these eyes have seen worse

When I arrived in Adjumani, Uganda, I found the place pleasant and serene. It’s a quaint town, and despite the already intense heat at 9 am, I liked it. But I hadn’t come for a vacation, and everything was not as it seemed.

Adjumani is home to the largest refugee camp for South Sudanese refugees in Northern Uganda. There are several camps set up, but Adjumani has received by far the most people as they fled for their lives. In Numanzi 1, there are nearly 25,000 people, and the camp is seriously overcrowded. Also in Adjumani, Barutooku is much smaller but still holds 7000 people. The next largest campsite is in Arua and houses 8,500 people. Numanzi 1 is receiving around 400 new people every day, a significant improvement from the 3000 pouring in daily a few weeks ago, but our contacts here fear the worst as the recent ceasefire turns out to be holding very little water.

Can you image increasing food supplies by 400 people every day? What about increasing it by 3000 people every day?

We visit the camp right away in the morning, and though I’m not shocked as easily now as I was when I first left home in July 2013, I must admit that I am stunned. The camp is an undeniably desperate place. Mothers and children crowd what sparse shade is available under hot plastic tents. Endless lines snake toward water points meant to serve 50 people at the most. Exhausted looking women trudge along the road and down rough paths carrying impossibly large bundles on their heads. Crowds follow around the seriously overworked staff from UNHCR and OPM (Office of the Prime Minister). Everyone looks edgy, stressed, angry, and tired.

We stop with our contact to talk to a few of the self-appointed refugee leaders under a food distribution tent. In a camp where 85% of those seeking safety are women and children, all of the leaders we speak to are men. They seem angry with us, saying that so many NGO’s have come to talk to them, but nearly all of them have gone away now and never come back. How much I wish in that moment that I could just snap my fingers and funding would appear instantly to meet their desperate and basic needs. There is so much lacking – adequate and abundant shelter, enough water, enough food, enough latrines, any waste pits at all, even the most basic hygiene items, household utensils. There’s nothing. Many are arriving on foot, carrying with them only the little they can carry on their long journey. Organization are here, of course. UNICEF, UNHCR, OPM, ACORD, Oxfam, Save the Children, Lutheran Worldwide Federation, World Food Program, and others. Despite the effort, though, the available resources are woefully lacking when compared to the size of the need.

In the short term, emergencies supplies of nearly everything are desperately needed. No one is passing out supplies for reproductive or maternal health, no one is passing out personal hygiene items as basic as soap, food supplies are not enough, people are only getting an average of 5L of water per day when the international standard is 15. I asked our partner contact what we could offer, saying that we didn’t want to duplicate the efforts of others. He simply looked at me and said no matter what we brought, nothing would be a duplicate. There’s not enough of anything.

In the longer term, the refugees will need emergency education services, basic livelihood support, and social coordination to prevent Gender Based Violence (GBV). Mothers need a safe place to give birth. Children need adequate sanitation services to avoid the classic killers such as diarrhea when the rains arrive.

They need everything. As we talk to them I look around at the crowd that has gathered. They’re frustrated. Many of them look exhausted, burnt out, upset, even angry. A few smile at me, but even those who do have tired eyes. All I could think was, these eyes have undoubtedly seen worse. As horrible and desperate as life here is, as awful as the camp is, these eyes staring back at me have seen worse. These eyes. These eyes that are so like mine. It could easily have been me standing in their shoes had I not been born in a more peaceful place. That thought alone is enough to haunt and drive me.

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when your boss is MIA

Sorry for the blogging hiatus, everyone! Between getting back to Uganda, moving into a new place, and starting work again, things have just been a little nutty. One of my New Year’s resolutions is to blog at least every other week. Let’s see how long it lasts, shall we?

At work, I have two people working over me that I report to. In other words, I have two direct bosses not including the Director of GWED-G. My first boss broke his arm in the same motorcycle accident that scraped me up a bit in early November, and he only returned to work this Tuesday after getting his arm plaster removed on New Year’s. However, he’s still not up to driving a motorcycle, a fact that seriously restricts our movement in the field. Even if he could drive, he’s been gone for almost two months and is seriously behind on everything we’ve accomplished, dealt with, decided, and brainstormed within that period. My second boss, the one who WAS here for the past two months, didn’t take his vacation days over Christmas and is instead taking them now. Monday was his last day. So the only person left in the office who is really caught up on what is going on with the project and what needs to be done is…..me.

No pressure, though.

The start of the New Year has brought its usual flurry of activity and resolutions. Everyone has their own personal goals for the year, but the turning of the calendar is also a prime time for everyone to give feedback on things they’d like changed or done better from here on out. It’s a time when people are asking about the game plan for the next few months and wanting to lay out milestones. It’s time to lay strong groundwork for the focus and goals of the year. In other words, it’s a perfect time for both of my bosses to be a bit MIA.

No big deal.

I found myself feeling a bit glum last night, unready for the sudden influx of responsibilities, queries, and tasks. I was feeling overwhelmed and unhappy with the situation, but as usual, working here provides you unique opportunities for perspective. I’m pretty much living that anecdote of the man who approaches God and asks for a smaller cross to bear. When God allows him to pick from an entire warehouse of other people’s crosses, he picks the smallest one, and it ends up being the same one he started with. The point of the story is that you never know what heavy crosses others are bearing, and many people are living with much heavier burdens than you could imagine. Whenever I feel a bit overwhelmed by the mountain of tasks and the heavy responsibility before me, I think of other people involved in the project who have so much more to deal with than I do. Our field-based staff are the ones doing the real work on the ground, and if I think I have a tougher job than they do, I’m delusional. You try organizing large groups of war-affected youth into productive, cohesive units that adhere to a specific savings and loan methodology. I don’t envy them. One of our field staff members, a man I’ve become friends with over my time here, recently had his home burned down along with EVERYTHING in it by his neighbor as retaliation over a land dispute. In another land dispute, one of our savings groups had their cashbox stolen. The home it was being kept in was struggling with another family member over disputed land, and the other family members came and stole everything they had except the clothes on their back. All their hard work, all their savings, gone in one disastrous night.

Land dispute. Sounds fairly tame, doesn’t it? Here it can be violent, and it can be devastating.

When reporting gets me down or I’m overwhelmed by constructive feedback or my to-do list tops three feet long…whenever I’m tempted to feel upset or sorry for myself…these are the people I remember. The ones who suffer setbacks I can’t imagine surviving and yet find in themselves a seemingly bottomless well of toughness. They fight on and so will I. Because we’re in this together. All of us. We’re in this together.

 

If you’d like to contribute to the project, sponsor a group’s livelihood efforts, or give a contribution to help any of these people get back on their feet, please email me at emi.kihslinger@gmail.com.

playing frogger across europe

I feel the title of this post deserves a bit of explanation. First of all, I haven’t been able to stop saying “playing frogger across (insert location of convenience here)” since our friend Rebecca visited us at UW Madison a few years ago. Apparently she and my roommates were jaywalking across University Avenue, one of the busiest roads in Madison, and a bit of hilarity ensued. It had to do with weaving a couple cars and tragically biffing over the bike lane divider. By the time everyone had limped, dashed, weaved, bobbed, and tumbled across the street, one person was bleeding, one person was in a tree, and Corinne’s cousin had already called her to ask if it was her who had been playing frogger across University. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to witness this miraculous display of street-crossing prowess, but believe me, hearing about it was nearly as hilarious. So ever since that time, I’ve had a propensity to use the term “playing frogger” quite a bit too much. I hope you’ll understand where the predisposition comes from and forgive me.

The second reason for the title is that I do feel like it fits somehow! For those of you who don’t know, Frogger was a computer game we used to play in the ’90’s. It was great. It involved, among many exciting activities, hopping from lily pad to lily pad collected letters or numbers or words or whatever depending on your level. I feel like that’s a bit what I’ll be doing this Christmas: hopping from country to country collecting memories and snippets of time with dear friends and family.

Lily Pad #1: Edinburgh, Scotland
Collected: 5 GLORIOUS days with my soul sister, Sarah Lang, and her delightful roommates in a city I fell in love with two and half years ago when I visited for the first time. We’ll eat a ton of delicious western comfort food, wear woolly socks, snuggle with blankets, light candles, talk about life and ambition and plans and permaculture, possibly have the toothpaste olympics (don’t ask unless you’re really prepared for the explanation), and generally just have a fantastic time. Not to mention the city is the birthplace of Harry Potter. Which makes it, like, a quadruple whammy for me. So pumped.

Lily Pad #2: Brussels, Belgium
Collected: Another lovely 5 days of waffles, museums, seeing friends I met in Uganda who’ve since gone home, and…wait for it….a little time by myself!!! It might seem weird that I’m looking forward to a few days on my own in a hostel in a strange city, but if it’s weird to you it’s probably because you don’t live in a compound in Uganda with 10 people in your house and another 20 people in the other house in the compound. This compound is less than a quarter acre in size. Cozy. So yes, I’m going to enjoy sleeping until whatever time I’d like without being checked on (still breathing!), curling up with tea and a book for hours on end without the TV blaring or dogs howling, and just generally NOT TALKING to people for a few hours at a time. It’s going to be blissful.
After a few days though, undoubtedly I’ll start to get a little restless. I might even start making lists, help! To save me from this self-initiated cloister, MY BROTHER IS MEETING ME ON THE 28TH!!! Did I mention I’m excited about it? He’s flying into Brussels, and the next day, we’re off to my third and final lily pad….

Lily Pad #3: Dusseldorf, then Berlin, Germany
Collected: 7 days of pure delight. In addition to my brother’s company, we’ll also be meeting my friends Nate and Cosette from college! After studying in Spain for the semester, Nate is off on an awesome European adventure. Cosette joined him, and we’re all meeting up in Berlin for the New Year! There may be pints involved, but I can’t be sure. Tank and I are stopping in Dusseldorf for a night before proceeding on to Berlin, where we’ll take in some football (the lesser kind, unfortunately) and I’ll drag Tank to a couple museums he doesn’t want to go to. I’m really really hoping there will be snow to play in – I bought a warm hat just to prepare for that possibility. Fingers crossed. Then on New Year’s, Berlin erupts in celebration. Tourists pour into the city to ring in the new year, and I’m excited to celebrate the milestone with a global community.

So that’s it! I’m leaving today, so wish me luck. I’ve come this far without losing anything major – or getting anything stolen, for that matter – and I’d really like to keep the streak going. Look out for a blog about each lily pad.

Merry Christmas everyone!

the battle for kindness.

A few things have happened lately to reminded me of the importance of kindness. I’ve been the recipient of great generosity recently – in both small and large ways. And as moving as the grand gestures are (and as grateful as I am for them), the little things are what have provoked the biggest emotional response from me. It’s always been a bit confusing to me why doing something so small, however thoughtful, for someone else can be so important. In trying to unravel the mystery, I’ve discovered a few things, and I’ll try to share it with as much clarity as I can muster.

“Kindness is the language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see.” -Mark Twain

Our lives are filled with big things. We’ve all got problems, worries, challenges, and priorities that can loom huge in our lives. It’s like the moment in a theater when someone passes close in front of a projector and blocks out the entire movie for a moment. Though that one person is much smaller than the screen, they come so close that their shadow blocks everything else out. Whatever beauty, excitement, love, or happiness might be taking place on screen, all we can see is a shadow. I think that’s how our lives are sometimes. Life is so full of beauty, complexity, and abundance, but that’s easy to forget when we’ve got a big problem that covers life in it’s shadow. I’m not saying these shadows are unique or even that we have to get rid of them. We all have our own shadows, some bigger than others, and it would be impossible to banish them completely. I don’t want a life without shadows. All I ask for is the ability to see around them. Doing little things for others, taking a few minutes to write someone a nice message, doing a small favor, smiling genuinely at someone you pass on the street, can really change someone’s day. I think these little gifts mean so much because they require us to focus our attention away from ourselves and the shadows we follow for a few moments. The require us to heft up the corners of those shadows, struggle under their weight, and glimpse, for once, the potential beauty, caring, and unity that waits for us in a life undarkened. We have to focus on the need of another instead of the needs of ourselves. When someone is able to do that for us, it’s wonderfully touching. It means that they put down their own cares for a moment and thought of us. It’s a beautiful feeling.

“Only the weak are cruel. Gentleness can only be expected from the strong.” -Leo Buscaglia

While putting your personal shadows aside for a moment to attend to the needs of the person in front of you might take a little extra emotional work, I think it’s worth it. Actually, I think it’s one of the greatest kept secrets in the world. It takes intentional effort to put your personal problems aside, but once you do, you’ll get the chance to be in on the secret. The secret is that once you’re finished being generous with your emotions and time, once you’ve parted from the other person and returned your attention to your shadows, you’ll find that they aren’t as dark as they were before you put them aside.

“A bit of fragrance always clings to the hand that gives roses.” -Chinese proverb

If my travels have taught me anything, it’s that everyone carries their own cross. You never know what storm other people are going through, so it’s always in your best interest to be unnecessarily kind. If we could all realize that shadows are universal, then maybe we could all decide to put them aside for a while and allow ourselves to connect with each other at our most pure. We could give and give and give of ourselves to others without feeling like we wouldn’t have enough left to deal with our own troubles. I don’t believe that those who give the most are also those who receive the most. I truly believe that giving IS receiving. Somewhere along the way we got lost. We started believing that there was only so much time and love and joy in the world so we had to grab it quick for ourselves before it ran out instead of spreading it around. We started believing that our shadows were so huge and all-consuming that we couldn’t spare even a second to tend to the small, daily needs of others. We couldn’t be more wrong. Scarcity is something lazy people made up as an excuse not to listen with an open heart, give freely of your time, and make small efforts. The more you give, the more you have, not the other way around.

“Kindness is loving people more than they deserve.” -Joseph Joubert

Say you’re having a really crappy day. Maybe your boss yelled at you or you flunked an exam or you just stepped in a puddle and discovered your rain boot has a hole. You’re in a really terrible mood when you walk into a coffee shop to get a pick-me-up. Instead of glowering at the menu, being short with the barista, and shlumping over to the corner table to nurse your wounds, pay for the drink of the customer in line behind you. Once you start turning those little dark moments into opportunities to spread light, you’ll discover a well of optimism inside yourself that you never knew existed.

So let’s start a new trend, you and me. Be more kind than you have to. Smile more than is really normal. Give of yourself. Then give more. I could say you’d be doing the world a favor, and while that might be true, you’ll also be doing yourself a big favor.

the most valuable banana in the world

What would the most valuable banana in the world look like? Is it made of precious metal? Or is it an extraordinarily rare variety? Well, I’ve found the most valuable banana in the world, and I can tell you it’s neither. It is about 4 inches long, overripe, and freely given in a moment of human connection by a destitute street child in Kampala, Uganda.

Let me tell you the story.

When my parents were here visiting, we spent a night in Kampala before heading to Queen Elizabeth National Park. The city was not my parents’ favorite stop of the trip. They found Kampala crowded, edgy, and just a bit overwhelming, especially for their first trip to Uganda. On the morning we were leaving, I think they were both grateful to be headed somewhere quieter, greener, and all around more manageable, but Kampala was determine to leave it’s mark on our memories before we left. Leave it’s mark it did.

We were stopped at a stoplight in the downtown area. We chatted lazily, just waiting for the green light to get out of the dust and noise and into the countryside. While sitting there, I noticed a few young girls, they couldn’t have been older than eight, sitting on the sidewalk next to our car. Their backs were to the street, and they were huddled close to the wall. Clearly in their own world, they were enjoying a few bananas that stood out bright and incongruous against their dusty skin and dirty, torn clothes. I noticed that the older girl kept turning around to glance shyly at my dad sitting in the front seat of the car. Leaning forward, I quietly advise him to smile and wave at her. “She’ll love it,” I said. He smiled. He waved. And the girl was so tickled, she nearly fell over giggling. Her companions reacted similarly, and the moment was a beautiful one. A middle-aged American connecting on the most basic human level with a young Ugandan girl living in the street…all with a smile and wave, but it got better.

What happened next was so fast. In a moment, the light turned green, and we were gone, but what happened first has been forever seared into my brain. As the light turned green, the girl suddenly leapt to her feet and dashed to the side of the car. As we pulled away, she gave my dad the biggest smile and held out her banana to him. She stretched toward the car, trying to reach my dad’s hand with it. She didn’t hold out an open hand in a plea for assistance or money. She didn’t simply want to get a better look at us. She wanted to give him the banana. Unfortunately, we were pulling away so fast that he had no time to grab it, but I will never forget how that little girl looked. Balancing precariously on the curb, stretching toward our car with her only little banana clutched tight, her face broken into a massive grin, openness and generosity radiating from her like a beacon.

That girl, and that moment in Kampala, will live in my heart forever. This girl clearly had nothing. She was sitting, enjoying what was probably a real treat for her and her friends…fresh bananas on a Sunday morning…but in an instant she was ready to joyfully give what she had to a complete stranger in the spirit of generosity, connection, and love. Just writing about it brings tears to my eyes once again. Sometimes I wish I’d been able to snap a picture of her in that instant. I’d make copies and paste them everywhere – on my bathroom mirror, the inside of my laptop, the ceiling above my bed, the wall next to my desk….the inside of my ribcage. I’d want it everywhere I would see it frequently, especially close to my heart. I’d want it to remind me of the incredible gift the girl gave us in the simple offer of her only banana. Her generosity, joy, and kindness puts me to shame. What must it take to give everything you have to another person you don’t even know for the sole purpose of spreading love?

Though I never got that photo, I don’t need one. I remember the moment as if it happened five minutes ago. This girl gave one of her only precious belongings, a single banana, to my father because she could and because she wanted to. The banana was making her happy, so it could also make someone else happy, right? Instead of keeping that happiness for herself, she decided to spread it around. If only we could all remember to follow that girl’s example and spread our bananas around a little more often, too.

paying homage to my battered backside

It will be difficult for you to understand the title of this post if you’ve never experienced the roads in Uganda. Nowhere in SE Asia did I come up against such sorry excuses for roads, but I’ve heard that the situation is the same throughout much of Sub-Saharan Africa. I haven’t travelled to enough of those countries to feel comfortable making sweeping statements, so for now I’ll limit my griping to Uganda.

When I was a kid, I remember that we sometimes took a certain route home from my grandparents’ house that took us over what my parents called “the Bumpy Road.” I remember giggling and giggling as we zoomed over the road, bumping and jiggling along. When I got older, I had the opportunity to drive back over that road myself, and while it wasn’t everything I remembered it being, it was still mildly amusing. The Bumpy Road was definitely bumpier than most roads we drive on in Waukesha, WI, and I was sad when they finally paved over it. If only I could see into my future, I would never have dared laugh at the state of that road.

My parents have been here now and have seen the carnage with their own eyes, so if you don’t believe me, feel free to verify with them. The roads here are indescribably bad. Rutted, potholed, gullied, narrow, flooded, muddied, crowded, lined with people, crisscrossed with goats, pigs, chickens, and children. Some patches of road feel like I’m playing frogger, weaving back and forth (there’s a “my” side and a “your” side?) to find the spare patches of passable surface while dodging families of goats, herds of cattle, women carrying massive bundles of firewood on their heads, and the occasional monitor lizard. Other patches feel a bit more like I’m riding over a washboard. Several times, I’ve even opened my mouth to hum along and feel how the road creates a motorboat-like sound without any effort on my part. Despite all the difficulty, I’m normally great at grinning and bearing it. They are, like many things here, just part of life, and to constantly complain about them would be annoying and counterproductive. However, I spent over 15 hours on a motorcycle last week due to a busy work schedule. That’s 15 hours of bumping, weaving, swerving, bumping, sloshing through huge puddles, choking on dust, bumping, breaking suddenly, and did I mention LOTS of bumping? After such trial, I feel it’s necessary to pay homage to the damage done to my rear end. By the end of the week, I was wincing just looking at a motorcycle. Thankfully I don’t think any real damage was done, but it has made me very grateful for a slightly slower schedule this week.

So here’s to everyone, local and international alike, who brave the roads here in Northern Uganda every single day. Here’s to the adrenaline, the skillful drivers, washboard stretches, the rare paved patch that fills you with disproportionate relief, and the sheer toughness of those that live their lives on those roads day in and day out. I salute you, brave sirs and madams.

On a more serious note, a definite ceiling exists for economic growth in the region if something drastic isn’t done to address transportation infrastructure. That’s a topic for another post, though.

5:30am how I hate you

When my alarm went off at 5:30 am this morning for the fourth day in a row, I nearly threw my phone across the room. Thanks to the foresight of Babs who insisted I buy the mother of all cases, it wouldn’t have been the end of the world for my phone. It only felt like the end of the world for me. It couldn’t be 5:30 already!! I could feel every bump in the road from all the motorcycle riding I’d been doing the past three days and the weariness in my limbs that comes from long hours in the sun. Day four. I can do this.

This week has been all about the new youth resource centers that we’re building in conjunction with CARE International. CARE is building several, but we’ve been involved in the construction of two: one in Patiko sub-county, and one in Lamogi sub-county.

Monday morning was taken up by driving from one side to the other making sure everything was in order for the official ceremonies on Tuesday and Wednesday. I think I probably spent about 5 or 6 hours on a bike….talk about sore cheeks, man.
Tuesday and Wednesday were the official ceremonies! They were exciting, energy filled, wonderful events, but MAN those were long, hot, exhausting days. Each evening, I could do nothing but go home and go to bed.
Today (Thursday) and tomorrow, we officially breaking in the new youth center with trainings on peace-building for vocational teachers and role model youth in Lamogi sub-county.

Our crazy week had meant a few things:
1) I have so much reporting to do. And paperwork to fill out. Ugh.
2) I am stiff and sore and growing to really hate these Ugandan roads.
and
3) I’m really tired.

However, there’s a fourth result, and this one is really the most important…
4) The youth of Patiko and Lamogi now have somewhere to meet, attend trainings, organize themselves, and receive services. They have these beautiful new buildings that will be partially their responsibility to take care of, and they can be proud of them. These centers mark real progress in infrastructure development, and they will facilitate more and better programs for youth in the rural villages in the future. Upwards of 200 people attended each ceremony to hear talks, listen to music, be entertained, and learn about what the future holds for them in these centers. I believe that they’ll come, that these centers will be places of learning and growing and coming together. I hope that meaningful work will be done there by all, and I look forward to being a part of it.

The center openings were held during the first few days of a campaign in the area called 16 Days of Gender Activism. It is a huge event put on by many different NGO’s, so the ceremonies also carried the theme of advocating for more peaceful households and putting a stop to GBV. Local musicians and singers came and performed songs with titles such as “Say No to Gender-Based Violence.” Everyone in attendance received the trademark purple 16 Days ribbon to show their commitment to ending GBV, and it was really a beautiful sight.

So yes I’m tired. Yes I’m sore. Yes I’ve still got dust in my hair even though I’ve showered twice. Yes I’m a little sunburned. But these past days have been inspirational, moving, and exciting. So was it worth it? Absolutely.

how to eat an elephant.

For all of you who read the title and gasped, have no fear. I don’t condone, in any way, eating elephants in the literal sense. So you can relax, tell your heart to start beating again. I rode an elephant in Thailand and think they are some of the most amazing, intelligent, sensitive creatures on earth.
The type of elephant I’m talking about eating is actually a big project. We’ve all run into them before: assignments, jobs, tasks, goals, etc that just seem absolutely overwhelming. Well let me just say, when I’m done here, I’m going to be able to give one hell of a talk on how to take on projects you don’t feel ready for.

I should have expected it really. I know myself well enough to know that I’m a master at biting off more than I can chew. A perennial over-achiever. Addicted to the thrill of not knowing whether or not I can pull something off. Committed to being over-committed. A professional at fitting 10 lbs of sh*t into a 5 lb bag (as my dad would say). So I really shouldn’t be surprised when I look around and find myself hip deep in a project of proportions I’ve never before attempted. It’s definitely the biggest elephant I’ve ever tried to eat, and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little scared.

I remember being a sophomore in high school – just laying the foundation for what would become a lifetime of being over-involved. I was in the car coming home from school, and my dad was driving because I didn’t yet have my license. Sitting in the passenger seat, I distinctly remember suffering the first waves of stress and anxiety: am I going to be able to finish all my homework and go to basketball and manage the new member list for International Outreach and get in my service hours for IB/Service Club and on and on….Honestly, I don’t even remember the things I was stressed out about. Undoubtedly, they were mere shadows compared to the bigger and more vital things I’d take on later in college and life, but to me at the time, they were of huge importance. I was scared. Just like I am now. And my dad gave me advice that rings as true now as it was then: start with one thing. Focus on it. Complete it. Move to the next thing. Move from task to task until you’ve done all you can do for tonight. Then go to sleep.

I’ve never gotten better advice on how to deal with a big project or problem. It helped me deal with the stress of beginning to take personal responsibility for life and my place in the world when I was in high school, and it’s going to help me now as I attempt to craft my life and career into a message that’s worth the world’s attention.

Step 1: Make a list
Step 2: Make lots of lists
Step 3: Make sure you break down your list items into quantifiable, complete-able tasks
Step 4: Then start checking them off, baby. One by one.
Step 5: Sleep**
Step 6: Repeat

(**This step may, in extreme circumstances, be replaced by a high coffee intake, thought this is not advisable too many days in a row…It could lead you to do things others will find questionable, like balancing pillows on your head while parading around your apartment in your underwear saying, “I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.” Not that I know from experience or anything.)

I’ve come to accept that the type of fear I’m feeling now – when you’ve got a lot riding on your shoulders, and you’re pushing yourself outside your comfort zone – isn’t my enemy. It’s what drives me to make those lists. It motivates me to be creative, innovative, and persistent in checking off those tasks. And when I can go no farther and fall into sleep (hopefully), it’s what gets me up early the next morning to start again. I might be scared of what I’ve begun. I’m afraid that I won’t have what it takes to complete it successfully. Am I too young? Too inexperienced? Too naive? Maybe. But one thing is for sure, they’ll never be able to say it’s because I didn’t work hard enough.

So I’m off to make lists. I’m off to answer emails and read curriculum and design M&E. I’m off to write grants and network and plan. To make timelines and budgets and workplans. Then I’m off to sleep before I get up tomorrow and do it again. And again and again and again, because the people I’m working for are worth it and the good things that could come of my success are too great to not give it my all. I might be afraid, but I’m going to try to bring fear along as my friend instead of desperately trying to leave it in the half-unthought thoughts of near sleep. Together, we’ll make it.

Have you ever faced a project like the one I am? What strategies did you use to combat the anxiety and self-doubt that comes along? I hope that my philosophy sounds like a sound one. I’d love to hear your input, and if you’re busy eating your own elephant, know that you’re not alone in the struggle. We’re all together in that one thing at least – the ways we strive to make ourselves better people and the world a better place. We all get scared sometimes, but that shouldn’t be enough to stop us from dreaming big.

Dream on. Struggle on.

the two way connection between wings and bravery.

I’m sure you’ve heard the saying: sometimes you have to just jump and grow wings on the way down. Something along those lines, at least.

I think it’s very true, more now than ever. I’ve done things outside my comfort zone before, but never to the extent of these past few months. I’ve ridden elephants, killed cockroaches, made my way in new cities where no one spoke my language, gotten tattooed in Bangkok, gone dancing in Ugandan clubs, learned to speak (some of) a new language, said goodbye to friends and loved ones, and made new friends. It all required a certain level of bravery, I suppose. I had to be brave to try so many new things and go my own way. It wasn’t only bravery, though. Thanks to parents and friends who helped me grow into a confident woman, I also trusted my own ability to grow wings.

When I moved to Uganda, I was not equipped to deal with life here. It wasn’t that I was inept or didn’t have the ability, but no one could be fully ready for a country they’d never even visited before. I didn’t have the tools to succeed, and I knew it, yet I was still brave enough to force myself to move anyway – new job, new home, new city, new country, new continent – only 2 months after graduating from college. I promise this post isn’t just about tooting my own horn. I might have been brave then, but I’m braver now. I was wondering how that could be, but I think the path to more bravery is quite simple. You need to be brave enough to take that first leap, but when you find that you easily grew wings during the fall, it gives you enough courage to take the next, bigger leap.

Bravery isn’t about being born without fear. It’s about taking small step after small step toward self growth. When you realize you can handle risk and uncertainty, you are emboldened to be even braver. You need enough bravery to push you off the ledge, but then the wings take over. You grow them, glide on them, and they take you to new heights. Then you jump again, because you’re more sure than ever of your ability to fly. Risk and bravery form an upward spiral, and the best thing is that there’s always a higher ledge.

Here’s to the next cliff.

that one time i danced in a traditional ugandan wedding

A friend called me recently on a Friday night saying that he had a traditional wedding to attend the next day. His cousin was getting married, and he asked me if I’d like to join him. Of course I said yes without hesitation. I’d never been to a traditional Ugandan wedding and was excited by the prospect of a new experience. He said he’d pick me up at 9:00 am. Great.

9:00 am rolls around, Justin picks me up, we hop on a boda-boda, and we’re off to the wedding

9:15 am we arrive at the wedding, dressed up and looking nice, to find a bunch of people wandering around, beginning to set up tents, clearly not even near ready for the ceremony
Justin: “I guess we’re a little early”
Me: “hmmm it seems like we are”
Ever the optimist, I figured it couldn’t be long before things would start to come together and then we’d begin. Having gone without breakfast, I could only hope that lunch wouldn’t be too far delayed. What a silly girl I am.

10:00 am Waiting

11:00 am Waiting

12:00 am Still Waiting…but wait, the other family members finally arrived!
In a traditional Ugandan Introduction Ceremony, the bride’s family members and the groom’s family members (not the couple themselves, mind you) get together and negotiate the bride price. Usually there’s an unwritten agreement about what’s expected long before the actual day of the ceremony, but it can still get pretty tense if there are disagreements. Only after the two families have agreed on the price to be paid can the actual ceremony start. So there we were at midday, and the family had finally arrived to BEGIN the negotiation. Excellent. They disappeared into the house.

1:00 pm Waiting

2:00 pm Waiting

3:00 pm …you guessed it, still waiting.

3:30 pm They emerge!! Justin, who’d had to participate in the negotiation and had been gone all this time, said that there had been a few misunderstandings, but everything had been worked out in the end. Time to eat! Not.

After the families emerged, the ceremony began in earnest, and I must say, it was extremely enjoyable. A group of women danced their way into the yard, and the families acted out a drama where the husband-to-be looked for his wife to see if she was among those who had come to visit him. Finding that she was not, he graciously sent the group back, and the drama was repeated again with a second group of young women. The wife was again not among them. Finally, a large procession of many women holding fruit, flowers, and clay pots danced into the yard with the bride-to-be at the center of the group – finally she had arrived!! The groom again went through an elaborate show of searching for her, and there was much cheering, yelling, and ululating when she was “discovered.” Afterward, the couple gave gifts, cut the cake, and told stories. A local leader, the equivalent of the mayor, gave a speech, followed by words from both heads of household. All of these festivities lasted wrapped up around 7:00 pm.

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Woah wait, back up, I thought the title said you danced in the wedding??

Oh that’s right, let’s back up a little. For the final entry procession, the big one that I mentioned, they were apparently one lady short. The very front row of dancers was comprised of Justin’s sister Stella and the two flower girls, but apparently another dancer was needed on the other side of the flower girls to even things out. So they figured, let’s grab the only mzungu in attendance and see how she does. Sure, why not? I was approached by one of the bride’s family members, and she simply held out her hand. When I asked her what was going on, she replied, “we’re going to dance!!” Oh lord. I was plopped in the very front row of dancers, told to follow what Stella did, and given only one piece of advice: feel free.

When Ugandans say “feel free”, it doesn’t mean exactly the same thing as when Americans say it. In the US, we really only use the saying in the context of “go ahead” after you’ve asked for permission. As in, “Can I have one of your Pringles?” to which the Pringle owner would respond “Feel free!” In Uganda, they use the saying in a more literal sense. They mean don’t feel constricted by self consciousness, don’t feel embarrassed, don’t worry if what you’re doing is right, just do what you feel. Just feel free. There was no time for me to back out without being rude and causing a scene. The only thing to do was follow her advice, so that’s what I did. We danced in, leading a large group of women, and everyone cheered and clapped and sang and yelled.

And you know what? It worked! I danced to the music, I followed Stella’s lead, I beat my hand fast against my mouth in the Cowboys and Indians style of youth, and when my job was done, someone kindly led me back to my seat where I was surrounded by cheers and congratulations for a job well done. Above all, I felt free. Every time I caught myself feeling awkward, I pushed those thoughts away. I tried instead to focus on the overwhelming joy that was pummeling me from all sides. Aunties ululating, uncles clapping and cheering, children dancing on the sidelines, music blaring – everyone was radiating happiness. All I had to do was let it run through me instead of feeling self-conscious. The couple was clearly in love, and this procession wasn’t about me and my unsureness, it was about them! It was about their happiness, their hope, and their bright future, and I let those beautiful things move me. Afterward, everyone said they were surprised by how well I had danced! They weren’t the only ones, let me tell you.

I left the wedding feeling like I’d stumbled upon a priceless gem of wisdom, a secret with the potential to unlock countless difficult situations. The advice given to me by Justin’s auntie as she threw me into the spotlight gave me the courage to become a mirror for the joy and love that surrounded me. Feel free. What lovely words and how applicable they are for my life right now. Feeling uncomfortable? Awkward? Unsure? Intimidated?
Feel free instead.

Well don’t mind if I do.

ps: “Lunch” wasn’t served until 7:30 pm, and I ate as if I’d never seen food before in my life.

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