It is Possible

by Holly
Last night I was chatting with a Ugandan colleague about the preparation NGOs have been doing for the return of an expected 2,000 women and children from the LRA. I said I hoped it would be soon. He replied with emotion, “I doubt it.” Both of us said together in almost the same breath, “but we have to hope.” I had an interesting encounter with a Special Advisor to the President in Gulu recently and got a little insight. The celebrated but little understood “agreement” that was recently signed between the LRA and Government of Uganda negotiating teams on accountability, the 3rd agenda of the peace talks, is reportedly not an agreement but principles that should apply to whatever agreement is reached. So, we’re not quite as far down the road as the local press made it seem.

Last weekend after we celebrated the MoU signing for the EU grant (“cause to celebrate”) we stopped in Barlonyo on the way back to Lira. In 2004 the LRA attacked and massacred a lot of people there. A mass grave and memorial was built on the site. The plaque on the memorial reads that on that day “121 innocent civilians were killed by LRA terrorists.” The local government says it was 314 people. I sat and prayed for a few minutes. The words running through my mind were familiar. I felt again the deep pain of people who have known too much violence, the groaning of the blood soaked ground, the hope that it would not happen again, that it is over and that healing is coming. I felt it in Srebrenica at the commemoration day of prayer, 10 years after Serbs killed over seven thousand men and boys. I felt it when I prayed on dusty streets in Palestine on the Reconciliation Walk just 2 months before the second intifada started. I heard someone say recently that if you act like you have faith the faith will follow—I don’t know if that’s quite true, but when I get tired or discouraged lately I’ve been saying to myself, “it is possible.” And I think it’s working, because I feel a greater sense of the vision and hope the statement implies. It is possible when we make daily decisions and decide to take steps toward peace, however far away we may feel at the time. It’s a journey, gratefully we don’t travel alone. At CPA we are on that road and we are moving forward.

CPA has begun a project called “Steps Toward Reconciliation.” (Funded by MCC.) The goal is to empower CPA’s community structures of parents and youth to advocate for peace, constructively respond to conflict, and participate in reconciliation. It is initiated and led by parents who are committed to a personal and community process of reconciliation. The project responds to the ongoing emphasis on the importance of incorporating local level mechanisms into a transitional justice strategy.

By the completion of the plan, four steps towards reconciliation will have been taken:

1. Consensus will be built on applying traditional methods of restorative justice in Lango. Significant effort has been made in Acholi to build consensus on how traditional forms of justice can be adapted and used in the modern circumstances. The relevance of this discussion extends beyond the Acholi sub-region to the Greater North, including the Lango Sub-Region, Teso, Karimoja, and the tribes in Arua West Nile. Little has been done outside Acholi to document and build consensus among clan and traditional leaders around traditional justice. As CPA is operational in Lango and Acholi, the project will document and build consensus on the application of traditional justice mechanisms in the Lango Sub-region.

2. Directly affected parents will publicly forgive the Ex-LRA Commanders who have returned to the community. A series of preparatory meetings will be held with the directly affected parties (beginning with founder parents) and their families and clans and separately with the ex-LRA commanders and their families and clans. The preparatory meetings will culminate in a day of forgiveness for those who want to participate. The event will celebrate the progress made toward reconciliation and share practical experiences about the process.

3. A delegation of most affected parents will take that message of forgiveness and restorative justice to the top LRA leadership and negotiating teams. Having documented and compiled practical examples of traditional justice and restitution mechanisms as well as forgiveness and reconciliation, parents will take these practical experiences to the people who are critical decision makers in the peace process. CPA believes that the voice of parents must be heard and considered as part of the negotiations, specifically as discussions are held on issues of accountability and on comprehensive solutions.

4. Parent Support Groups and Youth Groups will be empowered to transform conflict, reconcile and mediate between conflicting families and clans through 100 trained mediators from those groups. Mediators will contribute to the reunification of families as formerly-abducted children return and mediate in the many conflicts between families/clans that are a result of the war. Traditional reconciliation ceremonies will be supported. The experiences of reconciliation will be documented and shared through publications and radio providing a public example of practical forgiveness, truth telling and restorative justice as a way to peace in northern Uganda.

I was trying to think of a catchy name or slogan for the community mediators. The word “mediator” doesn’t translate well into Acholi and Lango. It makes people think more of a match maker Fiddler-on-the-roof style than it does someone who can facilitate a positive space for conflicting parties to brainstorm and agree on solutions. I was thinking of calling them yeast. Just a little bit of it in the bread of northern Uganda can transform everything making the whole thing rise. But then I was told that that in Lango and Acholi if you call someone “yeast” it’s saying they’re a drunkard because it’s used to make the local beer. So the mediators would’ve all been wearing T-shirts that said “Drunkards for Peace.” I’d still like to use some symbol that carries the hope of the power of small things to change everything--something that will encourage the mediators, me and others, when the inevitable fatigue or discouragement comes—to remember that it is possible. Any suggestions?

Cause for Celebration

by Ben

Holly and I want to share the joy and success of CPA with all of our friends and family over a significant accomplishment. A few months ago the European Union put out a call for proposals entitled "Northern Uganda Rehabilitation Programme". 90 applicants went through the laborious process of applying, with only 8 organizations to recieve the award. CPA was one of those 8, and the only local organization working in Northern Uganda to recieve funding! It was a cause for celebration, a moment that we could take a breath and say "job well done" to ourselves and the entire CPA staff. This funding accounts for a large portion of our three year plan. Now we're gearing up for the challenge and are ready to give this programme our full effort.

(Here is Holly, Betty, and Sylvia on the evening of the MOU signing)



(CPA's chairperson and mother, Angelina, congratulating her children)

3 words 3 desires

Recently I read a novel. I had the feeling that half the women in the US who are 20 or 30 something have read it, are reading it or are planning to read it. But since I'm in Uganda I have no idea what the popular opinion or hype about it is. The book itself was a nice way to spend a couple of evenings feeling a little more connected to my cultural peers (and comparing my own experiences with those of the main character in Italy and India with pasta, italian and yoga). I like Rumi (the Sufi poet) and I don't know the context or what he said because I'm getting this from the book and not direct from the source, but the novel says that Rumi says that we all have 3 things that are the essence of what we really desire and want in life. We can narrow it down to three words. And then if we discover that any of those three things conflict with each other we will be miserable--so better to just pick one of them and stick with it. I don't know if it's supposed to be a static thing, that for our whole lives there are really only three things that we want, but I thought about the core of my consistent desires and I think it's all captured in three words:

beauty

love

redemption

Beauty could be the feeling of sand between my toes with my feet up on the dashboard with great music playing, or Acholis dancing, or the smell of Colorado air the first day of a new season, it could be the flowers blooming around my back porch, or it could be really good swiss chocolate sent in a care package that I eat after a long day at work, or it could be a moment between a friend or partner that you realize is something unique and shared or it could be purple pillows.

Love is...love. I don't want to sort it into categories. Describing it would almost certainly cheapen it (at least with my limited mastery of the English language). Maybe the only thing to say is that the desire is for love, not for me or from me but just love and more of it.

Redemption, I struggled to think of the third word although I feel the desire most strongly and am driven by it all the time--giving it a name was tricky because it changes. The desire in it's purest form is redemption--wanting everything and everyone to be restored to all that they should be and to be a part of that process. In it's most selfish form, it's just a desire for power. But since I think it's better to nurture my purer desires, I'll focus on redemption.

Ben's are: wisdom, love and contentment.

What are your three words?

Gardening

by Ben

I have always liked gardening. One of my first memories is going to my mom and asking her if I need needed to buy my own tools if I wanted to go to farmers college. But here in Uganda, my love of gardening has come alive. It certainly helps to have year-round warm weather and fertile soil. But the act of digging, planting, weeding, creating, and nurturing the land has given me rest in times of chaos.

Anyone who knows me will say I'm a "doer". I need to be productive. Standard ways of relaxation (yoga, meditation/prayer, journaling, sunbathing) don't stimulate me enough-my mind wanders. I need to be slightly active in something to actually free my mind and process my thoughts. And gardening is the perfect medium. Another similar activity is fishing--you're busy baiting the hook, casting and reeling, but it really doesn't take away from personal reflection and processing.

A typical evening in the garden: It's 6:00PM. I get home from work and take a few minutes to play with Ogiko and change into old clothes. I'm emotionally tired from a hectic day. I could escape into a book, movie or food, but I sense the need to process my day. I go to the shed and pick up my hoe. I feel the cool grass under my bare feet as I walk across the yard. I begin digging the ground around the green pepper plants. The ground is soft because I dig it frequently. The soil is black. In the distance I hear a rooster crowing and children playing. The sun is gently setting. I plunge my hand into the loose soil, pick up a handful and squeeze it. It smells rich with nutrients. By now I'm sweating and my muscles are warm. All of the sudden I feel balanced and connected to the earth. I can begin to look back at my day with healthy perspective. Anxiety and stress has been washed away and replaced with a sense of gratitude.


This is a picture of what I pick out of my garden daily (besides the pineapple-this is our first one). In front are two varieties of jalepeno peppers, next to a sprig of basil. To the right are some cucumbers. In the blue bowl are several varieties of tomatoes. Behind the tomatoes are passion fruit, and a pineapple to the left. Between the bowls are a couple of green peppers.

Still to come: onions, peanuts, carrots, broccolli, cassava, eggplant, spinach, and lemon grass. Other fruits include: guava, bannana, mango, and avocado.

A few pictures and thoughts

by Ben
I don't have any profound thoughts or insights, but I wanted to put a few pictures on our blog. Life has been full...and good.

Two weeks ago a group from our home church came to Lira. We set one day aside for a "solidarity day". Upon our arrival at an IDP camp about 2 hours out of town, men and women were divided and assigned everyday life tasks. Women went to go shopping and prepared food, while men dug in a rice field and tried to thatch a roof. It was probably a first for many of the women to get beef from a recently butchered cow placed on banana leaves on the side of a dirt road. They simply pointed to the part they wanted and someone hacked it off.

(This is Zach, Kimuli, Patrick and a guy from the camp digging in the rice swamp)


(This is Zach sitting on a grass roof after separating the grass, thinking, "So, I'm suppose to jump down like that too?" This is a hut for two boys who lost both of their parents in an LRA attack)


(This is a picture of a baboon after stealing our cookies out of the truck. Ask Zach for an impersonation.)


We also went on a game drive.

(The raw beauty of Uganda never ceases to amaze me)


On a different note, I was in Gulu last week, for the first of a four-week training in Narrative Exposure Therapy (for my trainers and other local staff from rehabilitation centers across N. Uganda). I am very excited about this training. It is being facilitated by researchers and professors from Germany. The therapy model is adapted for children in Northern Uganda and research has proven its effectiveness. Until recently any empirical data on prevelance or effective treatment of mental health disorders has been almost completely absent. I am grateful to be a part of this training and really sense people's committement to raising standards of psychosocial care in N. Uganda. I also co-chaired the first meeting of a new group called "Mental Health and Psychosocial Support Technical Team for Northern Uganda" with Quaker Peace and Social Witness last Friday. There seems to be increasing mommentum for this kind of work and I'm excited to see where this group takes us.

World Sorrow

by Holly
I used to like very serious movies with painful subject matter. No need for happy endings--I liked movies that depicted the sorrow of the human experience. Not that I don't still appreciate the art of honesty in film--but I just don't feel like I have the space to take it in. These days I only watch things that make me laugh. At the end of the day I don't need any more reminders of how painful living on earth is.

Lately, I've been pouring all my energy into work--and while the last month has been one that has been unparalleled with impact and significance for me, I'm tired and kind of stressed out. My body tends to take it on, so in an effort to surrender (and inspired by another yoga journal that Ryan sent me via the Celebration crew), I'm spending more time on my mat getting centered, grounded, and opening my heart, making some space in this crowded soul of mine.

There's an article in the journal about sadness and grief. Personally, I feel ridiculously blessed to have had an unfairly preserved life--If there is a reason, then I sometimes think it is so I have the capacity to feel more "Welt schmerz" or world sorrow--a sadness that arises without a personal cause--a transcendant feeling of pain for the state of the world. (apparently, this is written about in a book by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe called the Sorrows of Young Worther, which I've never read but I'm now intrigued and if I can make enough space to handle something sad in my free time I will) I remember once calling my dad in tears, when I was having a crisis of faith and wondering if God was indeed good--and his first response was to ask whether it was me or a close friend who had experienced some great pain. It was neither, I was still in university and a war I opposed was starting and I was studying genocide and angry about unanswered prayer in Darfur and I just couldn't handle it anymore.

So, I've been thinking about the constructive potential of sadness--at the same time the risk of spiralling feelings of hopelessness and lack of vision that lead to a destination of either cynicism or resignation. The constructive potential is when we recognize that suffering is not personal but universal to the human experience. I say it has potential because the risk in recognizing the pervasiveness of suffering is that it can evoke paralysis, or feelings along the lines of the writer of Ecclesiastes, "everything is meaningless."

The other option is that it has the potential to inspire great compassion. I'd choose compassion over paralysis any day--but compassion is not a solitary discipline. I'm convinced that sorrow over the state of the world is channeled into creative and active compassion through community.

That means, as much as I enjoy doing yoga--I can't tranform strong negative emotions by myself--or just by realizing that I'm connected to everyone else, I think it's active, I have to be connected. God's spirit transforms through the experience of community.

It was a great blessing to have these beautiful people from Celebration in Lira. It was encouraging to be with them while they also wrestled with the tension between great compassion and debilitating hopelessness. It's a reminder that the struggle is worth it, and I'm grateful for their presence, from the first evening of receiving cards, books, and yummy things from home (Thank you everyone from CCC that sent us stuff!) to Solidarity Day in an IDP camp, to evening conversations, blueberry pancakes, lions in the rain, and swimming while overlooking the Nile.

Big Daddy Gave Me a Name

After an hour of bumping over potholes on narrow red dirt roads, our car pulled up at the home of “Won Nyaci” the Paramount Chief of the Lango tribe. CPA parents have been asking what we can do now to work for peace and reconciliation and what our unique role in that process should be. We’ve decided on 4 “Steps Toward Reconciliation” that we can take and we began the journey this morning. Tomorrow we’ll go to Gulu to meet with Rwot Acana the Acholi Paramount Chief. A team of 5 parents and a couple of “technical people,” like me make up the group.

We were led to a grass thatched open hut. The door is so low we had to duck to get inside. When I entered I saw the chief, or the Big Daddy—which is the literal translation of what most Langi call him. Unlike other times, when I’ve seen him decked out in colorful African fabrics, he was dressed in simple western clothes. The two other women got on their knees to greet him. No one briefed me on protocol and I’m a little uncomfortable kneeling in front of anyone—but I tried to look humble and kind of curtsied a little while I shook his hand. This was such a curious but significant meeting. Chickens walked along the edge of the open room which was lined by 15 wooden chairs with fuzzy leopard print cushions. His wife began praying as soon as we came and then walked back and forth with a handkerchief and an inhaler. She liked to move and seemed friendly and full of energy. Big daddy on the other hand sat very still and drew long breaths and smiled with his kind eyes. Angelina (CPA’s chairperson and great mentor and inspiration to me) explained about the new program of reconciliation that CPA is beginning and the vision behind it. She introduced everyone and told him about the work I’ve been doing with CPA for the past year and a half. Then each parent talked from their experiences and spoke their desire for peace.

People talked slowly to Big Daddy, as if every word deserved time and space and held some special power if it was considered and accepted by the listener. On paper, when I worked on the proposal to get funding for this project, this meeting looked very different. But here I was in this hut and it was so real. Each parent here had a daughter abducted. Each of them are raising the grandchildren of LRA commanders. One of them is still waiting for his daughter’s return. She’s still in Kony’s house—and here they are talking about reconciliation as if it’s a real and possible thing for them. They have turned such unspeakable pain into contagious energy for healing. Each word they speak does have power.

The entire meeting was in Lango—which I can catch bits and pieces of but my comprehension is often a combination of a few words and a lot of guess work. When it was time for Big Daddy to say something he looked thoughtful and then got out a piece of paper. Slowly and deliberately he wrote four names and then explained what each of them meant. One was someone who is feared, one was someone who organizes and keeps house well, I didn’t understand the third one, and the fourth was one who is so precious to everyone that her contribution to the community is invaluable. When he read the last name on the list the parents I was with nodded and made affirming noises and Angelina started to clap. I didn’t know what was going on but then he explained. The names are only given to women who have done great things for the Lango community and who deserve a special name. These aren’t names that are given at birth, but they have to be earned. He says that I need to be given a great Lango name and as the chief of Lango he will name me. The parents should confirm which of the four names is right for me. From that moment they stopped calling me Holly and started calling me Elit.

Big Daddy expressed his commitment to support our initiative and talked about how he felt it complemented other current efforts of peacebuilding in northern Uganda. At what we thought was the end of the conversation Angelina thanked them and said we should be going, but the Big Mommy jumped up. She shook her finger, scolding us, “when you are a visitor it is not you to decide when you are leaving. It is us who will release you and I have refused.” Then she bustled out of the room, ducking through the low door and walked to the smoking mud shack I assume is the kitchen where they were making us food. Five chickens perched on the edge of the room and watched us eat while what must have been a new litter of puppies cried and pawed at the board that barred their entrance into the room.

What we write in project documents packages a meeting like this with goals, objectives and objectively verifiable indicators. Program design makes it all seem so straightforward, predictable and measurable. But the reality is almost always decidedly stranger—and often more powerful.

Traditional Wedding (by Ben)

(The group from Lira)

Yesterday, Holly and I went to a village outside of a small town bordering Congo to attend a friend’s wedding. Carol, the bride (who works with us at CPA) grew up in the village near Congo, while Tom, the groom (a good friend) grew up in Lira. As such, we all woke up very early and caravanned to the village. Several goats and cows accompanied us on the journey.

(Congratulating Tom)


Holly and I have attended wedding ceremonies before, but this was the first one we really felt integrated with the other guests; the newly weds are friends of ours, and we had been to enough ceremonies like this to know how to conduct ourselves.

(Holly in her stylish Gomaz)

Holly wore a traditional dress called a gomaz, and I wore the traditional suit. After we arrived at the wedding, we waited for the “negotiations” between Tom’s elders and Carol’s elders to decide on the “bride price”. Half and hour was designated for the negotiations, but they lasted for over five hours. By the time they finished it was dark. But no problem…it was time to celebrate! Women were ululating, pounding the ground with weeding hoes, and waving dried fish on a stick. In the initial hours, men needed to wear a stern face, without smiling, or they would be fined. After speeches by fathers, everyone was allowed to visibly enjoy themselves.
(traditional dancing)

(Carol the bride)

Theories of Nonviolence and Community Reconciliation (by Ben)

(Lam and I)


Last week Holly and I were with CPA’s trainers in Soroti, Uganda. This was our eighth out of ten training modules. Holly and Lam (an Acholi peace activist) worked together to bring new levels of understanding and commitment to nonviolence. Lam vividly described his real life experiences and challenges of brining peace to Northern Uganda, while Holly placed new ideas and inspired reconciliation.

(Holly teaching a model on reconciliation designed by JP Lederach)


A common training technique to get participants to express and debate their views is an activity called “Agree-Disagree”. After a statement is read, individuals take a position by standing along the spectrum of "agreeing" or "disagreeing". One statement provoked an interesting discussion. It is a widely-held belief in the community that “the best punishment for a thief is death.” Participants stood along the entire spectrum of this statement. The legal system is Uganda is so unstable at times that “taking justice into your own hands” is the only way to deter crime. If thieves are brought to the police station, the police will often tell them that they should’ve been dealt with in the traditional way, and that they would release the thief in a day or so. Mob justice certainly is an effective deterrent to crime (and thousands lose their lives to mob violence every year). One trainer raised her hand and spoke of the passage in the Gospels where an angry mob is ready to stone a woman caught in adultery. In this story, Jesus says, “let he who has not sinned cast the first stone”. Slowly the crowd dissipated with the elders first to leave. Holly then asked, “Raise your hand if you have ever stolen anything in your life. Whether it be large sums of money or knowingly accepting more change than you were owed after a purchase”. Everyone raised their hands...and there was silence. The following day some participants expressed their new views: that killing wasn’t the answer. This led to discussions and questions on “what true restoration, reconciliation and rehabilitation would look like in Northern Uganda”

(Trainers hard at work)

Labor Day Football (by Ben)

Hi Friends,
We spend a lot of time doing our routine work in the office, but when we break away, it's fun share with all of you. On labor day, Holly and I traveled to Gulu for a Bi-annual football tournament. Several NGO's spend months training to win the tournament. This year, CPA was geared up and ready to defeat the returning champion, CARITAS.


Training and playing football keeps a lot of us balanced. Adrenaline and endorphins flood into our bloodstream and give us natural highs, as stresses from the office fade away. We were defeated again this year. 0-1. It was a good game and we're already looking forward to the rematch in October!

(disappointment)

(Our "football mothers". Members of CPA's board who came to support our team)

Next week we're both out of town conducting a training in "Peacebuilding: Theories of Non-violence and Community Reconciliation". We hope to keep you posted.

Friends Continued (by Ben)

Yesterday we celebrated the birthdays of two of our closest work colleagues. On this special day, the birthday boys are called "Babies". Birthdays are often recognized in Uganda (especially if the D.O.B. is known), but seldom is a birthday an occasion for a party. Imagine the drain on resources if you had a party for all 15 of your children...

(Tonny "Warming Up" for the competition)

Godfrey, CPA's program manager, celebrated his first b-day party at the age of 35, and Tonny, the District Coordinator, had celebrated once before. We had an afternoon of games and competitions, an evening meal, and two cakes for the group of about 25 close friends and colleagues. Godfrey's cake read "Mzee (elder) Okello". He then turned to the oldest man in the room and sincerely asked, "May I be received into Mzee-hood?"

(Godfrey showing us his strokes in the dance competition)

Godfrey and Tonny were touched by the outpouring of affection and gifts given to them on their day. After presenting the gifts, all spoke aloud "what we liked best about the birthday boys". Godfrey's son (age 5) came up to him after the gifts were given and said with surprise, "Why is everyone giving you free things? I'm little, why don't I get something?" As it turns out, Tonny's team won the dance competition and won.... A NEW CAR!!!...as a prize. Because it was a toy car, Tonny was generous enough to give Godfrey's son something after all.

(Godfrey's children, Dan and Rachel also wanted to show us how to dance)

There is something bonding about celebrating a common tradition with our friends here. Sharing this experience made me feel closer to my culture and to theirs.

Friends and Family: by Ben

Having Travis with us for the past week really made me wish that all of our friends and family were closer. It feels like there is something “hard-wired” into me that makes me crave long-term relationships and regular contact with those I love most. Many of our African friends have such pity on us for being so far away from our families; they can’t imagine a life so far away from their families. In the West, we have access to travel that takes us to the ends of the earth in relatively little time. Jobs easily take us to other cities, states, and continents, and our contact with our loved ones diminishes.


I just finished a training on indigenous ways of healing. In this module we discussed ways in which people have traditionally sought healing through community collectivism and various ceremonies. I learned so much, and was amazed at the richness of social support built into the culture. We learned traditional ceremonies meant to cure physical, emotional, and spiritual illnesses, but we also learned about lifestyle practices such as hunting (dwar), sitting around the fireplace (Wang Oo), and dancing/singing (Myelo/Wer) that naturally build a sense of community cohesion.


There is a controversial debate whether resilience is a product of nature or nurture. Some people believe that resilience is inherited; that some individuals have a resilience gene or perhaps inherit a resilient personality. Others believe that it is the neurobiological process that occurs after the initial fight/flight survival reaction. The absence of “calming” hormones after the survival reaction leaves people over-alert; consciously and subconsciously awaiting a reoccurrence of the traumatic event. Such hyper-vigilance also works against our physical bodies. Others believe it is the social support offered after an individual has endured a traumatic event.

(This is one of seven parent support group representative trainers)

I suppose the answer should consider all of these factors. However, living in Uganda has highlighted the social support component of resilience. Imagine the personal resources someone has when in the presence of generations of family and a cohesive community versus going through a mental breakdown in an alien or isolated environment such as a hospital. All this to say that my heart is torn between the longing I feel from being so far away from friends and family and the joy I feel in sharing my life with remarkable friends here.

After You've Hurt or Every Day is like Holy Saturday

Photography can't begin to capture the beauty that we experienced in Queen Elizabeth National Park--not even with Travis' good eye and camera. Travis arrived in Entebbe in the middle of the night--we picked him up only after he'd been half eaten by mosquitoes and then drove straight to Mweya Safari Lodge--6 hours southwest. Travis is writing an article about them for his magazine so they were putting him up. Ben and I had intended to camp or stay in a hostel nearby but when we showed up the manager said they'd prepared a two room suite for Travis with plenty of room if we wanted to stay together. It was the first of surprising gifts during our week with my brother.

The last time we'd been this spoiled in Uganda was with Kimbal and Kellen at Paraa in Murchison Falls. Both times we thoroughly enjoyed the break, the luxury, the companionship of some of dear friends, and incredible beauty. Can I draw conclusions about a "trend" if I've only experienced it twice? I think this kind of beautiful experience has changed for me forever since coming to northern Uganda. The first time, I would've called it white-girl's guilt. This time, the change has matured into something more nuanced and difficult to express. Though a totally different experience--the only comparable emotion I can compare it to is the way that you feel in moments of love after you've deeply hurt and been hurt by your lover. There is a simplicity, gratitude and open hearted freedom when you're in love before you've ever hurt each other. After the first major injury--the relationship may be stronger, deeper, even better--but it's never the same because now you know how much it can hurt.
The Holy Week before Easter is a good time of reflection for these things. Between amazing food, swimming in the pool, enjoying the view, and the cool wind at dawn sticking our heads out of the jeep on game drives and watching lions--I had two of my favorite men to process with. I don't feel guilty for my full life--and I have a really full life. (though I try to be conscious of and avoid the ways my privelege can contribute to the injustice of others) But I don't feel as free to just be grateful for it because I'm kind of mad that not everyone has the same freedom. I feel loved by God but I'm not sure I would if I'd been born in an IDP camp or if I'd been raped or watched my family members decapitated. It's easy to say "thank you God" when I get to stay in a beautiful suite at a luxury safari lodge instead of camping in the rain--but I don't want God to be loving to me, I want him to be love. My life isn't in the middle of the sorrow of Good Friday. But that sorrow is a daily reality for a lot of people--and without the hope of redemption of Easter Sunday--I can't hold the belief that He is good and loving.

I confessed to Travis, sometimes I'm totally sure God is good and loving but maybe he just isn't trying. I get angry. I feel like I'm here--totally inadequate and working as hard as I can--and what is He doing? He could fix this tragic mess if he tried, and I can't--but at least I'm trying. This isn't really what I believe--it's how I honestly feel when I get discouraged. I have my sense of the problem of evil and I know what I think the answers to these questions are--but it's not where I operate from consistently. Being with family is healthy. It was a time of a strengthening faith. It reminds me where I've come from and makes me feel like I have roots that are still in tact. Somehow, the questions are easier to hold unanswered in my heart when they're voiced to someone who gets it, who doesn't judge, and who reminds me of the character I believe God has--that He wants a full life for every broken human being and to redeem the earth and everything in it. And we're on that day inbetween crucifixion and resurrection, groaning for redemption.
Easter Sunday we were back at home in Lira and sharing things that were new to Travis--like kasava. We got up late, ate a great breakfast, listened to a sermon online from Celebration, dug in the garden, and ran around the house looking for chocolate eggs that Ben surprised us with. The week with Travis was refreshing and wonderfully comfortable and natural. It seemed like he ought to just be able to come over every Saturday and hang out. Sharing what has become familiar to us in Uganda with him was so much fun. Doing life together and enjoying the ordinary as well as the awesome beauty was a gift we received gratefully. My parents just got our home videos from when we were kids put on DVD and sent them to us. So we got nostalgic watching younger versions of ourselves and marvelled at our parents' youthfulness, how totally adorable Tina was, and how much relationships change in 15 years.

Accepted Foreigner

by Holly
It’s been awhile since I’ve blogged. Partly, I think because I didn’t have any interesting photos to go along with what’s kept me busy. I thought about taking one of me and the team of people (Anthony, Sylvia, Charles, Godfrey, Ben) who were working on one of two intense proposals we’ve done this year. It would have had all of us gathered around a computer very late at night and pulling out our hair and gritting our teeth. The title would have been, “Is this Framework Really Logical?” But, like most people, I don’t bring my camera with me for long days of office work.

Finally, I’ve broken out of the office again. I’ve been in Gulu this week monitoring the office there with the Program Manager. Ben always teases me because I love meetings so much—and I really like trying to improve systems to manage and support and supervise our staff and programs. It’s so much fun—although I sometimes want something really concrete that I can point to and say that-that’s what I do and why I’m here. We had a conversation with a friend last night who (among many other things) has installed playground equipment at a water hole near our office. I ride past everyday on the way to work on my bike. There are always kids there laughing and playing. He said how encouraging that was. I’d like to have something like that—a daily reminder that what I’m doing makes a difference to somebody. I get moments. In Gulu I spent a few hours under a mango tree in a camp talking with community members that are in a committee that protect children’s rights. In the past month because of what they’ve done one kid is back in school, another that was neglected is getting medical treatment and a girl that was sexually abused is in a safe environment. That’s wonderful—but it doesn’t even scratch the surface of what’s facing kids in the camps.

Last week I joined the TOTs (Ben’s project) in Soroti to learn more about “Traditional and Religious Ways of Healing in Acholi and Lango.” I went to learn and to spend time with the facilitators and ask my burning questions. I’ve been reading and thinking a lot about traditional ways of reconciliation and restorative justice--an integral part of healing. The instructors for the training were the key people from the traditional leadership of Lango and Acholi. The discussions were remarkably honest and I was encouraged by how progressive those entrusted with the preservation of traditions are.

Sometimes I start to feel like I’ve really adjusted and know the people that I work with and for and then I get a window into something deeper—something that I will never be a part of and may never understand. I was reading a book (which I hope to post about soon) about the ICC. It’s insightful, but there were times when reading it when I thought to myself, “This author doesn’t really know people here.” He’s probably spent more time with them than the majority of researchers, but still, he doesn’t understand the world view. I said this to myself with a kind of smug self-congratulatory tone—until last week when I had to confess that I don’t really know people here either. There is so much that surprises me, that seems unreal, or that even when it’s translated and explained I just can’t understand.

Once after a session where the Acholi leader was describing how to read signs of impending success or failure before leaving on a journey (like which direction birds chirp from or which toe you stub first or whether you first meet a man or woman on the road) he came up to me and asked if we had similar things. The only thing I could think of was a black cat crossing your path, but I explained that was a superstition that we don’t take very seriously and in general we don’t know how to read the noises of animals and birds. He looked at me with disbelief and said, “Do you mean to say that you just do things blindly? You have no idea what is coming and don’t try to read the signs that are there for you!” He admitted though, sometimes the signs can really disrupt life. What do you tell your boss when you don’t go on a business trip because the morning you were meant to leave you stubbed your left toe instead of your right and met the opposite sex of your first born child when you walked down the street? I’ve never felt particularly blind, but maybe I am. Could it be that in the physical world there are messages that if interpreted could guide us in constructive ways and avoid danger?


One night we practiced Wang Oo a communal time of gathering around the fire at night. It’s a time to educate the young children, to tell stories and riddles, share local brew, dance, and “deceive the hunger” while you wait to eat supper. Though I sat as the women should slightly away from the fire (traditionally to avoid eye contact with men who might want an “appointment”) with bare feet on a grass mat and shelled g-nuts and told riddles—I felt very much a foreigner. I was taught a riddle so that I could share it. “Two birds crossed the sea.” The answer is “eyes.” I don’t understand. Apparently, that’s really hilarious—but I have no idea why. All night I laughed with our friends but mostly because I loved the shared joy. Whenever the jokes were translated (or even when they were simple enough for me to catch in Luo) I rarely understood why they were funny—but I was so happy to be an accepted member of the circle around the fire.

The Party Church

A package just came (I know those of you who put it together--you did it a long time ago!) from the family in the UK that had been forwarded from Celebration. And after about an hour of reading all the love sent out on 3x5 cards--we thought-we had to send out a HUGE THANK YOU! And thought, the internet not only tells you Celebration readers what we think, but everyone else on the world wide web that the party church is the most amazing community ever--truly, the way you support us in prayer and in action is a source of immense encouragement, strength, accountability, solidarity, hope, etc. etc. We are so happy that some of you will get to see our lives here pretty soon and experience Uganda for yourselves. (it seems like a couple more men would lead to greater gender balance, not to mention any names--cough...Jim P,ahem...Steve)

We really want to thank you for loving "the real and not the ideal" us. One of the great beauties of community is that in ways we can't fully imagine you are part of us and life here as we are part of you and life in Denver.

I was reading a book (thanks to Ryan) last week where the characters are looking at old map and reminded of a time when you could live without knowing where you were't living. Life in Uganda is good-we love what we're doing, our colleagues and friends, each other, the raw beauty/pain and freedom--but we have a constant awareness of where we aren't living--near you.

A Metaphorical Earthquake

A short blip by Ben:
Last weekend, Holly and I stayed up late working on a proposal. The 100+ page document had all of us at the head office working late hours. After going to bed at 1:00 am Sunday, I was woken up by a deep grone and shaking bed 2 hours later. I have never been in an earthquake, so in my sleepiness, I nudged Holly and told her to stop shaking the bed. When she didn't wake up, I realized that we were in an earthquake. The earthquake became a metaphor for my life last week. I felt unsettled.
Yesterday, the ground was pounded with hail for hours. It was particularly strange as Uganda is currently in the middle of the dry season.
Maybe these incredible natural occurances are trying to remind me of the huge forces at work in the world; that my "work" should be put into a larger perspective.

Soft Wood for Widows

Ben spent a week in Soroti training his crew on Childhood Development & Family Counselling and this week we were back in the same venue for Strategic Planning for CPA. The road between Lira and Soroti is horrendous, so I thought, rather than Ben coming back to Lira inbetween I'd go meet him there. We took a spontaneous trip south of Soroti near Mbale to a beautiful place called Sipi Falls and spent a day exploring three of the most beautiful waterfalls and a couple of caves. It's been too long for these two Coloradans since we went hiking and we were happy to put our feet back into our boots. It was good to relax together at the lodge overlooking cliffs, a deep valley and within earshot of one of the falls.

The waterfalls and caves were spectacular but so was everything else we walked past. The trees and flowers were equally stunning up close. This tree, we were told, is only for widows. No one else is allowed to cut it down for firewood. The wood is soft, and so they say it's easier for a woman who has no husband to do it for her to access firewood. It's always encouraging to learn ways that cultures and traditions have built in protection of vulnerable groups.

Beautiful Things

by Holly
Last night I had a conversation with someone at a goodbye party for yet another transient ex-pat friend (we’ve been here 14 months, and that’s longer than most people stay so we’ve had several waives of goodbyes already). We passed the small talk about our holidays and then she asked if it was hard to come back to Lira. I had a warm sense of joy because the answer is decidedly no. We spent two weeks in the UK at my parents place together with Travis and Tina and I needed it. Maybe “need” is too strong, but I found deep comfort from much that has disturbed my body soul and mind in the soft couches of my parents cozy living room, the food, the walks through the woods, conversations and prayer with wise parents and caring siblings in front of warm fires and in pubs, baking 6 kinds of Christmas cookies in a beautiful kitchen, going to bed without wrestling a mosquito net, feeling cold for the first time in over a year, even shopping was strangely comforting.

I liked looking at all the beautiful stuff I can live without. I appreciated all the material comforts of “home” and was happy to discover that I don’t need them but they’re there whenever I want to enjoy them. One morning I was drinking some thick Italian espresso out of adorable cups the appropriate size. My own set of equally adorable espresso cups are in a box somewhere in Ben’s parents basement and who knows when I’ll use them again. I thought of my cups and was about to tell my mom that I missed them when I realized that I didn’t--this was in fact the first time that I’d even thought of them since they were packed away. I am grateful for many things when they’re there to enjoy but I’m okay without them. That knowledge is freeing.

It’s good to be back. We were surprised by how easy it felt and how nice it was to come back to our house. It is good to see friends and colleagues again. While we were gone one died and one had a child. It is good to get back to work, to get started on new reconciliation opportunities I’ve been looking forward to. It was good to hang the wind chimes I bought in the UK on my porch, to sit in my living room and listen to them. It sounds like home.

Manufacture the Stars

by Holly
Philip met up with us in London for a New Year’s celebration. The night was, for me, a confluence of Ugandan life and the UK. I loved it and it made me laugh to have them both in the same place. The oddness of both get more pronounced. Classically Ugandan, Philip, we thought, would spend the day with us after we met up at King’s Cross but instead he’d found a fellow Ugandan and had other plans. He’d join us later—which he did along with three unexpected others who of course were related to or knew someone that we knew in Uganda. I love it that in Uganda everyone is welcome and invited everywhere and that plans or food or space are never limiting factors. For westerners we tend to think about the composition of a social gathering and plan it to avoid awkward combinations. That just wouldn’t happen here. We had a great evening with delicious cuisine prepared by my brother who became quite the chef since coming to the UK. We shared highlights of 2006 around the table with Tina, Travis, and friends Stephie and Tom.
Of course Philip came so late that he missed the meal but no one minded or apologized. When we told him to come for dinner he said, “Oh, I’ve learned that when you come to dinner here you’re supposed to bring your own drinks like a bottle of wine.” He told us this as if we would think that it was as socially bizarre as he did. I remember when we first got here and were surprised that no guest ever brought anything to share.

We watched the fireworks and had the count down into the New Year from Big Ben and the London Eye. It was an epoch moment to stand with two of my favorite men—my brother and my husband, to hold my sister’s hand and to share that experience with a friend from Uganda and see it through his eyes. Unlike all the Brits around us Philip couldn’t contain his awe and excitement—he cheered at the top of his lungs after each burst of fireworks. “Man has learned to manufacture the stars! God bless the world!” We all found ourselves cheering along with him and the experience was more full.

Re-entering the western world I was surprised by obvious things. First, there are a whole lot of white people. I haven’t seen so many in one place for a long time. I’ve kind of gotten used to being a minority. In England my skin didn’t feel so novel. On New Year’s Eve for a few minutes with Philip and company I was once again the token white.

In the UK there are very particular ways of doing everything--what utensils or dishes or glasses should be used in what context, and when you should or shouldn’t say certain things. It’s a little bit overwhelming when it seems like everyone already knows all the rules to the game and you’re expected to play without being privy to the instructions.

Another thing I noticed is that there is a lot of trash. Not in the street, like in Uganda—but just in general we make a lot more of it. Probably because we package everything and consume a lot. We westerners really like packages. You should note it next time you buy something—I’m sure it’s in a package—whatever it is. Many of them are so unnecessary but it makes it feel cleaner and somehow more special. With food it cuts down on preparation and clean up time a lot but it also makes the food seem further away and less real. I feel close to my food in Uganda. It’s very real and raw. All of life is real and raw and I like it like that. It makes me feel more real too.

There isn’t any dust in the UK, well maybe there is but it’s not red and it is probably from old books or dead skin cells and it isn’t from the earth. Although I enjoyed cooking in an immaculate kitchen with marble countertops and walking all day shopping on London streets without needing to wash my feet I have to say I have a new appreciation for dirt. Sometimes it gets annoying but it makes me feel closer to the earth, to my origin—not separated by layers of pavement and carpet and tile and marble. Life is dirty. Uganda gives me the freedom to acknowledge my dirt, because we’re all human beings walking down the same dusty streets together.

Soft

by Holly
When we got to my parents house this is what I saw when I walked in. I cried. I wasn’t sure why. It just looked so soft and beautiful and it felt like it was exactly the shape of the hole in my heart. It was one of those moments where you get a glimpse of the way life or home is supposed to be and most of the time it isn’t where we live. Where we live isn’t even a shadow of what should be. Maybe that’s true everywhere but in northern Uganda it feels particularly true. That’s not to say that everyone here should have a living room like the Randall family cottage but I do think that we all long for something that is there--comfort, beauty, a loving family that actually likes and looks forward to time together and is restored by it, shelter, safety, more than enough to eat, acceptance.

It broke my heart. Partly, because I miss it and partly because it seems impossible for the people of northern Uganda. And then at the same time those moments happen here too. Some are quiet and simple and others are more profound. I had a simple one yesterday when I walked home under a red sun after a meeting with the management team that was energized and full of common purpose. And then Ben and I sat on the front porch and watched the sun sink and talked about the day. I had a moment like that last year when I first saw Acholis dance. While they sweat and kicked up the red dust to the drums I thought, “this is what they were meant to do, this is how it’s supposed to be with the young people dancing and the children trying from the sides and the old people nodding and watching—they weren’t meant for this war, destruction, displacement and poverty.” But that moment happened right in the middle of it. In a way that’s comforting, because it means that whatever those moments are or whatever they reflect—the longing for home—the restoration of things to the way they should be—life at its fullest—they are more powerful and can’t be overcome by the most gruesome war, or by massive displacement or abject poverty. Human beings will still dance.