Summer in Uganda

Closing a Chapter (...and a bit of fundraising)

2005-08-29T23:25:00.000-05:00

This morning I took a hot air balloon ride over the Verde Valley near Sedona, Arizona. It was beautiful - and as we watched for jack rabbits and mule deer and foxes below, I realized how similar the outing was to my safari in Murchison Falls - but how entirely different are the feelings when you are in your own country and with your family....and when you feel safe because wars are not going on around you, and you have 24 hour road side assistance, and you end the morning with mimosas. :)

It was a beautiful trip - we spent one night on the Southern Rim of the Grand Canyon and awoke to watch the sunrise, casting its glow on the canyon cliffs. Sedona was also beautiful - the jutting red rocks that are so exotic and amazing to climb. My architect brother took us to Arcosanti - an urban labratory of archology (merging architecture and ecology - a philosophy of miniturization of societies to live in more efficient, sustainable urban settings) and Frank Lloyd Wright's studio near Phoenix. Not a bad way to transition back. We had some delays relating to the hurricane - and since I was only in Houston so briefly before, I feel like this is my first night home.

I won't be writing any more on my blog now that I'm home again. While I hope that life in Cambridge will be as fulfilling in other ways - I doubt it will be as entertaining to read about. :) One last thing I did want to mention - if any of you (who are not indebted grad students) were touched by the stories you read about Mandela, Peter and Geroge - and would like to support their efforts financially, it would be the most worthy cause that I found in my time there. If you're interested (or if someone you know would be), I would love to share with you more about their organization's plans and the personal education fees that Peter is trying to raise... The 8 Sudanese guys that make up their group are among the most impressive individuals that I know, and I want to encourage support for their efforts - which are truly great - inspiring hope in a place where hope is much needed.

Love to all of you who followed along with my summer in East Africa. I enjoyed writing the blog each day and I will miss it! My life is blessed in so many ways - and in this case, to know I have friends and family who care and to be able to write to you and share the experience with you, well - it enhanced my experience in ways both unexpected and beautiful. Thank you for your love.

Home again

2005-08-26T06:06:00.000-05:00

Just a note to let you all know I'm home again - have been for less than 12 hours and now I'm going back to the airport! Sorry I haven't called - will do so next week! Love to all of you!

Leaving on a Jet Plane

2005-08-24T03:52:00.000-05:00

It's my last day in Uganda - My flight leaves at 11 pm, and to be sure that electronic tickets don't cause a problem I've been advised to leave around 8... My bags are packed, locks on - I'm exhausted, and can't believe I'm leaving... at work they've already taken over my desk :) World moves on ... so after sending one last work related email, I'm out to lunch with Josephine. Hope you are all doing well! My bags are 3/4 gifts, 1/4 everthing else. :) I may have gone a bit overboard in the markets...

Just for travel details - I'll be getting into Texas around 5 pm on Thurs - leaving again Friday morning again for Sedona and the Grand Canyon. I'll be back in Houston around Monday... and will be in town until the 12th of September. I'm planning to return to Boston after that. I don't have a cell phone until I buy one - so call my home phone to find me (281) 361 2028.

Wishing you all a wonderful day. So happy I'll be seeing you all soon... hurrah! Much love.

Purpose and Passion

2005-08-22T02:57:00.000-05:00

This summer my heart has come alive again. After what (in retrospect) feels to have been a two-year flood of career decisions, responsibility, and plans. A swiftly moving current, so often I was up to my neck in its waters. Most of the time, I was just trying to keep up. And somehow within the pressure and plans - without realizing it - I had begun to adjust my expectations of life. I began to think that life would always leave me slightly exhausted from its pull. That my life would be one without passion to fill it... and the best I could do would be to find purpose to guide it, and beauty to decorate the passing days.

But a life without passion? It seemed at the time such a practical "adult" adjustment of my eyes. The disappointments of life were lessons, teaching me that life is not a fairytale or a screenplay - it is not always happy endings and it is not easy. I was feeling that my weariness and my rationalizations were signs that I was maturing - that I was seeing life from a worn perspective of one who has become more accepting and able to ride the waves of life.

I honestly didn't know if it was possible to see life with the same vigor and love as I had felt at fifteen... I even thought that perhaps a life that was passionate was self-indulgent; a daydream I had to let go of ... seeking passion was a distraction from life – a frivolous effort when there are so many responsibilities and ways in which we can live a full life by trying our best. I somehow convinced myself that life without passion was more real than that life with passion I'd had and loved years before. I rationalized because I was worn out, I was trying to keep up, and I wasn't sure if I would ever feel passionate again.

I didn't want to admit it to myself - so I decided to think it was a positive change. That I could see life for its struggle, and no longer be that naive girl who lives in a protected bubble of dreams. I thought I could live a beautiful life by trying to fill each day with small moments of joy, to handle the challenges well … Basically to create a beautiful life by improving how I take life, and to improve how I spend the moments of my life. It was a nice idea, but my own expectations of what was possible were the boundaries of my experience.

Coming to Africa was a blank - some inner stirring was guiding me here - but I didn't know why. I was looking for my purpose...that was as far as my thoughts could carry me. What I didn't know was that more than purpose, it would bring passion. Something that was beyond what I thought possible.

And I don't know how it happened... I don't know if it was the soothing views of Kampala's hills, red and green against a blue sky, or the stars in Sudan, brilliant - that made me feel so small beneath them. It might have been Mandela's dream, his contagious courage ...or perhaps it was Josephine, who has inspired me to be strong. I don't know if it was finding my way home on broken down vehicles or finding my way blessed by a million tiny miracles... feeling fear from touching war, or hearing the voices of Agnes and the children singing in the rainstorm. Perhaps I just got out of my tunnel and looked around.

Whatever it was - however it happened, I'm leaving Africa in three days and somehow my heart is as alive again. And I am filled with this sneaking suspicion that my coming here was not just about Africa, and it was not just about research. It was not just about exposure to another existence or even for the experience of my own enjoyment and growth. Something tells me that, in addition to all of these things – or perhaps through them, that God has leaned down and whispered in my ear …so quietly that I didn't even realize it. It’s as if he was saying - Remember? Here it is. Feel it. Life's beauty is experienced not by sight, but by feeling - it is not our strength but our passion that drives us - life is not to be seen for its purpose alone - it is also to be felt for its passion.

I was living life through the passing view of constant effort - life for me was my impact in the world... and maintaining some equilibrium within me simultaneously ... a connection with God that was just enough to stay on track and to be open to anything he might bring my way. But as much as I grew during this time, my life was still lacking. It was lacking in passion, in full experience of my own existence. I was afraid, I was worn down - I was a normal person trying to make the best of it. I doubted that adult life can be truly passionate because I didn’t feel passion – and not only that, but I felt that the demands and dictates of the world around me might not be met if I allowed myself to make changes to keep the experience a passionate life alive. I saw flickers of it rise within me, spaced between months, but it was not integral to my life. It was pressed down beneath all of the demands and even my own thoughts of what life should be.

And then some blessing brought me to Africa... and through this amazing journey, I have come out realizing how much my life lacks without it. Maybe it took seeing passion in lives that were so different than mine, and feeling the beauty that God can bring even in the darkest places. Something in this experience made me realize passion transcends the constraints of our daily lives - every culture has daily life and demands - but not everyone lives it with passion. It should not be our world that gives us passion, that passion for life depends on our atmosphere and ambience - instead it should be a part of us - from inside. A way of living, not a charmed momentary experience.

I believe somehow God wove a beautiful maze for me to follow - one that would lead me, at least in part, to this understanding that the desire in my heart for more is there because it is possible. That passion does not have to be lost in our modern, rational world. It is here lying and waiting for the space to breathe into our souls.

Life's Dead Illusion

2005-08-16T10:52:00.000-05:00

My friend Robert Provan was reading some Arthur Koestler quotations, and one inspired this poem. He sent it to me as he knows I like his poetry, and I asked him if I could "publish" it for you to enjoy. It is entitled, "Life's Dead Illusion"...

Life’s dead illusion may leave us
Peering through the keyhole of eternity
Filled with fear of a dark void
Beyond the exit of our time and space.
But then we see Your vast creativity,
Starring our future with so much light.
And, knowing Your truth and grace,
Our hearts may grow large again and bright.

A personal note - if you knew Robert you would know how powerful are his words. His body is weaker than most, but I think his spirit is far stronger.

An Enjoyable Murchison Mishap

2005-08-15T08:55:00.000-05:00

Our trip to Murchison Falls is going to be some memory. It began in the ARC office on Friday morning – or maybe it was Thursday when Sanja and I spent too many hours waiting in the hospital for all of my test results to come back. I was mentioning that the one thing I really wished I done before leaving Uganda was to take a weekend trip to Murchison Falls.

Murchison Falls is the strongest rush of water anywhere in the world. More exciting for me is that it’s the Nile River, which I have wanted to see since I was a little girl. And it is known for the wildlife throughout the park - the elephants, giraffes, lions, hippos, crocodiles, and all of the animals that somehow are an essential part of the Africa we dream about. Somehow the combination of the Nile, the falls and the animals made it sound like such a special place… and as it’s much less tourist-filled than most safari destinations, in my mind it was the perfect place for me to experience this part of Africa.

So Friday – right in the middle of a chaotic day of work – we made the now or never decision. Throwing end of the summer budget fears out of the window, I started calling companies to see if we could get a four wheel drive vehicle and if any of the lodges in the park had accommodations. I called the tour guides that had been so helpful in getting me to Bwindi, and they again came through and put me in touch with the right people. They even offered to take us in one of their vehicles – but we the price was too high. Looking back, were I to do this trip again I would realize that with vehicles in Africa – it is worth the extra money.

That said, I didn’t have the extra money – so I called our ARC driver Steven and asked him to find us one of his drivers, who are great for us in Kampala,. Sure enough he got back to me with a perfect price – the exact amount for 3 of us to go (per person) as it would have been for 6 of us to go with African Pearl Safaris. Sanja, Manjit (her neighbor here in Kampala), and I booked a banda at a lodge for Saturday night and planned to return to Kampala on Sunday night – just enough time for a morning game drive in the park on Saturday and an afternoon boat ride down the Nile.

We set off for the park around 1 on Saturday, with our driver Peter in some crazy looking van from the early 90s. But, we had plenty of space and in our excitement, we all looked at each other as if we had inherited a kingdom. If only we’d known. ;) I’m actually glad we didn’t. At the time we settled in happily for the five hour drive. The scenery out the car window never gets tiresome for me in Uganda – it’s as if I’m seeing it with new eyes each time.

The sun was shining in the front window most of the way, and so I just baked in the sun and watched the towns go by. Have I mentioned that Ugandans love to be near the main roads. It is prestigious to live right next to a highway, and entire villages are constructed literally right next to the road. To live out in the bush indicates less prosperity – to live near the road is prestigious and preferred. So the road is the center of activity on cross-country drives, and it’s so funny to me because we are always trying to get away from the busy roads and out into the beautiful countryside at home. Here it is just the opposite.

When we arrived at the park entrance gate, we were all pretty tired … it was a long drive, half of which was on bumpy dirt roads – not by Sudan standards, but still – somehow you get out of the car and just wonder how you are so exhausted when all you did was sit for five hours. We checked in with the rangers and they directed us to our lodge…another hour and a half drive through the park ahead. We were all relieved to have made it. Entering the park it felt like we were finally entering our vacation. Immediately the vegetation changes and you see the contrast in what human cultivation does to a landscape. We were greeted by dozens of baboons crossing the roads. They would run from the vehicle – sort of half heartedly – and immediately return to fill the road once we passed. I love watching the baboons, the way they move is so smooth and their faces are so strange, with those piercing eyes.

A wart hog ran out into the road, his little curved horns like a twirled moustache, and his tail raised – the only dainty thing on its entire ugly little body. I was so excited – my dad has some crazy fascination with the idea of going on a wild boar hunt. (We are not a hunting family – and this has never gone over well in dinner conversations) Anyway, I couldn’t believe after hearing about those crazy creatures for so many years that I was seeing one right next to my window. Hurrah! I drifted in and out of mind musings … when suddenly I was jolted out of my thoughts by a horrible noise – followed by more horrible noises, indicating something was going wrong with the vehicle…very wrong. We had to convince our driver to pull over.

It was a flat tire. In the middle of the park, not another vehicle in sight, and it’s getting dark. So – I asked Peter if he had a spare tire and if he’d ever changed a flat tire before. He said yes to both, and so we all got out of the van and started the process. Unfortunately, the spare was not in much better shape than our completely flat tire, and the jack in the car was not strong enough for the size of the vehicle. I am not sure if we would have gotten the tire changed, had we not been blocking the only road to the park’s main gate. As it was, after a few minutes we had a bus on one side of us and a family of 6 on the other side.

The entire contents of both vehicles emptied out at dusk onto the road, and surrounded our vehicle – there must have been twenty men suddenly strategizing. They in fact ended up lifting the van themselves, forget the jack… and the bus driver saved the day by getting our spare successfully on the vehicle. The bus was full of district officials from one of the Northern districts, and we got the travel and tourist pitch while we waited. The family on the other side of the vehicle was also great and heading for the same lodge as we. We knew we’d have to drive slowly all the rest of the way, so we let him pass us, and the bus as well – and then we set out again for the Sambiya River Lodge.

Unfortunately not more than fifteen minutes later we began to smell the burning rubber of our spare tire, which was not cut out for these rocky dirt roads. We proceeded at a snails pace, as it was now well past dark and we had to make it to the lodge one way or another. I think all of us were secretly cringing – but there wasn’t much of an option. National Parks here have no cell phone coverage, no emergency phones, no patrolling rangers, little traffic, strict curfews – so we didn’t pass another vehicle for the rest of the way.

An owl was sitting by the side of the road, and it looked at us with glowing eyes. I was exhausted, but adrenaline kicks in a little when you start to realize that your driver is scared and totally inexperienced, and that it’s up to you to make the decisions.

When we finally pulled into the Lodge, it was well past nine – so what should have been a five hour trip has stretched to over an eight hour trip. We were so tired and hungry, and to make matters worse – we were starting to realize that without the vehicle, we wouldn’t be able to go on a game drive at all – or even to get someone to drive us the 24 kilometers further to the Nile ferry to join the boat ride. So, basically – there was a definite possibility that our entire trip might end up being an 8 hour ride, a day waiting at a lodge for the vehicle to be repaired, and a direct trip back - with none of the reasons we came an option any longer.

We were all trying to console ourselves at dinner – realizing that the important thing is just to be safe, and that there was nothing we could do but wait and see what the mechanics were able to do. I was surprised that all of the staff at the lodge immediately started sending for a mechanic, apparently people will work at any hour here… but in the end it was decided that the tire was beyond repair and a new one needed to be purchased in Masindi (at least 2 hours away). They even tried borrowing the spare from another vehicle, but it was the wrong size. The van looked like a pathetic hunk of metal now – not like the kingdom we’d climbed into earlier that day.

In my ever-strategizing mind (that my family loves to remind me about), I started to think of how I could still see the wildlife despite all obstacles…. refusing to admit defeat so easily. I remembered that I’d read somewhere in the guide book that one of the fancier lodges had vehicles to rent – and I asked the manager, Beatrice, if she had their number. She claimed she didn’t, despite there being a list of contacts taped to the table next to the satellite phone. Anyway, I became annoyed and decided instead that I’d call Francis in Kampala, the man who I’d booked the lodge reservation with earlier that day. Francis had been dressed in a full suit with and hat, very smooth and helpful, and he was Beatrice’s boss – so I thought that would at least make her realize I was serious. We called Francis, and sure enough he had a possible solution for me.

It seemed that there was an Afritours (his company) vehicle at the lodge, which had been rented as part of a full 8-day safari package purchased by a British woman and her daughter – and there happened to be three empty seats in the vehicle. We were welcome to join them, but only if they said it was alright… as they had booked for a private tour so it would be entirely up to them. I thanked him, and at his word, Beatrice gave me the names of the guests who had already gone to sleep for the evening. We would have to wait until morning to ask if we could join them. So – not knowing the state of our vehicle, or whether or not we’d be able to see any wildlife or waterfalls, we trudged back to our banda and settled in for the evening – but not before stripping down Sanja’s bed that had a blanket full of fire ants. Lovely.

We woke up at 5 am the next morning and began to get ready for the day. I met a nice British woman at the sink, but I didn’t want to startle her at 5 am by asking if she was the Christine Shaw. Instead I made small talk, and I was feeling hopeful. If she was the mother, then surely we’d be able to join them – she was very nice. On the way back to the banda I met her daughter, or so I suspected – also nice. I reported to the girls that I thought our chances were very good. So we threw our stuff together and hurried to breakfast.

Sure enough they were the ones, and they were sitting on the other end of the dining room – after making sure that they’d had their tea, it was another now or never moment. So the girls voted that I should go because I “have a nice smile.” Hahaa – which I think means that I know how to plea. But anyway, I agreed and went to introduce myself and to explain our sad vehicle-less state. The mother Gertrude, and her daughter Christine, were absolutely great and said that of course we could join them, and that we’d be leaving any minute. I thanked them profusely and then rushed back triumphant to the table and we scrambled around trying to get our bags to the van, our driver sorted out and our banda key returned. The ferry left at 7, and it was still a drive to reach the river.

We watched the sun rise on the way to the ferry. It was beautiful, a glowing red ball rising over the savannah. Looking out of my window was the first glimpse of the Africa that I’d always pictured in my mind. When we arrived at the ferry, I could believe I was looking at the Nile. It was huge – lined on both shores with lush green plants, and between them water as smooth as a mirror. Every so often foam would drift down, residue from the falls upstream. We took the ferry across, and shrieked in delight when our driver showed us that the top of the van lifted up to make a covered sunroof, so that we could stand on the seats and look out from the roof – same feeling as seeing a city from a limo’s sunroof - just think safari instead.

Suddenly we were thinking that this flat tire had been the best thing that ever happened to us – our driver would have been terrible at game driving, our windows were tinted and we would have not enjoyed it nearly as much. Having a real safari vehicle was fantastic. With the wind blowing in our hair, we set out on our game drive through the park – which is huge (4,000 square kilometers). Our destination was to go to the delta where the Albert Nile joins Lake Albert briefly and continues flowing north.

Here is where pictures will be so much better than words – we took almost two hundred – (and I promise I won’t post all of them) … but it was just amazing. We saw everything we wanted to see and more… and so many! Rothschild giraffes.. maybe twenty or thirty throughout the day – they may have been my favorites… they are such beautiful animals. We saw Ugandan Kobs, which are a type of antelope I suppose – or at least that idea, and along those lines we saw Hartebeestes and sweet Oribis that are almost like fawns. A patas monkey looked down on us from a tree, and warthog families ran along side us rolled in the mud in the distance.

We saw Uganda’s national bird the Crowned Crane in flight, and the very rare Shoebill stork that looks prehistoric (I am told only 10 exist in the entire park). This is the first time in my life to enjoy bird watching – basically because in this park they are as colorful as butterflies in front of the natural landscape of the savannah. Red bishops, Bee-eaters, Bin-tailed Whydah, Helmeted Guineafowl, Denham’s Bustards, and the Ground Hornbill. We saw a Brown snake Eagle – or two of them, perched so handsomely, and we saw Hadada Ibis and White Cattle Egrets. We saw elephants from a distance, and up close munching on grass with their trunks in constant motion and their ears flapping. We saw water buffalo, looking as mean as ever – and the chubby, sweet looking hippos that are actually the cause of more human deaths than any other animal in Africa apparently.

The highlight of the trip was as we were pulling back into the start of the drive, our driver got a call on the radio that there had been a lion spotting by one of the other drivers that was out. So we turned around and at break-neck speed when racing back to the river delta. Hurrah! Suddenly we are getting a bonus drive – all the way through the park. Only this time instead of peering out for the sight of any new animal, we could just enjoy the ride. Sanja and I were sitting on the roof of the van with our feet dangling inside. We could not stop smiling – it was so perfect. The day was gorgeous – sunny with bright blue sky and cotton ball clouds. Just hours before we’d thought we wouldn’t even get to go – now were in the middle of one of our childhood dreams.

As we approached the delta, we gasped – there were two male lions just hanging out on the banks of the Nile. We honestly never thought we’d see lions – and they were incredible. These were brothers – both about four years old and their faces were so masculine and beautiful – I can’t describe it. Anyway – we just watched them sunning themselves, and they pranced around a bit and stared back at us. It was unbelievable that they were so close. Had we not been on a safari – I’d have been scared. As it was, I was just thinking of Lion Food and how one of these guys took a bite out of his leg! Yikes. But they are beautiful.

After the game drive – which can I say again, I just loved – I mean, I don’t need to go on long safaris, I am not an animal-chasing thrill getter,… but just to experience it was fantastic. We agreed that even if we couldn’t do another thing, that the trip was worth it just for that experience. And it was fun being there with Sanja – she’s just moved back for a year long contract with ARC… her life in Africa is just beginning, and I got to be a part of it with her. We stopped for lunch and baboons hopped around on trees and tables nearby – and we took pictures of the hippos that kept barely lifting their eyes out of the water to look at us.

There was supposed to be a boat ride down the Nile to Murchison Falls at 2 – but we weren’t sure if we’d be able to get on the boat.. we were told it was booked, but again the girls sent me to plea. Sure enough, hurrah! They made room for us. We met some great people on the boat and all watched as we passed elephants, giraffes, and every other animal on the shores – not to mention the crocodiles and hippos swimming together. The trip to the falls took two hours against the current… as we approached the falls there was foam floating in clusters all over the surface of the water, and we could hear the crashing in the distance above the motor of the boat. When the falls came into view at first all I could see was mist … but through the mist you could make out the two breaks and see the incredible force of the water. It was beautiful and powerful, and we pulled the boat up to an island to stop and enjoy the view. This tiny bird was guarding her nest, perched right in front of what must have seemed a massive beast to her, but she didn’t even flinch. Sanja was fascinated by the bird, and had all of the staff checking it out with her.

The trip back was only an hour with the current, and we were tired from the sun that has now brought new kinds of redness into my life – and we just sat back and smiled at each other – both still in disbelief that we’d gotten to do everything we’d hoped – and it had been better than we imagined. Really, it was a beautiful day. We pulled into the port and sat waiting for our driver – and we met Manjit who had decided to walk to the top of the falls instead hoping it would have been faster so she could continue on to meet friends in a nearby town. As it was, our driver hadn’t repaired the vehicle and returned to the ferry until after three, so she’d just returned from the top of the falls.

The bad news was that somehow our driver hadn’t thought to get gasoline for the car – hello? We had over a two hour drive at least just to get out of the park, and the closest town was Masindi – not even funny. So he had to take the ferry back across the river with a can to bring gasoline to our van. This process took him over an hour …. And it was approaching 6:30 in the evening when we finally set out for Kampala. We were wondering at this point whether or not our driver was too tired to drive in the dark, and whether or not we should risk it…

As we passed the lodge where we’d stayed the night before, Peter mentioned that he should stop and check something with the vehicle. Sanja and I both tensed – what was wrong now? It was overheating. So we pulled into the Saimby River Lodge, and Peter found that there was no water in the vehicle. We loved this, as we’d paid $200 in advance so that the car could be serviced. Either no one had looked to see if water was in the vehicle, or there was a crack in the radiator and it was leaking. Peter claimed there was no leak and he just had forgotten to check – “Trust me!” he says… ooh yes, so trust worthy. So we were debating what to do. It was now after 7, you can’t drive in the park after that time – the vehicle has one problem after another and everyone was tired. We decided it wasn’t worth the risk, and we told Peter we’d have to stay the night again and set out early in the morning.

We met our friends Christine and Gertrude again and they invited us to join them for dinner – the two were full of stories of past safaris and life in Mozambique and snorkeling with whale sharks. It was great distraction, and we felt so grateful that they’d included us in their tour for the day. After a while we were all yawning at the table, and said goodnight with best wishes for our vehicle to get us safely home the next day. Another grad student from Berkeley we’d met gave us her phone numbers in case we broke down the next day because they’d be following in our direction in the afternoon. We told them we might actually need it, and thanked everyone for being so good to us.

This morning we woke up again at five, and we set out for Kampala. The van got us as far as the park gate.. it was raining and one of the windshield wipers stopped working… fortunately it wasn’t the driver’s side! At the gate we were told we would have to pay the entrance fee again because we’d stayed an extra day. It think that was the last straw for Sanja –who let that Balkan temper flare in full force. It worked somehow, and Peter paid some reduced amount to get us out and back on the road. As we approached Masindi I reminded Peter that we needed to get gas… he said he knew, and I checked the temp gauge just to see how it was… it seemed normal. About ten minutes later Sanja checked, and it was at max heat again. We pulled into a gas station, and as Peter poured water into the car, it poured right out of leaks in the bottom. Perfect. There was a leak.

So now we had to drive to a nearby town to get it repaired. Keep in mind we were trying to get back to work today – I’d of course called to let them know what was happening – but I have Mandela trying to get in touch with me, and no cell phone access all weekend – and Sanja had a UNHCR meeting about a grant proposal today. It was a mess – I was trying to talk to Mandela before his ride back to Sudan at 10:30, and yet Sanja is worrying we’ll run out of cell phone batteries and be stranded. So – it was getting a little hectic. On the way to the next town (40 km away) we had to stop every 10 minutes or so to refill with water – and the entire van would smoke like crazy. It was crazy. Sanja was flipping out, so with my moderating personality, I became ultra calm and decided this was my African misadventure story – everyone needs one, right?

So we arrived at the town, but there was no mechanic and no network for our cell phones. Great. Peter was becoming desperate and asked me to get in a car with perfect strangers and ride back to Kampala with them. I refused, saying I’d either wait for Steven to send a car from Kampala or that we’d get a ride with that grad student and her boyfriend later that afternoon if we could get in touch with them. We agreed that the van couldn’t go any further – so Peter agreed to ride with us with the strangers – who wanted to earn money by driving us to Kamapala - to the next town where they were already taking three other ladies. So the car is packed – I’d say 9 people in a 5 seater, plus luggage. Oh, and some poor chickens that were destined for someone’s dinner were squawking in the back.

We finally reached cell phone access, just at a corner where these guys were selling kebabs and holding them in the windows and yelling Muzungu, Muzungu! As Sanja was trying to reach our friends. They hadn’t gotten out of the park yet – their phones were out of reach, and so we called Steven to send a car as he’d promised. He hadn’t even left Kampala yet, and we were irritated. Finally we decided that the best thing to do would be to take the offer of these guys to drive us – but I refused to do it unless Peter came with us to make sure we were safe. So, we agreed – he would escort us back to Kampala and then find his way back to deal with the van that we’d left behind. Hurrah! Did I mention I stayed calm – so calm that Peter kept coming to me to avoid Sanja’s anger … begging me to help him. I stayed firm though, and insisted on him accompanying us. I’m nice, but I’m not crazy… we’d had enough go wrong for one day.

So, we weren’t stuck in rural Uganda – no need to convert to the bush dweller lifestyle over this… which in our frustration was beginning to seem the most likely outcome… and we arrived back to Kampala finally around 2 to an office full of “Welcome Back!”s and the like… they were laughing at us, laughing with us – that is the reaction you get sometimes when you travel in Africa. Partly, that it can’t be helped – things so frequently go wrong here – but partly that you were being extravagant to go in the first place, so it serves you right. Anyway, I don’t mind – I would do it again in a minute.

It was nice to pull into the office and be done with Peter .. and thankfully they’d moved the UNHCR meeting and all was well. On days when you are so tired and the Africa learning curve rears its ugly head, you just dream about the most luxurious details of life at home and remind yourself that you won’t always be this hot, tired, red and dirty. While you’re in it though, it certainly doesn’t hurt to just enjoy it. I’ll also always remember trying not to laugh most of the way home, as everything went wrong … one thing after another … and I was enjoying it way too much for poor Sanja’s temper to handle.

Aww… but we made it home, and I think she’ll forgive me one day for enjoying it while she fumed. Some crazy part of me wanted to have a haphazard ride in my first summer in Africa … it would have been too tame otherwise. : ) And for that day in Murchison Falls, it was entirely worth it. I will always remember how good it felt to see savannah as far as I could see, sitting next to Sanja on the top of that safari van, feeling something in the likeness of splendid.

Irrashional

2005-08-12T02:13:00.000-05:00

Bri and Marijane, if it weren't for you in my life, I would never have gotten this far in overcoming my extreme aversion to puns ; )

So the rash persists - oh yes, in all its red and bumpy loveliness. Fortunately I have medicine that keeps it from actually appearing - but the second I go off the meds, it's back...

Now the doctors are getting outrageous - no one knows what it is... they've given me Hep B tests, HIV tests, tests for parasites, you name it... It is out of control, I'm walking around with a magic marker circle on my arm for a TB test and I'm not even coughing. They found no evidence of worms, but decided to "de-worm" me anyway - yikes! Don't worry - it's just two pills. Apparently Africans de-worm every 3 months. (Jess, I'm so much less squeamish now ...I won't be nearly as entertaining) :)

So - the situation is that I am completely healthy - minus the crazy rash that indicates otherwise. So, I am just allergic to Uganda - and hopefully it will disappear when I step onto Texas soil. This is the official diagnosis. If not - hopefully the US doctors in all their glory can figure this out. I'd prefer to avoid an eternal state of redness (as much as possible anyway - given I already blush every five minutes)

In the meantime, major steps towards my paper - I interviewed my Serbian co-worker for 4 hours yesterday about the wars in the Balkans - refugee returns to Bosnia and Croatia and IDP returns to Kosovo... I am totally re-energized about this paper - and I got a contact with someone at the UN in NY that is the former-head of operations for UNHCR in Pristina. Hurrah! and a big thank you to my MIT prof. from last semester for setting that up. Melina, I think my world is just merging with yours...

I contacted Mandela and his crew about getting me a budget ASAP for this concept paper for his film - the guys stayed up for 2 nights in a row without sleep getting it to me - and they did a great job. I am so excited for them, I am going to send off the concept paper to USAID (hopefully) today. I pulled an all-nighter myself, so I told them it's mutual. :) Anyway - I am so happy to help them get funding for their project. It is so fulfilling.

On a lighter note - The Kenyan who wants me as his second wife is in the office for a few days... :)

I tell you, be him African, Expat, Short, Tall, Young, Old, Attractive, or horribly ugly ... There is not a single man in this place (among those I've met) that I would trust with any part of me. Call me old fashioned, call me conservative, call me a sheltered American girl with fairytale ideals - call me whatever you want. But, I would happily stay single before I would spend my life with a man who felt free to cheat on me whenever he wants. Romance here is not even an option... for me, it's not even romantic!

Getting the Concept

2005-08-09T06:03:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I worked all day (and night) on this concept paper that is the first step in obtaining funding to support production of Mandela's film and local partnerships with the other groups that I met with on my assessment trip to Yei.

My boss's actual opinion about how we should present the idea keeps changing - whether we are weighing in the film as the center of the concept - or whether the film just serves as an example of a larger concept of local partnerships.. basically, each time I would go to ask a question, he would have changed the entire thing in his mind and come at me from a completely different direction than where I left him last. This becomes frustrating quickly.

So, I've resorted to the create/critique approach ... he gives little guidance, so I use my untrained intuition about the donor world to write what I think he wants, then I go back and he tells me what is wrong with it - then I change it and go back again. By this time he's changed his mind slightly - but between the steps forward and backward... I do think a concept paper is emerging. Phew. I honestly wasn't sure what was happening there for a while. Frankly, it has not been fun - but I will admit that I'm learning a lot in hindsight. I just wish he'd given me a bit more of a picture of what he wanted from the start!

So anyway, after all of my complaining and confusion - I still was irritated by one key thing. Mandela and his group really want to make a high quality film... they want it to be something that Sudanese youth see and recognize that Sudanese can do what other African nations have done. They want it to be a real film - not just an educational video... with cameras filming from different directions and lighting and with a professional actor with recognition among a Sudanese audience brought in from Khartoum. And they have gotten this actor to agree to join in the project at reduced cost, and they've found a film crew that is willing to film the production. Hurrah! But the cost is about $7000 dollars.

I thought that was great, but as soon as I pitched the idea to my NGO they were already scaling down the dream. No, no, no - tell them to be realistic - we can loan them a video camera and edit it on the mac. We can use local children as actors and maybe do small skits rather than a long film at first. Basically - ARC wants educational videos and although they like the idea of a high quality Sudanese product, it isn't near enough to their concerns to jolt them out of their donor-rejection imbittered state. And I understand that - and I understand if the donor tells us that the $7000 is unfundable that we have to pass that along to Mandela and his group and start finding ways to cut costs. But I don't think we need to start cutting until told to do so!

So I basically told Tom this morning that I wouldn't be satisfied writting a dumbed down concept paper until I heard it from the donor that the $7000 pitch was impossible (because to me that seems incredibly cheap for a month of filming in Sudan). So I spent all day on the satellite phone trying to get through to Rumbek to speak with someone at USAID's Development Alternatives, Inc - a potential donor for the project - to ask what price range she would consider, if any, for such a proposal. I just finally got through - and she ball-parked in the range of $50,000. Oh my lord! I was so excited.

Not only does that make their pitch look fantastically cheap - she was also excited (as was I) by their initiative to get bids in the first place for filming in Sudan. Hurrah! So I get to write the concept the way Mandela and his group really want it - and I feel so much better about doing that. It feels like I'm being true to their dream, which is contagious. Besides, this whole film idea was theirs in the first place - not ARC's. It was irritating me that already ARC was taking such privledges with cutting down their dream without even consulting them, just assuming they'd be so willing to make any video that they'd do whatever ARC said. I always told Tom from the start that I thought they'd make their film with or without us somehow - that they have the heart, and they managed to get their own cd produced, they'll manage this. Anyway - hurrah! This makes the entire project much more fulfilling to me personally.

But the worry is that the donor now may want to kick ARC out of the circle - they may go directly to Mandela's group and fund them without ARC at the table to insure that the end product is going to be something ARC can use it our already exisiting HIV/AIDS prevention programs. My thoughts - to be perfectly honest - are the following. First, any video, unless one that isn't accurate in facts on HIV/AIDS or overly religious when discussing the benefits of abstinence, will be useful to ARC. It will be in the local language, and the message is pretty hard to blotch if you ask me. I think it's more important that they make a high quality film than it is for ARC to be involved.

That said, I think ARC should be involved since we are the main providers of HIV/AIDS education in South Sudan and can provide them with a lot of resources. To me personally, this is not first priority. Clearly it isn't to the donor either - but, to me as the ARC intern - I have to make the case in the concept paper that ARC has a place at the table. The argument will take some work to be convincing - but I think I can do it.. and I'd rather play that game, and defend ARC to the donor, than to be the dream dasher to Mandela and his crew. Hurrah! This has suddenly turned into a very good day.

A Day in the Life...

2005-08-08T02:06:00.000-05:00

First, Mama mia - happy birthday! Hope you are having a wonderful day... I wish I was there to give you a hug and spend the day together! How about 16 days from now? I miss you and love you so much.

I had a relaxed weekend - other than watching the news, it was a much needed rest from last week's intensity. For those of you who know Carl in Boston (from Felix's shoe repair) - I met his family yesterday! His brother meets perfectly the stereotype of the African "big man." He was funny, with a booming voice - constantly asking, "Suzaaanna - How aaare you? Aaare you happy here?" and then exclaiming "Good! Because I want you to be hhhhhappy here Suzanna, you are my guest and I am here to make sure that you are happy here," as I would smile and assure him that I was very happy.

He loved showing off all of his US imported furnishings and vehicles. He and his wife have a very nice home - I felt like I was sitting inside of one of the Nigerian movies that Josephine is always watching. His wife even resembled one of the actresses! From fountains in his living room to wild yard art...to a Mercedes SUV and housemaids who kneel when ever they bring you something. Everything you can imagine brought over from Macy's in the US.... this man likes living large.

I met the Ugandan Minister of Health at his house. He'd been at Garang's funeral on Saturday, and he mentioned how many guns are among the Sudanese - insisting that they need a disarmourment program immediately.

Momentary rant - I can't say I disagree with his observation about Sudan - guns are everywhere. But it isn't like they aren't everywhere here! Every house with a gate has an armed guard - there are guns all over this city... not to mention the LRA in Northern Uganda.. hello?! Why do Ugandans overlook the Northern half of their country just to judge the state of South Sudan. I wanted to ask the guy about what he's doing for IDPs in Northern Uganda where the AIDS rate is estimated to be above 30 percent...

But I forced myself to restrain and just enjoy small talk about how beautiful his country is, how nice I would look wearing the traditional dress, and how I should move to Africa.

I got to see the house where Carl grew up, and I met his grandmother who is in her nineties. Talk about a tough woman. While everyone else greeted news of Carl with smiles and casual questions about how he is doing, his grandmother said immediately that she is angry with Carl. He has forgotten her. It made me sad because of course that is how she feels. I tried to explain difficulties in immigration and the legal system, but I could tell it made no difference to her. Instead I just held her hand and told her I'd been close to my grandmother too and that I understood.

I am making videos for Carl with all his family members speaking to him so that he'll get to see their faces and hear their voices again - he hasn't been home in 16 years, and he may never see some of these people again. This way he'll at least have something to remember their faces and voices... and to see how they've changed over the years. I haven't met his mother and father yet, but I hope to soon.

I took a picture of the house he grew up in, which is just down the road from his brother's home and across from his Grandmother's. The Ugandan's describe how they live "in chains" - meaning chains of generations and extended families - you are never just independent and on your own - you always have other people surrounding you - both in company and also in responsibility. Their lives are full of responsibility for each other that I do not have nor do I want at this time in my life - yet I must say that their lives are less lonely and self-absorbed than ours in the "developed" world.

Actually, I know they laugh at the way "muzungus" here do not greet each other openly and accept one another the way you see Ugandans greeting one another. Instead we sort of eye each other when we meet in a public place - as if to say, what are you doing here? My driver Moses asked me the other day, why aren't Americans happy to meet each other abroad they way African are? I think it's because (as a broad generalization) we are too wrapped up in ourselves... and the last thing we want is to think we aren't unique - that we are just another of a "type" of person that would travel to Africa. Seeing another American is threatening if you're self-worth is based on standing apart from the crowd... so instead of feeling happy at meeting a person, you feel skeptical. I think this is our own little cultural insanity.

I notice this also with dancing. People here just dance - and they like watching people dance. They may recognize someone is a good dancer - but they don't laugh over bad dancers the way we do... nor are they embarrassed about just dancing in front of people...even if just a mediocre dancer. Dancing isn't an image thing - it's just for the joy of dancing. Again, I think we see dancing as a skill and appeal of an individual - instead of just as a common expression of enjoyment. I think they would laugh at our inhibitions to get up and dance. Why be inhibited? Everyone dances. We are all part of the same thing.

But that somehow is not the way we usually see it at home... at least not in my world, which does tend to be filled with perfectionists. I don't know why - except to say I think we need to stop trying so hard to be perfect and "the best," and start trying to be more connected with one other instead. I feel like it would be healthier if we felt like everyone has their place - that there is enough room for everyone - rather than that we all want the same place - the place at the top of the hill and the center of the stage.

Besides these reflections - it was strange to see how a person's place appears after 16 years of absence. The space he filled is almost replaced by new generations and the way life changes over time - but one person bringing news of him reopens his place - and those who remember him soak in his memory for a few moments... before snapping back to the present and going on about their day.

I felt strange being so warmly welcomed into his brother's home - to meet close family members, while I really only know Carl a little. But at the same time, I felt like I was there for him - I'm the first person in 16 years to visit his family and to say that I know him. In making this video and taking pictures for him, I felt good about being there because I knew he'd get to share in it. It was quite an experience, looking into his past for a day.

Saturday was a beautiful day. I was taken around the fabric district of Kampala by my co-worker's tailor. She's going to make me a dress - two as it ended up - I honestly just wanted to get to go and see all of the fabrics and the colors and the ladies with sewing machines packed in alley ways off of Kampala's main streets. I would never have gotten to go in all of these tiny shops had it not been for Irene, and I'm sure she has no idea how exciting her regular errands were to me. We got along well, and she was quite forthcoming with her opinions about what she thought looked good and what didn't - what were fair prices and what were cheap fabrics. In the end, I have to say I had more fun going out and bargaining with this lady than almost anything else I've done in Kampala. It was a whirlwind of color and curiosity of what lay around the next corner... also, personal confession - it was just nice to think fashion for a day. :)

Now I'm back at the office and I have a concept paper that I have to get done today - I've been dreading it because I am just not used to forcing ideas into cut and dry donor formats... but I have to just deal with it because otherwise ARC gets no money for Mandela, George and Peter's film and all of the other great local groups I met with. So anyway - wish me luck and inspiration! Somehow it's easier to write congressional briefings than concept papers. The other looming fact is that I have still received no info from Belgrade on ARC refugee returns in the Balkans, and Sanja is returning today - I am really hoping she is bringing it all with her because otherwise I will have little to go on for my paper in the next 2 weeks. Yikes!

I get the feeling life is picking up in pace for everyone back home ...starting to feel the approaching fall - I don't hear from many of you anymore. But for those who are still reading this, I hope you're all doing well and I can't wait to see you soon! After 2 more weeks in Uganda, I'll be in Texas basically until classes start in Cambridge.

Looking Forward

2005-08-05T02:46:00.000-05:00

About a month ago, something possessed me to ask Senator Cornyn (R from Texas) if he wanted any briefings on the situation in Northern Uganda. The day before Garang's death was announced, I heard back that I should get to work. Hurrah! Initial excitement over getting to write a congressional briefing ... soon forgotten by that phone call at 2 am. The next twenty-four hours made clear what the topic of my first briefing should be - the death of John Garang and its impact on peace in Sudan.

So I found out how to get the Operation Liberty Shield situation reports on Sudan, and I found the websites that all of my co-workers use when they need the latest information on developments there. Suddenly I am a journalist trying to get the breaking story. (thrill!)

And then it came .... that little thought that pops into your mind, seemingly out of nowhere - carrying with it a certain gut feeling that you should pay attention. Even before you do, you are subtly aware that something beyond you is now directing the course of events. It is one thought that transforms what was a typical self-initiated process into a guided one. My nudge was to call Mandela, Peter and George to find out if they were still in Kampala, and if so - whether I could come and interview them about the war, the peace and the recent shock of Garang's death in their country.

What took place as a result of that initial thought was the most intense and spiritually exhausting interview in which I have ever participated. Somewhere during those four hours I physically felt as if my body was no longer being held up by my own strength. Instead, some mustering of all of my spirit was holding me upright - forcing me to sit there like a sponge to absorb every detail of information coming from their lips. It was too much to mentally process - it was too horrible, too in your face, too amazing to digest what the words I was hearing really meant for these men. I just had to absorb it - to take it in and write notes while they spoke. I left them feeling completely drained, my mind almost numb - and it took me an entire day to recover and to feel like I could think about what they'd told me enough to put it into words.

Here is one of their stories - George. He's in his late twenties, a gorgeous dark-black Sudanese man with an unforgettable smile. He lived through much of the conflict in Khartoum, and was educated among the Arabs, now speaking Arabic more fluently than English or his own native language. It was during the war that George escaped from his home in Juba to reach Khartoum.

It day in which Juba was under attack - both by land and air strikes from the Government of Sudan army. A plane had landed at the airstrip bringing food relief from the World Food Program. In the bad weather and insecurity from the attack, the pilot feared that the plane would not be able to take off and remain steady without the weight of the food in the plane. He yelled for George and a few other youth fleeing bullets to jump in the plane. They did, and George landed in Khartoum a few hours later with nothing and knowing no one.

The Government of Sudan sent George and many other displaced South Sudanese about 40 miles outside of the capital city to start a life for themselves in the desert. They were only allowed to move into the communities of Khartoum if they were enrolled in schools. George enrolled, and faced considerable discrimination for not having a Muslim or Arabic name. He was "forced" to take and pass Arabic in order to be admitted into a university in Sudan, and he was limited in the subjects that he was allowed to take. No South Sudanese could study politics or law or economics - instead he was limited to agriculture, military strategy or aviation. George chose aviation, and completed his university studies.

Upon completion of the course requirements, George was told that he would not be granted his diploma until he went to South Sudan and spent two years fighting against his own people. Many of George's classmates were told the same, but they were filled with inaccurate stories of the SPLM as a debunk rebel group without adequate arms or capacity - that they would go to the South and find seven SPLM soldiers sharing one gun and easily end the conflict. They were told that they were going on training missions, and suddenly they would end up on the front line near their home village. In this way, George, Mandela and Peter all knew of brothers who literally faced their own brothers in the bush.

George's father had sent to him a letter describing their vision for self-determination and religious freedom in South Sudan, and that they were fighting Northern oppression. His father warned that if he chose to follow the path of the university to fight against his own people, then he did not share this vision and he was no longer a South Sudanese son. George refused to join the Government of Sudan's forces and therefore his entire college education was never recognized. George did not return to Juba to see his mother and father again for over ten years.

George describes the persecution he faced as a Christian as intense - he has watched churches burn and people die - and he described the strength of the people who rebuilt them time and time again. He says that in the South of Sudan, religion is taken for granted - I wonder what he would say of religion in the Western world. On the streets of Khartoum during two decades of war, George witnessed religious intolerance in a direct and personal way.

I wonder how did he know who he was in a land of strangers? Having never been persecuted - never tested in that way with life or death - I have never experienced what it is inside of a person that tells them even at such a young age that they are Christian, no matter what it brings. I do not know if he is exceptional, and if many of his classmates converted and adjusted to life in Khartoum. All I know is that George does not believe in God in the way many imagine religion in poor, developing countries to be - as an opiate for the uneducated masses or a social event once a week that holds the community together. George believes in God, with a faith that he clearly depends on to get him through his daily life, and even if it takes his life.

The words these men use to describe Muslims in Sudan is similar to George Bush's word choice in his "war on terror." - only these guys have been in war, and they have been the ones that were told to become Muslim or be ruled by them. That they would have to live under sharia, and that they would never be able to lead their own country because no non-muslim can rule over muslims.

Although at times I felt sad just hearing this discussion of one religion against another, I was amazed when at their own initiative they described how the religion is being used by Muslim leaders for political purposes. These men, though they have suffered, do not hate Muslims, they hate the imposition of the Islamic faith on themselves and the discrimination they face for not being Muslim.

George was in Darfur and described the conversations he's had with people there who have been told since childhood that the United States is leading the crusade against Islam and is therefore their greatest enemy. As they see all of their food and assistance arriving from the World Food Program, they realize that it is their greatest enemy that is keeping them alive. He says in these situations Muslims begin to question what they've been taught - I was close to tears listening to these men explain to me the way in which they have watched how brain washing works.

He watched as year after year his curriculum was altered - they changed all of the names to be Muslim, and they even rewrote the history of the arrival of the Arabs into Sudan to be worded as the arrival of "the people," so as not to give the perception that they were outsiders entering an already inhabited country. The Arabs did own most of the stores and carry most of the wealth in Khartoum, and the life George describes reminded me of the Jewish ghettos. He was refused as a customer in shops, he always moved in groups of 6 at least for protection, and he somehow maintained his faith and incredible inner strength and optimism throughout.

If you see him sitting across from you, telling you this story - his beautiful smile appearing at the most tragic moments as if to make it less difficult for you to hear - if you see him tell you his story you can think of nothing but awe for who he has become.

Mandela and Peter are the same. Mandela hasn't seen his family in over 15 years. He lived in the bush for 2 years trying to escape the violence. When they begin to tell you their stories they look away, and they admit that they don't like to think about it - it brings back vivid memories of things so horrible that they kept themselves from speaking about. These men are now brothers to one another - an odd family of eight men that have only each other to understand their own experience and to provide some kind of space in which they can feel safe. None of them expected to live to be this age, as death in Sudan was seen always as close as a day away.

What were they fighting for? The SPLM/A from my Western perspective seemed a rebel group full of factions, of power-grabs, and of some disgusting obsession with war that could motivate them to remain in the bush for 20 years. I've read stories of human rights atrocities committed on all sides, and I did not have a clear understanding of why the South Sudanese so revere John Garang after being so traumatized by the war he initiated. I thought that after enough of the horrible gray area that arises in war - where no side appears to be good - that people would become disillusioned with both and lose track of what they were fighting for in the first place - just hoping for the violence to stop. But this is far from the case in South Sudan.

The South Sudanese begin telling you of their history with stories of exploitation, Black slavery (as recent as the 1990's) and the handover of power from the British to the Arabs, excluding the Black Africans from representation in their own country since independence. Brief hope in the 70's were quickly dashed by the discovery of oil in the South, the revenues of which were enjoyed by the North. They describe divide and conquer tactics used against them by the Government of Sudan, keeping them weak. They describe the mentality which pervades their culture that Black Africans cannot go head to head with the Arabs, that they are inferior. They describe a history of Black African leaders that let down their own people, allowing themselves to be bought with bribes.

This was the power of John Garang. He climbed in the ranks of the Arab North's own military before he defected in 1983, and he is rumored (perhaps adding to his larger-than-life persona) to have refused to speak to any Arabs during the entire conflict until the negotiations began in Nairobi. He then went head to head with the Arabs to become the first Black African and the first Christian ever to hold such rank in the government. He was uncompromising in his vision, and on July 9, 2005 at his inauguration he showed the Black African Sudanese that they could stand as equals in Khartoum.

With the loss of Garang less than 3 weeks later, what Mandela fears most is that the South Sudanese leaders that replace him will not be men of such uncompromising vision. He fears the temptations they will face to sell out and lose the progress Garang has made. The Arabs have the money in the country, and there are so many needs in the South. It could be easy to buy off access to resources for the immediate exchange of a hospital constructed or a school... but to have a leader unwilling to settle for marginal gains. To have a leader that is willing to fight for two decades for a vision of self-determination of his people - now you see. To know a man was willing to fight in the bush for 20 years rather than compromise. That is who John Garang was. That is his legacy.

Even as a Western girl with a life so different it is almost uncomparable - through their words I could feel the power of John Garang. It gave me goosebumps listening to the impact that the life of one man had on giving them hope for the future of their nation. But you could easily argue the opposite - at what cost did this come? 2 million died. 4 million displaced. 20 years of violence. Was it worth it?

Was it worth it is not a question that the South Sudanese ask themselves. These are people who saw themselves as slaves, and who are so desperate to become their own masters. John Garang was their Moses. Now they are looking for their Joseph, hoping God will not forget his people in South Sudan.

Inside those words, if you sit long enough you begin to understand the power behind John Garang's movement. I am trying to describe it to you as they did to me, because I cannot give you an unbiased view or a context in which to understand it. It is as foreign to me as it is to you - the temptation of the drama feeds our hollywood minds - but the reality of the story makes us shudder.

Mandela said that many wars in Africa are pointless wars of opportunists and greed - but that theirs is a real war. A "just war." Whether or not it was just, I do see what he was trying to say. When I first arrived in Sudan I described a political tension and strength underlying the poverty and desperation that I hadn't found in Northern Uganda. This was a war supported by the people, built upon a history of greivances and oppression so dark that it could fuel the fire in the hearts of people through 20 years of what must have been hell on earth. Theirs is a "real war" in that common people knew why they were fighting it.

These amazing men, who described all of this to me. Just when I am sinking into what is the mire of their history and feeling the hopelessness of finding justice that could mend its eternal sting - Just when I am thinking history will never stop repeating these grievances, just at that moment, Peter looked at me and said the following:

"Suzanna, three words have gotten me through my life. Fear, Dread or Faith. Don't look back - fear makes you look back and it does you no good. Don't look around you - dread makes you look around you and you stay where you are. Just look forward - faith makes you go forward and that is how you get somewhere. Fear, dread or faith - and I choose faith."

Mandela says it is the goal of these eight to go back to Sudan and spread the message of peace and unity - a message that this should be the last war... That it is with their generation that the South Sudanese may begin to look forward.

Strange Silence

2005-08-02T06:08:00.000-05:00

Despite reports of looting and riots in Sudan, the overall picture is oddly quiet. None of our staff has had to evacuate yet, and things are staying relatively calm. Now, whether that will last is uncertain - many think that it's too early to tell. It may be that people are keeping still until after Garang's burial. But, whatever the future holds - at least for now it is a strange silence. I find hope in the silence - others who are less naive, more skeptical than I are just waiting for the alarm to sound.

From what I've learned, the Comprehensive Peace agreement grants the SPLM 3 years of rule before elections are held in Southern Sudan. This is why the SPLM will be able to select the next Vice President of Sudan from among their own membership. So the hierarchy is as follows: there is a President of Sudan (al Bashir), and a President of South Sudan (now Salva Kiir - who was Vice President of South Sudan under Garang). Garang was formerly both Vice President of Sudan and President of South Sudan. Although he held both offices, it is not stipulated by the interim constitution that they have to be held by the same individual. Salva Kiir replaced Garang automatically as President of South Sudan, and therefore it will be up to him to select either himself of someone else to fill Garang's position of Vice President of Sudan.

So, there is a structure in place - and this is what the SPLM is trying to put forward to calm the Sudanese people and the world. They claim that the SPLM is strong enough to stand without Garang, and that his magnetic personality blinded us to what all went on behind the scenes. From the little I know, the two issues of uncertainty for me are 1) whether Garang's death will encourage factions that once almost broke the SPLM movement to resurface and cause them to self destruct in power grabs and 2) whether or not Garang's personality was what kept the support of the South Sudanese united behind the SPLM. Will that support for SPLM leadership continue to span across tribal divisions without him?

As it is, if the SPLM can hold onto power through this, and if violence doesn't erupt on a major scale - there could be a potentially good result from the death of Garang. That is that if peace can last without his leadership - then South Sudan will not face the current dilemma faced by Ugandans who have not witnessed peace since Museveni. In Uganda, the system has never been tested apart from his leadership and now they are extending the constitution to allow him to run for unlimited terms. The man has already served for 20 years, he only respects other African leaders that came into power through bush wars, and he is unaccountable to his own people. Maybe rebel leaders have trouble operating in the bounds of democratic systems. Perhaps Garang would have had the same trouble.

If this peace can last there is potential that it will instill faith of the people in the system rather than in the leader himself - and that would be a good outcome of a scary situation. Perhaps Garang's death happened with enough proximity to the violence that people will be too scared to go back into war - maybe fear of the alternative will make people stick with SPLM leadership. Maybe Garang's reunification of the SPLM will hold since at least they are in power. I just hope those that are not fully satisfied with SPLM leadership will not start attacking thinking that they'll get what the SPLM had under Garang. The comprehensive peace is based around the SPLM for the first 3 years - if this fails, it's back to chaos. It will be like the entire peace agreement never happened.

If peace can hold, I have great faith in some of the rising leaders among the young Sudanese exiles who are returning to start civil organizations in their country. I have never been so impressed with the collective energy for unity and peace in my life than I found in the hearts of some of those I interviewed. I see potential for the South Sudanese people to rebuild their country so long as the system in place holds. If power grabs and violence start - I see it all falling apart again. With violence, everything else is hindered and the already traumatized Sudanese will lose any hope that they regained over the past few months and years.

So I am praying that peace holds. I am praying the SPLM stays in power, so that the alternative is avoided. I am praying that the people continue to recognize the SPLM as leadership without Garang, so that the steps taken crossing tribal lines are not lost. I pray that conspiracy theories are not true, and that it really was the weather. I pray that the majority of the Sudanese people will not be convinced otherwise. All of these prayers are huge prayers, and maintaining peace I think still will require miracles. It is so fragile - only if the perfect balance exists will they make it through this tragedy only 3 weeks after South Sudan was given an almost autonomous President. I don't know what will happen - but so far nothing has gone too terribly wrong. It is a strange silence. In it you find both shock and sorrow, and you find both hope and dread.

In this strange silence, we have been told to continue as if peace will hold. My Country Director still wants my paper to be written about refugee returns to South Sudan. He says without a charismatic leader, it may be that more emphasis will now be placed on building civil society. A program like ARC hopes to implement may be more in donor interests than it would have otherwise been. It may also be that violence will break out and everyone at my colloquium back in Boston will look at me like I'm crazy when I present a paper on Sudanese refugee returns.

But - I guess this is what you do in the aid world. You live under uncertainty of what the conditions will be in the places you operate. You apply for funding in advance for development in places that may not be peaceful - and in the process, sometimes the world changes and your plans and hard effort come to nothing. Other times, when you stick with it you come out ahead of the others who stood around waiting. Of course I hope for more reasons than my own work that peace will hold and that Sudanese returns will not become a laughable concept. In the meantime though - it is strange to put myself in the mode of writing about sustainable returns to a place where we are on alert to evacuate our own staff at any moment.

Watching and Waiting

2005-08-01T10:14:00.000-05:00

With the looting and rioting throughout Sudan, curfews have been put into effect for 12 hours this evening by the SPLM. Positive signs include press releases indicating that the SPLM will be allowed to determine who will replace John Garang as the Vice President without interference from Khartoum, and also signs that SPLM on the ground has taken a leadership role in quelling the rumors that Garang was alive. There is speculation that Commander Salva Kiir Mayardit (current Vice President of South Sudan who was beneath Garang) could be next in line. But again, that is only speculation.

ARC has not evacuated our staff yet, and the situation remains at a security level III. I am thinking of Mary Jane and Thomas and Anne and Vincent and others who are in the ARC compound in Yei. I wonder how they are feeling now. I spoke with Mandela and the others that I've described before as the record and film producers with such vision for peace and unity. Mandela's voice was so sad - it is a hard day for those who held such hope. I really didn't know what to say to him, except that my support and prayers are with him and his people.

At this time it should also be said also that so far chaos has not erupted at the scale that could have occured. Josephine and I have been glued to the television all day - but we can find out little...The emphasis is on the death of King Fahd and the nuclear program initiatives in Iran. We hear occassional reports from the field by satellite phone. The SPLM and Khartoum both are both saying that nothing will change in terms of the Comprehensive Peace. These at least are good signs at the moment. There will be three days of mourning for Garang, and over these three days the world will watch to see how the events following his death unfold.

Shock, Tears and Gunshots

2005-08-01T03:01:00.000-05:00

The reaction to the news at our field site in Yei was wailing and shock among the staff. All traditional mourning rituals are being practiced, and the traditional mourning music is sounding throughout the town. I am imagining these people, who I left just 11 days ago. They are hearing gunshots outside of the compound - she describes it as 4th of July, and they are not yet able to evacuate. We are trying to arrange a convoy from HQ, but it is difficult with SPLM. Also, while it is at security level III precautions must be taken so that NGOs do not themselves signal a panic among the local population by evacuating. Once level IV is declared, evacuation is mandatory - regardless of the consequences. As of now, Anne in Yei is declaring that they want to make no movement from the compound at this time. There is uncertainty as to what to do - UNHCR, our donor, actually called our office in Yei to ask what to do. They are now meeting with SPLM, and we are waiting for more word. Our staff in Kampala wants to evacuate now - at latest within the hour, but the people in the field are saying to wait. Anne and Amber are on the phone right now discussing the situation.

Rumors are flying that Garang is still alive and that the body was not recovered. We actually have received phonecalls at the office, and they've also heard the rumors in Yei. Some gunshots are in celebration saying he's alive - others are saying he's speaking on the radio now. But Sudan Radio is playing is inauguration speech - it is being mistaken. Now these rumors are starting to play with people's minds. No one wants to believe he is dead, because everyone fears the consequences. This is basically the worst-case scenario.

ARC Office Talk

2005-08-01T00:49:00.000-05:00

Apparently the SPLM had crisis meetings in Nairobi and have issued orders to not allow escorts for NGOs operating in South Sudan. It's their way of trying to prevent them from evacuating. The girls in the office say they've done this in the past, and that SPLM officials will come to compounds, collect inventory and lock the stores saying that nothing may be taken out of the country - that all property is there for the Sudanese. Then the NGO staff is supposed to leave without escorts - in areas like Nimule and Kajo Keji the situation is worsened because the LRA (Lord's Resistance Army terrorizing Northern Uganda) is also terrorizing that region of Sudan and abductions occur. They will know about the refusal of escorts and take advantage of the situation. Then Yei, the place where I stayed, is furthest from the border, and that is the border most difficult to cross. The SPLM could easily close the border if they want to - as it is, ARC staff is going to try to get out today to get to the West Nile Region of Northern Uganda. That said, these ladies remember when the fighting crossed the border as well.

Other problems are the impact that Garang's death will have on the Sudanese diaspora. My co-workers predict that they are in the camps in Uganda saying, "See? We knew our country better than you people. We knew not to go back." They predict that this is the final straw - now any progress towards refugee returns has been lost. They were just getting comfortable to the idea of Garang's leadership - but without Garang, there is no clear replacement. Apparently Garang recently named Governors, but those he chose were ones few expected and who are less well-known. Apparently one of the more prominent governors, Scopas, has also died. So it is unclear who would replace Garang, and it is clear that whoever would will not have his unifying power.

As for how this effects ARC in a broader sense, it depends on whether violence erupts again. If it does, all of the grants just approved for ARC operations in South Sudan may now be revoked. US Agency for Population and Refugee Movements and UN High Commissioner for Refugees will not operate in conflict zones, and therefore will take their money elsewhere. It will return to OFDA being the only agency willing to operate in a conflict-zone, and ARC will be back to the drawing boards. As for my own work - this makes my entire paper completely worthless to ARC. No one will be talking about refugee returns now - so I will be back to the drawing boards as well. It could be that a dark cloud is descending on the Sudanese people with the death of Garang. I pray that they can overcome it without allowing chaos to ensue, but the ladies in my office are so skeptical - and they are the ones with experience in Sudan.

... and it's as we feared

2005-07-31T23:22:00.000-05:00

BBC announced Garang is dead. As of now the UN is claiming no fowl play, that it was weather conditions ... but that is not reassuring because that is what they have to say right now to remain neutral. No one knows if it crashed in Uganda or Sudan - and we are on the radio telling the field sites to prepare to evacuate so that they're ready when we send word later today. No one knows how the Sudanese will react, nor how the Ugandans will be involved since Garang was flying from Uganda on a Ugandan helicopter.

Garang to many in the South, despite his brutal record, is seen as a father-figure. It is hard to imagine how people will react... I feel so sorry for all of the mothers waking up this morning in South Sudan to this news. They live in tense fear of the violence returning, and surely this will seem as sure of a sign as any that it is inevitable.

John Garang is Missing

2005-07-31T18:46:00.000-05:00

At 2 a.m. this morning Josephine received a phonecall from UNICEF (operating in Rumbeck, the new capital of South Sudan) Apparently John Garang, newly named Vice President of Sudan, President of South Sudan and once-rebel leader of the SPLM, has gone missing for two days. He was on a Ugandan helicopter that the Ugandan government has reported missing. Khartoum has also reported Garang missing, and they claim they have found the helicopter. But nobody knows what was found, and they have declared all of Sudan a level III security situation. This means that we have to find all of our staff in the field and prepare for immediate evacuation should the security situation rise to level IV.

Josephine and I have driven to the office to use the radios to contact Tom (the Country Director) and other staff by radio. Basically, this is all just happening as I type - UNICEF is asking us to inform them about our local staff and no one knows what is going to happen. The news will start picking up on the fact that Garang is missing by morning - and what will result, and whether or not he is alive is unknown. I cannot do much but watch and listen and pray that Sudan does not erupt into violence again. The situation there is so fragile - one event like this could set the whole "Comprehensive Peace" in flames.

Yikes! craziness all over the place

2005-07-30T05:08:00.000-05:00

I woke up this morning and I have some crazy rash growing all over my body - ooooh lord. So fortunately I have been registered at this British clinic and they diagnosed it as either something I ate or an insect - not any of the crazy diagnoses I received from the housekeeper (she thought it was worms!!... oh god, that is what sent me to the clinic - but my doctor said they love diagnosing everything as worms or syphilis, it's like everything comes down to those two here - ahh! but fortunately, I have neither)

The housekeeper I mentioned is Justine by the way, no longer Claire. It turns out that the strange feeling I always had about Claire was on to something. Claire was 2 months pregnant - at age 20, and not for the first time - for the 4th time!! So this was news to come home to from Bwindi. She's now home with her family again - and I hope that girl is okay. I can't imagine what her father will do - I really hope he doesn't beat her. And I feel so sad for that baby. She will either have an illegal abortion again, or it will be born into a family of a man and woman that are too young and do not even want the child. Basically, that is a story without a single good side to it. I can't imagine being 20 years old and having her life.

And yesterday Uganda held the big referendum! They will now have a multi-party system. The sad thing is that that sentence is about as much publicity as this election got. Nobody cared. Seriously no one I spoke to cared. They didn't vote, turn out was terrible - and everyone said it was meaningless and a waste of money. Now Museveni will be acclaimed for having brought in democratic reforms abroad, and he'll most likely get his third term next year.

This is one crazy mix of life in Africa. Just thought I'd send some news to balance all of my head in the cloud musings of late :) Thinking of all of you!

Bwindi on a Budget

2005-07-29T04:13:00.000-05:00

On Sunday morning Steven, my driver, picked me up at 5 am to take me to the bus park in Kampala. It was still dark outside, with the cool, dampness that settles just before dawn. Driving through the deserted city streets, I saw Kampala’s homeless women and children curled up on the dirty sidewalks, covered by thin fabrics. I was thinking how horrible to be homeless in a place like this. How horrible to be homeless anyplace, but especially in a place like this… where so many are in need, how do they survive?

My first impression of the bus station was complete intimidation. The place looked so scary and sketchy and any other word you can think of – the trash, the dimness, the old model buses that appeared like something from the past… parked in irregular patterns, lining a lot of broken cement. I did what I often do – I just acted like it looked completely normal to me, as I’m sure it appears to Stephen – and proceeded to get out of the car, mentally saying prayers of thanks that Stephen was with me and that I hadn’t had to do this on my own.

We asked a few men who were standing around by the buses which was the one going to Butagota, and we were directed to a bus that had no lights on and appeared to be out of commission. Stephen knocked on the door, and after a minute it opened. Sure enough, the driver was inside – as were about five passengers who apparently had slept on the bus the night before. The bus was pretty dirty, to be honest – the floor had been hosed down and was still wet… and I didn’t use the seat belt because it was caked in dirt. But, this is the bus park in the capital of Uganda… and if I wanted to travel like the Ugandans do, then this is what it meant.

I knew that I was scared because of the appearance and not because of any of the people - and a rugged appearance to an American eye would basically make most of the city off limits if that was the gauge for danger. So the driver helped me with my bag, and I said goodbye to Stephen – who made sure I sat on the south-facing side of the bus for the best view through the scratched and purple-tinted windows.

I sat down on the bus and opened a book with my Red Cross security advice ringing in my head … blend in! Don’t make yourself a target! Aka – act like an ostrich and bury your head in a book and pretend like they aren’t all looking at you. It worked well, actually – no one bothered me, and I felt less out of place than I’ve felt in a few NY subway cars. So all in all, phew – I was on the bus, in my seat. Inside my heart was pounding, but I’ve gotten pretty good at hiding it most of the time.

After my initial entertainment value wore off, an argument began as one of the men who had slept on the bus tried to get off of the bus. Apparently he was homeless as well, and just pretended to be a passenger for a shelter. The bus driver was yelling, the man was yelling – I was reminding myself that just because I’m a white female doesn’t mean that this confrontation will affect me at all. And it didn’t – the conflict ended with more yelling and the man finally being allowed off of the bus. It’s so funny to feel yourself in a foreign setting – to try and reason with your hyper-sensitive instincts with a mind that knows you’re in a completely new world.

The lights inside of the bus were turned back off, and I settled in to wait for about an hour before we finally left the bus park. Passengers slowly filled the seats, which appeared much less intimidating once the sun began to rise and the pale blue glow of morning replaced the darkness. Vendors selling everything from tennis shoes to watches to beef samosas and newspapers wandered into the bus, down the aisles and paced outside of the windows. I love watching a city as it is waking up – I found the same feelings flooding my thoughts as I watched this crazy, colorful, dirty bus park fill with activity.

I had a backpack and a small duffel bag, and that was the most luggage of anyone that I saw on the bus – despite the fact that women were traveling with children. I’d locked my bag – but thankfully theft isn’t a rampant problem in Uganda the way it’s reputed to be in most African cities. You have to pay attention, but you aren’t guaranteed to be robbed just by getting on a bus. As it turns out, I had no problem. But, as a girl traveling alone – I’d taken all of the precautions… if I was robbed, there was a one hundred dollar bill hidden to get me home… and besides that I’d planned to go on a very limited budget.

When we finally pulled out of the bus park, it was about 7:30 and I breathed a sigh of relief –although I was the only white girl on the bus… most eyes were not on me – and I was happy with myself for maintaining the calm exterior while inside I was anything but calm. It’s funny how your mental categories from home still trigger your adrenaline even when you know they don’t apply. I just had to keep reminding myself that even though this was a crazy day in my life– in the lives of every other person getting on that bus, this was a pretty normal day.

The benefit of it being an out of the ordinary day for me is that I was able to enjoy the painfully long bus ride far more than the other passengers I’m sure – everything is was new to me. From the changing landscape out of the window, to the crazy mayhem that happened every time the bus stopped to drop passengers and take new ones. There is no system – people are squeezing around each other down the aisles, throwing their bags and elbows in your face, and yelling to the conductor while buying kebobs out of the window. The vendors swarm the bus at every stop – they board the bus and fight the passengers for space in the aisle, and they carry roasted corn and bananas and boxes of drinks on their heads that you can buy out of the windows. People even know what products they can expect from the various stops, and what the going price should be.

As the bus progressively became more and more full of passengers, I noticed that it was becoming odd that no one was sitting next to me. At first I counted myself as lucky, thinking that whatever was hindering them from sitting next to the muzungu was fine because that way my backpack didn’t have to touch the dirty floor of the bus. But then a woman sat next to me and proceeded to move to another seat. I was unsure why she did that – I’m not a large person, and I don’t have body odor to rival those on that bus I can assure you. I assumed she preferred another seat, and didn’t give it a second thought until it happened again. This time a woman in traditional dress sat next to me, and began to cry hysterically, speaking in Luganda which I couldn’t understand, and finally she moved. Now I couldn’t ignore it any longer – no one wanted to sit next to me! It actually happened three times in total that someone sat next to me, and then moved.

I’m still acting like all is normal – but my mind was racing… why would that woman start crying at the thought of sitting next to me? I thought maybe she was like the village women in Sudan who believe in witchcraft – maybe she thought I’d cast a spell on her just by sitting in such close contact. I came up with several explanations – but the fact remained that no one would sit next to me until about the last hour of the of the bus ride. Suddenly this skinny boy who might have even been younger than me plops down in the seat next to me and introduces himself, clearly thrilled that I was a white girl and that he was sitting next to me.

I at first blew him off with my ipod earphones acting as a wall between us – but he seemed harmless, and I was so relieved to no longer be the pariah on the bus that I maintained a brief conversation with him about going to Bwindi to see the gorillas (a clear destination for any muzungu on a bus to Butagota). It was clear that he was a charmer – and the next thing I know he’s asking indirectly what my bride price would be and how difficult it is for Ugandan men to marry muzungu women. With earnest eyes he begins to explain that not all Ugandan men are attracted to muzungus, but that some are – and that he is among those who are. He IS among them, and that means he IS attracted to me, and so he wants to know how difficult it would be to marry me. He kept reiterating that his IS among those Ugandans that would be attracted to me, as if this would be music to my ears and seal the deal.

I was really amused by this point – the poor guy was so earnest in his proposal, that I couldn’t believe it. The words coming out of his mouth were outrageous, but his expression so genuine that it was all I could do not to laugh. Instead I opted for the response that it was as difficult for a Ugandan man to marry a muzungu as it is for any man to find and meet the woman that he wants to love and cherish for the rest of his life, and that in the case of myself personally that it would unfortunately be impossible, rather than difficult, because I just didn’t see him in the same way.

He responded that skin color didn’t matter to him, and again that he was among the Ugandan men who are attracted to me. This seemed to be perfect logic to him leading to marriage – and yet I explained that while I was happy to know this fact, I was not among the muzungu women who was interested in marrying a Ugandan man. Unthwarted, he then proceeded to offer to show me the countryside by motorcycle…

Fortunately – the first of many good fortunes on this trip – I had spoken with a man at the agency where I purchased my gorilla trekking permit in Kampala who was taking a private tour group to Bwindi the day before my arrival. He’d agreed to book me a “banda” (a cement walled sort of square hut) at a lodge in the park, and said he’d call when he made the booking so that I’d know it was all settled. The inexpensive lodges don’t have phones – so this was the best way to do it. True to his word, he called and let me know that not only had he booked my banda – but he’d also arranged to pick me up at the bus in Butagota to drive me the 17 kilometers to Bwindi National Park. This saved me from the offer of my motorcycle driving would-be fiancée…

It wasn’t until the end of the bus ride that I realized that this charmer was working on the bus, and not just a passenger – he was a conductor, and I thought he must have gotten on at one of the chaotic bus stops mid-journey. Anyway, I decided that at least I should get him to help me get my bag out of the upper shelf which I still do not know how the driver had squeezed it to fit inside – and then I climbed off of the bus – blinded by sunlight, and so happy that Amos was standing there with his African Pearl Safaris land cruiser to drive me to Bwindi. Again – thank goodness.

I should mention that driving to Butagota was beautiful – especially the last few hours as we approached the Southwestern tip of the country. This area is noticeably wealthier than the other parts of Uganda I’ve seen – with large banana and tea plantations covering the sides of hills that otherwise were the color of lion fur. I rarely saw thatched roofs – instead small homes with metal roofs spaced throughout the countryside rather than clustered in villages, which in combination with the change in agriculture from subsistence to commercial was a real indication of the area’s wealth. It is crazy that in two months my eyes have adjusted to see one room stucco homes with metal roofs to be a significant advance in prosperity.

Although it was beautiful, it was not until the last thirty minutes that anything even resembling mountains covered in rainforests even seemed possible. I was seriously starting to doubt that the forest really existed as it had been described – “Impenetrable” was hard to imagine when driving through mild landscapes of banana plants and corn drying in the sun. But as we drove the 17 kilometers from Butagota to Bwindi, suddenly out of nowhere the rainforest emerged… a dark green forest on increasingly steep hillsides rising before me – I could see its expanse reaching Congo in the distance.

The huge trees were dwarfed by the size of the rising mountains – and there was a mist hovering over their branches that created an atmosphere that finally seemed fitting of a mountain gorilla. I had reached Bwindi – and I was thinking how much of a shame it would have been to have left Uganda without seeing its beauty. This was truly beautiful – not in the way that I describe the rural countryside of blue sky meeting green maiz fields in the north – but in the kind of landscape that truly takes your breath away and feels unique in its splendor. I knew immediately that it had been worth every moment on that crazy bus ride to come to this place.

My lodge, the “Bwindi View” looked out onto steep, forest covered mountainside immediately inside the boundary of the park. It was a beautiful view… and actually the accommodation was less rustic than the ARC compound in Yei where I stayed not too long ago. For that view at that price, you couldn’t do better I think. There were luxury accommodations a little further up the road, but I had decided to do this trip the low-budget way – what benefit is there of being young and living in a country if you still pay the same high price as the tourists that want to just step off of the plane and into a safari?

Besides wanting to save money for the rest of my time here, I really wanted to prove to myself that I could do it on my own… without the ARC drivers and facilities to shelter me from the crazy learning curve of getting around in Africa. I just wanted to know I had it in me somehow… even if it was a disaster, I wanted to make myself go through it. If I’m warned against something, that is one thing – but just to keep myself sheltered is another. I felt like if I hadn’t tried a trip on my own that I’d never have totally dived in somehow. So this was my goal for the trip, besides seeing gorillas – and I was really mentally prepared for just about anything.

But, somehow even when I prepare myself for a no frills, highly frustrating trip – I end up having a magical vacation anyway.

As we drove into the park, we saw some local children getting dressed in for traditional dancing, and Amos asked if I’d like to go and watch the show. I said yes, and so I dropped my things as the lodge and we immediately walked back to see the dancing. It was a group of orphans, who were fundraising by performing for the gorilla trekking tourists – but even for a staged production, you can’t help but appreciate the beautiful faces of the children. There was one boy that was such a performer, he could be on Broadway – his entire face radiated the joy he felt being on stage. He was this little boy – maybe 9 years old, and he stole the show.

I met a PhD student from Cornell that had written her dissertation on parasites with a specific group of gorillas at Bwindi, and she’s been asked to return and train some of the rangers in what she’d researched. She introduced me to Lawrence, who with his wife has recently started an NGO supporting public health of endangered species. His wife is a veterinarian for the gorillas, and he runs educational programs for the local youth and set up a state of the art internet facility to transfer all of the data to their base in Washington. He is Ugandan, but he greeted me in Hebrew and asked if I’d been to Israel. I came to expect this in New York sometimes, or in Brookline – but not in a remote corner of Uganda. At this rate, I’m afraid I’m going to disappoint a Jewish mother someday when she tries to set me up with her son.

I was so tired from the trip that I slept for about 13 hours straight… awakened only briefly when a man stopped by my banda to bring a lantern for the evening. I was good that I had an extra day before the gorilla trekking to just relax. In a place that has its own natural beauty – one day isn’t enough to let yourself disconnect from wherever you came to just feel alive in the isolation of forest-covered mountains.

My only wish, besides seeing gorillas, was to take a walk in the forest to see some of the waterfalls. On Monday morning after I woke up, I went to the park office (a wooden shack) to find out if I could get a ranger to taken me on the walk. I was told to come back at 2, and so I had the entire morning to myself. I needed to recharge my camera batteries and, while I was at it – to recharge my ipod for the bus trip back (to shield my ears from a blasting cassette tape of what I hope is unusually bad Ugandan music to a synthesized beat.) Bwindi view had no electricity, so I’d have to convince someone at one of the nicer hotels to let me use theirs.

I remembered that Amos had told me that the manager’s name of the less lux of the two hotels was Peter, and so I went asking for Peter, pretending like I knew him. It worked very well, and although Peter was out I got to recharge both while having a cup of tea on a veranda overlooking the beautiful scenery – perfect for journal writing. I spent the morning there – when I write, the thoughts churning around in my head become clear and I identify the stresses I didn’t even know were inside. It was the perfect way for me to unwind, and the man brought me cookies just to be nice… so just to be nice I left him a big tip. This is the way it works in Africa it seems.

In the afternoon, I was about to go on my waterfalls walk, when they told me that three ladies would be joining me. It turned out to be three Ugandan ladies that had been on my bus the day before, and who I immediately liked. They remembered me (of course – the only white girl on the bus) and they kept saying how much they’d admired my bravery for getting on the bus and going to Bwindi all on my own.

I was so happy to meet some Ugandans that just treated me like a girlfriend instead of like someone they were serving or being told to work with. They were a funny trio– probably the last in their group to still be unmarried… one was a vet, one a dentist and the other an IT person… all on a get-away girls weekend, unusual for Ugandan women from what I’ve seen so far. (They were definitely from Kampala – as in raised in the city and not in the village.) And we all set off with our walking sticks – equally amazed by the prehistoric looking ferns and palms lining the first part of the path. Our ranger was a great guy who knew all of the birds and plants we asked about – and did special calls for our entertainment if nothing else.

The hike was three hours, and we basically followed a river up the mountain – passing small waterfalls from time to time until we arrived at beautiful falls cascading ice-cold water that the guide told us was clean enough to drink. I passed on the drinking - but I did get to go and stand under the falls – and two of the other girls followed. There is just something magical about waterfalls – I don’t care what size or shape – to find a waterfall in a forest feels like you’ve discovered a hidden treasure just for your own eyes. Our guide was just smiling – you can tell it is the highlight of his day when his hikers first set eyes on the waterfall and fall quiet.

I asked the girls when they would be traveling back to Kampala, and it turned out that they were planning to go on the same day as me – so they said they’d ask if I could join in their vehicle to get to Butagota so that we could travel together. I felt a little gutsy inviting myself along – but it’s just better (especially for a girl) to travel with other people when you can, and so I thought for safety’s sake I really shouldn’t pass up the chance. The only time I think I’ve ever wished I was a man rather than a woman is when traveling alone. There are just some things you have to pass up for safety’s sake as a girl that a guy could much more easily do. Anyway, one of the girls was going to try to sweet talk her way into a gorilla trekking permit the next morning and could think of nothing else, and so I agreed to stop by their place to ask after trekking to find out if I could ride along with them.

That night I wandered into the village again and got a guy to carve me a little gorilla out of wood, because for some reason I didn’t want the black shoe polished covered replicas that everyone was selling. He offered actually – I wasn’t going to buy one at all – but he was a little customer service guy trying so hard to please. I took him up on it, and he said he’d shine it and have my little gorilla waiting for me the next day. On the way back to the park I found this perfect rock wall to sit on, that overlooked a bright green valley of tea plants leading up to the forest covered mountain rising immediately after. It was early evening and the sky slightly pink – it was beautiful, and so I just sat down with goats munching grass at my feet and watched the sunset.

I looked along the edge of the mountains before me, a few trees that must be huge when standing beneath them looked tiny from a distance – but these large ones still stood out against the green coverage of the forest and were silhouetted against the sky. For some reason this one tree caught my eye – it was perfectly centered in the dip of the mountain and standing taller than the rest. For some reason it immediately reminded me of a tree that I used to gaze at from the breakfast table at my grandparent’s home. I used to sit at the breakfast table each visit, waiting for my grandmother to bring my oatmeal (which I loved only the way she made it) and I would find this same tree in the distance - I always picked it out, and I would just gaze at it until breakfast was ready.

My grandmother passed away almost a year ago, and suddenly I felt her presence looking down on me, sitting there on that rocky wall looking at the Bwindi forest. My grandmother and I had a special bond since I was born. I would cry and cry as a baby, and my mom would drive me all the way to her house just so that I would stop crying as soon as grandmother had me in her arms. She was always telling me to enjoy my life, and I know that she was smiling as she looked down on me then. It would have been much more like my grandmother to smile down on me at a party with a big band and dancing and with lots of tall attractive men in uniform – and I wouldn’t put it past her to arrange such an event ; ) - but, I think she knows that I am a different woman than she, from a different generation. Somehow the bond between us meant that she loved me no matter what, and I her.

The sunset faded to darkness, and the stars came out overhead. The sky was as beautiful as the one I described in Sudan. It was majestic – and my first night sky in the Southern Hemisphere. I was near the equator, so the sky wasn’t drastically different, but I enjoyed knowing that it was my first time to sit under that sky. I don’t know if my words have been adequate to describe the hours that I spent soaking in the glow of that place, but it was as if time stopped and I basked in the heavens just for a moment.

Walking back to Bwindi View, Edward the manager was smiling to greet me – he had seen me star-gazing and his eyes sparkled knowing that I’d shared the wonder of this place. I think it is amazing that even people who have not seen other parts of the world – who have little to compare it to, still know when a place is special. I always find myself comparing places one to the next – but to just appreciate a place for what it is, with nothing to compare it to, that to me is an expression of the its beauty. I went to sleep that night feeling like the luckiest girl in the universe.

The next morning I awoke and saw the sunrise as I was getting ready for the day of gorilla trekking. I packed my lunch – have I mentioned that this whole trip so far I’d been surviving on peanut butter and jelly, sardines, Pringles, and oranges? Yikes… But remember, low budget trip! And I didn’t really trust the food at the Bwindi View. Such a situation, however, requires perfect rotation of sweet and salty foods for meals in order not to become entirely grossed out. I can’t believe I did that. Anyway – so I packed my lunch and headed out to meet my fellow trekkers.

It turns out that I was incredibly lucky in more ways than one. First of all – my last-minute acquired permit was to follow the largest family of gorillas that they track. It has 22 members and 2 silverbacks – so your chances are greatly improved of seeing one. It was also the furthest group away, so you get to hike through a lot of the forest and feel like you really are tracking them and earning the privilege. I must say, that usually I don’t enjoy hiking – I just enjoy seeing whatever it is that you are hiking to see. But, in this case I enjoyed the entire experience. The forest was so beautiful – and we were not on a trail much of the time. It was fantastic.

Along on my group was a writer and professional photographer in from New York doing an article for Town and Country Travel magazine on the gorilla trekking. Hurrah! First of all, I was thrilled to be hearing New Yorkers talk to each other – it was music to my ears because I could actually relate to their conversations. Second, we couldn’t use a flash when taking photos of the gorillas – and so Matthew (the photographer from Brooklyn) is going to send me pictures that he got on some 60 rolls of film that he took on our tracking with this mega telephoto and zoom lens craziness that he brought along. I was seriously amazed – here I am already feeling like the most blessed person in the universe – and the one thing that could have even slightly clouded the day would have been having no pictures to remember it by – and who shows up? Town and Country. ;) No way.

Anyway – so we set off on our trek and it turns out that the writer’s daughter went to Harvard and so she suddenly likes me. She is writing a book on baby boomers who are changing the world one life at a time – it reminded me of the Po Bronson book that I gave to everyone I knew at the time. All of five of the other trekkers in my group were Americans, and they had all gone the day before as well – so I was the only one on my own and who hadn’t seen the gorillas before. Apparently Americans always come and buy two permits, Europeans only buy one. Seems to fit our stereotypes, doesn’t it? I was also the youngest – and so I felt like I was adopted by this crew for the day. When we finally came to the gorillas, they let me go first so that I’d be the first one to see them face to face.

All of these Americans were staying at the Gorilla Forest Camp (or something like that…) which is a five star luxury resort for the high-end gorilla trekking tourists. They were all describing the bubble baths prepared for them upon their arrival back at the camp followed by massages. I was thinking to myself – do not let the sudden appearance of luxury ruin your enjoyment of doing this trip on a budget just they way you planned. I was perfectly happy with my Bwindi view before – why should knowing about bubble baths up the road affect me? The rooms are actually luxury tents that have thatched roofs to make them more permanent and they have everything you can imagine inside… at a cost of $400 per night. I was wondering how those three Ugandan ladies were able to afford to stay there when they took the public transportation with me from Kampala.

Anyway – so now I had gone from being seen as the expat in Kampala with drivers and housekeepers – and authority, to being the poor PhD student adopted by older, wealthier Americans for a day of gorilla trekking. It was a mind switch, I must tell you. I’m the same person, but treated entirely differently – it is so strange! But anyway, I was enjoying being around Americans again just for the conversation, and they were all very nice – especially Matthew who kept whispering comments about how he’d slept in plenty of train stations in his day and that he wouldn’t stay in lux places like this if it weren’t for the job or a special occasion. I appreciated the comradary anyway, and that’s when he told me he’d send me photos. I can’t wait. (!!)

So we hiked for about an hour before the trackers up ahead called back to tell us that the gorillas were on the move – we were going to have to pick up the pace to reach them. The mountains are steep and you literally climb one, descend, and then climb another – with your feet sinking into about 5 inches of brush fallen from the forest and mud beneath. I don’t know how people do this in the rainy season – it would be one huge mudslide. And I should clarify that the mountains are not high enough to be snow peaked or anything – don’t think Rockies – think Appalachians for the right mental picture. But of course the foliage is tropical, and you have all of these mahogany trees and other hardwoods – that would have all been gone by now if they hadn’t made this a national park in the nineties. It is sad to realize the countryside now cultivated for tea and bananas was once more of that beautiful forest. I’m not by nature a huge environmentalist – but in this place you couldn’t feel otherwise.

So now we’re climbing and climbing and our hearts are racing from the uphills and we’re wondering whether the gorillas will stop long enough for us to reach them – I think it was another hour and a half before we caught up to them. When you are close, the tracker returns to the group and you leave all of your packs and only the 6 of you, a soldier and the tracker go to follow the gorillas. I was first in line – and after a few minutes of walking with the tracker making grunting noises to send friendly hellos to the animals, I looked up and there in a tree was a huge Silverback, an 8 month old baby gorilla and two females – dangling off of branches, munching some nuts from the tree in what appeared to be lazy bliss.

I couldn’t believe that the Silverback can climb a tree at all – his belly is so huge! I am talking huge. And there he was sprawled out, grabbing nuts with his hands and feet – their big toe is like our thumb, so they can just go at it with all four. His back was massive and there were the silver hairs that the males get after age of 13. It was beautiful – and he was the dominant Silverback in the group. Their faces are so strange – they are so foreign and yet somehow familiar. It is beautiful to watch them – and funny because they fart all the time and you know how squeamish I normally am about bodily functions. We sat just gazing up at the gorillas in the tree for about 40 minutes – watching them swing up to new branches – we realized that there were about four more gorillas even higher up in the tree, and it’s amazing how high they climb.

Suddenly the Silverback stood up on the branch and you could see how big he was – and he grunted and decided it was time to move. We watched him slide down the tree trunk and land with a thud on all fours and run in to the tall bamboo-like grasses of the valley just before us. At his signal, all of the other gorillas began to descend and we watched as they all swung down and slid down, each landing and following the Silverback. Our guide said that we still had more time, and so we should follow them! I was so excited – I mean, it’s cool to see them in the tree because you really get to see them – but it doesn’t feel like you’re really tracking them until you follow them into this bamboo stuff over your head and start slashing through the brush following their sounds. That is when it gets exciting.

So we followed them until we came across the second Silverback – he has the name “Darkness” because when they were first getting him used to humans in his proximity, he would just charge immediately and all of the guards described it as “I just saw darkness.” He actually charged us as well, but we were all told to just stay still and that way he’d know we were friendly – we also had to stay close to one another because if we were to spread out he would think that we were preparing to attack. I wasn’t scared – I don’t know why – but one of the ladies claims she couldn’t breath when he charged. Anyway – it was cool. And then we saw next to him were two babies rolling around and playing.

One of them stopped and looked directly at me… at us, I suppose, but it felt like he was looking into my eyes. Suddenly he stood up – maybe about 2 or 3 feet tall and he beat his chest and tried in his baby voice to grunt at us. I think the word “cute” is highly overused – but in this case, it was among the cutest things that I have ever seen. He was adorable – and that and watching that Silverback slide down the tree were the highlights of the experience for me. We were only allowed to spend an hour in the presence of the gorillas because they limit their exposure to humans to prevent the spread of diseases. After the hour was up we went back to our packs for lunch. We’d just settled in, when below from the valley we heard loud shrieking and the brush was being thrown around and you could hear the thumping of the bodies of the gorillas. The silverbacks were quarreling over a female. Good lord.

All of the Americans were telling me that not all tracking days are so amazing – they all said the day before hadn’t been as good and how lucky I was to go for one day and to see it all. At this point I was feeling like, of course that’s the way it happened! I am literally the luckiest person in the entire world… how else would it be? .. I’m exaggerating, but I really felt at this point like perfect is the only way to describe the experience. I was tired and the hike back was another 2 and a half hours – but it was beautiful and we were all feeling on top of the world. The final stretch of the hike took us out of the forest to walk along the perimeter of the park to get to a road in a nearby village where we were being picked up.

If you imagine the scene at the end of the Sound of Music when the Van Trapp family is walking out of Austria along green mountains spread out as far as you can see… if you remove all traditional Austrian dress, replace church steeples and clock towers with banana plantations and tiny tin roofed homes you can picture the way it felt to walk through the most beautiful view that I have seen in Africa so far. It was incredible. And you see women in bright colored fabrics walking up on steep hillsides tending the tea leaves, and you see little children waiving with two hands as you walk by – their faces beautiful. It is an experience that is incredibly beautiful, but also incredibly humbling. You are there for the spectacle, but they are there living a hard, rural life that is so isolated that the sight of a group of hikers walking by on a dirt road is the most entertaining moment of the day.

On the drive back we were all silent – I think we were all still basking in the glow of the day… not to mention tired, sweaty and disgusting. This was about when the luxury bubble bath conversation came up again and I was having a mental battle with my imagination to made my fire heated common shower to somehow seem a more romantic setting for a gorilla trekking expedition. I didn’t quite get there, but I was pretty close. The mind is a very powerful thing : ) My friend Clint used to tell me to pretend like I was cold when it was too hot – or like I was hot if it was too cold. “The power of the mind!!” he would say (to make me stop complaining I’m sure). I think I’ve taken this imagination thing to a new extreme – now I pretend like cement floored showers are luxurious bubble baths.

But I had to go with the whole crew back to their accommodations to try to meet up with my Ugandan ladies to find out if I’d be able to join them for the journey back to Butagota that evening. I contributed money towards the tip of our porters and guides from the hike – yes, there are teenagers from the village that hike the entire way carrying your bag, without seeing gorillas, just to earn $8. You can say I’m tough and don’t need a porter – but then that kid earns no money. It’s a strange world. So I am not a big ego, and gladly took the porter – and I think she gladly took me because my bag was really light. I chipped in $20 for her and the guards and gave it to my other trekkers to sort out with the rest.

The Ugandan ladies were having lunch and told me to go freshen up and to come back and they’d have found out by then about the vehicle. I was feeling a little out of place – like the only girl not staying at the lodge.. so I was glad to go at that point. A French woman met me and asked if I was staying there – and I explained that I wasn’t.. then she was entirely uninterested in speaking to me after that. I couldn’t believe it! It just suddenly felt like I was the poor girl that needed to leave the high society and go back to where I came from. I was happy to go – justifying that they are not experiencing Africa from behind their Chilean imported wine and American influenced recipes. The power of the mind!

So I returned to Bwindi View and was getting everything arranged in the shower when my preciously reserved clean shirt literally fell in the mud. I was not feeling like the luckiest girl in the world at that moment. I disregarded it though – and decided it mattered very little – thankfully I had a hoodie to put on that had not gone on a hike – and so I just dealt with it. But then a knock came to my door. I opened it to find Edward and the young girl that had been my porter. It turned out that she hadn’t been paid! I didn’t know what to do, because I’d contributed money like everyone else.. so I thought that their must have been some mistake. We walked back up to the Gorilla Forest Camp – where I really didn’t want to go – to find out what the situation was.

Sure enough, they had given my money with all the rest to all of the other porters, and she had been excluded because I wasn’t a resident at the lodge and so they thought I had handled mine separately. Oh god! I was already feeling a little sheepish, and this made it worse. But fortunately, the manager invited both the porter and I to sit down and have a drink, and the woman I’d given my money to paid her a large amount to make up for the difficulty of having been ignored the first time. I decided it would have been weirder not to stay and have a drink than it was to stay and have a drink – so I did stay, even though I was feeling rather embarrassed over a situation that was genuinely a mistake.

The Ugandan ladies came out about that time, and that was perfect because they explained that I was able to join them – hurrah! And they insisted that I join them for dinner. I had only brought a limited amount of money with me (so that I wouldn’t be out of luck if theft occurred) so this was why the situation with the porter became difficult – at some point if I spent too much I would have to exchange dollars to shillings and I didn’t know how easy or hard that would be.

At that moment a decision had to be made – I could either continue to let myself feel like the odd one out, like the unwelcome guest among the wealthy travelers, or I could just assume that I was as welcome as everyone else and decide that I would just enjoy the entire evening, assume it would all work out wonderfully and go have dinner with my new friends. I mean, this French woman and her fellow traveler had written me off because of where I was staying. Had I been introduced as a Harvard student I guarantee it would have been otherwise. Ridiculous. Anyway, until about 2 hours before I’d genuinely felt like the luckiest girl in the universe, and there was no reason to end my perfect trip on such a sour note – so I chose the second option.

From that point on I just decided to enjoy the fact that somehow I’d been invited out of Bwindi View, into Gorilla Forest Camp – and that for the first time in 3 days I would not be eating PBJ, sardines, or Pringles. Hurrah! Not to mention that I thought it was incredibly nice that these Ugandan ladies were turning out to be more like friends rather than travel companions. We all sat down for dinner around dusk, and the magic returned. The dinner was fantastic. The chef was phenomenal, and the food was the best I have had since arriving in Uganda. We had soup and fresh rolls – I miss bread like you wouldn’t believe… and then a delicious entrée of tilapia and potatoes, and we finished with a triple chocolate cake with semi sweet chocolate sauce and white chocolate drizzled over the top. I was suddenly in heaven.

And I was enjoying the girls - I found out about their lives and their friendship and how they’d all met one another and ended up on this girl’s weekend away. It turned out that one of them works with the wife of the manager. They had been invited to stay complimentary, and our entire dinner was just more of the same. As it turned out – they were staying for free as was I and suddenly I realized yet another gift had freely fallen into my lap. All worries about money exchange fled my mind and I could just relax and enjoy the night.

In conversation I mentioned that no one had been willing to sit by me on the bus most of the way, and how I didn’t understand why. The girls all broke out into hysterical laughter. I asked them what, what, what?! And they told me that that conductor had been forcing people to move from that seat ever since we left Kampala. It was all in Luganda so I hadn’t understood – and it was all so hectic that his voice hadn’t stood out to my ears – and so I didn’t realize that every person that had passed my seat had been told to keep walking and not to sit there. The poor woman who was crying next to me was exhausted and hadn’t wanted to move – and the jerk made her! This was all a set up so that he could at long last introduce himself and propose. How embarrassing!!! I was the only white girl on the bus, and no one was allowed to sit by me. I couldn’t believe it. The girls thought it was so funny that I hadn’t known what was going on – and we were laughing and laughing. I think that was when I realized that these girls were now my friends… and that I really liked them.

The dinner was fantastic, and after we finished, Matthew came over and greeted us and asked us if we’d stay and pose for some of his Town and Country photo shoot. I’m sure he wanted some Africans in the photos – so again I was along for the ride. We all signed photo release forms, and joined the rest of the residents for a bonfire out in front of the lodge that shown beautifully against the dark night and forest surrounding us. They lit tiki torches, and I was literally sitting in a beautiful magazine advertisement. I saw some of the shots on his digital, and they were really lovely. Just to be sure I felt included, Matthew had me sit right in the front, next to the fire with him. I don’t know if I’ll end up in the magazine layout – but it was just fun to be a part of it, and he said he’d email me those photos as well. Hurrah!

By that time all the stuck up ladies had had some wine and were much more friendly – Susan (the writer) had probably also excused my presence by explaining I was a Harvard grad student, and I think all of them were wondering how I’d managed to cross the line and become friends with the Ugandans. So suddenly everyone was talking to me and asking about my work with ARC and what life is like in Sudan and how it is to be living in Africa as a young, single girl. It was great – the Ugandan ladies told them about my bus conductor and by the end when we were leaving everyone was hugging me goodbye, wishing me luck in life and saying what a pleasure it had been to have me join them for the evening. I couldn’t believe it. It was such a funny night.

On the way out we stopped by the kitchen and I got to meet the chef – he was actually a chef in training and so excited that we had loved his chocolate dessert. He was the son of a friend of one of the ladies, and so they chatted with him for a while, and then we went back to the manager’s office who gave me all sorts of suggestions for what CD’s to buy to have good Ugandan music to take home. I felt like the place was so much better when seen from behind the scenes. I thought of my friend Katie in hospitality at the Four Seasons – so proud of her – and I don’t know if she realizes how empowering it is for these Ugandans when they are trained to perform in culinary arts or in presentation of luxury services. The chef and manager (both locals) were so proud of what they were doing – they didn’t gripe about the wealthy residents who didn’t understand Africans. They glowed with pride that they were able to create an atmosphere that pleased their guests and that was good enough to bring Town and Country Travel Magazine all the way to Uganda.

They arranged a vehicle with an armed guard to take us into Bwindi. As we drove out of the park I realized that I was being carried home safely. I would never have had an armed guard, I would have only been able to travel in daylight, and when we arrived in Butagota, I realized I’d have gotten into a room at the travel lodge there and literally locked the door and not come out. As it was, we got to spend a lovely evening having a 3 course dinner, joining a photo shoot, and we arrived around 9 at the lodge. The ladies insisted on getting the rooms they wanted – furthest away from the noise of the bar in the front, and they also split up so that one of the girls stayed with me so that I wouldn’t be alone. They really just took me in and took care of me.

The rooms were so hot – SO hot and stuffy, and if I’d had to stay there for hours by myself, I’d have been miserable. As it was, we were only there a few hours (we had to be up at 4:30 to get the bus) and Margaret talked my ear off about being empowered and this workshop she’d attended on fundraising, and how she sees the world and makes it happen and doesn’t let tradition hold her back. She had a beautiful spirit, and I just loved sitting there listening to this African woman explain how her life had been changed when she realized how to market herself and to insist that she was valuable and to network and meet other people like her in other East African countries. She was so excited, and I hope that the American couple that put on the workshop she attended somewhere know how much they changed her life. She is now seriously an independent woman in a country where very few are – and it was such a pleasure to meet her and see that it exists here.

At 5 am we were sitting with the lodge’s manager in pitch darkness waiting for the dreaded bus. It arrived honking like mad, with my conductor standing in the front jamming at that early hour to the horrible cassette tape of synthesizer-backed Luganda lyrics. It was so funny and horrible at the same time – the thought of 12 hours on that bus was about the last thing any of us wanted. But Margaret sat by me this time, and the girls laughed as we all greeted him hello. On the way home I mustered the courage to buy bananas out of the window, and I think it’s the first time I wasn’t ripped off for being a Muzungu. The girls exchanged numbers with me, and I think we’ll all get together again at least once before I go.

Honestly, even if I never saw them again – I’d have the best memories of meeting them in the first place. Not only were they my first real Ugandan friends that I can really relate to – they were also my guardian angels. It wasn’t ideal to have to catch that bus so early in Butagota – and I’d have been miserable doing it on my own.. but with them it turned out to be an experience I’ll always remember. I learned a lot about traveling on this trip – some things I’ll now know I have to avoid that I didn’t know before – and you only learn those things by doing them. Fortunately, I got to learn them without learning it all the hard way.

I got Steven to drive the girls home as a thank you – you wouldn’t believe the mayhem of the bus on a weekday – I thought it was crazy going on a Sunday. And the girls would have just walked off of the bus and found their way home on the taxis or boda bodas I described – in the rain, in the chaos of Kampala… that is what they are used to, and yet they are the girls most like me that I’ve met. We still live worlds apart – but I am glad to see that it isn’t always the case that the wealth divide is impenetrable. I know if I hadn’t ridden the bus, they would have just seen me as another wealthy muzungu, and I know if I’d met them through ARC it would have been the same. But this way, I met them just as myself, and they didn’t feel the divide, so I didn’t feel the divide – and who knew that they’d be the ones out of all of those Americans to invite me to dinner at the Gorilla Forest Camp. ; )

So – that was my magical weekend. I wanted to write it in all of its detail for my own memory. For anyone who read this far, I hope it was entertaining – because it was a trip that I just loved… in a different way then my trip to Sudan or to Gulu and Kitgum… those trips were about growing in terms of my understanding of the world – this trip was about enjoying and growing just to be a little more of that person that I want to be. One that can travel in African buses and that can overcome snobby French women – and steal away from a weekend on a budget feeling like I got the best trip of all… even with professional photos to remember it by. Do you see what I mean when I say that my life is continually blessed? I have memories so colorful filling my life, and I still don’t know how it happens.

A Life Blessed

2005-07-28T07:56:00.000-05:00

When I say that my life is extraordinarily blessed, and that I have never been able to understand why (which I know I have said to all of you)... I am usually met with an initial response of some justification for why it is that my life is this way.

Some will tell me it is because I am a good person or that I come from a good family – others say it is the result of the choices I make, or (at the opposite extreme) that life is chaotic madness and I hit a lucky lotto number. You can look in relative terms and see people with more money or intelligence or glamour than I have, and think that they have a more beautiful life than I. It’s all relative, some may say…or perhaps it’s perspective. I’m just lucky that I see the glass as half full, rather than half empty.

But, I will tell you that reflecting on the miraculous flow of my life has moved me to tears of bewildered joy more times than you would believe. No simple justification that anyone has ever given me has been sufficient to convince me in the depths of my soul as to why I am so often filled to overflowing with gratitude and wonder simultaneously.

This trip to see gorillas, as so much of my life, was magic. I don’t have time today to type the whole story, so I’ll do it tonight and post tomorrow. It is entertaining, anyway – what makes it amazing is when you line it up with the many other similar stories that make up my life. A million tiny blessings combined… and I am again left to wonder why I keep having experiences like this – one after another.

I can offer no explanation or justification for why I am so blessed. But I will say that in facing the inability to explain my own experience, I come closest to explaining why I believe in a God, who is love. I believe I am blessed, not through random chance, but through love's artistry. I literally think that my life is too good to be the dealings of cold chance or the tight fist of earned benefit.

And although I still cannot explain it, I share with you that it is my own life which continues to nourish this faith that my only purpose is to return love as I have been loved. This is a faith that has made me who I am – and as such, that I continue to try to put into context with the rest of the world around me that often faces such sorrow and horror that it makes me feel the exception rather than the rule.

I do not think that my faith, drawn from the immediate experience of my life, can explain a world where people are born into such different lives, and with such different gifts and opportunities. My faith is not constructed from an attempt to explain the world. But it is the thing that I am most certain of and from which I most benefit as a human being – and that is what leads me to wonder how what I know is true for me relates to what I don’t understand about the world.

I believe, because at the end of each day my heart still agrees with the thought that I am guided in harmony through what could easily be chaos – and that love and grace are the only words expansive enough to explain it. I believe that I am loved, that I am enough just as I am – and that the only reason I am here is to follow the path that one who sees far more than I has laid out – one that has less to do with me than my small perspective can see right now.

The Impenetrable Forest

2005-07-22T06:54:00.000-05:00

I have been sitting in the ARC office with basically nothing to do since Tuesday - my country director was too busy to go over my report from Yei and has gone to Nairobi, and I am still waiting on documents and data from ARC in the Balkans to begin work on my paper. So... rather than surfing the frustratingly slow internet like a lowly intern, I've found a way to go see gorillas in the wild.

I keep going to war-torn areas with ARC where all of the animals have fled - so this trip is devoted. Half of the world's mountain gorillas reside in Southwestern Uganda - and the rest are only found in bordering countries of Rwanda and DRC - so it seems like I shouldn't miss the chance. Besides, ever since my dad gave me a gorilla stuffed animal for Valentine’s Day as a little girl, I've been in love with these guys. Sadly, the silverbacks are endangered, and they supposed to be one of the most amazing animals to see in the wild of all time.

Bwindi National park is called "The Impenetrable Forest" and they only allow 18 people in per day. This is why you have to get a permit - and people book a year in advance. Fortunately some couple had to cancel last minute, and so I'm getting one of their permits. On Tuesday I'll join what is called a "gorilla trek" with 6 other people like myself, and then the trackers and soldiers that accompany us. We'll literally hike through the rainforest until we find where the gorilla family slept the night before, and then follow their track further until we find the gorillas themselves. (yeow!)

Once you find them, you basically hang out with them for an hour... they say it is just awesome. The trackers are there both for tourists, but also for the animal's own protection as an endangered species... they have to keep track of where they are every day to prevent them from being killed by the horrible poachers.

It will be nice to see this part of the country because it is supposed to be totally different - green, forest covered mountains in a cold climate bordering DRC. Not to mention that it's about time to take an ARC break for a couple of days... I am around the same people all of the time and their lives are all so different from mine. Overall, it’s wonderful – but more immediately, I’d love a change. So, I'll meet some backpackers and join what I'm sure will not be an uneventful 12 hour bus ride each way.

Jess, I think this will be my first legit hiking trip since freshman odyssey! - yikes - the flashbacks. Mr. Harris – I'll have you know that this will be days 50-53 with no high heels. ;) I'm leaving Sunday early morning and returning Wednesday evening. I'll be back to the internet on Thursday, and you can call my mobile if you need me.

They say when you finally reach the gorillas, it is completely amazing. They describe looking into the eyes of these creatures as one of life's biggest thrills. Hmm... well I don't know about all that.. but I just hope a little baby gorilla wanders up and says hello. And I hope I catch a glimpse of the massive silverback. One guy I spoke with even saw him beat his chest and roar. Whoa. (!!)

Words that ring true

2005-07-20T04:58:00.000-05:00

The night before I left for South Sudan, Josephine decided to get a housekeeper for our apartment. She located our new maid, Claire, through a Malawian friend of hers that is a priest and who operates a school for "disadvantaged girls." At this school they apparently receive basic home-economics training - maids and wives in training. Most of the girls come from "the village," as they say here in Africa - meaning, this girl has been raised in poverty in one of the mud huts like those in the photos I've sent… until her family moved into what is basically a shanty-town of Kampala where we picked her up last week.

She is labeled as “disadvantaged” because she is one of 12 brothers and sisters... her mother recently passed away, and her father is older and almost blind from the toll of diabetes on his body. She is not bright, and in fact her entire personality and aura is entirely dull - she walks so slowly, she rarely speaks, she barely looks you in the eye, and she is only 20 years old. Her presence makes me uneasy with a mix of pity and uncertainty over what this girl is thinking.

I found out today that she eloped and was married to this guy that is unemployed and wouldn’t pay her dowry… buying your bride is still customary for “village girls” in Uganda. Somehow her family convinced her to come back home. Her husband is somewhere unemployed in Kampala, and perhaps the moping in her aura comes from wishing she were with him and that life had turned out differently. But she is only 20! Whatever causing her grief, Claire is unfortunately not an endearing girl, not easy to like – and in her sad world, it is so easy to see how some guy could create a romantic fairytale story and convince her that her life could be otherwise – all in a charade that left her where she is now… a maid in our apartment.

Even if she was lovely and excited to have a job, this situation would still be so sad. She lives in a maid’s apartment next to ours… she is far from her friends and family, and she was told by her father before she left to not come home more than once a month because travel is dangerous. So now she lives entirely alone in this one room apartment above our garage, and she cleans and cooks for Josephine and I from before we leave for work until after 10 pm when Josephine eats each evening. There is no one around during the day but the guards and maybe other maids if the neighbors have them. I saw where she lived when we picked her up – people were packed together so tightly – there were chickens running in and out of houses, with kids everywhere and smoke from the fires scenting the air – conversations drifting through fabric covered windows that divide one home from another. She is used to living in a community – and although this room is much nicer than where she came from – it must feel so lonely.

But even given the obvious reasons for her demeanor – my sympathy for her is also mixed with distrust. I get such an uneasy feeling around her. I do not know what has happened to this girl, but it feels like something went wrong for her…something more damaging than being poor, something has created anger or misery in her. It might be the death of her mother – although it doesn’t seem like it is that either. I feel sorry for whatever could make a young girl become this sad existence. Now that I’m back from Sudan, I feel so uncomfortable with her being in the house and serving me. She is so slow, everything looks painful – and it is unnecessary! I don’t need a maid, and I don’t want one that is underpaid, full-time and miserable. But that, I’m afraid, is exactly what Miss Josephine wants.

This woman I’m living with has the personality of a diva, and she treats her maids in accordance with that reputation. It is like watching Cinderella and the Wicked Stepmother live. Unfortunately, Claire is not as endearing our dear fairytale heroine, and thankfully Josephine has not yet resorted to yelling. It’s just the icy superiority complex, and the demands of a perfectionist who sees this girl as nothing more than a maid to be trained to obey.

The night that she arrived, we got to the house around 8:30 in the evening. Before she even had time to sit on her bed and look around her, Josephine was instructing her on “how she likes things done.” The glasses when held to the light must sparkle, and there may be no lines from the water or soap. Wine glasses should be washed with enough soap so that the water then flows off the surface of the glass quickly, leaving no marks. They should then be dried face down on a paper towel and put away immediately once they are dry. Can I mention Josephine doesn’t even drink wine? This was on the girl’s first night in our apartment.

She has probably never even seen the appliances Josephine has in her kitchen. She is afraid of the washing machine, she doesn’t know what bleach is, all of her cooking is overdone and pretty terrible – I must say I don’t see her really trying to please and improve at all, but then there is Josephine who wants her ironing this way, and her pillows that way, and her floors sparkling. Good lord – I am glad she didn’t expect me to please all of these demands…because for the past months I am sure I’ve messed up her pillows and mis-washed her glasses. But that is just the thing. She doesn’t expect it of me – I’m not the maid. I’m an expat that is living with her and can do as I please. I have respect, and Claire does not. She is beneath us, and here to serve us because she is lucky that we’ve given her a job at all. It makes me sick. Josephine tried living in London for a while – and she literally moved back because “life there is too hard.” She couldn’t afford to have a maid to do everything for her there! Apparently, no one would put up with her demands for such low wages in London.

So last night we are watching the Nelson Mandela Lecture being given by 2004 Nobel Prize winner Wangari Maathai. Here is a strong Kenyan woman who is advocating not for aid, but for empowerment of her people. She gave a speech that was so beautiful and with such a genuine perspective that it gave me goosebumps listening to her words. She told the biblical story of the crippled man at Lystra who sat begging outside of the church. Paul looks at this man, and rather than passing by or giving him alms, he sees that his faith is strong and he says to the man, “Rise up and walk.” The man stands for the first time in his life, jumping for joy at being healed and able to go and live his life.

She called out for the international community, the leaders at the G8, those arranging for debt relief and international aid to flow to African countries in the coming years to be like Paul and not like the other passers-by who simply gave alms to this man. Paul empowers this man with his call to his faith – “Rise up and walk.” He presents an opportunity for this man to change his life. Wangari Maathai called to the international community to ensure that their aid is not just money, but money that will empower – that is being given to empower. Westerners – do we want to empower the Africans, or just to give money? We need the right goals.

She then called out to Africans – to emphasize that it was not Paul that had to bend over and lift the man. It was the beggar himself who had to choose to have faith, to take the opportunity, to rise up on his own legs and walk. He could have preferred to stay in his current state, but he chose to strive for something more when given the chance. She called to African leaders to take this opportunity and use it for their people, to spend the money available through debt relief on programs that will empower Africans to come out of poverty and to take control of their own lives and the resources of their nation that they are wasting.

What Wangari Maathai emphasized was empowerment. She described the way a crippled man sits – looking at the ground, not meeting your eye – sitting in misery and hopelessness… as too quick to place his life entirely vulnerable into the hands of others – a government, a charity, or the elements of the world. She describes this as the greatest need in Africa today – to empower the people out of this apathy, this misery, this poverty that keeps them unequipped with the knowledge, the expectations and the opportunities to pursue progress for their own lives and within the greater context of their nation and continent. She described the faces of those in Kenya that she assisted, and she called out to men and women to work for change.

Her speech was powerful because it came from a women who has spent her life working to bring such change. It came from a woman who can look into the camera and condemn corruption because she has suffered under its aftermath. She can call out to men to respect women, because she has suffered the disrespect. She can call out to her people to stop burning their forests without replanting, because she has lived this hard life and seen it worsen under environmental degradation. She can call out to leaders who allow violence to continue because she sees how most of the poverty around her is caused and perpetuated by conflicts. In a world where most things I see lack a tone of sincerity, I must say that her voice rang true. That in itself was valuable… our lives are infected, I think, by the overwhelming amount of insincerity around us. It corrodes our expectations of others, of ourselves, and of our leaders.

The Archbishop Desmond Tutu in his response to her lecture (which was laced with humor) called out for women to take charge – to use the strength to create something out of nothing, to follow the example of this woman, and to work to build Africa. At his call for a withdrawal of the men to create space for women – to give women a chance to try to improve the mess that men have made (as he put it) – my house-mate Josephine jumped off of the sofa applauding. She triumphantly pranced around the apartment insisting that it was high time someone said that, and it was men who had brought so much misery. Leave it to the African women! Empower them! She was applauding.

Where was Claire? Was she invited to sit on our sofa and watch the speech? Was she called out to – “Claire! Come hear this – you need to hear this – this woman is a role model for you.”… No. She was cooking our dinner. She was coldly asked if it was ready yet. She was left to eat in the kitchen alone. If I hadn’t helped her with the dishes, she would have been in the apartment past 11, and without anything but orders and complaints. Empower the women? I don’t know how it happens – but it seems it depends on which women we are talking about.

I don’t think this is an African problem, but last night was an experience that really affected me. We cannot preach for empowerment, when we do not practice it in our own daily lives. The reason that Wangari Maathai’s speech was anything more than flowery language is because she has a lifetime of service behind her words. The reason that our world has so much pain is because we all are easier to sympathize with ourselves than we are with other people.

I have known of 5 deaths here in my little world in Africa in the last week – one was the woman who died of AIDS in Lainya – but there were 4 others who died in accidents… some children, some adults. My friend Melina says that life is a lottery – where we are born determines so much, and it is completely random. It seems to me also that how and when we die is this way to a large extent. Things just happen. But who we are in between those two randomly chosen points in place and time is something that is not random. We become who we choose to become, within the worlds that we live.

I want to be someone whose words ring true when I speak. I want the experiences I have now to educate those words that I will speak in the future. I want to find a way for girls like Claire to feel the same power inside of them, without it becoming the raging monster that emerges every so often from Josephine.

I think the key to all of this is love. Josephine has all of the right ideals in much of her life, but there is not love behind them. It makes it that easy for one category to allow for treating a young girl like she is beneath her. We cannot rely on our minds and morals alone to keep ourselves in check. They are not enough to make one’s words ring true. Only love can do that.

Lessons in Love

2005-07-17T04:47:00.000-05:00

Yesterday a rainstorm spoiled our plans, but created a moment I'll remember forever. We were supposed to be hosting an HIV/AIDS awareness rally in Bazi, a village almost to the border town of Kaya where we crossed from Uganda a week ago. The skies were gray on the drive, and soon opened into a heavy downpour with no end in sight. We arrived after 2 hours of bumping up and down in a land cruiser trying to tackle a muddy mess of a road - I was feeling sick - but one look at what awaited us made me realize how unused to discomfort I am and how incredibly resilient are those who are. Inside of a small brick building rattled with bullet holes and crumbling open air windows was a crowd of about 150 people awaiting our arrival. Most of them were children, most of whom had no shoes and torn, dirty clothing. There were few men, mostly women who were watching the children - ranging from younger than I to elderly women with worn faces and beautiful, piercing eyes.

The rain was pouring in through the windows, as was the wind. It was cold and wet, and the plan had been to march through town with instruments singing. Now there were all of these little eyes on me, and I was surprised by how indifferent Amber and Anne seemed to the fact that all of these people were there with expectations of an event, and that it was the least we could do to provide some kind of entertainment and demonstration for them, even if it was impromptu. Marijane and I looked at one another - neither of us speaks Juba Arabic, and none of these women and children spoke English ... so I just started to smile. I smiled and started shaking hands with them - Marijane started getting the children into a circle to teach them the hokey pokey.... the children did not understand.. but now they were all gathered around us on all sides. I kept the ones around me giggling, and about that time a man from ARC, Moro, came over with a knowing smile. I asked him to translate for me, and through his help I found out a few of their names and I asked them to sing a song for me.

There was one girl who was brave enough - her name was Agnes, and she introduced herself and began to clap her hands. Suddenly all of the children were clapping in unison and her voice rang out in a high pitched chant - her words I couldn't understand, but then all of the children's voices chimed in "Halleluiah" - she sang and sang with the children joining in - hundreds of voices in all different pitches singing in unison, all around me - with their eyes bright and their smiles contagious. I just kept smiling and would make eye contact with each child one by one - each smiling back and hiding in embarrassment and delight. They sang and sang - I couldn't believe how beautiful it was. We formed another circle and danced - they all laughed as I joined in and everyone tried to hold my hand. I think this went on for about two hours.

As the songs ended, I started teaching them hand clapping games, which even the boys wanted to learn - but most were too afraid to come to me directly, so they would grab the girl I'd just taught and make her show them. The mothers by this time were all smiling at me - their faces animated with the delight of the children, and I felt like I had been accepted by the attention paid to their children. These women were wrapped in bright colored fabrics - almost all huddling babies under blankets against the cold rain. I felt so alive in that place. I felt so amazed by what small attention brought delight to the faces of those children. I felt so humbled by their state of contentment to be gathered in a cold, damp church in the middle of thunder and lightning and wind with no dry place to call home.

This morning I attended church at a local Episcopal Church, and a man who recognized me from the UNHCR party came and sat next to me and translated the entire service for me. It was beautiful - and I couldn't believe that in just a week's time I am already known by people and taken into their lives. There is a small group of people in Yei that are Sudanese, but who lived in exile in Uganda - getting an education instead of fighting. These men are returning, and it is amazing how they all know one another. They are building their lives and their country - and I see the energy between these men.

One I met with is the first South Sudanese filmmaker - he wants to put together a series on HIV/AIDS that will show this message, but that will also show these people that they can do what the Nigerians and Ugandans and Kenyans do... he said he has been told he couldn’t' do it because he was Sudanese so many times - but that his vision surpasses all of them. He first formed a gospel group singing in the local languages - they presented John Garang with a CD and he said it was the first recorded music he'd ever received from his own people. This man's vision is contagious - you want him to succeed. You want him to make his movie and for it to be seen all over South Sudan as he hopes.

The same man tried to unify the Sudanese in exile in Uganda - and was arrested in the 90s by Museveni's government because gatherings of youth were not legal...but they did it in secret - and that was the beginning of the New Sudan Student's Association that I met with earlier this week. Their former leader is now the County Education Officer for Yei who invited me to his office to discuss incorporating HIV/AIDS and life skills into the curriculum of the schools in the country. All of these men know each other, went to school together - they have now all returned and are in various ways trying to build New Sudan. It is incredible - I feel like I'm meeting founding fathers of a country - and who am I to have such an opportunity? Their pride in who they are and where they are from is inspiring. I think if this place has any hope of a peaceful future - it will be through the efforts of men like these, and through these women that I again describe as so strong it hurts to look at them. They are so strong, and in a place where everyone is traumatized and victims of conflict. They do not hide from the suffering, they live through it each day and go on.

I have been so touched by the Sudanese people - It is the most foreign place that I have ever been - but it has touched me in a way few places have. I do not know how these people live as they do - and I benefit from being a local celebrity as a young female "kharwaja" - but I can see beyond the immediate fanfare and realize what daily life is for these people, and how slow progress is in coming. Their lives are so hard, they are so hard, and yet they work together to live and they go on... just witnessing this has made me feel more of the potential of humanity than all of my exposure to intelligence and greatness.

The voices lifted this morning in church have to be as pleasing to God as the most perfect choir in the grandest cathedrals. Watching these people worship made me realize how blessed I am - both blessed to have the life that I have been given, but also so blessed to be able to witness in Yei what strength we have inside of us. I do not think this lesson is small or idealistic - it is our foundation. One that we need as much at home as these people need it here... we are stronger than we think, and we are strongest in weakness... When we have least to lose, we give more than thought we had. In our vulnerability, we are at our greatest. This is what Sudan has meant for me.

I'll be leaving tomorrow and returning to Arua - where i'll stay overnight before flying to Kampala on Tuesday. I may not have access to email until Wednesday, but I'll write again when I can. You have all been in my thoughts here - somehow being here has made me feel closer and not farther away.

Scenes from New Sudan

2005-07-15T04:31:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I was seated inside of a mud hut interviewing county officials in a South Sudanese county that it is only accessible by one road – and a road that cuts through a rugged landscape full of land mines. It is not possible to venture further than the worn paths and tire treads without risk, and the remains of vehicles from the war sit like skeletons along the roadside. Caravans victim to ambushes during the 90’s remain exactly as they were left, a rusting heap of metal that is now nothing more than a ghost story. My driver and Thomas could recall the incidents specifically – and they showed us the former battle grounds and common spots for ambushes by the Arab troops. We got out of the car to take a picture of the remains of a tank, and we found bullet shells littering the dirt road. A sad glimpse of modern history.

The county officials had lunch prepared for us – a simple combination of a thick paste made from millet and red beans, which we ate with our hands. We were there to meet with the chairlady of a women's association in Lainya that would like for ARC to provide an educational workshop on HIV/AIDS. They are having problems in their community when individuals die of AIDS - one clan will come to another claiming that the widow killed his or her spouse who died of AIDS. They demand payment, sometimes even while the individual is still alive with the disease. I have been surprised by how education about HIV/AIDs in Africa is about so much more than just prevention and testing.

While I was meeting with these officials, a co-worker went out to the home of a woman in a village nearby who was rumored to be isolated and dying. When Marijane arrived, she found this woman lying alone in a hut with only a roof held up by sticks, not even a mud filling to protect from the rain. She had not been touched by her family, who were present - and she was too weak to move. She had severe bed sores and was emaciated. Her eyes caught Marijane's who was interviewing the family to record the case details, and when Marijane returned to the woman her stare was unmoving - she had died just then. She died of AIDs in a most painful way, ignored both physically and emotionally by her family and community. There are many like this woman.

Marijane is here to set up a home-based care system to access patients like this woman through a network of volunteers, and this woman is amazing. She is in her 60's and hard-core - and I like her more than most of ARC's staff because she is all effort, no pretense. She gets down into these huts and visits patients in situations I cannot even imagine. Her stories are beyond horrible. She witnessed a domestic abuse case here in Yei where a man held his wifes tongue down so that she could not scream and tore her uterus out of her body with his bare hand. He was put in prison and then released, and has continued to terrorize her. This all began because she greeted another man that was a former classmate of hers. Her husband is an educated man working in an office here in Yei that we drive by everyday. I wanted to throw up when I heard that story. I do not know how women live here. Their husbands own everything that is cultivated, and can starve their wife and children if they choose.

But it would be entirely unfair to leave that as your picture of Southern Sudan - I have met some inviduals here who I admire more than I can express. Some women who are so strong that it hurts to look at them, and some men who are so good that you wonder how they came out of a country with 20 years of violence. I just had an interview with a man forming a youth association across Southern Sudan. He told me the entire history of Garang's reunification of the SPLM movement after factions caused the movement almost to dissolve in 1991 - they held a convention in 1994 that reunified the movement and established a civil authority to begin the process of handing over powers from the military to this civil authority. It also granted the rights to form associations, and it is through this convention that most of the local groups that I have met with were formed. His energy was incredible - and I am going to have Marijane meet with him next week so that he can include her as an educator in a workshop he's putting together.

This has been the best part of my experience here - I am able to put people in touch with one another. I have been going out everyday with Thomas, this Sudanese man on the ARC staff that they jokingly call "the mayor" because he knows everyone. We have been to places so remote that children have literally never even journeyed beyond the perimeters of their village. We found organizations in these places and spoke with leaders who do have contacts in Yei about how they can get ARC's resources to bring AIDs education to their towns. Through the process I've picked up the details of what other groups are doing, and so I've just started recommending them as well.

I basically tell the group leaders how the international funding process works and how they can get money from international NGOs if they are persistant and go through the right motions. The money they'd be able to get would be tiny - but you wouldn't believe how little this place has. Literally anything would be something. I have enjoyed being the connector here so much - really, I get so excited about it. I get along well with them after a brief conversation, and they like me I can tell. I have their confidence, and I listen to their challenges and then suggestions just come to mind and I tell them who to go talk to. It is great - and if it weren't for Thomas I'd never have been able to pick up on so many things so quickly - but it has all worked out. It is just amazing. I feel like I'm their insider giving them strategy advice. Even if just a few of them take me up of it, then more will happen here. I feel really good about what I'm doing this week.

I've also met so many amazing people - I can't describe them all here... today I met a girl Agnes who is my age and from Kampala. She is actually just my size and everything (in a world where everyone thinks little is a shame and fat is fabulous) ... she isn't married, also rare - and she is from Kampala. She is struggling to fight social pressure to marry - she doesn't see many good relationships and she can't trust men to be genuine. In a place like this, I don't blame her. But Marijane has a guy in Nairobi that she met when she was working in Malawi. He is an orphan and she's adopted the boy and put him through law school in Nairobi. She speaks about him like a son, and she's going to put the two of them in touch by email. How funny is that? Matchmaking in South Sudan. Last night I went to a party for UNHCR and sat around with a group of de-miners from all over the world, most in from Iraq who were telling me how they do it. Landmines are so horrible - Thomas showed me his father's land that he can't use because it's still full of them. This whole place country is full of landmines... they are such a horrible weapon..why are they used? They are indiscriminate in who they kill and they hinder development in so many ways after the war. Oh it's crazy.

Aww - a man from ARC staff got worried that I was lost and just came with the motorcycle to pick me up for lunch. I had better go! Sorry this report is so scattered - I don't know how to describe this place. It is full of horrors, but also full of wonders. This has been by far my most rewarding and fulfilling week - I will be sad to leave Yei.

First Night in Yei

2005-07-11T07:33:00.000-05:00

When you cross the border from Uganda into Sudan, the world changes. The climate and colors are the same - but there is almost no cultivation along the roadsides, the road is in disrepair, and the faces of the people lining the roads are hardened. Children have flies sitting on their eyelids and lips – without any effort to waive them off. We pulled over by the side of the road at one point and a crowd of children formed around the window of the Land Cruiser. A young boy named John introduced himself in English, with a beautiful sheepish smile. This was my first impression of Sudan.

The ARC compound is a rustic operation - everything works together for the running of the place. Our shower is in a tin shed, operated by manually pouring water into a metal barrel on a platform from jugs that have been filled at a nearby borehole. The water is then warmed by a live fire that is prepared in an empty barrel below it each morning. At dusk chickens perch on top of the shed to be near the warmth of the fire. The toilets are latrines in sheds in the back - and it is so dark inside that even by day you need a flashlight... not to mention at night when you can't see your hand in front of your face. There is no electricity, except from a generator when they have it turned on. At night we have lanterns placed around - and it is so quiet and still... except for the frogs outside.

Then when it rains, everything stops. All you hear is the sound of rain against the tin roof and the flow of the foot paths that turn to muddy streams. It feels sheltered, but not peaceful - even in the rain it does not feel peaceful. Buildings show the signs of war, faces show the signs of war, and there is even a bomb shelter in our compound. Everything is touched by the politics of this place. There is a difference here from Northern Uganda... "the enemy" was the government of the North rather than a rebel group. There is tension underlying the desperation - in a way I did not feel in Kitgum and Gulu.

There is also a wildness - the war is officially over, but the AK-47s strapped to men's shoulders are very real. At night we stay inside the compound, and by day I am always with the local staff. People are uneasy around foreigners - and there is a pride among the SPLM officials who want the benefits of internationals without the challenge or limits to their authority. It is of the theme of the rugged wild west - but distinctly African. There is the looting and scheming, the grand plans and the lawlessness - all amidst a background of the Equatorian tropics.

I can't describe this place in the short time I have today at the internet place... nor can I describe my own feelings about being here. It has aroused in me excitement and wonder like nothing since my childhood - and I could barely fall asleep last night. Partly because of the lizards and mice - but mostly because my heart was beating so fast.

I went outside and looked up at the sky - there were more stars than i have ever seen in my life. I felt why ancients looked to the night sky to explain the divine. It is amazing to be in a place like this. It is unlike anywhere that I have ever been before ... a frontier beyond what I imagined.

Crossing the Border

2005-07-08T02:03:00.000-05:00

I am going to South Sudan on Sunday - an exciting time to travel to this part of the world. On Saturday the Southern Sudanese will ratify their interim constitution and their former-rebel leader John Garang is being sworn in as First Vice President of Sudan and President of South Sudan. It will be this man's first trip to Khartoum in twenty-two years - a place that he left in 1983 as a government soldier sent on a mission to quell some rebelling troops in the South. He went on that mission and did not return - instead he became the leader of a movement called the Sudan People's Liberation Movement (SPLM), and he has spent over twenty years fighting a civil war that finally ended in January of this year with the signing of "the Nairobi Declaration on the Final Phase of Peace in the Sudan."

Peace in Southern Sudan after over twenty years of devastation is a concept few can comprehend. Those that have traveled to remote parts of the country describe it as a return to the Stone Age. There is no infrastructure - no schools, no hospitals. Except where church missions and NGOs have been able to penetrate, there are only thatched huts and blown out remains of buildings. There are 4 million displaced people, and there is almost nothing of life as we know it in the modern world.

Southern Sudan captured the hearts of many people because of the horror of what happened there. Now that peace has arrived, and the rebuilding has begun, it is tempting to close the book. To think that this gruesome chapter is complete and now it is time to look to other parts of the world. But the reality is that the difficulties in this place are only of a new kind. Constructing a country after 20 years of war is something few of us can fathom, and yet it is the reality of those who have survived.

So on Sunday I will travel on the first road to be constructed between Uganda and Southern Sudan since the war, which crosses a strip of land that thousands of refugees crossed by foot to plea for asylum in the Western Nile region of Uganda. My destination will be the town of Yei, a provincial capital located near the Yei River, once called "New London" because it was the fastest growing town in Old Sudan. It remains a center for human traffic across the border, and it is one of the few regions in Southern Sudan that NGOs were able to regularly access during the war. It is more developed than much of Southern Sudan - my co-workers describe it as "nice".. but they caution that the world "town" should be taken lightly. Just having a road in South Sudan can make a place stand out.

Just to give you an idea - Sudan is approximately the size of Western Europe - and Southern Sudan the size of France and Germany combined. I will only be 90 miles north of its southern border with Uganda and the Democratic Republic of Congo - barely even penetrating the vastness of this country. So for those worrying about Darfur - Darfur is far, far away from where I will be. Sadly, it is also far out of the minds of these people. Perhaps you can only really take in one tragedy in a country at a time - or perhaps the interconnections between the SPLA and the Ugandan government make this conflict especially relevant. Whatever the reason, you hear little talk of Darfur here. Much more speculation about whether peace can last in the South, especially as the SPLM rebel leaders become government officials, given the task of building a nation rather than destroying it.

My boss wants me to assess the situation in Yei - to meet with local NGOs there and to talk with the ARC staff, who have been there for over 10 years, and to come back with an answer to the question, "Are they ready yet?"

Are they ready yet? This seems like quite a question to answer in a week's time. I suppose he means, is there an energy in the people to start building? Are there people with the strength and will to join in this with more in mind than getting their hands on international dollars? Is there a civil society developing? Is Yei ready for us to start thinking of community revitalization projects - or are they still in the after-shock of war. Are people still looking around waiting for this peace too to fail? Have they begun to think of themselves as Southern Sudanese people? Or are the tribal factions just below the surface of these settlements? How do people see their lives now that they live in peace instead of war, do they know what it means to build a community and a nation? Are they ready yet?

I don't know how I'll be able to answer this question. Even partly - how do you answer such a question? But I am happy that I have the chance to try. I am happy that I am in a place where someone is looking at me and telling me to go and talk to these people and to find out what I can about how they see their own futures. I am glad that I am going to this place at this moment in their history. It is a complete mess of devastation - but it is, in a way, the dawn.

It is a time when people who have been beaten down are being told that the worst is over, and are being encouraged to hope for something more. The Southern Sudanese have six years of self-rule before a referendum in which they will decide whether they want independence. They have fifty percent of the revenue from oil production in their country, they have millions of dollars flowing in for the development of roads, schools, hospitals - and they have maintained their right to live under their own law rather than Islamic law. They have potential inside of this mess, and it is the first time in over twenty years that that can be said.

But what will they do with it? How do bush rebels become statesmen? How do tribal factions melt into national unity? How do refugees return and mix with their old neighbors who stayed and suffered through 21 years of war? How do people know whose land is whose? What about the orphans and the widows? What about the memories of massacres between Dinkas and Nuers? Southern Sudan is far from unified. They were not even unified in their rebellion against the Arab North - how can they be unified now in rebuilding the South?

And who is building it? These people that have no schools, no education - it is not life as we know it. They are nomadic people - pastoralists. Many have known only that way of life, or a life of war. What a gap lies between where they are and where they want to be. What expectations of streets of gold the former rebels must have when they hear of the US dollars flowing into the budget of John Garang. What a sense of justice they must feel for having fought and won the right to rule. But such feelings quickly lead to abuse of power. And this is often seen in South Sudan already. How do these people make for themselves a nation? Especially when there is a North that may try to see that they cannot?

ARC has been working in areas of South Sudan for over 10 years - Yei, Nimule and Kajo Keji. In Yei, they provide education and testing for HIV/AIDS because the high traffic makes it especially vulnerable to spreading the disease. They have begun small microfinance projects to support local businesses. A group from Davidson College came to Yei in 2003 and gave training to co-operatives, and now over 20 are established. There are approximately 3,000 small businesses in Yei - and a growing number of women's groups. Yei is further along in development than much of South Sudan because it benefited from about 7 years of peace while it was under the control of the SPLM during the war. Most ARC employees there are SPLM, and much of the town. The government leaders are SPLM, and it is the SPLM that granted my travel permit to access the region.

ARC hopes to maintain its work in these communities while it begins to work with communities of refugees in Uganda that fled from these regions. By having a presence on both sides of the border, they will be able to assist refugees in making their own decisions about whether or not to return by giving them accurate information about what the conditions are in their place of origin. They will also have a presence in the communities to help with the reintegration when the returns begin. Many expect that this process of refugee returns will be a long time in coming - many have better standards of living in the refugee camps than is currently available in South Sudan. At least they can educate and vaccinate their children. But there are those who will want to go home, and others who will want to go home when it is more developed - and there are those who will resent them coming back after having left. And there are those who will not recognize the life they left behind.

This is the work that ARC is really designed to do -they work in the transition that happens between crisis and development - they are a transition agency... somewhere between the humanitarian and development worlds that I've been describing. It is my boss's hope that by being on both sides of the border, and by establishing sustainable programs of community revitalization in South Sudan, that the refugees they help to return will be ready to stick it out when difficulties arise. ARC knows that the conflicts arise in reintegration - and they hope those conflicts will be better addressed if they have a constant presence in both communities from the start. They see the situation in Northern Uganda to be a place that in the future will also face a transition - where IDPs and formerly abducted soldiers will be returning to communities devastated so long ago. There will be unique but similar difficulties when that conflict ends. These are the two transitions that ARC sees a future role in assisting, so right now they are trying to establish themselves in the communities so that they'll be there when the time comes.

They see this "transition role" as helping to give these communities a strong foundation by encouraging refugee returns that will be sustainable... that are made with realistic expectations. They help to prepare mentalities of both groups with community development programs making them talk and work together, emphasizing tolerance, and mediating expectations. It is a task that sounds almost pie in the sky because the issues are so deep and challenging that some may think it useless to try - and clearly no single NGO can make more than a small contribution to such a goal - but it is necessary I think to try. If that is not why we are here, then I do not see a higher purpose. And if we do not act with the expectation that these Sudanese communities can maintain this peace, then we will send the opposite message and doom the process from the start. If we think formerly abducted child soldiers are a lost cause, then we ignore an entire generation and further hinder the one that will follow.

I agree that this more in-depth approach to community reintegration is a better way of community building than the typical "bus and drop" method of returning refugees - and I hope he is able to convince the donors that his organization has a role to play, despite being more expensive to implement. He thinks that this is the way to bridge the gap between humanitarian and development mentalities - to introduce transition agencies that bridge the two. But it is hard to be the transition agency without alienating yourself from both camps (and both funding sources)... this is the challenge currently facing ARC. How to get funds to be the bridge agency from a system that itself operates on two shores.

It is here that I may be able to contribute to ARC's cause after my summer here. They have had success in the Balkans with their in-depth approach to returns - and they want to tailor it to suit the South Sudan and Northern Uganda contexts. I may write an impact study of their efforts in the Balkans with an analysis of how sustainable their returns proved to be in that region. I would then have to analyze the differences between the conflict in the Balkans and those occurring here - and draw forth suggestions for how similar sustainability results as obtained in the Balkans could be achieved in East Africa. It would be a massive undertaking for me given how much knowledge I lack about conflicts here much less in the Balkans - but such a report would give ARC something in writing to show donors, with evidence of past successes and an outlined argument for how it could be achieved here.

I certainly don't have the expertise to write something like that all on my own - but with the contribution of all of these people working in the field - both in the Balkans and here - I think it just might be possible. Sanja is in Belgrade now and can get me data from her office - and she worked with ARC for 5 years there. Tom was the Country Director in the Balkans before coming here - and my friend Peter from UNHCR was also in the Balkans with UNHCR before coming here. For someone who'll have to talk to me at my level - there is my girl Melina in Pristina right now, and she's probably choking as she reads this... gasping at the thought of how she'd ever prepare me to write something on the Balkans in 3 months :)

But, if I can get enough people involved in the project - then it's the first way I've found that an upstart academic might be able to help an NGO help displaced people. So this is now my goal - and I've emailed home to Harvard for help and feasibility assessments from the ever-guiding Prof. Dominguez. I don't even want to ask Jas Sekhon about whether ARC's program counts as a "treatment" and bus-and drop as the "control." Not to mention proving causality of their efforts in the Balkans as bringing sustainability - but I don't have to convince Jas and the scientific community - I just have to convince the donors. :)

In the meantime, my trip to Sudan won't directly feed into such a paper - but I think it's something I have to do first. See the place and the people - let the idea settle a bit and wait for advice on how to proceed. Be physically touched by the reality that such a program would be working to assist. I have a good feeling about this trip. And I have a good feeling about this project. I know that the end never turns out to be what you think it will be in the beginning...but just to have something to aim for is enough for me. While I'm in Sudan I won't have my computer or regular access to email. My cell phone won't work - but there is an internet access place (I hesitate to say cafe) in Yei that I'll hopefully be able to use to send word. I will tell you all about it when I get back to Kampala - and that will be sometime before the 20th of July... depending on how it goes and who is traveling when.

It's much more of an immersion experience when you're out in these places and away from Kampala and email and word from home - so keep me in your thoughts and prayers, as you are in mine. Mom, your comment on my last blog was so beautiful. If anyone wonders why I am me - it is because you are you and have shown me by example how to live for something more than myself. You may be in the suburbs mom, but you do more in your daily life than I have ever done in mine. There are not fewer needs in the US - they are just of a different kind... and our country is as in need of genuine people with love to give as any place I have seen. You are the most loving person that I know, and I'm afraid you are needed still longer in crazy Kingwood, Texas :) ... not to mention in my life.

Tragedy in London

2005-07-07T07:40:00.000-05:00

I am so sad to read the news about the seven explosions in London today. I know you'll all be hearing about it as you wake up this morning - and will be as shocked and stunned by the news as we were here. It is so horrible. I am sorry for the victims, and sorry that so many more will be living in anxious dread of more attacks like we were in New York.

I do not understand what causes people to kill one another - a crazy disconnect when I am surrounded by victims of wars here in East Africa - but I just cannot understand it. Why is there such darkness in human hearts? It exists and is very real - as evident by events like this, by our wars, and the suffering of so many. Still, I never stop believing that light continues to shine through the darkness, even in the worst of situations. I pray that it will find those who are mourning the loss of loved ones today, in London and around the world.

A Single Day

2005-07-06T06:49:00.000-05:00

It is amazing how a single day can change everything.

New York first introduced me to the joy of the unexpected. It's why I love New York. When I lived there, I knew everyday when I walked out of the door that anything could happen to me.

You could have a man run across the street to complement your toenail polish, another serenade you with Spanish ballads on the subway -- a woman can ask you to come in and see a filming of a talk show or whether you want a free haircut and massage - or a confused pigeon could fly into your head for that matter. You could pass someone on the same street corner everyday and never know he exists... just to meet later in a coffee shop on the opposite side of town and fall in love. Anything can happen in New York - and it does.

The hope of the unexpected is made about as tangible there as I've ever felt it. Just knowing that there is a possibility of some unexpected joy or excitement is its own beauty- and I'd never really experienced that in my everyday life until I moved to New York. It made me feel alive.

It is harder to believe that your life can change at any moment when you grow up in a suburb. When you see the same people, and you know what your weekly schedule will be for the next five years. It's harder to believe that your life can change at any moment when everyone's lives look so similar and monotonous. You can blur everything into vanilla. Suddenly life appears an empty shell - a structure, a set path - and it can stay that way for a while if you let it. Even for a lifetime if nothing shakes you.

Maybe that is why it took living in NY for me to realize it. The city throws the unexpected in your face every day - so much so that you literally expect the unexpected. You don't know what you'll witness on the subway, who you'll share an elevator or restaurant with - when you'll see a street march or a street fair... but you know you'll see something you didn't expect. You start to look for it - it's like a treasure hunt every day. What will life throw my way in this crazy place? Where is my daily dose of living in between life as I know it?

In New York, I knew my life could change at any moment. Outside of Manhattan - it's so easy to forget...to stop expecting it.

Maybe it's because the unexpected isn't as immediate or as colorful as the Village street scenes - the unexpected is harder to expect without the tiny entertainments to remind you of its hovering presence in your future. Without those daily reminders, it's easier to forget that the unexpected can happen in the important things as well. On the streets of NY, the unexpected is at your door, free of charge... before you even thought to ask. Maybe when it's harder to come by we think it's something we have to do for ourselves.

But that is the beauty of the unexpected. It is what you don't control. It is grace.

It says that it is fruitless to plan life, to pin it down - you can't. And thank goodness for that. If we could control it all - it would be a terrible mess... from our tiny perspectives we'd never be able to get it right. I find freedom in knowing it isn't all up to me.

Whether or not a particular change brings joy or sorrow- the unexpected itself is a wonderful gift. In a single moment you can see the same world with new eyes. It can happen anywhere, anytime. It happens everyday - just not to you. And when life starts blurring to vanilla, it's so easy to forget the magic.

I find freedom in the unexpected - and it is a gift that I forget from time to time, but that always resurfaces. It resurfaced today. Suddenly I get it and I see where I can go next - and (as so often is the case) this feeling just came out of nowhere. Reality goes from dull gray to brilliant hues. I should have been expecting this to happen - it's happened so many times before. But, like the weakling I am - I forget. And when you forget the unexpected, and everything you see is depressing - you lose hope. But then arrives the gift of grace... hope finds you in the most unexpected places. When you don't even realize what you're missing, suddenly it's there.

How much happier I would be - all of the time - if I truly realized the potential of a single day. If I expected life to change in ways unimaginable, rather than to stay the same.

4th of July

2005-07-04T06:13:00.000-05:00

I hope you are all enjoying your 4th of July - I wonder if Mr. Spike Matre is throwing one of his lakehouse parties... I was out on Lake Victoria this weekend and it reminded me of so many 4th of July's spent there.

I think for this weekend with the chimps, pictures are a better description than words. I'm trying to upload them now (which takes an eternity) - so I'll send them out on ofoto when they are finally online. I didn't get to hold one - but it was a great day anyhow.

Best wishes for a wonderful holiday!

More Lectures, Revised Thoughts

2005-07-04T05:33:00.000-05:00

On Saturday evening I went to the Blue Mango (which Andy told me about before I came) - it was beautiful, a hidden oasis in Kampala. Tranquil and lush - an outdoor pool and wooden beamed bar, winding decks with low tables and African art.

I would have really enjoyed the evening if the conversation hadn't sadly turned into yet another lecture on why local NGO involvement is not feasible. I don't mind the lectures so much on my interviews or at the office - but in the evening, with friends over drinks - it becomes more obnoxious!

It is depressing when people really let out their jaded attitudes about working with locals. Both because I learn more about the difficulties, and also because I begin to question more about what it means about the help we bring to a country if that is the attitude pervading the system.

In the stage of emergency relief - what we call "humanitarian aid" - one can make a reasonable argument that relief work should be done by an international NGO because it needs to be as efficient and effective as possible to save lives. However, in Northern Uganda protracted violence has sent relief workers into a blurry stage where development and humanitarian work merges...

After 10 years in a camp without land to cultivate, you start thinking about microfinance programs helping people be self-sufficient in their small economies - you start wanting to run education programs about sexual and gender-based violence... you see such needs in your beneficiaries, and your presence on the ground is long-term ... Emergency relief cannot just be food rations and bore holes in a place like this.

But what is development work in camps and communities that are by definition supposed to be temporary? Can it have the same goals as development work in conflict-free regions? I am starting to wonder this for a few reasons. First, how can local NGOs that start up in IDP camps ever have the "organizational capacity" to meet donor standards? And how can NGOs working with restricted access due to security even expect to have the same type of relationships with the communities they serve? I wonder if it is possible to consider development work the same in conflict settings -especially when dealing with displaced communities.

But this is what my boss wants - he has had success in the Balkans with this mentality and I am wondering how it translates to Africa... where the population of people in these camps are far less educated and living in more severe situations of poverty. Peter from UNHCR said he worked in the Balkans and there he never had questions about why local groups weren't getting international funding for relief work - it was (according to him) clear to everyone why donors wanted their own people monitoring program implementation. There was no debate equivalent to my "Africans should be involved in helping Africans" argument that he has found in most regions of Africa.

I think that is because relief in the Balkans was not supposed to be development - it was humanitarian and in a conflict region. What is different here is that relief workers would be in Africa even if there was not a war displacing people. This is the "development" side - and UNHCR and others more aimed at specific goals relating to humanitarian protection for individuals in conflict are not understanding why arguments relating to development even arise.

So those that are doing work with refugees and IDPs especially in conflict zones are usually getting funding from donors with such a humanitarian protection mission. That is why I'm not finding donor interest in local NGO collaborations, and that is why the people around me often don't see working with local groups as valuable. Their mission is much more about helping victims stay alive, rather than helping their communities to develop. They find themselves doing far more than that - but they don't think about it from a development stand point. They just think of meeting immediate needs. The end result is the reality I'm seeing - development work with an emergency relief attitude.

But my boss is a true development guy. He also sees that humanitarian aid with food rations and boreholes isn't sufficient to meet the needs of this population, but through his "development" lens - this is the point, not the exception.

S0 he wants development for people in poverty, and he works for a group that targets displaced people. So his way of assisting displaced persons by definition will include establishing traditional development programs, and the emergency aid is what is the exception for him. He provides the humanitarian aid as long as it's needed - but it's humanitarian aid with a development attitude. This is why he's picturing programs that can be handed over to local groups. It's a development idea - he expects a long-term presence and shares a longer-term vision for these communities than most emergency-driven groups have. (Right or wrong - this is the distinction)

But despite my annoyance with Peter at UNHCR for disregarding the importance of local collaboration - he made one point that is depressing but rings true. He says, as long as people are in poverty and they are living in an economy such as this - they cannot be given money and expected to use it for the program aims of a development donor. They simply cannot be because the realities they face force them to look out for themselves first. They have to be monitored because the rule of life in such situations is take or be taken from - so they learn to take and they learn to survive. He says it isn't a judgment on the African indigenous population - it is simply a reality of how any humans would act under such circumstances.

But he then takes his argument a direction that I take issue with - he says development and humanitarian work by NGOs and International Orgs is a drop in the bucket. 5 times what the US gives in humanitarian aid is spent on arms sales - and the issues of debt relief and foreign aid are sidelined by the lack of transparency and high corruption of the governments of these countries that he does not see an end to anytime soon. So - he leaves it at that - point the finger at the government and let the international community continue about its small efforts to help as they are. Any problems they have are tiny in comparison to the ills of the political realities.

But without doubting that what he says is true in terms of the size of money being discussed here - I do not think it is as simple as this. First of all, there is not a clean separation between government and relief workers - especially as humanitarian interventions are becoming more and more common political tools for governments that don't want to get more involved in international crises. Secondly, most of the funding is still coming from governments - either via international organizations or bilateral aid. To say "blame the governments and leave us alone" is impossible. But besides that - it is just resignation.

Finally - and what I see as most important - if our goal (or the goal of humanitarian and development funding) is to provide assistance to the victims of war and to help people in poverty come out of poverty - and our system is failing to do so because it is dwarfed by the political realities under which it operates - then why to we continue to kid ourselves that we are meeting our mission? Why do we keep giving humanitarian aid and feel good about ourselves when we also support arms sales in such proportion that it outweighs our efforts?

I guess my question is why we let ourselves be so easily fooled into believing that we can just come here and "help people" without thinking about the politics. If our help is dwarfed by the politics - then it is our mission to think of how to change them. But most people don't - they think they can't - and so they do what they can. They help those in some way that they serve. But this is what happens - we get a system of people spending money - madly spending money to address real needs - but with too little power and too little money and too little hope for real change.

I can't say I know what to do with this argument - but it's the depressing reality I'm finding myself in... and at this stage all I can do is write about it, think about it - and look for where I can contribute for ARC and through my own research. I've reached that stage where you realize why people just throw up their hands. But - I'm too young to do that. :)

Chimpanzee Island and the US Embassy

2005-07-01T10:14:00.000-05:00

This weekend I'm going to an island in Lake Victoria that is a Chimpanzee Sanctuary - set up in part by one of my childhood heros - Jane Goodall. Hurrah! I get to hold a chimpanzee. :) This is so exciting to me.

Tonight I'm going to mingle with the expats again, this time at the US Embassy - a 4th of July celebration - with a co-worker Amber, who is from Chicago. (if they have spicy food and red wine, I will be in heaven...)

Since I've been writing so many serious blogs lately, I thought I should let you know I don't sit around and ponder justice 24/7 ... :)

Thanks for all of your love and support. I am amazed by how many people read what I write every day and send me notes. You are so good to me.

Sending my love!

... in "the interest of Justice"

2005-07-01T04:35:00.000-05:00

With all of the discussion about ideals on my blogsite recently - there is one that I haven't mentioned, which is at the center of a complex and thought-provoking debate in Uganda. The debate is about Justice - how justice will be obtained for the people of Northern Uganda, for the victims of over 18 years of war.

An initial reaction to such a debate could reasonably be - who can talk about justice when children are still being abducted? Why are we talking about justice when we need to be talking about protection? The war is not over! First we end the violence, then we talk about justice.

But this conflict is so unusual - it is so perverted and twisted and sad. In its complicated web of misery, it becomes apparent why the concept of justice is already a topic of debate. In Uganda, perceptions of how to end the conflict and of what justice means have become inextricably linked. How you think the war should end depends on how you think the war can end. It depends on how you think the North can heal, and who you think is to blame for all of this madness - it depends on what you want to do with that blame.

This isn't just a debate in perceptions. As in all conflicts of this sort - you could go back forever in root causes - but I'll start with the year 2002 and crudely summarize the events that shape this debate.

Museveni and the UPDF (you could say that they are one and the same for the purposes of this discussion) are proponents of a "military solution" to this conflict. Hence the IDP camps. Starting ten years ago, the UPDF decided it would be easiest to "protect" the people in the North by putting them all into these camps - that way anyone living outside of these camps could be assumed to be LRA. They claimed the purpose was to protect - but the strategy has not emphasized protection, and this is evident by its failure to protect even the camps from attacks and abductions.

The UPDF uses scorched earth tactics - it captures rebel leaders - and it proclaims that it is each time one step closer to ending the conflict. Its military strategy is on the offense (despite lacking political will to finish it) - and Museveni, who came into power through a bush war, considers cease-fires only a chance for the LRA to rearm and strengthen. The military strategy hit a climax in 2002 with the launch of "Operation Iron Fist" - which failed to end the war as it proclaimed it would.

Instead it invited brutal retaliation by the LRA... spreading the conflict into more districts than ever before. Suddenly Museveni's military strategy was being questioned openly by the international community in addition to the people of N. Uganda. Critics of Museveni's military strategy say that it worsens the humanitarian crisis - and it's hard to argue with this when considering that the number of internally displaced persons jumped from 400,000 prior to Operation Iron Fist, to 1.4 million in 2003.

But what is the alternative to a military strategy?

Beginning in 2000, the Amnesty Act (developed by the Acholis) was put into place. This act is part of what is considered a "peaceful strategy" of ending the war, and it does what is says. The Amnesty Act, still in effect, allows LRA combatants to "come out of the bush." By "reporting," they are granted amnesty and are supposed to receive a small package to begin life again. They must then face the process of reintegrating into the communities that they once terrorized - providing what is called "restorative justice." Justice that takes place within the context of the communities that have been broken.

This type of justice is what is reported to be the most commonly supported approach among the people of Northern Uganda. I know that this is not unanimous, because I personally met with people in an IDP camp who oppose the Amnesty Act because the returnees bring problems with them - and sometimes they even pretend to defect just to loot and return to the bush. But, it is the opinion of the people that have spent the most time trying to gauge the voice of Northern Ugandans that the overwhelming consensus in the north is that they want the conflict to end - and they don't want any more deaths caused.

If a solution was possible but it would require killing more people, then they don't want it. They are tired of war, tired of killing. This war is certainly the worst - but the LRA is just one of 20 rebel groups opposed to Museveni's regime since 1986 - who himself came into power through violence - based on grievances of violence - Ugandans post-independence and pre-independence history is full of conflict. So this is not a conflict isolated in the minds of the people. They want the LRA to stop the violence - but there is not a clear perception of who is the good and who is the bad guy in this place. Conflicts and grievances go so deep - cycles of grief. No wonder they don't support the military option - it is just more of the same.

And as for justice? They see that as part of a whole - not as an isolated concept - they want their children back, they want their land back, they want their communities back - and justice means healing, reconstructing, living in peace. In fact, their cultural idea of justice is much more in tune with the Amnesty Act than it is with western systems of justice. I'll insert a quote from an article entitle "Whose Justice?" that was put out by the Refugee Law Project here in Uganda:

"In some traditional communities, such as the Acholi and the Kakwa, there is no death penalty or prison sentence for the ‘convicted’ murderer. However, this is not to say that those who commit crimes are not made accountable. There is punishment and there is accountability.

For example, a person who commits murder not only might be required to make material restitution to the family of the bereaved, but also might be assigned the responsibility of taking care of the family for the rest of his/her life. Particularly for communities such as those living in northern Uganda, which live in extreme poverty and marginal conditions, this ‘replacement’ of the role and service of the deceased usually seems more ‘just’ than punishing both communities by imprisoning or killing the offender. Thus, punishment in these communities is seen as restorative and rehabilitative rather than as retributive or a deterrent."

But this type of justice, nice as an idea - sees to idealistic even for me. How can you return former killers (even though they were abducted and forced into it) back to these communities - that are broken and in poverty - and expect healing? This is my worry about the Amnesty and the idea of restorative justice. But, I am not a victim of this war - it is not me that needs to feel that justice has been served. So even though I do not understand how this could happen - I do understand the opposite argument - I understand why our trial and punishment system is not going to bring justice to these people.

Who are we punishing when we convict a formerly abducted child soldier for crimes against humanity? We convict a rebel, a killer, a boy, a son - and who is also a victim of the war. And who receives justice? Do his victims? - The same people who lost their children, their land and livelihoods, their security and their way of life - do they receive justice by punishing one of their abducted children who was forced and brainwashed to inflict violence on them? Is this boy to blame? And does blaming him for his actions bring justice to his community?

Politics enters the scene - after 18, 19 years - people started to question the commitment of Museveni to really ending this war. Even more threatening to Museveni - they question his military strategy. He is looking bad on the international stage - and so in December of 2003 he invited the International Criminal Court (ICC) to begin investigations into human rights abuses being caused by the LRA. The effort was lauded by the international community, and criticized here on the ground.

Since its arrival, the ICC has had a secretive presence on the ground and it is widely thought that the government is using the ICC as a publicity tool to get support for the military solution. As for the secrecy, the ICC opened an office, but refuses to tell anyone where it is. They have failed to consult people in N. Uganda about what justice will mean for them. The whole operation is very strange - and there has been no effort to give a public information campaign to explain to Ugandan citizens what the ICC can and cannot do.

If the ICC issues arrest warrants, then the LRA will try to prevent the arrest of Kony – will target civilians and humanitarians, especially those supporting the peace process with chief interlocutor, Betty Bigombe. This peace process is one I need to learn more about - but what I do know now is that it will end with the warrants. There are ICC rules that once warrants are issued that there can be no official contact with those that the warrants have been issued for – so for example, current funding by DFID for satellite phones to Kony could not continue.. the peace process will fail without the support of donors who cannot continue support when the warrants are issued without breaking the international protocol.

Arrest warrants are at the pretrial chamber and it is really the ICC's decision as to whether they will issue the warrants. Clearly the crimes that have occurred here fall under the jurisdiction of the court - but there is also an issue of the “interest of justice.” This terminology arises out of a clause that allows an ICC case to be withdrawn if not in the interest of justice. This terminology is ill-defined and work in this area will probably not help the Ugandan case, but instead will set a precedent for ICC cases to come. However, "the interest of justice" is exactly what is at issue here.

The warrants will obstruct current peace processes, increase violence, and enforce a system of justice that it seems will not bring justice, in the sense of how the victims understand it. The worst part to me is that the ICC cannot handle abuses that occurred prior to 2002, when it was established. This war dates back to 1986 - what about those victims?

What good will issuing these warrants do? They will bring international support at least to the military approach...the need to "hunt down" these criminals and bring them to justice. It will identify certain criminals - but will leave the rest of the rebels unaccounted for. It is impossible to really know what the effects of these warrants would be - perhaps international publicity would bring the arrest of Kony (but it will be the same UPDF troops seeking him). Perhaps Kony's arrest would end the rebellion - but people here doubt it.

It just seems to me that there is a role for the ICC - but not now. Not when the war is still going on - when people are still at risk of attacks - when victims cannot think of justice as anything other than the peace they want first. When people want their children back - and their lives back. What can the ICC give these people?

I see a role for the ICC when the war is actually over... to hold both LRA and UPDF combatants accountable for the worst crimes - especially the leaders. But I do not see it as useful to use the ICC to help try and end the war - that is not its purpose, and it is actually hindering the peace processes in place. So, it sees to me that despite its laudable purpose, the ICC is being manipulated. It was called in too early - by a government that is failing to protect its people but wants to maintain good diplomatic ties. I hope that the office of the prosecutor will realize this. What their investigation can offer Northern Uganda now - in the midst of the war - is not "in the interest of justice."

But how strange to find myself opposing the ICC in a place haunted by human rights abuses. How strange that the National Amnesty Act and the International Human Rights law work in opposition to one another. How strange that we are talking about a human rights tribunal as a tool to end a war and empower an abusive leader, rather than as a mechanism for bringing justice to victims.

Daily Inspiration

2005-06-30T01:40:00.000-05:00

A good friend sent me these words -

"I would much rather be an idealist and just a little bit naive than face life everyday jaded and unenthusiasic about the world. True, things are so messed up everywhere and people can be mean and cruel and we just don't get it and we don't know what to do sometimes, but the beauty of life is hope. There is always the chance that it's going to get better and that everyone has it in them to make it better. "

Colonial Complex

2005-06-28T02:04:00.000-05:00

On Sunday, I attended a concert at the residence of the Dutch ambassador. The event was a send-off for a British woman named Fiona who started a music school in Kampala over ten years ago. Her former students, including one Ugandan boy currently on scholarship at a music academy in London, played Beethoven on the piano and sang duets with beautiful soprano voices. We were all in the garden, under white tents with music and cocktails.

Clearly, Fiona was of the opinion that music is classical music, and she had organized an effort called "Pianos for Uganda" that brought 60 pianos into the country for her students and others. It was a beautiful night, and you could tell that she had been more than just a music teacher to her students - she really took an interest in their lives. The students gave speeches, all agreeing that she had opened their eyes to music in a way that would never have been possible for them.

One of the pieces of music was Schumann's piano collection "Scenes from Childhood" and, as I listened to the music, I was thinking about my own childhood - just curious to see what memories the music would evoke. But as I watched the faces of the other students, I started to wonder instead how different the memories of childhood would be for one of Fiona's students. Funny that the first piece in the series is called, "About Strange Lands and People."

The boy playing the piano, dressed in a starched tuxedo was so stiff - I had to wonder, does his soul connect with the music? I know for me at times classical music feels like it's of another world and time - how does it feel to these students? Do they play because they love it - or because they've been taught they should love it? I don't mean specifically by Fiona - I think she is a wonderful woman - but what I'm getting at is the attitude. Western culture is culture.

The mothers of the students were dressed in their finest clothes to see the recital, their fathers in pressed suits. About half of the crowd was made up of Ugandans - and they were all dressed up and looking lovely. And what about the expats? Our friend Peter was there from UNHCR - who I like very much - and yet he was laughing because the Rwandan housekeeper of the people he was staying with had put on her best dress - this was her night out and she was so excited. He thought it was "cute."

I was so irritated. In fact, I was irritated with myself - I wasn't dressed up. Peter was in Dockers and a casual shirt. Sanja was causal - in fact all of the expats were causally dressed - even Fiona and her husband. For us, this was just something to do on a Sunday evening - nice to see the work of one hard-working British woman who really tried to help the community here in Kampala - and the results of her effort were the talents of her students that might never have been developed otherwise.

But for these students this was a chance to shine in a way they never get to shine - it is a chance to look sophisticated in a culture that had to be colonized to be cured of its savagery. Okay I'm getting dramatic - but really - it was like they had dressed up these students and families to emulate some semblance of the colonial era - look at our success! We have trained them to imitate us, and now see how they shine? Obviously not as bright as the concert halls in London - but what can you expect, we're in Kampala!

I was so irritated - surprised at my own reaction actually. Maybe I own up to my DAR ancestry after all. In coming to live in Uganda, I've walked into a double world - one in which I am automatically part of the elite because of my skin color. I could write pages of cynical remarks about the attitudes that pervade from the social class of expats here - and yet, I am part of it!

I have drivers, housekeepers, and I am always treated like an elite. To be honest, even if they didn't like me, they'd be polite. They don't expect anything from me - I could be a total witch, I could be lovely - They may appreciate the kindness at some level, but not overly. They appreciate the paycheck. Serving me, driving me, listening to me - it's all the same, it's their job. And who am I? Another white woman here to "help" Uganda, bringing my superior education, culture and wealth to guide the misguided Africans who, for their own good, should not be left alone. The worst part is that this doesn't make them angry and defensive - they've learned that this is the way!

I am constantly wondering "What am I doing here?" - not in terms of my personal reason for being here - but in terms of my social position. I walk onto the continent 3 weeks ago, and I am treated like I know all, and like the rules don't apply to me, and like I'm the lady of the manor. It is crazy!

Independence happened in the 60s, but this place feels like a colony to me. So, I found the middle-class of Uganda - through some of my co-workers currently studying for their Masters in Conflict Resolution here in Makerere University. I joined Douglas to attend a surprise party for Shabnam - and it was great. I like being the only expat - it's the closest I get to escaping the upper-crust. I mean, I'll admit, it's easy to be annoyed with being the elite when you get the benefits of it whenever you want - fine, I'll admit that - but that isn't why I'm here. And, I'm not going to get the whole story if everyone just tells me what they think I want to hear. (This was the attitude I've been building for 3 weeks)

(as an aside - the party could have taken place in Austin, TX - we were at a coffee shop, everyone was laughing and joking - it felt so normal...until the power went out and no one even flinched, and then they started discussing giving a cow to their friend as a wedding present - I didn't see that coming.)

At the party Douglas (tired of my constant questioning) introduced me to Jude - someone who actually likes to discuss Ugandan politics. Hurrah! I was speaking to an educated Ugandan with no intention of leaving his country to go get rich in the US and who cares about the leadership and the events taking place here. This was my chance to get someone to agree with my colonial complex - to tell me what I guess I really do want to hear - that it makes them angry! That there is some spirit in Ugandans that we underestimate... that there is a secret world of energy that he can expose me to in the middle-class youth of his country. I was waiting, I was so happy to meet him ... He talked and talked - he answered so many questions. But, ironically - I had finally met someone that did not tell me what I wanted to hear.

I asked him about the Movement system and the referendum. I was surprised to find out he supports the movement system - and I was surprised by much of what he said. I'll try to quote some of what he told me: "...We need the Movement system because Ugandans don't understand forming parties that aren't defined by tribes and religion. We can't believe in anything else, our leaders never leave power - and wars are supported by the government using development money. Over half of the budget goes into buying weapons and the military is getting too wealthy to end the war. And the government gets to display headlines that they have killed rebels, but they kill the very children they failed to protect. They do not stop the war; they use it as a political platform - both sides. The war keeps them in power, and there is no international pressure to make them end the war.

... The war will not end until the international audience forces change. The president will not resign until the international community acts as it did in Kenya and forces change. There is no separation of powers in Uganda - the President is the power. If the international community turns its back on Uganda, Uganda will backslide. We are not a mature country. We cannot get ourselves out of this mess, and this is true for most of Africa, we have dependency syndrome - and we need your help. During the Cold War the Soviets and the US supported our corrupt leaders and now we remain with the result. You can't leave without helping us. And the world should not just help the countries that you fear will spread Islam and that have oil. There should be a common standard. We need help - why doesn't anyone care about our war that has lasted 18 years?"

Here was an educated Ugandan man that I felt was telling me that he needs the outside world to care more about his country than he does. My reaction was to ask him bluntly, "Why should the US care more about the war in the North than you? It's your country - your heart is here - why should we care more about it than you? What role do you think Ugandans should play in this?"

His response was clear: "We have something in Uganda called Death. When elections happen, people die. When campaigns go on, fights break out, and people die. When one group wins, it seeks out the opposition supporters and people die. This whole referendum is a waste. We all already know that whatever the President wants will happen, but people will die. People cannot oppose the leadership. They know what will happen - if they are not a person of prominence, they could disappear. Or someone would tell their boss to fire them. A musician in London insults the President of Uganda, and the protest against the musician is allowed to go on while the protest in favor of the statement is disbursed immediately. There is not freedom here, even though it looks more free than some places. Everyone knows that whatever the President wants will happen, he explained - and so we learn to just not think about it - to take it easy and live our lives because there is nothing we can do."

So what can I say to that? Maybe these people aren't brainwashed by Europe or apathetic - they are just afraid and powerless. And maybe they treat me well because we are their only hope - not to be made European, but because our influence is the only path they can see out of the present situation - which is better still than many of the post-independence years. And maybe their history of war and factions makes it easier to trust foreign nations than each other. Even if these foreign powers turn a blind eye to their war, while they think Darfur is getting so much help. Maybe they don't even care about their country as Uganda - only about the people and the land. Perhaps the country is just a structure they try to avoid and ignore because it is abusive and always has been.

Most likely I still don't have a clue. But, this colonial complex just became a lot more complicated.

Sick in the Tropics

2005-06-27T07:08:00.000-05:00

I was finally taken down by one of the bugs that everyone warned me about. I had an interview on Friday afternoon with the director of a Swiss charity, and when I got back to the office the staff took one look at me and put me back in the car and sent me home. All were very sweet - I think 7 people called to check on me. (Josephine is in South Sudan at the moment, so I was home alone.)

To be honest, it felt so good to have some time to myself (minus the nausia). Until this weekend I think I'd been surrounded by people at all times except sleeping for 3 weeks straight - between coworkers, drivers, and housemates - I didn't even realize it! I was feeling exhausted on top of being sick - so Saturday I just stayed home.

Out of our living room, I have a gorgeous view of Naguru hill with its white stucco homes with red tile roofs. I made a pallet on the floor and just gazed out of the window and wrote in my journal - it was a beautiful, sunny day and the light poured in on my cheeks. It was really lovely.

I'll write more about the weekend tomorrow - today I've been revising one of the grant proposals (with my splendid usage of English grammar) and time got away...

I am thinking of you!

Power Play

2005-06-24T01:49:00.000-05:00

On June 19th, debates began in the Ugandan Parliament relating to a bill to amend the 1995 Constitution. The most explosive component of this bill would be an action to repeal the Ugandan Presidential term limits, which are currently set at 2 terms of five years each. The bill was submitted by the Minister of Justice and Constitutional Affairs on behalf of the Constitutional Review Commission, who claim it should be considered independent of the person who is currently president and nearing the end of his second term in office, Yoweri Museveni. The bill was referred to the Committee on Legal and Parliament Affairs, who passed it out of committee to be debated in the Parliament at large. Legal jargon can make anything sound like business as usual.

To soften the blow, included in the amendment is an article that would allow a multi-party system, to replace what is currently called the "Movement System." Under the Movement system, there is basically one party that encompasses all groups. Elections here are non-partisan, and my co-worker describes political parties as existing, but without ability to operate - they are waiting. As it is, the system is easily abused because power lies in the hands of the same, few individuals. The Movement System began in 1986, following the civil war that brought Museveni into power, and it was seen as a way to unify the country under one system rather than continuing to allow conflicts among the factions to overwhelm a tentative peace.

It was included in the Constitution that a multi-party system cannot be reinstated without the consent of the people. Therefore, next month there will be a referendum in which the people will decide whether or not they want to stay with the Movement System or allow multi-party political competition. The Parliament is supposed to fall in line with whatever the people voice. In 2000 there was a similar referendum with support for the current no-party system winning with a majority of 90 %. But, less than half of the electorate turned up to vote at all.

The referendum is about parties, not presidential terms - but all of the discussions and headlines are about the president. People have much stronger opinions about that - on both sides. A few things are clear - this is not an issue that is being, or ever realistically could be, perceived as separate from the President currently in power (despite considerable debate over this issue in Parliament). It is most common that someone will tell me, "I like Museveni, he's not a bad guy" - as a response to whether they should extend the term limits. Others see this referendum as a message sent to the people rather than by the people - that they do not have a real voice in this system, no matter the result of a referendum. They can vote for multi-parties, but who will win? Museveni again. Will they have choices just because there are parties?

One argument presented by members of Parliament who support the repeal is that term limits do not guarantee that Museveni will remain in power. What it allows is for the best leader to win - and what Uganda has lacked, they claim, is good leadership. Why should term limits prevent a willing populace from electing the only man since 1986 to be able to lead the country? This argument really angers me - and I enjoyed one female member of Parliament's response, "In a patriarchal society like Uganda where we depend on men, I find it abominable that the men of this country have resigned their manhood to say they don't have the vision to lead Uganda."

If the presidential term limits are extended, this could have major ramifications for the amount of aid flowing into Uganda. Major donor governments like the US and UK (among others) have already publicly voiced their disapproval. Would Museveni worsen prospects for his country's economic future to keep his hand on power? It seems so.

Some of his supporters claim that we "westerners" cannot just look at this from our point of view. Refusing to see past the term limits means that we do not understand the needs of Ugandans - we are simply pasting our way of government onto their country without thought to the unique concerns they may face. There is a fear that after Museveni, and with the reintroduction of parties, the same tensions will revive themselves and instability will follow.

But, in my opinion, the real issue is this - without a turnover of power, who can believe peace lasts beyond Museveni? For that reason alone, this constitution should not be amended.

But that reasoning is the opposition, and I can't tell what the chances are of their success. Oh how I wish I could see into the future - to me this has writing all over it of being the begining of a very bad chapter of backward steps in Uganda.. but, how can someone as optimistic as me believe that? Maybe someone with vision will emerge, or maybe international pressure post-term limit removal will cause them to be reinstated again.

But as for the people, who are supposed to be the voice behind these representatives - I can't blame their pessimism. I also can't feel what it would be like to look at this debate after having lived through the civil wars and military coups that led up to Museveni's reign. Still, what I see in the eyes of Ugandans is disillusionment and apathy. I watched Museveni's helicopter land the other day - with 15 security and military vehicles on the landing pad awaiting his arrival. With only 2 armored vehicles available for the entire UN operation in Gulu and Kitgum, is it any wonder?

Kampala Love

2005-06-24T01:13:00.000-05:00

Waiting for a driver after work, Sanja and I began flipping through the newspaper to the personal ads. Here was the first listing: "28 year old Munyankone is looking for a lady who is employed, fat, educated, and well-behaved. She should be ready for marriage."

whoa.

More sad was the fact that many - I'd say maybe a fourth of the ads - mentioned HIV/AIDS. Here was an especially disturbing one - "A 32 year old lady is HIV+ and on ARVs, she's looking for a man of the same status and who is also on ARVs and is looking to have a long lasting relationship. She really wants to have children because she does not have any at the moment."

What?!

The most common by far was of the following sort: "I'm 19, good-looking and outgoing. I'm searching for a sugar mommy. Preferably white."

Good Lord.

Why me?

2005-06-23T04:03:00.000-05:00

There has been something slow and subtle building up inside of me over the past few days - like the slow click click click of a rollercoaster climbing to the top of the track... and I'm nearing the crest and just looking over the edge to see the mess below into which I'm being propelled. I now know what I've been feeling is frustration - and the mess I'm looking at is the mis-managed chaos of dollars in development work.

My project assignment is to research how international NGOs can collaborate with local NGOs - who is doing it, where they are getting the money, and what is the benefit of partnering with local NGOs? The answers are loud and clear: Almost nobody is doing it, almost nobody is funding it, and - besides helping Africans help themselves - there is almost no benefit gained through inefficient partnerships with local NGOs (until time comes for the international community to pull out and turn over the projects). This is the lovely reality.

But the summer isn't over - so I have to probe further. Somebody is working with local NGOs, they are getting money from somewhere, and the benefit of at least some of these programs must be greater than is being given credit by a donor budget sheet. My project it seems is now not only to find out how local NGO collaborations happen - it's to find out why they would be at all valuable to ARC in order for my research to be of any use to my boss.

What does this make me? Suddenly I'm an advocate for local NGOs and the importance of their role in development. Now I have to make my project a defense of including the grassroots in internationally funded projects in order for it to have any value beyond stating the obvious to my boss - "Don't collaborate with local NGOs - it's an inefficient use of ARC's money and it won't help ARC get more money in the short-term." (the short-tem matters a lot when your organization lives grant to grant)

Now I'm getting emotionally involved. What kind of messed up logic is forcing me to question the value of Africans and Internationals working together to help Africans? It is the messed up logic of the adhoc nature of development.

When I calm myself and refocus on just working for ARC, I'm left wondering - why did my boss give me this assignment? Did he just really not know that local NGOs are so rarely utilized? Is this some kind of learning experience he wanted me to have - to show me how the international community doesn't practice what they preach? Did all of this come from some momentary thought that maybe we should know how others collaborate with local NGOs just for the heck of it? I have no idea - but it is frustrating to have a project assigned to me that doesn't seem to offer much benefit to my employer - but instead offers a window to me of a major problem in the (lack of a) system in which my employer operates!

It's strange to have this assignment when I see that ARC is not exactly in a position to be out doing research projects just for additional information. I mean, they are not a huge organization - they are trying to write 4 grant proposals simultaneously right now, and none of these programs (if funded) would need to involve local NGOs. So my job is totally separate from what all of my co-workers are interested in.

When I tell them about my work, they really see no value in it - I get similar reactions from UN staff. The line is simply, "oh yes, well - no, you're right, it is important - I mean, one day development has to be handed over to local groups..." But that one day is so far off of the radar screen here in Uganda. I am again left wondering why the assignment was given to me. And - what has been building inside of me is basic frustration that the typical reaction in the aid world to local partnerships is indifference or even discouragement.

And the worst part is that the local groups are by no means the innocent victims to be defended on their valor. They are a mess themselves (hence the reaction of the international community) - through the fault of lack of education, lack of organizational capacity, lack of funding, lack of management ability, lack of reporting of impact and fund allocation, and then there is the more often mentioned flat out corruption and dual motives.

So what am I left with? An ideal. A core belief that it is important for Africans to help themselves, and that the aid community should foster this even if it means short-term inefficiencies. I have the assignment to find out how this is happening now - and I have the ability as an intelligent person to write on this topic as much as I choose to... but oooh man, it's not a topic people want to hear about. It's not a topic that I can reasonably argue will benefit my organization, or help my organization get funding for projects which are much needed. And the people who should set these priorities are the donors - and I certainly don't have their ears. It's not a topic that seems important when compared to the gaps in water distribution in Kitgum and the lack of protection in IDP camps.

So I've been given a project that no one on the ground cares about, and that doesn't seem to benefit my employer. Through it I've been exposed to a sad reality - that worries me because of my ideas about how development should happen - which certainly are laughed off as pie in the sky by those that have learned how to get by, to work the system, and to focus on what they can do.

Yet, even though I understand why they don't want to work with local groups - it doesn't change the fact that as long as we don't, we are creating and perpetuating dependency. And even though the needs are greater than the current government and local NGOs can cover - it doesn't mean we should ignore them for 20 years and expect them to suddenly be able to manage just fine without us.

And there you have it - I am the idealist, yet again. I get to spend all summer getting lectured about being young and naive, or blown off because my subject doesn't make headlines - all because of an idea that doesn't match the mess around me. It seems that I cannot escape my fate of being the eternal idealist.

Renewal

2005-06-21T05:03:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was World Music Day - and there was a festival in Kampala city that I went to with Sanja and her expat neighbors. It was a carefree night - and the atmosphere was perfect after such an intense week. Watching the dancing and listening to the music, I felt alive.

It sounds strange to jump from watching tragedy unfold one day to watching a crowd celebrate and dance the next - but it feels somehow natural. Despite the darkness I have just seen, I am reminded that I am not meant to be swallowed up by its weight. There are a few things in life that you can control, and most of it you cannot - no one knows what time will bring or how they will react when hard and unexpected circumstances come. But it is possible to believe, and to live each day. You can let your heart soar at the chance, renew in life's ebb and flow.

Humanitarian Aid?

2005-06-20T04:54:00.000-05:00

The Director of UN OCHA Uganda estimates that half of the total needs of the IDPs in Northern Uganda are being met. I realize that they have to make assessments like this - but what does that it mean to say that fifty percent of 1.4 million people’s “total needs” are being met? I mean, how can you say that when these 1.4 million people are displaced and living in camps for ten years? After what I witnessed over the past four days, trying to attach any figure to summarize needs of these people seems inhumane.

They need life. I am not sure what they have now - but it is not life as defined by any but the most meager definition.

I met a woman who had lost all of her children and slept in the rain for two months before a UPDF soldier built her a small shelter in the camp. She had no teeth, and her face was disfigured and her eyes full of pain. She literally fell in front of my feet, stretching herself out to display her pathetic existence so that I would see and go back and tell what she and others are suffering. She told my translator those words – and all I could do was shake her hand and look into her eyes. I had nothing to give her. No ability to bring back her children, or to take her out of this hellish existence and give her a life of security and hope.

I felt numb, I wish I’d felt worse honestly – but when you see things like this you can’t feel them because you are witnessing a pain that is beyond what you can imagine. I think that is why you feel numb – your body knows you don’t have the capacity to understand the feelings one who has suffered such pain. It is impossible to comprehend how these people live and how they see the world. It is possible to help them stay alive, but I realized after visiting the IDP camps how little humanitarian aid can do.

Our assistance cannot stop the violence, it cannot give them freedom, it cannot give them a good education or a way to sustain their own income. It can educate about rights, but it cannot ensure they are upheld. It can improve health and sanitation, but it cannot prevent cholera outbreaks. It can educate about how AIDS is contracted, but it cannot stop it from infecting more unborn children and leaving more orphans. They estimate that 6 percent of Ugandans have HIV/AIDS, and 12 percent of Northern Ugandans are infected. However, this number is one people laugh at in Gulu. Shabnam’s childhood friend is a doctor in a hospital there who told us out of 80 patients in her ward, over forty have AIDS – and that reflects what she typically sees every day.

There is no path an individual can take in these camps to climb out of the situation and obtain a better life – and even when the war ends and the camps close, the return will bring its own problems. Then they will have to try to establish a life after over 10 years of dependency, lack of education and pain. What kind of life will they be able to build? Will they have a home to return to? What of the child soldiers, born in the bush or abducted as toddlers and raised as warriors? They will return to their communities an “internal enemy,” shunned by their own families or already orphans - unsure of where they belong. At least when the war ends, some momentum can begin. Right now they are sitting in what feels to be an infinite mire of sorrow.

What is life for these people? It bears almost no resemblance to what I consider life. The only connection is the rare giggle from a child or the sweat pouring down our foreheads under the heat of the midday sun. I cannot even connect to their suffering; I cannot view the world through their eyes. I cannot feel pity – because it goes beyond pity somehow. What I feel is horror. I want to shut out the feeling of horror quickly, so I shut out the facts and the faces – but now I have seen how people live as victims in war, and I will never be able to see life the same way again.

My Trip to Gulu

2005-06-20T03:23:00.000-05:00

At 5:45 am on Wednesday we left for Gulu, hoping to arrive before 11 for the UNICEF launch of the report on Sexual and Gender Based Violence. The drive to Gulu was interesting – it was my first time to really get out of Kampala and see the countryside. It was so green – the climate here is almost perfect and everything is tropical and lush. We saw small villages all along the way – with corn fields and women carrying bundles of sticks and reeds and jugs of water on their heads. Pedestrians walk on either side of the highway, and our driver David was speeding towards Gulu like a lunatic – honking to alert people that he had no intention of slowing down.

On the drive from Kampala to Gulu there is a bridge that crosses the Karuma River - which cuts through beautiful, green country side and the water surges over rocks with baboons strolling along the river banks. This river is a strange sort of blessing. It is the boundary that marks the security line of LRA occupation. There is only one bridge to cross the Karuma river and so it is well-manned by the UPDF. It is a major deterrent to the rebels, and so it acts as a precious wall keeping the LRA north of its boundary for all but a few moments in the history of this war.

When we crossed the river I felt my stomach tense - we were entering Northern Uganda that I have heard so much about, and where I never thought I would go. The drive was uneventful - besides catching glimpses of the villages along the roads, who locate there for security. We passed some of the IDP camps which are just masses of huts as viewed from the highway - round structures with roofs of straw or reeds and some kind of hardened mud as the frame. The way you can distinguish a camp from a village is that the huts are much closer together, many times smaller, and they are large - thousands of people live in them. The largest camp is Pabbo Camp in Gulu with 63,000 IDPs residing there.

As we approached Gulu I saw large crowds along the highways, and I asked why the pedestrian traffic had increased so much. These were the IDPs, traveling in groups for protection. They carry bundles of wood and reeds on their heads, even toddlers carry water jugs on their heads, and they move in unison for protection. They try to cultivate the fields outside of the camps to sell in the markets in Gulu's center for some income.

We arrived at our hotel - "the Pearl Afric" and it looked like a scene out of an Indiana Jones movie, where the expats are in some shady hotel drinking coffee on the porch, watching the chaotic scene on a dirt road before them. I wondered who the other guests were - I would find out later that many were from the UN doing an assessment of IDP camps in Northern Uganda.

There is a funny bond that develops with the other expat guests when you stay in a hotel like that - just the simple "good mornings" are charged with the shared knowledge that you are both "in the field" and enjoying the mystery of not knowing anything else about each other. You all try to act professional in the mornings - just to relax over drinks in the evenings like you've known each other for years.

Gulu town was much bigger and more vibrant than I expected. It is a colorful place - and dusty, with a large market in the center, and boda bodas everywhere. We drove directly to the office of Save the Children who were hosting UNICEF's launch. The event was on television here, and they zoomed in on the three of us - so the whole staff back in Kampala were watching us and are calling us celebrities now.

The report was based on a series of approximately 100 interviews in Pabbo Camp taken last year. Even though the sample may not be "representative" and there is not any methodology to the study besides simply asking questions to the respondents and recording their answers - the findings were still absolutely shocking to me. The questions raised at the meeting were also so revealing of the situation - there is a clash between women's emancipation and the role of men in their households in a situation in which already men cannot play the role of provider.

They are living idle in camps, and that added to the culture here with certain tribal customs in place - it is a situation for women that is horrible from my western view. That said, I tried to put myself in the place of the men, because I cannot imagine how worthless they feel. There is no justification for the numbers I'll mention below - but certainly any efforts to help in this area will require not only improving the system of justice but also improving the situation for men in these camps so that their lives have some meaning.

Girls age 13 to 17 are the most frequently reported victims of SGBV - with rape being the most commonly reported to the researchers. Police reports show a much greater number of domestic abuse cases being reported, and it is clear that many women who claim to be raped to researchers did not approach the legal system to make a report.

It is terrible - the system makes it so difficult for these women, even if they know they can report an attack. They must first report it to a police officer, and often pay a fee to file a report, and possibly a bribe. Then they have to pay their own transportation to a hospital, where they also often have to pay bribes to be able to be seen by a doctor. They have to pay their own transport, because the police are understaffed - literally 6 police officers man 63,000 IDPs in Pabbo Camp. And if there is a trial, their life is exposed, and they must pay for transport to Gulu for any hearings and for any witnesses. These IDPs do not have money for that. If a woman is raped and she wants to report it, which most don't even know they should - she can't even afford to.

Often those that do report something "downgrade" the offense to domestic abuse because it's easier and more socially acceptable. Raped women are stigmatized, as are children who are defiled - as if it is a young girl's fault that she was molested. Child molestation often causes girls to drop out of school because they are seen as outcasts once word is out that they have been defiled. The horrible thing is that it is only considered defilement if the girl is in school - if she is not in school, it is not considered defilement! So much abuse goes unrecorded, occurring when children are left home alone while their parents (if they have them) are out in the fields.

The study estimates that 6 out of every 10 women in Pabbo camp are physically and sexually assaulted by men that they know - and alcohol is a common element. Knowledge of rights is low - out of 100 people surveyed only 28 knew that the government had any policy making rape illegal or inappropriate. The reality is though that the constitution established rights of citizens, but few laws have been made to enforce these rights.

Harmful traditional practices also exist in the camps - there is female genital mutilation, there is forced inheritance of wives, and there may be maiming or death as a result of a woman acting out of her perceived role. There are rituals that force women to dance naked in front of the men in her tribe if she gives birth to twins, for example. I could go on and on - the situation is out of control.

In the meeting, the following actually happened: An Acholi man stood up hoping to defend his culture. He explained that marital rape is considered a crime, and that if another man rapes a man's wife, it is seen as wrong and will be dealt with. It did not even occur to the man that a husband raping his wife was a major component of what is meant by the term marital rape. The director of the national council on human rights explained that what they were trying to do was to make women "human beings" within their own roles.

It was crazy to hear things like that - but I was also irritated with the western women around the room that were laughing and raising their eyebrows, etc as if they shared a common joke. It cannot help to make these men feel like we are their enemy, like we laugh at them - it is only going to make the battle harder for women to fight within their own homes. It is difficult also because many women don't want to report marital rape - they don't want to break up their family, and it is considered something to be dealt with within the tribe and not within the legal system.

ARC wants to begin programs to educate and improve the reporting systems in camps. They want to establish centers onsite where women can come to report crimes to women officials, and to provide workshops for men and women educating them about their rights. It is so desperately needed - but at the same time, I think about the workshops and I wonder how you can meet these people where they are -both the men and the women. It is such a huge gap, and they are already living in such difficult conditions - the complications are so severe. I was overwhelmed at my first exposure to the terrible statistics, and for the rest of my time in Gulu I had to realize that many of the women and girls I met were victims of this abuse - many of them - and it plagued my thoughts.

After the meeting we had to network with the NGOs and UN staff in attendance - and I met a man running a local NGO at one of the camps who is an orphan himself, raised by German missionaries and is now working as a district health officer on the cholera outbreaks and also has established this local NGO to help meet the needs of the AIDS victims in the camps that are the most vulnerable. He was an amazing person - and I had dinner with him that night to discuss his work. I also was put in touch with a man who directs a forum of local NGOs in the district - Geoffrey - who was also fantastic.

I met with Geoffrey the following morning and he spoke with such energy and passion, I cannot express how humble meeting these people makes me. It also makes me feel terrible to have to shift the conversation away from their services to talk about local NGO organizational structures and capacity building - it seems heartless to ask whether they have a treasurer when he is telling me about the bodies of babies born HIV positive. It is really not my favorite part of the job - but then again, I know that there is a purpose for finding out this information, and so I have to do it.

I met a group of widows who have united to help juvenile delinquents. They stay at the police stations, and whenever a child is brought in they stand with the child and help him through the process. If the child is sent to prison, they visit several times a month to make sure that the child is still in the prison - and not sold on child markets that exist here. When released, they meet with the family and child regularly trying to reform them over time. The woman Lilly who I spoke with had eyes that were so kind that my heart overflowed with compassion and admiration for her, and I think she touched my heart more than any of the people I met.

After meetings, meetings, meetings - Sanja, Shabnam and I were tired, hot and overwhelmed. Shabnam went back to the hotel to rest, and David (our driver who is from Gulu) took us to the market. He showed us all of the traditional foods, and we met his aunt who was salting fish, and we met Lion Food's nephew who was selling radios. We took pictures and everyone cried "Mono, Mono!" Which I don't know how to spell, but means white man in Acholi. It was a beautiful, colorful place - and I was so glad to have David showing it to us - his presence made a foreign place feel safe and friendly. Everyone was shaking our hands and asking us to take their pictures.

David grew up in Gulu and he left in 1997 to move to Kampala to escape the war. He is a funny guy, also Pentecostal and he proclaims often that he is a blessed man. He doesn't mean this in a general sense - but quite specifically he has not one, but 2 sets of twin girls. Apparently when the first twins were born he told his tribal elders that he did not want to participate in the rituals because God had already blessed him, and what more could they do? This was very offensive, but David stayed strong. A few years later the second set of twins were born, and the elders threw up their hands in disbelief. Now all agree he is a blessed man indeed, and so they let him be in his own mystery.

David had to drop out of school because of the violence, and he literally lived a life hiding in the bush from the rebels for about two years before he finally moved to Kampala. He is a happy person - and it has been almost 10 years since he moved from Gulu, but his brothers are still there and they met while we were there to discuss the family land.

Land is so crucial to these people - the IDPs and the local residents alike. Gulu is some of the most fertile land in Uganda, and land is owned communally by tribes. You cannot just sell your own land, or just buy land here - you may purchase within you tribe's land, and you may not sell without authority. It is highly sensitive to people here, who will even risk their safety to go back to their property in LRA occupied areas to check that their land is still their own.

While in Gulu I can't tell you exactly what kind of meat I was eating - probably goat meet - or beef, and french fries. This was the safest thing we could order in the restaurants... and we had to go to 2 or 3 each time we ate to find a place serving that - because you just have to ask what the kitchen has at the time. Vegetarians could not survive here, it is crazy - and I wish I didn't have to eat meat for about a month now - but you know, you just deal and normally you are so hot and tired that it isn't a big deal at the time.

That night we went to see the night commuter children. I wrote previously that this happens less in Gulu - which is true, but many children do come into Gulu at night, and some stay on the streets, while others are in the hospital and centers set up by NGOs. We went to the hospital where a friend of Shabnam's works as a doctor, and driving there that night was the only time I was really scared the entire trip. I knew it was after dark and a bit outside of town, and I held my breath and prayed the entire way there. When we arrived, we entered the gate and were allowed to walk through the corridors because we were with the doctor.

I saw hundreds of little bodies lining the cement walls, under the verandas, and out in the open courtyard. They lay huddled under blankets - like homeless people you see on the streets at home - but their bodies are so small - little toddlers- lined up in rows.

I can't explain it - but in the dark it was so surreal and so sad - so sad - to see these little huddled children and to realize that this is where they are every night - and that they are mostly unsupervised, and that they have to come here to be safe from abduction. But even inside these places they are not totally safe from each other - girls can be raped and children can form gangs. I didn't see anything like that though - I saw just them, these little children, lined up along the walls trying to sleep and pulling blankets over their heads. Now I have seen the night commuters, and I still cannot fully take it in.

The next day we were supposed to return to Kampala - but there was a change of plans ...

An Unexpected Trip to Kitgum

2005-06-20T02:57:00.000-05:00

My trip to Northern Uganda was extended at the last minute. On Friday evening in Gulu we met with the UN OCHA officer for the Gulu sub-office (Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs) – a middle-aged British guy named Andrew Timpson. He was tan from the tropics and wearing silk lounging shirt with blue jeans. Despite looking like a total hippie, he’s the most on to it person I’ve met so far. Without any of the usual UN pretense, he explained the humanitarian aid situation in the area as struggling.

Despite 35 NGOs operating in the Gulu district, basic needs are still not being met. NGOs operating in accessible camps may depart around 9:30 am and return by 5 to travel during the safest hours of the day - for a camp that is far from urban centers, this allows a very short working day. There are more camps though that simply cannot or are not being accessed by humanitarian aid workers at all. In the neighboring district of Kitgum, more camps are inaccessible and even more in Pader. This becomes a running trend – whatever is the case in Gulu, you can just assume it’s worse in Kitgum and still worse in Pader, with services declining as insecurity increases.

Very few NGOs are having their staff stay in the camps overnight, which most seem to agree is the only way to really know the situation and increase protection levels for IDPs. In Kitgum there are around 10 NGOs operating, and maybe 4 or 5 are in Pader… almost all aid workers in Kitgum and Pader are traveling with UPDF escorts at all times outside of the urban centers. So, access is severely limited, and the numbers of NGOs are deceptive because operations target the camps easiest to access.

I am annoyed at some professors in Boston that asked me what the “value-added” would be for another NGO to operate in Northern Uganda – with such authority that I thought they knew what they were talking about. There is clearly a value-added that might be measured in wells dug if nothing else. There may be reason not to count some NGOs with offices in the area as relevant because they aren’t letting their staff go out into the field at all – if you discounted those and those doing little, you’d have far fewer than 35 NGOs counted as actively working in the area – and even if all 35 were active – we’re talking about 50 million IDPs in Gulu alone living in camps. Average staff for a large NGO in a region of the size is maybe 50 to 100 – mostly comprised of locals with a few expats. And they asked me what the “value-added” would be?

The problems are many – of primary concern is that there is not enough water. In Gulu district, they estimate that families (approx 6 individuals) are receiving 15 liters of water per day – and that is for everything: cooking, washing, drinking. There are places where they think it may be as low as 5 liters per day. The United States is the major provider of food – which is well-covered in Gulu, but not as well-covered in Kitgum and Pader. In Kitgum, a special unit was provided by the UPDF to escort the food distribution trucks because literally one ambush could cause the WFP (World Food Program) to pull out their workers and leave over a million IDPs with nothing.

The IDPs have little access to land for cultivation, and even the camps are often on privately owned land. IDPs are warned not to go beyond two kilometers of the camps at any time because of the rebels, and to farm any small plot of land within those boundaries, they must pay the landowners with money that they do not have the ability to earn. I watched women in a camp weigh out their daily rations of a powdered corn base, and I saw children with bellies swollen from hunger… even though hunger isn’t the worst problem in this place.

Protection may be the greatest need besides water – the fringes of the camps are subject to raids by LRA rebels, women are raped going to poorly lit latrines, children are defiled when left at home with no schools to attend. Less frequent, but terrible are massacres with large raids by the LRA where half of the huts in a camp may be burned and children are abducted in large numbers.

Among the IDPs, domestic abuse and AIDS are rampant. The most dangerous activities for an IDP are going out into the fields, collecting firewood and getting water, and some IDPs even store firewood during the dry season because they know that the grasses will grow in the rainy season giving rebels more places to hide and making their daily subsistence activities even more dangerous. In an AIDS awareness workshop, a woman working for Doctors without Borders asked a group of IDP women who should carry condoms. The answer she received from the group of IDPs was, “All women going to the field, so that when they are raped they can ask the man to at least use a condom.” That makes me sick to my stomach.

As I’ve mentioned before, the protectors are also a problem - UPDF soldiers have too much power in the camps. How can there be any kind of justice when the judge is the soldier and rapist? Shocking to me is that the UPDF legally recruits children in the camps to make up “Local Defense Units.” Even worse, after enlisted these children are often sent to other camps as soldiers rather than being allowed to stay to protect their own camps. Mothers lose their children here in many ways.

The summary of Timpson’s assessment was that ARC is needed in Gulu, especially if we are able to access more camps and have staff onsite. ARC is even more needed in Kitgum, and there was a UN convoy going to Kitgum around 9 on Saturday morning. He strongly encouraged us to join – there were two extra seats in one of the vehicles. He said there would be other NGOs and donors there – everyone we’d need to speak with to find out the situation there and to find out what kind of operations would potentially be able to get funding. Such an opportunity is rare and you just have to jump to take advantage of it – we sent Shabnam back to Kampala the next day to attend a meeting, and Sanja and I agreed to go to Kitgum.

We had no idea at the time that we would be the only other two accompanying the UN officials, and I think Andrew purposely didn’t tell us or the head of OCHA Uganda, who was not comfortable with mere NGO employees mixing with her assessment tour. As it was, somehow Sanja and I ended up riding to Kitgum with the head of UNHCR (UN High Commission for Refugees) IDP operations for Africa (Peter – who was just in from Liberia), a UN OCHA director visiting from New York (Steve, who wrote much of Columbia University’s curriculum for Humanitarian Aid in their CIPRA program), the new UN Field Security Coordination Officer for Northern Uganda (Mike – an Irish former military guy who had to come to Uganda 4 days after his wedding!), and the head of OCHA Uganda –a French woman who, as just mentioned, had the attitude to fit the stereotype (Eliane).

I liked Eliane, despite her displeasure - she was a smart lady with guts. She let down her guard a few times on the trip, because she liked us as well – she just didn’t like the idea of us being there. Peter, Steve and Mike didn’t have the chip on their shoulder, and it was clear that they enjoyed the entertainment of two apparently clueless girls who somehow crashed the party. It became the entertainment of the trip to watch them hand us the information that she was trying to keep us from getting – which the guys did more and more as they realized what was going on.

It was ridiculous to watch Eliane keep information from us. I suppose she didn’t want to show favor to an NGO, and I highly suspect that she didn’t want us to see the total failure of the OCHA office in Kitgum - which is pathetic in comparison to Andrew Timpson’s counterpart office in Gulu. But thanks to Mr. Timpson, we were along for the ride and she knew there was nothing she could about it. Sanja and I were laughing all the way back to Kampala over how crazy it was that we managed to get two seats in that convoy.

The road between the urban centers of Gulu and Kitgum is through land occupied by LRA rebels. Although the UN and the international community at large has not been targeted by the LRA, we had UPDF soldiers as escorts – twelve in total, riding before and behind our vehicles, all armed and baking in the sun on the back of pick up trucks. I had calmed my nerves about going to Gulu because everyone told me it was worse in Kitgum and Pader – so this was a lovely turn of events for my second week in Africa. Now it was just that Pader is the worst place to be, so Kitgum would be less-dangerous than Pader.

I seriously prayed about the decision to go – but I knew deep down from the moment they told us about the convoy that I was going. I basically just prayed for God to stop me from going if I would be put in harm’s way. But my gut feeling remained strong – I knew I should go, and I wasn’t afraid. I did feel like I was being carried there somehow – I mean, how do you just get a seat in a UN convoy with armed escorts to see a place considered inaccessible by most Ugandans only 10 days after arriving on the continent for the first time in your life?

Friday night (still in Gulu) Sanja briefed me on ARC operations so that I could sound like I knew what I was talking about on the trip the following day – and at 8:30 on Saturday morning we attended a security briefing where we were to meet up with the group. At the meeting, all recently reported attacks by the LRA over the past week were listed – I think it was then that I realized I was in a war zone for the first time in my life.

There I was, sitting at the table with people who knew the names of the LRA commanders and who actively tracked their whereabouts on a daily basis. There were also the aid workers - those daring people willing to work in conflict conditions. They were writing down the stats - hoping they could trust the local sources to give truthful and thorough security reports, because it is on the basis of these reports that they plan their operations. It is scary, because it is impossible to tell who is LRA and who supports the LRA in the Acholi areas. Nothing is simple, but Mike told us he’s seen worse - in East Timor people realized it made them happy to report attacks, so when they had none to report they would just make up stories!

The question was raised as to how they could expect the security situation to change if arrest warrants are issued by the ICC in the coming weeks. There are rumors that this could happen as soon as Monday, and there is much ambiguity as to whose names would be included on a list. There is wide-spread consensus that issuing these warrants would cause the end of peace negotiations currently going on in Uganda, which are backed by the US, the UK, the Netherlands and Norway (I believe), and so the group was trying to predict whether the response of rebels would be to desert the movement or to increase the violence as the peace talks fail.

The initial answer was absolute uncertainty – no one could predict. But then a man reminded everyone that they’d been trying to catch Kony for 18 years and he’s managed to live free in the bush for that long – why should some arrest warrant be seen as a real threat? The warrants could even cause some to return to the bush when they realize they could be arrested under international law despite national amnesty.

I spoke with an Acholi man who works for an advocacy group of local NGOs in Gulu district – he said he doesn’t want the arrest warrants issued for Kony to be tried in The Hague. He said that any western jail the ICC would provide would not be punishment for Kony – after living in the bush for 18 years, why should he live knowing his life is secure and with the luxurious accommodation of western high security prisons with swimming pools and exercise rooms? He would prefer Kony to have to remain in Northern Uganda and witness the destruction he has caused, and to feel shunned by his own people.

I personally don’t know enough to have a firm opinion about the warrants – I don’t see that the peace process here is doing much from the little I’ve seen, and I think Kony is a madman – it may not be that prison would punish him enough – but maybe this nation needs him locked away so that they are protected from his manipulation.

What is most disturbing to me came from a conversation I had with Mike, the UN Security Coordination Officer, who told me that he has personally tracked Kony recently – he tracked him entering Uganda from Southern Sudan, he knew he was with 40 men and they knew when he broke with the group with 5 men, and he knew he was traveling to Gulu to participate in an annual festival in his home town.

If one UN guy who just arrived in Northern Uganda this year can get that kind of information, then the army certainly can – and they do – yet they still haven’t caught him. The IDPs think the government allows this war to continue – and it appears to me that they are right. There is something missing in this story – and I don’t know what it is – but I know that somebody is benefiting from the suffering of these people and that is why Kony is still in the bush.

So the war continues, and although I don’t think I could have been much safer traveling from Gulu to Kitgum than in the UN convoy – it still shook me to realize that lying in the tall grass along the roads could be rebels watching us pass. Some of them would be children – some even born in the bush, knowing no other life than a life of violence. And yet people walk this road every day – often in groups for some protection… literally staying by the roads because those are at least guarded by UPDF soldiers that I could see sitting under trees every so often for the entire stretch of road.

But that even the soldiers can’t be seen as safe is scary – and that some former LRA rebels that have surrendered have been recruited into the army is the reality. Their brutality cannot simply fall away, and the culture here almost is so accustomed to this that rape can be perceived as normal even by women. Often these soldiers patrol all night, do not even receive a hot meal, and are then recruited as escorts for the day – it’s no wonder they cause their own share of problems.

The trip to Kitgum from Gulu takes about two hours, and we chatted with Peter (the UNHCR guy) the whole way there about everything from IDP camp comparison, to struggling Balkan authors, to my interest in West African oil, to the role of optimism in aid work, to the role of UNHCR in working with IDPs. The conversation made the time pass quickly. We arrived with a sigh of relief and checked into the hotel (which Andrew had also arranged – much to Eliane’s delight, I’m sure.) : ) You should have seen her face when she realized we had no other schedule but to follow them around for the entire day. It was apparent that Andrew had failed to mention that when he put us in the cars that morning.

The first thing I noticed about Kitgum was how quiet it is – I didn’t realize it but there is always some noise in Kampala or even in Gulu – but Kitgum felt like a forgotten place. It felt like a ghost town – the buildings were crumbling, the roads were empty and some of the schools were literally UNICEF tents flapping in the breeze. The town was smaller than Gulu and the people I met were very kind – it is hard to imagine during the day that every night 16,000 people enter the city from the IDP camps to sleep in reception centers.

Our first stop was to sit in on a meeting with the District Regional Commander of the UPDF based in Kitgum. He was everything I thought an African district commander would be – from his large stature, to his brazen and bigoted personality, to his dim office with portraits of Museveni and red velveteen chairs lining the walls up to his desk, centered to emphasize his importance. Eliane was a pro at talking with this type of African male – and the meeting was informative but frustrating. The commander said his forces were spread too thin – and that the LRA had taken advantage of this – knowing that the UPDF wouldn’t be able to send reinforcements to back up their troops. Now he said they’d readjusted to maintain a reinforcement battalion in Kitgum, and they have reduced their area of coverage, choosing to focus on strategic areas. They said they were glad the IDPs were cultivating near the roads because it does the dual job of making them more secure and keeping the brush low so that the rebels have less cover near the roads.

I am wondering at this point why this is the conversation going on after 18 years of low-intensity conflict. There were murmurs by the group afterwards to the effect of, “Why aren’t there enough UPDF soldiers? – could it be that they are in Somalia, despite the denial of the Ugandan government?” Comments like that make me realize how complicated these wars are in East Africa – all of the conflicts relate to each other and feed each other in ways I do not yet understand. The DRC had also denied the presence of SPLA troops from South Sudan coming down for supplies, but we heard from others that they are obviously there as well.

The DRC mentioned sympathizers who leave food in abandoned houses for the LRA. He said there are three types of these individuals – there are those who know their children have been abducted, there are some who support their rebellion, and finally there are some that are approached by LRA rebels and told they have to supply them with food or else their family will be killed. It is impossible for the UPDF to determine who is of what type.

Finally he complained that all of the events and NGOs and UN employees needing escorts stretch their manpower too thin – he wants to reduce the usage of soldiers for those purposes, which is what the higher offices of the military in Kampala also say – they see assisting internationals as secondary to the war. I won’t argue with the fact that security is the first thing these IDPs need – but after 18 years, you can’t expect the UPDF to suddenly be successful if they just put their mind to it. I don’t know enough about the military to have more than that basic opinion about what the DRC had to say.

After leaving the district commander’s office we visited the LC V – a local government official in Kitgum who complained that the IDPs are not getting enough food, and that they blame the government for the war. He also worried about the fights that are bound to occur over land once they leave the camps, and about the lack of UPDF soldiers. He wasn’t very helpful – but his permission was required to go and visit one of the IDP camps, which was our next destination. It was my first time to visit such a place.

It was a smaller camp with about 11,000 IDPs living there. There was one clinic that might have had two rooms, and one children’s ward that could hold maybe twenty children. The children’s ward was run by the government, but the building had been constructed by an NGO. Before I knew it I was surrounded by about thirty children staring at me. I began to play with them, each one waiting to shake my hand and curtsy – they followed me around the camp wherever I went… at first shy, then creeping closer and closer until they could touch my arm, and then jump back giggling. One baby started crying, and Sanja explained that he had probably never seen a white person before.

We met with a group of elderly IDPs and spoke with them, and listened to what they had to say. Much of my emotional response is captured elsewhere, so I’ll try to avoid going into that too much here. We asked if they were registered to vote, and they are – but they are required to vote, with little or no access to information about Kampala or candidates. They said that when their Parliamentary leaders visit they speak, but they do not allow for the IDPs to voice their concerns. They leave without listening, and they rarely come. Others said they have no other parties to choose from anyway.

Much of what they demanded should be provided by their own government, but they feel powerless to change the government. A few IDPs have radios, and that is basically their only source of information about the outside world. It feels like the entire Acholi population is being kept isolated and uneducated in camps – I keep looking for motives. I’m sure it runs deeper than votes, but the Acholi tribe supported the opposition to Museveni and his National Resistance Army.

One of the UN officials thinks that perhaps it is easier to “forget about the North” – to extend a weak effort to appear like they are trying to fight the rebels because it is easier than trying to deal with the difficulties that will follow. Once the war ends, there is no longer an excuse for having an entire segment of the population uneducated and living in terrible poverty. Where will they get the money to invest in developing the North, after 18 year of war with IDP camps and cemeteries has ravaged the countryside?

The group of elderly people I spoke with was mostly widows, and many had lost children. They looked so worn down – at least seventy pairs of tired eyes were staring at me, and I felt so powerless. Why were they sitting around me on the ground while I sat on a bench? Why were they clapping when we said that additional rations would be coming soon to the most vulnerable of the population – why weren’t they screaming with rage? I think years ago they must have screamed until they could scream no longer – they looked dejected and they sat patiently. I wondered how it was possible for these people to be so polite to us, and to behave so respectfully. I wonder how I would react in those circumstances. We are there to help – but that seems so small in comparison to the injustice that they have to be there at all.

Following the IDP camp we met with reps from all of the NGOs working in Kitgum currently, and the hot topic at the meeting was the military escorts. Apparently the NGOs have to go themselves to the barracks every morning to recruit escorts – which really conflicts with the humanitarian aid principle of separation from military operations. The guards often get drunk during the day, and it is impossible to tell when they are getting actual UPDF soldiers, and when it is local defense units which are less-trained and more likely to desert them in case of an ambush. They give them biscuits and water, but if one NGO were to start paying the guards it would ruin it for all of them, so they have to work together on that. Still there have been incidents where the guards threw the biscuits and water back in the faces of the NGOs saying to take it back and that others are being paid. They don’t know who is breaking the system.

The NGOs were most frustrated with the UN OCHA office for not coordinating security information – and there was definitely a bitterness among those working in Kitgum.. they know they are in a forgotten part of the world and the resent the arrival of UN officials that they consider to be too little, too late. They’ve been managing fine without UN OCHA for years, why should they clap because they decide to show up? It wasn’t very productive – and it certainly made Eliane angry. The best news for these local NGOs is that Mike, the new security officer for Northern Uganda, will be setting up a security office in Kitgum soon. I think that is the best thing, but they really need their own officer.. Mike can’t be in Gulu, Kitgum and Pader at the same time, and they all agree that security information more than a day old is useless. The rebels can walk 40 kilometers per day.

The small world aspect was that I knew one of the guys working for International Rescue Council (IRC) in Kitgum – in this tiny, war torn place I recognized him and he recognized me – but neither of us can remember how we know each other. He was at Columbia when I was at NYU – but I can’t place him otherwise. Anyway, it was great to see someone that was familiar, and his NGO is sort of the “rival NGO” of ARC – so it was great that he invited me to their office and told me about their operations.

That evening Peter, Mike, Steve, Eliane, Leith, and a few other of the NGO reps all sat around the hotel having dinner and drinks – talking until late in the evening. From across the street some kind of classical music started playing and it was beautiful and serene – then the rain began to pour and we watched the deluge from the veranda. It’s hard to explain the atmosphere of Kitgum – it feels so isolated, so detached from the world – and yet even still at times you forget that war is going on around you.

I fell asleep that night to a symphony of frogs outside of my window, and we returned to Kampala the following day – seven hours on the road later – after seeing more baboons and beautiful landscapes. Everyone has been congratulating us for being the first to brave the road trip to Kitgum, and Sanja and I are bonded now – hurrah! My first real friend here. Sadly, she is supposed to go back to Serbia this week – but her ticket hasn’t come through, so she may be staying longer.

We did get some great information – we have about three new donor options to apply for, and I have several contacts with local NGOs to follow up on. But for me this trip was so much more, it was my first time to experience this type of place, and to see the camps and how people are living. The trip was a rollercoaster ride of moments - it was exciting, it was horrible, it was beautiful – I don’t even know how else to describe it.

Melina in Kosovo

2005-06-14T08:45:00.000-05:00

My dear friend Melina is the one who got me my job working with ARC and also who gave me the idea of doing this blog - both originating when she spent last summer in Sarajevo researching property rights issues for people displaced by years of conflict. She did work there for Tom, who was then transferred to ARC Uganda, and now is my boss.

She's currently working in Pristina for the Kosovo Law Center, trying to sort out the law - literally. From Pre-1989 Yugoslav law to UNMIK regulations to current code, her office often receives calls from confused judges who dont know which law is applicable. She also has great, and often very funny, little insights into the crazy world of the Balkans...mixed with history and links to info on the region that prior to knowing her - I was completely oblivious to. I've added her site to my favorites links at the bottom - so you should check it out!

Gulu District

2005-06-14T07:32:00.000-05:00

The United Nations Children Fund (UNICEF) is releasing a report on Gender-based Violence in the Gulu district of Uganda tomorrow at an event in the urban center of the district, also called Gulu. The urban area of Gulu is heavily occupied by NGOs who are trying to assist people displaced by conflict in the Gulu district, and in the neighboring districts of Kitgum and Pader. Internally displaced persons (IDPs) are people that have been forced to leave their homes because of fear for their own safety and they are basically living as refugees, but they have not crossed an international border and so they do not fall under international protection. Several of us from ARC will be attending the meeting, going tomorrow and returning on Friday.

To give you an idea of the numbers, it is estimated that in Gulu, Pader and Kitgum there are over 1,060,000 IDPs, while the total number of refugees (mostly from South Sudan - but also from the Democratic Rep. of Congo, Rwanda, Ethiopia, and others) in Uganda are estimated to be around 230,174. This discrepancy reflects a global trend - numbers of refugees are decreasing, but numbers of internally displaced people are increasing.

Why don't we just expand the definition of refugees to include those that have not crossed international borders? To summarize: it gets to be too much gray area when international protection overrides national protection for a country's own citizens within its own boundaries. Especially when such protection may be seen as supporting a rebel movement to overthrow the established government, or when there is no clear distinction between groups fighting one another and who is and is not being protected or abused by the government. UNHCR and others are increasing their assistance to this population on a more informal basis; however, this is a work in progress and the largest burden for assistance falls to NGOs and the national and local government.

The reason why these people must flee for their own safety is because of ongoing violent conflict being inflicted on the population by a rebel group called the Lord's Resistance Army (LRA). The LRA rebels are fighting for the establishment of a government based on the biblical Ten Commandments - and the leader, Joseph Kony claims to be a spiritual medium. The LRA is known for massacres of horrible cruelty, and it is estimated that around 20,000 children have been kidnapped by the group since its formation in 1987 for use as soldiers and sex slaves. The Ugandan People's Defense Force (UPDF) has been trying to defeat the LRA rebellion for 18 years without success, but these government forces can also be perpetrators of acts of violence, especially rape, against the IDP population.

To protect IDPs, the government organized "protective camps," which are like refugee camps with temporary housing in rows, and these are protected by the UPDF. These camps have been wildly debated for two (and probably more) reasons - one being that they are raided by the LRA, and so why gather people into camps that cannot be assured protection?

In some areas like Gulu, the camps are far from the urban area and so they remain in the camps at night even with security risks - because they are in greater danger the second they leave the camp. In other areas like Kitgum, the camps are closer to the urban areas - literally they can be seen from the airstrip - an estimated 40,000 of IDPs living in such camps are referred to as "night commuters" because they migrate to the more secure urban areas each evening in order try and avoid the path of the Lord's Resistance Army. Of these night commuters, most are children because they are particular targets of the LRA and they go and sleep in schools and housing provided by NGOs as well as in the streets of Kitgum. There is less of this in Gulu, but the urban area of Gulu is the most secure area in the region so most NGOs are based there. Its infrastructure is well developed because it was the home town of former president Milton Obote (so it got some favors), and also because of the long-term presence of the military in the region.

The second reason these protective camps are debated is because these camps provide such poor living conditions - they maintain 8 o'clock strict curfews, so after that time the IDPs must stay in their dwellings or they can be arrested. The dwellings are in rows, so close to one another that there is very little privacy or personal space. It is the environment almost of a prison camp for these people. The argument of the government and supporters of the camps are that it is the best solution given ongoing conflict - how else can these people be protected? Especially in light of a particularly messy aspect of this war - the LRA are mostly from the Acholi tribe, which is largely residing in the northern districts of Gulu and Kitgum. Yet, most of their victims have also been from that same tribe.

It happens that people don't really know who is and is not involved with the LRA, and it can be that and NGO will unknowingly hire LRA members. It is also the case that in these areas, the local population is not as forthcoming with information to NGOs and the government about the whereabouts of the rebels. In districts south of these three, the population was much more active in going to the authorities. As a result, the LRA occupation there has been reduced. In these areas most effected, where the most victims have suffered, they are the least forthcoming and the most tricky to disentangle from the rebel group. It is a messy war that no one understands... and it is not clear when people are siding with the LRA or too afraid to do otherwise. They claim to fight the government, but the government does not suffer - Kampala does not suffer - it is their home territory that is continually pillaged.

While in Gulu, I'm told we cannot leave the urban area, we cannot go out after dark, and we will be together at all times and driven everywhere by David. These precautions are fine with me! Shabnam and Sanya are attending in order to scope out the area for future programs. Gender-based violence is a subject that will be targeted by ARC programs in both Uganda and Sudan if they get the grant money that they are hoping for from PRM and now UNHCR. Apparently it is an issue unaddressed by most NGOs in the region.

I will be attending the meeting because there will be representatives there from the local NGOs operating in the region, with whom ARC may wish to partner as they expand their operations into Uganda. I will hopefully be able to make contact with several of these organizations while I'm there, and to find out about what programs they are currently providing to the IDPs, and who are the people easiest to make contact with from Kampala that are knowledgeable about the local NGO network. I am glad to be going to Gulu because, as the base for NGO operations for Ugandan IDPs, it is probably the most likely place to make connections for ARC with local groups.

I'm not worried about going because where we will be is considered secure and full of expats and NGOs, and our driver, David, will be able to keep up to date with anything that we should need to know while we are there. That said, I will appreciate your prayers for a safe trip and for progress in making good connections with local NGOs in that area. I probably won't be able to post anything or have access to email again until Friday or perhaps the weekend, but I will have my cell phone on me if you need me.

Frederick and the Miracle Center

2005-06-13T04:17:00.000-05:00

On Saturday I didn’t have to work, but Josephine and most of the others did – so instead I went out with Frederick to his church for what he called “Campus Night.” His church is Pentecostal, which I am not – and I didn’t know what to expect. (Okay, to be honest, I never know what to expect here - but mixing culture shock with evangelicals is extreme) So I was a little nervous - but to have someone willing to come and find me and take me out to see the city, well ... :)

The church Frederick attends is called Miracle Center. It is huge, and it’s quite similar to evangelical churches in the South – I suspect it’s funded by them, because it’s one of the nicest buildings I’ve seen so far. On Saturday there was a wedding reception going on outside, and inside there was a youth service. Men were singing on a stage both in English and in Luganda and everyone was dancing. Some of them were pretty good – others were just funny. (the men definitely dance more whole heartedly than the women!) After the dancing the youth leaders went up and started speaking – I’m turning off my cell phone when I hear that they are announcing a visitor from Harvard University – everyone looks at me, and I had to go up in front of about 150 students and introduce myself into the microphone.

I felt quite out of place – not because I was the only white girl – but because there were healings where people fall down on the floor – and the content of the message was not fulfilling to me. The ministers would just yell and yell and yell into the microphone (as if it's only God's word if said in a booming voice) and everyone would join in with their hands raised – Whoa. It was an experience. I had already told Frederick I’d attend church on Sunday with him … but after this weekend I expect that I will not be returning to this church. That said, it was cool just to see it – I mean, when else am I going to be in a Ugandan Pentecostal Campus Night?

But Sunday I won't even go into detail about - let's just leave it at this: I was there for 10 hours and four services. I felt so exhausted by the end of it that I was feeling less religious than I would like to admit! It was interesting to feel the different role that faith plays in the lives of people who have suffered conflict in their lifetime and are struggling to develop. I don't think that this is particular to Uganda - but it was my first exposure to this type of setting. The church encouraged its congregation to be hard working and to strategize and to have a plan. The prayers were sometimes for success and growth in income for their businesses and promotions in their jobs and for the students to stay in school. There was a lot of discussion that seemed to be trying to instill a western work-ethic in their congregation.

There was an interesting discussion of the history of the church in Uganda. Using crazy excuses such as that they were CIA spies, evangelical churches were banned by Idi Amin - and so they went underground. During that time they converted the current President of Uganda's wife and children. In the series of 5 presidents since 1979, religious toleration returned but with plans to only recognize Anglicans, Muslims, Catholics and Orthodox religions. Aparently they sent all children home from school at one time that were evangelical, and so the President Museveni's (in power since 1986) children were sent home. With that, suddenly the church was recognized and the children were sent back to school.

The minister reprimanded his people that had not spoken up over the course of 5 Anglican or at least non-islamic presidents to reclaim the lands that they lost under Idi Amin, and he used the story of Gideon to show that even the meakest are powerful in the Lord. He was trying to raise their spirits to be a voice for the church in Uganda - and he was effective at least in rallying the crowd. He says Museveni has attended church at the Miracle Center twice, and this is more than any other church in Kampala - and the minister is hopeful that religion will impact the President... who, by the way, is seeking to rewrite the Constitution to allow himself to run for third term.

Going on 5, 6, 7 hours - I was ready to go. I was trying to be open minded - but that fades when you get so tired of yelling and strange praise music. But, I wanted to be patient because Frederick is a very good person, and I could see he was getting a lot out of the messages even if I wasn't. I like Frederick, not because we really click or because he's fun - but instead because I see him trying to improve his life and working with an energy that is coming from inside.

His mother died when he was young and so he cares for his younger brother, and his sister is in a boarding school. As is common, his father is still back in the village where they are from. He can't afford a housekeeper, and so he prepares meals every day, tries to keep on top of his work, watches out for his family - and he's trying to get a visa to go to the US this summer for a church-related conference.. what's more, he's hoping to go to the US for a Master's program... his university here has connections with Johns Hopkins, University of Wisconsin in Madison, and Brandeis University.

He is always thinking in ten directions at once - he clearly stands out here and often complains about his friends not being motivated and always turning to him whenever something needs to be done. At first I felt a bit annoyed by his constant strategizing - planning days in advance and booking his schedule so tightly - but then I realized that he has to live like that to try to get somewhere in his life - it is certainly not going to come to him. He has seen that if he wants to break out of the normal path he has to work twice as hard - he has to try to work into the American system with all of the difficulties posed by coming from and communicating from an African one.

I respect his drive and ambition - especially because it is not from vanity or even fear. It seems instead to be the result of surviving the loss of his mother - it's like he has rebuilt himself with more determination than ever. He told me he thinks he must face his fears and not hold himself back. He says that we so often hold ourselves back far more than we are hindered by others... and I know I've said the same. It is always a cool experience to meet someone who's come from a place so different from your own - but who has somehow come to similar conclusions about life along the way.

Inside, I hope he will not have to climb forever, because I think it would be exhausting to live as he does now. He maintains such energy in a place where so many are not driven and do not understand him. I suppose feeling his fatigue made me more patient that I could have otherwise been - I feel like he needs to be supported by someone he sees as on the path he'd like to be on. So that is our friendship - I encourage and support, and he shows me Kampala via all of the wild routes that no one else would take me on.

Getting Around

2005-06-13T02:50:00.000-05:00

Kampala is like a playground for me - like some crazy chaotic amusement park and I am loving even the smallest sights and sounds.

I happen to live in a part of Kampala that is impossible to give directions to - you just have to know where it is. The roads are not on any of the maps, and there aren’t even signs or obvious road markers – so the only way I have been able to get home is with the ARC drivers who already know where Josephine lives. I’m going into detail here because honestly, getting to the church and back was so much more fun than the actual event.

So background on public transportation in Kampala - any of the buses (which are vans that they call taxis) only go in general directions, they don’t follow actual routes, and there are no signs on the vans. You literally just have to ask the man inside the rickety sliding doors where they are going, and know the city well enough to be able to guess what roads are likely to have a taxi going your way or use one of the mad house “taxi stands." Once you find the one you want, you have to be able to tell them when to stop – and to know how to get to where you want to go from wherever they let you off.

Then there are these boda bodas, which are motorcycles that you can ride on the back of holding onto the driver. They will take you where you want to go directly – but you have to go to where they frequent to get one – and you have to be able to tell them how to get to where you want to go. The most important detail is that you have to bargain to set the price before getting on - because otherwise, you are at their scamming mercy. So – clearly, I am not able to use the public transportation here on my own – and I’m only supposed to use the ARC drivers for work-related things and small errands.

The only way I could go out with Frederick was for him to come all the way to where I live so that he could then take me back home again afterwards (because we’d be returning after dark). The poor guy – Josephine tried to explain the way, but the directions are so vague that I knew it would be difficult for him to find – and I think it took him two hours of wandering to finally make it! All I can say is that once he arrived we had a day that was (for me) absolutely insane – by the end of it I’d ridden the crazy taxis and the boda bodas and I have never enjoyed getting around a city more in my life - it was so wild.

There is this taxi stand that is unlike anything I have ever seen in my life. Viewed from above, it is a sea of vans – packed in as tight as sardines in no particualar order or direction, literally inches from one another - with people everywhere – and vendors selling everything from fruit to cell phones to jewelry – the vans would drive up and the people would go scurrying, moving back their stands to clear a path for the van that would have otherwise run right over their merchandise or their feet! There were over a hundred of these vans in this lot – and I took a picture of it because I know I can’t describe it – it was crazy. Everyone started yelling “Muzungu!!” when I took a photo – which means “white girl” in Luganda (local language most people speak in Kampala), and I was laughing. Frederick also speaks Luganda, and that’s what he used to bargain with every driver that we used today. If he hadn’t been with me I’d have been completely lost – but besides that, I’d have been so ripped off! Thank God I had a guide.

Seriously, I was the only white person at that stand – it is not a place the expats go! It’s not unsafe, I mean I’m sure there are pick pockets – but it is just a chaotic mess. I don’t even know how we got the vans out of the middle once we all piled in! And I mean piled in - at times our vans were filled with at least 25 people – all of these eyes staring at me – it was wild. Even walking along the roads just to get to the taxis was crazy – between the lack of sidewalks, the crazy drivers and the fact that they come from the opposite direction than I’m used to – I almost got hit by a car so many times. Frederick did as well! It was so crazy… Anyway, finally it got so crowded and hard to cross the roads that I just had to hold Frederick’s hand and follow whatever he did… we had to do that especially in the taxi stand… I just held on.

On the way home, we got a taxi to the crazy taxi stand where we had to switch taxis – the stand was even more wild and packed with people at night – the street vendors really come out at night and so the people do as well to take advantage of the cheaper goods – so everyone is shopping and out on the streets, music is playing from some vendors…it was a crazy maze of color and smoke and dust and people and body odor. And, it was not easy to find taxi we needed…even with Frederick speaking Luganda. But we finally did, and it got us part way before it broke down in the middle of a poor strip of houses, and I was so amused as they tried to use another taxi to ram the back of it to get it running again – failing, we hopped in another taxi that came by – and ended up getting on two of the boda boda motorcycles to get the rest of the way home.

I love riding the boda bodas - and fortunately the road we were on was free of cars – because I think they aren’t that safe on the busy roads – but on the dirt road at night it was amazing – Frederick was on the back of one, and I on the back of the other – the stars were above and the lights of the city on the hills surrounding. The wind was blowing against my face, and it was fantastic.

Athenos

2005-06-13T02:30:00.000-05:00

On Friday we ate in some world that may exist only in the shadows – it felt like the scene of a Kusturica film. Sanya said that in the Balkans they refer to this as the “middle world” – made up of those strange characters that you see only in passing – at train stations, parks and on the street – but you never know where they come from or what their life must be like because they appear to live in an entirely different world from your own. If there were ever a portal to enter such a “middle world” – I think it is the restaurant Athenos in Kampala, Uganda.

The dinner was supposed to be a late birthday celebration for Sanya, but the real motive was that ARC needed a letter signed by UNHCR Sudan (UN High Commission for Refugees) to verify the status of the programs they are operating together - and it happens to be the case that one of the two UNHCR reps in the region is Serbian and therefore has a soft spot for Sanya because they can speak Serbian together in the middle of Africa. The selection of Greek food came because apparently Balkan men do not like spicy food, and that was the only non-spicy cuisine they could think of that wasn’t rice, beans or peas, mashed bananas, and some kind of meat (which is what we eat every other day) …

We arrived to the sound of greek music – and walked into an outdoor patio that was dimly lit with a blue-ish haze. I wonder how much less odd the whole night would have been if we hadn’t been sitting in dim, flickering blue light. There were two other tables in the darkness that I think were umbrella tables, and I barely noticed them - but in passing I noted their silent stares. The man from UNHCR had already arrived and was having a cup of coffee – and so we all went to greet him, when from behind me a man appeared that was Ugandan and spoke so quietly that I could barely hear him. I assumed he was the host or waiter, and so I asked him if there would be a table for 8 for dinner, and he said that they had a buffet. I explained to the group that they had a buffet, and that sounded fine to everyone – so we waited while he prepared a table – and finally we were seated – under the blue glow, with the only resemblance of Greece being the folk music and the blue and white table cloth.

So the man hands us one menu, and lets us look over it. It became apparent to me that I was the only one that could communicate with this man – literally it was like he needed to be spoken to so slowly that no one else had the patience to be understood by him. Also, his voice never changed from that low pitch, so we could barely hear him. When he returned, he took our drink orders and then explains there is no buffet. In addition, nothing on the menu is available. What is available is goat, pork, chicken or fish with chips (French fries) – and that is all (with a tone that seemed to imply that this was obvious and we should have known). So, we’re looking at each other – not too thrilled. He brings our drinks, and the wine must have been in an open bottle for days.

About this time, an old woman arrives– She was a large woman with bulging eyes and large features – and she spoke with a thick accent. She was the owner of the restaurant – though she is not Greek, her mother was from Cyprus and her father was Polish – and she has an old fake flower in her hair that was faded and dusty looking… The best way I can capture this woman’s appearance is that she looked to me like an eccentric woman who was once grand but now reduced to a drunken existence – and she appeared as if prepared for burial years ago, walking stiffly with the strange caked makeup, dark circles under her eyes and sagging skin that was an unnatural color under the blue haze. It is impossible to capture her with words – she was one of the most eerie women that I have ever met in my life – and I cannot get the image of her in that blue light out of my mind!

She explained that they had a buffet for dinner, or anything on the menu. We began to laugh because we’d already been told that there was a buffet, there wasn’t a buffet and that they only had certain dishes that were not on the menu. “Don’t laugh!” she said sharply – specifically to Sanya, who retorted, “It is my birthday – so I can if I want.” The woman, in an almost taunting voice began, “ oooh it’s your birthday?” the woman said – “then I shall make you sooomething speeecial. How old are you?” Sanya responded 28, and the woman exclaims, “28? I only have 15 candles. But the rest of you have buffet – Laaadies first – and then I shall make you something speeeecial for your biiirthday.” We went up to the buffet – which was a mix of random dishes – from a beef stew to a spaghetti noodle, to moussaka, to meatballs – I really wasn’t sure what I was eating by the end of it.

The Serbian man from UNHCR was a quiet man with a twinkle in his eye, who clearly didn’t like Americans very much, but was tolerating us because Sanya was Serbian and at least we were more interesting than the usual company in South Sudan where he resides. Apparently he was able to give Sanya some inside information in Serbian sentences sprinkled throughout the conversation that Sanya later passed on to Tom. The good news is that ARC may be able to apply to UNHCR to fund the items that had to be removed from the PRM proposal. I don’t understand exactly what is so secretive in the NGO community – but apparently ARC only got that information through Sanya’s Serbian connection.

The conversations over dinner were a bizarre mix of stories – one was about a Sudanese restaurant they all are familiar with where you order, and may wait 45 minutes before the waiter returns and explain they don’t have any food to serve. (Apparently they go out and buy the food after you order, and if they are unsuccessful then you are out of luck.) Other stories included Ana and Sanya’s notorious first week in Sudan in which everything Ana owned was stolen except her malaria medication, contact solution, and glasses, and nothing of Sanya’s in the adjoining room was touched. Apparently the government official kept repeating – “and they took the mattress?” as if this was the most shocking and relevant detail of the story.

There was a lot of discussion of the Balkans, and it was funny to hear Tom repeating verbatim stories he’d told me earlier – apparently the social scene is to tell adventure stories. You can’t discuss politics aloud, religion because it’s too divisive, families because most of these people rarely see theirs – and so it becomes a conversation of legendary scams and misadventures and fond recollections of home – that are sometimes strangely nationalistic when coming from someone who hasn’t even lived in their home country for thirty years.

Suddenly the scary woman reappeared our table and announced in a drunken slur, “oh, I’m tired, I’m going to bed.” She stumbles off – and we are left looking at each other – nervously laughing, and wondering – is she bringing something for Sanya? Or did she already forget? …Is she actually real? In the end she never returned, and the rest of the evening was overcast by this woman’s eerie personality.

To shake it off we went next door to Bubbles O’Leary – which is an Irish pub in the middle of Kampala – someone had imported it all from Ireland, and apparently Bubbles O’Leary was his teacher’s name. There was a deck packed with people surrounded by tropical plants – and good music. We were back in reality, under a carefree night breeze with a mix of expats, white locals and wealthy Ugandans all mingling under the stars. I had a sense that these people felt as if they share a common secret – some mix of love for the extravagance of the expat lifestyle with a desire for something else that perhaps they’re still searching for or hiding from.

Fairy dust and Nescafe

2005-06-10T04:10:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was chaotic – but magic arrived by the end. Around five, bad news was announced – the grant proposal due out today that had been prepared to request 3.5 million now had to be cut down to a budget request of 1 million. The news came from an email to Tom from an insider at the State Bureau of Population, Refugees and Migration at the US State Department saying that they are planning to give grants in million dollar checks to various applicants. Sad to know that our bureaucrats at home have already decided how to distribute the money before the grant applications even arrive – but reality is so messy. The saddest aspect is that ARC had planned to move 50,000 households – that is approximately 300,000 people returning to Sudan from Northern Uganda, Democratic Republic of Congo, and Central African Republic. But the number of people they can assist in returns is calculated by dividing the total budget – so the reduction from 3.5 million to 1 million means they can only expect to assist 10,000 households … not because there isn’t a need or the will – only because they won’t have the funds unless they find another donor.

As it is, assuming they do get the 1 million, they’ll have to come up with a way to decide who they will help – either by vulnerability or geographic region. ARC suffers in the donor process because they specialize in resettlement. They are a “transition” agency because their role is preparing refugees to go back, assisting them in the return process, and helping them once they arrive with initial development activities. It is often the case that different organizations are on the sending and the receiving side – causing a lot of confusion in the resettlement process. ARC emphasizes the benefit of the same organization handling both sides – for the sake of everyone involved. However, as a single agency, they can unfortunately only apply for a single grant – even though they cover twice the territory – and quite literally operate in 2 countries. If they had another field base in Sudan they could have ARC Uganda and ARC Sudan and each apply – but that is a sad result of the system – they could get more money that way, but they’d have more administrative expenses to absorb. And it’s not like a base office in South Sudan could have the capacity of the Kampala office – infrastructure just isn’t there yet.

You would think the donors would recognize the ingenuity of the program – but obviously not if they’ve already decided the grant allotments without reading the proposals. That said, Tom says that they are still going to describe their capability in the proposal in hopes of future funding. Quite literally, the donors will determine how many people ARC will be able to assist in returns to Sudan. If they don’t get the grant at all – ARC Uganda would literally be without support by the end of the year… without capability to help anyone unless they get another donor. And this is how these organizations live – grant to grant.

Tom says that normally the staff isn’t as involved as his in developing the budget and reports included in a proposal – grant writers are hired by the larger NGOs for up to $12000 for a winning proposal – and often the budgets and allotment are made by the Director and the staff is just told the end result and how it will play out. Tom likes to involve the staff – to make them figure it out until the last stage – so that they were involved in the process and they understand the reasoning behind any budget cuts and the expansion decisions made. I think it’s a great strategy – but it has been both crazy and amazing to watch this group try to agree over how to cut 2.5 million from their budget. Each person caring about their own programs, their own sites, and all depressed at the bleak reduction in numbers they will be able to assist. Add to that the news that a maid had been caught trying to steal from Tom and Sanya at their compound.

So Tom literally came upstairs, announced the bad news and gave the cutting orders and quickly retreated downstairs. When he left it was like a stone had landed on the heart of each person in the room – there was silence – a throwing up of hands… which then quickly turned to moaning, anxiety, quarrels … they started saying, better cut yourself out of the budget, we’ll have to close the Kampala office, cancel HIV/AIDS program expansions – reduce the number of printings of the AIDS publications by 75 percent - people were talking at each other – it was a mess – it was muggy and everyone was tired, and these two girls Sanya and Ana hadn’t even showered since returning from Sudan that morning – and it was a mess like I have never seen with culture clash adding to the already difficult communication.

Because it was a holiday – the housekeeping and food service ladies weren’t in… yet, because of the ridiculous hierarchy, no one was getting themselves drinks or anything – so, given that coffee has always been my panacea – I literally had to yell over the noise, “Who wants coffee?” – it was so funny – the room went silent again – everyone’s eyes turned to me with some sort of desperation and shock, and one by one I got a unanimous “yes, please”, “that would be wonderful” - so I took orders, returned with a tray– and I am not even kidding – the entire atmosphere changed in those five minutes.

The image in my mind upon entering the room was that the fairy dust in Sleeping Beauty that put the castle to sleep had found its way on a calm breeze to Kampala. A peace and a coolness descended on the room. As if the chaos hadn’t even happened, everyone sat down, voices returned to calm, they got out the easel and markers and began. The staff worked about 2 hours straight before Tom came upstairs and took the lead. By the end of the night – around 9 – they’d cut the budget almost down to 1 million, and they are finishing it as I type. I can’t say that the dejection isn’t here today – it certainly is…their current situation in the donor process is their biggest obstacle! But it’s not being taken out on each other anymore. And I have hope that on his trip to Washington Tom will prove convincing in lobbying ARC’s cause.

As for me, bringing coffee and listening was basically my entire job description yesterday, but it felt so meaningful. Sometimes people just need to be taken care of when they are stressed. My mom and dad have always done that for me – and it felt so good to have the instinct to know what to do…My life often feels like a magic carpet ride… little moments direct it and it flows along some beautifully blessed current that I can only believe is a gift from God.

After the group broke up for the night I was waiting on the front porch for Steve, the driver, and Joseph (lion food) came out to keep me company. (He lives on site – being from the Northern part of Uganda he is displaced himself) He has offered to take me to the zoo to see all of the animals we talk about. (I really want to go to the national parks to see them in the wild – but I wouldn’t pass up a chance to take Joseph’s picture by the lion cage for anything.) He asked me where I’d been in the world. I told him a few places in Europe and he got a bit quiet – I felt the distance between our lives again. I quickly made it more personal, and told him about this funny restaurant owner on the beachfront in Italy that bought my friends and I a free spaghetti dinner with ice cream and strawberries for dessert because we were bringing customers to his restaurant. He was laughing hilariously – and again, I think it was because he couldn’t imagine such a man and he probably didn’t know what spaghetti was – but the oddity of it, like the Koala, brought that beautiful smile back to his face. I so enjoyed that moment - laughing in the evening on the front porch of the ARC office about a scene on an italian beachfront...both worlds felt suspended in time.

Whitney's Serenade

2005-06-09T04:15:00.000-05:00

Joseph (aka Lion Food) is still my favorite of the staff (minus Tom and Josephine)... His smile is gold. He and I went out on errands yesterday – which proved much more typical to what I’d expected in Africa – the trip stretched from an expected half hour to over two hours… we ended up driving out to a local airstrip on the outskirts of Kampala that they use when going to their field sites in Sudan. To get there we drove down roads I didn’t actually think were roads until we turned onto them – with half of the people staring at me through the windows and the other half completely oblivious - more than once I thought we were close enough to hit them, but they continue about their business without even flinching. I worried about some of the kids playing in the dirt – do they ever get clean? How do they not get sick?

The planes are small – carrying 6 -12 passengers, and there was some rough-looking Australian (I’m guessing) guy there that seemed to be running the place. They say the trip to the border takes about 1 ½ hours on a bumpy plane ride – or 7 to 8 hours to drive. I’ve been told about the corrupt border crossings – Tom describes the mentality of the Sudanese guards as – “We’ve been in civil war for 20 years, we deserve it – you are a rich American, you can buy another one.” .. It’s hard to blame them when you think of their bleak existence, but at the same time – ARC is going there to help, the laptop is used to take inventory and record repairs to be made and what needs to be purchased… and they have to deal with this every time they cross. They come out with a laptop and they ask for a receipt… they explain that it is impossible to buy a laptop in Sudan, and so she must have brought it in with her – and they take it anyway. The women told me their strategies to repay the guards on power trips that insist on sifting through their bags (they leave little surprises - that are rather disgusting, so I won’t go into detail - and kindly smile when the guards hand the bags back and say, “No, my brother – do your job, do your job my brother”... handing the bag back – insisting that they continue.)

So back to the airstrip – it was beautiful to be out there - to see the green sugar cane and maiz fields touch the gray sky. I remember this moment; I was gazing at the scenery feeling so alive …. and then suddenly Whitney Houston breaks in over the radio, singing “One Moment in Time.” Flashback to Senior Salute slide show music (those from home may appreciate) – mixed with Kampala skies. I don’t think the “moment in time” she had in mind would have taken place at a local airstrip outside of Kampala. And, doesn’t it seem wrong to have that as background music? – it’s like on my Eurotour of exchange students when we mixed Brazilian disco music and Hip Hop over the bus stereo as we drove through Tuscany – it’s somehow wrong! But, that is the way it often is here… The influence of Western culture is already present and growing in Kampala, but it shows itself in superficial and strange ways.

Total poverty lines a road that leads to a supermarket the size of our huge ones at home next to a fast food restaurant called “Mr. Tasty” using McDonalds colors. It is the expats and the wealthy that shop at the large American style grocery and hang out at “Garden City” (which is basically a small mall -minus dept. stores-but with a food court) – then you drive into the more typical markets and see tiny brick, wooden or even straw stalls set up with signs that say “Hardware store” or “city salon” and dirt, motorcycles and people everywhere– from a car it looks like people are literally swarming like bees. The MTV style channel here plays J-Lo and follows it up with cheesy ballads from some guy dressed in full tribal garb… but that is only viewed if you can afford the satellite of course..or the TV for that matter. I notice the mix even among my co-workers who wear stylish clothes and speak English beautifully… and then I watch them devour chicken down to the bone (emphasis on devour) – picking it apart with their fingers until it is literally cleaned...the sounds of the bones crunching and the sucking noises, combined with chicken slime all over their fingers… Whoa. As I type this, Hotel California is playing and Douglas is jamming out with considerable drama… almost as funny as Whitney Houston's serenade.

I think I’m finally getting past the formality in the office. Hurrah! I was worried the white girl status might be impenetrable. Douglas (a Ugandan co-worker) has “offered his services” as my official tour guide after this grant goes out – and Steve, our “driver on duty” told me just to call anytime I need a ride and not to worry. Today I had to decide between coming into work or going to a “beach bash” with Frederick and his friends… I really wanted to go to hang out by Lake Victoria… but it didn’t seem right when the rest of the staff is working today to get this grant out by Friday. Since I’ll see Frederick and his group Saturday, I decided to come into the office for moral support and menial tasks – and it feels like it was the right decision. They all appreciate that I’m here I think, because they aren’t so thrilled about the American-style of working through a holiday to meet a deadline.

Tom leaves for two weeks on Saturday – so I also wanted to get to speak with him a little more before he takes off to lobby for funds. Today he came into the office with Sanya, a Serbian girl that is hoping to come here and work full time if they get this grant, and Ana who is from LA and who Tom says is one of these field workers that does it for the lifestyle of adventure. I had a long talk with Sanya over coffee and her chain smoking on our front balcony - she described what it's like at the field sites and her impressions of coming to Africa also for the first time, but I got the semi-jaded, semi-romantic expat view of Africa. I prefer the view of Josephine who is African - although not Ugandan - and I realized that I'm glad I am living with her and not surrounded by expats all of the time. I also got a bit of attitude - "oh, you haven't been in a war-torn situation before?" - but, I can't act like I have - so I just have to deal with being wide-eyed for a while.

Finally – a note to my mother (posted publicly for emphasis) – I will not back down on telling you to take care of your feet. Staying healthy is different than returning to health – you fit in the later category! I hope you are all doing well – I feel so lucky to have such wonderful friends and family sending me emails and love. I think of you often.

A Refugee World

2005-06-08T08:39:00.000-05:00

It is hard to describe how much has happened in just one day. Everything is so new to me, and it is peoples’ suffering that is the subject matter of the work being done around me – the conversations and experiences I have had over the past day are so dense in value and, though I still feel like an observer, I have learned more than I thought possible in such a short time.

Things are so much more complicated than I wish was the case. I feel both overwhelmed by the many layers of problems I see – and also encouraged by the people that are here, on the ground, trying to help others. I look at how the people I work with live. First of all, at least at ARC, it is not the case that this is an “on African time” job for the staff. My boss has been in the office until midnight the past two nights, and back again by 8… the program manager Josephine works similar hours – and they speak of almost nothing else, and they often work weekends. They are dedicated to their work as much as others I see at home. The “lower levels” of staff – again the hierarchy is so stark – don’t all stay after 5, but while they are at work they are watched so closely, and they pick on each other. It is not carefree by any means. There are always people on guard at the radio, and certainly it is more intense at the field sites. The work is especially demanding for the managers – not because it is rocket science, but because there are so many sides to everything.

Nothing is easy – an example: if they send out invitations to religious leaders for a conference about HIV/AIDS education, and leave someone out that they didn’t know existed, then ARC is perceived as biased – the organization is tainted. Or if it’s on another NGO’s “territory” they are “invading.” So they have to ensure their program doesn’t overlap or is collaborating and then they give letters to the government to give out to religious leaders, but then they have to deal with the government… the government that thinks the money should come to them and not to the NGO – and that is just a side problem to the difficulty of actually talking about HIV/AIDS education to religious leaders…especially in Sudan where many people genuinely believe that there isn’t HIV/AIDS in Sudan. And then there are difficulties of spreading information – what languages? Whose languages? Who will be reached is determined by these decisions.

I’ve heard so many stories like this already and I’ve been here 3 days. Everything is complicated. One thing I can say is that this job can’t be done by people that are not here, that do not know the territory and the people and the way things work. And even for those people, the risks that they take are not small – but they do not see them as risks because they are from here. Their scale of what is risky is so different from most people I know (including myself) that it is laughable. And this brings me to my thought of what is refreshingly absent. A focus on “staying healthy.” I am not saying that they are carefree and reckless – but they don’t obsess over nutrition and vitamin intake and check ups and cardio vs toning and …I mean, that doesn’t even exist in their mentality. They live, and the focus is on being useful – not on being healthy. There is emptiness at home that I don’t find here.

One other insight into the refugee world - something that really influenced my perception of the people ARC serves came from a conversation I had with Josephine. She said that it is not the case that all the people that have lived through these disasters are still in them. The people that suffer through and survive a tragedy like Rwanda 1994 are not still in Rwanda 1994. She worked with refugees in Rwanda in 2001 and said that she finally had to stop listening to each of their stories because she was looking at them as if they were still in 1994, and yet they had moved on and are no longer in the same place. They cannot just be treated for or viewed by the most tragic year that we hear about on the news. Lives go on for these people, and in a way that humbles me. When problems arise at home, I want to crawl under the covers… these people have problems I cannot even fathom and without the luxury of personal space or place to even shut the reality out for a moment. And yet they move on and keep living, while we see them as victims.

So that is just a part of my experience – the work content – but I suppose it influences everything. I see dirt everywhere - dirt floors in shacks, which for some people turned into mud when it rained last night. I woke up around 4 am and heard the rain and my first thought was of refugees in a camp looking up at the sky and shivering, or sleeping upright in standing water inside their leaking shacks. Then today we were driving around and I saw homes flooded with red-colored muddied water and people digging ditches to try to drain it out – and it was a small rain shower… I can’t imagine if it were to rain for days in a row. That and the sound of the rain was louder than at home - I felt so small in this place... but not scared.

Right now I’m listening in on a staff meeting across the room relating to the final draft of a grant proposal for 3.5 million dollars – so I’m listening as the strategize their programs – the numbers, what is feasible, timeframes, expected times that people can be moved. They talk about solutions, the problems for them are opportunities. Their work certainly will never provide solutions to everything – but they are something...and much more than I expected given the criticism of foreign aid and NGO competition I've heard so much of at home. Frankly, NGOs help people more than the governments do – Josephine says people complain about NGOs because they expect them to help. They don't even expect their governments to help, and so they are silent. She says when they stop complaining, she knows they are not helping. You expect more from those you depend on - and so the refugees look to the NGOs. It is not so easy to speak of enabling dependency when you hear about people starving in deserted churches for 2 weeks while NGOs can't act because their funds are stretched too thin. And it is crazy to see how such simple things as educational workshops are needed to tell people what their rights are and to explain to them how AIDS is contracted. It is really unbelievable – but they don’t just stop there- they work to change the situation. It is really good to be seeing this for the first time at a time when they are putting this proposal together – I get to hear both what is going on, and what improvements they hope to make.

Tomorrow is a holiday – “Hero’s Day” which is like our Memorial Day – and we're all going to be here getting this grant proposal out - but Saturday I'm going to hang out with my first Non-ARC friend Frederick and his classmates. He says I'll be the "most outstanding person there" - I think he means I'll stand out more than anyone there! :)

lion food

2005-06-07T08:20:00.000-05:00

I was instructed today on how to use the radio to communicate with the field sites. It turns out that everyone has a radio call name, which cannot be your real name - and every site has a nickname as well as does basically any proper noun - city, country, government, group, etc.. and the names are funny. First of all, for my dear Texans - the code name for the Nile is the Rio Grande and the small Sudanese town of Wurta is Texas. A small town near the border with Sudan where ARC has a base office is referred to as Paris - to be contrasted with the name for the West Nile Bank Front and the SPLA who are fondly referred to as Spiders and Scorpions. So, for radio names we all have to select one for ourselves - and we finally settled on Koala for mine after realizing I'd named myself the same code name for the Sudanese Government (elephants).

Joseph, who was instructing me in all of this, is just a great guy. His eyes sparkle with excitement and he described himself as having an eager heart. His job is quite fitting - since he likes to be involved in everything - he radios the sites throughout the day keeping track of the security situation and any needs that arise. His radio name is "Lion Food" - and from the oddity of the name and the huge grin on his face I knew there was a story behind it. So this man dressed in a plaid shirt looking so western starts describing to me how he was attacked by a lion at age 17 in the village where he comes from. His grandfather had cattle - something sounding like longhorns but with another name - and one day a lion came and killed two of these animals - eating one and leaving the other. When this happens in the village, the man must sound an alarm and all of the other men in the village must come and together they track and kill the lion so that it cannot return and kill another man's cattle. (Remember the importance of cattle to these people is huge) So they all come with spears, bows and arrows and one axe - he tells me precisely - and they track the lion to a swamp area and they form a large circle around him and slowly creep in closer and closer in unison. When they are just close enough they begin to throw spears at the beautiful creature - and at this moment the lion reacts by attacking the man next to Joseph. So Joseph had to attack the lion to save the other man, and the lion fought back, taking a bite out of his inner thigh the size of a baseball!

His eyes are of course as excited as I've ever seen as he showed me how big it was...and I just kept thinking - this guy was attacked by a lion? He just trained me on the radio - and I would never have known. This place seems so western - being an American based NGO with a Texan country director and definite US office policies - and I forget how huge the gap is in where we have come from to sit in the same office. Koalas and lion food - he had never seen a Koala or even heard of one...so I whipped up some pictures on google and he broke into hysterical laughter at seeing one for the first time.

Arrived!

2005-06-06T09:25:00.000-05:00

I'm in Kampala! I spent yesterday in London walking the city - and now I'm in Uganda. I've been here since 5:30 am and it's 2 now - I'm at the ARC office and have attended a staff meeting! It's so fantastic - the feeling to be in Africa for the first time. On the drive in the first thing I noticed was the sky. It was dark when we landed, and so I got to see the sunrise. It was beautiful and the sky is so expansive. The surroundings are very lush - it's the rainy season they say, and it reminds me of the landscape of where I have been in the Dominican Republic.

From what I have seen, Kampala has a mix of very nice homes and shacks - and the homes can be quite beautiful with gardens and red topped roofs... there are flowers and green tropial plants everywhere, but there is a mix of red dust and car exhaust hovering over the roads. Josephine's apartment where I'll be staying is in a nice area - and it has everything - TV, refrigerator, washing machine - mosquito netting around the beds :) I'll send pictures when I can...it's a very nice home, although she says that they have in the past had power outages frequently but it seems to have been improved in the past months. I was there for about 2 hours today to take a nap, but my bags are still at my boss's place so I haven't been able to shower or get settled.

It is a bit overwhelming also to be already be working full time. It is quite formal in the office, and no one has asked me where I'm from or anything about myself. I can feel that the Ugandan staff is a bit separate and at lower levels on the staff hierarchy and perhaps education levels than the expatriate staff. There is a girl Josephine who is from Malawi, and she is the most talkative and strong in personality - and it is with her that I will be living. They gave me a choice as to whether I would live with her or in a compound with my boss and some other expatriates that are in and out from Eastern Europe. I chose to live with her because I think she really wanted me to and I would like to be on friendly terms with her - and also because my boss is out of town so often that I would have been alone a lot more of the time in the other location.

My job assignment is quite broad! Tom wants me to work on establishing a system of how to determine what local NGOs they will be able to establish partnerships with in both Uganda and Southern Sudan. This is a multi-step process - because in large part they don't even know what local NGOs exist, especially here in Uganda. They do know that most will not meet the international standards required for them to be able to form partnerships. So my job seems to be to first learn these standards that are set by donor countries and multinational organizations, and then to go out and interview representatives from local NGOs and start to narrow down a list of what NGOs are the "closest" to meeting the standards - and then I am to make a directory of what they do and give this to ARC.

But in interacting with the local NGOs I am supposed to be speaking with them about what they need to expect, because the idea of any requirements is completely foreign to them. Aparently they think that the money they have seen will go directly to them now that peace accords have been struck in Sudan, but my boss says that money will always go through international NGOs because they are the ones that can be held accountable. They are beginning to understand, and Tom says there is a lot of anger. To get international funding the local NGOs must partner with international orgs... but doing so is only possible if they meet standards. So it's not an easy message to deliver to a country just out of 20 years of civil war to say that the money they thought they were going to get isn't arriving in the way they expected, and, in addition, we have to tell them that until they improve their capacity as organizations they can't get the funding.

This is crazy! But at the same time, it is the reality of the donors...they won't give the money to the local NGOs because if it is wasted they can't hold anyone accountable. Also, these international standards exist so that money isn't just wasted... some local NGOs are really just set up to be an income source for people running them and not for the people they claim to serve, so there have to be some standards. That said, this is a big project - in 3 months find out what local NGOs exist in 2 countries, learn the standards they are supposed to meet, develop a method for assessing these local NGOs, provide ARC with a list of potential best selections for partnerships and begin the process of communicating with the NGOs about the realities of how they can have access to international foreign aid. I think this will have to be narrowed down a bit :)... but for the first few days I have my initial assignment.

I have had my first mashed banana - not a sweet banana but almost like a bland potato flavor. They cook for us daily here at the center, and I am not used to being waited on. It is hard to walk into such a hierarchy because people act in their roles - therefore it seems the girls Rose and Beatrice who cook don't expect me to really speak with them or be their friend - and I see that this is because Josephine and Jennifer and others are served by them. There is a similar distinction among the men, but it is a bit less clear.

I am very glad that I have the connection to a guy in the medical school here - I think, given how formal the office is, that I will want from time to time to be with people unrelated to my job in order to just see more of Uganda.My driver this morning was my favorite person so far - probably because he didn't feel like he had to be so formal around me - he told me I need to be sure to have children while I'm in school because once I'm out of school it is too difficult! What a different mentality. Speaking of - they drive on the left side of the road here! I don't know why I never thought of that - anyway, I've already tried to get into the drivers seat twice. :) I've also seen ladies carrying huge bundles on their heads just like I've always heard about.

Also, I have a mobile phone for anyone who needs to get in touch with me - the phone number is 256 78821139. I have so far heard more about Eastern Europe than Uganda because that is the region that my boss is more familiar with - I am thinking of you Melina in Kosovo - today Tom described Balkan women as the most beautiful and ferocious women in the world. I am glad your nickname is Pepper! :)

The funniest conversation so far was at lunch - where Josephine started complaining about this tiny dog that her neighbors own. I mentioned that in Manhattan ladies carry those dogs in their purses - and she and Tom both flipped out. They began to laugh picturing someone showing up at their various field sites with a dog in a purse, and how the locals would react. Josephine said that they always find a way to explain things, and that in Malawi the villagers would say that person was a witch - that the dog used to be very large and she shrunk it -- and then the story would grow - the dog would be the person - sometimes the soul in the form of a dog sometimes human. She said there was a man in the village selling goats to be slaughtered for food - but the villagers were used to goats making a lot of noise, and his never made noise. So they decided they must be dogs and not goats because they didn't make noise... so one night some villagers snuck in and stole his goats and they claim as soon as the goats crossed the road, they became dogs - and when they crossed back they became goats again. The story spread so far that for a while villagers stopped eating goat meat entirely because they claimed that goats were really dogs.

prelude

2004-05-20T11:26:00.000-05:00

I'm leaving tomorrow for Uganda - with 8 hours in London before arriving in Kampala on the 6th. Just enjoying last moments in Houston and wondering what life holds for me this summer in Uganda... anticipation. Bags not yet packed - but what is tomorrow for if not for a big family breakfast, mad packing and an airport send off? :)

For those of you who are wondering - I am going to work for the American Refugee Committee (ARC) for about 3 months. They have been operating in South Sudan for the past 10 years and are now planning to expand their operations to serve people in Uganda that have been displaced by conflict in the north and along the border with the Democratic Rep. of Congo. These people are basically refugees within their own country, but they do not fall under international protection because they haven't crossed an international border. My job (from what I know now) will be to join a strategy team that ARC is putting together. I will be interviewing employees of local and international organizations already operating in the region to find out what is being done and what needs to be done - looking for ways ARC can fill a need and collaborate with these groups. I am sure when I arrive my job assignment will take all kinds of unexpected turns - but going in, this is all I really know. I received funding to go, so I'm a free employee and able to also do my own research while assisting with ARC's transition.

So friends of mine wondering what this is, I hope you'll check in from time to time for some lovely distraction and to keep in touch. I'll try to write about the country and not just my own adventures so that you will also get a glimpse of the "pearl of Africa." For those of you who are Christian, I hope you'll keep me in your prayers - and I will probably mention God many times in my blog because I do feel like there is some purpose for me taking this trip. One that is beyond the immediate job description or research opportunities. I truly feel like I've been guided over the past few months to go to this place and to meet the people I will meet and have already met. I don't know why I'm going to Uganda -and that is both exciting and strange. I do believe that this trip is only possible because of doors opening quite beyond me.

I think we always are impacting the world in ways we are unaware of, and so the purpose of life is far beyond what we perceive it to be. Tonight this feeling is almost tangible, and it makes me hopeful that good is working in the world through the tiny human interactions that we all experience each day. So I don't go to Uganda with solutions to problems so complicated and layered that I barely have skimmed the surface of understanding. Nor do I go seeking thrilling adventure only possible in places raw and untamed. I carry neither expectation because my plans are neither grand nor thrill-seeking - I am going because I feel like it is my calling at this moment in my life. I hope to give what I can and to grow as I will and to use what gifts I have to contribute to good in the lives of those I meet in Uganda.

I also hope to come back with a better understanding of why I went and with many good stories to tell. :)