Posts
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.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, June 20, 2011
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)
Saturday, May 28, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
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
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
Saturday, August 7, 2010
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
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
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