Category: Blog | Sunrise Africa Relief

A week on Erraid

Posted on 22nd October 202122nd October 2021 by admin

11-18 September 2021

Treasure Island, Kidnapped and the Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde — most can identify and recognise these works of literature, even if they cannot readily name their author — Robert Louis Stevenson. In his novel Kidnapped the hero, David Balfour, is shipwrecked and washed up on a sandy cove on the island of Erraid which lies off the west coast of Scotland. That sandy cove now bears the name Balfour Bay.

Catriona is a less known sequel to Kidnapped, and more than a hundred years after it was written, another Catriona enjoyed one of the most exhilarating swims of her life in that very bay.

What on earth enticed me to strip off stark naked on a not too warm September day and plunge into the Atlantic? Or come to that, why did the name Findhorn ‘just pop into my head’ when I was figuring out how to arrange a stay on a Hebridean island¹ during an upcoming visit to my homeland Scotland? The Hebrides are off the west coast; Findhorn is on the east, and had I not always been sceptically dismissive of its ‘new-age’ spirituality?

The small village of Findhorn became the focus of much media attention in the late 1960s and early 70s when pioneer Eileen Caddy and her husband Peter established a spiritual community and cultivated the land which produced remarkably bountiful crops, far outshining those of their neighbours. This success was attributed to unseen, intangible ingredients such as love and prayer. More than fifty years after its establishment, Findhorn is a thriving community which attracts thousands of international visitors annually.

I still did not consider it my cup of tea, but the name had intruded into my consciousness, and I have been around long enough to know that following inspirations or ‘inklings’ often leads to fascinating and unexpected happenings.

A perusal of the Findhorn website led me to a link to an off-shoot community on the island of Erraid — I know this island! I wanted to visit. It felt right. There were just too many serendipitous connections.

The name Erraid was familiar to me not only because of Robert Louis Stevenson’s novel.

It is a small tidal island precariously connected by a thin umbilical stretch of sand to its mother, the island of Mull and a short sea crossing from its more famous sibling, Iona².

About one mile away on Mull, is the village of Fionnphort. It was here that I, born under the sign of the Crab, celebrated my fifth to twelfth birthdays, on holiday with my family, as well as some Easter vacations in my teenage years.

For almost one hundred years, Erraid was home to several lighthouse keepers and their families³, and as a child I would sometimes walk with my father to where we could look over the narrow strait between Mull and Erraid and see the row of abandoned cottages, neglected since the withdrawal of the occupants in 1952.

This row of stone cottages always seemed to me slightly sinister and surreal. Little did the child Catriona know that more than sixty years later, she would spend a week in that once ghostly settlement.

A welcoming e-mail in response to my enquiry, offering at short notice a space as a retreat guest — from J.: ‘I notice you live in Germany. I am German’ — sealed my decision.

erred_from_mull — Cottages on approach to Erraid from Mull

The involvement of the Findhorn community on Erraid started in 1976 when a Dutch family bought the island with its abandoned lighthouse keepers’ cottages. This family had spent time at Findhorn, were inspired by its vision, and made a proposal to financially support members of the community to act as custodians of the island and to restore the cottages, in return for which the Dutch owners would spend one month on Erraid each summer. This arrangement has worked well and over time the Erraid group has become largely self-sufficient, is independent from Findhorn and relies on the Dutch owners only for major financial outlays.

The community on Erraid has developed its own way of life and spirit. One of the Erraid staff spoke somewhat disdainfully of the superficiality and ‘other-worldly’ sophistication which she feels Findhorn has become. An impressive attraction of the Erraid community is its healthy balance of spirituality or internal focus, and plain, roll-up-your sleeves, no-nonsense down to earth hard work.

It is mind-body unity manifested on a community level.

Guests are welcomed in different categories; a ‘retreat guest’ is left to their own devices, although a minimal degree of participation in activities such as meditation, meetings and meals is expected. A ‘love in action’ helper pays less and spends some time involved in the many tasks such as garden, kitchen or maintenance work, and a ‘worker’ will commit to a longer stay and offers their services for whatever needs to be done in return for board and lodging.

The cottages have been renovated and have electricity (and even WIFI, albeit a temperamental one) and modern kitchens and toilets, although the staff prefer to use the outside compost toilets. There is a heating system, but the wood must be chopped, and a fire laid before the pipes and heaters can function to heat the cottage or provide warm water in the bathroom. And of course, the grate must be cleaned out in the morning chill and the fire re-laid.

washing drying from 1950s — Shades of my 1950s childhood: the fire and ‘pulley’ to dry the washing.

Each of the members opens his or her cottage home to whichever guests register to stay. My hostess was the person from Germany who had responded to my mail; a delightful young woman who had trained as a primary teacher, then as a practitioner of complementary medicine (‘Heilpraktikerin’) before discovering Erraid when she experienced the breakdown of a long-term relationship. To become a member, the applicant must have spent some weeks as a worker, have been deemed as suitable after an ‘attunement’ with the rest of the staff, and make a commitment to a minimum of one year’s involvement. I was told that the longest period of residence had been ten years; more usual was a stay of three to five years.

All kinds of people are attracted to visit, but it takes a special kind of person to stay as a member and endure the long hours of winter darkness when gales lash the island and there is often complete isolation from the mainland when even an experienced boatman would not take to sea.

The Erraid week starts on a Saturday with arrivals and departures. Dinner on Saturday evening is followed by a round of introductions where each can say as much or as little as desired about their situation and what they expect (or have gained) from their stay. We were a small group that week; four members and five guests. I was the only retreat guest, and interestingly, the only native-born Scot present. I related about my childhood connections with Mull and Erraid and touched on my own spiritual journey, including quite naturally my involvement with the Unification Church.

Interestingly, there is a connection between Findhorn and the Unification movement; one of the first members to join Eileen Caddy in the original Findhorn community was a young Dennis Orme, whose name is familiar to many older Unificationists, and certainly to those from the UK. In 1968, the spiritually attuned Unification missionary Doris, who had received ‘a message from the Lord’ went to Findhorn to witness to her faith. Dennis responded. They were subsequently blessed in marriage by Rev. Moon and were appointed as leaders of the British Unification movement which they headed for several years in the 70s and 80s.

Shortly after I had told my story, D., an English woman eight years my junior, approached me. In 1979 she had met an Australian woman and an Englishman in the San Francisco Greyhound station and had been invited to an evening programme in a community house on Bush Street. In the same year, I too had been approached by a couple in San Francisco and had attended an evening programme in the same community house. We had both been intrigued and inspired by the purity, enthusiasm, and idealism of the young people; I had responded to the invitation to join them ‘for a couple of days on our land in Northern California’; for D., alarm bells started to ring. She had been warned about the friendly but devious Moonies who would whisk her off and brainwash her. She could ‘escape just in time’. This was the first of many fascinating conversations. We speculated about what might have happened had she made a different choice and chuckled together about the kind of match that Rev. Moon might have made for her.

The day on Erraid is structured, but not rigidly so.The first scheduled meeting is meditation in the hillside ‘hut’. The view from this spot is so spectacular that it always seemed to me a waste to close my eyes.

The first and last meditations of the week are guided, otherwise one is free to liberally interpret ‘meditation’ providing that silence is observed. Then follows a meeting and the designated ‘focaliser’⁴ for the week offers a blessing followed by a spiritual reading. J. chose readings from Eileen Caddy’s book Opening Doors Within which is a collection of inspirational writings for each day of the year. Much of what she penned resonates with the writings of another spiritual leader, Rev. S.M. Moon, and I am pretty sure that it would have been quite acceptable had I volunteered to choose readings from his words.

Meditation Hut — Inside the meditation room.

Then the work assignments for the day are allocated; the members report the tasks to be done and each visitor chooses according to ability and inclination. As a retreat guest, I was not obliged to work, but volunteered one morning when I felt inspired to do so. Otherwise, I simply reported my plans and whether I would return for lunch.

There is again meditation time in the later afternoon, followed most days by a communal dinner.

For all group meetings and blessings, we held hands in a circle — a practice with which I felt entirely comfortable. I reflected wryly that even practices which I tend to view with some scepticism seemed quite natural and even meaningful, such as the sending of good energy on extinguishing the candle, or the picking of an ‘angel card’ after the first meditation of the week. Mine was ‘birth.’

All activities are announced by the ringing of a bell. This was the favourite job of four-year-old F., who ran up and down outside the cottages until even the sheep on the far side of the island knew it was time to eat or meet. He and his mum, a single parent, could be there thanks to a bursaryscheme; she told me glowingly just how much they both had blossomed in their short time of residence.

The Dutch owners are not involved in the day to day running of the community and there is no designated leader or supervisor. Yet all seems to function very harmoniously. The residents have a real sense of ownership and responsibility and there is continuity of care when members move on.

Catriona mixing concrete — Not all airy-fairy spiritual. Mixing concrete.

I spent one day revisiting Fionnphort and my old childhood haunts, one day on Iona, and one day tramping the moors in search of an abandoned settlement. The population in many parts of the Scottish Highlands was decimated in the 1800s when brutal landlords forcibly evicted the crofters, considering sheep to be more lucrative inhabitants of the land. Mull suffered massively during these Clearances and the remains of long abandoned settlements are to be found in several parts of the island. My interest and curiosity were stirred when P. told me of one such village nearby. I vaguely remembered having heard my father talk about it. I wanted to explore. This turned out to be a challenging and somewhat scary experience, pushing me to my physical and emotional limits.

I greatly enjoyed the tramp to the village which consisted of the roofless remains of about half-a dozen stone cottages, nestled in the bracken and heather. That very undergrowth proved to be my downfall; the track took me through bracken that towered over my head and obscured my vision, and on the way back I strayed from the path. The terrain was boggy and obstructive, and progress considerably slower than when on the track and one hillside or clump of heather looked the same as the next as I sank thigh deep into bogs and negotiated dense thickets. Although I was never in real danger, I was becoming physically exhausted and more than anything concerned that the staff would be alarmed at the non-appearance of the lady who so keen to prove that she was tougher than she looked. Hadn’t they all made admiring, respectful comments about my being so active for my age? I had a reputation to uphold! The phone reception was unreliable, and I sank into the heather, exhausted. Whether it was my desperate prayer or sheer good luck, shortly afterwards I found the path and with renewed energy could make my way back. Every year there are deaths on the Scottish hills, and this experience took me one step nearer to understanding why.

Remains from the highland clearances — Results of the Highland Clearances

And that swim?

Balfour Bay was deserted apart from we five women: the sand pristine, the sea clear, calm and inviting. To humour my hostess, I had brought my towel ‘just in case’. I had no intention of swimming in a decidedly chilly Atlantic. Paddling-maybe. Swimming-absolutely not. But the others were stripping off and suddenly I was doing the same. I felt compelled to swim. The water was cold. Very cold. Just a few strokes and then I’ll get right back out. But then an amazing transformation took place. It was no longer so cold. It was not warm, but I was enjoying myself. It was uncannily exhilarating. I would have stayed in longer, but the others were all scrambling into their clothes. What was my angel card? – ‘birth’. Water. Hmm….

Author swimming in the sea — Not, it’s not a seal out there!

The decision to visit Erraid was one of the very best that I have made it my life. There I could experience the solitude and overwhelming beauty of a Hebridean island but could share the fellowship of an embracing and open-minded group of people who have managed to sustain a community which combines in a natural way, spiritual principles with common sense attention to physical realities.

The Findhorn community states that it is: an international living laboratory for transforming human consciousness in everyday life. One could also say: peace starts with me.

A beautifu sunset — Sunset over Iona from Erraid

For further information go to: www.erraid.com/visits/

The Erraid community was featured in the Ben Fogle British TV series ‘New Lives in the Wild’ , Channel 5, 21.09.2021. This episode can be accessed and viewed, unfortunately only by UK residents.

1. Hebrides — an archipelago off the west coast of mainland Scotland. There are two groups — the Inner and Outer Hebrides. Erraid, Mull and Iona all belong to the Inner Hebrides.
2. Iona is where St. Columba who brought Christianity to Scotland, made his base. Today the famous Iona Abbey and community attracts (not only) Christian pilgrims from all over the world.
3. Robert Louis Stevenson may have disappointed his father, Thomas in turning his back on the family tradition of engineering. Stevenson senior masterminded the design and construction of many lighthouses around the coast of Scotland, including two which gave warning of the treacherous Torran rocks off the coast of Erraid.
4. The members rotate as ‘focalisers’ with the responsibility of heading up the weekly activities

Dear Visitor

We rely on donations to continue funding projects in Africa and the UK. Sunrise Africa Relief chooses carefully areas where your donations can make a real impact whilst providing strict oversight to ensure those needing our help receive it. So, you can be assured your donation will be used towards a good cause. We would greatly appreciate any donations you can make. Thank you.

Volunteering in a developing country

Posted on 20th August 201823rd August 2018 by admin

Volunteering in a developing country: help or hindrance?

To volunteer – to offer one’s services without compulsion or financial recompense – is seen as a commendable activity which enriches both the volunteer and the one(s) who receives; the charity shops which have become so much of a feature of British high streets, for example, could not function without volunteers. But without dampening the spirit of volunteerism, it is always pertinent to ask:

For whom am I doing this? Is it ‘just’ for my ego? Who is benefitting? Can I make a positive contribution to improve somebody else’s situation-is my support appropriate?

Such questions are especially relevant when considering volunteering in a developing country.

A short period spent in Nepal some years ago led me to more deeply ponder these issues, and in my case especially to examine the assumption that skills and training gained in one setting are necessarily appropriate in another. Even before I retired from medical practice, people often made remarks along the lines of: ‘Gosh, – with your qualifications and skills, you have so much to offer to the third world’. ‘Your experience will always be needed!’

While perhaps being on one level flattered, I doubted whether a Western trained GP, familiar with the diseases of civilization but lacking in practical skills, would be an asset in a developing country. But before finally putting my stethoscope away in the drawer (or donating to a charity shop), I wanted to clarify this point for myself, and so in December 2011, I was on my way to Nepal.

Why Nepal?

At the time when I was considering how and where to combine medical volunteering with some adventure, I made the acquaintance of a couple who were missionaries to Nepal, and from this fortuitous meeting developed the decision to make this country my destination. Here on the border with Tibet, towers Sagarmatha (peak of heaven), the great Everest, and although I never entertained the notion of scaling the summit, the prospect of trekking in the Himalayas was attractive. My initial idea of joining an expedition as a medical provider was dispelled by the uneasy consideration that I just might need medical attention myself, and so I decided to join an expedition in the normal way and to follow that by a stint of volunteering in a hospital.

I am proud to say that I did not require medical attention, although without support, encouragement and sometimes challenge from our team leader, I doubt I would have made it – extreme altitude and exhausting days of trekking certainly pushed me to my physical limits. But ‘no pain, no gain’ and all the effort was rewarded by spectacular views of Everest and other 8000 meter peaks from Kala Patar, itself at an altitude of 5400m.

I recuperated for a few days in Kathmandu before heading for Nepal’s border with India in the south. Chitwan is about 160 km from Kathmandu, but the journey takes over six hours by bus. These photos give a certain idea of why this is the case.

The roads in Nepal are appalling-and not only that but donkeys, carts, children are liable to loom up in front from nowhere. Not surprisingly, the road traffic accident statistics are sobering. And as the bus made its way along the main ‘highway’ between Kathmandu and Chitwan, I was reminded of something I had been taught at an expedition medicine course: the most dangerous aspect of an expedition is the travelling to and from airports.

Chitwan hospital is a busy general hospital, built only in 2008, with 500 beds and staffed by about 50 doctors. The staff are almost all Nepalese, and the young doctors trained mostly in China or India: both countries vie for the favors of Nepal. English is well understood and used by the medical staff, much less so by the patients.

I was a bit of an oddity; the other volunteers were either students or just beginning their careers, and the young doctor who was allocated as my mentor was obviously having a very hard time with me. Eventually he blurted out ‘I’ve never dealt with such an old lady doctor before!’ Well, could I really be insulted? I had already become used to stares on the streets, which I naively attributed to the fact that I stood out as a non-Nepali native. But it was not until one shopkeeper bluntly remarked-‘Nepali women your age just don’t do this kind of thing!’, that I understood more deeply what was going on. Nepali women my age are very old-they look old, the life expectancy is under 70, and they are most certainly not to be found jaunting around the world.

Anyway, once we had straightened that out, and he reckoned that I might have a sense of humor and be humble and willing to learn, we were able to establish a reasonable working relationship. Pretty soon I realized that my best strategy would be to shadow the doctors and to observe; from the outset I felt that the word volunteer was a misnomer because the hospital was quite adequately staffed and what one could do as a non-Nepali speaking individual was very limited.

We know that the general economic situation and social circumstances have a great bearing on the prevalence and presentation of disease, and in a country such as Nepal, this is well demonstrated.

Good indicators of health are statistics about life expectancy, as well as infant and maternal mortality. I touched on life expectancy earlier in relation to my own age: were I a Nepali woman, I’d be lucky to live another 5 years.
In the obstetrics clinic, the consultant told me that Nepal was doing well in terms of maternal mortality and morbidity; true in the sense that great improvements have been made in recent years, but the country still lags far behind our own. Figures from 2015 show a maternal mortality of 248/100,000 in Nepal. Corresponding figures for the UK and Germany are 9 and 6 respectively.

The leading cause of death is pulmonary disease (excluding tuberculosis) and most of this is COPD (chronic obstructive pulmonary disease). Cardiovascular disease, the number one killer in Germany and the UK, comes second.
Smoking is a huge factor-unfortunately where smoking is becoming less fashionable and acceptable in the West, the cigarette companies have targeted new markets in developing countries with devastating results. Another contributing factor is the burning of fuels from indoor fires, to which the women have greater exposure.

And of course, the general low standard of sanitation-lack of clean running water and proper waste disposal are factors in the high rate of infectious disease.

In all clinics the lack of privacy was unsettling. Most of the consultations were in public rooms, and before one patient encounter was over, the next patient would be hovering over the desk. And this was the case even in the psychiatry clinic where (presumably-the conversations were in Nepalese) the most intimate details were being shared. The diagnoses were pretty consistent with those in the West-depression, bipolar, schizophrenia along with a large number of miscellaneous neuroses.

The suicide rate in Nepal is not insignificant – people do not throw themselves in front of trains since there are none, neither do they use firearms for the same reason, but a popular method of self destruction is ingestion of poisons – especially those which bring about a slow and agonizing death, such as various fertilizers and fuels.

I think this brings us to an interesting consideration: we in the west tend to have and romantic notions about ‘Eastern spirituality’. Countries like Nepal we associate with a higher level of inner peace than our own, fuelled by images of prayer flags, temples, chanting monks, etc. We assume that life is simpler, uncontaminated by the pressures of civilization and therefore less stressful.

This is a misleading picture. Life in an underdeveloped country is harsh, and whether because of unhappiness about their external or internal situations, a significant number choose the ultimate escape. Alcoholism and drug abuse are also problems, reflected in the high level of liver disease, especially since much of the alcohol consumed is home brewed and very toxic.

An incident in the pediatrics clinic brings me back to the questions I posed at the start.
Once during our ward round, the door suddenly burst open and in poured about six Americans brandishing cameras- they were really stereotype Americans- who proceeded to comment on the patients and snap photos. I was horrified and glanced at the ward sister who shared my reaction but was too intimidated to protest. And so I took it in hand to point out the rudeness of their actions and ask them to leave, which they did-looking only mildly apologetic.

This is Western volunteer ‘tourism’ voluntourism at its worst. This kind of behavior epitomizes something which has sadly not died out with the old Colonial days-the attitude that we from the civilized world are of course superior, and we know best. Many, especially career starters, see volunteering as a means to do what you couldn’t do at home, a short cut to gaining experience. Or there is a prevailing attitude-‘well at least what I am doing is better than nothing-they should be grateful!’ Why do we need to explain and ask consent?’ But we really need to examine these assumptions and consider whether a much better perspective might be to invest in and promote local training and competence.

I certainly do not want to give the impression that volunteering in a developing country is a useless act of misplaced idealism or even selfishness. There is nothing wrong with the expectation of personal benefit from volunteering; no one does anything in order to have a bad experience. But whether an expert in one’s field or simply a good-hearted novice, it is essential to keep in mind and adhere to a few basic principles:

Have a clear idea of your own capabilities and limitations. Keep a humble attitude – be willing to learn
Know and respect the local situation. Suggestions for improvement may be inappropriate or unworkable under local conditions.
Take care of your own health!

For me, the time in Nepal closed the book, so to speak on my clinical career and finally laid rest any thoughts I may have had about using my medical background as a third world volunteer or expedition doctor. Now when anyone remarks that I have skills and talents that I should be using for the less fortunate in other countries- I can simply smile knowingly.
An anesthetist, surgeon or obstetrician can contribute a great deal in a developing country, but what a GP without knowledge of the local language can offer is very limited.

And there are many ways to volunteer and support the less fortunate; my brief intermittent stints behind the counter in the (sadly now closed) Sunrise Africa relief shop in Dunfermline brought me great enjoyment and perhaps contributed as much to the projects in Zambia as my physical presence there would have done.

Catriona Valenta can be contacted via FaceBook https://www.facebook.com/catriona.valenta

Dear Visitor

David Livingstone

Posted on 13th April 201823rd August 2018 by admin

‘I am prepared to go anywhere, provided it be forwards’
David Livingstone

Blantyre is a small town, a mere few miles ‘upstream’ on the Clyde from my hometown of Glasgow. But my first visit took place only many years after I had left my childhood home, inspired by a silent resolve made in the far distant land of Zambia in 2013.

As I stood with a small group in the heart of Africa, at the spot where David Livingstone died on May 1^st, 1873, I determined to visit the town where he had been born two hundred years before-2013 marked his bicentenary. In his relatively short life of 60 years, he had greatly increased the then current knowledge about ‘the Dark Continent’, and fuelled by his Christian faith had made a significant contribution to ending the slave trade.

As I reflected silently, I could not but feel humbled by the courage, faith and vision of my fellow country-man.
In order to be able to travel to Africa, the tourist has certain obstacles to overcome, but faced with the hazards and dangers confronting David Livingstone almost two hundred years ago, all but the most courageous and intrepid modern adventurers would decline the challenge.

Livingstone possessed the necessary courage as well as persistence and endurance – surely to a certain extent inherited from his deeply religious parents, but also fostered by the long hours of tedious, painstaking work in his father’s cotton mill which he undertook from the age of ten.

The young David had aspirations beyond the mill, and whereas his father saw science as undermining religion, David felt that the two could be reconciled, and persuaded his parents to allow him to study medicine at the then Anderson’s college in Glasgow. His initial desire was to be a medical missionary to China, but the First Opium war thwarted that ambition, and encouraged by his future father-in-law, Robert Moffat of the London Missionary Society, he turned his sights on Africa.

Not only did he believe in the compatibility of science and religion, he appears to have also cherished the belief that his thirst for exploration and discovery could be a foundation on which to further the ideals of his Christian faith. His hope was that the opening of routes for commercial trade would displace those used for slavery, and that any fame and recognition he accrued could contribute to the demise of that abominable practice. This was indeed the case.

Although he was unable to realize his ambition to discover the source of the Nile, he was, in 1855, the first ‘Westerner’ to set eyes on the magnificent water spectacle which we know by the name he gave it-‘the Victoria Falls’- in honour of the then reigning monarch in Great Britain.

Livingstone was fortunate that his wife, Mary Moffat, was like him, a committed Christian and an intrepid woman who accompanied him on some of his missions in Africa, even giving birth to two of their six children in the Kalahari desert. But balancing missionary work and family has never been an easy task, and Livingstone’s work in Africa came at great cost to his family. They were separated for long periods of time; Mary suffered from poor health and died in her early forties of malaria while trying to support her husband’s mission.

Livingstone also succumbed to malaria and dysentery, and died at Chief Chitambo’s village of Ilala in what is now Zambia. His heart was buried there, and the rest of his remains, along with his diary, were carried by two of his faithful attendants to eventually be interred in Westminster Abbey, London.

We can always be moved, inspired and motivated by the lives of people who have made a global impact, but not everyone can leave the kind of legacy that Livingstone did.

Perhaps at this point we can remind ourselves that each one can make an impact in his or her field of influence; Livingstone reportedly expressed great regret at the end of his life that he had not spent more time with his children.

Catriona Valenta can be contacted via FaceBook https://www.facebook.com/catriona.valenta

Dear Visitor

Destination Zambia

Posted on 3rd February 201823rd August 2018 by admin

The country was called Northern Rhodesia when I was a schoolgirl, its first president as an independent nation was Kenneth Kaunda, and Unification missionaries had established a very successful sausage making factory there in the 1970’s.

That was about the extent of my knowledge of the land-locked African country of Zambia before I joined an interfaith tour of the country in June 2013.

Robert Williamson founder of and inspiration behind Sunrise Africa Relief, was born in Zambia, spent 17 years there as a missionary, and had been organising and leading tours under the sponsorship of IRFF (International relief Friendship Foundation) and UPF (Universal Peace Federation).

The trips have a healthy balance of purpose; to distribute donations and funds, whilst gaining first hand feedback on how these donations are (to be) used; to visit institutions founded and funded by other organisations to see how they operate, and of course to see and experience this wonderful country which boasts the largest waterfall in the world, the Victoria Falls, ‘discovered’ by the missionary David Livingstone. 2013 marked the 200 anniversary of Livingstone’s birth in Blantyre, Scotland, and it was especially meaningful for me, born and raised in Glasgow and, like Livingstone, a graduate of Glasgow University medical school, to visit the land where he pioneered, worked and died.

We were a small group of six ranging in ages from 24 to 61; four of us from a Christian/Unificationist background, and two Muslims. And our gracious van driver and ‘local’ guide was Rudolph, who went as a missionary to Zambia from Germany in 1975, later to be joined by his Austrian wife with whom he has raised four daughters.

It was Rudolph who had learned the basics of sausage making from his Bavarian father, and who together with Robert and a Japanese missionary pioneered and developed a flourishing business which was able to support many other projects.

One of the projects, started by the missionaries in 1984, Barlastone Park School, provides education to university entrance level for over 300 pupils. The school charges fees, but is dependent on donations and sponsorship for maintenance and expansion. Previous donations of microscopes and computers have been put to good use, and there are plans to build chemistry and physics laboratories. After handing over further donated laptops and school supplies, we were welcomed in the assembly room by the enthusiastic students who treated us to lively songs and dancing.

At one time there was a well developed medical clinic, which for complicated reasons sadly could not be maintained. However, Eunice, one of the original nursing staff provides medical care to locals in a small makeshift clinic in her home. Her vision is to have official recognition and to expand her services, but the path towards that goal is fraught with challenges. Nevertheless she is a determined lady, and we were encouraged to see that she made immediate use of a modest donation by buying 100 chickens from which she can develop an income generating business to support the clinic.

On behalf of the US based charity ‘Eyes on Africa’ we were able to distribute almost 200 pairs of reading glasses to local people who had been gathered by Eunice.

In Ndola, northern Zambia is the Mackenzie School, a further project established by IRFF. Young people from Switzerland have regularly visited and volunteered their services, and make monthly donations to help pay teachers’ salaries. Another charity ‘Doors of Hope’ has also become involved, and we saw a building in which they plan to house a new medical clinic. Here we distributed ‘goodies’ to each child-a drink, chocolate, fruit and crisps-all eagerly received and consumed on the spot. In addition we donated school materials, largely funded by members of the Muslim community in Scotland. Again we were entertained to catchy singing and dancing, which moved us staid Europeans to sway to the beat.

Although the resources of IRFF are small, the organization is always open to help where needed, as well as learning how other organizations operate, and so Robert had arranged for us to visit two projects new to IRFF-the Chimbuso project in Lusaka and the Namumu orphanage near Lake Kariba. Robert and Ashley also visited a third project in Livingstone, the Heartspring orphanage.

The Chimbuso premises are humble but well organised, and self-sufficiency is encouraged. Here are housed women and orphans, and there is opportunity for schooling and to learn a trade. The small shop had an enticing assortment of items on sale, including laptop covers made out of recycled plastic bags. The impression left was very positive.

But the visit to the ‘Namumu Orphanage Centre’ is indelible in my memory because of the extreme squalor in which the children are living. The roofs of the sleeping quarters are infested with bats; their smell persists even for years after they have been eliminated and is about as nauseating and irritating as anything I have experienced. And these kids sleep in such an environment… perhaps the difference is not so much the actual funding, but rather how well these funds are used and if they are channeled into productive activities which can generate at least a certain amount of self sufficiency.

One of the most important aspects of this tour was follow up on the use of donations, because sadly corruption and misuse are not uncommon. On our schedule was an orphanage which had been visited and supported last year. Shortly before our arranged visit, we received a call informing us that the orphanage had been closed because of rent arrears, and that the children were being cared for in the homes of the staff. We were to meet in the office premises and to tour a new building which was to house the children. The whole situation seemed suspicious and the accounts given by the 5 or 6 representatives who received us were contradictory and implausible. However, the decision was made to give benefit of the doubt by making a small donation and tasking our on-the-spot representative Rudolph to make a visit later to see if the promised new orphanage materializes. But how painful it is to be (perhaps) deceived and lied to! This experience brought home to me of how important it is to ‘trust, but verify’.

Zambia also has much to offer the tourist, and this aspect of our trip was not neglected.

Luckily the roads in Zambia, although not four lane highways, allow for reasonably unproblematic travelling, and we were able to cover the several hundred kilometers from the Copper belt in Northern Zambia to Lake Victoria in the south in Rudolph’s van with minimal discomfort. But it is humbling to remember that it was under conditions of much more than minimal discomfort that the early pioneers such as David Livingstone travelled this route. We visited the monument in northern Zambia, which marks the spot where he died, kneeling in prayer at the age of 61 in 1873. His faithful servants removed his heart, which they buried there, and had his body transported to London for internment in Westminster Abbey. It was very moving for me as the seven of us, joined by two local boys, stood in prayer and reflection. Although ‘the white man’ in many ways has left a bloody and disgraceful legacy in Africa, many, such as Livingstone, came with noble intent and accomplished much.

A most interesting and fitting conclusion to this visit was to be received by Chief Chitambo, a descendant of the local chief who worked with Livingstone. There is undoubtedly always protocol involved in an audience with dignitaries, and this was no exception. A full bow, removal of headgear, a prescribed method of clapping in response to his first questions-we more or less managed the ritual to the satisfaction of the chief and his henchman.

Details of the audience will not be divulged, but before leaving, one of our group was offered a piece of land and at least one wife as an enticement to settle there!

In eastern Zambia, Lake Kariba, the world’s largest artificial lake and reservoir was created when a dam was build over the Zambezi River in the late 1950’s. Before filling the lake the land was evacuated and burned, creating a rich lake bed environment for many fish and animal species. The kapenta is a sardine like fish which I was encouraged to sample. Served with nshima (made from maize or corn meal), one has a typical staple Zambian meal. My palate rebelled somewhat. It is definitely an acquired taste.

The dam bridges the two countries of Zambia and Zimbabwe, (previously Northern and Southern Rhodesia respectively), and after minor border formalities, we were able to walk into Zimbabwe.

The Victoria Falls in southern Zambia, is another crossing point between the two countries. This massive cascade is the world’s largest waterfall, and is especially spectacular just after the end of the rainy season, in April/May. The native name is ‘Mosi-on-Tunya’-the smoke that thunders-and indeed this is a fitting description as the spray can be seen from a distance of several miles. The better known name was given by Livingstone in honour of the British monarch, Queen Victoria, who was on the throne in the year that he discovered the falls, 1855.

What a spectacular sight! Decked in double-layer raingear we viewed the Falls from different angles, ‘soaking in’ the experience.

And then that evening we took a cruise on the Zambezi river, keeping a keen eye open for the native river inhabitants, and having the luck to see quite a few hippos and one or two well camouflaged crocodiles before we marvelled at the early sub-tropical sunset.

And what visit to Africa would be complete with a visit to a game reserve? In a short afternoon visit we were able to see giraffes, elephants, monkeys, zebras and even the rare white rhinoceros. A close up view of the rhinoceros was made possible thanks to a relationship that Robert had cultivated on a previous trip with the park rangers who provided an armed accompaniment for us on a short bush walk to see this strange animal grazing.

This two week visit made a deep impression on me and the lasting memories are of the people we met and with whom we shared testimonies, impressions and hopes.

It was also largely because of this visit that I was inspired to volunteer at the Sunrise Africa Relief charity shop. Although the shop is no more, the charity continues and hopefully new and creative ways of fundraising can become established.

Catriona Valenta can be contacted via FaceBook https://www.facebook.com/catriona.valenta