During my first World Sight Day celebration in our headquarters location of Greenville, we did something that has stayed with me over the years.

We blindfolded a group of students from Sara Collins Elementary. And then we served them lunch.

We could have gone easy on them and served finger foods. Instead, we gave them utensils and served tossed salad and lasagna from a local restaurant.

The point of the exercise was to share the experience of what it’s like for a child who is blind to do something as basic as eating lunch. Trying to maneuver the drink, find the dressing for your salad, figure out exactly what you’re eating from the smell and the taste rather than from glancing down at it.

In this case, the lucky group of students had teachers hovering nearby to help them. After about 10 minutes, we invited the kids to take off their red CBM blindfolds and finish their lunches as they typically would.

That’s when something unexpected happened. The girls and boys who had struggled to eat with their blindfolds told us they wanted to put them back on and finish their lunch.

I want to challenge you to try and eat one meal in darkness this month to commemorate World Sight Day. You will likely need a little help, but embrace the spirit of the challenge and see if you can do as well as some of our students did.

Blindness remains a worldwide health crisis in developing countries. Every five seconds someone in our world goes blind but 75% of blindness is treatable, curable or preventable.  For more than 100 years, CBM has committed resources to helping those who are blind, preventing blindness and reversing it. World Sight Day gives us an excuse to talk about the work that goes on every day—and to challenge our supporters to walk a mile in someone else’s reality, even if it’s just for one meal.

(Editor’s Note: If you take the CBM challenge, we want to hear about your experience having a meal blindfolded. Please email us at info@cbmus.org or call us at 864.295.0095)

Editor’s Note: This is the latest blog installment from CBM-US CEO Ron Nabors recounting his travels to CBM-funded projects in Africa. Here he shares highlights from visiting the home of a blind carpenter named Boniface and his family.

FINDING JOY BEHIND THE BLUE DOOR

As we wove in and out of a narrow alleyway during a rainstorm, our group stopped at a bright blue door with dark red shavings scattered around the ground. When we entered, I met Boniface, a self-taught carpenter who radiated joy and happiness through every fiber of his being.

Measles stole Boniface’s sight when he was just two years old, and he could have allowed that darkness to swallow his heart and his desire as well. As I sat on one of the expertly crafted stools made by touch instead of sight, the 49-year-old man began telling me about his life and explaining what a lucky man he is.

A decade after teaching him to read Braille and sending him to vocational school, CBM provided Boniface with a $75 microloan that allowed him to buy tools and wood to start his carpentry business. It’s hard to believe that when community based rehabilitation workers discovered Boniface, he we unable to perform basic daily skills.

Today, he irons clothes for his entire family, which includes his wife, Bharti (who also lost her sight to measles during childhood) and their 11-month-old son.

Suddenly, Boniface begins to sing a song in broken English about the gifts he has received. He strums an old electric guitar and welcomes me to his home through the song he has spontaneously created. It went something like this, “Welcome to my home, my friend Mr. Ron….and thank you to CBM….”

As he trailed off, I was overcome with emotion looking around his two-room home, all of the furniture inside has been made by Boniface. A small bed, an upholstered couch, the three stools…created by someone who can only feel his craftsmanship. Boniface explains after he learned to read Braille through a CBM project, he became an avid reader. Eventually, he even found carpentry books written in Braille the he used to learn  advanced skills for his business.

Walking to the door to say goodbye, Boniface has one last gift for me. “You see this door?,” he asked. He then gestures to the homes around, most of which have a cloth covering, if anything at all. “Our family has a real wood door to our home,” he said, beaming with the pride of that accomplishment.

As it has so many times during my trips with CBM, it struck me all the things we take for granted. And I know that in our deepest, darkest hour, we never experience the crushing weight of poverty and hopelessness that Boniface and his family has weathered.

The rain ends suddenly and my new friend waves goodbye from the door to his home.

Editor’s Note: This is the latest blog installment from CBM-US CEO Ron Nabors recounting his travels to CBM-funded projects in Africa. Here he shares highlights from visiting a support group meeting at a local Catholic Church in Mbagal.

BUILDING COMMUNITY WHILE  BREAKING THE “CURSE” OF DISABILITY

There’s something that people who live in a developing country accept and take for granted. Most of the mothers who have a child with a disability bear the burden of care and love alone. That’s because often the husband or partner abandons the pregnant woman when he finds out the child may be born with a disability.

Vulnerable and alone, the mother is left to raise the child. Most of the time, she is unable to work because she must care for a baby or child who needs constant attention. A family unit is broken and the person most likely to suffer is the innocent child who was rejected by his father and facing a very difficult life.

That, in a nutshell, is Graci’s story. During her pregnancy, Graci was struck with malaria and low blood pressure and nearly died. Her baby was born early but the father was long gone, abandoning his child while she was still in Graci’s womb. Rukia came into the world with some physical challenges, including cerebral palsy, epilepsy and some vision problems.

When I talked with Graci, she told me how alone and isolated she felt trying to take care of Rukia without the benefit of understanding how to help improve her daughter’s physical strength and helping her learn to use her arms and legs.

That changed once Graci was referred to a CBM project in a nearby town. This particular CBM project has a support group that meets every Thursday in a local Catholic Church. Mothers who have daughters facing obstacles like Rukia (and other disabilities as well) learn exercises to strengthen their children’s limbs, receive education about health topics such as HIV/AIDS, food hygiene and avoiding malaria and celebrate the bonds of friendship.

On the day I visited, the women broke into a spontaneous song. With their children cradled in their laps, the melody of hope and love spread through the facility and wrapped me in an embrace.

“I love coming to the support unit because when I come here, I meet other mothers and see children like mine so I don’t feel so alone compared to when I am home,” Graci told me.

That’s one of the other wonderful results from the support group environment. It takes these mothers out of isolation and darkness and brings them into the light. It gives them a sense of belonging and support that they’ve never had before.

I left realizing that while others had abandoned these women and precious children, God never did. And it is through His love that CBM continues to reach out to these little ones who need extra encouragement and care.

Editor’s Note: This is the latest blog installment from CBM-US CEO Ron Nabors recounting his travels to CBM-funded projects in Africa. Here he shares highlights from visiting a primary school in Tanzania where students with disabilities are fully integrated into classes with other children.

DEVELOPING A SOFT SPOT FOR ABBAS

The entire time I spent with Abbas, I never saw him crack a smile. That stayed with me long after the journey back from Africa, and strikes me even now when I look at the photos taken during our time together. Even in front of the camera, his face is resolute— his brown eyes reflecting some of the challenges he’s faced in his 14 years.

Born with a congenital deformity that could not be corrected, Abbas stands just three and a half feet tall. His bones are too brittle for surgery and doctors predicted he would never be able to stand, much less walk.

When CBM found him at age two, Abbas could barely move his twisted arms and legs. After undergoing physiotherapy at a project funded by CBM, the little boy took his first steps two years later. Abbas’ therapy continues and today he can walk short distances, often leaning on the back of his wheelchair for support.

But, as you’ve heard me say before, CBM didn’t just hand an adult or child a wheelchair and walk away. CBM case workers continue to check on the boy, providing therapy and making sure his mobility device still fits and works for him. We also enrolled Abbas in a primary school near his home and now he studies with other students—some who have disabilities and others who don’t. The school is fully integrated.

The little boy may have arms and legs that were not properly formed, but his intellect is sharp and continuing to develop. “I want to be a doctor when I am older so I can help others like me,” Abbas told me. “I like studying math and science and English.”

As I talked with Abbas, another thing struck me…his shoes. I could tell by looking at them that they were several sizes too large for the boy—they nearly looked like clown shoes on his small feet. After talking with the interpreter, I learned that a charitable organization had provided the shoes for Abbas.

It was then that I had one of those moments of clarity. A charity had given Abbas shoes, which covered his feet. However, they didn’t take the time or have the resources to find out what size shoes the boy needed or to make sure the shoes fit. They filled a short-term need when they gave him the shoes, and I’m thankful that they did.  But even if the shoes had fit properly, they would eventually wear out and he would need another pair.

That is a wonderful parable that illustrates the difference between a charity and a development organization. A true development organization, like CBM, continues to reach out. For example, most of the people we help receive multiple services from us, and that can be a mix of medical services, education and training and community based rehabilitation. It’s not a single touch-point, like the pair of shoes — it’s sustainable, ongoing programs that offer real life change.

I’d like to ask you to think about the organizations you support, take the time to learn more about them and decide whether they are development organizations or charitable organizations. As Abbas could tell you, there’s a big difference.

Editor’s Note: This is the latest blog installment from CBM-US CEO Ron Nabors recounting his travels to CBM-funded projects in Africa. Here he shares highlights from visiting students at a primary school for deaf children.

One of the children I met in Tanzania, a little girl named Hawa, will be 21 years old when she finishes the sixth grade.

Hawa was born unable to hear and her parents did not know where to take the small girl whose large eyes take in the world around her. By the time she enrolled in a CBM-supported school near her home, Hawa was 10 and did not know how to communicate with others beyond some rudimentary signs.

During my visit to a primary school, I met the child and knelt down, asking her about her plans for the future.

After our guide translated my question, enormous tears welled up in Hawa’s brown eyes, dripping off her eyelashes and dribbling off her chin. As the tears streamed down and collected in a puddle, she struggled to respond to my question and I became concerned I had said something terribly wrong.

When she finally was able to sign, “I did not know that I had a future,” I thought my own heart would break.

How many other bright children like Hawa are living in the poorest countries of the world and being denied access to education because of their disability? While many children would grow discouraged that it takes three additional years to finish primary school because of their disability, Hawa is so incredibly grateful for the opportunity to learn.

At the same school, CBM offers skills training for adults to improve their standard of living. Most adults coping with a disability did not have the wonderful opportunity to attend school to gain skills that help them become self-supporting. In fact, just 3 percent of adults and children with a disability living in a developing country have access to education or training programs.

Hawa is a lucky girl because she is able to walk to school each day and learn. Because of our donors, she has joined the select 3 percent.

When I think back over my visit to the school and time spent with the hearing impaired students, I can still see the wonderful little girl with large eyes, a bright mind and an even brighter future. I can only imagine all that she will accomplish.

Holland Webb, Director of International Programs, cbm-us

Top Row (L-R) Holland Webb cbm-us. Reginald Paul, National Prevention of Blindness Committee, Haiti. Peter Hansen, Director of Photography, U.S. Bottom Row: (L-R) Alison Hawhee, cbm-us. Dr. Marlyse Dominique, Opthalmologist- Haiti, Dr. Guerline Roney, Opthalmologist- Haiti.

Alison Hawhee, cbm-us and Holland Webb, cbm-us

It was my fifth trip to Haiti, and I was not looking forward to it.

After three years of working to secure funding for the project, provide extensive donor reports, and help manage the creation and launch of the first sustainable, social-service eye care facility in northern Haiti, I was finished with this task.

Haiti is a difficult place to work. Systemic poverty and destabilized politics have bred a country that, while possessing beautiful coastline, pleasant weather, and potentially delightful countryside, is now defined by violence, pollution, disease, and hunger.

Churches and governments have poured untold amounts of aid money into Haiti with mixed results. Over the years, I have often wanted to walk away from this project, feeling that the barriers to its success were too high to scale.

But I have to say: I’m glad we stuck it out.

This trip changed my perspective, and rather than barriers, I saw miracles.

Instead of sitting through more difficult administrative meetings in four languages, this time, I was going to produce a documentary. Our subject was the practical lessons we learned to make a community eye care project successful when everything (and I do mean everything) is against you.

This time, I met our clients and saw the ophthalmologist at work. I got to meet the pastor who promotes our work in his rural community and allows us to use his church for our consultations.

I met Macula, an older lady who told me that before her surgery, people cheated her at her tiny store by giving her small bills and then asking for change. Now, that she can see, she was able to put a stop to that.

I met the program’s driver. He had turned up in the operating room one day quite unexpectedly, demanding to know what went on in there. He wanted to know what he was bringing people to do. He has now been trained to do visual acuity checks as well and is one of the most enthusiastic staff members.

I met Nurse Felix, the head nurse, who kept saying about our program’s effects -- “Everything has changed. Everything has changed.”

Against all odds and sometimes without even receiving their regular paychecks, the program’s leaders and staff have persevered and carved out a good place where they make clear vision and good health a possibility for many of the poorest people of northern Haiti.

For the first time, I really saw miracles of hope happening in that place of poverty.

I am transferring to a new position this month, so it’s my last trip to Haiti. And I’m glad it was the best.

You should go, too. It just might give you a change in perspective as well. And who knows? You might even get to see a miracle.

A few weeks ago, a door opened into a different world as I stepped outside the airport in Tanzania.

Up until that point, I had been shuffling between gates in various airports, grabbing sleep and coffee whenever possible.

But when I stepped out of the airport, I was overwhelmed by the sheer crushing humanity shuffling through the streets of Dar es Salaam. Thousands of people, many dressed in very little, are trudging through dirty, littered roads choked with others. Occasionally, you would see a blind man or woman sitting with a beggar's cup or a child with clubfoot on the side of the road. Otherwise, this massive crowd of people loaded down with few possessions just continued to move with no apparent destination and an uncertain purpose.

I came to Dar es Salaam to see firsthand the work being done on behalf of the blind men and women and children with clubfoot left sitting on the side of that dirt road. I came to experience the miracles being performed at one of CBM's flagship projects which offers comprehensive services for everything from surgery to community training and rehabilitation.

But I think it's important to describe the environment where this wonderful work is happening, because it makes the stories and the successes even more powerful.

Seeing a child with cleft lip having their face repaired, the gratitude in his parents' eyes and touch, meeting a young woman who had endured shame and humiliation because of obstetric fistula, spending time with a master wood craftsman who has learned to read Braille and a skill that support his family these are just a few of the snapshots that live in my heart and that came back with me from Tanzania.

Their stories and the impression they left upon me are bigger than any suitcase could ever hold. To do them justice, I will be sharing their remarkable stories with you in the coming months. Each of them represents a miracle--made possible by your donations to CBM, the loving and constant hands of our co-workers and a continuous stream of faith and hope.

Things looked rather bleak when those airport doors opened into the streets of Dar es Salaam into the overwhelming and crushing poverty and conditions. A week later, when I went back to the airport for my return to the United States, my heart was filled with joy and gratitude that despite the physical environment and its conditions, the work being done is transforming lives each day.

Isaiah was rescued from death, adopted into a loving family, and given a miracle of sight from CBM.

As a tiny infant, Isaiah was thrown away and left to die.

Sadly, it happens— more often than we can imagine—in impoverished countries where CBM works. One more mouth to feed may seem impossible in a poor family where the children go to bed hurting from hunger night after night.

Perhaps out of desperation, Isaiah was dumped into a latrine pit, a hole used as a toilet.

But Isaiah’s tiny cries were heard by someone who pulled him out of the pit. The baby was taken to a shelter, and soon afterward he was adopted by an American couple living in Nairobi.

When Isaiah was a year old his mother noticed, in flash photographs, a yellowish glow in the little boy’s eye. She mentioned it to her doctor, who recommended taking Isaiah to CBM’s eye hospital in Kikuyu.

Eye surgeon Dr. Dan Gradin examined the boy and recognized a serious eye disease that, if not treated, would progress to complete blindness. Dr. Gradin took photos of the inside of Isaiah’s eye and sent the photos to retina specialists in the U.S., who confirmed the diagnosis of Coats’ Disease.

Coats’ Disease is a rare, progressive ailment in which leaking blood vessels cause retina detachment and total
blindness.

But Isaiah’s condition was discovered early enough that laser surgery performed by Dr. Gradin sealed off the leaking blood vessels and stopped the disease’s progression. Isaiah’s eyesight was saved!

Dr. Dan Gradin specializes in treating rare eye diseases in children. During his years in Africa, he has performed more than 11,000 eye surgeries on children and adults. But Isaiah’s story is particularly special to this veteran surgeon.

Dr. Dan Gradin, the CBM ophthalmologist who treated Isaiah, is pictured with his family outside their home in Kikuyu. Dan and his wife Sally have five children, pictured clockwise from top left: Carrie, Brian, Amy, Alex and Grace.

“Isaiah was fortunate his condition was diagnosed early,” said Dr. Gradin. “Who knows? If he had not been abandoned and then adopted, maybe this rare condition could not have been discovered and he would have lost his vision.

"Isaiah’s story reminds me of God’s incredible mercy,” said Dr. Gradin. “His start in life could not have been more traumatic or desperate, but through God’s grace, we have seen miracles happen in this child’s life.

“We are grateful we had a chance to help this miraculous little boy."

After any holiday, it seems like there’s a bit of a let-down. Maybe things didn’t quite go as planned, the dinner was charred, the gift you received wasn’t what you expected or even wanted.

Valentine’s Day is no exception. The build-up begins right after Christmas and there’s a lot of retail pressure—particularly for men. Jewelers spend 90 percent of their advertising budgets between Christmas and Valentine’s Day, blanketing television ads showing that the perfect gift comes in a small velvet box.

I want to share a story about a friend who loves jewelry as much as the next gal, but will tell you the best gift she has received most assuredly did NOT come in a small velvet box.

She and her husband have a heart for CBM and for other charities that exist to help vulnerable people. They are now at an age and stage where they have the material things they need, but want to enjoy their ability to donate money to causes. The family has set up a charitable trust so they can enjoy giving to organizations like CBM.

For my friend’s Christmas present, her husband donated money into their new trust.

When she told me about this, her eyes flashed with emotion, and she said, “It was the best gift I’ve ever received. I was able to sit down and write checks to non-profit organizations to help advance their work. I haven’t ever enjoyed a present so much.”

My friend has asked that I don’t share her identity, but I want to thank her and our other faithful donors who give to CBM and support our mission. We can’t do this amazing work without your giving hearts, and a love that isn’t bound by any season.

Ron Nabors
CEO, CBM-US

The Haitians have a saying: Beyond Mountains there are Mountains.  It was made popular in the bestselling book Mountains Beyond Mountains, which detailed the quest and challenges to bring healthcare to Haiti.

Its meaning is simple.  No matter what obstacles you overcome in Haiti, even bigger obstacles lie ahead.  Through my three-year involvement with CBM’s largest eye care project in Haiti, I can attest to that truth.

From the beginning, we faced stiff challenges.  But last week, I caught a glimpse of the final mountain range.

As you may know, Haiti is the poorest country in the western hemisphere. Devastated by deforestation and the subsequent erosion of fertile topsoil, geographic isolation, brutal and corrupt governments, and a series of natural disasters, the nation is severely impoverished and now a target for many well-intentioned but poorly managed human service programs that may be doing more harm than good.

CBM, as a professional organization, saw the opportunity to help reverse Haiti’s poverty by reaching out to those with visual disabilities.

Eye care has been concentrated in only two cities and the poorest populations in outlying areas have almost no access to those cities because the roads are subject to frequent attacks by bandits. CBM opened up a new clinic in the northern city of Cap Haitien.  With support from American donors and the use of a facility provided by the Haitian government hospital, we began work in 2007.

Everything was against us. Patients in outlying villages were afraid of surgeries and many who needed our services refused to come to the hospital. Other came, but left in fear when they were told they needed a 15-minute cataract surgery instead of glasses.  The first year in a place of desperate need, we conducted a mere 40 surgeries.

At the end of 2007, I remember meeting with ophthalmologist Guerline Roney, a remarkable and dedicated woman. Dr. Roney has made personal sacrifices to keep the clinic going—sometimes working for months without pay and living with her parents to trim her expenses. I feared she would quit, and then the medical outreach there would stop.

CBM was paying her salary and provided excellent eye equipment, but it sat mostly unused.  We suggested that our successful eye care program in Mexico might help her learn new strategies to convince patients to receive the cataract operations, and Dr. Roney agreed to try.

Building on what she had already learned from her patients, Dr. Roney shadowed the team in Mexico and began to strategize how she might grow her own clinic.

I’m pleased to say that in 2008, Dr. Roney performed 400 surgeries … or 10 times the number of the previous year. Currently, she operates the third largest eye care facility in the whole country.

When I recently returned from this year’s meeting in Haiti, I was pleased to be there as the Haitian Minister of Health and Director General of Health recognized Dr. Roney’s clinic as a model of innovation and success in social service ophthalmology. Currently, CBM is helping her develop a video about the clinic so others can learn from her success and the challenges she faced.

As the Haitians know, sometimes when we face mountains, we go on to encounter additional mountains. And then there are times like these when, after an arduous and rugged crossing, we come across a peaceful valley where we can reflect and enjoy the fruits of a worthwhile and productive effort.

Holland Webb is Director of International Programs for CBM-US.