"Go to Come."

Hello from Kampala!

Apio and I are sitting in the NUFU (Norwegian Students) Guest House on the Mekerere University Campus. It is a pleasant place surrounded by green, and just a bit of peace in the hectic world that is Kampala. I have no love spared for this city. Too much traffic, too many people, and entirely too many ways to get a headache in one day.

I'm borrowing Apio's computer to write this, so I can't take long (my computer refuses to allow me to set up a land line internet connection) but I wanted to fill you all in on last night and this morning (Reader's Digest Version).

Yesterday we spent a long time at Lucy the Tailor's "Friendship Shop" getting my African sundress altered. It is very cute and I'll have to post pictures when my computer starts seeing internet again. Apio's dress is a stunning evening type dress (she lookes AMAZING) but mine was meant to be a kicky type sundress. It's cut off at the knee. I like it, but it took forever to get the measurements right. After that I went back to the hotel in hyperdrive to begin to pack.

I spent last night admiring the stars with the other remaining member of my Acholi Ber trio, Mike, and after we'd said our goodbyes and headed our separate ways I took a trip downstairs to say goodbye to Eunice. I wasn't ready for that.

"Oh Mickie! I'm going to miss you!" She cried as she gave me a huge hug. "Send my greetings to everyone! Your parents! And all your sisters! And Peter!"

It wasn't a goodbye I wanted to say, but it needed to be done. Eunice had planned to come in early this morning to see me off but I told her not to. She already works 14 hour days without me bringing her in an hour and a half early.

5:30 AM came too soon. I took in one last glimpse of the mist rising above the huts beneath the hotel and choked back the tears that wanted to flow. Mark (owner of Acholi Ber) helped me out with my bags and Father Joseph drove up with Apio to take us to the Post Office to catch the bus.

When we got to the bus stop, Father Joe gave me a big hug.

"Alright, Megan!" he told me, "Go to come." (as in, "Go so you can get back quickly.")

Then he took Apio into a big never-ending hug. It was a little painful to watch because I know how hard it was for both of them to say goodbye so soon after our arrival. Father Joseph drove away quickly after that.

The post bus ride down was fast (only five hours) and uneventful. We talked to fill the silence so we wouldn't have to think too much and then when there was nothing left to talk about, Apio slept and I thought. And tried not to cry.

We're spending the next few days in Kampala with Lowna, who happened to be down South processing visa paperwork and such. It should be a relatively busy and stressfree time.

But first I've taken some time to process. I needed it. Alone time, away from everyone, to just let myself cry a little. I feel like a bit of a baby...I mean, I was barely in Gulu six weeks. But I guess I should've seen this coming. After my mission-trip to Mexico I had a hard time saying goodbye to little Lorenzo (my five year old buddy) and we had only been together a short time. When I care, I care hard, and I care fast. I guess I wear my heart on my sleeve like that. And I did fall for Gulu. I fell for Lukodi. I fell hard for every little child that I got to spend time with (Maaaaliiiikaaa!) and for every woman who shared a moment of conversation with me. I fell for the staff of CVI, for the staff at Acholi Ber, and for the Fathers out at CTC. And I fell for the stars, and the rain, and the mud. And many other things I'll have to list in a totally other blog.

I am sad to be going. This experience has changed me in a lot of ways and the people that I've become close to have gotten a special place in  my heart.  And while I'm happy to be headed home, I'm going to miss everyone in Gulu, everyone at Lukodi, and everyone in between.

What a ride.

Animals, Arachnids, and Africa United (Not All Together)

Donkey!

Happy Sunday!

Today I took one final trip to the Catechist Training Center (no, really, this time I mean it!) to enjoy some time in the countryside outside of Gulu-Town (which is kind of lonely now that my side-kick and younger-brother-stand-in Blake has gone home).

Blake's Last Trip to CTC

The boda ride was a little crazy because of the heavy rain last night (the muddy roads are scary on a dirt bike and there are moments that I wonder if it wouldn't have just been better to walk) but I made it safely to the gate of CTC and found my way inside. Today it is hot. Muggy hot. Like it's going to rain again hot. And that's wonderful (except that I need to plan my boda ride back appropriately so I don't get caught in it). It's a perfect way to end my last weekend in Gulu.

I met Denise at her hut, where we chatted about some of the things we're excited to get back home to. It's weird because both of us are silently dreading having to leave our respective Ugandan "Home"s, but we're both trying to make the most of it. For Denise, who has spent 12 of the last 24 months in Uganda, this is even more bitter than sweet. I like to joke that she was born backwards -- this is home and South Carolina is where she visits. For me the feeling is more one of being torn and having my heart be two places at once. We both decided that there were a few restaurants we're craving, and I'm looking forward to cuddling up on my couch with my cats. According to Delta-KLM, 5 days until we check in for our return flight home. Where has the time gone?

Lunch was a quiet affair, just Denise, myself, Mick, and Fr. Joseph and Fr. Felix. Chicken, chips, watermelon, beans, and posho. There was a smart little cat that kept wandering up through the door into the dining room and sitting at Denise's feet crying. She fed it and put it outside, but after she'd closed the door it hopped through the window. Fr. Joseph ended up chasing the cat back out of the room and out the window, laughing the entire time.

After lunch, we took a walk outside and Denise and Mick showed me the huge yellow and black spiders that were hanging from the trees there.

One of many spiders we antagonized today

"Are they dangerous?" Mick asked.

"No. I don't think so." Father Joe said with a smile. Then, after a second of contemplation he added, "But I wouldn't provoke them either!"

Well, never let it be said that we didn't get some good advice.

Of course, what would you do if you had a whole nest of giant spiders in giant webs and nothing else to do on a Sunday afternoon? Pretty soon we were poking the spiders and at one point a stick was thrown into one of the webs (that spider eventually made quick work of getting the stick out of his web. It was cool to watch!). We kept our distance (using long pieces of grass to touch the webs and spiders) and loudly hoped for the bees, wasps, and other flying bugs to land in the webs so we could watch the spiders make dinner of them. Unfortunately, no such luck.

We eventually got bored of the spiders and headed over to the farm area, where the goats, chickens, turkeys, geese, and pigs are kept. We named all of the piglets Wilbur, and all of the goats "Monday's Dinner, Tuesday's Dinner, Wednesday's Dinner."

Baby Piglets

It was funny because I don't have to watch them get slaughtered. However, having recently had the unfortunate honor of watching a goat be slaughtered I can tell you that eating an animal is one thing. Listening to it cry while it is made into dinner is a totally other thing. We've had a lot of conversations about whether or not we'd ever be willing to kill an animal to eat it. Have no fear, I've made up my mind that if it was my survival or the animal's survival, I'd thank God it had been put in front of me and I'd learn how to make it dinner.

Luckily for me, I haven't yet been faced with that task and most of my meat has managed its way to my plate without me meeting it first. Everyone knows what happens when you let me NAME an animal.

Monday's Dinner

Mostly, I was just kind of glad to be out of town today. Gulu is still recovering from its party last night (for those of you who aren't following the World Cup, Ghana thrashed the US last night 2-1). I had my Saturday phone call to Peter and afterwards decided to just stay in my room instead of going to the dining area to crowd around the little television set with the rest of the town. However, somewhere after midnight, as I was trying to doze off, a massive roar of cheering came from downstairs and from up the street. It seemed like the entire town was screaming and chanting all at once. I didn't need to go downstairs. I knew that Ghana had won. Africa United. 

Indeed. 

I'm the One in Need...

I'm going to take a moment to be totally honest here. This has been the hardest week emotionally for me since I first found myself on a trans-Atlantic flight bound for Europe and then Africa. I think it started when I got into a bit of a confrontation with another researcher where I was left attempting to justify what I was doing here. I'm not particularly well spoken in this arena anyway, as I'm not really confrontational and never have a very good come-back for someone who is criticizing my work. This guy had a bone to pick with me, my work, my advisor, and the whole damned American system of higher education. It left me a little stunned. It isn't the first time I've been under fire for my dissertation topic, but it is certainly the first time I've experienced such a vicious attack without warning. It was especially bad when he began reminding me that I wasn't doing any good by being here. That I was incapable of helping anyone through my research. By the time he'd finished with me, I was sitting on the front porch of the Acholi Ber in tears with some of my good-natured research friends trying to cheer me up.

There was a lot of talk about being one drop in an ocean...about making a difference in one life and allowing that to be enough. But there was a lot of agreement that sometimes we all just feel completely impotent here. So you fix one thing for one person...there's a lot of need here. A bottle of Ibuprofin costs two weeks wages and people live in pain every day for lack of a simple anti-inflammatory medication (and that's just the easy-to-fix stuff). I found out the other night that Eunice (my 23-year-old Acholi-Luo teacher) lost her husband last year to malaria. MALARIA. She's a single mother working 14 hour days, 7 days a week, because she's determined to pay her son's school fees (which are somewhere close to half of her monthly take home pay).

This is just one story. 

And this is not to romanticize any of this. These people are not "suffering nobly" or anything like that. The men, women, and children I've met are simply proving the resilience of the human spirit and the ability of a person to adapt to a bad situation. Their ability to maintain hope and happiness in the face of what I consider to be disaster (and they would just tell me "is life") has left me stunned. And humbled. Extremely humbled.

My perspective on Northern Uganda has made a 180 degree turn since I've started this journey almost 7 weeks ago. I have come to realize that this place doesn't need me. These people don't need me. This situation doesn't need me. I am the one in need of all of these people and everything they've taught me. I'm trying more and more to place my perspective less and less on what I see -- trying to understand how the people I meet see their lives and understand why they're still hopeful. I've gained perspective and family by being here and I bring home so much more than I could ever have given (not that I haven't tried!).

So, my advice to those who would come here attempting to single-handedly save the day...check your ego at the door. This isn't a place to come to "find yourself" and its not a place to come to pontificate high-minded liberal idealism. This is a place to come, help where you can, and learn. LEARN that life is not about any of the things we thought it was and -- more importantly -- realize that you are not the central theme of this equation.

But more importantly...learn that these people are just like any other people anywhere. There are good ones and bad ones. There are happy ones and sad ones. There is suffering, yes, but there is hope. And as Pollyanna as I dare to sound I'm going to say that I have hope for this place.

And I just hope that I get to come back sooner rather than later.

PS...Mango season makes the world go round. 

Hands

Hands

(Jewel)

[Obviously, this isn't my writing. Thanks to Jewel for being stuck in my head for the past few days though.]

If I could tell the world just one thing it would be:

That we're all okay. 

And not to worry, cuz worry is wasteful 

and useless in times like these. 

I won't be made useless.

Or be idle with despair.

I'll gather myself around my faith, 

For light is the darkness most fear.

My hands are small I know

But they are not yours, they are my own.

They're not yours, they are my own,

And I am never broken. 

Poverty, stole your golden shoes

But it didn't steal your laughter.

Heartache came to visit me, 

but I knew it wasn't ever after.

Will you fight? Not out of spite.

Someone must stand up for what's right.

Cuz where there's a man who has no voice,

There I shall go singing. 

My hands are small I know, 

But they're not yours, they are my own.

They're not yours, they are my own,

And I am never broken.

In the end, only kindness matters.

In the end, only kindness matters.

I will get down on my knees, and I will pray.

I will get down on my knees, and I will pray.

I will get down on my knees, and I will pray.

My hands are small I know, 

But they are not yours, they are my own.

They're not yours, they are my own.

And I am never broken. 

We are never broken. 

We are God's eyes.

God's hands.

God's heart.

We are God's eyes.

God's hands.

God's heart. 

Crochet Hooks, Lullabies, and New Dresses

Hello all!

Earlier this week I got the chance to be out at Lukodi again. Those of you who have been following know that this place has become my safe haven and favorite place to be. When I want to be reminded of the good that is being accomplished here (by all of the people who are working so hard to make change) I take a trip to Lukodi. Mama D'Andrea and Lowna have been amazingly kind and all of the staff have been more than welcoming. 

Usually, I spend my time at Lukodi surrounded by children. This is for many reasons. First of all, I'm painfully shy. A lot of the women are pretty shy too. This makes a no-win situation compounded by a language barrier. All in all, it's easier to build a relationship with children (especially since our language skills are roughly the same) so I've been doing a lot of that. The women know me because they know I play with their kids, but we've never crossed the relationship border. Until this time.

Long story short, Winnie (counselor) was teaching the girls how to crochet under the mango tree outside. I had little Malika on my lap, definitely falling asleep. Matron and Winnie taught me some lullabies, which absolutely put the little girl under a trance and off she went to sleepy-town.

Cutest Kid Ever. 

Loves to Mimic Me Saying Her Name..."Ma-liiiiikaaaa!"

 (imagine it with a false exhasperated sigh coming from an under-fiver)

After I put her down on the straw mat, I asked Winnie what the girls were making.

"Seat covers." She said. "You know how to do this?"

"Barely." I responded.

Next thing I knew, I was handed a skein of army green yarn and a teeny tiny crochet hook and I was attempting to start a Granny Square (a very basic stitch and the only one I'd had the patience to learn when my mother was trying to teach me how to crochet at the age of eight).

I worked on it all day and into the night (although none of us could figure out why I'd been given the task, I was happy to have something to do). Then the coolest thing happened...as I progressed, the women began walking up to me and grabbing my square, comparing it, and smiling at me.

"Ber!" they'd say ("good!")

"Apwoyo Matek!" I'd respond. It wasn't much of a conversation, but it was something.

I spent the afternoon and evening surrounded by the women, all of us working on our crochet, and periodically having mine examined by a woman holding an intricate doily pattern and feeling like a schlub for having no crochet expertise. As the sun disappeared and the darkness began to make it impossible to see, Kirsten asked Rheme where she learned to do crochet, which she was doing quite well.

"My mother taught me." she smiled.

This is where I need to pause and explain that from the first trip that I've made to Lukodi, Rheme has been the one woman I really wanted to talk to. Whenever the girls were doing music or practicing their skit for the Day of the African Child she was always one of the most animated and definitely one of the funniest to talk to. She was constantly cutting up in English and in Luo and causing the group to bust into fits of laughter. On Sundays she's one of the most active dancers and singers. But, if you tried to talk to her she'd clam up out of shy-ness. Rheme was one of the women who walked up to me earlier in the day and after a thorough examination of my work just gave me a nod and walked off. To get four words from her made me feel like I'd won the relationship lottery. I floated to bed that night.

The next morning, at the break of dawn, I followed Lowna out to the side road behind the compound where she was planning to take a run. I was positive I wouldn't be able to keep up, but since I'd brought my inhaler with me to the compound I decided it was safe to push it. And push it I did, knocking one more thing off of my bucket list ("go for a run in Uganda"). The sun came up through a really heavy mist that morning and just hung like a giant red ball on the Eastern horizon. We passed men and women working on patches of farm land, past hundreds of feet of grass that was taller than we were. At one point I ran into a flock of chickens and they thought I was chasing them so they ran ahead of me in the road. Suddenly I have a new found respect for people who can actually catch one of those things for dinner...

I made it about twenty minutes before I had to stop, walk, and have the conversation with my lungs that went something like, "You are lungs. Your job is to breathe. In. And. Out." Still, it was a beautiful morning to attempt a run.

I'm still not sure where the hours go when I am at Lukodi. Somehow it was immediately after lunchtime and I was sitting with pastor by the rabbit hutch out back. We were having a debate over whether or not rabbits were food. I claimed that they were pets. He laughed, "What a waste of meat!" We were still going on when Lily came up, curtsied before Pastor, and said something quietly in Luo while pointing to me.

"This lady has a request." he said, "That you would start her a project like yours. She says she can do it, but she can't start it."

"Of course!" I said, hoping that I'd do a better job of starting hers than I had of starting mine...which looked a little like a giant puffball in the middle.

About twenty minutes later I went to find Lily under the mango tree, where she was doing another woman's hair. She thanked me as another woman came up and started speaking to me in Luo as if I understood. I gave her a confused look and she started to laugh. Then she held up Lily's pattern and pointed to me.

"Yes. I did that." I said.

"Ber." She said. Then she pointed to herself then pointed to me.

"You want me to do yours too?" I asked.

She nodded. I agreed. She lit off towards the dorms to grab hers. What she came back with was a gorgeous flowered pattern that I couldn't have done with a million years and practice. "REC!" she said ("bad") holding it up. Pointing to mine she nodded, "Ber." ("good."). I laughed.

"NO! I said, "Yours is ber. Mine is rec!" but I helped her unwind her pattern and started her a granny square. I was completely confused, but going with it, just glad that the girls were talking to me (even if we were barely understanding each other).

Me and Rheme. 

I asked if I could take her picture and she said, "Take a picture of you and me!"

This is when Rheme came up to me, "You are finished?" she asked.

"No, I'm helping the others and I seem to have lost my needle. Do you think you could finish it for me Rheme?"

"Yes. I can finish." She grabbed it and went over to her seat. Later I went over and we were talking again. "Why can't you finish?" she asked.

"I don't have time. I have to go." I said.

"You are going to town?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Good. And you will be back when?" She asked.

I was a little bowled over. I hadn't really planned to be back to Lukodi again, figuring that the center had already more than accommodated me during this stay. But the relationship that I was getting with the girls had taken me the entire time I'd been here and several trips to the compound to actually get started. I decided I was going to have to come back for a day trip. I told Rheme that.

All too soon the trip was over (again) and the CVI van was fired up to head back to town. Richard (the driver) gave me exactly two minutes to hug everyone goodbye and then we were back on the road.

The next day, Lowna and Denise came to town and the three of us enjoyed lunch together. Lowna was headed down to Kampala, so it was going to be her last chance to see us before we left. Lowna is a wonderful person and has been not only sweet but has humored my persistent requests to spend time in Lukodi, graciously giving me her bed. The trouble with making friends in foreign places is that at some point everyone goes home. We all agreed though -- this is a perfect excuse for Denise and I to go to South Africa at some point (and with Denise headed to Oxford, we have a perfect excuse to go to England too!).

Denise Being Measured. 

Lowna left us at Lucy's (the tailor) where Denise and I had made the decision to have dresses made. I found the coolest green fabric that has a picture of Africa on it, and Denise chose a yellow/maroon flowered pattern. We drew pictures of what we were looking for, and Lucy took measurements. She's going to get them back to us on Monday afternoon and she only charged us 27,000 UGX ($13.00 USD). The most awesome part of all of this was when Lucy went to measure Denise. She was writing down her numbers and she said, "Your stomach is somehow missing..."

"I told her we need to feed her more! She's too skinny!" I said.

All of the girls in the shop agreed. We were laughing about that for a long while after.

At this point, we're mostly just wrapping up and saying goodbye. This afternoon what's left of the Carolina crew is headed to CTC to do lunch with Fr. Joseph before we go. Tonight we're treating Blake to Sancofa pizza, since he's getting on the plane tomorrow to leave. Denise and I are going to catch a postal bus on Tuesday or Wednesday down to Kampala. Then we'll catch our plane on Friday evening. My head is still spinning...I almost wish I had another week or two. But then again...I was dreaming about Chipotle, sour cream, and colby jack cheese last night. It's time.

Y'Ello Fest!

Me and Some Friends at Y'Ello Fest

Yesterday was an exciting day for Gulu. MTN ("Official Mobile Sponsor of the FIFA World Cup") held a massive party at the Kaunga Grounds. Y'Ello Fest was MTN's way of implementing their World Cup tagline: "Africa United." The grounds was supposed to be set up with a stage and large screens (which they were going to play the Ivory Coast v. Brazil game on at night) as well as fireworks and concerts. We'd heard that they were expecting some 30,000 people to attend -- one of the biggest events in Gulu in the last few years. Now, in general I like large crowds as much as I enjoy having dental work done, but we thought we should go down anyway. I mean, when is the next time I'll get to say that I attended a majorly attended event in N. Uganda?

Not to mention -- the MTN guys had been staying at our hotel and all of them were wearing the extremely cool "Africa United" jerseys that I'd seen only on television. I don't know what the coverage of World Cup is like at home, but here they are constantly playing commercials with these awesome yellow jerseys and when they cover South Africa everyone in South Africa seems to be wearing these jerseys. I tried to get one online, but it turns out they aren't for sale. They're a promotional item only. According to the MTN guys we talked to, they would be available at Y'Ello Fest. That settled it. I was going.

Blake and I made our way over in the morning, as they were still setting up the grounds. There were already a few hundred people just standing around waiting for the excitement to begin.

Kaunga Grounds at 11:00 in the Morning

We searched for people to ask for the yellow jerseys, but we had no luck. The people at the MTN tents said that they didn't have them. Then later, when the MTN vans rolled up they told us that they weren't giving them out. I was really disappointed, but definitely willing to live with the fact that I wasn't going to be the bearer of a fabulous yellow jersey. 

It was getting hot, and kind of crowded, and we'd pretty much taken pictures of everything possible, so we decided to head back to town. Blake headed his own way for lunch and I headed to Cafe Larem to meet Lowna. Now, Lowna had been looking for a vuvuzuela (the fabulously annoying horns from World Cup) which the MTN guys had been toting around. I'd had no luck scoring one of those either. We discussed this as we headed to market, where Lowna needed to buy produce (and I picked up another two yards of fabulous fabric for my sisters back at home). 

Coming back to Acholi Ber, we ran into the MTN manager, Silva, as he was headed out to Kaunga Grounds.  Lowna explained to him, "I'm South African. I NEED a vuvuzuela." ...low and behold, he happened to have just one handy, which he kindly gave to Lowna (completely making her morning). 

Lowna and Her Vuvuzuela (And Mark -- Manager of Acholi Ber)

Silva also told me that if I went back to Kaunga Grounds and told them that Silva said I could have a jersey, that they would get me one. I was stoked. 

Back inside Acholi Ber, we ran into Dean (researcher) who had been talking to CNN about the significance of this event. On the outside, it just looked like a good excuse for MTN to sell mobile phones sand air time. But Dean pointed out to us that this event was making the term "Africa United" a reality. This event opened the World Cup to people who didn't have access to televisions, who didn't have access to news about the games, and who might not even have been able to get it on the radio. Because the event was free, it was going to make accessible this major game (which included some major African sports figures) to everyone. This isn't even to mention that a few short years ago it would've almost been unthinkable for such an event (concert, game, fireworks) to be held in Gulu. This is big news.

Brianna, Blake, Dean, and I decided at around 2:00 to head back to the Kaunga Grounds. Blake and I had already had too much sun for the day, but we decided that one more go at those yellow jerseys might prove worth it. We headed into the MTN tents and told the manager that Silva had given instructions for us to receive jerseys. He said he could give them to us but that it was difficult to get them in the tents, would we mind waiting until he finished some business (give-aways) on stage? "Of course!" we said. 

There was a soccer match being played by some girls on one of those blow up soccer stadiums (which I couldn't see due to height impediment, but it sounded fun at least) and a concert with some star we'd never heard of. When we finally got a hold of the manager he told us to meet him behind the stage, so we trekked across the grounds to follow him quickly back behind the stage. Once there, we found him under an easy-up with several gun-toting guards and some guys who definitely looked like they'd been the musical talent on the stage. We avoided the guards (who were shooing children away from the tent) and tried to follow the manager out of the area, when my hand was grabbed by one of the guys who was sitting down.

"I'm sorry. I have to know. What is your name?" he asked. I told him and he wanted to talk to me, but the manager wanted us to follow him so I was like, "I'll be back!" 

Through the crowd, around the tents, behind the stage, around the inflated soccer stadium, and to the MTN vehicles, where the man handed us three yellow jerseys. SUCCESS! 

Brianna and Blake Rocking the Africa United Jerseys

"If I give these to you, you must put them on right now!" he said. uhh...no problem!

Once we were in our new jerseys, we headed back to the easy up where we re-introduced ourselves to the guy who wanted to know who we were. It turned out that my first instinct was right, he was the guy who had just been on stage, and apparently he's someone kind of big in Gulu. 

"Don't you know who I am?" he asked.

"Uhhhh....no?" we said. 

"Hitmaker Z-Man!" he said, as if that meant anything to us. I gathered by the large group of people being herded off by guards that we had just met someone important. He gave us a copy of his CD, took pictures with us, completely baffled that we still didn't know who he was. 

Me, My Hard-Won Jersey, and Hitmaker Z-Man 

We ended up heading out at that point, having spent way too many hours in the sun. Dinner at Sancofa, then back to the hotel, where the sun caught up to me (stupid allergy) and I nursed myself back to health out on the back balcony. Blake and I decided not to go to the night time festivities, instead watching the fireworks from the balcony of the Acholi Ber (can I just say how COOL that was?). 

I heard this morning though that MTN had neglected to buy enough gas for their generator and so that the group who had gone back to the grounds was left in the dark for a while (surrounded by 30,000 people...kinda glad I didn't go back). My assumption is (since the noise continued late into the night) that they eventually got the power back on. Even if they didn't, the day seemed to have been a massive success just based on the number of people there early on (the second time we went there were at least a few thousand milling around and I'm sure the number only increased after we left). 

The guys from MTN are packing up their gear this morning, having brought a party to Gulu. The people around are still buzzing about it. After I write this I'm headed back out to Lukodi for another overnight (awesome!) so if you guys don't hear from me, don't worry, I'm just out of range for a couple of days. 

Happy Birthday!

Today has been a good day on many counts. First of all, it is MaMa D'Andrea's birthday. I bought her a kilo of sugar yesterday and left it on her desk in the office. Of course, the poor ChildVoice van has been terribly ill the last few days so D'Andrea didn't make it to the office yesterday. Today she boda'd in, in the rain, and seemed pleasantly surprised by the sugar I'd left her. I know it doesn't sound like much of a gift, but staples are practical gifts and I knew she was running low. We also managed to convince her to take some time out of her day to let us take her to lunch and so it was me, Brianna and Dean (who are working on a project regarding the use of sports in reintegration), and D'Andrea all enjoying some Indian food and good conversation. That and the early morning rain has really made this a productive but low-key day.

Of course, the best part of today came when I spent a couple of hours with Monica and Eunice (my Acholi-Luo teachers and friends). I wasn't feeling very well and had come back to the hotel to take some ibuprofen for some body aches. I had about an hour before we were to meet D'Andrea for lunch, and so I sat in the lobby of Acholi Ber with Monica and Eunice to talk.

"Mickie!" Monica said, "Mickie you have gotten so skinny. You need to eat more. You must go back home fat so they know we fed you well!"

We all laughed. Then Monica said, "Mickie, teach us how to use your laptop!"

So, I pulled my computer out of my backpack and began going through the basics of how to use a computer. This is how you turn the computer on. This is how you create a word document. This is how you play music. Then I showed them that if I took the card from my camera out I could plug it into my computer and we could see pictures. Then I pulled up all of the pictures I have on my computer to show them my home, my family, my cats, my apartment, and my boyfriend.

Apio in Charleston Last Fall

I pulled up the pictures that I took of the trip that Denise and I took last Fall Break to Charleston, SC. When the picture of Denise on the beach came up Eunice said, "That is Apio!"

I smiled. "Yes, that is Apio. At home I call her Denise."

"Dennis?" Monica said.

"Yes," I said, "But here, Dennis sounds like the name of a boy, but everyone knows that Apio means she's a girl!" We all giggled and they both agreed that here Apio fit her very well. Apio means first born, female twin. Monica said that she was Acen--which is the second born, female twin.

Then Monica said, "You should also leave with a name. Like Aber [pronounced Ah-Bay which means 'good' or 'beautiful']. Because you are good!"

Eunice agreed, "That is a good name for you!"

"I will call you that from now on. Ok, Aber?" Monica said.

I was floored. Being given an Acholi name is like being christened. The name can't just come from a person you meet once or don't know very well. It symbolizes being taken in as family, being considered one of the community. I've been here only a little over a month. Sure, they adopted me out at Lukodi, but even there I've only been to visit a handful of times and wouldn't have felt comfortable accepting a name from there.

Eunice and Her Baby Boy Ryan

At first I wasn't sure if it was appropriate to be named so soon in my journey. But then, all along I have said that were I to receive a name the only people I would've been able to accept one from would have been Monica or Eunice. They work at Acholi Ber which means that I've spent every day with them since I got to Gulu. Monica asked me to be her American contact for her interviews with Invisible Children, and I agreed (of course!). Eunice brought her baby boy up to meet me and we spent time talking about raising babies in Gulu. I've taken lessons from them, I've talked about our different homes with them, we've discussed our lives. We have celebrated together, we have worried together, and we have become friends. It is fitting and appropriate that these two young women, my first friends in Acholi-land, would give me my name.

I'm really not sure what more I could've asked for from a foundation building trip. I believe that I am well set for my work to really get off the ground next year when I return. If we had any doubts about whether or not I should be coming back...whether or not I had an obligation to continue...rest assured. This is where my work will be for some time to come.

I guess today was my birthday too...

"I am somehow sick..."

Today I was supposed to be back at Lukodi talking to Pastor about the role of spirituality in healing. Of course, if I'm on the internet writing this you have probably guessed that I'm nowhere near Lukodi at the moment. I am, in fact, sitting at Cafe Larem where I am enjoying day number two of a very not-sweet illness. Or, as they say around here, "I am somehow sick."

I kind of like that phrase. When they say that they are "somehow sick" it is as if they were completely taken by surprise...almost bewildered. Like it was sudden and the symptoms were not gradual. As if one minute I was well and the next minute I was  "somehow sick." As if to say, "HOW did this happen?"

Symptoms are the usuals. Yesterday my throat was sore and my body was sore and my stomach was upset. Then, after spending the day in bed, the symptoms changed to not being able to hold down food and an achy body. Today I'm down to just the achy body. I think if I had a fever it broke during the night because I'm actually feeling much improved over yesterday, just not up to par yet. I didn't think it would be wise to take my germs to the compound, so I'll go back in a day or two when I'm feeling well again.

[side note: I have had an underlying homesickness this entire trip...but yesterday afternoon I would've sold my cats for a thirty minute soak in my bathtub at home. THAT is saying something.]

On the plus side -- if I wanted to spend the day in my hotel room sleeping, such a thing would not be completely out of my ability. On the down side -- I'm leaving Gulu in a week or so and I really have a lot of things I want to do before that happens.

Don't worry. It isn't anything serious. Just a cold. It's more aggravating than anything else.

C'est la vie.

My Only Note About Trauma

A number of people have emailed me to ask about my posts. The questions usually center on the impact of the war on this area. The Gulu I'm talking about doesn't seem to be the same Gulu that they've heard about. I've been asked a few times if the people have fully gotten over the war and maybe that is why I'm able to blog about things like boda rides, pizza, smiling children, and experiences at church. I thought I should address this briefly.

Last night I was fortunate to be a guest at the Catechist Training Center for supper. I had a meeting planned with Father Joe and he'd indicated that his schedule was quite packed but he might be able to give me some time after the meal. Our conversation meandered over the latest updates in my research topic (unofficial working title: "Spirituality and the Northern Ugandan War") and how beautiful the church bells sound in the morning. We spoke briefly about how long he had been with CTC (1986-1988, then again 1994-present). We talked about the hope that people felt throughout the war, how homilies had helped them, which songs had come to their minds during times of trouble, and other things. Later, as he and Apio (Denise) drove me back to town ("it would be unadvisable to take a boda on this road at night."), the conversation briefly paused as he told us that for ten years during the war 400+ children came every night to sleep under the verandas of the CTC in order to avoid abduction by the LRA. It was a subtle reminder of the not-too-distant past of Northern Uganda.

Some of the Verandas of the CTC

Make no mistake. The war may be over here, but this place is still recovering. Many people imagine war involvement being akin to asking an American if they had served in the military. You might have, or you might know someone who had. Here, asking if they'd been involved in the war is more akin to asking if someone from Las Vegas had ever been inside a casino or asking someone from Florida if they'd ever gotten a sunburn. It is nearly everyone in some way. The papers have done a poor job of conveying the magnitude of this conflict, although the picture painted is not entirely inaccurate. Every day I talk to people who lost loved ones, who lost limbs, who lost their homes, who nearly lost their lives.

But I want to be clear. The people I have met are not sitting around all day talking about the war and how terrible life has become. They are dealing with what is left and picking up the pieces. They are making the most of the tenuous but hopeful peace that has come to the area. The IDP camps have been dismantled, and while not everyone has yet gone home, many are trying to (or trying to figure out what they'll do now given limited resources or other limitations). There are now land issues to resolve, psychological traumas that linger, educational upsets that need to be mitigated amongst other things. Still -- this is a place of great hope.

I believe that there are enough news outlets, journalists, and researchers who can focus on the negatives here. They can tell you all day about Northern Uganda and the great work ahead of the people who live here. That is not the point of this blog. I want to show you the side of Gulu that doesn't always make the papers. The ebbs and flows of everyday life. The joyful singing during prayer services. The 'good morning' greetings of neighbors passing on the street. The happy children. THIS is Gulu for me. A place where hope is alive and people are interested in recovery, not self-pity. And THIS is why you're not going to hear much about trauma here. I believe it undermines the effort to move forward.

And the people here do wish to move forward.

"This is Where You Belong." -or- My Overnight at Lukodi

My Overnight at Lukodi (one really long blog.)

Boys on Veranda with a pair of Adungus 

Sunday morning, I met D'Andrea downstairs at Acholi Ber for breakfast, after which we jumped into the Child Voice van and headed out to Lukodi. I had been invited to church service, and then to stay the night, which was an opportunity I wasn't about to miss. On the way out to the village, D'Andrea and I discussed driving on the Kitgum-Gulu road (which is an adventure no matter who is behind the wheel). Between potholes, people randomly standing in the road, giant mud puddles, and massive rocks, it takes a very particular vehicle to be able to manage. Bodas are actually the very best form of transportation around here because a dirt bike can get over anything. In terms of larger vehicles, the van that the organization currently uses is sturdy enough (once the bar between the tires is removed and special hardcore tires are fitted onto it) or a LandRover also works. That's about it. Of course, the organization is in need of a new vehicle, so if you happen to know anyone sitting on a desire to donate hugely, this is a NEED. 

As the van pulled through the gates and up to the front of the compound, Pastor came over to the side of the van to greet D'Andrea and talk to her about one of the girls who we thought might need to go to the hospital. When he saw me in the passenger seat he came over and basically ripped my door open and then took me up in a giant hug. "MY SISTER!" he cried out. 

After she parked, I found D'Andrea at Matron's hut (Matron is one of the older women of the compound) where they were discussing Matron's daughter (the girl who we thought needed to go to the hospital). It turned out that the girl had had a bone stuck in her throat but that at some point during the night it had been swallowed and all was well. Matron brought me into her hut (I took off my shoes to enter) and as the conversation progressed she smiled and said, "You are welcome here. This is your home, just like America is your home. This is where you belong." 

Once I'd dropped off my bag and switched my sneakers for a more compound friendly pair of borrowed sandals (many thanks to Mama D'Andrea for allowing me their use all weekend) we headed off to prayer service. Because the weather was so gorgeous, the service was held under the mango tree outside. This prayer service is part of the community church and is therefore open to members of the local village (and there were a number of men, women, and children from the village who came in to church).  CVI is hosting a group of InterVarsity Mission Trippers, so the service was a special one. Worship songs, clapping, and a guest pastor (one of the group members) with a message translated from Acholi to English about the meanings of greatness, the honor of servanthood, and the humble nature of Jesus. It was a great message. 

I sat in the front with MaMa D'Andrea, with the children sitting in front of me on a straw mat. I made the mistake of showing one of the little boys (Phillip) that a baby grasshopper had landed on my skirt. He promptly grabbed it, yanked the large back legs off, and handed me back the poor leg-less (and still alive) body. Those who know me know I was mortified...I mean, I don't even kill ants if I can help it, and here we were torturing grasshoppers. I decided that it was a necessary death, however, and promptly handed the body back to the boy. This started a small contest of "let's try to scare the Mzungu woman!" with a half dozen dead grasshoppers of all sizes landing on my skirt at different points throughout the service. I'd throw them back without looking -- which had them stifling giggles. 

After the service, the boys came up to me, "How OLD are YOU?" they said. 

"SOOO old." I said.

We wanted a soccer ball, but since I didn't know where to get one we ended up playing "toss the grasshopper on a string" instead. My friend Phillip ended up being quite squeemish, and every time I tossed it to him he'd run. Then I'd toss to his friend Steven and Steven would catch it. He was VERY brave (or at least  acting it...it was so funny, him throwing back his shoulders and throwing up his head and acting very macho). 

"THIS is a MAN." Another boy (Patrick) told me. It was so funny because Steven is the smallest of all the boys and only nine years old, but he was definitely trying to be big and bad. 

Xylophone Lessons at Lukodi

Suddenly we heard music being played on the veranda. I began walking that direction (now leading a group of about 10 little boys with me). It turned out that two boys were playing the xylophone on the porch. It was so much fun to listen to that I started to dance (very poorly). The kids began to mimic my movements, and soon enough I was surrounded by a circle of children of various ages all pretending not to be dancing with me. Occasionally my "MAN" Steven would come out, put his arms up, and dance with me. He was definitely brave. Whenever I'd try to bring another child to dance with me they'd go running so I spent a lot of time being watched curiously. 

One of the toddlers found his way into the circle and grabbed my hand. He began to dance all around with me, stomping his feet, clapping, and turning in circles. I became aware at some point that I had nearly all of the Lukodi Church children around me, and I really hoped I wasn't upsetting any of the mothers. No one came running over to stop our party though, so I assumed all was well. It wasn't until the next day, when everyone was mentioning how funny it was to see me with the children that I realized that I really had been being watched. 

After I'd danced to the point of exhaustion I ran and grabbed my camera. When I brought it out I was suddenly swarmed with kids who all wanted their picture taken. It went the same way every time -- I'd take a picture, I'd be surrounded by curious kids who wanted to see it, and then the number of kids who wanted their picture taken would get larger as more and more kids tried to crowd into the frame. It was awesome. 

Kids from Lukodi Community Church

At some point in this, MaMa D'Andrea had come out and informed me that lunch was ready in her hut. I excused myself from my kids (at this point there were about 25 all around me) and made my way to the lunch. We were spoiled with beans, cabbage, potatoes, and pocho -- very starch heavy but it was SO appreciated because I was ravenous by the time we ate. Later, MaMa suggested that I could sit in on Luo lessons with Kirsten and Claire (the new CVI interns) so we all made our way to the classroom where Simon Peter Okello taught us using the blackboard and a very soft voice. 

Of course, in the middle of the lesson the rain began again. It started as a drizzle that became a holy firehose. The thunder shook the buildings and vibrated in my ribcage. Looking out the window I couldn't see past the compound fence -- the hills were covered by the heavy rain. Of course, the rain on the tin roof made it impossible to hear anything (as if my hearing weren't bad enough as it was) so we ended up doing much of the lesson through writing on the board. 

After the lesson we found our way to MaMa's hut where we hung out until dinner arrived. The rain continued through the night and the generator wasn't working so we ended up eating dinner by flashlight with our hands (probably one of my favorite memories of this entire trip, believe it or not). Of course, the rain and lack of light made it most interesting to use the restroom...

Latrine at Lukodi

The bathrooms at Lukodi are typical latrines. That is to say that they are outhouses with drops and one stands over a hole to use them. The trouble of it all is that the dark was oppressive, my flashlight was hardly worthy of its name, and I was basically feeling my way through the mud and water and praying I didn't run into any poles. This was hilarious. Note to me: next time -- head lamp. 

After dinner, MaMa, Lowna, Kirsten, Claire, Juliet (one of MaMa's girls) and I sat in MaMa's hut telling funny stories by flashlight and enjoying ginger tea. It was one of the happiest moments I've had in Uganda, and  one of the times I can truly say that I felt like I was being brought into a family. The rain continued to fall on the hut as the night got later. Finally, Lowna and I made our way back to Lowna's hut where Lowna graciously gave me her bed (sleeping on an extra mattress pad on the floor) and pillow for the night. I fell asleep to the sound of lizards rustling in the thatched roof and woke up to the sound of the rooster crowing and the Ugandan sunrise at about 6:30. It was heaven. 

Lowna and I shared a morning cup of coffee followed by a trip to the bead hut where they hang the varnished beads to dry. She cut several strands of beads that were ready to be made into necklaces and handed them to me to help carry out to the compound. Once there, I ran into my tiny dancing partner from Sunday afternoon. He came running for me, grabbing my leg and wrapping himself around me. I sat down on the veranda with him and two others until the Lukodi mothers began herding the toddlers into the nursery. I was guided by one little one on either side of me yanking my hands to pull me into the room and I found myself in the class room on a straw mat with several small children on my lap. Kirsten and Claire were also there along with the older nursery matron who we were assisting. 

Nursery Matron and Baby (How about that SMILE!)

I spent the next three hours lifting children over my head, playing 'head, shoulders,knees, and toes,' and comforting those who were crying. There had to have been thirty kids in the room, all under the age of four, and even with four of us there weren't enough hands to do everything. The best part of it all is that there really isn't a language barrier with little kids. A comforting hand rubbing the back or a hand to hold or a spinning partner don't require words. I had a couple that were attached to me like glue with my hand in one hand and their teddy bears in their other hands. It was chaos. It was craziness. It was amazing. I left the room, after the nursery matron sent the children out to play, covered in baby pee, baby poop, and baby snot. I was exhausted and sore, but I was grinning ear-to-ear. 

I am the luckiest woman alive. 

Some of My Little Buddies

Once I left the nursery, I spent some time with Lowna and one of the missionary girls trying to design some appropriate 'Men's Wear' beads. Then, over lunch, I had the opportunity to bond with Kirsten and Claire (the interns) about their stories, how they got to CVI and what they were interested in doing with the rest of their lives. It was inspiring, and wonderful. 

Women making Beads at Lukodi

Most of the rest of the day was spent wandering about the camp trying to be useful, making small talk, and taking in the gorgeousness that was the day. All too soon it was after four and the staff van was headed back into town. I gave Juliet MaMa's sandals. "You're leaving?" she asked. "Yes. I need to go." I said. "Why?!" she asked with a look that said, 'You live here now. Why would you go?' it was hilarious. 

The ride back to town had me sitting next to the same little girl I'd sat next to on my first trip out to Lukodi (the one who had had malaria). She's feeling much better and she and I played with my bracelet the whole way home. Her mom laughed, "She just loves you. Now you are friends." Friends. Larem. It feels good. 

I ended up taking a boda back from the CVI office to Acholi Ber (which is less than a mile but I was entirely too exhausted to walk) and have to admit that I enjoyed my bath a little too much last night. However, if given the chance I'd spend every day at Child Voice. At this point I'm soaring and entirely filled with joy. I've found a home and a family and a research question all in one trip. 

This is where I belong. 

"Here I am free", rain, and a World Cup Showdown

Blake at the "African/Chinese Food" Restaurant

Two things occur to me as I write this blog: 1) It is Tuesday. I'm not sure how that happened. and 2) I haven't blogged since Friday. For those of you who are used to hearing from me more frequently, I'd like to apologize for the lack of contact but the power was universally out on Saturday, which meant no local internet (::shrug:: this is Gulu.). Then, on Sunday morning I packed up and drove out to Lukodi (the Child Voice International village) where I spent the night. I finally made it back to the hotel last night and I was so exhausted that I didn't even stay up to watch the disappointing Italy vs Paraguay draw. All of this being the case, I've got quite a lot to catch everyone up on so I hope you're up for reading a slightly longer entry. 

Friday afternoon Blake and I decided to try out the Chinese restaurant on the other end of town for lunch. We got there at 11:40. At some time after noon the rain started. And continued. And continued. We were stranded at the restaurant until close to 3:00 PM, because it is just unadvisable to go traipsing around in equatorial rain if one has the choice not to. We were considering what to do if the rain continued all the way up to the beginning of the first game of the night (Megan: "Should we run?" Blake: "Well...they have a tv here." Megan: "Will we be stuck here after dark?" Blake: "Good point. Let's give it until five. Then we run.") luckily, the rain cleared up and we walked back through the muddy streets towards the hotel. On the way we stopped at Nido's, which is run by a very nice Pakistani man. We had a very interesting conversation about his family who lives in Kansas City and how he wouldn't leave Uganda unless it was to go home.

"Where you are from, is very difficult. Here, I am free. It is not very developed. You and I are from developed countries. Here is not very developed, but I am used to it and it is not as hard as it is in your country to survive." He said with a smile as he handed me my change. 

Blake and I ran off to catch the game (a very disappointing draw). In the hotel lobby of Acholi Ber we were surrounded by the owner (Mark) and about a dozen of his friends, all pulling for South Africa. I was pulling for Mexico, and I'm a really loud spectator, but then so was everyone else. It was an electric night, even if the results were a somewhat disappointing draw. 

Saturday, as I mentioned, the power was out all over. Luckily, Acholi Ber has a generator, so our World Cup excitement was not interrupted. We staked out a table right near the television and I came downstairs in my USA t-shirt. Claire (from England) and her friend James (Uganda) drove down to root for England. Denise and Hannah came out from CTC (Denise would like me to correct my previous blog. She rooted for the USA). Our new friends Maryt (from the Netherlands) and Chris (from Canada) joined us as well along with about a dozen of Mark (the owner)'s friends. It was a well attended, highly contested, extremely exciting game. I felt really bad for goalkeeper Green (England) because the next morning the papers were saying things like "From the Hands of Clod" and other such things. I think that the draw was the best thing for our group -- everyone went home satisfied that they'd seen a good game and that their team had made an admirable effort. 

I'm going to split this blog into two pieces then, and call this part one. My time at Lukodi really deserves its own space. 

World Cup Countdown

Today is June 11, 2010, and you know what that means...

The first game of the World Cup starts in 7 Hours 1 minute and 6 seconds. At the moment, the plan is to take in this first game (South Africa vs. Mexico) from the hotel lobby at Acholi Ber. I got my fantasy bracket entered online, I've chosen my favorites (Italy, Brazil, Ghana, and Slovenia) and I'm prepped for some screaming. Unfortunately, I'm not sure that Nelson Mandela will make his scheduled appearance before the game, due to the fact that his great grand-daughter was killed in a car accident last night immediately following the opening ceremony concert. But then, it would be uncharacteristic of Mandela to miss the chance to address South Africa and the world...so who knows. Either way, it puts a damper on my spirits just a bit. 

Nelson Mandela

The real festivities start tomorrow at 2:30 PM when the USA team takes on England. Plans have been made between Blake and I (rooting for the USA) and Claire and Denise (rooting for England) to meet at the fabulously ex-pat bar at Boma where they have a giant screen television. The game is small potatoes, but we're turning it into quite the battle royale complete with trash talk. Blake would like everyone to know that if you're not with us...you're with the the terrorists. 

Sitting at Boma (the one time I have) reminded me of watching Casablanca. A wide assortment of people from all over in stiff wicker chairs enjoying coca-cola products and smoking cigarettes. The television is worthy of World Cup craziness, however, and for this I've got it on my agenda. 

Uganda isn't in the World Cup competition. Football is big around here, and everyone is excited, but apart from giving everyone something else to for the next few weeks, nothing is really changing. The street outside is still being graded, the sewer systems still being dug, the students still go to classes, the women still carry water jugs and other heavy buckets on their heads, and I am still on the hunt for the best food in Gulu. 

Speaking of best food, yesterday the five of us who are in town (myself, Denise, Blake, Ron, and Laura) had a final team meeting at Sancofa over pizza and juice. Ron (as I've previously mentioned) is headed to Kampala today. He'll be there finishing the final edits to the new edition of his book until Tuesday when he'll board a plane for the USA.

I'm going to miss him greatly, but he's got a lot of important work to do. Wishing him safe travels and successful speaking before the World Bank. 

       Laura, Denise, Ron, and Blake Outside of Sancofa Cafe

Mostly, I'm just easing into the weekend. Next week is already filling up fast and I imagine that the rest of my time here is going to fly. I think that we're going to stop into the Chinese/African restaurant for lunch (who would've thought the combination could be SO delicious?) with probably updates from there. Until then...