Fairy Tales

So here’s the thing with fairytales. We spend our childhood loving them, and then, when we grow up, the world convinces us that they don’t exist. That they are merely a fantasy that gives little girls false notions of finding her prince charming. GK Chesterton begs to differ: “Fairy tales are more than true; not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.” It is so easy for the cynic in me to disregard this quote. Especially lately. There is a cultural war going on, and the dragon called cynicism is feeding it. Especially with all of the politics floating around lately, the Tea Party and the Republicans versus the Democrats, or the Christians versus the Liberals-it is hard to remain an idealist. It is so easy to fall into the trap of cynicism- Well everyone is just going to be at each other’s throats anyway, so why not join a side? Some Christians (not all) are creating crusades against people that don’t fall in line with their beliefs, and the liberal media (not all) retaliate by making martyrs out of the Christians. That seems to be a scenario where no one wins. What if the response when an act of hatred toward a group was: “To our most bitter opponents we say: ‘Throw us in jail and we will still love you. Bomb our houses and threaten our children and we will still love you. Beat us and leave us half dead and we will still love you…One day we shall so appeal to your heart and conscience that we shall win you in the process, and our victory will be a double victory” (MLKJ). Rather than pointing fingers and figuring out who the oppressor is, we could always start a revolution that could set both the oppressors and the oppressed free. Allowing us to look at more important issues instead of who is right and who is wrong. There are so many issues go unnoticed. Shane Claiborne puts it in perspective: “The lives of the thirty thousand children who die of starvation EACH DAY is like six 9-11s EVERY SINGLE DAY. A silent tsunami that happens every week.” If we were all to work together, think of the things that could be accomplished. While we were having our Republican Convention and our Democrat Convention, 55 people were kidnapped into a rebel army that uses mostly children as soldiers (http://www.reuters.com/article/2012/09/03/us-centralafrican-uganda-lra-idUSBRE8820J920120903). It almost makes our political debates seem small in comparison, I think. With that in mind…What if we became a society that, like children, sees fairy tales as real? What if we could see cynicism as a dragon that could be slain? What if: The Republicans, Democrats, Christians, Liberals, Homosexuals, Tea Partiers, bullies, the bullied, etc…what if EVERYONE did as Martin Luther King Jr. said? We could all work on unity. On focusing on the goal of loving each other…If we don’t, my big fear is that, in our adult word of cynicism, we are destroying the fairy tale belief system that our next generation has right now. Instead of telling them that dragons exist, our actions are telling them that people who don’t believe the same things they do is the dragon. We should challenge the next generation to stay child-like and idealistic. Because if not, we may lose children to the culture of materialism, hatred, violence and war. Wouldn’t it be an interesting concept to give the kids the power to dream up the kind of world we SHOULD live in, rather than tell them the evils of the one we DO live in? Maybe Jesus had that whole see the world through a child’s eyes right. Children don’t hate anything. They aren’t cynical at all. I’m definitely challenging myself to slay that dragon of cynicism within me, and love everyone…So that I can start focusing on the bigger picture.

Lovers not fighters

I’m writing this a few days late, as the height of the Chic Fil A debate occurred three days ago…However, the event got some juices flowing, and it’s high time I wrote a blog anyway. To recap, The company has donated millions of dollars to groups such as the Marriage & Family Foundation and the Family Research Council, which oppose the legalization of gay marriage (http://www.nydailynews.com). Chic Fil A’s support of anti-gay organizations sparked many debates, in which both parties were sending hate messages to those who did not agree with their point of view. In light of Chic-Fil-A’s support of anti-gay organizations…a new campaign was born…anti-Chic-Fil-A. While I do not agree with how Chic-Fil-A is in support of a hate organization, and my money will not be spent there, I do not commend those who are fight hate with more hate. When did it become okay to champion hate in any sense? Chic-Fil-A could still support the community, they can just find a better way to do it. There are MANY food banks and child assistance centers that could use their donations. They could be doing so much good in the world instead of oppressing a segment of the population. As for me, I will not be going to Chic-Fil-A until they decide to stop pouring their money into a campaign that spreads a negative message about a group of people. However, rather than join a hate campaign against the company…I am going to create a campaign to encourage Chic to utilize their resources to more positive efforts. I would encourage anybody else to do the same…It’s so much easier to be a fighter than a lover, but, if we were all lovers, I believe that both sides would have a much happier ending.

Hope

It is mentioned in cultures dating back to forever B.C., in texts as life-changing as the bible, in childhood stories, and even in our current president’s campaign. HOPE. However, as much as this word is thrown around…how familiar are we with it? Where do we find it and what does it do?

Dictionary.com defines hope as, “The feeling that what is wanted can be had or that events will turn out for the best.”

For me, Hope had large brown eyes, beaded braids, and was five years old. I found hope in an orphanage.

Hope is one of the children living at Momma T’s orphanage. I met and fell in love with her last year (I wanted to bring her home). This year, I was able to spend much more time with Hope. When I would spend time at the orphanage, she would spend all of it with me. The orphanage is poor, and there are times that the kids go without food or proper beds. Hope lives here and hopes that she will be loved.

If you go through a small door and turn right, you can also find hope. It is on the dusty roads of Kampala. Hope takes form in a place called Bavubuka is where my friend Cyno plays guitar and sells cds in hopes that he will be able to raise the funds to fix his heart.

Many would say that happiness in an orphanage that is tucked away in a corner of the world, or a boy trying to get finances for a surgery on the streets of Africa is quite a hope(less) situation. I have found that these are the places that I have seen the MOST hope. In these places, there is more to overcome and in turn, more to hope for:

“Though I’m down in the valley, dying of thirst
When I’m down in the valley, it seems that I’m at my worst
My consolation is…
When you pour on your water, valleys fill first.”

From what I have observed, hope is one of the dominant sources of strength. Our president had the strength to get elected because he offered hope to the people. The little engine that could reached his destination because he hoped he could make it to the top of the hill and found the strength to do so.

There is a story in Genesis 32 that states:

24 So Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him till daybreak. 25 When the man saw that he could not overpower him, he touched the socket of Jacob’s hip so that his hip was broken as he wrestled with the man. 26 Then the man said, “Let me go, for it is daybreak.”
But Jacob replied, “I will not let you go unless you bless me.”
27 The man asked him, “What is your name?”
“Jacob,” he answered.
28 Then the man said, “Your name will no longer be Jacob, but Israel,[f] because you have struggled with God and with humans and have overcome.”

Jacob hoped for a blessing and found the strength to wrestle until he received it in the form of Israel.

In a desolate situation, people will struggle and may even walk away with a broken hip, but they will emerge with a new name. For Hope, her new name is “Loved.” For Cyno, his new name is “Healthy.” So next time I am ready to throw up my hands in defeat, I will re-evaluate the hope(less) situation and wrestle with it…I will aspire to walk away with a broken hip and a new name: Hope.

Safari

I have definitely been waiting in anticipation for the safari at Murchison Falls. We were going to have both groups going on this trip, which required four mutatus and thirty people. We were supposed to leave early, so everyone started getting snacks and preparing for the trip early Saturday morning. We were all waiting by the house when a HUGE bus pulled up. Definitely not something that would make it through the trails of safari…and not something that we could ride on top of! So Mama Cat and Lindsey told Bongoman (our travel guy) that it wouldn’t work…So he had to go scrounge up four mutatus. Hours later, we finally had our mutatus and jeeps and headed for safari. We picked up the people that were staying at Anaka since they were on the way. It was cool because we got to see the parish and the school. Then we stayed at this cool campsite (the tents actually had beds in them). Early the next morning (4:45) we woke up to Bill running to our tent and saying, “We have pancakies for breakfast!” He’s like a kid at Christmas. After breakfast, we boarded our mutatus and headed to safari. Once it was safe to put the mattresses on top, we sat up there in the chilly morning air, and started looking for animals.

As we were riding along, we noticed an elephant in a little watering hole…it was super close to us, and we were all excited to get pictures….until the mutatu stopped. The guide, with his AK-47 walked up to all of our vehicles and told us that he was nervous about this one. The elephant was agitated and ready to charge. Not comforting when you are sitting at eye-level on top of a vehicle. He stood in front on the ground and said that he was going to send the first mutatu speeding past to see what happened. The elephant fanned the ears out. Then he sent the second mutatu….the elephant started shaking the head and moving the legs…Then, it started going CRAZY!!! We were on mutatu number three…The guide cocked his gun…Now the nerves and adrenaline was pumping! Our driver stepped on it…I had to hold on to a bar and my hat…the elephant was ready to go face-to-face. Luckily, all four mutatus made it past the elephant, and we continued on our way.

The next encounter happened when we stopped for lunch, and there were baboons everywhere…they were really close to the vehicles and had no issues approaching us and the trashcan…It made me nervous because I fear the baboons. We ate lunch by the water, and my friend Kellan was showing me where the trash was in their vehicle. She had an apple in her hand though. One of the baboons jumped on her back and grabbed the apple…scratching her hand in the process. She screamed and I screamed because I wasn’t sure what was happening and I was already nervous. Luckily, it was only a little cut and we cleaned it out and all was well. The boat ride on the Nile to the falls was enjoyable and we had a good rest of the afternoon.

Then the time came for the ride home. One of the vehicles had to take one of our teachers (Chris) to the hospital…So everyone had to squeeze into three vehicles (we got Pablo…yes!). As we were leaving the park, our safari guide, Simon, rode with us. Ryan started to deejay and we were playing Toto’s “Africa” with the windows open and leaving the park. The giraffes started to come up super close to the window...Then, we had another (closer) encounter with an agitated elephant. Simon said that we would not have avoided that attack if we were still on top of the vehicle. Dang elephants! Who would have thought that they would be the animal that I feared the most this year?! We continued the ride listening to some old school tunes and singing along with Simon until we dropped him off. Good times.

Good times until one of the mutatus ran out of gas. Now people had to squeeze into TWO vehicles! The music stopped and everyone was tired because it was already after ten at night and we were idle for an hour trying to figure out what was going on. The driver of the vehicle that ran out of gas got it out of the road and we had to go pick him up. The vehicle was at this shady place and he was out front surrounded by guys. They wanted money to watch, and not strip the vehicle. One of them started circling our vehicle….figuring that the munus (white people) would have money. Then the guys started beating our driver and trying to drag him out back! Nothing good happens out back! Pablo, Ryan, and freaking JUSTINE all tried to get out of the vehicle…but we held them back. The driver got away and ran to our vehicle and we sped off toward home. Scary. I am glad that everyone was okay.

So that was the end of our Sunday trip. We arrived home late, tired, DIRTY, scared, and hungry. We all know that we were so blessed to have a good experience…and even the bad experiences were okay because we were all in it together. Love all these people!

PS-The pic of the charging elephant is courtesy of my friend Amanda Bankert.

I'm coming home!

So after spending a few different occasions with the teachers (my old friends) from Pabo, I decided it was time to go see my old school and village. For me, it was go big or go home. I decided to boda (like a motorbike with a driver) out there. Keep in mind that this is a two hour boda ride on rough, red, dirt roads. Luckily, my friend Bill decided to go as well. So the plan was for us to ride out there and stay the night with our friends Nick and Shaaroni at the place where I used to stay in Pabo, and then catch the mutatu at the school the next morning. So Bill called his boda driver and friend Dennis to pick us up. It was going to be a 20,000 shilling ride if Bill and I shared a boda, so it was three of us on this one motorbike heading up to Pabo. 5 minutes into the ride, the tire blew out…thank goodness that Dennis knew what he was doing, because the boda didn’t tip. However, this left us with no boda. Dennis said that he was going to change the tire, so Bill and I started walking towards Pabo and told Dennis to meet us. It started to rain, and we just laughed at our luck the whole time. Awesome. After an hour, a panicked Dennis rolled up. He told us that on his way to us an army truck ran him off the road. He damaged his bike and fell off. His arm was hurt, but he still wanted to ride with us. We rode out, and finally after eight, we ended up at Pabo. Because of the red dirt, Bill and I looked like the cast of Jersey Shore. We took our bucket showers and I was greeted by Paska (mine and Pablo’s cook from last year). She kept introducing me as her daughter. While we were sitting there, the guy that was beaten by the police last year came into the building. I ducked under my hat and went into Shaaroni’s room before he was forced to leave. Every time that someone came into the building after that, my heart stopped.

The next morning, we went out into the town. The view was astonishing as always. We also explored different parts of Pabo that I did not get to see last year. We saw the temporary schools that were built when the schools were displaced. We also saw a branch of St. Mary’s hospital where the LRA would collect people and execute them in the back. They also showed us where the mass graves would be. As much history that we learned in Pabo last year, there is so much more. After the tour, we went to the school. I got my butt handed to me in Scrabble, taught the teachers the Cupid Shuffle, and generally had a great time greeting everyone that I had been missing. It was a great feeling to be back to the first school that had captured my heart.

Chimp trekking

Since some of us had already taken a trip to the Rhino sanctuary, Justine hooked up a trip to go chimp trekking for five of us. So while most of group one drove off to the rhino sanctuary, the five of us (Lance, Justine, Pablo, Joe, and I) boarded our mutatu and headed to a reserve that was close to Budongo forest, where we would see the chimpanzees. We stayed in a place that was filled with birds and nests and huts. Lance and Justine stayed in one hut while Pablo, Joe, and I took the other. It was a beautiful place, the huts were cool and dark and the food was awesome. The proceeds for this place also went toward the children of the community which made it even better. We paid for a tour that night, which was great because that money went back into the community as well. The guide took us around the farms and we met with locals and elders. The first local didn’t even speak English, so the guide would interpret for us. He explained to us birthing rituals and naming ceremonies. We also saw traditional hunting tools and tried to shoot a bow and arrow (NOTHING like it is in the states). The next stop involved tobacco farming, and we saw how the leaves were dried. Justine loved the smell of that part! They showed us coffee beans while they were still on the trees. The last stop involved an elder (who also didn’t speak English) explaining the courting and marriage customs. That part went on for a while because it was getting dark and we were all getting really hungry.

We spent the next morning lounging around because we did not have to be at Budongo forest until the afternoon. Much needed quiet and relaxation time. Then we got ready headed out to go find some monkies. The Bundongo forest is part of the Jane Goodall institute, and one of the guides that was with us has been to multiple conferences with Jane Goodall herself. Pretty awesome. We spent the morning going though the forest and looking for signs of chimpanzees. We finally saw our first chimp, Babyface. After that, we started to see many up in the trees. Then one finally crossed our path and climbed up the tree…and farted. Hilarious. We left the forest to the screeching of chimps. Overall, the trip was relaxing, informative, and surreal. I loved every minute of it.

The Thunder Rolls...

And the lightning strikes. It’s been some insane weather here in Uganda. As a Florida girl, I am used to my fair share of crazy thunder and lightning, but this weather has even me shaking in my boots at different times. Last year, we experienced some heavy rains, but this year seems more frequent and is followed by booming thunder that will shake buildings and people to their very core. The thunder is quickly followed by lightning that feels as if it has invaded our home because it is so close and intense. Shortly after experiencing a few of these storms, we started hearing stories of people who died from being struck by lightning: mothers walking with children at Pece stadium which is not many paces away. Then, we heard about a couple of boys who were struck by lightning at Sir Samuel Baker (one of Invisible Children’s partner schools where my friends Lance and Justine are working). The boys were okay, but then everyone started to question the safety of the schools. The boys were rioting against the Deputy Headmaster (second in command at the schools). The riots usually involve violence, and in this case was extended to the Deputy Headmaster’s children (his daughter of about 1 or 2 years was punched and stomach and then brought to the hospital). Later, three girls at Keyo (another partner school where my friends Lauren, Bill, and Joe are working) were struck with lightning while trying to get their clothes and then find shelter from the storm. Two of them died instantly, and the third landed in ICU. One of the girls who was killed was a beneficiary of a scholarship from Invisible Children’s program. During our conference, Jolie asked us all to have a time of reflections for the past year, from these recent deaths to the death of Nate Henn who died in the bombings last year. Jolie also added that some of the funds for rebuilding the partner schools would be used for safety, and they were looking into installing proper weather protection. In a time of rebuilding and working towards peace there are still times of pain. It reminds us all how far Uganda has come, and how much further this community has to go.

Stories of the teachers...

I was reading Lindsey’s blog the other day, and I was reminded of a significant part of our orientation. Part of our orientation involves hearing about the lives of some partner teachers during the conflict. Lindsey does a great job of sharing Ketty’s story on the blog, so I am going to share what she has written:

“Ketty’s stories from growing up during the war are heartbreaking, and sadly, all too real. Ketty was in primary school when the war broke out. She remembers the first ever LRA rebel attacks on Gulu. She marks this as the first time she ever saw a dead body, and not just one dead body – but several. She states, that is not something you easily forget. Ketty was running from the attacks to find her family, but when she arrived in town (remember, as a 8-10 year old), no one was around. So she decided to run to her family’s village, 10 km away. Young Ketty ran to the village, and there she found her family. But it wasn’t before long that the village was attacked by more rebels and her family was on the run again. This time, she was left with an aunt who asked her to carry something on her head to keep it safe. As Ketty and her aunt ran, the rebels caught them (and others) and lined them up, looking for government conspirators. Ketty’s package was confiscated and the rebels noticed she was carrying salt – which apparently meant that she MUST know the government or be the child of a government conspirator (salt = wealth, maybe???). The LRA immediately began to question her and wanted her to turn over the person who gave her the package (they didn’t fault her for carrying it because she was so young), but Ketty refused to give up her aunt. They even lined all the women up and forced Ketty to look through and identify the person; Ketty refused and insisted she did not know who the person was that gave her the package. Finally, the LRA allowed her to go – warning her to stay away. This was her close call. Ketty says she’ll never forget this, and that living in the north during the war was traumatizing, but at the same time is one of the reasons she became a teacher – so that she could fill a void in a region that needed her most. Ketty recognized the difficulties here and the lack of teachers and education in general, so she returned to the north after her schooling to go and teach the children so that they could maybe become the future.”

I have also heard stories from my teaching partners, both from last year and this year have shown their scars and shared their stories of the war. These are the stories that remind me again, that it is these Ugandan teachers who are willing to face their experiences over and over again to make education and ultimately, Gulu a better place are truly heroes. I feel so lucky to be here and to support them in their journey to change the world. I’m such a small part of their story, but it is their story that is (and will be) such a big part of mine.

Momma T's bye!

Earlier I mentioned a place in the corner of the world that has captivated my heart: Momma T’s (more popularly known as Mother Theresa’s). This year, I have had the privilege of visiting this place at least a couple of times a week. I was also blessed enough to share my heart with the rest of the teachers on the exchange program. The Sunday that the group two teachers arrived, a group of us went to the orphanage. Since we have 30 different people on this trip, we have 30 different personalities. The teachers split into groups and were surrounded by children. A group led a circle of songs and dances ranging from “I’m a Little Teapot to the “Hokey Pokey.” Other teachers were playing Frisbee and football (soccer). Another group taught the kids hand games while yet another group were showing the kids what a slinky was (everyone loves one right?). The deaf and hearing kids started teaching a group of teacher traditional Acholi dances. The day ended with the kids putting on costumes and showing us what the traditional Acholi dances were really like. Everyone brought something different to the table, but like different pieces of a puzzle, it created a complete picture. Not a single person (American or Acholi) was left without a smile on their face and love in their heart.

Sometimes going to Momma T’s is hard, like hearing about how the kids will have nothing to eat that night, or seeing them crammed into such a tight space, or saying good-bye. However, I cannot ignore the feeling of love and resilience that is there. The kids will greet you and love you with an empty stomach but with a full heart. And even though I still struggle with seeing the fairness of it all, I know that whenever I start feeling like my life is empty, I will combat it a full heart. Even though I will have to soon say good-bye to this place, I know that I can always think of those smiling faces and warm hands…and I will remember everything that I have learned.

Please help save my friend.

When we went Bavavuka in Kampala, I met up with the boy who played guitar and sang for us. When he was playing for the whole group he explained that he had not felt well and went to the doctor, where he discovered that he had heart issues. He has to pay 10,000 American dollars or he will die. He does not have that much money or any means of getting it, so he is trying to sell cds to raise the money…literally so he can live. So I met up with this boy called Cyno Moses and we played the guitar and shared different songs that we knew. He learned some Justin Beiber and Jason Derulo. He wanted to give me one of his cds for nothing…I gave him as much money that he would accept (10,000 shillings which is equivalent to about 5 American dollars). As we were leaving, he handed me a bracelet that he wanted me to have so that I could remember him.

And I am remembering him and his struggles.
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On this note, there is a picture of his cd cover that explains his story...

I also have this link, direct donations for Cyno can be made here. I hope that you will have a heart so that he can have a heart.

http://www.active.com/donate/Cynosheart

Gulu week 2 part 2

The last part of week two has been involved because we are finally on a schedule. I have started teaching with my two partner teachers. They know what they are teaching and I was encouraged to see that there were books for the kids through “Invisible Children.” It was the abridged-abridged version of Tom Sawyer…but they had a story in front of them. We worked on some reading strategies and John Kennedy (one of my partner teachers) was already taking notes on how to teach reading comprehension. That part was encouraging and I am excited to see him carry out the lesson in his own way. I also saw some kids getting caned-another reminder that the school system IS different than ours in America…but I still could not look directly as it was happening.

On Saturday, we prepared to have our cultural exchange day where all of the Ugandan and American teachers were to get together and exchange dances, stories, music, and food. I hit the town beforehand with Erin and Pakou…It was one of those moments that almost felt surreal. We were walking down alleys to get to different stores…and we were greeted by children and adults in these shanty-towns. The welcoming spirit amongst these people is astounding.

The cultural exchange was a success and everyone had a great time. We had a great introductory game by Mama Cat and Lindsey…People were sharing about themselves and some were getting so personal. My partner teacher shared that he had been abducted, and another shared that he was a former child soldier. They seemed to come alive during the music and games, however. I loved seeing them get up and dance around and lead activities. Some of these people have had so many responsibilities from childhood that they missed out on the process of growing up. Shaaroni showed us how to do a hula dance. I lead us in the Cupid Shuffle. John Kennedy lead us in two games. Then we danced with the Awere dancers. My other teacher Niaalo was giving me a hard time, and Sara (another Layibi teacher) said that I dance like I am in a pop video but that I did well. It brought everyone closer together because it was about building friendships…I am glad that we have already been able to take the teacher relationships beyond the professional level.

Gulu week 2 part 1

We started off week two by going to Mother Theresa’s on Sunday. So many members of the exchange group came out. The kids were thrilled, and Sister Helen was happy. We spent a couple of hours playing with the kids. Hope stayed with me the whole time…she is the little one that I wanted to bring home with me last year. She is five years old this year, and remembers me from last year. She asked me to bring her home with me. I so wish I could. The deaf kids remembered me as well. They remembered my sign name and came up for hugs. It is probably my favorite place in the whole world. I am so glad that I was able to share it with this awesome group of people. The best part about our group going out to Momma T’s was that everyone was able to cover a group of kids and do different activity. Love everywhere…it was awesome. And even though Pablo and Joe could not sign, they really made a connection with the older deaf boys. I was so happy to re-connect with Momma T’s and Hope…This is a place that I will be seeing a lot of while I am here.

Pablo and I started Layibi on Monday. We had our first round table and we were shown a tour of the school. It is an all-boys boarding school. With “Invisible Children” they are now in the top 100 for schools in Uganda. They are 54. It is such a huge difference from Pabo. This school actually can feed the students and the teachers. There is a lot more money coming in. They also have a complete computer lab with internet (I will definitely set up a skype account so that my American and Ugandan students can communicate. The teachers take Pablo and I to a different room to feed us every day. At first, it was hard to come to a school that seems well off (for Uganda) when there are schools like Pabo out there…which has so much spirit but is so poor and in the middle of an IDP (Internally Displaced Persons) camp. We had to convince ourselves that seeing the difference between the high end and low end schools would be good for us….It would be something new that we could experience as well. I still struggled with figuring out how we can make much a difference to a school that seems to have it all figured out. I have to keep reminding myself that this program has contributed to their success and has gotten them back into the top 100. As the students are attending a high-end school, these are the students that will get high-end positions in the future. If we can make a difference in the future leaders of Uganda, then that is where change will take place. I just have to keep remembering to give it my all.

Overall, the environment seems to be a bit different than last year. I think that the atmosphere of the World Cup changed quite a few things. We don’t have electricity very often for one thing. The water has also been off for days! I went from Friday until Tuesday without a shower (keep in mind I was playing in an orphanage and leading Zumba classes every day. Hello baby wipes!!! Tuesday night, after Momma T’s and another Zumba class, I finally gave in to a jerry can shower. It’s like Pabo all over again…Home sweet home.

Gulu Week 1

Week 1 in Gulu was our orientation week, which was still informative (although we had been through the orientation last year). We arrived at the house, which was not the same house as last year. It was a nice surprise though because we had room…A LOT more room. It was so nice to see old friends and make some new ones as well. I loved seeing Lorna, and she already came to BJz with us where we tore up that dance floor! I love that the roomies love dancing. I also started some Zumba classes, so the teachers are staying fit. We decided to make up a workout schedule so we can have some Zumba times. That means that I had to rush by the Coffee Hut and (slowly) download one song at a time.

The nerves started creeping up as we were getting ready to meet our teachers for dinner at the Acholi Inn. It was a bit like getting ready for a blind date…we didn’t know what to expect. Pablo and I waited for our teachers for a while (they were late because the track meets were going on). While we were waiting we saw not one, not two…but eight or nine Pabo teachers show up. It was one of the biggest and most spirited tables. It was so amazing to see those teachers again. It was a bit like seeing family again. I was so happy to see Alex and Big Joe and Otim and Christine. After we had many hugs they went to sit with the two teachers they are working with this year. My heart broke and I kept enviously staring at that table. It was awesome to see the energy and the number of teachers who showed up. Pabo has a strong representation in the Teacher Exchange program this year. It made me so proud. We also realized that they were three generations of American teachers who taught at Pabo. Justine and Lance taught the year before Pablo and I…Pablo and I taught there last year…and Nick and Sharoni would be teaching there this year. So many teachers and three generations. The teachers from Pabo also told me that my posters were still in the staffroom and my strategies were still being used. It reminded me again about how sustainable this program is and how changes can be made. I miss Pabo so much. I walked away with Catherine with tears for the past in my eyes and hope for the future in my heart.

Heart on the line

Once we finally reached Entebbe we met up with Joe and Pablo, which was a super-exciting reunion. People bought cell phones that would work in Africa and then we headed out to Babavuka. As always, the place was amazing. It takes kids and teenagers off the streets of Kampala and helps them discover/develop their skills and interests. The boys sang, did dancing, ballin, and guitar-playing for us. Then they gave us lunch. It was called a rolex which is chapatti and egg….finally I got to eat chapatti again!!! When everyone was shopping and talking I met up with the boy who played guitar and sang for us. When he was playing for the whole group he explained that he had not felt well and went to the doctor, where he discovered that he had heart issues. He has to pay 10,000 American dollars or he will die. He does not have that much money or any means of getting it, so he is trying to sell cds to raise the money…literally so he can live. So I met up with this boy called Moses and we played the guitar and shared different songs that we knew. He learned some Justin Beiber and Jason Derulo. He wanted to give me one of his cds for nothing…I gave him as much money that he would accept (10,000 shillings which is equivalent to about 5 American dollars). As we were leaving, he handed me a bracelet that he wanted me to have so that I could remember him. The group climbed back into the coaster and we started to drive home (a house we had not seen yet). The ride was great! Even though people were jetlagged and some would fall asleep once and a while, everyone got along…there were many sing-alongs. There are two girls on this trip who have never been out of the country, but they are so strong and have such good-spirits, that I am not worried at all. The group dynamic between these 15 people is incredible. I am so happy at the relationships that have already formed between everybody….which was a relief because I was worried about how the group would get along. We arrived at the house (there are literally TWO houses and three bathrooms/showers…what?!) There is much more space which was exciting, because I was hoping for last year’s house…not anymore! So the girls called dibs on their rooms…Lauren, Christina, Sharoni , and I grabbed a room. Apparently, we are the loud ones? That night we all sat in the common room eating and discussing our experience at Babavuka. Many people mentioned that it was hard to decide who to buy from because all of the boys needed money for something…but how do you say no to one who needs a heart surgery and cannot get it? It is such a wake-up call. Where we live, it is not a question of life or death. But here, stuff like that happens all the time. People die from something that can be so easily fixed. Now this issue had a name and a face…and that is Moses. Catherine said that she is going to start up a fundraising link so that we can raise money for our new friend’s heart. That is a mission that I think anyone can be a part of.

Worth the wait!

So after a year has flown by, it is already time to back to my second home in Gulu-town. For me, the only bummer was that there was no layover in London this year. We only had an hour or so to get on another plane in Heathrow, so there would be no opportunity to tour. I had to stay the night in New York because we had an 8:00 flight to Heathrow the next morning. Luckily, I met Lindsey (one of our awesome leaders) and we stayed at a hotel. I probably would have been lost without her! We dragged ourselves out of bed at 4:30 in the morning and headed back to the airport. As we walked up to greet Catherine and Nick, we were told that our flight was delayed. The reason that this was a problem was because our layover in Heathrow was only an hour and a half, which meant that we were going to miss our flight to Uganda. It all worked out though, because British Airways put us on a flight the next night and put us up in a hotel in London. So a few of us got up early and hit up the city. Before we took The Underground (mind the gap) we bought tickets that would allow admission to any of the historical places. We saw Big Ben first, then headed to Westminster Abbey (yes, where Wills and Kate were just married…SO EXCITING!!!). We got an audio tour of Westminster and learned a ton of awesome things. One of the ceilings is actually a world wonder, Chaucer and a ton of other amazing writers are buried there, and the body of the unknown warrior….it was incredible. We also hit up a couple of local pubs, and a “scary” tour of the catacombs of London, which taught us a lot about London Bridge. Then we went and toured the Globe Theater, which was so exciting for Lauren and me because we are such English nerds. We wrapped up our day in London by hitting up Buckingham Palace….You know, a typical Monday. ;O)

Hierarchy of Heroism

This morning a friend of mine made the comment about Oprah "What an amazing person. When it is all said and done, hopefully decades from now, Oprah will go down as one of the greatest people of all time. Like Gandhi and Mother Teresa."

I will be the first to say that I love Oprah....but I have some issues with this comparison. Oprah has done many, many wonderful things so far. She does wonderful charities (hands on even). However, Mother Teresa and Gandhi carried out lives of sacrifice. This comparison makes it difficult to ignore Oprah's posh lifestyle.

For example, there is a story about Momma T in Shane Claiborne's Irresistible Revolution: "Mother Teresa was one of those people who sacrificed great privilege because she encountered such great need...But there is one thing I will never forget-her feet. Her feet were deformed. Each morning in Mass, I would stare at them. I wondered if she had contracted leprosy. But I wasn't going to ask, of course. "Hey mother, what's wrong with your feet?" One day a sister said to us, "have you noticed her feet?" We nodded, curious. She said, "Her feet are deformed because we get just enough donated shoes for everyone, and Mother does not anyone to get stuck with the worst pair, so she digs through and finds them. And years of doing that have deformed her feet."

That is one of my favorite stories. It is a perfect example of sacrificial living...and while Oprah is amazing...I think she is wearing the wrong shoes to be put on Momma T and Gandhi status.

There are different levels of heroism in the world. Like a pyramid, there are so many little acts on the bottom, that maybe inspire people to do a little more. The "awareness" part of activism. Getting the word out. It's what most people do. Then there are people that are on a higher level who write the checks and donate to charities and organizations because they are now aware. Without this support, many organizations could not go on. Then there is a group who goes beyond writing checks and puts their TIME and money into organizations. This is where I would put Oprah. However, the top of the pyramid is the smallest part. There are very few people who reach this status. These would be the people who give it their ALL. Living a life of sacrifice. Making their cause something worth dying for.

Momma T, Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr., the freedom riders all belong at the top of the pyramid. People who have given up physical comforts and joined the poor. There is a quote, "When I fed the poor, they called me a saint. When I asked why the poor were hungry, they called me a communist." Oprah is wonderful. She's a saint. I do not, however, believe, she has joined the poor.

I think that there is danger in comparing Oprah to people who have carried out a life of sacrifice. If we put her at this status, then we are in danger of lowering our standards of heroism for future generations. If we keep getting rid of the top of the pyramid, then we run the risk of reducing activism to simple awareness.

It reminds me of the story in Mark 12:41-44 which states, "Jesus sat

down opposite the place where the offerings were put and watched the crowd putting their money into the temple treasury. Many rich people threw in large amounts. But a poor widow came and put in two very small copper coins, worth only a few cents. Calling his disciples to him, Jesus said, "Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others. THEY ALL GAVE OUT OF THEIR WEALTH; BUT SHE, OUT OF HER POVERTY, PUT IN EVERYTHING-ALL SHE HAD TO LIVE ON."

Especially in the flashy world that we live in, it is hard to look past all of those people who are sparing SOME of their wealth to see the true value of sacrifice.

The Power of One

What is the power of one?

Sometime in October, my classes and I had a discussion that keeps coming back to me.

What is the power of one?

In order to study author’s purpose and to prepare for the roadies to come and visit our school, we watched the “Invisible Children-Rough Cut” documentary. After watching the film, our discussion turned to what a person can do. After all, here were three young boys who went to Africa with cameras from eBay who started a revolution both in America and in Africa. Are there still troubles in Africa? Sure. A student quoted Coach Ryan in saying, “you have to move mountains one stone at a time.” Change has happened in Africa, and because of these individuals, mountains were (and are) moving.

This discussion took place on October 20th. This was a day that people decided to wear purple in order to remember “the 6 young gay men who committed suicide in recent weeks/months due to homophobic abuse in their homes and at their schools.” So I also brought up the topic of bullying. People often forget the power that they have. How their words can hurt, change someone; drive a person to do something drastic.

So what is the power of one?

My guess is that it is something that can move mountains or move a person to the point of no return. And my goal is to use my power for good, and to encourage those around me to use their power for good. We should, “Tell all the stones we are building a castle.”

The perfect end to this sentiment is this video clip, “Shake the Dust.” Appropriately, it was delivered at a “To Write Love On Her Arms” event, which focuses on teen depression and suicide.
Jedidiah says that the poet, Anis Mojgani, “remind[s] everyone the power of words and the value in their stories.”

Without further ado…this is for the school yard wimps and the former prom queens for the teachers and for the students for you and for me…shake the dust!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0qDtHdloK44

Get up and walk

Just two days ago, the teachers of Pedro Menendez received news of another student death. He hung himself from a tree at a local park. I did not know this student as well as the student that had passed earlier on this summer, but I knew him. I did not teach him, but he stopped by my room a few times. His death, along with other events this summer, really affected my happy demeanor.

I have never been one to deal with death very well.

It seems that there have been moments where reality hits pretty hard. This thought process, for me, started with a phone call while I was in Uganda. It was about a student that I had last year.

She sat in the row all the way to the left, three seats from the front. She was quiet at times, but you could see that she still was infected by the contagious excitement for her senior year. She just graduated. She was just killed by a truck driving erratically. When I received this news, I kept saying that it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair.

The next morning, July 12, I woke up to news that there were bombings in Kampala that killed over seventy people. The American that died was here because he was an “Invisible Children” roadie. His name was Nate ‘Oteka’ Henn. He seemed like such a wonderful person. We did not have a chance to meet him, but because I was still feeling the heaviness of the news from the night before, and because he was there with the same organization as my friends and I, it hit close to home. How could someone who did so much good be taken away? I again thought about how it wasn’t fair.

Then on Sunday, July 18, exactly one week from my phone call about my student, people from group 2 went to St. Jude’s orphanage. When they arrived, they found out that a toddler had just fallen into an open cesspool. When the group went back there, there was a man trying to put a ladder down the hole, but it wouldn’t fit. Then John (who we have deemed the dad of the group) pushed the ladder out of the way. John reached down and pulled Samuel (the toddler) out of the well. They started to try to get all of the stuff out of his mouth. Min and Colleen tried to give CPR, and the “Invisible Children” truck drove to the hospital. It took them ten more minutes to find someone to help them. Despite our best efforts, at 3:06 on July 18 the boy died. He was about 2 ½ years old. Definitely one of our more somber nights.

These events really got to me. How could such senseless things that cause so much pain happen? It WASN’T fair. It made me question. I wanted to know why. I was starting to question justice in this world. As I started to ask questions, I remembered thumbing through a book, “Hope in the Dark.” It is a photo-journal about two people who travel to Kenya. Not Uganda, but their story seems relevant enough to mine. I read the entries. I looked at the pictures. As I turned the pages, two entries caught my attention.

The first page is a picture of graffiti, “Piny Pek.” The entry read, “We walked along the dirt road to Muungano village where these words rested quietly on the brick wall next to a pharmacy shop. ‘What does piny pek mean?’ I asked. ‘Heavy world,’ they said” (Hope in the Dark).

That nailed it. It IS a heavy world. I have been feeling the weight of it all along. Where is justice?

As I was lamenting some of these events, I came across my friend Ryan’s blog. It was on dying seeds. I am going to use some of his words because he writes what I have been feeling so effectively. He says, “I’ve always despised the fact that God made death such an integral part of life. “When Christ calls a man, He bids him come and die,” Bonhoeffer says. But why can’t the Father work with us as though He were a bricklayer? I’d much rather just have my old self whitewashed, built on top of, not crucified.”

Ryan goes on to say, “That, however, is not His will. The Father’s plan for life is one of complete and total transformation that begins with a wrecking ball and ends with a new creation. And if I say that my way is better, I am arguing with the very God who gave me a mind, an intellect and an ability to argue in the first place. Surely, it is an argument I cannot win.

So I am still left asking, “Why?” I am still saying that it is not fair. I am still left presenting my argument and it makes me think of the verses in Acts 3.
It reads, “ 1One day Peter and John were going up to the temple at the time of prayer—at three in the afternoon. 2Now a man crippled from birth was being carried to the temple gate called Beautiful, where he was put every day to beg from those going into the temple courts. 3When he saw Peter and John about to enter, he asked them for money. 4Peter looked straight at him, as did John. Then Peter said, "Look at us!" 5So the man gave them his attention, expecting to get something from them.
6Then Peter said, "Silver or gold I do not have, but what I have I give you. In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, walk." 7Taking him by the right hand, he helped him up, and instantly the man's feet and ankles became strong. 8He jumped to his feet and began to walk.”
It makes me realize that I am like the crippled man and that every time I ask, “Why?” and every time that I argue that it isn’t fair; it is like I am asking for money.

I have to realize and trust that the experiences given to me will become beautiful. It is not money, but the ability to walk.

A couple of pages later in “Hope in the Dark”:

“I stood within the filthy, shack-filled slum of Kibera while also looking up at the stunning clouds that danced across the vast stretch of the African sky. There is such tragedy and yet such beauty at the same time” (HitD).

I remember that we were in a place where the blended scent of pit latrines and burning garbage lingered in the air. I remember the showers were cold. I remember we could not drink the water. I remember the dirt roads were full of potholes and mud. I remember the village was filled with poverty that often broke our hearts. I remember the deaths that will change me forever. I remember the tragedies.

With this entry, I also remember the beautiful friendships that I have made with the American and Ugandan teachers. I remember sharing the new experiences of learning to use shillings and negotiate for a boda ride with these people. I remember everyone playing with the kids in the street in front of our house with Frisbees, kites, and limbo sticks. I remember hearing, “Munu!” and seeing children run from the streets to greet us. I remember seeing the teachers from Uganda share stories, and play, and dance with us at our events. I remember the students’ willingness to share their stories, and the change it brought in us. I remember seeing the faces of deaf children in an orphanage light up because they could share their names and play. I remember seeing my friends bring smiles, laughter, and love to the same orphanage where death broke our hearts. This is the beauty that I remember. Breathtaking.

“Overwhelmed by the insanity of this broken world, I find it difficult to understand how the pieces of it all fit together” (Hope in the Dark).

Heavy world. Where is justice?

“The same earth can hold the fragrance of a field of flowers while also occupying the stench of urine on hot concrete” (HitD).

Where is justice? I think it’s in beauty. Where is beauty? I think it’s in compassion.

So what is something that I have learned on my trip? It’s a heavy world. I am terrified and weighed down by this information. Out of the tragedy, rises beauty and compassion. In the “Invisible Children” video for Nate Henn, it says that his legacy lives on. For me, out of the ashes of tragedy, a field of flowers scented with compassion will rise. That is my pledge to Shae, Nate, Samuel, and Jonathan. My pledge to those who have been and will be affected by a heavy world. My pledge to my new friends. Instead of asking why and saying that it isn’t fair, I am going to “get up and walk.”

I will no longer ask for money when I know that the ability to walk is there. I will no longer sit at the temple gates and ask questions. My promise is to “get up and walk” and bring beauty and compassion with me.

Jenni

Three strikes

There have been some major occurrences in the last few weeks. A couple of weeks ago, we went to Murchison Falls on safari. For the safari, we woke up at 5:30 in the morning. An hour later, our mutatu was crossing the Nile River on a ferry. Watching the sun rise over the river was incredible. When we crossed the river, it was time to go on the driving safari. The cool part? We were able to sit on TOP of the mutatu. We weren’t even inside the vehicle. When we were driving, we saw kobs, elephants, giraffes, water buffalo, and warthogs. Madness. It was a wonderful experience.

For the second part of the day, we boarded a boat. We drifted down the Nile looking for hippos, crocodiles, and land animals that would be by the water. A few hours later, we reached our destination. The falls is an area of the river where three parts of the Nile waterfall down. Awesome.

The safari was unreal. When we got back, everyone looked so tan. We weren’t. We were just so caked in the orange clay dirt from the roads that we looked like we had a tan. After people got cleaned up, we all met at the pizza place. That’s when I got my phone call from my mom. It was about a student that I had last year.

She sat in the row all the way to the left, three seats from the front. She was quiet at times, but you could see that she still was infected by the contagious excitement for her senior year. She just graduated. She was just killed by a truck driving erratically. When I received this news, I kept saying that it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. A few days before I received this news, I was at a conference in Gulu with Ugandan and American teachers. We were discussing K.O.B.S. (Knowledge of Behavior and Self). The curriculum focuses on the healing process of students who had been traumatized. There were many strategies on active learning and how to check in on the students. Some information was new, some was not so new. One thing did remain the same-relationships with the students helps. The whole conference was about how the relationships benefited the students…But I realized on Sunday that the student-teacher relationships benefited me as much, if not more than the students. I feel so lucky to have known a student who worked so hard to graduate. Who did it. Who was excited over dressing up during spirit week. Who loved bulldogs. She sat in the row all the way to the left, three seats from the front. I’m honored to have known her.

The next morning, July 12, I woke up to news that there were bombings in Kampala that killed over seventy people. The American that died was here with “Invisible Children.” He seemed like such a wonderful person. Still feeling the heaviness of the news from the night before, I again though about how it wasn’t fair. He was 25 years old. It changed how the next couple of weeks in the program was going to go. Pablo and I were going to move from Pabbo to Gulu. We were going to stay the night there, and then be picked up the following afternoon. We would have to commute the last two weeks. There were so many phone calls, and there are still some questions left unanswered.

So the next afternoon, we were waiting to be picked up. Before we were supposed to be picked up, we had to take care of finances with our cook and housing staff. We also had to do an inventory to make sure that we had everything and we had to make sure that all of our stuff was packed. So we are standing there with all of our stuff in the courtyard. Pablo took out an envelope of money that belonged to “Invisible Children.” The money was for food and other necessities. There was a guy waiting in the lobby. We had met him when he came into the hotel a few weeks ago. He told us that he saw that he would meet us in a dream. Then he kept calling us “his people” for the next few weeks. He gave us both a bad vibe, and we knew that he wasn’t mentally stable. Anyways, he was at the hotel while all of our packing and arranging was going down. While Pablo was handling the inventory list, he had the money in his room. The guy went into the room and took the envelope of money. Then he hugged Pablo and said, “I am a sinner but I hope you will remember me.” Then he started begging Pablo not to go. Then he came to me and told me not to go. We explained that we had students in the states and that we had to go. Then he went and sat down at the table in the lobby. Pablo noticed the money was missing so we started to look all over the place for it. Finally, Paska (most amazing Ugandan cook ever) and Patricia confronted the guy. That was when he got up and started grabbing mine and Pablo’s stuff and throwing them back in our rooms telling us that we couldn’t go. Someone went and got the police. When the police came, he started to get physical and holding on to a pole. That was when the police started hitting him and grabbed our rolling pin. I became too stressed to watch. We did get our money back, but I feel bad for how the situation went down.
The next week was pretty normal. Well, except for the fact that we had to commute via “Invisible Children” vehicles everyday, and that we couldn’t go to big hangouts, or leave at night. However, there was one bright spot in my life. Katherine’s teacher (Sister Helen) owns an orphanage. Mother Theresa’s…or Momma T’s as I like to call it. ¼ of the population is deaf there…and they understand most American Sign Language…so the group wanted to bring me. I went there and we taught the kids how to sign a few songs such as “Jesus Loves Me” and “Amazing Grace.” It was so cool to see them involved and excited. Sister Helen explained that these kids often get left out when people visit because they cannot communicate. They were so excited just to be able to tell us their name. I kept going back to this place and will continue to go back. It’s one of my favorite places in Gulu for sure.

On Sunday, exactly one week from my phone call, people from group 2 went to St. Jude’s orphanage. That is the other orphanage that we have spent our time visiting here. When they arrived, they found out that a kid had just fallen into a well. When the group went back there, there was a man trying to put a ladder down a hole, but it wouldn’t fit. Then John (who we have deemed the dad of the group) pushed the ladder out of the way. The hole was filled with water that had crap in it. John reached down and started to feel around. Then he felt what he thought was a wet loaf of bread. Then he felt the leg, so he pulled the kid out of the well. They started to try to get all of the stuff out of his mouth. Min and Colleen tried to give CPR, and the “Invisible Children” truck tried to drive to the hospital. It took them ten more minutes to find someone to help them. They put this kid in a bed with another kid that was already hooked up to something. They unhooked the other kid and hooked up our kid (Samuel is his name). Despite our best efforts, at 3:06 on July 18 the boy died. He was about 2 ½ years old. Definitely one of our more somber nights. John kept trying to blame himself (if only I had moved that ladder sooner). As Andy told him though, he remembered a quote from “Cider House Rules”…the kid is adopted now. John hugged me later that night because we had both lost a student during this trip and now this kid was gone. He said that the kid had good people with him.

Parts of Africa have been so unreal (like the safari) and some of the connections that I have made. However, there have been moments where reality hits pretty hard. It is such a hard thing to swallow. The lessons here are deep and something that I will carry with me for the rest of my life.

Peace,

Aber Jenni

A couple more student interviews

Student interviews at Pabo

Today, one of my students, Ben, came in to be interviewed for KOBS. He came with his cousin Isaac. As we started the interview, the boys told me their background. Ben lives with his grandmother because his father has been killed by the LRA. He said that his dad was simply in the garden when he was arrested and killed by the LRA.

Isaac’s story was different. Isaac is Ben’s cousin. They both live with their grandmother together. Isaac is an orphan because both of his parents have died from AIDS. He has markings all over his face and a rash on his arm that makes me believe that he has it too. His favorite classes are English and Biology. He wants to be a doctor so that he can help people with AIDS.

The rest of this week will be spent distributing and grading exams. I am definitely hopeful to talk to more students this week. We will be here until Thursday when we leave for the KOBS conference and a safari at Murchison Falls. Until then everyone.

Cheers,

Jenni