The First Step on a New Journey

Yesterday concluded 3 very long days working with Bahraini professionals.

On Tues, one could feel a bit of tension among the 100 participants. Formalities were spoken. Faces stoic. 

As the days progressed, heated discussions broke out. Stories of frustrated parents and educators who were struggling to provide a quality education for their children while working within the confines of the Ministry. Additionally, unbenounced to themselves, they were also working against eachother. The Disability community here is very divided: The Deaf Federation, the School for the Blind, the School for Downs Syndrome, the School for Autism. 

Teachers and parents complained of Bahrain having only one physician to diagnose disabilities. He is often wrong sending children who may be blind to a class with children who have behavior problems. One parent said that his daughter (who is blind) was beaten in the class by other children. She could not defend herself. She could not see that the other children were going to hit her. At age 10, she refused to go to school. Now, at age 13, she has been home-schooled  for 3 years. I spoke with her for 2 days. She is brilliant. A fluent English speaker with quite a bit of spunk :) But you say the word "school," and she begins to yell in fear of going there again. 

Professionals talked about the lack of training, funding, support.

As the heated discussions continued, one consistent theme emerged: a desire to change. After years of segregation within the disability community (and we haven't begun to discuss the segregation within Bahrain as a whole), yesterday we call came together as one family.

Susan Siegle, the CEO of MIUSA posed a series of questions to the participants: 

"I ask you now, people of the deaf, will you help your brothers in wheelchairs created more accessible buildings?"

"Brothers and Sisters in wheelchairs, will you help your blind brothers to have more access in the community?"

"The blind, will you help educators and parents create ways to provide an equal and integrated education for all children?"

With each question, the crowd yelled, "YES!"

Tears were shed. Smiles spread across faces. One woman who is deaf commented, "Today I saw a video of an American man who is paralyzed but has a job in the community. He cannot talk. He cannot walk. If he can do it, I know I can, too."

On Monday, after seeing the rehab center caged by bars, I was discouraged. Yesterday evening, I walked away  hopeful.

I was told by a local that Bahrains do not dream. However, after working so closely with so many parents and educators, after looking out into the crowd of 100 members of the disability community and seeing their new found commradery and commitment for change, I now know that the man was wrong. This group has proven him wrong. And this group will be making their dreams come true.

Important Phrases

Below you will see a few important phrases that my dictionary suggested I learn.


1. This is my first sandstorm.
haadhini aw-wal aaSifa ramley-ya lee

2. The scorpion bit him right there.
al-'aqrab ladaghuh hunaak

Bars

Today I practiced my mantra:

"Breathe in negativity, and breathe out compassion."

The people of Bahrain are amazing, loving, kind, generous people. You are welcomed with such grace. I have been bestowed with flowers and chocolates. Upon arrival to any location, I am greeted with Arabic coffee (watered coffee that has been spiced with saffron and cardamon), a warm smile, and peace.

It has been clearly conveyed that my presence (and that of my fellow delegates) is appreciated. But, nothing prepared me for what I saw today.

Bars.
Bars over windows.
Bars around baby cribs.
Pink bars.
Yellow bars.
Even padded bars-- so a person with autism couldn't "hurt themselves."

However, I also saw:
Love.
Kindness.
A hunger to change.
Happiness.
Walls covered in colorful paper flowers.
Staff and patients creating their own family.

But, the bars.


I struggled at times to maintain composure. Three fellow delegates would squeeze my hand signifying that they, too, were feeling similar emotions. The bars were a clear reminder of our purpose here. Tomorrow, we will all be presenting to the High Committee, a group of politicians selected by the Prime Minister to better improve conditions for people with disabilities in Bahrain. I hope tomorrow will be the first step to reshaping the policies of Bahrain, to reshaping the futures of the faces I saw today.

If we could just take down those bars...

As-sakaamu alaikum!
(Peace is upon you.)



Off to do more power-pointing and breathing.

The Nightmare

Someone recently asked me how my preparations were going. Internally I cringed. "Not well", I was thinking. In fact up until recently the only items I had prepared were my 3 powerpoints and a video slide show. I hadn't begun to think about all the other tasks that laid before me: finding Islamic appropriate clothing for Eugene Summer-like weather, arranging a dog-sitter, mailing off all of my passport copies/emergency numbers/etc, wrapping things up at the office, blah, blah, blah.

That evening my brain went into secret, subconscious "put a fire under my butt" mode--I had a nightmare.

You know the kind I am talking about. We have all had them. Standing in front of our middle school classroom--naked. Walking around a city--without pants on. Failing to bring the correct shoes for Rockettes audition (ok, maybe that one is just me). Anyway, you get the point. While enjoying our friendly REMs, our brain plays nasty, passive-aggressive games to jolt us into doing what we have to do. In my case, it is trip prep.

So, my nightmare.

Picture it: I am in the airport waiting to board my plane. As I am rifling through my suitcase, it dawns on me that I have packed the most obscure items (and, note, not Islamicly (is that even a word???) appropriate): tank tops with sequins, high heels, one running shoe, a snow cone, a blazer (ok, that is at least professional), and a bunch of punk rock t-shirts (I don't even OWN punk rock t-shirts!). I start to freak but recall that I DID at least remember to bring my credit card, so I can just buy some clothes when I arrive. WHEW!

As I begin to close my suitcase, the next hiccup. My medications. For those of you that know me well may recall that I am a migraine sufferer. And those enjoyable Chinese-like torture headaches tend to rear their ugly little heads while traveling internationally. Long flights + little sleep = a giant ice pick being gouged into Karla's skull. So, once again, I begin to panic. But, no worries people. I phone the only person that can help. MOM. Good old mom. What is life without mothers, really? They can fix anything. And, in this dream, she did. Somehow, one cell phone call away, my mother manages to contact my neurologist and have my prescriptions internationally FedExed to Bahrain waiting for me at the hotel for when I arrive. Gosh, she is so good. Tragedy #2 resolved.

Then, over the loud speaker, it is brought to my attention that my flight has been re-routed. Instead of a 9 hour flight to Frankfurt with a layover and connection to Bahrain, they changed it to a lovely (please note sarcasm) 20 (!!!) hour flight to Bahrain. Direct. No stops.

Yuk.

I board the plane with my heart rate slowly returning to normal. I locate my seat, place me little travel bag beside me, and buckle myself in. Eagerly awaiting the entertainment of the flight attendants educating us on what to do if the plane should crash into the Atlantic Ocean. Thank goodness our seat cushions double as flotation devices. These flight attendants are SO smart!

That is when it happens. That is when my nightmare becomes a horror movie from which I just

could

not

escape.

I turn to my left. Sitting next to me is the one person in the world that would cause me to shoot my brains out on a flight. He will make me go postal. His laugh IS the worst Chinese torture device.

God help me.

I am sitting next to Eddie Murphy for 20 hours.

How it all began

Once upon a time (back in early December), I had a meeting with a fellow colleague, Liz. Liz went on a professional exchange program (sponsored by MIUSA http://www.miusa.org/) many years ago to Tokyo. Following our meeting, we began chatting about her trip. She recalled memories. We shared opinions on sushi. I inquired about MIUSA and if they were doing any other exchanges that she knew about. "Why yes, we are going to Bahrain in February. You should go!"

So, I go back to my office and give MIUSA a call. "Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but not only did the application process close yesterday, but it was also a closed applicant pool. However, it sounds like Liz recommended you, and we have had some cancelations. So, if you wish to apply I will send you an application. Please know that we are only selecting 10 delegates from across the US. So, it is pretty competitive."

I had 4 days to complete the application, write the essays, and do a little dance of happiness that I actually had a chance to go. If I went, I would be representing the field of education.

And, then I waited.

Two weeks later I received an email informing me that I was selected. I would be leaving in two months --the day after my birthday-- to Bahrain for 10 days. My job would be to train local specialists in the disability field about the Community Living Program, CLP, (the program I work for), how to create a similar transition program for youth with disabilities, and whatever else they throw at us. And, then I did the happy dance.

I have to say that the timing of this event couldn't be more critical. In this time of economic woe, some local educators do not view CLP as the role-model of education for our population of students (as it is viewed across the state by many). Rather, I have been given the impression that we should lower our standards and expectations to fit the "other" model that is more cost effective. If it wasn't for the uniqueness of our program, I would not be going to Bahrain. For I am not going because of who I am but because of the team, the students, the progress, and the futures that we create on a daily basis. I hope that through this exchange I not only am able to provide a country with an opportunity to grow in the area of special education, but also to provide our own community the realization that our students deserve their own happy dance. It is others that need to be raised to the CLP standard.

"Diversity is a beautiful thing"