Why we should help Haiti (insert Africa here)

So today we were discussing social issues in my English classes. During this conversation, the crisis in Haiti was brought up. One of my students asked (without malice) why we (the U.S.) should help when there are so many hurting here. It made for a healthy class discussion. It got me thinking. Now, before I continue writing this (and more importantly before you continue reading this!)I start with a disclaimer: I would never discourage people from helping those who are hurting on their doorstep. One thing that we must realize though, is that everyone is different…which means that everyone is going to be passionate about a different cause. Whether it is right outside your door or world’s apart. There is nothing wrong with that. In fact, I think it is quite beautiful…If we all felt compelled to contribute to one area of the world, then the rest would not know compassion….the rest would fall apart.

To answer my student’s question in a P.C. manner…it is essential that we help out in our community. However, that begs the question: what is community? Especially in this technological age. According to Mark Wrathall, a contributor to U2 and Pop Philosophy, “As economies and societies become intertwined through the technologization and globalization of world culture, a sense of…responsibility for the poverty and suffering of far distant people increases…There is a sense in which our responsibility grows along with the globalization of the economy.” I, personally, find this to be true. As technology and global relations become more aligned between cultures, I find the gap to be closing. So where does that leave community? In my definition, everywhere.

Yes, I feel that the people that are hurting in Haiti are a part of our community. Yes, I feel that we should help those in our community. While many feel that it is against human nature to help those that we do not know, I think that one of the BEST things about human nature is that we can and do help those we do not know.

This last part I could not bring up in a class setting …but I believe these two stories best illustrate this extraordinary part of human nature…they are a couple of my favorite stories. Not that I am going to drag too much religion into this thought…but one of these stories is located in the bible. It is a short one: “Jesus wept.” These two words have different theories, which is cool. Some say that Jesus wept because he was sad that his friend (Lazarus) died. Others say that he wept because he was saddened by the lack of faith around him (people not believing that he would provide a miracle). Yet another group says that he wept at the sight of everyone’s pain. That he felt their pain. This last theory happens to be my favorite.

The second story is told by Shane Claiborne, who went to work with Momma T (Mother Theresa) in Calcutta. He says, “One of the beggars in Calcutta approached me one day, and I had no money on me, but I felt a piece of gum in my pocket, so I handed it to her. I have no idea how long it had been since she had chewed gum, or if she had ever even had the chance. She looked at it and smiled with delight. Then she tore it into three pieces and handed one to me and one to my friend so we could share the excitement.”

While these two stories are exploring the two different emotions of joy and pain, they are so related. The idea that we are connected by our emotion. The idea that as humans LIVING IN COMMUNITY, their joy should be our joy. Their pain should be our pain. We should want to help those in our community because it should hurt to see them hurt. That, in my opinion, is why we should be included in the gift that is cross-cultural community. Otherwise, we miss on the chance to see something so beautiful and so human.

"Change the World" playlist (inspiration)

As many of you know…I am a sucker for themes. I theme everything. From peeptinis on Easter to dressing as a pilgrim and Indian on Thanksgiving.

Well.

You should also know that everything comes with a theme cd…because anything awesome needs theme music. Therefore, I am to create a “Change the World” playlist for my Africa adventures. The list is as follows:



One day by Matisyahu feat. Akon

Revolution by The Beatles

Mission Responsible by Michael Tolcher

Fix You by Coldplay

My Own Two Hands by Ben Harper

Make you Crazy by Brett Dennen

Change the World by Anberlin

Waiting on the World to Change by John Mayer

Good People by Jack Johnson

One by U2

Better Way by Ben Harper

Change the World by Eric Clapton

Blowin in the Wind Bob Dylan

Imagine by John Lennon

What’s Goin On by Marvin Gaye

Where is the Love by Black Eyed Peas

Tears of the Saints by Leeland

For What it’s Worth by Buffalo Springfield

Ain’t it Funny by Dave Matthews

What Kind of World Do You Want by Five for Fighting

One Love by Bob Marley



That’s the list as of right now…if there are any that you feel should be added let me know! :O)


Cheers,


Jenni P!

I got my location…IDP camp, here I come!

About Pabo
Pabbo Secondary School was founded in 1980 by the Ugandan government and was displaced because of the war in 1996. In 1998, Pabbo’s 561 students and 23 staff members were able to return to the original site. Regrettably, there have been student abduc...tions since the school was opened. The largest IDP camp in northern Uganda, Pabbo IDP camp, is near the school and is home to 64,000 people. All of Pabbo’s students live in that camp and walk two miles to class daily. Prior to the conflict, Pabbo was a boarding school but now the school is unable to allow students to live on campus. Many of the students are formerly abducted LRA soldiers, orphans, child mothers, and several suffer from HIV/ skin diseases. AIDS. The average class size is 65, yet the existing classrooms are only built to hold 44. Malaria is growing more and more common among Pabbo students and many already have it.

For its 561 students, Pabbo had only seven classrooms, all of which were in ill repair with one borehole and three latrines. We have been able to construct three furnished dual classroom blocks with rainwater harvesting systems integrated into the roof structures. A new six-stance latrine for the female students has been completed, along with hand washing facilities. As Pabbo is not on the national power grid, we added a generator that powers every building on the campus.

We have supplied a limited quantity of core texts in the main compulsory subjects and are pleased to continue to assist in teacher training and support by providing leadership, school development planning, monitoring and evaluation, psychosocial support, financial management and planning, record keeping, and computer literacy trainings.

Plans for the near future include a fully furnished laboratory block. Due to the large financial commitment, this project will be phased using Round III money to complete the core structure of the building and pending Round IV funds to complete and furnish it. We plan to break ground soon, completing Phase 1 before the end of the year. Pabbo will also continue to benefit from the support of teacher training, supply of scholastic materials and sport equipment and the new emotional literacy program being implemented on a pilot basis in select S4S partner schools.

You shot me! You shot me in the arm!

So. Preparations for this trip involves a lot of new experiences. So are good. Some…not so much. Like shots. Just an FYI…I. Hate. Needles. Some may argue that I have tattoos so it can’t be too bad…no. Let me tell you that it doesn’t count. First of all…I hated every second of that experience. Exhibit A:


Second of all, for some odd reason, I don’t see a needle puncturing the skin…so it makes it better…but not by much. Thirdly, and most importantly, there are no live viruses inside a tattoo gun…but more on that later.

Anyways….I had to get these vaccinations…Yellow Fever, Polio, Typhoid, Hep A, and a Malaria treatment. I called my doctor to set up an appointment for said shots. Apparently these vaccinations are not in high demand here in the states, so I was redirected to a travel clinic in Jacksonville. I psyched myself to get this thing done during spring break…I was ready, so I called the clinic…only to be told that these items are in limited quantity (whaaaaat?!), therefore I would have to wait until May. Ugh. I have to reflect (and dread) this experience longer????
It’s finally May…I set up my appointment on an early release Wednesday since I have to drive to Jacksonville to do this thing. Already stressed, I was driving along…and it happened. I got lost.

Guess that gives the doctor more time to sharpen their best needle:



When I got there…the room was decorated like Africa. The nurse spoke with me for over an hour…Any food is going to make me sick unless it’s steaming. The water will make me sick. The kids will make me sick. O. M. G. I’m going to freakin’ die! So we are talking about the shots…Apparently, Typhoid is offered as a pill instead of a shot (yes please)…She hands me a pamphlet with a smiling pill on it. “Vaccination in a Capsule.” No needle? I’m smiling too!
…but then I find out that the Yellow Fever and Typhoid are live virus vaccinations. Here’s the issue with that. I have not been able to get many vaccinations (live virus) because I went deaf in one ear from one. Crap. I’m not worried about the needle anymore.
So the nurse goes behind the curtains to prepare the shots. I asked her…so what happens if you don’t get the vaccinations and cannot present the papers? She comes back around the curtain and explains that the other vaccinations are strongly recommended…but yellow fever isn’t really cured. Even here. They will give you one (probably with a reused needle) at the border, which we don’t want to do.
So I finally get my shots…then she hands me a prescription for the malaria pills. She explains them. Start taking them two days before you leave…the whole time you are there…and seven days after you return. They give vivid dreams (score! Can I start taking them now?) . So now all I have left is taking the live virus typhoid (every other night four times…can’t have anything for hours before and hours after…maybe I should have manned up and gotten the shot).
So. I have been a wreck…worrying about needles. Worrying about losing my hearing completely. But. Shots are done (except for Hep A)…and I am jamming out to music as I write this…so. The worst of the preparations are over. Next hurdle? Being ready. I have no idea what/how to pack.

Heavy world

As I am preparing for Africa, I thumb 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 look at the pictures. I feel my heart crack a little more with each story and each picture. Lately, I feel this way a lot.

I need to take you back for a little bit.

On Tuesday, my mother went to a funeral. She told me about it when she got back. The picture she painted was all too familiar to me. It was for a sixteen year old girl, Mackenzie. They were friends of the family. I did not know Mackenzie well, but I knew her mother and father. I had been to her older sister’s funeral years before. Shannon was sixteen when she died too. Car accident. Ten years later her parents were sitting in the same seat for their other daughter…also gone at sixteen. This really bothered me. How much should one mother suffer? It really made me question justice in this world.

I am arranging for a speaker from Uganda to come to the school that I teach at. His name is Norman. He is a teacher. He has raised his children in Africa. He has seen his daughter die, consumed by AIDS. He has seen the suffering of his orphaned grandchildren. As I showed my students his video to prepare them…I felt that same question creep up within me. Why did these people deserve this? Where was justice?

As I turn the pages, two entries catch 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.

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


A couple of pages later:

“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.”

Then I remembered a discussion I had about my dreams of seeing natural beauty-specifically the Grand Canyon. In this discussion I expressed my reverence for nature and its beauty…but I also stated that the one thing that I found more beautiful was people helping people. Compassion being acted on. It was right after I got back from New Orleans. The water was dirty, and everything was trashed…but I still maintain that it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. People sleeping on the floor and showering in FEMA trailers to help others out. Breathtaking.

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

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.”

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

It’s a heavy world…I know this…I am terrified and weighed down by this information…Yet, as I prepare to encounter the beautiful…I feel a bit lighter.

The history of the bag...

I am going to go ahead and post some of my old journals from other trips that I have taken. This one is an exerpt from my journal "Starved to Death in a Land of Plenty."


Starved to Death in a Land of Plenty (Part 2 The Experience)

"This weekend will not be a comfortable or ordinary conference- it is a learning experience. We will learn, reflect, repent, serve, and live together within the inner city neighborhood of Ybor Heights" [in Tampa, FL]. This is the information that I was given before I decided to go with some friends to Tampa to live homeless for a few days.

Day 1

Before the trip started I was outside of my comfort zone for numerous reasons. First of all, my family and I had just started this specific diet three weeks before and there was no way that I would be able to adhere to that. It was selfish to worry about that while people were starving, but it was a concern that I had. Then, I had to pack 2 days of clothes. The only problem was, my shorts were too short and jeans were too hot. So, I grabbed Aaron for support and headed to Wal-Mart 45 minutes before take-off. After buying these last minute "necessities," I threw my supplies in my trusty messenger bag and hastily took off twenty minutes late, without lunch. However, the real discomfort (which was so obvious to me) was the "minimal toiletries" requirement. This meant no make-up…Luckily; I had the comfort of Photoshop waiting for me when I got back, so I was able to let this unsettling fact slide.

I was a little nervous about the ride to Tampa because while I liked everyone going, no one knew each other too well. How were we going to endure a 3 ½ hour trip? Fortunately, our common goal, among other things, was able to carry on a conversation and it made the ride very enjoyable. Since I hadn't had lunch, we decided to have a last meal before venturing out onto the streets. We all agreed that the only place that held "last meal quality food" was Chic-Fil-A. As we pulled out of the restaurant, excited to have sweet tea and chicken, we were greeted by clouds. A lot of them. Really dark ones. It rained so hard at one point that cars were pulling off the road onto the shoulder. We pressed on hoping aloud that the weather would be better in Tampa. That's when Amberly received a text message from Ryan "forecast of rain all weekend."

During registration, we signed quite a few waivers and emergency contact forms. Why so many waivers? Weren't we sleeping in a designated area with police protecting us? I would soon find out that the answer is 'no.' Then we were served a plate of black beans and rice-our first homeless meal. There was a note on the plate that read:

The meals you will eat at this conference are meant to reflect what many outside of the US eat on a daily basis. Most eat even less. In developing countries nearly 16 million children die every year from preventable and treatable causes. Sixty percent of these deaths are from hunger and malnutrition.

After this we parked at the conference center. Before the conference started, I saw Krissy, who is an excellent friend of mine who is pursuing ministry in Tampa. We listened to Brian speak on Luke 18 which related to Jesus, the poor, and justice (it was very good, and I will include it in a separate journal because this could get too long). By the end of the meeting, I was starving. I was tempted to walk back to Krissy's house and raid her kitchen, but instead I gathered up everything I owned for the weekend and started my trek to the underground Community center (maybe ½ a mile away?). My group and I planned ..ping some weight off at the community center (C. C.) and walking to Krissy's, but we had to be back by 11:00 and we wouldn't be fast enough on foot. I was not used to not being able to do something I wanted because I didn't have the capability to get there. Instead, we called Krissy to see if she could come to the C.C., but she didn't have a car. So we walked to the park across the street, I claimed a bench to lie on and called my parents. No answer. Then I remembered that my good friend Aaron would love the Luke 18 message so I pulled out my bible and gave him a call. Our conversation was interrupted so I hung up. As soon as I hung up a very skittish, wild-eyed homeless man who smelled of mint and alcohol stood in front of my bench.

He said something, but his voice was very hoarse and very quiet. (It was a conversational match made in heaven-him with me the deaf girl). He said something and I leaned forward so that I can hear, "I'm sorry?" As soon as I leaned forward he jumped back and his wild eyes got even wider. I started to get nervous I thought, 'great, here's where my life ends…on a park bench.' He looked at the bench again. I asked, "Would you like to sit down?"

He jumped again. "Don't yell at me!"

"I'm not yelling…here have a seat." I moved over. He seemed surprised that I didn't just leave. He sat down; we introduced ourselves (his name is Eddie) and tried to spell my name many times. Then he started to ask about my family and where I went to school. Then he tried to spell my name again. Then he started talking about drinking. He asked if I was going to judge him and I told him that it wasn't my place to judge. Then he said that Romans said something like that. When I pulled out my bible, he got very excited and asked me to look up one verse after another. Between each verse, he would make hand motions and look out into space, then ask for the next one. A few verses later, Ryan came up to see how things were going and inform me that we had to meet inside for instructions. Eddie looked disappointed. "Well, before we go can we pray with you?"

He looked excited, "Oh! Yes."

"Okay, well I'll open and Ryan, can you close?" Eddie asked if he could pray too. We agreed to that.

Ryan held out his hands, "Would you like to join hands?"

Eddie looked a little nervous again, "I don't usually…" He took our hands, and we prayed.

When we were done, Eddie looked at us asked how long we were there for. Ryan said Sunday, and Eddie started to count on his fingers how many days that would be. "That would be…don't tell me!" Then he asked if we could meet tomorrow and he would be there at anytime. Ryan suggested 4:00 and we went to experience our first night's sleep.

My first night in the community center was crowded. I found a spot in a dark corner and spread out my stuff so no one else could claim "my spot." I was surprisingly territorial. Then I snuck away and found an old dirty sink to brush my teeth and wash my face. Once my secret was out, there was a line for that.

Day 2

When we woke up we had to wait in a very long line for the 1 bathroom available (there were 120 people). We had to be at breakfast at a certain time or we would not be able to make our lunch and we would go hungry until dinner. We met in the Big Conference Center (B.C. C.) and had an extravagant breakfast of 2 boiled eggs and 2 pieces of bread before making our 2 P.B. and J's.

We were split up into 15 groups. Each group had a "homeless guide." (What was interesting to me was, this church (the underground) was so involved in the homeless community that they had enough homeless people willing to participate in this event. The church leader knew each homeless guide's story, and called them friend.) Anyways, our mentor's name was Charles. Charles was a black man who had been in and out of jail, had drug problems, and lived a gay lifestyle. Charles was also educated. We walked around Nebraska Avenue. Where we were met by many homeless who knew Charles. They said thank you for coming and seemed more eager to share their stories than to receive our money.

Charles showed us that every overpass had a camp. He showed us the porch that a man he knew was beaten to death on. He showed us abandoned buildings that could be used for shelters but aren't. He explained that many houses had green stickers, and if they were found on the porch of that abandoned house, they could be arrested. We walked around from 10:00-3:30. My bag was 30 pounds. My collar bone started to get bruised from the weight. I never thought about how painful carrying around your belongings could be. Charles said that people carried them everywhere because if you tried to hide it, your stuff would probably be stolen.

We stopped to have lunch in the metro center. The metro center was housing, job placement, food pantry, thrift store, and food assistance (stamps). A group of churches from the community opened it. It was huge. It housed at least 50 communities. It made me sad for the churches in St. Augustine. We have a known homeless community. Why is the St. Francis house (holds 28) the only shelter? I thought of the old buildings downtown. Why not, as Charles said, use those for shelters?

One thing that stood out to me as we were walking around this area was the playground. It was the playground that I was sitting at on my first night. It had better equipment than the playgrounds I had seen in St. Augustine, yet here it was Saturday afternoon and not one kid was on that playground. Just syringes and condoms. While we were at this park Charles explained to us that most of the trees had to be cut down because there was so much prostitution and drug dealings on this playground. It made it easier for the police to see when they drove by.

Later that day, we saw Eddie in the C.C., we didn't get to have another conversation, but we said 'hi.' I saw him hanging around our conference all weekend. He was talking to multiple people and waving every time he saw a group from J.J.P. pass. He seemed a lot calmer than the first night that I had met him.

That night we went on a "Justice Tour." They had set up a room in the B.C. C. to have pictures, information and statistics. The room was lined with children's shoes. We found out there were 114 pairs. 114 for the number of children (as young as 5 years old) entering forced prostitution each hour. We saw that 20% of the world is using 86% of the world's resources.

During his talk that night Brian told us that he had a sponsored child in Haiti for $24 a month. He went and he got to meet her. Brian said that there were 3 types of houses; concrete with a floor and roof, walls with a thatched roof and floor, and thatched walls and roof with no floor. When he visited his child, her and her grateful family all came out excitedly to meet him. He looked past the family and saw that they had no floor and a thatched roof. He felt like such an idiot thinking that he could feel justified by giving $24 a month. With the little that I do, I felt like an idiot too.

Night 2-Sleeping Outside

That night, we met at 10:30 to get instructions. We were sleeping outside. I had originally thought that we would be in a designated area with police protection. Wrong. One of the first things that they told us was that we had to be quiet or the cops would come. And to call them if we got arrested. We were also asked to not mention the conference if questioned by the cops. Great. I wasn't worried because we were sleeping in groups, but now I didn't want to get arrested. We quietly walked to a field with grass about shin high. They told us to sleep in the bushes among the fence and to set up quickly so that cars passing wouldn't call the cops. We set up and tried to get some sleep. The problem was, it started to rain. If I hid in my sleeping bag I would get too hot and sweaty, so I would come out of the bag for a while and rain would seep into my eyelids. My pillow became wet so I tried to cover it with my sleeping bag. Then there was banging in the background. What was that…fireworks? Someone kicking a dumpster. It kept me up for a while. Just as I started to fall asleep it started to rain harder. We packed up our stuff and walked to a house that was for sale. No one was there, so we all set up on the front porch. Ryan and I were not behind the rail so we were exposed to the busy street in the front of this house.

Now I was worried about the police seeing us. I closed my eyes but every time I heard a car slow down, I would wake up. I would worry that it was a cop coming to move us back in the rain, or worse take us to jail for trespassing or breaking and entering. The door to the house was open so I tucked my bag and shoes next to me right inside the doorway to this house. I woke up a few times wondering, 'what if someone is in the house and they take my stuff? What if someone steps over me and takes my stuff?' Then we would hear multiple arguments walking down our street. I would worry that they would come and mess with us or call the police on us. Another time I woke up because my hip felt so bruised and sore from being on the wooden porch so I had to turn to the other side (not an easy task in a wet sleeping bag). Finally, with the help of over the counter sleep-aids, I was able to get some sleep.

Day 3

I was talking to Amberly about our experience sleeping outside. I endured the rain in the lot. She and Chase slept in a pavilion in a park. However, a woman saw her group and the police told them they had to move. She was scared of the police too. It was the strangest feeling to be afraid of police officers like that. Something I never would be able to relate to if we were sleeping knowing that they were on our side. Now I know why we had to sign multiple waivers. It was not safe. Still, we agreed that our fears and discomforts were mitigated by the fact that we could sleep in a bed tonight. We learned that most homeless people are not alcoholics before they are on the streets, but they start drinking heavily to fall asleep. Then they get addicted. It's a vicious cycle. Many of us know why they drink to pass out. It's not easy to fall asleep and deal with the nighttime out there. We were all pretty quick to take our Benadryl.

Today was the day that we got showers. Different groups went to different houses of pastors to use showers and eat breakfast. After eating eggs and three pieces of grape jelly toast with some coffee, I got a shower. Then we learned about these pastors and their houses. They built so many extra rooms in their houses for families trying to make ends meet. They all share very low bills and chores, but they have people living with them and their families. They have become very creative with space. Their 2-car garage has become bedrooms. Not only do they help the poor at church, and know the oppressed on the streets, and call them friend, but they open their homes to them. They really took what Jesus did seriously. Jesus lived and walked alongside the poor, and these pastors live and walk alongside the poor. No suburban living for them. Pastor Brian, has a community of almost 14 (his wife is pregnant) living in his one house in the downtown Tampa area. If you can read about it, I BEG you to read this article about them:

http://tampabay.com/features/humaninterest/article635737.ece

Then we went to the church service. Krissy goes to this church, and I am extremely jealous. Over 60% of the collection goes to the poor. The church doesn't even have their own building but holds services at the Hillsborough Community College theater which they rent for the morning.

The article that was written about the pastor explains that:

"This church is his shot at something better — a racially diverse group in their 20s and 30s, electric guitars and a drummer, dancing and worship. They disperse into 20 smaller groups during the week to serve different missions, from home Bible studies to after-school programs.

Underground has an annual $130,000 budget from members' offerings. Sanders says 60 percent goes to external programs for the poor; the rest pays administrative costs. He says he raises funds separately for his $24,000 salary."

This is true inspiration to me. What a church should really be about. Jesus asks for it all. He asks for discomfort. If we are comfortable in our lives, in our church services we should be asking ourselves why.

Post-Experience

I am now sitting at my job, in a library with air-conditioning, after sleeping all night in a bed. I am still tired. My hips hurt from sleeping on that porch. My shoulders and back hurt from carrying my possessions around all weekend. I am tired from losing sleep over fear, loneliness, and worry. I type out this experience to share with you because it has opened my eyes. My spirit was starving because I have been comfortable for too long. My eyes have been opened and my heart is breaking. I hope that my experience will open your eyes too, and hopefully, we won't ignore it. I will no longer ignore, but I will act. I have found God's heart this weekend and it is broken. I am desperate to fix it. I hope that you will join me in action by saying that you too will mend what has been broken for too long.

Why I need to do this...

Here's the plan. I am going to Uganda, Africa with "Invisible Children's Teacher Exchange Program" for six weeks this summer. Right now, I have no experience and no money. But I'm going to go.

And here's why:
I know that I am supposed to do this. For whatever reason, I feel like there are parts of my life that cannot move ahead unless I do what is right. Unless I grow tired of being comfortable and go...And while this is true, the biggest reason has just dawned on me in the past couple of weeks. It has been a slow realization.

I have to backtrack a little bit for this. A few months ago I was thinking about people who I would consider heroes. One of my considerations were those who better themselves despite adversity. However, I think I was always looking at the wrong people for this. One of the people that I would most like to be like would be Erin Gruwell. The teacher that inspired the "Freedom Writers."

As someone who teaches an intensive reading senior class, I can relate to certain aspects of Erin's life. One of them being teaching students who are told that they may not make it from a young age. A couple of months ago, I had these students write an essay reliving an event that changed their life (for better or worse). One of these students I had for the second year (who we will call Toot Toot...based on the "Little Engine that Could"), wrote an essay that dated back to her elementary school days. She described sitting in an office where they told her she had to be held back, explaining she may not make it through the school system. However, this girl has more grit than anyone I know...and has overcome so many circumstances to receive a killer score on her ACT (allowing her to graduate), and to get accepted into college.

This was the start of my realization:
Toot Toot had made it into my list of heroes. The idea had shocked me. In two years, this student taught ME more about endurance than my 23 years of life had taught me. Indeed a lesson I will carry with me until I breathe my last breath. The SHOCK that I had was the realization. I had listed "those who overcome adversity and better themselves" as a hero, but did I recognize it? Sadly, not really. Not yet. Otherwise, I wouldn't be surprised at the depth of the lesson, of the heroism that I had experienced in an intensive reading classroom. Then I realized, as much as Erin Gruwell is a hero (and always will be!) maybe I was looking at the wrong person. Maybe we all were. The students are the heroes. They taught her. They taught me. American classrooms will (hopefully) forever be inspired by their legacy.

So, the real reason that I need to go to Uganda. I need to go...to meet my heroes. When I first signed up for this, I was under the illusion that I was going to go over there and teach. While that is still my intention...I know that I am going to go over there and be taught. Selfishly, I need to go over there and look in the eyes of my heroes, to give them a hug and tell them to do it. That it IS possible, and it HAS happened. Selfishly, I need to go share the story of Toot Toot with these students who have faced every kind of adversity...so that they can rise above their circumstance and succeed...and in turn, teach me.