seizures.

yesterday, i spent my last day with the kids at kamp.  i am grateful for my aunt and for the chance to meet these kids, although my heart wrenches with the sadness of it all.  yesterday i had an experience that will be seared in my memory, i am sure.  one of the little boys, who looked to us about eight years old but was about thirteen according to the other boys, looked clearly sick.  he was sipping his porridge, sitting on the concrete, looking about ten pounds thinner than when my aunt last saw him a couple weeks ago.  he couldn't focus, didn't talk, was clearly out of it.  the other boys informed us that, although he has medicine for epilepsy, he hadn't received the medicine for about two weeks.  on top of this, he had severe diarrhea for the last week, but no one had seen him or given him any medical attention.  once the little boy was finished with his porridge, he lost control of his bowels, then leaned back and started convulsing.  one of the older boys, who gained the nickname "doctor" for all his caring and love for the other kids who are sick, even in the midst of grieving his mother's death this past weekend, helped him to lay back so he didn't fall down and smack his head on the concrete.  i've experienced the helplessness of a seizure before, where all you can really do is hold someone so they don't hit themselves and let them shake, at joseph's house.  but seeing this little boy, dirty, covered in his own waste, so skinny, shaking and chattering, coughing from the phlegm in his mouth, breathing so quickly, as he lay on the concrete, abandoned by his mother and by the world, really, broke my heart.  that image is seared on my memory. 


all we could do was wait.  when the seizure was over, doctor took the little boy up to the medical clinic, where they refused to take him with dirty clothes.  so doctor and i brought him out back.  we got a pail of water, and doctor put on some gloves and stripped the boy, cleaning him off with his hands while i tried to help hold him up.  we found a clean pair of shorts in trish's car, but the clinic had no towels to dry him off.  we helped him back inside, where he could now lay down on a cot.  we used our msungu privilege to insist that he speedily get connected to IV fluids.  we sat with him as his breathing slowed a bit and he closed his eyes; whether or not he was sleeping, i don't know.  doctor told me that the other boys had beat him up the previous week because he smelled so bad.  i wanted to cry.  i don't know if this boy will survive, and quite honestly, i don't know if he wants to survive.  he has been abandoned by a mother who may have been told that he was possessed by evil spirits that caused his seizure or that it was her fault for being a witch or a bad parent; he has been neglected by the staff at kamp, by the other children; he can't consistently get the medicine he needs to stay relatively healthy.  


what i want, what the world desperately needs, is more people like doctor, more places like joseph's house, where in the midst of deep suffering, there is deep compassion, care, respect to meet it.  and what i need is to continue to challenge myself to get closer to that suffering, to move past my revulsion at the smells and fear at the sights of suffering, my tendency to want to stay clean, not to get dirty.  when this happens, when we really see and touch each other and allow it to move us, we are transformed and the world is changed.  i pray for that little boy, for healing and wholeness and love, somehow in his life.  may we all be a part of that movement of love in the world.

dresses.

as you drive through the streets of kampala, you see many small shops along the side of the road, selling phone time, sofas, bicycles, food, pretty much anything you can think of.  there are also many shops with dresses and other clothing displayed on mannequins outside the shop.  the first time i saw these mannequins, i noticed that something was different about them.  the second time, i realized what it was.  the mannequins have REAL HIPS!!!!  they are not stick thin like the mannequins you see in the malls in the U.S., wearing size zero clothing and making women feel bad about themselves.  no, these mannequins have real curves.  they all do!  it's been so refreshing that i look for the mannequins whenever i go out.  yes, there are still many ways in which women in uganda do not have the same opportunities as men, are not valued as men are, live in a patriarchal society.  but at least they don't feel the pressure to starve themselves to squeeze into a size zero.  they celebrate having bodies with shape. 

it reminds me of a pretty amazing community meeting at j-house one day.  we had been watching kirstie allie on a daytime talk show, and she was talking about her recent dieting and exercising fad to try to loose more weight.  she was self-deprecating and so negative about her body.  in reaction to this, the staff and residents at j-house made a video for kirstie (i'm not sure if it ever made it to her or not!).  we told her that she was beautiful just the way she is, that having weight on you, having curves, means that you're alive, that men and women at j-house struggle to keep on weight as their diseases progress and death comes nearer; having weight means you are alive!  i'll never forget this moment. 

i hope that women around the world can see themselves as beautiful, their bodies as beautiful as they are, that they can strive for health rather than become unhealthy with an impossible obsession.  i'm grateful to all the real women in my life with real curves who have taught me how to love myself.  ladies, we are beautiful as we are!  let's get ourselves some ugandan mannequins with curves and get rid of this toothpick-thin image of beauty.  let's celebrate our bodies!

rwanda.

**this is a long and intense blog, as a heads up**  last weekend, i had the incredible opportunity to travel to rwanda with a group of four other girls.  we left kampala on a bus around 10:30 in the evening, ending up crammed across the five seats in the very back row.  although this was initially fun to be in the same row together, when all the seats in front of us reclined to give us  just inches of room, and when we hit the potholes the hardest, flying out of our seats, we realized that this back row was bad news.  those who know me know that i often have trouble falling asleep in a bed, let alone a crazy, swerving, bouncing kampala coach.  we arrived at the border between rwanda and uganda around 6 AM, making our way in the dark through immigration, stopping to pop a squat and pee behind a small tin fence with our allotted toilet paper squares (only two).  it was freezing cold, even with long pants and a fleece!  after waiting for an hour or so at the border, we rebounded the bus, grabbing some different seats this time, and were able to snooze for most of our drive between the border and kigali.  the sun seemed so bright when we got off the bus around 10 AM on friday after a long night, and we made our way to the center of town to hit up bourbon street cafe for breakfast and coffee.  i seriously felt like i was at tryst in DC, with similar food, drinks, and even crowd.  after some refueling, we checked into a small guest house and then headed by boda (motorcycle) to the kigali genocide memorial and museum.  it was truly amazing.  the museum is extremely well done, capturing the history of rwanda, the course of the build-up to and execution of the genocide, using art, images, words, and audiovisual media to communicate the facts and the stories.  one of the things that was most striking to me in the museum were that although the hutu and tutsi tribes existed before germany and belgium colonized rwanda, they pretty peacefully coexisted until the colonizers built up and further systematized the differences, making claims about differences of intelligence and skill, giving the tutsi people positions of power and influence.  it also blows my mind that i was nine years old when over a million tutsis and moderate hutus were murdered in the one hundred days, from april to july, 1994.  the brutality of the killings, neighbors and friends killing one another, killing tiny children, is heartbreaking.  the lack of the international community or the UN to intercede is also heartbreaking.  being in the museum also made me think about joseph's house, about what it means to remember well, even when it's incredibly painful.  there is a room full of pictures of those who were killed that family members brought to the museum.  there is a room full of bones where names are constantly read.  and there is a room full of clothing from victims.  the last piece of clothing in that room is a red cornell hoodie, another reminder that i am, that we are connected, especially in this global economy, and that the pain and violence and need for healing is in me just as it is in rwandans.  the museum also does a beautiful job of pointing out our connectedness by highlighting several other acts of genocide that have happened in the world. lastly, the museum contained an exhibit with the pictures of children killed in the genocide, ranging from teenagers to small babies.  the picture was accompanied by the child's favorite food, best friend, last known words or sight, and their means of death.  outside the museum are beautiful gardens, full of symbolic flowers, fountains, torches, and mass graves, containing the remains of hundreds of thousands of victims, remains that are still being discovered and brought to memorialize every year. 

after the heaviness of the museum, the five of us returned to town and searched for a place to eat dinner, which was full of miscommunication and long waits but ended up with a pretty yummy pizza.  we returned to bourbon st. for some ice cream, which was excellent.  we walked to see "hotel rwanda," actually called "Sabena Hôtel des Mille Collines".  it is a beautiful hotel, but we were shocked to find that nowhere at or around the hotel is there any mention of the heroic acts of sheltering hundred of tutsi refugees there.  perhaps it is because the hotel owners were unsupportive of the housing of the refugees… but regardless, it was meaningful to visit the hotel.  heading to bed early seemed like a good idea, except that the guest house also contained a bar which blared a mix of east african and nineties dance music until 7:30 in the morning.  after a bit of sleep, some good conversation, and some more bourbon street coffee (yes, we were obsessed), we checked into a different hotel a bit further out of town near the bus station and hired a car to take us to one of the churches where thousands of people were killed after fleeing to the church for safety.  there were several churches where this took place, one in which a priest even collaborated with the killers and had the church full of fleeing tutsis bulldozed to the ground.  we drove about an hour outside of the city to nyamata.  this was the most heartwrenching part of the trip for me.  as you walk inside the church, the benches are covered in piles of clothing worn by the victims of the violence done in this church.  the ceiling and walls are smattered with bullet holes.  the cloth covering the altar, as well as parts of the ceiling, are still stained with blood.  four thousand people had packed into this small church, where it would be tight to have 200 people on a sunday morning, to seek safety, which had worked in an outbreak of violence several years earlier.  this time, however, there was no mercy.  walking around, seeing the piles of clothing, trying to imagine the horror in this holy place, it was impossible not to cry.  down underneath the church, there is a display of bones, mostly skulls, of men, women, and children killed.  the skulls show bullet holds, machete cuts, and broken pieces from beating.  our tour guide, a man whose parents and family were killed in that very church, shared with us that the soldiers asked if individuals had money.  if the person had money, he or she could pay the soldier to be killed by bullet.  if not, machetes or sticks were used.  imagine, paying your murderer to kill you?  this church also has a coffin displayed under a white and purple flag, the genocide memorial colors.  this coffin contains a woman who was gang raped and then killed by a spear that was thrust upward through her vagina to her skull.  she had a nine month old baby.  the coffin is there to pay a special tribute to the many, many women who were both raped and killed in the genocide.  outside of the church, there are more mass graves, altogether housing the remains of over ten thousand people who were killed inside and around the church.  when our tour guide shared that he had been twelve during the genocide and that his family had died there, i asked what it was like for him to be there, telling the story, seeing the bones, every day.  he shared that it was very difficult and traumatic at first, but it has also given him an outlet to tell the story and make a difference.  "although," he said, "we always say 'never again.' never again will there be another genocide.  but we still hate.  so i don't know if that is true, if we will ever reach never again." 

we stopped at one more site on our way back to town, a site housing the survivor support organization and memorializing thousands more victims who were killed after the UN peacekeeping troops, housed near a technical school, decided to pull out at the beginning of the genocide.  as soon as they did, the genocidiers rounded up the tutsi and moderate hutu in the area, but instead of killing them right at the former UN barracks, they marched them down the road to this memorial site.  there is a flame of hope and another series of name plaques and mass graves.  as we arrived, however, there was a large group of people around one of the mass graves.  the guide explained that the bodies had been buried so quickly after the massacre at this site that they had not been preserved, so the families of the victims killed here had come back to exhume and clean the remains before re-burying them in coffins in a new grave so they could be preserved.  what must it be like for those family members who came here for that task?  what is it like to have a whole country traumatized in such a severe way?  it seems as though the series of memorial sites have helped to really honor those who died and continue in the grieving process towards healing, although our guide spoke of the continued tension between neighbors, learning how to live with each other after living in such intense fear or hatred for so long, how to acknowledge the loss and still live.  seeing the genocide memorials, hearing the stories, seeing the remains, this was perhaps the most moving thing i have experienced in my time here.  to witness and hold such violence and loss, and to pray that healing and reconciliation and justice can come, not just to rwanda but to the world, everywhere there is subtle and not-so-subtle violence and hate.

after all this, we did a bit of shopping at a local market and then tried to find a restaurant with good rwandan food, chez john.  very few people in kigali spoke english, especially compared to kampala, and communicating directions proved to be difficult.  we traipsed up the hill where we thought the restaurant was, only to get lost and ask a boda driver.  he told us, "you need to march down the hill."  when we asked how far, he said 3 km… so, as we were totally lost, we had him go get four other drivers to take us to the restaurant.  which ended up being right around the corner.  we got majorly ripped off, but alas, the price to pay for being completely lost in a city and without even any french-speakers in our group.  chez john, though, was totally worth it.  we had delicious fish, plantains, peas, rice, and cassava leaves as early nineties hits from celine dion and others wafted through the air.  we got the giggles and enjoyed laughing, i'm sure in part to cope with the heaviness of the trip.  we then walked back to town, belting out more cheesy love songs and most certainly scaring over several rwandans who passed us on the road.  after one last ice cream and a failed attempt to find some live music, we rode back to our hotel on bodas for a short nights' sleep before getting up early for our bus back to kampala, where we most certainly did not sit in the back row.  i am grateful for these girls, for conversations that showed our differences, for laughter that showed how we are the same, and for holding the space for each other to experience the genocide memorials while not losing hope.  and i'm grateful to rwanda for remembering so well the story of the genocide and for sharing it.  i pray that the healing there will continue, and that each of us can see with new eyes the places and people we are taught to hate or degrade and to heal from this violence.


(pictures will be coming when the internet cooperates a bit more!)

kindred spirits.

yesterday, i had an amazing day with some amazing women, kindred spirits here in uganda. myself and two other wonderful girls set off from the refuge and hope center for refugees where my aunt volunteers. we took public transportation to the center of kampala, which we jokingly called the times square of kampala. i mean, it was crazy. taxis, motos, people, all narrowly missing each other in the crowded streets. we made our ways, me feeling like a baby duck following a mama in the crazy crowd, to the taxi that would take us to halo house, where one of the girls spent a lot of time volunteering last fall. we rode out of the city a bit and got off to walk to the compound. halo house is a house for fifteen girls, ranging in age from 14 to 19, who were formerly involved in child prostitution or trafficking.  we spoke for awhile with the director of the house, mariam, who told us about the center, about the girls who live there, about how they are rescued from the slums or places of prostitution around the city and offered the chance to come to the house, how they provide family, counseling, school fees, and support for these girls in the two to three years they live in the home and then help them transition back into their communities.  it was inspiring to see mariam's passion and love for these girls, the fact that she's taken a significant pay cut, spends so much of her time with these girls, moved her family to a village further away so they could take in five more girls to live with their family in that village who had been in the same situation.  we spoke about the systemic oppression of women, the effects of poverty, the stigma, the trauma, best practices for working with girls who experienced trafficking and sexual violence.  mariam also spoke passionately about building a community of support where the girls see their true value and worth, spend time with men who are not trying to buy them but only to befriend them, spend time with each other, coming from different religions and tribes, to build peace and understanding.

after speaking with mariam for several hours and touring the house, the girls began coming home from school.  each of them gave us a hug and introduced themselves.  and then, we spent time with them just as we would with any teenage girl.  they asked us about whether we had boyfriends, told us about school and asked what school was like in the U.S., taught us a dance they enjoyed and laughed lots when we looked silly.  then they all sang and danced a traditional song for us, and we sang and prayed together before we left.  they walked us back to our taxi, laughing and chatting, holding our hands, asking us to come back and remember them.  it was absolutely beautiful to spend time with these girls, to see their life and friendship with one another and with mariam.  i thought so much of my ladies at polaris, of how i wish they could meet each other, how i wish mariam could come and see the drop-in center.  it is so incredible to make a deep connection with another person with the same passion, across cultures, countries, languages.  i'm so thankful for that time!

the girls trying to teach us how to dance!

we rode a taxi back to the center of town, and finally found the taxi that would take us closer to where my aunt and uncle live.  we hopped on the taxi, turned the corner, and were stuck in a giant traffic jam.  we sat there for probably at least 40 minutes without moving.  thankfully, though, we were right in the center of the action, and there was lots of food that haryet, my beautiful new ugandan friend, hung her head out the window to order for us (as it was now 8:00 and we were really hungry!).  we got meat on a stick, grilled sweet banana, and then things got crazier.  as we teased missy, the other american in this beautiful trio, about her being a vegetarian and loving fish, the ugandan man sitting next to her and laughing at our conversation insisted on buying her a 7,000 shilling fish (about $3, a lot of money for food here - meat on a stick was only 500 shillings, or 20 cents).  after laughing about this and seeing missy turn very red, haryet then encouraged us to buy a calves hoof.  a hoof!  we got a steaming back of hot calf hoof, but the woman wouldn't give us a bowl, so we just sat there in the taxi in the jam, giggling about this giant, hot, nasty looking hoof that haryet was going to eat and i was going to try.  we finally started moving, and we met my aunt at an italian grocery store, where we left missy and her fish and traveled back to my aunt's neighborhood.  my aunt dropped me, haryet, and our hoof off at a local bar and restaurant to hear this ugandan band, qwela, play.  haryet left her hoof with the security guard - ha! qwela was amazing.  so fun, such good beats, beautiful songs.  we sat around a campfire, drinking sodas, sometimes dancing, and enjoying the music.  it was quite lovely.  then, a bit after 11:00, haryet and i headed out, waving down two boda-bodas, or motorcycles.  haryet explained in luganda (thank you haryet!) where i needed to go, and i hopped on, riding with the wind in my face back to the compound.  i do love motorcycles!  i got back, gave the driver 2,000 shillings, and then headed inside.  the guard laughed at me when he asked wasn't i cold, and i replied that i was!

haryet and me with our hoof and some casava.

haryet, missy, and me - kindred spirits.

i am grateful for this day, for riding public transportation with my friends, for eating crazy food, for visiting an amazing ngo, for seeing a fantastic band play, for a much different experience of uganda, and mostly, for three amazing women, mariam, missy, and haryet, kindred spirits that i have had the privilege of meeting here on the other side of the world.

creatures.

this is more of a funny post than a serious one.  i am used to hearing creatures in the night crawling around my room.  the washingtonian mice have succeeded in terrorizing our house, evading traps of all kinds (except for some of megan's magical traps baited with peanut butter inside a nylon stocking).  my roommates can attest to this fact.  these mice have succeeded in dancing across our kitchen counters, running out of our stairs in front of house guests, and even, one fateful night, using the curtains in my room as a playground.  as i’m trying to fall asleep, it’s common to hear little nibbling noises or little feet going pitter patter across my floor.  quite honestly, it grosses me out.  i know that all creatures have the right to live, even the mice.  i'd just prefer if they did it outside of my walls, thank you very much.  

one of the reliefs of living in this house in uganda has been to escape the terrors of the mice.  however, i've still had some funny animal run-ins.  yes, the lions roaring outside my tent in the night were pretty terrifying.  there have been birds chirping outside, the sounds of the dog digging around in the bushes, and incidents with chasing escaped chickens back into their chicken pen.  but the creature that has most closely taken the surprise factor for me here in uganda is the lizard.  they've crawled into the bathroom while i'm using it.  they've creeped across the walls while we’re eating our meals.  the latest shock was as i turned on the hall light the other night, and a lizard dropped from the ceiling right in front of me onto the floor, running down the hallway.  as surprising as they are, though, i must say that i prefer the lizards creeping about to mice.  anyday.  i mean, how cool is an animal that communicates by doing push-ups? :-) 

children's prison.

this week, my aunt took us to a children's prison on the outskirts of the city.  kamp, as i'll call it, is a "children's rehabilitation centre" that was started, we think, by the british back in the 1950s or so.  when my aunt's friend, the director of foodstep, first came to the prison two years ago, the two hundred children living there were all naked so that they wouldn't run away and would be easily spotted by local villagers who would return them for a reward.  children from babies through 18 years were staying together, boys and girls in the same dorms, dirty and malnourished.  they had no access to running water, medical care, education.

my family with the kids who were around at kamp.

so why are these children in a prison?  a variety of reasons, or lack of reasons.  some of them have committed crimes, but these are very few.  one teenage girl is there because her stepfather was raping all the girls in her village, and she was next; so she hit him on the head with a lead pipe, which led to his death and her imprisonment.  another sixteen year old boy is in the prison for "playing sex."  some of the children are there because their father remarried and their stepmother wanted them out of the house.  some of their parents took them their because they were being "too bad."  (my parents sometimes jokingly threatened to send us to finishing school for poor manners, but i cannot imagine being taken by my parents to a prison for acting out at home.)  some children there are orphans with no where else to go.  and many, mostly the very young children, were rounded up in downtown kampala for begging on the streets (usually with mom watching nearby) and brought to the prison for begging.  these little ones are the victims of generational, systemic poverty, and all they know is how to beg.

being at kamp broke my heart.  there are close to two hundred children there right now, but during our visit, many of them were at school.  in this, there is hope.  the work of foodstep has brought running water, sponsors for children to go to school or vocational training, clothing, supplemental nutrition like milk, hygiene products.  foodstep has also advocated for several of the children who were there for no real reason other than being orphans to be released to a home that the non-profit runs.  during our time at kamp, we visited the five children who were in the local health clinic, where other children were taking care of them despite lack of medical attention or knowledge of local health workers about their conditions.  it was meaningful for me to be at the bedside with these little boys and girls, amazing how comfortable i felt despite language, age, and cultural differences to hold a hand, bring water, provide presence, thanks to joseph's house.  we then went to the children's worship service, where the kids sang many songs and shared testimonies.  this was one of the most hilarious moments of the day - the kids were singing a song that i didn't recognize or understand.  the song went:  "Jesus is a weein-ah man, a weein-ah man, a weein-ah man, a weein-ah man."  my sisters and i exchanged glances - what in the world were they saying?  Jesus is a weiner man??  it wasn't until the next stanza that we got it:  "satan is a los-er man, a los-er man, a los-er man, a los-er man."  haha.

sitting at the bedside with one of the girls in the clinic.

after worship, we walked past a cell where six children had been locked up for about two weeks.  they hadn't received food that day.  they had no shirts on - they were in "black out."  we touched their hands as they reached through the bars.  again, the tears were close.  as we walked back towards the cars, we played with the kids, doing hand clap games, exchanging english words for luganda ones for hand, sun, eye, head, drawing pictures in the dirt.  we gave them some toothbrushes and other things that we'd brought.  as we were leaving, several of the little ones made a motion with their hand, from their mouth to outstretched, asking for money.  i had none, and it broke my heart that this is all they knew to ask for.  love is what you need, i wanted to tell them, and that you will always have.

clasping hands with the kids locked in this tiny cell.

playing with some of the kids.

as greg boyle writes in tattoos on the heart (still favorite book!), "recognizing that we are wholly acceptable is God's own truth for us - waiting to be discovered."  these children have been told they are bad, they are useless except for begging, that they must be hidden away, punished.  the truth that i want for each one of them and for all of us is that they, that we, are loved, deeply loved, and that is our deepest truth.  our belovedness defines us at the deepest level - not what we've done or what others say about us, but our wholly acceptableness that God delights in.  i hope and pray that in the next several weeks of spending more time with these children and continuing to support the work of foodstep, that truth will sink deeper and deeper into these kids' hearts, healing the wounds of abuse, neglect, rejection, and criticism.  may we all know more fully our own core goodness and light, and may we live in that light as our deepest truth.

be on watch.

we just returned from our second safari in uganda, one to kidepo national park in the northeastern part of uganda.  the ten of us (five in my family, five in my aunt and uncle's) drove in two safari jeeps a total of about 12 or 13 hours up to this part of the country.  this is not, mind you, because it is hundreds and hundreds of miles away; it is because the roads, especially up north, are so poor.  potholes that swallow up the whole road, and then, no road at all.  enough said.  the main reason for this is that it has only been in the last several years that this part of the country became safe, that the LRA (lord's resistance army) moved into sudan and the democratic republic of congo, among other countries in the region.  we met a friend of my dad's co-worker, who told us his own story of being abducted by the LRA while he was in primary school, a common occurrence, imprisoned when he fled back to his hometown as a "rebel," then nearly killed before he managed to escape.  he now runs a church and a radio broadcast that has been a beacon of hope for his fellow ugandans in the midst of the violence (this reminded me of the concept of post-traumatic growth, where someone who experiences trauma grows in their sense of connection, purpose, or spirituality after a trauma to a level surpassing their pre-trauma experience).  there are several NGOs working with children and adults who have escaped the LRA, but the region is still deeply affected.  not to mention the signs that explain what landmines look like so that local people don't touch them.  it was heart-wrenching to think about all that this country and others nearby have gone through, especially when it has taken such a toll on the children.

the beautiful mountains in northern uganda.

the time in the national park, however, was quite lovely.  we slept in bandas in the bush the first night, where molly and i heard lions roaring right outside (and yes, i became terrified and insisted we push our beds and mosquito nets together... like that would somehow protect us from the lion... :-).  we saw jackals in the morning, some more elephants and buffalo and giraffes, and then, the most amazing thing, we saw two momma lions with their SIX cubs.  it was pretty incredible!  we toured a local village, where they danced and sang and showed us their traditional way of life on our way home, and we also stopped a rhino preserve to see the rhinos napping.  although we are all grateful to be out of the car, we had lots of good cousin bonding time in the hours and hours in the "kid" car.  it was a great trip!

two momma lions and their six cubs... pretty amazing!

elephants!

sisters at the rhino preserve.  naptime for the rhinos.

while being on safari, there is a sense of being constantly on the lookout.  i feel this way sometimes when stargazing during a meteor shower.  i don't want to close my eyes for even a second, for fear i will miss something amazing.  i am constantly looking around, constantly expectant of a beautiful moment.  i wonder if this is perhaps also what Jesus meant when he told us to be on watch, that we never know the day or hour the Lord may come.  i know many christians traditionally interpret this passage to mean the end times.  but what if Jesus is also talking about all the small, beautiful moments in which the kingdom of God is breaking through?  what if be on watch means to be always looking, always expecting beauty and love in the world, looking for God in each moment?  i want to continue to be on watch, not just for animals in the bush, but for moments of beauty in the people and places all around me.  because i do believe that when we look in expectation for the beauty of Love breaking through, we will find it and find ourselves transformed by it.

namaste.

as our adventures in uganda continue, i am grateful for the moments of connection i've had thus far on this trip.  my parents, sisters and i rode on tuesday morning to murchison falls national park for our first safari adventure.  after weaving our way out of kampala traffic, we passed lots of little villages on our way to the park.  at one of the villages, our safari van slowed down to pass through a police checkpoint.  as we sat in the van, a little boy wearing a purple shirt that matched the color of my own met my eyes through the car window.  we both just looked at each other for a few seconds, then both smiled, and right before we pulled away, we both raised our hands to wave at each other at precisely the same moment.  now, i will never know this boy's name, but at that moment, i sensed so fully that we are connected, each of us.  it was a moment of namaste, that which is divine in me seeing, acknowledging, greeting the divine in you.  these moments of connection have come so frequently for me at joseph's house, as i sit with someone who is dying, often in silence, sometime without knowing any more than a name.  but when i'm able to really see the other, whether at joseph's house or in the middle of uganda, i realize that we truly are all connected by the same spirit, the same life, and that our destiny, our common life, is intertwined.  

and not just are we as humans connected, but all life is really intertwined.  while riding with my head poking out of the safari van, i stared graceful giraffes in the eye; a family of warthogs and my family beheld each other in the bush; i witnessed two brother lions, one with only three legs, nuzzle each other before the stronger brother went off to hunt to provide for himself and his bro; i watched a mother chimpanzee clean and feed her baby.  how beautiful to witness the love and connection and life in creation, the same love and care and family that we cherish.  

brother lions taking care of each other.

family photo with the giraffes!

a rainbow across the park.

as we left the game park on our first game drive tuesday evening, we saw a rainbow spreading over the whole valley.  with giraffes and cape buffalo in the background, warthogs running past and birds singing, it was such a spectacular sight.  i am grateful for the way this place is constantly reminding me of my, of our connectedness.  may i and we continue to slow down and really notice and honor one another, to greet each other.  namaste.

eating grasshoppers.

after about twenty hours of traveling on three different continents, we arrived in entebbe late on friday night (uganda time).  we were pretty exhausted, but it was lovely to be met by my aunt and cousin, as well as by the smell of burning charcoal that makes me think, "mmmm africa."  my family lives in a beautiful house here, with lovely flowers all around.  we spent yesterday throwing a bug birthday party for my seven year old cousin and twenty of his closest friends, where they played bug games, got bug favors, and yes, even ate some grasshoppers.  my little four year old cousin stood by the bowl, popping grasshoppers in her mouth like candy... i definitely had my fair share as well.  seasoned and fried, they were quite delicious if you could forget that they were grasshoppers going in your mouth.  it was pretty fantastic.  today, we went to my aunt and uncle's church, mostly a community of ex-pats, where my family was asked to give the message... which meant that i got to preach!  it was fun to share with this group of people (i even threw a little tattoos on the heart in there!).  after lunch, my uncle took us on a drive around kampala, where we saw a beautiful old anglican church, visited some of the government buildings, saw the biggest mess of taxis i've ever seen.  here are some of the pics from that trip:  

a shot from the cemetery at the anglican church on one of the many hilltops in kampala. 

the church itself - finally, a sunny day!

part of kampala from up on the hill.

it is interesting being here as a guest in the ex-pat community; it seems like my family has done wonderfully with making relationships with ugandans as well as with americans, but it also reminds me of how easy it is for us as people to keep to those who look like us, who act like us.  and how difficult it can be to cross those bridges, how uncomfortable, how much more effort, how much more vulnerable we are when we try.  i'm also reminded, in being here and in several conversations with my aunt and uncle, how much bad development work happens in the world, especially in the name of faith.  without humility, without a long-term commitment to building relationships and sustainability, without cultural sensitivity, it is easy for us do-gooders to do harm more than good.  i am hopeful that my time here will continue to deepen my understanding of how we can work in solidarity, in "kinship" as gregory boyle calls it, with those who are poor, empowering and being empowered ourselves, being open, being changed.

back to Africa!

well, after exactly five years, i am fortunate enough to be returning to africa this week!  so much has happened and changed in me in the five years since i spent a transformative summer in zambia with the jubilee centre.  looking back, i feel incredibly grateful.  that time in zambia began me on the journey towards community, towards a life devoted to empowering and solidarity with the poor, towards examining and understanding more fully my own privilege as a white, middle-class person, towards a more vast, inclusive view of faith and of the world where there is enough of Love for all.  that journey has brought me to DC, to joseph's house, to grad school for social work, to life in simplicity and in community... and who knows where else it will take me!  but for now, this journey returns me to the motherland.  :-)

i'd like to clarify my journey, the reasons i'm going and what i'll be doing.  my family (parents and two sisters) are going to be traveling to uganda on thursday to spend several weeks with my aunt, uncle, and three little cousins in their home in kampala.  my uncle has worked in kampala for the last two years, and we will be staying with their family.  our plan is to take some safaris, go chimp trekking, hang out with my aunt, uncle, and cousins, and connect with some of the NGOs and individuals with which my aunt's family has connected in their time there.  in the second week of june, the rest of my immediate family will be leaving uganda (and returning to all over the world :-), and i will have the opportunity to stay with my aunt and uncle through june 24th.  i am looking forward to connecting with the children's prison where my aunt volunteers, with an organization that works with survivors of sex trafficking, perhaps with l'arche in kampala or a quick trip to kenya... there are lots of possibilities!

so, as i begin this journey, i hope to hold that same spirit of openness to really seeing the people i meet and learning from them as teachers.  i hope to learn whatever africa has to teach me this time, and to continue to live into the questions.  i hope to write whenever i can and share my thoughts and experiences, as well as some pictures, with you.  thank you all for journeying with me in this new adventure!

what we see.

the other day, i was helping a client at Polaris with her homework for a business class. she had a writing prompt that included a statistic that the u.s. high school drop out rate is 30%. i commented in surprise, "wow, do you think that's the right statistic?" she responded with equal surprise, "no, that can't be right." i felt myself nodding in agreement, until she continued, "it's gotta be much higher than that. that's what i saw, at least." in that moment, my shock grew even more. i had been thinking that there couldn't possibly be a 30% drop out rate in the u.s., that i can't remember that many people leaving my high school. and then i realized: no matter how many diversity classes i take, anti-racism trainings i attend, books i read about race, class, and other injustices, my experience, which has shaped much of how i view the world, is one of privilege. of course the AP, over-involved, honor roll kids weren't the ones dropping out of high school. i truly have experienced life in a different world than many others in this country. to me, this is why the constant work of self-reflection is crucial. yes, i will always carry the experiences that have shaped me and given me so many opportunities, for which i am grateful - i wouldn't be where and who i am now without them. but as much as i desire to build solidarity with those experiencing injustice, with those of different races, cultures, classes, i must constantly reflect on the ways in which my privilege is constantly informing my interactions, my perspectives, the way i see the world.

last night, i was reminded again of the my limited view of the world. a friend gave me tickets to the woolly mammoth theatre, which was showing a play called "the agony and ecstasy of steve jobs." this incredible one-man show explored the origins of the apple technology company, our culture's obsession with always getting the next best thing in technology. most interestingly, though, the actor had traveled to china to the city of shenzhen where most of the world's technology is manufactured and interviewed workers, clandestinely slipped into the factories, met with secret union members, all in an attempt to see where all our stuff comes from. he met 13 year old girls who worked 14 hour days in factories of 450,000 workers, he met a man who had his hand crushed from the assembly line for the ipad and was not given medical attention, he heard stories and saw people. and this massive economic zone where so many are oppressed is not the result of a communist government, but is the result of multinational corporations, consumerism, capitalism. the point that was most compelling was that we so rarely actually think about where our things come from. we often just assume they are made by robots, by machines. we forget that people, many people, are being paid next to nothing in horrendous conditions to make the things we use every day, the things we depend on. the computer on which i type this blog, the cell phone that i use each day, the clothes i wear are not just things without a past, but they have been assembled by hands of people who i have never seen. i am, we are stuck in a way of living that is covered with the sweat and blood of people, men and women, from around the world. i can't stop using my phone, but i can use the knowledge i have and speak out while i continue to find ways to pursue justice, not just for those who i easily see, but for everyone.

manifesta to young women and girls.

on today, valentine's day, i acknowledge that i am blessed by so much genuine, deep love in my life from my family and friends. thank you! but i also realize that there are many in the world, women in particular, who are abused, who are raped, who are dominated, in the name of "love." i have been faced with the horrible atrocities that women face at the hands of men in my clients at polaris, and the thing i find myself repeating is, "it's not ok that happened to you. you are worth more and deserve more. that is not ok." so, in the spirit of resisting the exploitation of women and standing up for true, mutually respectful, caring, sacrificial love, i want to share a poem from eve ensler's "i am an emotional creature." eve started the v-day movement, standing for victory, valentine, and vagina, to be a global movement to stop violence against women and girls, and she is a woman and activist who i truly admire. i hope you enjoy this poem and take a moment to affirm the women in your life (or yourself as a woman!) for being beautiful and deserving of respect, just the way they are.

“Manifesta to Young Women and Girls”
An excerpt from I Am an Emotional Creature by Eve Ensler
(all added emphasis is mine)

HERE’S WHAT YOU WILL BE TOLD:

Find a man
Seek protection
The world is scary
Don’t go out
You are weak
Don’t care so much
They’re only animals
Don’t be so intense
Don’t cry so much
You can’t trust anyone
Don’t talk to strangers
People will take advantage of you
Close your legs
Girls aren’t good with:
Numbers
Facts
Making difficult decisions
Lifting things
Putting things together
International news
Flying planes
Being in charge.
If he rapes you, surrender,
you will get killed trying to defend yourself
Don’t travel alone
You are nothing without a man
Don’t make the first move,
wait for him to notice you
Don’t be too loud
Follow the crowd
Obey the laws
Don’t know too much
Tone it down
Find someone rich
It’s how you look that matters,
not what you think.

HERE’S WHAT I’M TELLING YOU:

Everyone’s making everything up
There is no one in charge except for those
who pretend to be
No one is coming
No one is going to
Rescue you
Mind-read your needs
Know your body better than you

Always fight back
Ask for it
Say you want it
Cherish your solitude
Take trains by yourself to places
you’ve never been
Sleep out alone under the stars
Learn how to drive a stick shift
Go so far away that you stop being afraid of
not coming back
Say no when you don’t want to do something
Say yes if your instincts are strong
even if everyone around you disagrees
Decide whether you want to be liked or admired
Decide if fitting in is more important than finding out
what you’re doing here
Believe in kissing
Fight for tenderness
Care as much as you do
Cry as much as you want
Insist the world be theater
and love the drama
Take your time
Move as fast as you do
as long as it’s your speed.
Ask yourself these questions:
Why am I whispering when I have something to say?
Why am I adding a question mark at the end
of all my sentences?
Why am I apologizing every time I express my needs?
Why am I hunching over?
Starving myself when I love food?
Pretending it doesn’t mean that much to me?
Hurting myself when I mean to scream?
Why am I waiting
Whining
Pining
Fitting in?
You know the truth:
Sometimes it does hurt that much
Horses can feel love
Your mother wanted more than that
It’s easier to be mean than smart
But that isn’t who you are.