Every precious life

 Friday April 30

With news bulletins beaming distressing videos of people in India gasping for air, I receive this message from Dr Dhiraj Ranjan who runs our partner eye hospital in Motihari in north-western Bihar. This area – in the district of East Champaran -  is probably the most deprived area in the most deprived state in India.

‘Ma’am there is an oxygen factory 30km from Motihari, in Harsiddhi. We are buying cylinders with donated money and taking it to the Sadar (government) hospital.’

The ‘we’ are a group of committed and organized local people including social workers, doctors, medical students and others, the kind of people I run into every time I am in Bihar. People who make the world go round. Even when the planet appears to be off kilter.  

And it is because of this group that I can begin with a positive story about an otherwise horrendous week of events in India. It is about a young newly-wed couple called Anku Tiwari and Nutan Kumari from the village of Barharwa Kala.

Anku and Nutan eke out a living as ‘daily wage earners’ usually ending up with roughly 300 rupees (£3) at the end of each long day. They are in their early 30s and Nutan is in the early stages of pregnancy.
Anku developed a fever, bought some tablets at a pharmacy and returned to the dilapidated hut that is their home. His condition worsened so a worried Nutan brought him to the Sadar government hospital. He was admitted. But the hard-working and desperate team of doctors had run out of oxygen.
A hospital employee rang Dr Dhiraj. He sent two of his eye hospital team, well trained and experienced in patient care. They took with them an oxygen cylinder and money for food for Anku.
They returned the next morning to discover that Nutan was now sick. She, too, needed oxygen. After receiving supplementary oxygen for 48 hours and 72 hours respectively, Anku and Nutan were out of danger. They remained in hospital until well enough to be discharged.
Two precious lives, and a life in the making, saved.

 Sunday May 1
‘You safe, we safe’ wrote Dr Faisal Siddiqui from West Champaran district, always concerned for his honorary Bihari friends in the UK. Then: “Situation is very scary. It seems the world is going to end. Oxygen supply here is just manageable.’

From Laxman Eye Hospital boss Thakur Dharmendra Singh, a man with his finger on the pulse of northern Bihar, this message:

‘We have stopped eye surgery, seeing only emergencies, and will watch the situation. In Muzaffarpur there are two active oxygen plants so, so far, there is no oxygen shortage. Our team is safe and we have explained to all patients and their families that we will restart our normal work as soon as we can.’

Monday May 2

Update from East Champaran.
Many villagers are selling their precious bakaree (goat) in order to pay for treatment, any treatment that is available. This is indicative of absolute desperation. I remember the Bihar floods of a few years back. My friend and Canossian Catholic nun, Sister Jessy was involved in trying to rescue villagers in danger of drowning. They refused to step onto the rescue boats unless their most valuable possession – the bakaree was safe in their arms.

Tuesday May 3

Some reassuring news from eye surgeon Dr Utkarsh Bhadwarj. He lost his mother to COVID a few weeks ago and the entire family (which includes two doctors) were infected by the virus.

‘Ma’am we are getting better. Papa is keeping busy with his legal work. While I have been recovering, the eye hospital in Araria was able to continue restoring sight to the blind and seeing patients in the Out Patients department - that is credit to my colleague Dr Navin. Now I am thinking we should start a vaccination centre (in a side building). We should play our part to stop Covid.’

Wednesday May 4

Everyone is talking about oxygen concentrators. I receive numerous appeals by email and WhatsApp from other organisations about sending them out to India. Some confused reporting in the media gives the impression that they are a straight alternative to oxygen delivered from cylinders – they are not.

The very sickest COVID patient can need 10-12litres of oxygen per minute. The concentrators can deliver up to 5litres per minute. So they are useful for less sick patients being cared for at home and to try to stabilise a hospital patient waiting for an oxygen bed to free up. The Bihar state health department has just issued a directive to Covid-designated hospitals - medical staff should utilize concentrators for those patients requiring less than 5litres of oxygen per minute.

But what do they cost?
I am told by social worker Jestin Anthony in Delhi that these machines are now selling for 50,000 rupees (around £500). In Bihar one shop has priced them at 65,000 rupees, a price few can afford in this state.

This concentration on oxygen alone worries me.
In Bihar, the drastic shortage of medical personnel is at least as important as oxygen supplies when it comes to saving patients.
In the past week, four doctors have died in the town of Motihari alone.
There was a new batch of qualified doctors from a local medical college. However, they have not applied for advertised vacancies…and one can understand why.
In return for risking their lives treating Covid patients (not to mention risking the lives of their families) the state government is offering them 5000 rupees a day (around £50) and only a three month contract.

I am reminded of  Spitfire pilots in the Battle of Britain in the second world war – whose life expectancy was just four weeks.

Thursday May 6

Some great news. Almas, wife of Azhar Khan messages from the town of Aurangabad in southern Bihar.

‘Azhar now fine. Can walk and speak freshly. He also wants to talk to you whenever you are free.’

39 year-old Azhar Khan, who runs Drishti Eye Care Hospital, spent 14 days in intensive care in Bihar’s capital city of Patna. He was in a very poor state. Luckily, though, there was no shortage of oxygen in Patna at that stage.
Now back home in Aurangabad, he is the sole patient at his own eye hospital. As Dishti is located amongst green fields and low lying craggy hills, away from main roads and polluting traffic, it is an ideal rehabilitation centre!

Friday May 7
The WhatsApp message I most dread. This time from Dr Amit Anand in Madhepura, north-eastern Bihar.
His father had been admitted to hospital at the beginning of the week.

‘Papa nahi rahe’ wrote Amit in hindi.
Papa is no more.

Apart from his personal grief, Amit, like so many medics all over the world, also expressed a sense of collective helplessness and feelings of failure that doctors are unable to save patients in such circumstances.

‘This virus is very dangerous.’

Four times a year Dr Amit’s hospitable parents allow us to squat in their home, spend hours planning eye screening camps, talking shop and engaging in raucous discussions about politics, global warning, you name it. During the last year, these discussions continued via Zoom. Just a few weeks back we were all looking forward to the inauguration of the new Anand Eye Hospital and Amit was commiserating with us for not being able to be there in person as we were then in lockdown and rural and small town Bihar had been almost unaffected by the Covid virus.

Life on a knife edge.

Saturday May 8

I wake to the sound of rain on my windowpanes and grey skies in the heavens.

I read my first WhastApp message from Bihar.
1857 people had been admitted to the Sadar Hospital in Motihari. (The hospital is officially a 50 bedded hospital but has been admitting 200-300 patients daily till now).

I read that Dr Dhiraj and his friends had already bought and delivered 206 oxygen cylinders that morning.

‘The corona bomb has been fired in Motihari’ wrote Dhiraj. ‘I will make every effort to save my town. We will provide oxygen cylinders for those who have God and no-one else.’

I send money via Western Union. A few hours later I receive email conformation that that cash has been picked up.
‘I am returning to the Harsiddhi oxygen factory right now’ messages Dhiraj.

I suspect that he is travelling in one of the same hospital vehicles that has transported so many of us all over Bihar.
In normal times we would be collecting patients to bring them to hospital for eye surgery – giving sight to those who cannot see.
Did we ever anticipate that we would be transporting oxygen for those who cannot breathe?

Lucy Mathen

#everypreciouslife #communityishumanity #basichumanvalues

Do Remember

A friend in Delhi, a retired army officer once said to me: ‘Democracy is community, Lucy.’
I had thought this so apt a comment that I quoted him in my book Outgrowing the Big.

Now I am not at all sure if this is true.

In the UK, we are able to breathe a little easier because of the rollout of the vaccines and the drop in Covid-19 cases; eased lockdown restrictions have allowed us to meet friends and family and luxuriate in the spring sunshine. The laughter of children in school playgrounds is once again a familiar sound.

But all this against a backdrop of some appalling decisions made by our government in its handling of the pandemic which reek of Double Standards.
The one that still grates on me most is the punch in the gut to the NHS nurses who were refused a decent pay rise whilst £21billion was wasted on contracts allotted to private companies for a practically useless Track and Trace system.
As for the 400,000 hospital gowns ordered from a Turkish T-shirt manufacturer, only a fraction of which arrived in the UK courtesy of the Royal Air Force and which were then found to be unusable, while nurses I know were making PPE out of bin-liners…

Where is the shame? Or is shamelessness now next to godliness?
If this is democracy, it is not serving the community well.

Meanwhile in the world’s largest democracy - India - these are indeed dire times.
Even our beloved rural Bihar, which had escaped the first COVID-19 wave practically unscathed, is suffering.
Just a week ago, one doctor with whom we work was looking forward to the opening of his new eye hospital in north eastern Bihar to better serve the increased numbers of patients he is seeing; now he is recovering from the virus along with his family.
So too is a brilliant paediatric eye surgeon in Patna city to whom we refer many children for urgent cataract surgery.

Very sadly, we have lost the dear mother of a third eye surgeon. For a week we remained on tenterhooks as a young eye hospital manager lay in ICU. I have just heard that he has been transferred to a ward and is able to breathe without oxygen.

Once again, this turmoil and human tragedy is taking place against a backdrop of almost breathtaking shamelessness. Behaving as if the country had comprehensively seen off the Covid-19 virus, the Indian Government promoted a huge Hindu festival (laying on extra trains so that people could attend it) which saw several million people gathering on the banks of the River Ganges. And, oh yes, because politics is much more important that people’s health, large political rallies were allowed to take place with politicians setting the standard by wearing no face masks.

Once again, Democracy is failing the people.

And yet, in both countries, as always, hope in humanity is coming from the unbelievable action of concerned citizens. The community - people who care about each other and have relationships with each other.

In the UK I know of hardly anyone who was not involved in some way in helping care for others more vulnerable than themselves during our extended lockdown. Small local charities and community groups, already run on shoestring budgets, stepped up their vital services sometimes even endangering their long-term viability by spending their small reserves to do so. Humanity trounced self-preservation.

The same happened in India. The first lockdown in early 2020 was draconian and came with little warning. Thousands of migrant workers from Bihar, who were thrown out of their jobs in Mumbai and Delhi, fled back to their villages. There was little transport so they walked. Many died on the road.

Social worker Jestin Anthony and an alliance of small local Indian NGOs came together to provide food and water for the migrant workers remaining in Delhi. On some days they simply ran out of supplies. He told me: ‘They waited patiently in line. And when there was nothing left, they just turned and walked away. They still had hope. I wondered where they got this from.’

By the 4th week of the Indian lockdown Justin’s group – The Noble Citizen Foundation - conducted a survey to find out what more they could do to help. ‘We were shocked by what we uncovered. So many were struggling with emotional issues and simply wanted to talk to someone who would listen. So we got counsellors, psychologists and psychiatrists and organised camps on the roadside. We were sceptical as in India talking about mental health is seen as taboo. But they didn’t just come in large numbers, they really opened up in front of the counsellors. This was a big learning for us. During a time of calamity, disaster or pandemic we look to provide physical help but mental health is totally neglected.’

Sadly, in April 2021, even providing physical health is now a challenge. Doctors weep over their patients when oxygen supplies run out. Meanwhile Jestin and his team will have their work cut out when they restart their mental health counselling. The entire nation is traumatised.

Probably few people in the UK wish to be reminded that it was only 3 months ago when we experienced a peak in Covid deaths – almost 2000 daily.
Or how domestic violence rocketed during lockdown.
Or how children from the poorest families fell behind their studies because of the lack of laptops to enable them to keep up with online teaching.
Or how it took a professional footballer to force the government to accept that they had a duty to feed hungry children.
We are looking to the brighter future.

But perhaps we should remember these things. Because, aside from the direct impact of the Covid-19 virus on our health, the other problems all existed before the pandemic and still exist now. And that includes the climate emergency. (I recommend reading The Lancet edition of January 9, 2021 – Climate and Covid-19 : converging Crises).

When the pandemic was petering out in China but picking up pace in the UK, I found the words of  those who had lived through the Chinese experience the most valuable. They had been where we were heading and had some helpful hints as to how to cope. The opposite can also be true to. We can still learn from those who are now in the midst of the worst of the pandemic in their country. Like my friends in India.

A WhatsApp message is circulating amongst doctors in Bihar. It was forwarded to me by one of them, an eye surgeon now working in a Covid-dedicated Government hospital in Patna.
It is a powerful clarion call to Never Forget what the Covid Crisis laid bare all over the world and that getting ‘back to normal’ is unforgivable if we really care about Humanity.
I fear that we are at a stage in the UK when we might drift back to the abnormal normal, riding high on the euphoria of having escaped, by the skin of our teeth, the current fate of millions of distraught Indians.

Here is the message:

‘Do remember that the Corona did not make the system fail. The system was already failing. Corona exposed it and accelerated the pace of failure.
Do remember we are going to come through this Corona Crisis. But this time hoping and eagerly waiting for some spark of revolution in our age old rusted system. Some radical life changes from people. Some reprioritisation of our goals and objectives for life.
Do remember that our next generation is watching us. They will ask for an explanation for everything that we are doing today. So be prepared for it.
In this crisis situation what helps all humanity is basic human values.
So I wish and hope this Covid pandemic will bring some good changes in human beings for a better future for the next generation.’

Lucy Mathen

#doremember  #basichumanvalues  #nodoublestandards  #communityishumanity

Bihar -an electric tale

What a brilliant 24 hours it turned out to be.

During a WhatsApp catch-up with Dr Samuel Murmu, who runs Bamdah Mission Hospital in Bihar -‘Jungle Hospital’ in both my books -  he told me:
‘There is a problem with the AC (air conditioner) in the OT (operating theatre). It is more than ten years old. We tried gas refilling but it is still overheating.’

This was all the more upsetting because, only about 18 months ago, the village of Bamdah and most villages in Jamui district in Bihar, had experienced the luxury of having mains electricity supplies, all day and all night. Prior to this the hospital had managed with generators and inverters to ensure that they could continue their work. The doctors’ bungalow where we always stay was often lit only by oil lamps.

Now there is bijalee (electricity) in the villages of Bihar!
This might well be the most appreciated achievement of the state government.

But what to do about that misbehaving air-conditioner?

Temperatures in rural north India are creeping up by the day, already over 100 degrees. In spite of this, the operating schedule at all our partner hospitals in Bihar remain busy.

I will just digress to tell you that Bamdah Hospital’s  OT is my favourite operating theatre in all of India. (The building was erected back in the early 20th century to replace the original, smaller OT which dated back to the very beginning of Bamdah Hospital in 1885).

It is a spacious, circular building with a high ceiling and tall windows. Surgical protocol requires well-demarcated areas of sterility and a strict no-touch technique. This can often turn operating theatres into impersonal, unfriendly, often silent and rather scary places for patients. Yet in Bamdah’s OT you feel as if an invisible and kindly giant is enveloping you in a comforting embrace.

Indeed, so relaxed was my friend Adrian when brought here a few years ago, that he managed to overcome his phobia for watching eye surgery at close quarters and accepted Dr Samuel’s invitation to stand beside him, watch surgical instruments go in and out of the eye and be talked through each step of a cataract operation. He even peered down the microscope to see what it was like from a surgeon’s perspective.

But now, the air-conditioner was letting us all down. And the mercury was climbing. In the main hospital one can fling open doors and windows and let in the breezes from the cool verandas. Patients can sleep outside to keep cool. The doors of the operating theatre, however, need to remain closed. And in the summer it is impossible to survive for long under surgical gowns, masked and gloved, in such conditions. As for anxious patients sweltering under the theatre drapes and trying not to move, well you can imagine how hard that is.
Dr Samuel’s last words in the WhatsApp were –‘not sure how you can help.’

Later that day, I was tapping away on my computer and one of those inexplicable things happened. I am sure that many of you have experienced this too. I hit a key without planning to and lo and behold it took me to another section of my email. Totally random.

I found myself reading a mail dating back a few years. It was from a retired GP, a British Indian, who had a little bit of money in a bank account in India. I remembered that he had ended up paying for a much-needed motorbike for a key outreach worker at Bamdah Hospital.

Now, the croupier of the universe had seemingly spun the wheel, and Serendipity stepped in. Or possibly.

The replacement air-conditioner would cost 60,000 Indian rupees – that’s about £580 at today’s rates. Would this nice man who had been generous before, be generous again?

I asked.
He replied by return mail. He said yes.
The money was transferred.
Bamdah would get its new AC.
All this in the space of 24 hours.

So now, picture the scene at the jungle hospital, in the months to come.

In the cool of the operating theatre Dr Samuel will complete the last operation, change back into his normal clothes without having to peel off theatre garb soaked in sweat, and walk across the compound to his bungalow. Above his head the black Ibis will be screeching from the tops of the tall palm trees and the monkeys will be scuttling across the expansive grounds teasing the dogs and making the patients smile. Dr Samuel will walk through his garden, round to the back of the house, and enjoy a well-earned cup of chai, looking out onto the mango trees whose fruit will be shared amongst staff and patients in May.

Back in the operating theatre, one of the nurses will reach up to switch off the AC.

Well done Everybody!

Lucy Mathen

#whatadifferenceadaymakes  #smalliseffective #outgrowingthebig #bijaleeforbihar

What is the point of a Power List?

The following was published in the April edition of The Ophthalmologist magazine.

‘Lucy Mathen originally declined involvement with the 2021 Power List, as the concept of the list, and nominations we normally receive, and received this year, have proven controversial to her. However, as others placed her on the list, she decided to express her views on the topic in the In My View column in this issue. She believes this enables a wider range of opinions regarding Power Lists to be aired than it would otherwise be possible.’

And here is a shortened version of the Opinion piece I wrote.

For 2021, The Ophthalmologist decided to “readdress the gender imbalance” and to highlight the achievements of women in the field with an all-women Power List. I’d like to analyse this.

The Power List concept is a media construct. In the Forbes’ magazine list, slots are allocated based on “the amount of human and financial resources” that a person controls, as well as their influence over world events. As the list can include autocratic leaders responsible for pretty nasty events for humankind, it is generally accepted that “power” is not unambiguously good. 

Then, the interpretation of “power” was played with as different media outlets wanted to list and rank people they felt were the most famous in their field. More and more people got sucked into the belief that such lists were in some way important, informative, or even inspirational.

Power Lists, however, are full of pitfalls, and they tend to follow the same predictable path. They always start out all male – or predominantly male – and stubbornly remain so. Then, following criticism, and to “readdress the imbalance,” the relevant media outlet decides to compile a “women only” version. Inevitably, this, too, causes problems, as those who do the choosing normally come from a privileged background themselves and rank others accordingly. Then efforts are made to focus on “diversity,” and people coming from ethnic minorities are included. But these are, inevitably, men and women who are already in the media spotlight. The end result? A Power List with a split personality – like the BBC’s Woman’s Hour list – ranking the Queen, with her inherited power, alongside Doreen Lawrence, who continues to fight a prolonged battle to get justice over the murder of her son. 

What is the point of placing anyone in such a hierarchical, competitive, and ultimately misleading category? What purpose does it serve?

In The Ophthalmologist’s Top 100 Women Power List, nominees are described as “world-class,” “leading authorities,” “superstars,” and “experts.” Most are associated with well-known hospitals or institutions. So, in essence, far from being truly inclusive or diverse, it simply replaces one exclusive list with another. And, here lies the rub, in “honouring” women for rising to prominent positions in this way, we achieve the exact opposite: it highlights just how aberrant this success is – so outside the norm that these people need a special list. To quote Richard Ditizio of the Milken Institute: “Each time we offer or accept an accolade based on gender, race or sexual orientation, we are feeding into the troublesome way of thinking that landed us with such inequality in the first place.”

In ophthalmology, as in medicine generally, women are present in large numbers. And yet they face double standards at every stage of their careers, which result in lower salaries, less recognition for their work, and the persistence of stereotypes. Elevating a few on the pedestal of a Power List achieves little. It is too much like hand clapping in support of hard-working frontline nurses in the pandemic, but never campaigning to get them better working conditions.

In 1976, I became the first female British Asian news reporter on BBC TV. For 10-year-old Samira Ahmed, who had already decided that she, too, was going to be a broadcaster, my appearances reaffirmed her goal. Forty years later, and despite being a well-known broadcaster, she had to take the BBC to court to get equal pay. She won.’

Lucy Mathen

#powerlists #haloesareaccessories #outgrowingthebig #moreharmthangood

Studying international development? An alternative reading list.

I have been called many things since running Second Sight – a social worker (a favourite description in India), an anthropologist (because ‘you are curious about people and value variety in your hospital teams’), a ‘NGO-type (ouch!) and even an ‘international development expert’ (oh no, never).

I prefer the titles which took me so many years to earn – journalist and doctor.

However, I have dipped my toe into that world of International Development. Way back, when I first started Second Sight, I applied to the UK Department for International Development for funding. I was told that restoring sight to the blind was not ‘empowerment.’ Yes, truly. The gift of sight for a blind person living in abject poverty was not empowerment. The experts had spoken. So you can see why I don’t ever wish to be placed in this group!

On the other hand, I know so many intelligent, idealistic young people who want to make the world a fairer place. And as international development courses claim to be about poverty eradication and justice, they are inevitably drawn towards these. So I asked one of them, a friend of my daughter Leyla, if I could see one of her reading lists.

The publications were mostly by authors from institutions running ID courses and were grouped under the following categories: UNPICKING DEVELOPMENT & POVERTY/ COLONIALISM/ CULTURE & RECONSTRUCTION OF TRADITION /AID CORPORATIONS AND PHILANTHROCAPITALISM/ GENDER AND AID.

Covering some of the same topics but from an entirely different slant are my Five Top Reads:

1.     Lords of Poverty- The Power, Prestige, and Corruption of the International Aid Business by Graham Hancock. A riveting read. Given to me by an eye surgeon who has lived and worked on four continents.

2.     Banker to the Poor- by Muhammad Yunus. An economist humble enough to realise that Ivory Tower university economic theories had failed the poor in Bangla Desh and started all over again, getting a worm’s eye view of their lives. I love this book.

3.     We are poor but so many – the story of self-employed women in India by Ela Bhatt. Too often illiterate and uneducated women are seen be unable to change their lives and require the help of an educated elite. Ela knocks this fallacy on the head. This book resonates with me because via our work in India I have met so many wonderful uneducated but powerful rural women.

4.     Corona, Climate and Chronic Emergency by Andreas Malm. To remind you that the biggest global problem is still the Climate Emergency.

5.     Untouchable by Mulk Raj Anand. A novel. Theories about discrimination are often flawed because approached with pity rather than empathy. Sometimes this is easier to demonstrate through a work of fiction.

Lucy Mathen

#internationaldevelopment #missedperspectives #lordsofpoverty #outgrowingthebig

Led by the nose? Or the last laugh

In a week when I was feeling unbelievably gloomy as a consequence of Red Nose Day and Comic Relief in the UK – for folks elsewhere, this is when BBC celebs sing, dance and make us laugh all evening in return for donations which this year netted a staggering £52million (oh and everyone wears a red nose)  – well, in the week of this annual monster-fundraiser, my friend Andrea Encinas did actually use one of the tips from my first blog i.e. she looked up Comic Relief on the UK Charity Commission website.

Her reaction?

‘First thing that jumps out is the amount spent on raising funds, quite a slice of overall spend.’ (Actual figure £16.8million from the year 2020 accounts).

‘Second thing is that 35 employees are enjoying a nice pay day.’ (Reference to 35 employees earning over £60,000 and 3 earning over £100,000).

Now Andrea knows a thing or two about running a great community organisation serving a multiple number of purposes. She runs the multinational multicultural B.I.G choir. They too sing and dance and crack jokes (no funny noses though) and make a shedload of people feel good. Andrea just about keeps it afloat with membership fees and donations. The B.I.G choir are also generous enough to do fundraisers for small charities chosen by them knowing that the money raised will be utilised with a sense of urgency.

Meanwhile, according to the BBC’s own Panorama programme, the huge amounts and huge bureaucracy involved in handling so much money means that the Comic Relief charity ‘pays out money it receives to other charities sometimes over several years. That means Comic Relief holds tens of millions of pounds at any one time. The charity uses a number of managed funds which invests that money on the charity’s behalf, including in the stock market.’

 So here are my 5 tips for getting the best out of Red Nose Day…next time round:

 1.     Bless the primary school children in Cardiff and Cornwall who refused to wear the original polluting plastic red noses and forced Comic Relief to, only this year, come up with a biodegradable alternative.

2.     In recognition of these wise children and the huge impact their action had on an organisation run by adults, look around your own home and see what you can do to cut down on plastic waste.   

3.     Enjoy the relief of the comedy on offer on the BBC.

4.     If a tale about a homeless person moves you, then promise yourself that you will buy a warm cup of coffee and a snack for the next person you see shivering on the streets. You are guaranteed to smile and make smile with that timely act of kindness.

5.     Don’t feel bad about not giving. Smile and feel happy that Comic Relief are already sitting on millions and that, if you do NOT donate, you might just help them to actually spend what they already have, more quickly. As the late Clive James once said : ‘Common sense and a sense of humour are the same thing, moving at different speeds. A sense of humour is just common sense, dancing.’

Lucy Mathen 

#commonsensedancing  #comicrelief   #ledbythenose  #outgrowingthebig  #bigchoir.co.uk

Accidental Blogging

One development my second sight never foresaw was that I would be writing a blog in March 2021.

But then I am not usually locked down in my London home at this time of year. I am normally in rural Bihar, with limited digital access and unlimited stimuli from people, places and ever-shifting circumstances.

Then, there were a series of phone calls. With more time on their hands people were surfing the net to find small charities to which to donate. And the title of my book Outgrowing the Big gave them a clue that I might well have some tips to share on this matter.
One caller sent an email after our phone conversation – ‘thank you for the tips about finding small and unsupported charities, they were so useful and I will tell others.’

Thus, an accidental blogger was born.

So, here are my 5 best ways to find a charity that you deserve and that deserves you.

1.     Put in your key words (e.g. domestic violence/ blind people/ girls’ education) and when the Google pages come up…go straight to around page 10, steering clear of the first few pages. This way the Usual Suspects – the largest charities- will not distract with their expensively presented websites and daunting statistics.

2.     If attracted by an entry, look for a telephone number. Ring it. The chances are that you will speak to a human being who is actually involved in the delivery of the charity’s work rather than a Publicity Officer or someone from a Donations Department with a scripted speech.

3.     Ask plenty of questions. Like -‘exactly what do you spend your money on?’ Don’t be fobbed off by percentages and jargon.

4.     If the charity in question is a registered UK charity, take the trouble to look them up on https://www.gov.uk/government/organisations/charity-commission

5.     Return to Google – feed the charity’s name in again + scandal. This may seem like overly suspicious behaviour but this wee bit of investigative research is worth it. Either your confidence in the charity is strengthened. Or not. You can also try doing this with any of the largest charities and see what comes up.

Good luck and thanks for reading my very first blog.
Lucy Mathen

#smalliseffective  #outgrowingthebig #dropthejargon #haloesareaccessories