Its Like Hollywood, Except this is My Life

I was flipping through my African Adventure Journal the other day (I don't really call it that... that's just for dramatic flair) and came across this little story that I have to share.  I wish I had a video camera rolling that day, because I don't know if I can quite convey the epic feeling of this experience.  But I'll try.

Let's use some photos as a guide for your imagination:

Imagine you're just riding along in a matatu like this:

 

On a day that looks like this:

And you've been driving on roads like this:

And you're just chugging along like this:

But you've been on the bus awhile, so you kinda feel like this:

 But then you pass some school kids on the side of the road like this:

And as they're on their way to school, they start running after your van.

This was a pretty normal occurrence when we went on excursions, driving through the bush in the middle of the day.  Kids would yell "mzungu" and wave, and we would get them riled up and wave and hang out the windows.  But this time was unlike anything else.

We were on our way to Kitgum and we were passing school after school.  Most of the time, probably because it was midday and the schools were taking afternoon breaks from classes, there were kids on the roads and in the big fields outside their classroom buildings.  They would see the mzungus driving by, and the younger ones would begin to race after our matatus.

It was no secret that I liked to put on my iPod during these long drives, queue my Africa playlist, and pretend like I was starring in a made-for-TV, coming-of-age movie (and I wasn't the only one, by the way... I'm not a total weirdo), but this takes the cake.  I was sitting in the back of the van, waving to the kids and watching them run by, and I noticed one boy in particular.  He saw us pass and fell into a drop-dead sprint.  He broke away from the rest of his friends and ran with all the speed he could muster with one hand waving free, beckoning to us.  We rounded an easy curve in the road and I lost sight of all the other kids, all except this one.  The stark contrast of his bright white uniform against the red earth and green bush made for a beautiful sight, and then we steadily gained distance and he eventually fell away and out of sight.

It was the perfect movie moment.
The perfect metaphor for the west always racing ahead of the developing world.
The perfect image for expressing simple beauties I've seen that are hard to describe in words.





 "It is not down in any map; true places never are." - Herman Melville

The Sudanese Referendum

Beginning today and lasting for the next seven days, the people of southern Sudan cast their historic ballots to become "the world's newest nation."

After years of civil war and what many deem to be genocide in the Darfur region of Sudan, these war-affected people now have the chance to vote for independence and freedom from the oppressive northern Sudanese regime.

the no-man's land between Northern Uganda and Southern Sudan.

Will this vote achieve peace for the people of the oil-rich south?  Or, the more likely outcome, will the northern government fight to keep control over their southern countrymen?

Only time will tell what the result will be.

The world needs to keep its eyes on East Africa right now.  The potential for violence and bloodshed is extremely high, and if it occurs, we cannot allow it to go unnoticed.

Perhaps travel cannot prevent bigotry, but by demonstrating that all peoples cry, laugh, eat, worry, and die, it can introduce the idea that if we try and understand each other, we might even become friends.

PHOTO MONTAGE

So many pictures, so little time.
Many thanks to the friends I borrowed a few of these pictures from.

does this even need a caption?

"I bless the rains down in Africaaaaa!"

streets of Gulu.

the market, clothing/miscellaneous section.

oh, hello Sudan.

walk into town from Cabedopong, where we lived during ISP.

produce section of the market in Gulu.

my room in the Mzoo.  empty because it was evacuation day.

our kitchen.

our backyard: pit latrine, papaya tree, clothesline, and burning garbage.

watertower in our yard.

outdoor area where we did our cooking, washing, and congregating.

kids outside out gate = regular occurrence.  why do you think the house was named "the Mzoo?"

morning soccer game in our yard while we waited to be evacuated.

the Mzoo!

Paul's mother and I.

because puppies are cute and jackfruit is delicious.

Bridget!

Paul making breakfast in my homestay's kitchen.

my Momma!  cooking dinner for a party.

my twin sisters, Marina and Michelle.

my cousin on her kindergarten graduation day!

sisters, cousins, and neighborhood kids at my cousin's kindergarten graduation party.

Lucy the Matatu, where we spent a majority of time throughout the trip.

sometimes the matatu leaks?

my walk from the Mzoo to my homestay.

These are just a few of my favorite photographs.  I can't convey in pictures how beautiful this country is, but this is the best I can do.  Maybe when I go back next, I'll work on my photography skills?


Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us or we find it not.

Because I Enjoy Making Bulleted Lists...

I'M HOME... after 26 hours of travel, oy.  Someone really needs to work on that whole teleportation thing, because that trip was just plain brutal.
I know its been a while since I've arrived home, and longer still since I've posted last, but let's just blame it on jet lag and my needing an extended adjustment period, alright?  Good, okay, glad we all agree.

America is too cold and there are too many mzungus here for me to handle.  Reverse cuture shock is NOT a fun time.

Instead of venturing out into the white (in multiple respects) freezing tundra, I'm writing bulleted lists and missing Africa.

Things I've come to love and miss about Africa:

• Bridget, my homestay sister, and her feral child, run like the wind, giri giri-loving ways.
• All forms of African public transportation... well, mostly just boda bodas.
• My Gulu family: John Bosco, Rose, Bridget, Marina, Michelle, Paul, Teddy, and Kulusum.
• Mujaja tea.  SOMEONE FIND ME THE EQUIVALENT IN ENGLISH.
• The Gulu market and all of its wooden-stall glory.
• Being able to cook dinner for twenty for under $75 dollars.
• Accents and the fact that I developed one.
• Trying to teach Spanish to people whose language does not have the "r" sound.
• Power outages.
• Water outages.
• Rolexes and our rolex sebo.
• The Mzoo.
• Being able to walk everywhere.
• Children asking for papaya outside our gate.
• Quiz Nights with the gang.
• Making new friends wherever I go.
• Constantly encountering people who just want to say hi, ask how you are, and go on their merry way... for no reason other than, well, there's no reason not to.
• Driving through the bush in a rusty matatu, queuing a playlist that tugs at my heartstrings, and using the closest any of us could get to alone time to get up in my head and think about life.
• Boy Meets World and How I Met Your Mother marathons with Luke.
• Hookah Thursdays at Shokola in Kigali with Luke and Rachel.
• The night sky in Gulu.
• Mango juice.
• Nighttime thunderstorms.
• To expand on this, one of my favorite things:
  almost every night at my homestay in Gulu, I would sit on the porch at night and watch the rainy season's storms roll in.  My family thought this was very strange behavior, but it was one of my favorite things to do.  You could see the lightning blaze through the black sky, feel the wind on your face, and sense that the temperature of the air was dropping.  The clouds would gather, the stars would disappear, and next thing you knew, the rain was falling.  Never did it begin with a drizzle and build to a storm, oh no.  It would start and end as a terrific downpour, drenching anyone caught without shelter and blowing our heavy windows and doors shut.  Soon after it had passed, you could see the million stars again, as if nothing had happened at all.
  We all need to take more time to be in awe of Mother Nature.  She can be terrible, but that terror can also be beautiful.
• Being introduced as her firstborn by Rose, my homestay mom.
• Being awoken by the sun, not an alarm clock.
• The sky, both day and night.  If you haven't seen it, you'll never understand.
• Constantly being surrounded by natural beauty.
• Using my headlamp.
• Being surrounded, 24/7, by people who are as passionate as I am about the things I'm passionate about.  That's been a new experience for me, and I cherish every single one of them because of it.  We needed each other to get through this experience, and it made us a family.
• The music that's always playing wherever we go.
• Life-affirming talks with Rachel.
• The Kimironko family... "Don't be intimidated when you see me at the taxi park this morning, I have my shirt tucked in."
• The Nile group.
• Bartering in the market.  I tried to in a thrift store last weekend... what a fail.
• Wearing clothes that have been dried by the hot sun.
• Drinking tea every hour of the day and night.
• Kivu Shore: live it up, drink it down.
• All forms of produce.
• Digging a fire pit to finish cooking a meal when the stove breaks.  (AKA the most successful group effort ever).
• Feeling so alive, for the first time in my life.
• Language ticks and how habit-forming they are.
• Being outside under the sun all the time.

Things I do not love and do not miss:

• Cockroaches.
• Rats.
• Sleeping on the floor.
• Mosquito nets.
• Matooke.
• Posho.
• Dust.
• Never feeling clean.
• Washing clothes by hand.
• Near-death experiences in Kampala traffic.
• The smell of burning trash.

Language ticks I brought home with me:

• "My dear."
• "Even me, I don't know."
• "Sorry sorry."
• "Mmm." - as a response to anything you would normally respond to with a "yes."
• "We go."
• "You come."
• "Ah!" and "Eh!"
• "The what?"
• "Even me."
• "For sure?"
• "You want what?" and "You are going where?" ...essentially all inverted sentence structure.
• "You will take what?"
• "S'okay."
• "Faster faster" and "slowly slowly."
• In the same vein... "small small" and "big big."
• "You, you are very stubborn."
• "This one, he's very rude."
• "You are so smart!"
  ...And essentially the accent in general.  Even me, I love the accent.

A few lessons learned:

• In America, we have so much more than we could ever need.  As a collective people, we don't stop to recognize or appreciate that fact as often as we should.
• Reconciliation and healing are not just nice ideas to hope for, they are tangible and achievable.
• The people that I encountered, many of whom have experienced the worst tragedy and human cruelty anyone can imagine, are some of the sweetest, kindest, and most giving people I've ever met.  Despite hardship, despite pain, they are able to move on and appreciate their lives and count their blessings.  I think its an attitude everyone could learn from.
•  Time isn't always as important as our society deems it to be.  Its much better for your relationships, and your soul, really, to live in the moment and not worry about the next errand you have to run or place you have to be.  Slow down.  Don't rush.  Appreciate the person in front of you instead of running off to your dentist appointment.  You'll get there eventually.
  In Africa, we keep appointments, not time.
  
• Africa is nothing that you anticipate it to be, in every possible respect.

Little things I have a new appreciation for about America:

• Seeing family & friends.
• Hot showers.
• My bed.
• My dog.
• Driving my car... on the right side of the road.
• Free (and reliable) internet.
• An expanded wardrobe.
• Refrigeration.
• Real coffee.
• Unlimited texting.

As much as I love bulleted lists, I think that's enough for now.  I have a lot more to post as far as reflections after returning home, as well as a lot of commentary about the chaotic times East Africa will soon be facing (the Sudanese referendum this week and elections in Uganda in February), so if you're so inclined, keep checking back.

If you know me, you know I usually have a lot to say, and when it comes to Africa... you ain't seen nothing yet.

Do not ask what the world needs.  Ask what makes you come alive, and do that.  Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.

ISP, Visiting the Village, and LEAVING UGANDA. OY.

Because I haven't written since leaving Gulu two weeks before my departure, I have a lot to catch up on with this blog.  Here we go.


ISP:
In other words, Independent Study Project.  For those of you unaware, a large component of SIT's program is the independent study.  It counts for a majority of the grading and actually will count for an entire class in and of itself on my Lafayette transcript.


For the last month we were in East Africa, we were split between Gulu and Kigali, living on our own doing independent research.  I lived with ten of my classmates, in an orange house we nicknamed "The Mzoo" that had no furniture besides our mattresses.  Suffice to say, it was a fun month.

the Mzoo.

My topic was NGOs in IDP camps in Northern Uganda (too many acronyms?  non-governmental organizations, basically foreign and domestic aid groups, in internally displaced persons camps).  Because of the war in Northern Uganda, over 2 million people were moved into camps beginning in 1996.  In the last two years, many of these displaced people have returned home, but not all.  There are many still remaining in the camps, either because they have encountered land disputes or because they are EVIs, or "extremely vulnerable individuals" - the elderly, the disabled, and orphans/child-headed families.

an example of life in an IDP camp.

When people began leaving the camps two years ago... so did the aid organizations.  My goal was to look at the effectiveness of the organizations still operating, and how relationships between the community and the NGOs could be improved.
My ISP was ultimately titled "Community Consultation and Communication as a Key to Effective Aid Provision: A Case Study of Lukodi IDP Camp."  Let's just say if there's one thing I'm good at, its alliteration.

To sum up a 47-page paper in four paragraphs or less:
For one month I immersed myself in Lukodi IDP camp, about a 40 minute boda ride/one hour car ride from Gulu.  There are only about ten households that still call Lukodi home, and the people I met with there had a lot to say.  There were many NGOs to discuss, among them ChildVoice International, Christian Child Fund (yes, the ones you see the commercials for on TV all the time), Caritas, and formerly the World Food Programme and the Norwegian Refugee Council.

Caritas Gulu compound: one of the foci of my research,
as well as the office my host father ran as Director.

The major complaint was that these groups did not consult with the community before initiating programs.  They had little understanding of how these groups operated, how their budgets were being spent, or why they chose to implement the programs they did.  There was even less appreciation for the services being provided.
I then began interviewing NGO workers.  I met with representatives from both Caritas and ChildVoice International, all of whom stated that although there was little int he way of community consultation, the community was also partially at fault.  Due to their lack of understanding that NGOs are limited in their resources and their focus (for example, the mission of CVI is child mothers, but he community complained about them focusing only on child mothers), the community was uncooperative.
These are all problems that are able to be remedied.  With clearer communication between the aid providers and aid receivers, better relationships can be forged.  And once better relationships are forged, aid can be provided more effectively and thoroughly.

There, now you don't have to read 47 pages of field notes, methodology, and findings.  Concise, not so?




The Village
After ISP was finished, we had a little less than a week left in Uganda.  Because we were evacuated from Gulu so early (update, the mystery illness is yellow fever), our group trip to Murchison Falls was canceled, which left us in Kampala with nothing to do.  I skipped out on the last-minute group trip to the east and made plans of my own; some of my family came to Kampala and took me to the village.  Oh boy.
After about five hours on a bus, we arrived in Kinoni in Masaka District, southwest of Kampala.  I can;t really describe what the "town" was even like.  Small.  Dirty.  Small.  And did I mention SMALL?!

We visited family, went to a funeral, and I received marriage proposals left and right.  After almost four months in Africa, I was mostly used to the attention my skin color earned me... but this was on a whole other level.  This was "you're the first white person I've seen in my life" attention.  How intriguing.

The highlight of this story is one simple fact: I slaughtered a chicken.  Almost all by myself.  I had no less than thirty people watching me prove I was a "strong African woman," and halfway through slitting its neck I had a minor panic attack.  Despite my small showing of weakness, I earned the respect of the assembled villagers, and that's all that really counts.




Leaving Uganda, AKA the Biggest Heartbreak of my Life
I don't mean to get dramatic and weepy, but leaving Uganda really was one of the most emotionally difficult moments of my life.  Its rare that a person finds a place with which they connect as deeply as I connected with Gulu.  I have a family on the other side of the world that I know will always take me in, and a place where I feel comfortable and at home.  It didn't help that I have no definite return date and problematic communication with people I've come to love and call my family.

All I want to do is be able to give back to this community that has given me so much over the last four months, and that is what I intend to do in the future.  There is nothing I want more than to return to Gulu.  How I'm going to do that, I still don't know, but I'll figure it out.

Being home is good so far, but I still think about and miss Africa every day.  Its hard to really say what I miss the most: my family, my friends (both Ugandan and mzungu), and simply the atmosphere of Gulutown.  It was the best four months of my life, and a transformative experience.  I'm finding it near impossible to fully describe this amazing journey to anyone who has not experienced the magical spirit of Africa.  I don't know if I'll ever figure out how to do it.  I guess you'll all just have to experience it for yourself someday.


If there's one thing I do know, its that I'll be back faster faster, and I won't truly feel whole again until I've returned.


"I still believe in paradise, but now at least I know its not some place you can look for, because its not where you go.  Its how you feel for a moment in your life when you're a part of something, and if you find that moment... it lasts forever."