My Walk to Work

About a year ago, due to rising fuel and food prices, a campaign was begun by members of political parties opposed to President Museveni. It was called Walk to Work. In essence, it was a protest against the poor economic state and a call for the influential and the wealthy to stand in solidarity with those less fortunate by refraining from driving and instead, walking to their places of employment. For weeks on end this campaign evoked chaos in different parts of Kampala. Police and military got involved. Key leaders were arrested, time and again. Violence erupted on several occasions. Tear gas and other forms of crowd control/dispersion were used.

To be honest, the whole campaign never made much sense to me. Probably 90% of the Ugandan population walks to work every day. Making it illegal for specific leaders to walk to work seemed like an odd thing to do. I’m not sure if the campaign accomplished its goal. It certainly stirred up a lot of controversy.

Remembrances of this campaign always cross my mind when I am in Gulu. The reason for this? I love to walk, and being in Gulu gives me the chance to do so. Most people find it strange that I choose to walk from place to place instead of driving my car, but I love getting the exercise and the chance to witness the sights and sounds all around me as each day unfolds.

And so, I thought I’d take some time to share about my walk to work:

As I step out of my room and head on my way, I enjoy the feel of the cool, fresh air around me. The sun is shining, but it’s not too hot yet. Many people are out and about, walking or riding bicycles, on their way to school, the market, jobs, or just taking in the day. The dusty road leads me past homes, restaurants, buildings under construction, NGO offices, and even the Medical section of Gulu University.

The air is alive with sound. Boda drivers come up behind me and hoot, trying to get my attention and offer me their taxi services, but I just shake my head and continue my journey. Birds, chickens, and goats in their own ways speak to one another and raise their voices to greet the morning. Women with babies tied to their backs and jerrycans of water or baskets of produce balanced on their heads share the news of the day. Men sit under the shade of trees or on verandas and listen to the radio. Children laugh as they bathe nakedly in their yards.

After the University, the road narrows into a walking path that cuts through some trees, leading down to a long line of old sewage pipes, connecting one part of town to another. While the smells are not exactly pleasant, the scenery is. A lake to my left; tall, green grasses to my right; a bit of nature in what I once thought was all town. Far off to the right, the buildings of the city center rise and stand proudly.

At the end of the pipe line, the path leads through a residential area, a collection of huts. I had no idea this place existed before this trip. The usual way I came took me straight through town. I was delighted when my friend showed me this new, shorter, and much more enjoyable path.

Weaving my way through the huts, I take time to greet those who live there. Most respond politely, but all look at me with surprise and curiosity, wondering what has brought me here and how I came to walk the path through this part of Gulu. Children gather round and follow me, calling out the never ending refrain, “Munu! How are you?” No matter how many times I answer, the question gets repeated again and again.

I’m never exactly sure how far to go in this maze of homes or where to turn to find the road to the office, but eventually I discover the way and come to the office gate where I begin my work day.

A Day to Celebrate

Thursday, March 8th was International Women’s Day. I’m not exactly sure what this day stands for or how people are to celebrate. I only became aware of its existence when I moved to Uganda, and even then, only because it is acknowledged as a public holiday. This year, some women from my church in Kampala took it as an opportunity to do some ministry to women police officers at a nearby police post. Activists for Change held a rally, and their women’s leader, Ingrid Turinawe, gave a passionate political speech, vowing to chase Museveni from office. For myself, I enjoyed having a day off and spent it relaxing in the sun and catching up on my reading.

On Friday, however, the holiday took on a whole new meaning. A student, Odoch Morris Ocibu, came to the Hope Alive! office to see the Site Assistant. While he waited for an opportunity to speak with her, we chatted a bit. He told me his reason for celebrating on Women’s Day.

“Every Women’s Day, on March 8th, I remember, that is the day I was rescued from the LRA.”

My mouth nearly dropped open in surprise. I knew that some Hope Alive! students had had experiences with the rebels of the Lord’s Resistance Army, led by Joseph Kony. Many of our students in Kampala fled to the capitol from the north to escape his terror. Our site in Gulu was formed in the midst of the Internally Displaced Persons (IDP) camp of Koro Abili, where people gathered for protection. Nearly everyone up here has had friends and relatives who were attacked, kidnapped, or killed by the LRA. However, people don’t talk much about this time of conflict or their experiences. They want to look ahead, not behind; move forward, not back. So, I didn’t know that this student had been taken.

Carefully, I asked Morris to tell me his story.

He was living in an IDP camp with his grandfather. It was 2003 and he was in P.6 (sixth grade). At 4am the rebels attacked the camp. They either killed or immobilized the soldiers who had been posted to guard the people and began rounding up villagers. Morris was one they chose to take; the youngest of a group of about twenty.

Pulling him out of sleep, he was ordered to get up and move out. To disobey would mean death. From there, the rebels marched for several hours into the bush. They traveled for four days. Many encountered difficulties – swollen knees and joints, much pain – but they always had to keep moving. Morris was forced to carry sacks of food and some pots and pans as they marched. On the evening of the fourth day, the goat meat served to the group for dinner was so badly prepared that Morris only pretended to eat it. The next morning, the leader of this band of rebels commented on the terrible meal and decided to take time to try and cook a better breakfast. It was while they were cooking (at about 10am) that the Ugandan army found them and attacked.

The two rebels who were guarding the kidnapped boys were killed. Everyone then took this opportunity to run and escape. Morris stuck together with a few others, and together they were able to make their way home.

The day of his escape was March 8th. Definitely a day to celebrate.

Morris has grown up and is now studying Carpentry and Joinery at a nearby Technical Institute, and he is doing well. He is a member of the Leadership Team for Gulu site. He is humble and well-spoken, with dreams and plans for his future.

I think about the possibilities that Morris’s life holds: the things he may do, the family and children he may one day have, the impact he may make on his community, how God may use him. So now, each day on International Women’s Day, I too will remember his rescue and give thanks to God for His graciousness in sparing Morris’s life.

Life in a Fishbowl

During spring break of my sophomore year of college, I joined 45 other students from my school on a mission trip to Mexico. We drove to Tijuana and built three stucco houses. Our team shirts had the theme: life in a fishbowl. The idea was that we wanted to be sold out to Christ so that every bit of our lives would reflect Him. Since we were going to a country where we didn’t speak much of the language, our actions would be speaking for us.

I didn’t fully realize what living life in a fishbowl meant or what it would be like…until I moved to Uganda. Ironically, feeling like every aspect of my life is open for all to see and under scrutiny has nothing to do with my being a follower of Christ. It all boils down to one thing – the color of my skin.

The fact that I have white skin makes me an instant celebrity. I have the ability to draw a crowd just by walking down the street. Often, I will hear kids cheering and calling out to others as they run to the roadside to greet me. It’s an interesting sensation to feel famous and know that you just made someone’s day by your very presence.

My white skin also makes me an oddity. I bring joy to people; I also bring tears. Children who aren’t accustomed to seeing white people are terrified of me. Just yesterday, I was visiting a friend at her home, and the neighbor’s daughter toddled into the doorway. As soon as she caught sight of me, she stopped dead in her tracks. She stared for a few seconds and then her lip began to tremble, and she burst into tears. A little while later, I went to greet her mother and got too close. The tears flowed once more.

Growing up in a culture that is racially diverse, politically correct, and polite, it was never okay to stare at someone who was different. We might covertly sneak a quick peak, but we’d never comment on or openly bring attention to somebody’s differences. This is not the case in Uganda. They stare. They comment. They point. In Kampala, it’s not so bad, but in Gulu and other places, it can be.

Everywhere I go, I get stared at. All. The. Time. Blatantly, openly, without apology.

The other day, as I was walking down the road, I came upon a group of children who were just ahead. As soon as they caught sight of me, they all stopped and waited, just staring. They didn’t move again until I had caught up with them, greeted them all, and continued on my way. Adults will do this too, to a certain extent. I often catch people watching me – a bicyclist who passes me, but continues looking at me until I think he’s going to crash into something, women walking along the road, people in shops along the way. Most often they don’t mean anything by the looks. They are just curious about me. They think it’s strange that I’m walking, not driving. They want a chance to greet the ‘mzungu’ or white person. I’m sure I provide plenty of material for evening conversation at home.

This attention, however, can become a bit unbearable at times. I feel as though I’m part of a circus act or an animal in the zoo, a piece of entertainment. Some people (from children up to adults) adopt an unnaturally high (and silly) tone of voice when speaking to me or trying to get my attention. Others whistle or click their tongues like I am an animal they are calling. These ones I do my best to ignore, though I often think in my head (or mutter to myself), I am a person just like you! Speak to me in a normal voice. Treat me with respect, as a real human being.

Sometimes, a good thing happens, making this life in a fishbowl not all that bad. On my way home from church today, I suddenly found myself walking with two little girls. They were giggling and smiling and determined to keep up with my long stride. I had the longest conversation I could with them, pulling out all the bits of Acholi I could remember: “How are you? What is your name? My name is Kate. Where are you going? How old are you?” Pretty pathetic, I know, but I was grateful they at least understood me and responded. (It is so much easier to practice with kids than with adults!) I enjoyed our walk together, waving goodbye when they turned down another path.

So, I guess I take the good along with the bad. I continue on day by day to live and work and minister in this beautiful country. And, hopefully, along the way, those that stare will see something worth seeing: Christ’s light and love shining in and through me.

My two friends...they immediately struck this pose when I asked if I could take their photo :).

An Ever-Changing Gulu

Each time I come to Gulu I notice more development taking place. Some of it I enjoy. Other things I can do without. I’m not against development, but I don’t want Gulu to lose its small town feel or any of the other qualities I love about it.

I thought I’d take some time to show pictures that document some of the changes:

The Market

March 2011 September 2011 March 2012

The demolished market and then plans for the new market

The place where they shifted the old market...Kawuna Grounds. It is government property, on loan to the market until the new one is built. It's actually a good place for the market, except that it's on the outskirts of town. There's more space. Stalls selling packaged goods, clothes, repair shops and that kind of thing are set up in a large square. The middle area behind these shops is open, and that is where the fruit, vegetable, and meat sellers are.

My favorite named pork place and the intersection it's next to...back in March 2011.

The same pork place and intersection in March 2012. It now has a roundabout.

A new building, around the corner from the pork place...

Friendship House

Parking Tickets...yes, it now costs 1,500/= to park anywhere in town.

A view of town from the road to Senior Quarters - March 2011

The same view one year later - March 2012

Uchumi has come to Gulu!

Computer and Internet Center

Lots and lots and lots of construction!

Adventures in Gulu

My feet are covered in dust.

I’m hot and sweaty.

But I’m happy.

I’m back in Gulu.

The huge blue skies are mine for the taking. The wide open fields, the town with its shops and markets and restaurants are mine to enjoy. I’ll be here for almost three weeks, working with the staff and kids of the Hope Alive! site up here. I’m looking forward to reconnecting with friends, visiting homes, doing lots of walking, learning more Acholi, and putting in some educational supports for our students.

God blessed me immensely by making it possible for me to stay in the same hotel (and even in the same room!) where I stayed last year with my roommate Kacie. This time around I’m on my own. That’s a bit intimidating, but I’ve had practice in the last few months being by myself, and while it definitely is not my preference, I’m making it work.

Back in Room 303

My prayer is that during this time I will be sensitive to God’s leading, that I will accomplish the things He has for me to do, and that I will be able to recognize His work in my life and in the lives of those around me. Oh, also that the rains come soon!

Some of the wonderful people I'll be working with: Simon (Site Manager), Sarah (Site Assistant) and Christopher (Mentor).

2012

A new beginning, a fresh start.

Abounding optimism…excitement…hope.

Everything looks bright and clear.

Fears are quieted, uncertainties forgotten.

Change is possible.

Life will be better.

Goals can be reached.

Adventures await.

Celebration, cheers, laughter, joy.

The clock strikes midnight;

A new year is born.

Thanksgiving

I have to admit, it doesn’t feel like Thanksgiving to me. At the moment I am the only American working with Hope Alive! (Catharine Coon, our director is traveling in the USA right now and the other mid-termers that I used to work with have all returned to the States). All the usual indicators that help anticipate the big day are absent.

No Thanksgiving ads on TV. No Black Friday deals. No four day weekend.

Instead of cold temperatures and chilly wind, I get sun and a warm breeze. The grass is green and flourishing. The trees are full of leaves and bursting with fruit. Flowers are in bloom.

I’m surrounded by Ugandans to whom ‘thanksgiving’ means a praise offered up to God for something good that has happened or a church service, dedicated to celebrating all God has done, which culminates in the joyful giving of funds or goods for His service.

In fact, though it is Thanksgiving, I’m actually at the Hope Alive! office right now completing my work day. Before you get up in arms about this fact, I must hurry to say that I will be celebrating Thanksgiving…tomorrow. Is it sacrilegious to observe turkey day on a day other than Thursday and by partaking of chicken instead of turkey?

Anybody who knows me knows that I am a strict adherer to tradition. Nearly every holiday (birthdays, Christmas, etc.) has a set of family traditions that have to be done just so, and I fight tooth and nail to preserve them. However, since living in a couple of other countries, I’ve been able to embrace a few new traditions and accept a few changes based on practicality’s sake.

First of all, turkeys here are small, tough, and super-expensive. So, as far as the main course of Thanksgiving dinner goes, I’ve reconciled to myself that chicken is good enough.

Celebrating Thanksgiving on Friday, however, takes a bit more work, and I’m still not quite ready to embrace it fully. Here is my reasoning why: I’m a member of the Kampala Symphony Orchestra. This orchestra is made up of many different nationalities. At the moment, however, I am the only American. We’re preparing for our Christmas concert, which will be this coming weekend. Thursday evening is our dress rehearsal. It is the only day we have to practice in the venue and with the Kampala Singers (the choir with whom we will perform). Rehearsal begins at 6pm, but with evening traffic, the commute there takes roughly an hour. If I were to celebrate Thanksgiving today I would barely have time to enjoy the meal before I rush off for rehearsal. My friends, with whom I am spending Thanksgiving with, graciously suggested that we move our celebration to Friday so that we can have the entire day to relax, eat, and spend time together. After considering the pros and cons to the idea, I got on board with this plan. So, for the year 2011, I am making an exception to the rule. I am celebrating Thanksgiving on Friday. Hopefully this will be a Thanksgiving I will always remember…and an exception that I will never have to repeat J.

Still, I am very grateful for the good friends and many other things God has placed in my life, and for a day to recognize and celebrate them.

Happy Thanksgiving!