sights

I see life in nature: strong and shading trees; unmoveable mountains; unobtrusive Pacific Ocean waves; the water cycle either as snow, rain, or fog; home-owners leaving their uniquely architecturally-designed homes that take advantage of the grandeur of the Rocky Mountains, dogs cowering from the unusually colder weather, cyclists freely speeding down the road en route to the city. Vancouver is full of life: vegetation stretches farther to soak up the rare sunshine, healthy citizens explore their surroundings, natural cycles continue to provide life.

But death is here as well: fallen or cut trees; rubbish collected near water sewers; lonely faces; persons coping with HIV or AIDS (in North America, it is here where the highest percentage of people who are HIV positive or who have AIDS live); shopping carts full of people's only belongings or maybe full of bottles collected hoping to get some change in return to buy a small meal; hopelessness; consumerists unconsciously purchasing beyond their needs or financial abilities; depression; empty churches. Vancouver is full of death: waste, marginalized people reaching out for hope and mercy, emotionally, mentally, sexually, physically, and spiritually torn apart.

Life and Death. This world needs some things to die: selfishness especially of the rich, abuse of the weak, ignorance of the cries of fathers and mothers and children dying in far-off places, sexualized content everywhere, passivenes. Death comes from life. Life comes through death.

This is what I see.

captivating

I have been trying to think of something funny, creative, inspiring, profound, strange, remarkable, or bewildering to write. And each time I sit down to write, I am at a loss for words, pictures, or stories. This is rare because so often I recognize connections or simply want to share a story.

I want to tell you instead about some things that have caught my attention recently and left me smiling. As I prepared to leave my home in Kitchener-Waterloo, I was captivated by:

- the honest and inspiring conversations I had with some of my closest friends
- the prayers of my family
- the sound of my Ugandan friends' voices, laughter, and hope
- the embrace of my church family
- the items I have collected that remind me of my second home in Uganda
- the competitive yet sportsman-like football games
- the cumulative and astounding white snow

I left Kitchener-Waterloo. I arrived in a big new city full of life and death. And I have continued to smile. These are some things that have captivated me in my new home in Vancouver, B.C.:

- the kindness and generosity of roommates
- the affection and warmth given to students by faculty and staff
- the companionship of new friends
- attending a church where a homeless man gave all his money in the offering plate
- receiving a message from a friend in Uganda telling me her newborn daughter is called Michelle, after me
- receiving encouraging and exciting messages from friends throughout Uganda
- walking towards downtown in the evening and singing in the rain with friends
- the effect of 1 foot of snow to incapacitate a developed city
- the immense duration of rain in a largely-populated city

I am captivated. Above all, I am captivated by the immeasurable and infinite love of God. Here I am, surrounded by life and death and I can find serenity, rest, and hope. I wonder what will captivate me tomorrow?

world AIDS day

Today, December 1, is World AIDS Day. It is a day of remembering, fighting, and dreaming.

A day when we reflect on the history and influence of AIDS. A day when I remember my friends in Uganda who died because of AIDS or who became an orphan because of AIDS. A day when I remember my friends in Uganda who looked at me and wondered how a 23 year old woman could never have lost a relative to AIDS.

A day when we fight to educate the world about AIDS: it's causes, consequences, influences, atrocities. A day when we fight to find a cure for millions of people. A day when we fight to reduce the cost of treatment so the most vulnerable and poor and desolate have a chance at dignity and comfort.

A day when we dream of eradicating AIDS forever. A day when we pray for healing, forgiveness, and grace. A day when we dream of hearing laughter instead of tears, seeing dances instead of stumbles, smelling health instead of rotting flesh, tasting clean water instead of infected foods, and touching smooth skin instead of bones.

I won't appeal to your emotions by writing painful statistics, nor will I google stories of famous survivors. But I do know that AIDS is real and scary and big. And I will tell you a story about that: one young girl who I taught was born with AIDS. Her father had multiple wives, one of whom was HIV positive. Her father contracted AIDS, later giving it to all his wives. This student never chose to have AIDS nor the consequences of it. Because of her anger towards her dead parents, her physically abusive guardians, and her emotionally abusive peers, she channeled her anger towards society. Instead of accepting help from AIDS support groups, she sought young men so she could infect them. She desired pregnancy so she could spread AIDS to her children. And so, her life goal became to share her pain and burden and hurt with the world by making the world feel and experience the same. I wish I could write that this is not true or that this young girl has since appealed for help. I do not know what this young girl is doing. The world probably doesn't know either. Her own family has abandoned her, just like her peers and community have done the same. Only one thing can save her now: God.

World AIDS Day: we remember, fight, and dream.

seasons

Here are four things I love about Canada: winter, spring, summer, and autumn. Not living in Canada last year meant not seeing and being part of the seasons. Yet last week brought all four seasons together in a spectacular mixture of snow, slush, sun, and staggering leaves. I remember waking up early Tuesday morning and gazing outside momentarily before letting out a joyous shout announcing the arrival of the long-awaited white precipitation that characterizes the winter. I am also sure my sister ungratefully remembers the phone call before 7:00 am to inform her of the beautiful sight. Later that same day, I played outside with the children dancing and jumping in the puddles formed when the snow melted. The sun shone brightly, encouraging me to shed my fleece jacket and mittens. Then I watched as the leaves swirled around me in the fierce wind. We chased the leaves and maple keys then threw them up and watched as they surfed the wind sails.

Each season brings beauty, unpleasantness, inspiration, confusion, awe, normalcy, creativity, randomness, and wonder. My life also goes through seasons. There are cold and dark times when the chance encounter of light and and soft things bring comfort and play. There are persistent times of challenges where sometimes dreariness arrives and brings tears. Other times, sunshine arrives and brings hope. There are extended times of joy and fun and smiles. There are times of leaving the joy and plentiful and hoping for kindness, warmth, and love in a place of uncertainty and confusion.

As I prepare to say good-bye once again to my home in Ontario, I am filled with excitement, anxiety, wonder, confusion, and hope. This time, however, I am not moving to a new continent or a new culture or a new family. I am moving to Vancouver. I am moving to a season of intensity, peace, grace, change, and beauty. There will be challenges and fears. There will be loneliness and grief. But in all that I will see God's love transform my life, just as God's love transformed my life in Uganda.

Winter, spring, summer, and autumn. What an amazing arrangement of life and love pouring out from God's creation.

poverty

poverty: "deprivation of common necessities that determine the quality of life, including food, clothing, shelter and safe drinking water, and may also include the deprivation of opportunities to learn, to obtain better employment to escape poverty, and/or to enjoy the respect of fellow citizens"

A young boy born into poverty.

Not his choice.

Women returning from digging in their garden.
A lifetime of labour to feed their family one meal per day.

Deprivation of nature.
Deprivation of fresh air.
Deprivation of clean water.
Deprivation of shade.
Deprivation of ecosystems.
Deprivation of creation.
Deprivation of sustainability.
Deprivation of wonder.
Deprivation of harmony.
Deprivation of life.



We all experience poverty. Some are born into a family, tribe, or nation afflicted with poverty. Some navigate the evils of poverty their entire life. Some realize poverty exists after reading a magazine, mindlessly watching television, or glancing in the poor places of a neighbourhood. Some shake hands with poverty and are left scarred. Others shake hands with poverty and have scarred someone else. Some are blinded by their blessings and see no nakedness. Some donate clothes to the naked. Some only hear the sound of money piling up in their bank account and are deaf to the weeping. Some volunteer time, energy, and skills to the poor. Some weep. Some pray. Some grieve their losses. Some rejoice that efforts are made globally to reduce poverty.

How do you choose to experience poverty?

reflection

Here is some of what I talked about while giving my report to the church:

I went to Uganda having said good-bye to materialism, luxury, and privilege in Canada; instead on the search for something. I wanted to find out what God’s love feels like in a foreign place. A place where entire villages are ravaged by disease, a place where education is for the elite rich class, a place where hygienic practices would fail any Canadian Health and Safety guideline, a place where rags are acceptable clothing, a place where entire homes are smaller than my bedroom, a place where food satisfies a fraction of the stomach, a place where demons are encountered face-to-face. But as I reflected on my colourful experiences, there was a pattern I kept noticing. Before I even realized and was able to express my emotions, before I understood the effects of a new environment on my body, before I had the wisdom to challenge some cultural beliefs and myths, God was with me in Uganda. This leads me to what I am most thankful for: God loves me. This isn’t a new revelation, or anything dramatic or complex. It’s a simple statement, one I’ve been taught growing up, and one I always knew, but never really intimately felt. The love I speak about is exemplified by His immense knowledge of and deepest attraction to me: His daughter. Because He knows me, He knows my needs and desires before I can acknowledge them myself. Thus, although all things were foreign in Uganda, my needs were always met, often before I could identify them as needs: a warm welcome in a stranger’s home, a cup of water after learning how to dance a vigorous new cultural dance, a mosquito net to sleep under when I would spend the night at a friend’s mud home, honest friends with whom I could laugh, share stories, and debate issues, an invitation to church, improvement in students’ performances.

God loves me. I say these three words again and think about the billions of people He loves, more specifically the millions in Uganda. God loves the orphans, the widows, the cripples, those suffering from HIV/AIDS or malaria or tuberculosis or some other deadly disease. He also equally loves the rebel leaders and fighters that have tortured, raped, mutilated, beheaded, and burned mothers, fathers, boys, girls, elders, farmers, my friends. God loves the adulterers, the young mothers who practice abortion, the idle youth who rape a girl fetching water. God hates the sins committed by these people, the murders, the thievery, the idolatry, the jealousy, the blasphemy. Despite the evil, God loves the person: the pure and curious thoughts, the musical and athletic skills, the intellect. God loves His child, each one. And so I think, do I have this same love, as God asks of us? We know the commandment in John 13:34 which states “A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another; as I have loved you, that you also love one another”. Do I actually love my neighbour: the innocent children, the abusive parents, the committed students, the Lord’s Resistance Army (rebel group responsible for war, insecurity, fear, and death in Northern Uganda), the people who harassed me in Uganda, my colleagues, the corrupt government or leaders who don’t account for the way money is spent? When I listen to my close friend in Uganda painfully tell me how she was abducted as a girl by the Lord’s Resistance Army and raped, later to give birth to a son, I wonder how I would feel if one of my sisters here were abducted and tortured. Could I love the offender? Could I offer the person water to drink as they pass through my village en route to mutilate more people? Could I offer my only food to the drunken man who beats my child walking home from school? My selective love is not adequate if I want to bring God’s kingdom on earth. Imagine if we all actually loved one another. That’s the type of place I was looking for in Uganda. And I felt some of that unconditional love in my daily life in Uganda. The water my mother would boil the night before so I could drink tea before going to school early the next morning. The smiles and waves my students would cautiously return to me uncertain if it was appropriate. A firm handshake from a villager and laughter after I greeted them in the local language. A narrow bed on which to sleep while my friends’ families slept on mud floors. Where do you see God's kingdom on earth?

John 13:35 states “by this all will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another.” One of the greatest ways we can witness to others is to simply love one another. And in Uganda, love meant listening to perplexing stories and telling others embarrassing stories of my attempts to fit into culture. Love meant offering my water bottle when no one else had water. Love meant washing my pregnant sister’s clothes. Love meant eating 15 mangoes from a basin to show my gratitude for the food offered when I visited people during mango season. Love meant paying my friend’s taxi fare so we could visit her relatives in a neighbouring city. Love meant practicing Ugandan customs. And I hadn’t understood the magnitude of these seemingly simple and innocent actions until a few weeks before I left. When colleagues, students, and friends repeatedly approached me to thank me for accepting them, for participating in their ceremonies and daily lives, for eating their bland but filling meals, for smiling when words couldn’t express myself, for loving them. Maybe I did something right. Maybe God used me to bring some of His Kingdom to earth afterall.

field trip

Early morning last Tuesday, as I was finishing my breakfast of tea with bread, I heard the familiar sound of a bus passing. This morning, though, the sound was a bit more intense since the large vehicle was passing the road deteriorated from soil erosion in front of my home. After receiving the pre-arranged "beep" from my colleague at school, I grabbed my packed bag, water, and hat, to proceed to school. At school, the atmosphere was filled with excitement, curiosity, anxiety, jealousy, and concern. Senior three and four students who could afford to pay the fee for the field trip were awaiting the teacher's permission to board the rented bus. Students that had failed to raise money or senior one and two students stood observing the excitement. Some wished their peers a safe journey while others tried to hide their disappointment and jealousy. I consoled some, saying that in a couple of years, they too, will have the opportunity.

A list was quickly compiled of students, teachers, and staff present who would participate in the geography tour. Students squeezed themselves in the bus while the teachers sat comfortably in the front. Unaccustomed to such a seating arrangement for a field trip, I proceeded to the back of the bus to be nearer my students after driving a little while. Driving towards the main road that would take us to the escarpment and Butiaba Falls, the bus tried very hard to avoid the ditches and bumps, in addition to the numerous students walking to their respective schools. Unfortunately, the bus was unable to avoid all bumps and one bump in particular caused part of our lunch (rice with meat) to spill from the bucket. This was immediately cleaned up after a few grumbles from the driver whose trousers were now stained.

Driving along allowed the students, especially the boarders, to observe another part of their beloved and beautiful country. Their contentment and joy was reflected in their bursts of song, shouts, and chatter. One of my colleagues and I kept asking them geographical questions to ensure their minds were still on the task at hand: education mixed with enjoyment and pleasure. We temporarily stopped the bus as we approached the escarpment. For many students, this was their first opportunity to see this type of rock formation a few miles from their home. Wearing skirts (females) or trousers (males), white blouses/shirts, and black shoes, the students tried to climb up the rocks, calling "Madam, my photo". In addition to the title of teacher, I also became the photographer for the day.

The ugly conditions of the road was experienced very negatively by the students in the back of the bus, where each bump and swerve was felt. After driving over a particularly dangerous hump, all passengers jumped off their seats before gravity regained control of the bus. At the back of the bus, one student actually got her feet stuck between the cushion and the seat frame. Teachers were alerted and I went to the back to investigate. Eventually, the pain reduced though limping became the consequence.

At Butiaba Fishing Village, the students descended onto the beach to learn more about the fishing practices, the impacts of the economical activity, problems and responses, and the geography of the place. An informed facilitator gave us a tour of the place, explaining various processes, answering innocent questions, pointing out places of interest, and expanding our knowledge. Since students rarely have the opportunity to leave the school compound for educational reasons, most students quickly became fatigued though the hour had not yet reached noon.

We continued our journey heading west towards Murchison Falls National Park in search of some wonderful creatures. Before crossing the River Nile via a ferry, we removed the buckets containing our lunch and began serving over fifty students and seven staff members. Within minutes the food was consumed and students were curiously walking around the park, pointing towards hippos, looking at the looming trees, kicking dirt, and congratulating each other for making it thus far. As we timidly boarded the ferry, a few students asked me about it's safety. I used the most unscientific explanation to describe how the ferry functions and assured them we won't touch water. For most, this ferry experience equalled danger and fear, mixed with a humble excitement and joy. Upon reaching the other side, a ranger climbed onto our bus to explain to us the various things we would see on the 2-hour game drive. We saw many animals, vegetation, and new relief forms, yet I was a bit more concerned with the welfare of the students. Some had become very fatigued, hungry, thirsty, and feeling unwell. The slower drive through the park was enabling a few students to rest their bodies.

Upon returning from the game drive, consensus among the students showed an interest in going to see the Murchison Falls. We arrived at the Falls but an urgent medical concern caused us to turn around and proceed to the local dispensary. Most of the students, though were able to briefly view the magnificent and majestic natural falls. As the sun set, we reached the dispensary and stayed for almost two hours. Most students, by this point, were in need of liquids so the park was filled with tired students in search of our most basic need: water. After walking over one kilometer, we found bottled water and nearly completely reduced the small shop of it's supply. With a bright moon overhead, we cautiously drove through the park towards Masindi town where we stopped to buy some sodas for the students before completing the last ten miles before going home to Ikoba. In total, the journey lasted from 7:30 a.m. to 11:30 p.m.!

This geography tour, or field trip, was an incredible experience for students and teachers alike. For the students, it was filled with beauty, awe, first time encounters, fatigue, and learning. For me, I began to appreciate the luxury or privilege in Canada of going on numerous field trips throughout my school career. Usually within one school year, I would attend at least two field trips. I was grateful for the opportunity to connect with my students and understand their perspectives a bit more. I think the next geography tour in which I will participate will be flying over the Atlantic Ocean to return to the beautiful and diverse country called Canada.