A couple of stories from the past week.
Risky Business:
After dinner this evening my roommate and I happened to choose a boda-boda driver who clearly had very little regard for his or our safety. How do I know? Because when traffic came to a standstill and quickly backed up in front of us, our boda nearly became a new layer of paint on the van ahead of us. Our driver’s response after slamming on the brakes? “Oops…”
Let me ask you this:
Why do people party on weeknights?
Why do people invite 100 of their closest friends to party with them, just outside their populous apartment building, on a weeknight?
Why do people think that their neighbors would prefer to listen to singing rather than sleep?
Why do people think that one hundred voices singing one song over and over again, at the top of their lungs, for seven hours, is something I want to listen to on a weeknight?
My boss says I should have just joined the party. I felt more inclined to throw rocks. I didn’t, but I wanted to.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Sunrise over the river.
We are just a little excited about seeing animals.
I hope you enjoyed the photos! If you want to see more, check out this link: http://picasaweb.google.com/megangarn/Safari
"Safari" is Swahili for "Journey"
Last weekend I had the opportunity to go to Queen Elizabeth National Park and see some wild animals. The weekend was a lot of fun, especially as my first view of Uganda. I hadn't been outside of Kampala yet, so it was wonderful to see the lush, rolling hills and wide savannas in the western part of this country. It was a short trip--6 hours each way, a chimp trek, boat launching and a game drive all in about 36 hours--but it was really fun. Enjoy the photos!
The gorge where we went looking for Chimpanzees. We were unsuccessful in finding any chimps but we did mangage to find fresh chimp poo, elephant tracks, some black and white monkeys, and a hippo skull.
The foliage in the gorge jungle was so dense!
Hungry, hungry hippos
Lots of buffalo.
The gorge where we went looking for Chimpanzees. We were unsuccessful in finding any chimps but we did mangage to find fresh chimp poo, elephant tracks, some black and white monkeys, and a hippo skull.
The foliage in the gorge jungle was so dense!
Hungry, hungry hippos
Lots of buffalo.
Joyful, Joyful
I realize that I have offered very little in my blogs to give you any sense of what my job is like. Frankly, the reason is that I’m not allowed to. The sensitive nature of our work restricts me from sharing details about my life between the hours of 8 a.m. to 5 p.m., Monday through Friday. But I can tell you the following: I love my office. I work with fourteen Ugandans and one American. Among our staff we have lawyers, investigators, a pastor, social workers, groundskeepers, a driver, and accountants. We also have an amazing executive assistant.
Our office offers legal assistance and aftercare to victims of Illegal Property Seizure (IPS). These victims are widows and orphans, some of the poorest, most vulnerable people in Uganda. IPS can leave a woman homeless, starving, and unable to provide for her children. Some victims are 80 years old, while others are school-age children. Many have HIV/AIDS. My colleagues work together to bring justice to our clients, persevering in spite of hostile, stubborn perpetrators.
As the aforementioned executive assistant to the director of the office, my job is basically to help our director stay on track and as efficient as possible. Coffee fetching? Not me! Rather, I spend most of my day corresponding with other staff in our office and staff at headquarters in Washington D.C. I take on projects that prepare my boss for meetings with local people interested in our work. I keep calendars up to date. I plan parties, retreats, donor visits, and trainings. I hire transportation, hotels, and restaurants. I am half of our Human Resources department. I don’t run for coffee but I do run for cakes, cookies, and pastries. I attend dinners and special events. I am the official office photographer (and I finally understand how my mother feels taking all the photos on family vacations and never being in any). Frankly, I’m a busy girl.
While work still remains a bit of a roller coaster (what new job isn’t?), one thing is certain and steadfast: my love for my colleagues. I absolutely love our staff. They are truly my Ugandan family, and while I am just a child in this large, charismatic family, there are moments when I feel like a doting parent. Whenever they introduce themselves to visitors, I simply want to stop at each and say, “Wait! You forgot! You’re also this, and this, and this to us!” I want visitors to know how amazing each of our staff is, and it’s hard not to sing their praises to everyone who comes to visit. Whenever my colleagues talk about their work, I experience true joy in the knowledge that I get to serve with and learn from them.
Joy is something that I have experienced in intense doses in the past week. It has been intense because it has been accompanied by great sadness. Last week I had the privilege of meeting one of our clients for the first time. I am not allowed to share her story now, but I hope to be able to some day since it has had a great impact on me. But I will share some of the ways her story impacted me.
I sat in her little house in the middle of a Kampala slum last week, and I realized that although oppression, evil and sadness are real elements of her past, her life is no tragedy. Trust me, I cried as she began to tell me her story—I couldn’t help it. But eventually the pain written across her face transformed into a beautiful smile when she expressed relief, peace, and hope for her future. This woman has experienced restoration and redemption. She has received justice. As I thought about the profound dichotomy between her past and her present I started to cry again. I wasn’t sad for her. I was simply overwhelmed by the beautiful picture in front of me of God’s love and faithfulness.
Meeting clients has been the biggest thrill of my job here. It is hard to process a lot of what I have seen, heard, and experienced, but I look forward to more opportunities to get to know the people our office serves.
Our office offers legal assistance and aftercare to victims of Illegal Property Seizure (IPS). These victims are widows and orphans, some of the poorest, most vulnerable people in Uganda. IPS can leave a woman homeless, starving, and unable to provide for her children. Some victims are 80 years old, while others are school-age children. Many have HIV/AIDS. My colleagues work together to bring justice to our clients, persevering in spite of hostile, stubborn perpetrators.
As the aforementioned executive assistant to the director of the office, my job is basically to help our director stay on track and as efficient as possible. Coffee fetching? Not me! Rather, I spend most of my day corresponding with other staff in our office and staff at headquarters in Washington D.C. I take on projects that prepare my boss for meetings with local people interested in our work. I keep calendars up to date. I plan parties, retreats, donor visits, and trainings. I hire transportation, hotels, and restaurants. I am half of our Human Resources department. I don’t run for coffee but I do run for cakes, cookies, and pastries. I attend dinners and special events. I am the official office photographer (and I finally understand how my mother feels taking all the photos on family vacations and never being in any). Frankly, I’m a busy girl.
While work still remains a bit of a roller coaster (what new job isn’t?), one thing is certain and steadfast: my love for my colleagues. I absolutely love our staff. They are truly my Ugandan family, and while I am just a child in this large, charismatic family, there are moments when I feel like a doting parent. Whenever they introduce themselves to visitors, I simply want to stop at each and say, “Wait! You forgot! You’re also this, and this, and this to us!” I want visitors to know how amazing each of our staff is, and it’s hard not to sing their praises to everyone who comes to visit. Whenever my colleagues talk about their work, I experience true joy in the knowledge that I get to serve with and learn from them.
Joy is something that I have experienced in intense doses in the past week. It has been intense because it has been accompanied by great sadness. Last week I had the privilege of meeting one of our clients for the first time. I am not allowed to share her story now, but I hope to be able to some day since it has had a great impact on me. But I will share some of the ways her story impacted me.
I sat in her little house in the middle of a Kampala slum last week, and I realized that although oppression, evil and sadness are real elements of her past, her life is no tragedy. Trust me, I cried as she began to tell me her story—I couldn’t help it. But eventually the pain written across her face transformed into a beautiful smile when she expressed relief, peace, and hope for her future. This woman has experienced restoration and redemption. She has received justice. As I thought about the profound dichotomy between her past and her present I started to cry again. I wasn’t sad for her. I was simply overwhelmed by the beautiful picture in front of me of God’s love and faithfulness.
Meeting clients has been the biggest thrill of my job here. It is hard to process a lot of what I have seen, heard, and experienced, but I look forward to more opportunities to get to know the people our office serves.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Thoughts
I’m sorry it’s been so long since I’ve written, but I honestly don’t feel like I have much to say. This week was just more of the same; work, hanging with friends, dodging traffic as if my life depends on it (actually, it does), and learning my way around this very chaotic town. Having little to say, here’s my warning: this is going to be a very random selection of thoughts and experiences from the past few days, so those requiring coherent transitions should probably stop reading now. For those daring enough to continue reading, I will try to prepare you for illogical topic shifts.
On Wednesday I went downtown seeking a specific printing store where I could get some manuals printed for the office. Luckily one of my colleagues helped me navigate my way through the crowds of people, the “jam” (traffic), and the little roads that all resemble one another (according to my not-so-expert opinion). We successfully made it to the printer, dropped off the project, and I went back to work. But the next day I had to find the place again all by myself. While I was successful in my endeavor, I have decided that downtown Kampala would be a perfect location for an Amazing Race reality TV show challenge. Contestants should have to travel to Entebbe airport, and from there find their way to some monument in Kampala (to be determined later). At this point they face a road block: two challenges, and they must complete one. One of these choices is to find their way to said local printer located in what appears to be the printing district of town. Once the contestants have successfully navigated the narrow, dirty, over-populated streets and found the unassuming sign for their destination, they must search the dark, hot, sticky printing factory for a single paper with the Amazing Race logo on it. Did I mention that there are hundreds of floor-to-ceiling piles of paper in this many-roomed and crowded shop?
As I was walking downtown on Thursday, I also had the opportunity to take a look around and notice the way thousands of people milled from place to place, bargained with street vendors, greeted friends and acquaintances as they passed, and avoided boda-boda and matatu (taxi) drivers who were begging to be employed. While these ordinary sounds and sights made me smile, I couldn’t help but be troubled by something happening in the midst of it all. One image that refuses to erase itself from my mind is that of a child, probably five years old (but more the size of a three-year-old), sitting on a small piece of cloth on the sidewalk. While people sitting and selling things on the sidewalk is normal here, what startled me was that this child’s limbs were severely disfigured. He had no legs below the knees, and no hands. At the end of one arm was a single finger which he held up, pleading with passers-by to put money in the cup between his thighs. He was all alone. There was no parent that I could see. He had no control over his situation. I have heard that parents here will sit their children, even infants just old enough to sit up, on the ground and walk away, leaving their child to the mercy of others. I know that these children’s parents might not be far away; just out of my sight. But who does this? Who can just plop their little baby or disabled child down on the pavement and seemingly abandon them, just for money? I don’t understand this. Maybe I never will. And maybe I can’t ever understand it. I have never been poor, starving, or as desperate as many of the people around me are. So how do I respond? What do I do with sights like these? I don’t know that I’ll ever have a good answer to these questions, and I have a feeling that in the next 11 months I will face many more situations which are hard for me to grasp. I have a lot to learn about the world and my place in it.
It’s a weird shift to make, but I wanted to express my joy at getting to experience different churches. This morning I went to an Anglican, Church of Uganda church called All Saints Cathedral. This week I was the only white person in the room (not even a white friend or coworker with me), and there had to be 600 people in that church. As I was sitting on the wooden pew, singing hymns I know from home, I was overcome by joy and thankfulness. I found myself praising God that I am in a country where I can freely worship Him. I do not have to fear persecution here or hide my faith from the government. This luxury is not experienced by people all over the world. It is such a blessing to know that I can go to one of many churches here and be surrounded by brothers and sisters in Christ. I am so thankful!
Ok, big topic switch ahead. In all my running history, I have never been chased by animal or human. This weekend, I was chased twice. Not by a dog, not by guys, but by women. The first time, I was running up a hill when a woman crossed to my side of the street, just a few paces behind me. The she did what I thought, until then, unthinkable. Wearing a long skirt and flip-flips, she starting running behind me. I had my I-Pod on and figured she’d run a few steps and then stop. No, she kept up with me for probably 30 seconds. Finally she stopped when she came upon a group of people watching this spectacle, and they all laughed. As I turned around I flashed her a confused smile and continued on. 24 hours later, what I thought was a completely random experience, happened again. I was just starting my run, down the hill, when three women who were crossing to my side of the street all started running behind me. They only lasted about 10 seconds, but still—it was weird. Who knew? Maybe I should start a running club. Required apparel: long skirts and flip flips.
Love to you all! Have a wonderful week!
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Potholes: Windows into Kampala
There seem to be potholes all over this city and they characterize each neighborhood. I have seen a neighborhood's social status plagued by the depth and frequency of its potholes. But potholes have also shown me that joy can be experienced in spite of inconvenience. Yesterday, as I walked across the property of my new apartment complex, I watched two little boys around three years old splash and dig their chubby little hands into the grime of a puddle that had formed in none other than a deep pothole. The boys were not worried about the hole's potential damage to their parents' car; they simply thrived on the thrill of splashing in the puddle.
Potholes have also taught me something about Ugandans' values and views of heaven. Last night friends of mine and I were discussing the innumerable potholes left unfilled to the detriment of bodas, taxis and pedestrians alike. Then one of my friends brought up a Kampala preacher, who, speaking on the subject of heaven, said, “In heaven, there are no potholes!!!” to the great excitement and cheering of his congregation. Ugandans aren’t asking for streets of gold in heaven, they’re just asking for smooth asphalt.
I have been here for three and a half weeks now, and I think I am slowly getting used to life in Uganda (potholes and all). I even moved into my own apartment on Monday, which was a cultural experience in and of itself as I was basically hit over the head with the concept of “Ugandan time, or “it’ll-happen-when-I-feel-like-making-the-effort time.” Kristen and I arrived at our apartment on Monday with all of our luggage only to discover that our landlords had not only not moved out, all of their stuff was still in the house, the promised painters had yet to arrive (and never actually did), a plumber had been called, and the house was a mess. So we dumped our stuff and headed into the city seeking mosquito nets, sheets, and a decent pillow. When we came back at 5 p.m. most of our landlords’ things had been removed but the painter never came, the plumber was pushed until the next day, and they “forgot” to mop up the mud they and their friends and mucked through the apartment all day long. But boy was it sweet to finally lie in my new bed, under a new mosquito net, on a new pillow and sheets. It was good to be home.
As you can see, I am still getting situated in Kampala. There is a lot to get used to here, not only in living here but working here. Now that I’m in my third week of doing my job all by myself (anyone else hear a chorus of “I’m a big girl now”?), I am feeling more confident at work. But this job has its frustrations. Nothing is easily accomplished. Calling a recruitment candidate to tell him/her that we have received his/her application for employment seems easy enough, but there’s the culturally gruff “hello?” to get past, the accent barrier to overcome by repeating myself and speaking very slowly (Ihn-tur-nah-shu-nal Jus-tis Mish-un), and making sure that the many “sure’s” and “yes’s” coming through the receiver actually mean the listener understand me and isn’t just telling me what I want to hear. And this is just a confirmation call; now imagine trying to plan a party or a prayer retreat….Work here simply has ten more steps and takes ten times longer than in the US. If I don’t come back to the States with more patience, please ask me what I did learn while in Kampala.
Last night was one of the first indications of my settling into a state of normalcy. Soon after I came home from work, Kristen and I were invited by our friend Meredith to meet her for dinner on the other side of town, in Old Kampala (identifiable by deeper potholes). So Kristen and I hopped on a boda-boda and headed downtown. (One unique factor was riding the boda on the sidewalk for the first time.) We safely reached our destination, a small restaurant that serves a variety of cuisines seemingly mixed together—American, Italian, Ugandan, and Indian. I had my first Tilapia, the fish found in Lake Victoria. It was covered in marinara sauce, exemplifying the aforementioned “mix.” But aside from the new food and wild boda ride, last night felt normal. As afternoon settled into dusk (and the dust of the road just settled) we sat on the outdoor patio, watching people pass in the street. It felt so natural to sit with these two friends, exchanging stories and observing Kampala around us. I never had to remind myself that I was in Uganda—I just felt right about being with my friends at dinner downtown. The fact that all of this happened in Uganda is almost irrelevant; that’s how normal it was.
Potholes have also taught me something about Ugandans' values and views of heaven. Last night friends of mine and I were discussing the innumerable potholes left unfilled to the detriment of bodas, taxis and pedestrians alike. Then one of my friends brought up a Kampala preacher, who, speaking on the subject of heaven, said, “In heaven, there are no potholes!!!” to the great excitement and cheering of his congregation. Ugandans aren’t asking for streets of gold in heaven, they’re just asking for smooth asphalt.
I have been here for three and a half weeks now, and I think I am slowly getting used to life in Uganda (potholes and all). I even moved into my own apartment on Monday, which was a cultural experience in and of itself as I was basically hit over the head with the concept of “Ugandan time, or “it’ll-happen-when-I-feel-like-making-the-effort time.” Kristen and I arrived at our apartment on Monday with all of our luggage only to discover that our landlords had not only not moved out, all of their stuff was still in the house, the promised painters had yet to arrive (and never actually did), a plumber had been called, and the house was a mess. So we dumped our stuff and headed into the city seeking mosquito nets, sheets, and a decent pillow. When we came back at 5 p.m. most of our landlords’ things had been removed but the painter never came, the plumber was pushed until the next day, and they “forgot” to mop up the mud they and their friends and mucked through the apartment all day long. But boy was it sweet to finally lie in my new bed, under a new mosquito net, on a new pillow and sheets. It was good to be home.
As you can see, I am still getting situated in Kampala. There is a lot to get used to here, not only in living here but working here. Now that I’m in my third week of doing my job all by myself (anyone else hear a chorus of “I’m a big girl now”?), I am feeling more confident at work. But this job has its frustrations. Nothing is easily accomplished. Calling a recruitment candidate to tell him/her that we have received his/her application for employment seems easy enough, but there’s the culturally gruff “hello?” to get past, the accent barrier to overcome by repeating myself and speaking very slowly (Ihn-tur-nah-shu-nal Jus-tis Mish-un), and making sure that the many “sure’s” and “yes’s” coming through the receiver actually mean the listener understand me and isn’t just telling me what I want to hear. And this is just a confirmation call; now imagine trying to plan a party or a prayer retreat….Work here simply has ten more steps and takes ten times longer than in the US. If I don’t come back to the States with more patience, please ask me what I did learn while in Kampala.
Last night was one of the first indications of my settling into a state of normalcy. Soon after I came home from work, Kristen and I were invited by our friend Meredith to meet her for dinner on the other side of town, in Old Kampala (identifiable by deeper potholes). So Kristen and I hopped on a boda-boda and headed downtown. (One unique factor was riding the boda on the sidewalk for the first time.) We safely reached our destination, a small restaurant that serves a variety of cuisines seemingly mixed together—American, Italian, Ugandan, and Indian. I had my first Tilapia, the fish found in Lake Victoria. It was covered in marinara sauce, exemplifying the aforementioned “mix.” But aside from the new food and wild boda ride, last night felt normal. As afternoon settled into dusk (and the dust of the road just settled) we sat on the outdoor patio, watching people pass in the street. It felt so natural to sit with these two friends, exchanging stories and observing Kampala around us. I never had to remind myself that I was in Uganda—I just felt right about being with my friends at dinner downtown. The fact that all of this happened in Uganda is almost irrelevant; that’s how normal it was.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Close Encounters
This week I had a couple of my favorite cultural experiences thus far, and would love to share them with you all.
In the role of executive assistant to the director of the office in which I work, one of the “hats” I wear is that of party-planning extraordinaire. On Wednesday I threw my first two parties, one right after the other. The first was a goodbye lunch for our legal fellow who is leaving tomorrow after serving in our office for a year. The second party was held after the goodbye party, and was in celebration of a very important (but confidential) event in our office. What made this party so wonderful had nothing to do with my planning; it was the presence of an elderly client and her daughter. The staff went around and shared memories of the past year, praising God for His faithfulness in the case of this elderly widow. Then the client’s daughter told her mother’s story and thanked our staff for their dedication to her mother’s case. After an emotional hour in which I learned all about this courageous woman and the incredible work of God, I couldn’t have imagined things would get any better. But when everyone was done sharing, the group got up to sing praise songs—and dance. There in the little reception area of our office all 19 of us crammed together, sang at the top of our lungs, raised our hands in their air, and danced about. I hope I never forget the image I have of our little client trying to jump up and down with us as she praised the Lord. It was such a great experience of how Ugandans worship, and I learned that I can literally use my whole body to praise God.
Another favorite experience this weekend was church. I went with my boss, Ally, to Kampala Pentecostal Church (KPC). It was held outdoors under a tent and there had to be seven or eight hundred people in attendance, which, according to Ally, is a small group. Usually the tent is packed with 12 or more to a pew, and we comfortably sat no more than eight. The entire congregation was Ugandan, and while I searched for more white faces aside from mine and Ally’s, I saw none and relished in the thought that I was experiencing a real, fully Ugandan church. The church service was upbeat and exciting with an energetic choir and passionate preacher. But my favorite part had to be the three little kids sitting next to me. The eldest girl, who I took to be around six years old, originally sat down about 2-3 feet away from me, but within twenty minutes was sitting directly next to me, arm to arm. I could not help but look at her and smile, which she quickly returned with a big grin (minus her top two front teeth). I held out my hand to shake hers, which she gladly took, and I held it just for a moment. Over the next forty minutes we exchanged many smiles and giggles. She quickly became more daring, and after a little while touched my very pale arm and pointed to my freckles, looked up at me, and in her smiling expression communicated a wondering at what those weird dots were on my arms. It was absolutely adorable, and I just loved the silent exchanges we had throughout that hour of church.
Outside of these great cultural encounters I had this week, I also enjoyed time within the expatriate community. As time passes I am slowly getting more comfortable and familiar with the people in Kristen’s circle. On Thursday we enjoyed a home-cooked meal at the home of a new friend, followed by indulgence in frozen yogurt from the nearby pizza stand. Friday night was spent walking forty minutes to the aforementioned pizza stand (for pizza this time), devouring the pizza in the comfort of our “home” at the guesthouse, and watching none other than the girliest movie ever, Titanic. It was really fun. And Saturday I hung out with more friends at a Mennonite Potluck (not many Mennonites actually in attendance…don’t ask about the name—I don’t know), where I met more expats living in the area. And today after church I spent more time getting to know my boss on a more personal level, which I loved.
Tomorrow I am moving into a new apartment, which I am thrilled about. I took a day off work to move and go shopping for essentials like sheets, a mosquito net, and hand soap, among many other necessities. It will be so great to have my own place, and this is my first apartment, so I’m stoked to decorate!
Some of you may be wondering if life here in Uganda is really as peachy as many of my stories may indicate. If you’ve been wondering this, the honest answer is no. It is hard to transition into a new job in a new country. Everything I do at work seems to take ten times longer simply because I do not know my way around town or the cultural expectations for all that I do. And in trying to live here, I have obviously had to learn my way around a new city while unintentionally breaking many codes of conduct of which I am unaware. And I have never said the words, “single, white female” to myself more in my life. While these three words are a part of my identity in America, I do not feel they define me as strongly as they do here. These words have never made me feel as vulnerable as they do here. It’s not that I’m in constant danger of being attacked just because of these aspects of my identity, because I’m not. It’s just that these three characteristics make me stand so far out from the people around me that I am becoming very aware of them. The fact that I am a single, white female in a patriarchal, black society doesn’t scare me, it’s just a new phenomenon that has me thinking more about race and community than I’ve ever thought before. I think it will be a great lesson somehow, and I look forward to thinking and communicating more with people here about these issues. Anyway, that’s a bit of a tangent from the stories above, but I thought I’d share it with you.
Have a wonderful week, and keep in touch! I’d love to hear from you via e-mail, Skype, or carrier-pigeon! Blessings!
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