Welcome to the October Charity Sunday blog hop. The weekend crept up on me. I guess I was focused on Halloween.
Today I’m supporting a charity none of you will have heard of: RefugeeCanBe (https://www.refugeecanbe.org/) It’s a small organization founded by a young woman who survived attempted murder, war and displacement, acquired an education, and is now trying to share that with her global sisters.
Chantale
Zuzi’s life began in the Democratic Republic of the Congo just 21
years ago. Despite facing devastating losses amid the cruelties of
war and displacement, Chantale has grown into a positive,
accomplished, and enthusiastic young woman determined to forge a
future in service to others.
At 13, she lost both her parents
in a massacre in her village and was forced to flee with her nine
siblings to Rwamwanja Refugee Settlement in Uganda. As the oldest
girl in her family, Chantale became the primary caregiver of her nine
siblings. She also began to advocate for the rights of girls and
young women of Rwamwanja and for those whose lives were touched by
the challenges of albinism, including severely limited vision and
security concerns. Chantale became a liaison to the camp’s United
Nations staff, as a formal representative for particular needs of
these vulnerable groups.
In September of 2018, when she was
17 years old, Chantale began a new phase of her life when she
resettled in the United States. Chantale completed high school in
just three years, graduating with highest honors and distinctions in
Perseverance and English Literature. Today, Chantale is a student at
Wellesley College.
I first read about Chantale in an editorial by Nicholas Kristof. His article ended with a telling comment (my paraphrase): If you want to change the world, sprinkle some education on the village girls.
Chantale’s incredible story gives me hope. As individuals we possess incredible power to change ourselves, and the world.
On this Charity Sunday, I will donate $2 to RefugeeCanBe for each comment I receive.
For my excerpt, I’m going back to my paranormal theme and sharing a bit from Serpent’s Kiss. The book doesn’t really have much to do with my charity, except for the fact that it’s set in a poor, remote village in rural Guatemala, where the people still haven’t recovered from the ravages of a brutal dictatorship.
Blurb
When a woman atoning for past sins heals the human avatar of an ancient god, she’s drawn into a perilous dance of destiny and desire.
From the first, Dr. Elena Navarro senses that the wounded man she discovers outside the gate of her rural clinic is not an ordinary mortal. With his chest ripped open, Jorge Pélikal still demonstrates unnatural strength and power. Elena is irresistibly attracted to Jorge, although he warns her their coupling could open the gates of chaos and cost her life. Despite his dire predictions, they fall in love. Gradually Elena comes to understand that Jorge is a supernatural player in a cosmic drama that will determine the fate of the earth and of mankind—and that even if he triumphs in his apocalyptic struggle with his nemesis, she may lose him forever.
Reader Advisory: This book may not be appropriate for individuals with a fear of snakes.
Excerpt
When she opened the gates at seven a.m., several patients were already waiting to see her. Maria Arévalo’s four year old had severe diarhoea. Old Humberto needed another cortisone injection for his swollen knees. Probably he should have surgery, but who in the poor village of La Merced could afford that? Two farmers came from Santa Colina, nearly twenty kilometers away, to get her opinion on an ugly rash that covered their chests and bellies. Three different people came by with chest congestion and serious coughs. Elena groaned inwardly as she administered expectorants and aspirin, wondering whether the whole community would soon be at her door suffering from the latest virus.
She didn’t even have time to breath until about noon. Consuela, her young assistant, tapped her on the shoulder as she was recording the details of the latest case in her notebook.
“Señora Doctora, you should eat,” Consuela said with a grin. “You can’t help your patients if you faint from hunger.”
Elena realized she hadn’t eaten for nearly twenty-four hours. “Heavens, you’re right! I think I still have some empanadas left from yesterday.”
Consuela held out a covered earthenware pot. “Luiz Garcia brought this over from his wife. Caldos con pollo. He wanted to thank you for your help with that his problem last month.
Luiz had come to her, shy and embarrassed, complaining of impotence. She diagnosed a urinary infection and given him antibiotics which, fortunately, had quickly cleared up the problem. If only all her interventions were so successful. She thought about Lupé Rebora, the thirty-year-old teacher in La Merced’s one-room school. She was dying of ovarian cancer. There was nothing Elena could offer except pain-killers and emotional support.
When Consuela lifted the lid, the mouth-watering smell of stewed chicken and vegetables made Elena’s stomach clench. “Let’s eat out in the garden,” she suggested. She led the way to the fenced clearing in the back of the building, where a rattan table and stools sat in the shade of a tall xate palm.
Elena breathed deeply, enjoying the scent of growing things that suffused the peaceful enclave. Insects buzzed in the sunshine, outside the circle of shadow. Birds screeched and chattered, hidden in the forest canopy. A flash of red and green zipped from one treetop to another. Elena smiled at the beauty that surrounded her. Despite its isolation and its poverty, La Merced had become her home.
Her assistant returned with a plate of tortillas and a pitcher of purified water. They ate quickly, without much conversation, savoring the hearty casserole but aware that the afternoon’s patients probably waited outside the door.
In fact, the afternoon load was light. Mirador Temar came for her eight-month prenatal check-up, her bulk perched precariously on the back of her husband’s rusty motorbike. Two kids that Elena didn’t recognize arrived with their younger brother, who had fallen out of a tree. The toddler had scrapes and bruises, but otherwise was unharmed. She sent him home painted with iodine and dotted with plasters.
By three p.m., the waiting room was empty. Elena thought she’d take advantage of the lull to catch up on paperwork. The clinic didn’t receive any funds from the government, but she was still required to make monthly reports to the Ministry of Public Health—number of patients treated, by age and gender; diagnoses; type of treatment, and so on. She wondered if anyone in the city ever read them.
Anger simmered in her heart as she filled in the forms, frequently consulting her log book. It didn’t matter how hard she worked. Her efforts scarcely made a difference in the lives of the poor peasants that she served. She had devoted all her resources to the clinic, desperate to make amends for her father’s atrocities, but the people of La Merced still died a decade earlier, on average, than folk in the cities. The government claimed to rule for the benefit of all Guatemalans. In truth, they were hardly aware that places like La Merced existed.
Be sure to leave a comment. Every one helps the refugees served by Chantale’s organization. Plus each one is an entry in my continuing Haunted October giveaway!
