I apologize for the long silence.
It has been a month and a half of intense experiences, some wonderful, others challenging. When I think about it all at once so that I can share with you, it feels like a journey to the highest mountains and the lowest valleys without the ascents and descents in between. Experiences have felt abrupt, like songs that fill completely the empty space in the soul and then go quiet.
October started with the plan to visit Pierre in Niger (yes, it rhymes!). After a long journey from Gulu to Kampala, I arrive at Entebbe airport in the middle of the night. I stand in line patiently, though inside I am overflowing with excitement. I go up the counter, the lady types on the computer, and types some more and a bit more and I wish she told me what is going on. She asks “do you have a visa for Niger?” I look at her with hesitation, “can’t I get one at the airport upon arrival?” For a moment, she looks at me with pity, but then with the long line behind me and departure time approaching, she is back to her job, and I am in the way. She tells me to wait for the manager. He is not as sympathetic. There are rules, and there are financial consequences to airlines that break the rules. In this age of anti-terrorism and anti-immigration, you are not really a human being without a passport and a visa. I plead and try to find different options, but after a while, I become easy to ignore. Eventually, I accept that I will not be traveling, and as I wait to find out about what to do next, the disappointment settles in and it is overwhelming. My mind wonders… and I realize that people seeking asylum must go through similar processes. They must get to another country to claim asylum, and yet it has become more and more difficult to travel without proper documents. I can imagine the fear of being sent away after you have used all your savings to arrange an escape, the hope that someone working at the counter will see you as a human being, and the reality that failing to travel results in harsher consequences than disappointment, a real threat to life. I feel sad, not just for myself, but that we live in a world with so many imaginary divides that set us apart from each other.
I go back to Gulu, immediately, in the middle of the night feeling sad and disappointmented, my instinct is to go home, and that ends me on a bus Gulu, and it feels nice. As Pierre is sorting out visa documents, I get lucky and a group of friends invites me to Murchison Falls. I have heard of this place since my childhood; my grandfather and father visited Uganda and the park during their two years in Ethiopia. I am excited to visit and be the third generation in our family to see the place. On the first day, we drive to the top of Murchison Falls. The Nile River is wide and mystical. You walk along towards the sound of water so loud all other thoughts stop. Then, the entire Nile merges into a thin gorge and the water swirls, sprays, and dances. It is an amazing site. We walk along and take a path down to the river, from there the falls are impressive, and below the river continues. Within a hundred meters of the falls, the water settles as if undisturbed by the impressive falls in its path. Perhaps, we can learn from the Nile.
On the next day, we drive around the park and see many animals. The elephants are impressive, the giraffe comical, the buffalos sturdy, and the large variety of antelopes, hearty beasts, and bush bucks graceful. The park rangers are setting some tall grasses on fire, in order to prevent natural fires, and the animals gather together. In the face of fear, the animals congregate, and it is beautiful to see them all together. Later in the day, from a boat on the river, we see hippos and crocodiles, the real owners of the Nile. We relax in the evening, a cold glass of passion juice by the pool overlooking the Nile and life could not be better.
Back in Gulu, work is at a difficult phase. Even a program as large as the Acholi Bursary Scheme cannot help everyone who needs assistance. It is difficult to say no to people seeking assistance, and often it breaks my heart, though I recognize that keeping the project under control also protects it and assists beneficiaries. When I arrived, sponsoring students to be in schools seemed like a simple idea, an easy path to reconciliation and reintegration. As I spend more time doing this work, the nuances are revealed, and I am filled with questions that keep me up at night. We help students with everything we can, scholastic materials, uniforms, medical treatment, and yet there are always requests for more. “But Madam,” has replaced “thank you” completely, as every gesture of assistance is met with continuing requests. I talk to students, trying to understand.
“How did you get shoes before we sponsored you to be in school?”
“Well, you know Madam, we really struggled, somehow we found a way.”
It saddens me that providing assistance has dulled this spirit to struggle, the creativity to find solutions, the dedication people have to improving their own life. There is power in helping yourself, and unintentionally perhaps, assistance has disempowered. This question lingers, painfully, without answers, how can assistance be empowering? Perhaps there can be requirements for receiving assistance, in our case, academic performance, and demonstration of effort. However, such requirements could also be problematic in that they may exclude the most vulnerable, those most in need of assistance.
“Well, you know, we are happy to support you, but it does not mean life becomes easy, you still have to struggle for some things.”
That’s the best answer I have for now, that assistance can support but also allow space for personal struggles, because without such struggled, do we ever really achieve anything?
There are also incredibly positive moments at work. We’ve been visiting schools, and as part of the visit giving students some information about human rights. The information is basic, a list of the most common human rights, examples of human right violations, and contact information for medical, social, and legal assistance. “Information is power,” I tell students whom I hope are listening. In the aftermath of war, there is still so much violence, especially against women and children, and perhaps the worst part is the normalcy around this violence, as if it is somehow expected. It feels significant to inform them that such incidents are not ok, that there are people who can try to help, at the very least; it feels like the first step. During these visits, we are also doing a survey, to see how students are doing in their lives, and their challenges. A simple survey can say so much, and it feels good to base program decisions based on the needs of youth. We are also referring some youth for counseling. I meet with bright young people, smart, beautiful, brave, and resilient, and yet their life feels on the edge; it could easily go either way, and it is without outmost concern and hope that we refer them to professional counselors, praying that with assistance they can overcome the trauma of this war. A young man shares he saw his father being killed, a young lady recalls how after surviving her abduction, the most painful experience was being rejected by her family. With peace on the horizon, there is an atmosphere of forgiveness, which is helping, and yet healing is personal, and it takes time. One day, I meet a group of nine students and we go together to the counseling centre. Our car is in Kampala, so we hop on boda-bodas, two on each, and set off. As our bodas pass each other on the road, we make jokes and wave at each other, and by the time we arrive, they are all happy, and seem comfortable to start what will be an emotional counseling process. Their smiles in those fleeting moments shine bright, so very bright.
Within a few weeks, my visa for Niger has been arranged. I set off for the long journey, attempt number two. This time I make it all the way to Niger. My time there is magical. It is a pleasure to see Pierre and to experience his life there. It is my first time in this part of Africa, and although it is very different, it feels oddly familiar, like the cousin of a best friend, new and exciting, but also reassuring and comfortable. Niamey is a lovely town. In the middle of the dry city, the Niger river sparkles, the green rich and lush against the sandy backdrop. The people are kind, and French language along side the local languages, Hausz and Zarma, sing in my ears. The culture is rich with nomadic tribes, most notably the Tuareg, whose ability to outlast the desert is legendary. At the museum we marvel at silver jewelry and leather boxes carved to amazing details by local artisans. The food is delicious, both the local dishes, and the French cheese and baguettes. We make a few day trips, one to see wild giraffes among millet fields, another to see the sand dunes, and yet another to the river bank. We meet people and walk around the city. The heat is so strong it guides everything, when to walk outside, when to be near a fan, and when it is time to rest. One afternoon, we wonder to the main market. We purposely get lost among isles of perfumes, jewelry, cloth, vegetables, meat, plastic, home accessories, and toiletries. The colors and smells all mix together and it feels like walking through a surreal painting. In conversations with friends and colleagues, I find fascinating the diversity of influences, French, nomadic, traditional, west African, north African, Muslim, linguistic, and tribal. Pierre’s kindness to others is reflected in their hospitality to me, and at the end of a short visit, I feel sad to leave what feels like yet another home.
On the way back to Uganda, I spend a day in transit in Bamako, Mali. Bamako is a lively huge city. It is bustling with people and cars and colors of women’s bright dresses and men’s elegant West African clothes. At the national museum, I am amazed of the intricate wooden carvings of the national animal, the gazelle, which rival Chinese dragons in their mystique. The woven rugs would shine with skill even next to the best of Persian carpets. The buildings, of which the mud-brick giant mosques are the most famous, withstand the test of time, in both strength and elegance, and stand beautifully as surviving testaments of an ancient civilization. I like that pre-colonial history has been preserved in this part of Africa, that it is remembered with pride. It makes me even more proud to love Africa.
Back in Gulu, I have the unpleasant experience of meeting one of the former commanders in the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA), the group that has been involved in the twenty year conflict in the north of Uganda. As part of the amnesty act, he is now an ordinary civilian, free to live his life in Gulu like the rest of us. I look at this man, who has caused suffering to thousands of people, and I can’t help but think that he is pathetic, an old broken man with little charm, charisma, or skill. If people here who have lived through this war are willing to forgive him than so am I, what makes me sick in my stomach is that this pitiable man was capable for causing so much harm. In him I see the overwhelming sad truth that it is so much easier to destroy than it is to create, that any pathetic man and his buddies can start a war, but it takes a visionary leader to reconcile and reconstruct after war. He comes to represent all the sad times that as humanity we have allowed the bad minority to overwhelm the complacent good majority.
Meanwhile, the peace talk consultations have started. The LRA representatives are here in Gulu and discussions about justice and forgiveness are ongoing. Overwhelmingly, people are willing to forgive in order to have peace. As I sit on our veranda and write to you, I watch the road, people walking in the evening sun, children laughing, our growing herd of cows coming back from grazing, people hanging laundry on the line, and the normalcy of it all is overwhelmingly joyful. Everyday, I watch colleagues, friends, and strangers rebuild their life from experiences most of us can’t even imagine and the loss of loved ones, which we all dread. I learn here that happiness and sadness are not opposites.
I think of a quotation from The Red Tent by Anita Diamant: “the painful things seemed liked knots on a beautiful necklace, necessary for keeping the beads in place.” Perhaps that is why experiences have felt abrupt, the knots next to the beads, the songs interrupting the silence. Continuing along the journey, I hope that the promise of more beads will make the knots easier to accept, though more likely both joy and sadness overwhelm us and it is only in retrospect that we recognize the tight lessons we’ve learned from knots and the immense beauty and fragility in delicate beads of happiness.
Thank you for being in my life.
Inbal
More Pictures
Student answering the survey
Views from Murchison Falls, Uganda National Park
Views from Niger
Pictures from Niamey
The Niger River
The Sand Dunes
