What NOT to donate

I get it.

We want to be helpful to others - especially when we have a very abundant closet. We can spare last season's fashion for people who find themselves with very little.  The reality is, some of our donations go to waste.  And when you spend hundreds of dollars shipping clothing and other items around the globe, only for half of those items to be deemed useless to the very people you are trying to aid, it makes one wonder who you are ultimately helping.  Please think about who you are trying to help as you are gathering clothing to donate.


Before I go through the types of donations I've seen that are useless, I should preface this by saying I'm coming at this from a refugee NGO standpoint.  Donations are sent world-wide for a number of reasons -- natural disasters, governmental crisis, sudden economic shortages, etc. The most common donation collections these days are for those suffering from natural disasters (as seen by the 2010 earthquake in Haiti or the 2013 typhoon in the Philippines), and the refugee crisis (donations concentrating mostly in Europe despite less than 1% of world-wide refugees crossing into Europe). So as you consider helping refugees, please remember to think about them as people, not a faceless mass who will gladly wear your clothes.



It is vital to understand the people you are trying to help.  Do not simply throw clothing and items into boxes willy-nilly and ship them off.  Here are a few things to consider as you start packing up a few boxes:

1. If you're answering a call for donations by a particular NGO or other organization, ask them directly what their most desperately needed items are.  I've meet too many people who offhandedly remark, "Oh, they'll take anything"...."beggars can't be choosers".... and "they'll take what they can get."  After working very closely within an NGO (specifically in the donations department), I can tell you first hand how ignorant and flippant such remarks are.
Why waste hundreds of dollars/euros/etc. on shipping boxes of clothes/items that are just going to be stored in the-land-that-time-forgot because not even the NGO has any idea how to pawn off these yard sale discards.
2. Know who your donations are going to.  Know the demographics, know the culture, even try to understand their religious affiliation.  This will undoubtedly alter what you give.  The asylum seekers crossing into Europe are mostly from the Middle East (Afghanistan, Syria, Iran, Pakistan) and Africa (Congo, Algeria, Somalia, Eritrea, etc.).  It goes without saying that these are conservative cultures.  I am still flummoxed by some of the completely inappropriate clothes that are shipped over!

1. Please send functional clothes and other items specifically requested by the organization you are donating through. Durable tops, bottoms, shoes are great! New baby bottles and formula are also welcome items.
2. Do NOT donate clothing that has obscene/inappropriate language/symbols on it.  No matter what organization you are donating to, the people who are receiving them still deserve dignity, so be cognizant of what you would want to wear if in the same situation.  I've seen shirts with figures giving the world the finger, pinup girls in compromising positions, and this...
   

   

   1) All people see is TERRORIST in bold 2) There's no way I would hand this to a Middle Eastern refugee
3. If the organization requests a particular size of clothing, please only send that.  The NGO knows the demographics, and knows the size of the people coming across the sea.  To be quite frank, they are not large.  Western donations are often rife with large-sized, well-intentioned donations that are unfortunately just being stored.  If you do not have the size requested, then perhaps consider purchasing the clothing.

   Shoe sizes are also important to keep in mind.  European size 44+ isn't as needed, so please be aware before tossing your giant basketball shoes into the box.
4. Another reason they are requesting a particular size is because they have a surplus of other sizes and do not have the space or the use for other sizes.  Donation warehouses are not large, and are only meant to store items temporarily before being handed out.  It is best to send sizes that are requested so that they are not sitting in a room somewhere and can be given out to those who need them most.
5. Lingerie is completely useless to a refugee.  Understand that they will probably be living in a camp, and such luxuries are unnecessary and useless. There is often no distinction between 'night clothes' and 'day clothes'. To further make this point, clothing that is distinctly pajamas is also unnecessary.  They will most likely wear sweatpants/leggings both to bed and during the day.

   

   The nightie fashionistas!

6. Ball gowns/night club dresses, high heels, and three-piece suits also have no place in your donation box.  Where do you think they'll be using them?? This speaks to both functionality and culture.  Women from these cultures will never wear strapless, body-hugging cocktail dresses.  They will be walking on dirt/gravel, so high heels/strappy shoes are more than useless.  And while it's a nice gesture to donate a three-piece suit, something that nice shouldn't be worn in these conditions.

                           
   
   
7. Dresses are welcome, but please think of who will be wearing them.  Light fabric with long sleeves with a skirt that goes at least to the knees (or longer) is perfect.  While dresses with a low neckline or thin strapped sleeves could be layered with a long-sleeved shirt underneath, it is much easier to give women a proper dress/tunic that fits their conservative standards. Heavy woolen dresses don't work well -- even in the winter.
8. Booty shorts/mini-skirts cannot be used.  I stare at these boxed items and imagine the horror on the face of a young woman who just risked her life crossing the sea, only to be handed a pair of shorts to change into because her jeans are soaked through.  It ain't happening.  Trust me.  Cultural sensitivity will go a long way as you are packing up your donation box!

   
   
9. Camisoles, tank-tops, and tube-tops also have no place in a refugee camp for the same reason.
   

         3. If these items you're donating aren't good enough for you to use, they probably won't be for others either.

1. Used clothing is completely welcome as long as it is not thread-bear, ripped, stained, missing zippers/buttons.
  Please understand, it's not about simply clothing them, it's also about allowing them some dignity in what they wear as well.
2. To reiterate, ripped/stained clothing or broken items is not acceptable. It's not worth it for anyone. Whenever I find ripped clothing as I sort through donations, I toss them out, and you should too. NGOs are stretched so thin, they do not have time to mend these clothes once they arrive.

   

   

   This isn't even the worst of what I've seen; just the quickest example I could find.
   
3. The same goes for shoes -- if the sole is falling off, why are you sending it? If the shoes require laces, please be considerate to send shoes with laces on them.  I'm always puzzled whenever I come across lace-less shoes since these cannot be distributed.
   Also, please take an extra 5-10 minutes cleaning off the mud caked on tennis shoes and work boots before shipping it over.  We know these shoes are still usable, but again, they may not be dignified to hand out.

     4. Please wash your clothes before sending them! This is also true for anything you donate.
 
     5. It would be AMAZING if the clothing was sorted and labeled beforehand.  I've spent countless hours sorting through boxes of donations.  The donations are great - don't get me wrong! - but it would save us tons of time on the receiving end if the box already has the gender, size, and other specifications (long/short sleeve, trousers/shorts, etc.) written down somewhere on the box. Don't sweat it if you don't have time; this is just a helpful tip from a donation sorter. :)

The last suggestion I will make concerns money.  Oftentimes we might shy away from "throwing money at a situation"  because we want to be more impactful.  But when considering where we are shipping items, it usually costs more to ship than the actual worth of the items being shipped.  Sending money to an organization (especially a grassroots NGO), does far more good than you realize...

1. It helps the organization purchase the specifically needed items much quicker than waiting for a box to come in the mail. 
2. It is far more cost-effective since all the money would go to the organization instead of shipping. 
3. It supports the local economy that is most affected by the refugee crisis.  This is more vital than you may realize.  Speaking for Greece in particular, their economy is already struggling without the added weight of trying to support the thousands of refugees that cross the boarder every year.  By sending money to NGOs working in Greece, they are able to purchase items in-country and perhaps improve the perception of the NGOs and refugees in particular.

For some organizations, it is possible to specify how you want the donated money to be allocated. If you are concerned that the money may not be used appropriately (or mismanaged), I encourage you to speak directly to members of that organization, coordinators of the operation, and the volunteers themselves.  Grassroots NGOs are often struggling to make ends meet while still meeting the needs of the people they are assisting.  They are often forced to get creative using sub-par methods simply because the funds are not there.  Volunteers themselves are not only donating their time, but their money because they believe so soundly in what the organization is trying to do.  Believe me, any amount of money goes a long way here! One of the best ways to do this is by managing your own go-fund-me type of campaign, and contacting the organization when you're ready to make a transfer to them directly.


If you're curious, I volunteer with Lighthouse Relief on Lesvos, Greece.  I was here last summer and it was literally life-changing. Operations on Lesvos are emergency response, assisting with landings of those who arrive at the north shore from Turkey. Lighthouse Relief also operates on the mainland with the Ritsona camp through Child Friendly Space (CFS) and Youth Engagement Space (YES).

If you would like to know more about Lighthouse Relief, donate, or volunteer, please see their website: http://www.lighthouserelief.org

Americans...

I've been living overseas too long.

The sight and sound of so many Americans in one place is disconcerting.  All I can do is sit back and observe, how loud they are, how upfront they are, and how completely comfortable they feel around each other. The confidence they show around one another and in any given situation is fascinating. They're not obnoxious when they're loud, that's just how they are; it shows their confidence. I just don't know how to respond in kind in such a situation. I know how to be loud in my own circle of friends (and usually in private), but being in public is another matter.

I feel introspective whenever I see Americans outside of America; like an outsider watching a new culture.  But isn't that telling?  Have I been gone too long that I don't know how to be "American"?  Even now, after being in Oregon for over a month, interacting with local, everyday Americans on a daily basis is jarring. I still feel like an outsider.


Perhaps it's because I am.

"Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry men."

So...this is a blog draft that I found from 2014 that was never published.  Am I four years too late? Nah. I like to think of it as aging like fine wine.  I don't know what four year old wine tastes like to be honest, but I'd like to imagine it's better than one hour wine, so here you go...

"Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry men."

Sure, you may recognize these lyrics from the popular Les Miserables musical, but here in Bangkok it has a whole new meaning.  In the throes of the Bangkok Shutdown, protesters have taken up these lines as their mantra; relating their struggles with the corrupt Thai government to the French Revolution.  Does it work?  Meh.  Is it a cool song to sing?  Definitely.

Banner near the Asok intersection

I won't even attempt to make sense of Thai politics or the Bangkok Shutdown, but the gist of what I've gathered is this:  PM Yingluck tried to pass an amnesty bill that would allow her exiled brother Thaksin (former PM and responsible for embezzling the equivalent to millions of dollars from the government), to return to Thailand fully pardoned.  This, of course, sparked cries of outrage from anti-government supporters who have merely tolerated Yingluck's office, believing that she has been controlled by her brother this whole time. 

Before continuing, it's important to know the color-coded protesters.  The red-shirts are considered the pro-government supporters and are comprised mainly of the poor to middle working class and rural inhabitants.  The yellow-shirts are supposedly anti-government protesters.  "Anti-government" doesn't mean they are anarchists who don't want to be ruled by a government; they are simply tired of the current government and want to elect new officials.  Coincidentally, yellow is the king's color and so the yellow-shirts are seen to rally behind him; however, the king has chosen to remain neutral.  So has the military.

Standing in honor of the Thai national
anthem at Asok intersection

Protesters at Asok intersection

Except when a military coup enforced a curfew. The curfew came at the end of May (the above picture was taken in February I believe), and caused city-wide panic.  Since the curfew was announced in the afternoon instructing all people in the Bangkok metro area to be indoors by 9pm, businesses, restaurants, grocery stores, and entertainment venues rushed to shut down in order to allow their employees enough time to get home.  Even then, traffic was gridlocked, and the skytrain was jam-packed with Thais fearful that they couldn't make it home in time.  What made it worse was that even taxis refused to take customers since they also had to be home by 9pm.
The curfew was then lifted to 11pm a week later.  I was still quite anxious, however, because I had booked my flight to the States well before the curfew was enacted, and it was a 6am flight.  With taxis unable to drive at 3am, I would have to get a taxi ridiculously early, and spend the night in the airport.  Thankfully another week later, it was lifted to 1am; still too early for my flight, but much more manageable.

The purpose of the curfew was to put an end to the protesters out in the streets at all hours of the night.  As you can see from the photos above, they literally blocked entire major intersections and camped out in the middle of the road on mats and in tents.  Most protesting was actually a joyous occasion for the Thais - other than blocking intersections, they were fairly orderly.  They set up a huge stage at the Asok intersection, and in between speakers, they used the stage to host concerts to keep people's spirits high in the midst of the tension and heat.  In fact, most of the clashes didn't erupt between the red and yellow shirts, but between the police and protestors.  Tear gas was sprayed into the midst of rallies in order to force them to dissipate.  Protesters retaliated with rocks and bottles.  But overall, the protests remained relatively peaceful.
The media, on the other hand, made it seem as though Bangkok was in complete anarchy.  Over 45 countries posted advisories on their embassy's website, warning citizens of the dangers of visiting Thailand.  As a Bangkok resident, I can heartily say, I have never felt unsafe in this city.  While foreigners have been warned to stay away from the protesting sites, which is easy to do, my life remains vastly unchanged through this "Bangkok Shutdown".  All this to say definitively that I am extremely safe in the midst of this nation's upheaval.

When God calls....and I take eight years to answer

It’s time to let the cat out of the bag.  It hasn’t been a secret, but I also haven’t been openly sharing with everyone - especially with people outside this tiny peninsula of mine.  Friends, I made the decision almost a year ago to leave the teaching field - possibly for good.

    May 30th will be my last official day with students.  June 8 will be my last official day as a teacher. I am planning on making the rocky transition into the missional/humanitarian field, working with refugees in Europe.  I say rocky because the path is entirely uncertain. This is my “plan” - but we all know what God does with our plans. I only hope I am not too blind to see how He directs my next steps.  To say that I feel ‘called’ is an understatement. The idea has slowly rooted itself into my soul and lay dormant for years while living in Asia, before igniting into a fire that cannot be ignored or snuffed out.  I had often kidded that I would love to go into the humanitarian sector full time if only I had a husband who could support me financially in the process (we all know humanitarianism is not a cash cow).

    Well, God did not provide me with a husband.  He did, however, provide me with a purpose. A purpose that quickens my heart, keeps me up at night with anticipation and longing, and makes my current ‘purpose’ pale in comparison.  Two years ago I prayed in earnest that God allow me to be His hands and feet. It has been the prayer of my heart while living in Korea. I was scared of such a prayer in Thailand for the petty reason that He would take me seriously when I wasn’t sure how He’d use me.  This only highlights my insecurities when I’m not in control. Those inhibitions have long since fallen away. The excuses I made for why I wasn’t ready to be His hands and feet seem ridiculous in light of who my God is. If He is almighty, He will take care of me. He is a father that will not give stones when his child asks for bread.

    And so the true adventure of trust began when I released all hold on my future. I made the decision to leave teaching in August, 2017 with no plans of coming back.  I purposely did not look for teaching positions abroad or in the States when October/November rolled around. I did not try to renew my contract at my current school. I did begin a fevered search for NGOs working specifically with refugees.  I researched Christian organizations associated with refugees. I filled out an application to join UNHCR, despite being totally unqualified. Needless to say, I never heard back from them.  And I reluctantly began exploring the possibility of becoming a missionary.

I’ve shied away from that term my whole life.  I always thought missionaries were trained as missionaries. They attended seminary school, they had a deep theological background, and they were the equivalent of homeschool kids - just as adults.  Images of remote villages without running water, and the sound of languages I would never truly understand caused me both panic and despair at my own feeble limitations.  I consider myself an outdoors person, but I can only handle ‘roughing it’ for about a week. It is not a lifestyle choice I would willingly choose to make. But that’s not the life of a missionary, is it? Missionaries exist in urban settings  just as much as rural ones; first-world nations, as well as developing ones. Missionaries are both introverts and extroverts. Some have the ability to learn languages easily, others struggle for years just to have conversational capabilities.  Some work within a team, while others are called to minister alone.

Over the summer I had a list of questions God had asked me repeatedly that I always responded with a resounding NO.  But by the end of the summer, I ran out of excuses. God reassured me on every point that those don’t matter if He is looking out for me.

    - Am I okay with leaving the teaching field?

    - Am I okay with not making stable money?

    - Am I okay with not planning my future 8 months in advance?

    - Am I okay with going back to Oregon while I figure out the transition into humanitarian work?

    - Am I okay with an unpredictable future?

    For someone who craves control, God was ultimately asking if I was willing to allow Him total control of my life.  I ran out of excuses. I ran out of a life plan. The only place to look was Christ and His wondrous plan. He was still waiting for me.  Waiting to begin His work in my life. Waiting to launch me on the ultimate adventure of faith. And I finally said yes.

    So Oregon it is for the next six months (hopefully) as I do the one thing that missionaries have in common: raise financial support.  I’m partnering with a mission sending agency and beginning a one year mission with them as I sort out what it means to be the hands and feet of God.  How long will this venture last? I have no idea. But I know He has something incredible in store for me. Eight days in Lesvos was enough for Him to break through my excuses to ultimate surrender.  It wasn’t torturous. It was a relief to finally say yes.  Because it means I don’t have to control every step of my life anymore. As independent as I am, I get tired making life decisions, I truly do. Now He can make them for me, and I know there won’t be any wrong decisions this time.

Skala Sikaminas harbor, Lesvos, Greece

    I realize I never got to the moment that God turned my heart around - it was on a rocky beach in Lesvos - but I will share some of my experiences in my next post.  This is a huge step into the unknown for me. I am excited, cautious, and yet filled with peace. As though this was God’s plan all along, and I am just now realizing where I need to be.  These next several months of limbo may actually be the hardest part of transition; what with reverse culture shock, moving back into my childhood home, and figuring out support-raising. For now, I ask for prayer.  That is what will get me through everything.

Trying to hold back the rain with a broom

I did not pick a good day to walk outside without an umbrella.  I had glanced up briefly as I opened the front door, decided the clouds would not fall, and locked the door firmly behind me.

Yet as I sat in my new favorite coffee haunt, aptly named Coffee Writer, I watched mist blanket the narrow strip of asphalt three feet from my open-air table.  Hmm, I wonder how long this will last?  I had watched it try to rain a couple times before, but in the end, the skies stayed white and the clouds floated by to fall on someone else.  I decided to wait it out, and read my book contentedly as the mist slowly became whole rain drops.  It was such a gradual process, that by the time I got up to to head  home, it was truly dreary weather.  Portland weather.  The kind of rain that was expected to stay all afternoon.  I couldn't sit at that open-air table all afternoon.
And so I set out into the steady rain with no umbrella, no newspaper, nothing to hold over my head.  I couldn't decide if I should walk straight home or run my errand -- either way I would be drenched by the time I made it up that colossal hill.
Hunching my shoulders, looking to all passersby like a pitiful farang (haven't learned the word for foreigner in Korean yet), I climbed the hills to the local shop and purchased a straw broom. Perhaps it was culturally taboo, but I still shielded my head with the light yellow broom; the resin smell wafting down.  I couldn't help but catch the eyes of the Koreans around me, huddled securely beneath colorful umbrellas, their thick-soled shoes stepping gingerly across the brick path.  Their brows furrowed, their eyes darted quizzically to mine, but they hurried along nonetheless.

Why is she using a broom as an umbrella?  I could almost hear their thoughts.  Silly foreigner.

I made it home, drenched, with no dignity in tact.  Be assured I know how to use a broom and an umbrella, but that day I had to be creative.

When my heart-language is English

*As I got ready to post another blog, I noticed this was still sitting here as a draft.  It's several months old, but relevant nonetheless.

Everyone has a heart-language; mine just happens to be English.

This phrase may be new to you, or perhaps you've never heard it before, but it's been used more and more in various circles I'm in.  Your 'heart-language' is simply your native tongue -- the language you are most familiar with and can use most adeptly.  Sometimes when I'm a part of group prayers, we ask everyone to speak in their heart-language.  This often means I get to hear people praying in Thai, Japanese, Ethiopian, Tagalog, Korean, English and sometimes the odd European language thrown in the mix.  While I never understand the non-English languages, it tickles my ears listening to the sounds of them.  Everyone around me can speak English, but they are more proficient in their native tongue.
And that's where my admiration turns to envy.  And self-pitying.

You see, many of the people I know speak multiple languages.  They're not just bilingual.  They're trilingual.  They're multilingual. And yet they are still perfectly proficient in my language.

And I don't understand.

I don't understand how they can speak English so well.  Our conversations flow so smoothly that I take for granted that English isn't their first language.  I forget that they had to learn English as a foreign language the way I tried learning Spanish.  The way I tried learning Thai.  Only the difference between us is that they succeeded.  If I tried really hard and thought through what I wanted to say ahead of time, I could get through a conversation in Spanish.  I can't really say I know how to do that in Thai.  I've lived in Thailand for almost 6 years, and my language acquisition is abysmal.  Sure, I could use some pretty legit excuses like: I work in an English-speaking school, I go to an English-speaking church, I'm an English teacher so I have to train others in my native tongue, blah, blah, blah.  All that is true.  But even I don't buy these excuses.

I continue to compare myself to my students who learn my language.  I compare myself to my friends who grew up in a bilingual home.  I compare myself to friends who set out to learn a new language and succeed. And I fight back feelings of jealousy, frustration, self-pity, and resentment. A life of comparison is not a life at all.  I know this in my head, but I struggle living it in my day to day life in a foreign country.

I'll talk to fellow colleagues about how they learn Thai (yet another comparison technique), and some will say things like, "I learned a few phrases, then just went out and started talking to Thais and they helped me with the rest."  Another teacher told me he sat down with the Thai alphabet and Youtube and practiced writing the letters until he could read and write.

For someone like me, who struggles infinitely with language acquisition, hearing how it comes easily for others leaves me discouraged.

So I try to comfort myself with the fact that growing up speaking English is something millions of people world-wide wish they had the opportunity to do.  It's a shallow comfort at best.  I know my language is a commodity outside of English speaking countries -- I've lost count of how many random people have asked me to teach them English (taxi drivers, vendors, etc.) -- but that doesn't negate the value of their language, or how they can communicate with me in mine, but I can't in theirs.

Despite my efforts to speak a foreign language, I think I can firmly say that it is by and large lost on me. I've learned enough Thai to get by.  In my younger years, I felt comfortable enough to say my Spanish was decent (it's not anymore).  Clearly, neither one of these is a heart language of mine.

But English is.

As a teacher of the language, I've honed my craft.  Communication -- understanding others and being understood -- is something that I've worked on for years both in and out of the classroom.  So if you're ever wondering which language I will most likely use in order to be intelligible, try English.  I've tried other languages, and felt like an imposter the whole time.  So please forgive me if I stumble through your language; it isn't the first time, and I guarantee you it won't be the last.

The past year in review...

It's been a year to the day, and life has sure enough changed.  In no particular order...

1)  I'm a bit rusty at blogging -- it's embarrassing that I call myself a writer, teach writing, but don't take time to write.
2)  I've started my 6TH YEAR of teaching in Thailand
3)  Thailand is still under military rule -- and on a side note, a major bombing happened 5 days ago in central Bangkok, killing 19 and injuring 120+ people
4)  My grandpa died in May
5)  I took a 6-week adventure through Europe, hitting up Turkey, Croatia, Prague, and Spain.  Summer was life-changing.  It will take several blog posts to write about it, and if you're lucky, I actually will.  By Christmas. Or maybe before next summer.
6)  I'm renewing my teaching license yet again, and am taking another online course that I loathe.  Online classes stress me out.  I thrive in a classroom and would enjoy it much better if I was with others in class.
7)  My tita died a week ago, bringing me on an impromptu trip to the Philippines (where I am now)
8)  I've caught no less than a half dozen rats in my apartment -- and I've started at least that many blog posts about this very subject....and never published them, as is my habit apparently.
9)  A nephew has popped into my life, and so far I've only spent a few days with him as a new born. So that means making a miserable flight back to America in the winter.  The worst time to travel back.  But I want to be a good aunt and be there for his 1st birthday.  Ah, the sacrifices I make...
10)  I've been cooking a lot of pinterest recipes lately, and love it.  My latest kick: pureed soups.  I have a freezer full of soup.  Come by and eat some for me.  Seriously.  Just let me know so I can defrost it before you come.
11)  I joined the iPhone family a month ago and love it.  A little too much.