This Story's Pages: January 2008

Hey everyone,

I hope you are well. I wish you a happy (belated) New Year. I have not written for a long time, and a lot has changed in my life, and so it seems this is a time to share.

A new café opened for the large (and rapidly growing) expatriate population in Gulu. I mean a real proper yuppie café, with beautiful decorations, wooden furniture, an espresso machine, movies on Friday nights, and pancakes on Sunday mornings. I wonder how that fits with everyone’s war-zone stereotypes of Gulu, and hopefully it is an indication of peaceful times ahead. All benefits from the café go to support a children and youth art centre, and in order to promote the work of the centre, there is a beautiful exhibition of photographs taken by children in Gulu. The pictures portray everything, from the home, to the farm, to the camps, to the schools, and in order to present them all together, the theme chosen was: A time to… Each photograph shows a time to: a time to throw stones, and a time to gather stones, a time to plant, and a time to uproot, and time to cry and a time to laugh, a time for war and a time for peace. It is a creative show, and it has really made me think, there is a time for everything in life.

At work we have been very busy with organizing one-day educational workshops for our sponsored students. The purpose of the workshops is to supplement the secondary educational programme with topics that enrich the lives of students and motivate them to stay in school. We invite a hundred students at a time, and it is so much fun to interact with them on a more personal level. A couple of the workshops focused on career guidance and future planning, encouraging students to think about their future in a positive way, and strive towards their goals. Students got to interact with professionals from many fields and it was amazing, with a little bit of support, to see dreams grow in their eyes. Another workshop focused on communications skills through debating and performing arts. Students got to go on stage and present their talents, and it was wonderful to celebrate them. The last two workshops were for girls, and we talked about career planning, staying in school, reproductive health, and women’s leadership. The girls were so enthusiastic. We had honest conversations throughout the day. The one that affected me the most was about motivating ourselves despite challenges. One of the girls, who I have known quite well and has had a series of bad experiences because of the war, says when she feels really down she tells herself, “suffering is not the end of me.” I was amazed that at such a young age she has so much wisdom, that life is not about avoiding suffering, but realizing there is more joy afterwards. At the end of the workshop, we play the girls a song by India Arie called Beautiful Flower; they listen and sing along, and the sparkle in their eyes makes me feel proud, that for a brief day, we’ve give our students a time to dream.

On another day, I attend a girl’s advocacy day regarding reproductive health. An organization called Marie Stopes Uganda has trained young women in the internally displaced persons camps to be counselors. As girls who live in the camp, they are much more trusted and accessible than organizations coming into the camps for brief visits. On the advocacy day, the girls prepare a variety of presentations, speeches, songs, dances, and a photo exhibit. Their main concerns are sexual violence in the camps, early marriage, and being forced to drop out of school. They remind us there is still so much work to do with girls, and to be humble, because they are the real heroes. It is their time to speak and our time to listen.

On another day at work, it is a time to learn. Colleagues from GUSCO, a local organization providing counseling services to children and youth affected by war, came to train our staff on counseling skills. The most interesting conversation of the day was about the differences between sympathy and empathy, and the importance of empathy in counseling. The differences are subtle, but they feel important. We can think of sympathy as feeling sorry for someone. Empathy is trying to understand what someone feels like in a situation that may be unfamiliar to us. Sympathy is feeling sorrow that someone has to walk a hard path. Empathy is putting on their shoes and walking besides them. Acts of sympathy are motivated by a desire to feel better, to remove our own sorrow at others’ suffering, and are therefore driven by our own needs. Acts of empathy are motivated by compassion and kindness to the needs of others. Sympathy dulls over time, the more we hear about difficult circumstances of others, the more we desensitize ourselves to the pain. Empathy grows exponentially: the more we can see the world through the eyes of others, the more we yearn to act. Sympathy often leads us to work on behalf of people, empathy to work together.

Out of work, I am still living at Betty’s and Mike’s house, and the time home is a time to love. On Sundays, I take Baboo and Samson to the pool. They learn to swim and play with other children, and it is so wonderful to enjoy special moments together. Marion and Esther, two of Betty’s daughters, teach me how to make beads out of recycled paper. We make a few beautiful necklaces. Marion has a new job, and we go to buy her a bicycle to get to work. At home, it is the new toy, and everyone takes turns riding around the compound. At thanksgiving, my friend Jessica hosts a lunch, and we share with our Ugandan friends some of our traditions. At the end of the day, despite the detailed explanations of the tradition of thanksgiving and the large amount of stuffing prepared, Samson still says his favorite part of thanksgiving is the unlimited soda and the cartoons on Jessica’s TV. One day, a small kitten arrives at our house. Everyone decides he is my cat. I name him Cooch, which means peace, and from that day on he waits for me everyday at the entrance to the compound. My Ugandan family thinks I am a bit nuts for treating this cat like a baby, but it provides good entertainment for all at home. We spend the nights talking and watching Pilipino tele-novelas. And into this mix of joy, one normal morning, arrive Lakot and Kilama, and change my life in Gulu. Lakot is the daughter of one of Betty’s relatives. She is a young shy girl, with curious eyes and a soft smile. She has dropped out of school in her fifth year of primary school, after getting pregnant. She stays at one of the camps with her baby, Kilama, a chubby little boy, with soft brown skin, puffy hair, and large eyes. They’ve come because he is sick. They go to the hospital and he is treated for malaria. In a few days, he is healthy again and full of smiles. He is such a sweet baby, even when he pees on me through the cloth diapers. I hold him as soon as I get home, I sing to him French love songs, I tell him stories, he learns to crawl and stands up when we hold him. It is hard for me to watch Lakot struggle to take care of baby Kilama. She has so few opportunities in life, and now those challenges are passing on to her child. After a few conversations, I decide to support Lakot to attend a tailoring school for one year. The school has a daycare and she can attend with baby Kilama. She is scheduled to start in February. When you love, and you can, there is always a time to give. One evening, my friend Jessica is hosting a Wangoo, an Acholi practice of sitting around a bone-fire and telling stories. I sit with my Ugandan family, and Mike is telling us all stories of joyous times, and times of war, of hopes for peace, and of past memories, and it is wonderful to have this time together.

It has taken a long time, but I feel like I have settled in Gulu, that I have a life here. But life is always unpredictable. I receive a phone call from my father who sadly tells me that he has been diagnosed with cancer. He is beginning treatment, chemotherapy and eventually a stem-cell transplant, but the road to recovery is a long one. I listen and though he is the one with the illness, he is comforting me. It is a hard night, a time to cry. But I learn from my father, and in the morning it is a time to be strong. I remember that suffering is not the end, and somehow the pain opens my heart to empathy, like a wound that’s open. It is a strange overwhelming feeling, like I can hear stories as people walk by, feel challenges in people around me. It is painful, but it is also wonderful. Happiness is often fleeting, momentary, and very personal, and we rarely understand what makes other people happy. But in suffering we find a common bond, a shared optimism, an ability to understand each other, and oddly, a determination towards shared happiness.

I know in my heart I need to be home with my family. Now is the time to leave. I leave Gulu with sad goodbyes and a deep feeling in my heart that there will be a time to come back.

On route to Boston, I visit family in Israel and learn the amazing bond that exists in family, how despite time and distance, you always have a credit for kindness with family. I stop in Nairobi, Kenya, on Christmas Eve and visit friends who are also my family. By the time I get off the plane in Boston, Nairobi is in chaos over a fraud election, and although all my friends are ok, I feel deep sorrow that such wonderful people have yet again been robbed of a bright future.

Setting back in Boston for the next six months is going well, mostly thanks to good friends and my incredibly resilient family. I’ll be working part-time with Bantwana, an initiative for orphans and vulnerable children in Africa, based at World Education, a Boston-based international organization. I’ll also be doing some work with the Harvard University Committee on Human Rights. Despite the challenges, I’ve learned that even a long a tough road, there are times to enjoy and a time to be thankful.

If you think of my family as we support my father through his battle with cancer, think of us with empathy and with a prayer for health. Mostly, think of us with smiles for the incredible lessons we are learning from my father about the strength of the human spirit.

Thank you for being in my life,
Inbal

Student workshops in Gulu and Kitgum