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.