Violence, Beauty and my Threads of Hope...

On February 6, after delaying her ticket twice, Autumn finally left Acholi-land to return to the states. We miss her so much!!! My ever-present companion of the past five months is gone. Our Acholi friends, Abby and I miss her a lot. One of our friends says that when he thinks of her, he worries he is getting “heart disease” because of his pain over her absence. I often feel similarly.

On February 14, Abby’s mom arrived for a weeklong visit; it was so fun to get to show Gulu to her! Then, on February 23, Liza and Nathan, two of my good friends from Seattle came to visit. Liza and Nathan helped me to feel again some of what I have become numb to over recent months. I re-encountered things and places that came alive to me again. Seeing the mutual affinity between our Acholi friends and Liza and Nathan made me love our friends even more. I am so grateful for Liza and Nathan being here with us. Just knowing that two of my friends from home know the texture of life here, have experienced the laughter of my friends, know the taste, the feel, the smells…is helping to prepare me to return home. It was so relieving to have Liza and Nate here encouraging us to collapse and to let them be strong for us.



Having Nathan here with us, a man who is so tender, loving and strong, made the injustices (which are largely enacted by men) that much more glaring and confusing. I am torn by the coexistent beauty and injustice in this culture. There are people I care about deeply here; there is Okumu Robert who, in his own way, does his best to subvert male power. I have seen him offer his wife a seat in the presence of men, even though the culture requires her to “sit properly” on the floor. There is Ochira Andrew who, though he has two wives and supports domestic violence as a means by which to “love African women”, has ears to hear my thoughts and beliefs counter to his. One day he even asked Autumn and I for advice on how he can be a better husband. There is Auntie Doreen, who turned to me after we spent four hours preparing a meal together in a hot hut and said, “See, women are the givers and sustainers of life. One way we do this is by preparing food.”

I see the beauty and some of the glory of womanhood. I also see the ways in which the beauty is marred, the ways power is used to subdue and destroy.



In February, I was with my friend Mary as she was in labor for hours. Throughout the day, about twenty different women labored in and out of the dank ward. I saw the blood, I heard the screams, I felt the strong clutch of her hand on my waist, I sensed the intent determination, the smell of the most raw human experience one can possibly imagine. Minutes after being pushed out, Abby and I stood over baby Rubangkene Joshua, marveling that this day was the first of many he will hopefully and tenuously live. We wondered at what his life would hold, we prayed for the protection of his heart, knowing that this world he is entering is an unkind one. That very night, I sat with his father, his father’s best friend and uncle. The men berated the father for taking a second wife, the new baby’s mother. He asked forgiveness for this “mistake” he had made and he vowed that he would not take a third wife. I hear the concerns of the other men; I even agree with them. However, I asked him to care for Mary, to care for the new baby and to remember that today is a sacred day; the day Mary fought for her entrance into motherhood, the day Rubangkene Joshua became the firstborn child of a second wife.

March 8 here in Uganda is “women’s day.” We were told by various men that it’s a day that men are supposed to be doing all the domestic work; hauling water, sweeping, cooking. That morning, we started the day eating pancakes that Nathan made Liza, Abby and I. I always feel honored by Nathan as a humble man who sees me, sees women, breakfast just felt like a continuation of his constant care for us. That day, as we visited various homes, though everyone talked about what an important day Women’s Day is, we noticed, somewhat cynically, that women were still doing all the work around the home. That afternoon, as Liza, Abby and I led girls’ group counseling, I listened to stories of male absence, violence inflicted by those in power. I am stunned and angered by the ways in which power, darkness and violence work to undermine the beauty of marriage and give men cause for abdicating their positions as protectors of women and children.

That very night, I was walking with David, one of the kids I’ve been counseling for months. We have a water shortage here in Gulu and we went out together to find drinking water. We saw a lot of men out drinking alcohol, loitering around the local drinking joints, chugging bottled beer, sucking up straw-fulls of local brew. These men were “celebrating women’s day” as just another day to justify wasting money on alcohol and drinking away their children’s school fees. As we were returning to HEALS in the dark a screaming woman ran past us, followed by two men who were yelling and running after her. I asked David what was happening. “Those men want to cane that woman.” He told me that they were drunk. I yelled, “pe yela!” (don’t disturb her!) at the men. David told me to not say anything because she might think that we were going to defend her and she’d stop running and then the men would catch her. He said, “she needs to run away.” Even though there were many people around us, no one was doing anything to stop it.

Even though I have a lot of privilege here as a white woman (I often feel elevated to the status of a Ugandan man) I was afraid of physical consequences if I were to intervene. I felt like I might vomit, as we turned toward HEALS and I heard the screaming continue. David told me that the woman had escaped from her pursuers. I asked him about when, in the future, he may choose to intervene in a situation. He said, “I will always intervene with children or old people.” He failed to mention the other vulnerable population: women. There is a distrust of women here and a disregard of the protection needed. I held myself together until we reached HEALS and then I found Atito and collapsed crying on her shoulder. I cried over my helplessness, over the voiceless status of Ugandan women and children. Atito’s response as she comforted me was, “I know. That’s why I hate Ugandan men and why it’s so hard for me to stay here.”

In January, I witnessed a man I know, beating an innocent child; his obvious enjoyment of the power and the infliction of pain is etched in my memory. Autumn and I intervened in the act but we were told by those in authority that “this is Africa” and that we were wrong to intervene. The man actually threatened violence on us in return. The prevalence and systemic nature of violence here is staggering and wears on me in a way that nothing else does. It’s mere existence (and condoning of it by those in power) accentuates the lack of voice that women and children have. It’s hard, especially as a woman, to know how to speak against these injustices, how to respond when people tell me, “this is Africa, this is the way we do things here.” Even with the power I do have and my ability to speak, there is constant pressure to be silent, to do as the kids tell me they do when faced with injustice; “I just keep quiet.”

Here is my jab at injustice, my chance to give a face to the beauty, strength, vitality and grace of Acholi women. These are the faces that have been beauty to me, that have been femininity and glory to me over the past six months:

Atito Anna, my closest Acholi friend. A woman whose strength, joy, grace and wisdom astounds me. She has not shied away from engaging her own pain and continues to hope, even when it feels impossible.



Lamuno Alberta, Autumn’s workmate at Gulu Regional Hospital, a woman who still sheds tears, though closeted, when a baby unjustly dies.




Auntie Doreen, my Acholi Aunt, a woman whose foresight and strength helped her lead her family from their beloved land, shrewdly save money, buy land in town and save her family from the war.



I’m beginning to consider the fact that I’m leaving Acholi-land, leaving this continent in six weeks. I can barely handle the thought that misplaced power will prevail and continue to wreak havoc on beauty and weakness. I need the strength it will take to leave and to trust that the the battle for peace, redemption and restoration is being fought by One who is greater than I. That’s the thread of hope I’m holding to now.

Haley

Baby Amaro!

On January 18th, in the midst of a hard week of setbacks, rumors of war and relational struggles, we woke up early and decided to go for a walk (which we never do this early). We wandered down the path and ended up at our friends' Can Ogura, Ocira Andrew and Nancy's compound. When we arrived, we were told that Nancy had gone into labor the night before and had been taken by bicycle to the Gulu Regional Hospital. As we sat with Ocira Andrew (the father) word arrived, again via bicycle, that Nancy had given birth to a girl! We hugged him, congratulated him and wished we had cigars to offer. He wandered over towards the sweet potato patch, beaming. Haley asked what he was doing. "I'm just so happy, I don't know what to do!"



We set off for the hospital with Andrew, as we walked the two miles through town, he stopped to greet every neighbor, friend, family member, acquintance, shop-keeper and tell them the happy news. We arrived at the hospital finally, and were introduced to Baby Amaro! Only eight hours after her birth, we set off, with the mother, for home. Nancy insisted upon walking and was just eager to get home! We stopped at "Auntie Doreen's" to visit. She prepared a meal for us, Nancy collapsed onto a small section of the couch, Andrew excitedly told stories and drank from Auntie Doreen's pot of local brew and Autumn and I passed the baby back and forth. It was the first new baby that we didn't have to fight others to hold. Everyone was just happy to bask in the news of the new life!

Around nightfall, we set off for Andrew and Nancy's compound. Autumn carried the baby home (much to the delight of neighbors who all thought it was her baby!) As soon as we reached the family compound, the baby was ushered into the main hut and we sat outside with the rest of the waiting family members and celebrated late into the evening. We were invited to attend the "naming ceremony" which would take place four days later--according to custom. The baby already had an Acholi name "Amaro" meaning "I like it." However, the baby needed a second name, which would be chosen at the ceremony. On January 22, we arrived early in the morning, anticipating a day of celebration. The entire extended family, along with friends came and spent the whole day eating, dancing and playing cards.



As evening drew near, the announcement was made that it was time for the ceremony. According to custom, mother and baby sat on a mat in front of the hut. Andrew's Grandmother (we call her Ja-Ja) took a huge pan and rubbed it over mother and baby three times. This signifies that she will be a good cook and care for her family. Then, again three times, water is sprinkled over mother and baby.



After this part of the ceremony, mother, baby and aunts entered the main hut and closed the door. Anyone wishing to offer a name approached the door with wooden sticks, banged on the door with the sticks and said, "How is the mother?" "How is baby?" "Does baby have a name yet?" "I want you to name the baby ___". Everyone who had a suggestion, including us, approached, hoping that our name would be chosen.



After the naming ceremony, we were told that it was an appropriate time to share our gifts with the baby--sugar, soap and sweets for the kids at the party. After more celebrating...laughing, discussing theology, passing around the baby, Andrew, Nyeko and Can Ogura walked us home. Andrew confided in us that we are family now. He said that because we spent the whole day with him on the day of the baby's birth, he now knows he can trust us. We have spent much time with this family...nearly every Saturday, Christmas Day...but the birth of Amaro really solidified our friendship.



She is a gift not only to Andrew and Nancy, but also to us. Our gift back to them was a name: Bella, offered by Autumn!

Welcome Baby Amaro Bella! She is beautiful and we like her!

Heavy Hearts

Since coming to Gulu we've been living within a facade of peace. Other than our one-on-one encounters with children who tell us horrifying stories of war, we have been fairly sheltered from violence, due to the current peace talks. In one day though, the facade was shattered by two different events.

On Sunday, we witnessed a child being unjustly beaten by an adult. We were shocked by the image of what we saw and afterward by adults' responses to our intervention that "this is Africa, this is how we do things here." Later that evening, we received word that the peace talks have faultered and war is coming back to northern Uganda. There is a lot of confusion surrounding the exact details of the current situation and wherabouts of the rebels. However, around town, everybody has an opinion on what is happening. Overall, most people believe that the rebels have backed out of the peace talks because the UPDF (Uganda People's Defense Force) have not been honoring truce agreements. Peace talk leaders hope that the peace talks will move out of Juba, Sudan and to Nairobi, Kenya, but it does not look hopeful.

As we were writing this, our friend Komakech (who took us to visit his family in the Pader IDP camp in November) walked up and greeted us. We asked about his family and how he was feeling about the news. He told us, "people are going to suffer." He explained his inability to bring his family to town and said, "If I had the means, I would bring them to my place, but where would I put them?" He expressed his fear that the rebels are walking out of south Sudan, where the peace talks were occuring, and are heading south into Uganda.

As we are reminded of Komakech's family, we think about all the different people we have met and become friends with in the isolated and unprotected villages and IDP camps north of Gulu. We are told that the rebels will target and victimize these vulnerable people first. Our hearts and souls are heavy in thinking about our friends who have already suffered and continue to be traumatized.

We would greatly appreciate your support as we endeavor to resist this spiritual and physical darkness. Your words are so encouraging to us and they remind us that we are not alone.
Autumn and Haley

Here are some links you can check out to stay updated:

www.ugandacan.org

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/default.stm

Christmas in Gulu

Cam Karama Maber! Merry Christmas to you!

Christmas in Gulu is definitely a far cry from Christmas in the Northwest. Here’s some photos that resemble our typical Christmas festivities at home.











Hauling in our Christmas tree…behind HEALS with our Christmas tree…yes, it was chopped down with the machete that is dangerously close to Autumn’s face.














Haley decorating the tree in a halter top…the star is handmade of fabric by one of our HEALS kids, Kennedy.














Autumn and Atito trimming the tree…










Our zebra Christmas stockings!










These photos document the Christmas things that we are accustomed to (apart from decorating in tank tops). Really, around Gulu though, it doesn’t feel like Christmas. Apart from the intensity of the sun and lack of any hope for the white Christmas we always dream of, there are no Christmas trees, only a few lights and no one is asking anyone what they want for Christmas. Everyone we talk to is excited for Christmas, but what they look forward to is merely the hope of being with their families.

The world’s desperation for a Savior seems especially acute to us this year. The darkness of lost hope needs to be permeated by the Light that entered the world on the first Christmas. During Christmas’ past, we attempt to stay focused on that purpose for this season. This year though, it is the only thing we are able to focus on and we have to be intentional to remember to turn on Christmas music and recall the things we typically love about Christmas. Yesterday, we were making crafts for the kids’ Christmas party and “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas” came on and Haley burst into tears. The words feel like salt in our wounds; our hearts don’t feel light, we miss our family, we miss wearing sweaters, miss seeing our breath in the crisp air. We keep having to remind ourselves that Christ’s birth was not heralded by trees dressed up for Christmas, twinkling lights or mugs of steaming apple cider. We still miss those things though.



Merry Christmas!!! Cam Karama Maber!!!!


We love you!

Haley and Autumn

Columbia Heights Newsletter Piece

The children filter into the courtyard starting at 3:00 in the afternoon. They greet each of us individually with a handshake and then wildly race over to begin kicking around a soccer ball or hitting a volleyball, laughing and playing together. This is their time to be kids. They are premature adults, with responsibilities they should not be required to bear; many are the head of their households, due to AIDS and violent rebel activity. At the age of 10, some have the responsibility to provide food for, cook for and clothe their younger siblings while also maintaining their own studies. At HEALS (Health, Education, Arts, Literacy, Sports) these child-adults are allowed to take a reprieve from adulthood and be kids for the afternoon. The motto of HEALS is; “as a child, it is my right to play.”

Many activities take place at HEALS and because we live within the facility, we find ourselves involved in everything. We learn traditional Acholi (the local tribe) dance with the children, sing with them in music class, provide medical care and trauma counseling and offer tutoring in the education program. In addition, we have been working with our Acholi co-volunteers in reorganizing HEALS into a more sustainable program. For example we have been converting the children’s files from paper to computer format, re-working the schedule to provide additional classes, and working to create more child sponsorships for school fees. Several of the new sponsorships have been provided by donations received from members of Columbia Heights.

HEALS is located in the town of Gulu--the epicenter of the suffering in northern Uganda--where many have fled for refuge. Therefore, everyone we encounter has been violently touched by this rebel war. It is in this place of intense sorrow and suffering that we attempt to have the courage and strength to extend the love of Jesus.

As a nurse, Autumn offers the sole medical care at HEALS. This means that she acts as house nurse to all of the children of HEALS. This entails lines of children with problems ranging from minor cuts and scrapes to cases of malaria and typhoid. Some of the children come with questions about disease and medication. These questions many times stem from the children’s fears concerning family members suffering from AIDS and other common diseases.

Life is difficult for the people of Gulu and the children are very physically hard on their bodies. When work is finished children come to HEALS and play so hard that their injuries are large gouges rather than the minor scrapes and cuts that American children exhibit. Legs are covered in long angry scars from wounds that are ignored by parents and left dirty and without the stitches they require. The children are amazed when Autumn takes notice of their wounds. The simple act of cleaning and dressing their physical wounds seems to bring their emotional and spiritual wounds to the surface. Being shown physical care seems to open their hearts to share stories of the trauma they have experienced.

Recently a child named Omara came to Autumn with a deep wound in her leg. As Autumn began to treat the wound Omara began to cry and share how her mother and father had been killed by the LRA while she was forced to watch. Her eyes were heavy and sorrow-filled as she shared the story, but as Autumn listened and finished bandaging her leg they were able to pray together. She later told Autumn that she had never shared her story before. Being available to care for the children’s wounds has allowed Autumn to be available to support the children through prayer and be an outlet for their emotional sorrows. The children’s physical wounds now serve as reminders to Autumn of the emotional and spiritual scars that are just below the surface and also in need of healing.

Haley is creating a therapy program at HEALS. She counsels 10 children every week and, in addition, she leads a therapy group for girls and for boys. Haley is amazed at how attentive the kids are becoming to one another’s emotions in group therapy. Her one-on-one therapy times have also been going well, though they are very emotionally stretching.
One child, Okello, is a 15-year-old former child soldier who was in LRA captivity for three years. When he escaped, he returned to his village to find that his parents had been murdered by the LRA. He tells Haley that he would have rather died in the bush, had he known he would be orphaned when he was free. He says that now that he is an orphan he has no one to defend him. He tells horrific stories of things his extended family currently does to him, merely because he is an orphan and they can get away with it.

Haley has already seen much emotional healing in Okello through counseling. He is so tender and strong in his grief for his parents and the loss of his innocence. Haley is amazed at how courageously he lives. When she first began working with Okello he told her that it was the first time he had told his story in a long time. When he had told of his abduction before, children teased him and taunted him about being a child soldier. Okello now states that it is the support he receives in counseling and boys’ group that gives him strength to keep fighting for new life. Okello recently told Haley, “When I am at home at night sometimes I cry and I’m awake for two hours. Now, when that happens I remember the faces from group and I know that others have problems too.” Okello says that even while he was in captivity in the bush, he remembers feeling God’s presence with him. It is indeed incredible that God is so big and so infinite that love and hope stretches even into the darkness and brutality of the bush.

We both feel grateful to be here together. In addition to being an emotional and spiritual support to each other, we are also able to provide holistic care for the children at HEALS by providing nursing and counseling. As we work with children and hear of their suffering at the hands of the LRA our hearts are often outraged towards those who oppress and are the tools of evil. A verse that often has relevance here is Psalm 10:17-18, “You hear, O Lord, the desire of the afflicted; you encourage them, and you listen to their cry, defending the fatherless and the oppressed in order that man, who is of the earth, may terrify no more.”

We now feel we have a better understanding of why God’s heart is especially tender towards orphans. We are reminded of the need for an almighty Savior who will right the wrongs of those who cause suffering. We live with the hope that when alone and overwhelmed God also hears the cry of the oppressed--of Omara and Okello. Almighty God is tender and gentle and draws near to the suffering. We have hope for the day when all suffering will be ended and God ‘s heel will smash the head of evil and all will once again be set right. We long for God to also permeate the darkness of our current realities and give us hope to continue in our work and give us strength to offer hope to others.


Thank you for your prayers and support! Haley and Autumn

my night in an IDP camp

On Sunday night I spent the night in a hut in Lacoracora IDP (Internally Displaced Persons) Camp. My friend Komakech invited Autumn, Casey and I to go visit his family there. Komakech has lived in Gulu for nine years, since his third abduction by the LRA. After escaping with his life for the third time, his family sent him to live in the relative safety of Gulu town. His family however still reside in the IDP camp along with 25,000 other displaced persons.

Upon arriving to the camp, we were welcomed by Komakech's family as well as the chief of Acholi Land's councilmen. Although the chief himself has been displaced, his palace is located in the IDP camp, so the councilmen remain there also. The councilmen (10 white-haired, proper, Acholi men) took us on a tour of the camp which included the burial places of the great cheifs of the past. We felt very honored to be in the presence of these great men and also were very aware of the residents of the camp who attempt to survive in the cramped conditions and suffer from poor health care and live on very little food.



Later in the night, over a meal of sweet potatoes, malakwong and sesame paste, Komakech's family shared the stories of their lives with us. Though they themselves have survived the war, many of their relatives have not. They also still fear the LRA and Komakech's father told us of his fear of leaving the camp. He said that he fears venturing even two kilometers away from camp (we traveled about 30 kilometers just to get there). His greatest wish is just to return to his village of origin which he has not seen in 10 years. He wishes to return there and resume the digging and planting that his family has done for centuries. He spoke of the trauma that everyone in northern Uganda has experienced and lamented that there are so few counselors to hear the stories of those who suffer. He asked if I would be willing to set up a trauma counseling center in the camps. I wanted to promise him that I would return to do counseling there, but I know that I am already stretched thin in Gulu. To our knowledge, Abby and I are the only therapists in Gulu--possibly even in all of northern Uganda. This is overwhelming and also invigorating.

Since so many of my clients and the people I see everyday are from the IDP camps, I now have a greater context of what they are fleeing and also hoping to return to.

October in Acholi Land

I have now been working in Gulu (Acholi Land) for one month. I wanted to give an update of my life here so that you can get a glimpse into what I am seeing everyday. I have been so grateful for your posts, emails, letters and phone calls. They have been a physical reminder to me of God's presence and goodness in the midst of the heaviness I often feel.

I am living in the HEALS (Health, Education, Art, Literacy, Sports) office with Autumn, Abby, Casey, and our Ugandan friend and HEALS mentor, Atito. Autumn and I share a nice bedroom that we love. Our house is surrounded by grass-thatched mud huts, gardenia trees and red dirt paths (I really am living in quintessential Africa). We are so thankful for the accommodations. Over the past month the five of us have formed relationships with each other that are such a blessing. We enjoy each other so much and we really feel as if we are fighting together for the renewal of Acholi Land. I really believe in the work that is happening here and I am so encouraged by the Acholi people we work with. The uniqueness of HEALS is that it is run by Acholi who are attempting to care for their own people; we are just joining them in what they have already begun.

This week, Abby and I begin our fourth week of therapy with the children. We are facilitating two groups; one for boys and the other for girls. The groups are made up of former child soldiers, abductees, AIDS orphans and victims of sexual violence. On the first week the girls shared stories with us that we thought would only be shared after months of trust-building. We are amazed at how bravely and articulately they share their hearts with us. The rapidity of the therapeutic process is really jolting for us and also confirmation of the need for us to be here. After sharing her story with the group, one child told me that her family had forbid her to talk to anyone about her pain and that she was "relieved" to share it with us after holding it inside for so long. Moments like that renew my energy and desire to be here. However, the darkness of the stories is so extreme that I often find myself wanting a reminder of God's goodness and light. My relationships with Autumn, Abby and Casey feel like God's kindness to me on a daily basis.

The power goes out here often and unpredictably. What is an inconvenience to us, is often detrimental to others. We were watching a movie on my laptop on Thursday night when the power went out (as it often does). We fumbled around to find flashlights and candles to shower and brush our teeth by. The next morning, upon arriving to work at the hospital, Autumn found that a 2 month old baby she had been caring for had died because when the power went out the baby was no longer supplied with oxygen. The fact that this government-run hospital doesn't have a generator is so enraging to me. That is one example of the economic, political and social injustice we encounter constantly. The injustice threatens to break me at times and leaves many questions about how to maintain hope. Thank you all for being a source of strength for me.

Haley