Africa pt. 3

Day 6

Currently: Hotel Room, Kitgum: 11pm

Too much seen today. Too much to know how to process. It was a busy day as we visited two IDP Camps as well as the night commuters of Kitgum. A quick history as I understand it will help explain:

There has been a war going on in Northern Uganda for the past 20 years between the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) and the Ugandan Military. Eighty percent of the LRA consists of children who have been captured and forced to join. The children are trained by force and threat to kill, maim, rape and terrorize their friends, family, and neighbours. They are the Acholi people. The LRA consists of Acholi, and the majority of the Northern Ugandans are Acholi. In 2002, the Ugandan Military was given permission from Sudan to enter its country to seek out and defeat the LRA who had been hiding just inside Sudan’s border with their leader, Joseph Kony. When the attempt failed, the LRA increased in brutality, killing more in that period than in it’s entire existence. Kids were forced to kill their own people. As a result of the increased violence, many Acholi families fled to the bigger cities for protection, where they camped. The government of Uganda stepped in and established Internally Displaced Peoples (IDP) Camps for the protection of those fleeing the violence, and eventually forced all the villagers into the IDPs, where they remain. Out of fear, many children now walk to Kitgum and other major cities at night for the protection from the LRA that a busy city brings. They are called night commuters. There is much more to the conflict in Northern Uganda, but this is enough to understand.

The first IDP we visited held 16,000 people. Humans. Mothers, fathers, wives, husbands, daughters, sons – from babies to as old as they can survive in these conditions. Huts barely 6 feet in diameter spread across the camp, 2 feet apart from eachother, 1 house per family. Kids holding kids. Shoeless, bloated stomachs, runny noses. It seemed unreal to me. I was walking through a sponsor-a-child commercial. That is exactly how it felt…except here I saw smiles. Kids always smile. It’s the teenage mothers, holding their young child, telling their stories of abduction, torture, forced marriages, rape, forced marches and escape who don’t smile. Words cannot describe, pictures cannot speak a thousand words.

The next camp in Pidibe held 41,000. A majority of the huts lacked their thatched roof due to a massive fire in February. Here we hear more stories and see more suffering, all the while passing through row upon row of houses covered in plastic tarps labeled ‘Unicef’.

The houses here are not homes.

Driving from camp to camp, complete with a military escort, we caught glimpses of life as it had once been. Crops, streets, fringed with people walking, carrying their means of finances on their heads. And homes. The homes of those in the camp dotted the plains, overgrown, empty, abandoned. The huts had not thatch, the brick houses slowly crumbled to piles. Some homes had been obviously burned, possibly the result of an LRA attack. Just one of many attacks that led to the IDP camps and the displacement of hundreds of thousands.

And yet, there is hope for the camps. While we were in Pidibe, several leaders within its churches were being trained at the FHI base so that they can return with the ability to recognize the signs of depression and psychological challenges faced by the girls who have given birth to the child of a rebel while in captivity. These girls will in turn get the counseling and life skills training they need. It’s hope. It’s a start. It’s something.

We returned to the Food for the Hungry (FHI) base to join the trainees in an African tradition of sorts. With a campfire blazing, we joined in music, dance, jumping, clapping, drumming and sweating before enjoying the cooked meat of a couple of goats we saw walking around the day before. Then, as the stars came out above us and lightning lit up the clouds far in the south, we enjoyed stories told, songs sung, skits performed and some traditional singing by the trainees of Pidibe, the Acholi people.

We then left to observe another Acholi tradition of a completely different sort – the night commuters. Kitgum plays nightly host to over 9,000 children. Children. Children who walk miles for the relative safety of a shelter, only to return home in the morning to carry out daily life. They are the night commuters. I asked Justin, a 17 year old boy who has spent the last 5 years walking every night back and forth, “What would make you happy?” His simple answer is all the Acholi people want.

“For there to be peace.”

These are some of the experiences…the feelings stay here.

Day 7

Currently: at the computer, day 9

Friday was our last day in Kitgum. We spent the morning with the trainees at FHI before being given an hour to process. To reflect. To answer the question: what is it that God would have me take from Kitgum. An hour later, it came down to a deeper question for me: Why do I need God? I returned to Kampala with that question in my mind, and there it still sits. I do know how to find the answer, though. That’s where the hard part comes in.

Day 8

Currently: in the sun, Hotel in Kampala: 5pm

It’s a lazy day here in Kampala…a day of rest. It’s kind of nice to have a day of nothingness. Doug, Macklin and Peter have gone white water rafting on the Nile while the rest of us stayed back at the hotel. So, three Setter’s games and one chess game later, here I sit with the sun beating down on my back. As much as this would have been my only chance to raft the rapids of the Nile River, I figure such an experience can be had anywhere. It’s not the rafting I think I am missing out on as much as seeing the Nile. Mind you, I’m not too keen on swallowing it after being thrown overboard in a whirlpool. I like lazy days.

Sometimes it feels like we’ve been here for months, sometimes for days. So much has happened since we’ve come to Uganda. So much seen, heard, felt, experienced. I wish we had more time in Kitgum. It feels like we only saw the tip of the iceberg. I feel like I’m just beginning to understand the magnitude of what is happening in Northern Uganda. As we flew back down to Kampala yesterday I couldn’t help but wonder if the houses we were flying over were abandoned…they’re owners huddled in a hut in an IDP camp, longing to return home. I would have liked to spend more time with the people there, to hear more stories, to ask more questions to…understand. Understand…I had to search for that word, but I still don’t think it’s what I mean. It’s more than that. I want more than to hear their stories. I want to care for them. It’s important to hear the stories, but I think that’s where I get the impression that it’s just the tip of the iceberg. It was too fast. Twelve people listening to the horror stories of a young girl does not seem like enough, and I think our whole team would agree.

Africa pt. 2

Day 4

Currently: in my room @ the guest house: 5pm

More touring today. We visited a number of churches today to get a glimpse of how the DNA conferences have impacted the mission of these churches in Kampala. This will be the same conference we go to next week. Amazing to hear how the churches have begun to impact their community simply by recognizing the mission God has placed on the churches. To them, it’s become more than just preaching, but living, caring, loving. I look forward to the conferences to get a glimpse of how Canada’s churches can be impacted in the same way. Touring has gotten easier to do, and I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because we’re in a van with tinted windows. Maybe it’s because it’s simply gotten easier. I’ve learned to wave and smile as we drive by and to enjoy being waved and smiled at in return. That uneasiness returns when it comes to photographing…I find that I need to take pictures discreetly as often as I can. If you’re in the right place, the instant you pull your camera out you will quickly find yourself surrounded by kids all eager to have their picture taken. And I feel a tinge of guilt as the shutter snaps. It’s a bit of an irony. I know part of the reason I am here is to see life as it is in another country…in the third world. In Uganda. But I don’t want to be seen by the people here as just that. I’ve seen enough pictures of smiling black African children. I don’t need to be taking them. So when us ‘whites’ pull into a parking lot and are quickly discovered by children, I feel a tinge of disgust when the cameras come out and kids are told to give a thumbs up so someone can get a perfect picture.

I want to know these children.

So as the pictures were being taken, I walked down the fence separating the parking lot from the street and sidewalk. It didn’t take long to be spotted by a young boy on the other side, and he walked over to me. Soon, he was joined by others. I love that Ugandans speak English. As an old, withered, crippled woman sat begging beside the street, I talked to these children. I find I have become indifferent to the reports I have heard abut the plight of children in Africa. I have heard over and over that they are orphans, and I found myself this morning wondering if what I hear is as true as they say, or if they are stories told simply to pull at heartstrings. I found myself this morning wanting to know the truth…to hear it for myself, not to hear it from a voiceover on an AIDS video or a sponsor-a-child commercial. And so it came to be today that I met David, and four of his friends on the street in Kampala. As perfect pictures were being taken further down the fence, I found out that David, who is 13 and his friends, who are 9-13 hold their hands out for food. I found out that they do not know their father. The nine year old girl is a true orphan…both parents dead. When I asked where they slept at night, they all pointed to a building across the street. But when the word they said didn’t connect with where I saw them pointing, I shifted my eyes from across the street to the middle of it. While two infants sat bare-bottom on the dusty street of Kampala, five feet away from who I imagine to be their sister waving her hand to passing cars, occasionally reaching out for a donation, I asked the kids, “Where do you sleep?” Turning around, with their fingers in the air they replied, “Roundabout”. And there, surrounded by swarms of cars and vans was their bed – a dirt and grass roundabout in the middle of the city.

“Do people in Canada live here?” asked the nine year old girl, pointing to the street.
“Yes, but they are usually much older – not many kids do.”
“If they do, they are picked up and taken away to live somewhere else?”
“Usually,” was my answer. Pause “What do you think of that?” I asked.
“I think people from there should come here and pick us up.”

It was a moment in which I couldn’t say anything…and I felt like I couldn’t do anything. And even now, I’m not sure what emotions I’m feeling. So, I removed my hand from David’s constant grasp…and waved goodbye.

Grabbing my camera from the van, I managed a picture of the infant on the street before being surrounded by smiling kids, thumbs in the air. Faking a shot, I returned to the van where the others joined, and we drove away. Whether in Canada or Kampala…life must go on. There is much more to see.

Day 5

Currently: at the computer: 7:30am

Been awake since 4:30. Obviously not the only one, as the moment I walked downstairs an hour later there was a Settler’s board set up and three of the team waiting for a fourth player. Perfect. Hm. Now, after yesterday…it’s weird to think that we sat at the table with our coffee, far removed from yesterday’s experience. Today is the day we head to Northern Uganda, to Kitgum. We will be visiting Internally-Displaced-Peoples Camps as well as missions set up for children who have escaped the Lord’s Resistance Army. Easy enough to type…not sure what it’ll really be like until we’re there. It’s gonna be a long, hard three days.

Africa pt. 1

Day 1

Currently: Flying over the Hudson Bay: 9:45 pm (BC Time)

Not quite sure what to think at this point. I’ve met five of our team: Dave, Macklin (an English chap), Jason (?), Jeff, and Doug (old roommate). Had some interesting conversations so far. It seems I am in the presence of greatness. Macklin has the highest respect for Dave, a ‘humble man, who truly deserves an award from Canada for the work he does’. I have been told straight out that this trip will change me…this in the midst of discussions on business, finances, and other matters beyond my depth of comprehension. The sun is just barely skirting the horizon in the deepest shade of red I have ever seen the sun in. As we soar atop the world, I suspect the sun may not even set before night falls in London. After a bit of thought and reflection on, among other things, a phone conversation with my brother…I’ve decided to focus on praying for three things during this trip: 1) Eyes to see what God wants me to see; 2) Ears to hear what God wants me to hear; 3) Wisdom to do what God wants me to do.

Day 2 or 3 (not sure)

Currently: About to land in Entebbe, Uganda: 7:00pm (BC Time), 5:00am Uganda Time.

It’s technically been 24 hours since this trip started, but I’ve lost 10 hours of my life with the time change. I’ll catch them on the way back to Canada. Our layover in London proved expensive. Doug and I took off to see the city, since neither of us had ever been. $150 Canadian later, we managed a train ride, a local beer from a local pub, complete with the best plate of nachos ever had by man, and a whirlwind walking tour of a small section of London – which included a stop at a park where the locals sunbathed in the thick grass like it was a beach. Between their expensive way of life and their peculiar habits, I may never understand the Brits.

Day 3

I’ve discovered it’s Monday, so that officially makes this Day 3.

Currently: in my room at a guest house in Kampala: 10:30am (Uganada Time)

I’m pretty sure the local rooster’s internal clock is as screwed up as mine, since it started it’s morning crowing at 10am. Our group is now up to 10, with the London addition of Peter, Paul, Marg and Robyn. And Jason’s name is now Simon. We drove for an hour and a half from the airport in Entebbe to the capital, Kampala. I felt like a rich, white tourist. The scenery is beautiful – the poverty obvious. Somehow I didn’t expect to see the shacks, the garbage, the dirty streams of water flowing between houses quite yet. Not so close to a capital city, at least. Mexico x100. By the time we were on the road, about 6:30am, there were tons of people out – standing, walking, scootering, biking, sweeping, selling. Many of the kids in school uniforms…a number of young men in military uniforms, some with a gun strapped to their back. And they all stared as we drove by, looking out the large windows of our bus – 10 white folk and 4 black. I felt like they looked at us as though we were on a tour of a zoo, safely protected from the animals in our ‘tour bus’. I hope that’s not what we are to them…but it was the sense I got as we drove by. Then again, maybe that’s what I am. We go on a tour this afternoon…I’d rather not go if that is how I am seen. I’d rather get to know the people, not drive past them. It’s nearing the end of the rainy season. Today’s rain just started.