I hope you have been well. It has been a long time since I have written, and the hiatus has not been for lack of activity, but rather a temporary disconnect between thoughts and words.
A few weeks ago, Pierre finished his contract in Niger and arrived in Boston. Before settling into our new life together, we went to Vermont for a weekend. It was nice to get away from the city and spend some time hiking and enjoying beautiful views. During our hike, I was intrigued by the roots of the trees among us. The roots from each tree do whatever it takes to bring water and nourishment. The roots of some trees spread far and wide, capturing water for the tree, painting the ground with an intricate system of pathways. The roots of one tree have forced through a rock, struggling against the odds through the tough surface. As for forest is more dense, the roots dance around each other, entangled in a graceful competition, until each reaches deep into the ground to fetch water for the green leaves above. On the pine trees, the newest addition of leaves is a bright green, the green of youth ever reaching for the sky, away from the roots that make this growth possible. We come back feeling refreshed and the experiences of the past few months have settled deep enough to find meaning in the soul.
In May, I had the incredible opportunity to travel back to Uganda. The Bantwana Initiative, the organization I work for in Boston which supports children orphaned and made vulnerable by HIV and AIDS, is starting a new project in Western Uganda, supporting ten community groups to care for orphans in their communities. Western Uganda is stunningly beautiful, covered with green hills as far as the eye can see. The variety of greens, mixing and merging as the car zooms between the hills, seems like a painting of life. The mango trees are a wise green, dark and old with age, and appear especially dignified in contrast to the light, birth green of beans and corn, growing anew each year. The eucalyptus green is deceiving, dark as if mature with age, but somehow in its speed as the fastest growing tree, distinguishable as less experienced. The tea plantations are a succulent green, bursting with flavor and highlighting the bright-colored fabrics that adorn the women working for hours in the sun. In this painting of green, villages are hidden, communities flourish and struggle, and individuals grow and wilt. We visit a few community groups that have organized to provide services for orphans and vulnerable children. The community spirit is inspiring; when parents die and families are unable to take care of children left behind, the community steps in and protects. Whether it is through collecting money to send sick children to the hospital, or teaching adolescent to grow and sell pineapples to generate income, whether it is through protecting vulnerable children from those who might exploit them, or listening to worries and concerns with a compassionate ear, community members do what it takes to nourish the body and spirit of children so they can grow into healthy adults. The challenges are immense, but the roots of hope are there, and as part of Bantwana it is an honor to nourish those community roots, and although the support is modest, it is powerful. Working with the team in Uganda is fantastic and we always have interesting conversations. On another field visit, we travel to a remote region of Northern Uganda I have not been to before. There is something incredibly exhilarating about traveling on an unknown road, not knowing what to expect beyond the winding curves. As the road gets narrower and the bumps get larger, I feel thankful for the companionship of my colleagues and the comfort we have together; an unknown path is an adventure when one feels in good company. I feel thankful for all the positive experiences I have had in Uganda, a country where the earth, and air, and feeling make me stable enough to enjoy surprises. We drive across a swamp, a rice field, tiny villages, people resting by the road, and even a group of Ugandan Crested Cranes, majestic birds with golden feather crowns. At the end of our road, we meet with welcoming representatives of the community we are visiting and discuss potential ideas for working together, and on the way back we feel sufficiently welcomed that the road feels familiar and we’re on the way home.
In this busy work schedule, I manage to take two days off and rush to Gulu to visit family and friends. Arriving in Gulu is like being air-dropped into a memory. The overall feeling is familiar, like I never left. Baby Kilama is a bit older and growing teeth, Marion is finished school, and Samson and Babu can swim the length of the pool, but aside from these signals of growth and passage of time, the place feels the same. I go to the Windle Trust office and visit my colleagues whom I have missed and feel energized again about the project, about staying involved, and about how much it means to war-affected youth to go to school and dream of a future. I run into a student of the program on the street, and I am delighted to hear she is doing so well in school. By the end of one day, I feel the routine has waited for me, with its wonders and frustrations. We have dinner together, Betty’s and Mike’s large family, which consists of family, neighbors, and friends, and we enjoy the simple time together. The girls spend the night making me odi, the peanut paste that is so thick and delicious it coats every part of my mouth with the taste and memory of Gulu. Back in Kampala I see Betty, who is back and forth between Kampala, Gulu, and Juba, putting all her heart and soul into a peace process campaign with the LRA, which has recently ended without an agreement and fills our hearts with disappointment. I also see the Kampala girls, Betty’s daughters who attend university, and as we share our stories of the past few months and feel a renewed closeness, I feel thankful for the resiliency of friendship. Leaving Gulu almost six months ago, I felt an intense fear that departure symbolized an ending. As months go by the intensity withers but the fear lingers, that a place, a people, a life that meant so much is now in the past, something that was but not is and may not again be. Coming back to Gulu is an affirmation that it will always be in my life, the details may change, but the important aspects remain. Return is a confirmation that past bonds are strong enough to be sustained into the future. It is a sort of settling of roots in a place and people and memory that allow you to leave and come back and never leave at the same time. There is an immense freedom from being welcomed back.
Back at home, in Needham, we’re a full family, all my sisters are home, and with Pierre, we’re as large a family as we have ever been. Unfortunately, after five months on a clinical trial, my dad is not responding as well as hoped to the treatment, and in the coming month he will be changing to a new treatment. On the bright side, he is still feeling well and will take the break between treatments as an opportunity to go visit family in Israel. Certainly, this change is a bit of a setback, but my dad is so sure that in time he will be ok that these hills along the way do not set him off course. As I watch him go through these ups and downs, I am amazed at the speed and grace with which he shakes off frustrations and at the pure power of believing in a dream. He is so strongly attached to his optimism that he is freed from dwelling on concerns.
Among memories and dreams of Uganda, treasured moments with family, and looking forward to surprises of the future, I find myself amazed at the inner peace of the past few weeks. I realize that for those of us for whom home is not a place, we grow roots into people, feelings, memories, and dreams. Whether it is burrowing toes into earth, entangling fingers with someone who gives us strength, or sending seedlings of dreams into the sky, roots stabilize us through the ups and downs and nourish the soul. And while we may spend so much of our life trying to escape and overcome the paths forged for us by history, we struggle even more to settle roots that water our hopes. In the end, we find security and comfort in adhering to people, places, and memories we love, and it is these bonds that free us to explore, and grow, and come back.
Thank you for being in my life,
Inbal
Pictures from Uganda:
With the family, and baby Kilama
From Western Uganda,
With Betty and the girls, and Kampala from Above
Back in Needham, celebrating Pierre's arrival, and watching the Celtics win the championship
Beautiful Vermont:
