READY TO RISE AGAIN

When I first arrived, every day was super overwhelming. Don't get me wrong, some days are still pretty overwhelming but not all of them. I find I'm getting used to life here, sort of. My friend Maria and I went to a small village outside of Mbale for a weekend. I met this man named Rolex (kind of a funny name, huh) when he was helping me get my camera from customs a couple of months back and he invited me out for a visit. He and his wife Sephora are building a church, have started a parish youth program and are looking for help. I'm not sure if I'll be able to help him in any way but when I told Rolex that, he said that just being there would give the children hope and let them know people cared. Maria just came in from Sweden and I asked her if she wanted to join me.

The village is deep and very rural. The people were incredibly friendly, the children sang for hours on end and both of us were asked to speak at their Sunday church service. I went running through the back roads and heard this beautiful music...I looked around and found an old man sitting in front of his hut, strumming a little box instrument and humming along. It was so beautiful and for a brief moment, I experienced the Africa of my dreams.

Anywho, back to my initial point. I wasn't overwhelmed (in a negative way) by the experience. It was hardcore, poverty everywhere, everybody wanting something from you, a thousand muzungu shouts...but I didn't just see that. My friend Maria was experiencing this stuff for the first time and I was able to see how I must've been when I first arrived. I was also able to offer her the words I wanted to hear. She was sad, depressed, feeling bad that she couldn't solve their problems. I found myself saying things like, 'if all we can do is play games with the kids all weekend, it'll be enough' and 'yes, they want us to help but they're not pinning all their hopes on us.' It was such an interesting time. I could see the happiness of the people, despite their poverty. I could feel that they did appreciate us for being there and I even had the chance to read the prayer of Saint Francis to a group of people who have never heard of the man. Now, I do have hopes that when I get back I will be able to find a church in the States that wants to partner with the Lyama parish but I'm also starting to understand that if I can't, it's okay too. I think I am beginning to trust that things will happen as they will, that I don't have to move mountains on my own-that perhaps there are greater powers at work on the behalf of these people. That doesn't mean I will let it stop bothering me or stop trying to create change in my world -it just means that I'm beginning to see my place in the world.

Life is pretty packed here. So many things happen in one day that I want to share with people. A lizard crawled on my bed. Haven't seen any roaches but I have a slug problem, gross. I haven't been sick in over a month-fingers crossed I didn't just jinx myself. I'm still really scared about lots of random things. Can't get the chigger/jigger out of my toe, Michelle is going to help. Went back to the prison, taught the ladies how to make cinndazi ( I love mandazi so much that I came up with a cinnamon version and taught it to Tespista and the prison ladies in hopes that they might make some money off the idea). I'm really enjoying my work with Bead for Life, feel like I'm doing something valuable with my time and have the beginnings of a killer bead collection. There is a toilet seat on top of my latrine hole, so I don't have to crouch down when I go to the loo. JIM Centre has built a new fence and a new room with some of the money that you donated. I have officially gained weight and I am still Americanized enough to hate it when Ugandans point it out (they love it and feel it's a compliment). My friend Larry went back to the States and sold me his camera before he left, such a good man. The neighborhood kids have gotten pretty used to me and sit on my lap, hang out at my place and mock me when I'm doing yoga. And they let me hug them whenever I want. My brother just bought his ticket to meet me in August, we're going on safari. Some days I miss home so much it physically hurts, other moments I can't imagine how I'll ever leave.

Africa remains the same, dusty, dirty, depressing, beautiful, hopeful, full of potential. It's me that has changed.

P.S. For the sake of journalistic integrity...In case you got the impression from this entry that I was a happy little spirit, always full of joy and positive energy, only seeing the good...I'm not. I think I have two spirits in me, one positive beautiful creature and one poisonous negative beast-I'm just choosing to feed one over the other. Today.

DUSTING OFF MY PANTS
Last blog, I wrote that Africa keeps me on my toes, this last week it knocked me flat on my butt. I was staying in Kampala last Monday night, planning on buying a ticket to Tanzania the next day. I was walking to a friend's house for dinner and was mugged. It was as if they knew that this was the day that I was carrying my camera, all the pictures I've taken, my ipod, etc... (I'd just come from the computer lab where I was trying to download pictures)-they got it all but I think they took something else that was of greater value. They took a sense of security that I have had all my life. I've been almost stupidly bold at points, trusting that I wouldn't be harmed. Now I look over my shoulder everywhere I go, am afraid to walk to my latrine at night, jump when people touch me and look at every male face here and wonder what malice they have in store for me. I have this bump on my head from the incident that won't seem to go away and every time I touch it, tears well up in my eyes as I wonder what kind of human would do this to me. But the truth is, it wasn't personal. Logic tells me that this could've happened in Sacramento or anywhere else I've lived. My heart knows that the best way to heal is to send love and forgiveness to the man that mugged me. My brain knows that material possessions can be replaced and I'm okay. I know that much worse things happen to people all the time. But today, I just want to sit on my mum's couch, eating tomato soup and toast and feel safe. Because I don't feel safe anymore and I don't know if I can get that back.

My friend Larry came out and got me after it happened, called the police, helped me do all the necessary things. Then all the Peace Corps girls stepped in, took me home , made me laugh, gave me Reeses Peanut Butter Cup Easter eggs. A policeman came to take my statement, took one look at the list of things robbed and asked for a bribe to help him in his 'investigations.' Should I write these things? The next morning I went to the American Embassy, reported what happened. The next day the head of security from the Embassy picked me up ,took me to the Police Station, had them write a report. Then he (Fred-the best man in Uganda) took me to Immigration and somehow I walked out with my passport and a special pass to stay in Uganda for 3 more months.

It took a week to sort everything out and at every step there was a friend or someone kind to help me out. I went back to Kiyunga and asked Madam Niger (who I think I'm starting to soften towards) if she had an extra key to my room. She started to respond, then started screaming and jumped out of her house into the courtyard. As we were talking a Black Mamba snake had wiggled it's way in front of her door. Everyone came running and pounded the snake to death with rocks. This all sounds kind of intense because IT WAS. But the weirdest thing is...it's not a six-month stint for the people who live here-Uganda is their life. As I waited at the embassy I heard them rejecting visa requests to hopeful Ugandans. They don't get to go home in August.

Sometimes it's hard to like being here, hard to feel kindly towards the people here. I wonder if a better person than I, would do it better, have a bigger heart...not feel sorry for themselves.

All of that said, this is the experience I wanted-not the mugging exactly but a taste of the world beyond my own. And this is all a part of it I think. I don't want to live a constantly safe, comfortable existence and always wonder how the other half live. But I think there are going to be inherent risks in taking chances. So the question is...am I still willing to take chances? Still willing to be daring and bold? And if my mind says yes, will my heart catch up and agree with it?

I went back to work for Bead for Life this week and feel so grateful to have work to do. We went to the Acholi quarter yesterday (the slums of Kampala) and exchanged school books, pens and pencils for beads. One of the ladies gave me a beautiful green necklace I admired. As I sorted pens into bundles of 12, I couldn't help but think-this isn't exactly saving lives. But then I looked at the women, heard them laughing and realized that these woman are now earning a living wage, supporting their families, doing work they can feel proud of. I keep wanting to do something big here, but maybe it truly is the little things, like counting pens into bundles of twelve, that make this worthwhile. That make being here okay.

So Africa knocked me on my butt. But I'm still here and it feels good to know that I can get up, dust off my pants and keep on going.