Ali sent me this second photo this morning of the RISSE soccer team – The Bedlam Farm Warriors – just before their big second place finish at the New Year Cup, they tied for second place with the strongest team in their soccer league.
They can’t wait for the next tournament, in just about a week. Good for them.
The Bedlam Farm Warriors had a great night Thursday at The New Year Indoor Soccer Cup Tournament in Clifton Park, N.Y. Their trip was sponsored by the Army Of Good.
They tied for second place and beat two of the strongest teams in the league. I couldn’t get there because of the snow and ice here, but I could see by this photo, taken at the point of victory, that this was a big moment, I don’t often see that many smiles on the soccer team faces, they are pretty shy and reserved.
This is going to be a great week for the soccer team, they are on holiday vacation from school and Ali and I have been working to give them some different activity every day of the 10-day break, he wants to cement their sense of community and keep them from being idle.
Ali is genuine hero, he has devoted so much of his life to these kids.
In the winter, the team has entered several indoor tournaments to keep their skills and team focus. We are also planning movie excursions and bowling and ice-skating, and two trips to the country.
This is important. Their home situations are often difficult, often there is only one parent holding several low-paying jobs.
They also face pressure and increasing hostility at school, so this time with Ali and one another is critical. Next month, Ali is organizing a girl’s basketball team – most of the young women at RISSE, the refugee and immigrant support center, avoid competitive sports with me for religious and cultural reasons.
The young (and older) women are often uncomfortable being photographed or written about, especially by strangers.
We are working on that, it takes trust and time, and the basketball team could be a turning point. Maya, above center is the only female at RISSE, the refugee and immigrant center in Albany, who wanted to join the soccer team, and she is one of their star players.
Ali and the kids love soccer, it is much more than a game for them, and he uses the same to foster discipline, team work and personal support for one another. They need those things desperately. Ali and I are also working to help identify individual needs – tutoring, clothes, classes, tuition fees – things their parents cannot handle.
They needed new uniforms, and we provided the funds for them. It was the team’s decision to call themselves the Bedlam Farm Warriors, not mine. I never imagined having the name of my farm on a sports team.
But the uniforms are growing on me, and Ali says it fires them up when they play. Red is the official team mascot.
This tournament was a big deal and we have entered a second one at the end of this month.
A second place win is impressive, the more to come, I think.
I hope to be there for that.
This week, on Christmas break, the team went to Pompanuck Farm for a day, and will go see a movie this afternoon – either Jumanji or Star Wars. Tomorrow, ice skating, and then bowling the next day. Then more soccer. We buy the tickets and provide some refreshments.
Ali send me this photo, the person next to him is Molly, a strong supporter of the soccer team and of the RISSE refugees and immigrants.
I thank the Army Of Good for making this week possible for these very endearing and hard working young new citizens of the United States, they are struggling to make sense of life in their new home, which sometimes seems ambivalent to them these days.
You can help support this work if you wish by donating any amount of money – one time donations – to me at P.O. Box 205, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816,or Paypal, [email protected].
This was a great victory, and not just for them.
Gus has now eaten his food three days in a row with no regurgitation, vomiting or gagging. As many of you know, he was diagnosed last week with Megaesophagus, a nasty serious illness caused by a swollen esophagus that blocks food and prevents it from entering the digestive system.
Until recently, megaesophagus was considered a certain death sentence, but as we learn about the disease, there are now recommended stops that can work. It is uncertain whether Gus will get worse or stay the same. We’ll just have to see.
So far, so good.
Dogs can choke, starve or die from the illness, or also contract pneumonia. We changed quite a bit of Gus’s eating happens. We’ve switched to gastroenteric canned dog food, hold Gus upright in our laps after eating, and I’ve trained him to stand up on his hind legs and eat his food one meatball-style chunk at a time.
He would make a great circus dog, he loves to stand up and swallow standing up, and is fun for both of us. This is the same position he would be eating in if he sat in one of the custom-made Bailey Chairs people use with dogs who have this issue.
This kind of illness raises ethical questions for me in terms of money, perspective and quality of life – for dog and human. I do not generally believe that dogs who cannot live their natural lives should be kept alive by any means and all costs.
Since the dog can’t tell us what he or she wants, I feel we have to be their advocates, and as I wouldn’t urge a person to prolong their lives unnaturally – I see the results of that all the time – I wouldn’t want to do it to a dependent dog that can’t tell us their wishes.
I don’t think it’s humane or morally justifiable in a world so many people need help desperately. So we have to find a way to keep Gus healthy and active without sacrificing the quality of our lives or his. We will work very hard at it.
I see many people lose all perspective when a dog is chronically, spending money they don’t have and subject the animal to endless misery and confusion. The money we spend is not the only measure of love.
It is always a personal and individual decision, and I don’t tell anyone else what to do. Vets tell me that is the hardest thing for them to see.
Dogs are not about that for me, they improve our quality of life and we improve theirs.
We have already tried a dozen things, and are finding some that work.
With this method of standing him up, and getting him to eat standing up. we enlist gravity to help us get the food down where it ought to be and through the enlarged esophagus. Same thing with holding him upright after meals, it gets the food moving down.
I feel like we are getting on top of this. In the past week, he’s spit up his food three times, a drastic reduction from the previous week. In the past three days he hasn’t regurgitated any food at all.
Maegesophagus is a mystery disease, it is not related to breeding, and there is no medical cure. No one really knows the case, none of the dogs in Gus’s family or line have it.
I think the switch in food has helped, we are also cutting back on Gus’s time in the pasture, where he scarfs up all kinds of food and revolting things. Sometimes this disease gets worse, sometimes it just goes away. I also give him Pepcid once or twice a day in chewable tablets.
I’ve read through many of the online forums and studies of this disease, but the most helpful things have been trial and error, experimentation, a good vet and patience.
After the first week of treatment, I feel very optimistic about it. Gus is not losing weight, he is eliminating normally, has a strong appetite, plenty of energy and seems very active and healthy. He is an adaptable, trainable dog who is easy-going and forgiving, even when we squirt antacid medicine down his threat.
This is a strong report for the first week, we have made real progress, and I am happy to have avoided a Bailey Chair. I think we’ll work around that.
But the vets say this is a “dread” condition, and we will need more time to understand it. I’ll share the trip.
All right, I’ll be honest. A number of doctors and nurses have cautioned me against being outside when the temperature falls well below zero. I have had open heart surgery and also angina, and severe frostbite from running around pastures chasing donkeys in the middle of the night in the middle of blizzards.
The cold can play tricks with the heart, I know that. But I shovel and rake snow off the roof all the time, i’ve had no trouble.
I am one of those people they mean when they say older people with certain conditions need to stay inside sometimes. i never do, and I never regret it. I did yesterday, and I did regret it somewhat.
There was a lot of wind and the temperature was well below zero, as in – 20, and I helped bring hay out and got Gus to eliminate and hauled water outside. At times like this I really want to help, I hate the idea of Maria doing all the chores along in that cold.
Maria was yelling at me to go inside, but what male listens to advice like that, men can be spectacularly vain and stupid sometimes, and being told what I can and can’t do makes me crazy under normal circumstances.
My fingers and toes started to throb, my chest started to ache, my very marrow seemed to be freezing inside of me as the temperature fell and the wind picked up – and this was when it was – 4 degrees at 10 a.m.
My glasses fogged up and I couldn’t see so I reached up to take them off, and they fell into the snow. I couldn’t see them or find them and took my gloves off to root around in the frozen snow. Then, of course I had to kneel down and dig for the glasses. Then, of course, I slipped on the ice and fell over.
The wind whipped my snow-covered face and I felt it turning to brass.
This polished me off. I got the glasses and retreated into the house, Red was ahead of me, hopping up and down in the cold snow. I started shivering and couldn’t stop. My frostbitten toes and fingers were killing me, I felt like a popsicle that couldn’t melt.
I just ran to the fire and stood there, stomping my feet and shaking myself off.
And I felt exhausted, I felt drowsy like freezing people feel. Maria came in, saw me, shook her head in exasperation, growled at me to lie down, wrapped me in blankets, brought me tea and hot chocolate. My teeth were chattering so loud the dogs came running in.
I was pale as a ghost and buried my face in blankets. My skin was frozen.
We have an understanding that we don’t tell each other what to do in these circumstances but sometimes that breaks down. Sometimes, we are each so willful it’s hard to watch. But I am dumber than she is, and that is a wicked combination when added to willfulness.
I was just spent and cold and fell asleep shortly.It felt like the life had just drained out of my body.
I didn’t know that Gus had hopped up and gone to sleep in my lap. Maria saw this and took a photo and asked me if I wanted it, and I said no, then I thought why not? I looked ridiculous, but I felt so much better and Gus stayed with me until I woke up, I think he must have added a bit to the warmth. I inhaled the hot chocolate.
(Red was at my feet, as always, Fate was with Maria.)
Did I learn my lesson? Are men rational? Do they listen? Do pigs fly?
I sort of learned my lesson. I was out there again this morning, but just for 15 minutes. And when my glasses fogged up, I just went inside. I will not hide inside during snowstorms, but I will dress carefully and be more self-aware. The doctors don’t live on a farm, and nobody lives forever.
We are all entitled to good and nutritious food for ourselves and our families. This is something many of the refugees I am meeting need but do not have.
There is something especially raw and especially powerful about getting to know the refugees I am meeting and writing about and hoping to help. In our country, the refugees are just another story, another controversy, something else to divide us, for politicians to exploit, and that list is now so long almost no one is thinking of the lives of the refugees at all.
Here, so many of us are refugees, often literally, sometimes in spirit, in many cases because of our family histories and experiences. The refugee experience is a very deep chord running through our national soul, I do not believe it will ever be destroyed or wiped away.
Here, we are all refugees in one way or another.
I am learning once again – I saw this in my own family – about the drama of the refugee, the endless anxiety, the despair, the delusions of normalcy and recovery, the struggle for optimism, the hard labor of adjustment, the sense of isolation and the staggering daily challenges of life.
And the awful trauma of losing everything and facing cruelty, death, starvation and ruin, year after year.
In America, we are just beginning to understand the awful toll trauma takes on our soldiers and the victims of rape and violence, we call it PTSD. To the refugee, almost all of whom have seen their loved ones slaughtered or perish, or left behind, trauma is life itself, it shapes their very existence., it is as regular as the sun rising.
Being a refugee is about the search for dignity, safety and opportunity; a search for a personal existence within a larger community that must fight for its dignity and right to exist every minute of every day.
In a sense, the refugee has nothing to lose because she has already lost everything, and is once a again punished, condemned to be a stranger for the rest of their lives. The husbands back home seem to die the most frequently and immediately, so few of these families have men at home.
The refugee is never safe, their tragedy and struggle never ends.
The great hope and faith of the refugee is for their children, many will say it is too late for them to ever have a normal and rational and knowable life again. The children have a chance, the mothers say, which is why so many refugees sacrifice again for them.
Having been driven from their homes and land in the most horrific and unimaginable of ways, they again confront indifference and outright hostility, this time in their new home. This cruelty is an ugly tear in the moral fabric of their persecutors.
The moral philosopher Hannah Arendt, herself a refugee, wrote powerfully about the refugee experience in her famous essay, “We The Refugees,” published in 1943 after she was driven from her home by the Nazi’s.
It is true, she wrote, that refugees have to seek refuge, even thought ” we committed no acts and most of us never dreamt of having any radical opinion. The refugees of today say the same thing in the same words. A mother of four, a refugee from the Middle East, told me no one in her family had ever uttered a political thought or committed a political act, they were almost all butchered or bombed to death.
“Our optimism,” Arendt wrote, “indeed is admirable, even if we say so ourselves. The story of our struggle has finally become known. We lost our home, which means the familiarity of daily life. We lost our occupation, which means the confidence that we are of some use in this world. We lot our language, which means the naturalness of reactions, the simplicity of gestures, the unaffected expression of feeling.”
And they left their relatives and best friends behind, killed in the genocides and wars and coups that are the hallmark of human men. The private lives of the refugees are forever ruptured, there will never again be normalcy, life can never again be taken for granted, not even in the land of the free and the brave.
Nevertheless, the refugee is uncomplaining, and looks ahead. I have never heard a refugee complain or show any kind of self-pity.
“We start our new lives,” one mother from Syria told me recently,”and try to follow as closely as possible all of the advice given us. We are told to forget, and to pretend we are American now, and so we try. Among ourselves, we know we are exiles forever, strangers always. We hope and pray for our children, they have hope here that we did not have.”
It has taken me months to get to know the refugees, to be accepted and trusted by them, I have had to move more slowly and patiently than I ever have, and I have a long way to go yet. Many of them know me now, and i have given them no reason not to trust me. The more I move among them, the more I learn.
They are afraid to call attention to themselves now, to have their photos taken or to be quoted publicly, and there is no reason for them to take risks. They they believe it is dangerous for them and their children. But they are also in need, and so they speak up reluctantly and carefully.
If I had not been a reporter for years, inured to people who didn’t want to see me, I would never have gotten this far. I want to be in the middle of one of the great moral struggles of my life. I know where I want to stand.
Many of the things I am learning are hard to see. I know there is hunger in America, but I rarely see it up close. I know children who wear flip-flops to school in the winter, and who have white rice and beans for dinner every night.
The refugees have been abandoned by their old countries, and abandoned once again by their new country, where many people do not want them here, including many powerful people.
Their subsidies and grants and support are drying up quickly, ever thing is being slashed or canceled. Nobody wants to remember any promises made, or obligations that were once honored. They used to have time and support to adjust, not there is little time and no support. They get here, and in a few weeks, with nothing but what’s in their suitcase, they are on their own.
The most basic human right, I believe, is to eat and feed one’s family. I have not seen anyone who is starving, but there are many who are hungry and do not have enough money to eat well and regularly.
So my first goal is to ask the Army Of Good to help in the new First Week Refugee Grocery Campaign, I am starting with my friend Ali (Amjad Abdulla) in January. Each month, we are going to a market to buy $150 worth of groceries. The families cannot help us, they can’t afford baby sitters and work all the time.
This is a drop in the bucket. We will help a dozen families one time. But you have to start somewhere, and see if the Gods and their winds will get behind you and push on ahead. One step at a time.
So we will talk to them, find out what they need and bring it to them. Once a month, every month. This idea is a powerful one for many reasons. One is that it is needed badly. Another is that it is inexpensive. This program will cost about $1,800 for the first year, and I have half of that money in hand already..
I will not have to ask for much more for this grocery program. It is not really about money, we will never have enough of that, but about heart.
If you wish to donate, you can, to P.O. Box 205, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816 or via paypal, [email protected]. I have enough on hand to get started and I will meet with and photograph the families as we progress, you will get to see them and meet them also.
I will put some other projects and ideas aside, if necessary, no refugee who comes to our bountiful country should want for food or go hungry. I am already pestering a grocery store chain for a discount.
I am embarrassed that my country has admitted these long suffering people, and is now abandoning them, there is so much wealth here.
I am heartened that so many people are eager and willing to help them. I am focusing on the good, there are good people willing to help, we have identified the need and can address it.
We can’t perform miracles or wave magic wands, but we can fill some of the holes – and bellies – that the refugees know all too well.
Many of the people I meet have been brutally driven from their homes, often raped and assaulted and spent years languishing in refugee camps. To a one, they dreamed of coming to America, a land where their children can dare to aspire to better lives.
I propose to help them see that the American dream is real, and the American spirit of generosity and acceptance is very much alive.
One day a month, this is something we can do. And that is the way for to respond – one day at a time, one thing at a time. Small acts of great kindness. Thanks.
