THE PEOPLE AND OTHER POINTS OF INTEREST

Note: 2 postings today!

THE ACHOLI PERSONALITY--VIGNETTES

Acellum is one of the evening guards. One early morning while I was out on the porch reading, I met him, and he told me his story. In ’94 (at 11 years old) he was abducted by the LRA and forced to become a soldier. He did not tell me the details of his time in the LRA, but he said that if I were to meet him then, I would be extremely scared of him, that he was a very mean man. He was fighting in southern Sudan when, as he put it, “The Lord opened my eyes, and I became born again.” In 2004, he escaped with his wife and children to Gulu. His ancestral land had been sold, so he is now renting property, has 3 children and is struggling to make ends meet and find school fees for those children who are in school.

While a colleague of mine (Catherine) and I were walking to town, we ran into a young lady she had met the year before. This lady had a deformed face, in particular around the jaw area, and she was carrying a one-year-old on her back. Later, Catherine told me that she had been abducted by the LRA at 12 and served as a sex slave. Her face showed part of the abuse she had undergone. Her child’s father was an LRA soldier, but she named the child “Peace.”

Aliker David is an education officer for IC; he’s responsible for our school and teacher assignments. In the first week, he facilitated several meetings regarding the impact of colonialism on education as well as the effects of the war on the educational process. He noted that when the ICC (International Criminal Court) was set up in Uganda in 2002, it was not welcomed by the Acholi because of its position to prosecute the LRA insurgents. The Acholi did not want to be told how to treat the criminals; they wanted to forgive. David emphasized, “Justice is reconciliation.”

This surprised me in view of his story. When David was a young boy, he had been abducted with his brother and a friend. Before arriving at the LRA camp, he and his brother managed to escape; to this day he does not know what happened to his friend. Of his class of 44 students, only 5 graduated from secondary school—many of his classmates were abducted, some murdered, some have just “disappeared.” Yet he spoke of what the Acholi have named “mato oput,” the Acholi term for reconciliation.

I asked someone later what “mato oput” really meant and was told that it is a meeting between 2 people who are enemies—usually one that has been abused by the other. They meet to dialogue and decide together to end the feud. Then they eat a meal out of the same bowl and drink from the same glass to signify that they are now brothers. (This explanation sent chills up and down my spine and brought tears to my eyes.)

We were scheduled to have a night out on the town, and since I wasn’t feeling well, I decided to sleep a little. When I awoke, it was pitch black (no street lights here!), and there was no one to go into town with. I decided to venture out on my own and see if I could find a bodaboda on the way. As I was walking, I heard a male voice behind me, “Excuse me madam. Could I speak? Please?” I tried to ignore it, but the man behind the voice caught up with me (I can tell you that my heart was beating about a million times/minute!) Then he asked me if I was from the IC house and that he was looking for Jamie, our house coordinator (I was relieved). I told him that Jamie was still at the house. He continued to walk with me, and we both tried to flag down a bodaboda. We walked quite a way until finally we found one that was free. Then he said, “Okay, now I go back to the house,” and he turned around and left. It only hit me afterwards that he walked that distance with me to make sure I was safe.

The Acholi speak softly, smile easily and, warm up to you quickly. Once they know you, they treat you like family.

INTERESTING NOTES

The women and young girls carry everything on their heads: 20-litre (4-gallon) “jerry cans” full of water, a tied up bundle of firewood, often cut in 10 ft. long, thick branches, 50 lb. bags of rice…it’s amazing. I also saw a woman dancing with a crate of soda bottles on her head. They load their bikes in the same fashion—everything from furniture to a whole family of five, baby wrapped on the back of mom.

Ugandans—in the capitol or in the countryside—are very clean. They wash their hands before every meal. Each restaurant has a big barrel of water with a spicket at the bottom and a catch bucket below—and they provide soap. Restaurants who do not provide this will have soap and a bowl of water brought to the table before the food is served. They also eat with their hands; the starchy foods—potatoes, rice, posha (corn), cassava—serve as a utensil to scoop up the beans and other soupier parts of the meal.

GREETINGS, DRESS, and other CUSTOMS

Greetings are very important to a Ugandan. If you meet someone, whether in the street or at school, and you’ve already been introduced, you better greet him (which means shaking his hand and saying a greeting). They have about 20 ways to say “Hello, How are you?” and I have learned nearly all of them since they are so widely used. They also have a special way to greet elders or people of higher position. While you shake right hands, you place your left one under your right elbow. Also, if they know you (and sometimes when they first meet you if they feel a connection with you), they will give you a handshake, then a “thumbshake” or just hold your hand the whole time they are speaking to you.

Also, it is perfectly fine for men (or women) to hold hands while they walk together, but you never see couples showing affection of any type in public.

School dress for women is always a long skirt (or dress), a shirt with cap sleeve or more and covered shoes (although my teachers told me that no one follows that rule anymore). Men are supposed to wear ties, but I haven’t seen too many apart from the headmaster (principal) that do.

It is very offensive for a woman to show any part of her body from the waist to the knee. She must wear a slip underneath her skirt in case the outline of her legs could be seen through the skirt in the light. If it is a little short (where the knee would show when sitting down), she could also wear leggings to make sure the knee stays well covered. Most women do not wear bras and many wear very low cut or even transparent tops; they also breastfeed in public. The big deal is the “thigh”—In passing, I saw a man reading a tabloid with this insert on the front: “Women charges 20,000 UGX to touch her thigh.”

Doreen is our (wonderful) cook and Agnus, our housekeeper/laundry lady. They take their jobs very seriously and are almost insulted if we help with the cleaning up; in their culture helping them would mean they are not doing their jobs properly (shucks—can’t do the dishes!). Also, when our water tanks are empty, and someone needs to go to the local well to get some H2O, Doreen is the only one who goes, as many trips as it takes. Yes, so against our nature not to offer help, but if we go, she would be talked about by the other women in the community because she was not doing her job. It makes me realize that we may have the best intentions, but if we do not really understand the people and/or their culture before acting we could offend or even hurt many.

NAMES

Acholi names have great meaning; many parents name their child after an event that occurred around the time their child was born or something to do with the circumstances of their birth. Usually the boys’ names begin with “O” and the girls’ equivalent begins with “A.” For example, a male named Odoch was a breech (sp?) baby; the female would be Adoch. Okello means he followed twins (Akello for women). Otim/Atim = born in a foreign land. Olum means grass—Olum told me his mother didn’t have time to get to the hospital, so he was born in a field. Ojok means the bearer has some physical deformity.

A student (English) teacher is called Kikweranono, which is the Acholi term for “Why do you hate me when I am innocent.” He told me that his mother was not accepted by her husband’s family, and he was the firstborn. (Once married, the couples initially go to live with the husband’s family until they can afford their own housing. They often stay with or near that family for the remainder of their marriage.)

Doreen, our cook, named her first son Torach (death is bad) because her father had died, and she could not afford to continue her studies on her own (she had to marry to survive). Her second son is Odal (you’ve wasted your time) because she felts she had wasted her time, not having finished her studies. She always wanted to be a lawyer, and now her older son is attending university and successfully studying law.

They are also given a Christian name. Sometimes they introduce themselves only with their Christian names because they know it will be easier for us, but a lot of the time, they give you both. Some of the Christian names are a hoot! Our day guard’s name is Abraham Lincoln, and I have a student named Tony Blair!

SIR SAMUEL BAKER SCHOOL

The first two days of visiting the school were sport days (equivalent to CA picnic). Most kids participated barefoot—some wore running shoes that were shared between many boys. Some were wearing (and even participating in) very heavy clothing: suits, (ties and all), down-filled vests, etc. Elizabeth (my main teacher) told me that since they have to wear uniforms the other days of the week, they like to dress up in all their other clothes when they have a chance. They take the competition very seriously because the winners will compete at the district level (which takes place next Monday and Tuesday) and some could go to state and beyond. They compete by dorms (six in all), and are very motivated because the dorm that wins gets a goat to slaughter. Since meat gets on the menu only once a week, this is a really BIG deal!

Speaking of which, we came home yesterday to see two goats tied up in the yard. “How cute!” we exclaimed. Later, we were told that was to be Friday evening’s meal… While I’m on food, on the way home by bodaboda one late evening, the headlights flashed on children fishing in the puddles with their hands. The driver told me they were looking for white ants to eat--and no, they don’t cook them (I asked).

I had my first day in the classroom yesterday; I mainly observed. They were correcting compositions, and as I said before, class time consists of teacher talking up front and student listening and taking notes in seats. Only ½ the students were present for each class (about 25/60 students); most were recuperating from the sport days. I thought it was funny that the morning class was sleepy and quiet, and the last class of the day was rowdy, like at home. I guess, teenagers will be teenagers, wherever they’re from!

In a nutshell, the school system follows the British system: secondary (high) school is split into 2 levels: “O” (ordinary) level and “A” (advanced) level. “O” begins with S1 (equivalent to grade 7) and concludes with S4 (grade 10), after which they take an exam to enter the “A” level. “A” level is comprised of S5 and S6 (11& 12), another exam, and then off to university.

Also, what you study in university depends on how well you did in that subject in secondary school. When we were visiting one of the classrooms in Lubiri, one of the boys in the back of an S6 economics class called me over to sit by him. I asked him (Daniel) what he wanted to study when he went to university. He said he wanted to be a teacher of history and economics. When I asked him why he wanted to do that, he said that his highest grades were in that area—so he was slated for what they call the “HED” track (history, economics, divinity). Later someone explained that students don’t choose their emphasis, their grades in the subject area do. Makes sense, probably a lot less room for failure this way.

For now I am taking a bodaboda to the school each day; it’s about a 15-minute ride (7k). The bike will be fixed soon, so I will try to ride at least on the 3 days I come back early (the sun sets at 7 PM here). Every child on the way runs out the road to wave at me, wearing big smiles and chanting, “Mesungu! How are you? I am fine,” the only English they know. So precious!

LIFE IN GULU

(Note to my "commentors"--see below)

Well, …
I’ve met a LOT of people—Americans and Ugandans.
Everyone is INCREDIBLY nice.
Ugandans have gorgeous smiles and make you feel right at home.

AND I AM SO SORRY MY PHOTOS WON'T UPLOAD--I've got some priceless ones (you know the kind that paints a 1000 words). I'm going to try plan B next: e-mail them to Leo and see if he can publish them for me...patience! UPDATE: He's done it. Enjoy the pictures.

And btw, I got my luggage (10 days later) so I’m now wearing my own clothes.

Our stay in Gulu started with a few days of meetings, mingled with outings. The meetings were so informative and interesting, but the details would bore you. However, here’s one piece of interesting information:
IC plans on launching their latest program—the handbag project--in Jan. ’09. In short, they would like to create a retail line of handbags with sourced materials. This would provide employment mainly for child mothers (some who were abducted as young as 12 years old) who are often stigmatized and unable to return to formal education. Their idea is to train the mothers and also create a non-formal educational program for them and their children. By the way guys, they are creating messenger bags for men, too!

Among our outings we went to St. Jude’s, the only orphanage in Gulu because normally the community takes care of its orphans. Often family or neighbors will take children all or part of the time if one or both parents are dead or unable to take care of them. Of course, the kids were adorable. As soon as we got out of the vehicle, we were overwhelmed with the smaller ones wanting to be picked up and held. I was peed on, drooled on and had little fingers put in my mouth, and an infant boy fell asleep in my arms. They sang for us (and we sang to them). We played games with the bigger kids for a couple of hours—hopefully my photos will upload and you’ll see how precious they are. . .

THE TEACHING ASSIGNMENT

I am assigned to an all boys’ boarding school, team teaching English and possibly French and religious studies. There are about 850 students at Sir Samuel Baker school, named after the explorer who came to Uganda in the mid 1800’s. Samuel Baker is also called “the beautiful one” by the Acholi because he helped them rise up against the slave traders (the Arabs from the north) to eradicate slave trade altogether.

My main teacher, Elizabeth, is absolutely awesome. We met for the first time last Friday over dinner and connected right away. She is an incredible person. Twice when we parted (taking separate boda bodas to our homes), it started to rain. She called me to find out if I made it okay—and did I get very wet? I had told her that my baggage was missing, and the next time I saw her, she had a dress made for me so I would have something to wear! Her kindness overwhelms me. She knows I am vegetarian but asked me if I would eat chicken if she slaughtered one for me (this is an honor reserved for special guests). Apparently, they put the gallbladder on top of the served dish, (to prove that the meat is fresh) and this delicacy is reserved for the guest (!). I’m trying to prepare myself for that one!

LRA ON THE MOVE

Maybe you have heard, but peace talks officially ended Monday this week. Kony refused to sign and has even decided to recant some of his earlier promises. The LRA is on the move again: they left the game park in Congo where they were staying and have apparently abducted 500 people from the northeast Congo region—(2/3 are adults and young males). They have moved into southern Sudan and plan to attack the SPLA (armed wing of government in Sudan). It seems he is turning into some kind of regional war lord. This is what we were told on Tuesday.

However during our sports day on Wednesday, my teacher pointed out Youssef Adek (Kony’s right-hand man) visiting with some of the male teachers. She said he is tolerated/liked in some parts of the Gulu region because during the LRA raids, his village (close to where we are staying) was not raided and apparently he also protected many children under his own roof. He also made sure that St. Jude’s was not attacked. The government won’t touch him because he is the only man from the outside that can communicate with Kony. So he is able to move freely in and out of both camps.

There is more army presence in Gulu (which is good). One boda boda driver told someone here that Kony’s in Kitgoum (about 100 k from here), but that could be a rumour.

On the funny side: two days ago, I noticed the headlines on one newspaper “Josef Kony dead—committed suicide” When I asked the man reading the paper, he laughed and explained that the Red Pepper is their version of National Enquirer.

UGANDAN SONG AND DANCE

Last Monday was a holiday, and we woke up to the sound of drums. We followed our ears and came upon a group of kids practicing their traditional dance called the “Bwola.” It was funny to see them all in western dress. Dance seems to bring out the best in them—they are obviously having a great time.

During the sports day at school, they played a lot of music—some African—from Uganda, Zaire, Congo, etc. and a lot of American and British music (all types—even religious and country—Michael W. Smith is popular here! One of the teacher’s brother is a famous Ugandan songwriter and singer, and they played one of his songs. Okello (the brother) told me what it said: “Don’t spoil my name (I think meaning my reputation). My name is my wealth and it will serve both you and me.” Another one in Lwo kept repeating the word “superglue.” Someone told me it said that “Girls stick to boys like superglue” and I guess the singer wanted to be that superglue?? Not exactly sure if I got it right.

SURVIVING THE BODABODA EXPERIENCE

Boda bodas are motorbikes that will transport you anywhere under any conditions--really. Same driving conditions as explained in my first entry: they speed ahead, honking and hoping that people will move. Sometimes we are so close to the vehicle coming toward us on our right (or to the bicycle or pedestrian on the left), I expect my knees or elbows to hit something. In a skirt (which is proper attire when attending school), I ride side saddle. By no means does one hold on to the driver, but to the bar at the back of the bike if necessary.

Once we were riding two behind the driver (and it was pouring rain). We were slip sliding all over the red-mud roads. At one point when turning left, the back wheel slid right and I felt as though I was about to fall over so, without thinking, I grabbed the driver around the waist. I wanted to excuse myself in Lwo, so I said, “akara akara” and both the driver and the person riding behind me broke out laughing. Apparently I had confused the right expression, “araka, araka” with the one for a courtship dance! We had a good time with this story over supper that evening.

I started a blog on school life which I hope to publish by the beginning of next week if all goes well!

Comments to my commentors:
Mary Jane--Thanks for your prayers. There are times I know someone has to be praying for me! I hope you're enjoying your summer and especially that Ryan's wedding went superbly! Love, L.
Leo--We've said it all over a chat--don't forget to get that Ugandan address for me! I'm going to try to send you photos via email for you to publish for me...let's see if that works! Love you muchoooooo. yomama
David--hey, thanks for taking care of the household and bill-paying stuff. I have absolutely NO worries, knowing you're in charge 'cause you're sooo responsible. I love you! Mama
Robby--hey I texted you along with David, George, and Carl, but David tells me he didn't get his. I'm going to complain to the company! Thanks for all your encouragement--I hope all at CA's going okay! Mme. M.
Bryana--I miss you--hope camp is going well--I wish I had one of your red curly hairs with me! Love, Mom
Carl--Merci de ton poste! Tu me manque beaucoup aussi, mais je chante cette chanson dans ma tete souvent quand je suis sur le bodaboda. Je vis comme un islander-- vraiement-- heureusement tu m'as bien prepare a l'avance pour ca! Tu aimerais la vie ici--en effet, je te trouve tres africain! Je t'aime beaucoup! Maman

I'M IN UGANDA!

JUNE 3 – MADE IT!

Herbert, the driver from the hostel in Kampala, greeted me at the airport, “Welcome to Uganda, Pearl of Africa…” Yes, I made it to Uganda, but … my luggage did not. I guess this adventure of a trip would not be complete without losing my baggage at least twice. Anyway, the other 7 women teachers are about my size so I get to use everyone elses’ clothes.

When I got to Herbert’s Toyota, and as he put (what I had of) my luggage in the trunk, I moved to the right side of the car to get in—and faced the steering wheel (that amused him). However, riding in the cars is more than a driving-on-the-left experience—there are no rules, no stop signs, no lights, no lines on the road. People just stick the noses of their vehicles out into traffic hoping the guy coming will stop. The horn is the most useful part of the car—they honk to warn everyone, especially the boda bodas (motorbike taxis), pedestrians, or bikers to move over, as they speed to their destinations, constantly passing each other.

Uganda is a lot greener than I thought it would be; this is the middle of the rainy season and it pours at least once a day, which makes mud of their red dirt and increases the mosquito population . . but it is beautiful. The buildings are broken down, but brightly painted—their wares are exhibited in front of their stores, whether couches, pans, or bananas and pineapples (the pineapples are about 3X the size of ours). The people smile a lot and love to wave at or greet the Mesunga (foreigner)—especially the children!

JUNE 4 – SHOES ON OUR FEET

We had two main stops today before our long (and bumpy) ride to Gulu, six hours from Kampala.

OUR FIRST STOP was the US embassy to meet with the ambassador, Steven Browning. You could say that this meeting is a direct result of all those wonderful letters sent by students in the US to their office in Kampala, requesting that something be done for the Acholi people. (Letter writing really does work!) Apparently the embassy even had to hire another person to go through and respond to all the IC (Invisible Children) emails and letters they have been receiving in the last few years. IC has done so much for the people in northern Uganda that it is a well-respected organization that has recently been raised to the status of NGO.

One thing stayed with me about that meeting—he mentioned that one of the goals of the US embassy in Uganda was to help provide stability in the country. When Ambassador Browning first came to Uganda in ’06, he visited the north frequently and discussed with the leaders how to resolve the conflict. He said that when they discussed bringing the “bad guys” to justice, the leaders responded, “Justice is reconciliation.” Ambassador Browning said their attitude shocked him because his idea of justice meant punishing those responsible for the atrocities, while the Acholi just wanted to have their land back, and be reconciled with their neighbours. “What a Christian attitude,” one of the girls in our group said. Although we consider ourselves a “Christian” nation, our sense of justice is often not compatible with that of Christ on the cross: “Father, forgive them…”

OUR SECOND STOP was Lubiri Secondary School, one of the top schools in Kampala. It has 102 teachers for 2000 boys and 1300 girls, 90% of which will go to university. Many things I could share, but the following 2 were the most striking:

1. How attentive they are in class, even though it is basically a lecture-making/note-taking environment, with little interaction between the teacher and students. There were about 160 students packed into the library for study hall, girls separated from the boys, but they all had their books open and were quietly studying or doing work. Same in the classroom—many classes had up to 90 students, yet from front to back of the room, the students were all busy taking notes while the teacher spoke. (I’ll discuss later how the whole educational system works here.)

2. The importance of art in the curriculum. EVERYone has to take art classes as well as technical drawing and home economics (which teaches them to cook as a career should they decide to go there), and they are graded seriously on their work. I hope the photos upload—if you see the girl painting on the fabric—she has created a very intricate stencil and is painting the pattern repeatedly on the fabric in different colours …You can see that the art classroom is loaded with students involved in projects.

We discussed and compared the art programs in Uganda and America with some of the art teachers! Art (and music) are as important as math, chemistry and English—they cannot move on if they do not complete and pass the art requirements. He was shocked to hear how unimportant art and music are to our curriculum (the first to go if there’s a cut in the budget). One of the Ugandan teachers made this comment, “You Americans have shoes on your feet. We Ugandans do not wear shoes, so we feel the dirt and the rocks. We have to dig our toes into the ground beneath us to find our souls.” The Acholi people would feel sorry for America, a land so rich in material goods, yet whose people are impoverished with the superficial.

INCIDENT AT THE NILE

The road to Gulu had been improved from last year, so we were told by those who had previously taken it, the improvement mainly due to a recent arrival of Queen Elizabeth. There were still some pretty bad parts—we were already a little uncomfortable packed 10 in a van (see picture) along with everyone’s baggage.

We made a major faux pas that almost cost us 2 of our cameras. We had to cross the Nile and we stopped to take pictures (from the van). Two soldiers stationed there came up and confiscated our cameras, telling us it was illegal and that they were planning to keep the cameras. Of course, cameras were not what they wanted—they wanted 50,000 Shillings per camera and the shot deleted. We were able to take him down to 20,000 (about $13) each. The worst part was that neither I nor anyone else was able to figure out how to delete the shot without doing an “erase all” deal. Finally, the soldier let us go. Needless to say, the shot that I hopefully was able to upload to this site, is clandestine and worth a lot of money. Btw, David, thanks for the use of your camera—I love the “compactness” of it—but please tell me how to erase one frame…
OBAMA THE BOMB-A

This is mainly for my two boys—Hey guys! Obama is really popular here—all the Ugandans follow the news closely and had a front page spread the day he won the nomination. Obama is apparently Lwo—the same tribe from which the Acholi people descended (although I think from the Kenyan clan). Too bad the Ugandans can’t vote ☺!

Chattanooga to Dubai: The adventures have begun!

In my last entry I wrote “Let the adventure begin.” Little did I know that it would begin in Pittsburgh. Due to weather—then traffic build up, our plane was delayed 3 hours (1 spent on the runway). We finally took off, but once near New York, the JFK traffic controller told us to circle a bit because he could not let us land, (either due to weather or traffic--never figured out which one). After circling for a while, our pilot decided we didn’t have enough fuel to continue waiting, and so we turned around and went back to Pittsburgh!

I was sitting next to a musician who was traveling with 2 other girls from his band. Since there were no more flights going out that evening, we decided to rent a car and drive to NY (6 hours). It was, of course, too late for me to catch my flight at JFK—but I figured I’d at least be there already.

A further complication: my bag was sent to La Guardia instead of JFK. We arrived at JFK at 3 AM and I did the “tour” of the airport to find which terminals to go to for my missing bag and the Emerites Airline desk. By 8:30 AM I was put on standby for the 11:20 flight to Dubai (along with 40 other people!). Then I went to get my lost luggage. I waited a little over an hour until the lady returned from lunch; she could not locate the bag at all even though the computer stated it was in La Guardia. I was really praying, I tell you. Finally, she was able to get a delivery number—we went to the baggage drop off area, and there it was, sitting in front of the door (we were both surprised—what an answer to prayer)!

I got my bag at 10:15, the time I was supposed to present myself at the Emerites counter to see if I could get on the flight. When I arrived, some passengers informed me that they had called a bunch of names already (and mine was not among them), and apparently everyone else had to be rerouted via London or Amsterdam. At that very moment, an agent called out and said that there were 3 seats left. They called a couple’s name and then a few other people who did not respond or who were traveling with someone. Finally, they called my name. All this last minute stuff, and the Lord managed to get me on!

A funny side note: I was in a real rush to get to the gate before it closed—ran the whole way. At security check, I first stood in a shorter line, but a worker informed me that they were closing. Standing in the other line, I glanced over and watched the last person go through the closing line. Then the man behind the machine waved me over. I looked around to see who he was calling—there were people all over the place—and discovered he was really calling me. I grabbed my stuff and got through immediately (which made the original worker mad—oh well). Needless to say, I was the last one on the plane just before the flight was closed.

Worried? Nah! With all these experiences, how can I doubt that the Lord’s watching over me! In Chattanooga, I expected to pay $50 for a weight overage of 20 lbs, but when I told the agent the reason for my trip to Uganda, she didn’t charge me a dime. Also, re the car rental to NY, we were going to split the cost 4 ways. Well, the boss of the other three travelers told them that he would reimburse them, so I didn’t even have to pay for gas or toll roads! And I was supposed to pay for weight overage at the Emerites, but because it was so last minute, they did not weigh the bag, but took it personally down to loading area! The Lord has saved me some money today—and is giving me some serious training for Uganda! On top of this, I’ve had some incredible witnessing opportunities. How can I doubt that He is in charge and that everything else will somehow turn out (for the best)!

I’m on standby for the flight to Entebbe, Uganda tomorrow morning—they only have one flight a day, so I’ll be there early to get my name on a list. I’m taking a hotel in Dubai—it’s now June 2 at about 10 AM, and I am looking forward to sleeping in a horizontal position (the first time 2 days). I hope to post this tomorrow from the airport.

Btw… Thanks so much for your prayers. I covet your prayers! (And thanks for the comments guys! They mean a lot, too!

Let the adventure begin!

I leave on at 9:37 AM on May 31 from Chattanooga and arrive in Entebbe, Uganda (via NY and Dubai) on June 2 @ 2:45 PM. I won't touch American soil again until July 10 @ 5:30 PM.

Something old, Something new

SOMETHING OLD

My first impressions of Africa were probably based on the movie Born Free. My sister and I came out of the theatre dreaming of Africa in exotic dimensions: doing safaris off-road style; sleeping out in tents, cozy under mosquito nets and surrounded by strange noises, and of course, raising lion cubs (and maybe a zebra or two) of our very own. Africans figured little into our visions of Africa.

Films such as Born Free are, granted, beautiful stories set against the pristine backdrop of endless blue skies and Savanna countryside, but they also perpetrate imperialistic attitudes—the free-spirited and adventurous white man, attempting (and sometimes failing) to tame a wild continent—and not getting a spot of dirt or wrinkle on his white, linen clothing. I definitely grew up with these imperialistic attitudes; (being Canadian with two grandparents born in England probably didn’t help). It had never occurred to me that maybe white man did not belong in Africa—that colonization had little to do with “civilizing” Africa, and more with exploiting it, that “our” role has always been the consumer and “theirs” the supplier. Oh yes, the poor children with bloated tummies in Africa made me wince; I felt sorry for them and hoped someone was helping them.

SOMETHING NEW

Another film totally rocked my perception of Africa: Invisible Children: Rough Cut. Three young men traveled to northern Uganda and found that, while lion cubs are still born free, the children in that area definitely are not. A 22-year old war, an unscrupulous terrorist group, a people driven into displacement camps, major shortages of food and water… and educational opportunities—our school viewed it all on a screen. After the film’s showing, the auditorium was deathly quiet—no one clapped or turned to their neighbor to talk, or hurriedly left their seat to get to their lockers. Shock turned to action; since then Collegedale Academy has raised a total of $42,000 for the invisible children school for schools program—winning the School for Schools contest by making the most money for its designated school in Uganda two semesters in a row.

Hence this trip: I was picked to be the teacher to take part in the teacher exchange program. At the moment, I am assigned to “Sir Samuel Baker” school, and I do not yet have a Ugandan counterpart, but am assured one (I think). Of course, everything is subject to change (as Amy, our coordinator, put it, flexibility means everything in this project: read the itinerary but expect modifications—it’s a good thing I enjoy spontaneity).