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