A Broke American in a Developing Country

     Yesterday, I was walking around with 1.8 million in my back pocket.  it would have been nice if it had been dollars, but that amount of money is staggering when compared to some people I this work force.  I had 2 years pay for the server at Butterflies who brings me beans and rice.  The people collecting empty plastic bottles would have to collect probably over 10,000 bottles. I am not sure but it looks like the old women sell about 20 bottles a day.  They sit by the gas station with an inventory of less than 20 each day.

       I think it is good to just be aware of what we truly do have and make some decisions in our life that reflects that awareness.  Each morning, I was  not quite finishing my one piece of bread, it is a little denser and a little tougher to chew then our bread.  Then I read the book Unbroken and after 200 pages of Japanese prison camp starving, I now eat the entire piece of bread. Since coming back from Pajule,  I think my most expensive meal has been around 3 dollars,  I am consciously thinking as 8 order.  And yet, I am full and never hungry.  It is getting near the end and the 1.8 million that went to school fees has forced me to plan the last couple of weeks.  I asked  this week, a student I have known for awhile if he is ever hungry. No words came from his mouth and tears walled up in his eyes.  What do you do with that...I pray.  I thought in the month of May I had a good chance  at two teaching jobs, that I did not get and now as I see my friends here, I suffer from just an overwhelming frustration.

      I carry the sadness of my teaching career probably being over, but that sadness is small compared to how I feel that I should have could have done something different to get those jobs.  I know my failure in those arenas, has caused me to fail my Acholi brothers and sisters.  Ronald,  a wonderful young man, is now almost ready for his second year at Gulu.  I feel good that with your help we were able to make that happen.  Ronald was so prepared for our visit.  he gave me a itemized list of year two expenses, a description of his entire family in the same order that I remembered them from our wonderful lunch, and he also brought me a letter from his friend who shared a meal with us.  The friend asked if I could support him also.  I had to tell Ronald at this time I could not do it,   This young man was abducted by the rebels in P6 (roughly sixth grade) and spent two years before he was able to escape the brutality of this violence.  This is the one I told to wait. Wait.

      On Tuesday, about seven of us went to dinner at Pagoda's, I had the chicken fried rice. It was good, 7000/= (less than 3 dollars).  On the way, there we walked by the used plastic bottle sellers and two young boys were in a dispute.  As they wrestled, the one kicked his rival's box of bottles into the street.  The other soon returned the favor. As we gave them a wide berth and moved past them, a large truck went down the street and you could hear the sound of the truck destroying the plastic bottles.   I think that sound will stay with me for awhile....just a senseless waste.  And in their argument, both boys saw all that they had worked for that day lost.

       So pray for my friends in Uganda, I feel I have two few solutions today.

note: Sorry for the tone here. Often, as all of us have learned in Biloxi, when we see poverty up close it often just sucks. ....really sucks.  I am going to post picture of Isaac and Ronald tow shining stars in the Gulu night.

How I Opened a Bank Account Easily in Uganda

   So today, Kwoyelo Ronald came into Gulu so we could put into place a few things so he can begin his second year at Gulu Uninversity in mid-August.  The first step was to figure out where to open a bank account in Gulu.  Yesterday, I called my broker in St. Louis and asked him about Barclay's Bank.  He told me it was world wide and should be a good place.  The one thing I want to be able to do is to be able to put money into the account from St. Louis.  So Ronald met me at Coffee Hut with a well thought out expense break down for his year of studies.  After looking at this I realized the wad of  cash I had was going to need to be supplemented.  So we went to the ATM at Barclay's bank, it was closed.

  So  detour #1, we had to go five blocks away to my usual ATM, the Orient Bank.  Now we were ready, so off to Barclay where we soon were put in front of a helpful young man.  He said before we could start, Ronald woud need one of four IDs: (1) A passport--I think mayb 0.5 % of Gulu has this, (2) A driver's license--maybe about 3 % have. (3) A voter ID..no help or (4) some other ID I do not know.   Ronald was there with a laminated Gulu U. ID, but that was no good....unless we would go to Gulu University and get a signed letter from the Dean of Students saying Ronald was a student there and it included his date of birth. (Btw March 7th, Mary Mindel) and stated that he was living in Pader.

      So detour #2,  two boda bodas were hired and off we went to Gulu University, because of rain the last two nights. There were several places that I thought it might be the 9th time I was tossed from a boda, but Innocent the driver managed the extra weight of the 150 kg. white man.  We went to two offices at G.U. And finally found the dean of students. The secretary told us that we could. Not get the letter without a written request from Ronald and a xerox of his student ID. To his credit Ronald moved quickly and was back five minutes later with two sheets of blank paper
and a xerox of his ID.  He then wrote a very formal letter to the dean asking for the letter.  He gave it the attention we would give a cover letter.  Twenty minutes later, the secretary took the letter and as she was talking I reminded her nicely that we needed date of birth and residency in the letter.  She told me the Dean could do date of birth, but could not vouch for Ronald living in Pader without driving to Pader. (90 minute drive).  I gave my best pretty please face and she walked the letter into the Dean's office (we never saw the Dean and returned to her desk).  Twenty minutes ticked off the clock and we waited. I was trying to figure out how long to wait before politely inquiring, but 5 minutes after that thought....we had the letter.

     Back to Barclay's...we got there and ten minutes later, we were filling out the application.  There were many blanks to fill and I was wondering what we might get tripped up on.  Ronald like many Ugandans does not have a mailing address.  So we got the whole thing filled out!!! ...and then he asked Ronald if he had a passport photo.  Ronald had told me on the way back from the University that we may need one, but I thought I could talk my through it.  (Very hard in Uganda with their British Legacy).

        Detour number next,  off to the passport photo place. This really only took a 10 minute walk and 15 minutes at the place, and in the interim we added Melissa Hopfinger to the team.

         Back to Barclay's,  we progressed for five more minutes, passport photo neatly stapled to the empty box on the form, and then.... The nice clerk informs us that the network is down and we cannot progress without the network.  So we made plans to come back in an hour and went off to lunch with Melissa.  Purposely, took two hours to give the bank more time .  Got back to Barclay's at 3 p.m.  And in case you forgot this started at 9:20 a.m.  We got back and our guy had stepped out for a bit.  Another nice clerk stepped into help us, found the application, but then told us we would have to come back tomorrow.  So Saturday 9 a.m. we will start again.

       No I did not lie in my title.  Do you remember when we were at the Dean's office.  I used my Orange (phone company) wireless Internet to get online. From there I found Barclay's US, opened an account, and deposited $100. It took me 10 minutes only because they hated my password choice.

If Might is Right, then Love has No Place in our World

    One of the points I was trying to make in the last post was the horrific stories of violence sometimes are just lurid and we should move past them to help the victims where they are now.  Except today the world and violence kicked my butt.  So here is the story and the tragedy of violence.     Somewhere wedged between civilian planes being shot out of the sky and children dying in Palestine...violence and the ugliness of guns showed up in a school in Gulu.

     Many schools in Gulu, primarily the boarding and village schools have study halls at nit where the students are back I the classrooms from 7 p.m. until 9 p.m. or later.  These are really not optional and in the most Draconian of schools, the students can be even locked in their classrooms.  Around 7:30 last night, I was trying to figure out how to beat the rain and get dinner at the same time.  Being caught in the rain here with muddy streets and potholes that I always seem to step, was exactly what I was trying to avoid.  The cook at Diana Gardens had cut into my chicken quarter and had refried to make it hotter, he added spice as he cooked.  I thought this extra time might be costly, but I was able to get home in just a light drizzle and enjoyed a wonderful dinner in the breakfast room of the Cosmo Guest House a.k.a. my quarters.

      I have never been to Keyo SS, but some of the best teachers in IC Teacher Exchange have taught there.  They even sang a song with the word Keyo to the time of the Alle, Alle, Alle soccer chant.  I am sorry to have to relay this story to all my wonderful Keyo colleagues.  Truly sorry, because I know it will cause you great sadness.

    Last night, around 7:30 p.m.  at Keyo SS, a big metal door or maybe a shutter banged, it was windy then.  The security guard came to the study room and asked who did that.  A young boy, by the name of Oscar when accused said,  "It was not me, and I have an mock exam to study for, so I am leaving now."  I guess the guard thought the remark was flippant and shouted at the kid as he stepped on a boy's leg who was on the ground.  "Do you see what I can do to you, " as he continued to stand on the boy's leg.  He then shot Oscar in the hip, and the bullet ricocheted and went through his neck or chin.  Oscar died at Keyo.  The security guard ran away and was later apprehended by police.  The boys at Keyo in their grief and superheated frustration, broke all the windows in the chemistry lab and severely damaged the boys' dorm.  School has been suspended until further notice.

     As Ocen David was relaying this story to us, five of sat in a room stunned.  I wondered right away, why the security guard even had a bullet in his gun.  I think some of the guns you see on the streets in Gulu, do not have bullets.  David posed that this all happened due to "masculine arrogance."  Seriously guys, we have to examine why the slightest insult or injury makes us lose our mind.  Dennis, another Ugandan, wondered if the guard had been drinking or had been either a rebel or a soldier in the past.  Violence begets violence we see that so often yet we watch our communities and our governments react with violence and just condone it or ignore it.  We have to do more.  Today on Facebook, someone posted a wonderful opEd piece from St. Louis where three Jewish women urged Jewish leaders to condemn the violence in Israel.  That is a start.  We have to start questioning and stand up and ask why we are sending young men into so much violence and war and then doing nothing for them when they come home.

       I just finished a good book, Lawrence in Arabia, and learned that in World War I that they fought up to the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month.  There were over 11,000 casualties that morning including over 3,000 Americans of people who were fighting even though they knew it was going to end.  "Masculine Arrogance". Indeed.  We, people so sick of this violence must raise our voices and counter this stupidity of violence.  Seriously, we must use the sheer stupidity of our history to change our ways.  It could start with 3 Jewish women or it could start with you.

        It has to happen so Oscar can go back into his classroom and study for his exams.  

Long Term Compassion in a Short.....Squirrel!!

    Uganda has taught me patience, As I started to write this post, the page took two minutes to load.  What!! ...forget it.  I came to Uganda in 2007, because Shona brought a DVD to my classroom that showed some tragic stories of some children.  Invisible Children did some great work in northern Uganda and beyond, because it was able to package these tragedies and mobilize young American teenagers to help.  We saw their faces, heard their voices, and knew their names.  Not only of the children who suffered through the civil war, but of the filmmakers who told their story.  I guess it gave me some perspective to be an old man in a young kids' group, but I was not as enamored with the cult of personality as some of my younger colleagues.  I remember on several occasions watching my fellow teachers treat these "people" as stars and gushed after them like you would N'Sync or those Jonas brothers.  I admit it was kind of cool to see the young boys from the first IC videos as successful young men.  This year in Gulu, Invisible Children is essentially gone and what about those  they were helping?  I do not know the answer to that question.

     I am proud to have been apart of Teacher Exchange IC and proud of the work my colleagues brought to Uganda, but we must push to dedicate ourselves to not moving on to the next crying child in a worse hell than the relative calm of a 2014 Gulu.  Today I had lunch with a wonderful young man, to be true to my point in this story he will not be named.  As we talked, I found out that his parents died when he was 11.  Later today, I found out the details were probably more horrific and the horrors of war and violence and too many guns might have happened right in front of this young man.  He knows me as his teacher from Awere Secondary School in 2007.   He remembered specific ways I taught him 7 summers ago, and he thanked me for being his teacher.  So now the story has a continuance that I believe makes both of our lives more complete.  I get respect from many Ugandans and friends here because I come back and they know that they may see me again in a year or two.  Although in my own mind, my next trip is in doubt, because I feel I have to pay for the next trip myself.  This young man has a compelling story and I might if I was fundraising or speaking to a large group might share it with a school, perhaps.  Sometimes these stories can move us to action, and that can be good.  But before there was Invisible Children in Gulu, there was several Sisters of St. Joseph of Carondelet here, and when I leave in a couple of weeks they will still be here.  I worked hard to meet one of them this year, mostly because Sr. Pat Dunphy and Sr. Linda Straub are amazing people and I wanted to honor their friendship.

        There is no war in Gulu, and the evil Joseph Kony maybe has not been seen for years, but there are still so many wonderful young students here in Gulu that need help.  I think that is why I come back, because I know if I needed Leonsyo's help or Ronald's or Patrick's or Okaali's...they would strive beyond their means and their resources to help me.  That is what my two friends at EducateforChange.US are trying to do--make multiyear commitments to 40 plus students.

       Now I come back to Biloxi,as I do often in Uganda, and how Sam and Megan and Hayley and Emily and Shelby and Lauren and Laura... have made that trip a long term compassion because Mrs. Fields and Mrs. Nguyen  know we are coming back and I cannot wait until Kate or Katherine or. .???  returns to see Zenatta and her kids and the house we built there.  So my advice now comes out of my own experience and the blessings I have received from all these people I have met.  They become old friends and nothing in life is better than old friends.

      You should know you sent me back here.

Caveat: I am sending this out to friends who have not returned to Biloxi and Uganda. They might tell me, as they took their compassion and love to new places, that they believe in their choices also.  And maybe the lessons the learned in Uganda have helped them so much elsewhere.

Discrete Thoughts on a Sunday Night

     I have seen chickens tied upside down on bike handlebars.  I have seen Ugandans get into a crowded mini-van with a chicken like it was nothing.  My chicken rode in the back of the Toyota Land Cruiser on the way to Pajule.  When Robert who sat in the middle between the driver and I on the four hour trip to Gulu, he had a chicken with him.  He handed it to a passenger he did not know and I guess the chicken was placed on the floor somewhere.  I have learned in the past that theywillride at your feet,  only when you move and step on them, do they react.  One of my weirdest self-reflections,  "John, do not forget that you have 2 chickens at your feet.  To be honest,  I did not want to turn around and see where the chicken was.  I thought the min-van was full and we stopped along the way and put 4 more people in the vehicle.  Sorry, back to the chickens...walking back into town today, I saw three chickens tied to the top of the min-van.  They were all lying on their bellies looking backward as the van pulled away.  For a moment I thought they were teenage thrill seekers playing a new game,  who could van surf the longest.  Or maybe they were just playing a game of chicken?

       I seemed to have picked up a case of the sniffles, and went to the Ot Yat (Drug store) to pick up some cold medicine.  I settled on Contac,  which isn't the tiny time pills and may have no connection. No prescriptions are needed at the drug store and you can buy anything you can afford.  If. I ever took medication, this bonus might mean something to me.  Although, even mentioning that I have a cold will cause my mother to worry that I am getting Ebola.  Please do not tell her that Kristine saw a rat peering down at me from the bamboo rafters at Alululululu Pork Joint.  I was again self-reflecting that if the rat jumped on to my pork plate would I give up on the whole thing or try to figure out which pieces he/she (edited to reflect that I believe that bothe genders of rats can achieve) did not touch.  Kidding ....kidding.....  But the pork is good.  Xbox just scored a goal against AIA ...whatever that means.

       Will be home in less than a month to try to put together my life.  The biggest regret I have...okay second biggest.  The biggest is not being able to continue great students at Nerinx, St. Joseph, Ursuline, and Incarnate Word.  I hope if you are reading this, you know how great you are and what my expectations for you are.  So second biggest regret,  if I had been employed at better pay these years I could be putting students on scholarship and making a real difference for students who really want to be at schools, but are not there for lack of fees.  I am right now trying to figure out how to come home broke, so I can leave more money behind here.   Aaaarrrrgggghhhhh,  I wish people knew the consequences of their actions.

      The pity paragraph is over and the generosity of people I see with no real means and there ability to smile through the hardships is inspiring.  More than once this trip, I have sat in a hut or room where people brought me a bottle of soda on a tray almost always covered with a lace linen.   I cannot  even think of a comparison in our world.  Maybe if everytime you met a mild acquaintance you presented them with a $100 bottle of Single Malt would be the closest thing.

       So often when confronted with all of this, the only thing we can do is to pray.  So at Holy Rosary today I prayed for all the Ugandns that I know.  I prayed that they would find some relief from their constant struggles.  I prayed for all of you who with your dollars, thoughts and prayers allowed me to be here.  I prayed for myself that hopefully I have learned something from the kindness and love of the people I have met.  I pray I can bring that humility and kindness to all that I love in the future.

    So will be home on August 14th or so.  Stop by Murdoch, maybe just maybe I will bring out a tray with a lace cloth that has a 25 year old bottle of Macallan under it.

A Different Take on "The Problem with Little White Girls, Boys, and Voluntourism "

This is a response to an article written by Pippa Biddle.

     Here is my experience in six years in northern Uganda and nine different service trips to Back Bay Mission in Biloxi, MS.  with anywhere from 21 to 97 students on the trip.  Each year when I come to Gulu, Uganda I meet amazing young women who are striving to the best for the people of Gulu and beyond.  The first year I met a young girl named Amelia who decided to go by herself to help teach the Karimajong.  She  did it because they were losing their teacher and without hesitation picked up that challenge.  Over the years in Gulu, I see western Internet cafes filled with the only white people in town and these numbers always seem to be 65% to 80% ...women.  I mused this with my friend
Father Leonsyo and he told me that is because women think with their hearts, they want to love all, and care for those that need help.

     Over the years I have been part of five different teaching groups,  again more than 2/3 women.  I have seen them start Hip Hop Clubs, have empowerment programs, and spend a lot of time of just being there with the students.  The impact alone of showing young Ugandan girls that education works is of great importance.  In the best cases, they were standing at the front of the classroom with their Ugandan teaching partner, showing the students what 2 dedicated women could do.   Sure, I have scene mistakes and people who probably should have left their electric hair straightener at home.  But for the most part they were incredible.  Many have taken their talents post-Uganda to other places in our world like Thailand, Korea, and Egypt or back home to help with the teaching of recent immigrants.  The organization I worked under was not  perfect and made mistakes, yet I also know two women, Kristine and Laura from that program who have made a long term commitment to northern Uganda and using the past to build a better model for future success of their students.

         Here is where I think the original article missed a big benefit.  Kinship, reaching across miles and oceans, is what makes all of this work.  I would consider more than a handful of Ugandans to be my friends.   They welcome me into their homes with smiles, greetings, and the best feast they can find.  It is extremely humbling to know what my friends have done for me in their homes.  I strived to match that when 3 of these friends spent a month in the states teaching in a classroom filled with "little white girls".   I see the smiles and the love everyday between the "Munus(Lwo for white people) and the Acholi tribe people.  It is real and what makes the difference here.  Father Gregory Boyle says that "Service is just the hallway to the ballroom of Kinship".   And this is where Pippa Biddle and I probably agree: building a library, painting a school, tutoring a student is nothing without pushing forward and developing that kinship.  The kinship does not happen here.  It happens when we do not expect it by sharing a meal of Posho or introducing Ugandans to wiffle ball.  It is in the conversation of equals where friendship happens.  Indeed, that is where we find love.

        Now the story in the previous  article, where the Tanzanians had to rebuild the wall each night does not condemn the trip and the effort, but shows there was serious gaps in leadership on this trip.  Why was this not noticed by her teachers and chaperones.  Ms. Biddle argues that you should not volunteer without talent or maybe even construction expertise.  I want to say in my experience that is also incorrect.  I have watched 16 girls with no construction experience build and frame a house because they had two great leaders who were patient and skilled with their teaching of the  skills needed.  This group of high school girls, with a few great leaders, regularly accomplishes more than some seasoned construction groups do.  Mostly because they do everything they can to stuff 50 hours of work into a 40 hour work week.

        This year, we had 8 girls who had little or no construction experience who by Wednesday were picking up nail guns like a pro or hollering measurements around the house.  These eight got great, because we had 13 "little white girls" who each summer  return to The Back Bay Mission to share
their expertise and lead in so many ways .  The dads and one mom with construction skills are great, but all of them would give the credit to the success of this trip to this baker's dozen.  Several of these students now have real jobs. So this week of service comes with real sacrifices. Giving up trips to Chicago and Florida to spend a week with our friends on the Gulf Coast.

     This amazing group of "little white girls" can take down and put up scaffolding with the best of them. They can cut PermaBoard and nail gun it with ease. The highlight of the week were not these talents that they shared. At the start there is always standing around time. These ones purposely changed standing around time, to cleaning up the yard time. They attacked ugly stumps, picked up glass and trash, and removed a decade old pile of dirt in the backyard with some Katrina debris included.

     Then it happened, right where the biggest , ugliest stump used to be--a kickball game. Five children now playing in the reclaimed yard along with several from the block who could not miss this happening. Thirty of us now playing kickball. With the booming kick of the seven year old girl laughter and whoops from all. There it was kinship so real you could taste it.

      Pippa,, I would love to share a meal some times and swap storie, you have done a lot of good.. And to all the Little White Girls, do your homework, know as best you can the culture and the people, adjust your attitude in the right way, and then leap.

Your heart can be in the right place, but I think it is important that your feet are in the right place too.

The Picture I Took

     I looked through the camera to line up my picture.  It was a simple picture.  Father Leonsyo on the left smiling and the old woman at his side, standing tall with a look of both pride and dignity.  I snapped the shutter and captured the moment.

      Hold the phone,  I  missed the beginning of this story. Okay, I will give you the Ugandan TiVo button.  How about this,  is this good?   Tonight was the 7th anniversary of Peace Together Uganda an organization started by my friend Father Leonsyo.  It is designed to help the communities of Nothern Uganda (most specifically Pajule and Patongo) repair and heal some of the damage left by the war in the North.  I travelled with Father all day to see the aspects of what P.T.U. has already done.  I saw the grinding machine that enables the village to grind maize into meal.  So they can cook it as porridge and turn it into posho, a starchy staple of the Acholi diet.  I saw the concrete piggery and saw the five pigs that are currently there.  After a brief side stop to greet a MP (Member of Parliment ),  we saw the tractor that has been used to plow fields to replace the labor intensive hand digging for all of the planting.  A wide variety of community services started by P.T.U. started the day.

       Now was the time for dinner, I arrived back after showering, to see our normal sitting room,  full of people.  Stretched out on the floor was a woven carpet filled with Ugandan women.  They were all seated on the floor and extended their hands to bid me greetings.  "Apwoyo, Apwoyo bono, apwoyo Tutwal". Echoed through the room as smiles and greetings were exchanged,  I sat down in the blue plastic chair and looked closely at these women.  Many of them had come in their Sunday finest, colorfully patterned dresses with puffy, triangular sleeves that went past their ears.  Most of the women had matching sashes carefully and traditionally tied around their waists.  They smiled once again at me.   And then they talked to each other in Lwo.  I could now more clearly see the many canes and walking sticks on the side of the carpet.  I saw their faces carved with lines of two decades of worry.  I saw the dirt and the callouses that lined their feet and I saw the hands sculpted by years of digging and struggling to feed their families.  These people who endured hardships worse than my toughest imagination.  These women  had greeted me as a member of their family.  Their long lost white grandson.

       This was Leonsyo's idea to honor the anniversary of  P.T.U.  by listening to the poor. "Let the poor speak."  Too many times the biggest hardship for those who struggle is that we do not hear them,....we do not see them.   We had moved outside and I took a chair balanced it on a grassy knoll overlooking the front porch of this dwelling.   I then saw something quite troubling, the man on the street Father had greeted mid day was arriving.  When I saw him on the stret he was on a 3 wheeled bicycle, that had been retrofitted to be powered by his hands.  From the waist up, this man was strong and confident, but when I looked at his legs it was quite clear he had never walked.  Here he was, crawling through the dirt to attend this meeting.  He had removed his flip flops to wear on his hands, and he walked on his knees which just struck me as painful.  He moved quite easily, but his knees were full of mud and rocks for the path.  I guess the path was too narrow for his bike.  He righted himself and crawled into another blue plastic chair.  Two circles of dirt and wear still evident quite clearly on his knees.

       He was one of the first to talk and encouraged P.T.U. to help him find school fees so his kids could go to school.  This man with all of his troubles was looking towards his children. And then it was time for the women on the rug to be heard.  Each of them had stories about struggles and death and losing loved ones.  There were stories of hunger and poverty.  One woman just wanted a walking stick.   We listened and listened, giving each a chance to be heard. There soft and anguished stories in Lwo being translated by someone into my ear.  Some were critical and wanted P.T.U.  to do more, others thanked the organization for being there for them when they needed it the most.   Each had a chance to be seen, to be heard, to be given value.

        It is the Ugandan custom that before dinner, a woman comes with a basin and a pot of water.  As  she kneels at your feet, she pours water over your hands and you wash for dinner.  A grand act of humility or service.  Today as the speeches ended and the dinner was about to be served.  Father Leonsyo grabbed the water and the basin and approached the old widows first.  There were too many people for him to kneel, but smiles and laughter were shared as this tradition got stood on his head.

         It is mid-afternoon the next day, and Father fills me in on half of his plans and  a lot of it is surprises the he forgets to mention.  Almost all of it is greetings in some form of the other.  And in this culture, we greet at the beginning and at the end and maybe a few times in he middle.  He tells me about this one. We are going to greet an old woman.  "She will be surprised."  Down a lonely road  we go.  "She is lonely", he says with the compassion of a Priest.  We then turn into what I think is grass, but it is really a road.  I see a round hut and another small hut that looks like a child's hut, but probably is for chickens.  As we drive to the hut, Father tells me that some in the village have stolen this woman's field and have run off with all of her chickens.  She was powerless to stop them.  To them she was nothing... forgotten...thrown away.

         We park the car and I see a woman.  She is using a bamboo pole to get around.  She is gripping with her left hand like you would hold a golf club,  but this hand is only 18" off the ground.  Her other hand is gripped tightly to the pole, and in this stance she stands only about 3 feet tall.  She and Father converse in Lwo.  He asks me if I want to see how immaculate the inside of her hut is.  A little hard to fathom as her hands, feet, and ankles are caked in dirt.  Some of the dirt looks like it has been there for decades.  She farms by sitting on the ground and digging with her hands,  yet she has lost even this.  I duck super low to get in the hut, and see that everything has an order, each item neatly in place.  She points to some cushions and gestures to me stridently and talks in Lwo.  Father explains that there are 6 mattresses here, one each from her 6 children who have all passed away.  She points as he translates to make sure I know what these mattresses mean to her.

        We walk outside and Father hands me his camera and asks me to take a picture.  As she sees me line up to take the picture, she throws the bamboo stick out of the frame and rises ever so slowly, from 3 foot to now an impressive five foot three. She stands straight and tall.  She nods as if to say I am ready.

       I looked through the camera to line up my picture.  It was a simple picture.  Father Leonsyo on the left smiling and the old woman at his side, standing tall with a look of both pride and dignity.  I snapped the shutter and captured the moment.

Findng Grace at Holy Rosary

   Late start to the morning, I stayed up following the Cards and Waino via my new cellular Internet.  When the Cards got up by 8, and Waino on the hill, I figured I could sleep then set my alarm phone for 4:15 a.m. so I could send greetings to Mary Grace Barry's graduation party.  Then back to sleep, the night was cool so better sleeping.  I woke up late and missed the free breakfast for the first time.  No problem I had wanted to go to the Rolex stand anyway.  Rolex=rolled eggs or Gulu's answer to an omelet chef.  After making arrangements for my lodging later  this week.  It was  too late for Rolex time for Mass.

     I arrived via boda boda to Holy Rosary at 11:15 for an 11:30 Mass.  Every seat was filled. I looked around nary a place, including all the concrete ledges on both sides were filled by the congregation.  I was thinking about relocating to one of the side wings.  At the same time, I was approached by the man named Forget, acting like an usher, he quickly moved forward leading me outside and then into the wing.  There were a few seats here, and I opted against Forget's suggestion of squeezing into a pew with a back for a little more room in the benches,  There were many children in these benches, and now at least a dozen stood looking at the giant American with their necks crazed in awe.  There were 3 other munus in this section, so not sure why I was the attraction.

     The Priest entered and the church was filled with song and the percussion and the strings from the local instruments.  It was marvelous.   I sweat more in Holy Rosary than any place on earth, but it does not matter as although I feel the sweat, mostly I feel grace.  I looked and saw a young girl in a torn dress.  She no doubt was in the best dress, she had, but it was torn and tattered.  She had the traditional short hair and had 6 or 7 beads of sweat on her head, and each of them shone like diamonds.  Immediately behind her was a young man in a collared very intricate print of the Amazing  Spiderman.  He spent most of the Mass looking after his three younger sisters like a super hero.  There was a young girl wearing a prom dress that she might grow into in 6 years, but she wore it well  including the extra piece of material which started from her dress and wrapped several times around her neck.

      The Gospel was about seeds sown into different kinds of ground.  In my head, I could not stop comparing America and Gulu.  Whenever my mind drifted, the music and the sound of the choir brought me back.  Before the Gospel, a young woman of primary school read the first reading ant the Responsorial Prayer.  Her reading of the first reading was loud a pond confident and very well done.  I wish I could have taped it.  After she finished a line of the Responsorial she would say the word "response" loudly to ensure a response from the crowd.  After each line we heard "Ray-sponse". And the crowd would respond loudly.

     These benches were filled with many children and they at times were restless.  An older woman, a church elder?,  took it upon herself to move the children to different pews or to grab them by the shoulders to make sure they were facing forward.  One young woman got moved 2 or 3 times until the old woman finally moved her in the pew directly in front of her.  During the offertory, the woman made sure that this child was holding the donation basket.  As she turned to face us, I saw that she was wearing a t-shirt that said "Girls just wann have Fun" with the words "girls" and "fun" in shocking pink letters.

       a young man in front of me probably 3 years old had a matching three-piece suit on with no shirt.  As sweat dripped off of all of us, he elected to take off the coat and spent the rest of the Mass with just the sleeveless vest on, although young he had an old disposition and he reminded me of a young Butch Lewis before a Spinks fight (reference just for Mike Barry).  The petitions were read in English like most of the Mass, as the reader read the petitions Forget wandered up near the podium .  After the petitions were over Forget read his own petitions entirely in Lwo.  I will never know what he said, but his 3 petitions were all written down on scraps of paper.  I wonder if Forget prayed for the petitions we forget or maybe those we have forgotten.

Chillin' in Gulu

So the weather here today is probably low 70s and I am sure most of the people of Gulu woke up, cursed the cold and put on a jacket.  And then they went about their day.  As you walk up the street, you can sometimes see the semi-circles in the dirt in front of a business.  This is because that owner or worker at that business, decided to sweep the dirt street. I remember visiting Atanga Girl's Secondary School and seeing the entire 10 ft. wide drive that was at least 200 yards long was clearly swept for the entire length.  I believe it was a Tuesday, so I am assuming this was a daily task for the students.

     Once I saw an entire group of students at Pope Paul VI in Anaka pulled out of class to slash.  Slashing is how they cut grass, it is nothing more than a 3 feet piece of metal bent slightly at the edge.       I could not understand the point of missing class for this task.  I as fairly certain I was right until I had a conversation with a Ugandan teacher.  He first asked me if I believed that the houses we built in America (Biloxi Service Trip) were of value to the students. "Of course, I answered."  He went on, "What about the work that does not build the house, is that of value?"  And then, I was able to see my thoughts from a new direction.  It almost felt like I was on the edge of a 4 foot circle and had been rotated 180 degrees.  It is sometimes not enough to leave America,  it is important to leave America.

      I must confess, although this makes me sound so understanding.  I often fail that mark.  This morning, I received  a phone call from a friend of a friend- a man I had yet to meet.  We agreed to meet within the hour at a local place,  An hour and a half later, I called my new friend and he said he was now just arriving at the place.  I actually looked at the front gate for 5 minutes expecting is stranger to walk in.  Eventually, I stopped 35 minutes after the phone call and 1 hour late, a smiling man arrived.  I know their culture of keeping time,  I was just chillin', nothing to do.  But I allowed myself to be in that rush, rush American culture.  I should have known by the " looks comfortable, but feels like sitting on logs" furniture that I was not in America.

    Hey, two great students are driving to Kampala as I type, attempting to get passports and visas for an extended stay in USA to go to high school.  A lot goes wrong here in simple situations, so please keep these two in your prayers today.

Rain and Politeness

     So sitting in the Educate For Change office waiting for Isaac to start our math lesson.  In all of the modern improvements in Gulu, probably 94% of  people in this town traverse to work and to school by foot, by bike, or by boda boda.  So rain drastically effects what happens in a day.  The cool thing about a sudden rainstorm, especially in a smaller village is the people join together under whatever protection there is.  I have joined with a dozen people in an 18" by 8 foot region.  There it is instant community.  I have been cheered by strangers as I run to the shelter they have.  And then as soon as I reach that destination. "Sorry, Sorry!"  Ugandans are very sympathetic to small things that trouble our lives.  I trip on a sidewalk and several, "Sorry, Sorry's" will ring out from the people watching.  The manner in which it is said is also one of genuine caring.  They are honest about joining your pain or misfortune.  So I wait, rain is like mini-snow days around here.  And the other thing rain brings is mud.  Lots and lots of mud and mud puddles.  So far I have yet to step in a puddle and cover a pants leg with mud, but if I did in the middle of town, I know what I would hear.

Hospitality at Butterflies

   So after taking care of some details for my trip next week to Pajule and Patonga?  I rested a bit.  I have learned that if I am still in the afternoon, I only sweat for about 30 minutes until my body acclimates.   So I got a bit of a rest and left my room content with a beans and rice dinner at Butterflies.  I looked around for a seat in the couches and comfy chairs, but saw nothing and sat in a plastic chair.  I ordered beans and rice with an Orange Fanta.  One of the staff from somewhere was carrying a bigger chair for me, "Ahhhh, you sit here."  I have not seen these chairs besides Butterflies.   They are metal frames with cushions including cylindrical bolster pillows for the arm rests.  I thought they had done everything they could to accommodate me, until on the big screen projector I was watching a Nelly video.    Perfect.  It must be a later song, because I did not recognize it.  The next video was by a Boy band on stools that I did not recognize, and then it was a video by one half of Milli Vanilli,....not sure if it was Teo or Fab.

     Started out with a great morning, Got Isaac and Geoffrey and Chris to join me for the traditional (at least it is now) flag salute to the departing Oregon student group.  I bought them all Rolex for breakfast and then we took a boda boda caravan to the youth hostel.  Spent the rest of the day working with Isaac on his math and then making plans for Pajule.  keeping my fingers crossed that  I will also be able to see Kwoyelo Ronald and Ocwa Alfred Jackson.

Roses for HIV

     I went shopping today.  Trying to figure out some small way to return the generosity of good friends, when there is really no way possible.  But today, I travelled on new streets and new paths and     saw so much beauty and in the end sadness.  I went back to Wawoto Hacel, which sells crafts made by women who have been abandoned due to war or HIV.  I thought of something today, I received a lot of great supports from long time friends and now I am trying to buy gifts for their wives.  And although I try, I really do not have any sense of color, style, or what people want.  Still I like the shop and people who have got gifts from there before smiled broadly.  Of course, it could be like the Christmas where I made duct tape purses and wallets for many,  they all smiled, but I have never seen any of those purses again.  Still there is some nobility in the attempt.  I left the store before the others, because I do not know how to browse,  I just buy.  I ran into two Italian nuns who wanted to talk to me about all they have added to their grounds.  I walked through a metal gate and saw the most wonderful garden and pavilion and brand new huts.  These had been built as another source of income to help the women with HIV.  The Sister was quite proud of what they have created, but also in the same conversation was worried about how they could generate business.  I promise I will get back there to take a picture...I had no camera today.

        I was doing some reconnaissance on some plans I have for tomorrow to try to share a little kindness in Uganda.  I stopped and got a Rolex at a Rolex stand.  Rolex is short for Rolled Eggs...say it fast.  And it was interesting as the cook who stands just off the street squirts cooking oil on to a concave piece of metal on a fire.  A lot of his efforts seemed very similar to a made to order omelette chef at a fancy buffet in St.,Louis.  I was enjoying watching the skill of the chef, when an old woman kneeled/sat at my feet.  I knew what was to come next.  As I paid my 1500 shillings (about 62 cents) the old woman raised her had in my direction begging for some of my change.   I remember in the past the Ugandans telling me why I should not give these women money.  But today, those reasons were far away.

        I wish I could end this story tonight, where I told a story about handing the woman some of my change, offering her my hand, and finding out her name.  But I just walked away, an underemployed man of 3 years, who is still richer than most people in our world.  Next week, I will see Father Leonsyo and maybe I can ask him to hear my confession.  Just like Pope Francis says, "I am a sinner."

People along the way.

    So decided if I was going to lose my Ugandan 20 pounds,  I better start doing some walking.  I live on the western edge of  "downtown" Gulu and my plan was to walk to Pece Stadium, which is on the eastern edge.  Gulu is very spread out as a those at Sir Samuel Baker and Ocer Campion consider themselves in Gulu and those are both twenty five minute boda rides.

     I have not yet gotten hold of Odawa Henry, my teaching partner, at Gulu SS in the second year I was here.  So I have been to his house/apartment for dinner twice and my plan was just to go there and see if I could find him.  It was hard at first to find his house because they were I think two new buildings between Pece Stadium and his house. I started wandering through some yards, not knowing  if I was wrong to walk through these places.  I finally saw 3 older people sitting on the ground staring at me.  I told them I was looking for Henry, and they told me he used to live there, but was now in Kitgum.  They encouraged me to call him, which I did in front of them to no avail.  All three of them could not have been nicer and were genuinely disappointed that I had not made a connection with my friend.

    On the way to Henry's I was greeted by the large booming voice of Aliker David, my friend from the first couple of summers.  When I looked right at him, he said, "Of course, it is me John."   A big handshake followed and we made plans for a future lunch or dinner.  Aliker has always greeted me so   warmly in the past and I look forward to our lunch.

    So the friend I looked for was not there, but the friend I was not looking for greeted me with a big, smiling greeting.  Life sometimes is a lot more fun when you find what you are not looking for.

    So returning home, and I am stopped by a boda boda driver.  It is not uncommon for people to recognize me from previous years, but I looked at the driver and I immediately knew that it was Michael a former security guard for Invisible Children.  As Invisible Children drastically reduces its footprint in Gulu, it is kind of sad to see great employees and great friends in jobs that I believe pay a lot less.  Michael is an amazing young man who was abducted by the LRA, taken into the bush.  He somehow contracted Cholera and the soldiers were worried about contagion so they tied his ankle to a long rope, and gave it a yank twice a day to see if he was still alive. Somehow Michael survived dying of Cholera tied to a rope in the middle of the bush, survived to escape and start his own family here.

    One more story--I left Holy Cross Mass and since I was moved by an usher to a prominent pew in the middle of the homily.  All he knew me in the packed church had a chance to say hi afterwards.  I met Doreen who was our great cook at the IC house for the first years of the program.  I met Grace who was Jill Knopic Pammler's partner teacher in the same year as Ocwa Alfred came to St. Louis and Nerinx......but the best was a young student who came up to me as a former student.  As a teacher, who likes to know each kid by name.  It kills me that I do not recognize more of my Ugandan students.  After exchanging greetings, she told me she was at Gulu SS and then asked, "Sir, How is Lisa Godfrey doing?"  The pen pal program was less successful than I would have liked and a      lot of that Responsibilty is mine.  Yet, at least 4 years later a young woman named Prossie Aloyo was trying to again reach out to her friend Lisa, makes me realize how much those letters sent from America are treasured.  I hope Lisa will find this story and find me and maybe we can somehow reunite these two friends.

Women with Others--Part II

    Melissa Hopfinger in Gulu.  You can say what you want about Facebook,  but it allows me often to see my wonderful students and the Grace they are spreading in our world.  Jaime Mathieu and Andrea Hoelting walked the entire En Camimo--The Walk of St. James.  For those of who have watched those two live life,  we would all likely pay big money for film of their interactions with different people along the way.  Jaime is one of the elite Biloxi Superstars and I do not know one of Andrea's classmates that doesn't want to hang with her and watch her humor and laughter interact with others.  Spending time with these two had to be sheer joy for the travelers along En Camimo.

    I first learned Melissa was in Gulu through a Facebook post.  Pretty soon I was organizing a Coffee Hut meeting between her and Kristine Sullivan.   Now today I was at Ocer Jesuit being led across the school grounds to meet Hop.  I remember seeing Melissa when I made a surprise appearance at The Power & Light District in Kansas City for Caitlin Weir's birthday.  I was talking to Caitlin about her studies and graduate plans, when the subject switched to Melissa.  Caitlin and all of Melissa's classmates are so in awe of what she accomplishes, but also so comfortable with her.  She is just Hop, the ultimate buddy, the nothing bothers her girl, the great friend the great teammate.

     I am going to send this post to Emily Werner who coached Melissa in softball at Nerinx.  Emily will not be surprised about my stories or comments about Melissa.  It helps to know that Emily is one of the best coaches I ever coached with.  Who coached her team to be a true team, and inderstood that each athlete she coached was special in her own way.  These kids were great, but were even better after two years with Coach Werner.  Melissa was such a great teammate and a great kid to coach that we would laugh about how her doing great things was so ordinary. We would share conversations or deeds that she did with each other and just look at each other and smile.  "Of course, Melissa did that. Of course"  Fast forward, and I see young girl students approaching and smiling and greeting Melissa as they walked through the school yard.  Melissa has the same always approachable smile in Gulu that she welcomed freshmen softball players into her house for the annual   Sleepover at the Hop basement.  "Emily, you cannot believe Melissa in Uganda, but then of course you can it's Hop."

      It was great talking to Melissa about her future. I told several students and teachers at Ocer Jesuit Campion that Melissa was the best math student I have taught.  (Maggie C. And all my preCalc Honors or AP Calc students this year...I love you too).  Then I watched Melissa aw shucks her way out of this praise.  Melissa told me that Ecuador was going to be next, but now the Peace Corps was an option.  So here is this quadruple Math, Biology, Chemistry?  major (could be quintuple) kid who is choosing to place herself WITH those that need her help.  Crave her love, and relish her conversation like gold.  And Melissa is showing these girls that Math and Science are not only within their reach, but they can excel in these subjects.

     It was time to say goodbye, Melissa walked me to the boda stand and I had to walk out through the gate to meet the motorbike on the other side.  As I looked back through the fence, I saw 3 girls walk up to Melissa smiling and then they continued walking together down the path talking and laughing.  Hop WITH 3 students walking down a path in the middle of Uganda.

Of  course,  right Emily.

Women With Others--Part I

     So sometime in my Jesuit experience, the expression, "Men for others" was shared with me. I loved it, I felt it and I strived to live it. To me that what being a Man was, being the one who took care of others, protected others, listened to others. I just spent a week with 4 great men, Ken Kempf, John Kuehner, Tim Milford, and Craig Steenkamp there were other great men there also, but I have seen this quartet show me what it meant to be a Man for Others. I first saw "Men and Women for Others" in the Marquette Magazine. Of course, so logical especially when often women are better at it then men. Father Boyle encourages us to move past service into kinship. Move down that hallway of service, to the ballroom with all of the others.

    So over the years, I knew that there was a Jesuit school in Gulu, but I had never taken the time to see it. It is a 35 minute boda ride, down a few dirt roads, but obstacles like this can always be overcome with just a little bit of effort. So Kristine lined up a reliable boda and after some decimal equivalents with Isaac I was on my way to Ocer Jesuit Campion. Tony was a great boda driver and talked for the entire time. UNfortunately, he loved to talk with his hands which can be a wonderful, dynamic conversation tool but not for a guy driving you on a bumpy road. Uh-oh boda boda crash 8??? Incidentally, Tony described to me after I shared my fears all of the reasons I was not going to fall of his boda. we made it no problem,and in the middle of fields and rural green lushness rose this wonderful school. Ocer Jesuit Campion. I was looking for Melissa Hopfinger, former Nerinx Hall Marker, but asked the guard to take me to Father Tony's office.

   In I walked to Father Tony's office,  immediately I saw a Jesuit priest who welcomed me with heart of a man who regularly  welcomes lost souls into his office.  We talked about teaching and students and Gulu and then asked him his advice on one young student.  He was immediately working on the problem,  and was asking relevant questions about this young man.  He offered up advice from a veteran teacher who truly cared about each kid...so simple one child at a time.  He then brought in his assistant Jackie who also offered help, asked good questions, and I could definitely see was a great asset to Father Tony and the school.  Jackie escorted me down to look for my friend in the teachers' room, and that was the last of my conversation with Father Tony.  I will be disappointed if I do not work to have another talk with him.  

    I have kind of buried the lead here as are "Women with Others" have not even appeared in the story yet.  I am reading Neil Young's book each night, so I blame old Neil for my rambling style.  

    So when I first heard "Men for Others" It really was something I wanted to be.   To me that was the purpose of being a man.  Being there to watch over, protect, serve and help others.  I loved this bit of Jesuit Jingoism.  It was in Marquette Magazine that I first saw "Men and Women for Others"....of course 400 strong Biloxi women prove that to me every summer.  And then of course, Father Boyle challenges us to move past the "Men and Women for  Others" to "Men and Women with Others".   He challenges us to move down that hallway of service to the ballroom of kinship where we are standing together WITH PEOPLE.   I had this written last night and lost this paragraph,  but I remember thinking about Ken Kempf, John Kuehner, and Tim Milford.  Each of these three men in the own unique or "Popular" way was always thinking about others, helping others, and being with others.

      

What happens to a dream deferred.....

     I thought I was going to join two different teachers for meals today. But T.I.A. and also apparently this old man is confused also. The young man I thought was a teacher at Layibi college named Okello John Kennedy was actually a student named Okello John Kenneth. He brought along his friend Raphael and both of the boys had been students at Pope Paul VI in Anaka. They had originally called me around 11 a.m. (A cat or large rat just ran under my feet). ntold them I could not go to lunch, because I was working with Isaac. I think Khan Academy is a great way for Isaac to transition into American math. The lesson with Isaac was over and I met John Kenneth and Raphael, I suggested lunch at Butterflies

       . We all ordered beans and rice, I was happy with my Orange Fanta and the two boys ordered Fruity Miranda. Half way through the meal I ordered chips (French fries). We talked about many things including the words French fries. They are two more young men, who have been derailed on their educational dreams by their inability to pay their school fees. That is why what Kristine and Laura are doing is so important. Www.educateforchange.us They are not only providing school fees and scholarships, but an all encompassing support system for more than 40 scholars.

          I wish I could win the lottery and provide young men and women a path to their educational dreams. Hell, I just wish I had been full-time for the last three years so I could do more here. I think about these two who after calling me this morning, just killed two hours by probably walking around and talking. just like they do every day .... I am glad to have helped Isaac this morning and the commitment I made to stay with him was the right choice, but it really does not make me feel any better about my contribution to the waiting time of my students, John Kenneth and Raphael.

Sometimes We Forget

     Okay so there is often so much to make me laugh or smile in Uganda.  It could be things like Father Leonsyo telling me near the end of the ordination speeches that we have 3 more speeches and then we eat, which of course translates to 9 speakers, several of them came back to the podium more than once to add on to their completed speeches.  This is Uganda. I did not understand the speeches because they were in Lwo, but I can guarantee that each of the speakers mentioned a couple times during their 10 to 12 minute speeches that they were going to be brief.

      They had different school groups perform. One of them was called the Crusdaders and looked like a combination Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts program. The tribal dancers again amazed at how they are feverishly moving for 17 minutes at a time and the only break is about a 7 second break as the whistle blower signals a new dance. The star of the show was a young girl of 5 or 6 who led a group of similar aged students. She grabbed the wireless mike from the MC in mid-stride and either sang or recited a skit for at least 10 minutes. She danced and had elaborate gestures and must have memorized the whole act, because she never stopped singing or talking. She had a microphone, but I am not sure she needed it. I have some video, but it is from far away and will have to share with you later. Beyonce has nothing on this Acholi 10 year old girl.

     So Mass ended and I walked alongside the priests per Leonsyo's directions. We then marched back to the stage, now stripped of the altar, led by two different dance groups. I was now onstage with the priests, town and government dignitaries and what appeared to be a mad man. (The Acholi call him a mad man, and I will use their words for the rest of the story, when they say it, they say it with humor, they say it with acceptance, they say it with love).  It looked like some parishioners scolded the mad man and tried to get him to stay away from the stage, but I saw the Archbishop just reach out and touch his shoulder in a kind way. So when the priests, bishops, and dignitaries were being introduced the mad man stood up several times and took a bow. At least 12 or 13 people spoke for about 3 hours.

       The crowd was content and still seemed to be listening intently two hours in. When the Archbishop was introduced and rose to speak the madman followed him to the podium. It was time for the keynote speech by the Archbishop, the highlight of this three hour program.  As he approached the podium, the mad man went with him, Knelt respectfully at his feet, and asked for the microphone. The Archbishop gave it to him and the madman gave a four minute speech on non-violence (I was told). Father Boyle's words that we "stand with the marginalized, so there will be no more margins; stand with the demonized, so the Demonizing will stop; and stand with the disposable, so we stop throwing people away."---never were modeled so well. Thank you Archbishop John Baptist Odama for showing me how to treat my brother....no matter what No matter what.  This man full of dirt with raggedy clothes, spread love with his words.

      I found out today they call the man Forget.

 Sometimes we love each other, and sometimes we forget.

Seeing the face of God

     Today was an amazing day. I had plans to be at the ordination at St. Joseph's Cathedral and later meet Father Leonsyo. I thought my sleep patterns were getting better, but I managed to crawl back in bed for 5 minutes after breakfast and woke up way too late. I hurried to the bath at the end of the hall, showered quickly and put on as much deodorant as my body could stand. I definitely knew I would sweat today. Shirt and tie on, I found a boda boda to take me the Cathedral. I knew the regular road was being worked on, and I thought we would take the back roads, but this boda driver elected the main road. Probably a big mistake, I am always hoping that I will not  be tossed off the boda for e eighth time.

    For some reason they are now large moguls in this road, don't ask me why, but an unsteady boda driver and a fat man are not usually the recipe for success at the Ugandan X games. He also did not have sunglasses so when the big trucks came down the road we were both buried in a cloud of dust. I did not fall off and we go to the Cathedral, very dusty but safe.

    As sometimes happens at these ceremonies, I was greeted immediately by a friendly face. Okello John Kennedy who is a teacher at Layibi College (it is a high school) welcomed me and introduced himself.  THIS LAST SENTENCE IS WRONG.  His name is Okello John Kenneth and if you read the more recent posts, I have lunch with him.  I. was amazed at the pageantry, the bright colors of the dresses, and the spirit and passion in the way the people of Gulu sang the hymns. I was really in awe and tried my best to follow the responses in English when the entire service was in Lwo. I was trying to figure out how to go to Communion down the center aisle. I wanted people to see that I was there because I knew I had friends there that did not know I was in Gulu. As I was thinking this, a young woman came and got me and told me I was supposed to sit up by the priests. I was quickly moved behind the altar and to the other side.

     This was an outdoor service with at least 3000 people. Now at the beginning of communion they are sitting me in the front row of dignitaries under a shaded tent. You are a visitor, and we know you are our friend....so we will give you best seat. As I was so humbled, communion had begun I walked to take my place in line and I see both a professional videographer and a still camera moving their tripods quickly so they can have film of the tall white guy taking communion. I was immediately overwhelmed by the moment and a tear slid down my cheek. I felt like sobbing, but refocused on receiving the Eucharist and returned to my seat. I do not know how to describe the Mass and the songs and the dancing and the War chants in the middle of the hymns. I feel it is a scene that only God can create.

     The festive dress and the respect shown by the elders, the songs and the praise of the young people and the choir. the rows of nuns earnestly praying together. This was a Mass and I felt so strong in my Faith and such a kinship with the people of Gulu. Father Boyle tells a story where after listening to the story of redemption from one of the Homies, the flight attendant breaks down and cries. The youn man is confused and sorry that he made the flight attendant cry. Father Boyle reassures the young man by saying that is okay my son. "Some people cry when they see the face of God." ........
 

One picture--two boys

      Hopefully the picture uploaded to the right. I spent an hour trying to upload it in Diana Gardens. A bar and restaurant that has moved up the street a bit since my first trip to Gulu. In my first week 8 years ago, it was my friend Aliker David who loudly told the crowd of teachers and Ugandans that he wanted to walk behind big John so he could watch me "defend my mass".

     Anyway, I am sitting at Diana Gardens enjoying a 1.5 liter of cold water and watching the Internet wheel spin and spin with no pages loading. My attention goes to the World Cup soccer where they are showing a "feel good" story about how the World Cup is helping brazilians. It helps the people of the ghetto, because they are on a hill and can see one of the stadiums from their corrugated metal shantytown. Are you kidding me? Food, health care and a path to education are not needed if you can see a stadium from your shack.

     I think you can see a picture of 4 boys holding a flag. Today, I had lunch with two of them. One is a young man whose only family is an elderly grandfather he rarely sees. He has essentially found a way to put himself through school all of the way up until Senior 6. In Ugandan schools you have to pass a test at the end of the fourth year of school to move on to the last two years at Advanced level. He did this, but at the end of Senior 6, his marks were very poor and he cannot go on to the University. What he would like to do is either repeat his Senior 6 year or more probably have to repeat Senior 5 and 6, and there is no guarantee that his results will be better. I am going to try to tap into a network of Ugandan friends to help him, but many, many prayers are needed. I wish I had the resources to make his life better, but sometimes, actually quite often poverty sucks. And I literally mean sucks here as it takes away the passion and the dreams of great, bright kids.

       The second boy has always been amazingly friendly to me. He somehow got to know several of my teacher friends in past years and then I got to know him as well. He is always helpful, always working hard, and on at least 3 occasions did me a big favor to create a special memory for my friends. Two years ago, he was the head boy of a small school here. The head boy and head girl are amazing students...think Student Council president on steroids. Even as head boy, he had been sent home from his school and told not to come back without paying school fees. On that trip I was out of money and had already committed money to other students. I made one phone call home and Jack Magee made sure enough money was in my account and Julius was back in school that week. I am happy to report that Julius graduated from Senior 6 and will start at Gulu University in mid August. He actually went to a bank and convinced them to give him a loan to pay off his high school debt. So financial struggles are not over for Julius, but he has a job working with Favor of God church and they have even lent him a motorbike to make doing his job easier. So the day ended when Julius gave me a ride home. He is now my all-time favorite boda boda driver.
   

Looking at Stars --One at a time

     One child at a time. It seems so simple, that we sometimes look past its simplicity. Over the last few years, I have had the great fortune to work with one child at a time. These alleged "struggling" students were able to shine quite brightly when they worked by themselves. Parents have gushed over my abilities to help their daughters, but I think anyone who committed to spend the time and learn and listen to the student could have done the same thing. It is a challenge for teachers to teacher students one at a time when you have over 100, but it is possible. And needs to be done. And all it takes...is to simple care. And then what a joy it can be to sit back and see these amazing students shine, and how they do shine!

      "I see in my students what they do not see in themselves, until they do." Quote stolen from Father Boyle. Today, I started to work with a young man in Gulu. His name is Isaac. And in him I already see kindness, and diligence, and a smile, and if I listen closely I can start to hear his dreams. Isaac is preparing to move across the world and learn in a high school in Oregon. He is going because Educate for Change a.k.a. Kristine and Laura simply care. The amazing thing is I am now watching World Cup in the northern Uganda night.

       And to my right, I can see Isaac is watching the World Cup with a smiling, hardworking crew of high school kids from Oregon. Surprise, surprise a group of high school students is working above expectations in helping others. Several of the students will be classmates with Isaac in Oregon. They are talking and laughing, and one of the Oregon students had her 18th birthday tonight. So many memories, for all these young people. I usually can look into the Gulu sky and see so many amazing stars.

        The Ugandan night is breathtaking with its plethora of stars. I am outside watching World Cup and look up and see no stars. Is it too cloudy? Or am I just looking in the wrong place. There are many, many stars here tonight.

Friendship along the way

    On my way home this afternoon, I met a young man named Malcolm along the way. He immediately walked towards me with a smile and greeted me like we were long lost friends. There are so many students that I have taught over the years, and the remember me because of my height. It turns out that this young man, Malcolm was none of these. Malcolm told me almost immediately that his father told him before he died, "Make friends along the way, introduce yourselves to strangers, because often friendships can happen."

     What a tragedy that young man was not with his father, but what remarkable advice his father had left him. We need to be intentional in our dealings with others. The 9 new people I met in Biloxi all left me with something. their wisdom and their kindness along with their willingness to listen made this trip one of the best ever. How do you become friends with someone in a week. first, you have to step through some comfort zones and what is normal in our culture. You have to ask questions and then listen to their answers. but then as my friend Malcolm says maybe, just maybe we have friendship along the way.

      I saw Robert today who lived on Murdoch for a month and taught at SLUH. He told me that he now has three children and the older two were growing up fast. He inquired about the health and welfare of my mom and dad. We have made plans to get together for dinner with the whole family. Lunch today at Alulululu was a great start to the summer. Tomorrow I have lunch with a young man at a crossroads in his life, so there will be two of tomorrow eating pork that can greatly benefit from your prayers.

       Especially prayers from my new friends Dan and Mike and of course the wonderful Mais Agua de Fria, the always smiling Digger Girl, the courageous Rattlesnake, the always helpful Scooter, the compassionate H.I.T.T., the amazing Kate, and the ever ready Scout.

Waiting for Big John

    Get out and see the world and when you do talk to people along the way. Open up your mouth and introduce yourself to strangers. So many smiles will happen.

       My first trip to the continent of Europe was not that successful I deplaned in Amsterdam and rushed immediately to my Entebbe plane. We then sat on the plane on the Tarmac for almost two hours before they told us we needed a new plane and walked to the other side of the airport to do this.

        So my friend Kristine had arranged for me to be greeted by a driver at EBB. He was there at 10:25 PM, I arrived there at 2:10 a.m. Robert, the driver, acted like I was the poor one doing him a favor. His attention to detail and to my happiness was amazing.

         How many of us would have reacted to someone over 3 hours late with such helpfulness and grace.

          Time to go to check in to my room at the Cosmo guest house. Oteka

A Rebel, a knight, a marker, an angel, a red knight, a saint, and a bear

“Scripture scholars contend that the original language of the Beatitudes should not be rendered as "Blessed are the single-hearted" or "Blessed are the peacemakers" or "Blessed are those who struggle for justice." Greater precision in translation would say, "You're in the right place if...you are single-hearted or work for peace." The Beatitudes is not a spirituality, after all. It's a geography. It tells us where to stand.” ― Gregory Boyle, Tattoos on the Heart: The Power of Boundless Compassion.

     So tomorrow, I start the journey again. I believe He has told me again to stand in Uganda. That is the geography I see. I join my good friends Kristine and Laura who have now committed their lives to the sharing of knowledge wrapped in love. And I join Ronald and Geoffrey and Julius and Collins and so many students who have amazed me with their determination. I stand with them in kinship. I go with the support of so many, and I vow to live simply so more of your dollars help our friends in Uganda. You, my friends, know I can not do what I do without you. Each gift of $20 or the really big ones fills me with pride and is so amazing to me. I hope someday I can return your gifts in some way. Humbly, you may still contribute as the miracle of the Internet will allow these funds to find me in Uganda. Www.gofundme/mageeinuganda And most importantly I go with all of you, my feet will be on the ground, but all of you are with me.

     My wonderful mom and dad who have inspired me with how they live the Gospel. My students...my students. Do you know how much you have inspired me? You are so amazing and each day I taught you I learned something new. You have taught me more kindness, more dilligence, more laughter, more compassion, and most of all you taught me how to love. Better, stronger love that can only come when we listen to each other.

 So if you are a Rebel, a Knight or a Marker.
 An Angel, A Red Knight or a Bear.
If you are a Saint (or even a sinner)
You are THE ONE who opens my heart
 And teaches me to care.

 oteka John