WWII vet in Acholi land?

I walked down the dirt path very eager to see the home of one of the students from Anaka named Denis. He had invited me to visit his village while we were working in the garden at the Parish transplanting trees the previous day and I immediately accepted. We approached the three huts that make up his family's homestead. The huts sat on freshly swept dirt and were surrounded by fields of simsim, g-nuts, and corn. Baby goats grazed outside of Denis' personal hut, they were trying to get milk from their mother as we walked inside. We were waiting for Denis' mother to come and greet us. After a few minutes, she came and I found out she did not speak any English. However, she expressed to me that I was more than welcome by the bright smile she wore and the gift of millet and g-nut paste that she brought for us to eat.

After lunch we walked about 70 yards to his grandfather's house who I was very excited to see and interview. The day before, Denis had told me that his grandfather had actually fought in WWII. This came as a shock at first, but Denis explained that his grandfather and many other Acholi people had been rounded up and forced to fight by their colonial masters, the British, during the war. As I walked onto his grandfather's land, we found him taking his rest under a shade tree sitting in a chair. We exchanged greetings and Denis, who acted as the translator, got his permission for me to interview him on my video camera. Here is his story.....

When Denis' grandfather was 16 years old, he was taken out of school and forced to fight in a war that he didn't have much knowledge or stake in. He was a member of the Acholi tribe who were seen by the British as a being very strong and brave and therefore useful as manpower in their fight against the axis powers. So at a young age he was put on a plane and shipped to Ethiopia to fight in a land he didn't know and for a country he didn't belong to. Without the motivation of a sense of duty or patriotism, his sole reason for fighting... was survival. Kill the enemy and get back home was what drove him. During his time he met people from all over the world, Israel, Japan, America, Europe, etc. but he really desired to be back with his own people. After two years when he finally did make it back, he danced for joy on his native soil that he thought he would never see again.

I was thrilled to have had the opportunity to hear this man's tale, but the last question from our interview was for me. He asked if I thought the British were ever going to pay him and his people the money that was promised for the work that they did during the war. I felt a little awkward, but told him I was unsure of Britain's intentions. However, in my head I was thinking that there is no way that this man is ever going to see a dime for what he did during those years of war. I thanked him for his time and Denis and I walked back to the school.

It is so amazing the people that God allows us to meet in this life. I am forever thankful for moments like these and it really makes me value the power of people's story to help us better understand ourselves and our world. May we all continue to have an open mind, to have conversations, and to have a greater awareness as we journey. Peace.

The Ethics of Aid

The title from this post comes from an article we discussed at one of the conferences in Gulu. It calls into question just how much good Aid really does for developing nations. This Aid could take the form of economic, food, clothing, or even military. In his book "A Continent for the Taking," Howard French says,

"Uganda had posted an 8 to 10 percent growth rate throughout the 1990's...because the growth was brought about largely through massive flows of aid from the United States, Britain, the International Monetary Fund, and the World Bank. The almighty international financial institutions had become a government in absentia for the entire African continent in the post-Cold War era."

On paper the economies of many developing nations can seem to be showing signs of growth, but this is an illusion. You have Western powers handing money to corrupt governments and the people never see any benefit whatsoever. If you work in many African governments, there is no need for you to work with your own people to develop your economy and infrastructure because you know that the aid money is coming in every year. This leads to a cycle of corruption on the part of developing governments on the one hand and a cycle of irresponsibility of the part of big governments, banks, and corporations on the other. This is why it was no surprise to me that while we were in Uganda the members of parliament gave themselves a raise from 15 million schillings a month to 20 million schillings a month, or around $8,000. Meanwhile teachers and other professionals are struggling to survive amidst rising food and gas prices on a mere 200,000-400,000 schillings a month or $150-$350. The question would be why do the economic powers of the world continue to condone or turn a blind eye to this obvious abuse of power?

Meanwhile, the average person in the west hears the word aid and assumes that it is a good thing (I know I did). But when you start to think about donating food and clothes to these countries you begin to see that it is only putting a bandaid on something that needs surgery. In 2008 my class raised money for an orphanage in Kenya. Along with money, we sent over some boxes of clothes, which I assumed was a fairly good idea for children in an orphanage. However, when people in the west send all these unused and unwanted clothes to the people in developing countries, it knocks the bottom out of the prices for their locally made textiles and never gives them a chance to develop there own economies. So the people who make clothes in Uganda for instance, have to rely on tourists and wealthier Ugandans to make money. Why would the people by clothes if they can get them for free?

Likewise, food aid also knocks the bottom out of the price for locally grown crops keeping farmers always struggling to make it in the globalized world. For instance, the U.S. subsidizes corn from Idaho and sends it over to countries that have plenty of people who can grow corn. On top of that, the seed that gets sent as "aid" is often genetically modified which makes the farmers unable to harvest the seed from that crop because that seed won't produce the following year. This breeds dependence for farmers who have to buy new seeds every single year. This isn't to say that people don't need food aid. Right now in several East African countries there is a famine going on and people can not farm because of lack of rain and are in need of food. What I am saying is the west needs to quit giving handouts to people who have the means to farm and who have been able to grow their own crops for thousands of years.

With a new context to understand global aid, I asked many of our Ugandan teachers what they thought was the best way for a person in the west who genuinely cares about people to help developing countries? The answer was almost unanimous across the board: By-pass the corrupt governments and work directly with the people on projects that help them live a sustainable life and develop their own country. This takes a bit more effort on the part of westerners to do some research into the projects they are giving money to. A good place to start would be education and micro-economic projects. An education gives all of us a better understanding of our world so we can all begin work to weed out corruption, war, greed, self-interest, and begin to substitute these things for peace, justice, compassion, and a selfless love. Invisible Children has a great scholarship program that supports kids in their learning and keeps them accountable for doing their best. IC also has micro-economic programs that give people skills, dignity, and the profits from their labor. My hope is that those of us who have the resources and means and the love in our hearts to help will put forth that effort and begin to give a lasting aid to people who deserve to have basic needs met and who deserve to be loved.

A heavy heart and a mind enlightened...

My heart is heavy these days. So heavy in fact, that my chest literally aches. I am not sure how it happens... getting so attached and falling so in love with people in such a short amount of time... but although this process is indescribable, its reality is clear and sharp. I have found myself on the verge of tears several times this past week while thinking about leaving this place, these people, and this experience of life and community here. I am not even sure where to begin in reflecting on the past few days. I am almost apprehensive to even try to articulate some of the week's interactions. Apprehensive because I don't want to water down the experiences that we've had, and apprehensive because I don't want to strip them of their raw beauty by creating descriptions with words that do not do those moments justice.
As many of you know, I contracted malaria in the last days of our time in Anaka. I am sure that at hearing this, many people may be feeling stereotypes of Africa affirmed in their minds... or are responding by saying that is exactly why he/she does not travel to this beloved continent. But when people think of Chris and my journey to Uganda, I don't want them to think of our struggle with malaria in this way. I am thankful that I went through the experience of this disease. We have been living in community and in solidarity with the beautiful Acholi people, and the reality is, most developing nations, including the Acholi...face diseases like malaria daily. Adults and children fight malaria regularly. I caught a glimpse of their suffering, but through that suffering I captured an overflowing cup of their blessing.
The Acholi value relationships. They love hard. They love people and invest, daily, in their friendships and families. During my sickness, I was able to observe the magnitude of their love for friends and community. While I was bound to my bed at the parish, my room was constantly filled with visitors... students, teachers, administrators, and church members visiting me to hold my hand, pray, or just sit to keep company. Tears would stream down my face in an overwhelming feeling of gratitude... that in the midst of my physical weakness, God was providing me immeasurable spiritual strength through His Body- believers in Uganda and in the U.S. praying for me in that moment.
I pray that this is the truth of the story that comes out and is repeated... that in the midst of struggle and suffering, the Body of Christ unifies and reflects the powerful love of God. I will never forget the relationships that God allowed me to forge in Northern Uganda. The people there have left a lasting impact on my life. Florence taught me to view suffering through a lens of mercy and grace, Doris taught me to joyfully give myself to others in selfless friendship, and Father Martin affirmed in me that a life that lives to serve others is a life that is more fulfilled than with any other pursuit. These are only a few examples of the lessons that I learned from my Acholi brothers and sisters on a front porch over tea, on a long walk crying together, and through many dinner discussions. I pray that we may all begin to shed the layers of our lives that isolate us from one another... materialism, profit, image, selfishness, fear, pride, etc.... and embrace the beauty of allowing ourselves to truly feel what it means to be human- being connected to one another through relationships based in grace and love. Let us learn from the Acholi. Let us learn from Christ. I love you all. Thank you for your prayers and for travelling through our processes and throughts along this journey... we will have a few more posts before we wrap up the blog.

Check out Pics of our adventure!!!

Hey everyone... So, we finally have some pics uploaded online. We created a shutterfly site with some pics that capture a glimpse of our experience here. We hope that you enjoy them- be sure to read the captions under the pics so that you know what you are seeing :)

www.makingthemvisible.shutterfly.com

Love you all so much! C & B

Father Martin vs. The Machine Gun Preacher

While Chris was resting in bed with ecoli, I decided to get out of the house for a bit and head to one of the local coffee shops in Gulu to update our blog and grab a cup of coffee. As I was sitting in the corner, sharing my table with an Acholi friend, an interesting man walked through the door. He was in his late forties and literally looked like he just hopped off his Harley at the Ocoee Express across the street from our TN home. Of course I couldn't help but try to eavesdrop as to who this Muno (white person) was, because all of the munos running around Gulu are usually 20-somethings that look like river hippies. So, I started listening to him talk to people... and it dawned on me as to who this old biker dude was... a man I had seen a Dateline special about on NBC a year ago, and also read about him on the IC blog... the infamous Sam Childers, the machine gun preacher. He is a man who has lived here in Northern Uganda for about 15 years. He moved here shortly after he became a Christian because he had become aware of the situation here with the LRA, and he felt inspired to move to the region to create an army of his own and fight Joseph Kony's fire with fire. As I sat quietly listening to a conversation that was not necessarily intended for my ears, I heard Sam proudly tell this group of Canadian girls at the table next to him that he had been fighting the LRA for 15 years and it was because of his Sudanese People's Liberation Army that Kony and his child soldiers are now in the bush of the Congo and Sudan. I felt my blood begin to rise to my face at the thought of this older man taking a gun to fight the child soldiers who were once violently abducted and victimized... moreover, this man was claiming to be a preacher.
So, as I was walking out the door of the coffee shop to head back to the house to check on Chris, Sam touched my arm... "Hey young lady, and what country are you from?" I looked him in the eyes and responded by telling him I was from the U.S. Upon further inquisition, I proceeded to tell him I was a teacher and from TN. Then, I couldn't help myself... I had to ask him... "How do you reconcile the message of Jesus Christ with taking a gun and fighting victimized children?" He calmly smiled and said... "All I can say is that if I am in line in front of you before the judgement seat one day, you will have a long wait..." he chuckled... "I don't justify what I have done with the Word, I just felt as if there was no other option. I have seen people skinned alive, women mutilated beyond belief, and children abused in the most violent ways... if you ask them if what I have done is right or wrong... I am sure they will testify for my actions." I listened intently and he went on to say..."I have started 3 orphanages and rescued over 1,000 boys and girls from the bush, and I've never pulled my gun on a child. If someone was getting killed across the street right now, you may stand here and pray, but I am going to pray and then run over there to stop it." We continued to talk and he expounded upon his cause... as well as telling me that a movie was being made about his life called, "Machine Gun Preacher" with Gerard Butler from 300 as his character (I honestly thought this was a complete lie until I googled it and saw that it is totally for real and the movie comes out September 23). He concluded the conversation by sharing with me a story..."I discovered where one of the most infamous LRA commanders was staying and I travelled there to personally assasinate him because he had raped and abused many of the children at my orphanage in Gulu. When I arrived at the Acholi Inn, I walked up to the man and felt God speak to me. I wanted to kill this man so bad, but the Lord was urging me to share the gospel with him. I reluctantly sat down and began to talk with him. At the end of the conversation, he had confessed his sins and accepted the love and grace of Jesus Christ as his personal saviour. I left the Acholi Inn so angry because I wanted to kill that man so bad... but then I felt God speak to my heart and say, 'Sam, that man is dead... the old man is dead and he has been born again. You did kill him.'"
I walked out of Coffee Hut that day with a million thoughts running through my mind and I knew the exact person I wanted to share this experience with... one of our Spiritual Fathers here- Father Martin. When we got back to Anaka and sat down to dinner at the Parish, I shared the above experience with the Father. He smiled and mumbled, "Hmmmm..." Father continued to respond, "You know, during those dark times of war, almost every person in Acholi land was abducted by the LRA. Including myself and Father Thomas." Father Thomas said yes in agreement. Father Martin went on, "We have seen so much suffering and we have personally experienced the things that that preacher told you about (Father Thomas shared his abduction story and escape... then Father Martin continued to share his words of wisdom). However, you cannot heal a land filled with violence with more violence. That may seem like a quick solution, but in the end it only brings more pain and revenge. We need to look to Christ's true example of reconciliation in order to learn how to heal this land. Forgiveness must exist in the darkness in order to bring about Truth and Light." As we sat mesmerized by the wisdom of God, Father Martin told us about the coalition of Acholi religious leaders (Christian and Muslim) who have come together for the past decade to work for peace through non-violent means. He shared the powerful successes that they have experienced in bringing about peace to this place. Peace and healing through relationship, truth, and love. Perhaps we should all process through the commands of Christ, even in the most horrific and extreme situations. May we all humbly continue to work out our salvation with prayer, experience, and the grace of Christ. I love you all... and by the way, Chris is doing much better. Thanks again for your prayers.

The man, the myth, the legend...Norman Okot

In the same way that wise Athena directed Oddyseus on his long journey home, we all are blessed to meet people who drop nuggets of wisdom that help us in our pursuit of Truth...
The phone rang and one of our housemates told us that Norman Okot was at the Ethiopian restaurant. We met Norman last year at the "Move for Uganda" race in Chattanooga. He is a 73 year old elder of the Acholi people and amongst many other things, a teacher. He held us and our students spell bound as he went to work on a chalkboard describing in detail the history of Uganda from Colonialism by the British to the war that left the North devastated. So now that we were actually in Uganda we were psyched that God allowed our paths to cross once again. I wasn't sure if he would remember us since he traveled for three months throughout the Southern part of the U.S. bringing awareness of the plight of Ugandans. As soon as we walked into the restaurant, with a beaming smile, he yelled our names and gave us one of those hugs that leaves people feeling loved. We chatted for awhile and promised to meet again before we left for the States. Last night the promise was fufilled.
"A fire in Acholi culture, is a classroom." As such, we all sat by the crackling wood as Norman told how the British made their way from Egypt into Sudan and Uganda at the turn of the century, motivated by those deadly vices that are common to empires: greed and power. He remembers how the British pressed the Acholi people into service during WWI and WWII, wars of which they had no interest, nor would they gain anything. His British teachers in school, many of them former soldiers, were very harsh and one in particular would keep order in the class by reminding the students of how many people he had killed.
Norman's father was a polygamist and culturally was a very important man. He taught his son many lessons by the fire like how to read the stars to know when to plant crops and when it would rain, or the sounds that certain birds make when there is trouble nearby. Above all he taught his son that a real Acholi man is brave. So in his youth when some local boys threw a spear at him that pierced his thigh, it is no surpirse that he drew his arrows out and let them fly.
Norman told us of the losses that he had experienced during the war between the L.R.A and the government. In one day, 40 of his nieces and nephews were killed in an attack by rebels. They were unable to bury the bodies because they had been hacked to pieces, so they had to be put in a mass grave. I asked Norman what seperates someone like him who has experienced so much pain and horror in life yet has so much joy, from others who are lost in depression, anger, or madness. The wisdom that he answered with transcends Acholi culture and enters into the realm of those Truths that are eternal. "Forgiveness," he said. A person cannot expect to be healed from heartache without forgiving those who have caused them to hurt. The words of Christ rang in my mind that we are to "love our enemies" and "pray for those who persecute us." In front of me sat a man who had lived those commandments and was left with a hope and confidence that the world cannot understand. The choice to love and forgive is, above all other responses, the most difficult. But the hope is that those choices that are made by individuals, families, and countries will bring us closer to that Kingdom that was spoken of by Christ.

Sick

When it was suggested that Oddyseus descend into Hades in order to find the best route home, his men were hesitant. But our hero braved the darkness and despair to recieve the answer to his question. So too did I have to descend into the bowels to recieve an answer......
It all began when we were in Murchison park on Safari. We were on top of our SUV enjoying our surroundings when my stomach went from slightly upset to full on cramps. I chalked it up to too much food the night before coupled with some wild dancing around the fire that would have made Native Americans proud and left our Acholi drivers very confused about the culture of white Americans. But after I had a "long-call" and puked my guts out I realized it was something more. Long story short we finished the Safari and by the time we all were going to board the boat to go to Murchison Falls, I was laying on a mat with severe cramping being told by locals that I should really go to the hospital. I opted out of the river cruise and went with Bonnie and Catherine to the local doctor.
I crawled out of the car and walked to the stool sampling room in the back. The sun shone bright on the local livestock feeding and children playing as I shut the door into all that is unsanitary. A healthy sized lizard ran up the walls of the latrine obviously unable to go when another is in the room. The fecal stains on the wall resembled ancient cave paintings and with the number of dung drawings so high, it can be assumed that this "cave" had been occupied many times. Sample gathered, I exited the prehistoric potty and resumed breathing through my nose. The doc was back in ten minutes to inform me that I had a parasite and Ecoli going to work in my tummy.
When we got back to the parish I was checked out by Father Martin's nurse who said the dose of medicine I took was wrong and that I probably had malaria. (This seems to be a common form of consoling among Ugandans since our guide on Safari, upon seeing what I had for dinner the night before, assured me that it was surely just a touch of malaria.) We went to Gulu to get the test and it was negative for malaria, but they confirmed that the first doctor's results and advice was correct.
So sadly I spent the next week in Gulu and Anaka in the bed, but did enjoy some wonderful conversation with the priests and workers at the parish. I am so blessed to know those beautiful people. I also want to thank everyone who was praying for me. God is so good! I am excited to finish strong at Anaka these next two weeks and continue to develop the service club with students to help garden and work at the Parish. Peace.