I was a Christmas Refugee

With Green Eyes in Africa, I work with refugees. I now know what it’s like to be a refugee, sort of.

I’ve been in the states since October. I was supposed to stay until mid-January, but I began to feel like a fish out of water, especially as Christmastime approached. I decided to cut my trip short and return early to Africa, right before Christmas to surprise everyone in Cameroon.

It was a decision I began to regret as I laid on a cot in the Frankfurt airport. I was stranded in Frankfurt with thousands of other passengers. Once airport workers began to distribute water bottles to the masses, it truly began to feel like a refugee camp. The anger was palpable; the people were exhausted.

I left the United States on Monday, and did not arrive in Cameroon until Friday (the trip usually takes two days). After Frankfurt, my Royal Air Maroc flight arrived in Casablanca, way too late to catch my flight to Cameroon. The next flight to Cameroon wasn’t until two days later. They put all of us “refugees” into a bus and sent us to hotels.

Everyone was shocked, worried that we wouldn’t make it back in time for Christmas. I wanted to have a few days to get everything ready for Christmas at our center in Yaoundé. Now I knew that I’d arrive on the 24th of December at best.

I tried to make the most of the situation. Casablanca isn’t especially interesting, aside from craft markets and people watching. I made friends with a nice American girl who was stranded as well, on her way to meet her Nigerian family for the first time (her father was Nigerian). I also befriended two Cameroonian women who live in Germany and speak fluent German. They were rather fascinating.

The second day in Casablanca, due to jet-lag, I was awake almost all night and began to get stir crazy around four in the morning. Around 5:30, I decided to leave my room and take a walk. I had one of the coolest experiences of my life, so much so that I’ll have to write another blog to describe it. It was an experience that re-awakened my sense of adventure and reminded me of what makes me tick, especially in Africa. Later, with my American friend, I had another ah-ha moment that I’ll have to write about.

Royal Air Maroc is anything but professional. They said they would bus us back to the airport (one hour from our hotel), but left us stranded. My two Cameroonian friends and I had to jump in a taxi at the last minute and rush to the airport (at our own expense). Our flight was delayed, again, but only for a few hours, fortunately. Their planes are unkempt and reminded me of Southwest Airlines, only not as nice.

On a plane with hundreds of passengers and only a handful of children, I ended up sitting in a middle seat with a tiny five-year-old Cameroonian boy next to me. His parents and sisters were across from us. He was tired and bored. I felt so sorry for him. We became friends, drawing pictures and discussing the movie Cars and Spiderman. Being with this little guy made me even more anxious to get home to my kids in Cameroon. He luckily fell deeply asleep very quickly. I propped his head back up after it fell every now and then.

Our plane landed. People cheered. I walked through passport control, and saw my friend Cory waiting for me through the glass windows of the baggage claim area. I had made it. I got a lump in my throat as I saw her enthusiastic, beautiful smile welcoming me. Finally, a familiar face! But after one hour of watching the luggage claim go around and around, my bags were nowhere to be found.

My bags did not arrive with me. Christmas was in those bags.

I waited in a mass of angry people trying to push to the front of the lost luggage line. As with everything in Cameroon, those with “connections” were served first. One of my Cameroonian friends has a cousin who works at the airport, so we were served in a timely manner.

Cory and I arrived at the orphanage. My heart was beating. I had been so homesick for Cameroon, dreaming of this moment for weeks. My time in the U.S. this trip was stressful and overwhelming. I had been waiting to walk through this gate for a long time.

We set up the surprise in a special way with our live-in volunteers Joe and Natalie. Natalie told Joel, 11, that she had lost something outside of the gate and asked him to go and get it. Cory was waiting with the video camera, I hid across from her.
Joel walked out and saw Cory filming, turned around and saw me. Joel had taken on a lot of big brother responsibilities while I was gone, and because he’s the oldest, he sometimes is a little lonely. He came and gave me a hug, not saying much. He closed his eyes, crying a little.

The other kids trailed out, squealing and giggling, hugging my legs. I walked through the gate and saw Ornela, our special-needs girl. I picked her up and squeezed her tight, tears falling down my face. I had made it. I had made it for Christmas with my babies.

A little Christmas miracle happened and my luggage arrived at the airport that afternoon. Our Cameroonian Director, Olivier, was able to retrieve it in time for Christmas Eve.

We had a wonderful Christmas Eve opening presents, writing a letter to Santa, and catching up on all of the latest and greatest of Green Eyes in Africa.

Joe, Natalie and I set out all of Santa’s gifts, which were a major hit the next morning. The girls informed me that they saw Santa’s lights outside of their window and were dying to know if he ate the treat we left for him. He had.

Christmas morning was magical. But then I fell asleep for hours. I’m still jet-lagged and not entirely adjusted to Cameroon. Yesterday I went to bed at five in the evening, and woke up this morning at 4:30.

It’s great to be home. But Christmas is over, and I’m starting to notice all of the things I forget about when I’m in the United States (the grass is always greener).
Yesterday our youngest, Aloha, 4, pooped his pants and I had the joy of cleaning up the mess. I have no idea how such a miniature being is capable of excreting such a horrifically large amount of volunteer surprise. Apparently he punishes/plays games with volunteers in this way. This will be fun, for sure.

The water has been cut off for hours at a time each day since I’ve been home. It’s currently cut off. With all of the people we have in this house, it’s not pretty when the water’s cut off.

It’s the dry season; the heat is so intense that I’m wet with sweat from mid-morning until night. When I arrived, from just the few minutes I spent in the sun hugging the kids, my face was sunburned and swollen.

Yesterday Blanche and Olga decided to be mean brats to Ornela, locking her out of their room. Drama and punishments (sitting outside) ensued.

The neighbors kept their obnoxious music going all night last night—thump, thump, thump, thump. It’s on again. It’s 7 a.m. Thump, thump, thump, thump.

I’m going to go and see if the water is turned back on.

The Power of Dance...Unlimited!

by Ryan Oliver Hansen
If anyone knows how to rock a stage for a good cause, it’s Gina Hernandez, Director of Dance Unlimited Studios in Reno, Nevada. Last night she hosted her third studio show to benefit Green Eyes in Africa, and it always gets me to thinking about the power of dance and its influence in Green Eyes in Africa’s work.
Gina has organized fundraiser shows, which help Green Eyes in Africa, but her influence actually goes much deeper than these events.
I could go on and on about how much dance has meant to Green Eyes in Africa; I’ll get into that. But first, I have to write about the impact that dance has had on my life and the impact that one person—Gina Hernandez—has had on me, and thus, people in Africa.
Picture it: 1996. I’m a semi-fat fifteen-year-old with braces and low self-esteem. It wasn’t the best of times. I was in High School, planning on graduating in three years instead of four (I did). In order to get my P.E. credits, I had to do a vigorous outside activity. I chose dance, as I had already began taking tap lessons. I arrived at Dance Unlimited Studios, an awkward nobody in my mind.
But I never felt like an awkward nobody under the care of Gina Hernandez. From the moment I stepped into her studio, she made me feel like somebody who could become somebody. As she does with all of her students, she threw me into classes that were above my level and pushed me to my limits. I excelled in tap, jazz, and hip-hop. Hip-hop became my passion (although, I can’t really say it was “hip-hop” because I danced to mostly pop stuff by Will Smith, Janet, and The Backstreet Boys, oh the days!). Unfortunately, because I cared what stupid people thought back then, I never pushed myself to master ballet technique—something I regret to this day.
Gina loved me, I knew it. She was an “outsider” when compared to my narrow circle of friends and family, somebody in the “real world” who I watched with fascination. She had command of everything she did. She was beautiful, strong, and confident. I wanted so much to impress her and make her proud. My home life—which I won’t go into here—was less than perfect, to say the least. Gina became a crucial mentor to me in a time when I could have crumbled and failed.
After incredible performances and competitions, I knew that I had become a real dancer; a somebody. Since my days at Dance Unlimited, I’ve never stopped dancing. I’ve taught dance every year since—whether for fun or professionally. In college in Utah, I rocked hip-hop cardio classes at 24-hour fitness, Gold’s Gym, and other dance studios and gyms. I taught at “Dance America” conventions and had the time of my life. I owe every minute of pride, excitement, and achievement to Gina Hernandez.
Now, flash forward to Ecuador: 2004, my first volunteering experience. I barely spoke Spanish in the first weeks. Communication was terribly hard. But I was instantly able to bond with the orphans and teens by teaching dance classes and arranging performances. Our best memories are of working as a team and hearing loud applause. Those kids will never forget what that was like. Gina—Ryan—Orphans in Ecuador.
Now, Cameroon: 2005. I find myself in the most horrific of circumstances in a corrupt orphanage where I’m being scammed and witnessing awful abuse. I have a plan to get the children out and start a new orphanage. How did we get through the hardest times? Dance. We relieved our fear and our pain through dance. Gina—Ryan—Orphans in Ecuador--Orphans in Cameroon.
Now, Cameroon 2005-2010. I’m in my sixth year of living in Cameroon as Overseas Director of Green Eyes in Africa. I can’t count the hours we’ve spent learning choreographies, performing for visitors, and relieving stress through dance. We’ve even installed mirrors to maintain a regular “studio.” Chinese Professional Ballet Artists, inspired by what they saw on a visit, installed ballet bars (in our former center) and worked with the children. Cameroonian professional dancers came and worked with our kids, impacting them emotionally. Their choreographies would liberate the children in so many ways—allowing them, at times, to express terrible anger and even cry in a dance.
Dance Unlimited and parents of dancers (esp. Deborah Reisinger!) donated tap shoes and costumes that we’ve put to amazing use. Last year, our children put on the Nutcracker for distinguished diplomats in a performance that was as magical as could be. It isn’t even possible to imagine those children forgetting the glory of that evening.
We recently had a child die from malaria. It was agonizing. I was a traumatized mess. To get through the pain, I danced. I sweat. I challenged myself like Gina used to challenge me. I don’t know how I would have gotten through those awful weeks without dance to clear my mind and help me process emotions I never thought I’d face.
Our most recent dance endeavor entails our G.E.I.A. (Green Eyes in Africa) cheer and dance team. The team consists of orphans, refugees from Chad, and many others. One of our girls, Aurelie, 13, recently arrived from war-torn Chad where she lived unimaginable horror. She rocked her first performance, felt applause for the first time, and felt beautiful in her uniform. She was special for the first time.
Never underestimate the power of dance. Never underestimate the impact that one caring individual can have in this world. All that we’ve done through dance I must credit to Gina Hernandez. There’s never been a time when I’ve danced that Gina has not crossed my mind.
Gina Hernandez, thank you for what you’ve done, from all of us.

America or Cameroon: Where do I belong?

by Ryan Oliver Hansen

I’ve been in the United States for a few months, attempting to fundraise. This trip has been the strangest visit I’ve ever had. For the first time, I don’t feel at home in my native country. This is something I never expected. I adore America, but strangely, it no longer feels like home.

In my last blog, I wrote about dealing with a little boy’s death from malaria. That was a difficult time and I believed that I was in dire need of a visit to the United States to regain my sanity. The emotional pain was overwhelming. I figured, as I usually do, that things would be better in the USA. When things are bad in Cameroon, America seems entirely utopian.

In addition to the mental turmoil from David’s death, I also had malaria-turned-pneumonia in August and September. I’ve never been sicker in my life. I have had malaria numerous times; to me it’s no big deal. I know how to recognize it and treat it very quickly with minimal discomfort. I didn’t know I had pneumonia, so I kept treating malaria.

Coughing brought up brown (infected) blood. At night I’d wake up, feeling paralyzed with pain in my lower back and legs (I later learned that pneumonia distributes pain from the chest to other parts of the body). One night, the pain was so great that I was writhing in my bed, twisting and turning, until I actually screamed for help around three in the morning. Our African Director, Olivier, and our night guard, Jean-Paul, came in to help me.

I could hardly speak, shaking uncontrollably. I asked them to heat some water to put in the bathtub. For a few moments in the hot water I felt slightly better, but the pain returned. I called my Mom in the United States, hoping for a nurse’s advice. With no legitimate emergency room to go to, I simply had to endure the pain.

Days went by as the sharp pains got worse and worse; the coughing more and more violent. One day a shooting pain down my left arm and leg alarmed me (fearing heart stopping). My Chinese friend Yiewen happened to call me. She came over immediately and we drove around the city, looking for a doctor. Fortunately, my Belgian Doctor friend was in his office.

He gave me a glance and told me that I had advanced pneumonia and gave me a horse-sized antibiotic pill to swallow. But advanced pneumonia doesn’t go away quickly. It wasn’t until weeks later that I felt slightly better.

David’s death stressed me in ways I had never previously experienced. At best, I was getting four hours of sleep a night. Confusion, anger, and shock seemed to entrap me. My emotional state was bad enough to attack my physical state.

I’ve always had secret doubts and fears about Green Eyes in Africa. Would we make it? Could I handle it? What if…what if…what if? But my 30th birthday brought me an unexpected gift: The conviction that Green Eyes in Africa is meant to continue and expand, and that it is my destiny. The transition from 29 to 30 was, for some reason, very profound.
I’ve invested my heart and soul in Green Eyes in Africa. Any attempt to quit or leave this work would be, on my part, an act of cowardice. I hear constant talk of being “happy.” My goal is not to be happy. It’s to have integrity and be true to myself, which is a feeling that’s better than “happy.” Happy seems to come and go—but conviction is something to rely on. I feel lucky to have learned this.