Tag: Unicef

My debt to Glenn Thomas, lost on flight MH17

 

Glenn Thomas, WHO media officer, profoundly influenced the course of my life and that of my husband.  He was a catalyst for the change of direction we made, from BBC journalism into aid and development work. Without Glenn, my business may not have taken the direction it has – I certainly wouldn’t be surrounded by my inspirational, world-changing colleagues, most of whom I met through this kind, funny and committed man.

As communication officer for WHO’s TB campaign, he was innovative and dogged in his resolve to make us all aware of the dangers of tuberculosis.  He was frustrated by the world’s slow response to the disease and the consequent proliferation of drug-resistant strains. This is one of the Big Three diseases – the others being AIDS and malaria. Its impact on people living with HIV is terrible – one in four now die of TB rather than AIDS.

Glenn was part of the WHO team who forged a partnership with the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation to address this. When the Foundation awarded a multi-million dollar grant to modernize China’s TB programme, Glenn announced this to us proudly over a drink. It was characteristic: his face lit up, his voice gentle: “We did it. We did it.”

My husband, Mervyn Fletcher and I met him when we were seconded to WHO in Geneva from the BBC and assisted him in preparations for World TB Day. This secondment was Glenn’s idea, nothing like it had been done before and he and the doctors we worked with were enthusiastic. It was February 2005, a few weeks after the tsunami. Mervyn and I had supper on our last night in Geneva with someone from UNICEF whom we’d never met before.  Within a few weeks my husband had joined the agency. We sold up in London, cast ourselves off from the BBC mother ship and headed for the tsunami disaster zone in Banda Aceh, Indonesia.

I was the “trailing spouse”, without a structured career for the first time since I was 18. Suddenly, Glenn popped up with another New Idea just when I most needed him – this has become a feature of the past eight years. Working with formidable women from the US pressure group, Results Educational Fund, and the head of the Lilly Fund (until recently, Eli Lilly produced critical medication to be held in reserve for patients with drug resistant forms of TB) we devised a training course for people who have become known as “TB Champions”.  Patient-activists, doctors and celebrities from all over the world were coached to give media interviews and challenge the politicians who control national health programmes. It was business like, targeted and very exciting. The first courses took place in the US. After a few days, the most outstanding “alumni” were whisked off on advocacy tours of the US and addressed senators and congressmen on Capitol Hill.

That the course continues today, in different African cities, is a tribute to Glenn and to his vision.

The TB Champions astonish me with their tenacity and energy, often in spite of chronic illness. Many would never have set foot outside their home towns had they not had the luck to survive TB and consequently become activists. Years have passed but I still remember the suffering of the young Ethiopian pharmacy student who was hospitalized for two years. He saw fellow patients commit suicide because they could no longer bear the toxic treatment for drug-resistant TB.  The doctor from Botswana who wept as he described how he’d founded his own clinic in memory of his best friend. The medical director from Delhi who stood guard outside the hospital room of a female patient, preventing her husband from serving divorce papers because he couldn’t stand the stigma of his wife having the disease.

Had it not been for Glenn, I would never have met Carol Nawina Nyirenda, an alumni of our second course.  Carol has since founded her own NGO in Zambia. Earlier this year, the Dalai Lama appointed her one of his “Unsung Heroes” at a ceremony in San Francisco.http://newunsungheroes.org/2014-event/2014-unsung-heroes-of-compassion/carol-nawina-nyirenda/

I am now the support person when she leads training sessions. I can’t begin to describe the depth of my affection and respect for this woman, nor how she and all our other champions have enriched my life.  This weekend I helped Carol to prepare a session she’d be chairing at the Melbourne AIDS conference, interviewing the President of Botswana.  What undreamed-of journeys she and I have made.

How many people can  be described as genuinely bringing about change? Very few, especially those who, like the TB Champions, were rarely born into privilege. Yet, by force of circumstances and their own charisma they are holding to account the authorities who control their national health services.

They are modest and unaware of how remarkable they are.  That epithet also applies to Glenn.

He never gave up. With gentleness, humour, charm and tenacity he was making a difference.

The conduct of the thugs at the crash scene in Donetsk disturbs me acutely. I cannot imagine the suffering of Glenn’s partner Claudio and his beloved family.  I am trying to focus on the happy moments I spent with Glenn, sitting up late after training courses over beers or listening to him drily and affectionately recounting the camping holiday he’d arranged for his sister’s kids one chilly English summer.

I want them and Claudio to know how grateful I am to Glenn for putting my husband and myself on the road to a fulfilled life, surrounded by people who inspire us.

The world, also, has cause to be grateful to Glenn for the work he has done.

 

 

Today I Came Across an Abandoned Child

Today, I came across an abandoned child.

Working in the Zambian capital, Lusaka, I had been invited to Muvi TV, a lively, popular channel, widely watched in Zambia and broadcast across the whole continent via satellite.

Watching from the control room, I was impressed when their kids’ news programme took to the air. Never before, aside from the BBC’s “Newsround”, have I come across a similar service. I looked down onto the studio floor at the presenter, a young woman who also edits the daily show. Close by sat a boy, 4 or 5 years old, in a plastic chair. Suddenly the camera was on him. Silent, unsmiling, the child stayed still. People were chatting in the control room so it was only after a few seconds that I became aware of the presenter’s words. And even then, I thought I’d misheard. Reading snappily from autocue, she explained that he’d been found a week ago in the street near a market in Lusaka.

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His name was Jabes Tembo, he knew his sister’s name, Maria, and his brother’s, Enokio, and those of his friends. But not his mother’s.

I have worked in developing countries for 9 years including a spell with the UN’s children’s agency, UNICEF, but even so, this astonished me. I turned to a young woman standing beside me in the control room – Evelyn.

”Did she just say that child was found wandering?”

It transpired out that Evelyn was the daughter of the elderly woman who had found Jabes, wandering up and down outside her house. Evelyn had brought Jabes to the studio.

“Muvi TV often do these appeals to find the families of lost children and they reunite quite a lot of them,” she explained.

Evelyn knows from his accent that he comes from the east of Zambia, far, far from Lusaka..

“Did you go to social workers? The police?”

“The police told us to take him home with us,” she said. “He’s staying with my mother because my place is too small but he eats with my children. He’s very bright and polite and he already calls my mother Grandma.”

This will be no easy thing for the family. Evelyn makes a living selling tomatoes at the side of the road. How many children did she have already?

“Three boys and a girl,” she replied, then laughed: “Now I have four sons.”

I was struggling. “If this happened where I come from it would be on the news every day.”

Evelyn explained that newspapers want payment to advertise a lost child, Muvi TV does it for free.

Another woman, also at the studio, runs a project for street children. She shook her head at my query about social protection. “It’s not the same here.”

After 15 minutes sitting silently in the plastic chair in that studio, intimidating with its metal tripods and cranes and cameras, Jabes was released. We went into the sunshine for photos.

He smiled when I stroked his face but most of the time he was withdrawn.

Later I tackled a Zambian colleague, Carol Nyirenda, about what I’d encountered.

“How did the child get here to Lusaka? He must have been abducted.” I couldn’t imagine how such a little boy had travelled around 1000 km on his own.

“No, there are lots of children who get brought to the city and are lost by their parents,”

she said.

So a child’s disappearance is so commonplace that the media don’t think to publicise it.

Unless you pay.

But here’s something else commonplace – an elderly woman – nearly 80 years old in fact, and her daughter, a market trader, taking in a stranger’s child.

Jabes’ mum saw the broadcast and was travelling to Lusaka to collect him. I have been unable to discover how he became lost.