Archive for February, 2012
February 21, 2012
Since 2000, Lulu Works has provided a source of sustainable revenue for the women of Wulu. These women have long been the guardians of the Nilotica Shea Nut Tree (called Lulu in Arabic), which only grows in certain areas of the world, including South Sudan. These women convert the pure, rich oil of the Shea Nut into body butter, cooking oil and soap while offering a sustainable, local source of income for Sudanese women, their families, and their communities.
Wild-crafted, non-certified organic lulu nuts are collected and fully dried, then pounded into a mash using a large mortar and pestle called a funduk. Women push the mash through a hand-powered cold press mill that squeezes the oil from the nuts, retaining the nutritive properties and yielding a clear, lightly scented oil that transforms readily into a creamy butter. The women add beeswax and essential plant oils to convert the lulu oil into naturally pure soaps and lip balms.
Processing lulu oil not only preserves a time-honored tradition and brings income to a region where it is desperately needed, but it also provides an incentive to protect the Shea butter as a natural resource. Best of all, rather than being owned by shareholders or big investors, the women are given the responsibilities and privileges of running and owning Lulu Works.
In 2009, it was all destroyed. During major tribal conflicts, their facility was wiped out. When I visited the village of Wulu, the site was still strewn with remnants of the attack; machinery and vehicle parts litter the area where a thriving business once stood.
I spoke with 15 of the women from Lulu Works under a tukul (thatched-roof palapa). They told me of the devastation that occurred during the attack and how it was all gone in an instant, like an earthquake.
These powerful, resilient women are eager to re-build their factory. They are hoping to partner with aid organizations, but they are adamant about retaining control of the business. The Obakki Foundation is trying to facilitate this process with other groups and we have promised to help them get back on their feet. I brought home a tub of their Shea butter and it is like nothing I’ve ever tried on my skin. I hope that one day you all have an opportunity to buy Lulu Works products and support these amazing women.
They stood in front of their ruined machinery and their proud, defiant body language said it all:
We have suffered greatly as a result of war and famine, and now want to rebuild our lives and communities. We are depending on our own strengths, talents and resources. You can destroy where we work, but our dignity remains.
February 14, 2012
The Obakki Foundation bkr bottle is People Magazine‘s Green Buy of the Month. Support the drilling of water wells in South Sudan by purchasing one of these reusable glass bottles in a sleek silicone sleeve.
February 14, 2012
A quick search online defines a Leper as “a person to be avoided, ignored or despised” but in Malou, I discovered the true meaning of what it means to suffer from Leprosy, and it was none of these things.
Malou is a village of outcasts. All of the inhabitants have been shunned for being different in some way, but the majority suffer from Leprosy, a disease that affects the skin, mucous membranes and nerves. If left untreated, Leprosy can result in malformed extremities, making it difficult to carry out such essential tasks as fetching water and tending to crops.
Most specialists agree that more than 95% of the world’s population has a natural immunity to the disease and it is only contagious when a person has untreated leprosy. Once the disease has been treated, a person becomes non-infectious within a short period of time.
Unfortunately, the stigma of Leprosy remains throughout much of the world, particularly in South Sudan. A lack of education regarding the disease combined with non-existent access to medication has resulted in geographic and social isolation for those affected by it.
In Malou, people with Leprosy were banned from their local water well and sent their unaffected children to fetch water for the family. Rather than attending school, most children of Malou were walking 11 kilometres each way to access a fresh water source. Their story was brought to the attention of the Obakki Foundation and we were able to respond to their needs by providing them with a water well.
I wasn’t sure what to expect. I knew that Leprosy wasn’t a highly communicable disease, but I was worried that Malou would be a dismal, pathetic place—a place without happiness or hope. I’ve never been so happy to be so wrong.
Malou is a joyful community. For those without a home, this is the only place where they belong. The villagers are confident and extremely able. Most importantly, they are not ashamed. These people are aware of the staggering challenges they have overcome; rather than feeling humiliated or incapacitated, they celebrate their lives as a beautiful expression of being human, and a strong one at that!
My afternoon in Malou was incredible—as I sang and rejoiced with the villagers, I knew that my first visit would not be the last. On our way out of the village, one of the Sisters of Mercy quietly whispered, “Evil prospers where ignorance is abundant and nowhere is it more abundant than here.” As I walked away, I was certain that I was leaving with more than when I arrived.
February 1, 2012
In December 2010, our first water well was drilled in the village of Alel Chok. It was also my first trip to South Sudan and I was overwhelmed by the desperate urgency of the situation. There were so many basic human needs not being met that I doubted we could make any kind of real difference. I was surrounded by intense suffering buried beneath layers of bureaucracy, leaving me to feel inadequate and unprepared for the task before us. Nothing that we had done in other parts of the world could have prepared me for what I saw in South Sudan.
And then I met Zachariah, an elder from the village. We sat together under a tree where he read me passages from the Bible in his native tongue. The water well had just been drilled and we couldn’t communicate with each other through language, but the wisdom in his eyes and passion of his voice spoke to my soul.
Although I couldn’t understand his words, I knew what was in his heart. He brought tears to my eyes as he replenished my spirit with his voice. For the rest of my trip, and after returning home, I often thought of Zachariah whenever I questioned our impact in South Sudan. For me, Zachariah is the face of South Sudan; he is why we do this work.
I returned to Alel Chok this past December and once again I sat with Zachariah beneath the same tree. We were now surrounded by crops and houses while the children were in school. When he offered me the gift of a chicken in thanks for our gift of water, I was humbled and honoured.
We brought water to Zachariah’s village and that matters. The people of Alel Chok matter. We are making a difference.
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