The City with No Stop Signs

There is something about a city that has no stop signs that cries out for comment. Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, is one of those cities. To make matters more complicated, Addis has only a handful of street signs. This leaves traffic, pedestrians included, to their own devices, with a multitude of strategic decisions to make when navigating their way through the innumerable avenues and alleyways of this sprawling city. Sidewalks and streets are in various states of disrepair, although they are generally paved (a relatively new phenomenon apparently). With a population of somewhere around 4 million people (no one really knows), it has the distinction of being the world's largest city in a landlocked country. Add this all together and you have a lot of people who are essentially trapped, not sure where they are going but who are impatient to get there.

During the day one is struck by the number of shoeshine entrepreneurs occupying each block. Beggars are common, and hawkers of almost any kind of goods are persistent in many places. At night the same sidewalks may be occupied by provocatively dressed hookers who appear entirely out of place in this basically conservative environment. Construction is occurring everywhere, with modernistic, new buildings pushing into the cityscape alongside ramshackled, old structures. It is not unusual to see herds of goats being driven down a main thoroughfare, claiming the right-of-way from the innumerable taxis. It is difficult to avoid observing the city's incongruous and confusing mixture of culture, religion and controls.

We arrived after a long day of travel only to find that our accommodation, a modest bed-and-breakfast, had confused our reservation. We always reserved on the basis of one room, two beds and Internet accessibility. We assumed that a shower would be available in each room we booked, however, in several cases this involved a bathtub and a handheld shower nozzle (making it somewhat difficult to keep the remainder of the bathroom from being drenched). Our accomodation reservation in Addis Ababa seemed to have hit a snag. Two rooms showed as being required (therefore doubling the price). However, after arguing, mostly in sign language and broken English, the problem was solved by the night clerk setting up a rollaway bed in the room, bringing the total cost down from $140 for two rooms to $95 for one. Despite the somewhat reluctant negotiated late night compromise, we received a call from the manager the next morning advising that it was against the law to allow two non-Ethiopian man to sleep in a single room. The rather bold assumption and double discrimination were troubling but seemed irrefutable.  However, skillful negotiation on Carson's part made way for an exception in our case based upon my apparent need for 24-hour attendance by DOCTOR Pue due to my Parkinson's disease.

While Addis Ababa is anxious to greet the Western world, it appears to be doing so at somewhat of a pell-mell pace and piecemeal fashion, tripping over itself in the confusion of cultures, the desire to advance and the shrugging off of its reputation as a famine-plagued, have-not country. One evening for supper we attended a traditional European restaurant with  cultural entertainment in the form of singing and dancing. Although the ancient instruments and historical music were fascinating, it was difficult to avoid the fact that very loud amplification, technical sound enhancement and computerized musical support was utilized throughout the show, despite the rather small audience of 30 or so patron.

Racing away from the past and into the future inevitably means that some things and some people are left behind. The city's landmark-based navigation requirements and almost total lack of regulated traffic are indications of this anomaly. The fact that almost everyone seems to have a cellular phone presents a visual contradiction to the evidence that the country is continuing to struggle with poverty, corruption and economic challenges. It is, after all, the city with no stop signs.

Who Killed the Cat?

Who Killed the Cat?

In Ethiopia, when someone has tremors, an observer might draw one of two conclusions. The first is that the shaking is caused by withdrawal from alcohol (in some places called delirium tremens). The other assumption drawn from such a sight comes from an Ethiopian saying, "He who is shaking has killed a cat". Wolde was certain that neither was true of him, despite his tremors. But the idea of identifying the cause of his Parkinson's disease as being based in something as simple as having killed a cat brought a smile to his lips, and mine, as he spoke comfortably about his diagnosis a little over a year ago.

Wolde had been a mechanical engineer with the Ethiopian highways department before his retirement. Not wanting to be found idle, he volunteered as a logistics specialist with World Vision, assisting large numbers of needy people in his home country. Despite having left those responsibilities behind, he assured me that he kept active, both physically and mentally.  Regardless of his 76 years, he understood that this was important to maximize the quality of his life with Parkinson's.

We met in a modest second-floor restaurant in the southeast quarter of Addis Ababa where he and several of his long-term friends met every week. They had done so for years to enjoy each other’s company, reminisce, talk about current topics of concern, share their common passion for the work of young people and leaders in their respective circles. Wolde drank a macchiato, and I sipped on my Ethiopian coffee, served in a demitasse with several teaspoons full of sugar as is done everywhere throughout this country. I loved the coffee, but struggled each time to get the tiny, scalding hot, full-to-the-brim cup to my lips without leaving a dark stain down my shirt or scalding my tongue. Despite our age difference, life experiences and the fact that I was from a culture and a city at least half a world away, we spoke as friends who shared a not so secret disease.

Wolde had been diagnosed incorrectly several times before finally being told that he had Parkinson's disease. It had struck him hard, as it does most people, but he quickly regained his equilibrium and now remains positive despite the prognosis. Astonishingly, despite his large number of friends and contacts, Wolde was unaware of anyone else that had Parkinson's, and knew of no association or organization that works to support people with PD or improve their lot. He was certain that "nerve doctors" would know of some, however, he himself had been diagnosed by a general practitioner, who prescribed carbidopa levodopa in basically the same dosages as I take.

I asked him how he stayed positive? He was quick to tell me that his faith, being a longtime member of a local Protestant church in Addis Ababa, was a key for him. He said that he did not understand how people without a faith in something bigger than themselves, bigger than science and bigger than people generally could manage remaining positive in the face of serious disease. He did not consider his faith to be a crutch. Rather, his beliefs constituted the core of who he was, and they simply became stronger when confronted with the challenges of the disease. This was not all. He was obviously in tune with at least some of the aspects of self-care that might alleviate or slow down some of the symptoms he was experiencing. Since his diagnosis, he had begun taking certain vitamins and was doubly committed to remaining active, reading, doing puzzles, getting exercise, and generally using all of his faculties to their fullest potential.

After an hour of interesting exchanges, I thanked him for his time (trying my best in Amharic (the primary language in Ethiopia, although there are some 80 others), "Ama seh geh neh lu’ (thank you very much).  He answered, “Chigger yellem” (no problem).  I gave him my Positively Parkinson’s card and he sincerely wished me well with the blog and seemed keen to follow our continuing journey.  As we parted, we firmly shook hands knowing that, despite the short time together, we had become friends.  “No more killing cats now”, I said.

The Masai Maiden's Vision

"Trainee" the lapel name tag read. But despite the label, the young woman at the front desk of the Sarova Game Camp who assisted us in gaining Internet access exuded confidence beyond her stated position and apparent age. From time to time on our round the world journey we have had the opportunity to encounter people who, without intention or design, stand out for some reason or other. They consistently sparkle while the rest of us simply struggle to shine on occasion. It is as if they are called to be key participants in significant stories being written and lived out at the same time. Sometimes, these men and women are recognizable by their demeanor, the manner in which they observe others around them or carry themselves when interacting in a group. At other times it is the words they use, the unrehearsed expressions that evidence an unusual wisdom, or the insights and depth of understanding they gain while listening to others. Simply put, some people we have had the privilege of meeting are extraordinary.

The name of the "Trainee", as it turned out, was Peninah. Her English was excellent and she proved very helpful in our establishment of the necessary computer connectivity, while at the same time allowing us to quiz her on progressively more personal topics. What was she training to be? What did her training involve? What sort of education did she have? Where did she come from? What did her name mean? It turned out that Peninah’s mother had given her a Hebrew name from the Bible. It means, “pearl", something of great value that started as a mere grain of sand but by provocation created the unimaginable. Yet, she was a Masai, born and raised in the Masai village only a few kilometers away from the Game Camp. Each day after her shift at work she returned to live with her family in the traditional Masai hut, a likeness of which is shown below. That, in and of itself, seemed extraordinary. How could such a well-spoken, obviously intelligent, young lady working her way into the hotel management business, live fully engaged in an apparently outmoded culture. The Masai have notoriously shunned modern world ideologies and maintained their traditional practices and principles despite attempts by governments to convince or coerce them to abandon them. You see, the Masai have been for centuries brightly dressed herders of cattle, and have historically lived almost exclusively on a diet comprised of the products of such livestock. While not compliant with most modern theories of dietary balance, they tend to live longer and suffer less disease than many of their countrymen. They used to be notorious cattle rustlers based on their belief that all cattle had been given to them by God. Now they have become shrewd cattle traders instead, achieving larger and larger herds with constantly improved stock, all of which has created demand for more grazing territory, and the resulting conflict with the authorities. It has become a confrontation between the ways of the Masai warrior and the surrounding cultural juggernaut.

Rather than being caught between two opposing worlds, she has learned to accommodate both. She respects and largely shares her family's community values while understanding and adopting the necessary aspects of a larger worldview. But that is just beginning. As intimated by the name she was given by her mother, Peninah has chosen to accept the tensions between her own Christian faith and the naturalistic traditions of her extended family. But there is yet another cause for conflict: education. It is unusual in the extreme for Masai women, who live in a male elder government community and play an important role in the life of the community, to leave their family and pursue an education. Peninah did both. She completed a college degree in Western Kenya.

It seems that the extraordinary people we met in our travels these past weeks share some attributes. First, they have the vision outside themselves, and ability to see beyond what is, to what can be. It is a picture they carry in their hearts and minds, a vision of a better tomorrow. Secondly, they have a passionate commitment to pursue that vision and make it real.  Peninah has such vision which she is passionately pursuing. It is to preserve the culture and fundamental principles of her people, while at the same time promoting the benefits of education. Such pursuits present enormous challenges. But there is fire within that small frame of Peninah. And we have no doubt that although she is just a mere trainee at present, she will someday live up to her name and be recognized as a pearl of great value.

Maasai Mara: Confusion and Clarity

It was 7 AM. Joe had just arrived to pick us up from the palatial Sarova PanAfric in Nairobi, the nicest hotel we had yet stayed in on our trip. We were awake early, despite having arrived late the night before from Kisumu. Although somewhat groggy, we were ready for the five hour trip to Maasai Mara. The next few days were our third, and final, planned tourist activity (Machu Picchu and Kruger National being the other two). We had anticipated using the long road trip time to catch up on sleep, but failed to take into consideration the road conditions. Joe had often driven this route, and did his best to avoid potholes, speed bumps and hazardous traffic conditions, but could do little when faced with the road (or off road) conditions for the last 125 km. Having suffered under the heavy rains recently, there were many sections where the road was intersected with gullies 2 feet deep, threatening to high center Joe's Toyota four-wheel drive van. But, undeterred, we bounced along for several hours learning to trust his seemingly innate ability to miss the worst of the large rocks, mud-filled potholes and water-made ravines, all the while passing any other vehicle in his way and traveling at speeds normally attempted only on smooth pavement. Preferring to die with our eyes wide open, we abandoned the idea of catching up on any sleep.

Sore from the ride, we arrived at the gates to the world famous Maasai Mara nature reserve only to encounter yet another irony in Kenyan culture. The entry fee was $70 per day per person, meaning a total of $280. Cash. US funds. Why would Kenya's premier tourist attraction charge in US dollars. This seemed to constitute a distinct lack of confidence in the country’s economy or currency. Despite having expected to pay in Kenyan shillings, Carson scraped up two $100 bills and I had enough smaller bills to satisfy the gate authorities. Joe then delivered us to our accommodations at the Sarova "Game Camp", inside the Reserve. The Game Camp was really a very well designed resort with a pool, mini golf, eating and drinking facilities, all snuggled in a densely treed area alongside a small creek. Our "rooms" were in fact tents. These are not ordinary tents, but ones with hardwood floors and attached fully functional bathrooms with all of the necessary amenities. But before we settled in, Joe returned in something of a panic. There was a problem with the $100 bills. With visions of our experience in Peru, we thought at first they were found to be counterfeit. Joe explained. Apparently, neither banks nor any businesses in Kenya accept US hundred dollar bills older than the year 2000. No one seemed to be able to explain why. Here we were with no US dollars, and a five hour drive away from the nearest bank in Nairobi where we might be able to get US funds (although it was Independence Day and they weren't open anyway). Fortunately, after another 24 hours of negotiating on our behalf, the Game Camp management and Joe reached agreement with the authorities at the entry gate. We were allowed to pay in Kenyan shillings at a slightly inflated conversion rate. Disaster was averted.

When we had booked Maasai Mara some months back I had had mixed feelings about going to a second game reserve, both in Africa. This concern had increased because Kruger National had been such an extraordinary experience. But I was told by reliable sources that it was worth the trip. I was still skeptical when we headed out with Joe on our first of three game drives. But I was immediately reassured when I noticed that the “feel” of Maasai Mara was totally different than Kruger. In Maasai Mara there were no paved roads, densely vegetated areas, or posted speed limits but rather unpredictable, off-road tracks traversing wild, wide-open hilly savanna grasslands, which Joe drove through as fast as possible (reaching speeds of over 90 kph/55 mph). You could see for miles around you and I wondered how we would ever get close to any animals. This was compounded by the fact that the rains had resulted in the grass growing to 3 or 4 feet high, easily hiding all but the elephants and giraffes.     

Although very different, the Maasai Mara proved to be the equivalent of our Kruger experience. Not only did we repeat seeing the Big Five (leopard, lion, elephant, buffalo and rhinoceros), we were actually close enough to touch several prides of lions. But even more rare and awe-inspiring, we were able to follow a pride of male lions on the hunt, watching them strategize, stealthily approach their quarry. They had observed the lone Cape Buffalo with its small calf from a distance of several kilometers, and began moving quickly but carefully through the deep grass. We followed at a respectful distance of twenty meters or so without the lions so much as glancing our way. They were intently focused on their prey and ignored us entirely. It was not until the lead lion was 50 m away that the adult buffalo realized its danger, or more precisely, the precarious situation of the young calf. At first they attempted to escape, but were quickly cut off by the four big cats that had surrounded them. The adult Cape Buffalo, protecting the young one who stayed as close as possible, turned to face the hunters as they each sprang in turn depending on which way the death-dealing horns were facing. Had it been a battle between the buffalo and one lion, or even two, it might've been a different story, but in this case, barring a miracle, the end was certain. Despite a valiant effort, the adult buffalo, facing down three of the lions, was soon separated from the young calf, which was then dragged down by the remaining lion. Seeing the young one disappears into the tall grass, the adult buffalo seemed to recognize the hopelessness of any defense and began running, chased by only one lion this time. It seemed that the pride were not keen on a bigger prize, but had somehow determined in advance that they would be satisfied with a small victory. We were only 10 meters away while we watched the consummation of the kill for a short while before turning to make our way back to the Game Camp. It had been a dramatic but sobering sight as we recognize that the reality of this world must include a victor and a vanquished.

As I fell asleep that night under the shelter of a canvas roof, protected by my mosquito net and otherwise feeling secure despite the innumerable noises of the night, I could not but contemplate how my reality was so different from much of the rest of the world. In some ways my own struggle with Parkinson's disease, supported as I have been by every medical privilege, is not much more than a small dose of reality. Yet PD is enough to demand an answer to a question that others in my Western culture may not yet have been directly asked: "By what principles will you contend with reality?"

Kenya: Contradictions Continued

Wherever we went in Western Kenya we saw children walking to and from school, most dressed neatly in school uniforms. In fact, my observation was that even the poorest here seem to do their best to dress in clean and presentable clothes. Despite the heat that I felt, the locals thought that it was cold and the children and adults alike all wore sweaters, long sleeve shirts and even winter coats. It is difficult to get over the irony of being at the equator and watching people complaining about the cold. Of course, I did my own Parkinson related "shivering" due to stress of a heavy travel schedule, sleeping in a new bed most every night, missing my nap in the middle of the day and, perhaps most importantly, dealing with the constant barrage of "newness". Traveling, especially into areas of the world that are different than anything you've experienced before, can be exhausting. After more than a month on the road I am feeling the effects. Hopefully, this is not the forerunner of some illness, but just a reminder that people with Parkinson's need to be of very aware of the disease-caused limitations (without being a slave to them).

Our interest in going to West Kenya was, in part, to see the work being undertaken by Hands-On Development Initiatives International (HODI), a small charity operated in large part by a Kenyan family with links to British Columbia. We got to know a little bit about this work through Jarvis, a member of this family, who is also a fellow student and a friend of my daughter. In fact, we were met at the airport by Jarvis's father, who also has made arrangements for accommodation and transport is to be community where HODI carried out most of its activities. Of course, getting there was an adventure in itself. As was typical in rural Kenya, the roads were obviously not a priority. However, this did not seem to slow down any of the local drivers, who barely missed pedestrians, livestock, and other vehicles by a few inches/centimeters.

In a number of respects, HODI, has adopted the home village of Jarvis's family, Muhanda, located approximately one hour away from Kisumu. Upon arriving at the preschool, built and operated through the efforts of HODI, we were greeted by approximately 150 preschool children between the ages of 3.5 and 6 years old, all dressed in uniform. Led by their teachers, the kids sang a queue songs in English, most of them with enthusiasm and smiles. Having spent a portion of the morning observing the teachers and children, it was obvious that this was a good work, benefiting the children by feeding, educating, and providing an encouraging environment for their growth and development. Were it not for this school and its programs many would go hungry for the day, lack the preparatory work some of them need to engage in primary education, and, perhaps most importantly, live in unhealthy circumstances that discourage personal development. Speaking with the teachers, it was obvious that they are passionate about helping the poorest and most helpless children. This took the full child into consideration. For one child, it led to a constant battle between the teachers seeking to treat that child's "jiggers" (a type of flea found in Kenya and other countries, which burrows into the skin and causes infection, particularly of feet), and his unsanitary home environment where the situation was being re-created or worsened. The picture shown above was not staged, but simply resulted from the taking the initiative to pick up one of the smaller ones (whom, I learned later, was also one of the most underprivileged children coming to the preschool).

The second project that we viewed was a water project that supplied a significant portion of the village with clean (chlorinated) water to their homes, some schools and other establishments. Without this system, the supply of water (not necessarily clean) within some distance away, requiring transportation by hand. This system was built by HODI with the assistance of the community, and is now owned by the community through its own user-elected Water Committee, which ensures that the system is fully functional, modified where required, and that the amount users are charged (assuming they have the means to pay) is fair.

Two other HODI projects are either in process or just beginning. There is a medical clinic that we visited, where expansion is installed due to process and funding. We saw how the existing clinic premises were full, with at least 30 or 40 people lined up to see the one doctor. One project that was just beginning, in terms of construction, was a community-oriented micro-finance concept. This involves the construction of a small dairy facility, housing several milk cows, with a rabbit hutch mezzanine and biogas facility to be added later. This is all next to the school property , which has attracted a lot of the students' attention . The foundations were being dug, and the simple type of mud/rock concrete "poured", the morning we were there. Other than shovels and one wheelbarrow, the two barefoot laborers and a "foreman" (who was actually the pastor of a local church congregation) had no tools whatsoever. In fact, the whole time we were in West Kenya I saw no more than one or two pieces of farm machinery or other types of equipment. Mechanization is a luxury in this part of the world. Hard, back breaking long hours of labor with inadequate tools and equipment are normal here.

What struck me strongly about our visit to the western parts of Kenya, and particularly the HODI projects that we saw, is how much can be done with so little. This is as opposed to North America where so little is done with so much. I wonder, have we in the developed world forgotten the lessons that were taught to us by our ancestors and that made our countries what they are? If so, what are the consequences?

Kenya: A Study in Contradictions

Speed bumps were placed somewhat indiscriminately upon the main highways and secondary roads. It was obvious that these were not planned for protection of pedestrians.  Their most common function was to test the vehicle's nonexistent shock absorbers, tire pressure or the weight of passengers or cargo being carried. In most cases, these traffic control devices were so severe as to cause each vehicle to slow from its typical right next speed to a near stop, before speeding off again. As in many other cultures, automobiles come first and have the right-of-way, often missing the many people walking on the shoulder of the highways by inches. Even on the modern thoroughfares, of which there are a number, cutting in front of other drivers, tailgating and driving far beyond the mechanical safety margins of the vehicles are all part of normal everyday traffic congestion. Of course, all of this is slightly more disconcerting to North American visitors, given the fact that Kenya is a right-hand drive country (like South Africa).

Since arriving in Kenya it has been difficult to get a grip on which is the real Kenya. It is a country, like others in Africa, with an abundance of contradictions. It has incredible beauty, and some extraordinarily modern commercial and residential skyscrapers. Yet urban housing for the poor often consists of little more than a small, tin shack or mud and sticks structures with none of the basic services available. Despite being equatorial, it is green in many places, yet struggles with supplying many of its citizens with the basic requirement of clean water. Education and healthcare can often be out of reach for the country's poor, thereby condemning them to shortened lives, and a lifelong search for meaningful and remunerative work. Yet there is a thirst for knowledge that drives young people who will form the future of this country. The country's capital, Nairobi, is proud of its multinational company offices and modern technology, equal to many Western cities. Yet the rural population ekes out a living farming small plots of land or working in tiny shops that make minimal profit despite working long hours.

Our experiences with the contradictions that make up Kenya were numerous, commencing from the moment we first arrived. Despite being the hub of this East African country, the Nairobi International Airport lacks any of the polish of an international point of entry. On the other hand, Kisumu International Airport is modern, efficient even though it is small (only 3 gates) and, despite its name, has no international flights arriving or departing from its facilities. On a side note, the Kisumu International Airport does have one of the best bookstores we have encountered, despite the fact that it is no more than 10 ft.² (3 m²).

Next, there was the comparison between the Macedonia Resort Hotel in Kisumu, where we stayed our first night, and the Sarova PanAfric Hotel in Nairobi, where we stayed our second night. The former, while clean with friendly staff, was a colonial style building with some difficulty in living up to its name "Resort". However, it was the least expensive of any hotel that we stayed at. Despite the power outages during a rainstorm, and the total lack of functioning Internet connection, we felt comfortable and welcome there. On the other hand, the PanAfric was an elite hotel has the distinction of being the most expensive accommodation thus far. While the staff was very service-oriented, we had the impression that tipping a few American dollars somehow inadequate. The meals served by both hotels were further indications of their differences. The tilapia had the Kisumu hotel was fresh caught from Lake Victoria, deep-fried whole and eaten with one's hands (while we studiously avoided looking into the unblinking eye of our evening meal). We were the only people in the restaurant, and our server, as well as cook, checkout clerk and, we expected, maid, was a friendly, simply dressed lady by the name of Teresa (she told us, as she had no name tag). In the Nairobi high-rise hotel, there was every type of international cuisine available in the busy hotel restaurant. Served by efficient, uniformed waiting staff, the meal was delicious, costing quadruple the price of the prior evening's supper. 

As always, there seemed to be lessons any alterations made. It is not just Kenya it finds itself in contradictory states. Certainly, in my case, my personal contradictory behavior has become all too evident. For instance, there are times when my Parkinson's tremor is something I want to hide so that I can fit in and avoid attracting the sidelong glances of people trying to define my particular malady. In other cases, I would not apply for a Handicap parking sticker, yet I have been quick to take advantage of my "disability" to gain advantages, such as proceeding to the front of long airport lines. People, generally, are guilty of judging the contradictory elements of both individual and cultural behavior. However, speaking for myself, there is little doubt that I have their some responsibility for my own hypocrisy.

Robbed!

The robbery was totally unexpected. Security systems and other precautions failed. The 65 year-old victim, George, had even helped prevent others in his community from suffering similar losses. But this one was different enough from those cases to avoid detection. A stranger had apparently found a way in and perpetrated the crime when no one was watching. The theft was confirmed. The known losses had been inventoried, but it was expected that the full extent of the burglary would not be known for some time. George was devastated as all the consequences began to sink in.
George was a medical doctor in Rwanda.  He had been diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease. He felt useless to help his community with much needed medical treatment.  He had saved lives.  He had been a talented and much sought after physician.  He had worked very hard to raise and educate his family, as well as other extended family members in need.  He used to be needed.  Now it was he who needed help, to lean on others to walk any distance. In the past, other doctors had valued his opinion. He was popular, esteemed and had social standing in his community. Now he had none of that, at least as far as he was concerned. He had been robbed of his identity. In its place he had been offered worthlessness, pity and estrangement.

In Rwanda, men have value if they are strong, stoic and self-sufficient. Any admission or appearance of weakness or dependency is avoided. A man is to work hard, provide for and protect his family, maintain his reputation and be strong. George had achieved all of that and more. But now he was left feeling alone, worthless and aimless. He preferred to stay at home rather than bear the humiliation he felt. As a doctor, he knew what the future would hold. The "thief" would continue to steal from him as if he were completely defenseless.

Odd though it may sound, George did not know anyone who had Parkinson's. That left him unable to process all the things he was going through. When his family asked if I would meet with him, I was only too pleased to do so, as long as he was interested in meeting with me. I was comfortable and enjoyed my time with him in his home. Even though his symptoms were considerably different than mine, we had much that we could share. We both enjoyed our work, loved our families (especially our grandchildren), and found our identity and purpose in helping others. I understood his sense of helplessness when, month after month, we saw the thief rob him of his dignity.

Rwanda does not appear to have any organized support for people with Parkinson's. It appears that because of the cultural response to this disease (and lots of others), people become prisoners in their own homes, waiting to be relieved of their burden of humility. I suggested that maybe he would be the perfect kind of person to start such an organization. He certainly understands the issues from a medical vantage point as well as a personal perspective. He has a reputation that would help in promoting awareness of the disease. And, most of all, he has a need to reorient himself and find significance again. We talked about George coming to Montréal in 2013 to the World Parkinson Congress. His family was enthusiastically supportive. He has a brother who lives there, whom he has visited several times. I would meet him there. It sounded perfect.

But there is much that can happen in the next 16 months, as there is for any of us. And George taught me things about that as he hesitated, knowing full well that he could not make any new irrevocable commitment given his current lack of self-confidence. But I was encouraged. We had connected. Our relationship had begun. Hope is born and kept alive in such interactions.