Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Buyamba and Bethlehem: Blessings from my Second Home
I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve been away for a looong weekend in the USA and now I’ve picked up where I left off – it is strange to come to a place that I have only lived in for one year total and greet people, the majority of whom I have known less than a full year – and to feel like I’m coming to a place that is home to me and that I am returning to a people who are my family.
Before I left the US, Barbara and I talked about how big our family is and how fortunate we are to have many places where we feel at home – Brooklyn, Budapest, Connecticut, Ohio, Uganda…When I stepped off the plane I left my seat companion (a lovely gentleman coming to Uganda for the first time for a conference on post-conflict development who didn’t tease me too much about my snoring) with these words, ‘You’ve said that it is such a long flight here, but you will be shocked at what a short flight back it is.’ The distance between here and there, between seemingly disparate worlds is so small, yet the miles are as full of hunger, under education, joblessness, corruption, damaging gender hierarchies, rampant disease and countless orphans as they full of ocean, and land masses, and clouds and blue sky.
When I left Kampala, I collected two women from Iganga (far Eastern Uganda) who run a widow’s group that earns income from a beadsmaking project – they came with me to Kyotera and onto Buyamba to conduct a technical training with the Beadmaking, Schoolbound group of orphans at the school – Glory of Christ – that Barbara and I began the beadmaking project at last April. We were greeted with shouts of joy (eh yi yi yi yi eh) that came from brown faces glowing and pink lips parted to reveal sparkling white smiles as big as the continent. After dancing (yes, I broke out my now-restored Bugandan kabina (big butt) and shook it until the rust of my hip joints wore away and the music brought me home to myself) and the food! Oh, the food! Akusa, Robina and I then got to work. The results of these ladies who took a chance traveling to a place they had never been, with a muzungu (me!) they had never met – cannot be understated. I will be returning home with beaded bags, belts and jewelry each piece as beautiful as the child who handcrafted it. (Please stay tuned for an email about an upcoming Genda Mirembe/Go In Peace fundraising event)
After seeing Akusa and Robina (who insist on coming back in two months, spending their own time and money to check-in on children they referred to as ‘their hungry babies of Buyamba’) off to Kampala and then Iganga, I traveled to Bethlehem. Ahhhhh, bug exhale and joyful smile – I’m going to see my daughters. As my hair blew behind me and my eyes were trained on the horizon, I kept urging the boda boda driver (the ‘taxi’ of most developing countries – a motorcycle or bike (in Luganda – pici pici) with a seat behind the driver) to ‘genda mangu’ or ‘go faster’ because ‘Njja kulabba abawalla bange’ – I’m going to see my girls. He laughed and stepped on it and at the entrance of the orphanage compound ‘my’ girls, along with three hundred other students and teachers, were singing, smiling and stamping the dusty ground, keeping time to the joy and measuring our collective heartbeats.
Now, I’ve never given birth, and held in my arms a child that I created (short of cuddling our dog Ben and pronouncing him ‘my smelly baby boy’ at least once a day) so I don’t have a literal compassion to make, not can I base my findings on fact or logic, but when I met the eyes of my footballers, smiling through tears and touched their outstretched arms and hands – when I was catching little girl bodies – all arms, and legs and heads – as they leapt off the ground to me – I couldn’t have felt a stronger connection to their hearts, their smells, the bumps and scars that map their arms and legs, their blood and sweat, their tears of relief and of happiness and the questions lingering in those droplets and in their little girl minds – than if I had given birth to each of them. I know some folks reading this may disagree, but for these girls, I have the love that a parent has for a child…multiplied by endlessness. In the moments when we were hugging away the pain of the months of separation, I realized that during my time in America, while I re-learned, remembered, and re-created a full and amazing life, I though about these girls, worried over injuries and dentist visits, monitored school and team progress, lost hours of sleep wondering how I was going to send all of them to university in eight years or so (to which Barb would generously and sleepily say ‘Of course we’ll figure it out. Go back to bed you crazy lady.’) – I ached for my girls. And there we were – together singing, dancing (always dancing!), eating and training.
The team has gained a great deal of notoriety from the Federation of Uganda Football Association (FUFA) and when I arrived in Bethlehem, I was also greeted by a member of the Ugandan National Women’s Team, the She Cobs. She had volunteered the last to months and was training the girls, along with their regular coach, Kasekende. My girls are real balers now – through their dedication and efforts and bravery, they are single-handedly changing the way young ladies are thought of in their community and beyond.
As I write this from Kampala, the capital city, awaiting the arrival of my father – I am eager to show him this place and these people and for him to have his own journey towards a larger family and a bigger definition of home. I am ready to put him to work as we have multiple meeting for Genda Mirembe/Go In Peace lined up – his perspective and presence will certainly be welcomed by my colleagues and invaluable to us all. And of course, I can’t wait to introduce him to the children of Buyamba and to his granddaughters in Bethlehem – blessings both.
Before I left the US, Barbara and I talked about how big our family is and how fortunate we are to have many places where we feel at home – Brooklyn, Budapest, Connecticut, Ohio, Uganda…When I stepped off the plane I left my seat companion (a lovely gentleman coming to Uganda for the first time for a conference on post-conflict development who didn’t tease me too much about my snoring) with these words, ‘You’ve said that it is such a long flight here, but you will be shocked at what a short flight back it is.’ The distance between here and there, between seemingly disparate worlds is so small, yet the miles are as full of hunger, under education, joblessness, corruption, damaging gender hierarchies, rampant disease and countless orphans as they full of ocean, and land masses, and clouds and blue sky.
When I left Kampala, I collected two women from Iganga (far Eastern Uganda) who run a widow’s group that earns income from a beadsmaking project – they came with me to Kyotera and onto Buyamba to conduct a technical training with the Beadmaking, Schoolbound group of orphans at the school – Glory of Christ – that Barbara and I began the beadmaking project at last April. We were greeted with shouts of joy (eh yi yi yi yi eh) that came from brown faces glowing and pink lips parted to reveal sparkling white smiles as big as the continent. After dancing (yes, I broke out my now-restored Bugandan kabina (big butt) and shook it until the rust of my hip joints wore away and the music brought me home to myself) and the food! Oh, the food! Akusa, Robina and I then got to work. The results of these ladies who took a chance traveling to a place they had never been, with a muzungu (me!) they had never met – cannot be understated. I will be returning home with beaded bags, belts and jewelry each piece as beautiful as the child who handcrafted it. (Please stay tuned for an email about an upcoming Genda Mirembe/Go In Peace fundraising event)
After seeing Akusa and Robina (who insist on coming back in two months, spending their own time and money to check-in on children they referred to as ‘their hungry babies of Buyamba’) off to Kampala and then Iganga, I traveled to Bethlehem. Ahhhhh, bug exhale and joyful smile – I’m going to see my daughters. As my hair blew behind me and my eyes were trained on the horizon, I kept urging the boda boda driver (the ‘taxi’ of most developing countries – a motorcycle or bike (in Luganda – pici pici) with a seat behind the driver) to ‘genda mangu’ or ‘go faster’ because ‘Njja kulabba abawalla bange’ – I’m going to see my girls. He laughed and stepped on it and at the entrance of the orphanage compound ‘my’ girls, along with three hundred other students and teachers, were singing, smiling and stamping the dusty ground, keeping time to the joy and measuring our collective heartbeats.
Now, I’ve never given birth, and held in my arms a child that I created (short of cuddling our dog Ben and pronouncing him ‘my smelly baby boy’ at least once a day) so I don’t have a literal compassion to make, not can I base my findings on fact or logic, but when I met the eyes of my footballers, smiling through tears and touched their outstretched arms and hands – when I was catching little girl bodies – all arms, and legs and heads – as they leapt off the ground to me – I couldn’t have felt a stronger connection to their hearts, their smells, the bumps and scars that map their arms and legs, their blood and sweat, their tears of relief and of happiness and the questions lingering in those droplets and in their little girl minds – than if I had given birth to each of them. I know some folks reading this may disagree, but for these girls, I have the love that a parent has for a child…multiplied by endlessness. In the moments when we were hugging away the pain of the months of separation, I realized that during my time in America, while I re-learned, remembered, and re-created a full and amazing life, I though about these girls, worried over injuries and dentist visits, monitored school and team progress, lost hours of sleep wondering how I was going to send all of them to university in eight years or so (to which Barb would generously and sleepily say ‘Of course we’ll figure it out. Go back to bed you crazy lady.’) – I ached for my girls. And there we were – together singing, dancing (always dancing!), eating and training.
The team has gained a great deal of notoriety from the Federation of Uganda Football Association (FUFA) and when I arrived in Bethlehem, I was also greeted by a member of the Ugandan National Women’s Team, the She Cobs. She had volunteered the last to months and was training the girls, along with their regular coach, Kasekende. My girls are real balers now – through their dedication and efforts and bravery, they are single-handedly changing the way young ladies are thought of in their community and beyond.
As I write this from Kampala, the capital city, awaiting the arrival of my father – I am eager to show him this place and these people and for him to have his own journey towards a larger family and a bigger definition of home. I am ready to put him to work as we have multiple meeting for Genda Mirembe/Go In Peace lined up – his perspective and presence will certainly be welcomed by my colleagues and invaluable to us all. And of course, I can’t wait to introduce him to the children of Buyamba and to his granddaughters in Bethlehem – blessings both.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Nsangala Celebration
As you know, I have been working with the Headmaster of Bethlehem Parents' School on both the screening-in of the dormitory windows and the girls' football team. Ronald is not just the Headmaster/Coach for these children, but is loved and revered by them that they simply call him "Uncle." All 500 or so students are known by name and face, by background and current family status to my dear friend Ronald. I am amazed at his capacity to give and give without regard to self-interest or personal resources. I was the fortunate beneficiary of Uncle Ronald's love when he invited me to his home village of Nsangala last weekend. Nsangala is a teeny, tiny village about one hour west of Masaka. When Ronald invited me to his home, I thought I'd be going to meet his father (his mother died when he was 3), his brothers, uncles, aunts, nieces, nephews, etc. and to enjoy lunch and maybe walk around his old stomping grounds for a bit. Boy was I wrong!! As you see from the photos, my visit to Nsangala was an event that the whole village turned out to celebrate. Unbeknown to me was the fact that not a single person outside of Nsangala (save Ronald) has EVER seen or interacted with a non-Ugandan. Because this village is so remote -- having no electricity, permanent structures, tarmac road (or even a road wide enough for a car to pass!), or even its own borehole or spring well -- there are no CBOs, NGOs or FBOs operating within that may have provided such exposure. So, I was the most fortunate ambassador of mzungu-dom to these lively, grateful, joyous folks.
I was greeted by the whole village (seriously...all 500 folks...young, old, men, women, children...) at the boarder of the farthest path that takes one into the village. When I emerged from the car (that could go no further due to the one-lane foot path that is the only access route to Nsangala), I was serenaded by drumming and singing folks who were carrying hand sewn signs reading "Welcome Mama Julie, Thank U 4 Coming" and "Safe Journey Back to America Mama Julie." Two beautiful girls with wide eyes and bare, brown feet threw flowers on me and in front of me as we all walked the three or so kilometers to the gathering place arranged for my visit. The village elders were clapping and singing the whole way and I was doing my best not to bawl like a baby (lest they think all mzungus are cry-babies!). Upon arrival in the tent (papyrus mats, made by Nsangala residents, strung around tree trunks with banana leaf covering to provide shade and let the breeze cool our feverish celebrations), I was made to sit in the "chair of honor" and privy to hours of singing, dancing, and drama performance. Even if Ronald had told me about this welcome in advance, I could not have possibly been prepared for such an honor. As we sat down to eat (the only thing there is no shortage of in Nsangala is food as nearly all residents are subsistence farmers), Ronald and some of the elders were telling me that the children (and indeed, they themselves -- although they didn't say so) weren't sure that I would eat the local matoke, g-nut sauce, chicken, rice, and banana pancakes they had prepared because they didn't know what a mzungu could possibly eat to stay so white! I assured them that I enjoy the local food tremendously and that it is by birth, and not by diet, that my skin is white. The general reaction was something akin to "Ohhhhh...okay." with emphasis on the disbelieving "okay" at the end.
As the festivities continued, I joined in on some of the Kiganda dances (of course!) that I have learned and shook my Mugandan Kabina (roughly translated: my big booty) with the children, the group of widows that performed, and the local leaders who couldn't believe that I knew the local dances. The dust and feathers were flying, I was smiling so hard my face hurt, and sweat was pouring off of us all..the energy of the day carried us late into the afternoon. Just before parting, I was asked to speak to the people of Nsangala. No pressure, right?! I managed to construct a few thoughts and deliver them in passable Lunganda to the delight and disbelief of all...including myself. So overwhelmed by the love and generosity of folks I had never even met, I was rescued from dissolving into tears by a young boy (that had serenaded me earlier during one of the traditional song/dance numbers) who walked right up to me...pulled on the leg of my jeans (I know Mom...I was wearing jeans..but I swear I didn't know that I was heading into a celebration...I promise to look smart no matter what -- because the advice you raised me with is true (yes, I said it)...you never do know who you will encounter, so why not look presentable?!) and then motioned for me to bend over so that I was face to face with him. I followed his lead and before I knew it, he was removing the elastic band from my hair and pulling with all his might. He had never seen "white people's" hair before and thought I was wearing a wig! Thank goodness for the honesty and unabashed curiosity of children to remind us that life is the pieces that make up the picture so we can stop worrying about the picture itself and focus on those precious pieces already!
As Ronald and I made to return to the car we had left a few kilometers away, the ENTIRE village walked us back. With all the villagers talking/singing/clapping and shouting "Okomawo ddi??" (When are you coming back?) and "Tukwagala nyo!" (We love you very much!) and "Webale kujja!" (Thank you for coming!), I got into the car and we began the journey back to Kyotera. Momentarily I closed my eyes and laid my head back...but I could hear something that sounded like heavy summer rain drops on a tin roof that caused me to break my reprieve. I looked towards the direction of the sound and found that it wasn't rain drops at all..it was the footfalls of about a hundred children running -- barefoot, swiftly, smiles big, arms pumping, hands waving -- after the car. Ronald said that the fact that the parents had let their children give me such a "push" (the term used in place of "good-bye" or "send off"...as in "When Barbara left Uganda, I drove with her to the airport to give her a push.") was a sign of their collective decision that this mzungu was now considered "theirs" and part of their community. I have never been so honored in such a way in my life.
I have pledged to assist Ronald figure out ways to help his birth village (most, if not all, folks return to their "birth village" upon death no matter where they've been or how long they've been away and they are buried on their family property with their grave being tended to daily so that their departed soul may mingle with the folks still around...quiet a beautiful concept actually) develop a plan to access clean water (now, they share a swampy pool of water with their livestock -- it is contaminated and is the only source of water save a natural spring that is 6km -- one way -- from the mud and papyrus structures that make up the "center" of the town.). I was also impacted by the widows' group -- large in number and many of them being young, they have been making crafts (baskets, mats, crocheted fabric pieces) with hopes of selling them. Until I came, they weren't sure they would have a way of selling them, so they would put time, effort, and love into their products and then give them to the newest widow (their numbers grow far too often as the incidence rate of HIV/AIDS is nearly 20% in this small community) who would join their group. Although they will continue to do that, I will be returning to the States with some of the hand-woven, banana-fibre baskets that they make to see if I can find buyers and then return the money (via Ronald) to these deserving members of the community.
As I have said in earlier emails, everywhere you look you can find someone or many someones who could use some help. I figure that being among the fortunate, if I can do what I can with what I have -- and what "I have" is incredible (...born an American, supportive parents, good education, great friends, amazing mentors, colleagues, former employers, and a loving partner...doesn't get much better than that!) -- then maybe I can spread the wealth a bit. It doesn't seem right that I will soon return to a place where I can turn on any tap in almost any sink anywhere I go and not even have a conscious thought as to the quality, source, or expense of the water that comes out while my new friends and family in Nsangala (and in Kyotera, my home here -- although we are fortunate to have a working borehole in the center of town..so the folks living the deepest in Kyotera only have to walk two or three kilometers, one way, for their water) have to walk over three miles, one way, carrying a twenty litre jerry can on their head from the age of nine or ten to then use the dirty water to cook, clean, bathe, wash clothes, etc. I'm not sure that "development" in the Western context is the solution...but really, we live with an embarrassment of riches and excess (and this is coming from a girl who loves a good pair of heels and a well-tailored pantsuit just as much as the next...). As I let the events of the day sink in, I realized that this land and these people are forever a part of me. I have know for a while that I will be returning again and again to what has become my second home country. As Genda Mirembe/Go In Peace continues to take shape and evolve, I find myself asking questions all the time - "What can we do? How can we do it? Can I make this happen? Am I capable of pulling this all together?" But Ronald's gift to me -- showing me that just being myself is enough -- is one that I will continue to draw upon for sustenance as I make the journey back to my first home country, to America.
This give and take, this teach and learn, this ebb and flow of information, ideas, love, energy, lessons, life that I have been allowed to experience over the past year can really be summed up by my late-night text to Barbara after arriving to my flat post-Nsangala celebration (something to the effect of): I've got two live chickens, twenty avocados, three bunches of matoke and about fifty potatoes and a heart full of love...could I be any luckier?!
Much Peace and Love to You and Yours...
Thursday, July 24, 2008
The smiles say it all...
The screens are finished! The children are happy! The Director and Headmaster (and other teachers and staff) are overwhelmed at the impact this will have on their community(the children appreciate that they are safer but it is the adults who have spent years watching their brothers and sisters and children fall sick and die with malaria that truly understand the profundity of the mesh and wood in place of gaping opening)! I have been the fortunate ambassador of such good news and good works and I hope that I have been able to convey the heartfelt generosity of resources and spirit that you have offered to the children and community of Bethlehem Parents' School. I continue to learn from the gratitude that is in every action of these beautiful people.
As I come closer to the time when I will head back to the United States, I am faced with such a bittersweet reality that I don't believe I can articulate my current state. I hover somewhere between excited optimism and genuine terror :) Where I find myself at any given moment on any given day is currently as unknown to me as what it is to have a flushing toilet! On a more serious note, I am putting in place communication and monitoring measures that will ensure that the positive momentum continues. As I prepare to end one chapter of the life story and begin another, I hope that this quick update finds you busy capturing and enjoying the life-story moments of each day. Much peace and love to you and yours....
As I come closer to the time when I will head back to the United States, I am faced with such a bittersweet reality that I don't believe I can articulate my current state. I hover somewhere between excited optimism and genuine terror :) Where I find myself at any given moment on any given day is currently as unknown to me as what it is to have a flushing toilet! On a more serious note, I am putting in place communication and monitoring measures that will ensure that the positive momentum continues. As I prepare to end one chapter of the life story and begin another, I hope that this quick update finds you busy capturing and enjoying the life-story moments of each day. Much peace and love to you and yours....
Sunday, July 20, 2008
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