…For some of you, this is the first time you have heard from me since I left for Kenya. I have had an incredible five months in a beautiful country that I have started to call home. I arrived in Nairobi to give what I could to The 1010 Project and the people of East Africa, but the people here and their relationships have instead been a gift to me.

Tuesday afternoon I was offered a position with Doctors Without Borders. I applied to work with their international relief teams in September, and this week they asked me to join one of their Belgian teams in Haiti. I accepted the six-month posting as a logistician today, and leave for Port au Prince via Brussels on June 10^th.

This is an incredible opportunity for me, and an exciting adventure. I am looking forward to the challenges of working in disaster relief again. The hands-on and intense fieldwork is a great match for my personality. I love the problem solving and sometimes adrenalin it takes to get the job done. That said, this was a very difficult decision.

I am very loyal and personally tied to The 1010 Project. Our partners and beneficiaries in Kenya are my friends, the staff is like my family, and our mission provided a vehicle for my values. 1010 mobilized me as an advocate, and was a catalyst for my professional development. — I am also not done exploring East Africa. I arrived in Kenya with the goal of standing on the summits of both Mt. Kilimanjaro and Mt. Kenya, and I haven’t done either. On the other hand, this new position is the next step in my professional goals; it just arrived a lot sooner then expected.

Please think of me over the next few weeks as I prepare for this step. My thoughts and memories of you are what inspire my life. I will continue to be a part of the 1010 family (as I have been the last 4 years) as a donor and volunteer, and I ask you to do the same. Their model is proven, our partners are phenomenal, and their opportunities are dependent on your involvement! Please go to the website this week and see how you can Join The Story.

Thank you again for your friendship, support, and empowerment.

Keith B. Ives

Kim’s hope now lies in an alternative revenue source for the school. The disadvantage of his slum-setting also provides the potential for his success. There are no water sources in the immediate vicinity of his school or the families that share his tin walls. He is completing a business plan/proposal that would have the school purchase a large water tank that could be filled daily by the Nairobi Water Company. The school could then sell the water (for about 1 shilling a gallon). Considering other sources, community size, and operating expenses, the water sales would be able to generate 30% of the needed revenue annually.

Selling water would be a service to this community, an empowering business for the school, and a gift to the disenfranchised children in the area.

I walked home in the dark, energized by the buzz of this community. The muddy path out was lined with families selling fresh fruit, fried tilapia, brass padlocks, pencils… …life was happening all around me. Yet despite the worst of conditions everyone’s smiles seemed to glow as brightly as the kerosene lanterns that marked the way.

I’m back in Nairobi and trying hard to stay focused and disciplined in my work for The 1010 Project.  My immediate goals are to complete the NGO registration process with the government here, write the constitution & standard operating procedures for in-country operations, & to do a written evaluation of all of our current partners.  In the meantime I am also being intentional about getting out, exploring, & having fun. I really want to climb Mt. Kenya (& maybe Kilimanjaro) before I leave Nairobi. Yes, I will be leaving Nairobi. I have been accepted to work with Doctors Without Borders/Medicines Sans Frontiers (MSF) as a logistician. This is a “Roster” type position where give them my availability, & they try to find a “mission” to match my skill-set. I don’t know where I will be; that’s half of the excitement. The missions are typically 6 months at a time. I have posted myself as available starting in August. That should give me enough time to finish up what I am working on with 1010. I cannot tell you how excited I am to move back towards the relief side of the house. I have been craving something a bit more physically challenging, faster pace, & with more immediate results. I suddenly realized that I like to sweat, have my adrenalin pumped, and see the results of my work quickly… …ok maybe I’m a bit impatient.   Anyways, that’s the update. I am taking french lessons at the local Alliance Francaise. Brushing up on it will help me pick up missions with MSF faster. Check them out. They are a impressive org doing very intense work… 

I also have uploaded a number of pictures from my explorations around Kenya. Check them out here: http://picasaweb.google.com/KeithBIves

I need some food to wash the disappointment out of my mouth. I leave and continue walking down the road. I know a good place to grab Mbuzi Choma (grilled goat) about a kilometer down the road. Arriving I find more disappointment. They are closed. I walk a bit further dodging the puddles left from tonight’s rain. Mud gets stuck between the bed of my Chaco sandal & my foot, as I notice that the air smells like a port-a-john in need of servicing. This has to be the only country that smells worse after it rains.

I spot a kiosk down the road with lights on. I head that way and begin to smell burning charcoal & see smoke. I walk into the brightly lit shack & find a 20-something man alone manning a fire with a large metal pot on it. I ask if he has anything left. He assures me that his beans and chapattis are always ready – 24 hours a day. I order a bowl, sit down, & pull out another cigarette.  It is just as disappointing as the last. The man brings me a very hot and very overcooked bowl of beans, a perfect chapatti, and a cup of chai. My first sip of the tea awarded me with a mouthful of slimy skin. I finished it all and silently hope that my stomach would not punish me for taking a gamble on food from a kiosk at 3:00am.

The late night chef takes a seat next to me & asks how I find my meal, Kenya & Eastlands (the area I am in). I lie a bit and tell him that I love all three. I offer him a smoke and we light up together. I notice two women walking down the street & suggest that it is a bit dangerous for “mamas” to be walking around this time of night. He retorts that business is good for them around this hour. “Oh… …They are prostitutes?” I half ask half state. He confirms my conclusion and then explains that they use the small hotel just down the alley from where we are. “The rates are good.” He explains that you can just go into the bar area and ask to see the magazine. “From there you just point to the picture of the girl you want.”  He goes on to explain that he used to find a prostitute to pay for sex every Friday night. It was his routine of sorts. He explains to me in a matter-of-fact tone that sometimes he wouldn’t even use protection. Laughingly, I tell him that he is being stupid. “You are a good looking guy, why would you pay for sex. Dangerous sex at that!” He quickly jumps in and reassures me that he doesn’t do it anymore.  A few months ago he went to a VCT (Free HIV testing/counseling center). He found out that he was “negative.” He went on to explain that now that he knows he is clean he doesn’t take those sort of chances anymore. I offer a few words and acknowledge his wise decision.

I ask him if he has any eggs I can buy, and he confirms that he has fresh ones. I buy three to boil for breakfast the next day. He puts them in a baggie and takes 100 KSH for the meal & eggs. I leave him the rest of the pack of cigarettes and nervously begin to walk back home. I really don’t want to deal with any punks on the way home. I’ve been called brave; I’ve been called stupid. Either way I don’t like to run into guys with big knives.

Its starts to rain again…

Bartram is said to have fallen in love with travel and nature at an early age. Trips with his father, the Royal Botanist, opened his eyes. In his thirties, he left his home (what would be Philadelphia) and began his exploration of the south. He learned and wrote about the Cherokee, nature, and mans’ relationship to our earth in a way that probably didn’t agree with society at the time or his Quaker beliefs.

Much like Bartram I am taking off for an adventure and exploration of my own. I won’t be exploring Appalachia on horseback, but I hope to find experiences as impressionable on me as nature was on him. This past fall I began to sell everything that I owned and prepare to pursue my passion: poverty.

A few years ago I was exposed to the images, faces, and facts of extreme poverty. Since then the burden of social injustice has pulled at my heart. I have read, studied, listened to lectures, followed documentaries, volunteered, taken short-term trips, and advocated around the issues of poverty. I am confident that extreme poverty is the greatest threat to domestic security & basic human rights around the world. That being said, the greatest thing that I can see myself doing now is joining the fight against poverty.

On Friday I fly out of Atlanta to begin my life in Africa. I will be living and volunteering in Nairobi, Kenya to support the work of The 1010 Project & the communities they partner with. This hasn’t been an easy or quick decision, but I know that it is the right one. It is not just about social justice either. It is about me. It is about living a life of passion and purpose.  It’s about chasing dreams, embracing adventure, and pushing past fear and doubt. It is about the things that so many of you have taught or instilled in me.

As I leave all of you an on my mind, & I ask that over the next few months you keep me in mind. There is a list of ways for you to support & encourage me HERE.

My contract was different though.  I had enlisted to serve in the Reserves.  After about a year of initial training, I would go back to my civilian life and only be obligated to my “1 weekend a month; 2 weeks a year”.   Upon returning I had decided to move to Denver, finish my bachelors degree while getting an opportunity to play soccer for CCU.  That first year was almost impossible.  I went from living with some of the… …well, Eleanor Roosevelt said it best when she described Marines as having the,

“…Cleanest bodies, filthiest minds, highest morale, and lowest morals of any group of animals I have ever seen.”

No one could understand why my hair was so short, I was so abrasive, or how I could drink that much.  It was a transition.  I worked hard to undo what they had done.  Marine Corps training is very intentional & very effective.  In essence everything you know & have identity in is taken away.  When they are satisfied that  you feel as low and powerless as possible you are rebuilt to be one of the most capable and confident (if not cocky) members of our military today.  Eventually, I came to accept that more than an inch of hair didn’t make you a hippie, democrats were not all evil, and not everyone enjoys talking about killing. I still remember finding my first refuge. I walked into one of my professors office & found pictures of Marine Corps Commandant Charles C. Krulak, A Navy Carrier, & other familiar military sights. He had served both in the Marine Corps & in the Navy as a chaplain for Marines.  We talked about the my transition into this new culture.  I adapted & overcame.

In the summer of 2005 I was backpacking through Europe.  I had been teaching English for the summer & was taking advantage of my last few weeks before I had to be back at Colorado Christian University for pre-season soccer training & my senior year. Except for the occasional but abrasive reminder, the summer was an escape from the reality that we were at war. There had been a few tense moments.  In France & Spain I was drug into a lot of political debates about the war in Iraq.  A French filmmaker had just been murdered by terrorists, and tensions were high. London Police had just killed a man after he jumped a turnstile to get to the Metro.  I had my opinions on it all, and I wasn’t afraid to voice my support of our countries actions.  However, I didn’t offer up to many that I was a Marine.  I returned to school, soccer, & the dorm that I was in charge of.  Nine weeks later my artillery unit received order to Iraq.  We would not activate for another two months.

I proposed to my girlfriend at the time, Married her 7 weeks later and left for Camp Pendleton, California 2 weeks after that.  It’s probably not a surprise that I was one of many who made rash life decisions that winter.  We spent nearly three months in California being retrained from Artillerymen to Prison Guards.  Our orders were to take over the management of the detention centers in the Al Anbar province.  Many remember the horrible things that happened at Abu Graib.  You would be surprised how often Marines get sent to do what the Army can’t handle.  Those three months (referred to as ILOC or Intermediary Location) were all about transition again.  I had to find my identity as a Marine again. I mean, you never loose it, but if you want to function in civilian society you have to sand down the rough edges.  Now I needed to find those edges again.

We arrived in Fallujah in March of 2006.  Our over-sized company was split into 4 platoons to run the DetFacs (detention facilities) in Fallujah, Ar Ramadi, Al Qaim, & Al Asad.  My first night in Fallujah I remember everyone scrambling to figure out what tent we would stay in.  The day before we arrived our assigned tent was destroyed in a mortar attack. That would be as close a call as I would see.  Two weeks into detainee operations I was separated from my Marines and tasked to work at the HQ for Task Force Military Police.  This reinforced Battalion reported directly to Multi National Forces-West.  There I would serve as the Ammo Chief for the remaining 7 months.  I oversaw all logistics with ammunition support for over 1,200 Marines.  We had all of the DetFacs, Police Training Teams, Dog Handlers, & 4 convoy security companies in the Al Anbar Province.  I was also responsible for all captured enemy weapons/munitions, explosive storage, safety & risk management.  If any of you are interested in the effects of extreme heat on munitions let me know. I love to talk in great detail about it.  I learned an immense amount about logistics and operations. I was promoted and awarded a medal for my work.

The best part about my job was travel.  I was responsible for overseeing explosive safety for units in 7 different cities.  Every week I was on a convoy or helicopter somewhere.  This is where things began to change for me. I took my first convoy & was almost confused.  The sights I saw were not of an oil rich nation. This was not the Mesopotamia I had imagined. I watched as cinder-block hut after cinder-block hut went by.  I saw vehicles laying twisted and stripped on the side of the road. Bombs? No, Poverty. Children stood in front of their homes, along side their goats… I recognized the landscape, the cars, tin roofs, goats… …this was like nearly any other developing country. This was sustenance farming, uncontrolled unemployment, lack of infrastructure, lack of health care.  This was Iraq, a people in desperation. My politics, position, and heart began to change.

In 2006, fighting in Al Anbar was at its worst.  It wasn’t motivated by anti-democracy, anti-US, or anti-occupation Iraqis.  It was being led by a few extremists, supported by outside states, & fueled by poverty. At the time, the IED was the weapon of choice. Our intelligence reports indicated that most bombs were being placed by local unemployed Iraqi’s. The going rate was $100 US a bomb. Often times they were given the option of getting $100 or sacrificing the safety of their family. In 2007 Sinan Youssef, Iraqi Ministy of Labor & Social Affairs described the situation,

“Nearly 5.6 millions Iraqis are living below the poverty line, according to our most recent studies. At least 40 percent of this number is living in absolute and desperate deteriorated conditions.”

This level of poverty is a 35 percent increase over the level before 2003.

“When people find that they cannot support their family with food and other supplies, they search desperately for any kind of job. Insurgents use this weakness. They use these guys for terrorist activities in exchange for the promise of good money,”

Today, GDP is at $3,700 per capita, 161^st in the world (that puts them a little worse than Nicaragua & slightly better than the Republic of Congo), and unemployment is estimated between 18-30%. Fatah Ahmed, vice-president for local NGO Iraq Aid Association went as far as to say,

“If poverty in Iraq is not controlled soon, we are going to have a country that will be compared to Africa in poverty levels.”

I would carry that burden with me as I brought up the rear, a part of the last group leave Iraq for TFMP.  I carried our Battalion colors home proudly. Returning to a hanger at Buckley Air Force Base, I was met by my closest friends, family, and Wife.  The transition hit me immediately.  Swarmed by people, handshakes, and hugs I was instantly overwhelmed.  I hadn’t felt an embrace in nearly a year.  Everyone wanted to talk; I had lived alone for the last few months.  I remember the anxious moments, feeling for my pistol that I no longer carried.  I was tempted to write down my answers to what seemed like the only three questions people knew to ask:

• What was it like?
• What are your opinions on Bush & the War?
• Did you see any of those really big spiders, you know, camel spiders?

I felt so distant & disconnected from everything.  I hardly knew my wife. My friends had so many new memories  and stories that I knew nothing about.  As an extrovert, it was the first time in my life I was quiet.  I felt very alone.

Most military members return from their tours to continue their life as a service member, living on a base, & in a community of people with similar experiences.  I can only assume their transition is a little less abrupt.  The 120 Marines who came back to Colorado with me went directly back to their families, friends, jobs, or schools.  Transition doesn’t even begin to describe what most of us had to do.  Alone is probably the best description.  I remember New Years Day 2007.  I received a phone call early in the morning from one of my Marines who had returned from Iraq to find his wife gone.  It was his mother.  He was intoxicated, screaming, crying, and demanding to talk to a Marine.  I began to talk to him & began to cry myself.  He was alone too.

I spent the next year living it was is the nightmare of military medical treatment for reservists. Before I deployed I started having neck/shoulder pain.  The Navy doctor said that I was fine, and I was deployed with a “clean bill of health.” A few months in the pain got much worse & my right hand started getting numb and tingly.  It got progressively worse until I could only get through the day on muscle relaxers and pain killers. Returning to Colorado, I continued to receive pay while I went to doctor after doctor. I had no real responsibilities.  I was assigned to the Funeral Details, participating in the funeral ceremonies for Marines from Colorado.  Eventually I was told that I would have to learn to live with what they wrote off as a pain condition. This was one of the most difficult times of my life.

I found an outlet, I started Volunteering.  I spent all of my time either responding to disasters for the American Red Cross or working with The 1010 Project (Poverty Alleviation/Development NGO).  For 9 months I spent nearly everyday at one place or the other.  I took a group of friends to Burkina Faso for 3 weeks to build schools. I began to rediscover myself; I had found my purpose.  It wasn’t until then that I recalled a conversation I had with a former Navy Seal that had heard about my camping program for juvenile delinquents. “It is better to save a life than to take one.” He went on to say how he wished he had dedicated his life to a humanitarian effort instead of the Navy.  It meant nothing to me at the time, but it means everything to me now.

I worked a couple of side jobs so that I could continue to volunteer.  I loaded bags out at Denver International Airport, was a barista for Dazbog, and did a little of remodeling work.  In September of 2008 the Red Cross hired me as a Disaster Coordinator (no I don’t get to design the disaster, only our response to it). My wife & I divorced.  She is a great woman, but we grew apart while I as gone & even more so when I returned.  This past August I completed my six years as a drilling Reservist.  I have done well.  I continue to volunteer with The 1010 Project, in fact I just left my job at the Red Cross. I am moving to Kenya to join 1010 in the fight against poverty.  I believe that poverty continues to be the number one threat to peace, security, and basic human rights on our earth.  I am now finding other veterans who share my passion. Others like Jake Harriman, Marine Infantry & special ops platoon commander, bronze star recipient, and founder of the NGO Nuru International.  In  a letter to President Obama he said this,

”In order to win the war on terror, we must attack the enemy at the source. I had several very personal, deeply emotional experiences in combat that I feel revealed that source to me…extreme poverty.”

Others, my brothers, have not found their purpose, or their redemption.  They have not made their transition.  We took 120 Marines from Colorado to Iraq, and we brought them all back. On September, 2^nd 2009 we suffered our first casualty from that deployment when Cpl Greg Blazier took his own life.  As his mother gracefully lamented at his funeral, “We all see the wounds on the outside, but the ones on the inside last much longer & often go unseen.”

Before I leave tomorrow I will attend the 1010 network meeting. This should be a perfect send off. The members have proven to be some of the most inspirational people I have met. Kenyans serving Kenyans. I hope that they give me a last day that will leave me aching to return…

5 minutes after leaving the airport I spotted a herd of Zebras on the side of the road.  We stopped & watched.  I breathed in the cool night air & thought to myself, “This is Africa.”  At Mack’s house I was welcomed with a bowl of fresh cut mango, apples, & some tart tree grown tomato I had never heard of before.  We sat, listened to the rain on the shingled roof, and caught up over a cup of the most welcoming tea I have ever had.  I quickly fell asleep in a nest of pillows and blankets & under a tent of fine yellow mesh.

This morning I was greeted with the smell of wet grass & fresh flowers.  My host has a beautiful court yard of overgrown shrubs & trees.  With a cup of coffee from the press, I stood outside soaking in the sunrise in my pants & sandals.  I walked with Mackenzie to work. She entered the secure JVA compound, & I found a bench at a roadside stand.  She claimed that they have the best Chia-indeed they may.  I sat and ate a warm donut like treat, sipped the sweet & peppery drink, and thought to myself again, “This is Africa.”

I finished my breakfast, payed the mother at the family run stand and began to walk back.  After a half mile I caught a matatu (taxi-van). I pretended to know what I was doing.  I’m sure they saw through my stoic face… …somehow I found my way back to the right stop.  Walking back towards the house I began to really take in the sights, sounds, & smells.  I saw the piles of trash, smog filled air, & children sleeping on the street. Another block & I found a Mall.  Converse, Nike, marble floors, & the WiFi I am using now… …”Is this Africa?”