This Story's Pages: Experiences of the World

Hey Everyone,

Last update I wrote to all of you about explanations of the world, as a bit of a continuation, this time I want to share with you about experiences of the world.

Beyond logic, we understand the world through our own experiences. Our perceptions are tainted by the past, our emotions by our insecurities and moods, and our judgment by previous lessons. Yet at the same time, we do not live in the world alone, and sometimes in order to understand our common experiences with those around us, we also need to internalize the stories of others.

The recent floods in Africa have been devastating. The physical damage is easy to understand, see, and explain. But the emotional response is not as obvious, though equally as important. Rain is usually a blessing in many parts of Africa. In many of the places I have visited in Africa, the sound of water falling from the sky has inspired songs and dances in honor of the water that gives life. People pray for water and when it comes in its spectacular thunder and lightening, life is on hold while everyone hides under the nearest possible shelter. The calendar is based around water: rainy season and dry season. People’s lives revolve around the rains, deciding when to plant crops, when to harvest, and etc. And so it seems a cruel game of nature, or perhaps a retaliation to our cruel games with nature, to pour so much water on Africa in one short month that the dry land typically thirsty for a drop is now flooding.

Due to a few hills and good natural drainage, Gulu town has remained dry. Perhaps dry is not the correct word; it is muddy but thankfully has not flooded. I try to keep everything in perspective when I complain about having to scrub my clothes after yet another embarrassing fall in the mud.

Outside of Gulu, many of the roads are severely damaged and some of the bridges are covered in water. The main bridge going to Kitgum, the district north of Gulu where many of our students study, now looks like a waterfall. The students were on holidays when the floods began and the final term of the academic year has started two weeks ago. We found ourselves with hundreds of students at our office, seeking assistance to get back to Kitgum for their studies. Many had to wait days before we could find enough trucks that could go to Kitgum via a route that bypasses the bridge, but is also in very bad condition. They stood in the sun for hours, patient and anxious to get on the next truck. Until transport could be arranged, our office became a storage space for all their belongings: mattresses and boxes filled with few clothes and books. To other children around the world to whom free universal education is obvious, taken for granted, and almost an annoyance to their thriving social lives, it must seem absurd. I remember celebrating snow days back in high school. The only way to explain this incredible drive in youth to return to school is by understanding what school means to people in Northern Uganda. Beyond the pride of being a student, the joy of learning and being with friends, and the acquisition of new skills, school here means hope. Young people in Northern Uganda will likely have to work hard for very little their entire lives. It is not an easy place and there are no magic solutions, not even education. But having an education gives hope, that through hard work you can look after yourself and your family, that you can live and not merely survive.

The District Education Office decided that student preparing for their exams (the national exams are in the 4th and 6th years of secondary school) need to return to school immediately. They arranged for army helicopters to fly students back to school. One morning we were taking students to the air-strip, already going an hour late and hoping to find the helicopter is still there. We’re about to leave and a young student jumps out of the car and says she forgot something at home. She disappears for the next forty minutes and when she comes back with a bucket of odi (the equivalent of peanut butter), I am perplexed that she almost missed her only ride to school, to hope, for some grinded peanuts. A few weeks later, on a quiet weekend at home, Sharon, one of Betty’s daughters is sitting on the veranda peeling peanuts. I offer to help, and we sit for many hours peeling peanuts, an entire large sac of them. Sharon is making odi to take to school. It lasts for months and keeps away the hunger between long classes. We finish peeling and the peanuts are laid out in the sun to dry. A few days later I find her roasting them in a small sauce pan on the charcoal stove. I leave for a few hours and when I come back she is still roasting. A few days later, I join her on the veranda for peeling the thin brown skin off the peanuts. After a few hours we finish, and while I go to town, she stays to remove the bitter peanuts from the others. Eventually, weeks after our original session of peeling, she takes her large bucket of peanuts to the grinding machine, where she waits in line, but the power goes out and so she returns the next day. Finally, a few days ago she arrives at home with a small container of peanut butter. It tastes nice, especially with bananas for breakfast, and she’ll eat it slowly over the next few months. I think back to our student who nearly missed the helicopter for her bucket of peanut butter, and I understand. What seemed perplexing, even ridiculous at the time, makes sense because I see the process behind it.

I recently visited my friend and our office assistant Brenda at her small home and spent the morning with her frying dough into triangle-shaped donuts. We had a nice time, cooking outside and talking to the kids around. She sells these cakes at local shops for extra income. We worked the entire morning. As we left and I bought a few cakes to bring home so my family begins to think I have some domestic skills, I ask how much profit she makes? Very proudly, Brenda says she usually makes about 2000 Uganda shillings: a meager dollar and a half, and it means a lot to her and her family. From now on 2000 shillings to me means those few hours with Brenda. I can see her smile and the sweat around her hair from standing in the sun all day whenever I think about the number. It makes me so much more appreciative of what I have, and so much more willing to share.

At work, I have continued to work on the protection policy for the organization. In order to get the staff committed to the idea, we had a 2-day training about human rights and protection. Once we all understood the importance of rights and the vulnerability of our beneficiaries, committing to the protection policy seemed obvious. The policy went from being a boring document adding to the heavy work burden to part of a more exciting story: preventing harm to youth. Similarly, setting up referral system for counseling and mental health services has changed the lens through which schools and teacher view students. Students are not simply stubborn or undisciplined (though some are…), but may also have stories that explain their behaviors and problems that may require some guidance or extra support. Getting teachers to seek these stories is challenging but is also helping us to identify students who can benefit from psychosocial support.

So whether at work, at home, or with friends, I feel like I am collecting stories. I am learning to see the world from other perspectives. I am storing in memory images, feelings, and ideas that allow me, not only explain, but to feel the world differently. Whether it is sitting on the floor on a bus to Kampala, visiting Makarere University for the first time, sitting around with 10 brothers and sisters and laughing at jokes, enjoying caramelized bananas at a café in Gulu for an evening chat with my manager, or talking to students at work these experiences become communal, not only mine, but ours.

Sometimes I wish that we could understand immediately the stories that shape a life. That you would shake someone’s hand and know their sad smile is the result of a complex relationship with a sibling, or touch a cup of tea and see the smiles of all the people cultivating for long days on the beautiful hills of Uganda. I think there would be a lot more empathy in this world if these flashes of feelings, stories, and humanity came to us as we interacted with the world. So I share with you, and I hope the flash of my story is pleasant, and that it encourages you to share yours and seek to hear others.

Thanks for being in my life.

Inbal