Faith-gelina

Some people collect tiny state-themed silver spoons on their vacations. Other, like Angelina Jolie, collect multi-ethnic toddlers.

Now I see why.

There was no water or power at my hotel on Saturday. After an hour or so of getting repeatedly dressed and undressed, staring at the sputtering tap trying to will water to come out, and weighing the cost in shillings of a bottled-water bath, I decided to give up and go with my friend Donna to an orphanage, St. Jude’s, just outside of Gulu.

We couldn’t play with the older children, since they were doing their Saturday chores, pumping water and laying laundry out to dry. More importantly, they didn’t seem terribly interested in us. The house mothers sat us down near where some screaming two-year-olds were getting their baths and being dressed for the afternoon in hand-me-downs that didn’t always match their gender, as I discovered when I found a little boy in a pink satin Sunday dress.

Soon a tinier-than-most girl crawled out of the nursery onto the front porch, and I decided that perhaps babies might like being picked up better than my childhood cats enjoyed it. Turns out I was right!

Her name is Sophia, and here is what must have been going through her mind:

Yikes! Her eyes! They’re the color of my snot!

Hmm. She hasn’t dropped me yet. Maybe she’s alright.

Okay, since we’re here and I can’t get down, I have a proposition for you.

Yep…that’s more like it…Snzzzzzzzz…

Two Months to a New Life

The Soon-to-be International Student (center)

This weekend I went out with a co-worker to celebrate a secret.  He won a scholarship to get his Master’s degree at a British university, starting in just two months.  He’s holding his breath and his good news to wait for official confirmation, and then he has to go through the month-long (at least) visa process, which usually takes longer because, as he told me, “The embassy people are always losing your documents.”

As the only person at work who has absolutely no stake in when and if he quits, and also since I am not inclined to gossip (since I know almost no one), I am one of only two people in town he has confided in.  At lunch, on the way to the post office, on the walk home, he catches up to me and starts speculating with hushed excitement about what life in the U.K. will be like.

“They keep saying bring very warm clothes.  I wonder how cold it’s going to get?” (Ugandans think that today, rainy and 69 degrees Fahrenheit, is an extremely chilly day.)

He is excited about seeing Westminster Abbey, paying for things in pounds instead of (Ugandan) shillings, and meeting a school representative holding a sign with his name on it as he steps into the arrivals area at the airport.

His excitement was infectious and I could relate, with the thrill of my move to New York City for graduate school not even a year behind me.  However, after dinner, as he swayed with eyes closed in blissful dreams  about his future, I realized that I could only understand a fraction of the happiness he was feeling.

He will be the first person in his family to leave Uganda.  On his scholarship, which he won over 10,000 other applicants, he will receive not only a living stipend but the opportunity to work up to twenty hours during the week and full-time during school holidays for the year he is there.  With the strength of the pound, any money is able to save from working in Britain can be socked away for the future – if he is able to extend his student visa or find a job after he finishes his degree, he is on his way to securing a comfortable life when he returns to Uganda.  He will have enough money to buy a house, get married, and better support the relatives that he is already helping out.  For him, studying in the UK is more than just a cultural exchange or the chance for a good education – it can mean financial security and a much happier future.

I noticed him grinning, the kind of elated grin where your cheeks hurt but it’s impossible to stop smiling.

“What are you thinking about?” I asked him.

“Butterflies and flowers!  England, of course!” he replied.

This trip means so much to him.  He is about to encounter months of culture shock, homesickness, and uncertainty, but none of this can dampen his excitement.  I thought of all the immigrants I have encountered through my jobs throughout the years, whether refugees, students, or workers.  Immigration is a word that has been muddied in the U.S., covered with layers of vitriol and bitterness.  Since September 11, even those lucky few who’ve gotten student visas to study in the States have come under suspicion.  But for generations of people, many of our ancestors as well as millions of people embarking on their journeys today, it is a synonym for opportunity.  Security.  Freedom.  Hope.

I wish him all of these.

Unsolicited Greetings

MTN Uganda

Standing outside of the Bomah Health Club and Spa (they do massages, steambaths, and manicures!) after dinner last night, I struck up a conversation with the policeman/security guard.  It was getting dark, and I didn’t want to walk the 10 minutes back alone, so I asked him about flagging down a boda, or motorcycle taxi, to take me to my guesthouse.  We exchanged a couple of pleasantries about Gulu and the weather.

For him, somehow, the next logical question was,

“Can I have your phone number?”

While the answer was a resounding, “No!” I was too polite to say it flat-out.

“Why do you want my phone number?”

“So I can greet you!”

“Greet me?”

“Yes, I will greet you with messages in the morning and in the evening!”

Yes, that’s exactly what I want.  To be greeted morning and evening on my cell phone by random strangers.  Please, take my number.  Give it to your friends, in fact!  I am lonely and need to be greeted!

My boyfriends superiors will be surprised to find that, while they think he has been at work, he has actually (well, according to me) been showing up periodically in Uganda, “waiting for me” back at the guesthouse, and is very very jealous of random people who greet me, especially “morning and evening,” on my cell phone.

This tactic was effective, my phone number is secure, and I am “deploying” Jay with the full back-up of the U.S. Army in these situations from now on.

Photo Journal: A Day in the Life of an Elementary School Student, Rural Northern Uganda

Be the first (human, at least) to arrive at school.

Crowd into your classroom with 61 (yes, 61) of your closest friends and enemies.

Recess!  Climb a tree.

Play an instrument.

Find a goat tearing up the school gardens; punish it.  (Not shown: Join three classmates in holding down the goat and kicking it; get yelled at by a horrified-looking mzungu, or white person.)

Play with strange-looking brown hair on the white girl’s head.  (Not shown: Yank on it, get yelled at again.)

Lunch! Stand in line for gooey posho (ground maize) and beans.  Scoop it up, wolf it down, go back for more.

Try your hand at digital photography.

Improve.

Reflect.

Head home. 

**Author’s note: While I’m sure that actual learning does go on in these schools, you can’t tell it from my photos.  My presence within 10 feet of a classroom meant that all education ceased and everyone in the room clambered to the doors and windows to get a look at me, making candid classroom shots a bit tricky.

Greetings from Gulu!

Hello!  I am finally making good on my promise to keep a record of my time in Gulu, Northern Uganda.  I am working with the Uganda office of an international NGO to evaluate a psychosocial project that they have put into place in primary schools.  The goal is to help war-affected children become more resilient and deal with the stress of their experiences.  I’ll try to post here at least two or three times a week.   Feel free to leave comments – I appreciate all the contact from home I can get!