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Julian Lazalde


About the Blogger


Julian Lazalde is a former Project Coordinator for Catholic Relief Services.

Blog posts by Julian Lazalde

  • Monday, November 21, 2011

    Yes, we are our brother’s keeper

    In the past two weeks a single issue has generated more emails and phone calls to elected officials than any other in the history of the Catholics Confront Global Poverty campaign – a joint advocacy initiative of the US Conference of Catholic Bishops (USCCB) and Catholic Relief Services (CRS).  What is the issue that has generated such an enthusiastic response from Catholics across the country?  Poverty-focused development and humanitarian assistance.

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  • Monday, August 29, 2011

    The East Africa Drought and Us

    The month of July set a record for rainfall in the city of Chicago – over 11 inches of rain.  Do you remember the seemingly constant rainfall?  For most of us, it was merely a nuisance to be tolerated.  At worst, some of us had to deal with flooded basements or power outages.  As Chicago and the surrounding areas were inundated with record rainfall in July, our sisters and brothers in East Africa (Somalia, Kenya and Ethiopia) were in the throes of a devastating drought and subsequent famine (in Somalia).  In fact, they still are.

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  • Monday, July 19, 2010

    Underneath the Mango Tree

    As we filed off the overly air conditioned minibus and felt the rays of the strong mid-morning sunshine in the village of Pounkouan in southern Burkina Faso, my immediate thought was, “it’s only going to get hotter.”  However, before I had the opportunity to process that thought, I heard a pulsating, rhythmic beat followed by chanting, singing and the guttural screams that, for many, personify the ‘Dark Continent’ that is Africa.  Having spent three days in Burkina Faso at that point, with diocesan leaders in Hispanic Ministry from across the country as a part of the Catholic Relief Services (CRS) delegation to Burkina Faso and Ghana, I knew this was not something to be skeptical, wary or afraid of.  Instead, as all 13 of us made our way down a dusty, dirt path around a small cluster of mud brick huts our eyes converged on the source.  Underneath a 20-foot mango tree in the center of the village were two columns of ladies dressed in stunning beige, black striped dresses adorned with large red keys and keyholes; singing, screaming and moving to the beats in unison and with a purpose. 

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