Romano Longole

When I first arrived in Uganda I was told two things about my host father, Romano Longale. First; he is a radical example of peace to his community. Second; he is a gifted story teller. Upon my arrival in Kotido I witnessed Romano’s example of peace with the meeting at the Ajale tree (blog post from September) and have since seen many other instances as well. But I had not witnessed his storytelling personally.

One day while we were having lunch together we began talking about Romano’s passion for trees. We had finished the meal and continued talking when Romano suddenly jumped up and told me to follow him. He briskly led me through the front door, under the small gate for the cattle into the front grazing area where the cows, goats, and sheep are held in the morning and evening. He led me to the side of the corral that looks out towards the bush and pointed to a cluster of trees.

“I want to tell you a story about how those trees got there”, he began. Romano said soon after the trees on his compound began growing fruit and providing shade an elder in the community approached him and asked him to plant trees in the common area on the outskirts of Kotido, close to Romano’s home. The elder’s vision was for the trees to be strictly for community enhancement; the trees could never be cut or harvested by anyone and the work Romano would put into the project would be voluntary. Romano enthusiastically agreed, and a few days later he began the process of digging holes all over the area where the elder has designated for the trees to be planted.

The weekend after the holes had been finished the elders of Kotido, including the elder who had commissioned the tree project, gathered within the area the trees were to be planted in for their annual meeting. The meeting starts with the sacrificing of a bull, the meat is prepared and after it is roasted the elders share it among themselves. After everyone has eaten they begin talking; making decisions for the community, and if there has been any cattle raiding creating a plan of action to confront the perpetrators.

However, at this meeting the elders were more concerned with all the holes that had been dug throughout the common area. They began grumbling among themselves say, “Someone is plotting to kill us, and they have already begun digging our graves.” The elders decided that whoever had dug those holes needed to be put to death. Romano overhead what the elders were saying and he approached the elder who had commissioned him to plant the trees, imploring him to make a statement to his colleagues regarding the purpose of the holes. The elder agreed.

After most of the bull had been eaten and the conversation was on the cusp of beginning the elder stood up took a leg of the bull’s meat which had not been eaten (when an elder speaks at one of their annual meetings a leg of meat must be held when they speak, this shows the infallibility of their words.)

At this point Romano paused in his story, laughing, he grabbed a stick lying in the corral and began marching around a tree three times. He commenced;

“The elder walked around the fire three times and said, ‘There has been a lot of talk about these holes. People are saying someone is plotting our death. But, I am here to tell you that I am the one responsible for the holes you see.’” The elders exploded, there was a strict order of business and the most important topics were saved for the end, the mystery of the holes was scheduled to be the last topic of conversation that day. But, the elder continued on, “Romano has agreed to plant trees in this area, these holes you see are for the seedlings he is going to donate to our community. The group was shaken, saying, “Ikoniai?”(Like who?) Meaning, “Who plants trees, only God plants trees, it’s impossible for humans to do God’s work!” The elder to commission the project continued, “If anyone has a problem with this he should speak directly to me.” After the elder explained why the holes were there no one was opposed to their being used for trees, especially since it was not costing the community anything but they were all skeptical that anyone but God could plant trees.

Romano had planted about ten trees in the communal area before the elder suddenly passed away a few days after the annual meeting. After the elders death Romano stopped planting since the elder was no longer alive to defend him. Romano laughed at the conclusion of his story, “It is hard living in the midst of such narrow-minded, uneducated people. I can understand why Jesus was crucified after only three years of ministry. The elders of his time were also slow to embrace change.” Romano’s second daughter, Monica, had followed us out to the corral and heard the entire story. I glanced over at her when Romano made this final statement, the seriousness in her face express that she understood what her father was saying.   

Sara Wenger Shenk stated in her book "Remember Who You Are", “There is no way to convey who we are, or for our child to grasp who they are, without telling and living our story. Our self-identity, our character as a community is rooted in story, unfolded through story, and changed through story.” Romano is indeed a very good story-teller and I am confident that his children, and nieces and nephews are all grasping who they are and becoming deeply rooted in Kotido because of the heritage Romano is passing on through story.     

Romano, Peter, Margret, Anna, and Maria

Anna, Catherine, Margret, Joseph, Peter, and Monica 

Sarah

Sarah is my host mother Maria’s step sister, she has been living with the family for about three months. Sarah’s home situation was becoming abusive which began affecting her studies so instead of sacrificing her academic career she moved to Kotido. Sarah is a responsible, hardworking student and auntie to the kids. She is always either in the kitchen, working in the back compound, or cleaning some area of the home.

Like other family members Sarah has also shared a story from her life with me. Not only is Sarah’s story exceptional but the calmness and strength she had in her voice as she spoke was astonishing. This is Sarah’s story:

One evening some of my friends and I were bring firewood back to the village along the main road. While we were walking some warriors with guns surrounded and captured us, they made us drop the kindling we had collected and forced us to follow them deep into the bush. There are two things that happen when warriors capture women; they either rape them or they beat them and leave them to die. We were all very scared and feared the warriors as they took us further and further from the main road.

At one point, while we were walking, we passed a pond with men and women fishing for mud fish. The men ran away when they saw the warriors but the women who were with them were also captured by the warriors. They grouped us all together and made us carry the fish the men had been catching. When it became dark we were forced to build fires to cook the fish for them. After we fed them, they let us sleep but they monitored us all night with their guns.

In the morning the warriors came to us with a proposal; if we showed them where the cows were kept they would let us go. We told them we did not know where the corral was because the men take care of the cows. They told us they would shoot each one of us if we did not tell them, but we replied that we were ready to die and genuinely did not know where the cows were. They considered this and continued threatening us but we were resolute that we did not mind dying and the location of the corral was unknown to us.

The warriors became very violent; they shouted and pushed us but nothing could change the situation. Finally they made us take off all our jewelry and beads, they took anything they liked, and they took all our money. Thankfully none of us were raped or beaten badly and finally the warriors let us go.

Sarah finished her story softly and then smiled.

Sarah’s story, and other stories I have heard about the warriors and cattle raiding, the war in Northern Uganda a number of years ago, and the ongoing conflict in the area; give me such an appreciation for the safety I experience in my home country. The last war that was fought on United States soil was the attack on Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941. However, after hearing these stories of violence I am also more acutely aware of a few atrocities of war that affect innocent people unrelated to the conflict. It causes me to grieve for the people who are experiencing war on their own soil; their lives contain more fear, anxiety, and suffering than I have a framework to understand.

A poster hanging on my office wall artistically shows a line of Ugandan’s dropping their weapons into a bonfire. On the other side of the fire is a mental worker creating tools and pots and pans from the melted weapons. The poster is an obvious reflection to the passage found in Isaiah 2:4b, “They will beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation will not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war anymore.” The wars of nations may be overwhelming for diplomats, presidents and congress people; but, as people of faith we have assurance that one day there will indeed be peace. In the meantime I will listen to other people’s stories, make peace with situations and people in my own life, and praying for peace to come in the lives of my community around the world. 

The illustration of Isiah 2:4 hanging in my office

Auma Catherine

Throughout my day in the office my co-workers visit me and share about their lives; the difficulty of paying school fees for their children, abusive spouses, robbery, bad roads, and the rising cost of living in Kotido. It seems that everyone has a story to share. Story is also one of the main forms of communication, one day Bishop James (my “boss”) was explaining a Karamajong cultural concept to me he said, “Okay, it’s like this custom we have of sharing homebrew out of a gourd in a circle….” He went on to tell me a story about one of those kinds of meetings and, to my surprise, at the conclusion I actually understood much more clearly the concept he was conveying to me. The evenings at my host home are full of stories; it is extremely important for the family to share stories with each other, and it is also important that everyone’s story is heard. 

                                                                                                                                   

One evening one of the cousins who live with Romano and Maria called Auma Catherine shared her story. Auma Catherine is delightful; she is always smiling and laughing, starting games with the kids, and boisterously singing while she works around the compound. One evening after supper Auma Catherine told another cousin who speaks English that she wanted to tell me a story. This is the story Auma Catherine shared:

One day I went out with some other women from our village to gather firewood. We walked a long distance into the bush to gather the kindling because the resources close to our village had all been used. A few of us had to move further than those who had already collected enough firewood. When we had all gathered as much as we could carry we turned around to follow our foot prints back to the larger group. But, it had grown dark and traveling at night can be very dangerous. So instead of continuing on we lay down to sleep for the night in a secluded clearing.

In the morning, we continued to follow our footprints but we never found the larger group. Instead we came to a ravine full of water, none of us knew how to swim and we did not know how we were going to pass. We spent one day trying to figure out a way to cross but the water was strong and there was no way around it. On the morning of the third day a group of men came along side us by the ravine and helped us to cross. We were so grateful because there was no way for us to cross by ourselves. The men even helped us to get all the firewood across the water. When we got back to the village everyone was surprised and happy to see us, they thought we had been killed by warriors or had died in the bush. We were all very tired and hungry.

Helen Keller once wrote, “Life is either a daring adventure or nothing.” I do not think Auma Catherine told her story to shock me or fill me with pity, I think she told me so we could share delight in the journey she had experienced. One thing I am sure of: Auma Catherine’s adventures are not over, in the coming months I am anticipating hearing more of her “daring adventures.”  

I believe each one of us has a “daring adventure” which must be shared with our communities. Perhaps your story is one of triumph, like Auma Catherine’s. Or maybe the story is difficult, renewing pain in you through the memory of those events. Regardless, our victories should be celebrated and our hurt should be grieved alongside our communities so the joys or burdens are carried by everyone.

If I may be so bold, share your story with someone today,

 and now the challenge: listen to their story. 

Auma Catherine

MCC Kopain Ik Project

My host father, Romano, is a partner of MCC. His organization, Kopain is, short for Kotido Peace Initiative. The mission of Kopain is to bring peace to the tribes in the region of Northern Uganda, Southern Sudan, and Northwestern Kenya where, historically devastating cattle raiding and violence has impacted the livelihoods of countless families. Romano invited me to see how Kopain’s partnership with MCC was jointly working to bring restoration in Northern Uganda by accompanying him on a trip to Kabong, a northern district along the border of Southern Sudan, to distribute school supplies to Ik children involved in an MCC educational scholarship program.

The Ik people could be compared to North America’s First Nation people. The Ik have been underrepresented in almost every facet of society; educationally, politically, and economically. In addition Kabong, where many live, is located between two raiding tribes, the Turkana, and the Dodoth. When the Ik would receive word one of the tribes was going to attack the other, they would warn the tribe in danger. The tribe planning to attack would find the other tribe well informed and prepared to defend themselves. Because the raid was ineffective the tribe organizing the raid would punish the Ik by raiding their cattle. It was never just one tribe who raided the Ik more, both tribes contributed to the over-all exploitation of the Ik. The Ik are a peaceful tribe and did not want to see their neighboring tribes get killed, but because of their cautionary warnings, they were punished.  

In 2006 at a peace meeting Romano organized for the Ik, Dodoth, and Turkan an agreement was made there would be no more raids between the tribes. So far the peace agreement has been honored and much amity and prosperity has come to the Turkana and Dodoth; however, the Ik were literally left with no animals. Although they were glad there would be no more violence their livelihoods had been destroyed and they asked Romano why they should honor the agreement when they had no cattle. Romano posed this question to MCC and together Kopain and MCC created the Ik educational scholarship program under the Global Families Project of MCC. Because of that project four Ik have graduated from high school, quite an accomplishment considering previously only one Ik had completed high school. And there are more Ik in school now than there ever have been previously to the Global Families Scholarship. The ultimate goal is to give Ik professional schooling and later jobs that will begin to empower them to again be active members in their community.

In preparation for the trip I accompanied Romano on he brought notebooks, pens, pencils, body soap, laundry soap, toothpaste, and body oil for the students he also brought tablets of paper and pens for the teachers. MCC is also supplying the funds for the children’s school fees which include school, room and board. After distributing the school supplies we would then visit the Head Master’s office to pay the bill for that term. We visited four schools during our trip, and distributed supplies to about 100 students.

Many of the students recognize the blessing of the scholarship they are receiving and passed their thanks onto Romano and I as we distributed supplies. It was the first time in my life I had been on the resource giving end of MCC. I have enjoyed volunteering at MCC Relief Sales and meat canning in the US to raise funds for MCC, but I have never seen firsthand how the money is distributed. I was pulled in two directions as I helped Romano; first, I was excited to see how MCC resources are allocated and who receives some of the benefits. Second, I was sad that basic school supplies, and paying school fees are such a burden to the Ik people. I’m disturbed daily by the disparity of resources in Uganda in comparison to the world’s richest nation, which I call home.

I recognize that MCC is diligently working to close the gap between these inequalities all over the world, but sometimes problems of injustice and exploitation blatantly confront me and I become cynical. Every day I reconcile myself to the fact that I am more privileged than I can imagine. There is no umbrella formula I have discovered for fighting against inequality and injustice; rather, it is a decision each one of us has to make every day: to treat everyone as God treats us, with compassionate love.

Mohandas Ghandi once said, “Nearly everything you do is of no importance, but it is important that you do it.” I know my existence here in Kotido, the US, or anywhere else I may go will never, even minutely, affect poverty, educational needs, or political corruption. But, I am encouraged in the fact we face this conundrum together; regardless of where we are, we cycles through our daily lives and although it may seem mundane there is a purpose, and a bigger picture we cannot always realize. Being aware of the problems is the first step to reconciliation and restoration from injustice so that people like the Ik can once again regain their dignity and build flourishing communities.

Romano, after just having paid the school fees

Two pictures of Ik students receiving their supplies

Lopie

Typically I am a morning person. I thrive on anticipation for what the day will hold, excitement for the people I may run into, and nervousness about not being quite prepared for it all. In Kotido it is no different; I find myself waking up with a smile on my face, bouncing through making the bed, and getting dressed. I enjoy eating Maria’s homemade rolls with honey from Romano’s bees, and hardboiled eggs from the chickens for breakfast. Peter, Anna, and Margret are typically at the breakfast table too and it is comforting to see them in their school uniforms tromping around grumpily because they have to leave for school. Comforting because it re-enforces for me the universality of yet another emotions: kids all over the world would rather stay at home and play than go sit in a desk all day.

                                                                                                                  

So one night I was slightly annoyed when I stood up to go to bed and Lopie said, “You should not go to bed so early, you should stay up and hear more stories.” In the dark I grimaced and sat back down, “Okay”, I said, “then you tell me a story.” Lopie is our shepherd boy, although the word “boy” is slightly misleading; Lopie is married with two sons. But, he does care for the animals so this makes him a shepherd boy. If you have been reading my other blogs Lopie is the person who always say, “Yes, Annali. Very good!” because his English is rather limited (Harvest Dance, October.)

There was a young man at our house that evening who had good English so I suggested that he translate as Lopie spoke. Lopie began this story:

“When I was a baby I drank too much milk so my parents abandon me to the bush so I would not be a burden on them. While I was laying there an elephant came up to me and almost ate me but someone found me and brought me to the animal corral. I was raised at the corral and began taking care of animals until one day, when I was about 10 years old, warriors from another tribe came and raided our corral. They had guns and one shot me.”

At this point he paused to take my hand and place it over the lump on his shoulder where the bullet had wounded him as a boy.

“After I was shot I lay on the ground and thought I am going to die. But in the morning Romano came and took me home with him. When Maria saw me she said, “This boy should now live with us.” From that day on I have lived here and been safe.”

Then instead of looking at the translator he looked at me and said, “Now you are a part of this family too, Annali and we will all remember you forever with joy in our hearts.”

 As the translator spoke those last few words of the story I felt myself growing very quiet. I looked around the courtyard, Adome and Adocto were sprawled out behind me, Peter and Anna were sitting quietly on either side of me, Margret was sitting on Maria’s lap sleeping, and Amol and Loperra were standing in the doorway listening.

I did not know what to say so I meekly thanked Lopie for the story and the translator for his work. In the quiet following Lopie’s story I was reminded of a passage from The Brothers Karamazov in which Father Zossima, an elderly priest, is sharing some of his thoughts with friends. He says, “I bless the rising sun each day, and, as before my heart sings to meet it, but now I love even more its setting, its long slanting rays and the soft tender gentle memories that come with them, the dear images from the whole of my long happy life—and over all the Divine Truth, softening, reconciling, forgiving!” (The Brothers Karamazov, 269)

I am still a morning person, but the urging of Lopie to, “sit a while longer”, and Father Zossima’s observations about evening persuades me to believe that I can perhaps live to also cherish the night. But, I think the more important lesson I learned was how intertwined my life can become with those around me. In this case it took a shepherd boy from Kotido to remind me that I will not be the only person impacted by the on-going year here in Kotido. It is a grave responsibility to be a part of a community; there are people to be accountable to, tasks to be completed, stories to be heard, and above all relationships to be valued.

Lopie and his wife 

Singing

Most evenings before we eat supper my host family and I gather in the courtyard. Everyone is present; we share stories about our day, play games, dance and mostly laugh. A few nights ago, just as the darkness of night was beginning to inch across the sky and stars began brightly piercing through, someone began singing. By the second measure of the song everyone had joined in, not only with their voices, but also with hands clapping and bodies swaying.

Music is a medium that moves me; sometimes it’s the words, sometimes it’s the tune of a song, and sometimes it’s the musicality of how a composer links music and words to more emphatically convey the message. Singing with my host family in Kotido was no different. Although their voices didn’t always blend and sometimes the songs dissolved into mass chaos; the tunes moved me beyond myself, and when the words were translated I was amazed at their simple yet obedient message of faithfulness to Jesus. One song translated:

How happy are the people

When they gather together

To pray in the house of the Lord.

That evening in my host family’s courtyard where we were gathered became a house of the Lord, and I’m sure that God heard our songs of praise.In my opinion the voices of my host family in Kotido sound bolder than I am used to in comparison with my Western perspective. It’s not necessarily a good or bad thing; I find myself missing four-part-harmony as well, but I have appreciated a new way to engage with music, and have savored the moments of music I have experienced here in Kotido.

Okay, so this doesn't actually have anything to do with singing but, it is some of the happy music makers. I brought some books with me to Kotido, in this picture Margret, Anna, Peter and I are enjoying the last bit of natural light to look through the books

Kalokuruk

A forty minute walk from my host home, just outside Kotido is a rock called Kalokuruk, meaning: a place of the crows. The rock is sloped on one side so that it reaches the ground and you can walk all the way to the top where it abruptly drops off. At the base of the rock where you begin to walk up is a small pond of water, beginning half way up the incline and ending just above the pond is a smooth, slippery groove where hundreds of bodies have created a natural slide throughout the years. Kalokuruk isn’t very tall, perhaps a few hundred feet; but, the view is spectacular, and especially now as the dry season is approaching the wind is astonishingly strong.

The rock is not only home to the crows, but also a variety of song birds, hawks, and many lizards and snakes. The morning I walked out to the rock, warriors and women were bathing in the basin of Kalokuruk, birds were singing, and many crows were flying overhead. I reached the top of the rock and found a comfortable place to observe nature and rest for a while. I couldn’t help but think of the story from I Kings where the Lord appears to Elijah after he had fled to Horeb. In my NIV translation the story reads:

“Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper. When Elijah heard it, he pulled his cloak over his face and went out and stood at the mouth of the cave. Then a voice said to him, ‘What are you doing here, Elijah?’”

In Akron, Pa during orientation an outline of our emotions was charted out and projected on the wall for us to analyze. In that moment of preparation it was hard to feel anything but excitement for the coming year, but as I have grown accustom to Kotido I have remembered that chart and found myself to be a perfect model for the proposed emotions at this point of the year. Perhaps a bit of discouragement regarding how slow things seem to be moving in my service assignment, and a lot of asking myself the exact same question God asked of Elijah, “What are you doing here?”

I had to re-evaluate my own attitude about being in Kotido on Kalokuruk, I needed to step back and realize that not everything moves at the speed I would like it to, and above all I needed to realize that God is in the gentle whispers of life not necessarily life shattering explosions. Currently I am reading The Brothers Karamazov one character, Ivan, is a man searching ardently for life’s meaning and purpose. In one conversation he has with one of his brothers, Alyosha, he states that our human minds were created to understand three-dimensional information. We will not, and cannot ever hope to understand God. I completely agree with Ivan, I can never hope to understand God’s mystery but in moments when I embrace my human fallibility and look to God for strength I disagree with Ivan because there is one thing I am sure of about: God is good, all the time, all the time, God is good.

One view from the top of the rock

A low flying Kite (hawk) was looking for breakfast

If you look carefully there's a lizard in this picture

Harvest Dances

One evening while my host family and I were sitting around pulling dried groundnuts from their roots, Lopei, the shepherd boy, began talking to me. Lopei doesn’t speak any English besides, “Yes, Annali, very good!” (He says that regardless of what I’m doing or saying.) One of the family members who does speak English began translating.

“Lopei wants to take you to a harvest dance tomorrow night.”

I was ecstatic. I am rarely allowed outside the compound at night because it is pitch black and I would most certainly become lost. Also, like anywhere, some people don’t make very good decisions at night and I could be hurt; and my host family is sensitive to my “inexperience” in Karamoja. Regardless, I readily agreed to go with Lopei to the dance and he responded, equally enthusiastically, “Very good, very good!”

The next day Lopei had very bad malaria and couldn’t take me but some of my other siblings were equally eager to show me true Karamajong culture. So we headed out around dusk and weaved our way through shepherds taking their herds home, fields of sorghum and groundnuts, and sunflower patches with drooping heads ripe with seeds.

When we were still a long way from the dancing site we could hear the crowd clapping and singing.  The songs that are sung at harvest are sung to one God (Akuj, meaning mystery) having blessed the community with food and wealth for another year. The dances are structured in a circle: the men make up the inner most circle and the women and children scatter around the outside. One or two at a time, the men will enter the inside of the circle and begin jumping, when each is tired he allows another participant to take his place. Around the outside the women and children jump whenever they feel like it. Typically the women hold hands and jump three times as high as they can, regroup and then start again. Everyone is singing and the women add high trilling screams(ululation) when they become overwhelmed with excitement.

I have absolutely no framework for a display of thanksgiving and praise performed with such abandon, but to see it danced out here in Kotido was both meaningful and sacred. As we walked home through the blackness of the night with only the stars to light our way I learned how to trill (ululate) like the Karamajong women. When Lopei heard my new talent, he said, “Yes, Annali, very good!”  

The men's dance circle

Women around the perimeter

Groundnut Harvest

Corporate life in Kotido is an immensely significant aspect of the daily routine (in fact just this morning on my way to work I was recruited to hold the back legs of a calf while a veterinarian drew blood from the cow’s tail.) So, you can imagine how much more families who have lived here for generations have developed relationships with their neighbors and friends. Much of the harvesting is taking place right now; on my way to work I ride past tarps covered in ground nuts, sorghum grains, and beans. The smells and sounds of the harvest season are unmistakable, pungent and unreserved.

Last Saturday my host family began the long processes of harvesting ground nuts. We walked to their field at the edge of Kotido where most of the family had been since 5:00 that morning. Maria showed me how to pull up the plants through the sandy soil and laughed at my amazement when the ground nuts emerging firmly attached to the roots. All morning we pulled the plants and made piles all over the field. Later Merireng, the staff driver and mechanic for the organization where Romano works,  came with the pick- up truck to gather the piles of uprooted plants to take back to the house compound.

Back at the compound we organized the plants so that all the ground nuts were stacked root-up. They dried for about one week before we took the ground nuts off the roots and prepared them for market. The whole process is dusty and tedious but the entire time family and friends were around to talk, sing, and enjoy the new mzungu (me), for whom this was all very new.  

Although the harvest of the ground nuts was fascinating, and the soreness I experienced the next few days was memorable, it was the community rallying around my host family that I will recall with the greatest clarity. Merireng said that some families have to hire people to help with their harvest; they end up losing money and sometimes the people they hire aren’t very hard workers. It’s a blessing to have a large family that can accomplish the entire process without help.

These strong relationships are also a reflection of Romano and Maria’s hospitality that they have shown to their friends and family throughout the years. Throughout the last 20 years Romano and Maria have sponsored and helped many children to attend school and to have a safe place to sleep and eat. Because of these years of helping others, boxes of fresh produce show up at my host parent’s home, and when harvests roll around there are always plenty of people to help. It’s a reminder to me that our possessions and resources are not our own, and that when we share we are blessed immeasurably more.

Gathering the groundnuts from the field

Hauling the groundnuts back to the compound

Loading the groundnuts onto the truck

Drying the groundnuts

Power Theory

Passing through the streets here in Kotido children are constantly calling after me, “Mzungu!” meaning in Swahili, “person who runs around in circles!”(It’s just the word Ugandan’s use to categorize Caucasians, I’ve taught one group of children that I pass every day to say, “Ohioan” purely for my own amusement.) Men stare at me and yell, “Madame, I loz you” and women ask for money and show their sunken chests and stomachs to illustrate how starved they have become.

Before this morning this conundrum merely had one side. Since I am a Mzungu and I can choose to continue on, acting as if I don’t understand the broken English of my Kotido community. I don’t have to turn around and acknowledge anyone’s presence unless I find them particularly interesting; or they have somehow stopped me, forcing me to pay attention to them; or if I perceive their acknowledgement of my presence is actually genuine. I have been struggling with this power difference since I arrived; I can’t change the people’s understanding of Caucasians (because sometimes I may actually live up to their standards of running around in circles); the men will always call after me because teasing is a sign of affection here; and I don’t think there’s anything I can do individually regarding the poverty that is all around Kotido.

However, this morning on the way to Diocesan offices, I encountered a group of women by the path who taught me a lesson about these power differences. They were a group of five, all wearing matching skirts and t-shirts with the UN aid logo, smiling and talking among themselves. It seemed as though they didn’t really notice me. It was refreshing to be ignored and their fellowship seemed so gregarious it brought a smile to my face. After I had walked a few step one of the women called after me,

“You are smiling.”

I replied over my shoulder, “I always smile” (this is nearly the truth, but I suppose I don’t always smile).

“You come and greet us.” The women said (my host father has explained that there’s no word for “please” in Karamajong and actually there’s not much room for what we would consider politeness in the nomadic language at all, though they have other ways of showing politeness.)

I went back to the group, shaking hands all around, exchanging names, and repeating, “ejok” (the common greeting in Karamajong).  Suddenly I felt the power level equalize. Although I was still the outsider and only acknowledged because I look different, something changed when I turned around and walked back to the group of women, something shifted. I can’t really explain how it felt other than the power structures placed around skin color seemed to disappear and instantly we were all on the same level. They still asked for money, but I’m also learning this is a sort of courtesy in conversation even for locals; I don’t give away money, so I told them I could take their picture. They happily agreed and I snapped a few photos and they passed the camera around so they could see themselves.

Acknowledgement is so powerful and I’m tired of ignoring people and their actions and responses toward me. In turning around I left my “white power” and turned toward something greater: relationship. During my ride to and from work I’m not going to be able to acknowledge everyone I pass, and this would be counterproductive. Locals don’t do that either (and I am trying to blend in, despite my color difference). But now there is another side to the power complex, instead of choosing to turn around I realize that what I should actually recognize is that people are choosing to reach out to me. When the people invite me to turn from my own agenda and rhythm and gravitate toward their desire for relationship our walls and barriers are broken and there’s room for equality and mutual friendship because all of us are pushing against our degenerated societal boundaries.   

C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity

“That is way the little decisions you and I make every day are of such infinite importance. The smallest good act today is the capture of a strategic point from which, a few months later, you may be able to go on to victories never dreamed of.”

Language Study

Almost every night after supper my host mother Maria says, “You get your paper.” This means that I should collect my precious sheet of Karamajong language practice from my bedroom for our language lessons. My host father Romano kindly began the list for me upon my arrival in Kotido; it’s been very handy both for some humorous interactions but also for practical purposes as well.

Maria and I do lots of audio practice, she says the words and phrases on the sheet and I repeat them back. Maria is a very good teacher in part because she’s so patient. However, not only is my ear poor in deciphering the subtle differences in Karamajong, but my mouth and tongue rarely cooperate to repeat the words correctly. One night when Romano was also helping in the instruction he suddenly looked at me saying, “Is there something wrong with you?” I began laughing, which really only added to the problem of pronouncing the words correctly.

So, to illustrate some of the words I’m having fun learning, and so you can impress all your friends here’s a taste of Karamajong the local language of Kotido in Northern Uganda. (I’m not a phonetic expert so please excuse my poor pronunciation guides.)  

Akine kang (A-kee-nay kahng): This is my goat

Romano has a large herd of goats, sheep and cows. Sometimes when visitors come over and are interested in who I am I just point to the goats and say “akine kang.” That’s about the extent of our conversation but they always think its hilarious and tell me I’m Karamajong.

Oitakoi (oit-ah-koy): Oh my/Expression of surprise

Whenever anything remotely dramatic happens I use this phrase. For example: when my family told me the snake that crawled through our courtyard last week was a Black Mamba I used it about five times.

Tojoto ejok (toh-joh-toh eh-jok): Goodnight/Sleep Well

Kotido is so quiet during the night and the stars are exquisitely bright. Romano has said the night is lonely in Karamoja and the insects react to the isolation by singing their sad songs. Here in Kotido goodnight has meant peace, rest, and solitude for me.   

My host mother Maria. When this picture was taken she was teaching me how to cut greens for lunch.

Family Life:

Throughout intense vocabulary lessons, learning how to hand wash my clothes, discovering new foods and ways of cooking, learning how to milk cows, and generally becoming acquainted with Kotido culture I have been stretched to see the world through a new lens. But one aspect of my host family is exactly the same as my family in the States: home is where I am energized and feel utterly accepted and loved. 

One evening I decided to sit in the courtyard outside my room and use the last bit of daylight to catch up on some much needed journaling. Since supper is eaten around 7:00 in Kotido I thought I would have plenty of time. Initially I wasn’t noticed but then my host father Romano saw me sitting on the cement, he was horrified and insisted that I allow him to get me a chair. When I explained that I enjoy sitting on the ground he looked genuinely shocked and then contended that I should at least sit on a mat. I obliged his request and retreated into my room, grabbed my mat, and spread it in the courtyard where I had been sitting.

I journaled awhile longer but Romano came back shortly with a reclining lawn chair and a battery powered lamp. By that time the kids had figured out where I was. Ana and Peter (the twins) were the first to enter. Earlier that day I had given them toy cars and they began playing with them on the mat almost immediately. Then Margret, the youngest, entered to vie for a place on the mat and to play with her car.

A few minutes later Adome and Adocto entered (they have been “adopted” by the family so they can attend school); first they were interested in what I was doing but then they began their vocabulary game with me: pointing to everything, naming it, and making me repeat it. Finally Lopera and Amol (also “adopted” for educational reasons) came in.

I surrendered my journaling when the vocabulary lesson commenced. We began singing songs from church and school, many that I already knew and many that I have now learned. We moved into traditional Karamajong songs and dances after that, the courtyard was lit by the full moon overhead and the small lamp Romano had given me. It was more than enough.

Soon Maria, my host mother, came to the courtyard door to call us for supper. We all tumbled over to the kitchen and enjoyed fresh rice, beans, greens, and soup. It was an evening to remember and reminded me to choose to “carpe diem” or to “live in the moment.” 

Loperra teaching me how to prepare pumpkin

Adocto helping out with the dishes

Amol standing next to the dish drying rack

Ana, Margret, and Peter playing with their cars

Peter holding one of the many goats around the compound

Adome holding Whitehouse (the daughter of Obama)

  

Turkana Desert

After only 24 hours in Kotido I was swept away for a short weekend vacation on Lake Turkana in northern Kenya. The trip involved a long journey from the semi-arid pasture lands of Kotido, over the Rift Valley Escarpment and then through the Turkana desert which surrounds the lake. During our journey through the desert we would frequently “make our own roads” on the smooth sand, merely watching to follow the general direction of the road. I was completely fascinated by the empty landscape and enjoyed the hot air blowing through the car as we raced through nothingness.

It was in one of these vacant spaces that our land cruiser became helplessly stuck in deep, loose sand. After our driver’s numerous attempts to drive us from the pit he asked us to get out of the vehicle while he dug it loose. While we had been driving through the desert I had noticed a few small villages (manyattas) but I had not seen any close by when our vehicle became stuck. However, before we could even pile out of the cruiser women and grandmothers were walking towards us through the desert with their children and babies.

Along with our driver the women worked on our vehicle for two hours. They would lay palm tree branches before and behind the tires, and dig out the tires after failed attempts to drive it out. Between the pushing and digging I sat under a grove of palm trees with the kids, grandmothers and babies. We used the branches, leaves, and stones to build miniature manyattas. What amazed me most about the two hours was the extravagant hospitality of the Turkana women and children. They began moving towards us before we even knew we needed help and did not stop serving us until our car had been pushed from the sand. In that final triumphant moment they all threw their arms in the air, fingers apart and palms wide open shouting, “Alakara Akuj “ meaning, “Thanks be to God.”

What a lesson in hospitality and service. As we were all piling back into the cruiser we gave them our empty water bottles, it seemed strange to be giving away our trash to women who had just served us untiringly for two hours but they were overjoyed with the gifts. They will use them to store many things such as water, honey, milk and other household items, and they can be made into toys for the children.

 During one of the waiting periods under the tree I had braided some palm branches together and wrapped it around one young girl’s wrist. Before leaving she stopped me and tied one around my wrist that she had made. It made me wonder, if people from different communities and languages can unite to push a car from the sand, how much more can be done within our own familiar communities for the greater good.  

First Impressions: Kotido

In Akron during one of my SALT orientation sessions our group was admonished to have “low expectations.” At the time I completely agreed, but now my response would be, you’ve never been to Kotido.

When I jumped out of the 14-seater air plane in Kotido I knew the community I was encountering was unlike anything I have ever experienced in my life. Immediately young shepherd boys were around the plane dressed in sukas and holding their poles and ignoring the herds grazed around the air strip. I was whisked off to my host family’s home and shown my room, but the main event for the day was a peace meeting under “the peace tree” called Ajale, meaning surrender.

During the latter part of colonial history in Uganda one man became frustrated with the oppression his people were experiencing because of the British. He dressed himself in a leopard skin and covered himself in cow dung (one of the most sincere expressions of respect) and went with his spear to the Ajale tree to speak with the British. But, before approaching the tree he laid down his spear and surrender to the British, this finally brought peace to his people and eventually the British ended the occupancy.

It was under this same tree that leaders from the Jie, Dodoth, Matheniko, Bokora, and Turkana tribes met to celebrate the eight months of peace they have experienced. Eight months is a year minus the dry season, so part of the meeting was to decide how to manage the scarce resources during the difficult dry season in a peaceful way. The afternoon was full of speeches by the elders, songs by groups of youth and much dancing. Frequently a speech would become too long and a group would spontaneously begin singing and dancing. Although I couldn’t understand the local languages of the speeches and songs the atmosphere of peace was obvious, seeing all the tribes celebrating together.      

On the ride home some Turkana women in the back of the vehicle began singing again about the celebration. They sang a song about “ekisil”, an understanding of shalom peace.         

Perspective

This week I have been staying with the MCC interim country representatives for Uganda, Ron and Sally Jo Milne. I was able to join them in attending my first Anglican Church service, a local dinner theatre featuring traditional music and food, and to the MCC office a number of days for orientation there.

One orientation session took place at the office with two of the local workers, Rose Mary and Margret. Both of these women have spent their entire lives in Uganda and their task was to divulge all their cultural secrets to me so that I would be completely “socially fluent.” Obviously they were not able to think of everything; but, I did learn some facts (these few clashed with my U.S. notions the most):

1.       I should never cross my legs, especially not in church.

2.       I should avoid direct eye contact if I want to show respect to the person I am speaking with.

3.       I should cross my arms to show that I am paying close attention to what is being said.  

I left the session feeling overwhelmed and less certain about this coming year than I ever have before.

Through all of Rose Mary and Margret’s tips I heard one key recommendation; be prepared to receive and give hospitality, sounds a bit like lessons I’ve been taught in church. If I remember, and practice all the advice I was given it will be good. But if I remember to put people before myself, or be humble enough to accept hospitality perhaps I will understand something even greater than “social fluency” in Uganda.

Orientation

My preconceived notions of SALT (Serving and Learning Together) orientation were completely blown after arriving in Akron, PA last Thursday. Following registration and supper we all gathered for giant Dutch Blitz and other mixer activities. I had assumed that the orientation would be serious and extremely formal. However, the excitement of the SALTers, IVEPers (International Volunteer Exchange Program) participants was contagious.

Every morning we gathered for worship, different groups took turns sharing music from their home country. On Tuesday the IVEPers from Africa led us along with some of the SALTers going to Africa. One song they sang translated:

There’s no one, there’s no one like Jesus

There’s no one, there’s no one like him X2

I walked all over, nothing, nothing

I searched all over, nothing, nothing

I turned all over, nothing, nothing

There’s no one, there’s no one like him.

The song reinforced to me much of what our lectures had been discussing with us in the seminars; this next year we will be at the mercy of our host families, new culture,  and new language. We will certainly have feelings of loneliness and frustration sometimes and no matter how far we walk, where we turn to and how hard we search we will be confronted with our human fallibility. However, Jesus will always be journeying with us guiding our lives no matter how abnormal it may feel. Attached is a short clip of this song from our morning worship and the daily prayer group I was a part of.

Preliminaries

Recently the MCC country representatives for Uganda, Ron and Sally Jo Milne, took a trip to Kotido and made some arrangements for my arrival. They posted a number of pictures on their blog and gave me some information about my host family as well as the bishop I will be serving with.

I will be living with Romano and Maria and their children. Several of their kids will be in boarding school in the capital city, Kampala, but there will also be some younger ones still at home. Needless to say, I'm rather excited to meet them all.

Ron and Sally also met with the bishop for the North Karamoja Diocese of the Church of Uganda, a denomination related to Anglican/Episcopal church. In the MCC service outline I received my assignment is Social Work, Chaplaincy and Church Education related. I'm looking forward to seeing what this may look like and learning more about church work.