November 3, 2011

November 3, 2011

When I first arrived to Uganda, I remember telling someone that I “gave up my life in the states to come here.”  How wrong I was.

I spent the afternoon with the girls again, and we sat in a circle, talking as if at a slumber party, albeit without sleeping bags and popcorn and the comforts familiar in my childhood memories.  However, it was the spirit of our circle that did remind me of the innocence and fun children should be granted, even though I have learned all children in the world are not.  During our own little suspension in time, I think we all forgot the shoulds and should nots and just were, which is liberating and encouraging all at the same time.  We laughed.  We questioned.  We learned.  We simply were – our own little circle, our own little world.  And, we even delved into subjects I know they don’t feel comfortable talking about with others, and I always feel the special bond of trust they have built with me.  Now, I may not know all the answers and have to direct them to someone/where else for guidance, but, initially, I know they asked me.

Later, on the way home, I struggled with that thought – their relationship with me.  I realized that I love working with the girls so much that I don’t know whether I am doing all of this for them or for me.  Is this whole journey a self-discovery rather than an opportunity to build possibilities for others?  Is it selfish to want this program not only for them but also for me? 

I think I need it just as much as they do. 

It makes me feel alive.

Is it fair or unfair to recognize that I want this for us both?

            People often said to me before coming here that Africa “gets under your skin”.  However, I would equate it to a whisper that starts blowing softly into your ear only to creep through all of your senses and become a thunderous beat within your heart.  You see the good, and you see the bad.  You hear the lies, and you hear the truths.  You speak the questions, and you speak the answers.  You breathe the beauty, and you breathe the pain.  You feel the lightness, and you feel the darkness.  And, it is all the in between that makes you love this continent.

            At the end of our meeting today, I asked if some of the girls would sweep out the church we are now meeting in.  You would have thought I asked them who wanted a tub of ice cream.  Girls jumped up out of their seats and were practically arguing about who would get to sweep. And, the two that finally did command the reeds tied together by twine, making a broom, swept the church as if I would come by later with white gloves to inspect.  I couldn’t believe it.

            I only bring these girls papers, pencils, and me, and they sweep a brick and dirt floor until the specks of trash are gone and all that remains is a dust cloud behind them.  And why do I think they do it?  Because I think they are so grateful.  So grateful for the papers.  So grateful for the pencils.  So grateful for me.

            I have never known such pure appreciation, and I hugged each one of them so tightly I am sure they were in a similar state of disbelief. 

            My mind keeps wondering about what I can do to make myself a better person and this world easier for my girls.  Does being in the presence of such honest goodness force a person to recognize their own shortcomings?  Do we all have to face a moment where the word “deserve” feels like a judgment?  How can we forgive ourselves for that which we cannot change?  Will we ever celebrate ourselves for that which we can and do change?

            Today I swept out the notion that I gave up my life to come here.  This is my life.  And, I am so appreciative for it.  The questions I have are my future, as it means complacency hasn’t won.  I must continue to learn.  I must continue to challenge.  I must continue to hope.  For, nothing worthwhile is discovered easily, and the question of fair and unfair is in itself a paradox. Nothing is ever black and white.  We continually live somewhere in a gray area, where we teach division as ignorance and rights as universal.  So, if this is the truth, why can’t we get over our skin and move forward equally?

October 28, 2011

October 28, 2011

            I know it has been a bit. 

I have been so busy, and I have tried so very hard.  I have created this entire project from nothing and now realize it is something.  Something big.  Something wonderful.  Something powerful.

And, today, I feel like I have actually succeeded.

I am crying my eyes out.  They are the streams of possibility and of hope for a little girl with big dreams.

Without solicitation, one of my girls had an offer by a woman who came to view the project to sponsor the girl’s education.  I think the thought that maybe one girl might REALLY be given the opportunity of a lifetime makes me realize I have really done it.  And, even more importantly, I didn’t even ask for this to happen; it just did.

You see…I have had many visitors of late who have been very curious about the project and how it is growing (I am now working with approximately 190 girls.), and this one woman – the now donor – was so moved by the project, the girls, and this one girl in particular that she sought me out to make the offer of her own accord.  She is going to educate her until she is 18. 

I think I am still somewhat in shock, because I think I just realized how immense this project has gotten.  Such generosity has now changed the course of one of my girls forever, and I don’t even know what that means right now.  I really thought about her potentially even being able to go to college.  She may get out.

And, I helped.  I really helped.

You work, and you work, and then you work some more – oftentimes without notice and some days without appreciation.  And, then all of the sudden, other people really see your work for what it is, and things suddenly change.  And then, you educate a girl who may never have had that opportunity. 

And, in the words of Nelson Mandela, “Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world.”

I guess, perhaps, I am finally winning the battle.

It is a happy day for me. 

October 4, 2011

October 4, 2011

102 girls!  I think I am still in awe that we reached over 100 in five weeks!  The girls were so loud and boisterous today, and Justine – a girl about the age of 15 – walks up to me at the start of the meeting and says, “How are you today, Lindsey?”

I whipped my head around, smiling, and told her I was fine.  It was the first time any of the girls have called me by my first name, and for me and their development, it was also a giant leap in the program’s success.  They are becoming heard, and we had a long talk today about utilizing their voices, if only to state their name.  Their voice, I told them, is who they are, and they should speak with confidence.  Then, I made them all stand up to state their name, and although some had to repeat it (If I could not hear them, they had to state their name a second time.), the majority stood up and spoke clearly.  Small steps…big numbers!

We joined forces with the local adolescent health center today, and we had our first speaker (Sister Prisca).  Although I couldn’t understand a word of what was being said, Moreen told me the girls enjoyed the talk and for that I am thankful.  I feel exposing them to other “adults” needs to be a rather slow process, as after talking to several of the Head Teachers, I understand why they would think adults are authoritative figures and not people who understand their point of view.

Moreen and I were talking about that after we left one of the schools, and she told me this culture truly believes that girls have nothing to offer.  So, they send the boys on to secondary school, and the girls – if they are lucky – find some sort of work (usually digging in the fields).  If they aren’t lucky, they could be married off to someone who treats them badly and treats their futures even worse.  Supporting the girls or encouraging them just does not occur.  No one even thinks about it.  I told her I have no concept of living in an environment where women are still oppressed, as women in the States have fought so hard for our rights.  I feel to some degree I am beginning to understand that fight, and I told Moreen we will get this community thinking about “it”.

   When I drove home today (in a much sturdier car by the way!), I could not get the grin off my face.  I kept saying Wow! aloud, and I am sure the new driver thought I was a bit off.  102 girls though!  I feel now we are really starting to make a difference.  102 girls!  Wow!

The driver also asked me what I thought of Uganda, and I realized the shift for me has occurred.  It has crept up on me, as I didn’t know it was happening, but I told him Uganda felt like home.  And, I wasn’t lying, and I wasn’t being nice.  Uganda DOES feel like home.  I love my work here.  I love the people I have met.  I love the experiences I am having.  I love Uganda.

And, realizing that, I think everything has somehow become easier.  Work seems to be falling into place.  I have been seeing some amazing sights with some of my new friends.  And, I wake up in the morning and am excited about seeing what the day will bring.  Perhaps constantly giving 100% finally allowed me to get 102. 

I still can’t believe it.  102!

September 28, 2011

September 28, 2011

            Has it been two weeks since I last posted?!?  I guess my only excuse is time escaping me; however, when it escapes you because you are so busy, I assume it is a very positive thing.

            And, my how busy I have been!

            In the last two weeks, the program has grown to include upwards of 70 girls!  Through preparations, meetings, and planning, I have had my hands full, wanting only at night to delve into a book when I can.  So, that is why there has been a lapse, but I do hope to do better in the future.

            I will try to recap on some of the highlights from the two weeks…

            I had to go to the Head Teachers at several of the schools in Kabuyanda, as the girls had informed me their schools wanted to know more about the program.  So, I went to the schools prepared to talk about what the program is doing and how we would like to be a partner with the schools, as I would love for some of the teachers to hold tutoring sessions in the future.  Anyway, the children in the school would get so excited about a muzungu being on the school grounds that one Head Teacher gave up trying to ignore it and, instead, asked me to go and visit every classroom. 

            Primary 7, Primary 6, Primary 5, Primary 4, Primary 3, Primary 1, and Primary 2 was last.  In each classroom, the children would jump up out of their seats and say in unison, “Welcome Madam to Kabuyanda Junior.  This is Primary___”.  I laughed each time I heard it and then would try to open with some phrase in Runyankori.  The kids in each class were always so surprised I would attempt their language that at first they would look slightly shocked, and then, they would erupt into laughter.  I know my pronunciation must have been horrendous, so usually I threw my hands up and started laughing to – perhaps the first time in my life where butchering words didn’t make me cringe.

            In every classroom, I would try to tell them something about myself or the country I come from, and the kids just stared at me not sure of how to respond.  I picked up the chalk in several rooms and just started writing on the boards (which I still cannot figure out what material the chalkboards were made from), and then the children would recite – as best as they could – whatever I had written.  That made me laugh, and again the classrooms would erupt! 

            It was a lovely visit, but I could not help but notice the dark skies moving slowly toward us.  And, as I was in Primary 2 (the last classroom), the rain announced itself politely with light claps upon the tin roof.  However, within minutes, its politeness turned sour, and the rain was shooting through the walls, which in this particular classroom were banana leaves woven together and missing completely in some areas.  The children were getting drenched, so I stood in front of the range of wet as best I could until the children were huddled into the opposite corner.  I felt like a giant, as these small children just looked at me, now as wet as them.

            I kept on talking – really shouting as the match continued vocally between me and the storm, and the children just kept on looking until the Head Teacher suggested they sing something for me.  They got so excited and began singing a song.  We are the children of God.  We are the children of God…

            It was like a concert for me, as I will never tire of hearing Ugandan children’s voices in song.  Beautiful.  When they were finished, I asked them if they knew the song, You are My Sunshine, as it is my personal favorite.  One boy said yes, and the Head Teacher then asked him to sing it for me.  We are the sunshine of God.  We are the sunshine of God…

            When he finished, I praised his voice, but said it wasn’t quite the song I was thinking about.  So, the Head Teacher asked me to sing!  And, if you know me at all, you may know I do not have a voice of an angel, but I’d be damned if I didn’t belt out You are My Sunshine as proudly as that little boy.  He gave me whatever it was I needed to feel comfortable.

            And, I continued to feel comfortable as I taught them the song line by line, note by note.  And, approximately 30 minutes later the kids were singing the song, beginning to end, and I was holding back tears.  This is the song I sing to my dog every night before I go to sleep in my big bed in the states and now I was standing halfway around the world singing it with children in a classroom whose walls were made of leaves.  Primary 2^nd Verse. And I held my head and I cried.  You are my Sunshine…

            After I left, the Head Teacher made the children sing the song to the entire school.  They did a really good job.  I know this, because the girls from the school who are in the program let me know about it as soon as they walked through the door.  You make me happy.

            The clouds continued to remain gray for the remainder of the afternoon, so I knew we had to leave Kabuyanda no later than 5:30pm, as the roads get very bad when it rains.  I had never been on them after a downpour like that day provided, and I knew we had to be moving.  Paved roads are not the norm, but steeps hills and sharp turns are.

            I’ll admit it.  I was nervous.  I didn’t know the back roads to get back to Mbarara, which sometimes provide a more level terrain, and I knew we only had a few hours before night took my sunshine away. 

I had every right to be nervous.  The mess of roads that lay before us was equivalent to sand when a wave decides its home is the ocean.  Your feet just sink.  A car just sinks.  Our car just sank, and moving was slow and slippery. 

And, then we saw the matooke truck.

It was stuck in the middle of the road, and there were only two small routes around it.  My driver tried to go the better of the two, but the car just started to slide, and the next thing I know the car is moving sideways on the road.  Then, the driver tried to straighten it out, but the road was too slick, and the ditch was too close.  The car slid into the ditch and came to rest against the embankment, pinning my side of the car against a mud barrier.

The car didn’t budge.

And, here in the story is an entire bit about money, men, machetes, and muzungu, but I will leave that for another time.

Just know that my driver did a wonderful job, and we were on the road again in about 25 minutes. However, the roads did not prove to get any easier.  There was about 30 yards where the car slid sideways again, and I was sure I would have to get out and push, as we are in the middle of Uganda’s countryside.  Towns are sporadic, and people can be sparse.  I would have been pushing that baby alone.

And, the darkness kept coming.

Usually, it takes approximately an hour and fifteen/thirty minutes to drive from Kabuyanda to Mbarara.  We left Kabuyanda at 5:30pm and got to Mbarara at 8pm.  It was totally dark, and I was totally spent; however, I did not have to push the car.

The last 10 kilometers I had kept thinking that we weren’t going to make it, and I held my seatbelt so tightly my hands were stiff when I finally let go.  And, I didn’t let go until I saw the back of the little circular sign, letting people coming in the opposite direction know the roads are not paved and to be cautious.  I had never been so happy to see pavement. 

I don’t like being stuck in the dark.  Not in Uganda.  Not in Kentucky.  Not in my home.  Not anywhere.  Being stuck – literally stuck – is a feeling of helplessness, which I haven’t experienced in a very long time.   I hope it is a very long time before I experience it again.

My driver and I spent yesterday learning the back roads, and now my options for getting home are a little broader, safer, and flatter, which is what I am really grateful about.  And, today after a presentation to the government, I initiate the first 25 official members into the Kabuyanda Girl Empowerment Program.  This makes me happy when skies are gray…literally.     

September 12, 2011

September 12, 2011

Oh how the mountains call me to them every once in a while.  After an intense second week of being with the girls, which went wonderfully by the way, my friend Jasmine and I decided to head to the Rwenzori Mountains in western Uganda for some hiking and relaxation.  It did not disappoint.

We arrived Friday evening at the Rwenzori Trekking Hostel, which was a simple and clean place – all you ever want from a hostel.  Because we arrived rather late in the evening, we didn’t have much time to walk around, but we did get a bit of a look at the town.  Once a mining town, Kilembe has an abandoned mining factory that sits at the base of the beginning of the mountains.  Closed around 1975, the factory as well as the still chair lift leading up into the mountains are spotted with the rust of what could have been and is now not.

The people, to some degree, wear that same face of unfulfilled hope – a distorted, half smile that is quickly cursed by the eyes.  The children still play in the streets, rolling empty bottles attached to sticks, with faces that are endearing and innocent, but the constant presence of the adults surrounding either side of the road somehow continually brought me back to the loss.  And, in my journey thus far, I had not yet experienced the begging I experienced in this town; I was fully initiated this weekend.  Children surrounded me at one point, rubbing my skin and kissing my hands, and they kept asking me to, “Give me my money.”

I know they don’t realize what those words actually mean and in no way were they offensive to me, but it was a moment of pause for me, as it made me aware of whose money it was to give.  It was almost shocking to me when that thought crossed my mind, because I have only ever been asked to “give money” and usually always do; ownership of the money was never put into question, and by somehow phrasing it in that manner, I was keenly aware of the need to teach rather than give.  The old saying – Give a man a fish, and you feed him for a day.  Teach a man to fish, and you feed him for a lifetime. – resonated.

I will forever believe in helping other people, but I understand more and more the essential role education and training plays in really fostering sustainable “help”.  Change will only come when the fundamental issues of the problem are addressed and, if possible, amended.  Nevertheless, seeing the sign in the hostel asking guests NOT to give money to the children was somehow reassuring.

Saturday was an early morning, as we prepared for our trek up the steep doormat of the mountains’ house.  As we set off onto our hike, the initial pass was striking to me, as I was amazed by the drop-offs that attached themselves right beside our eight inches of path.  I deemed the drop a killer at certain points, and due to my fear of heights and utter clumsiness, I paid homage to its power by losing my own.  I really wondered whether or not I was capable of surpassing the fear (and shortness of breath!).  However, I somehow pushed through, taking great pleasure when we came upon the leg-breaker drop-offs.  Those I can handle…or, at least, survive.

Our six hour ascent was, luckily, uneventful, and our views throughout the climb were wonderful.  You see why Uganda was termed “the Switzerland of Africa.”  It is stunning.

We arrived at the top of our climb, which unfortunately was not in the actual park itself, but fortunately, it provided a lovely place to camp as well as a reasonable trek for someone like myself.  I was quite happy with our feat, and even more so when the next day brought climbers who had summitted the mountains into my path.  I, in no way, would have been prepared to summit, as it is a very serious climb in need of the proper gear and strength, neither of which I had this weekend.

The trek up the mountain was sprinkled with stories from our guide and information about local uses for the plants surrounding the area.  I found his talk fascinating, as through his telling, I got a greater understanding of the culture.  For instance, we came upon what he termed a “bark tree,” which is a tree whose bark is used in making material for clothing, blankets, etc.  And, he went on, the tree also acts as a lawyer in local disputes; this, of course, left the three trekkers (Jasmine, a gentleman named Arnold from the Netherlands who was on the trek with us, and me) with puzzled looks on our faces.

How is the bark tree a lawyer? was the obvious next question.  Our guide explained.  The tree, you see, is the judge when two people claim the same land.  For, when a person acquires property, they plant a bark tree on that property.  They watch as the tree grows and use the tree’s bark to make clothing (and in my mind, have a relationship similar to the characters in Shel Silverstein’s The Giving Tree).  Should a person (the owner or otherwise) claim the land justly or unjustly, the community will challenge the man to cut the tree down.  If the property truly belongs to the man, the tree will simply fall.  If the property does not belong to the man, the tree will fall on top of him and kill him.  I think it may be the best logic I have ever heard.  The bark tree rests its case…both literally and figuratively.

The campsite where we did stay was also surrounded by children, and their interest in us was interesting to us.  They wanted us to play, and they wanted to us to talk.  They wanted us to take their picture, and they wanted us to simply be around them.  Perhaps, in some way, we provided to them what the mine had once provided to the town – an option.

                                               Playing Throw the Rock into the Hole

                                          Our campsite - Notice the tents in the bottom left

We rested and played with the children, and when night fell onto our mountain, I was quite ready for sleep.  It came and went throughout the hours of the moon, and I wasn’t sure if it was the notion of needing a guard carrying a spear or the rock in my lower back that kept it from enveloping me. 

Either way, when I woke up, I somehow wasn’t tired, as I think the rest I needed was simply a break from daily, all-consuming life. 

            Coming down the mountain only took two hours, and the little rain we encountered was just enough to say I have experienced the rain in the Rwenzori Mountains.  Other than that, our stay was dry, safe, and so enjoyable.  I needed the mountains, and maybe they needed me, too.

            Our drive home in the afternoon was lazy, and we stopped at the salt mines of Katwe before heading back to Mbarara.  Fascinatingly enough, the Salt Mine had also closed down around 1975 due to corrosion in the pipes, and the same rust and ghostly memories surrounded the building’s dilapidated structure.  I realized at this second, decaying location how stories change as they travel from person to person, year to year.  They can, virtually, decay not only metal, but also history.

            I got home late last night and crawled into bed and slumber.  Today proved to be full of go, as I went from one project/issue directly to another, leaving the office at 6pm and not even realizing everybody had left.  I had too much to do, and tomorrow is another day in the field and with my girls. 

            How funny that phrasing it that way gave me another moment of pause!  Perhaps it is good to constantly be reminded that individuals and their spirits may never be owned; they can only be loved and appreciated…which is what I do and feel for my girls.  I guess in that context the “my” is very appropriate.   

September 7, 2011

September 7, 2011

An interesting, and yet maybe humbling, lesson learned for me today.  I was “called out” for a situation deservedly, and I had to realize there are certain things I cannot or, perhaps, should not do.  I think when you come here, you want to try to do as much as you can for whoever you can; however, what I learned today is that there are going to be situations where I can’t/shouldn’t.  And, in thinking about all of these issues, I experienced my own adult form of “time out.”

In this particular reflection on the situation, I realized the answer was I shouldn’t.  Lesson learned, and I hope not to repeat my errors (I will say I don’t have to be told twice – a strong character about me…or, maybe more accurately, the fearful memory of wooden paddles behind the principal’s desk!).  I am learning so much about what I don’t know, and although my error was not intentional or a lapse in judgment, it was a moment for me to question my role and my position during my time here.  And, sometimes, a person’s role may be to respectfully step aside or, perhaps, recognize they should not have been standing there in the first place.  Like I said, lesson learned.

I am new to this world and can honestly admit that some of my mistakes are solely based on my naivety.  The exposure to the business and the public health realms here are very different from anything I have ever experienced before, and I feel I am constantly trying to soak in as much knowledge as possible to make me a better and more educated person.  I have been trying harder than I have ever tried before, and I have realized it is a different type of gumption needed to confess your weaknesses. 

I knew in and out what I did every minute of every day in my job at home, because I was extremely well versed on all it required.  And, now, I have gone from knowing and, perhaps, being comfortable to not knowing and being uncomfortable in that lack of knowledge.  It is oftentimes trial and error for me, and right now, I am simply trying to balance my time as a student with my hope for being a teacher.  I’m afraid – no actually – I’m proud of the fact I may be learning my position is on the student side of the teeter-taught her.  It means I am being honest.

I am, quite possibly, the her after the taught!

Maybe being able to recognize my own shortcomings is the balance needed to tip me in the other direction.  Or, maybe I need every once in a while to be pushed by another to learn more about my own position in life’s fascinating playground.  Or, maybe it is equal parts of the two which make us stronger, more enlightened people.  Trying to do the best you can on the one seat, and embracing and learning from your errors/faults on the other.

Could that very well be the teeter-taught her’s equilibrium?

Cheers to hoping the answer doesn’t play hide and go seek!

September 5, 2011

September 5, 2011

Am I already into another month?!?  It is so difficult to believe that this week marks my 2 month milestone here in Uganda.  How much I have experienced and grown.  I don’t think I even fully realize it yet.

I will admit to being a bit tired, as last week proved to be very exciting and very challenging combined.  As mentioned in my last entry, I held my first focus group with the girls last Monday, and then I had to prepare for another focus group with the parents as well as another meeting with the girls on Thursday.  AND, I had to give a presentation about the project to UNAIDS on Friday!  Needless to say, I worked my tail off, as I wanted all of it to be exceptional.  And, not to toot my own horn, I think it was…

Now, I will not say I did it alone, as there were several individuals who helped me to succeed last week, and to them, I owe thanks.  Whether it be through ideas or constructive criticism or help with the logistics, I feel these people got me through.  So, to those who provided the help, I am forever grateful.

I look back on all that occurred in a week’s time, and I can’t help but to be proud.  The girls were beginning to open up, the focus groups were informative and productive, the program was growing, and the presentation to UNAIDS was, I thought, a big win.  It was a good, demanding week.  And, due to the fact I was an eye in the week’s constant storm of activity, I pulled several late nights and early mornings, and by the end of the week, I was exhausted. 

So, although I did have some friends over for dinner on Friday evening, the weekend was spent relaxing, sleeping, reading, and doing a whole lot of nothing.  It was the rejuvenation I craved, and I was amazed at how much I slept, as I have never been one for long slumbers or lazy afternoons.  I relished the simplicity of allowing myself to stop and reflect and simply be, and my two days of doing so were lovely. 

I do want to go back to the events of Thursday though and quickly delve into the mothers who showed up to the focus group.  Surprisingly to me, they were much more vocal than I expected, and when I probed for information about the girls, the community, or the female situation, they readily gave their opinions.  One woman, who had the lines of hardships and joys on her face, fascinated me.  Her eyes would get big and then her brow would furrow, and even though I couldn’t understand a word she spoke, I loved her story.

Her story, when translated, directed the program to address exactly the issues we have been trying to focus on, and I was relieved to hear her tell me I had the group’s permission to do as I see fit with the program and their thanks for what I am trying to accomplish with their daughters.  I think this gratitude toward me and what I am trying to do with the program is something I have just not allowed myself, as I have been working nonstop and can only see everything that still needs to be done.  And, although I feel I have been fully aware of what is happening on a day to day basis and the overarching goals of the entire process, it took these mothers pointing out the greater meaning and potential that started to make me view things a little differently.

You see, it started raining after the parental focus group last Thursday, and it was a rain that shakes the trees and your nerves.  Moreen (the girl who is helping me to begin the program) and I took shelter in one of the Sub-county town hall’s waiting rooms and looked out into the blinding rain.  She told me her story, too, and I am forever in awe of the resiliency of people.  I went outside to capture the rain, but it slipped out of my hand, as it isn’t meant to be caught.

The downpour lasted for quite some time, and soon after it let up, I saw a woman approaching the hall.  At first, I did not know whether to approach her or not, but I saw her looking around as if she were lost.  So, I asked Moreen to go and speak to her, and sure enough, she had come (a few hours late) to attend the parental focus group.  I kept looking at her and thinking to myself, what about the storm?

After she learned the focus group had been earlier that morning, she took my hand and starting speaking.  Moreen translated, saying the woman claimed to be very, very happy and was giving me many thanks because her daughters were going to have an opportunity.  I nodded my head and smiled, saying thank you for coming, and after many handshakes, she left, walking away in the continued drizzle.  What about the storm?

I think that was the moment I finally got what I had been missing.  I was able to answer the question.  I understood.

I watched her walking away, hoping she would turn into one of the nearby houses so I knew she hadn’t walked very far, but somewhere inside me, I knew she wasn’t going to make any close turns.  I knew she had a long walk.  I craned my head to see how far she was going, and the further I saw her walking into the distance, the harder it was for me to breath.  I knew that woman had survived a down/poor I will never understand to give her daughters the possibility of a future.

What about the storm? 

The mother got wet.  The rain slips away.

She isn’t meant to be caught.

Perhaps such blindness has enabled me to see.

She isn’t meant to be caught.

Focus.

August 29, 2011

August 29, 2011

Today is why I came to Africa. 

I went to the office first thing in the morning to prepare for my first focus group with the girls.  I had surveys to print and items to organize, so I made sure I had all of my needed items ready to go.  Around 10am, I found myself loaded into a UN monster SUV, and we headed up to the field.  We weren’t able to go far, as the rains the last few days made our normal route inaccessible.  Michael, our trusted and deep laughing driver, took us through another maze of streets, ending in uphill curves and muddy roads.  Today, Michael made me realize that driving the truck is an art, as he maneuvered those roads with a grace and calmness of a general going into battle.  Although it is typically a situation in which I might be frightened, Michael’s consistent cool made me ease further into my seat, relaxing the entire time.

We arrived in Kabuyanda a tad before noon, and I went to the community center where we were to have our 2 o’clock meeting.  I set everything out and then triple-checked everything so that I knew nothing would be forgotten, and when I could do no more checking, I settled in to read a book that was recently given to me about teenage struggles.  I read and read until approximately 1:30 when I thought it time to start preparing for the girls.

2pm came and went.  2:15pm came and went. 2:30pm came and went 2:45pm came and went.  It was around this time that I realized no one would be coming to my first meeting.  I started putting things into stacks to be taken home when I noticed a tiny girl carrying an even tinier girl on her back outside the window.  I went outside to take their picture, and as I did so, seven or eight girls sauntered into the center.  SUCCESS!!

My dear community sector (Hilda, Irene, and Kenneth) had come through!!  We started the meeting with fifteen girls, but by the time it was time to go, we had 35!!  I was in awe.  They were very timid at first, not wanting to say anything, but I had planned a “name game” that forced the girls to say their name as well as others in the group.  By the time the interview activity began, I heard a steady increase in their voice. I hope more than anything it continues.

I will say the language barrier between the girls and me is something that I, too, will have to surpass, because every time I tried to say something in Runyenkori, they would laugh and laugh.  I think it made them feel even more comfortable in the setting though, because by the end of the meeting, I had girls coming up to me to ask for my phone number and to see if they could teach me songs.  I said I couldn’t today, but that they were going to see so much of me that they may get sick! 

I left ecstatic.  It is the very reason I have travelled this journey – to meet those girls.  I vow I will do whatever I can to help them learn, develop, and find their voice.  There was immense potential in the room with those girls.  I see it; now, I must put the mirror in front of them.

August 25, 2011

August 25, 2011

            First off, I would like to thank all of you out there that have supported me on this journey and wished me a Happy Birthday today!  And, it very much was!  There were 13 people that came over for dinner, and I will say it was delicious and so much fun!  In fact, it is probably one of the best birthdays I have had in a long time.  The only thing that would have made it better is if some of my Kentucky people could have been transported here.  Then it would have been perfect.

I did think it was interesting when my friend brought up the fact that she thought your 33^rd birthday was supposed to be a big one.  I asked why, as I had never heard anything about that.  She said it had something to do with Jesus being 33 when he died.  Therefore, it is supposed to be a life changing year.  Funny enough, I have been 33 all of 20 something hours, and I would have to agree!

 As for my long silence, I do apologize; however, I have learned that silence itself has a voice, and it speaks volumes.  I hope you understand.

I have had many inquiries about what is happening in my world, and right now, I may only say that things are getting sorted.  Whatever the future will bring me, I welcome it with love and happiness.  I am learning I am happier when I am fully me.  I am me once again.

And, with that said, I was able to fall in love with Africa all over again today.  Perhaps my own birthday present this year was to revisit how I view the world, and due to some down periods, I feel my perception has been a little skewed.  I won’t allow that any more. 

The project has finally taken off, and I have my first focus group with the girls on Monday and their parents on Thursday.  I am thrilled!  I have done so much preparation and work, and I feel I am finally ready.  The program was even on the radio, which for some reason is the signal to me that it is happening.  For that, I am grateful.

It has been a lovely day.  I am happy.  I have amazing individuals that surround me in my life.  I am so thankful for where I am in my life.  And, I am ready for where I am going.  Happy Rebirthday to me!  Cheers to still believing in wishes coming true…

August 14, 2011

August 14, 2011

            The roller coaster continues. 

            Funding seems to be a major issue, and although I would love for it to be easy, it is not.  The money we thought we had procured is now questionable due to budget cuts (typical of all NGOs/non-profits right now), and the project will have to go forward in another, different manner.  I was thinking…open the doors of the youth center now, and all we have are concrete walls.  What am I going to do?  A friend quickly interrupted my thought pattern and optimistically pointed out that I don’t just have concrete walls.  She told me I have an empty stage upon which the center’s participants can produce a fundraising, theatre project.  She encouraged me to turn these unanswerable questions/obstacles into a form of growth.  I love the creativity and hope with which I am surrounded!

 So many of the people I have met here have that same positivity and imaginative spirit, and for that, I am so grateful.  It has been their stories of survival and hope and goodness and will which have made my journey so fascinating and enjoyable thus far.  Had it not been for these individuals, I think the trip would be an entirely different story, a drama with an uncertain ending; with them, however, the ups and downs have been eased, and I can appreciate the day to day activity, unaware and unconcerned right now of its conclusion.

I spent this past Friday night packing up my belongings once again, and I moved into a new home, where I was greeted by my friend Diana and a house with mish-mashed magnificence.  The floors are cracked and un-tiled, holding dirt in each and every cranny, and the walls are covered with spider webs and geckos, both climbing in all directions.   The bedrooms are filled with at least two twin beds and whatever furniture has been left by previous tenants.  The couches, table, and plastic chairs in the main living room are set off by three, different, African-print pieces of material stuck randomly on the walls.  And, the colors throughout the house are as varied and misplaced as my color blind brother’s five-year-old drawings.  It is the Intern House, and I think it is absolutely wonderful.

It reminds me of our space in Canada where nothing quite makes sense individually, but when you step back and look at the whole, it is a home full of noise, laughter, and good discussion.  Diana and I sat talking and sipping our coffee for a good two hours this morning, and I realized around four this afternoon that I had nothing to do.  It is the first time in…well, I can’t remember when that I had absolutely nothing that I HAD to do.  No work looming over my head or house to be cleaned.  No groceries to be bought, and no errands to run.  I could simply just be, and that is exactly what I have done with today.  I have spent the afternoon reading, writing, and even playing a game of my guilty pleasure – solitaire.  And, when the rains began to pour around five, I listened to the water beating down on our little paradise’s tin roof and thought about that song, which goes something like, “I bless the rains down in Africa, gonna take the time to do the things I never have.”      

I will say, as cheesy as it sounds, it has made me think.  Why is it that we, as Americans, feel the need not to take time?  We start elementary school and gear up for middle school.  We go through middle school in preparation for high school.  We complete high school and jump into college.  We spend college trying to get the right job.  We work in the right job so that we can afford the appropriate house.  We have the appropriate house so that the children have a back yard to play in.  We tend to the back yard so that it looks as good as the Jones’ yard.  We keep up with the Jones’ so that we can be successful.  We work at being a success so that our children can attend the appropriate elementary school.  We watch as the entire process starts all over again for the next generation – a new act with different players.

I have always felt out of sync with this progression and have, oftentimes, had to field the inevitable questions that come along with that incongruity.  Why do you move around so much?  When are you going to get married?  Why haven’t you had kids yet?  Why do you want to travel by yourself?  Why haven’t you settled down? 

These questions don’t make me uncomfortable, but I am beginning to realize that I have never understood them – and for no other reason than they aren’t innate to me.  My life has, perhaps, always been atypical for the area I live, but I am learning that my life is not that “different.”  I just have my own set of questions, my own concrete stage.  Where can I move to next?  Who can I meet, and what can they teach me?  How much of the world can I see?  What job is going to challenge and fulfill me?  Why would I settle?

I know it may be hard to understand, but for me, it is the only way I have ever thought and the only way I know how to act.  What is over that next horizon, and how quickly can I get there?  I recognize this way of living is not good or bad or right or wrong; it is just the way I live.  Just like the Jones, living the way they want.

I guess each of us have the life we were meant to live and the questions we were meant to ask – our own little personalized roller coaster ride.  And, maybe it isn’t about how many peaks and valleys or loop-de-loops our track will take but rather whether we are able to let go of the safety harness, throw both of our arms up into the air, and enjoy the hell out of it.

August 9, 2011

August 9, 2011

          I just finished putting together my first class of yoga for Africa which will take place tomorrow.  Word got out that I am a newly minted yoga instructor, and the interest erupted, which I love.  I have tried to forewarn everyone that I may not be the best teacher yet, but I was so happy people were excited to practice that I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.  Plus, it will be great continued teaching training for me, and any donations I am given will be passed along to a worthy cause here in Uganda.  I am most thrilled about the latter, as it is a manner in which I can spread the love I have learned from yoga.

          On the work front, the last two days were spent preparing a preliminary budget for the youth center and meeting with the directors to get approval.  We haven’t officially gotten the “go ahead” yet, but I just know it is coming.  Once we have that, we will be one giant step closer to opening the doors of the facility, and I will be so proud when that day arrives.  However, much work still needs to be done, as each discussion about preparation for the opening leads to yet more and more “action items.”  It seems like a never-ending process, which now that I am thinking it through is exactly how we want it.  We never want this process to end but rather flourish and evolve.

          I, too, am evolving here.  I learn things every day which surprise me, shock me, interest me, and challenge me.  It ranges from delving internally to acknowledge and contemplate my core beliefs to being exposed externally to the parasites that lay eggs on your clothing if you hang them out to dry.  Note…if you are ever in Uganda, you must always iron your clothes before wearing them, as larvae could potentially nest in the fibers.   If they hatch as you are wearing the clothes, they can bore into your skin and become infected; the heat from ironing kills them.  As I write it, I am amazed.  Who knew?

          I went to a lovely bar-b-q last night hosted by several friends from Millennium Villages.  They made homemade chipate, guacamole, mashed potatoes, grilled pork, and sautéed pork; and, I can easily say it was the best meal I have had in Mbarara thus far.  I was so full after the dinner that I was border-line nauseous.  It was gluttony at its finest.

          While there, a few of us began to speak about Rwanda, as my friend Diana had to go back this weekend to check in with the basket weavers.  We were talking about the memorial, the genocide, and the effects the massacre has had on the country.  As we were sitting there discussing it all, Diana says she has a story to tell about her latest adventure to the MVP site.  She begins…

          She had spent the day with the women and had been very productive, even though there was still plenty of work to be done.  Night came, however, and the local people had arranged for Diana to stay in a church/guest house located next to the project.  She and Pamela, her project’s trainer, went into their separate rooms, and Diana began to work.  Time got away from her, and before she knew it, it was 2am in the morning.  She had her earphones in and was concentrating on her work when she said she heard a woman talking to her.  She took her earphones out, looked around, heard nothing, and saw nothing.  She put the earphones back in and, again, heard the voice talking in a language she did not understand.  She took the earphones out, and it stopped.  She put them back in, and it started again, in a very distinct voice.

          Diana, a woman who does not scare easily, knew it must be a spirit of some sort and simply said out loud to please leave her alone.  She said that soon after making the request her bed was pushed roughly, and with that, she was out of the room.  At 2am, Diana went to Pamela’s door and knocked until she answered; Diana slept the rest of the night on the cold floor next to Pamela.  The next morning as she was discussing the night’s occurrences, a local informed her that the church had been a site of mass killings during the genocide.  The voice was very real.

          Perhaps if people or life or relationships or love are left unresolved they will always comes back to haunt us…