Susan E. Greisen's Blog, page 8
August 24, 2022
Washington DC Book Launch, 7/24/22 at Busboys and Poets for Never the Same Again: Life Service and Friendship in Liberia
It was all we had hoped for. We packed Busboys and Poets in Washington DC, our launch venue, to capacity with an eager audience of 85. John Coyne from Peace Corps Worldwide sent a roving reporter, Steve Kaffen (RPCV Russia – 1994-96), to document the event. Please click HERE to view his wonderful write-up.
Many of us had worked together over the past 2 years but never met each other until that afternoon. Some of us traveled across the continent for this special weekend of FOL events. Hugs were in order, reminiscing began, and group photos were taken. A rolling slideshow before the launch warmed us up before the program began.
As emcee for the event, I listed the statistics and accomplishments that we completed to publish this anthology in under 2 years.
The program progressed with heartfelt readings from 11 authors accompanied by slides and location maps. Laughter ensued, tears flowed, photos were taken and the video rolled.
A surprise ending rounded out the event with a song written and sung by Eddie Socker, RPCV 2018-2019. The words to his song “Dusty Road” are included below.
I was speechless (a rarity) when I was given a standing ovation at the end of the program for my efforts as the chief editor. This project and the anthology was a great honor and achievement and I made so many new FOL friends in the process. Thanks to everyone involved including the authors, committee members, workshop attendees, and a big applause to co-editors, Susan Corbett and Karen E. Lange who worked diligently on this challenging project.
Susan Greisen, Chief Editor
Susan Corbett, Co-editor
Karen E. Lange, Co EditorWe concluded with what resembled a Year Book signing as each person holding a book had authors sign their piece. What a fun way to circulate. Click on the video link taken my Merrie Need with the assistance of Curran Roller. It is converted to YouTube for your convenience. https://youtu.be/hkRGpbExIGA. Thank you, Merrie and Curran, so much.
But most importantly, our commitment to this worthy project will make a difference as all proceeds will benefit humanitarian programs in Liberia.
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I welcome your reply comments below. Let me know what you think. If you want to buy this book, click HERE. Think about those holiday and special gifts you want to send out. This book is perfect.
August 19, 2022
Going Back
The Covid epidemic put a damper on many of the class reunions over the past two years. This June I returned to Nebraska for a special gathering of my rural one-room grade school students. I write about this iconic school in my memoir. In Search of Pink Flamingos. However it was demolished due to school consolation. See my 2020 blog entitled One-Room School House
Of the twenty attending the school (1st-8th) in 1957, seven attended the reunion. I’m in the middle. Two others were in the area, but had event conflicts. Had they come, we would have had a 45% turnout. Not bad for a bunch of old codgers.
I also attended my 53rd high school reunion. Monroe High (Morgan, the name given in my memoir) also closed, some years ago. Here is just a portion of the 40 in attendance from a variety of classes. I am on the far right. I was asked to do a presentation, so I presented a slide show describing my journey from the farm to a Peace Corps volunteer in Liberia and Tonga and back to the US. I talked about the events that happened in my family. I left them with a takeaway message that focused on the subtitle of my book – forgiveness and unconditional love:
“Our time on this earth is precious
Find it in your heart
to Love and Accept
Family and loved ones NOT for who you want them to be
but for who they are…
unconditionally“
Nebraska is not without its thunder and hail storms. Here is the grain elevator in Morgan (Monroe) silhouetted by an impending thunder head that later poured causing local hail damage to crops and cars. Just a regular summer on the farm.
The nearby town of Monroe (Morgan) and other small surrounding towns, have shrunk from once vibrant small community centers to barely the essentials: a bank, a post office, a church and a tavern. Here is downtown Platte Center, 8 miles from Monroe, population 450.
I was saddened by this change that happened since my last visit 12 years ago. However the nearby town of Kanton (Columbus), the center of commerce, is growing and prospering. Farming is still the core and the pulse of this community as well as most of Nebraska, as shown by my friend’s son, Doug, and his helper.
Cousin Donnie
The abandoned farmstead
High School classmate, Bea
High school classmates, Ken, left and Linda, right
Downtown MonroeOther Nebraska MemoriesI look forward to your rely to this blog below. What does it remind you of? Or clap if you like it!! Feel free to read my blogs listed below or follow my future ones by leaving your email on my front page of my website.
Going BackA Thanksgiving TourThe Rest of the StoryNever the Same AgainThis Mother’s DayJuly 17, 2022
A Thanksgiving Tour
When I arrived in Nebraska in early June, I was returning primarily for my 53rd high school reunion – delayed 3 years because of the pandemic, and a reunion of students from my one-room school house. Both of which I wrote about in my memoir, In Search of Pink Flamingos. But along with reuniting with school friends, I wanted to say “Thank You” to three special people who made a difference in my life. One of whom I had been in touch with by phone and had mailed her my memoir. But there were two others I couldn’t find in my earlier research. I had already dedicated one of my blogs to another influential person in my life, Mrs. Bartley, my one-room school teacher. Here is the blog in which I wrote about her.
I stepped off the plane in Omaha and with Google maps and my rental car I found Mrs. Holmberg asleep in her recliner in her retirement home apartment. At 91 she remembered me as the president of the charter class of practical nurses at Platte Community College. She had read my memoir and I refreshed her memory of some of the chapters. One in particular was the indigenous midwifery class that I taught at age 20 in my remote village of Zorgowee. I explained how I have taught the women (12 midwives in 3 languages) the five most common delivery and postpartum complications. I told her I had no textbook, no visual aids, no notes; only what she had taught me a year earlier. I explained my cardboard cutouts depicting a 3D woman’s vulva and a baby with a placenta and a rope umbilical cord…all of which I narrated in my book.
She laughed with amazement. My voice cracked as I choked back the tears when I told her that I never could have done this without the knowledge she had taught me. I told her I even saved one woman from postpartum hemorrhage because of what I learned from her, a scene I wrote about in my memoir.
Last year I had mailed this photo to Mrs. Holmberg placing my nursing pin on my uniform. We both fondly remembered that moment in 1970. Mrs. Holmberg said, “We taught you everything we knew because we wanted you to succeed. In fact everyone in the charter class passed their state boards the first time.” At that moment we knew we had both succeeded in our mission to be the best we could be. Here is the blog I wrote about finding her two years earlier.
But I wasn’t done yet, I wanted to find Mrs. Margaret Baker, my clinical instructor. With the help of my nursing classmate, Norma, we found her in the good old phone book, a relic in my neck of the woods, but common place in Nebraska because so many people still have landlines. Within seconds were were talking on the phone. Now, 90 and not venturing far from home, she remembered me and Norma. Again I thanked her for all she had taught me and how she was one of the pivotal people who made me the nurse I am today.
One final person on my Thanksgiving Tour was to find and thank my first boss, Kenneth Johnson. I have been searching for him for over three years to no avail. Ken was the first Physical Therapist in Kanton, NE and he hired me on as his physical therapy assistant until I joined the Peace Corps 6 months later. Here is a photo when I worked for him in 1971. Again, Norma went to the trusty phone book. There was his name… the only Johnson in the book. We spoke for over 30 minutes. Now 88, he plays golf nearly every day. He also remembered me and I thanked him for all he taught me. Today I still know how to teach the use of crutches, walkers and wheelchairs.
My heart was full. I had been able to share my gratitude with those who gave me a firm foundation on which to stand.
I will soon write about my high school and grade school reunions.
My latest blogs.
A Thanksgiving TourThe Rest of the StoryNever the Same AgainThis Mother’s DayAre We Connected?June 27, 2022
The Rest of the Story
An epilogue is a writing at the end of a piece of literature, usually used to bring closure to the work.
When I published my memoir, entitled In Search of Pink Flamingos, the epilogue reflected upon my Peace Corps experience and gathered historical information about Liberia that told a narrative summary of what happened there after I left. Yes, my memoir dedicated a large portion of the book to my time in Liberia, but when I became the chief editor of Never the Same Again: Life Service and Friendship in Liberia that was published in June, 2022, I realized how little I knew living in my remote part of the country over my short two-year assignment. Friends of Liberia (FOL) sponsored this anthology of 63 short stories and poems spanning a 60-year period of time that tells a compelling account of Liberian history. Fifty authors, including former Peace Corps volunteers, medical-relief workers. Liberians, missionaries and children of contract workers, share their first-hand experiences from a rich variety of perspectives.
From this unprecedented collection, I learned of the rest of the story about Liberia. I gained a new depth of knowledge from those who served during peace and post war times. Many of us hold a vast love for the Liberian people and a dedication to our mission. We left footprints – a human connection that has endured the test of time. I read of successes beyond our assigned roles. A common acceptance between Liberians and Americans, from their unique cultures working together, was found throughout the country. Through the vivid stories I saw the devastation of the country and her people during the wars, post-war and epidemics. As a reader I felt the heart-wrenching loss of life during those tragic times. The efforts of those who had worked in Liberia and how they returned, some several times, to find their Liberian loved ones was beyond my comprehension. There are moving stories of Liberians who fled to the U.S. under refugee status and were sponsored by some of our authors. The stories of Liberians rebuilding their lives with so very little are beyond remarkable.
My memoir epilogue only skimmed the surface of what happened to Liberia and her people. The stories and poems in Never the Same Again show in vivid detail the first-hand experiences that have left me forever changed about the meaning of “love of country and the people of Liberia” and the power of “resilience.”
You can purchase Never the Same Again by clicking this link. All proceeds from this new anthology will benefit humanitarian programs in Liberia sponsored by FOL. Be sure to click on the sub-tab called Author readings and interviews to give you a video glimpse of what is inside this remarkable book.
My memoir, In Search of Pink Flamingos, tells of my personal journey, much of it depicting my life as a Peace Corps volunteer in Liberia in the early 70s and can be purchased by clicking on this link.
Feel free to leave a reply below or acknowledge with your applause.
June 13, 2022
Never the Same Again
After publishing my award-winning memoir, In Search of Pink Flamingos in 2020, FOL (Friends of Liberia) asked me to become the chief editor of their anthology project. Never the Same Again was released in June 2022 and is an incredible historical non-fiction book of its time depicting Liberian life with a collection of stories, poems, history, and photographs spanning 6 decades. I am one of the 50 contributing authors sharing an essay and a poem about my experiences in that incredible country.
The Foreword was written by former Liberian President, Ellen Johnson Sirleaf, and several notable individuals wrote glowing endorsements in the book.
Book Summary
Never the Same Again is a collection of sixty-three true stories and poems that will take you on a storytelling journey about life, service, and friendship in Liberia. This anthology of enduring hope spans sixty years. Written by those who lived and worked in Liberia, this book shares heartfelt accounts of adversity and acceptance, illness and healing, and escape from war and improbable reunion. Glimpse into everyday life in the village, classroom, and clinic where relationships were formed and lost, and many were found again. Once you read this book you will feel as its author do…never the same again.
Sponsored by the Friends of Liberia (FOL) celebrating Peace Corps’ 60th Anniversary in Liberia.
All proceeds from the sale of this book benefit humanitarian programs in Liberia.
To purchase our book click on this link, BUY NOW. You may also purchase the book or an eBook anywhere fine books are sold. Also go to FOL.org to learn more about our organization or become a member.
May 8, 2022
This Mother’s Day
Have you ever met someone and said, “I want to be like that person some day?” When I was twenty, serving as a Peace Corps volunteer in Liberia in 1971, I met such a woman, Ruth Jacobson.
Here she is in 1940 graduating with her 3-year diploma of nursing from Tacoma General in WA State. Ruth was everything I wanted to be. Last year I honored my biological mother on Mother’s Day. This year it will be my chosen mother, Ruth, my surrogate mom.
When I met Ruth and her husband Harold they were in their early 50s, older than my parents. But so different. They had just joined the Peace Corps as volunteers.
I wrote about them in my memoir, In Search of Pink Flamingos in Part III, Comrades and a Role Model. Here is an excerpt:
Ruth and Harold exemplified the qualities of mature, open minded, capable individuals who possessed unparalleled integrity…Many of my peers cherished their wisdom. Soon many of us young volunteers looked up to them as mentors. They gave us the best example of unconditional caring and generosity, and I treasured their non-judgemental character….
…A vision of my future began to gel the longer I worked in Liberia: I planned to continue my education and become an RN. When Ruth and I met a few weeks later she encouraged my vision and told me she only had a three-year nursing diploma and planned to get a BSN once she returned to the U.S. I could hardly imagine a woman over fifty years old returning from Africa to obtain a bachelor’s degree. She had a plan and a goal. If she could, I knew I could...
After returning to the U.S. I graduated magna cum laude from SFSU with a BS in Nursing.
In the Acknowledgments of my memoir….I am forever indebted to Ruth and Harold Jacobson (R&H). Upon returning from the Peace Corps, I asked them to be my surrogate mother and father, filling the hole in my heart from my estranged parents. They wholeheartedly agreed. In addition, I also adopted Ruth’s ninety-three-year-old mother, Signe Hanson, as my grandmother—the loving grandparent I never had. Through them I learned how to reciprocate unconditional love and acceptance. Ruth inspired me to tell my story, when, in her 90s, she published two memoirs about their life in Liberia.
My connection to the Jacobson family has not ended. Judith and Vikki, Ruth and Harold’s daughter have accepted me as their sister. Here we are celebrating R&H’s 60th wedding anniversary.
Signe, Harold and Ruth have all passed: Signe at 107, Harold at 99 and Ruth at 100,but their love and memories are eternal. R&H’s daughters suggested I plant a tree in their memory. I located a Lutheran Church in Bellingham (R&H’s faith) where I donated a beautiful magnolia tree. Here it is blooming on Mother’s Day, Ruth’s honored day.
Planted this past fall
Budding this spring
Blooming on Mother’s DayIf you were never blessed with the family you wanted, there is still time to find one.
Feel free to leave a Reply below or an applause if the mood strike you.
April 12, 2022
Are We Connected?
Once a year, my local bookstore, Village Books provides a writing challenge. This year I was to write something relating to the theme Interconnectedness. Yes, it’s a mouthful. But in the end, we and everything on this planet from the solar system right down to the food chain is connected. I knew immediately what I wanted to submit. In my memoir, In Search of Pink Flamingos, I wrote in Part II, the chapter entitled “Country Birth,” there was a connectedness that I felt witnessing this most incredible birth. I decided to convert a portion of that chapter into a poem. And Voila, it was selected as one of many entries in this anthology, now my 9th publication.
There was so much in that chapter, but I wanted to focus on connection and it worked beautifully in this poetic conversion. Here is an except of my newly published poem, “Survival.“
In a small, remote villagein upcountry Liberia, eight women gathered in a smoky dark round hutfor one purpose,to facilitate a woman’s childbirth. Fanta, a woman in labor, lay on the earthen floor. A wood fire burned, the only illumination in the hut.Five indigenous midwives presided, no formal training, only years of experience.Honored to witness this natural miracle,as a Peace Corps volunteer, I was to observe and learn, not interfere.At age twenty, with a practical nursing license, I wasn’t sure what I’d learn.(.......Several stanzas later a baby boy is born.)Two weeks after the danger passed,Fanta and Paul John thrived.Fanta’s delivery taught me many things.But most of all,the women met their shared goal – survival of mother and baby. Eight women gathered withdiversity of tribe, language, and religion. joined as one,they chose collaboration and cooperation overdomination and self-righteousness. Their collective power – support, know-how, and faith – achieved a good outcome.Interconnectedness made them stronger, confident and successful.As the ninth woman, I, too, played a role.From another race, another language, and another culture,I reflected upon their important example to the world.Can we eliminate our prejudice and intolerance to learn from those courageous women?Can we take the knowledgeand strengths we each possess to work together,to interconnect to achieve a shared goal – our survival? Innterconnectedness can be purchased at Village Books in Bellingham, WA by clicking the highlighted link. You will be able to read the rest of my poem as well as other wonderful short stories and poems from other authors. Also check out my memoir at https://susangreisen.com/February 18, 2022
Girls and Women Still Dying
5 decades later I would have hoped things could be better for young girls and women in many parts of the world. But click on this article in the Guardian to learn that the beliefs about womanhood run very deep. Read this article in the Guardian a few days ago. (Delete all the popups so you can read the articles.) 50 years ago I captured this photo of a young girl. Her face shows the resignation and pain as she returned from the Girls Bush School in my village (Gowee) in Liberia. I was only 20 years old and a Peace Corps Health volunteer at the time. Today, I have trepidation writing this blog. But I must, and the Guardian articles encouraged me to tell others of FGM going on in today’s world. 50 years ago, I didn’t fully understand what the Bush School was until Martha, my Liberian confidant, secretly told me the details of the girls’ surgery in the bush.
In my memoir, In Search of Pink Flamingos, here is an excerpt from Part VII, Chapter 49, Girls’ Bush School:
…After observing the poor sanitation practices in my first country delivery, [months earlier] I expected the surgical complications could be dire. If country medicine or midwifery treatment failed, massive scarring, infections leading to infertility or even death would ensue. As a nurse, I was aware of these outcomes from any untreated infections in the pelvic area. I couldn’t bear the thought of the pain they endured without anesthesia. My mind raced. Could this be the reason for Martha’s infertility?….
These young girls had little option but to follow their predestined path…. Is bush school the price to pay for being a girl: suffering painful surgery, being denied choice and sexual pleasure, and risking infection and infertility? Oh dear Lord, what…a price…to pay.
Five days later Martha summoned me again as the twenty-five girls, led by the midwives and female elders, paraded through the village. The midwives chanted in Gio as the girls followed them through the center of Gowee. My attention was drawn to the girls’ beautifully marked white face-paint that accented their forehead and eyes along with perfectly cornrowed hair. New lappas adorned their virgin mutilated bodies with careful attention to expose their plump non-sagging breasts. All those adornments announced: here was the new bride material for any man ready with a handsome dowry to add a wife to his family… [In the group I found] Matu, age eleven; Nora, age eight; and Yah, age ten. With my arms weighted in despair, I raised my camera to take their photos and document history in the making. Only then did I see the pain reflected on their sober aching faces. Did they know their lives would never be the same again? Most of the girls were not yet teenagers and some may not have experienced their first menstrual cycle….The girls who sat in front of me carried an obligation and duty: to welcome their man at any time from that day forward.
I felt helpless and insignificant. This experience was so painful, I shut it out from my mind. During the remainder of my stay in Gowee, I never brought the topic up again to anyone, not even Martha.
I am asking you to not painfully put this out of your minds as I did 50 years ago. Let us talk about it and support those who have had this done to them. I see periodic articles like these in the Guardian reporting that these surgeries are also currently perform in the U.S. Click on this link to learn how 20 organizations are fighting the battle and how you can help. Let’s stop the young girls and women from dying. There has been progress, but much more work to be done.
I welcome your comments in the REPLY box below. See my website if you are interested in learning more about my memoir or reading my previous blogs.
January 20, 2022
Tragedy in Tonga
I arrived in Tonga in 1973 as Peace Corps volunteer supervising a TB and Typhoid vaccination campaign throughout the islands. Here is an excerpt from my memoir, In Search of Pink Flamingos, Chapter, An Island Paradise, about the my work and the wonderful people of Tonga.
Despite the general good health of the population, I trained the district nurses in administering tuberculosis and typhoid vaccinations throughout the country. I reported directly to an Infection Control Physician who taught me everything I needed to know about my role in disease prevention. The Tongan government provided equipment, vaccines, and transport to complete our work, with great outcomes. My mission to be successful in a nursing role was fulfilled.
My three-bedroom mud and stick house in my remote village in Liberia seemed posh compared to my new digs in Tonga. I chuckled when my Tongan Corps Director drove me to my new home: a one-room thatched house with its exterior damaged from the roaming neighborhood pigs.
My house provided indoor utilities with a toilet, electricity, and running water, but no refrigerator or stove (only a primus burner). I slept on the cement floor with a woven mat, cushioned with folded layers of tapa cloth—the pounded local bark made into fabric. Despite my modest lodging, the ease of living on these islands was remarkable. It registered “five stars” as I never encountered snakes, cockroaches, spiders, malaria, runny belly, or any sickness for that matter. Best of all, no one ever asked me for loving-business. I was in paradise!
On January 15th 2022, everything changed in the small Island Kingdom. The underwater volcano, Hunga Tonga-Junga Ha’apai erupted spewing feet of ash over the main island and its force was felt by many including those living in New Zealand, Peru, and Alaska. Tsunami warnings were broadcast over the entire Pacific. Tonga lost communication for several days due to the ash and broken underwater communication cables. As photos and news began to come emerge, the physical damage was devastating, but the long term effects are the most concerning. Click on this link for the video update on 1/18 from the Washington Post. (View the first video only).
I am a member of Friends of Tonga (FOT) and they have set up a donation link. Please consider a donation of any amount to help the people of Tonga. I made my donation today honoring my Tongan mother and father who have since passed. Their children all reside in New Zealand.
Feel free to leave a comment in the REPLY box below and donate if you can to help the People of Tonga. Thank you for reading.
January 13, 2022
Empty Shelves
No, I didn’t experience the Dust Bowl. I didn’t grow up during the Great Depression, although I was raised by parents who lived through them. The media is having a heyday with our stores having empty shelves depicted with this bone-chilling image. Check out this recent story in the Washington Post. Social media is adding to the hype. One would think the world is coming to an end here in the U.S. Whether it be snowstorms, floods, employee shortages, supply chain issues, COVID, or whatever is contributing to the empty shelves, I’m sorry, but I don’t feel the panic.
Even though I didn’t experience the food shortages of the Great Depression, I did live in Liberia as a Peace Corps volunteer in 1971 for two years. In my small village of 1000 people, I had no running water, no electricity, and no store in which to buy fresh food. The village of Zorgowee did have a Lebanese store, Sami’s store, that sold nonperishable items.
An excerpt from my memoir, In Search of Pink Flamingos, Part III, Chapter – Sami, My Rock:
...Sami’s store, only the size of a small two-car garage with double outward swinging doors, was much smaller than the ones I remembered in Monrovia. Without electricity or windows, even at high noon on a sunny day, its interior remained dark and dank. He scanned the shelves with his torch [flashlight] to show me his stock of nonperishable items: African fabric by the yard, sewing thread, razor blades, batteries, rubbing alcohol, soda, beer, canned goods, including fifty-five-gallon barrels of kerosene and gasoline sold by the bottle or gallon. He also sold sugar, flour, salt, and rice. Sami was the only person in the village to have a generator to produce electricity, and he turned it on a couple hours a day to chill his fridge to sell cold Coca Cola, Fanta, and Liberian Club Beer. The villagers relied heavily on Sami’s store for these items….He was admired and respected by the entire village.
The sporadic outdoor market in Zorgowee sold greens, bananas, ground pea (peanuts), dried salted fish called boney, and a few other odds and ends. Locals displayed these items on a piece of fabric lying on the ground. That was the extent of my shopping choices. After a couple of years I became adjusted to my limited supply. It was when I returned to the U.S. two years later, on a layover before my next Peace Corps assignment in Tonga, that I experienced the unexpected described below.
An excerpt from Part VIII, Chapter, Power of Shame:
…on a shopping run to Kanton [Nebraska], I momentarily froze staring at the grocery shelves: five brands of catsup and mustard; eight varieties and textures of toilet paper; soap in every shape, color, and smell one desired; packaged bread products of every kind: muffins, buns, sliced, brown or white. Though the Peace Corps warned us of reverse culture shock upon reentry to the U.S., I was surprised by my disgust at Western abundance and America’s obsession with choice. Did we really need five or eight varieties of anything? With relief, I’d be leaving for Tonga in a few weeks.
Somehow, we in the Western world forgot that we live in the Land of Plenty. If our grocery store is out of Heinz Ketchup, there are always six other brands to choose from. Maybe the scented, extra soft toilet paper is out of stock, but we still have the unscented store brand to choose from. God forbid it we run out of paper towels. Has anyone ever heard of a cloth towel? Most of us have never experienced hunger or having to do without. Most of us reading this don’t have the Dollar Store as our nearest and main food store. Just think about that for a long minute.
I don’t want to preach or sound like I’m a 100 years old and lived through the Depression, but most of us reading this do have enough of everything…everything we really need. I’m not holier than thou, but Liberia helped me to realize that I can live very well with less. Take a deep breath and look at the silver lining. Maybe we don’t need the top-of-line of any one thing. Just having what we need will be good enough. Then maybe we would have no shortages. No need for a larger pantry.
Let’s try living without paper towels for a week.
I welcome your comments in the REPLY box below. See my website if you are interested in learning more about my memoir.
