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The silver bicycle was slowly torn apart to the story of one woman’s woes. As the pedals were pulled off, workplace melodrama was revealed.

“She told me she worried I was going to come to work with a knife and kill her,” *Rosa related about the accountant in the office. “Working with that women,  iesh.”

Accusations, backstabbing, jealousy and tyranny were reported. In such a small-place, workplace politics seemed to be on overdrive. I wondered what I had gotten into.

Later when the wheels unscrewed she contemplated a second boyfriend – an American man on a 3-month volunteer journey who was endlessly flirting with her. He was, by all accounts, socially awkward but took her to dinner at Mugg & Bean, an American style super-eat – a place she had never been before. If he tested him out, maybe she’d be treated to other luxuries. But how long would it last – wasn’t he leaving in a few short months? Then what?

“And if someone sees you, and my boyfriend learns, yeow! It’s not going to be safe,” she said from the bicycle workshop floor.

After dipping my hands in diesel for the 40th time to clean used parts, so this silver bicycle could be refurbished and resold, Rosa noticed something.

“What’s wrong – your hands are shaking too much,” she asked me.

I didn’t know exactly, but knew that this was often the first sign of a forthcoming migraine. In the past, strong fumes often led to the loss of sight, the throbbing on the right side of the brain, vomiting. I explained and she offered a consoling smile.

By the time I got home, the shaking hands proved to be the iceburg’s tip. A few hours later the Titanic crashed, and I lay in bed drowning in pain. Finally, after ingesting a few miracle tablets, I resurfaced.

Reflecting back on the day, the first day I learned to fix a bike, I learned that bicycles offered jobs – but these jobs weren’t perfect. They offered employment, in Rosa’s case it was her first job – but these jobs brought new dilemmas. And they offered meaningful work – but if you didn’t have a strong constitution, this work wasn’t healthy.

But the bike, and the conversation opened my mind. No longer was it theoretical or numbers. Now it was real – this is what it was about – stories, dilemmas, workplace politics, occasional illness.

I was about to learn a lot more about people, about development, about NGOs during the course of the next 10 months. This was the start.

*name changed to protect the identity of the innocent :)

Note: In retrospect, I don’t feel this blog was a true reflection of what happened, it was a PR exercise but not honest. I’m now trying to add a few more articles, which are a bit more sincere and reflect my thoughts on the year-long experience of working with bicycles and development in Namibia.

I hope you enjoy. Happy 2010 to all.

Mistakes

I will no longer be posting on this site – as I am not formally involved in the world of development and bicycles anymore.

pay1

To be a competitive cyclist is tough. It requires hours and hours of sitting on a bicycle seat, training through all kinds of weather, climbing up steep hills (over and over again), covering more than 70 km in a day and preparing mental strategies.

And that’s just to get into the competitive scene.

Jafet is a 17-year-old with big cycling dreams. However, without proper equipment he wouldn’t be able to complete that dream. Thanks to donors from Huron County, Canada, he has a starter bicycle to help him train and take the first pedal strokes of turning his dream into reality.

In the first two weeks of owning the bike, he’s trained relentlessly. In one morning, he and some friends crossed 150 km of terrain as they get set to prepare for the upcoming road racing series.

It seems like he’s on his way.

They call it African time – meaning that things happen when they’re meant to and that you have to be patient.

For those of us who grew up in the west, where things can come almost instantly, African time means waiting. And that your patience is tested.

Last week, African time ended and wait was over.

CONTAINER REACHES OKATANA
Finally, the container of donated second-hand bicycles from Huron County, Canada, reached its destination in Okatana, Namibia.

Smiles stretched across the faces of the first to crack the container doors open. They marveled at the bikes that towered above their heads.

CONTAINER TO ASSIST HOME-BASED CARE VOLUNTEERS
The container of bicycles will be transformed into a bicycle sale and repair centre. Proceeds generated from this bicycle workshop will benefit a group of Home-Based Care Volunteers. The volunteers regularly visit People Living with HIV/AIDS and offer support to people who are in bad health and facing the economic constraints of severe poverty. The volunteers also assist children who are living with a parent suffering from HIV/AIDS-related diseases or whose parent has died due to the disease.

CONTAINER TO PROVIDE JOBS
The project will also directly benefit five volunteers who were previously unemployed, as jobs and skills training will be provided. Aside from the income generated for their support group, the volunteers working in the shop will earn a salary and parts will be purchased to replace the ones that are used so the project can become a sustainable small business.

BICYCLES TO BETTER THE COMMUNITY
The entire area of Okatana will now have access to sustainable and economical transportation options. In this area of Namibia, which is generally flat and sandy, the bicycles will benefit those who, at one time, had no choice but to walk long distances to do daily chores – like collect firewood for cooking or water for drinking.

Other bicycles will be donated to children and other needy community members. In the months to come, you will meet some of the beneficiaries of these bicycles on this blog. Stay tuned.

DSC_0051In March and April of 2009, northern western Namibia was flooded. The area saw mass evacuation as rising waters crept into people’s homes, schools and businesses.

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In Okatana, the new home of 300+ Huron County bicycles, much of the community was underwater. Subsistence farmers lost everything – a year’s harvest washed away. However, for many, the destruction also presented an unexpected crop – fish.

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After the rain ceased, thousands and thousands of people turned to the water for food. Men & Children who could not go to school or work due to the water levels spent the day catching catfish. Women cleaned and sold extra fish along the side of the road.

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What’s amazing is the fish were caught in an area that is normally dry, sandy and dusty. The fish provided food that was dried and stored for the months to come. It will not replace the maize and mahango that was swept away, but it does provide some relief.

Fishing at Sunset

Anticipation

Anticipation is building as the bicycles land in Namibia. (This photo was taken at the opening of another bicycle workshop recently)

Anticipation is building as the bicycles land in Namibia. (This photo was taken at the opening of another bicycle workshop recently)

The container of Huron County bicycles arrived in Walvis Bay’s port on 1 April.

Once it clears customs, it will be sent to the village of Okatana, an 8 hour drive north of Windhoek.

The container will be transformed into a bicycle workshop. Bicycles will be refurbished and sold to assist a support group for People Living with HIV/AIDS, run by Catholic AIDS Action. The money generated will also pay for the salary of 5 people who will run the business. They will receive skills training in bicycle mechanics and small business management, giving them much needed employment.

Other bicycles will be donated to needy people in the community. At least 10 road bicycles will be given to secondary school children who are part of a competitive cycling program at Physically Active Youth.

It is expected the bicycle workshop will be open in June 2009. I will be traveling to Okatana in the next few weeks to put names and faces to the people who will benefit from this project.

Stay tuned.

A child watches a Team BENN rider during a Spin for Life campaign on the coast.

A child watches a Team BENN rider during a Spin for Life campaign on the Coast.

It was a bit like waiting for a rock concert tickets.

Crowds of people camped out for long hours.
Government officials sang praises.
Children screamed to join the excitement.
A radio broadcasted live from the event.

But this was no rock concert.
This was a campaign to encourage people to go for an HIV test in two Namibian communities on the coast – Swakopmund and Walvis Bay.

The incentive – to stand a chance of winning of brand new bicycle if you test – drew hundreds of people during a week of intense promotion by Team BEN Namibia.

Thousands of people received HIV messaging through direct contact and flier distribution.

A multitude of young men and women surrounded a cycling display where they could try stationary bicycles and engage in contests.

And hundreds of people waited in queue to test for HIV. In all, the two centres that partnered with BEN Namibia, saw a 600% spike in the amount of people testing.

In fact, this was far more important than a rock concert.

Patricia and the four boys. All will become part owners and bicycle mechanics in the new Otjiwarongo Bicycle Empowerment Centre.

Patricia and the four boys. All will be partners in the new Otjiwarongo Bicycle Empowerment Centre.

Five years ago, this group would have been a bunch of labels.

“Addicts”
“Thieves”
“Delinquents”

Thrown to the streets, this group – like many other young people in Namibia, were surviving the best, the only way they could.

Known as a group called: “Orphans & Vulnerable Children (OVC)” these teenagers are part of a growing number of youth who have lost either one or both parents, in a large part due to the impact of HIV/AIDS. The following statistics illustrate the magnitude of HIV:

  • Around one in every 5 Namibian adults are HIV positive.
  • An estimated one in every 3 Namibians under the age of 18 will be orphaned by the end of the decade.
  • Namibia is one of the top 5 countries hardest hit by HIV.

As shocking as these statistics are, they fail to capture the impact of the pandemic on the lives of children.

For these five, who were living on the streets of Otjiwarongo, hunger was a regular visitor. They slept under bridges, dropped out of school, turned to crime as a way of earning income and resorted to violence as a way of protection.

The same time five years ago, Mrs. Muriel Fitch arrived in Otjiwarongo. A grandmother of 16, Mrs. Fitch was in town to help her daughter through a difficult pregnancy.

With a big laugh and a contagious energy, it wasn’t long before Otjiwarongo noticed the visitor and decided to keep her. Offering her a job to help run an after-school soup kitchen for children, Mrs. Fitch accepted.

In the weeks that followed, the after-school program ran out of money, the existing staff fled and, a month on the job, Mrs. Fitch was left with a huge group of hungry children – many of them street kids who would get their only meal of the day from the after-school program.

There are few people who can rise to challenges like this. Mrs. Fitch readily admits that she quit three times, after trying to run various versions of the program.

Then, three years ago, she decided – with the help of a few small overseas grants, to run a program for the street children of Otjiwarongo.

A home with food, beds and life-skills training was opened. The Joy Centre, as it would be known, offered young people a chance to start over. It became a place of hope for those who had endured the tragedy of loosing a parent, who had been stigmatized by society, struggled without support systems and lived on the margins.

But reformation didn’t come easy. Mrs. Fitch remembers her kids – the Joy Centre kids – stealing from shops, carrying knives and getting drunk or high on a regular basis.

It took time, love and discipline to turn things around. But today, the Joy Centre is a highly-regarded oasis. For this group, – Patricia, the 2 Sylvesters, David and Hans – the first five who came to the Joy Centre, a new opportunity has presented itself.

A container full of donated second-hand bicycles from Thunder Bay’s Bicycles for Humanity has been dropped off and is being transformed into the town’s only bicycle workshop. Donated bicycles will be repaired, refurbished, sold. Money that is generated will:

  • Support the Joy Centre’s activities
  • Help the organisation expand
  • Pay the wages of the five partners
  • Help purchase necessary supplies to keep the business sustainable.

With mechanical and business training already complete, the five are no longer facing the labels they once endured. Instead, they are redefining themselves as young businessmen and women, as mechanics and as valuable members of the community who have something to offer.

Fiffy with the Red Shiny Troublemaking Red Bike

Fiffy with the Red, Shiny, Troublemaking Bike

The red bike war had been waged before. But those early battles were minor. For this, the fastest low-income bicycle for blocks, major conflict was about to erupt.

Perhaps the shiny red bike (or Red as it will hereby be know) was dogged by controversy since the day it was built. For as long as I’ve known that bike it’s sparked arguments, ignited fights and thrown people to the asphalt. Perhaps the original bike mechanics who assembled the bike cursed it in the factory. Or maybe, after living a healthy first life in North America, Red was secretly shipped away to Namibia, unbeknownst to its owner.

Once here in this land of sand, the Peugeot, now in its second or third decade on earth, was unpacked and refurbished in the Bicycling Empowerment Network Namibia (BEN Namibia) workshop. When I encountered it, Red had already been redistributed to Physically Active Youth (PAY), an after-school tutoring and sports program in a low-income neighbourhood of Windhoek. Designated for the organization’s cycling program, which I coached, Red’s charm was unmistakeable – she purred when you peddled, sped like a bullet and was as smooth as butter.

But you have to be wary of charm. We thought Martin had a concussion when Red bucked him off in a training session last year. The 19-year-old semi-pro cyclist will forever have the scars on his shoulder after he was sent flying over the handlebars when he hit a speed bump.

Fiffy and Sakeus will never be friends after they launched a turf war to see who could manpower Red in the biggest cycling race of 2008. Like a child caught in a custody battle, Red became the victim of threats, bluffing and a few acts of terror between the two aspiring cyclists.

All that time we blamed the boys. But after another incident last week, I’m beginning to believe controversy and this bike are forever linked.

A few weeks ago, I decided to form a small independent cycling team. They were just four boys, all 17 who loved to ride but couldn’t afford bikes and couldn’t afford to pay for their racing fees.

Fiffy, who in the end won the battle for Red, would borrow the bike until PAY started again. With the first major race on the 2009 Namibia cycling calendar looming in 10 days, he would be forced to train harder than ever before.

I delivered the newly tuned-up and polished red bicycle on a Friday morning.
That same afternoon, I got a call.

“A man with a knife came at me. He took the bike,” Fiffy said, out of breath. “Come now.”

Quickly turning towards Fiffy’s house, I stopped in at the local police station, ready to open a case about the stolen bicycle. However, after being given the run around by two female officers who ate grapes while cockroaches scurried across their desk, I was referred to a private security guard who was dropping off a wallet grabber at the same station.

“He’ll take you,” the thinner of the two women said.

Fiffy, who spoke of an attempted fight that ended with a knife being held against his neck for the bicycle, met me at the station. Together, with the security guard, we jumped into a station wagon and searched through a maze of side streets. For about half an hour, we questioned children close to where the mugging took place, trying to get information about the culprit. Eventually, we learned that his name started with an A.

But as the sun started to set in a neighbourhood well known for its violence, the security guard called our investigation to an end. That night, I declared defeat. Red was gone. The money that it cost to tune-up the bike, which was still owed, would be like flushing cash into a toilet.

But while I gave into defeat, Fiffy called the day’s end a retreat. On Saturday, he spent the entire day walking up and down the streets, asking questions, telling friends and family to be on the lookout for the red shiny bicycle. On Sunday, he found the house of the man who stole the bike from him. In a conversation with the bike thief’s sister, Fiffy learned the bike thief was now in jail, charged with stealing a car on a Saturday night spree.

A few hours later, I got another call.

“We found the bike. Come to the police station now, we’ll go get it,” Fiffy, the young detective, said.

Returning to the same police station, the officers showed equal interest in our matter. Here they were dealing with stabbers, beaters and window breakers and we just wanted our bike back. They rolled their eyes when we asked for an officer to accompany us to the house. Again, we were referred to another man. This time it was a 30-something guy who reeked of alcohol and described himself as a “community leader.”

“If I get your bike back for you, you have to buy me a couple beers,” the man said as we walked towards the marked house. Showing up to a white painted cinder-block house, we were pointed to the backyard, where a group of about 10 women were drinking beer.

And there Red was, leaning against a steel shack that doubled as a bar.
“That’s my bike,” I said, half-yelling, as all heads swung in our direction.

Quickly, our half-drunk defender said he was an off-duty police officer, and while he didn’t have his ID on him, the bike must go back to the owners. Immediately, the women smelled a boozed-up rat. Soon, the women were shouting and accusing, and our so-called off-duty officer retreated, while I stayed.

The women surrounded me, all speaking at a riotous volume.
“You can’t come here and take that bike with that man,” one said.
“Who are you anyway, a tourist?” another said and shoved my shoulder.
“Your friend is a fake, I’m calling the Anti-Corruption Commission,” warned a third, inches from my face.

“One at a time. One at a time,” I yelled after a minute or two. “That bike is mine. I have receipts from the workshop where I got it serviced. It has new tires, a new seat. It used to have white handlebars, now they’ve been wrapped with black tape because the white tape was falling off. I’m sorry, I don’t know how it came here, but that’s my bike and it belongs to a 17-year-old boy.”

The women eased. Out of no where, another man showed up.

“I just paid $200 yesterday to some guy selling the bike saying he was in a bind with a sick grandmother,” he explained. “You can take the bike, we can see it’s yours.”

I grabbed Red, walked out in a hurry and, once on the street, handed it back to Fiffy.

“Take care of it,” I said.

A few days later, Fiffy sped across the finish line of the opening big race, a few spots ahead of me.

With a rider who really cares about it, maybe, just maybe, Red is ready to calm down.

Rolling into Action

Namibian students, like Efriam and Scholastica – two young people who received bikes from other generous Canadian donors, used to walk several kilometres to get to their school. Now, with bicycles, they are able to reduce their transportation time and focus more on their education.

By donating a quality second-hand bicycle, you will be helping more students like Efriam and Scholastica. Bicycles donated in Canada will go to a local community organisation, where the bicycles will be distributed to people who need them most.

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