It's Always the Small Things

Catch up

2012-02-02T06:52:00.001-05:00

I'm so embarrassed. Never in my history of blogging have I gone a whole month without a single post. I'm so ashamed to look at my blog archive and there's not even the option to click on January because according to my blog, it didn't exist.

Oops.

Trust me, the silence does not mean that life hasn't been happening. Oh my, has life been happening. There's actually been so much life happening and so many thoughts running through my brain that I actually couldn't sit down to sort through them and write them coherently. With all the joys and anxieties and questions happening over the last couple of months, even my journal remains untouched. Geeeez, Dani!

So, the whirlwind tour of the last two months of my life:

I went home. It was awesome and it was a whirlwind. My sister had a beautiful baby boy, named Mason and I took a "best of America" tour for 3 weeks to see my favorite people, eat my favorite food, and partake in my favorite wintertime activities. I also started planning a wedding. (!!) Read on.

Dinner with Amanda and Kristen in Chicago - Uganda friends!

Sunrise over our pond

Tea party with my sister and niece

Christmas tree shopping with Dad

Indiana

Tea with Lola and Grandma and Mom

Eric decorating the Christmas tree

ice skating

The Cates family, with new baby and even a baby doll for Morgan

With Baby Mason - my new nephew!

The whole Walker clan

I went to Turkey. Eric typically does some sort of adventure over Christmas, since most Ugandans head back to their villages for about a month and our office closes. So on our way back to Uganda from the U.S. we took a long layover in Turkey and backpacked around for about a week. Thanks to Mom and Dad's Christmas cash, we were able to explore this unique country that finds itself literally situated between the east and the west. Turkey, which straddles two continents geographically, also provides a nice blend of European and Middle Eastern culture. Delicious food, great sights, wonderful trip.

Sea gulls with Istanbul in the background

Inside the Blue Mosque

Hagia Sofia

Feeding pigeons in Istanbul

Pomegranate juice vendor

Kebap stand

Outside our hostel

Ephesus

Hot air balloons over Cappadocia

Hot air balloon ride

Hiking the white valley at Cappadocia

I got engaged. Eric popped the big question on January 14th and put a perfect little diamond ring on my finger when we returned to Uganda. Having talked about it before we went back to the states, we knew when we'd like to get married, so I took the initiative to start the crucial planning details while I was at home. But many things still remained a surprise, and he did a great job. Read the full story.

Engaged :)

2 groomsmen and a bridesmaid

the ring

I got back to work. January was a slow start to the office, especially for our homes, since many of the kids are just now returning to the homes after spending the holidays with any remaining family. They go back to school in the next couple of weeks and things are getting into full swing! We've welcomed some new kiddos into our homes are putting some of the older ones into vocational schools. I continue to be reminded every day how much I love my job and enjoy my work. I'm looking forward to all of the kids getting back so I can go and visit them soon.

To follow my life in Uganda more closely, please take a gander at my blipfoto page every now and again. I post a picture each day and it will probably help to get a better grasp on life in Uganda, my friends, my work, and boring and unusual events that life provides.

2011-12-25T09:12:00.000-05:00

I'm so glad to be home for Christmas, but I'm also thinking of my kids and coworkers in Uganda!

Phases

2011-12-22T00:28:00.001-05:00

On June 10, 2009, I sat in a hospital room with my sister, her husband, my mother, and my first baby niece, Morgan. This was the first grandchild in our family and she was getting all the attention she deserved as soon as her conception was announced. As our family sat in the room doting over this tiny little newborn life and doing anything we could to help my sister, I received an unexpected phone call. When I answered, a friend of mine was on the other line. I had lived with her a couple years earlier in an intern house in Washington, D.C. while we were both working on Capitol Hill. For the past couple of weeks, we had been playing phone tag, trying to catch up on each others' lives. I was anxious to step out of the room for a few minutes and see what was going on with her, but as soon as she started speaking, it was clear that this wasn't a call to just shoot the breeze. During our summer together in D.C. I learned of her mother's struggle with cancer and she called me that morning to tell me that her mother had ended her long battle just hours earlier.

I had no idea what to say. A year and a half later I was able to meet up with her in D.C. and she told me again about her mother's death, seemingly forgetting that I was the first one she told about it that day, so I guess it didn't matter what I said. In that moment, I'm sure it doesn't really matter. She was right in the midst of raw grief at the exact same time I was in the midst of pure elation. What a strange dichotomy of emotions! What an incredibly weird experience to switch my emotions from the joy of birth to the grief of death!

Again, three weeks ago, I received a text message from my mother telling me that my sister's second child - a boy this time - was expected to come along at any hour or day. Although I was still in Uganda and wished to be home for the birth, I was anxiously awaiting more news about the birth of my first nephew. The next day, I wandered around a popular craft exhibition and ran into a friend. We began talking about our days and he updated me about a woman from his work and church who he saw that day and who is fighting cancer and was expected to go at any hour or day.

And there it was again - that strange confrontation of birth and death, of coming and going, of the different phases of life that we are all experiencing.

I've been at home now for 2 weeks and within my "Best of America" tour, I've gotten to see many of my favorite people who have impacted me in some way throughout my life. I've sat down with a couple of family members in order to gather family stories for a personal compilation. I've looked through pictures of my childhood, seeing them through my mother's eyes and wandering if she ever expected life to turn out how it is now when she was in a younger phase of life.

Tonight I cleaned out my closet - cleaning it out for the next phase of my life. I find it rather hard to throw away clothes because each garment has a story of its own from a different phase in my life. This dress I wore at my high school graduation party. This shirt I wore when I used to show cattle. This shirt I wore to support my old boyfriend. These pants I got that one time while shopping with my mom and sister. Cleaning those things out is like letting go of different phases of my life and acknowledging that life is changing.

As I reflect on all of these tidbits of life, it's again reaffirmed that we indeed only have one shot at each phase. There is only one phase of life when we get to be parents, one phase when we struggle through change, one phase when we are in high school, one time that we are young and free and one time that we are aged and knowledgeable. What a shame to waste one of these phases when it only passes by once.

The year of 2011 was a year of a lot of learning and growth for me. I felt more self-aware than at any other time in my life, meaning that I learned a lot about my strengths and most especially about my weaknesses. Growing and learning can be a struggle and it can be fun. It was both in 2011. My goal for 2012 is to recognize that short phase of struggle and to build upon it. This year I want to surround myself with beautiful people, with inspirational messages, with encouraging words. I want to emanate more joy, although I know it doesn't always come naturally for me. I only have one shot at 2012, so I hope to do my best at making it a joyful year.

One thing that has really helped me appreciate the beauty and uniqueness of every day is my personal project to take a photo each day. You can see these pictures at: http://www.blipfoto.com/DaniLynn Add me to your Google reader!

P.S. I was able to make it home for my nephew's birth! Here are a few pictures:

Me and newborn Mason!

The whole family. Morgan got her own baby to care for while Mommy cares for baby Mason

Morgan and Mason

The little one

Alice

2011-11-18T05:19:00.001-05:00

Last week I timidly ducked into the small door in a metal gate to enter a compound near Lubiri Secondary School. There were teenage girls milling about in the sunshine, some curving their backs to reach a basin on the ground where they scrubbed their laundry clean and others giggling near a few pots of boiling beans. I approached one young girl and asked her for Alice, one of the girls whom HALO has supported since they first came to Uganda. "Who?" she asked. "Alice Namagembe. Does she stay here?" "Oh yes, but she's at the school studying. You sit here and we will get her."

Of course she's studying, I thought, as I took a seat on the simple wooden bench sprinkled with raindrops. It was two days before Alice started her S6 exams, the biggest exams for any student in Uganda which will summarize their entire collection of knowledge through primary school, ordinary level and advanced level secondary school and will determine their future. The scores determine which university and program students will be admitted into and the top scorers in the country are chosen for government scholarships. Of course Alice is studying. Alice has consistently been at the top of her class in school, always scoring well in each of her exams. We have no doubt that this time will be any different.

As I waited for Alice's friend to find her, I thought back to the first time I met Alice. She was on holiday from school, so Asiimwe, our accountant, and I met her at her Auntie's house in Lubiri's slum. Alice's parents had died, so her Aunt Margaret has since cared for Alice and her four younger siblings despite her worsening health and limited means. Kampala is a city of hills, with the nicest, posh homes at the peaks and the slums tucked away in the valleys. Alice's slum was in one of these valleys. Asiimwe and I dismounted from our taxi and weaved between tightly erected rooms and stepped around the flowing sewage streams emanating from public latrines until we came to a small place with mud chipping away from the bamboo frame of Margaret's home. We were warmly invited inside her damp and poorly lit room, given a place to sit on the bed, and chatted away with Margaret and Alice. The family's belongings were piled up in one corner with the bed pushed against the opposite wall. In the three square feet of free floor space, a baby slept undisturbed by her visitors. Once we were settled and greetings and small talk were complete, Margaret thanked us endlessly for HALO's support of Alice and humbly asked if there was any more money to support Alice's siblings. As we talked with her, Alice picked up the baby who was beginning to fuss and took her outside for some fresh air. Asiimwe and Margaret then told me the story of how Alice, when coming home from school one day, heard a baby girl crying in a dumpster and, filled with compassion, rescued her and brought her home, nursing her to health with Margaret's help. I sat in disbelief. Margaret, an old mzee woman in poor health herself, already raising 4 nieces and nephews in a tiny room in the slums, somehow made room in her heart and home for one more baby girl; and Alice knew she had no choice but to save the little girl, whom she named Gloria. That was my first impression of Alice.

Alice, Baby Gloria, and Auntie Margaret

Back at the dorm compound, I finally saw Alice's face peeking around the corner and when we met eyes, she lit up and spread her arms out to me for a huge hug. She quickly took my hand and led me to a place where we could catch up. She apologized for making me wait and explained that she was starting exams that coming Monday, so she was buried in her books studying. I handed her a black plastic bag with mango juice, pound cake, and an apple inside, instructing her to eat it on the morning of her exams to make sure she was alert and ready. Alice asked about Asiimwe, about my bosses, Lacy and Rebecca. She asked about my parents and my job. I asked her about her friends, her auntie, her baby, and her siblings. We chatted away as fast as we could. Gloria was fine, about to turn 3 in February. Auntie Margaret was in poor health, but was doing the best she could until she could afford treatment. Alice's birthday was coming up on December 3rd, when she would turn 19.

Soon, the conversation turned to the future. I had come with news for Alice. I don't tell most children the nitty-gritty details about donors and money, but Alice is different. Alice's maturity level was far past that of her comrades, and I felt that I could talk to her as an understanding adult, so I began: "Alice, we thought that we had a donor who wanted to support you through university, but the person we thought could support you no longer can." Her shining face never melted. Her eyes kept looking at me with expectation, but no disappointment, so I went on. "But I don't want you to even think about it. I want you to put all of your energy into your exams. Let me worry about your university because, trust me, I'm going to do everything in my power to get you there." She nodded and smiled back at me with a look of complete trust. She emanated a deeper peace and joy that I envied. She didn't require any more explanation, but simply responded with, "Ok, auntie" as she tightened her hand on mine. I inquired about the degree she wanted to pursue at Makerere University, one of East Africa's largest colleges, and she told me about her dream to get a bachelor's degree in Commerce and a minor in Procurement "so I can be an accountant, like Uncle Asiimwe," she said as her smiled broadened and her perfectly straight teeth shined through.

In that moment, I couldn't help but dream for Alice. Here was a girl who came from some of the most difficult conditions and somehow, somehow, held onto her vision. This girl showed only love and gratitude to her family, to HALO, to babies she decided to rescue and raise, and she has never lost sight of her potential. I hear a lot of kids' dreams that I know will never be realized. When a street boy tells me that he wants to be a doctor, I write it off as a cute idea, knowing it will likely never happen. But with Alice, I couldn't help but dream for her. Suddenly I realized something: "Alice," I quipped, "I've decided to stay in Uganda for at least 5 more years..." She interrupted my train of thought with a burst of excitement, but I continued to talk. "...that means that I will be here to see you graduate from university! I'm going to be here when you get your first job!" "Wow, Auntie," she said as she took my dreams for her and ran with it, "and then I'll be able to buy my auntie a new house and a car and will be able to pay school fees for all of my siblings." And I couldn't help but add, "And you are going to travel the world!" We both sat with huge smiles, eyes sparkling back at each other and our dreams in the clouds. I had to admire that her dreams for herself were not really about herself. "My whole family is looking to me like I'm their savior..." she explained as we talked about girls going to university, but losing focus in their studies and often getting pregnant or married too soon. "...so I can't lose focus."

Alice in front of her dorm at school

She went on to tell me all about her plans in university. She explained that she wanted to take evening classes so that she could get a job during the daytime to start supporting her family's basic needs. I thought back to the struggle I have faced with our scholarship program since I've been here, which provides funding to put some of our other kids into basic vocational schools. I once mentioned to the other coordinators the idea to make it a requirement for the kids to have a job while in school in order to receive the scholarship. The coordinators laughed me off and told me that kids in school never want to get a job, often thinking that it's "below them." Sure enough, I've seen time and again how the kids will refuse to split their attention between studies and a job. To be honest, we have to force most kids to even think about the year ahead and which course they want to pursue. I had all but given up on this idea of a job in school for our kids, so it was revolutionary for me to hear this in Alice's plans, clearly well-thought out long ago and not unreasonable.

"The hostels (dorms) are too expensive," she went on to tell me, "so I will stay with my auntie." Again, my thoughts sidetracked me and I thought about the conditions of that place. Alice was currently in boarding school because it was too difficult for her to study well from her aunt's home. I asked her if she could study well from there and she admitted that it's not easy with the leaky roof, no electricity, and 6 other crammed into a single room, but she had to make due with what she could.

It's fairly obvious that Alice is an incredible exception. How people like her form a vision and move toward it when everything in life dictates otherwise, will forever be unknown to me. Simply because of my job, she looked up to me and I knew that I had to leave her with a word of encouragement although she could clearly teach me much more about life than I had to offer her. Before getting up to leave, I told her that when her goals are genuinely based on love and good intentions, there will always be a way. I truly believe that God can't refuse a soul's desire for resources only to show love to someone else, and I told her that. I told her that people will always see her dreams to love others and when they see that, they, like me, will always want to do anything possible to help her realize her dream. I believe that's what happened when the Lily Endowment Scholarship board decided to pay for my university fees and it's why I meant what I said when I told her I would do everything in my power to get her through university. Her dreams are based in love and compassion. God can't refuse that. And neither can I.

So I want to start a fund for Alice's university. From our best estimates, it will cost about $7,000 for Alice's tuition, boarding fees, and other needs. Small donations help. Little contributions add up. Her entire college costs aren't even half of a single year at a state school in the U.S., so I know we can raise this. Please contact me if you'd like to contribute or pass this post on to someone who you think would like to help. There are countless kids whose needs I see every day that I could appeal for. I never do this. But this is different. Alice is different. Alice is the doctor on the battlefield. If you fix the doctor's wounds, she can save so many others. I know that if we get her through college, she won't just help her family, but will be a leader for her country.

Me and Alice

The path in front of me

2011-11-07T02:33:00.000-05:00

A few months ago, my heart was truly heavy from the realization that I would have to leave my job. I kept checking myself on my intentions, and I KNEW that I had the right reasons to stay. It was the community within Cornerstone, the genuine friendships I have formed through my work, the growth I've experienced in this position, and the deep, deep feeling that I am right where I'm supposed to be, like this was made for me. I wrote a wholehearted piece about my deep desire to stay in Uganda and continue my work. I said:

"The fact is, I don't want to leave. I want this. I want to do what I'm doing, but even more. I want to see through these relationships and these visions. I want to stay and continue.

The other fact is, I have to leave. I need an income. I need a savings. I probably need something new to push me in another area of growth."

After that post, I grudgingly admitted that it was likely not going to happen - that I couldn't stay with Cornerstone and the best I could do was look for another job in Kampala, still staying in touch as best as possible with my friends in Cornerstone and the kids and mentors I work with. I felt like nothing else would ever be as well suited for me, but I told myself that it's for the better and it will be a good way to get more practical experience.

Just over a month after that particular post, a friend of Cornerstone's came to visit. He and his wife have come to visit Cornerstone every year for over 20 years, remaining intimately connected with the vision and the people who make it all happen. On his last day in town, I scampered out of fellowship early to pick up my roommate at the airport and we scrambled to the shopping mall to grab a bite to eat and catch each other up on our lives over the past month while she was at home. Standing outside the supermarket, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket, and I pulled it out to read the message.

Five years ago I received a phone call telling me that I received a scholarship and wouldn't have to pay for my college tuition. I distinctly remember breaking out in a cold sweat, backing up against a wall, and sinking to the floor. In that moment, I felt thankfulness beyond description and a freedom to pursue my dreams. This was something like that. I read the text. In fewer words, it told me that I would get to stay, that the visiting friend wanted to help support me. I would get to continue my work. I no longer had to face the heart wrenching reality of leaving because there was a place for me here to pursue even more of my passions. This time I didn't sweat and sink to the ground, but a squealed and leaped and shoved my phone into Julie's face, forcing her to celebrate with me.

The next Monday I was able to learn some details, which I would love to share with you: In July, when the next HALO ambassador arrives in Kampala, I'll be staying here with her. She will take over my current responsibilities while I will continue working with the homes, but with all of Cornerstone's homes, not just those supported by HALO. I'll also be exploring ways to work with the young women of Cornerstone, learning about the issues they face and working with others to address these issues. Lastly, I will help coordinate the visitors of Cornerstone.

It's truly perfect. I really could not have come up with a better job description for myself if I had tried. I get to continue with my work in the Youth Corps program, dive in with future women leaders in Uganda, and guide the experiences of young visitors, all of which I'm incredibly passionate and excited about. The worry and anxiety over my future suddenly worked itself out in a single text message. Just like that, everything was great.

Now, of course, this raises a few more questions. I made the mistake of breaking the news to my mom over text message, only to get the motherly response of, "Does that mean you're staying there indefinitely?"

Oops. Sorry, Mom. I guess there are better ways to break that news.

But the answer is a yes. Yes, I'll be here indefinitely. I've made a commitment of 5-8 more years, which I feel is the most I can commit at this point, but could extend depending on how life happens.

So now I'm a real grown up, soon to have a paying job and, increasingly, a life plan. This all means that I don't have to view my friendships with a deadline in mind, that I don't have to wonder how the things that I've poured my energies into will turn out. I get to pursue things without an end date, and that all takes a huge, unexplainable paradigm shift:

I have what I've always wanted. I'm staying. My life is happening. Whoa. Is this for sure where I want to go? Yes, of course. But I can't turn back now. No more hopping around and exploring my future. This is it. This is my path. I guess that means I have to sell my car. And my 4-wheeler. Sad. And set up another bank account. And make this my life, my real life. That means I'm going to bring over the rest of my clothes I left at home and my favorite books, and even some decorations from my room at home. It's all happening. This is the path I've been searching for, and it's here, right in front of me. I've asked myself one more time if this is what I want, nodded an affirmative, taken a gulp, and stepped forward into this commitment. I'm ready.

Mengo home profile

2011-11-02T03:03:00.000-04:00

The Mengo home is based in Kampala, Uganda and currentlysupports 22 girls. The Mengo homereaches out to girls who have nowhere else to turn – many are orphaned, comefrom highly dysfunctional families, or were abused or abandoned. The home provides these girls with a lovingenvironment to provide for their needs as well as nurture them into responsibleand successful young women. The mentorsliving with the girls provide them a family-like environment and guide themthrough their lives by teaching them weekly precepts and facilitatinginvolvement in the community through service projects.

Besides providing these girls with shelter, food, water,clothing, medical care, and an education, the Mengo girls also take part inmany expressive opportunities such as traditional dance, capoeira, and breakdance lessons, drama therapy, and handicrafts. The girls often perform song and dance at local churches as well.

Featured child: Joy

Joy

Joy is 10 years old. Her mother abandoned her on the side ofthe road. They were traveling, and her mother told her that she would be backbut never returned. Joy did not knowwhat to do until she was eventually brought into the Mengo Home. She knows her mother’s name but does not knowwhere she is. Joy is one of the mostactive and social girls in the home. Sheis very athletic and is an excellent dancer. She loves any performing arts, such as dancing, singing, andsports. She seems to embrace and loveeveryone and is therefore very well-liked by her friends.

We're crazy!

mentor and mentee studying together

Drina and her artwork

Sumaya, Scovia, and Joy

Little Winnie

Funny faces

Makerere home profile

2011-10-31T07:59:00.001-04:00

The Makerere home is based in Kampala, Uganda and currentlysupports 25 boys. Makerere serves as arehabilitation home for older boys who have spent time living on thestreets. Many of these boys are rough,having survived by stealing, selling scraps, or begging, and have facedhostility from police and society in general. The boys are driven to the streets for a variety of reasons, the mostcommon being dysfunctional families. They often come into the home with tough attitudes and addictions todrugs, but Makerere home provides them with a loving but independentenvironment that provides for their basic needs. Once the boys have reached a level ofstability, they attend school or a vocational institute. Mentors live with the Makerere boys in orderto guide them in a better way to live, teach them leadership skills, andcounsel them through life’s difficulties. Makerere home strives to reconnect the boys with their families andfacilitate reconciliation while transforming the boys into leaders for theircommunities.

The boys in Makerere home are providing housing, food,water, education, clothing, and many opportunities for artisticexpression. They have weekly lessons incapoeira and breakdance and many of the boys have formed a music group wherethey write and perform their own songs to encourage other street boys and showthem that there is a way out of their situation.

Featured child: Charles


Charles

Charles was born in Congo where his father was a soldier anddied in the war. His mother migrated toa refugee camp in Uganda and at the age of 8 he was brought to Kampala to livewith his aunt. The situation was notgood, so he ran away to live on the streets for 4 years. Thugs and policemenused to torture him at night on the streets and everyone assumed that becausehe was a street boy, he was a thief. Hestruggled to find food, a place to sleep, and care for his health until afellow street boy directed him to Makerere home. He accepted because he was tired of streetlife. Charles is now one of the brightestand most talented boys in the home. Hedoes very well in school and wants to become a journalist or a musician. He writes his own rap songs and is anexcellent break dancer. He has a verycaring spirit and sets a wonderful example to the other boys in the home.

Henry with his portrait drawn by a high school student in Indiana

Michael playing checkers

practicing capoeira

Charles and Saddam rapping

Ali breakdancing

Connia

Gulu Girls home profile

2011-10-23T06:23:00.000-04:00

The Gulu Girls home is based in northern Uganda andcurrently supports 18 girls. The Gulu areafaced over twenty year of brutal violence from the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA)and is now recovering from the many atrocities it faced over the last twodecades. The war left many childrenorphaned and traumatized as they saw their families killed or were forced bythe rebels to be either soldiers or sex slaves. The Gulu home hopes to contribute to the rehabilitation of northernUganda by providing a group of girls in need with a family-like environment, aneducation for a promising future, and mentoring on how to become women ofcharacter and leaders in their community as it rebuilds.

The Gulu girls are provided food, water, education, andmedical care along with guidance, love, and support. They have learned how to make handicraftssuch as loofas, placemats, and rugs and they enjoy taking lessons intraditional dance.

Featured child: Sina

Sina

Sina’s father died when she was very young and her motherbecame sick and died shortly after. Heryounger brother also died. Her unclethen decided to take care of her and her sisters and paid her school fees untilfourth grade, when they were living in IDP camps at the height of the LRAinsurgency. She came into Gulu home andis now in high school. Her favoritesubjects are science and English. Sinais very shy, but is very liked by all her friends. She loves to sing and has a beautiful voice.

Innocent and Stella


Stella and Winnie

Funny faces

Innocent

Kevin

Media Mayhem

2011-10-19T17:33:00.000-04:00

There's a lot of news circulating in the US about Uganda lately and if you haven't heard anything, allow me to briefly fill you in:

President Obama announced this week that he is sending 100 US troops to Uganda to help catch Joseph Kony, ringleader of the Lord's Resistance Army (LRA). The LRA has brutally terrorized northern Uganda for the past 20 years and have now moved their madness into DR Congo, South Sudan, and the Central African Republic. A simple google of "LRA" will bring up stories and images of the horror this fanatical group has brought to Central Africa. Child soldiers, sex slaves, massacres, cutting of ears, lips, and limbs, rape, and burning homes generally summarizes their methods. Northern Uganda has just begun to recover from their reign of terror, and I know of multiple organizations and friends in Gulu, a town particularly affected by the insurgency, who are contributing to the rebuilding of the community. One of the most well-known of these groups, Invisible Children, provides some insight on the conflict on their website. I'm also proud to say that Cornerstone has two homes in Gulu - one for girls and one for boys - that provides safe havens for a few of the children affected by the LRA.

I've talked with the children in our homes, the kids whose lives have been drastically altered thanks to Kony and the LRA. One boy was captured and forced to fight as a soldier when he was young. One of our girls' parents died in their burning house and another girl was forced to carry supplies for the rebels to the Sudanese border, being raped all along the way. There's no question of the unthinkable, horrific crimes the LRA has committed throughout central Africa. The stories aren't hard to find and are well-documented.

Now, fortunately, the LRA no longer poses a serious threat to Uganda, so it is suspicious that Obama has just now decided to send help, when Uganda is preparing for its first round of oil production. However, the US has previously been involved in assisting Ugandan forces to catch Kony, with no results to show for it, thanks to a corrupt military system. Uganda also has peacekeeping troops in Somalia, fighting a conflict that the US has run far away from after the Black Hawk Down episode in 1993. So it is contentious whether Obama's troops were sent to protect Ugandan citizens from the LRA or to stay on Uganda's good side for 1) their oil and 2) to continue using their troops as proxies in a cause that we refuse to fight ourselves.

Read the two opinions on the sending of troops here and here.

The point of this blog, however, is not to contend whether or not the troops should be sent to Uganda. Whether it's in our national interests or is a worthy cause is not my point. What irks me more than anything is an incredibly ignorant media message from Rush Limbaugh, practically advocating for the LRA, which you can read here.

Limbaugh's argument against sending troops to Uganda hinges not on national interests nor on protecting innocent civilians. In fact, it seems that he knows nothing about these two sides of the argument. Unfortunately, he focuses only on the fact that Kony calls himself a Christian and Obama is choosing to fight a "Christian" group. Clearly, Limbaugh failed to even google the LRA before setting off on his rant about how Obama's decision is wrong that was broadcast nationwide and has no doubt affected thousands of peoples' opinions. The only fact he knows is that the LRA call themselves Christians, so he immediately decided to justify their cause and demonize Obama for choosing to fight them. How can someone so prevalent in our media, someone with such a wide following, choose to be so ignorant, so shallow minded? The thousands of mothers who were raped, children who were forced to hold a gun and kill their own families, and the fathers who were forced to stand by and see their children abducted have stood in shock at Limbaugh's advocacy for the "Christian" LRA. It's clear that his only objective in this speech is to turn people against Obama, regardless of how much he twists the facts and I don't think it's hard to recognize that he's attempting to appeal to the conservative Christian right to turn them against Obama.

This isn't a political or religious statement for me. I'm not claiming to support Obama or the Christian right. This is simply a plea to all of my readers to be careful of the media that we consume. Unfortunately, this isn't the first time I've seen American national media deform the truth and spit out a mountain of lies simply to advance personal agendas. People whom I respect and causes that I love have been hurt by such actions and it makes my stomach turn. It's we who choose what media to consume, so I beg you to choose wisely and check your facts. Don't believe everything you hear. It matters to the world.

Dear Mr. Limbaugh: Evelyn's Appeal from Strongheart on Vimeo.

Lungujja home profile

2011-10-18T06:05:00.000-04:00

The Lungujja home is based in Kampla, Uganda and currentlysupports 19 girls. This home reaches outto young girls who have been trapped in situations of sexual exploitation,either to provide for their families, raise money for school fees, or becausethey no longer know of another option. Once they come to the Lungujja home, the girls are welcomed into a closefamily environment where they live with mentors who guide them to becomeleaders in their families and communities. The girls are taught moral precepts each week and participate incommunity service regularly.

Every girl in Lungujja home attends school or a vocationalinstitute and is working towards a bright future. Beyond providing the basics of food, water,clothing, education, and medical care, the girls have many opportunities forcreative expression. They have formed atraditional dance group that performs at churches and weddings, they takecapoeira and break dance lessons, and they make their own beaded jewelry fromrecycled paper.

If you would like to read more about the issue of child sexworkers in Kampala, which is the target demographic for the Lungujja home,please refer to this article in the Daily Monitor, a Ugandan newspaper. http://www.monitor.co.ug/News/National/-/688334/1205920/-/bl3rvuz/-/index.html

Irene

Featured child: Irene

Irene’s mother was her father's second wife and when herfather died, he left everything to the first wife, so they had a very difficulttime making a living. A friend told herabout jobs that involved sleeping with men in order to make a living andsupport her family, but men often refused to pay her. She began to go to a churchseminary in her village with her grandmother and met a man from the church whoshe confided in and who promised to help her, and she was eventually connectedto the Lungujja home. Irene is nowfinishing her vocational program in cosmetology, provided by HALO’sscholarship. She has learned many skillsin hairdressing and beauty therapy. Irene is a very mature and likeable girl who has a unique learningattitude and is always ready to help those around her.

Sadrine

Viola

Aisha and Esther

The girls receive their portraits drawn by Indiana high school students

traditional dance

Annet dances

Amina cooks beans while rolling paper beads

Annet shows her paper beads

Viola

Christine

Sharon

Bukesa Home profile

2011-10-04T06:52:00.002-04:00

I know I've mentioned each of the homes I work with, but maybe I've never fully explained the character and intention behind each home. I'll be featuring a different home in each post, to give you a glimpse into our work here in Uganda. Today, I'm profiling the Bukesa Boys Home

The Bukesa home is based in Kampala, Uganda and currentlysupports 25 boys. Bukesa serves as arehabilitation home for younger boys who have lived on the streets, sometimesfor many years. Young, rough boys fromthe streets are transformed into leaders with integrity. The Bukesa home aims to rehabilitate the boysand resettle them back into society where they can contribute to their familiesand communities rather than become a burden on society.

The boys are not only provided the necessities of food,water, clothing, education, and medical care, but they are provided afamily-like setting where they live with mentors who train them on a better wayto live. The boys participate incommunity service, learn weekly precepts and principles to incorporate intotheir daily life, and are trained to become leaders in their communities. HALO also provides the Bukesa boysopportunities for creative expression through breakdance, acrobats, capoeira,and visual arts. The boys are alsolearning agriculture skills and self-sustainability by raising chickens andgrowing their own vegetables.

Featured child: Abdu

Abdu

Abdu never knew his mother and father. He lived with his aunt who told him that shetook him from his mother after she tried to kill him at age 2 when his fatherleft. He was found living on the streetsof Kibuli before being taken into the home where he was living by sellingscraps. Abdu is now one of the brightestboys in the home and is always at the top of his class. Although he often sits alone to read, he isalso very social and energetic and loves playing with his peers.

Mark

Moses

yikes!

playing in the rain

Bukesa boys in front of the home

Mark and Mike

The Purpose of Life

2011-10-02T13:12:00.001-04:00

My last post was about the tragedy of people working in social sectors with good intentions, but without adequate thought. Headless hearts. It was a bit cynical, I'll admit. It's also ironic, because I've recently been facing the exact opposite issue on a personal level. I guess I'll call it having a heartless head, although that seems a bit harsh.

I thought that each person on earth had a specific purpose, a specific work to do that will contribute to the Good of the world. I thought that I was on my path to fulfilling my purpose, working with the less fortunate in other countries and working to resolve the world's problems, wherever that may lead me. I'm doing my part in contributing to Goodness because currently I work with disadvantaged children in Uganda. Maybe later in life I'll be a mediator in international conflicts or find ways to empower women across the globe. I'm fulfilling my purpose...right?

But then there's that small issue you saw in my last post...cynicism. I've come to accept that I am a huuuge cynic.

It's very true. Many social workers, aid workers, and development workers can testify to the struggle of cynicism. The truth is that it eventually becomes difficult to hear the story of a child in need and not think of it as just another one. It becomes easy to look at a problem and criticize everyone for their methods of solving that problem. Compassion begins to fade and reason starts to take over. We begin to develop heartless heads.

I acknowledged a while ago that I've started to become a more assertive and aggressive person. I've struggled since that time to find how to be both assertive and compassionate, and I admittedly tend to lean to the assertive, often even aggressive, side. The worst thing is that my cynicism has gone beyond my work and has squeezed its way into many of my relationships. I've become so focused on not being taken advantage of or on being boldly honest, that I've forgotten the need for love and compassion of the people around me.

After realizing this, I spent the last couple of weeks pouring myself into books and teachings - books on finding myself, books on living a fulfilled life, and loving people and so on. My mind soon got so jumbled with information on what I should do and how I should feel that I was just confused. I needed an easy answer, something to do and make it all better, but every source was telling me something else to focus on. What I really needed was for my heart to catch up with my head. My heart needed to experience what my head already knew. I needed to feel compassion. I needed to look into my Self to realize what I needed. So I vowed to stop reading and just search inside while I experience life.

Just a few nights ago Eric wanted to watch a movie called The Tree of Life. He told me it was about some lesson of life or about the deeper meaning of something-something. I wasn't really into it from the beginning because I didn't want to learn anymore lessons about life. I didn't want to think about what I needed to do anymore. And then when the movie started I just thought it was absurd and boring. I expected a movie with Brad Pitt and Sean Penn to at least have a good storyline. And if not a good storyline, at least a storyline. I fell asleep 30 minutes into the movie, which I insist is the most boring film on earth. There were hardly any words spoken and the whole thing consisted of images -images of the cosmos, of cells, of people, nature, animals, even dinosaurs! Let's just say I had different expectations. But then, in the middle of this mindlessness, something clicked. Among all those images of creation and nature, something just made sense to me. And it didn't click in my head. It clicked in my heart.

Something made me realize that my purpose has nothing to do with what I do with my life or the path that I take. It doesn't matter how many children I work with or what programs I implement. What matters are my relationships. My purpose - OUR purpose - is to love each other with a joyful, extravagant love...and that's it. I won't really make a difference in this world if I save 100 children, but alienate my friends. It doesn't matter what my job is if I am only bringing cynicism and hostility to those around me. My purpose is to bring joy to the world. Just bring joy. It really hit me hard that If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship, that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing. (1 Cor. 13:3). We need heads to think clearly, but we need hearts to give our work - and our lives - true meaning. We can't be heads without hearts, but we must have full hearts.

So the most boring movie on earth gave me the epiphany that I needed. I realize that this might all sound cheesy and this blog post probably won't affect anyone else any more than all those books affected me, but it has drastically changed my own thinking about my daily interactions and relationships. Of course, the hard part is letting my epiphany not only change my thinking, but my actions. I think one of the best examples of someone working with heart is Mother Teresa. Love was her purpose and compassion was her method, which brought joy to countless souls. I hope I've taken one step toward her incredible example.

Heads and Hearts

2011-09-30T05:57:00.002-04:00

There are thousands of organizations all over the world working to enact positive change. You know that. You get hit up for donations and see the advertisements on TV all the time. You see in the news what the UN is doing across the globe and you're told to buy socially conscious products. It can get exhausting - I know - deciding which causes to support and pour your energies into. And those of us working in the social fields know that most of the issues we are working on are much more complex than the taglines aimed at garnering support make them out to be.

In his book, The Bottom Billion, Paul Collier talks about how too many people leading the charge in international development have headless hearts. We care so much that we fail to think through the consequences of our actions.

Maybe Sally took a mission trip to Malawi and couldn't stand seeing 10 year old girls heading households because their parents have died of HIV/AIDS. So she went home, raised some money, and started an orphanage in Malawi. Sally probably hired a Malawian friend whom she met during her 2 week trip to head up the orphanage while Sally works her real job back in the U.S. Some months later, Sally finds out that her orphanage director is only taking in family members to the orphanage and is making them pay him for the care. Or during a trip to visit the orphanage a couple years down the road, she realizes that many of the kids she's supporting have gotten so used to having all their wants and needs met by Western money that they won't leave the home when they've become old enough to make it on their own and they don't know how to live in their own societies. She sees that some parents have brought their kids to the orphanage because they couldn't provide for them, only to have three more children that they also couldn't provide for. She sees that the cause she thought would be so easy to solve is in fact much more complex. It's also likely that she doesn't see these things, and they keep perpetuating until her orphanage shuts down.

The same thing happens in our own societies. Joe meets a single mother who lives in a rotting trailer and works three jobs to provide food and medical care for her three kids. Joe thinks the government should help her out, so he gets people in his community to sign a petition requesting the state government provide his friend and other single mothers money based on how many kids they have. Ten years later, after the bill is passed, research shows that poor families are now having more kids so they can get more money from the government.

A friend is trying to persuade me to compile stories from different organization of visitors-from-hell into a book. I'll settle for a blog post:

A church group saw a video about a town left desolate after a war and decided they wanted to help, so 20 people hopped on a plane and then a bus to northern Uganda, showed up at the office and said, "We're here to help!" The organization had no idea they were coming and suddenly can't focus on their mission because they're too busy organizing 20 visitors that spent thousands of dollars to come across the world when that money could have been used to build five schools.

A woman met a bright young boy in Uganda who was in his last year of high school. He wanted to become a pilot. She knew of a program he could get into, so she pulled him out of school with 5 months to go before graduation, snuck him to South Africa for an interview without the knowledge of the sponsoring organization, and eventually took him to the US for a piloting course. Sh thinks she did him a favor, but he never finished high school and lives in a completely foreign country.

I like this story:
Once upon a time at a village near a river, the people were gathered for a celebration. Suddenly, someone saw a baby floating down the river in a basket and yells for help. They see that many babies in many baskets are floating down the river and everyone runs to help pull them out. A little boy starts running off and everyone else yells after him, demanding that he help pull the babies from the river, but he yells back as he runs upstream, "I'm going to find the source and stop the babies from being put in the river in the first place!"

So which causes do you advocate for? To whom do you donate your money? Which organizations are thinking of the problem behind the problem? Which ones have taken it upon themselves to learn as much as possible before deciding which actions to take? How does your money or your time change the bigger picture? Does the organization continue to ask questions even as they build programs?

If someone you know is going on a volunteer trip, ask them their goal. Chances are, they aren't going to "make a difference" in two weeks. But if they go with the goal of learning, they will certainly take something away from their experience that will eventually contribute to positive change in the world.

Having a heart to change lives is something to be applauded. Passion can make a difference. But we must not have headless hearts, or we will do much more harm than good. If you plan on advocating for a certain cause, sit and learn about it for a few years. Ask questions from people who have been there. Bounce ideas off friends. And read When Helping Hurts. Then go for it with all of your heart. And head.

A letter

2011-09-02T12:02:00.000-04:00


Portraits of our kids by students at DeKalb High School

Hello past and present DHS art students!

Today I came home from the post office on a motorcycle taxi with a package of your drawings in my arms and my body completely soaked thanks to the downpour that began mid-ride. After putting on some dry clothes, I opened up the package (which I received 2 months after it arrived in the country, no thanks to the Ugandan postal system), and I was so amazed at all of your work. I recognized each kid's picture immediately without even looking at the names. You guys are truly talented. I read each of your letters (hope you don't mind!), and I am SO excited to give the portraits to the kids. Some of you wrote your emails in the letters, so I wanted to write you personally to say THANK YOU. I hope you enjoyed this project as much as I know our kids will. It's incredible to see connections happen across two completely different worlds and see what we have in common when we seem so different.

If any of you have had Ms. Tubergen for English, I'm sure she's harped on you how important it is to think for yourself rather than memorize information. (Listen to the lady - she's an incredible woman!) In Uganda, much of the formal education system is based on rote memorization, which leads to a general crisis in creativity for the entire country. Students are not taught to think for themselves or given chances to create something unique. Instead, they are told to memorize facts. That's why we bring art in many forms to the youth mentoring homes that I work with. Giving the kids opportunities to draw, paint, play sports, and write allows them to express themselves in unique ways, as you know, and think outside of the lines drawn for them. I have no doubt that this project is going to inspire many of them to continue pursuing their favorite forms of expression.

If any of you would like more information about the person you drew, please let me know and I can send you some information from their profiles. I also plan on taking pictures when I give them the drawings, so I'll send you some of those.

I really loved reading about each of you. If Mrs. Buchs didn't tell you, I am lucky enough to be her niece :) I graduated from DeKalb High School in 2006, went to Indiana University for International Studies, and then moved out here to Uganda, where it looks like I'll be staying for who-knows-how-long. Reading about you reminded me about myself five years ago. At the end of high school, I had so much uncertainty about my life, but so many dreams. I had no idea where my life would take me, and quite frankly, I still don't. I'm still uncertain about where I'll end up in the next year and I'm still learning how to let the uncertainty thrill me instead of scare me, but when I look back on the last 5 years, I realize that I could have never been able to predict the opportunities that came my way. I interned for a congressman in Washington, DC, and have traveled to Zimbabwe, Tanzania, Kenya, Rwanda, Ethiopia, studied in South Africa, went to Jordan, Egypt, Palestine, and will soon hit up Congo and Turkey. I think back on my graduation party and laugh because I could never have known on that day what was in store for me!

When I was a senior, I was interviewed for a scholarship and they asked me what advice I would give to other high school students. My answer is the same now as it was then: pursue whatever you're passionate about, and pursue it with everything you have. There were too many people who I graduated with that majored in areas that they chose simply because their parents wanted it for them or because they thought it would give them the financial comfort they desired. I'll admit that I don't make a lot of money, but I do LOVE WHAT I DO. It's a part of me and I don't know how to shut it off. I can't imagine working a 9 to 5 job that I dread. So I beg you, for your own sake and for the sake of the betterment of the world, pursue what you love, whether it's art, traveling, a particular sport, working with children, or farming. When you do what you love, you'll be good at it; and when others see that you are pursuing it out of a deep passion, they will help you get where you want to go. Trust me.

I apologize for the sappy advice; I hope it didn't come off too cheesy. I simply wanted to say that you have touched me and allowed me to reflect, so thank you for that. If you would like to know more about the kids, what I do, or anything else about living in Africa, please feel free to contact me or check out my blog.

I'll leave you with one of my favorite quotes: "Don't ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive and then go do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive."
-Dr. Howard Thurman

Thanks again,
Dani Walker

Whole hearted

2011-08-28T08:45:00.000-04:00

I just wrote a few paragraphs about the mentor retreat that just wrapped up last night and I had to delete it all because it was so dry and I simply wasn't getting my point across. All I really want talk about is the very last session of the retreat when I was assigned to lead discussion for the girl mentors in our homes. It's all I want to talk about because it almost brought me to tears.

I sat there, on the roof of Cornerstone, with some of the most inspiring, hard-working, caring, and intelligent girls that I have ever met. I opened discussion with one question and after a short awkward silence, things started flying. Hands were thrown up as the girls competed for their thoughts to be heard. Ideas were thrown out, questions asked, frustrations let known, and encouragement given. I literally cannot put into words how I felt in that moment. I was surrounded by young women whom I have come to love and admire and who have all grown together through their shared experiences. Women coming together to pull each other through hard times, joys, and tough questions is something almost sacred, something impossible to explain. We were the last group to finish our discussion and as we wrapped up, I sat there and looked around at each one of the girls -
Jane
Teddy
Maureen
Sarah
Brenda
Peruth
Helen
Joyce
Angela
Brenda
Wilter

- and I was entirely overwhelmed by how much I love and believe in them, how much I love and believe in our kids, and how much I love and believe in my work. I got a bit teary-eyed and I tried to end our conversation by telling them how much they mean to me, which came out much more awkwardly than I intended.

As Sir Ken Robinson points out, there are the people who get through their jobs just to make it to the weekend and there are those who, if you told them to stop doing their job, they wouldn't know what you're talking about because their job is part of who they are. I think often of how lucky I am to do something that I believe in so much that it's become a part of me. It's a rare find, I believe, and I simply can't comprehend how I was able to find it so early in my life.

Although I felt it most strongly last night with the girls, I have been having these emotional moments so often lately when my heart nearly tears into pieces as I think of leaving. I have ten months remaining of my commitment. Ten months is a long time, I realize, but I also know it will come all too soon. In ten months, how do I leave relationships that have affected me at my core? How do I desert the long-term visions I have formed for each home and for each child? How do I walk away from something that I have become a part of and which has become such a huge part of me?

The fact is, I don't want to leave. I want this. I want to do what I'm doing, but even more. I want to see through these relationships and these visions. I want to stay and continue.

The other fact is, I have to leave. I need an income. I need a savings. I probably need something new to push me in another area of growth.

It's an awful combination of facts, knowing that what I want so badly and what I need cannot align. I suppose, however, that this is what life is all about. And in the meantime, I'm going to walk into the office on Monday and greet all of my favorite people in Uganda. I'm going to dig as deep as I can in these next ten months, and I'll try my hardest to face the unknown with courage. I'm anxious to see what blogs I will write over the next ten months. So please, stay with me.

The boys doing community service

Charles, Andrew, and Councellor

Amina, Stella, and Doreen from Lungujja home

Michi, Hellen, and Peter

Wilter, me, and Brenda

August review

2011-08-24T09:51:00.000-04:00

My weeks are flying by recently. I swear that I just picked up my parents from the airport, but no. I dropped them off at the airport to return home more than 2 weeks ago. August has seemed to slip from my fingers and it seems like it never really happened. July was just yesterday and September is tomorrow. August 2011 hardly existed, it seems. It just flew by. Anyone else?

Maybe it's because August was fun. Time flies when you're having fun. My parents were here for the first 10 days of the month, we celebrated Julie's birthday during a weekend in Jinja, and we held on to the last moments of Cameron's existence in Uganda. Cameron, my roommate who has defined much of my time in Uganda officially left the country for good last night, and there is now an empty hole in my life here, as well as a depressingly empty room in my house. (By the way, Cam...thanks for the chocolates. Of course you know what it takes to make us feel better.)

So for my own ability to remember August 2011 and to acknowledge that life did not actually skip a month, here is a simple review in pictures.

Lionesses with a fresh kill

Mom's impressions:
-My first impression: the crazy driving! Actually after being there a week or so it becomes 2nd nature & you realize everyone knows how it is & everyone seems to watch out while they're driving crazy.

Croc!

-I was very impressed with how well people dress. No sloppiness, not even dirty. It's obvious they want to come across as being proud of who they are, no matter how poor, but they always look nice. And even in the homes, whether a hut or house, dirt floors get swept just like a ceramic floor does. Whatever they have or don't have, they do their best to make it look as good as it can.

-Coming in from the airport, I couldn't tell when we came into a different town, it seemed to never separate between the towns, just constant stands with things for sale, on both sides of the road. And the PEOPLE! People EVERYWHERE......... EVERYDAY! I truly wondered how so many people can be out like that during the day.

Murchison Falls

-We are also both surprised & thrilled at how many U.S. kids there are among and around you. We find that a comfort to us in knowing you need that support in a foreign country & what drives you young people to want to do what you do? It's admirable & respectable but there seems to be a "fad" with your age of kids that it's "the thing to do".

-Dad & I were both shocked at the boys' homes, how "plain" they were & basic. Which reminds us that this is probably better than they had it before they got there, at least they now have a bed, food, guidance, etc

Boat cruise on the Nile

ATVing around Jinja

Pedicures for the ladies

Me, Boda Denis, and Mom

Also, I got a puppy. His name is Sam and sometimes Denis takes us on boda rides, where he will lay in my lap calmly and watch other bodas and cars fly by. Sometimes Denis makes him "ride like a man," which consists of Sam sitting upright and straddling Denis with me holding onto him. Yes, we get stares; but please, nobody here can judge. Ugandans take cows, pigs, and goats on bodas, so there is no room to judge me and my Sam.

Me, Sam and Denis. One happy family

And finally, we celebrated Julie's birthday/mourned Cameron's last weekend in Uganda by visiting Jinja, a charming little town at the source of the Nile. We did things like...

pretend we were in the '80s

try impossible dance moves

and celebrate a 24th birthday with glow sticks

Let's hope that never happens again...

2011-08-02T03:24:00.000-04:00

My father has sworn up and down multiple times that he would never go to Africa. I think he thought I was a nut to choose to live in Uganda and I smiled a lot and told him to come see me, which was usually greeted with something like a, Hell No look or a You Must Think I'm Off My Rocker laugh. My mom always kind of looked on with a hopeful twinkle in her eye knowing that she needed someone to travel with when she came to see me eventually.

I've said before how I feel like I have multiple identities wrapped up into one Me. Half of myself lies in Indiana and half of me lies within the rest of the world that I love engaging in so much. There's a lot that's difficult to explain to someone: all the friends that come and go from my life here, the different feel of each of the homes I work with, the different culture and worldview that Ugandans abide by and I have learned to operate within, and the simple tasks of everyday life. Explanations and pictures simply can't do it justice. Sometimes you just have to come and see. I've formed a life over here that few people from home will ever understand, so when my mom announced that she AND Dad were coming to see me, I immediately starting planning everything that I wanted to pack into their 2 weeks and I proudly announced their date of arrival to all of my friends. Not only would my parents get to learn about Uganda, but they would finally get to learn about this other side of ME that I don't think they have ever completely understood. I. WAS. EXCITED.

(I hear that I have Dad's breakfast buddies to thank for convincing him to come see me...so THANK YOU!!!)

The night before my parent's arrival all of my friends went out for our weekly half-price dinner at one of our favorite restaurants, but I declined to go. Something in my stomach didn't feel well, but I wasn't sure if it was just in my head or not. Either way, I wanted to rest, I decided, so I stayed home and watched a movie. At 8pm and with 5 minutes left of my movie I confusedly walked over to the toilet and stood above it. "Surely this isn't going to happen. This is just in my head. Stop being dramatic, you feel fine." And then......adogihergaiurhgair. It came. I puked. A lot.

After my episode, I looked in the mirror and saw death staring back at me. I was pale and sweaty and felt like I was going to faint. Calmly, I picked up my phone and called Julie. "Hey. Umm...whenever you're done with dinner...no rush...could you maybe come by and take me to The Surgery. I just threw up." And 15 minutes later I sat in the reception room with Julie as she filled out my forms and stepped in as my mother. Then Hell came to visit as I waited an hour and a half to be admitted, all the while going through 20 minute cycles of running to the bathroom for a double dose of fun each time: first the back end and then the front end. Of course, after the 2nd time, there was nothing left to come out, but some little stomach bug twerp with horns sat in my stomach grabbing my insides and twisting them. Between episodes I told him to go to hell. I also told Julie that I knew what one of the children in the African drought felt like because I felt like a simple skeleton with nothing left of me. It was bad.

We spent the night in the hospital, Julie by my side the whole time, stroking me and even reading me to sleep. There was nothing more that I wanted than to call my mother during that time, but she was currently in the air coming to see me, so Julie acted as a perfectly good replacement mom. Seven IV containers (3.5 liters of water...I was preeeetty dehydrated), one blood, urine, and stool sample, and 10 hours later, the doctor informed me that I had salmonella, which we later traced to undercooked eggs at our Monday night discussion group (5 others also threw up and had varying levels of symptoms). The good news was the worst was over, so I lifted up my feeble body, paid my hospital fees that resulted in half my monthly budget, went home to change and brush the vomit smell out of my teeth, and made the trip to the airport to pick up my parents.

Now I am all better and.....wait for it.....MY PARENTS ARE HERE! They have now met nearly all of my friends, my coworkers, the kids in the homes and my favorite boda drivers. This week we're going to see other Cornerstone programs, go on safari, ride 4-wheelers on the Nile (it isn't a Walker family vacation without ATV riding) and just hang out. I'm SO glad that I didn't die the night before they arrived, but I'm now feeling 100% better and avoiding looking at eggs.

My view for the night

Mom's first boda ride!

Visiting the Bukesa home

I think I wore them out already...

Dad sharing life wisdom with the Lungujja girls

Lungujja girls doing my mom's hair

Three Walkers in two hemispheres

The Makerere boys with my Dad :)

1 year down

2011-07-19T08:49:00.003-04:00

One year!

On July 10th I hit my official one year anniversary in Uganda. I do realize that this post is a bit delayed. There's a lot of pressure in posting for an anniversary. I couldn't think of anything cool to do, so I just kept putting it off....sorry. So I've finally decided upon a month-by-month reflection. I've taken snippets from other blog posts, emails, and my journal to retrace what I've learned over the past year, what I've struggled with, how I've found joy, and the friends that I've made. These are a little more personal than usual, but I haven't written with my whole heart behind something in a long time, so I hope these give you a tiny window to look through the surface and into the deeper things I've experienced in the past year.

July 2010 - A rough start

Email to Mom:


Julie and me. Coping with the bombings, clearly.

"I just posted on my blog about the bombings. The security has already stepped up noticeably. At Garden City, a local mall that I go to for most of my basic needs, police are looking under every single car. The best thing is that I am not here alone and there are so many people who are extremely familiar with this country and know what to do. Thank you for your prayers. The families who have been affected need them more than me. Like you said, it makes you realize what other people around the world go through, sometimes daily, when a war is going on in their country. I can't imagine growing up in Iraq or Afghanistan, never knowing where the next violent attack will take place and having no where to go. I can leave the country very easily, but Ugandans cannot. It sure makes your heart grow.

I haven't been getting very good sleep either. The night of the bombings I was feeling sick, so i was having dreams that they were evacuating people and i had to get left behind because I was sick. Then last night I could not sleep at all either and I kept having dreams that i had to figure out this whole country's transportation, education, and security systems. I got up around 4:30 and kept my mind busy for a while before going back to bed. I'm feeling a bit better, but my throat still hurts. I have a lot that I need to do, but I just feel very weak right now. Luckily everyone understands."

August 2010 - Getting into life in Uganda

Email to 4 college friends:

Community service with the kids

"So........Uganda is wonderful. I feel more and more at home here every week and the weeks seem to fly by. I REALLY love the work that I do. I love Cornerstone a lot. It’s just a huge blessing to have the opportunity to do what I want right out of school. The community here is great, too. I feel like I fit in well with the American group, but at the same time, I have struggled lately really finding my place in that. I don’t feel like I can completely be myself because the group of expats is so small and everyone talks about everything all the time, so I’m always thinking of how something is going to be perceived and then taking action based on others’ perceptions.

Another thing that’s been hard is just being away from my family. They just had a birthday party for my sister and it killed me that I couldn’t be there when they were telling me about it. And that’s how it’s always going to be. I’m never going to live close enough to them where I can join in on a spontaneous birthday party. And I have to miss Jake and Jennifer’s first couple years of marriage, Morgan’s cutest stages of life (she’s walking!), and all the little stuff. I’ve never been one to be homesick, but I would say that I have never missed my family as much as I do now."

September 2010 - Personal drama

Journal entry:

"I know there have been many times when I've been incredibly confident that [we] are right for each other and times when I've felt like I've never been more sure of us. But right now, 2 months into this long distance relationship that is going to last indefinitely, I can only think of the hardships. How does a relationship work being apart for anywhere from 2-5 years, maybe even longer, and seeing each other for maybe a month each year? Right now I'm just ready to spread my wings and I love the place I'm at in life.

At a wedding, ironically

I've struggled for a long time with balancing the multiple identities I feel like I have and finding my true self in the middle of all different sides of me and being confident in that self. Of course, different people bring out different sides of me and suppress other sides. So how do you ever choose someone to date or marry? When you choose someone, are you giving up a part of you? Is it possible to find someone who can hold those different sides in balance and appreciate them all?

Honestly, I really might be incompetent in relationships. Maybe I do just have ridiculous standards and maybe I don't have the relational capacity to break down walls and jump over hurdles when I come across them. I don't know. But right now I feel like I'm plunging forward again on my journey to discover myself more and that is the first step in finding someone else. I might just be too complicated."

October 2010 - Trip to Kenya

Solomon from the Mombasa home

Email to the whole family:

"Mombasa is my new favorite place. It's a little coastal town in Kenya, the country's largest port and a touristy spot. It's where we are all coming for Christmas break, so I'm really looking forward to coming back. Cornerstone recently started a program for street boys here, so we came to check on that. Those boys were some of my favorite. I just seemed to click with them so well. They have all spent time on the streets, so they are a little rough around the edges, but you come to find out that in the end they are just boys...just like any other boys. Two brothers had just entered the home the day we got there and they were asleep on the floor for the whole first night, coming off of a high from sniffing either glue, petrol, or both. But at the end of the night, the littlest one, who couldn't be more than 10, picked up an instrument somewhat like a little harp and strung it. As soon as he heard the music he got this huge smile across his face. The next day we came back, went to church with them, hung out, and walked to the beach. Those two brothers were still with us and were sober and just plain boys. It really makes you wonder what led them to the street in the first place and then makes you realize that once they get to the street they are probably so lonely and confused that the only thing that makes them feel good again is drugs. The other boys were so great, too. I seriously just loved being around them. One of them had been going to school while he was on the streets, which is really rare and says a lot about his character. You can tell that he's just so smart and says he wants to go to college for psychology, which is not a common field of study here, so he's obviously thought about it a lot. I think I'll write a blog about them when I get home, but again, Mombasa was so great."

November 2010 - Learning tough lessons

Armwrestling with Karim at sports day

Blog:

     "Working to give children who have had difficult lives a better future has pushed me incredibly far beyond my comfort zone in making choices. In one example, there is a young girl who has previously been involved in the sex industry and is now in one of our homes, nearing the end of secondary school. She is HIV+ and her health is worsening. In order to slow the progression of HIV, she must have a better diet and take immunity boosting vitamins in addition to her ARVs. Our options: 1) Send her back home where her mother, who is also HIV+, will be able to provide the proper care for her health. However, her mother lives behind a bar, which is how she got involved in the sex industry in the first place. More than likely, her old clients still frequent the bar and resettling her at home could put her back in a vulnerable position. 2) Keep her in our home, but give her special treatment and better food than the other girls. Obviously, this would raise questions and, even if properly explained to her housemates, could still place a stigma on her and ostracize her within the community.
      No matter how many people are consulted and how many opinions sought, people are still looking to me to make the final call. And this is one of many situations of its type. Limited resources and funding require decisions to be made and actions to be taken on those decisions. People's lives are at stake here, and it's no simple matter.
      It's no easier in my own life, either. Although I just want to "go along for the ride," I must look to my future and the options laid out in front of me, no matter how many question marks remain behind each of those options, and simply choose one. At some point, we have to stop taking life as it comes and we have to calculate the alternatives and take action. We all must make a choice with the information that we have at our disposal, even when we're unsure. Either way you go, some people will be with you and some against, but all you can really do is be confident and move forward."

December 2010 - Hitting a wall

Much-needed R&R at the beach

Journal entry:

"I'm hitting a wall in my time here. The inefficiency, lack of creativity and initiative, Ugandan English. It's all just starting to agitate me. I can see myself getting more cynical about development, more prideful of the U.S. I think Christmas break and then going home will help."

Email to college friend:

"I miss home a lot right now. It's coming to the point where I haven't spent this much time away from home ever and I'm realizing how much I just LOVE home. Maybe you can relate, but it's weird to think how I had made my entire life in Indiana - family, friends, my past, my home, etc. and I literally picked myself up from that established life and plopped myself into a brand new one - new friends, new culture, new home. So after all the exciting stuff wears off, I realize how much I just changed my life. I'm not regretting it at all, but I do miss home. It's like every time I see an American show or meet someone who just came from the states or get a package, I get SOOO excited and want to hear all about America. No matter how hard I try, I'll never totally fit in here because it's just not my culture. And I always wanted to push myself beyond my American bubble, but it's almost like you HAVE to cling to people who are like you because nobody else really understands you. When I'm around other Americans, I don't have to interpret cultural differences all the time. I don't have to change my accent and think about the words that I use and the references that I make."

Visiting girls in HALO's sponsorship program

January 2011 - Uncertainty

Journal entry:

"A lot has just been poking at my fears recently. I started to look at grad schools and ended up almost in tears because I'm so uncertain of the future and so scared of choosing a road I'm not going to like and end up regretting a decision that I have a lot of stakes in. I'm just bad at choices when there is uncertainty and risk involved. I need to learn to reestablish my peace of mind daily so these buildups of uncertainty don't happen."

February 2011 - Home!

Blog:

Home with family!

   "I'm the kid who moved to Africa. My maternal grandparents farm. The Walkers have been farming in the same county since 1844. My uncles farm. My brother works with my dad on the farm and he just married the sweetest girl straight from a dairy farm. My sister married into a farming family an hour and a half away. And I'm the child who moved to Africa.
     But as the saying goes, "You can take the girl out of the honkey-tonk, but you can't take the honkey-tonk out of the girl." Indiana will always be home. Family will always be family.
     As soon as the seat belt signs dinged off on the plane, I leapt to my feet and literally felt my heart pounding. I got stares as I rattled my fingers nervously against the seat backs and as soon as I slalomed my way through the crowd, I power walked straight to the lobby area. I anticipated a rough adjustment back to American Midwestern life, but nothing has felt more natural than being at home. Nothing was less surprising than being embraced by my mother the moment she saw me and going around the circle to hug my dad, aunt, uncle, and cousin. It feels completely normal to come home, to have dinner with the entire family, to clutter my room, to say 'hey' to Dad's employees who have seen me grow up, and to eat Mom's comfort food.
      For the past 7 months, it felt like 'home' was a dreamland, a place in my head that exists in an alternate universe or a past life. Now I'm starting to wonder if my life in Uganda is real or just a figment of my imagination. It seems so counter to this life, but perfectly natural when I'm there. But now I'm here and I get to soak it up for a few weeks before returning there."

With the Gulu girls

March 2011 - Life slows down

Email to friends, family, and supporters:

"Something that I've really come to appreciate between my time in the U.S. and getting resettled in Uganda is simply the people in my life. I honestly am blown away by how blessed I am to have such great people in my life no matter where I go. The support and love I received at home was so wonderful and refreshing. I was able to meet with so many friends and spend time with my family, which I just NEEDED. I didn't realize until I left how much I really needed to return home for a short period of time - it honestly just helps me do my job better to reconnect with people, to talk to them about my work, and to remind myself why I'm doing this work in Uganda.

"Also, the people around me in Uganda never fail to amaze me. I work with an incredibly high caliber of Ugandans who clearly pour their passion into their work; I get to see mentors and kids growing every day; and my friends in Uganda make up one of the tightest communities I've been able to be a part of. Of course, there are times when I get frustrated with confusing work processes, illogical decisions, and male harassment, but most of the time I just can't imagine myself leaving this place. I can't imagine not knowing where Apophia will end up (a girl in the Mengo home who is about to graduate from college with a degree in Development Studies). I can't imagine not attending my coworker's wedding whenever he decides to get married. I can't imagine not seeing so many of the programs, the people, and the kids grow and being constantly connected with their lives. I've now been here for over 8 months, so I still have plenty of time left in my 2-year commitment, but I am so content with so much right now and I'm not yet ready for that to change."

April 2011 - Personal reflection

Friends with Ugandan rock star, Rachel K

Journal entry:

"Why is it so much easier for me to see negatives in people and in situations than to see positives? Does this reflect a tough phase for me or a deeper struggle that I will always face? Maybe it's just this time in my life - the last few and the next few years - when I am searching for my identity and fighting to become comfortable with it. I feel like I'm always asking myself, "Is this how it's always going to be?" when I am confronted with something I don't like. I'm trying so hard to find my niche and where and what I can pour myself into, but I'm scared to make any large commitments because I'm scared that those decisions will determine the person I will become and I don't know yet who I want to become. And again, I ask, will it always be like this? Isn't there a good chance that I will always, constantly be shaping my own identity? Will I always be trying to discover where I belong or will I find it someday and be able to grow in that?

What is holding me back from true joy? I think that I carry the burden of always seeing the brokenness in the world. I first see brokenness in myself, the faults of others, which is ultimately their brokenness, and the wounds of societies and this world. I see first brokenness and I have to try to look deeper in order to see the beauty and harmony within the brokenness."

May 2011 - Political tension and a trip

Email to college friends:

Community service with the kids

"If you haven't heard, Uganda is going through a little bit of strife right now. You can check out the news, but the opposition leader is protesting things and the government has responded quite forcefully, which has made people mad and caused riots. I wrote on my blog about one of the riots that happened right outside our house. It's honestly not a HUGE thing that's happening yet, but it may or may not turn into something bigger. Either way, it's strange to be in a country where it's happening and where violence could possibly escalate. In all likelihood, it probably won't, but thinking about worst case scenario is weird. Would I leave the country if things got bad, or just bunker down and try to avoid the violence? What about the kids, what would we do with them? If I stayed, I wouldn't be able to do much more for them than if I left, but how would I ever return to face the kids, my friends, and my coworkers if I left? Those images of all the white people pulling out of Rwanda during the genocide flash through my head, but the decision is so....strange. Anyway, I stress not to worry about me because that situation is not very likely, it's just weird to think about.

Speaking of Rwanda, I just returned from there. I went down last week to see a couple of friends who work for Cornerstone there and I went to another town that is just across the border from Goma, Congo. A few Congolese guys that we had contacts with came over the border and met with me and I was so incredibly inspired by them. They are awesome guys who are giving their lives to the service of making their country a better place. It was so awesome to be able to see Congo from just across the lake! Haha...I felt so happy and childlike being that excited about it! I really wanted to cross the border, but it was crazy expensive for the visa, so I couldn't....maybe next time! This week the opposition leader is going to return and it’s the inauguration of the president on Thursday, so it might get crazy...who knows. The president just bought 7 fighter jets and they were flying them over the city today pretty much for intimidation so that people won’t riot."

June 2011 - Reflections on forgiveness from my time in Jordan

Email to Mom, Dad, and sister:

Eric and me at the Dome of the Rock, Jerusalem

"Jordan is so great. I really am obsessed with this country. Watch out...maybe this is where I'll move next ;) It is a great place to learn a lot about the Middle East and Islam. I love it! So far, we saw the place where Jesus was baptized and I swam (floated) in the Dead Sea. Tomorrow we are going to a place called Jerash and camping in Gilead and then in a couple of days we are headed to the ancient city of Petra. Eric and I also have a couple of days extra after the forum, so we are going to go to Jerusalem and Bethlehem. It's all very close, so it's easy to get to. Being here puts so much into perspective for me and I love talking to the Jordanian youth that are at the forum. Learning about Islam from them is really great. It makes me reflect on the positives and negatives of both religions and definitely challenges me in my own faith. You guys would love it. I keep thinking that. It would be so neat to take a trip here together sometime.

"When we were at the Jordan River, I was with Jordanians, of course, many of whom are Palestinian. We were literally 10 feet away from Palestine, where they and their families are from, and they could only look at their homeland. They could see the cities where their families had houses that are now being lived in by Israelis and they told us so many stories of how family members had been killed so unjustly. I know there are two sides to the story, but my heart just hurts so badly for these people. I can't imagine someone coming to our house and kicking us out when we have lived there for generations...pushing us to Ohio, putting up a fence, and telling us we can never go back...in the meantime killing the ones that refuse to leave. It's so hard. I really can't imagine. I have so many thoughts to sort through, so much journal writing to do. I think two of the themes I've been thinking about are "forgiveness" and "being chosen." I don't really get the idea of being chosen and it's hard for me to reconcile the thought of God choosing certain people and not others, which is relevant in this context. Forgiveness is just hard, that's all there is to it. It's so powerful, but it's so hard. The biggest thing I've had to forgive was my college roommates, which seems so silly. Reflecting back, I've talked to people from South Africa who suffered during apartheid, Rwandese who have had to forgive people who killed their families in front of their eyes, Ugandans who have had to forgive people who raged a 20 year war in their towns, and now Palestinians and Israelis in this tense, stagnant place with such deep resentment. And the biggest thing that I can take away is that forgiveness is so hard, but it's so powerful and can change the world even when it's between two people - it doesn't have to be between nations. I'm contemplating possibly going back to grad school for Peace and Conflict Studies. Hmmmm......"

Roommates at our "Jorts of July" party

July 2012 - One year reflections

Email to a family friend, in response to the question of how my thinking has changed in the past year:

"Well I have so many specifics that I could write blogs and blogs about and talk for hours on end at coffee shops! I guess my worldview has really just changed...I've realized how much humanity shares in common when we get past our differences in culture and religion. We are all truly the same at the very core and our differences are what makes us beautiful. I can't really say that I've learned this in the past year, but have re-learned it over and over. It just keeps being confirmed for me. I've also been thinking a lot about the oppressed people groups of this world and thinking about them alongside the beatitudes. I'm convinced that the oppressed and the poor have a very special role to play in bringing about the Kingdom of God. I've thought a lot about community and what that really means...I've come to the conclusion that I want a stable community so much of people who know me well, but at the same time it's the thing that scares me the most. I'm a restless person and I think I find it easier to change lifestyles when relationships get messy than to actually push through. I think that the most effective way to help someone is to get to know them and establish a relationship with them rather than throw money at a problem and remain distant from it. There are many many other things, but those are the ones that I'm typing as my thoughts run through my fingers."

East West Forum - Amman, Jordan

2011-07-05T11:23:00.004-04:00

On the first day of the East West Forum, about 60 youth - Jordanian, American, British, and Australian - gathered in a small conference room in Amman, Jordan and sat at tables according to a number on our name tags. Tim and Cathy (Cornerstone’s director and his wife) attended last year, told me how much I would love it, and helped me with the resources to attend. They had told me about their experience and I had read the information on the website several times, so I walked into the conference room with a lot of expectations.

One of our first activities was an icebreaker where we were given a sheet of paper with various traits and categories written on it, followed by blank spaces. We were told to mingle about, finding someone who could claim a particular trait and have them write their name beside it. We began approaching each other to find out who is scared of the dark, whose favorite color is pink, and who is an only child. Most conversations calmly started with a smile and continued with, "Hi. My name is So-and-so. How are you. Have you ever broken a bone? No? Ok, do you have more than 5 siblings? Great! Sign here. Thanks." Suddenly, as I was in the middle of finding out if Lamis had her drivers license, a petite Jordanian girl rushed up to us, almost out of breath, and, while scanning the rest of the room, asked, "What can you give me?!" "Um...I flew here from Africa," I answered, a bit taken aback. "Great. Sign there. Thanks." And she scattered off to someone else. A few minutes later, the MC told us time was up. I looked down at my paper and saw that I only had about half of the spaces filled in, but as I peeked at the papers of my comrades, I realized nobody had finished. "Did anyone get them all?" the MC asked. One hand shot up in the air. It was her. When she realized she was the only one, she gave herself a miniature hand clap accompanied by a tiny squeal and a, "Yay! I win!" That was the first time I met Ayah.

Later that first day I sat by Ayah on the bus. We got into the typical conversation about where we were in life, what we studied, and what my job was. It seemed every other Jordanian attendee planned on being either an engineer or an architect; it was clear that mathematics and the sciences were a priority in Jordanian higher education. Ayah, however, has the unique ambition of going to law school for international law and becoming one of the few female judges in international court. As we continued to get to know each other throughout the week, it was clear that she wasn't kidding about her goals; she's ambitious and independent; she's chosen not to live with her family while attending college, a rare find in the Middle East.

After I told her I worked with children, she slightly cringed and peeped out a little, "Sorry." "Sorry?" I asked. "Do you not like kids?" "Uhh...just not the stupid ones," she responded, and we both started belly laughing. We got to know each other a little better every day. After I took a float in the Dead Sea (being the lowest point on earth, and quite possibly the hottest, the Dead Sea is the saltiest body of water...so salty that you float on top with no effort!), I chatted with Ayah, who sat on the dock watching the boys and foreign girls float around. She told me about her decision to begin wearing hijab 3 years ago (hijab requires the covering of head, arms, and legs), and how she has been discriminated against from time to time because of that decision. She explained to me the meaning behind hijab and I questioned her about the differences between men and women in regards to the principle. Among shopping, petting horses in Gilead, and multiple bus rides, we talked about women in the Middle East, compared how our cultures view and practice sex, discussed international politics, and learned about each others families, dreams, and pet peeves.

In the following days, our group hopped on and off a bus to visit mosques, listen to speakers, relax for an evening at a farm and a Jordanian home, to swim in the Dead Sea, see Jesus' baptism site at the Jordan River, explore the Roman ruins of Jerash, camp in Gilead, and return to the hotel. The activities were great. They were interesting, and fun, and taught me a lot. The best part of the forum, however, wasn't what we saw and did. My favorite parts occurred within the margins of all of that - the conversations I had on the bus, over a water pipe or within our small groups with Ayah and many others gave me the most memorable experiences and learning opportunities. My roommate, Rawan, and I had a discussion about our comfort levels of questioning religion that I still reflect on. Ra’ad and Seif shared their life stories with the group, giving me more perspective on the Israeli/Palestinian conflict and Muslim/Christian relations. Susan told me about her boyfriend and the dating culture in Jordan and Asal let me meet her parents who graciously bought me a smoothie.

I learned more through these interactions than I could ever write in a single blog post, but I’ll give you a couple of the highlights:

I reconfirmed the belief that when you get to know the people behind the news stories, differences don’t really matter. Most attendees were Muslim and most have a worldview that is quite different than those we hear about as Americans. We did discuss international policies and we did discuss theological differences, but we didn’t dwell on them. We did dwell on the fact that we all have dreams we are working toward, families that we love, and favorite television shows that we have in common. Instead of intensely focusing on the differences that could divide us, we sang goofy songs that made me feel like I was at summer camp and we danced the nights away after sharing delicious meals together.

I also came face-to-face with the realities of the Israeli/Palestinian conflict and the collateral damage of my country’s decisions. I learned about my new friends’ families who still hold the keys to their homes, which are now lived in by Israelis after the military kicked them off their land and killed some of their family members. I learned about the refugees who are literally stuck in camps because they now have no nationality and cannot legally travel outside of those camps. I learned that there are many kinds of religious fundamentalism, but we usually only hear about the kind that our government has a problem with, not the kind our government supports (Please refer to the picture of the “Guns and Moses” shirt). And I learned that forgiveness is really hard. Period.

Ayah and other friends that we met in Jordan are now thinking of visiting Uganda to see our work, meet African youth who are in their same phase of life, and continue building our friendships. I've said before how much I believe simply humanizing others is the key to changing the world, and I reaffirm this belief each time I meet someone else who shatters a stereotype that I didn't even realize I held.

Here are some pictures from our trip to Jordan (and a layover in Cairo):

Giza pyramids

Jesus' baptism site

Ra'ad shares his life story with the group

Jordan River

Floating with friends in the Dead Sea

Dead Sea mud!

Olive tree farm

Group discussion

Roman gladiator re-enactment at Jerash

Jerash

Ruins at Jerash

Ruins of Jerash

Ayah petting horses in Gilead

Friends at Gilead

Hiking in Petra

A Bedouin woman herds goats at the ruins of Petra

The treasury at Petra

My journey with Islam: it's just the beginning

2011-06-25T16:03:00.001-04:00

Before I left for my Christmas trip to Kenya, I glanced over my roommate's book collection for something to read on the road and grabbed the one that looked the most interesting, one about women in the Middle East. The book tweaked my interest much more than I could have expected and I tore through it in no time, suddenly more intrigued about Middle Eastern culture, about Islam, and especially about women within those contexts. I had read a bit here and there about Islam, about the East, and about reconciling both with the Christian West that I had grown up in, but this book, Nine Parts of Desire, convinced me to learn more. When I visited home in February, I bought a copy of the Qur'an and another book called Paradise Beneath Her Feet, about how women are transforming the Middle East. Then my quest to learn about Islam became a bit more personal.

Earlier this year, I approached Jane, a mentor in the Lungujja home, about going to mosque with her. I knew that Jane was a Muslim, but only because others had told me so. I see her every Wednesday during mentor fellowship where together we discuss a different principle of Jesus. Although Cornerstone welcomes many different religious perspectives, Jane almost never spoke up about her Muslim identity, perhaps because most of the other mentors come from strong Christian backgrounds.

I could tell that Jane wasn't sure if I was serious about going to mosque with her. She told me that I was welcome to join her on Friday for prayers, but I think she doubted that I would actually pull through. That Friday we met downtown and Jane had in tow an extra ankle-length skirt and a scarf just in case I wasn't dressed in appropriately. (I was.) During prayers, I followed the motions of the other women around me, reminding me of the times I used to attend Catholic mass with my cousins and follow along with their ups, downs, crosses, and recitations. After prayers were finished, a few women approached Jane and me, asking if I was a Muslim. One girl about my age approached me, her black garment sparkling with embellishments and flowing around her. I was already a bit on edge, not wanting to mess anything up or offend anyone, so I hoped they wouldn't be upset at Jane for bringing a non-Muslim to mosque or at me for infiltrating their holy day and place of worship. I timidly answered that I was not a Muslim, but I was interested in learning about Islam. "Are you sure?" she asked, seemingly astonished, but complementing her question with a broad smile, her lips coated in a deep red lipstick. She took my hand and asked where I lived, wanting to meet up with me in order to give me a Muslim garment for future mosque visits. We traded phone numbers, but I honestly didn't believe she'd live up to her promises. The following week, Asha called me as promised and we arranged a meeting in town. I didn't recognize her at first; she was wearing tight jeans and a sweater with a scoop neck, but still flashed the same smile. She took me to her sister's shop and handed me a bag with a long purple robe embroidered in bright colored circles, a headscarf, and two cute dresses for good measure. I sat with her and her sisters in the shop sipping a Fanta Orange and learning about their families.

Asha's warm welcome was just the beginning. Each time I've gone to mosque with Jane, someone else has approached me with a personal welcome into their place of worship. One lady bought me some books to help me learn more about their methods of prayer and explanations of beliefs. I sat with a man who leads prayers and he encouraged me to ask him any questions that I may have about Islam and Christianity, and he scattered verses from both the Qu'ran and the Bible into his answers. Jane belongs to a small, unique sect of Islam called Ahmadiyya, who some say are the most peace-loving. Indeed, each Ahmadiyya mosque is branded with their slogan, "Love for all. Hatred for none.", and I've come to look forward to Friday prayers as a time of silent reflection, warm greetings, and being pushed in my own faith.

I'll admit that I wanted to attend mosque mostly for selfish reasons, mostly just to learn a bit more about Islam out of my own curiosity. However, my favorite result out of my weekly visits thus far is to see how Jane has been encouraged in her identity as a Muslim. Whispers have passed through the office about my mosque visits and I've begun openly sharing about them in fellowship; within the past few months, Jane has clearly taken more ownership of her faith. She excitedly tells Tim, the director of Cornerstone, about my visit with her each week and she's begun contributing to discussions from her Islamic point of view. One day as we stood outside of mosque after prayers, she told me that she doesn't quite understand why I like to come to mosque with her. "Everyone around the office wonders why you come," she revealed. I laughed and asked her why she goes to church with the Christian girls in the Lungujja home, where she is a mentor. "Well," she responded, "I like the messages they teach. They are nice." "Exactly," I said. "And I like the messages I hear at mosque. And what about the girls? Do they appreciate you coming to church with them?" She answered that they did and I told her that as she wants to show the girls that she stands in solidarity with them and tries to understand their perspective, I want to do the same for my Muslim friends. Jane no longer doubts the sincerity of my motives and now approaches me each Wednesday during fellowship to check if I can still come with her on Friday. She also no longer brings an extra skirt and headscarf for me and laughs with me about how I'm improving the gestures to make during prayers.

I don't know if there is a correct way to read the Qur'an, but I just started at the beginning and am slowly making my way through while reading other accompanying books on Islam and holding conversations with Jane and others. However, I was immediately shocked at how many times Christians and Christian scripture is referred to, Jesus is not only mentioned, but revered, and how Biblical history is discussed over and over. My beginning steps with Islam have been more than pleasant. I'm beyond intrigued

Exploring Islam isn't something anyone encouraged me to do. In fact, I haven't shared these experiences with many from back home, being scared of any negative reactions or passive judgement. I grew up in a conservative, rural Midwestern town and attended a "white hair" country church for most of my life. The first Muslim I had ever met was Moses, a friend I made during my studies in South Africa only 2 years ago. Growing up, I thought Muslims were weird, were wrong, and were from another world. Nobody ever told me that, but my society implied it. Being from the 9/11 generation, I also thought Islam was harsh, strict, violent, and oppressive. Over and over again I'm finding the fault in these impressions. Through my readings, I've found that we hold an incredibly large percentage of beliefs in common and I've learned to separate differences in beliefs from differences in tradition and culture. Through my relationships I've been able to humanize Muslims and had opportunities to question them, laugh with them, and pray with them. I've found that they follow Jesus sometimes better than me and they love and worship God in a way that has challenged me in my own faith.

Last week, this journey took me to Jordan, where I was able to meet so many other great people and learn so much more. I'm excited to share that experience with you in my next post, but I first wanted to share my first steps in my journey with Islam.

"Say: 'Why do you dispute with us about God when He is equally your Lord and our Lord? To us belong our actions, to you yours; and we are true to Him.' Or do you claim that Abraham and Ishmael and Isaac and Jacob and their offspring were Jews or Christians? Say: 'Have you more knowledge than God?" -Surah 2:139-140, the Holy Qur'an

Jane talking with some ladies after prayers

An identity tug-of-war

2011-06-11T10:40:00.000-04:00

My friend Scott once told me that if he could choose one word to describe me, it would be 'surprising.' When I asked why, he pointed out that conversations with me just may bring out the fact that I once performed a baton twirling routine to Hanson's "Mmmbop," and I can discuss castrating cattle like it's the most natural thing in the world, or I might break out a senior picture of myself sitting on my 4-wheeler. Just the other night I mentioned that I used to hunt and Julie gave out one of those explosive laughs that come out like the short burst of a bicycle horn after being squeezed. "Dani," she said, "I just love hearing about your past. You always surprise me."

It is funny to look back and reflect on the girl I used to be. Things certainly have changed, but sometimes I wonder how much. Sure, I don't raise cattle anymore and tame them to be like huge puppies to walk around a showring in front of a judge, but the girl that used to do that came from a place where that's not so uncommon and a place that I cherish, due mostly to the people and community that exists there. My family has deep roots in Indiana; the Walkers officially started farming in our county in 1860 and there's no sign we're going to stop here. Our friends' families have also been around for generations, so when I sit to have tea with Lola, my grandmother's best friend and my 'adopted grandmother,' she'll tell me how my great aunt was best friends with so-and-so's grandmother. In the place where I come from, community runs deep because we've all known each other for our whole lives. Our grandparents knew our grandparents for their whole lives. We know each others' deepest wounds and we bring casseroles when life gets tough. In my small town, over 1,000 people showed up to my grandparents' funeral. It may be a small community, but it's a tight one, and it's a place that is seared into my deepest identity.

It is this type of community that I deeply desire for my life - a community whose residents change only very slowly as the generations progress and a community whose beauty lies in the support of those around you. However, there is another part of my identity that I just can't seem to shake and it is a part that my community just can't seem to fulfill. My thirst for learning about the whole world, about people who are very different than me, and about political and social systems that I'm not accustomed to calls me away from the charm of small town life into the unknown where exploration is required and questions about life and yourself are a must.

I'm nearly half way through my commitment with HALO in Uganda and I've been struggling to ask myself which part of my identity I'm going to leave behind in the next step of my life. There's a very big part of me that wants to emulate my big sister and start raising a family in small town Indiana, but I know I wouldn't be happy there for long and the restlessness inside me would start stirring for something new. And when I get that something new, all I want is a stable community.

One month ago a couple who moved to Uganda just 3 days after my arrival left the country for good. Coming up in August, one of my roommates with whom I have become quite close is moving back to Texas. This community is a transient one, but my life in Uganda is one that offers the explorations my heart craves.

So I've started asking myself, "What do I do? Which side of myself do I sacrifice?"

Nantongo is crazy

2011-05-21T10:41:00.003-04:00

The first night I arrived in Uganda, some of my friends began talking about my HALO predecessor, Kristen. "Kristen was a legend," John laughed. We went on to talk about how she once slapped a man who didn't copy her key correctly and I remembered watching her get in the face of a police officer with an AK47 around his shoulder because he treated her boda driver unfairly. I'll admit, I thought she was a little crazy. During my 3 weeks of being Kristen's shadow for some on-the-job training, she told me that sometimes in this job, "you just have to be a bitch." I realized that yea, maybe I had to say no to someone whose budget is too large for a certain program or I might have to chase an employee to get a task done, but I honestly didn't take her too seriously. I mean, look who was talking...this girl was clearly out of her mind.

Now I'm nearly half way through my committment with HALO and I wonder if one day I won't give my trainee the exact same impression when they come out to replace me. I think I'm slowly becoming just as crazy as Kristen. In the past few months I've had to deal with police brutality at my doorstep and teargas unjustly shot into my house. Just the other night I awoke to men who had just caught a thief fighting outside our house. Ugandans adhere to a little thing called mob justice, often killing or severely maiming theives, so I thought I was going to hear someone's death outside my window, bringing back memories of the guy beating his girlfriend outside my last house. I can slowly feel these bigger things having an effect on my attitude and it makes the little things just a little harder to deal with - people always wanting more no matter how much I give simply because of my skin color, bodas trying to cheat me every day on prices, kids pass me asking for sweets and money, men asking to buy me, and bodas trying to convert me to their religion. Relationships that I think are sincere turn out to be someone just wanting something from me. I feel like as soon as I step outside of my gate in the morning, my defenses go up and my trust is harder to earn. I'm always aware, always wary, always judging.

My dad once told me that I was too trusting and I'd be taken advantage of one day. I think he'd be surprised to see how much I've turned around. I'm still deciding how much of this attitude change is good and how much is harmful. The harmful part is the bitterness and the mistrust, but the useful part is my newfound assertiveness. Suddenly I find myself yelling at the top of my lungs to the boys next door blaring their music. Now I have the confidence to scream at the boy beating his girlfriend to the point where I'm shaking, but it makes him stop. I can stand up for myself and others more than ever. I can say no to someone who would have previously taken advantage of me. Am I stronger or just more bitter? Am I assertive or just more mean? Or both? Can this newfound personality trait find a balance between something constructive and something destructive?

A few months ago I sat with some coworkers at the Kibuli home with a bunch of ex-street boys and they all agreed that its about time I get a Ugandan name. The boys chose to call me Nantongo. I wasn't sure at the time why they all laughed, but I decided I liked it. It wasn't long before I told a boda driver my new name and he laughed, too. Nantongo, he said, is a girl's name from a clan whose women are known to be a crazy. "It means you are a strong woman and you like to fight!" he informed me. I smirked and decided to take it as a compliment, but thought it was ironic that some of the toughest boys that I knew thought of me as crazy.

That's when I thought of Kristen and realized that she would be so proud.

HALO's mission redefined - new video

2011-05-14T01:53:00.001-04:00

HALO's Josh Fry recently made a new video explaining HALO and their work around the world. He did a great job, so please check it out. They were even nice enough to feature me in a few clips :)

HALO Foundation's Mission Redefined from Ambitious Pixels on Vimeo.

And for a great pick-me-up, watch this video any and every day. These are the Bukesa boys performing my favorite trick...the human bicycle!

HALO Helper: Human Bicycle from Ambitious Pixels on Vimeo.

Some excitement in my life

2011-05-14T01:44:00.000-04:00

1) I've moved houses! When I first moved into my last house, I loved it so much that we named it Sparkles the House. Then the loud college students, frequent riots, boyfriend in our compound beating his girlfriend, little hot water, little water pressure, and toilets that flushed only half the time slowly began to wear on us and we eventually started referring to Sparkles as The Hell Hole. Then thanks to a series of fortunate events I am now sitting in our sparkling new house with boxes still to be unpacked! It's quieter, it's in a less rowdy area of town (we hope), just behind the American embassy, has plenty of hot water pressure, and I even have a boudoir! So far, the only downsides include the rat that jumped out of my suitcase on the first morning and the neighborhood kids that like to ding-dong-ditch us. From now on, our house will now be referred to as "Sisters of Charity," thanks to a corresponding sign pointing to our house. And hey, you are welcome at any time. We conveniently have a cozy hotel just around the corner:

2) Speaking of the American embassy, I proudly played diplomat today. President Museveni just had the sixth inauguration of his career today. I can't say I'm the biggest fan, but I thought the swearing in ceremony would be interesting to attend given the tense state of affairs between him and the opposition leader. My friend Tyler had an invitation to the ceremony, so he was guaranteed a good seat. I wasn't. We were going to try and sweet talk them into letting me sit with him, but no need! As soon as we walked in, we were approached and asked which embassy we were from. I jumped on the question and said that we were from the U.S. and we were suddenly treated very nicely and escorted to the "diplomats" seating section. We sat right by the chief judges (who by the way have HORRIBLE wigs...see picture) who sat right next to the heads of state. The presidents of Zimbabwe, Nigeria, Somalia, Saharawi, DR Congo, Southern Sudan, and Kenya aren't all necessarily good company to be in, but it was at least interesting! And hey, I didn't reeeally lie...we ARE from the U.S., just maybe not ambassadors. :)

Really...could these wigs get any worse?

3) I forgot to mention the one thing I will miss about our old place...Boda Denis. Denis is by far the best boda driver, but has become so much more to us. He gets us out of riots, he buys us mangoes, gives us mixed CDs, teaches us Luganda, and is just the best good friend anyone could have. Maybe he was tired of always being the driver and me the passenger and just wanted to mix things up because he'd been pestering me in the last few weeks to drive his boda. So I finally consented and my roommates and I had a motorcycle driving lesson the other day. It turned out better for some than others, but at least the audience of college students loved the show. Lessons will continue, even across town from our beloved driver, and we will improve. Soon I hope to say that Kampala residents will be used to seeing a mzungu girl driving Boda Denis all over town!

Me, Boda Denis, Julie, and Cam

call me Boda Dani

4) This is my 100th blog post. Fun!

So-called 'African time'

2011-05-09T10:42:00.000-04:00

One of the first things anyone realizes when they come to Africa is the difference in how this culture views time compared to our own. As a visitor, you'll easily see that things run a little slower and people hardly ever come to meetings on time. Visitors are generally annoyed that their time is being wasted just sitting around waiting for people to come, but eventually the time issue becomes an endearing part of the culture that you slowly adjust to and come to appreciate. The slower pace of life is obvious, but there are other deeper differences in how our cultures value time. A few weeks ago I sat down to coffee with a couple of good friends of mine and we started discussing how differently we spend our time in Uganda compared to our lives in the U.S.

Last year I read the ultra-popular book by Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat Pray Love, and was particularly struck by a thought she had while comparing Italian and American cultures. Whereas Italians focus on enjoying life to its fullest and taking pleasure in everything around them, Americans tend to think that we have to earn our happiness - that we have to work, complete tasks, busy our schedules, and be productive in order to earn our vacation time, our time with friends and family, and our relaxation time. Work is generally put in front of pleasure. Even as I type, my first instinct is to agree: yes, of course work should be put in front of pleasure. But Ugandans would ask, "What about the people around us? Do they give us pleasure? Should work be put in front of our family? Our friends?"

It seems that Ugandans spend almost every waking moment with someone else. Privacy is seen as loneliness and relationships trump productivity. Before living in Uganda, every day of my week was planned out and maxed out with tasks, meetings, and to-do lists. Now my work revolves much less around tasks and more around people. It's hard to answer the question, "what do you do day-to-day?" because honestly a lot of what I do is just talking to people. I meet with our accountant, the mentors, the kids, our resettlement coordinator, and others in the office with whom I work and we bounce ideas off of each other, we laugh with each other, we talk about our weeks, our ideas, our dreams. We encourage one another and we share in each others' lives. Of course it's all supplemented by e-mails, papers, and reports, but much less than I ever would have expected. And I'm not always appreciative of it; just today the power was out in our office and my computer battery was dead, so there was nothing I could do except talk to people. So I did, for an hour or so, and when I had nothing else to talk about concerning work I packed up my computer and headed to a coffee shop for power and internet while my coworkers debated whether the president's purchase of the fighter jets that were testing their wings over the city was a good investment. I doubt much work was accomplished today at the office, but relationships were built and as inefficient as it sounds, its the only effective way to work well in Uganda.

I've gained an entirely new view on productivity and it's made a drastic difference on the balance in my life. I have time to read, to exercise, and mostly to genuinely be with people for the first time since elementary school when my schedule was packed with gymnastics practice, homework, and 4-H projects. I hope that it's a balance I will be able to maintain and constantly improve upon because I think there's something valuable to this so-called African time.

Rwanda reflections

2011-05-05T09:02:00.001-04:00

When the kids are on vacation from school many of them return to any remaining family in the villages and work slows down a bit, giving me a chance to check some things off my "want-to-do" list. Over the extended Easter weekend, 12 of my expat friends and I crammed our backpacks and hopped on an 8-10 hour bus ride to Lake Bunyonyi, which I first visited during my first trip to Uganda in 2009. It was full of friendship, games, laughs, and reflection time. I took the rest of the week to tour Rwanda a bit, finally putting my 3 years of college French to use, to see Wendy and Phil who work there for Cornerstone, visit some Congolese contacts, and just try to learn and understand the country a bit more. I quickly became obsessed with Rwanda's clean streets, smooth paved roads, and organized transport systems, which starkly contrast Uganda, but I soon found out that my options for exploration were limited. There isn't a whole lot to do or see in Rwanda beyond the insanely expensive gorilla trekking and unfortunately, the main tourist attractions in Rwanda revolve around the 1994 genocide, but I explored what I could.

Twice I've been to the Holocaust Memorial in Washington, D.C. and twice I've walked out with a heavy heart and a renewed worldview, but seeing the genocide memorial in the country where the crimes took place was a whole other experience. Everything that I had read about in the years of my studies were suddenly right in front of me. There was Nyamata church that hasn't been touched since 2,500 people were killed within its walls, there was the young girl who chatted with me on the bus and had lost both her parents in the genocide, and there was also the clear efforts of both the government and the people to overcome division and reconcile the past, develop their nation, and move forward.

I took another day and a half to visit Gisenyi, a town on the western border and northern tip of Lake Kivu, just across the border from the Democratic Republic of Congo. If you've known me at all in the past 6 years, you know that many of my thoughts and activities revolve around DRC. I'll shamelessly admit that an Oprah show that aired in February 2005 drew my attention to the war in DRC and the resulting sexual violence against women. That show led me to study the history of Congo, which led me into the history of Africa, which led me to my choice of college degree, which led me here. I started a student organization in college in partnership in a local NGO that worked in Congo. Three of the people who have been very influential mentors to me grew up in Congo. I know the facts, the history, the news, and yet I've never been there.

Then I got to Gisenyi, settled into my room, and called Baraka, a Congolese acquaintance I had met in October. I soon stood at the border, looking straight into Congo for the first time, but unfortunately I could only look-and-not-touch thanks to the armed guards and expensive visa. My new friends were able to cross the border into Rwanda and we soon sat on rocks at the beach of Lake Kivu discussing their work, the Congo, and their visions. Benson started COBURWAS (stands for Congo, Burundi, Rwanda, and Sudan) after being one of the very few children from his refugee camp in Uganda who was able to attend school thanks to his soccer skills. Seeing the benefits of education and knowing that his country would not move forward without it, he acquired a piece of land and convinced others to help him grow crops, sell them, and use the money to meet the most immediate needs in the refugee camp. His organization has now grown immensely and he has brought on Baraka and Moses, both with masters degrees in law, to help him out. As I asked each guy his vision for the future, they each replied that their personal vision closely paralleled with their vision for the organization and the country.

I can say with a lot of certainty that this was one of my most inspirational moments since moving to Uganda. Congo is a country with a brutal history and a promising future and is currently at a crossroads between the two. It's the richest nation in the world as far as mineral resources, but one of the few countries labeled a "failed state" by the U.S. Department of State. Congo has been riddled with corruption and the violent extraction of resources, but there were 3 guys sitting in front of me (and another who didn't have the documents to cross the border) at that moment who somehow had the determination to fight the system. They didn't contribute to the system and they didn't let the system determine their lives. They actively fought the system, which is something I think very few people can truly understand or appreciate, including myself. In a country that has immeasurable resources that have been devastatingly mishandled, here were a promising group of citizens who had a very small amount of resources and yet were making an incredible amount of positive change. I had nothing to offer them except my own story of my interest in Congo and a little encouragement, but they were hungry for feedback, for support, and to share their stories. It was a great moment with these guys, sitting there on the beach with Congo just across Lake Kivu, its ominous mountains mysteriously hovering in the background. It made everything I've thought about since that show so much more meaningful and realistic.

Roommates at Lake Bunyonyi

Lake Bunyonyi at sunset

scarves of victims of the genocide

Kigali, Rwanda

Moses, Benson, and Baraka at Lake Kivu

Lake Kivu with DRC in the background

Gisenyi mosque with the active Nyiragongo volcano in the background

Lake Kivu at sunset

Fishing pirogues on Lake Kivu in Rubona, Rwanda

Riots and Tornadoes

2011-04-15T18:10:00.002-04:00

My friend just wrote a blog about how riots are like tornadoes. I completely agree. Today was the second day of rioting in Kampala, but this time it was led by the students over a proposed doubling of tuition fees. While most of my American friends in Uganda have posted super dramatic facebook statuses about how crazy and wild and scary the riots are, and that they're ok, but please pray for them, one of my Ugandan friends living in Oklahoma posted a super dramatic facebook status about how crazy and wild and scary the tornadoes are, and that he's ok, but please pray for him. Tornadoes and riots can be scary, but I think both are generally just unsettling although they don't usually cause a lot of casualties. While most people try to avoid them, sometimes you just can't help being caught in the middle of a storm, and today the storm came right by my house.

I live in a college neighborhood and have dorms surrounding our house on all sides. So when students are protesting something, we know it. Today they were upset about the rise in tuition fees and wanted to let it be known, so they were asking the police to come to them, and by default, me. I have to admit, I had a total adrenaline rush. Maybe I'm a sucker for mob mentality because I got a little jittery and excited about the whole thing. It started in our area when about thirty people started a small fire with wood and tires outside our gate and began yelling for the police to come with their tear gas. So the police came, of course, and everyone looked on from their respective balconies or rooms, while my friends and I leaned over our wall to take in the action. I was snapping pictures left and right, imagining myself as a BBC photo journalist getting caught right in the action. Then, oops...the police spotted me, the mzungu, and my camera. A couple of rubber bullet shots in the air was enough to make us leap back behind the wall and run into the house. But like curious little children, we slowly made our way out to the banana grove fortress and peeped our eyes (and my camera lens) over the wall again. This time, the five police had returned with all of their friends. I could feel the heat of the fire burning directly in front of me, which was all that was separating the college boys on the left throwing rocks at the ensuing police on the right, and I just had to take pictures.

Within the next couple of hours, the dorm directly across our gate was raided and a student was taken into custody. I'm assuming the police didn't like the fact that I decided to take pictures, which could explain why a group of them were standing at our gate for a few tense moments while we locked ourselves up in our house and hid our valuables. It might also explain the tear gas canister that was thrown right in front of our porch, its smoke taking over our house, our nose, eyes, and throats.

Then that was the end of it. The storm passed and we spent the rest of the day in another part of town with our friends, Jon and Amanda, who made us a superb dinner, complete with ice cream and nutella, and relaxed to a movie.

When we left our house and walked into my office, we told one of my coworkers what had happened and laughing, he casually remarked, "So you were in a riot and were teargassed. You're a Ugandan now!" Although we were looking for a bit more pity, I appreciated knowing that what occurred was seen as an annoyance to many Ugandans rather than a dramatic ordeal. I think he was saying exactly what someone from Oklahoma would say to my Ugandan friend: "So you faced a few tornadoes...you're an Oklahoman now!"

Ok, and clearly I'm dieing to share my pictures with you:

Students watch the action from their dorm rooms

Students getting a little riled up...

A student throwing a rock at the ensuing police

A tiny bit intimidating

The police raid a dorm. I believe they were searching for the guy peeping around on the roof.

teargas canister in front of the house

teargas is no fun

Protests, Police, and Parties

2011-04-14T15:54:00.001-04:00

I was hoping it wouldn't hit international news so that nobody would worry about me, but the inevitable happened and I got my first facebook wall post from a cousin asking if I was ok. I am.

I worked from home today and starting late in the morning, we began hearing what sounded like gunshots followed by yells from a distance. We knew that the opposition leader, Kizza Besigye, was planning a 'Walk to Work' campaign to protest high fuel prices and the incumbent party, the NRM, isn't too happy about it. Word quickly spread that the sounds of gunshots turned out to be tear gas that was fired by the police and military when the protests started pulling in the idle passers-by on the street and things got a bit chaotic.

After meeting a friend for lunch and trading each other's knowledge about the goings-on, we both confided to each other that we actually wanted to see what was happening, so we hopped in his car and tried to figure out what area of town was affected. When we arrived in Mulago, we saw the remnants of the riots - just a street that was a little trashed with the shops shut down, black marks on the road from burning tires, and a large police/military presence. Life in the rest of the city had progressed as normal during the day, and it was clear that nothing too serious had occurred in the affected areas, so I went on with my day and prepared to go to the Lungujja home for a par-tay!!!!

The most significant part of the riots is that Besigye evidently ended up in a ditch and got shot in the hand by a rubber bullet. It wasn't international news until the he was shot. I'll admit, he's played his cards well. The first march he led was on Monday, when he sat in the middle of the street so that the police had to drag him away, which was surely a publicity stunt and made for a nice picture for the AP news. There's no doubt he's trying to ride the coattails of the revolutions in the Middle East, but it's unclear how far he'll get. He called for Egypt-style protests after the recent elections due to his anger that the NRM used a significant amount of state resources to fund their party's campaigns, but he got nowhere. The important thing for Besigye and the international world to keep in mind is that Uganda is not the Middle East. Sure, there are raised eyebrows when someone learns that Museveni has been in power for 25 years and protests over fuel prices were squashed by the military, but it's also important to know that Museveni was just re-elected in February in internationally recognized free and fair elections for another term, and that although Uganda's population is very young like those of Tunisia, Egypt, Libya, and so on, they are not as educated and therefore less likely to understand what exactly to protest about.

I'm not even positive that Besigye understands what he's protesting. He certainly has valid grievances to present about the current government, but his campaign is lacking in purpose and clarity. As far as I know, he's never said exactly what the government should do about rising food and fuel prices. His cause hits home with many Ugandans, who have seen a 30% rise in food prices in the past month, but I've only heard him complain about the problem and not offer a solution. There is a lot of room for him to show a great deal of leadership, which I hope he does, but he will really have to think long and hard about his strategy to be the leader he's claiming to be.

The next few months will be interesting, but I have few doubts that anything truly threatening to my safety or the stability of the country will arise. So don't worry about me!

For a little more info, here's a BBC article.

A little peace within chaos

2011-04-07T18:44:00.000-04:00

After my peaceful night routine of reading, thinking about my day, and dozing off, I was violently awoken at 1:00am by drunken college boys immediately outside my window who have turned their dorm room into a night club. After 3 minutes of trying to block out the blaring music, I realized my attempts were futile. I went to my roommate's room, but it wasn't much quieter and it was clear that I wasn't getting any sleep. Furious, I unlocked our door, stomped outside, and screamed expletives in the direction of the nuisance. The only response was a high-pitched mocking of the mzungu who has to wake up in the morning. Now I sit inside with a clenched jaw, only angrier than before (I really don't know why I expected to achieve anything). I guess at the very least I woke up our guard.

I try to close my eyes and listen to the crickets that can be heard between songs, the shouting, and the dogs barking as if to warn each other about Cruella DeVille...and I think of a quieter time:

Last night I spent the night at the Mengo home. As the girls either did their schoolwork or wrote me the cutest stinkin' notes, I sat with Josephine and talked. Josephine is 22 and recently finished her diploma in cosmetology. We sat and talked about her plans to apply for a loan and start her own salon. She told me how she's cleaning at a tailoring shop now in order to make a little money. She knows that if she gets the loan, the first few months of her business probably won't bring in a profit, so she also wants to set up a small food stand so she can begin making a profit and pay off her loan quickly. We reviewed the forms she has to fill out and I helped her the best that I could and I went to bed so proud to be part of helping someone so motivated to reach their goals.

As I continue to reflect on Josephine and the other kids I talked to this week, the music finally ceases. Now it's just the dogs, the traffic, and the crickets, which I can deal with. And I even hear our guard rustling around outside, which means he's still awake. Maybe it's possible to find peace in chaos after all.

Josephine and Winnie

Rocal Ringo

2011-03-24T03:48:00.000-04:00

When people ask me what language is spoken in Uganda, I always quickly inform them that English is widely spoken and move on with the conversation as if I rarely have cross-cultural communication issues, which I must finally admit, is not true. Although English is the uniting language of the country and is taught in the schools, there is a unique breed of Ugandan English that certainly takes some getting used to. Of course, it always starts with practicing the Ugandan accent which means turning your "r's" to "ah's" and enunciating your words a bit more. I giggle at mzungus, including myself, as we easily fall into the trap of simply deforming our language and talk to a perfectly capable and highly intelligent Ugandans as if they're in 3rd grade. But you've got to give us credit for trying to adapt. Eventually, we might even start pointing at something with our lips, subtlely lift our eyebrows to agree with something, and even let out a high pitched "ey!!" to indicate surprise, disagreement, or fear on a boda. You know you've crossed a line in your immersion when you start turning your 'l's' into 'r's' and vice versa. "Do you want to pray with me?" asks one of our girls. Thinking she has something on her mind that she wants to bow in reverence to, I close my eyes and hear her scuttle off to find a ball. Oh yes, play with her, of course. Soon, you'll find yourself asking where your watel botter is and telling your roommate how much you rike the guacamole. Or naming your blog posts 'rocal ringo' instead of 'local lingo.' :)

Yes, there are many communication techniques to be picked up during your time in Uganda, including a transformation of your vocabulary. Take directions for example. For the first few months in Uganda, getting lost was not an option. If I asked how to return somewhere, I would only get a reply of "you branch just there and at that one you turn, etc etc." supplemented by numerous hand gestures. But now - well now I proudly hop on my boda to go home and I tell him, "Go direct at Wandegeya and extend. You turn right on that road then you slope down and branch and I stay just there."

I'm not sure how donors would feel if I told them that it wouldn't be abnormal to say, "I'm going to flash our accountant so I can tell him to get rubbers for our kids and to withdraw money for our girls to train at a saloon." Before you report us to child services, allow me to clarify:
Almost all cell phones are pay-as-you-go, so when someone is low on airtime, they will "flash" the person they are trying to reach, meaning they call quickly and hang up so that the other person will see their missed call and contact them
Rubbers - also known as erasers
Saloon - often spelled and pronounced by American English standards to mean a rugged bar in the wild west. By Ugandan English standards, it actually refers to a 'salon,' you know, the beauty shops.

And even apart from picking up Ugandan English, our little group of expats have slowly formed a vocabulary of our own that is generally only relevant in an East African context:

-'Unflushables' - not at all related to uncrustables. For some reason, the toilets here are lazy. Instead of gulping down the treats you give them, they will twirl your turds like toys, like a powerball machine discombobulating the numbered ping pong balls, and when the toilet hurricane comes to a halt, your treat ends up lying stagnant and there is little to be done about it except to close the door and run.
-'shath' - although already mentioned in a previous blog, this phenomenon still unfortunately remains relevant to my life. Our water goes out regularly. And when our water goes out for one day, our water pressure goes out for a few weeks. The consequences for our bathing practices means sitting in the bathtub and holding the shower hose over your head. Not a bath, not a shower - a shath.
-'Tumbleweaves' - the East African version of the iconic dead vegetation gently swirling in the Wyoming desert breeze. African women love to change their hairstyles and littering isn't given a second thought. The result? The iconic used hairball gently tossing down the Ugandan streets.

tumbleweave

tumbleweed

This is why

2011-03-15T17:47:00.000-04:00

Not writing a blog in a while feels like not having called a good friend in a long time. I feel too guilty and don't want to face the fact of my absence, so I just stay away, hoping nobody will notice and so the self-perpetuating cycle continues. In my defense, my days have been packed with visiting our kids and programs since I returned to Uganda and met the other HALO employees here who are visiting for a couple of weeks. When I do have a night or two free, I have celebrated normalcy, as I promised, by making dinner with my roommates, watching our new re-obsession of ALIAS, and topping it all off with no-bake cookies. Apology accepted? I hope so...

While catching up with everyone during my visit at home and while hosting the HALO visitors in Uganda, I've had to talk a lot about my job. I've had to explain over and over again exactly what I do, my reasons for doing it, the parts that are really difficult and the parts that I love. I've explained that my work isn't always smiling kids whose lives always change the moment they step into one of our homes. The fact is that we work with rough kids - kids who have lived for years on the streets, kids who have been beaten by their families, kids who have traded sex for school fees, and kids who have seen their relatives die in war. I've had to explain that sometimes the nature of our work means that boys run back to the streets for a few months, that some girls are still involved with men, that the culture in northern Uganda can lure young girls out of school and into marriage or pregnancy. There are certainly a lot of fun, smiling kids, but not all the time.

But in addition to explaining all of those things, I also got to talk a lot about why I do what I do and about the bottom line of it all. I've realized that it takes a certain personality to work in Uganda, which I believe I have. I'm not the type who takes the weight of the world on my shoulders; as one of my friends told me, she couldn't work here because she would take every case of each kid way too personally and be in tears so much that she wouldn't actually be able to accomplish anything. Now, please don't think of me as being cold-hearted. Don't get me wrong, I care for these kids immensely and will do everything I can to improve their lives, but there is a certain amount of acceptance that you have to take with the job, knowing that the nature of working with rough kids calls for dealing with rough situations. And in explaining all of this to my friends, family, donors, and bosses, I've been reminded over and over again how much I truly do believe that my work contributes to a better world. In fact, I know that we are building leaders in Uganda - that the kids and the mentors in our homes will soon become not only contributing members of society (as opposed to a strain on society), but also great leaders in their communities and nation. I'm seeing it unfold every day. If I had to name one solution for the social issues in the world, I would point to good leadership as the most crucial ingredient, and through all of our ups and downs, I'm confident that this is exactly what we are working for.

On a more light-hearted note, enjoy some pictures from the last couple of weeks:

Busulwa Moses

Best dance party I've ever been to at the Bukesa home


Awkward or Awesome? You decide.


Refugee neighborhood where our kids performed community service


Break dance at the Makerere home

Drina and Winnie with their handmade rugs

Mengo girls doing an art project

Brenda, the Mengo home mentor, and Winnie - doing art

Mercy from the Gulu home

Lydia doing some art

Gulu girls home

Art!

Normalcy Needed

2011-03-08T16:49:00.000-05:00

In approximately one week, I am throwing a normalcy party. Yes, you heard right. I'm going to hang out with my friends and do something entirely normal - make dinner, watch a movie, play a game, whatever. My life has been nuts-o in the past few months: in December, all the kids left for the holidays and I traveled around Kenya for Christmas. In January, the kids were still gone, my roommates' bosses moved into our house, I was preparing for my bosses to come to Uganda, and all of my friends were occupied with visitors meaning I was busy and lonely. In February, I returned home, which was everything wonderful and great, but also crazy - Washington, DC for a week, home for 4 days, Bloomington for 3 days, Indianapolis for a day, Florida for 5 days, and home for one last week. Now it's March and I'm back in Uganda, but things aren't quite normal yet. The ladies I work with in HALO have finally gotten a chance to come visit Uganda, so we have been on the go almost constantly in the past week. Rebecca just left tonight and Lacy is around for one more week.

Nothing is wrong with everything that's been happening. In fact, everything has been just right. Kenya was awesome, being home and seeing everyone felt so right, and I truly can't imagine having better bosses and feeling better about their visit, but it seems that every month my life has looked completely different and it will be nice to just have a little predictability and stability again. The kids are all back in the homes and there is work to be done! I've missed my roommates and friends and I have too many ideas in my head that I haven't had a chance to implement. So, after Lacy and I travel to Cornerstone's ranch, to Gulu to visit a home, to Jinja to raft the Nile, and another visit to our Kampala homes to do art projects, I am throwing a normalcy party. It will be so wonderfully average. I can't explain how excited I am.

Midnight ramblings

2011-02-20T07:19:00.006-05:00

It’s been two hours since I first lay down to go to sleep. After the first 15 minutes I decided to journal about a few thoughts scurrying across my brain. I tried to return to bed, but my attempt was futile. It’s 12:45 am and Mom and I leave for the airport in exactly 5 hours, but I know from experience that I have to catch all of my random thoughts and sort through them before I have any chance of sleep.

We’ve been visiting my grandparents in Florida since Wednesday, in a place I like to call “Seniorville.” Today I was in a bad mood. I’m not sure if it’s my monthly hormones or the fact that I haven’t seen anyone younger than 50 in 5 days and haven’t listened to anything other than bluegrass music. Or maybe it’s because I’m really starting to see the effects of gorging myself on American food in the last few weeks. Or it might have just been the strange dreams I woke up to.

Either way, today I was in a bad mood and tonight I can’t sleep because I’m dwelling on everything that’s wrong in the world. I’ve thought about the US government overlooking human rights abuses to prop up dictators who support our military interests. I’ve thought about the huge debt that we have as a nation and how it seems nobody wants to do their part in eliminating it. I’ve thought about Israel and Palestine, about the recent Ugandan elections that are likely to extend Museveni’s 25 years in power, and about the revolutions in the Middle East. I’ve thought of individual girls and boys in our programs and how to overcome the obstacles to getting them a better life. I’ve thought about the problems around the entire globe.

Then it started getting personal. There is the unfortunate conflict in my extended family and levels of hurt and misunderstanding in almost every one of my personal relationships. I’ve thought about my relationship with my parents, siblings, roommates, ex-roommates, boyfriend, ex-boyfriends, high school friends, elementary friends, grandparents, etc etc. I’ve thought of everything I’ve done wrong and all of the apologies that I want to make. It’s never-ending.

I’ve thought long and hard about what’s wrong with this world, and I’ve come to two [flexible] conclusions:

Number one: The misuse or disuse of power

Number two: The failure to acknowledge the humanity in one another

Tonight, it seems that most of my thoughts relate with the latter. Humanity; Humanize; Humane; Humankind. If I would only try to understand the seniors that surround me, maybe I could understand their worldview that seems so different than my own and I could probably learn something valuable. If we as Americans can humanize the Egyptians and simply put ourselves in their shoes, maybe we wouldn’t have hesitated on supporting their inspiring revolution. If I imagine myself in the life of a kid that we support, maybe I’ll go the extra mile more often to make something happen. If we listen to an immigrant’s story, maybe we will develop compassion for them instead of hatred and be more willing to share what our nation has to offer. If we try to see the humanity in one another, it would be harder to call them "cockroaches" that need to be killed or "tall trees" that need to be cut down (Rwandan genocide), niggers, coons, charlies, gooks, crackers, yankees, hicks, taco benders, sand niggers, kikes, yids, bitches, pieces of ass - and easier to see them for the human beings they are. The dehumanization of others is really the only thing that has led to human rights violations and murder - the Rwandan genocide, the Holocaust, the Trail of Tears, Sudan, Congo, the Crusades, 9/11, Bosnia, Tibet, the Australian aborigines, the list goes on.

One of the mentors in the Lungujja home once brought a handful of beads to our fellowship meeting. She spread them out on the floor in front of her displaying an array of sizes and colors, and asked someone to categorize them. After the first person had put them in 5 groups or so, she called another volunteer up to check the first person’s work. They saw slight differences that the first person had missed and sorted them further. There were now about 8 groups. The third person did the same, and so on. In the end, we found that no two beads could be grouped together because none of them were exactly the same. But all together, when those beads are strung together on a necklace, they make a beautiful piece of jewelry.

And so it is.

I remember a college discussion about how the U.S. Consensus is having a harder and harder time categorizing races because so many different people have so many different backgrounds. People can’t be categorized as simply Caucasian or Native American, African American, or Hispanic anymore because many of us are a unique blend of more than one! I find it beautiful. We can’t even categorize ourselves because we are so diverse. It’s actually becoming difficult for the government to determine who is who. And that makes it harder for us to determine who is “we” and who is “they.”

The most beautiful thing about traveling abroad is the realization that we are all the same. I recently bought a book called 6 Billion Others. It consists of snapshots and written portraits of people in many different societies across the world. I was obsessed with it the first time I saw it because it showcases one of the most important truths in our world: we are all the same. We all have the same core desires and fears. We are all part of humankind.

There it is; those are my thoughts. They were finally ripe enough to harvest out of my brain and scatter them on paper, which means I can now bid this night adieu.

Where I Come From

2011-02-09T00:33:00.000-05:00

I rarely cry around people. It makes me feel like a wimp and I get super uncomfortable. But when I get by myself and start thinking about something, something that touches a tender little spot, oh my...it's inevitable. This time it was a country song...or two. And I'm shameless enough to admit that it's often a country song...or two...that leads to the inevitable leaky faucet eyes.

I was on the plane from D.C. to my Hoosier Homeland, playing sudoku like any normal person, and then one of those cheesy country songs came on. I had to stop and put my pencil down because the last thing I wanted to do was look at a number puzzle when someone was singing words that went straight to my heart. I'd been looking forward to coming home for so long, attempting to explain what my home and my childhood looked like to those in Uganda, and just 30 minutes from touchdown, this song came on. For those who love to hate on country music, give me a break on this one. I had to close my eyes and let a few tears squeeze out because I was finally coming home

"where the quarterback dates the homecoming queen
The truck's a ford and the tractor's green
And Amazing Grace is what we sing
Well there's a county fair every fall
And your friends are there no matter when you call
Yeah It may not sound like much but it's
Where I'm from."

I'm the kid who moved to Africa. My maternal grandparents farm. The Walkers have been farming in the same county since 1844. My uncles farm. My brother works with my dad on the farm and he just married the sweetest girl straight from a dairy farm. My sister married into a farming family an hour and a half away. And I'm the child who moved to Africa.

But as the saying goes, "You can take the girl out of the honkey-tonk, but you can't take the honkey-tonk out of the girl." Indiana will always be home. Family will always be family.

As soon as the seat belt signs dinged off on the plane, I leapt to my feet and literally felt my heart pounding. I got stares as I rattled my fingers nervously against the seat backs and as soon as I slalomed my way through the crowd, I power walked straight to the lobby area. I anticipated a rough adjustment back to American Midwestern life, but nothing has felt more natural than being at home. Nothing was less surprising than being embraced by my mother the moment she saw me and going around the circle to hug my dad, aunt, uncle, and cousin. (Ok, so maybe once in a while I'll shed a few tears in front of others). It feels completely normal to come home, to have dinner with the entire family, to clutter my room, to say 'hey' to Dad's employees who have seen me grow up, and to eat Mom's comfort food.

For the past 7 months, it felt like 'home' was a dreamland, a place in my head that exists in an alternate universe or a past life. Now I'm starting to wonder if my life in Uganda is real or just a figment of my imagination. It seems so counter to this life, but perfectly natural when I'm there. But now I'm here and I get to soak it up for a few weeks before returning there.

A Special Reunion

2011-02-03T01:32:00.000-05:00

I had an 8:00 a.m. arrival in Washington, D.C. on Monday morning and had to go through the rest of the day with only "plane sleep" to run on. It's my first time back in the U.S. since moving to Uganda and standing in the customs line, I think of all the great little things I'll get to soak up in the next month: hot showers on demand, Mexican food, and organized traffic, to name a few. And family and friends, of course. The culture shock isn't as great as I anticipated, but I second-guess my decision to stay in D.C. for a week before returning home. As I ride through the metro, I think of how I don't want to wait another 7 days to see my family, but as I take the escalator up to ground level and peek outside, I get a small glimpse of downtown D.C., a city I have been in love with since my internship on Capitol Hill a few years ago. I'm freezing. It's the hottest time of the year in Uganda and I'm wearing the warmest clothes that I have with me - a long sleeve shirt, jeans, and a sweatshirt. Luckily I had the foresight to have Mom mail the friend I'm staying with my winter coat and some gloves to get me through the rest of the week.

I'm in town for the National Prayer Breakfast. It's my fourth time to attend since my freshman year in college and as soon as I walked into the hotel and begin helping with international guest registration, I'm reminded why I took a week out of my schedule to stop here. First I see a Japanese acquaintance who works with youth all around the world. Then Amani sneaks into my meeting to hug me. She's basically my sister-mentor who I met 4 years ago and see about once or twice a year here and there. I start helping to register the international guests. My guinea pig is a tall Lebanese man whose bald head, stocky body, and deep voice make me wonder if he was a bouncer before his job at the U.S. embassy. I see a former vice president of Congo who is a good friend of some good friends and introduce myself. After greeting the Ugandan delegation, I walk up to the lobby of the hotel and look around, knowing that every single person in the room is doing something incredible in their own little way. I go to dinner and meet some people working with youth leadership in India. The next day I have lunch with a guy who just finished working on a documentary about child soldiers in Congo. Then I travel with 6 others to visit a senator who genuinely cares about the people and issues in Africa. I later meet with a group of people who are interested in our work in Uganda and want to learn from our programs. We talk about our work and our ideals and we all become inspired again, together. I go to dinner with a great friend from Kansas who I interned with in D.C. I run into a perky girlfriend from Australia and catch up for a couple of minutes. And until midnight I meet with the founder of HALO - the organization I work for - and we talk about life and all the ideas we have for our programs and kids.

I just finished day 3 of 7 in D.C. It's incredible. The people in my life are incredible. We only hear about wars and injustice, corruption and crime happening in our world. We don't hear a lot about these other things, about these people who pour their lives into fighting war and injustice, preventing corruption and crime all across the world. I've spent the last 3 days explaining what I do and why I do it and I've been encouraged and re-inspired. When people who are doing some of the best Good Work in this world tell me they are inspired by me, I can't help but think that maybe this world is moving in the right direction after all. I'm reminded that there are people - real, loving, caring people - in every country who are working in business, politics, the military, the nonprofit sector, and the arts who simply want to do Good. I'm reminded of how small this world really is, of the simple humanity that unites us all, and of the power that we each have to change the lives of others right where we are.

Adventure weekend

2011-01-23T17:32:00.000-05:00

Everyone needs adventure buddies. Even if I can't be with Teri, my veteran adventure partner, this weekend Julie and Scott proved well-qualified. Ok, so we weren't rafting the Nile or trekking gorillas, which might sound more "adventuresome," but are also much more expensive. For us, a simple self-tour of the places of worship in Kampala did just fine. Kampala boasts a wide variety of impressive places of worship. Seeing them all consecutively is a great reminder of the beautiful diversity of thought and culture in our world; it's a reminder that we are all human and need something to believe in, something to surrender ourselves to when we don't have all the answers. Here are some pictures of the different places in Kampala where we as humankind seek answers. Enjoy.

Gaddafi Mosque; Old Kampala

Gaddafi Mosque interior

Namirembe Cathedral

Namirembe Cathedral interior

Rubaga Cathedral

Shree Swaminarayan

Shree Swaminarayan interior

Shiva Hindu temple

Shiva temple interior

Baha'i temple - one of seven in the world

Great Restoration Church - in my neighborhood

Full circle

2011-01-20T12:39:00.002-05:00

January 2006

My mom and I were making pizzas in our church basement with a neighbor in order to raise money for our upcoming trip to Zimbabwe. Cathy, our neighbor, had lived in Zimbabwe for 2 years when she was younger and it would be my first time to Africa. By this point, I had studied a lot about politics and issues in Africa and I was planning on going to IU to further my knowledge on Africa and on development. While we were rolling out the dough, I received a call from an unknown number. I looked at Mom with both fear and excitement in my eyes. We both knew this could be a big moment. I answered the phone and went into an adjoining room. After introducing herself, the lady on the other end of the line said, "Congratulations, Dani. You've been chosen to receive the Lily Scholarship."

I might as well have been in a movie acting the part of someone who had the love of her life propose to her - I had all the same symptoms they tell you about. I literally dropped to the ground. I started sweating and slid down the wall that I was standing against, feeling my legs give out and my heart start pounding faster. I remember jabbering something excitedly and the lady laughing at me. When I hung up, I walked back into the kitchen and gave my mom a huge hug. That moment literally changed my life. I can easily point to the opportunities that I have since been able to take advantage of because I didn't have to pay for my college tuition, including the opportunity of volunteering in Uganda for two years. I later heard my mom tell someone that she couldn't fall asleep that night, knowing that she was finished paying college bills.

January 2011

Apophia lives in our Mengo home. She has been studying at a very good university in Uganda, with a degree in Development Studies and would like to help other orphans as well as become a positive role model for women leaders in Uganda. Her real dream is to become one of the few women members of parliament. Although she gets top grades, she has always been stressed about school because she has a really hard time paying for tuition and school supplies. Her older brother tries to support her the best he can, but he has three other siblings whose school fees he is also trying to cover. Apophia has tried to help relieve some of the financial burden by selling juice on the side, but the money is still just too much. She has been faced with the decision to carry on with her studies and her dreams or sacrifice her potential for her younger siblings.

Today I walked into the Mengo home and Apophia came out to greet me. I took her by both of her hands and looked her in the eyes saying, "Apophia, I have good news for you." She gave me the same look I gave my mom when I answered the phone call. "You are getting the scholarship." First the tears came and then the big hug. Then my goosebumps and claps and cheers from her mentors. More hugs and goosebumps and thank-yous and tears. I'm going to assume that the news to her brother will be like the news to my mom; maybe he won't be able to sleep tonight knowing that he can now better provide for the rest of his family. Her gratefulness and excitement didn't stop spilling over during the rest of my visit.

I know exactly how she feels.

The best that we can

2011-01-09T18:19:00.000-05:00

I've repeatedly said in my writings that the main reason that I love living and working abroad is because I'm constantly pushed and challenged - spiritually, intellectually, morally, socially, and many other -allys, but I'm not sure I've ever explained why or how. I've also said that the people whom I meet and who surround me are another major perk of my life here. The two go hand-in-hand: the circumstances that we find ourselves in and the issues that tend to arise and look us dead in the eye make us question ourselves, so we in turn question each other, asking opinions, seeking some sort of balance between two extremes, and poking holes in each others' arguments.

The development community can be somewhat cut-throat. Meeting another white person in East Africa usually involves a conversation about what you are both doing here and both parties are more than likely judging the other's approach. If one person is a typical missionary and the other started a secular business in order to provide fair trade jobs, there's honestly a great chance they both think the other is missing the point. Or someone working for the UN probably would judge another who is working in child sponsorship as naive while the child sponsorship worker might think the UN is pointless. It happens. From a pessimistic point of view, you can view the criticism as disheartening and could give up even trying to find the answers. But this constant tugging and pulling in the development community is exactly what I have found makes me thrive. It's what sparks something in me and inspires me to keep digging, keep seeking. It's what makes us look for better solutions and ask ourselves the important questions. I think it's a huge strength of the development sector.

This week, many of these conversations have seemed to arise; one of the most thought-provoking happened today. This morning, I went with a group to Watoto, one of the largest churches in town, who was putting on a music/drama production about the story of northern Uganda. The story is a sexy one, I'll admit. It includes child soldiers, the abduction of girls as sex slaves, and families burned in huts by rebel soldiers and it tells of northern Uganda's recovery after it all. It surely pulls at your heartstrings. I'm positive that most of the congregation walked out feeling touched and inspired. Me, the overly cynical one, walked out enraged. I sat there half the time with my arms crossed and a tight, sour look on my face. I was upset because this church recruited real ex-child soldiers and abductees to re-enact the drama of soldiers rampaging their villages with guns. One boy told how his mother plead with the soldiers to kill her instead of taking her son and thereafter had her arms cut off ...by the soldiers. What was this boy's role in the production? Nothing but a rebel soldier. Other kids, by now in their teens or early twenties, retold their stories, but as a scripted and choreographed production, to the audience. They put on that production 4 times today. And they were traveling throughout Uganda, the UK, and Australia to show it over and over. I just couldn't help but think of how many veterans can't even stand to watch war movies, and here these kids were re-enacting some of the worst trauma we can imagine. And it was clear to me that the church was heavily funded by outside, Western money, the production was put on by Westerners, and a white, American pastor led the largely Ugandan congregation. Wasn't this the perfect example of the white man's religion continuing to be brought in to Uganda after centuries of a harmful history with forced religion? Wasn't this the worst case of exploiting the "traumatized, poor African child" in order to get more donor money and perpetuating harmful stereotypes of Africa in the process? Isn't tromping a child around to tell their sad story basically telling them that their awful history is their best asset? Wouldn't a better approach be invest in their future and help them value their intrinsic skills and talents? Like I said, I was enraged.

Ten minutes later, I sat down with four other expatriates over coffee, who also attended the production. "So...what did you guys think?" was, of course, the first question. Julie piped up first, "Dani hated it!" Crap...called out already! After explaining my position, the girl beside me immediately presented a challenge: "I couldn't disagree more," she said. The whole group was soon immersed into a lively discussion of the struggles and ethics of working in Uganda. Maybe those children underwent intense counseling and chose to share their stories with the world because they believe it's something important for others to know. Maybe art and drama and talking about their stories helps them process through what happened and lets them move on. Maybe because of this production, they have become less of victims and more of champions of their circumstances. And maybe they truly believe in the show's message of overcoming hardship and of forgiveness. It's hard to say, really, what the right answer is. The truth lies somewhere in the consciences and motives of the people involved. And who am I to point fingers? The truth is that I struggle with almost the exact same issues in my own work. Where is the balance between exploiting a child's personal story by posting it on the internet and wanting to form real connections with donors by telling them of the child's life? Where is the balance between pretending that a child's life is transformed and perfect as soon as they come in to our home and revealing the hard truth that sometimes still exists, but could reveal personal details of the kids? Where is the balance between completely immersing myself in a culture that is foreign to me and living in an American bubble with people whom I can relate to and be more comfortable with?

They are all hard questions that I certainly don't have the answers to. I haven't found a single person who does have the answers. I know that we will likely never settle on answers, and that's exactly what I love - I love the raw seeking process and those challenging dilemmas that force me to dig deep into my intellect and conscience to question myself and others. It's one of my favorite things in the world to be surrounded by others who are asking the same questions and can provide resistance to my thoughts. Because in the end, the fact is that we are all trying - trying to contribute to the betterment of our lives and the lives around us, trying to do Good in this world, and trying to serve each other.

In the end, we are all doing the best that we can.

Historical comparisons

2011-01-05T14:31:00.001-05:00

On Sunday, Sseko's truck driver took Julie and I to see the Kasubi tombs, a cultural site in Uganda where the Buganda people bury their kings. We certainly learned a lot about Buganda history and culture, but that's not what I'm going to write about. I only want to show you a picture...or two.

Is anyone else seeing this? Can you find the common denominator between little Dani and the Kasubi huts? Looks like we all have some interesting history (and haircuts)...

Largest thatch hut in the world

Best pouty face in the world

Holiday Tales

2011-01-05T07:59:00.000-05:00

I'm now back in Kampala and back to work! We returned on New Years Eve, ending a long trip with plenty of driving. It was really nice to get back to Kampala. It actually felt like coming back...home.

The holidays were unusual, but unique and very nice. We spent Christmas in Lamu, Kenya. We managed to go to a Christmas ceremony at a Catholic church, where for some reason I pictured singing Christmas songs and hearing a Christmas sermon. Not so. The whole ceremony was, of course, in Swahili, so I didn't understand a word. Luckily my snotty, runny nose gave us an excuse to sneak out early. We got many other chances to explore the island of Lamu. During our first night in town, we sat at dinner debating whether we should take a dhow ride around the island, when an eccentric skinny-minny resident approached us and said that he needed to "fill up" his dhow for a tour the next day. His name was Happy Flower. He handed us a beaten up brochure and explained in a raspy voice that he would take us sailing in his dhow, snorkeling, fishing, and have a barbecue on the beach. And he promised we would have a good time. It sounded nice; we agreed to meet him in the morning.

It's safe to say that we were a bit misled. Early the next morning, we were greeted at the waterfront by a young man with a Bob Marley shirt, bloodshot eyes, and brown-stained teeth. He led us to the boat, where Happy Flower and one other member of the crew were waiting for us. I suppose we did help "fill up" his boat, being his only two customers for the day, contrary to joining other tourists as he led us to believe. We sailed around in the small wooden boat with Happy Flower wearing shorts just inches longer than my swimsuit bottoms and sitting spread eagle in the back, nearly showing his own happy flower and telling his other two crew members what to do, including instructing them to roll a fatty of marijuana and pass it around. Don't worry - I passed. We did go fishing - no pole necessary, just fishing wire wrapped around a piece of cardboard. And we did go snorkeling - first in the mucky water where we had just fished until I complained that I couldn't see anything and then they decided to make the effort to take us to a clearer place. We didn't exactly have a BBQ on the beach - it was more of a cheap meal at a local food joint that was a few blocks away from the beach. It wasn't all that we expected it to be, but we did have a good time. Happy Flower was certainly one of the most interesting people I've ever met. He told us how he had lived in France for ten years, has sailed all the way to Madagascar, and occasionally heads north to the coast of Somalia to fish.

One of the crew members on the boat

Me, Happy Flower, and the other crew member with our only catch of the day

Fishing

I was lucky to get sneak peaks of a couple cultural events in Lamu as well. The next day, I took a walk exploring the town, and ran into a large crowd. As I climbed up on a pile of rocks, I saw a few young men in the middle of a large circle, having what looked like sword fight with large sticks. A group of about 4 older men sat as judges next to a drummer and a flute player. I was told that it's a traditional fight-dance for young men. That night, after dinner, we heard music as we passed the fort in the center of town. We walked up to investigate, but Eric was turned away - this event was strictly for women only. I left Eric at the curb and continued in, where I was welcomed with a soda by nearly 200 Muslim women and girls. Most were entirely covered, with just their eyes or their face peeking through their garments. An older lady who didn't speak any English eagerly pulled up a milk crate for me to sit on beside her and started holding my arm and giggling as a steady stream of women walked up to the stage one-by-one and posed in front of the judges wearing elaborate and colorful outfits. I had walked into a fashion show! Toward the end, many women shed their veils and began dancing, revealing a face covered in bright makeup and moving their bodies gracefully and elegantly.

Women's fashion show in Lamu's fort

After Lamu, we slowly made our way back to Uganda, getting here in time to ring in the new year with our friends. I returned to Uganda still feeling just a little physically off. I finally admitted to my friends that I hadn't had much of an appetite over the last few days, and they eventually diagnosed me with worms. So to sum up my health status over the holidays, I went from having malaria to suffering through a cold, which overlapped with a monthly feminine monster, which was followed by worms. I guess that's what I get for bragging to my friends that I hadn't been sick since the first week I arrived in Uganda! However, neither malaria nor a worm is worthy of the shock value that it receives when I tell people about it. They both were treated with a few pills and went away within a couple of days.

I'm now back to work, with a lot to do before coming home to visit. I sincerely hope you and your family had a wonderful holiday and a great start to the new year! Below are more pictures from my trip.

Bikes at the Uganda-Kenya border

Mombasa:

Boats at Tiwi Beach

Our house for the week!

Sand castle creations

It looks higher from the top!

Monkey on the roof!

Julie and me cuddled up and cold from malaria

Gede ruins - on the way to Lamu

Lamu:

Streets of Lamu

Lamu

Dhows at Lamu at night

Tea fields in Kericho, Kenya

One of the many beautifully carved doors along the Swahili coast

Coastal Cruising

2010-12-24T13:12:00.000-05:00

For all of those who were left with a bitter taste in your mouth after my endless bragging about spending so much time on the beach and in the sun, be assured that my gloating came back to bite me in the you-know-what. Just hours after I wrote those jinxing words, I found myself just off the beach, sporting sweat pants and a sweat shirt while bundled in a heavy blanket with Julie. The culprit?....Malaria.

We both brought malaria, which will show itself one to two weeks after it's in your system, to the coast and suffered alongside each other. Although I've heard it can be pretty rough, I was lucky to acknowledge the symptoms early and take the treatment immediately, saving me from too much suffering. All I really had to deal with was the chills, weakness, headaches, and an achy body. But what did I really have to do anyway? We both concluded that having malaria in the most relaxing place on earth during vacation beats having it in Kampala while there's work to be done. The chills and aches, however, soon turned into a stuffy nose and congested sinuses, meaning that my malaria was replaced by a snotty cold, which I continue to leave remnants of in little piles of tissue wherever I go.

I've left a trail of tissues, like the stones of Hansel and Grettle, clear up the Kenyan coast. From Mombasa, Eric and I drove to Malindi as a stopover to our final destination, Lamu, stopping in to see the boys in the Mombasa home along the way, who I was so excited to see. The road to Lamu was bumpy and seemingly never-ending, especially since we were offered armed guards on numerous occasions in case of the unlikely event of running into Somali rebels. To calm any fears, we learned that the U.S. has stationed about 1,000 troops near Lamu, which is just south of the Somali border, who have satellite images of the entire area, practically wiping out any chance of rebel action.

When we finally arrived, we parked the truck at the coast and took a speedboat over to the island of Lamu, which is the oldest Swahili coastal town in Kenya. The town itself is a designated UNESCO World Heritage Site with plenty of culture and history to take in. The roads are no wider than 10 feet, so motorized vehicles are out of the question; instead, donkeys rule as the main mode of transportation unless, of course, you are taking the sea, in which case a dhow (Swahili for boat) is a more suitable choice.

I'll provide more details on Lamu when I return to Kampala, but I now know that this is where I will be spending my Christmas. The huge Arab influence means that Lamu is largely Muslim, but the residents are quite used to tourists and joyfully wish me a Merry Christmas in passing. We have identified a small Catholic church where we will attend a Christmas service and I will hopefully get a call from my beloved family. Being on the sunny coast in a Muslim town certainly lessens the typical feel of Christmas, but it's still joyful and unique nonetheless.

Merry Christmas to all of you. I sincerely hope you have a wonderful time with your families and you soak up the spirit of love with those around you.

Work and relaxation

2010-12-18T09:19:00.003-05:00

Monday morning: After a weekend at Cornerstone's annual staff retreat and meeting up with one of the supporters of the Bukesa home who is in town, I wake up early knowing that there is a lot to check off my list before leaving town at 4:00 for the long car ride to the Kenyan coast.

Major priorities:
* Pick up my passport at the immigration office (two fingers crossed that a stamped work permit is hidden somewhere in those pages or else I'll have to pay $50 to get back in the country)
* Go to the U.S. Embassy to have more pages sewn into my passport so that I can cross the Kenyan border
* Back up my computer and re-install Windows 7. I recently had my computer reformatted in Uganda and Windows detected that the Windows 7 was a counterfeit version, giving me 30 days to fix the problem before my computer shut down. I just received the real Windows 7 from the states and it's been almost 30 days. This must be done today.
* Buy malaria medicine and minutes for my phone to last me through the trip
* Pack for a couple weeks on the road and one week on the beach
* Collect the remaining scholarship applications that have not yet been handed in so that I can type and submit them on my Christmas holiday.

At 8 a.m. I walk into the immigration office where my work permit has been "processing" for 4 months now. Alan, an employee from Cornerstone, had been working relentlessly for the past 2 weeks trying to make sure that I get it before I leave for Kenya so that I don't have to pay for another tourist visa when I re-enter the border. They've told him to come back 4 times last week, promising each time that it would be ready. Today is the last day. Instead of the office opening at 8 like I thought, I soon learned that it opened at 9, which immediately made me nervous since I had an appointment at the U.S. embassy at 9:30 to get more passport pages. Everyone knows that nothing runs on time in Uganda and everyone also knows that you can't be late for U.S. embassy appointments. To make a long, frustrating, stressful story short, here is a rough outline of how my day turned out:

9:15 - I finally talk to the immigration officer, who informs me that I need a certain slip to pick up my passport. I call Alan, who promises to bring me the slip in 45 minutes. I relinquish to the fact that I won't make the embassy appointment, but acknowledge that I can probably make my trip without the extra pages.
9:20 - Instead of sitting around waiting, I decide to use my time wisely and pick up malaria medicine and airtime for my phone at the closest shopping center
10:00 - Alan meets me back at the immigration office and we get my passport...without the work permit. I'm informed that I need more pages in order for them to put the permit in my passport. I laugh at the irony of just missing my appointment to do that exact task and then let a single tear fall before recomposing myself. I ask the immigration lady that IF I can get into the embassy and get more pages today, can I also get my work permit. She tells me that I have to do it my mid-day...that's 2 hours. I also laugh at the irony that I have 2 hours to do my job while they got 4 months to do theirs. The reality of working with government offices in Uganda slaps me in the face.
10:20 - I show up at the embassy with my best "help-me-I'm-desperate-and-in-need-and-I'm-a-sweet-girl" face. They buy it. I enter and frantically fill out all the papers necessary while another expat tells me it usually takes days to get more pages.
11:00 - I sit down with an embassy employee and tell him my sob story. He passes along my passport and tells me it will be 20 minutes until I have new pages. Things are looking up!
12:00 on-the-dot - I return to the immigration office and give my passport to the immigration lady. She tells me that I have to return at 2:00 to pick it up and then glares at me when I make her promise it will be done.
12:10 - I get on a boda back to my house to work on my computer and eat lunch, but have to change plans when I receive a text telling me I have a package. Knowing that if I don't pick up the package now, I'll have to pay demurrage fees on it when I return, but I know that picking it up could take precious hours out of my hectic day. I tell the boda to go to the office so I can pick up my package slip and then head to the post office. I frantically say goodbye to all my coworkers and retrieve the remaining scholarship applications from Asiimwe.
12:40 - I happily walk out of the post office, which was surprisingly efficient, with my prize in hand.
12:50 - I arrive at home, rip open my package, and tell myself that my day has officially turned from bad to good. My wonderful, perfect, dear friend, Jenna, must be connected to my spirit because she sent me a package of perfection that arrived at just the right moment on a frantic day. It included everything required to make a birthday cake, yummy Reeses (there's no quicker way to my heart), magazines that are perfect for road trips, Indiana dirt, corn husks, and so much more. Even an encouraging letter that could not have arrived at a better time. My computer is backed up by now, so I start installing Windows 7. I start quickly make one of the pasta packages she sent me and shovel it in my mouth before leaving.
2:15 - I arrive back at the immigration office for the 4th time where the lady who hates the sight of my face by now simply tells me to "go outside." I have no idea what this means or if my desired permit will be finished or not. 30 minutes later my name is called and the treasure is placed in my hands - stamped and signed! My day just went from bad to good to great!
3:15 - I'm back at home and I hurry to finish packing and clean my room for the visitors who will be staying in my house before I return from Kenya. My computer has finished installing Windows 7, but there is no way I can install all the necessary programs and copy all my documents in time to take my computer with me to Kenya like I had hoped.
4:00 - I sit in the back of the truck with 4 great friends and we pull out of the Cornerstone compound. I take a huge sigh of relief. I'm not sure how I just accomplished everything, but I did. It happened and it was a miracle.

Now, my dear blog readers, after 3 long days of driving and very little sleep (would you believe that a rat crawled up Julie's back, who was sleeping in my bed, in the middle of the night? How do you sleep after that?), we have arrived in Mombasa. If you remember, I was in Mombasa for more work-related reasons a couple of months ago, but this time it's for vacation. Our office closes for about 3 weeks over the holiday and all of the kids return to their villages, so there is very little for me to do in Kampala. The Kreutters have rented out a vacation home in paradise for a week and have generously let us stay for a great price. For those of you who are looking out your window at the snow that needs to be shoveled, please know that I sleep in minimum clothing with my windows open and the ocean breeze wispering in my ear. Yesterday my tasks included celebrating a birthday, making sand creations, and finishing a puzzle. I eat fresh seafood for lunch daily and am surrounded with some of my favorite people. The worst thing that has happened is the monkeys that snuck in the house and ate a couple of bags of potato chips.

I'll make it back to Kampala in the first few days of January. Until then, we'll be driving around Kenya wherever the wind blows us. While we're in Mombasa, I'm looking forward to visiting the Mombasa street outreach and seeing the boys again! I'm not sure where I'll spend Christmas or New Years, which is both sad and exciting. Either way, it's a much-needed break for all of us from the end-of-the-year craziness and from some of the built-up frustrations that come with working in East Africa.

Fun flashbacks

2010-12-01T16:56:00.002-05:00

There are so many things that have been happening that I need to fill you in on! It's all way too much fun. My life is way too much fun!

* Oak Farm montessori, a school near my hometown, decided to partner with HALO in a cross-cultural art exchange project. This project is especially fun for me since it's a great way to connect my two worlds: Indiana and Uganda. I get to be the primary link between around 40 children sharing their worlds with each other. A couple of weeks ago, I brought together the Bukesa and Mengo homes for the art project where they were given a canvas, brushes, and paint and told to go at it while they listened to some jazz music (we chose something uniquely American). I will bring their art back to the U.S. when I visit in February (YES I'm coming home in February!) and they will eventually be displayed at a fundraiser next to art by American children who painted while listening to Ugandan music. The kids also received sketch books where they drew pictures of their everyday life and will exchange them with the kids from Oak Farm. I love this project because I love educating people about how others in different parts of the world live, about how they are both very different and exactly the same as us and art has a unique way of illustrating the humanity in us all, especially through children.

Bukesa boys painting

Drina and her artwork!

* The kids are wrapping up their school year, so we had an end-of-the-year sports day to celebrate! Try putting over 100 kids on an open field and see how much “organization” you can handle. Just kidding – don’t try it. Anyway, we did manage to have sack races, eating competitions, 100 meter sprints, soccer, netball, and other fun competitions as well as some good food. And of course the boys’ homes love having get-togethers with the girls’ homes and vice versa. I tried to participate in the blind race, where they put a blindfold over your eyes and expect you to run straight AND beat other people. I actually managed the first, but miserably failed at the second. I lost. The trophy went to the Lungujja home this year, our home for girls who have been sexually exploited. The presentation of the trophy was accompanied by our most outgoing girl, Viola, running around the compound bragging about their victory and yelling "As always! As always!"

Tough kids :)

Arm wrestling with Karim. I couldn't let him lose in front of his friends.

Lungujja girls win the trophy!

* It's never fun to be away from family over the holidays and this was my second Thanksgiving in a row in Uganda. But you must remain thankful on Thanksgiving, and I was indeed thankful to celebrate the holiday in true American fashion with 23 other Americans and 1 German, complete with turkey, stuffing, green bean casserole, pumpkin pie, and even CHEX MIX WITH M & Ms!!! We played ultimate croquet, sipped wine, and fellowshipped into the night. The people in my life are no doubt what I have to be most thankful for, so it was only appropriate to be surrounded by them all on the holiday of thanks.

Ultimate croquet! And if you were wondering, I hit the wrong ball through. Oops.

* Julie and I started tossing around ideas on how to celebrate my birthday two months ago. Then one day on one of our many boda rides, we passed the same intersection that we pass everyday that has a multitude of second-hand clothing stores lining the road, displaying formal dresses on freaky manikins. One of us thought out loud about how we wish we had a reason to wear a prom dress these days, and suddenly Birthday Redemption Prom 2010 was born. Everyone has at least one awkward prom experience, so why not try to make up for it and invite all of your friends? Last week we went to Owino, Uganda's biggest garage sale, and chose a few 4th-hand prom dresses for about $10 each. On Saturday we transformed our living room into a dance floor, put on the prom playlist, and threw together a less-than-classy picture backdrop. Best prom ever. Best birthday ever.

Prom date pic!

Greased lightening!

And yes, as I briefly mentioned above, I will be visiting home in February! I never ever thought I would be excited to visit Indiana during the coldest month of the year, but I am actually anxious to see some snow and of course just excited to see family, friends, and the small pleasures that come with America. I'll be visiting Washington, D.C. for a week and Bloomington for a couple of days, but most of my time will be at home. I would of course love to see as many of you as I can!

Choices

2010-11-21T14:27:00.000-05:00

If you really want to make me squirm, give me options in any situation and tell me to make a choice. I can't do it. I'm the girl who carries around a shirt in a store for an hour, wondering what else I could do with that money, and eventually I put it back. Every other day I ask my roommate to pick out my outfit because I can't make a decision. When a group is deciding plans for the night and they seek my input, I will put my head down, throw up my hands, and say that I'll do whatever the group wants. I'm just really bad at making choices. Mostly, I just don't want to settle on one option and face the consequences, no matter how big or small, if it was the wrong decision, so I would rather just have someone tell me what to do. I'll roll with the punches, nod my head, and ride along. I'm generally ok with that.

Unfortunately, life doesn't always accommodate this behavior. No matter how much you try to sneak past the choices, they will arise eventually and look you dead in the eye - and they definitely won't always be as lighthearted as choosing which shirt to wear.

Working to give children who have had difficult lives a better future has pushed me incredibly far beyond my comfort zone in making choices. In one example, there is a young girl who has previously been involved in the sex industry and is now in one of our homes, nearing the end of secondary school. She is HIV+ and her health is worsening. In order to slow the progression of HIV, she must have a better diet and take immunity boosting vitamins in addition to her ARVs. Our options: 1) Send her back home where her mother, who is also HIV+, will be able to provide the proper care for her health. However, her mother lives behind a bar, which is how she got involved in the sex industry in the first place. More than likely, her old clients still frequent the bar and resettling her at home could put her back in a vulnerable position. 2) Keep her in our home, but give her special treatment and better food than the other girls. Obviously, this would raise questions and, even if properly explained to her housemates, could still place a stigma on her and ostracize her within the community.

No matter how many people are consulted and how many opinions sought, people are still looking to me to make the final call. And this is one of many situations of its type. Limited resources and funding require decisions to be made and actions to be taken on those decisions. People's lives are at stake here, and it's no simple matter.

It's no easier in my own life, either. Although I just want to "go along for the ride," I must look to my future and the options laid out in front of me, no matter how many question marks remain behind each of those options, and simply choose one. At some point, we have to stop taking life as it comes and we have to calculate the alternatives and take action. We all must make a choice with the information that we have at our disposal, even when we're unsure. Either way you go, some people will be with you and some against, but all you can really do is be confident and move forward.