Here and Now

Tin ceng Abic: It is Friday today. My third full week in Uganda is about to come to an end. When I think of everything I’ve done here—remember each day and all of the many experiences packed so full within each of them—it feels like I’ve been here for months. It’s both exciting and somewhat overwhelming to look ahead and see almost three times this many days left to experience. I haven’t quite reached the point where time escapes me; I feel everyday and I hope this aspect of my adjustment changes soon.

Living with my host family is becoming much more routine and I am enjoying the time I spend in my new home. I learn so much about this country, its history, and the culture of its people even in the most simplistic interactions. Each night when food is prepared, there is always enough for many. Here, anyone who enters the home is offered food. Everyone eats—always. As visitors are frequent in my home, I have seen this occur many times. I asked Pamela if anyone ever declines; if she ever regrets having to feed so many people on such a regular basis. She explained to me that this is something embedded within Acholi culture—the welcoming of people through food and hospitality. The moment any individual enters a household, they become part of the family. She explained that even during the conflict, when some still had homes and means to host guests, people worked to uphold this aspect of Acholi culture. Given the large number of displaced people from various parts of Uganda as well as neighboring countries involved in war, people were stretched very, very thin. In lectures, we learn a considerable amount on legislation and organizations working on behalf of refugees and internally displaced people, but I can’t recall much attention paid to those communities and cities most involved with their hosting. Almost all of the camps have been closed and a large portion of people have been resettled; but what of all those families who went without food enough to feed their own families in order to maintain the Acholi culture by feeding all who enter their homes? There are so, so, many problems facing these people; every single family has a story to tell. I feel like I lose some part of myself with every tragedy I learn about (and those stories that have been shared with me are mostly all ones I consider tragic), but the people here speak more of what remains; the Acholi culture and the Acholi people. It’s this aspect—the role of identity and culture within the conflict Northern Uganda—that I think I will focus much of my research on for my Independent Study Project. The culture here is so established and, at least for the area of Gulu that I have spent most of my time, uniform. The contrast from what I have experienced in the U.S. is incredible. I almost feel like our only defined culture is that of having many different cultures; that of behaving in whichever way an individual feels most fits their own beliefs and achieves acceptance from whichever group they wish to fit within. And maybe in that way, the Acholi culture operates similarly, save the fact that everyone seems to uphold those behaviors supported by the same, very distinct and defined culture. I’m looking forward to exploring more in depth what being an Acholi means to the people who comprise my new home and community.

This week brought election results as well as a new series of elections for parliamentary positions and the mayoral elections in Kampala. Museveni won; my heart broke for these people. The corruption was blatant and here in the North, the people are not ready for violence. Votes were bought for sums equaling less than five American dollars. Chickens, soap, and shillings in amounts barely enough to sustain families for days have dictated who will lead Uganda’s government for the next five years. In the South, particularly in Kampala, people were not so quick to turn a blind eye. Mayoral elections begun on Tuesday, just two days after the presidential election results were announced. By 8AM, reports of stuffed ballot boxes, bought votes and unregistered voters being allowed to vote (all in favor of the NRM candidates) were already circulating through word of mouth and online forums. The riots started shortly thereafter and by 12 o’clock noon the elections were cancelled until further notice. Both the national police and the national army were in high presence throughout Kampala—as well as in Gulu—and as such most demonstrations were ended before they could gain mass. Gulu remained quiet, though it was apparent people were worried. It’s difficult to process the varying responses. Kampala has so many more resources and opportunities than Gulu and other, smaller cities. These resources gain them access to education and through education they better understand the injustices committed—have a broader world view and awareness of democracy as practiced elsewhere in the world. And in this way their reaction makes sense. But the people of Gulu have so much more to gain from a just government. They need roads, water, sanitation systems, schools, and a consistent power source. These are the people whose voices need to be heard the most; yet these are the voices that remain silent. It makes sense and doesn’t make sense at the same time. I don’t know. It’s not even clear in my own mind. I hope it’s somewhat clear what I’m trying to convey.

And I think this is enough for one post. I will work on being more uplifting in my future writings. I really am happy and enjoying this experience; promise. This is just what’s on my mind currently. I am looking forward to a weekend off from lectures, and I am also excited to spend next week in Kitgum, Uganda with a homestay family who lives there. We move on Monday and will return to Gulu next Sunday. I will miss Pamela and my aunts very much, but I look forward to seeing yet another part of this country. I don't know that I'll have internet access while I am there, however I will keep in touch when I can.

Missing everyone more than I can put down in words.

Thanks for reading and I apologize for the all over the place-ness.