Jamie: Live: Uganda

Coming Home, part 1

2008-08-25T01:17:00.000-07:00

It is my last week in Gulu, that dusty town in northern Uganda where I’ve come to feel at home. In many ways, I have less understanding of this place than I thought I once did. I have no bottled answers or final resolve in having “figured it out”. Instead, 14 months later, I uncomfortably and graciously accept a weightless position with my feet above my head, rather than standing in conquered triumph on Uganda’s highest peak. My time here was marked by different periods of thought where I believed I unlocked the secrets of this place only for those conclusions to be proved inconsistent or wrong. Only one underlying truth flowed beneath all periods and progressions (and regressions) of my time here; we must believe that joy is possible and that it matters.

Last week, my friend died in America. His mind beat him and beat him and beat him until he gave into its most possessive hyperactivity. In a moment of panic against what seemed impossible to beat, he silenced his mind….and the beating stopped. But it started for the rest of us. We now beat ourselves for what we could have done. The beat intensifies in a thousand homes in suburban America, as we see the underside of the dream. Meanwhile the beat goes on. Deep in East Africa, men and women idolize the American dream. It is wonderful to fathom- freedom, money, land, and the pursuit of happiness. Across that distant ocean, we look to be wealthy and successful. On the surface, Africa seems to have much larger problems in life. After all, it is plagued with poverty, an inescapable obstacle of its environment. However, in our modern culture, an invisible, undetectable and equally inescapable obstacle plagues our environment. Many of us, (including myself) live in mental and emotional poverty. Unbeknownst to the Ugandans who share this paper-thin slice of history with us, amongst our wealth and development, we are suffering a much deeper despair.

To revive the richness of life, we need to put joy back on our shelf of life priorities, a bottled jar, placed amongst “work ethic” and “family”, “achievement” and “pleasure.” Let us make joy happen just as much as our next business deal, or dinner date, or life goal. Some might argue that Ugandans should take life more seriously, but no one lives in more serious conditions than those of northern Uganda - and they believe in joy. They work for it. They exercise it. They make time out of their day for it. Even Jolly Okot, Country Director of Invisible Children, who has over 8,000 Ugandan lives hanging in her hands every month, will call people into her office during the day to make her laugh. She will walk the halls at 4:30 and joke with each employee, often shrieking for air in between her fits of laughter.

I don’t know if you’ve tried recently, but it takes a whole lot to laugh whole-heartedly. Trust me, for the last year I have tried to adopt this Ugandan talent. I would attempt to balance my American work ethic, while saving the laughing for reserved times when I didn’t have something else on my mind, but it doesn’t work that way here. A Ugandan has the developed skill to do both at once; to release joy straight from the heart and not rush the moment of pleasure that unfurls. Try it. It is almost impossible for most Westerners, myself included. It takes lightness, and presence in the moment. It takes joy.

Ugandans may seem underdeveloped and poor on the surface, but that is small matter, (seriously) compared to our (including myself) social poverty. The suffering we endure on the inside from social pressures and seriousness. This week, 14 days after my friend’s death, I have been dwelling in the dark room of sorrow. Burrowed deep, it has taken and still takes a lot to leave this room of despair, frustration, and waiting in line at the “unfair” complaint office without a receptionist. I don’t want to ever forget this friend, but he will be remembered just as well in the next room over where thousands of Ugandans are standing around with smiles to greet me and you. Let us find the courage to join them. Let us believe it is possible to find joy in the everyday, in the stress, in the despair, in the chaos. In the twenty-year war that has robbed each family of at least one beloved. We are all in it together. Let us learn from our rich brothers and sisters in Uganda. A culture that can exhibit this joy holds wealth beyond any material development in modern culture. Let us rediscover its value.

My friend and colleague Kilara

2008-08-25T00:58:00.000-07:00

Brothers' Pace

2008-04-29T07:06:00.000-07:00

Day in the Life: IDP camp

2008-04-29T06:21:00.001-07:00

Within minutes of the whistle blowing on a Friday afternoon, after a hectic workweek, I found my office environment warping into sunset on the back of a motorbike, with papyrus mat under my arm, a bag of beans and rice in the other, trying to enjoy the immense painting of colors all around me, while staying on the bike as it drove over crazy bumps in the red dirt road. The interns and I spent the night in a large IDP camp, Awer- 40,000 people crammed into a small space. But the space is beautiful, out in the middle of nowhere with rolling green hills all around. We slept in a hut on papyrus mats- comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time. The sleep for me was restful but you still wake with sore muscles from the mat.

We were woken up at sunrise to "go to the garden for digging"...A five kilometer path led us to the "garden" where my friend Opio Walter's grandfather's plot of land was. Digging meant using a ho, to dig up the bushy land and turn it into more manageable soil. Ambitiously, I started out with vigor, only to find caluses popping on my hands by an hour's worth of work. After 3 hours, Walter lied and told us it was midday, time to head back. It was really only 10:30 but the sun was hot, and under the heat, he could tell we were naive to how unprepared we were for the day. I asked him to let me stay, but he insisted I could come back another time, that I had done enough for the day. Sure enough, after another 5 km walk back to the camp, as soon as I sat down, I realized that my shoulders seemed to be forcing themselves out of my skin, they pounded like laden dinosaur bones where my usual shoulders had been. Spent the rest of the day in Walter's hut, resting like a typical Mzungu, as women twice my age worked all day long. If only I had a pair of gloves- but the women have their natural pair of glove caluses that get them through, and their shoulders, like linebackers hold unfathomable strength.

The afternoon came quick, and as I walked through the camp, it was fascinating to see families prepare for dinner. At the grainery, a line gathered where mothers, young boys and girls mosty stood with woven baskets containing small rations of food gathered, farmed and traded. Each basket contained the essentials with slight variations- Cassava and millet, which could be stretched to feed many dependents. The grainery was really a small shop with a sign that read "cheap store" on the outer door. Inside was a machine run by a monster of a fuel dripping generator. Two boys, in their teens were running the shop. The cost to grind these basket loads into fine powder for cooking was 250 shillings, equivalent to about 15 cents. Some people would come up with only 200 shillings, the boys would attempt to stick to the price, but would never turn anyone away. They never turned anyone away- women and children mostly, standing in line, with their daily collections on their heads, generally a baby tied to the back. I got to hold a two week old baby- didn't like me much. cried until his mother offered him milk. At the end of the day Saturday, I played a game of soccer (football). A huge football field lies in the middle of the camp, which surrounds it on all sides. Next to the field is the market, where balls occassionally get kicked giving the marketeers something interesting to watch for. The market is small, with colorful piles of whatever vegetable is available at the time, and some dried fish. Not very appetizing. Next to the market is
the butcher. Literally, a man that sits next to a tree, cuts open a goat, hangs it dripping from the tree until people want a hunk. His credibility as the town butcher is given by his scale, an old, blood stained rusted
scale that measures accurate rations of intestine.

The soccer ball never reaches the outdoor butchery, because in front of him is a small area where a dozen children, always sit, sporadically placed on the ground, roasting groundnuts under small piles of their own shells. A dozen mounds of embers glow from these roasting sites. And when the ball is kicked in their direction, the kids eagerly await the chance to kick it back and try out their skills in front of the older kids. Only the best kids get to play soccer on this field, reserved for the most fit in the camp. They were reluctant to let me play, as I did not qualify by their standards, but with the Acholi attitude of complete hospitality they humored me, and tried their best not to let me hear them laugh every time I missed the ball. I have never seen such skill, such vigor and offensive manuevering. It is not beautiful to witness. It is rough and rigorous and by the end of the first half, I was beat from just trying to keep up. I headed a couple balls, which I was proud of, but that doesn't merit much. Halfway through, Walter stood on the sidelines, waving me like a grandfather would to his grandson. It was time to go home. And although I made a fuss, I was secretly relieved to get out of the game without being in the center of the firecracker action that every thirty seconds hovered around the goal posts. It was time to go. I was grateful to Walter for allowing me to be there for the weekend. As fun as this day seemed, the 24 hour novelty must pale after nearly 10 years of living this way. The Acholi people, always adaptable, always hospitable, deserve better.

10 April 2008

2008-04-13T05:00:00.000-07:00

I wrote this entry on the day that could have marked a historical day in Uganda, giving peace to millions of Acholi people in the North. Two years of peace talks between the LRA rebel army and the Ugandan government came to this day: 10 April 2008, the day that Joseph Kony, leader of the LRA had agreed to sign a final peace agreement, in the middle of the jungle where he and thousands of abducted children were living in the Congo. With the scratch of a pen, millions of mothers, could ease up on the grip of their children and sleep with both eyes resting. The fathers could begin the first walk back to their farms overgrown, and make the first slice into a ground, where sustainable life for his family could be cultivated. It was a long day in Acholi-land, full of unrest, causing locals to courageously dig up these old dreams and visions of a peaceful future, buried under the same jungle of chaos that has overtaken their farmland. I tried my best to understand, observe and write what this day was like.

10 April, 2008
Like ocean against sky, the mood of Gulu seems to mirror the atmosphere that hovers above it. Dark clouds, ominous and foretelling hardly allow the pink streaks of sunrise to shine through. Illuminating against the storm of 22 years of terror, a small daub of hope is all that remains on the Acholi’s palette for this day. With timid anticipation, the Acholi rise, again for their 8,030th day of war.

An older woman in her 60s, walks towards town, hunched over, by the weight of a heavy bag carried from her neck. Asked about the day, she strains to lift her tired head. Through deep wrinkles, her eyes stand out in brilliant, youthful excitement. “This day is historic for Acholi Land” she replies with glitter swimming in her eyes. “It is time. Time to go back to our Land, resume our life and farm again” she says as her eyes sink into the back of her head. Wading beyond the current tide of misery, her eyes were backstroking past thrashing breakers to reach the predictable, calm surges that lay in the distant, deep waters of her memory.

To younger Acholi's, devoid of any memory of tranquility, this reaction is far less genuine. Lukewarm anticipation mixed realistically with doubt are natural reactions, caused by three previous peace talk flops. If dawn was the hope, vulnerable and fragile, the heat of midday is the harshness of reality. Skepticism set in as colors disappear and flatten the tone of this raw town.

Afternoon sun beats down, to intensify the anticipation. Hovering around the largest radio station in the North, locals wait in almost nonchalant expectation, as if to not be caught with their hope exposed, should today's news slash it to unrepairable pieces. Upstairs, the radio DJ sits in the news studio overlooking the people on main street. In reverence to the situation, he is silent. With one phone call, he will have a heavy responsibility. With the microphone before him, he will bring either limitless joy or painstaking grief to a fragile audience. Different from the typical final score announcements of a sports game, this outcome holds the weight of millions of people in limbo. The fate of 40 IDP camps sit waiting, straining to hear the news.

Silence is broken. The News Correspondent slumps in his chair. The angst pours down the windows of his building as rain has paradoxically began to fall. “Joseph Kony is not serious” he says in a defeated whisper. The radio clicks on across thousands of rusty radios throughout Acholi Land. Joseph Kony has delayed the peace talks to a halt. The sky, once broad with morning possibilities, now lowers itself overhead, dumping reality on withered spirits. The same heads that stood fearless against the dawn’s early light now bow in defeat to a pelting rain. Sauntering home in descending dusk, the world is still, hanging for but a very real moment. And in that moment, a realization that life must go on as it always does. The people push ahead with the day given to them. Steam swims through the night sky, a faint indication of the life that continues from the thousands of dinners cooking on open fire below. The people will rest and rise again. Tomorrow, on day 8031, they will once again find the raw courage to streak the morning sky with their bold belief in peace.

Please Pray for Peace.

Amazing Grace: In conclusion to the last entry

2008-02-29T08:00:00.001-08:00

Today, I rode a motorbike to one of Invisible Children's sponsored schools. In the usual heat, my tires whipped through layers of chalky, dusty road. Suddenly, it began to rain. Out of no where. It poured all over the road, soaking through inches of dust, filling deep cracks of dry Earth. Dripping wet, I screamed as loud as I could. Dry season is ending. And perhaps with these refreshing drops, like a prophetic que, peace for Acholi Land. The paper today read "Peace Talks in Final Stages". This Spring could hold more than budding flowers and greenery. It may bring renewed energy and vitality to a land dormant and damaged. Hidden in this newly formed weather, peace may be gathering on the horizon, ready to run alongside the pace of the chariots of clouds.

Budding Peace

2008-02-26T08:55:00.000-08:00

Dry season has consumed Gulu. This month has become a test of endurance against the sun, which rises with such innocence in gentle streaks of pink, hiding its true nature as a hellish beast. In America, and especially in the paradise of California, four seasons rotate like a pinwheel, balanced, each one with its own quality to look forward to. Ugandans have two seasons that flop like a fish out of water. When the dry season flips over in January, no Ugandan would admit to looking forward to the next few months ahead. In fact, most locals shudder at the switch in wind patterns, which begin to blow from Sudan, sweeping with it the death and destruction from that place.
The first day the winds turned, our friend, Akidi looked out her window and said, “disease has entered our land”. Trees bow to the ominous message of these winds, and shed their fear to bare limbs. Lush green is blanketed in brown dust, which transforms the environment to a bland palette. Last year’s vibrant harvests are burnt, and throughout the night, fires roar everywhere, as black ash falls from the sky. It is interesting to really feel the underside of vibrancy, which I feel is well controlled in America. We are lucky to not have to see or deal with these kinds of ugly realities. The ying to the yang. It has been difficult living in the midst of it, realizing just how much it has affected everyone’s moods. So many people are becoming sick, and older people are dying during this season. Last week, Okello, my best friend who I wrote about, the one who constructed the café, came to my house early in the morning. One of his last remaining relatives had died unexpectedly. He was in tears, rare to see on a grown Acholi man. I have always seen him as a man, but it was in this morning, with the sun’s budding light, that I saw a different side of him- the boy that he really was. He had no money for a coffin, and being the closest relative in a family that is practically extinct, he was expected to give him a burial. I gave him the money for the coffin, something I have never paid for. He borrowed my camera and took these pictures. I thought I would share a couple of them candidly taken by Okello. I know this is not the most heartwarming of updates. But, it is the reality of the season, and I think it has been beneficial for me to understand this other side to life that I am truly unfamiliar with. If anything it magnifies the beauty of the newly budding trees. And glorifies the cycle of life that is bringing new promises of peace to this land. In a figurative sense, a new season may be emerging with the literal first forming rain cloud of wet season. Peace for the Northerners, in the form of a permanent peace agreement, between the LRA and the government is budding, and looks closest to blooming since 1986. I hope and ask you all to pray for peace, so that the figurative and literal can collide together; that the March rains will carry with it a new era of peace, to refresh this exhausted land.

Photographs taken by Okello

2008-02-26T08:12:00.000-08:00

2008-02-26T05:16:00.000-08:00

Serving the World

2008-01-25T06:02:00.000-08:00

I want to thank all of you- over 40 different people and families - who contributed so generously toward Kope Café. This project, more of an experiment as the first non-profit café of its kind, has been successful because, from day one, it started with selflessness. From Acholi artists who sacrificed countless hours of decorating, to the manager, Judith, who left London to work for free, laughing throughout the crazy opening months. The cafe is a work of love, and you all have continued this spirit of generosity.

Returning to Uganda and Kope Café was bittersweet. It is surreal being back in Gulu, where nothing has changed. The same people are posted on the same corners, the same women carry the same jugs of water from the well, the same little kids smile and wave on the sides of the dusty road. The scene is not nearly as lively or relaxing as the comforts of home this Christmas break. In fact, it is a bit difficult to adjust back, but I know that I am in the right place. After all, this is the place that has challenged me and stretched me creatively and personally beyond what I thought capable; I could not be here, or have the strength without the support of each of you. Nelson Mandela said, “"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world.” You have all played huge in my world, and now it is my turn to extend that generosity. Thank you for your support.

Hosting a meeting the second day I arrived back in Uganda, I sat inside Kope Café, now 3 months old, and looked around the room of bright characters. My heart quivered just knowing the effort they have each made to enable the café to function smoothly. My appreciation turned to invigoration as I announced that we now have the funds from my friends in America to fulfill many of their requests for improvement. There is a lot of work that needs to be done to make this café fully sustainable, well-attended and consistent. Construction on an outside patio starts today, and my hope is that within a couple of weeks we will double our seating capacity. The kitchen will receive proper attention, and the Chef will no longer have to bend down to cut fruit salads on a bench borrowed from HEALS.

In my dreams of September, I eat one last serving of chicken curry, wash my plate, and walk out the front door of a thriving café. My exit takes me through a lush outdoor patio from where I look back at the sign one last time, knowing that the cafe is serving its role as a community hub of creativity and culture. Turning down the street to head home I meet several kids from HEALS and take comfort in knowing that this community-run organization will never have to worry about finding 3 dollars to send a child to elementary school. And, as I return home to you all, the stories of success I bring will confirm that you were a part of this dream and that together, we truly served the world.

HEALS Dancers performing at the Grand Ceremony

2007-11-19T06:23:00.000-08:00

2007-11-19T06:14:00.000-08:00

2007-11-19T06:09:00.000-08:00

Kope Cafe: day 2

2007-11-19T06:06:00.000-08:00

I am elated. Sitting on a comfortable couch, listening to an old remix of Duran Duran in Kope Café brings about the most foreign feeling, while simultaneously, I feel closer to home than I ever have. I just got up off this comfortable couch, and after looking around at Ugandan Med School grads dining under reservation in a gleaming, lamp-lit room, I walk outside to ride my bike to the market. Riding away from the café, reality sets in outside of the picturesque “Disney-like” setting as it’s been described. Elderly women walk home with belongings on their heads, military men march past, toting AK-47s, smells of burning trash waft through sticky air. Kope Café which sits in the middle of downtown Gulu, is unlike any place around here. Cruising down the street, my sandals grazing the top of the pavement, I smile in gratitude at God’s blessing bestowed upon this café. My eyes well, close to crying by the beauty of this moment. A pinnacle peak of joy, and of awe. It has not been easy. It is amazing that on the second day of being open, I feel light-hearted enough to laugh at the last two and a half months. The challenges faced make this night even sweeter. Looking back on the restless nights in bed, when I could only pray to trust that this mess of a café, covered in cement, tree parts and dust would become a place to gather; Even this last week, hurried and chaotic, dipping into my personal finances to fund pots and pans, and stoves, I was a mess of excited and nervous energy. But if there’s one thing that naming a café Kope, (meaning “no worries”) in a town like Gulu, teaches me, it’s to slow down, and realize that operating in lightness is far more effective than running around in panic mode. As I pedal back towards the café, my thoughts dissipate upon seeing the café through the windows. In soft light, the glow of the café looks marvelous. A couple are snuggling on the couch. Another is eating face to face at a small table. Two people are sitting up in the tree house, amongst pillows they are laughing. And the recent graduates are enjoying liver- their request. The chef we hired has turned out to be fantastic. He makes exceptional dishes, fresh and innovative. I feel like he has been waiting his whole life for the opportunity to show off his true skills. And he loves the fact that we have given him full artistic freedom to make whatever he wants. So far, it has all had rave reviews. Steak salads, with his housemade Dijon vinagerette, vegetable curry with Thai noodles that I have not tasted since Thailand. I was in disbelief as I ran back to thank him, into the makeshift kitchen, with a gas stove top I bought for 50 bucks in Kampala, two “traditional” stoves made of car hubcaps, and a refrigerator we borrowed from Jolly’s sister. Amazing. I have no idea how he produces these dishes. I am seriously in disbelief anytime Linda brings something from the kitchen. I really don’t get it, but don’t want to get it. It adds to the mystique of how this place came to be. I feel like I should know best and yet, when my friends from Invisible Children how it came together, astonished that this dream of Jolly’s which has been planned for over a year, is finally realized, I have no clear concept of its development. I have God to thank and a number of incredible Acholi friends.
In two days, the place has transformed from being the bane of my lonely existence to a comfortable, relaxing and exciting place that brings together artists and great people to enjoy a space completely unique to Northern Uganda. Plus, I am lucky, so gratefully lucky to be working with my friends. Linda, who has become a great friend and who worked so hard, for free, painting and cleaning the café months before it opened, and Patrick, who donated over 35 hours painting the entire place with beautiful designs and murals. Plus Davis, who is going to start playing the keyboard on Saturday evenings. And we are in the process of booking a blind violinist for Sundays.
Sunday night is coming to a close. My friends from Invisible Children have just left. They had been in the café nearly all weekend. Confirming this place’s worth, they spent nearly the whole day here, some enjoying breakfast through dinner. We really had no place to hang out, beyond work and our home. So, we’ve kind of just transferred our usual conversations and atmosphere to the comfy living room style of the cafe. And our new hang out is far more beneficial for Gulu’s kids- with purchases going to fund the HEALS program for Acholi youth. I have already sung the Cheers theme song, which just enters my mind at this situation, where I no longer have to go and visit friends. They just appear through the double doors. My Mom last week sent money specifically instructed to spend on myself and something I would enjoy. Grateful, I used the money to buy speakers for the café. Not only does it make the place complete, but I am able to hook up my IPOD to the speakers and broadcast all of my favorite music beyond the confinement of my ears. Ugandans and Mzoongus alike have already brought in their favorite music by CD or MP3 player. It’s great to get a mix of music, as we’ll play anything- always announcing who’s music selection we are enjoying.
So, I am so grateful, in this completely honeymoon state- floating in the enjoyable and graceful pace of this café. I am in awe and complete gratitude for all those who helped bring this together. Jolly’s sister, Judith, who just returned from the UK, has played a big part in answering my prayers for help. She has taken over as manager/accountant and I could not be more grateful for this complete Godsend. Other than that, tomorrow is another day. We open at 8 am for coffee and tea. Then I start work at Invisible Children at 9am. I’ll plan to check up on the café around 11 am or so, through lunch and then back to the office until 5. I’ll try to do some exercise before making it over to help close the café by 8 pm or so. Busy but throughout this enormous process, I have been fueled by this inner drive to push on. And thankfully, now that our furniture has cushions, and my former paint storage room produces Thai vegetable curry, the job has become a lot more “Kope”.

Kope Cafe: Open for Business

2007-11-18T05:46:00.000-08:00

Kope Cafe was officially open for business as of Saturday, 17 November, 2007. 11/17/07- has a good ring to it, I think. We opened with the usual fanfare- sparks flew from the waffle machine that lit on fire...we decided to go with fruit pancakes. Otherwise it was a surprisingly smooth day. People loved the food and atmosphere, including myself. We opened from 8 am until about 8 pm. Tonight we are serving a party of recently graduated doctors-the place is picking up steam and exciting. More to come...

KOPE CAFE: GRAND OPENING!

2007-11-10T21:47:00.000-08:00

The day arrived...and it felt like last minute preparations for a wedding- or at least the weddings you see in movies. Jolly (the Country Director of Invisible Children and HEALS) summoned all of her family members and HEALS kids to help out. Walking around the rooms, kids were scrubbing tile, watering the indoor grass, moving around heavy bags of coffee, arranging and reearranging the wooden couches and log tables around the room. At one point, I led a parade of pillows, just made from the friendly market women through town, with 8 people each carrying a couple to the cafe. They were going up in the "tree balcony". Meanwhile, the carpenters turned electricians were up in the ceiling installing the lamps which I had just haggled for in the Kampala markets. As I would walk outside, barefoot so as not to ruin the floors, I would be showered with concrete being chiseled out of the front wall to install the sign- metal letters spelling out Kope Cafe, which the local tinsmith had cut out by hand from a computer print-out of the logo. Installing them was Okello who I have come to realize is not exactly a perfectionist. Occasionally friends passing would offer him suggestions for how to adjust the letters to make them look somewhat straight. Patrick, the artist was making final adjustments to the mural, and I was hammering bark onto a hand painted sign for the art exhibition. Meanwhile, the HEALS director was busy mounting the photographs, and the photo students were admiring their works being hung.

At one pm, Jolly hauled all the remaining trash away, the HEALS dancers changed into traditional Acholi dress, and we were ready for the grand opening of Kope Cafe. It was a beautiful afternoon, displaying the vitality of the HEALS Organization through the vibrant talents of its kids. The dancers, with plumes of ostrich feathers attached to their heads made the strong entrance, uniting the cafe with its purpose, and the two elements- the HEALS children, and the cafe, looked beautiful together. While I watched their dance performance, drums and calabashes beating the rhythm of the ancient songs, as the bells attached to the kids' feet hit in perfect unison, it became just that. The perfect union, coming finally full circle. A venue space echoing sounds of local music and art, of creative thought and limitless expression. And in a place that equally reflected art, beauty and a love for its beneficiaries. It was in that moment that it all came together for me. And it was a beautiful, striking moment.

The photography exhibit was equally impressive, with HEALS' photos students showcasing their best works- each unique and powerfully connected to one of the stanzas from Ecclesiastes 3, which was the theme of the exhibit-"To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heavens". With each phrase, the student explained their perspective in writing, included in the program, and it became so real, as soon as the connection was made between the powerful photo, taken through the honesty of the child's perspective, and the reality of their lives which go beyond the simple glance. It was incredible to understand the creativity and ability to analyze and explain their lives-filled with many emotions I never understood or had to deal with as a kid. Through this means of expression, it became completely candid, raw and engaging. Each of the young photographers were there, proudly explaining their works, and a few Mothers and Fathers also came. One mother upon seeing a photo of herself, gasped in excitement, hugging her son, whose eyes said it all- he was so proud, and she of him. A girl from the Nationwide newspaper, The Monitor attended the exhibition and will speak to the kids today, attempting to give a few of the older ones a chance to get into photojournalism.

It was a day to remember. And now the real work begins, as we will officially open for business next weekend, after training the staff and finalizing our menu. Oh, and hiring the chef. Oh, and buying a stove. Oh, and fixing the front sign, Oh, and... Anyhow, thank you for your continued thoughts and prayers. They are working through this project and continue to move it forward in beautiful and unexpected ways.

On a personal note- may God bless the Riley family during this time. Know that his energy and enthusiasm, contagious, has given me strength in my creativity here. I'm sure this can be said by so many. May he always be remembered for his incredible courage and love for others.

Grand Opening Kope Cafe

2007-11-01T12:20:00.000-07:00

Kope Cafe #3

2007-11-01T11:32:00.000-07:00

We have officially one week before Kope Cafe is scheduled to open. For the last two and a half months, I have been joking around that Kope Cafe will be ready for CHOGM. CHOGM, standing for Commonwealth Heads Of Government Meeting is a week-long meeting of all Country leaders belonging to the British Commonwealth. Kampala was given the honor of hosting this annual event, in which the Royal British family will be attending, justifying spending millions of dollars renovating the city, installing stop lights, and trying to decieve the World into thinking they (Ugandan gov't) have their act together. Unbeknownst to the 500 heads of State that will be staying in brand new hotels, driving in the 400 BMWs bought for shuttling them around for a week, in pleasant traffic, because most major streets will be blocked off to the public, the Country's people are silently suffering for it. This is most represented in the North, where people have been hearing stories of the millions of dollars spent on preparing for CHOGM- obvious in a trip to Kampala where nearly every billboard states: "For one week, the world's eyes will be on us...Will you be ready for CHOGM?" We thought it would be great to blow up a photo of thousands of starving people in the IDP camps in the North, holding up a sign saying, "We're ready for CHOGM". Definitely would magnify the complete ignorance and neglect of the government in helping the North- bet you can guess where the President/Dictator is from? In any case, telling people in Gulu that Kope Cafe will be ready for CHOGM gets huge laughs around town. Besides it being irrelevant, I really never thought we would be ready for CHOGM, which kicks off this next week. But, thanks to the carpenters and recently two fantastic artists, we will be READY FOR CHOGM! Let the Queen have her tea time in the tree house! I'll get the ladder in order, unless she requires an elevator. We may need to make a few certain adjustments, at the expense of the HEALS program to facilitate her stay, but rest assured, if she needs a helicopter landing pad, I am willing to raze the neighbors apartments behind me. Whatever it takes.

Now, back to reality...A friend of mine who works at the t-shirt design and screenprinting shop stopped by Kope last week. As he walked in, he just looked around, silently, with this huge grin on his face. He finally said that it was the place he had been waiting for in Gulu. A place for artists to come together. I was stunned that he felt that way- that was my complete intention with the place, and already he could tell, without the walls covered in local artwork. On the spot, he offered to contribute 10 hours of free work. His commitment shown through this week, as his friend, both art grads from the best University in the country, have spent over 20 hours painting this incredible mural across the rooms. Sticking with the theme of trees, their work has been incredible, and has continued to excite me for the promise of this place.

We are opening with a Photography Exhibition which will feature photos taken by the young students at HEALS. The photos will follow the theme from Ecclesiastes, and will be entitled, "A Time for Peace". Tiffany, a fellow co-worker at Invisible Children, is helping host it. She conducts the weekly photography program, called "Listen To My Pictures: Gulu". The photos will be matted, each taking a different phrase of the passage. The child who took the photo corresponding to the phrase also wrote about what the phrase means in relation to the photo. The pictures taken are compelling, and tell really personal stories in the perspective of these kids' lives. Photos that no visitor could take here. I am excited about this grand opening, which will be complete with a performance by the HEALS Cultural All-Star Dancers! Now all we have to do, short list- is construct a sign, buy plants, finish painting the mural, buy fans, procure the coffee from our suppliers, get an oven and hire for all positions. What a week ahead! But at this point, I am riding on the momentum supplied by the Acholi artists and carpenters around me, who are enthusiastic for the big day. CHOGM 2007!

Kope Cafe #2

2007-10-28T07:09:00.000-07:00

A month has gone by in what has been a hectic, complicated period of extreme growth. I’ve relied on strength from above to continue the progress of Kope Café. Nothing goes as planned, nothing happens on time, things fall apart, get stolen, lost, damaged, with dozens of people to manage in constant chaos. Therefore, I will tell the story of Kope Café not through my exhausted brain, but in a much more fresh perspective. I will tell the progress of Kope through a friend named Okello. I met Okello when I first arrived to Gulu. He and his friend had invited me to visit their high school and to check out their artwork. At nineteen years old, Okello is serious, a demeanor that always seemed to have matured unnaturally fast. On the rare occasion that Okello cracked a smile, though, the whole World seemed to lighten up. After touring the school, I didn’t see Okello for months.

During the first week of renovating what is to become Kope Café, Okello walked in. I was measuring the are for which Franco and Jimmy, the eccentric designing duo, would break through the floor to install a tree in the middle of the café, serving as the base for a balcony. Over a shrieking, sparking tile cutter, Okello asked if there was any work available. In an area like Gulu, where poverty is prevalent everywhere, this was quickly becoming a routine conversation during my day at the café. As sparks flew, not from contact with the tile, but from the electrical outlet, where these designers had frayed the ends of the power tool and stuffed the two shards of wire into the socket, I told Okello no. I didn’t have the time or patience to deal with another person working on the café. Jimmy and Franco were more than enough to deal with. A few days later, as we were cutting, by hand, a tree trunk 2 feet in diameter, Okello walked in again. In between breaks, not to rest, but to replace the rickety saw blade, which broke after 2 hours of cutting the base of the tree, Okello asked if I could give him some work. In between arguing with the designers over where the money I had given them to rent a power saw, I told Okello no. The following week, as we were lifting this massive tree trunk with fitted iron rods into the holes we had created in the floor of the café, Okello walked in. While realizing that the designers had incorrectly measured the holes, and we were going to have to again rent the power drill to fix their mistake, I told Okello that I had no work for him.

The following week, as Jimmy and I were meeting with an engineer to discuss the supplies purchased to cement the tree base into place, Okello walked in. Over a heated conversation, in realizing that Jimmy had bought all of the wrong supplies, I told Okello no. This time he did not leave. He sat in the shop. Confidently, sat in silence. After the conversation died down, and Jimmy left to go buy new supplies, he approached. He noticed that one of the tables we had had made were broken, and offered to fix it overnight. He was asking for 5,000 shillings, including supplies. Costs aside, this would give him $1.20 in labor to transport the table, and fix it entirely. Exasperated by his persistence, I had no reason not to comply with his request. He tied this enormous table to the back of his bike and rode off. The next day, he returned. The table was repaired, sanded and painted. It looked like new. That week, Jimmy stole items from the café. Realizing it the following morning, I sat in the café alone. I felt completely defeated. I could not imagine how to proceed from this loss. I felt so pitiful, in which the café wallowing in cement, rubble and a half standing tree trunk sticking out of the floor. In darkness, I sat wondering if all of the effort, in steering around hurdles of obstacles were going to vain, here. In that instance, light broke the darkness, as the door swung open. In walked Okello. He asked if there was any work available.

From that day on, Okello has worked tirelessly, nearly every afternoon, to bring this café to fruition. He and his friend, David, the most genuine of carpenters, have worked tirelessly. On weekends and after school late into the evening, this efficient, reliable duo have been heaven-sent.. After paying Okello his first big sum of money, he went straight to his high school, to pay his fees, which he had not been able to pay this semester. Unbeknownst to me, his persistence was rooted in his desperation to stay in school. As a total orphan, he has been paying his way through one of the best and most expensive schools in Gulu. This last semester, the Principal had threatened to kick him out of school for unpaid fees. He pleaded with the Administration, saying he would have the school fees by the end of the month. His persistence finally won me over, and eventually won over my heart. The café is nearly ready to open. A tree stands proudly, beautifully in the middle of the café. Benches, coffee bars, stools and tables have been created. And in the process I have made a great friend. On a big payday for a week of work, Okello wanted to talk to me. We sat down and all he wanted to say was thanks, for two reasons. The first was that he was now able to go to school through the next semester, and into the next year. And secondly, he had made his first Western friend. It was a great moment as I gave him a handshake full of cash.

KOPE UPDATE: 1

2007-09-11T05:43:00.000-07:00

Kope Cafe...wow. what a trip. Just thinking about this name is exciting, although the meaning (no worries) sometimes contradicts the craziness of opening up this coffee and tea house in the middle of Gulu, Uganda. I love the freedom I have been given with this project. It started as a dream of Jolly Okot's, and was pushed to the surface by the action of Katie Bradel. Katie and Jolly have worked tremendously hard to get this project off the ground, and have really laid a great foundation for me to step in. Katie, who has lived in Gulu for nearly 3 years, is one of the founders of Invisible Children's presence in Uganda. She spent the last year working on getting a place in town for Kope Cafe. What she found was perfect. The building stands in the middle of town, across from the biggest radio station called Mega (Kope has a Mega View...get it?) It is a brick building with a great front patio. Katie had a wall knocked down to allow two rooms to come together, so we have two large rooms for the cafe, and two smaller rooms to serve as a kitchen and back room. The building is a storefront that has an entire apartment complex behind it. Miraculously all of the neighbors thus far are really cool, and supportive. These three cute kids call me Uncle and are always peeking in to see the progress. Katie also helped Jolly make the furniture. It is all made of wood, painted black, and look great. There are 5 big couches and 4 chairs with 1 long table. We have 2 other tables, and some bar stools all made out of the same furniture. Plastic chair capitol of the World, Gulu isn't going to know what do think when they see this furniture.
So, Katie left with those big goals accomplished. On her final day, she handed me the keys, the money she had raised for starting the project, and the words "run with it". I stood in this huge, echoey empty room, furniture sitting still wet with paint, and took a big breath. Excitement of the challenge has motivated me ever since. Of course there is that nervousness, especially trying to stick to such a tight budget, while working with Acholi people who think Americans come from a land where money actually is handed to you when you step out into the street every day. (An actual conversation with a local).
So, the project has begun. Hours before Katie flew home, we met with a couple coffee distributors in Kampala. The one we gravitated to was this company called Good African Coffee. It is a new company, Ugandan run, whose motto is "Africa needs trade, not aid to fight poverty". They give 50 percent of profits back to the communities where they get their beans. They invest back in these Ugandan farm communities. I am planning to go on a Coffee Safari to see how it works. But they are willing to distribute to us- meaning they will send coffee every week on a bus headed for Gulu, where we will recieve it at the bus park 4 blocks away. It was an exciting meeting, and more thrilling was visiting coffee shops in Kampala where I was totally inspired by their ambiance. Living in Gulu for so long, I bet even walking into a Quiznos at this point would look stylish.
I went back up to Gulu and cancelled my plans to travel to Ethiopia, because I felt so hungry to start. With the help of the most eccentric designer in town, Franco, we began to pick colors for the cafe, and buy paint. It is great to have an Acholi designer, because in Gulu, there are not many people that make a living doing art of any kind. They people here are just waking up out of twenty years of survival mode. Creativity has not been honored or practiced for two decades. It is a subtle intention of Kope Café to influence creative thinking. For years, creativity has not been encouraged beyond survival methods. In school, the students are taught using an outdated British system of rote memorization. There has not been any money or motivation to support creative efforts due to the war. Thus, there is an obvious lack of a developed creative thought process in the general Acholi populous. In example, when NGO researchers for Invisible Children asked people in the IDP camps what businesses they could think of that would generate business, their ideas only rotated around what they had already seen in town. They could not imagine other possible ideas. As well, when I was surveying people to ask what colors to paint Kope Café, a typical response were the colors that were typical to all of the other buildings in town. One man even suggested I repaint it the same color it currently was. I am hoping that in some way, Kope Café will serve as a place of creative inspiration, challenging the status quo and influencing others to think outside the box, in unique, innovative ways.

The Acholi co-designer of Kope Café, Franco, is completely supportive of this idea, acknowledging that now is the time for a revolution of thought. Coffee and coffeehouses have been a meaningful part of community life for centuries, in Europe as well as in America. They have been associated with political upheaval, writers’ movements and intellectual debate in Venice Vienna, Paris and Berlin. It has become painstakingly clear that Gulu does not have any venue for artists and thinkers to come together in a public setting. In a historic time in Gulu, as peace appears on the horizon, Acholis are going to be transitioning from a “survival mode” living standard to one that will want to explore their creativity, and critical thinking. Perhaps this will serve as a place of political debate and inspiration for change.

While at this point, this is all wishful speculation for the existence of Kope, I will continue to paint, sand and pour my heart into this project. More updates to come next week...

The End

2007-09-07T08:44:00.000-07:00

So, the Internship came to an end. Assuming that a summer spent in a culture that excuses all late meetings with “African time” would allow me a slow, methodical experience, I was caught surprised when it passed with the same speed that I’m sure all of yours did. As mid- August came and went, this inner turmoil began. Competing emotions tumbled around in a mental Laundromat. Yearning to see family and friends, I also felt it was impossible to leave, as I had only scratched the surface of what I wanted to accomplish in Uganda. To further encourage this inner drive to stay, I was offered a job and opportunity that presented a pretty ideal way to stay out here.

The following passage chronicles one of the most unique weekends I have ever had, which gives the context for what decision I made, in regards to my life beyond the internship. If you are short on time and want to know my future plans post- Internship Uganda, just skip this blog and move to the one below it titled: “My life and job anew”. The pictures that follow that blog serve as a visual to the story I am about to tell, a weekend pilgrimage with the choir to Kalongo, Uganda for a huge ceremony.

August 19th came, the known deadline for deciding whether or not to use the plane ticket, which had sat in my room for the last three months, dated August 26th. With only a week left, I boldy asked for an extension through the weekend to clear my head. I had been in Gulu for months on end without getting out of this one-horse town (literally- when I asked if there were any horse in Gulu, a guy responded, “yeah, one… over there by the Cathedral). It was the perfect weekend to get out of town, as my choir was planning a journey to sing at the Ordination of a well-respected Deacon. This event had been highly anticipated, (how much so, I did not even understand at this point) but we had been practicing intensively for a month, every day in preparation of this event. Each choir member had struggled for months to pay the required 13 dollars to travel there. Their determination to go was proved in singing at the Invisible Children office party. Twenty five people showed up in their formal wear, and sung into the night, walking back home, to earn enough money to pay for four of their members to go on this trip. The Choir Master, also the principal at one of the schools that Invisible Children is sponsoring, wrote permission slips, asking that each choir member be excused from their jobs on Friday to attend. Friday morning came, and nearly all 80 people showed up to board an enormous truck (called a Lorry, which in the States would never be seen as a possible means to haul anything but construction materials) rented from the local all-girls Catholic High School.

Leaving Friday morning, we trekked past vast blurs of “bush”. 300 kilometers of red-dirt road, filled with pot holes and deep, rain drenched sand led us. As we bumped along, the Lorry blazed past dark clouds emitting tremendous lightening bolts that shocked the sky on either side of this roofless truck, but for some uncanny reason, there was always blue sky right above us. As if we had a special VIP ticket to travel from heaven and God was looking down from his aerial view to see this pathetic orange truck bobbing along in the middle of this chaotic ominous environment, he seemed to be swayed by the continuous hymns that faintly hovered over this faith driven truck, that he decided to spare it from harm. Through treacherous, imminently impending obstacles, the truck cruised on. Every time a pot hole was directly hit, the whole truck would jump, and everyone would uniformly lift an inch. In response to this discomfort, I would clench my teeth in anger and self-pity, while the other 70 on board would respond by shrieking in laughter and joy. Slowly, over the course of the 8 hour expedition, I shredded all standards and expectations of comfort, and learned from these ever-adaptable people. They met each challenge with acceptance, tolerance and a sense of shared togetherness. The younger ones would jump out and push when the truck would get stuck, and collectively fix the tires when they would give out. The voyage came to full fruition upon seeing Kalongo- a green Empire towering over endlessly flat African plains. It was the gate of a mountain chain that dramatically rose out of nowhere. It completely caught me off guard to see mountains- which I hadn’t seen for three months, and the majority of my choir hadn’t seen ever. It excited me beyond what I would have expected. It brought me home, to what I love most, nature in trees, green and dramatic levels in landscape. It was a beautiful arrival scene, as the sun was just cresting over the top of the mountain and the church stood proudly at its base. The whole scene was something out of an old dream. Handmade streamers swept the sky, wrapping around the outdoor arena, greeting us in the spirit of this weekend celebration. Throngs of people were gathered to greet us, Acholis from all over the North were arriving in whatever transport they could arrange. Dirty and dusty, I was now better understanding the magnitude of this event, as thousands of people were to attend this ceremony.

That night, bathing using faucet, sleeping on floor mat, and waking to drink tea from a bucket made for hundreds of visitors, I knew that I had somehow stumbled upon an experience that few outsiders had ever seen. This was true modern Acholi culture in action. I was realizing a totally different set of priorities than those of the West. Here, they cared most about savoring the joy in each other, in community, and in this moment of simple pleasure. It was very interesting. The ceremony was incredible. It was the unique mix of Catholicism with Acholi culture. The Priest-to-be was carried in on a seat by 20 other deacons. Dancing in celebration, women in their bras, and men in their loincloth outfits stomped their feet, and chanted in procession. Women throwing flowers came next, and a whole procession of priests and the Bishop followed, dressed in white robes. Our choir joined four other choirs- all singing the same songs, the Deacon visiting each choir months before to present the songs, some written personally for his own ceremony. Drums wailed, and the sound of this now 200- person choir rolled up the entire mountain behind us, into the heavens. After the ceremony, the celebration, dancing and singing continued into the evening, as a dinner was served to hundreds of people.

The following day, Sunday, I was determined to climb up the mountain. I had met two really cool Seminarians my age, and they were willing to sacrifice a Sunday Mass to physically reach heaven. We set off at dawn, and headed out, first getting clearance from the military, who had a fort on top to watch for threats to security. We spent the morning climbing up this massively impressive rock. We talked of philosophy and religion, and I really came to really respect their viewpoint. That respect increased exponentially when I found out that both of these guys, who had quickly become friends, had both been abducted by the LRA. One of the guys was willing to describe his life spent with the rebel army, even detailing how he and his Mother, and sister were abducted, forced to walk for days on end without food, and then permanently separated. It was a tragic story, but his attitude towards it, deeply rooted in faith, was incredible.

We reached the top of the mountain, at the same height as the clouds. I explained to them that this was how it looked outside of an airplane’s windows. Immersed in clouds, we couldn’t see anything below, but could only guess how far up we were, judging by the faint music that filtered up from the Mass going on, thousands of feet below. We spent time praying and meditating, when suddenly, the clouds were rushed out of the way by a new wind. Sun reigned down, as an incomprehensible scene emerged, mountain ranges dotting an ever-expanding horizon. The African plains were endless, towns and people like blips of activity- almost insignificant in their ant-like efforts. It was then and there, as I looked out over this vast green landscape, I realized there was so much more I had to explore, learn and do in East Africa. I descended the mountain, while monkeys climbed the rocks, and farmers picked groundnuts, knowing that this final frontier was where I was meant to be for the next year.

The Beginning: My life and job anew

2007-09-07T08:38:00.000-07:00

I have taken the position with Invisible Children. I will be in charge of the Internship Program, coordinating the Interns when they come to work for three months at a time (what I just did this summer). I will also be arranging all volunteer trips, and coordinating the activities and projects they will be involved in while here. This is a paid (finally) position that will allow me free housing and food as well. Pretty sweet deal, as I will also be dedicating every other waking hour on a project that I am most excited about…

Jolly Grace Okot, the woman in the Invisible Children film who first introduces the filmmakers to Gulu, and who now serves as the Country Director for the Organization in Uganda needs help. For the last decade, well before Invisible Children, she started an after-school program called HEALS. Standing for Health, Education, Art, Literacy and Sports, it serves a vital role in giving a stable foundation to over 200 vulnerable kids that lack any community or parental support due to this 21-year long war. HEALS serves as a place for play therapy, a program that Jolly was awarded a Nobel Peace Prize nomination for. Besides paying the children’s school fees, and giving guidance and health education, it encourages children to explore their creative and active sides. It provides art therapy, painting and photography lessons. It provides sport competitions. Most importantly in my opinion, it also preserves Acholi culture, which has quickly disintegrated within a generation due to the war and desperation of the majority of Northerners stuck in IDP camps. The children learn and perform traditional Acholi dances and learn the songs and instruments, and drums of their past. Elders and respected community members serve as mentors and instructors in this incredibly vital program for the community. It is a place of life, which anyone can witness on a Sunday afternoon, as the children perform their dances in the front yard of the HEALS center. Their dancing was recently captured by a photographer for Reuters and was circulated around Worldwide media outlets, becoming a “top ten photo of the week” most seen worldwide.

The funding for this dynamic program has been funded mostly by Jolly’s salary and random donations from visitors. It needs a consistent means of income. The idea to start an income generating restaurant has been ongoing idea for over a year. Led by Jolly and Katie Bradel, a San Diegan that has lived in Gulu for three years, together the two rented a great space in the middle of town. Now back in California, Katie is working on raising funds while I am going to spend the next year opening and running a coffe and tea house. As the first income-generating business of its kind in Gulu, it will be an interesting project that I am so excited to take on. It will combine a lot of my interests and past experiences, and allow a lot of creative freedom to design it. The intention is to serve great food and drink- fair-trade coffee and tea from East Africa. As well, this café will serve as the only venue that encourages creativity and supports local artists. Artwork will adorn the walls from the many talented but unacknowledged artists in the area. Local musicians will be encouraged to perform as well. It will be a place for locals and Westerners to come together. A relaxing “third place” that will give everyone an oasis from the harshness and chaos of life outside. It will equally give the foreign NGO workers the chance to be reminded of what quality service and atmosphere feels like. And for the locals, I am hoping that it will serve as cafés historically have in many societies. A place to share new ideas, to exchange thoughts and move from “survival” mode towards social progress, creativity and revolution.

It will also be the future goal to add wireless internet, which is accessible but expensive, to further bring in business. The café is to be called Kope, which means “no worries” in Lwo. If all goes well, Kope Café is scheduled to open in November. I will much more consistently be writing about the process of opening up this café. It will be a true challenge, but much like the Lorry plowing past obstacles, I am focused on the end goal. Stay tuned.

The following pics document a 3 day trek to sing at an event. Packed with 70 other choir members, I embarked for the experience of a lifetime

2007-09-04T06:33:00.000-07:00

Trekking across pot-hole infested dirt roads, our steadfast vessel pushed forward, leaving fading trails of hymns, sung throughout the voyage

2007-09-04T06:11:00.000-07:00

...Her bag says it all...

2007-09-04T06:04:00.000-07:00

Only the brave stayed on as it tilted in the thick mud- I had abandoned ship

2007-09-04T05:55:00.000-07:00

For many who I traveled with, coming from the flat landscape of Gulu, this was the first time seeing a mountain range

2007-09-04T05:37:00.001-07:00

Reaching Kalongo

2007-09-04T05:24:00.000-07:00

The scene of arrival exceedingly justified the pains of the 8 hour ride, which instantly dissipated in this fresh moment

2007-09-04T05:10:00.001-07:00

Massive celebration ensued after the Ordination

2007-09-04T05:00:00.000-07:00

The final frontier- this view made me realize how much more I had to discover and explore in Uganda

2007-09-04T04:42:00.000-07:00

Tonight we are all Acholis

2007-08-08T04:16:00.000-07:00

This weekend was our staff party. Amy, another intern hosted the party, funded by her grandmother who wanted to host “a celebration for the Ugandan people”. The party started off with my choir performing as people arrived. It was a pretty cool situation- about 25 of my favorite choir members together singing in front of my coworkers, myself standing in the center of the Choir. It was a great 30 minute performance, and a lot of my co-workers got up to sing with them. It was a tremendous moment. Later that evening, we were dancing out side when rain started falling. The majority of people moved under cover, but many of us braved the elements and danced in the rain, getting completely soaked. Many of the American staff were also there, and gradually as we danced like crazy, the pool next to the dance floor became more and more tempting. The pool, at the Acholi Inn is the only pool in Gulu, and it is rare that anyone swims because they charge the price of two (maybe three) typical dinners to swim there. All of a sudden, one person gets pushed in and the domino effect begins, as people start jumping in, fully dressed. Wearing a collared shirt, slacks and leather shoes, I couldn’t help but jump in wholeheartedly. In general, Ugandans can’t swim, so it was only the American staff in the water, swimming with semi-formal wear on, until...our most respected leader, the person that made the whole Organization happen, (a woman who has been officially nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize) Jolie Okot, Invisible Children’s Country Director, ran along the side of the pool, in a full formal dress, and jumped in! She swam to the side, got out, threw her head back in laughter, and then jumped right back in. It was truly inspiring and hilarious. She always claims that at staff parties, no one has titles- we are all Acholis!

Lion Encounter

2007-08-08T04:15:00.001-07:00

In exchange for young Ugandans witnessing my first cow-milking, I observed many first experiences for Ugandans this weekend. We took the trip I had envisioned in countless dreams as a kid. And if I was anticipating this moment, I can only imagine how an Acholi must have felt, finally seeing giraffes, elephants and lions for the first time, in her own backyard. At Uganda’s National Park, 15 Ugandan children, all of whom have been horrifically affected by this war, were given the opportunity to see the timeless fixures of their Land, that existed well before misery and tragedy had consumed it. It was incredible to witness. Two of the girls from Invisible Children received a grant to teach a photography course to Sponsored Students from our Program.
Their final project allowed these students a trip to take photos in Merchison Falls National Park. Only 3 hours from Gulu, none of these children (some of whom had been abducted child soldiers) had even seen the Nile river. Imagine their delight, fascination and total fear of getting onto a ferry for the first time in their life, and cruising down the Nile River, seeing hippos, crocodiles and water buffalo. For once, we were all in the same boat, and could relate on the most human level- in total fascination of God’s wonders, in this awe-inspiring situation. I felt so privileged to be a witness to this sociological study.
Twice during the two-day safari, I thought the kids were going to die. Once when we spotted a lion only 40 meters from the van. All of a sudden, the door of the van, in which the majority of the kids were, swings open. Six of the kids run out of the van and start climbing up the side, to stand on the top of the roof. Others stand in the open door to get a better view, while the rest of the kids hang out of the open windows, including the driver, (who had been hired on the condition that he knew this National Park like the back of his hand, only to find out he had never been there before and didn’t even know how to use the 4 wheel drive)- all itching to get a glimpse of this animal. The Ugandan Tour Guide, runs over with gun in hand, screaming at the kids, and driver to get back in the van, as he jumps back into his truck. He’s obviously in disbelief from the contrast of this group compared to his last tour, when the German Tourists barely peeked their head out of their sealed LandCruiser. Quite an experience. The other time it happened, the kids were standing, again on the top of the van, when an elephant began charging towards the van, its trunk trumpeting in anger. I thought they were doomed, but luckily, the elephant subsided, and the van continued on its way. An amazing weekend. Since Sunday, everytime I close my eyes I see this cluster of giraffes, like pencils standing in disarray.

My favorite afternoon

2007-08-08T04:13:00.000-07:00

It’s funny how a place once foreign can become so comfortable. Yesterday I caught myself saying that I was going to miss how easy it is to live in Gulu. Granted this was while walking on a narrow, red dirt path through green foliage under a pink painted sky. Nevertheless, it caused me to laugh, thinking about my first day in Gulu; recalling my avoidance to sit on the lawn, fearing that African grass was packed with disease-filled chlorophyll.
For a place that is war-torn, run down, and pathetically drab, Gulu will often surprise; how in the period between one bend in the road, or one shift in the sunlight, it will morph to something beautiful. And when the environment makes that slight adjustment, it only takes a few seconds for the mind to catch up, and you realize suddenly that life is delicately soft; opposed to obnoxiously hot and irritating only minutes prior. And the most blessed way to find these crisp and striking moments is to stroll around the villages on the outskirts of the town after work.
Yesterday Karl, another intern, and I walked around sunset through the lush village that lies behind our house. Walking along the path, we meandered through people’s backyards and gardens, while Acholi children ran to line the path to greet us, shake our hand, and giggle uncontrollably. The brave ones remain there, staring in awe, while the more introverted run off to tell their Mothers what just happened. It is easy to feel a part of a celebrity Mzoongo parade everytime one walks past the streets of town. Women sitting outside of their huts always outreach their hands, a knife tucked between fingers, smiling with genuine warmth. The knives are permanently fixtures in their hands as they continuously shuck, whittle, scrape and chop their vegetables in preparation for their family to congregate for dinner. We finally arrived at the most beautiful plot of land I have ever seen. The woman was so friendly, Theresa. She greeted us, offered chairs, as the sun set over her hilly, vegetative plot. Rain was nearing, but it was impossible to leave. Her brother was milking their three cows, ushering each one into a wooden holder, tying its back legs to avoid kicks, and crouching to milk. I asked him to let me try, and the kids laughed as I cautiously milked the cow, for the first time in my life. Rain began to brush across our location, and we ran for cover in her outdoor hut- like a homemade gazebo. Watching the sunset from there, her daughter brought in table and chair, and some fresh picked sugarcane. It was a tremendous afternoon, as we spit sweet splinters of sugarcane towards a setting sun.

My ride

2007-07-30T03:51:00.000-07:00

A first attempt at cutting a Mzoongu's hair

2007-07-30T03:46:00.000-07:00

The local waterhole near my house

2007-07-30T03:37:00.000-07:00

Women gathering water- a daily activity

2007-07-30T03:32:00.000-07:00

Traffic Jam

2007-07-30T03:26:00.000-07:00

The Infamous Crew of the FOB video shoot

2007-07-30T03:12:00.000-07:00

Schools for Schools Progress

2007-07-28T03:01:00.000-07:00

Back in reality, progress is really being made in the Schools for Schools rebuilding projects. It is so exciting to see how much work is taking place, and the headteachers (principals) could not be more grateful to be a part of this program. We hosted a Launch Party this last weekend, inviting all of the Schools and Education officials to meet the high school students who raised the most money for the Program. They arrived here in Gulu as part of an exchange program. It has been greatly inspiring having them here. What a joy to see Miranda and Julia- the girls who we visited in Philadelphia. They came here as a result of their incredible school having raised over 25,000 dollars! The night was beautiful as dignitaries danced with do-gooders. Everyone danced traditional Acholi dances to celebrate the new dorms, classrooms, perimeter walls that are being created. Please keep this implementation phase in your thoughts and prayers as it continues with few obstacles to this point. And realize that this is just the beginning. There is still so much more that these schools need- supplies, resources and further structures. This is only the beginning in our mission to turn around the pathetic and descending standards of these once repuatable and dynamic schools. The war's effects are deep and profound in this land.
We spent yesterday in an IDP camp with the high schoolers. For anyone who isn't aware, IDP stands for Internally Displaced Persons. There are over 1.5 million Ugandans in these camps. To experience their plight for only one day, was depressing, frustrating and degrading. I can only imagine what it would feel like without the hope and anticipation we all had of getting out of there. We had a meal in a woman's hut, watching her prepare this lunch for hours in a smoke filled hut. Plucking leaves, Pounding sesame seeds, grinding bread on a rock, she quickly created a new respect for time and patience. It was an emotional experience, heightened by getting to hold, sing and rock a 2 month old baby in the smokey sunlight. Amazing experiences abound. Emotions run high, often overthinking in this foreign environment. Parallels to American living often rub into the impossible.

"New York Minute" meets Uganda

2007-07-28T01:23:00.000-07:00

Wow. Things have been really picking up here. I feel like I am uncontrollably spinning past, (and often biking past) the town in an uptempoed pace, as the town unfazed, continues in its methodical sluggishness. This dichotomy between cultural pace became radically enhanced last week when New York expectations worked alongside Ugandan lifestyle. And it made last week the most interesting and hilarious week since I have been here. Fall Out Boy, (a popular band amongst the IC demographic) came to Gulu to shoot a music video for their newest single release, "Me and You".
Following them came a full production crew- Producer- (a woman who's entire job is to get things done efficiently and under budget, arriving to Gulu from NYC with no knowledge or respect for Gulu's history), Director- Alan Ferguson- (a tremendous African American filmmaker and honorable artist), Assistant Director- (a hilariously sarcastic and profane African American who flew straight from LA, with the background of yelling on set to get results), Director of Photography- (an African American hipster, with a huge 'fro of salt and pepper- an iconic figure who shot beautiful film,he has worked with the Industry's best- Kubrick, Spike Lee, etc), Camera Assistant- (the most amazingly compassionate woman and true professional- having started with early 90s hip hop videos, she is now working with the best artists), an entire Kenyan lighting and grip crew (packaged with a feisty Kenyan woman who yelled at people constantly), and the Record Label execs(Island/Def Jam- the woman flying in, toting Prada in the IDP camps,and commenting that her parents wanted her to bring back "cheap diamonds")....and so the week began.
It was humorous, pathetic and everything in between. Pathetic- to see the Producer flaunting Ugandan money around the IDP camps, rubbing them in the dirt to get an "old look" when using them as props. She became huffy and offended when I told her she couldn't do that in camps where the people are living on less than 2 dollars a day. Hilarious- to see the filmmakers' faces of shock, as the Mutatu (falling apart, balled-tired Ugandan Van) made a sudden turn in the wrong direction of a shoot location, because the driver had to pick up his cell phone charging at a gas station. Hilarious to realize that these well-paid filmmakers hardly remembered they weren't in LA, asking Walter (the IDP camp leader), "Are you going to be "on Set" with us today?"...Baffled, he said yes. In his mind you could see him working through the question, "You mean, am I going to be hanging around today in my own home, an IDP camp that has kept thousands of people stuck for 10 years...uhh, yeah, I'll be here."

The driver, a Ugandan named David, served as the most humorous example of this totally warped and zany week. He had NO IDEA what he was getting himself into when recruited from the buspark to drive some Americans around for a week. As the days passed, he became the bane of these professional moviemakers' existence, unabiding and unaware of any codes of conduct expected of the unionized production drivers in the States.
Throughout the week, David remained unfazed by the stress and pressure that these Productions require. After 9 scoldings to "never leave the van because We are making split-second decisions and will have to jump in the van if the Director has an artistic vision", on the 10th time, David would park the van, and walk off to smoke a cigarette, or visit a friend.
After the Producer scolding David to go slow through the dirt roads, because his van was loaded with over 400,000 dollars of equipment, he would get stuck in the mud, leaving the Dreamland Director, A-wal Assistant Director, and Prada Producer to stand behind the van and push, for sake of not losing the perfect lighting for the next shot.
By the end of the week, it was not David who was changed according to the New York invasion, as expected in this situation. In fact, his "could care less" attitude forced the New Yorkers' "my way or the highway" attitude to adjust for probably the first time in their lives. In the end, David the driver found himself standing in front of the camera, playing both the shopkeeper and soldier in this incredible Hollywood production.
In the end, the final product looks beautiful. The video, due in September will be visually and artistically compelling,and should serve Invisible Children well, as a means to really continue exposing Americans to the drastic situation here. As well, rest assured that the IC staff ensured it was done with the utmost consideration for the people (with occasional damage control. On top of that, it was an incredible experience working with this crew who became our friends in the hilarity of the week's most unbelievable antics. Meanwhile, I am working on a short story perfectly appropriate for (what better publication...) The New Yorker.

Sitting in the High School Administrators Office with friends

2007-07-07T00:50:00.000-07:00

2007-07-07T00:42:00.000-07:00

Stopped for a rest, sunset biking

2007-07-07T00:34:00.000-07:00

2007-07-07T00:26:00.000-07:00

My Motivation

2007-07-06T23:43:00.000-07:00

To finish with that last story, the drumming and dancing in the jail cell held such energy and human emotion- room was powerful. Screaming, yelling, jumping, dancing- in each of these movements, the prisoners exposing their past pains and weaknesses. Dancing with a momentum that was contagious and inspiring, it was most likely the first oppportunity they had had to fully express how they felt. They were not holding anything back. Each one dripping, soaked in sweat, releasing inner tears, heartache and regret. Because they were so open in sharing this with us, you could do nothing but expose your own heart and feel sensational love for these people. The experience was utterly human, and godlike at the same time. It was a connection and sharing of human souls and spirit. At one point, my legs were flapping in my seat, with the rythms of the music. I was in this zone, feeling the drum beats and the chants of the people. The Jail Warden, seeing our enthusiasm asked if we wanted to get up and dance. Without too much hesitation, the 7 of us paraded up into the scene, and let loose. We danced without care,jumped as high as we could, and sang out loud, in this circle of prisoners. Amongst murderers and theives and prisoners of circumstance, I found pure harmony and joy. Trust was there, respect and a deep human understanding was there. It was amazing.

In other news, work is good. I took a day off this week to work with the World Food Program. We delivered food to an IDP camp holding about 15,000 people. The WFP delivers food to all 50+ camps in Northern Uganda, feeding about 1.5 million. They have a very organized system in place, and the people at the camps are beautiful and miserable at the same time. They have endured the most degrading of hardships. It was such a long and tiring day, as my mind was working just as hard as my body, unloading 50K bags of beans and corn. After unloading the trucks full of food- enough to feed 15,000 people for one month, we walked across this open field where we began to check people in using their identity cards. At first, we began walking through this field with about 300 people, each representing a family of 2-10 people. After walking at the head of the group, we settled in this beautiful open space, full of green grass, with a striking view across the countryside. Captivated by the view, I had not noticed all of the people that had begun to follow us. I finally looked back to see a herd of thousands. Thousands of people walking to this field- more people than I have ever seen altogether. Women, mostly, children strapped to their backs. Old women, boys, some men. They waited and sat in the hot sun for hours waiting to get checked in. They were patient and gracious, but I could not stop comparing these people to my own Mother, Father, and family. Would I ever want to see my grandmother hunched on the ground, head down, waiting for her hand out? Could I picture my sister at age 10 getting scolded for not going to school, when she was representing her entire family, hauling huge, disproportionate sized bags home to her awaiting sick parents? And to see the men, downtrodden, plagued by a lack of self-respect and pride, aware that with each handout they are further losing their culture and self-sufficiency. A people that have suffered the most violent of atrocities now sitting in camps, in total survival-mode, as animals in a zoo, with slim hope of restoring the life that only the elders can now recall- a life that exists here, outside of fear. The camps are just as bad as they were described in the States. Continue to pray for the people there, dying by the hundreds to thousands each week (according to the UN).

And in the least, please watch the Displace ME media that was just created. It is on the www.invisiblechildren.com website. It shows the event that happened April 29th to raise awareness about the situation there. Our team was at the one in DC. P.S. Showing it to Ugandans here is very emotional

Prison Life

2007-07-03T08:38:00.000-07:00

I have just been completely inspired. I went to Gulu Prison, (Mom-finish the sentance)where the prisoners had created a Drama. It was coordinated through a great NYU professor, who spent the last two weeks doing music therapy with these prisoners. To see the music that they produced through this process was awe-inspiring. God was in this room. In the main sleeping quarters for prisoners, dark and concrete, the rythms of the drums echoed profuse energy across the dirty walls. Outside, prisoners, all in yellow hung their head between the bars, as rain poured down on the muddy, barbwire infested compound. Everyone wanted to see what this music was all about. As we sat in the room, with 200 other prisoners watching these songs and dance, you realized it was the most human and Godlike of movements. It was all about release for these men, 30 of them, dancing and singing, playing the drums and acting. They were letting go of their prison shackles, if only for a few hours. These 30 men, dancing so intensely, you could see the depths of their souls in each step. Dripping sweat, each was celebrating the opportunity to release their emotions, and with it stir about everyone else's. It was by far the most intensely beautiful 2 hours. Oh....the power's going out!!! I'll describe more later.

TIA

2007-06-30T00:43:00.000-07:00

The phrase that I had intended to avoid using has become unavoidable. Before I arrived in Uganda, I had always resisted using this phrase, assuming it to be a bit condescending. After exactly a month of living here, I realize now that the phrase is often the only possible response to the constant inconstance that IS Africa: "T.I.A" ("This Is Africa") is the perfect phrase to humorously deal with the unusual situations I find myself in. So, with that in mind, I apologize for not updating for over two weeks. The inconsistent power, the slothlike internet, and the busy schedule I have been keeping have kept me from writing. This is just a simple example of the TIA disclaimer. While it can be completely frustrating to be halfway through an email when the whole town's power shuts off, (as it does nearly 4 times a week), it is a test of flexibility and patience. Shrugging it off with the TIA expression adds much needed lightness to these daily situations.

Anyhow, I am really adjusting to life in Uganda, especially in the last couple of weeks. A few recent events:

I joined the choir at Holy Rosary, a church in town. They now call it the "International Choir" on account of 43 Acholis and 1 Mazoongo (me). It is such an incredible choir, and to be accepted into it is incredible. The Churches here are like that of the Churches in the States in the 1950s. They are packed to the gills. If you are not there 10 minutes prior to mass, you will have to stand outside. They are very formal, except that the choir is massive and voices and drums resonate across the walls. The only difference is that the Acholi women are allowed to scream in high pitched voices during the songs, which adds drama to the mass.

They asked me to do the First reading at this mass. I was more than honored. So, on the morning of, I went a bit early, met with the Priest and pre-read the reading. I was also asked to read the Responsorial Hymns. At Mass, (which holds about 500 people, with a Priest and about 8 alterboys) I got up to do the reading, following the routine that I remembered doing as a kid. I got up to the pulpit, turned around to face the crowd and looked out over a sea of black faces. It was the first time in my life that I had ever seen something like this. And to read in front of this crowd was such an experience. I enunciated as best I could (it is very difficult for them to understand the fast-paced American dialect) and after both the Reading and the Hymn, I walked back down to my seat. On the way down, people started clapping throughout the Church. It was so nice. My friend David later told me that never in the 20 years that he had been going to mass had people clapped at the end of the reading for someone. He said that the congregation was accepting me into their community. It felt really great to get that kind of love from the people here.

Another funny antic- I was invited to share a Sunday dinner with this family. So, I brought over a little tea and a bag of sugar to the house, presented it to a grateful blind and lame grandmother, who was so happy and beautiful. They all made me feel so welcome. So, here I am sitting in this very traditionally Acholi setting- the women wash all of the men's hands before and after eating. They served Pocha (this kind of mash) with fresh chicken in broth, and fish. (This is considered a very special meal with meat- usually the majority of people save this for a special occasion). So I am eating (with my hands- thanks to "African Night" at the dinner table growing up, I was familiar of how to do this), sitting with this family, and all of a sudden, conversation turns to UC Santa Barbara. And the true coincidence that the Mother's daughters are GOING TO UCSB NEXT YEAR. I mean, here I am sitting with this traditional Acholi family, over chicken that had just been plucked and killed in their backyard, and I am giving tips on housing on DP Drive!? What??! It was such a surreal conversation, describing the late night burrito bar, Freebirds! Hilarious. Anyhow, her daughters got the chance to go on Exchange to UCSB next year.

Well, the power is about to go out. Till next time.

I will update this on the most consistent basis possible- just remember: TIA

Sir Samuel Baker Secondary School

2007-06-15T07:44:00.001-07:00

2007-06-15T07:44:00.000-07:00

2007-06-10T09:28:00.000-07:00

2007-06-10T09:22:00.000-07:00

2007-06-10T08:11:00.000-07:00

Hey! So here just a few pictures so far. I have not really gone picture crazy yet, because the locals are so used to the Mazoongos taking photos of them and then leaving, that I want to first show my respect for a couple of months before I take some snaps. But rest assured, there are photo ops GALORE here. Every other minute that I look up from my bike, I see these amazing images- and it might even be better that I am not picture happy right now. Because it is so great to take that moment in, while it is live and right in front of me. My eyes are not adjusted yet to the culture. The daily events and environment is still foreign. This makes for very tiring days because of so much new information, sights, sounds, etc, but also totally thrilling. Goats and huge longhorn cows substitute for dogs here. They walk the streets like strays. The difference is, even the most intimaidating of bulls, with a 6 foot hornspan will move out of the way at the sound of a bike bell. Anyhow, I started my first week at work. It is great/frustrating adjusting not only to the culture in general, but in the office as well. More to come on that in a different email. Anyhow life is good here. I have made some Acholi (people from this region) friends- maybe a little too fast, as I will get announcements at home and at work that my "friend" has come to visit and is waiting out in front. Whoa! Anyways, the bike is still running well. I had a flat though, and got a patch put on- the price, including service was 50 cents. Which was half as expensive as my haircut....The pictures I have posted: A typical African sunset- the sky is our version of TV...A couple pictures of the school we were promoting on our Roadtrip- Sir Samuel Baker Secondary- making me even more motivated to continue raising funds for them- they are in dire need as is obvious by the wood occupied room, and the food that is served as the only meal for these kids twice a day (mind you they are living in a boarding school)....and finally a pic of some of the thousands of kids that love to run behind the Mazoongos, whether in car, by bike or on foot. Hilarious.

Weekend reflections

2007-06-03T04:45:00.000-07:00

Last week was my birthday, and it only registered but yesterday that I am actually 25! Kinda crazy, but what better place to be experiencing a quarter century of living than in a place with so much life. Life, beautiful, joyous and devestatingly raw. It is a place that evokes tremendous joy and God-touched beauty, and frustrating sadness. The people are so well adapted to handling the pain, that as you walk along and ask people Itye ni ning? (How are you doing) they will respond with full heart, "I am well"... with the most infectious, and full smile.
The culture is interesting-a mix of British formality in its infrastructure, (due to it being controlled by the British in the past), with the laidback and blunt style only the Pearl of Africa (Uganda) can do. Yesterday, we went to an event honoring the students at Atanga Secondary School, where our Organization is working. The ceremony reflects this funny combination of Ugandan and British culture. The lack of regard for brevity or time, plus the structure of pomp and circumstance turned a seemingly short itinerary into a 4 hour ceremony.In example...

M.C.: "I would like to introduce the honorable governor of this region, Mr. Okot Samuel, who serves as the governor of this region in which Atanga Secondary School sits."

Governor: (speaks in Luo, the native language for about 1 minute...)

MC: "The honorable governor has just confirmed that he is indeed the governor of this region"...

The funniest part of the event occured afterwards. We were planning to travel back to Gulu (about an hour drive), but it began to thunder and lightning rain. We decided to wait for the intense rain to subside, so we all ran for cover under their tin roofed schoolroom. To kill time, Katie Bradel, (a girl that has worked for Invisible Children in Uganda for the last 2 years), and I made up a game of competition in which people would race to draw an assigned animal in under a minute on the blackboard. Then we would get the rest of the kids to vote for who's was the most recognizable. We played for about 15 minutes, and could only really engage a handful of students to participate. The rain continued to pour down, as their attention was diminshing, so we suggested to switch games to another cheesy American game. Then, one kid took initiative to start his own game, writing an algebra problem on the board. Within seconds, almost the entire room of students were throwing out answers to the problem, and scrambling to write more math problems in the little chalk they had. The entire room became full of life, as more and more kids ran up, writing over the animals to fill the board with equations. Katie and I slowly shuffled to the back of the room, laughing hysterically at our naiivity. It became incredibly apparent that these students are TOTALLY different from American students. They were eager to do math on a Saturday afternoon! The only person who might relate would be my younger brother Danny. But it was a great realization that I have a lot to learn and open up to here! Until next week...Sunday afternoon is beckoning me outside. The streets are alive with music and people shopping in market.

Afwoyo= Hey, Bye, Thank you...

2007-05-31T07:05:00.000-07:00

We have been in Uganda now for a few days. To be honest, time has really merged together, in fragments of events. Here are some of them...We got off the airplane after a 20 hour trip. The air was hot and humid, a usual indicator of a travel adventure. Kampala, the capitol served as any big capitol city does, a place of visual and informational overload. Between skyscrapers, there are rivers of cars, motorbikes, bikes and goats all dodging each other. The boda boda (motorcycle taxi) rides are hilarious and life threatening, as you dodge between cracks in the traffic. We made our way up to Gulu, and have been there ever since. It is surreal to see the reality of a situation that I have been hearing about and talking about for so long. This is a challenging environment, and different from any other traveling I have done, it is inescapable. I realize now how different my last experiences have been, in that when things got too difficult to see or witness, I would opt to leave. Well, I am here for the next three months, and I am grateful for this new challenge. That's not to say anything has been too difficult yet. The people have been quite friendly, despite all that they have endured. In a way, this is a time of hesitant celebration, as people are going back to living without the immediate fear of the war. (Please continue to keep the peace talks in your prayers and your actions). But, it is definitely a fluid flow of emotions, as I realize that I am not superhuman, and am totally affected by the culture shock of this place. But, just when I think that things are becoming too intense, something or someone comes along that brings total lightness to the situation. I bought a bike for my birthday, this old beat up 1970s bike. It has a great green seat, and polka dotted handle bars. After spending an afternoon shopping for one, and haggling for prices, I rode it home feeling on top of the World. It is great to be able to ride through the town at sunset, feeling successful for the hard work and classic moments in the process of finding the diamond in the rough. The locals think it funny that I ride because the majority of mono or masoongo (white people) ride on the back of boda bodas. I even gave this Ugandan guy a ride on the back of it. Anyways, all's well that ends well, and at the end of these exhausting days, as the World pauses for the sunset, I sit in awe of this place and situation, and grateful for the chance to be here. Each day continues to become easier, and I will continue to keep you posted...

information from Mercy Corps

2007-05-21T13:46:00.001-07:00

http://www.mercycorps.org/silentdisasters/ugandadisplacement

...thanks to Pam Crooks for the link

The Week Before I Depart

2007-05-21T12:27:00.000-07:00

It's Monday...I am sitting in the Invisible Children office in San Diego, sorting through paperwork to leave, and thank you cards to send. I cannot express my gratitude for the support of my family, friends. The reason that I am not completely nervous for leaving is because I feel that I am taking dozens of people with me. I have felt a surge of love from so many, as I embark on this trip. I have no idea what to expect. I take with me the energy and commitment that I have made to the people of Uganda. I am willing and motivated to expend all of my energy in the next 3 months towards relieving their unfair suffering. My sacrifices of time, comfort and leisure will be small compared to the sacrifices of these neglected peoples. We have heard the cries of the voiceless and I am looking forward to further working with Invisible Children to help bring about change in the lives of those that are living in misery and inhumane conditions. Thank you to all who have seen the vision of the Organization and who are helping to support my efforts to hopefully bring about radical change for many people in Northern Uganda. Let the adventure begin!