Author, The Happiest Man in the World: Life Lessons from a Cultural Economist
(continued): Nagorno-Karabakh: August, 1998:Stepanakert was our
destination. It is the capital of Nagorno-Karabakh and houses the country’s government buildings.
The helicopter pilots gently set our ugly orange bird down in the midst of its
own tornado and dust storm. When the chopper blades ceased rotating, a pilot
named Uri opened the door, and we were allowed to crawl
out. The air was hot and muggy, and there was no breeze at all after the
helicopter’s windstorms died down. Vans were at the airport runway to meet us at
Zori’s prearranged direction. I already perceived that Stepanakert is a lot
different than Yerevan. There was something of bleak solemnity that permeated
the spirit of the city. I could feel it. No one smiled. The expressions on
people’s faces showed neither happiness nor pleasantness; rather, their facial
muscles drooped, which had the effect of making their eyes look even sadder.
Our vans and taxis rendezvoused at the government buildings in the center of Stepanakert. The hotel in which four of us are scheduled to stay is only one block away from the main government building. I grabbed my luggage and went quickly with the others to get checked into our rooms and freshen up a bit before our scheduled 5:00 p.m. meeting with the minister of health.
Our vans and taxis rendezvoused at the government buildings in the center of Stepanakert. The hotel in which four of us are scheduled to stay is only one block away from the main government building. I grabbed my luggage and went quickly with the others to get checked into our rooms and freshen up a bit before our scheduled 5:00 p.m. meeting with the minister of health.
The hotel had known its days of glory and splendor in the past, I
was certain. But that must have been over a hundred years in the past. Since
then, I don’t think any maintenance had been performed at all. In addition, the
building had taken some direct hits during the bombings of the past few years. As
we entered, I looked up to the ceiling of the lobby area and marveled at the
half-destroyed remnants of crystal chandeliers hanging precariously from the
ceiling. Most of the crystal pendants were missing, and the few that remained
closely matched in color the tarnished brass of the fixture. I guess I should
have just kept focusing on the broken chandeliers, but I made the mistake of
looking around at where we were expected to stay. Most of the rooms were
uninhabitable, with collapsed plaster ceilings or broken walls or doors. I
recalled all the terrible places around the world where I had been expected to
lay my head down and sleep, and at first I figured I would just take a deep
breath and make the present situation work.
A pudgy, unkempt woman met us as we came in and handed us a
couple of keys. She then accompanied us to our rooms on the third floor. On our
way upstairs, I began to notice that the hotel wasn’t just old and war damaged;
it was grossly filthy. At the door to one room, the unpleasant innkeeper
communicated to us in Armenian that she expected three of us to stay there. But
there were only two beds. We protested, but she countered by showing us that it
was the only room in the hotel that had its own bathroom. We stepped in to have
a look-see—we shouldn’t have. She lost her sales point. The bathroom was a
terrible fright. The floor had been torn up and not repaired, so there were
piles of dirt and broken concrete to sidestep. The mirror consisted of just a
few broken chunks that still stuck to the wall. The sink was crusty, but we
were to discover that this didn’t count for much, since there was no running
water available on floors two and three. Obviously the toilet wasn’t of much
use, since there was no running water. But they had tried to compensate for
that by filling the dilapidated bathtub with some drain water they had carried
up in a rusty bucket and dumped.
I made signs to the lady as if I were turning on and off a water
spigot, and hand motions as if I were taking a shower. She cracked about a half
smile and pointed back down the stairs. We all then communicated to her that we
wanted to see the running water downstairs. After all, we were going to be here
the major portion of a week! She pointed to her watch and indicated that there
would be no water even downstairs until after 5:00 p.m. We insisted on seeing
the shower room anyway. I will let your own imagination paint the picture of
what we found there.
Thinking we had no other options, we put our suitcases in the
rooms, and as we walked down the stairs and out the door to our meeting with
the minister of health, Dr. Scott Stenquest, Dr. Anthony Peel, and I talked about perhaps
using the old sofas in the lobby as beds.
Our meeting with the health minister, Dr. Aleksander Petrossian,
really got our visit off on the right foot. There was an instant bonding
between the two of us, and I knew I would be able to work with him in the
future. I explained to him all about Project C.U.R.E., why we had come, and how
the needs assessments would be conducted in his hospitals with his cooperation
and blessing. I was then perhaps a little more stern with the health minister
than I needed to be in explaining my expectations for getting the containers
into the country and the distribution process.
While I was laying down my points in no uncertain terms, I had a flashback
of my presentation in a similar situation in Benin, West Africa, when my snippy,
little Baptist missionary, who had never had a meeting with a government
official higher than the local traffic cop, chided me and told me I had no
right talking to a cabinet minister in that tone of voice. Pushing that picture
aside, I kept up with the pressure. I was demanding written assurances of
getting the medical goods into the country without customs hassles, levied
taxes, or transportation delays. I also demanded the right to distribute the
goods as we see fit based on the findings of our needs assessment and not based
on political determinations. I joked with him just enough to keep him smiling
and his head going up and down.
I asked the minister to give me wise counsel as to which
hospitals we should visit and in what order. He agreed that by Monday morning
at 9:00, he would have all the answers ready for me, and the hospitals notified
of my arrival.
At 7:30 p.m., Zori Balayan ushered our delegation into the office of the prime
minister of Nagorno-Karabakh, Zhirayr T. Poghosyan. Baroness Cox was extremely
gracious in her introduction of Project C.U.R.E. to the prime minister. We only
had time to greet Mr. Poghosyan with a few words, because he had pulled himself
from another scheduled meeting to meet briefly with us and greet us. It is
certainly helpful having Zori make sure we receive our requested appointments
with any of the government officials.
Dinner was scheduled at
9:00 p.m. in the lower level of the government building. At dinner Zori told us
that this is Lady Cox’s thirty-ninth trip to Nagorno-Karabakh. I have watched in amazement
while we have been in Armenia and Karabakh at the recognition and reception the
local people give to Baroness Cox. Everyone knows her, or at least who she is. To
them she is almost a patron saint. She was there all during the war and held
nothing back within her ability, giving aid and comfort during the people’s
darkest hours. My respect for her has grown by the day. She really has a gift
of love for the oppressed and particularly those of the persecuted Christian
church. I am not surprised in the least that she has been given nearly every
international humanitarian award for her spirit and her work.
Next Week: Mountain Top Banquet
www.jameswjackson.com
© Dr. James W. Jackson
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Dr. James W. Jackson often describes himself as "The Happiest Man in the World." A successful businessman, award-winning author and humanitarian, Jackson is also a renowned Cultural Economist and international consultant, helping organizations and governments to apply sound economic principals to the transformation of culture so that everyone is "better off."As the founder of Project C.U.R.E., Dr. Jackson traveled to more than one hundred fifty countries assessing healthcare facilities, meeting with government leaders and "delivering health and hope" in the form of medical supplies and equipment to the world's most needy people. Literally thousands of people are alive today as a direct result of the tireless efforts of Project C.U.R.E.'s staff, volunteers and Dr. Jackson.
To contact Dr. Jackson, or to book him for an interview or speaking engagement: press@winstoncrown.com
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