Forward Motion

The last week and a half has brought experiences more than most weeks have the capacity to offer. Being back in Gulu is wonderful; I almost have the sensation that I've returned 'home,' though with much emphasis on the word almost. Walking to and from lecture this week brought so many familiar sites and faces--especially with the school I pass. Whether it's the gifts of biscuits and and bottled water I sometimes bring or the oddity that my skin color provides, the kids I see most every morning are always excited to see me. It's nice to be recognized, even if only as the Muzungu who stays in Pece town.

Last Wednesday, the group traveled north to learn about the Atiak Massacre that occurred on April 20th, 1995. The trip took only three hours, however the extended dry season in Uganda makes the already poor roads almost unbearable. To add to the discomfort, one of our two vans broke down and our group of 17 all crammed into one van. Upon reaching the site, we viewed a large stone monument in dedication to those who were killed and met with the district commissioner for the sub county of Atiak. He was open and honest about the events that took place, and hearing him speak from personal experience is something I can't really explain right now. We heard from three other men and the stories they shared;; I wouldn't know how to talk about what we learned or felt after leaving. All of the men who spoke emphasized the importance of moving forward. The drive home, though cramped, was quiet and uneventful.

We visited Sipi Falls on Tuesday, traveling to Mbale on Monday and returning back to Gulu Wednesday evening. Although the drive was long, seven hours from Gulu to Mbale, the experience was well worth the trip. Geographically, Mbale is South East of Gulu--near the border between Uganda and Kenya. The region is so different from Gulu. Developmentally, Mbale far surpasses anything I've seen in Uganda; the roads were paved and organized, streets were well lit, trash (though still very much present) seemed to be less heavily present everywhere we went. The hotel we stayed in even had running water. The topography was new also, mountainous and hilly with lots of greenery and vegetation. Sipi Falls was breathtaking. I'm looking for words and they just fail to communicate the true beauty of what I saw. Vibrant and bright and wonderful; it's like hearing the climax of symphony playing in C major and feeling so warm and content that everything else falls away and all that's left is the sound. It was amazing to see. When we got to the top, it began to rain and we sat in a stone structure waiting for it to pass. It's an incredible feeling: to be surrounded by something so massive. The world can be a really beautiful place; it's nice to be a part of it all, sometimes.

The past few days have been harder to get through and I don't know that I can really express why. I'm learning so much and lately, it's been hard to contain all the emotion that comes with all that knowing. Today, we visited a former camp for those Ugandans displaced during the conflict. Over 90 percent of Northern Uganda was internally displaced during the reign of the LRA in Uganda; at current, only 30 percent are still waiting to be relocated. At the height of the war, more than 7,000 people lived in the location we saw today. Now, there are not more than 300. We drove for 3 hours and upon exiting the van, the first thing I noticed was the smell. The smell of human waste mingled with trash and burning plastic; the smell of sickness and the smell of the unclean. I thought to myself, 'but I thought this was a former IDP camp; the conflict has ended--why would people remain in a place with this smell?' More than that, I struggled to imagine how such a smell could even develop--exist at all. But I've read the books and I've heard the lectures. I know many don't have that option: those who've spent decades away from their village and have no land rights; those who were born in the camps at the start of the war and have no village to return to; those who are orphaned and widowed; those who were known offenders within the LRA and are exiled from their home communities; and finally--those who have become so used to life within the camp that they simply do not wish to transition back to their own villages. This last category of individuals brings me the most unease. During the war, many NGO's and aid organizations flooded camps with assistance. Food was provided and temporary structures were setup for emergency health. As time passed and the conflict subsided, these organizations left and the amount of aid distributed was greatly reduced. It was time for people to move forward. People, however, have become dependent on aid. For so many years, people were robbed of a self-sustaining way of life. They woke up, waited for aid, cooked, sat idle, and waited for peace. Throughout this time, the camps were continually raided by the LRA. Men were defenseless to protect their families. Children were abducted by the hundreds. People died everyday. And now, those who are left operate in sort of a half existence. The land is destroyed, unsuitable for farming. Water is depleted. Systems of sanitation are still non existent. Children are everywhere. But still the people sit, seemingly waiting for something. Alcoholism developed during wartime and of the 8 men we spoke with on our visit only two were sober. It's a difficult thing to witness: men stumbling around drunk before 11AM while swarms of half-clothed children roam with nothing to occupy their time. "School fees are too expensive," they all say. But what of the alcohol you drink--does that not cost money? Sadness and anger and the absence of a way in which to make it all fit together in my head. It's not the fault of these men alone. It's not the fault of the people. And it's not all together wrong that so much aid was provided or that the aid is no longer provided. I understand these things on a logical level. I do. Sometimes, no matter how much I understand something in my head I can't seem to control the emotions these things evoke; there's a disconnect I can't quite mend.

I'm learning so much and I'm grateful for this experience. This week marks the end of our homestay in Gulu and on Sunday the students are all putting on a farewell party for the families who have welcomed us so warmly. I'm looking forward to the party, but will be sad to leave my families home. Next week is also the half way point for this semester; slowly but surely May 23rd is coming closer. Time really is moving forward.

Best wishes to everyone at home and many thanks for taking the time to read about my trip.

All my love.