August 7, 2011

August 7, 2011

                First and foremost, I want to thank all of you who reached out to me in my moment of…well…let’s just call it a down period.  I hesitate to use the term weakness, as I don’t think, right now, there is anything weak about me willingly standing in front of so many unknowns and trying to sort them out to the best of my ability; however, the last few weeks were a realization, and, perhaps, one that brought with it some confusion as well as some sadness.  I was writing a friend just now and typed without thought, “There are/have been so many beautiful moments in this journey, but I must remember that - unfortunately - those moments must also be tempered.”  As another friend always says, the best metaphor for life is the ocean, constantly ebbing and flowing.

                I think allowing myself to share the “downs” is equally as important to the sharing of the ups, as it is a more realistic approach to this experience as well as to life.  Not that I encourage everyone answering, “Well, today started out with a contact problem that left my eyes so red and swollen that I ran into a glass door I couldn’t see which broke and cut my hand which then bled onto my sandwich that I brought to work so I don’t have a lunch now” to the simple mid-morning question “How is your day?”  We don’t need to go into ALL of our problems but maybe enough so that we aren’t pretending.  Maybe instead…”It’s been a rough morning, and no, I am not crying.  Just contact problems.  Want to go grab lunch?”

                Filter.  I am definitely learning. 

                On Thursday, I awoke to preparations for my trip to Kampala.  Miranda and I had made an appointment to meet with Esther, the head of the Kawempe Youth Center, in Kampala on Friday; and due to the fact that Kampala is a good five hour drive away, we had to rent a car to get to the city (Again, NO MORE BUSSES!).  I should clarify that the car does come with its own driver, as I would never attempt to drive in this country.  It is a bit too intense for me.

                Our driver, Robert, was so kind as to let me take over position as DJ, and I began playing songs from my I-Phone.  I rolled down the window, looked out over the Ugandan landscape, and listened.  It was as if the previous day melted away, and I now knew that my time here in Uganda had begun.  And, I don’t know if I can explain that feeling, especially since I have been here for three weeks already, but I simply knew.  I am no longer on vacation from life but rather I know that this is my life.  I have arrived.        

     

How does it feel? The air was coolly whipping my face.  My hand was out the window trying to catch the passing wind.  How does it feel?  The music was playing, and it was all I heard.  I sang quietly to the words, allowing my eyes to open and close at their will.  To be on your own.  And, when they were open, I watched the sky and the ground and the faces going by.  And, when they were closed, I watched skies and grounds and faces as they, too, were going by.  With no direction home. Kentucky, Canada, Wisconsin, Indiana, Florida, Maine, Virginia, England, Spain, Austria, Ireland, Scotland, California, Colorado, Tennessee, Mexico, Costa Rica, Kentucky, Uganda.  Like a complete unknown. Wes, Cupe, Mom, Dad, Taylor, Megan, Garnett, Thea, Lizzie, Baby Bale, Baby Kuczynski,  David, Mark, Laura, Jenny, Angela, Lee, Amanda, Brittany, Adam, Joy, Nana, Bumpa, Becky, Brenda, Grant, Liz, aunts and uncles, cousins, camping friends, yoga friends, book club friends, bunko friends,  and the memories and faces just kept coming and coming . . .  Like a rolling stone . . .  and I was home.

            My new friend here, Anna, called me a car crier.  She was right.  I cried.

            We stopped for lunch at the equator, which is one of those statements you never expect to say in your life.  Or, if you do, the restaurant’s name is The Equator.  Well, that was not the restaurant’s name, and we were, for that lunch, still in the southern hemisphere.  Obviously, it was a rather touristy place, with one safari group coming in as another one left.  The six of us (I was with Miranda and then there was also four of the students from Harvard.  They were just in another car.) dined on good food, and I realized we were no longer the tourists; we were not wearing hiking gear or taking pictures, and we didn’t look rugged.  We looked liked students/me who were here for an extended amount of time.  Do I already belong?

          It was around this thought that two small Ugandan boys passed by the café, looking onto the porch and seeing a sea of white faces.  I don’t know if a person can see hunger or if it is just a longing in someone’s eyes, but those children almost made me sick.  A division I have noticed but did not want to believe does exist here.  Had my plate not been empty, I would have taken whatever was on it and given it to them.  Why was it that we were up here eating away, and those two boys were not?  It should not be this separate, and children should not look longingly at food.  That should be a right not a privilege.

          We continued on to Kampala, and I checked into my hotel, looking a bit ragged I must admit.  Hey, I had just traveled six hours with my windows down and dirt and my hair flying.  It was not my finest couture moment.  And, not that this hotel is super swanky or anything, but the front desk lady said to me, “Do you know how much our prices are?”  The class division or stereotype or whatever it is you want to call it had quickly reversed, and I was on the receiving end of judgment; did she think I had longing in my eyes?  It made me realize I should not be so quick to assume that I saw anything in those boys’ eyes but rather just see two boys walking and, quite possibly, making fun of the “muzungu” tourists paying for overpriced food.  I don’t know their situation, and I may only hope the boys didn’t notice us at all.  I turned to the lady, knowing her own mistake, and simply said, “Yes.  I would like a room for three nights.”

          I took a shower that lasted too long and was too hot, but I loved every minute, as that is a rare occurrence in Mbarara.  I was soaking it in.  I had room service for dinner and climbed into bed to read and then to be enveloped by exhaustion.  Lovely.

          Friday morning I was to meet Miranda at 10am so that we could go to a nearby market for some shopping.  I woke up early, went downstairs for breakfast and some reading, and then headed off.  We combed through one of Kampala’s markets, as I was looking for some more clothes.  Coming here, I had been advised not to bring too many clothes, because I could buy them when I got here.  I am not a huge fan of the market, as I have never been one for shopping, and I wish I had brought more of my own clothes.  Oh well…I did get a few cute, practical items.

          We had our meeting set up with Esther from Kawempe Youth Center (KYC) at 2pm, so we allowed ourselves plenty of time to get there, as we knew it was going to take almost an hour.  We got slightly lost, so we had to call for directions; and, when we finally did arrive, we were greeted by a woman, dressed in a cherry red, full pantsuit, waving profusely as she tried to direct us into the center.  Her smile was as big as her arm gestures, and I liked her immediately.  This was Esther.

          After introductions and welcomes, she led us first into, what I have termed, The Library Esther Built.  Books lined the walls on either side of the room, and at the bottom of the binding were precise numbers and letters, clearing stating where each and every book in that room belonged.  The Dewey decimal system was meticulous, and as I ran my fingers across the edges of the books, I was amazed at the variety of literature available.  There were books in the local language, books for teens, books for children, school books, reference books, and even an Encyclopedia Britannica.  How did Esther acquire all of these books? 

          She went on to tell me she was in a partnership with a university in Holland, and many of the books were shipped over by them.  It was impressive.  However, the books are not allowed to be taken off the premises, as oftentimes they won’t be returned, so she next showed us the on-site reading room.  There were chairs and tables and could sit 80 people, and more important than anything, it was being used!  Even as we stood there looking, people hardly took notice, because they were so enmeshed in their books’ words.  I was speechless, and as many of you know, that is hard and rare for me.

          We saw a computer room in construction that should be done by next week; an outside learning area used for peer discussions and learning; a volleyball/netball (basketball) playing area; a children’s room, full of books as well as play items; and, the secretarial area, which is used to generate income for the center.  It was all unbelievable, especially since this one lady’s vision had created it all.

          We next sat down with Esther, anxious to hear about the history of the center and how she came to build such a wonderful project.  She informed us she had always wanted to educate others, and at some point in her life, was forced to drop out of school because her father lost his job.  She got a job as a librarian and put herself through school over the years, earning a Diploma in Library and Information Science.  Her goal was to help children who have grown up in poverty acquire an education and be provided another option for their lives.  And, Kawempe was the perfect location, as it has one of the largest populations in Kampala and is also the most destitute area in the city.  In 1998, she started the process of building her Kawempe library.  By, 1999 the library had opened to the public, and today the library has grown into a full scale youth center, alive with children and the buzzing of activity.  Esther can be seen in every part of the center.  And, if you would like any more information about the center, you may visit http://www.kawempeyouthcentre.org/

          As she was telling us about her story and asking questions about our goals for the Millennium Villages’ Youth Center, a small girl (aged 2-3) comes over to me and leans against my legs.  A beautiful child, I couldn’t resist playing with her. And, before I knew it, she had climbed up into my lap, wanting nothing more than to simply be in my lap.  I looked up at Esther and inquired about the little girl, and Esther told me that her name is Shanita and that she doesn’t have a mother.  I asked what happened to her mother, knowing she had probably died due to the rampant AIDS epidemic.  However, that was not the case, and nothing could have prepared me for what I was told.

          Her mother had thrown Shanita into the trash as a newborn, and a woman found her, saved her, and has raised her thus far.  Esther then spoke in the local language to Shanita, and Shanita did not respond.  I asked what Esther had said to her, and Esther replied that she had asked Shanita if she had eaten today.  Shanita’s lack of response was a clear response.

          Shanita sat with me the entire time we were there, and I allowed her to draw on my notebook, my arms, and even my shirt!  She was so precious.  When it was time to go, I made the move to set Shanita down on the ground, and she grabbed my legs and started to cry.  At first I thought I had somehow hurt her, so I turned to Esther to see if she had seen anything.  Esther smiled knowingly, saying Shanita did not want me to go.  By this time, Shanita is saying through tears, “I want my Muzungu.  I want my Muzungu.”  (Muzungu, just to clarify, is the African term for white people.)

          Esther asked that I pick her back up and carry her to her home.  I did.  When it was again time to leave her, it was obvious Shanita knew what was happening, and she was squeezing my neck as tight as she could.  I had to peel her off my body, as I looked around where I was leaving her.  It was the depths of poverty, and it took everything I had to walk away from that sweet child.  Her shouts as I left brought tears to my eyes.  That is the part of Africa that is the hardest – and at the same time the most beautiful.  The children.  Shanita.

          I went back to the hotel where I had a Skype call about our visit to Kawempe with my project manager in New York, and although the end of my visit at the center was difficult, KYC and Esther overall have given me so much hope and inspiration for my own project.  This was the first time I felt like my job here was truly beginning.  We are setting the foundation.

          Saturday consisted of pricing goods for the center so I can put together a budget proposal for MVP.  After we had completed that, we met with the Harvard contingency for lunch and a quick movie, and then we said our good-byes to that group, as they are all headed back to the states.  I finished the book Outliers, which if you have not read it, I highly suggest it.  I am so glad I was able to finish it before the project really takes off, as there are so many ideas and theories I hope to implement/discover during the creation of the center.  It is a wonderful book.

          Today we had Peter, our taxi driver on the return trip, take us back to Mbarara, which ended up being only a 4.5 hour drive.  We made no stops, which really cuts the time down.  At one point, we got behind a bus similar to that which I rode in to Rwanda, and all of my worries and concerns about that mode of transportation are confirmed.

          NO MORE BUSSES! 

          Finally, we were about 45 minutes away from Mbarara, and Peter mentions that he saw some zebras on the way to Kampala the day before.  I got very excited, as I have never seen wild zebras, and I replied, “Maybe we’ll see some today.”

          And, as if the universe had heard my request, we saw a herd of 7-8 zebras grazing with some local long-horn cattle about 15 minutes later!  I was so excited!  I know the pictures aren’t great, but I was taking them from the car on the side of the road, approximately 40 yards away.  There were two big zebras taking care of a baby zebra, which eventually got tired and lay down in the grass.  It was so fun, and I cannot believe I saw wild ZEBRAS!!  Even Peter said we were lucky, as at that hour (~3pm) zebras are usually closer to water and not within sight.  Yeah!  My luck!  ZEBRAS!!

          Arrived safely back home, did a solo yoga practice, finished writing the blog, and am now going to bed soon.  It was a jam-packed weekend, and tomorrow begins the preparation for opening the center.  With memories and stories and ideas in my head, I am ready to move forward; however, I can only accomplish that because I have a strong foundation built upon a rich past.  Many thanks now, once again, to all of those individuals who have helped shape me into the person I am.  Through your encouraging words, continued time and effort, and unfailing support, I am in Africa.  I hope you know if you are reading these words, you are, too.