Mia Kirshner

Grade Three: Rise of The Order

2010-10-14T16:37:08-04:00

It started in Grade Three. When the leaves in the forest next to the school grounds exploded in degradations of red.

Somehow the simplicity of previous school years had changed, giving way to an ominous feeling deep in my stomach.

At recess, I would watch the head girls, a band of six, converge in the forest. These girls had a great influence over the rest of the girls in my class, presiding over their fiefdom. They wore Roots sweaters, Cotton Ginny sweatpants and had cottages in Muskoka. Their lunches filled with exotics such as McCain Pizza (pepperoni) cookies and stickers.

I gathered that over the first few weeks of school, that they must have been holding secret clubs and planning important things. I named them The Order. Their world was sealed off from mine, magical in its exclusive glamour.

As Halloween approached, I saw that my physical body was vanishing to The Order. At lunch, my palms would feel greasy and my eyes burned. No one appeared to see me. At first I was embarrassed by being selected to vanish. To submit to The Order's decree, I would hide in a bathroom stall to confirm that indeed I could be invisible.

Why had I been selected? Was it my curly hair that I tamed straight by not washing it? Was it because I was hopeless at spelling and math? Was it my lunch that offended the air, pungent with hard-boiled eggs, sprats and pickles, wrapped in a crumpled brown paper bag? Maybe it was my pencil case, a cast off adopted from one of my mother's high school classrooms? Or was it because three was an odd number?

***

Winter arrived with new snowsuits and the Order's talk of vacations in the Bahamas and Christmas trees. Their war had begun.

Walking into the classroom, the whole class slid their desks to the other side of the room. Birthday parties on store bought invitations included what appeared to be all but me.

Even the boys, who were once natural to the war. I became their battering ram, the recipient of punches in the stomach by the Head Boy at lunchtime, unseen by the teacher's eye. Thankfully.
Pebbles were thrown at my head and words like "ugly" " stupid" and "smelly" replaced my name. Or, were these my new names?

***

Deep winter with snow turning to frozen slush. The prank calls began. I could hear the girls giggle on the other end of the phone as I said "hello?" Over and over again. Sometimes, I would lie under my covers begging God to smother me in my bed, so I never had to emerge again.

When I was sick, I would save my gum in a glass jar. After I became well, I would chew it again in hopes of reinfection so that I could miss more school.

My mother began to call :
-The school,
-the teachers
-the parents of the children

Her voice cracking with rage. They were now winning. Both my mother and I had lost control. She was repeatedly told that there was nothing that could be done, as it was not fair to insist that these children be friends with me.

A solution arrived with my first sophisticated purchase.

A red watch with plastic straps and a rainbow in the centre of the watch face. My watch was similar to some of the girls' in The Order. This could be my laurel leaf, ending all of this. I unveiled during math class, raising my wrist in the direction of the rest of them.

Words like "cheap" and "copycat" were whispered.

Maybe they were right. Maybe I was all they said to me and about me. Somehow I had missed this obvious truth. One evening, I took a dressmaking pin, dragging it across my face, watching multiple lines of blood form.

My mother threw a confused me in the car, taking me to Emergency where I was seen by the on-duty psychiatrist. He recommended that I see a therapist. Months passed with this therapist who asked strange and intrusive questions, my silence speaking more than my words ever could. Did he not understand this school was my universe, my past, my present my future?

***

Summer arrived with their talk of sleepover camp, cottages and bras. The war stopped suddenly; as quickly as it began. Did they win? I still remain unsure. What I do know is that I am permanently altered.

'I Love Here' Ball is Only Five Weeks Away - My First Video Diary

2010-06-17T13:07:00-04:00

Hi. My name is Mia Kirshner and I am the Director of I Live Here. I wanted to make a video diary as the I Live Here Projects are at a crucial stage in our development.

We are five weeks away from our current fundraising event -- a LOVE-themed ball produced with the endlessly cool Blankenship Ballet.

If this ball and fundraising efforts are not a success, we are looking at a devastating reality of closing our programs. So far, the event is not looking good.

Judy B and Erica S and myself (my partners on ILH) are very worried that only six tickets have sold.

To close our programs would be tragic. We do the work that other orgs are not doing. By no means are we perfect but I know we have made some great changes.

I can see the impact that I Live Here and our local partner organization have had in Kachere in one year (school, legal rights, permaculture and arts)

We are now building a site for gay, bisexual and transgendered Malawians to share their experiences -- this in order to humanize their lives, in order to see much needed legal reform.

Everything that I Live Here has done so far has been done with all heart and love.

I hope that you will take this journey with me and watch the I Live Here diaries unfold.

Watch my first video diary entry, and come back for another one every week:

Freedom in Malawi, With Questions for the Future

2010-05-30T12:56:59-04:00

Read Mia Kirshner's original post following the trial of Steven Monjeza and Tiwonge Chimbalanga.

The president of Malawi, Bingu wa Mutharika, has issued an unconditional pardon for for Steven Monjeza, 26, and Tiwonge Chimbalanga, 33,

Both men had been sentenced to fourteen years in prison, the maximum penalty for their "marriage" ceremony.

The pardon is a step in the right direction toward equal rights for all men and women in Malawi, as dictated by their Constitution.

The President issued the following statement:

"These boys committed a crime against our culture, our religion and our laws; however, as the head of state I hereby pardon them and therefore ask for their immediate release with no conditions... I have done this on humanitarian grounds but this does not mean that I support this."

While the act of a pardon is invigorating, the president's statement confuses and leaves many unanswered questions.

Where will Steven and Tiwonge go now?

Will they be protected from a possible backlash by the police force of Malawi? Is the police force going to cooperate?

Will the courts amend the anti-gay laws in Malawi in order to mirror what the Malawian Constitution dictates?

Will there be a backlash against other gay men and women in Malawi?

Will gay rights activists in Malawi be allowed to speak out without fear of being arrested, as they have been in the past?

What will happen now to other men and women in Malawi who have been jailed for similar "crimes?"

These answers are crucial in order to understand the next steps in this human rights puzzle.

What I do know is that your voice is a very important reason why this pardon was given.

I am humbled by of all of you who spoke up, signed their name in order to free these men and ask that the Constitution be followed

I Live Here's petition as of today, May 30, has nearly 15,000 signatures. This illustrates the power of grass roots activism.

For now, we will continue to gather more information and update you as soon as we know more.

Thank you all deeply.

I hope that all of you who signed the petition and spoke out on this issue feel you were part of why President Mutharika pardoned Steven and Tiwongwe and will continue to believe that your voice will be heard.

To learn more about this history of this case, visit this wonderful blog.

Gay Couple in Malawi Found Guilty....of What?

2010-05-18T12:07:24-04:00

Steven Monjeza and Tiwonge Chimbalanga were found guilty today.

Guilty of what?

The crimes in which they are charged are in direct opposition to the constitution in Malawi, which clearly states "Discrimination of persons in any form is prohibited and all persons are, under any law, guaranteed equal and effective protection against discrimination on grounds of race, colour, sex, language, religion, political or other opinion, nationality, ethnic or social origin, disability, property, birth or other status"

The courts and the police must follow the law and not their personal beliefs.

According to the National Post, "Prosecutor Barbra Mchenga urged the judge to hand down the maximum sentence, saying: 'The case has left a scar on Malawi's morality. The two did not show any remorse or regret for their actions. They seem to have been very proud of their action.'"

This is not a cause of the day. This is not the cause of the week. This is not trendy.

This is about you and I and how we want our world to be.

Imagine how it would feel to be viewed as abnormal in the eyes of your country and be stripped of your dignity?

Living in the U.S. and being witness to my friends and family who are gay being unable to marry has been both baffling and heartbreaking.

I know that the fetid, cramped conditions in prisons of Malawi are dangerous breeding grounds for a slow death.

This is not justice.

This appeal must and will pave the way for landmark reform.

The constitution must be upheld because the constitution is the truth.

The lawmakers of Malawi need to hear from you. All of you who read my previous post. All of you who wrote comments that have inspired. Please sign this petition so that our voices are heard clearly.

Human Rights activists, International aid agencies please come together as one team, rather than working silos.

I see this picture of these two men listening to the judge's ruling -- their faces are outlined with exhaustion.

No one should have to endure this.

The only thing that makes me smile this morning is that both Steven Monjeza and Tiwonge Chimbalanga have pride in standing up for what they know is true.

Love. Love. Love.

Malawi Gay Couple To Be Imprisoned: I Will No Longer Keep Quiet

2010-05-14T20:30:19-04:00

Read Mia's follow-up post on the conviction of Steven Monjeza and Tiwonge Chimbalanga.

-----

My name is Mia Kirshner and I am the director of I Live Here Projects. The aim of our organization is to provide urgent care to communities that have slipped through the cracks. Our first project is in Kachere Juvenile Prison in Malawi, where we are forming a full-time school, permaculture garden project and legal rights. These children had slipped through the cracks when we first arrived in Kachere.

That is not what this piece is about.

I am writing about an issue that I can no longer keep quiet about.

While I was in Malawi in December, Malawi's first gay couple got married in a public commitment ceremony. Their names are Tiwonge Chimbalanga and Steven Monjeza. I read the headlines detailing their wedding and sardonic commentary of the journalists writing the pieces. Two days after they married, they were met with both public cheers and humiliation. They now face over a decade of hard labor in a Malawian prison for their actions.

I was amazed that one relationship had become news when issues such as poverty, HIV and the slow wheels of the juvenile justice system cripple the country.

At first, I chose to refrain from writing about this, in fear that my position would risk our whole program being shut down in Malawi -- my views are in conflict with the law.

I can and will no longer be silent.

That is why I formed I Live Here projects.

I am angry. I am angry because the right to marry is the choice of an individual rather than a state. I am angry that a dusty law book decides who we have a right to love. I am angry because I know it's hard to find love in the world and no one should ever stand in love's way. I am angry because no one should be asked to have relationships in secret. I am angry that so many are forced into the closets, furthering shame and stigma.

What I know is true is that there is no shame in being gay. Love does not understand gender.

These two men did something brave. They spoke up and they spoke out.

No one in Malawi has done this publicly before.

They are fierce and brave.

The Guardian News spoke with the couple to which Tiwonge said the following.

"I love Steven so much. If people or the world cannot give me the chance and freedom to continue living with him as my lover, then I am better off to die here in prison. Freedom without him is useless and meaningless."

Next week they are to stand trial. They face up to fourteen years in prison and hard labor. This is an outrage. I am concerned that they will be killed in the prison either by disease or the inherent violence that is part of prison culture.

Something must be done to stop this.

Malawi is a beautiful country and is rich in culture and diversity. This ruling will be a stain on its beauty and richness.

Please. I ask that the international community of activists, the United Nations, politicians in Malawi and international human rights lawyers speak up and help these men.

By doing this, protection of individual rights will be served and precedent set to in order to open the doors for other couples to be able to stop living in fear.

As for me, I will continue to work in Malawi and continue to speak up and out. No one can stop me.

I won't give up on this beautiful country because I know that these draconian laws betray the great beauty of this country I love so much.

You can take action right now. Sign this petition to encourage the United Nations Human Rights Council and the United Nations Development Program to pressure Malawi to end this trial and release these innocent men. The text of this petition is below:

In December, Malawi's first gay couple got married, Tiwonge Chimbalanga and Steven Monjeza. Next week they are to stand trial. They face up to fourteen years in prison and hard labor for their actions of proclaiming their love for each other and getting married.

Malawi is a beautiful country and is rich in culture and diversity. This ruling will be a stain on its beauty and richness. We ask that the International Community of activists, UNICEF, politicians in Malawi and International Human Rights lawyers speak up and help these men. By doing this, protection of individual rights will be served and precedent set to in order to open the doors for other couples to be able to stop living in fear.

Please sign this petition in support of these two men and stop this trial and its violation of human rights. Let's uphold the right to love, regardless of gender, protected from court punishment and discrimination.

Sincerely,

The Undersigned

Write to us at info@i-live-here.com

www.i-live-here.com

Women: The Oil That Turns the Wheels for 'I Live Here'

2010-03-08T21:28:21-05:00

This post was written with contributions from Erica Solomon and Judy Battaglia, both directors for the I Live Here foundation.

Mia Kirshner: The oil that turns the wheels of I Live Here Projects are women who volunteer for I Live Here. The projects are a series of book anthologies about human rights abuses all over the world. With each anthology, we provide programs to better the lives of the subjects that worked with us. Each of these women came to I Live Here for very different reasons. The ladies that work with us have full time jobs and, dare I say, struggle to make ends meet. In spite of that, they treat I Live Here like another full-time job. It's pretty amazing to watch I Live Here swell this little movement. I Live Here now belongs to all these amazing women who have propelled us forward. In honor of International Women's Day and the late nights of work, the heart and sometimes the frustration, I thought it was important to introduce you to some of the women who are the glue to I Live Here.

Erica Solomon: I remember meeting Mia at a café in Los Feliz. I told her that I felt an instant affinity with the stories in the I Live Here Anthology and that I was amazed by what she had accomplished. I was drawn to the powerful importance of hidden stories because of my own family's history. Like so many, my family survived the Holocaust. My father wears his experiences in his eyes. He fled a Communist and anti-Semitic government as a little boy. I feel a kinship for stories of the lost, oppressed and forgotten. As the Director of Education for I Live Here, I work on the creative writing curriculum for our Kachere Prison Project, a program designed to help the boys empower themselves through writing and art. I also work on the Ambassador Program, an ILH activist guide for high school and college students. I'm happy to report that the ambassador program is being used all over the world and that we are starting our creative writing program in Kachere.

Judy Battaglia: I have come to know a band of women so strong that I really feel like nothing can stop us when we put our minds together. I've done things with I Live Here that I never thought that I would do before. Just before Christmas, I organized a school supply drive for our program in Malawi. I was floored that people actually read our posts about this drive and sent packages from as far away as Australia. Especially in this economy, I know that when someone gives a little, it means a lot. This is why I handwrite our thank you notes. I want everyone who gives to ILH to feel special. I love that we bring people together from all walks of life, working for a common goal. I guess it makes me part of a community and feel less alone.

Mia again (on Malawi): Even though I Live Here works in a boys juvenile prison, the people that make the engine run with our local program are Mada Siebert and Hope Thorton. Mada runs our permaculture program in Kachere, a system of agriculture designed to be self-sustaining, Mada has an iron will. She is an innovator. She navigates the shark-infested waters of the prison authorities with grace and honesty. This grace inspires me on a daily basis. Mada oversaw the installation of composting toilets in each cell in Kachere. After ten years of defecating in plastic open buckets, the kids now have an actionable solution. We invested in roughly thirty dollars of seeds, which has transformed Kachere into a thriving garden. The direct result is that the kids have greens in their diet to help stabilize their immune systems. This, in turn, helps prevent sickness and enables the kids to be able to go to school. ILH will only work with low-impact, sustainable solutions; Mada built a rammed earth kitchen in the garden of Kachere. The walls are made from mud and then dried, causing no harm to the environment. Because of this, we are able to hold classes without the haze of smoke coming from the cauldrons in the kitchen. This smoke was toxic to breathe and would make your eyes water, sting and shut. I am proud to say, because of Mada's innovation, food will now be cooked in a more hygienic setting, preventing illness. Most importantly, she is teaching our boys in Kachere all about permaculture. Something that, once they are released, they can take back into their homes.

The women that wrote for the I Live Here anthologies are heroes. They are heroes because they spoke up. Women in brothels, domestic workers, refugees, victims of gang rape, wrote about conditions that they continue to work and live under and that few know about. I am sure they risked their lives for their stories to be heard. I Live Here exists because of them and we work in honor of their bravery. I like to think that I can learn from their bravery each day and put it into action in my day-to-day life.

Moving forward, I have a challenge for all of you who read this. What I would like to see is that men come and work with us on I Live Here Projects. Where are you? We believe that if someone is oppressed, hungry, unheard, these issues belong to us all. Today is the day that I ask men to come forward. We need you. My goal by the next International Women's Day is to have half the people that work with I Live Here be staffed men. What do you think? Can we do this together?

Returning to High School for the I Live Here Projects

2010-01-29T16:52:46-05:00

When I was in High school I was sure of three things.

1.People were assholes

2. All blond girls had perfect skin

3. Todd L, for sure, didn't want to be my boyfriend.

This and a steady diet of saltines and oranges, led curiously to my burgeoning interest in human rights. In attempt to propagate this, I would skip school and hang out in Kensington Market, pretending to be older than I was. I collected Greenpeace stickers and bought food for homeless people.

Even though everything totally sucked, there were a few things that were still OK about school. Like, the first day back from summer vacation, where you could wear your new clothes and hope that everything would be OK that year. The way in which the frost stuck to the baby hair on your cheekbones, melting when you opened your locker. Staying up all night, devouring a book that your teacher had recommended, that would make you feel less alone.

High school was a place in which you felt wide and revealed in its exhilarating highs and lows.

All of the above comes back, as I walk through the halls of Lawrence Park Collegiate Institute located in North Toronto. Michael Laidlaw, a teacher at Lawrence Park, had invited me. I had not seen him since I was 10, as he had been my grade-school classmate, so was rather surprised when he stood in front of me at a book signing in Toronto last year. Months later he wrote to me, saying that he would like to work with my book, I Live Here, in his classroom. Many more months later, he wrote to me announcing that he was going to have an evening to support I Live Here at his school.

I am utterly blown away by what Micheal, colleagues and students did last night. I know it was not easy. This group put together an evening with song, video, music and dance in support of I Live Here. The talent is pretty mind-blowing and shows a level of sophistication that can only be a result of study, talent and reflection. Most importantly, they did something. How many people can say they even tried?

Peirson Ross, a Graduate of Lawrence Park, played four beautiful songs about love and travel. He spoke with the thrill of reflection about his years at Lawrence Park. This guy has soul and is one of those talents that will warm many cold nights ahead.

It is terribly moving to have I Live Here be the recipient of all of this.

So: Here is my shout out and hug to each of you. I hope you all go forward with courage and will to never give up no matter how silly you think that big dream is.

Rob Mancini, Scott Morrison, Connor Whitworth, Ryan Hill, Taylor Dale, Stephanie Long, Deven Glover, Lily MacLoud, Caroline Murchie, Brigid Allemang, Nicole Correale, James Boudreau, Ben Sussina, Eric Smith, Babk Taghina, Ryan lamers, Christina Wolf, Georgina Coward, Mike Hetherington, Miles McCraw, Jackson Walker, Annie Clarke, mark Edwards, Sam Yoannou, Olivia Luyt,, Justin Manofo, Duncan O'Donnell, Rebecca Pegano, Lauren McDougall, Andrea Eksteins, Dinah Finkelstien, Melanie Fingold, Alex Coles, Sydney Milgrom, Isabel Ungar, Brodie Marks, Sonya Molyneux, Sophia Zekiros, Rachel Kurzter, Courtney Dart, Jessica Campbell, Lee Stein, Emma Boynton, Greg Giannakis, Linda Llio, Charlotte Ann, Emily Bonnell, Alex Kapo, Issac Rain, David Milliken. Drassinower, Amal Mohamed, Peirson Ross.

A very special thank you and massive hug to a wonderful teacher and risk-taker, Michael Laidlaw.

Thank you for listening and rising above it all. Thank you for lighting a little fire inside of me.
Check out Peirson Ross. This man is a talent.

Lessons In Falling: Growing Up In Malawi Prison

2009-10-12T21:46:21-04:00

This is a story about a mistake.

Kachere is a condemned building. Kachere is near a crowded market, where at lunchtime, you can hear the call of prayer from a mosque that shadows this prison. Kachere is small. So small that most of its young inhabitants remain secrets. When you stand within Kachere, the sun pricks skin like mean sparks. The smell of smoke from the cooking cauldrons burns your eyes shut if you get too close. The smell stains you and you can't get it off your clothes when you leave. Buckets are still being used for toilets in overcrowded and airless cells. The same buckets are used for washing their clothes. Boys piss on the ground, their urine trapped in fly-infested pools on broken cement ground.

Sickness ranges from TB, scabies to HIV and malaria. Cells are broken, causing further overcrowding. The remand population remains very high. Rates of illiteracy appear to be at roughly seventy five to eighty percent. Most of the boys are just sitting and waiting. They don't have enough to eat. Kachere is a juvenile prison in Lilongwe, Malawi. PASI (Paralegal Advisory Service Institute), Malawi's paralegal service, and our local partner, is tragically underfunded, making it almost impossible to serve the legal rights of the boys.

I am with Natasha M, a PASI paralegal who is always laughing. Initially, I didn't understand it and it made me uncomfortable. Why is she always laughing in Kachere? She is doing intake of all the current murder remandees. Intake is overwhelming. Their stories ache. The officers of Kachere have brought two boys in at a time to be interviewed. A boy is telling his story, while another boy sits in a dark corner waiting for his turn. This boy has his eyes closed and his hands are clasped together like he is praying. This is an urgent prayer. His act makes my stomach turn, as I do not know to help him. I am becoming part of the problem in Kachere.

When it is his turn to speak, he tells me a story: He was married when he was ten years old and worked on a farm. His infant daughter became sick. He thinks it's malaria. He tells his boss, who gives him two types of medication. He can't read though and through his story, it appears as though he could not read the instructions on the medication. Soon after, his daughter dies. The bosses of the farm are upset with this boy for not taking his daughter to hospital. The boy leaves the house and is surrounded by a group of boys who start stabbing him. He is then taken to a police station, arrested and then put in an adult prison for years, waiting for trial. He has finally been transferred to Kachere where he is still waiting for trial. He tells me that he has trouble using his hands and has lost feeling in them.

It's hard to breathe in this interview room because of the heat. Mostly though, because I realize that I Live Here has made a mistake. Our Program in Kachere is superfluous. It does not serve the needs of the prison population. Our program is supposed to focus on creative writing and art, in addition to addressing emergency needs not being met. This approach, I realize comes from a place of privilege and freedom. I confused art as being a basic need. I thought if they could find their voice, the rest of these urgent needs would eventually be met.

The truth is like a car cash. Sudden and violent. These boys can't find their voices if they are sick; if they don't have enough food; if their legal rights are not adhered to; if they can't read and write. These basic needs must be met before one can even address the conversation of art and empowerment.

It is over the next few days that I take our initial proposal and burn it.

It's an empty feeling, cut with shame. For the next few days, I simply sit in Kachere and watch life unfold, arrested with inaction. Slowly, like ink being dropped into water, the answers reveal themselves in this humanity that exists in Kachere. This humanity is in a broken cell that has been painted black. This cell is used as a classroom, where some of the remanded are teaching the other inmates to read and write. This humanity stops me in my tracks. It's a beautiful act of faith and hope.

A papaya seed. This is where I find the solution.

A woman named Mada is a student of permaculture - The design of human and agricultural systems based on the sustainable relationships existing in nature. She tells me that papaya can help kill worms that live in the stomach and Malawi is a perfect place to grow this fruit. Permaculture is a system, which uses the highest potential of the environment for the benefit of the people and other life that forms part of it. You simply need to observe and learn to assist nature to do what it naturally does best. Thereby you make best use of energy rather than attempting to force control over nature and wasting precious resources. You can compost your own waste (in fact the term 'waste' becomes obsolete - almost everything becomes a resource); you learn to save your best seeds from your last harvest. You need to use much less water, learn to eat more different foods that are in season and ultimately become independent of unsustainable inputs (like foreign aid). You create an environment, which can sustain itself and inhabitants over time - permanently. In order to make this work a change in thinking is needed, and this can be achieved through education.

Mada's passion for the earth is infectious. The way she talks about gardens is almost like a system of friendship. One plant, helping the other thrive. You attempt to put plants next to one another, in order to help each other reach their full potential. Plants that don't compete but complement each other, filling different niches. Other plants act as protectors of this system of friendship by holding back pests and attracting the right predators. A community becomes more than the sum of its parts. She makes gardens and farming sound like the ideal community of friendship that I aspire to have. Even though she speaks quietly, her words act as giant explosions.

All we need is within and with the land that surrounds us.

Permaculture begins to act as a metaphor. This idea becomes the foundation for how I Live Here will work in Kachere and beyond.

Rather than giving material aid, we will supply Kachere with the tools to sustain themselves in the long run. I would like Kachere to be an environment where the inmates can help one another grow. I would like Kachere to be clean. I ask that it is healthy. I would like a full-time school to be put in place. I would like to use toilets that compost waste. I would like the Kachere garden to become a classroom of permaculture, in turn providing the kids with nourishment. I would like to reopen each case of every child within Kachere. And then, when the kids leave Kachere, they have the tools that might just make them future leaders. I believe in these kids.

I begin again at a furious pace. Natasha and I visit various NGO's. We can't work in isolation anymore. Local partnership is key so that we can learn from one another. I begin to refer to our NGO visits as our "ambush." Like a glee club representative, I jump up and down and talk a lot with my hands. I giggle inappropriately when I sound like a high-school cafeteria sermon. I realize I am off-putting with my enthusiasm and am met with a lot of stony faces. I don't want to take no for an answer when I'm told that this or that NGO is too busy to help, they don't return calls, or our program is not in their mandate, etc. When the organizations we meet with brush us off, Natasha and I move to the next ones on our list. The best help, by surprise, comes from the Malawian Government, who is willing to do the most and shows the most passion for this project.

We approach the Ministry of Environmental Health and ask for their help in cleaning the prison. We don't know if it has ever been cleaned. The response is amazing. Within a day, two nurses are in the prison with an industrial sized bucket of chlorine, plastic aprons and masks. The prison is being scrubbed from top to bottom. The bedding is deloused and washed. A barber comes to Kachere and cuts the hair of the children, in order to get rid of the lice. The children seem happier.

We need full-time school in this prison. One day, I ask the inmates, "Who wants to go to school?" All of the kids put their hands up. I am adamant that these kids have access to the best education possible. I am able to hire a teacher who has just graduated from Chancellor College, the Harvard of Malawi. The Ministry of Education is very cooperative. They give us books and syllabi that will allow the boys to follow the national education program. They can begin to study from standards 1-8. Surprisingly, the officers in the prison ask if they can take these classes. We will build a tent so that the kids can be shaded from the sun when they learn.

We make wooden compost toilets based on the Humanure system. One for each cell. There will be no more feces lying in open buckets in airless cells at night. This will cut down on the risk of cholera and other illnesses transmitted from contact of fecal matter. We install hand-washing stations in each cell, along with clean water taps.

Madda begins to source local seeds, so that the garden will grow with food that is environment appropriate. The enthusiasm among the officers is palpable. We will have a medicinal garden and teach the officers and the kids how to reproduce this system in their own home.

Finally, because our on the ground partner is PASI, Natasha will look after the legal rights of these children. Twice a week, PASI will teach legal rights education so that from now on, these kids will know their rights.

I realize this is an ambitious program. A lot will go wrong. The most important element is that I deeply believe in what we are doing and are here for the long run.

Eventually, I Live Here's initial art and creative writing curriculum will be re-integrated back into the school curriculum. I still believe that art and prose can serve to make the world less lonely.

I Live Here has found its voice through what I have learned in Malawi. We found our voice through mistakes, which I am sure we will continue to make and hopefully learn from.

Thank you Natasha, for reminding me to laugh. I now understand that humor is the only way to get through days that can hurt your heart.

When we move to create our program in a brothel on the Thai-Burmese border, we will apply all that we learned at Kachere, working within the environment that we are in, rather than implementing a foreign agenda.

The I Live Here website will continue to chronicle our work on our website. In tandem, I Live Here will launch an interactive website where global users submit their own stories about home, intimacy, loss, love and loneliness. Stories from your brother, sister, neighbor that might have remained hidden from view, much like the past of Kachere.

Finally, we have created an Ambassador program, run by Erica Solomon, our Educational Director. It will center around the I Live Here book anthology and the work of our programs. This is a student-run, yearlong curriculum that provides high school and college students, around the world, with the tools to be agents for change. Our deep hope is to build an I Live Here community of like-minded activists. Finally, we will continue the I Live Here anthology of books.

I Live Here was able to go to Malawi because of the generous support of those that attended our first fundraiser. And we will continue to be mostly volunteer run, headed by the unstoppable Judy Battaglia.

I still believe that stories will change the world. And through this change, we will surely find ourselves less alone.

I Live Here: My Story

2009-08-22T11:16:40-04:00

I traveled to Malawi in January of 2005. It was my first time in Sub-Saharan Africa, a place which felt like an obscure Narnia. I found myself in Kachere Juvenile Prison, located in Lilongwe, the capital of Malawi. I was there with my co-writer, James MacKinnon, to collect material for the Malawi chapter of I Live Here, a four-volume anthology about vanishing communities around the world. James and I stood in the center of the prison watching these boys search for shade. It was quiet in there. Oddly so. The sun, like an open sore, seeped into our pores, robbing us of energy. There was a sharp smell of shit, made pungent by the heat.

Back then, there were roughly ninety boys in Kachere. They appeared to be waiting for something. I'm not sure what. Upon release many have no place to go; they are orphans, their parents having died from AIDS-related illnesses. Many of them here are on remand for months at a time. Many are in the prison for stealing Nokia cell phones or corn, their crime related to their savage hunger due to poverty. Their daily routine is simple. They are let out of their cell at 6:00 a.m., eat once a day and are locked back in their cell at 4:00 p.m. There is one bucket in each crowded cell for the boys to relieve themselves. I guess that is why cholera can be an issue here. There are no beds or books. Sometimes there is no soap and I can see sores and rashes on their skin. Sometimes there is not enough food. The government is poor and does not have funding to operate in spite of good intentions.

I know that there are large and well-funded organizations that work in Lilongwe, yet no one has stepped in to change these conditions. Why? Why are some groups of people left to be discarded like human remains?

I never imagined that I would ever be doing something like this.

After James and I returned from Malawi, we felt a deep need to do more for the Kachere boys. They made James and I humble and oddly optimistic. In spite of what they had been through, the majority of boys wrote beautifully, with heartbreaking depth and strength about their lives in prison. We decided to start a program. It's a simple program, centered around creative writing and art. We hire local teachers and use a curriculum, designed to have the boys express what they need and hope for. From there, I Live Here will do its best to address basic human rights and needs not being met in the prison. Additionally, we will work with paralegals to ensure that their legal rights are being served. At the end of the year, we'll publish a small book with the work from Kachere, with proceeds going back into the program next year.

It's taken us a few years to design I Live Here, and since we were last there, conditions have deteriorated. Two boys recently died in this prison. The population has swelled and fighting has become commonplace.

We are having our first fundraiser tonight, Aug 22, in Santa Monica. It's the very first fundraiser for ILH. Tickets are $25 - $50 at the door.

I can't help but have butterflies in my stomach, worrying that no one will come. I think it's because I've worked on ILH for nine years. If people come to the event, they will be able to see that it takes a small amount of money to make some pretty amazing changes. For instance, for $300 you can supply soap to all the boys in prison for one year, preventing rashes.

I leave for Malawi a few days after the event to set up the program and staff it. All I know for certain is that I am ready to begin.

Thank you Malawi.

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