So, the holidays came and went and I kicked myself several times for not being at home with all the people I should’ve been with. I don’t know why I thought it would be okay to be away during this time of the year…I guess I just thought it would be nice to see how things were celebrated somewhere else. But the thing is, it’s hard to celebrate and be happy when you are so far from the people you love who you are used to being with on those occasions. We tried our best to make the most of it though…some of my other Western friends and I. We spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day until after lunch with 30 street boys from town at the education center. We had a nice big dinner on Christmas Eve with lots of music (I represented the Varleys by trying to get people to dance and it worked after a while), some games, presents (blankets for the boys) and some movies (Elf was my favorite). I remember sitting there during dinner and looking at all the boys so happy to have such a good meal and at once I was sad to be so far from my family, but so happy because if I couldn’t be at home, there was nowhere else that I’d rather be in that moment. It was certainly both different and special. Then on Christmas morning we got up really early to cook them breakfast (on a wood burning fuel efficient stove) and I took 6 of the boys to church which ended up being 3 hours long but really beautiful and relaxing. The way the women sing here is just so raw and natural and peaceful…and there were some children doing some dances as the women sang. I also had the pleasure of having one of my favorite little village boys sit on my lap the whole time since it was so crowded. His name is Devon and he is deaf and mute and sooooo smiley and cute! Oh, and I was asked to read the Second Reading in English…so I got up there and did my best to make my mom proud. After church, we returned to the center to help finish lunch preparations and eat before the boys went back to town. We know it might have only been 20 hours of warmth, security, comfort and love…but we hope that those 20 hours will stay with them for longer and continue to keep them warm inside in some sense.
After eating that lunch, Mamma Joyce (my favorite village woman who cooks the most delicious food at her restaurant) found me and took me to her house so that I know where she lives. But of course, having a guest in your house means you must feed them and give them something to drink. I tried to explain that I was sooooo full from just eating a big lunch, but she insisted I eat something. I forced down a few pieces of delicious meat and some matooke and then she whisked me off for a soda with her brothers. It was so wonderful to sit with them and be a part of the beginning of their family gathering, but unfortunately I couldn’t stay very long because I was supposed to be back at the center helping to clean up from the festivities!
Jami, my roommate and best friend here, and I made our way to the campsite to have a holiday beer and ended up running into Kristen, a new American friend and the three of us spent the entire day together. It was far from what we all wished we could be doing (celebrating at home with family and friends), but it was the best option we had, so we made the most of it. We had a delicious dinner with some other western friends, played some drunken and silly charades and then went out dancing too. So, although it was not like Christmas at all…it turned out to be a pretty good day.
The following day I went on my 10th trip down the Nile with a few friends who came in for rafting. It was the first time my heart really wasn’t in the trip, but it ended up being a great day…of course! On the 27th, I left to meet Jami, Kristen, Alex and Ade up north for a road trip around the countryside. The land up there is very different; it’s so gorgeous and remote and in so many ways untouched because of the years of war. We were so close to the Congo that sometimes we thought we may even be in it…but we were also pretty sure the border would be guarded with heavy security (or even some rebels). All the same, it was an adventure and beautiful; and so wonderful to see a different part of Uganda and remember why we are all here…not for the drama of life in Jinja, but for the people living in rural villages that all of the organizations we work with are trying to help.
We passed several IDP camps that would just pop up in the middle of nowhere…just bunches of huts piled into a small area, people living on top of each other. People are still living there away from their homes, passing their days in normal Ugandan ways: gathering water and wood, cooking, playing, sitting together. And as we passed each camp, I wished we could stop and sit with some of the people; talk with them…but I knew many of them would not welcome us (even though Ugandans are, by nature, very welcoming people). You can just tell as you drive by in the faces of the people that some of them are so happy to see you, but some of them wish they hadn’t seen you at all. And understandably so. They see us driving our vehicle through their little village for just a few seconds and having a quick glance into their lives; lives that they live every minute of every day from which they have very few chances of driving away. They see us and the color of our skin and they assume that our lives must be better, that we are more privileged than they are, that our lives must be easier. And you know what…they are right. I was never forced to leave my home and live in such close quarters with strangers for so many years. I have never had my family members killed or taken away and made into child soldiers. I have never gone to sleep at night worried that tomorrow might never come. And as is typical in all parts of Uganda, not just the north, we drove by at least a hundred people during our 15 hour road trip walking (probably for miles) with wood or water on their heads for cooking, produce for selling or such long bundles of grass that you couldn’t even see the girl’s head. And I have never had to do any of that either. Being up north for those 3 days made us all remember what we are here for in the first place. And for the first time, I did feel lazy. Some Ugandans I see on a daily basis (men) try to tell me that white people are lazy because we don’t carry water or washing on our heads; because we don’t wash our clothes by hand or on the rocks as African women do; because we don’t have 10 babies and still do all of that too (all things that women do, they never mention anything about African men). And I always argue that we are just different. We may not do those things…but that doesn’t make us lazy. We just grew up in a different way. And there are things that we do that I don’t see Ugandans doing…I don’t see them working 10-12 hour days multi tasking in front of a computer, answering the phone, writing contracts, meeting clients, etc. We are just different. But for those few days, I looked at the people (mostly the women) and I did feel lazy.
After eating that lunch, Mamma Joyce (my favorite village woman who cooks the most delicious food at her restaurant) found me and took me to her house so that I know where she lives. But of course, having a guest in your house means you must feed them and give them something to drink. I tried to explain that I was sooooo full from just eating a big lunch, but she insisted I eat something. I forced down a few pieces of delicious meat and some matooke and then she whisked me off for a soda with her brothers. It was so wonderful to sit with them and be a part of the beginning of their family gathering, but unfortunately I couldn’t stay very long because I was supposed to be back at the center helping to clean up from the festivities!
Jami, my roommate and best friend here, and I made our way to the campsite to have a holiday beer and ended up running into Kristen, a new American friend and the three of us spent the entire day together. It was far from what we all wished we could be doing (celebrating at home with family and friends), but it was the best option we had, so we made the most of it. We had a delicious dinner with some other western friends, played some drunken and silly charades and then went out dancing too. So, although it was not like Christmas at all…it turned out to be a pretty good day.
The following day I went on my 10th trip down the Nile with a few friends who came in for rafting. It was the first time my heart really wasn’t in the trip, but it ended up being a great day…of course! On the 27th, I left to meet Jami, Kristen, Alex and Ade up north for a road trip around the countryside. The land up there is very different; it’s so gorgeous and remote and in so many ways untouched because of the years of war. We were so close to the Congo that sometimes we thought we may even be in it…but we were also pretty sure the border would be guarded with heavy security (or even some rebels). All the same, it was an adventure and beautiful; and so wonderful to see a different part of Uganda and remember why we are all here…not for the drama of life in Jinja, but for the people living in rural villages that all of the organizations we work with are trying to help.
We passed several IDP camps that would just pop up in the middle of nowhere…just bunches of huts piled into a small area, people living on top of each other. People are still living there away from their homes, passing their days in normal Ugandan ways: gathering water and wood, cooking, playing, sitting together. And as we passed each camp, I wished we could stop and sit with some of the people; talk with them…but I knew many of them would not welcome us (even though Ugandans are, by nature, very welcoming people). You can just tell as you drive by in the faces of the people that some of them are so happy to see you, but some of them wish they hadn’t seen you at all. And understandably so. They see us driving our vehicle through their little village for just a few seconds and having a quick glance into their lives; lives that they live every minute of every day from which they have very few chances of driving away. They see us and the color of our skin and they assume that our lives must be better, that we are more privileged than they are, that our lives must be easier. And you know what…they are right. I was never forced to leave my home and live in such close quarters with strangers for so many years. I have never had my family members killed or taken away and made into child soldiers. I have never gone to sleep at night worried that tomorrow might never come. And as is typical in all parts of Uganda, not just the north, we drove by at least a hundred people during our 15 hour road trip walking (probably for miles) with wood or water on their heads for cooking, produce for selling or such long bundles of grass that you couldn’t even see the girl’s head. And I have never had to do any of that either. Being up north for those 3 days made us all remember what we are here for in the first place. And for the first time, I did feel lazy. Some Ugandans I see on a daily basis (men) try to tell me that white people are lazy because we don’t carry water or washing on our heads; because we don’t wash our clothes by hand or on the rocks as African women do; because we don’t have 10 babies and still do all of that too (all things that women do, they never mention anything about African men). And I always argue that we are just different. We may not do those things…but that doesn’t make us lazy. We just grew up in a different way. And there are things that we do that I don’t see Ugandans doing…I don’t see them working 10-12 hour days multi tasking in front of a computer, answering the phone, writing contracts, meeting clients, etc. We are just different. But for those few days, I looked at the people (mostly the women) and I did feel lazy.
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