Walk to Atanga SS
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Get Up and Walk
This is written by Jenni Aber Lynn
Just two days ago, the teachers of Pedro Menendez received news of another student death. I did not know this student as well as the student that had passed earlier on this summer, but I knew him. I did not teach him, but he stopped by my room a few times. His death, along with other events this summer, really affected my happy demeanor.
I have never been one to deal with death very well.
It seems that there have been moments where reality hits pretty hard. This thought process, for me, started with a phone call while I was in Uganda. It was about a student that I had last year.
She sat in the row all the way to the left, three seats from the front. She was quiet at times, but you could see that she still was infected by the contagious excitement for her senior year. She just graduated. She was just killed by a truck driving erratically. When I received this news, I kept saying that it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair.
The next morning, July 12, I woke up to news that there were bombings in Kampala that killed over seventy people. The American that died was here because he was an “Invisible Children” roadie. His name was Nate ‘Oteka’ Henn. He seemed like such a wonderful person. We did not have a chance to meet him, but because I was still feeling the heaviness of the news from the night before, and because he was there with the same organization as my friends and I, it hit close to home. How could someone who did so much good be taken away? I again thought about how it wasn’t fair.
Then on Sunday, July 18, exactly one week from my phone call about my student, people from group 2 went to St. Jude’s orphanage. When they arrived, they found out that a toddler had just fallen into an open cesspool. When the group went back there, there was a man trying to put a ladder down the hole, but it wouldn’t fit. Then John (who we have deemed the dad of the group) pushed the ladder out of the way. John reached down and pulled Samuel (the toddler) out of the well. They started to try to get all of the stuff out of his mouth. Min and Colleen tried to give CPR, and the “Invisible Children” truck drove to the hospital. It took them ten more minutes to find someone to help them. Despite our best efforts, at 3:06 on July 18 the boy died. He was about 2 ½ years old. Definitely one of our more somber nights.
These events really got to me. How could such senseless things that cause so much pain happen? It WASN’T fair. It made me question. I wanted to know why. I was starting to question justice in this world. As I started to ask questions, I remembered thumbing through a book, “Hope in the Dark.” It is a photo-journal about two people who travel to Kenya. Not Uganda, but their story seems relevant enough to mine. I read the entries. I looked at the pictures. As I turned the pages, two entries caught my attention.
The first page is a picture of graffiti, “Piny Pek.” The entry read, “We walked along the dirt road to Muungano village where these words rested quietly on the brick wall next to a pharmacy shop. ‘What does piny pek mean?’ I asked. ‘Heavy world,’ they said” (Hope in the Dark).
That nailed it. It IS a heavy world. I have been feeling the weight of it all along. Where is justice?
As I was lamenting some of these events, I came across my friend Ryan’s blog. It was on dying seeds. I am going to use some of his words because he writes what I have been feeling so effectively. He says, “I’ve always despised the fact that God made death such an integral part of life. “When Christ calls a man, He bids him come and die,” Bonhoeffer says. But why can’t the Father work with us as though He were a bricklayer? I’d much rather just have my old self whitewashed, built on top of, not crucified.”
Ryan goes on to say, “That, however, is not His will. The Father’s plan for life is one of complete and total transformation that begins with a wrecking ball and ends with a new creation. And if I say that my way is better, I am arguing with the very God who gave me a mind, an intellect and an ability to argue in the first place. Surely, it is an argument I cannot win.
So I am still left asking, “Why?” I am still saying that it is not fair. I am still left presenting my argument and it makes me think of the verses in Acts 3.
It reads, “ 1One day Peter and John were going up to the temple at the time of prayer—at three in the afternoon. 2Now a man crippled from birth was being carried to the temple gate called Beautiful, where he was put every day to beg from those going into the temple courts. 3When he saw Peter and John about to enter, he asked them for money. 4Peter looked straight at him, as did John. Then Peter said, "Look at us!" 5So the man gave them his attention, expecting to get something from them.
6Then Peter said, "Silver or gold I do not have, but what I have I give you. In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, walk." 7Taking him by the right hand, he helped him up, and instantly the man's feet and ankles became strong. 8He jumped to his feet and began to walk.”
It makes me realize that I am like the crippled man and that every time I ask, “Why?” and every time that I argue that it isn’t fair; it is like I am asking for money.
I have to realize and trust that the experiences given to me will become beautiful. It is not money, but the ability to walk.
A couple of pages later in “Hope in the Dark”:
“I stood within the filthy, shack-filled slum of Kibera while also looking up at the stunning clouds that danced across the vast stretch of the African sky. There is such tragedy and yet such beauty at the same time” (HitD).
I remember that we were in a place where the blended scent of pit latrines and burning garbage lingered in the air. I remember the showers were cold. I remember we could not drink the water. I remember the dirt roads were full of potholes and mud. I remember the village was filled with poverty that often broke our hearts. I remember the deaths that will change me forever. I remember the tragedies.
With this entry, I also remember the beautiful friendships that I have made with the American and Ugandan teachers. I remember sharing the new experiences of learning to use shillings and negotiate for a boda ride with these people. I remember everyone playing with the kids in the street in front of our house with Frisbees, kites, and limbo sticks. I remember hearing, “Munu!” and seeing children run from the streets to greet us. I remember seeing the teachers from Uganda share stories, and play, and dance with us at our events. I remember the students’ willingness to share their stories, and the change it brought in us. I remember seeing the faces of deaf children in an orphanage light up because they could share their names and play. I remember seeing my friends bring smiles, laughter, and love to the same orphanage where death broke our hearts. This is the beauty that I remember. Breathtaking.
“Overwhelmed by the insanity of this broken world, I find it difficult to understand how the pieces of it all fit together” (Hope in the Dark).
Heavy world. Where is justice?
“The same earth can hold the fragrance of a field of flowers while also occupying the stench of urine on hot concrete” (HitD).
Where is justice? I think it’s in beauty. Where is beauty? I think it’s in compassion.
So what is something that I have learned on my trip? It’s a heavy world. I am terrified and weighed down by this information. Out of the tragedy, rises beauty and compassion. In the “Invisible Children” video for Nate Henn, it says that his legacy lives on. For me, out of the ashes of tragedy, a field of flowers scented with compassion will rise. That is my pledge to Shae, Nate, Samuel, and Jonathan. My pledge to those who have been and will be affected by a heavy world. My pledge to my new friends. Instead of asking why and saying that it isn’t fair, I am going to “get up and walk.”
I will no longer ask for money when I know that the ability to walk is there. I will no longer sit at the temple gates and ask questions. My promise is to “get up and walk” and bring beauty and compassion with me.
Jenni
my response on facebook
Einstein said, "Small is the number that see with their own eyes and feel with their own hearts." It would have been great, if Jenni's experience in Uganda would have been all smiley kids yelling "munu bye". but not this year..
...To all those around Jenni, you already know who she is, but I got to see it for the first time. She is the real deal. I have listened to many and sometimes I hear "the sound of the genuine" from someone new. I pulled that young boy out of the worst shit water I have ever seen or experienced in my life, and tried to figure out how to get him to breathe, And in the end, tried to figure out why, and cursed myself for not winning the battle. But what I saw during that frustration was love, so many of the people in the picture above, reached out and gave me their love.
It would be nice if we could just love first, take a risk and appreciate the beauty of each other, and let these feelings be known. But our lives are often ordinary, and ordinary thoughts in ordinary lives crowd out these real thoughts. Maybe it takes this realness, this "heavy world" to remind us of not only who we are, but what we are capable of.
Don't get me wrong, I would much rather have a live Samuel then writing words on Facebook, but Jenni walked into my world this year, a world populated by amazing people, and became one of them.
And whether it is the first student you taught who dies, or the 12th..... it does not get any easier... but for Ashley, and Leslie, and Michael, for one Matt who died of Cancer, and one Matt who died in Iraq, and too many for me.... and of course, My Best Friend, Phil, whose death left a hole for too many of us.
I will take Jenni's advice and "Get Up and Walk". To do my best for Samuel,..... I will Get Up and Walk
Just two days ago, the teachers of Pedro Menendez received news of another student death. I did not know this student as well as the student that had passed earlier on this summer, but I knew him. I did not teach him, but he stopped by my room a few times. His death, along with other events this summer, really affected my happy demeanor.
I have never been one to deal with death very well.
It seems that there have been moments where reality hits pretty hard. This thought process, for me, started with a phone call while I was in Uganda. It was about a student that I had last year.
She sat in the row all the way to the left, three seats from the front. She was quiet at times, but you could see that she still was infected by the contagious excitement for her senior year. She just graduated. She was just killed by a truck driving erratically. When I received this news, I kept saying that it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair.
The next morning, July 12, I woke up to news that there were bombings in Kampala that killed over seventy people. The American that died was here because he was an “Invisible Children” roadie. His name was Nate ‘Oteka’ Henn. He seemed like such a wonderful person. We did not have a chance to meet him, but because I was still feeling the heaviness of the news from the night before, and because he was there with the same organization as my friends and I, it hit close to home. How could someone who did so much good be taken away? I again thought about how it wasn’t fair.
Then on Sunday, July 18, exactly one week from my phone call about my student, people from group 2 went to St. Jude’s orphanage. When they arrived, they found out that a toddler had just fallen into an open cesspool. When the group went back there, there was a man trying to put a ladder down the hole, but it wouldn’t fit. Then John (who we have deemed the dad of the group) pushed the ladder out of the way. John reached down and pulled Samuel (the toddler) out of the well. They started to try to get all of the stuff out of his mouth. Min and Colleen tried to give CPR, and the “Invisible Children” truck drove to the hospital. It took them ten more minutes to find someone to help them. Despite our best efforts, at 3:06 on July 18 the boy died. He was about 2 ½ years old. Definitely one of our more somber nights.
These events really got to me. How could such senseless things that cause so much pain happen? It WASN’T fair. It made me question. I wanted to know why. I was starting to question justice in this world. As I started to ask questions, I remembered thumbing through a book, “Hope in the Dark.” It is a photo-journal about two people who travel to Kenya. Not Uganda, but their story seems relevant enough to mine. I read the entries. I looked at the pictures. As I turned the pages, two entries caught my attention.
The first page is a picture of graffiti, “Piny Pek.” The entry read, “We walked along the dirt road to Muungano village where these words rested quietly on the brick wall next to a pharmacy shop. ‘What does piny pek mean?’ I asked. ‘Heavy world,’ they said” (Hope in the Dark).
That nailed it. It IS a heavy world. I have been feeling the weight of it all along. Where is justice?
As I was lamenting some of these events, I came across my friend Ryan’s blog. It was on dying seeds. I am going to use some of his words because he writes what I have been feeling so effectively. He says, “I’ve always despised the fact that God made death such an integral part of life. “When Christ calls a man, He bids him come and die,” Bonhoeffer says. But why can’t the Father work with us as though He were a bricklayer? I’d much rather just have my old self whitewashed, built on top of, not crucified.”
Ryan goes on to say, “That, however, is not His will. The Father’s plan for life is one of complete and total transformation that begins with a wrecking ball and ends with a new creation. And if I say that my way is better, I am arguing with the very God who gave me a mind, an intellect and an ability to argue in the first place. Surely, it is an argument I cannot win.
So I am still left asking, “Why?” I am still saying that it is not fair. I am still left presenting my argument and it makes me think of the verses in Acts 3.
It reads, “ 1One day Peter and John were going up to the temple at the time of prayer—at three in the afternoon. 2Now a man crippled from birth was being carried to the temple gate called Beautiful, where he was put every day to beg from those going into the temple courts. 3When he saw Peter and John about to enter, he asked them for money. 4Peter looked straight at him, as did John. Then Peter said, "Look at us!" 5So the man gave them his attention, expecting to get something from them.
6Then Peter said, "Silver or gold I do not have, but what I have I give you. In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, walk." 7Taking him by the right hand, he helped him up, and instantly the man's feet and ankles became strong. 8He jumped to his feet and began to walk.”
It makes me realize that I am like the crippled man and that every time I ask, “Why?” and every time that I argue that it isn’t fair; it is like I am asking for money.
I have to realize and trust that the experiences given to me will become beautiful. It is not money, but the ability to walk.
A couple of pages later in “Hope in the Dark”:
“I stood within the filthy, shack-filled slum of Kibera while also looking up at the stunning clouds that danced across the vast stretch of the African sky. There is such tragedy and yet such beauty at the same time” (HitD).
I remember that we were in a place where the blended scent of pit latrines and burning garbage lingered in the air. I remember the showers were cold. I remember we could not drink the water. I remember the dirt roads were full of potholes and mud. I remember the village was filled with poverty that often broke our hearts. I remember the deaths that will change me forever. I remember the tragedies.
With this entry, I also remember the beautiful friendships that I have made with the American and Ugandan teachers. I remember sharing the new experiences of learning to use shillings and negotiate for a boda ride with these people. I remember everyone playing with the kids in the street in front of our house with Frisbees, kites, and limbo sticks. I remember hearing, “Munu!” and seeing children run from the streets to greet us. I remember seeing the teachers from Uganda share stories, and play, and dance with us at our events. I remember the students’ willingness to share their stories, and the change it brought in us. I remember seeing the faces of deaf children in an orphanage light up because they could share their names and play. I remember seeing my friends bring smiles, laughter, and love to the same orphanage where death broke our hearts. This is the beauty that I remember. Breathtaking.
“Overwhelmed by the insanity of this broken world, I find it difficult to understand how the pieces of it all fit together” (Hope in the Dark).
Heavy world. Where is justice?
“The same earth can hold the fragrance of a field of flowers while also occupying the stench of urine on hot concrete” (HitD).
Where is justice? I think it’s in beauty. Where is beauty? I think it’s in compassion.
So what is something that I have learned on my trip? It’s a heavy world. I am terrified and weighed down by this information. Out of the tragedy, rises beauty and compassion. In the “Invisible Children” video for Nate Henn, it says that his legacy lives on. For me, out of the ashes of tragedy, a field of flowers scented with compassion will rise. That is my pledge to Shae, Nate, Samuel, and Jonathan. My pledge to those who have been and will be affected by a heavy world. My pledge to my new friends. Instead of asking why and saying that it isn’t fair, I am going to “get up and walk.”
I will no longer ask for money when I know that the ability to walk is there. I will no longer sit at the temple gates and ask questions. My promise is to “get up and walk” and bring beauty and compassion with me.
Jenni
my response on facebook
Einstein said, "Small is the number that see with their own eyes and feel with their own hearts." It would have been great, if Jenni's experience in Uganda would have been all smiley kids yelling "munu bye". but not this year..
...To all those around Jenni, you already know who she is, but I got to see it for the first time. She is the real deal. I have listened to many and sometimes I hear "the sound of the genuine" from someone new. I pulled that young boy out of the worst shit water I have ever seen or experienced in my life, and tried to figure out how to get him to breathe, And in the end, tried to figure out why, and cursed myself for not winning the battle. But what I saw during that frustration was love, so many of the people in the picture above, reached out and gave me their love.
It would be nice if we could just love first, take a risk and appreciate the beauty of each other, and let these feelings be known. But our lives are often ordinary, and ordinary thoughts in ordinary lives crowd out these real thoughts. Maybe it takes this realness, this "heavy world" to remind us of not only who we are, but what we are capable of.
Don't get me wrong, I would much rather have a live Samuel then writing words on Facebook, but Jenni walked into my world this year, a world populated by amazing people, and became one of them.
And whether it is the first student you taught who dies, or the 12th..... it does not get any easier... but for Ashley, and Leslie, and Michael, for one Matt who died of Cancer, and one Matt who died in Iraq, and too many for me.... and of course, My Best Friend, Phil, whose death left a hole for too many of us.
I will take Jenni's advice and "Get Up and Walk". To do my best for Samuel,..... I will Get Up and Walk
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Water
Today was a celebration day at Pope Paul VI. The faculty gathered for a 1:50 pm sendoff, so the ceremony started at 3:05 pm. TIA. It was a wonderful gathering of the faculty, our friend the head teacher was not there, but it gave other people a chance to shine. The Ugandans have a tradition of shaking up soda bottles at occasions, such as this, or birthday parties. I think they thought they were going to surprise us, but the teacher shaking the bottle hit it early. The deputy teacher looked at him and said, "We were going on 3....1, 2, 3." It was hilarious and the entire faculty was laughing uproariously and having a great time.
But that will have to wait for another day....We had water at Anaka for about a day and a half. We thought the problem was temporary, but there was more to it than that. Something about not being able to pay the pump attendant, because finances were low. Last week we were lamenting our situation, and it dawned on me that we were still not working too hard for our water. Each day when we come back to the house, they are 4 Jerry cans filled with water. Who does this our 122 lb. cook, she walks down to the bore hole and carries one on her head and one in her hand, so two trips.
Maureen has been battling malaria or some other disease. She was not able to cook for us last night, and we realized we had to take care of ourselves. Kelley and I hopped after it with no problem, burning the trash, washing the dishes, and going to the bore hole to fill 3 Jerry cans. There was not the familiar sound of metal clanging so I knew no one was pumping at the bore hole. It is a little convenient, right outside of our house, 45 meters away. We filled up all three without too much problem, actually I pumped almost one full and then students took over for us.
Later in the day, I realized with the dish washing we would need more water for tonight. We would have to wash the dishes after dinner, this being our last night in Anaka. Also I was not sure if the Immodium would hold and I did not want to be trapped with my past history in the toilet (it takes a lot of water to flush the toilet manually). So I went to the bore hole to fill up two cans. Except this time, it was much more difficult...the water did not want to seem to come. Clang, Clang, Clang, I pumped furiously and even counted to 50 good reps, but one of the students said, "Sir, the water is not there." A couple of them took over and we alternated, but still just a trickle. We worked harder and harder, and finally something came.
But still what an effort....It just amazes how much of the world has to go through this or worse to find usable water. It is not easy.
John
But that will have to wait for another day....We had water at Anaka for about a day and a half. We thought the problem was temporary, but there was more to it than that. Something about not being able to pay the pump attendant, because finances were low. Last week we were lamenting our situation, and it dawned on me that we were still not working too hard for our water. Each day when we come back to the house, they are 4 Jerry cans filled with water. Who does this our 122 lb. cook, she walks down to the bore hole and carries one on her head and one in her hand, so two trips.
Maureen has been battling malaria or some other disease. She was not able to cook for us last night, and we realized we had to take care of ourselves. Kelley and I hopped after it with no problem, burning the trash, washing the dishes, and going to the bore hole to fill 3 Jerry cans. There was not the familiar sound of metal clanging so I knew no one was pumping at the bore hole. It is a little convenient, right outside of our house, 45 meters away. We filled up all three without too much problem, actually I pumped almost one full and then students took over for us.
Later in the day, I realized with the dish washing we would need more water for tonight. We would have to wash the dishes after dinner, this being our last night in Anaka. Also I was not sure if the Immodium would hold and I did not want to be trapped with my past history in the toilet (it takes a lot of water to flush the toilet manually). So I went to the bore hole to fill up two cans. Except this time, it was much more difficult...the water did not want to seem to come. Clang, Clang, Clang, I pumped furiously and even counted to 50 good reps, but one of the students said, "Sir, the water is not there." A couple of them took over and we alternated, but still just a trickle. We worked harder and harder, and finally something came.
But still what an effort....It just amazes how much of the world has to go through this or worse to find usable water. It is not easy.
John
Monday, August 2, 2010
2nd Half of a Great Day
So let's see, I covered the impressive filming of the flag ceremony and the unexpected kind words of our Head Teacher. The day continued in this fantastic manner as I went into the staff room and was soon joined by my partner teacher, Kumakech Lawrence. Lawrence was smiling and pulled a package out of his small backpack for me. He told me he had been working on this for sometime. It is a plaque he made himself using wood burning techniques (don't ask if your under 30, but I once had a woodburning kit myself). It was a great gift and the time he took to make it, just made it more special.
The teachers were then summoned to the office and we were told that they wanted to take us to Pakwach to see some animals. We soon all piled into the headteachers truck. 5 of us in the front two seats, and 7 in the back. The handyman had put a school bench in the back, but mostly it was just hanging on. Luckily, I was chosen to sit up front. We took off, saw a few Ugandan Kob and settled in for lunch in Pakwach.
We were soon descended on by a group of people at the small restaurant. The men were selling wood crafts: real arrows (for hunting), wooden animals, carved turtles, canes, balancing cheetahs, etc. Lunch was a chapati and rolled egg, think breakfast burrito. I thought it was about time to go, so I decided to buy 2 souvenirs After it was seen that I bought 2 things, there were at least 8 men and boys who insisted I also buy their wares. I told them I was not going to when the one said, "You buy this one, Obama." We never really figured out if he was calling the warrior he wsa selling me, Obama or he was calling me Obama.
After the restaurant, we drove to the place where Kumakech Lawrence had grown up, we met the wife of his brother, who had raised him since his parents died when he was two. Ir was a pleasant meeting with pictures, but then all attention was drawn to Colleen, her partner teacher new it was her dream to hold a baby goat. So he went to a small pen and lifted a young goat into her arms. She was very happy! Soon it was back in the truck, Colleen volunteered to take Kelley's place in the wild, wild back of the truck. We crossed the bridge to return home, and detoured into the game park entrance. It costs money for each person to enter, but somehow the head teacher used his charm and politician's gift of laughter to allow us in for just a kilometer. "You are not talking a strict kilometer, of course." He said to the ranger. After a tough bridge and a puddle of unknown depth, which the Head Teacher drove through without pause, we saw elephants ahead.
The game ranger was yelling furiously from the back that the Head Teacher was going too fast. Finally we stopped just short of the elephants, Colleen was very nervous in the back, as she thought the elephants might charge. It did not help that Kumakech was telling her he already had plans to dive under the truck and spread gasoline on himself. We took a couple of pictures of the elephants. It was the first time Jennifer, Kelley's partner teacher, had ever seen an elephant. It was then decided we would back up out of the park. This did not work well as the head teacher, we found out had only learned to drive in the past 3 months. He continued to drive off the road into tall grass and sticker bushes, as he laughed heartily the whole time. Finally the handyman begged to take over the wheel and we backed up, turned around and got back on the main road.
Last night, we enjoyed a great dinner with a lot of the same people. The Head Teacher's madam (had insisted that we would be given a cock earlier in the day). The students laughed as I carried this chicken home for dinner, but it did taste good. If this sounds a little rambled, it is because I am again up at 4 am typing this. The good news is the shirt I washed by hand, after company left is dry.
Time to check the Cardinals score and go to bed for another hour...
John
The teachers were then summoned to the office and we were told that they wanted to take us to Pakwach to see some animals. We soon all piled into the headteachers truck. 5 of us in the front two seats, and 7 in the back. The handyman had put a school bench in the back, but mostly it was just hanging on. Luckily, I was chosen to sit up front. We took off, saw a few Ugandan Kob and settled in for lunch in Pakwach.
We were soon descended on by a group of people at the small restaurant. The men were selling wood crafts: real arrows (for hunting), wooden animals, carved turtles, canes, balancing cheetahs, etc. Lunch was a chapati and rolled egg, think breakfast burrito. I thought it was about time to go, so I decided to buy 2 souvenirs After it was seen that I bought 2 things, there were at least 8 men and boys who insisted I also buy their wares. I told them I was not going to when the one said, "You buy this one, Obama." We never really figured out if he was calling the warrior he wsa selling me, Obama or he was calling me Obama.
After the restaurant, we drove to the place where Kumakech Lawrence had grown up, we met the wife of his brother, who had raised him since his parents died when he was two. Ir was a pleasant meeting with pictures, but then all attention was drawn to Colleen, her partner teacher new it was her dream to hold a baby goat. So he went to a small pen and lifted a young goat into her arms. She was very happy! Soon it was back in the truck, Colleen volunteered to take Kelley's place in the wild, wild back of the truck. We crossed the bridge to return home, and detoured into the game park entrance. It costs money for each person to enter, but somehow the head teacher used his charm and politician's gift of laughter to allow us in for just a kilometer. "You are not talking a strict kilometer, of course." He said to the ranger. After a tough bridge and a puddle of unknown depth, which the Head Teacher drove through without pause, we saw elephants ahead.
The game ranger was yelling furiously from the back that the Head Teacher was going too fast. Finally we stopped just short of the elephants, Colleen was very nervous in the back, as she thought the elephants might charge. It did not help that Kumakech was telling her he already had plans to dive under the truck and spread gasoline on himself. We took a couple of pictures of the elephants. It was the first time Jennifer, Kelley's partner teacher, had ever seen an elephant. It was then decided we would back up out of the park. This did not work well as the head teacher, we found out had only learned to drive in the past 3 months. He continued to drive off the road into tall grass and sticker bushes, as he laughed heartily the whole time. Finally the handyman begged to take over the wheel and we backed up, turned around and got back on the main road.
Last night, we enjoyed a great dinner with a lot of the same people. The Head Teacher's madam (had insisted that we would be given a cock earlier in the day). The students laughed as I carried this chicken home for dinner, but it did taste good. If this sounds a little rambled, it is because I am again up at 4 am typing this. The good news is the shirt I washed by hand, after company left is dry.
Time to check the Cardinals score and go to bed for another hour...
John
A Humble Day ... a day of Honor
This morning was one of the best days I have ever had in Uganda. I actually slept in and did not begin my day with 630 am Mass in Lwo. The reason was that after Mass and after greeting the Priests and the parishioners; I never get to see the raising of the flags. The Captain of the Flag Raising is very serious in his job, and I love that he works so hard to do his job right. His name is Obwona Brian Santo, and he does a great job. He has instructed both faculty and students, that they should never speak with their back to the Ugandan flag. So it is funny during these assemblies when a speaker (faculty or student) moves to the front of the flag stand. Brian will walk up to them, and politely whisper in their ear to move back behind the flags. The flag team today consisted of Brian, Olanya Vincent, and Adong Flavia
It was perfect this morning as the usual all male team was joined by a young woman. I have videotape of the ceremony, and will show it to you when I get back. But they specially tie the flags in a bundle, so they raise the bundle to the top of the flag pole, and then give it a jerk. This causes the flag first to unfurl at the top of the flag pole, as the students sing the Ugandan National Anthem. They pause in the middle of the anthem, to raise their school flag the same way, and then after the anthem is over raise the third flag, which is a flag of Pope Paul VI (resembles the Vatican flag), as the students bow their heads in prayer.
I also taped the speech of the headmaster. He has a wonderful and powerful speech pattern, where he lingers on the last word of his sentence. He started speeking about the American teachers, and said something like this, "They have spent time to do their very best for youuuuuuuuu. I call them friends of humanityyyyyyyy. You should give them a big farewell this week, a fair farewellll. I call them friends of humanity, because they are not worried about tribes, or nations, they are human beinggggggs and thus that is why I call them friends of humanity."
He then called Kelley and I to the flagpole, and told us that they wanted to give us all Acholi names. Most teachers are given Acholi names in their experience, but I have never been given one. It is not a big deal, yet I could not have foreseen how special this honor was. The Head Teacher explained to the students that they wanted to take some time giving these names so they could see who we are, and get to see our "characterrrrrrrrrrrrrr". He then start talking about me, some of the best words I have ever heard. This is close.... "In Uganda, we talk about heroes, and we have seen John Magee here every morning, he is always present, always visible. He has not missed coming to Uganda for the last 3 years (4 years of teaching). He is a man who believes what he is doing, and stands firm in his beliefs, even when others do not." Too many kind words ... "He stands for something, and he cares about the mathematics, and the students. So in our language, we will call him Oteka." He laid on that last word and held onto it, and followed it with this big hearty laugh. Some Invisible Children will know that Oteka was the name give to Nate Henn who died in the Kampala bombings. Nate, I think, was given that name is because he was a big, strong young man. I was amazed and humbled that the Head Teacher in consultation with the faculty would use that same word to talk about my beliefs and ideals.
It is often hard for us all to hear these words of praise, but I make my students stand on a chair, and be proud of who they are and what they have accomplished. I think this morning was my turn to stand on a chair...
They next renamed Kelley, and the Head Teacher gave a wonderful speech on who she was.... (If you are a friend or family of Kelley, email me, and I will find a way to send the video to you when I get home). Jacob, our Peace Corps roommate, had scrambled to get Min and Colleen out of their slumber in time to be given their names, Anywade, Child of the Moon for Colleen, and Aber, or beautiful for Min.
Next the headmaster told us we were all going to hop in his car and go to Pakwach, but I think I will save that story for later....
But Colleen did realize her dream of holding a baby goat...
Thanks to all who gave this year so I could follow my dream,
I have souvenirs for all of you, but after this morning I will
never be able to fully repay you in my lifetime,
John
It was perfect this morning as the usual all male team was joined by a young woman. I have videotape of the ceremony, and will show it to you when I get back. But they specially tie the flags in a bundle, so they raise the bundle to the top of the flag pole, and then give it a jerk. This causes the flag first to unfurl at the top of the flag pole, as the students sing the Ugandan National Anthem. They pause in the middle of the anthem, to raise their school flag the same way, and then after the anthem is over raise the third flag, which is a flag of Pope Paul VI (resembles the Vatican flag), as the students bow their heads in prayer.
I also taped the speech of the headmaster. He has a wonderful and powerful speech pattern, where he lingers on the last word of his sentence. He started speeking about the American teachers, and said something like this, "They have spent time to do their very best for youuuuuuuuu. I call them friends of humanityyyyyyyy. You should give them a big farewell this week, a fair farewellll. I call them friends of humanity, because they are not worried about tribes, or nations, they are human beinggggggs and thus that is why I call them friends of humanity."
He then called Kelley and I to the flagpole, and told us that they wanted to give us all Acholi names. Most teachers are given Acholi names in their experience, but I have never been given one. It is not a big deal, yet I could not have foreseen how special this honor was. The Head Teacher explained to the students that they wanted to take some time giving these names so they could see who we are, and get to see our "characterrrrrrrrrrrrrr". He then start talking about me, some of the best words I have ever heard. This is close.... "In Uganda, we talk about heroes, and we have seen John Magee here every morning, he is always present, always visible. He has not missed coming to Uganda for the last 3 years (4 years of teaching). He is a man who believes what he is doing, and stands firm in his beliefs, even when others do not." Too many kind words ... "He stands for something, and he cares about the mathematics, and the students. So in our language, we will call him Oteka." He laid on that last word and held onto it, and followed it with this big hearty laugh. Some Invisible Children will know that Oteka was the name give to Nate Henn who died in the Kampala bombings. Nate, I think, was given that name is because he was a big, strong young man. I was amazed and humbled that the Head Teacher in consultation with the faculty would use that same word to talk about my beliefs and ideals.
It is often hard for us all to hear these words of praise, but I make my students stand on a chair, and be proud of who they are and what they have accomplished. I think this morning was my turn to stand on a chair...
They next renamed Kelley, and the Head Teacher gave a wonderful speech on who she was.... (If you are a friend or family of Kelley, email me, and I will find a way to send the video to you when I get home). Jacob, our Peace Corps roommate, had scrambled to get Min and Colleen out of their slumber in time to be given their names, Anywade, Child of the Moon for Colleen, and Aber, or beautiful for Min.
Next the headmaster told us we were all going to hop in his car and go to Pakwach, but I think I will save that story for later....
But Colleen did realize her dream of holding a baby goat...
Thanks to all who gave this year so I could follow my dream,
I have souvenirs for all of you, but after this morning I will
never be able to fully repay you in my lifetime,
John
Sunday, August 1, 2010
3 A.M. in Anaka
Got back to Anaka after a return trip to St. Jude's, made great time and the roads were not as bad as I thought they were going to be after a lot of rain. Early this morning, Colleen and I walked about 40 minutes to get to Mass with the students at Gulu High. Each step had to be chosen wisely, as the roads were really muddy. We reached a few impasses, but kind of walked on the graas a bit. When we arrived at Gulu High, the front gate was locked and we had to wait another 7 minutes or so to get in. By the time we got to Mass, it was over. We were both disappointed as what used to be 10 am Mass was not an 830 one. Oh well, another 20 minute walk through the mud, caught a boda, and back to Kope Cafe for breakfast.
Accomplished a few more errands, and then we hoped in the IC Land Rover for a trip back to Anaka, but first a stop at St. Jude's. I really wanted the first year teachers to get a chance to get back there. It really is a place of hope, and smiles, and snot (many babies...LOL). The kids did not disappoint, the young ones came to be picked up or bounced around or just to hang on my hands as long as I could support their weight. I started purposely walking over the little ones, as my legs are taller than they are high. Anything to see the laughter and the smiles that I knew St. Jude's was about. There was another white woman there I did not recognize, and maybe it was her that brought the kite. But the kite was great, (I was thinking it was not going to fly with no wind), but by just running as fast as they could, the boys got the kite moderately high. It was neat the way they would run as fast as they could, and then when they got tired, handed off to a friend.
I walked to the end of the buildings and greeted Filda. We both had so many memories of our last meeting. She thanked me (I accepted the thanks, but felt weird) and we talked a bit. She told me that she was broken hearted because that one, Samuel was one of her favorite little ones. I told her that many were praying for Samuel, and Father Tom Poth had actually said a Mass from Nicaragua. Many of the mothers were sitting on a porch, and Filda introduced me as "the one who helped us" and I needed to do something. So I looked on the roof and saw a stuffed bear that must have been thrown up there....first I tried to fish it off with a jump rope, but was unsuccessful and then found a stick with a perpendicular flat piece of board nailed to it. Exactly the tool I needed to get down a dirty stuffed bear..... but it worked....
Still thinking so I snuck alone to the edge of the buildings taking pictures of children. I ducked into their small, but beautiful chapel and felt confident that God was here for the children. I then walked around the back, being careful not to let others watch my actions, from about 25 feet away, I saw a new concrete lid to a hole in the ground....today that was good enough...and I felt guilty checking on the progress of many who cared daily for the young unwanted children, but I had to check ....25 feet was close enough. I turned circled back and saw many children.....how many more smiles and laughter could I squeeze into my brain in the next 4 minutes before it would be time for the Pope Paul VI crew to get back into the vehicle....how many....
John
Accomplished a few more errands, and then we hoped in the IC Land Rover for a trip back to Anaka, but first a stop at St. Jude's. I really wanted the first year teachers to get a chance to get back there. It really is a place of hope, and smiles, and snot (many babies...LOL). The kids did not disappoint, the young ones came to be picked up or bounced around or just to hang on my hands as long as I could support their weight. I started purposely walking over the little ones, as my legs are taller than they are high. Anything to see the laughter and the smiles that I knew St. Jude's was about. There was another white woman there I did not recognize, and maybe it was her that brought the kite. But the kite was great, (I was thinking it was not going to fly with no wind), but by just running as fast as they could, the boys got the kite moderately high. It was neat the way they would run as fast as they could, and then when they got tired, handed off to a friend.
I walked to the end of the buildings and greeted Filda. We both had so many memories of our last meeting. She thanked me (I accepted the thanks, but felt weird) and we talked a bit. She told me that she was broken hearted because that one, Samuel was one of her favorite little ones. I told her that many were praying for Samuel, and Father Tom Poth had actually said a Mass from Nicaragua. Many of the mothers were sitting on a porch, and Filda introduced me as "the one who helped us" and I needed to do something. So I looked on the roof and saw a stuffed bear that must have been thrown up there....first I tried to fish it off with a jump rope, but was unsuccessful and then found a stick with a perpendicular flat piece of board nailed to it. Exactly the tool I needed to get down a dirty stuffed bear..... but it worked....
Still thinking so I snuck alone to the edge of the buildings taking pictures of children. I ducked into their small, but beautiful chapel and felt confident that God was here for the children. I then walked around the back, being careful not to let others watch my actions, from about 25 feet away, I saw a new concrete lid to a hole in the ground....today that was good enough...and I felt guilty checking on the progress of many who cared daily for the young unwanted children, but I had to check ....25 feet was close enough. I turned circled back and saw many children.....how many more smiles and laughter could I squeeze into my brain in the next 4 minutes before it would be time for the Pope Paul VI crew to get back into the vehicle....how many....
John
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