"If this project fails, I will fail." and other calls to help.

Yesterday I was granted the exceptional gift of time at Lukodi Village, which is the site of ChildVoice International's camp for female former abductees of the LRA and (more recently) other vulnerable women of the local communities in need of assistance, vocational training, and (in most cases) extensive post-trauma counseling. (see http://www.childvoiceintl.org/ ) The visit rocked my entire world off its axis. 

For the sake of privacy for the women/girls involved, I'm going to do my best to avoid specifics in this post. Names and personal details will mostly be left out. 

I started the day with a van ride to Lukodi. I sat beside a woman who was taking her baby to the clinic. The baby looked tired and somewhat sad. "She has malaria." the mother told me. And this baby was one of the lucky ones. Malaria, once diagnosed, is treated with a series of quinine drips and other such medications. It requires a number of doses and a lot of time (and in some cases, a lot of money). I've talked about malaria here before -- I still stand amazed that something so treatable is still standing as one of the top killers for people in this area. The baby looked over at me and I tried to talk to her. Then she got scared. And freaked out. 

"It's because you're a different color." the mother chuckled. I hadn't even thought of that. I imagine, if you'd never seen a white person, you might also be a little weirded out. 

When we finally got to Lukodi (15 km from town over a fabulously pot-hold filled road), I was offered African tea (soo tasty) while I discussed with some of the staff the runnings of the organization. Basically, the program is simple. Once the women are identified (through other NGOs and community organizations) they are brought in to the camp where they stay for 18 months (give or take). They receive counseling, attend church services, and receive vocational training in baking, tailoring, salon, and bead making. For their work they are paid a certain amount, of which they have to save 500 shillings a week. This isn't much, but it adds up. Twice a year, the women are permitted to pull from savings to pay for school fees for their children and other small things. The wage they're paid is a good wage for the area. Not too much (which would be unsustainable after the NGO left and the job ceased to exist) and not too little (which would do them no good). 

The compound used to be a school, which was abandoned after an LRA attack in 2004. In order to use it, the group paid for a new school to be built outside of the fence, and they were permitted the old school and all of its grounds. The building houses dormitories, classrooms, and nursery classes where chubby babies in various stages of dress were wandering around on unsteady feet. I waved through the window and they all waved back. 

I was permitted to sit in on a practice for a drama that the girls were constructing, in Luo, which was being overseen by Reverend Nelson, the Lutheran minister at Lukodi. When we walked up, he started the women singing:

This little light of mine, 

I'm gonna let it shine,

Everywhere we go,

I'm gonna let it shine.

Everything we do,

I'm gonna let it shine,

Let it shine.

Let it shine.

Let it shine.

It was a contagious moment where several got up to dance and the whole group was clapping. 

Rev. Nelson then addressed the women, "Hallelujah?" and they responded, "Amen." Then he and Kristin (one of the other staff members) introduced me in both Luo and English and there was a warm greeting from the women, who I think were just as interested in me as I was in them. 

Since I didn't understand much of the dialogue of the skit, I spent much of the time observing the women. Nearly all of them had a baby of some size attached to them and I couldn't help but notice that "Mama, I've had a long day and I'm hungry and need a nap" looks and sounds the same in any language. Just one more little thing that makes me feel connected to the world as a whole. 

After some time with Rev. Nelson, I was taken to the veranda of the school, where some of the women were sitting and making paper beads. I was offered the chance to learn how to make these beautiful beads, and so I sat with one of the women and she taught me. We discussed her family and some of her past, avoiding conversation that wasn't somewhat light hearted. In fact, were it not for the bullet wounds (long scarred over) on her legs, I could almost forget where I was and what she'd been through. Her smile and her sweet teaching style were contagious though. 

Basically, to make the beads, one starts with a long triangular strip of paper. These strips of paper are cut in a very exact way, so as to be the perfect size for the bead that a woman is trying to make. Taking one strip of paper and wrapping it around a needle, a bead maker begins to roll. Now, at Lukodi they try to quality control each of the beads so that the lines match up neatly. This takes time and a good deal of practice. Once the bead is done, glue is used to settle the edge, and then it is varnished, strung, and sold to make money for the organization's operating costs. 

I tried four different times. My work is below:

My Attempt at Acholi Bead Making

Of course, My beads are not only lopsided, but the lines are off. I had a whole other respect for the women who sat there for hours and hours each day making the beads. When I asked my teacher if she liked making beads she nodded.

"If this project fails, I will fail. And then I will have to go back to digging (farming). I do not like very much to dig." she said. 

I was given a wonderful lunch of rice and beans (which tasted like manna from Heaven after the long day of travel and learning I was going through) and afterwards had a long conversation with Reverend Nelson regarding his work with ChildVoice and also his work outside of ChildVoice. It seems that there's not much of a Lutheran presence in Uganda and Rev. Nelson is a church planter. He's in need of copies of the Bible in English and Luwengo as well as copies of the Lutheran Catechist and Lutheran Hymnal. He showed me his hut (on the compound) and from under his cot pulled a box that contained a single battered copy of a 1947 hymnal. This hymnal is being used to plant churches throughout Uganda. I was amazed. I took the Reverend's contact information and promised to see what I could do with my contacts in the ELCA. 

As luck would have it, Peter has to do a project next year as part of his MDiv that might be just exactly what the Rev. needs. At the very least, we think we can get him the copies of the books he's looking for, or some of them at least. 

"You have a great work ahead of you here. God has brought you to Uganda for a great work." He kept saying over and over again. 

Reverend Nelson and I (I'm on a step.)

It was getting late and I needed to get home, so Kristin called me a boda driver that she knows and trusts to get me back to town. The driver lacked a hand bar in the back which meant that I learned how to ride a boda without holding on to anything. Turns out -- not so difficult. Thankfully, the driver was a good guy who drove reasonably slow, and took the bumps/potholes without any interest in flying off of them. 

We had a conversation during our 15km trip about his village. He said that he had been in an IDP camp for many years, but had never seen the LRA personally. The camp, he said, was safer, but not as good as being at home and so when given the chance to return he had done so quickly. 

The miles of gorgeous Ugandan bush rolled past me, trees and tall grass and goats and chickens and people and huts. The sky was bluer than anything I've ever seen and on the whole it was a very pleasant ride. He dropped me off directly at my hotel (receiving a bit of a tip for that because a good boda is sometimes hard to find) and I kept his mobile number for future trips to the village. 

It took me the whole rest of the day to process what I'd seen, which is why I didn't post anything yesterday. The words of my bead teacher rang in my ears, "If this project fails, I will fail." and while I know I'm not directly connected to the NGO that she meant, I felt a personal call to accountability in her voice. We cannot fail...too much depends on the success of our ventures here. All of us. 

Let it shine, 

Let it shine,

Let it shine.