Chicago, Cleveland

Can’t wait to do it all over again… Mother Earth, you’re welcome.

Following the Beat of the Kundu Drum

Some may say that PNG follows the beat of a different drum. Some rhythmic patterns in my volunteer life are the same. Saturdays on the boat with Jan to snorkel the colorful reefs. Sara in the market selling vegetables from the Highlands. Volunteers popping in and out the VSO office. The neighborhood children screaming and the roosters crowing. Rides in crowded PMVs and in the back of Marleen and Jolanda's Nissan. The desire to take 3 showers a day, but resisting because you know you will be sweating again in 5 minutes.

In a place where progress is painfully slow, relative changed has occurred in the last 2 months...at least through my eyes. I am most hopeful for VSO's new country director. The special education coordinator for the Creative Self Help Centre has returned after 5 months of unexplained absence. Shantica, my neighbor who has to be around 7 or 8 years old, is now chewing buai. The addition of two big families to my compound has given reason for a "mini market" to be established under the clothes line. A wontok of the family that lives below me sells heaps of buai, peanuts and ice blocks from a feed bag spread across the grass. I have opened up my spare bedroom to Roselyn, my friend and deaf education teacher, who is having housing trouble. And my couch to a volunteer who is here in Madang as a "political refugee" from Vanimo. My dear friend Alex with the European Union has left along with other international development workers.

Most importantly, I have decided to follow the beat of the kundu drum. It took a meeting with my program manager to open my eyes to see that I am making progress in my placement although it looks quite different than progress in other settings outside of the PNG and development context.